TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
MONDAY AFTERNOON
MONDAY NIGHT
ONE HOUR BEFORE DAWN TUESDAY
TUESDAY MORNING
TUESDAY NOON
TUESDAY NIGHT
MIDNIGHT
WEDNESDAY MORNING DAWN
WEDNESDAY NOON
THURSDAY MORNING
THURSDAY NIGHT
FRIDAY MORNING
NOON, FRIDAY
FRIDAY NIGHT
THREE A.M., SATURDAY
DAWN
FIVE O'CLOCK, SATURDAY THE LAST DAY
THE FINAL MOMENTS
EPILOGUE
The town of Whitfield no longer exists. Very little of the northwestern part of Fork County exists, except in the memories of those who might once have lived there and were fortunate enough to be gone when the great fireball struck, searing the land for miles.
Scientists were stunned by the suddenness of the huge fireball, for it seemed to materialize out of the heavens, traveling at such a tremendous speed it was almost beyond calculation.
Where had it come from? the scientists were asked by a stunned population.
From straight out of the sun was the reply.
And you could not have predicted it?
No.
Why?
The scientists hedged that question, for many of them were sworn, avowed atheists. But finally, one man from an observatory in California who was not an unbeliever did reply, although not to the satisfaction of all his colleagues. His reply brought laughter from more than a few of his fellow scientists.
'How does one predict when the hand of God will fall? And how hard the blow will be?'
