Donald Malcom - The Iron Rain

Scanned by Highroller

Proofed by a Proofpack Proofer.

Made prettier by use of stylesheet.

The Iron Rain by Donald

Malcolm

CHAPTER 1

Looking back on it, you would think I should have known what was

coming. I was, after all, a professional astronomer; I had been doing a

long-term study of meteors and meteorites. But the Iron Rain caught me

as much by surprise as it did everyone else: all my background

accomplished was to allow me to understand the problem better once it

occurred.

It began as I was clearing up my papers, preparatory to flying back to

Manchester. I had just spent a busy two weeks as a guest lecturer at the

University of Strathclyde. Even at this time there were foreshadowings of

the nightmarish future. During my stay in Glasgow, reports had come in

about fourteen large meteorites that had caused havoc, destruction and

death at random parts of the globe; certainly others must have fallen

undiscovered in the oceans, the deserts and the polar regions.

I must say I was worried. One destructive meteorite that size in an

average lifetime would be headline news. The increased incidence made

me feel extremely uncomfortable. Had I known how bad the situation was

to become, I'd have been even more worried.

Trouble struck at about three o'clock that January Friday, just as I was

getting ready to leave my university office for Glasgow's Abbotsinch

Airport. I heard a distant, thunderous roar. As though ten thousand

rampaging steam engines were approaching from the west, the building

began to shake. From the street below came the screeching of brakes

mingled with the sounds of breaking glass and screams. The window

behind my desk shattered and a small object sizzled and flashed across the

room and embedded itself in a cupboard door.

When the shaking had subsided, I picked my way through the glass to

the gaping hole where the window had been. The office was high up in the

John Street block, and as far as I could see in either direction, the sky was

fast being blotted out by flame and thick smoke.

I turned away and walked to the cupboard, scrunching on the shards of

glass. I had no need to speculate on the cause of the noise and the fire. I

prised a pea-sized object out of the door and let it roll about on my palm.

The tiny meteorite, a fragment of the large one, was black, pitted and still

quite hot. It had narrowly missed killing me.

I think I must have realized then that these meteorite falls were the

forerunners of an entire shower. At least, I understood the advisability of

mass evacuation from heavily populated areas. There were too many ways

to die in a city if a meteorite hit—falling masonry, vehicles out of control,

fire… the list was endless.

I picked up the telephone and dialed the number for the College of

Astronomy, listened briefly to the thin screech coming through the wires,

and replaced the receiver. Both the college and the observatory were at

least twenty miles away; there was little I could do to help. Escape was the

sensible solution, if escape were still possible.

I opened the door to the outer office. Miss Field, who'd been helping me

with paperwork, lay slumped beside her desk. She groaned as I raised her

head gently, revealing a livid bump on her forehead. I lifted her into a

chair and went to get her some water.

People were running and pushing past me in the corridor, some

talking, others silent. But every face wore the expression of fear I was to

see often in the future.

When I returned to the girl, my foot nudged the radio, lying beside her

chair. I switched it on, before feeding her sips of water. There was nothing

coming through except static, but I left it on.

"How do you feel, now?" I asked.

She pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes, one of which was now

puffy and discolored. "My head hurts. Was the noise made by a

meteorite?"

"Yes."

"I thought so. I tried to dive under the desk and didn't judge my

distance very well."

There was still nothing on the radio.

"We've got to leave here at once," I said. "The building took a shaking;

another shock like that could bring it down."

"I'd like to telephone my parents first."

"The phone doesn't work and we don't have time—"

"It won't take a minute." She dialed the number as she spoke. I fiddled

with the radio to cover my impatience and succeeded in tuning in on a

station.

"… are vague, but the meteorite has gouged a channel from the Clyde to

the Forth and destroyed parts of Edinburgh. Fires have broken out in

many places and authorities are trying to keep control. Keep listening for

more news. You are urged not to panic."

"Well?" I didn't conceal my haste to be away.

"You're right, the line's dead." She winced as she stood up and we

hurried out to the empty corridor. I had the radio. We reached the

elevator, but it failed to come up when I pressed the button; someone had

left the door open and the elevator wouldn't operate. We went down the

stairs.

The place was deserted. The noise of our heels echoing eerily was

drowned out by the roar of another meteorite rushing by somewhere to

the south. Instinctively we clung together. The building shook again and a

crack appeared in the wall.

We pulled apart and ran down the remaining stairs until, gasping for

breath, we reached the street. Miss Field's face was drawn with pain.

Everyone had headed for the open at the same time, so we were jostled

and buffeted about. By now it was dark. Lights had been left blazing

everywhere, lending the scene a false festive atmosphere like Mardi Gras

gone mad. High overhead, a long, brilliant streak scored the sky.

The crowds, spilling from the pavements onto the road, were pushing to

no purpose. Cars were marooned in the living sea, and at the foot of John

Street, where my own was parked, police cars were trying desperately to

clear a way through to George Street for ambulances and fire engines. Two

more meteors flashed by.

Taking Miss Field's elbow, I began to push toward my car. If we

couldn't move it anywhere, we might at least be safe inside it for a time.

A voice from a police car blared, miraculously managing to make itself

heard above the din. "Please keep off the road! Ambulances and fire

engines are trying to get through to stricken areas. Please keep…" The

officer was making little impression.

There was a gurgling cry just ahead as a woman tripped and

disappeared under the feet of the crowd. No one picked her up. I pushed

the radio at Miss Field and battled my way to the fallen woman. As soon

as I had helped her, she disappeared into the crowds again, shoving as

hard as ever. My companion was beside me again and gradually we forced

our way to the car.

It was already occupied; the youth glanced up in fear as I grabbed his

collar and pulled him out. The keys he'd been using dropped to the floor.

With a twist, he was out of my grasp and away. I got into the car just after

Miss Field. Suddenly the commotion was dwarfed by a horrible roar and a

whoosh: a huge, intensely bright, yellow monster, cartwheeling parallel to

George Street, came in from the west and exploded in the region of the

telephone headquarters, about two hundred yards up the street.

Sparks showered the milling crowds, but the screams around me were

nothing compared with the sounds from the point of impact. Following

the dreadful crash of masonry, flame and smoke exploded into view.

The woman was quivering in the seat beside me; I could see she'd been

crying and was wiping away the tears.

"How far is your house from here? Could we walk?"

"No. I live in Brookfield, about fifteen miles away."

I gave her the appropriate map to chart our route. "Go up to Cathedral

Street and turn left," she said.

At least I knew where that was. As we moved off, the radio came to life

again. Part of my attention was diverted by driving, but I gathered that

damage and death were extensive. Robert Campbell, Scotland's Regional

Director, was calling for everyone's cooperation with the authorities.

We passed Love Loan and turned into Cathedral Street. Although most

of the traffic was going the other way, I still had to contend with the

gleaming, sharded carpet of glass that lay ahead of us; and hundreds of

pedestrians scurried about like rats in a maze. I kept my speed to around

twenty-five miles an hour. Compared with the other cars, we hardly

seemed to be moving.

We'd gone only a few hundred yards when an approaching van had a

blow-out. The vehicle was doing about sixty and it spun across the road

into the path of my car. The woman screamed. Realizing that braking

would be useless, I wrenched the wheel to the right. The tires screeched as

they grated through the glass. The van, which seemed about to go past,

suddenly spun again and smashed the passenger side of the car with the

force of a fighting galley ramming the enemy. Miss Field's second scream

was abruptly cut short. As my head jerked forward and hit the steering

wheel, I was vaguely aware of something hot spattering my face.

I regained partial, groggy consciousness, and floated up from the

depths of emptiness. A weight crushed against my left side. I tried to push

it away, but my hand encountered a hot stickiness. I glanced round and

was shocked fully awake.

Miss Field slid against the dashboard like a discarded puppet. The van

had plowed into the car at least two feet, demolishing the whole of the

front and most of the side. Miss Field had her back to me. I froze in the act

of easing myself away from her—an incoming meteorite seemed to shake

the world with its passage, then was gone, exploding somewhere behind

the university.

As I moved, the girl's body fell back and draped itself over the stubby

gearshift. I looked at her face. It was covered with blood, gore and glass.

Overcome with a painful retching, I averted my head quickly.

But I had to look again: she might still be alive, although I doubted it.

Clamping my mouth tightly shut, I took a handkerchief and tried to clean

some of the mess away. It was enough to convince me she was dead.

I sat for a minute, becoming increasingly aware of a large bump on my

forehead. I was lucky; nothing was broken. I crawled out of the car, none

too steadily, and had to scramble out of the path of an oncoming truck

that peppered my face with particles of glass as it raced past me. I'd

instinctively closed my eyes, which saved them, but the rest of my face felt

as if it had been exposed to a sandstorm.

I opened my eyes again and gazed around. I glanced over at the van; it

was leaning against a storefront and there was no movement from inside.

One or two pedestrians sprinted down the street, and plenty of cars picked

their way down the road. The sky was a lurid yellow mixed with black, and

some of the buildings were in flames. I huddled against the car again as I

heard the already-familiar roar of an approaching meteorite. It rent the

sky about two hundred feet overhead and incandescent fragments

pattered onto the streets, like rain.

I was alone in a dying city, a dead woman for a companion. And no one

was going to help me but myself. My instincts warned me to get away as

quickly as possible. But there was the woman: still a human being, if dead.

Before long, there would be packs of dogs and cats roaming the streets,

searching for food. I didn't want that to happen to her.

A gray Alsatian, as large as a wolf, came loping along from the direction

of the city and paused as it neared the car. That decided me. The animals

wouldn't be hungry: yet. The dog circled me warily, snarling as it ran

away. A light wind had risen, wafting the smoke along the street in

whirling eddies, fanning the loudly crackling flames, and stirring up dust

from the collapsed building, now in its death throes.

I could do one of two things with the girl. I could get some gasoline and

set the car alight. Or I could drag her body into a shop and try and give

her some protection against predatory animals. I didn't relish the thought

of burning the body, so I decided on the second plan. There wouldn't be

any trouble in getting in somewhere. There was unlikely to be a whole

pane of glass in the area.

I didn't want to have to move the body too far. My stomach hadn't

stopped churning and I knew that if I were sick again, I would never finish

the task. I walked along the street and found a butcher's shop, about

twenty yards away from the scene of the wreck.

Returning to the car, I set about getting the body out. The force of the

crash had tilted the car up and I had to get down on my knees. It was

neither easy nor pleasant. I covered her head with my car duster and,

putting my hands under her armpits, began to pull. In my awkward

position, I couldn't exert much leverage and I was soon sweating. I kept

hitting my head, which aggravated the bump already there. Finally, I had

her out onto the road.

Cars and pedestrians still passed, but no one offered to help. Not that I

expected any; people had their own problems. I lifted her body—she wasn't

as heavy as she'd seemed when I pulled her out of the car—and carried her

to the shop. I took her through to the rear, opened the door of the large

refrigerator, and laid her on the floor inside. I stood, looking down.

Nothing would get at her here. I left the cloth over her face.

I closed and secured the door before going outside again. A man and a

woman, carrying suitcases, passed quickly and didn't give me as much as

a glance. The flames had set up a roar of their own as they leapt from

building to building, so I didn't hear the meteorite coming in until it was

almost on top of me. It was a very small one, but I felt the heat of its

passage as I jogged back to the car. My body jarred as I threw myself

down onto the street, momentarily oblivious to the splinters driving into

my hands.

The meteorite sizzled past and hit the street about fifty yards away in

an eruption that scattered fierce white sparks and fragments in profusion.

I was struggling to my feet when I smelled burning material. Quickly I

whipped off my coat. The left tail flap was smoldering and a small flame

quested at the edge of the burn. I beat it out on the ground and put the

coat on again.

I reached the car and, while I considered what I was going to do next,

picked shards of glass out of my hands. Fortunately, I had no serious

wounds. I was alone, a stranger in the city, with nowhere to go; and I had

no transportation. During my stay in Glasgow, I'd received invitations to

the homes of several of my colleagues. One lived in Milngavie, another in

Airdrie, the third in Barrhead: all just places on a map.

I checked my watch: 4.45 p.m., almost two hours since the meteorites

had started to fall in large numbers. And they were still coming; I could

detect the detonations above the crackle and roar of the flames.

This meteor stream might be called a rogue. Most streams are

associated with the debris left in the wake of a comet and follow their own

orbits around the sun. As such, the Earth crosses those orbits at fairly

well-known specified times of the year. This stream was totally

unpredictable. The only satisfactory explanation I had been able to come

up with is that the sun, in its own journey through the Galaxy, was

sweeping through a section of interstellar space that was peppered with

debris of its own. If that were the case, there was no telling how long this

shower could last; it depended on how thick the layer of interstellar junk

was.

But if things were going this badly here, I knew they must be even

worse on the other side of the globe. Because of the Earth's rotation,

meteors hit harder and more frequently on the side where the hour is

between midnight and noon. During the a.m. period, that side of the

Earth is moving head-on toward the stream. In the afternoon and evening,

the meteors have to "catch up" with us in order to hit. The western

hemisphere and the Pacific Ocean would be taking the worst beating at

the moment. In eight hours it would be our turn. But geography would

hardly matter; if the big meteorites continued to fall at this rate for even

the next few days, the surface of the Earth would soon resemble that of the

Moon.

Speculation wasn't going to solve my present problem. The heat in the

area was becoming unbearable, despite the January evening chill, and I

had to move. There was no point to wandering about aimlessly—I'd get

myself killed, sooner or later. I doubted any aircraft would be flying from

Abbotsinch, or from any other airport, but it made a definite destination.

And, I had noticed from the map, Miss Field's village was fairly near the

airport. That gave me two possible destinations. The thought of the girl's

home made me thankful my own parents were dead. I had no brothers or

sisters and I wasn't married. I was both alone and lonely. I retrieved the

map, now splattered with blood, from the car and started walking.

It was a dangerous business. If I tried to walk on the pavement, I ran

the risk of getting buried under masonry. The road was little better:

vehicles were being driven haphazardly, with no thought of keeping to the

correct side. Picking my way through a maze of rubble, crashed cars and

broken glass, I made slow progress. The intense heat and thick smoke

swirled around in the wind, making my eyes, nose and throat raw. Dante's

little holocaust was minor compared to this. I gave up trying to keep a

simultaneous lookout for falling buildings, speeding cars and meteorites

with my name on them. I was miserable, footsore, tired and hungry.

I'd waved at one or two cars, but no one stopped to pick up passengers.

The end of Cathedral Street seemed as far away as the sun. Long before I

reached it I could hear the cacophony of motor horns, shouting and

screaming. Five or six roads converged on the area and the traffic was

jammed solid, like metal sardines waiting to be canned. People were

scrambling over the cars, cursing and fighting. I kept well back. I could see

no way through the packed mass and I didn't fancy risking life and limb

trying to force a way. That traffic jam was likely to last until the vehicles

rusted.

And I was running very hard just to stay in the same place. I couldn't

make a detour. All the buildings were either wrecked or in flames. I'd have

to abandon the plan of getting to the airport or to Miss Field's house. I

turned to trudge back the way I'd come. As I did so, I saw a brilliant ball of

fire expanding in the sky at a terrifying rate until it filled my vision like a

hypnotist's gleaming charm. It seemed to be heading straight for me. I

couldn't move and I couldn't scream. There was a stupendous roaring, like

a dozen hurricanes raging at the one instant of time. I could see the

tumbling of the component fragments of the meteorite as it streaked down

the sky. Screams took on a note of hysterical fear. I willed myself to run, to

hide—

The meteorite struck the ground and the world erupted in my face.

CHAPTER 2

Awakening was like a second birth. All was noise, beat and pain.

Especially pain. There was a blossoming ache in my chest. I tried to move

and couldn't. I was pinned down by something. When I explored it with

my free right hand, it looked and felt like metal. It shifted a little when I

pushed it, but I couldn't sustain the effort. Being knocked unconscious

twice within a few hours had sapped my physical strength. I lay like a

dead man.

Perhaps I was already as good as dead. I couldn't think clearly. Lucid

moments, when I could assimilate the torment and agony, were followed

by what seemed like eons of woolly limbo. I was trying grimly to hold onto

my life, which would inexorably slip away if I didn't do something.

Paradoxically, I was shivering with cold amid the furnace of flames. Blood

fouled my mouth.

I ran my hand over the metal object again, extending my arm as far as

it would go. I was trapped by part of a car. I moved my legs experimentally

and pushed my feet against the rubble. One of my shoes was off.

Summoning up reserves of strength, I began slowly to wriggle my way out

of my metal prison. I had to stop and draw hard breaths every few

seconds. My head felt like an overripe fruit about to split. It must have

struck the ground hard when I fell.

I discovered that I would move a little and then the metal would simply

shift and clamp me down as firmly as ever. Despair and frustration

confused my thinking. I forced my weary body to relax and the

free-running gears of my mind to mesh again. I had to stop the metal from

shifting with me; therefore I had to stop it with something. I screwed my

head around to the right. There was plenty of rubble within my long reach

and I started to gather it near me.

When I had all I could get, I recommenced the rescue operation. It was

a tricky job. With one hand, I had to grip a bit of rubble and lever up the

metal at the same time. Pushing with my feet, I managed to use extra

purchase. As I raised the metal higher, I thrust rubble underneath it.

Finally, it was precariously clear enough to let me hold it up with both

hands. I drew my legs up, then straightened my body out. Once again, and

I was free.

I crawled a yard or two and lay exhausted. The sweat produced by my

exertions was already cooling and I was racked with long, uncontrolled

shivers. Depression settled over me like a shroud. After all my efforts, I

was going to die. I could lie here and soon it would be over. The warning

bells set up a clangor in my numbed mind. I was drifting into delirium; it

would be so easy to let it take over.

It took a supreme surge of will to make my body sit up. My head

seemed to do a quick waltz and I shot out my hands to prevent myself

from falling. Propping myself up, I sat, arms extended, for a few minutes.

The meteorites were still making their kamikaze plunges to the ground,

which shook with every impact. Apart from that, the area was strangely

quiet. The fires didn't burn so fiercely, the smoke wasn't so thick, and the

Donald Malcom - The Iron Rain

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: