A month passed. The information noise of the media didn't just turn up the volume; it turned into pure, total panic. The same television was a window into a fever dream, broadcast in real-time.
"Professor Gwent, give it to us straight are our days numbered?" The anchorwoman was white-knuckling her earpiece, her eyes darting off-camera. "Is this just another time of mass panic? Or are the people who dropped millions on bunker sub-levels actually the only ones playing it smart?"
"In my humble..." the expert began, adjusting his glasses.
"Nobody gives a damn about your opinion, especially not a 'humble' one!" Mr. President shoved his way into the frame, taking up nearly half the screen.
"Mr. President—" the anchor tried to change the subject.
"I've sat down with every leader on the map!" he barked, flashing a row of teeth so white they looked like porcelain. "We're going to hit this 'little problem' with every piece of space-milatary age tech in the shed. Even the East is chipping in. And why? Because of me. They said that! No me. My word is iron to them. You want to know what I'm doing? While you're all shivering in your basements praying for my health, I'll be on the roof of the tallest spire in the city, sipping a 20-year scotch and watching the fireworks from the front row. The world's going to owe me a medal for this one. And this whole thing? It's not a tragedy. It's a documentary. Apocalypse: The Real Deal. No scripts, no fakes."
"But we'd really like to hear from the scientist—"
"What makes him the expert?!" the President roared. "I've stopped a thousand wars! Narnia versus Middle-earth! Abibas versus Rita! My experience is huge!"
"Will, stop staring at the screen!" His mother stepped over and clicked the TV off. "Supplies on you and Line. I'm takin' Teddy and Fluffy by the hands. Grandma already in Father Walter bunkers."
"Seems like all her trips to church weren't for nothing. When God closed the door on the rest of someone, He opened a window just for her."
"Will get things. Now!"
"Okay, Mom. But shouldn't we wait for Dad?" Will asked, taking a suplies with shaking hands.
"William, now!" Her voice, usually soft and gentle, had turned into a cold, desperate command. "Don't worry about him. He knows the meeting place. Grab the supplies. We're moving."
For Francine Jackson, the kindest woman in the tri-state area, this hardness was a foreign tongue. The trek to St. Anthony's was only a few blocks, but the city had changed into a maze of madness. The streets were a choked mess of people tripping over each other; looters were smashing glass while the "Second Amendment" and security of else's property types who usually loved posing with their rifles were nowhere to be found—apparently, PR isn't a priority when the sky is falling.
The roads were a graveyard of steel. Cars sat abandoned every five feet, their owners having traded four wheels for two legs in a desperate sprint for the nearest cellar. Will clutched the backpack of supplies they'd collected weeks ago—back when it felt like fear, and now felt like the only currency that mattered. He saw neighbors who had stored mountains of toilet paper and gallons of milk now ditching it all on the asphalt because you can't carry a warehouse on your back. The windows of the abandoned cars were smashed, and the late-comers were scavenging for canned goods. Long-shelf-life calories were suddenly worth more than the luxury leather they were sitting on. Not all the family made it to the heavy oak doors of the church. Father Walter was there a shadow in the doorway hurriedly crossing every soul that entered:
"Mrs. Jackson, your mother is already below. Where is Mr. Jackson?" the priest asked.
"He went for my father on the other side of town this morning," Francine said, her breath catching.
"Oh, Francine... I hope the Good Lord gives him the strength to cut through this chaos," the priest whispered a short, frantic prayer.
"I hope so too, Father," she replied.
Will Jackson dropped the supplies in their assigned corner and immediately spun back toward the exit. The logic was simple: with the traffic jam outside, his father and grandfather were never going to make it in a car.
"Will, where are you going?!" His mother reached for him, but her hands were full.
"Wait here! I'ma find 'em! We'll be back!" he shouted, already halfway out the door.
Francis set the younger one down and tried to bolt after the older boy, Teddy suddenly snapped, like he'd been let off a leash.
"Don't you dare run off too, Teddy..." Francine caught him and hissed at the youngest, who was trying to wriggle after his brother. "If you go, we won't have any men left in this family at all!"
"Lina, grab your brother! I have to catch up to Will! He's just like Father."
"Do you mean Dad or Grandpa?" Lina asked, taking her little brother and dogs from her arms.
"Both of 'em! One wanted to stay behind, and the other went racing off to save him!"
She was ready to run after Will, but a dry, bony hand held onto her shoulder with surprising strength.
"Let him go, Francine. He's a man grown," his grandmother said, her eyes fixed on the door. "He'll bring them home."
"Mom!" the little ones sobbed, burying their faces in Francine's skirt. "I'll save them, together with Will. Let me go, please!"
"Keep you safe, Will!" his mother screamed into the empty space of the doorway, the tears she'd been holding back finally making lines through the dust on her face.
The city was still the same apocalyptic hellscape: the air was thick with the smell of smoke from bonfires and fires, while the crowds radiated nothing but bad vibes and raw hatred. Will dodged looters and panicking crowds, making his way to the main street where his father should have been. He studied every face, every person carrying an old man on their shoulders, hoping they had at least made it close. But there wasn't a familiar face in sight. Except maybe two. Bill, who actually offered to help. But honestly, that kind of 'help' only makes things worse. To Will, it sounded more like: 'Is there anything I can do to screw you over?' And then Grand. That arrogant prick acted like he didn't even recognize him, even though all Will wanted was to ask if he'd seen two familes members.
Will realizing maybe they might be stuck in traffic and can't out from car, Will started peering into abandon transport until a thug with a baseball bat stepped up.
"Get away from my car!" the man shouted.
"Fine, I'm just looking for my family," Will tried to reassure him.
As soon as he moved a few feet away, he heard the sound of shattering glass: the man had smashed the window of "his" car himself and started hauling out supplies.
Will made it almost to the tallest tower in the city. Damn, that's the very building where President Bump promised to face the apocalypse. He went all out with that campaign full of testosterone-heavy memes, acting like he was the only leader with balls of steel—promising a legendary blowout party and even holding a vote to pick out his sunglasses for watching big explosion. If any of that were true, the whole block should be cordoned off... But no, the coast is clear. Maybe Anarchokapitalizm is came? And he doesn't need any security forces; after all, he's 'out in the open' and immortal now. So it should be crawling with motorcades, right? Wrong. Just a few of his supporters running around in merch and ridiculous costumes."
"Did you see him?" one asked.
"No, we searched every floor; it's empty. Except for the looters, probably," another replied.
"So, did you hit them?" the third asked.
"No! But look what I found! These must be the keys to a 'clowcoin' vault. No one even took them, the fools."
"Are you an idiot? They won't be needed in the new world. Look for weapons, supplies, and medicine."
"Will!" a familiar voice suddenly called out.
"Dad?" Will responded, turning toward the sound.
They were standing on the opposite side of the tower. His grandfather was completely spent, while his father was clearly rushing toward the shelter. Will ran over and hugged them tight. His father made it clear they had very little time. His grandfather didn't just hint at it—he said outright that he didn't have much time left, he had no strength, and it was better to leave him. Anyway, he never asked for a rescue. Now he'll end up dying somewhere else, and he's beyond disappointed in the lot of them. He should've blocked their marriage to Francine when he had the chance. At least then he wouldn't have to talk to them and could've died right where he intended. Then the old man just dropped to the dirt like as children's rebellion. But they didn't care: they burst into the nearest laundromat, grabbed a cart, sat the old man inside, and rolled him toward the church.
It was a race against death, where instead of a race car, they had a rattling metal basket from a self-service laundromat. To the panicking crowd, it looked wild. Many were running with carts of supplies or looted goods, while some looked on with envy it simply hadn't crossed their minds to put their relatives in a cart, and they were forced to carry them or drag them along the ground. The cart's wheels beat out a frantic rhythm against the broken asphalt: tra-ta-ta-ta! Every pothole echoed in his grandfather's artificial limbs, but Will and his father didn't slow their pace. They tore along as if aviation fuel were burning in their veins.
When they were almost at their goal... the horizon cracked. A trembling roar of the earth made legs shake and forced people to crane their necks. From beneath the ground, from hidden silos and mobile platforms, thousands of fiery needles shot into the sky. It was an impressive sight—the kind you rarely see twice. But on the other hand, it meant the asteroid was already very close, if even the short-range missiles were being launched to stop it. The rockets went to the highest point, leaving behind thick white tails that crossed the deep red sky. Will and his father hit a speed even a muscle car couldn't match.
At the entrance, Father Walter and Francine were already in a heated argument: she wouldn't let him close the door, believing in her family until the very end. They didn't even notice as the Jacksons came charging toward them with the grandfather in the cart. The old man held on tight and screamed—whether from great excitement or fear.
Everyone else was praying in front of screens. The President in his bunker was already counting the number of future victims and preparing a speech about the new world and the strength of survivors. A famous commander and his family listened to a sermon about how the asteroid was the new Antichrist. On the streets, people who hadn't found shelter staged the most unprotected and filthy orgies. Subordinates took revenge on their bosses, literally trampling them into the ground. Stars confessed all their sins on live broadcasts, draining bottle after bottle. And soldiers all over the world released the entire global supply of missiles, enough to destroy the planet several times over...
Today was an official feast on board. The crew had cracked open the most expensive supplies they'd managed to "take for themselves" from the Admiralty fleet and thrown a full-blown bash. Unfortunately, they had to leave Phoebe behind, as someone had to keep an eye on the injured Cheddar. There was a candidate for the spot, you see, but the veteran was dead set against it. And the crew decided not to take on some shady PhD. Interesting who is? Ha! No names today, but i can write a little detail: even though he begged, he wouldn't even go as far as kissing their boots, which speaks volumes. It's joke! That fact not mattered, his real actions were already screaming the truth about him. As for Yo-aliens, he was dreaming to back at home. What do you think? Would they make a super team better than the Avenger? Or maybe it's a wost than remake of the Fantastic Four.
Turn back to our party. Anna, still riding the tail-end of the tranquilizers, discovered a hidden talent for dance, while Samuel found a passion for singing. Wilder even found himself, to his own surprise actually enjoying the process. Only Gabriel smiled with half his strength. A strange song played, one that was impossible to translate exactly into any Earthly tongue... but they sang along anyway, the meaning clear enough in their hearts, like as:
"Burn, burn, my bright star!" they all harmonized, even Wilder.
After the chorus, Sam broke into an Eminem-style rap flow. Imagine a cocktail of a White Russian and pineapple pizza a weird combination, definitely something you have to get used to. But they have one same indegerients. Then, they switched to a classic road song. Just a reminder that this is an adaptation now, imagine they've started singing:
"Country roads, take me home!" don't know why I thought those songs were similar, maybe it's just because they were both singing about a journey back home! But they about galactics road!
Anyway, they actually had a reason to celebrate: the aliens had found the "Blue Planet." According to the info squeezed out of Dr. Brans back in the cell, this was a new world in a completely different star system. In their excitement, they began squinting at the monitors, tracing the outlines of the land and debating where to touchdown. Wilder finally opened his "parental lunch box," assuming his parents still believed he was somewhere out there fulfilling his contract.
Inside, he found a "Mighty Ranger" action figure. It wasn't exactly his favorite—the character had way too much muscle and a very narrow way of thinking. Then, Wilder read the note:
"Now you have become a hero, son."
"Wilder, why's your face all twisted up like you just swallowed a whole lemon? You gonna be sick?" Sam asked.
"No, Samuel..." Wilder lied.
"Yeah, I can tell you are! Little Wilder likes the 'Lone Wanderer.' George used to talk my ear off about how one day Wilder would learn to love the 'Mighty Ranger,'" Anna laughed, taking a long drink of wine. "The old man thought that choosing a hero showed who an alien really was. But it's simpler than that: your personality defines which hero you like."
Anna looked at the figure, then back at Wilder.
"You know, I like the real you. Even though I hated your guts at first. I thought I'd thrown my life away, giving everything to this ship. I failed at football, failed in the army, failed at art, failed at love, failed in school, failed at university... the list goes on. I thought it was just because I gave up too easy. So, like a fool, I decided not to give up on this ship. Fine, your father was made navigator—okay! It's a struggle, we pushed through it. Then he bought this godforsaken ship." Anna kicked the floor. "I dealt with it! But your betrayal with the patent... that was the final blow. Heh, back in solitary under the tranks, I finally just gave up. And you know what? We're flying to the damn 'Blue Planet.' I stopped expecting anything, and it actually happened!"
"Well, for a miracle like that, it's a sin not to have another drink! Gabriel, quit moping in the corner and get over here!" Sam called out.
"He's in love for the first time, so he's not in the mood," Anna replied, and they all drank their wine in one go.
"Crew, we have a problem!" Gabriel screamed.
"What now, Gabrie... oh, no."
A huge number of missiles was screaming toward them from the direction of the Blue Planet.