The n-Body Problem

“There’s guns in the shed and the basement. Hunting stuff. Big shotguns. A couple rifles.”

I figured there was.

“We need to saw those off. Bring me the rifles in the morning. See if I can’t modify them a bit. Be nice to have something automatic.”

Y’s arm stabs up. He points.

“Look!”

I have never seen it like this. The stars are loopy. There are fewer of them but the ones that remain are nearly as big as the moon. It’s an effect of the orbit. Light bends and merges. It looks like white bulbs on a high ceiling. Polka dots, not points. At first it’s breathtaking, because it’s so different, then it crushes you. I feel claustrophobia. Like my breath is being pushed back into me by the sky. We are too big.

“Wow. What do you think?” Y asks.

“I think it doesn’t look like it used to.”

Y whistles.

“It’s like you can touch it.”

Y’s hands wander around through the bodies of light.

A brightness low in the northern sky. Northern Lights, I think. We both watch. A long mane of prickles that spin off and fade. Then a series of puffs: pure white, silent. A few at first. Then more. The puffs appear higher. They hang, snow white then thin and drift. A couple pop closer in the sky above us.

“What is that?”

There is yellow bruising where they first appeared.

“That’s people.”

A sizzling red line in the bruise. It opens like a zipper and an orange column descends.

“What’s happening?”

“Too many peeling at once. They’re going pyroclastic.”

You can see the thrust of the fires, the force. Millions of bodies cremating at once and driving all that energy into the ground. Magma from inner space punching a hole in. It is a terrifying and awesome thing to see. What if it didn’t close? What if the billions came down like bath water through a drain? It would kill us all. The fires would be global. The ash would block the dying light and the heat of the sun would bounce away, never reaching us. The zipper closes. The volcano ceases. Just an ember glow. The pops continue above us. Single bodies incinerating. They look like cherry blossoms. Opening then falling apart in the wind.

“We should go inside.”

“Why?”

“Well, not sure how far away that was but there’s always a shockwave. Let’s go in the basement.”

We are in the basement for only a few minutes when it hits. Glass breaking. Furniture snapping. A heavy roar. It continues after even after the shockwave has blown past. It has left a strong wind behind.

Y has the barrel of a shotgun in a vice and he saws it. I sit with a rifle on my lap. It’s semi-automatic. I am cleaning it. Oiling it. We found a man and four girls on the floor of the root cellar surrounded by broken jars of pickles and beets. They had been lying there for a long time, moving the slop around with tiny seizures. We closed it off but you can still hear them fidgeting a bit.

In the morning we climb the stairs. It is still dark. Probably the ash cloud. The floor is covered in broken glass. Window frames busted in. The door flat on its back. There’s a thin dry patina over everything. Dust.

Y is sliding our guns into a bag and I stop him.

“We carry them. Lose one, you lose one. Lose the bag, you lose ’em all.”

Y nods and hands me the semi-automatic and a handgun. He takes two sawed-offs and tries to hang them in belt loops. I stuff cartridges in pockets, socks, a small bag.

We eat oil and vitamin D. Drink water. Sit in the white darkness.

If the cloud clears, we’ll ride. If not, we’ll still ride.

rock.

There is ash drifting across Airport Road. The road dips and banks like a mad ribbon. Entire forests spring from rearing walls then fall as if dropped by a hand into bottomless valleys. It used to be beautiful. Now it looks slick with black rot. The colour is uniform. The forests are drowning in unbreathable light. The ash forms zebra marks in fallow fields. At least the cloud is thinner, higher. A light mist has turned to glue on our windshield and we have to stop to pull it back.

Y turns off this road onto a county road before we get to Avening. That’s where he is.

“This where you tracked him?”

Y nods. I grant him the get. School board said he had been using the meadows behind the community hall to gather folks. I pat the scar underneath my navel. There is new muscle there. I am in old body and it has changed. I wonder if Y is. Has he been sneaking SSRIs? He seems more animated, more focused than ever. Pre-syndrome. New body. Won’t last long. He appears to be much older. Deformed by this. His brow is pointed. His shoulders out-size him.

“There’s an off-road lane through the woods up here. Farmers used it to access the back of fields. Let’s see what we can see if we crawl in close.”

Y’s driving too fast. I keep forgetting he’s a kid. So does he.

“Ok, pull over. I drive from here.”

He stops short. Can’t tell if that’s just inexperience. The smell outside the car is distinct. I smell maple salmon. Clearly just that. Maple salmon. I have to stand still for a full minute before I climb into the driver’s seat.

“So what’s the plan? Are we going to war with a whole town?”