The Calculating Stars (Lady Astronaut, #1)(4)

Sliding across the seat, I snuggled up against Nathaniel.



“I think I’m in shock.”



“Will you be able to fly?”



“Depends on how much ejecta there is when we get to the airfield.”



I had flown under fairly strenuous conditions during the war, even though, officially, I had never flown combat.



But that was only a technical specification to make the American public feel more secure about women in the military.



Still, if I thought of ejecta as anti-aircraft fire, I at least had a frame of reference for what lay ahead of us.



“I just need to keep my body temperature from dropping any more.”



He wrapped one arm around me, pulled the car over to the wrong side of the road, and tucked it into the lee of a craggy overhang.



Between it and the mountain, we’d be shielded from the worst of the airblast.



“This is probably the best shelter we can hope for until the blast hits.”



“Good thinking.”



It was hard not to tense, waiting for the airblast.



I rested my head against the scratchy wool of Nathaniel’s jacket.



Panicking would do neither of us any good, and we might well be wrong about what was happening.



A song cut off abruptly.



I don’t remember what it was; I just remember the sudden silence and then, finally, the announcer.



Why had it taken them nearly half an hour to report on what was happening?



I had never heard Edward R. Murrow sound so shaken.



“Ladies and gentlemen … Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt this program to bring you some grave news.



Shortly before ten this morning, what appears to have been a meteor entered the Earth’s atmosphere.



The meteor has struck the ocean just off the coast of Maryland, causing a massive ball of fire, earthquakes, and other devastation.



Coastal residents along the entire Eastern Seaboard are advised to evacuate inland because additional tidal waves are expected.



All other citizens are asked to remain inside, to allow emergency responders to work without interruption.”



He paused, and the static hiss of the radio seemed to reflect the collective nation holding our breath.



“We go now to our correspondent Phillip Williams from our affiliate WCBO of Philadelphia, who is at the scene.”



Why would they have gone to a Philadelphia affiliate, instead of someone at the scene in D.C.?



Or Baltimore?



At first, I thought the static had gotten worse, and then I realized that it was the sound of a massive fire.



It took me a moment longer to understand.



It had taken them this

long to find a reporter who was still alive, and the closest one had been in Philadelphia.



“I am standing on the US-1, some seventy miles north of where the meteor struck.



This is as close as we were able to get, even by plane, due to the tremendous heat.



What lay under me as we flew was a scene of horrifying devastation.



It is as if a hand had scooped away the capital and taken with it all of the men and women who resided there.



As of yet, the condition of the president is unknown, but—” My heart clenched when his voice broke.



I had listened to Williams report the Second World War without breaking stride.



Later, when I saw where he had been standing, I was amazed that he was able to speak at all.



“But of Washington itself, nothing remains.”





TWO





ANNOUNCER: This is the BBC World News for March 3, 1952. Here is the news and this is Robert Robinson. In the early hours of the morning a meteorite struck just outside the capital of the United States of America with a force greater than the bombs at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The resulting firestorm has swept out from Washington, D.C. for hundreds of miles.


I kept running the numbers in my head after the radio finally, finally reported the news. It was easier than thinking about the big picture. About the fact that we lived in D.C. That we knew people there. That my parents were—

From D.C., it would take a little over twenty-four minutes for the airblast to hit. I tapped the dashboard clock. “It should hit soon.”

“Yeah.” My husband covered his face with his hands and leaned forward against the steering wheel. “Were your parents…?”

“Home. Yes.” I could not stop shaking. The only breaths I could draw were too fast and too shallow. I clenched my jaw and held my breath for a moment, with my eyes squeezed shut.

The seat shifted as Nathaniel wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close. He bowed his head over me so that I was sealed in a little cocoon of tweed and wool. His par ents had been older than mine and had passed away some years ago, so he knew what I needed, and just held me.

“I just thought … I mean, Grandma is a hundred and three. I thought Daddy was going to go forever.”