Storm Front
BELINDA strolled along the bank of the little brook that meandered through the SSC West Campus. She had worked with the architect who designed the campus and watched him lay out the path of the brook on a CAD machine. She had transmitted the work order to the company that dug its path and lined it with fieldstones. She knew at one level that this was a manmade “amenity” of the landscape design, no different from a street light or a parking lot. Nevertheless, it certainly looked and felt natural and wholesome, and she always felt refreshed when she walked along it at lunch time.
She climbed the spiral path of the cafeteria hill. The building was perched atop a grassy knoll, also artificial, that overlooked the rest of the campus. The place was less busy than usual. Just before her lunch break started, Belinda had heard that there was some problem at the East Campus. The phone lines were down or something. Perhaps some of the people who usually ate lunch here were off working on the problem.
At the salad bar Belinda assembled a tall creation in the boat-shaped bowl and anointed it with low-cal dressing, extracted a Diet Coke from the refrigerated case, and paid the cashier. Looking around the table area, she didn’t see any of her friends so she selected a small table against the broad window that looked east across the campus in the direction of Waxahachie. It was a clear day, and she could make out the courthouse tower and two church steeples on the horizon.
As she ate her salad she thought about the recent events at the SSC Laboratory. The Snark business had made a lot of extra work for her, with news media calling every day wanting more information. She had been transmitting dozens of video clips per day for a while. She had even arranged a press conference in which reporters had interviewed the Tunnel Maker creature through the wormhole itself. But now the media interest in the Snark seemed to be dying down, and she was glad. Alien contact had been exciting for a while, but she would be glad to get back to the routine of high energy physics, which was the real business of the Laboratory.
A bright flash on the horizon attracted her attention, and she looked up. The sky had turned a dirty gray in the direction of Waxahachie. The courthouse was no longer visible, but dark shapes seemed to be moving against the background of the darkening sky. The delayed “whump” of something like a thunderclap rattled the glass cafeteria walls. Was a storm front approaching? It didn’t look like any storm she had ever seen.
Belinda touched the crystal pendant at her breast. Her horoscope in the Dallas Morning News this morning had warned her to expect an unpleasant change. She wondered what was happening out there.
Suddenly, the public address system in the cafeteria came on. It was carrying a radio news broadcast apparently in progress. Belinda glanced around the large room. Everyone in the cafeteria had stopped eating and talking and had turned in the direction of the wall speaker. She heard the familiar voice of the radio news reporter who usually reported on the freeway traffic from a helicopter. The clack of the helicopter engine could be heard in the background. “We still have no reports from the ground of what is going on,” the reporter was saying. “Communications with the Texas Ranger we were interviewing at the I-45 roadblock have been cut off.
“To recapitulate for those of you who may have just tuned in, a problem of unknown origin has developed south of Dallas along the I-45 corridor. It seems to be localized in the Palmer-Waxahachie-Ennis area. An expanding gray cloud is hovering over the area. Speculations of a chemical spill are being denied by chemical producers in the region that could be reached. No traffic is emerging from the problem region, no radio or telephone communication inside the region can be established, and the Texas Rangers have set up roadblocks in the major arterials to turn back traffic attempting to enter the area until the problem is identified. We are told that there is no cause for alarm, but that Interstate 45 is blocked in both directions and plans to drive into the area south of Dallas should be postponed. Please to not attempt to use your telephone to call people you know who live there. The telephone lines are already overloaded, and we have determined that calls do not go through due to some problem with the telephone system.”
Belinda noticed that several people stood and walked quickly to the wall telephones in the lobby.
“Here’s a bulletin. The Texas Rangers report no, repeat, no evidence of radioactivity or dangerous chemical agents at the edges of the problem area. Reports that the Superconducting Super Collider has exploded are also being denied.”
Belinda blinked. Somebody thinks the SSC exploded? The office telephones must be ringing up a storm. I’d better get back to the office, she thought. She quickly finished her salad, gulped down the last of the Diet Coke, and slid her tray into the rack. As she walked toward the exit along with several other people, she noticed that the gray cloud from the east seemed nearer.
“Here’s another bulletin,” said the reporter. “The Governor has requested that all members of the Texas National Guard in the Dallas-Fort-Worth Area report to their headquarters units immediately.”
Belinda stopped by the cafeteria exit and listened. Others pushed past her and hurried outside.
“OK, folks,” said the reporter, “we’ve finally received authorization from the D/FW Air Traffic Controller to fly over the problem area and have a look-see. Here we go. I can see down below us that the traffic on Interstate 45 is completely stalled. There are stopped cars all over the freeway, and many collisions. Some of the cars are burning. I can see some bodies. None of them are moving. There seem to be some large black things moving among the cars.”
What in the world is it, Belinda wondered. Some kind of nerve gas attack? It sounds worse than what happened in Bangkok last year.
“We’re flying toward the densest part of the gray cloud now,” the reporter said. “It seems to be centered north of Ennis. Something is hitting our front window now. They seem to be small silvery objects with wings, perhaps flying insects. Maybe I can catch one. They ...”
The voice stopped, and shortly afterward the helicopter engine noise halted. Another voice came on the radio, “We’re having technical difficulties. Please stay tuned,” it said.
Belinda hurried through the cafeteria door and walked rapidly down the walkway, away from the parking lot where others seemed to be hurrying. Along the gravel path by the brook something was rustling in the trees. It looked like a swarm of metallic insects. One of them landed on her arm. Belinda reached down to brush it off and froze in mid-stride.
She fell into darkness.