The Sky Unseen

This week, Michelle Muenzler’s story takes us to a place and time that is both very different, and not so different, from our own. ~ Julian and Fran, November 10, 2024

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The Sky Unseen

by Michelle Muenzler

“It’s not that hard,” Sofia says, sipping her iced tea. Condensation from the glass drips onto her bare knees. “You just leave.”

Just leave. She makes it sound easy. Like going to the store for a gallon of milk, or like tossing away a paper plate.

I stare at the street before me, neighbors zipping by while the porch step jabs splinters into my thighs. The thought of moving even an inch, of leaving, is more than I can manage.

“He’s getting better.” I pick up my tea, then set it down again. Ice melt kisses the rim of the glass.

“If you say so.”

“He is.”

She doesn’t bother responding. If anyone could see through my bullshit, it’d be her. We’ve been friends since kindergarten, and it’s her fault I made it through high school and managed what few semesters I did at the local community college before marrying Nicolas.

I force myself to pick up my glass once more and take a sip of tea, all the while wondering what precise velocity is required for a person to die instantly when struck by a car. Not that I’m planning on jumping in front of a car, of course. That would require movement.

Impetus.

As I contemplate my non-future fate, Sofia’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She ignores it, staring off the porch with me, the June sun baking the pavement with its white-hot heat. A moment later her phone buzzes again.

And then again.

“Crap,” she says. “Must be some sort of emergency. I told Shahid I was taking the day off. That man has no boundaries!” She glances at me apologetically before dragging her phone out.

As she does, something slides past the corner of my vision, down the street. A ghost of . . . something. Slippery in the waves of heat radiating off the sidewalk. If I had to swear on anything, I’d say it looked like—

“Kait!” Sofia grabs my shoulder, sending tea sloshing across my legs. Her gaze remains trapped on her phone. “Check the news. Now.”

I blink, the image down the sidewalk gone. A horse, I think. It had looked just like the hindquarters of a horse, flickering in and out of existence. Shaking my head, I drag out my phone. “What is it? What am I looking for?”

I hadn’t needed to ask. There, headlining my feed in bold letters, is the latest news.

Unknown Comet Spotted Entering Solar System. Chance of Impact: High.

And while I know I should be frightened, that I should be running through every terrible possibility in my head along with everyone else who’s just seen the news, I only feel one thing.

Relief.

Relief that I don’t have to take any action after all. Risk failure. Success. Risk anything.

All I have to do is wait.

#

Though the comet has an official name based off its discoverers, Ken Zhang and Henrik Baden, popular media quickly dubs the beast “Leviathan.” It’s burst from the depths of space, an unholy beast some fifteen kilometers at its broadest, a mass of ice and death and who knows what else swinging in a wide parabola set to directly intersect our own orbit.

We have warning, of course. Months of it.

And though leading astronomers assure newscasters on every station the comet will likely pass, that it will not strike the planet’s surface, there is a high enough percentage of uncertainty to keep everyone on edge.

All it would take to shift the beast over is one gas pocket exploding in a burst of brilliance as it swings around the sun. A bright shining eye of death staring down at us all.

“God, Kait,” Sofia says, dropping her bag onto the porch and slumping beside me. “How can you still be sitting out here in this heat? It’s gotta be over a hundred, at least.”

“Hundred three,” I say, trying surreptitiously to slide the still-unused pregnancy test stick I’m gripping out of sight.