“I don’t remember anything like this being predicted,” said one of the young chemical engineers who slouched low in his seat near the rear of the room. “And I read a hell of a lot of technical publications.”
“Well,” Jane said, her face reddening, “there are apparently a hell of a lot of them that you don’t read. This phenomenon was predicted by many responsible authorities, and not just because of the theoretical analyses of Whipple and others. There is compelling physical evidence that lies in the very ground under our feet. I’m sure that many of you are familiar with the story. The trouble is,” she said, looking directly at her last challenger, “we scientists and engineers don’t know enough about each other’s specialties.
“In 1980, scientists discovered a thin layer of gray clay that seemed to have been deposited all over the earth’s surface some sixty-five million years ago—at the same time that the dinosaurs disappeared. This layer contains iridium and other heavy metals that are rarely found on the surface of the earth, yet are commonly found in objects that arrive on Earth from outer space. Much of the material consists of tiny particles, globular in shape, indicating that it is condensed vapor. The layer also contains large quantities of ash, clear evidence of widespread fires. Some experts have calculated that, as evidenced by this ash deposit, ninety percent of the earth’s biomass was consumed in the flames. Ninety percent of every living plant, large and small, burned to a crisp. The ultimate inferno. If this material—the condensed vapor and the ash—was deposited all over the surface of the earth at one time, how else to explain it except as debris from a comet or asteroid crashing into the earth’s surface? And if the dinosaurs, plus two thirds of the other living species, died off at the same time—as the paleontologists tell us they did—well… The combination of theory and physical evidence is, was, compelling.
“Of course, one important question remained unanswered. Where, sixty-five million years ago, did the projectile land? Could such a huge comet or asteroid crash to Earth and create such havoc without leaving its physical footprint?
“Sure enough, in 1991, a crater that would have been caused by such a giant impactor was discovered in the Yucatan peninsula. Now the picture was complete. Apparently, this event—the fall of a huge object from the sky, followed by the deposit of a layer of material not usually found on the earth’s surface—marked the end of the so- called Cretaceous period and the beginning of the Tertiary. It came to be known as the K-T Event.
“So why”—Dr. Warner posed the question that hung heavy in the already charged ballroom air—“why are we now amazed that this disaster has been repeated in our time?”
She took a long drink from the glass of water that stood before her on the lectern, and flipped back the bothersome bangs. The question seemed to energize her.
“And consider,” she said, “fire is only one aspect of this scenario. Since the comet landed in the ocean, conflagration was inevitably followed by flood, more specifically, tsunamis, the largest and most dreaded of so- called tidal waves. These ocean monsters probably started with heights of more than two hundred meters and moved across the Pacific at speeds of about eight hundred kilometers per hour, maintaining crests of ten meters as far away as Australia.
Then, as they approached land, they would probably run up to thirty or forty times the height they achieved over deep ocean. Imagine San Francisco and Los Angeles inundated by ocean waves that rose to a thousand, or even two thousand meters as they approached shore, dwarfing the tallest buildings. Of course, by the time the waves arrived, these cities were likely to have been charred ruins. But to have escaped the fire would only mean being engulfed by the flood.
“The tsunamis then quickly flooded shores all around the Pacific basin. Yet, clearly, the deluge was not limited to that half of the globe. We ourselves had already seen a very large wave go under our ship, and we are in the Indian Ocean, separated from the Pacific by numerous landmasses. Obviously, large chunks of the comet separated from the main projectile, and some of these fragments must have landed in all the seas, propagating waves to attack every coastal community.
“As for people on high ground, they would have had little chance to appreciate being protected from the water. Being closest to the burning skies, they would have been the first to be incinerated. And wherever there was snow and ice—think of the Himalayas and the Andes—it would have been quickly transmuted into avalanches and huge flooded rivers, wreaking more devastation.
“Then, inevitably, there was the darkness. Although most of the vaporized material had plummeted down to the earth’s surface, the very tiniest particles remained suspended in the atmosphere, along with ash from the fires, cutting off the sun’s rays almost completely. We pray that this condition will not last long.”
From the audience a woman’s voice was heard, tremulous but insistent: “Yet our ship stayed intact, and we’re alive. How can this be?” Jane Warner was prepared for this question. She located a sheet of paper from her notes. “Of course, I can’t be certain about any of this,” she said, “but I’ve run some calculations, and this is my best guess about how we have come to be spared. As I told you before, I learned from my friends in Arizona that the point of the comet’s impact was going to be 40 degrees North, 128 degrees West. The antipode to this—the point exactly opposite on the earth’s surface—is 40 degrees South, 52 degrees East. But during the forty-five minutes that it took the ejecta particles to encircle the earth, the earth was rotating west to east, moving the antipode eleven degrees of longitude in the opposite direction. So when the rain of fire arrived, the antipode—the point of convergence for the inferno—had moved to 40 degrees South and 41 degrees East. This spot is in open ocean, about fifteen hundred kilometers southeast of the bottom of the African continent, pretty much in the middle of nowhere.
“Now, you might think that the point most distant from the impact would receive the least amount of rain- down, but that isn’t the case. It’s true that the rain-down diminishes in severity as it goes farther from its source, but when it reaches the antipode, it meets the stuff coming from the other side, creating a circle of increased intensity, a double dose, as it were. If you painted a globe red, with the intensity of the color showing the intensity of the fiery rain-down, you would see the color getting paler and paler as the distance from the impact grows—but then a sudden increase, a doubling of the intensity, the overlap of material coming from two directions, makes a small red cap at the far side. There is, however, a zone—let’s be optimistic and call it a safety zone—where the amount of the descending ejecta has greatly diminished, dwindling away, before it is suddenly augmented by oncoming material at the far pole. This zone can be pictured as a ring, an annulus—sort of a flattened doughnut— centered in the Indian Ocean at the repositioned antipode.”
Jane sensed that many in her audience had already tuned out; but she was nearing the end of her presentation, so she pushed ahead. “Now stay with me just a moment more,” she urged. “When we measure the surface of a sphere, we speak in terms of degrees of arc, halfway round the world being 180 degrees. I’m speculating—just speculating, mind you—that at about 160 degrees from the point of impact, the rain of fire dissipated below the level of total destruction and remained providentially weak until being intensified again at about 170 degrees from the point of impact. This would provide a zone of reduced intensity—the flattened doughnut—about 1,100 kilometers wide, with its center at the location I’ve already cited, 40 degrees South and 41 degrees East. If we plot it on a map, we see that the anullus of sanctuary—the doughnut-shaped safety zone— sweeps down into the Southern Ocean toward Antarctica, doing nobody any good except for a few penguins, perhaps. But if we follow it northward, we observe that it just manages to cover the southeast coast of the African continent, along with the southern tip of Madagascar. Our ship, off the shore of South Africa, midway between Richards Bay and Durban, is comfortably within the magic zone. For this reason, perhaps—just perhaps—we have been spared.” Then she concluded, quietly, “At least for the time being.”
Hours passed, then two days—three. Living in perpetual darkness, the concept of night and day became elusive. They slept, they woke, they paced up and down the corridors and into the public rooms, gathering in groups and talking, supporting each other the best they could. They returned to their cabins to nap fitfully or lie awake thinking about the unthinkable. Captain Nordstrom saw to it that meals were served on schedule, and this remnant of order helped to keep chaotic nightmares at bay.
The darkness, of course, was not just psychologically oppressive; it was literally the greatest danger that the survivors had to fear. According to the calculations of some catastrophe scientists, which Jane Warner shared with Nordstrom and Hardy, they might be in for a long siege of “nuclear winter” that would seal their doom.
However, after three days of gloom and ever-increasing cold, it suddenly began to rain. Torrents of water poured down, gradually washing particles from the sky. This was followed on the fourth day by brightening skies and moderating temperatures. Then rainbows appeared, surely the most resplendent display of color that any of them had ever seen. Many in the group, thinking of Noah and the Great Flood, took this as a sign from the heavens,
