72 Hours till Doomsday Read Online Free
Author: Melani Schweder
Go back inside.”
“But what happened? Who started the fire?”
“We don’t know yet, girls. Go wake up your mother.”
“Are we moving again?”
“No. Now go inside.”
They shuffled in their plastic sandals back towards the door. Matias leaned against the truck for a moment and watched the sky. Nobody was coming to put out the fire. They were just going to let it burn. Scorch the earth down to the dust. The first rays of the sun popped up over the hills, flooding the valley with an eerie greenish glow. Smoke always did that: ruined perfectly good sunlight and filled him with an odd sense of foreboding. Like the sky was coming down to earth, lower and lower, close enough to touch, to taste, until finally it smothered you.
Several other migrants had come out of their houses, walking in a daze, shouting things at each other in Spanish. Women crowded the doorways and children cried. Clothes were shoved into plastic bags and chucked into pickup beds. Refrigerators were emptied, pictures were taken down from the walls, rosaries already clutched between dirty fingers, ready for another journey. By the time the sun was high, eight families had already left. Teresa begged to join them.
“Please mi cielo, stop. We are staying.”
“But there is nothing left for us here! No money!”
“We will be okay. You have to stay. You need your medicine. And the doctor is here.”
“No, Matias! Let’s go like everyone else. They’re the smart ones. What if the bosses come for us next? What if they shoot us?”
“Teresa, por favor. We are not going anywhere. Nobody is going to shoot us.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Put your stuff back. We are staying. The girls can go back to school tomorrow until we can find another job.”
“What? No. Please Papa! Not school.”
“Yes Gabriela. You go back to school. I want a better life for my girls than this.”
She stomped three paces into the room she shared with her sister, slamming the door once she squeezed inside. Teresa sighed a heavy sigh, pressing her fingers into the bridge of her nose.
“Matias. I don’t feel good.”
“Sit.” He gathered her elbow and led her to their armchair, covered her with a wool blanket. “We will figure this out.”
“Si.” And she shut her eyes.
He felt useless away from the fields, his hands itching for something to do. He fiddled with the truck for most of the afternoon, covering his mouth with a wet handkerchief to keep out the smoke, tucking in a fresh spot of tobacco underneath. He walked to the corner of the farm twice more just to watch the fire, mesmerized by its sheer size and power. He spit in the dust, burying it with the toe of his boot.
By the end of the day the fire had burned itself out, leaving vast acres of ash and smoldering spots as far as Matias could see. There was not a single berry to be picked. And that night as he lay atop the smoke-tinged sheets, he heard the last of his neighbors drive away.
7. March 8, 2017. 12:44 P.M. London, England.
Gregor looked up from his desk, craning to see outside the double glass doors. He was sure he’d heard something. Supplying power to South London wasn’t necessarily a hard job, but one didn’t really appreciate its importance until a time of national crisis. Their phones were ringing nonstop, a cacophony of shrill clanging noises, mostly government officials or concerned citizens. They’d finally had to turn off the television set earlier that morning because everyone was too distracted by what appeared to be an impending doomsday. A quarter of their staff had refused to show up, only adding to the atmosphere of stress and panic. But nothing could have prepared them for that afternoon. Prepared them to face what was approaching those double glass doors.
At first, he’d thought that perhaps someone had forgotten to turn off a radio set, so he prowled around the office for the offending appliance. But as he did, the sound proceeded to get louder,
“But what happened? Who started the fire?”
“We don’t know yet, girls. Go wake up your mother.”
“Are we moving again?”
“No. Now go inside.”
They shuffled in their plastic sandals back towards the door. Matias leaned against the truck for a moment and watched the sky. Nobody was coming to put out the fire. They were just going to let it burn. Scorch the earth down to the dust. The first rays of the sun popped up over the hills, flooding the valley with an eerie greenish glow. Smoke always did that: ruined perfectly good sunlight and filled him with an odd sense of foreboding. Like the sky was coming down to earth, lower and lower, close enough to touch, to taste, until finally it smothered you.
Several other migrants had come out of their houses, walking in a daze, shouting things at each other in Spanish. Women crowded the doorways and children cried. Clothes were shoved into plastic bags and chucked into pickup beds. Refrigerators were emptied, pictures were taken down from the walls, rosaries already clutched between dirty fingers, ready for another journey. By the time the sun was high, eight families had already left. Teresa begged to join them.
“Please mi cielo, stop. We are staying.”
“But there is nothing left for us here! No money!”
“We will be okay. You have to stay. You need your medicine. And the doctor is here.”
“No, Matias! Let’s go like everyone else. They’re the smart ones. What if the bosses come for us next? What if they shoot us?”
“Teresa, por favor. We are not going anywhere. Nobody is going to shoot us.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Put your stuff back. We are staying. The girls can go back to school tomorrow until we can find another job.”
“What? No. Please Papa! Not school.”
“Yes Gabriela. You go back to school. I want a better life for my girls than this.”
She stomped three paces into the room she shared with her sister, slamming the door once she squeezed inside. Teresa sighed a heavy sigh, pressing her fingers into the bridge of her nose.
“Matias. I don’t feel good.”
“Sit.” He gathered her elbow and led her to their armchair, covered her with a wool blanket. “We will figure this out.”
“Si.” And she shut her eyes.
He felt useless away from the fields, his hands itching for something to do. He fiddled with the truck for most of the afternoon, covering his mouth with a wet handkerchief to keep out the smoke, tucking in a fresh spot of tobacco underneath. He walked to the corner of the farm twice more just to watch the fire, mesmerized by its sheer size and power. He spit in the dust, burying it with the toe of his boot.
By the end of the day the fire had burned itself out, leaving vast acres of ash and smoldering spots as far as Matias could see. There was not a single berry to be picked. And that night as he lay atop the smoke-tinged sheets, he heard the last of his neighbors drive away.
7. March 8, 2017. 12:44 P.M. London, England.
Gregor looked up from his desk, craning to see outside the double glass doors. He was sure he’d heard something. Supplying power to South London wasn’t necessarily a hard job, but one didn’t really appreciate its importance until a time of national crisis. Their phones were ringing nonstop, a cacophony of shrill clanging noises, mostly government officials or concerned citizens. They’d finally had to turn off the television set earlier that morning because everyone was too distracted by what appeared to be an impending doomsday. A quarter of their staff had refused to show up, only adding to the atmosphere of stress and panic. But nothing could have prepared them for that afternoon. Prepared them to face what was approaching those double glass doors.
At first, he’d thought that perhaps someone had forgotten to turn off a radio set, so he prowled around the office for the offending appliance. But as he did, the sound proceeded to get louder,
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