The Hatching (The Hatching #1)(65)
Even with Sparky being a prick, the day was beautiful. But it was Los Angeles. It was always beautiful. The end of April meant it was cool enough for Andy to slip on his leather jacket, but by one or one thirty, it would be warm enough for him to sit outside with Sparky at the café. They went to different parks on different days, but most of the time he tried to go for their noon walks near the water. That was the other thing about Los Angeles. It had movie stars and palm trees and sunny skies, and it had the ocean. They’d started at one end of the park, and Andy had almost dragged Sparky the whole way to the other. The damn dog lunging against the leash and baying away. Maybe an earthquake was coming, Andy thought. He knew dogs did that. Predicted things like earthquakes and tornadoes. And wouldn’t that be a ball of crap, if the big one came when he was walking in a park at the edge of the ocean. The whole thing would slide right in.
Sparky started to move toward Andy and then turned and yanked at the leash again. Andy figured he should just give up on the walk, but he didn’t want the dog to think he could win. He reined in the leash and then leaned over and scratched the dog under his jowls. “Come on, boy,” Andy said. “Can we just finish our walk without you turning me into a cripple? You walk like a good dog, and when we’re done we’ll stop for a burger and some French fries. How does that sound? French fries? Who wants French fries?”
Sparky, evidently, wanted French fries. It wasn’t enough to suddenly turn him back into a good dog, but it was clear to Andy that he recognized the words. He should have. It was part of their routine. Hop in the car, a walk in a park along the water somewhere, Sparky taking a little nap while Andy sat on a bench and read or just stared out into space and let the time tick away, and then a stop for a burger and fries on the way home. They always stopped somewhere with outdoor seating and Andy would end up giving as much of his lunch to Sparky as he ate himself. It wasn’t healthy for either of them. Andy didn’t try to kid himself that their ambling walks made up for the greasy lunches he shared with his dog, but at this point, he wasn’t sure he cared. There was nothing like a burger, and feeding Sparky French fry after French fry, the dog daintily nipping them from his fingers, was one of life’s little pleasures. But first, they had to finish their walk. That was the way it worked.
Near the end of the path, Sparky started being a prick again. The dog stopped walking and pulled back on his leash hard enough to make Andy stumble. At the same time, Sparky started howling again. Normally, Andy thought of Sparky’s noise as a sort of singing, but today he was through with it. He was about to just pack it in and let Sparky lead the way—he was sure pulling on his leash, in a hurry to get somewhere—when Andy noticed the ship.
It was one of those container ships. Not particularly remarkable here, overlooking the Port of Los Angeles. At least, not normally a remarkable sight. It was huge. One of those new superfreighters, probably coming from China. He couldn’t imagine what the thing would look like up close. Given the size and where he was standing on the coastline, Andy figured it was maybe a mile out from port. A mile and a half at most. And it was really moving. The size of the ship wasn’t what captured his attention. It was a behemoth, but there were other ships out in the water big enough that this one didn’t really stand out as that much bigger. The difference was that this one was moving fast. Andy didn’t know much about shipping, but it just didn’t look right. Like a bus coming into a parking lot at full speed. Except this bus was loaded up with containers. Each metal cube was a different color, the ship a kaleidoscope, a beautiful puzzle.
Andy pushed his glasses up on his nose. There were some weird shadows on the boxes. They didn’t look right to him. They were more like lines, or streaks of paint. No. Like some kid had scribbled here and there with a thick-tipped marker, leaving marks on top of the picture. Except . . . Were the lines moving?
Sparky was really howling now, almost crying, and pulling hard against the leash. Andy had to dig in to hold his ground. “Come on, Sparky,” he said. “Give me a break, you little monster. I just want to see . . .” He trailed off, because he suddenly understood just what it was he was going to see. Shadows or lines or whatever they were, the ship was still bearing ahead. He had no real idea how fast it was moving. Fifteen, twenty miles an hour? Fast enough that it looked quick against the backdrop of the ships that weren’t moving. Fast enough that it wasn’t a mile offshore anymore. Fast enough that Andy knew there was no chance of the ship stopping in time.
The dog was still pulling him hard away from the path, toward where he had parked the car. After another quick look at the ship, Andy turned and let Sparky lead him away. The thing with the boat seemed bad.
It quickly went from bad to worse.
The Mathias Maersk Triple-E was loaded with goods from all over China. Electronics and T-shirts and kitchen knives. Eighteen thousand containers to fill America’s malls and homes. But some of those containers originated in Xinjiang Province, and now there were no crew members left alive to stop the ship from smashing into the Port of Los Angeles.
It would have been basic back-of-the-envelope math for guys like Gordo and Shotgun. The ship was coming in at eighteen miles per hour with a total deadweight of near 160 million tons when it ran aground. To calculate the kinetic energy, they would have simply plugged in the numbers: 1/2MV2, or 1/2 (160,000,000 kg × (8m/s × 8m/s)). Roughly 5,120,000,000 joules. Or, to put it more simply, when the Mathias Maersk Triple-E plowed into the port at 12:47 P.M. Pacific Standard Time, the impact was the equivalent of an explosion of 2,500 pounds of TNT.