John Schettler - Meridian

“I’ve got a station in D.C.,” Kelly had taken good advantage of the time to wrest control of the shortwave. “Listen up…”

“…Please stay tuned to your local emergency broadcast frequency at all times. To repeat again, the Office Of Emergency Preparedness, in conjunction with the National Weather Service and FEMA, has issued a mandatory evacuation order for all coastal cities on the east coast of the United States. This affects all communities from Eastport, Maine and south to the Florida Keys. Citizens are advised to leave immediately and head inland to a safe distance of at least thirty miles from the Atlantic Seaboard. A severe tsunami warning is now in effect for the entire east coast of the United States and all Islands of the Caribbean Sea and Atlantic. Please stay tuned to your local emergency broadcast frequency at all times for important updates…”

The tension of the moment was broken by the clatter of a coffee mug falling to the floor. They all turned to see Maeve stooping to reach for it by the coffee station, a look of real distress on her face.

“Calm down, Maeve,” Nordhausen put in. “We have nothing to fear here on this coast.”

Kelly suddenly remembered something, and he got up at once, rushing over to Maeve’s side to help her up. He folded an arm around her slim shoulders and guided her over to the study table. “Come sit with us, Maeve.” His voice softened, comforting, understanding something the others were not aware of.

“It’s my mother,” said Maeve, her eyes glassy as she spoke. “She’s in Boston, and there’s no way that woman is going to hear about this tonight. She’s eighty two years old and…”

Kelly helped her into a chair and the others took in the moment with a bit of silence. The radio droned on and Kelly reached out to cut the volume. “Like I said,” he began. “We aren’t going to the play tomorrow.”

“Sorry, Maeve,” said Paul.

“Can I get you anything?” Kelly was very pleased to turn the tables on her now and take up the role of the caretaker.

“A cup of decent coffee would be nice, if you can find anything left in the professor’s larders.” Maeve rested her elbow on the study table, her chin in the palm of her hand.

“Guess I’m not so unlucky,” said Paul. “My folks died a peaceful death a few years back. I’ve got relatives in Western Pennsylvania, but the only danger they may be facing is the chaos that will likely result when the tide of refugees pours west from the coast. Who knows how far the water will push inland? Something tells me the human flood may be just as bad as the real thing. How about you, Robert—Any relatives back east? ”

Nordhausen was on the radio again. “Quiet everybody,” he said. “Just got report of an oil tanker in the Atlantic that put out an S.O.S. The report says the ship reported heavy seas and severe ocean swells, but she’s still afloat. She was about fifty nautical miles west of the Azores. It seems there’s an early hurricane out there to complicate things even further.”

“The Azores are gone,” said Paul. “Another three hours and the tsunami will reach Bermuda. It’s little more than a glorified sandbar. Elevation doesn’t exceed 80 feet anywhere on the island. The wave front will wipe that place clean and the east coast gets hit a bit later. You could still call your mother, Maeve.”

“The line is dead,” Maeve said sullenly. “I tried a few minutes ago.”

“Probably the storm, or everyone trying the same idea. The telephone circuits must be jammed.”

“I don’t suppose it would make much difference if I could call.” Maeve had a resigned look on her face. “She’s an eighty-two year old woman, Paul; with a bad hip. Should I call her up and tell her that a giant wave is about to…”

Kelly put his arm around her. Nordhausen went off to rummage about in his cupboards for a trace of coffee. Dorland had a vacant look on his face. “Well, I was wondering if we would see one in our lifetime,” he began, “and now I’m fairly certain we have. I thought nine-eleven came close back in 2001, but it will pale beside this. History is unveiling one of her most defining mysteries, people. We’re going to live through a Grand Imperative—though a lot folks on the east coast aren’t going to be so lucky. Sorry again, Maeve. I’ll shut up.”

“I’m all right,” Maeve raised a hand. “Better if we talk about it. I think it’s going to be a very long night.”

“And we’re out of coffee,” said Nordhausen. “Anyone for tea?” He came back to the table holding a tin of Earl Grey.

“The casualties will be extreme, I’m afraid.” Paul was rambling on. “A wave that high will sweep right over Manhattan Island. Hell, the highest ground in New York is only about 280 feet at Bennett Park. Ditto for Brooklyn and the Bronx. Staten Island has high ground at the landfill—I think over 400 feet, but how many people will want to be clinging to the top of a big rubbish heap when the tsunami hits?”

“What about the buildings?” Nordhausen set the tea tin down on the table. “The Empire State Building is over a thousand feet high.”

“If it stands,” said Paul. “Look how easy it was to topple the World Trade Center. The wave front will hit with tremendous force. To make matters worse, the weather channel said it was high tide tonight, and that hurricane off the coast will just make things worse. I wouldn’t be surprised if the initial wave front knocks down an awful lot of concrete on Manhattan. That will just be the beginning, though. This isn’t just one big wave heading west from Palma; it’s a sequence of waves.”

“Not exactly a tempest in a teapot.” Nordhausen set an empty tea pot down on the study table. “And this thing will effect the entire east coast?”

“As far north as Greenland,” said Paul. “Here…” he took out a pen and began tracing lines on the atlas map. “I hope you don’t mind, Robert.” Nordhausen gave him a dismissive nod, and Dorland continued drawing. He finished and slid the map into the center of the table. “That’s how the wave pattern should look about six hours after the eruption.”

Nordhausen stared at the map. His eyes narrowing with concern. “I see,” he said. “Brazil, Venezuela, all the Caribbean islands…”

“Florida is going to get hammered,” said Dorland. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the water sweeps all the way over the peninsula into the Gulf of Mexico. Hundreds of thousands of people are going to die when the sun comes up on the east coast tomorrow. Imagine it! All those time lines are going to be changed forever. The Meridians all end with the Palma Grand Imperative.”

“Good Lord, Paul,” said Nordhausen, “you aren’t going to start in with your time theory again are you? I’d take a clue from Kelly there. The project is off. We aren’t going anywhere tomorrow. I never thought we were in the first place, Grand Imperative or not.”

“Wait a second,” said Kelly. “Who said the project is off? It’s more important than ever now!”

“Oh, it’s a wonderful idea,” Nordhausen jibed at him, “but you don’t honestly think we would just excuse ourselves in the face of the greatest national catastrophe in history and amble off to the year 1612 to take in a play, do you?”

“Or look for the damn Bermuda Pamphlets.” Maeve took up the thread of her argument with Nordhausen again, but Kelly was shaking his head.

“You don’t understand,” he said. “We’ve got the project Arch all configured for 1612, but I can run new numbers for anywhere else you’d care to go. Perhaps we can do something about this.”

“It’s an Imperative, Kelly,” Paul frowned as he rubbed his chin. “It’s a natural event, not a willful event. There’s nothing we could possibly do to prevent the eruption.”