R. Allinson: The Long Road Home

NOT for the first time, Tom wondered why they hadn’t stayed in Vancouver. Home was covered in a foot of snow and it had been 15 degrees below zero when he’d kissed his wife goodbye at Pearson airport in Toronto. Here, it was a relatively balmy six degrees above. Almost shorts weather. The city was in fine form today. The clouds had lifted, allowing some of the winter sunlight to trickle through. From his hotel room he had a lovely view of the sparkling Burrard Inlet all the way to the snow dusted North Shore mountains. He could almost see the gondola taking people up to Grouse Mountain. As he watched, a cruise ship left the dock and slowly steamed out under the Lions Gate Bridge. For half a second Tom thought it might hit the bridge, but evidently the sailors knew what they were doing and the gigantic boat made it through. He wondered where they were going. Hawaii, perhaps, or maybe Alaska.

Tom turned from the view and did a quick check in the mirror. Hair not too messy, no toothpaste on his face, no food in his teeth. Satisfied, he straightened his tie and left the room. He walked up the corridor to room 407 and knocked.

“Mike, you ready?” he called through the door.

“Yeah, give me a second,” came the muffled reply. Tom studied the ceiling, and then his shoes. Either Mike was taking a lot longer than a second, or Tom had the shortest attention span on the planet.

Finally, Mike made an appearance. Tom raised an eyebrow. Mike usually wore crumpled, un-ironed jeans and old worn-out t-shirts from various band tours; his Radiohead one seemed to be a particular favourite. Today Mike was barely recognisable in his new, well-fitted suit and tie, and polished leather shoes. It even looked like he’d attempted to brush his unruly hair. Tom blinked a few times; Mike had actually trimmed his beard.

“Didn’t realise you were out to impress the boss so much, buddy.”

Mike looked puzzled for a moment, and then laughed.

“Oh. Nah, mate. It’s not Fred I’m trying to impress; that new receptionist from the Vancouver office is smokin’ hot. You met her last night, right?”

“Which one was she?” Tom asked.

“Emma.” Tom was silent, sorting through all the faces he’d met last night. There had been three younger women, but Tom couldn’t remember which one was the receptionist, which one was the accountant and which one was the developer, and to make it worse they all had similar names. Emily, Amelia, and Emma.

“The Aussie one?” Tom took a stab. She’d been the only one who really stood out. She’d been excited when he’d told her his wife was a fellow Aussie and that he’d been to Australia and knew how to pronounce Melbourne and Brisbane and even Wagga Wagga correctly.

Mike laughed. “I know you’re partial to those Down Under chicks, but no. The other younger one. The brunette, not the blonde.”

“Right. Point her out later.”

They sat through a yawn-inspiring presentation from a guest speaker that Tom supposed was meant to start the conference off with a bang, but turned out to be more of a fizzle. The crowd was restless and Tom kept checking his watch. Mike was fidgeting next to him. The seconds were ticking by at an excruciating rate and Tom found himself day-dreaming about a coffee break. Was he more in the mood for pastries or fresh fruit? He couldn’t decide. Coffee. Coffee was a definite though.

“I can’t sit through another hour of this,” Mike muttered as they filed out of the conference room for a coffee break.

“Pretty painful. Think it will get any better? It can’t get much worse.” Tom grimaced.

“I’m not gonna risk it. Come upstairs with me, we’ll come back down for lunch. No one will notice.”

Tom glanced around. He couldn’t see his boss.

“I haven’t seen Fred this morning, have you?” Tom asked.

“Nah. The man’s probably hungover and sleeping it off. Didn’t you see how generous he was with the whiskey last night?”

Tom laughed. “All right then.”

The lobby was eerily quiet when the two men stepped out of the elevator an hour and a half later. They’d watched a replay of the Maple Leafs-Bruins game. He wasn’t sure why they’d bothered. The Maple Leafs had lost spectacularly… as usual.

Tom frowned and looked around the empty lobby. He couldn’t even see the receptionist at the front desk.

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

Mike shrugged. “Don’t know. I thought there were meant to be people telling us where to go or something.”

“Yeah, same.”

“I think I can remember my way to the big conference room. That’s where they said lunch would be served, wasn’t it?”

“I think so,” Tom said. The free whiskey and vodka last night at the conference welcome party had gone to his head pretty quickly. He should have written the instructions down. He probably had the program up in his room somewhere.

They headed towards the staircase. Tom paused when a door near the staircase clattered open. A smartly-dressed woman stumbled past them, sobbing. Tom and Mike stood dumbfounded as she raced to the hotel entrance, heels clacking on the tile floor.

“Wonder what was wrong with her?” Tom said, looking after the distraught woman as she hailed a taxi.

“Women…” Mike said with a shrug.

They passed three huddled hotel maids, on the way to the conference room. One of them, an older woman, looked like she was trying to comfort the younger two. Tom stared at them, wondering what on earth was going on. Had there been a robbery? A murder?

The conference room was up ahead. Mike and Tom glanced at each other and then sped up. It didn’t sound like the usual lunch-time commotion.

Tom and Mike hovered in the doorway. Tom took in the room. The buffet overflowed with food, but almost everyone was ignoring it. A woman Tom didn’t recognise was hyperventilating, but her table companions were oblivious to her. Instead their attention was on the large screen at the front of the room. Tom spotted his boss, Fred standing by the screen looking grave. He had his arm protectively around Janice, his assistant. One of the guys that Tom recognised from the Vancouver office — he thought his name might be Ravi — was fiddling with the sound box.

Tom blinked and then focused on the screen. The President of the United States filled his vision. Tom caught the words ‘asteroid’ and ‘unstoppable’ flash along the bottom of the screen.

The sound system suddenly came to life.

“…asteroid, known commonly as Cecelia, is predicted to hit the Earth in approximately two months time. Yes, I can confirm that we have been working tirelessly in an attempt to divert this disaster. Alas, we have failed so far.”

Tom frowned at the big screen.

“What the hell?”

The program switched from the president to a shot of a reporter standing out front of the White House. “And for those of you just tuning in, there’s been some shocking, breaking news. After a press conference given earlier today by two NASA officials, the President has just confirmed that a giant asteroid is on path and will collide with our planet in a matter of weeks. So far, all attempts to divert or destroy the asteroid have failed.”

The screen switched back to the president speaking.

“We have not given up, I repeat, we have not given up. We have our very best people working on this, and I have faith in them, and in Almighty God. This is not our time. I urge all of my fellow Americans, and all citizens of this planet, to remain calm. I repeat, please remain calm.”