Bolide

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Nik-note: Had to write this to get it out of my head, resume focus on Fresno.

Bolide 1/3

That terrible Tuesday remains etched on my memory. I was idly leafing through one of Dad's 'Civil Engineering' magazines. Half-watching Pete, my just-teen brother storm his new, solo 'World of Tanks' on the big screen. Half-watching our school-friend's three kittens' antics. 'Laurelle' and 'Hardy', the two 'tuxedos', were playing tag. Tabby 'Tiger' was prowling.

I was almost glad when my phone bleeped. I peered at the text. A 'Severe Weather' warning ? Bolide in-bound ?

"Pete, time out ?" Took him ten seconds to clinically destroy his current AI opponent, freeze the game, look around. "Your scary friend Stu still on his meds ?"

"I-- I think so, Matt. Why ?" As I showed my phone's message, his burbled, delivered the same. "What is this ??"

"Bro..." By the time I took that breath, my phone, despite two 'signal' bars, had ominously gained a 'Limited Service' warning. "Jackoed ? If not a Stu-level mega-prank-- About a decade ago ? Didn't a small meteor air-burst above a Russian town ?"

"Heard of it, Matt-- Cheb' or Ched' something ? Nasty..."

"Twenty metres, ten kilo-tonnes," I confirmed. "Blast took out half that town's windows. This is larger, headed our way."

"Here ? Welsh Borders ??"

"Western Europe..." I grabbed, woke my lap-top, whose WiFi linked via house WAPs to our fast fibre-line. The icon spun, spun, then reported 'Unable to connect'. "Huh. Web's totally Jackoed, too. Put up News 24 ?"

The clearly-scared presenter was shakily reading a bulletin, "... estimated between fifty and hundred metres, possibly larger, with several possible 'out-riders'. Expected to air-burst above, possibly impact any-where between North-West of Alps and Atlantic in about half an hour. Air traffic being diverted, grounded. Ski-slopes cleared. Euro-tunnel and other high-speed trains halted. Motorway speed limits reduced. Major bridges closing. High-sided vehicles warned to 'park up'. Big or tall trees may blow over. Shelter in place: Keep away from windows, move to interior rooms..."

As one, we looked across the open lounge's atrium, up the towering glass frontage of this converted barn. I took a shaky breath. A second. I said, "Pete, Mum only opened and let cottages #3 and #4. Looks like their two couples are away for the day. How long would you need to re-shutter them ? And the shop ?"

"Ten minutes, Bro. Fifteen at most."

"Go for it." As he scrambled to his feet, I added, "I'll sound the flash-flood alert, roll down these shutters. Move our bedding into the back."

As he zig-zagged towards the door and its storm-porch, I opened the windowed 'flight engineer' panel beneath the mezzanine's stairs. Back in the Pleistocene, the linear cave behind us had been a stream-mouth. Then, erosion found a route to a lower level, surfaced almost a quarter-mile away at what's now the 'Upper Gape'. Primitive humans moved in here, eventually followed by millennia of cheese-makers.

Later, the stream found a third route, the 'Lower Gape', beside our 'Domesday Book' village with its ford and 'pack-horse' bridge. But, in a storm, that passage could over-fill, excess bursting from the 'Upper Gape' to pour through the village. Intrepid spelunkers had explored the minor maze, emplaced float-gauges and flow-meters. Though this Spring had been horribly dull and dank, there'd been scant heavy rain. All sensors stood 'In the Green'. Lifting a guard-lid, I turned the flood-warning system's switch from 'Auto', through 'Test' and 'Clear' positions to 'Alert'. Tucked into the apex of our roof, the siren began its slow, ululating wail.

Then, dodging kittens, I strode to the window-wall. Behind the side-gathered drapes, there were switches and manual winder ports for the roller shutters. The top four set the left half of the strong 'security' shutters closing outside the triple-glazing. The lower four operated the lighter 'internals' between the sealed glazing panels and inner 'décor' pane. Though intended for solar and thermal control, they might help. I crossed the frontage, repeated my work with the right half.

Catching my breath, I ran upstairs. I hauled the futon mattress, duvet and pillow from my neat room, dumped them over the mezzanine rail into the lounge. I would not normally venture into my brother's eye-wateringly untidy room, but needs must. His bedding followed mine.

Back down-stairs, I piled the bedding and my lap-top onto a castored modular sofa unit, trundled it towards the back. Beyond twin wide, double-swing, loop-handled fire-break doors, the spinal corridor opened. Our big kitchen and its long breakfast-bar showed at left, twin wash-rooms and laundry opened off the facing side-corridor to my right. Latter also held our emergency lights' tubbed deep-cycle batteries.

A fire-doored adit continued beyond the laundry to the back of our modern shed. That housed our site's work-shop, garaged the quad-bike and cars. As Dad was supervising drill-piling in 'difficult ground' for an urgently re-designed HS2 bridge, and Mum was at a 'Romantic Authors' conference in Bournemouth, both his huge SUV and her neat MPV were now away.

Further inward along the 'spinal', I passed Mum's big combo-locked study on the left, and the facing library / home-office / study-den. Another pair of loop-handled fire-break doors took me beyond the former cave mouth, into the first set of masonry and brick 'cheese vaults'. My grope found, brought up the lights. Holding an even temperature, currently a dozen degrees cooler than house-front, this had been ideal for cheese ripening and storage. The décor was still utilitarian. Modern racking held our 'attic' usuals, such as big, lidded tubs of old paper-backs and magazine back-issues, Board games, Snow-siege supplies. That sorta stuff.

I parked the heaped sofa unit near the back, looked around. One alcove held a trad, lever-action tube well, set over a floor-drain. We did check its valves from time to time, but I remembered it might need generous 'priming' with a litre or three of water. I grabbed the empty gallon container from its nearby niche, took it back as far as the kitchen, rinsed twice, stood it under the tap.

[Belushi TD]

Oooooo, this has a nice start!

Belushi TD

[jemhouston]

Oooooo, this has a nice start!

Belushi TD

Nice and terrifying.

[warshipadmin]

Nik's orders for today. Sit at keyboard and get on with part 2.

[Belushi TD]

Nik's orders for today. Sit at keyboard and get on with part 2.

I strongly suspect since he's got it numbered 1/3, that he's already got 2 and 3 in the can, and is either whetting our appetite, or doing edits.

Belushi TD

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Bolide 2/3

Pete practically flew in, gasped, "Shuttered ! What now ?"

"Yay !" I tilted a thumb, warned, "Back there is a lot colder than I remember. Use a wash-room, then grab a week's changes of socks and smalls, plus lots of out-door wear. Keep-sakes. Your new game-box, disk-sets. And, sorry, school-stuff. We may be 'Home Schooling' again. If you can spot those gallon water containers I thought were shelved, please."

"Sounds good. What's next ?"

"If we lose the shed, the back-up generator's gone. LPG tank will probably 'fail-safe'. So, fridge-raid. Picnic stuff ? And a 'take-away' meal for tonight ? I could zap us some frozen Korma and rice ?"

"Sounds good."

"Keep meal tubs toasty in the picnic box. Fill the 'handy' Thermos and the big pump-action for hot drinks. Pack disposable plates, bowls and sporks..."

"Sure..."

As I nimbly transferred freezer tubs to the microwaves, dabbed timer buttons, I pleaded, "Bro, what am I missing ?"

Pete blinked, nodded. "Lots. I'll fetch the kittens through, also their bed, carrier and tray. And their spare bag of granules. Cat food, bowls."

"Uh-huh. Which reminds me: Paper towels, bin-bags. Lotsa bin-bags. Buckets and wash-bowls..." I waved. "Now the Korma's on, I'll fill a case each with Mum's 'casuals' and Dad's suits. Toss their duvet down. Grab my stuff. Don't leave yours too late..."

Behind us, the big TV's news presenter was almost gabbling up-dates. Something about French, Luftwaffe and RAF jets perhaps launching heat-seekers at out-riders, a North Sea RN warship perhaps launching missiles at the 'Main Event'. Sounded a tad peroptimistic, but surely worth a try.

"And the old portable TV from the guest-room," I added. "Should run off our 12 Volt emergency line, has a fold-up rabbit-ears aerial."

"Cool, Bro !" Pete blinked. "Shop's old radio has a 12 Volt option, yes ? If TV network is down, might still get some news."

"That's good thinking. Grab it. And a bag or two of fun stuff." Given our differing looks, people took us for cousins rather than full brothers. I'd be sixteen this Summer, was reasonably clever but, without trying, Pete tested twenty points higher. I earned my steady 'B' STEM grades with un-relenting work. Pete, like Author Mum and Civil Engineer Dad, was in Mensa. His 'B' grades came with now-routine admonition, 'Could do *so* much better if applied himself'.

Fortunately, we were sorta-complements rather than full rivals. Pete could figure stuff that stumped me, 'break trail'. Much, much wider read, I could find obscure references, analogies to 'light-off' his oft-scary wits' 'after-burner'.

Pete headed his way, I headed mine. Normally, I'd only enter the 'Master Bedroom' to hunt dust-bunnies with the central-vacuum system's snake. Yes, I earned my allowance doing house-work and other chores. Pete's was mostly a bribe to stay out of trouble. Thankfully, he stopped teasing me after Mum finally said, 'Yes, yes, Pete, Matt *would* rock a 'Downton Abbey' rig. But, I'd prefer a pair of totally cute Anime 'Café Meidos': Faux DD busts, bob wigs, Mary-Jane heels, floofy tutus and frilly bloomers ?'

Now, I opened my parents' deep, walk-in wardrobe. Pulling two suit-cases from a-top the regimented shelves, I folded two big grabs of hanging-bagged suits into Dad's, tossed some Tees, 'combat' pants and a jog-suit on top, zipped it shut. Armfuls of Mum's leggings, Tees, 'peasant' blouses, circle skirts and sweeping 'palazzo' pants went into hers. I added keep-sakes, a jog-suit on top, closed up.

Duvet and pillows arced into the lounge, followed by their en-suite's towels. I knew there were valuables in their some-what hidden wall-safe, I even knew how to open it. But, this was the 'Loss-Leader', to 'Divulge under Duress' with the alternate code which triggered the un-documented silent alarm. Our 'Serious Stuff' was in a much bigger, better safe else-where, which I also knew how to access. As both safes were rated to survive house-fires, even collapse, they were better left as-is.

I dragged the cases down the stairs. Pete had put 'Laurelle' and 'Hardy' into their big carrier, was warily un-peeling 'Tiger' from head-high on the right-hand drapes. Cats !! Rather than comment, perhaps distract, I went up-stairs again. After I used the mezzanine wash-room, I tossed the fluffy towels into the lounge. The guest room yielded its duvet and old TV. I checked the 'car' cable was still curled under the battery cover, carried it down. Another castered sofa module was gone, along with bedding, towels and kitten carrier.

I went up to my room. My suit-case swallowed a lot of neatly folded or hung clothes, then my 'pending' reading and school-work. Sandals, phone and lap-top chargers went into the corners. No keep-sakes, I didn't 'do' keep-sakes. Alarm clock. The spare watch I rarely wore. Pete waited for me to descend, then went up the stairs two at a time. Our parents' cases were gone, along with another modular unit and the kittens' accessories.

On the way back from the 'cheese vault', I checked in the kitchen. The tubs had cooked. I slid the folded serving trolley from its stowage beneath a kitchen unit, opened and latched it thus. The insulated box emerged from its niche, swallowed the tubs. I piled spare paper towel rolls, party flat-ware and a bag of sporks a-top them. A new roll each of tie-handle 'bin' and 'handy' bags. Fridge-raid makings of bread rolls, spread and packets of sliced meats. Mustard-pickle and ketchup. The salt sprinkler. Assorted mugs.

With that box on the trolley's lower shelf, I nested main and both spare wash-bowls on the top deck, piled in the washing liquid's bottle, pan-scrubbers and such. Pete sorta flew past with his new game box under one arm, his bulging suitcase in tow. Out-bound, he shook his head, warned, "Now saying could be nearer two hundred metres: That would be very bad ?"

"Yes." I managed a breath. "How's it going ?"

"One more trip, then 'Duck and Cover'."

I nodded as both kettles worked up to boiling. "Bit melodramatic, but you might still get a couple of texts out to Mum, Dad: 'Siren Shutters Cave Luv u2'."

As Pete swallowed bile, began dancing fingers on his phone, I added, "I'll set the site CCTV to full-speed, full resolution, no auto-delete. Half an hour should be enough."

"Gotcha..." Remarkably, his phone pinged to say the text was away. "I'll be..."

"Grab the last of your stuff, I'll set the CCTV." Pete dashed away while I opened the 'flight engineer' panel again. Releasing the keyboard drawer, I worked its track-ball to start a secure 'Hi-Res' session. As I said to Pete, half an hour should be enough. I didn't say 'Live or Die' or anything like that. If he didn't work it out for himself, it would not matter either way. Close the drawer, close the cover panel. Grab the last coats off the hooks by the front door.

[jemhouston]

Enough time to come up with a good plan.

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

When time is utterly of the essence -- 'Incoming !!'-- better a napkin-scribbled, but workable plan now, rather than a pluperfect 'Power Point' presentation that's simply too late...

[Nik_SpeakerToCats]

Bolide 3/3

Pete met me in the kitchen, pointed, said, "I've filled both 'Thermos'. Put lemon-tea powder, coffee, sugar, creamer on the trolley. Time to go ?"

"Time to go." I reached up to the 'maintained' emergency light above the outer doors, retrieved a strong fabric strop plus chunky carabiners. Wrapping the loop-handles, I buckled them snug. We wheeled the trolley into the back, parked it against the wall. Another strop secured these doors. Back in the lounge, the big TV's presenter was repeating warnings as fast as an auctioneer.

A long, long minute passed.
Then another.
Perhaps it was infra-sound from an early 'out-rider', perhaps some sort of 'ground wave', like a big quake's 'P-type': Suddenly, the air turned 'ominous', setting the kittens to hiss and growl.

Then the noise began.

We knew thunder-storms. We'd been taught to point, count five seconds per mile from flash to bang. We knew big, bad thunder-storms, with golf-ball hail, strike-split trees, power trips. This, though: This was more how an awed friend described a stadium's 'Heavy Metal' concert from too near the stage.

It began loud.
It got louder.
Then yet louder.
It became too loud to think, to even hear.

We felt it in our chests, our guts, our teeth, our bones. Everything shook. The secured shelving writhed, rocked and swayed. Those heavy fire-doors flapped to their strop's limit. Utility power failed. The main lights went out, plunging us into near-darkness beyond the weak 'maintained' luminaire. Pete and I clung to each other like pre-schoolers, our screams lost beneath the barrage.

The pass lasted for ever before, very slowly, fading away to echoes and distant rumbles. Impossibly, my watch claimed it had all taken less than a slow egg-boil.

Still almost deaf, we felt the last, big, slow rumble through our feet. Gradually, as our hearing recovered, came a scary, yet some-how re-assuring sound. Though our generator hadn't auto-started, from some-where nearby, our flash-flood siren yet ululated alarm...

Pete took a step towards the dimly lit doors. I held him back, mouthing, "Too soon."

He nodded, hesitated, glanced to the catering trolley. And, with a truly wicked grin, mouthed, "Bro, is there any lemon tea on this space-ship ?"

[jemhouston]

Priorities are straight.