“What was that!”

They were on the river trail, a few minutes’ walk from the town center: far enough out that traffic noise was hushed and self-absorbed, yet near enough in that the bank of the waterway was tended like a garden, perennials were in bloom, annuals in bud, the grass clipped neat and paths swept clean. Comfortable benches had been placed every so often, that couples might rest in public privacy, leaning together, their words becoming soft and intimate, their breath merging as their thoughts merged.

Benches put here for couples still learning about each other, he thought. We were that young, once.

He smiled. Their hands were laced easily together, and they walked at a pace that suited them both. See: we’ve listened, and learned. Their words, when they came, were to share something noticed, or something felt. The trees made a lacework line on the ridge across the water (she said, he nodded). And how they were reflected on the water, there where the widening river slowed, and the surface became, for a moment, darkening glass (she took a breath and sighed it out, which meant she saw what he saw). There was a quiet whistle of wings just overhead, then the sound of five feathered bodies settling into the current. The church bell tolled in the town square: how many was it? Eight… nine… the sound suggested evening.

The silence between those moments spoke volumes. It repeated stories they had written together, intimacy traced in a line of sweat, or distance and fears drawn in window-frost. Those words had been urgent, but had aged and mellowed. None of them concerned work, or what in the house needed fixing; or seasonal politics that yesterday mumbled left and today ranted right; or possible futures or opportunities missed; neither shoulds nor shouldn’ts. Their silent words told about the love that comes from staying together.

The bend of the river headed south, and they had followed for several minutes, as the first stars appeared. The sky was clear, and Venus was a blazing diamond among those ridge-trees, winking in and out between their trunks. They had walked far enough. They both knew they would soon head back to town. But first (as if by habit) they stopped and faced the west, his arm over her shoulders, her arm resting round his waist. Comfortable yet not routine. Expected without being required.

… then Venus dimmed.

… something took the whole western sky into its mouth. There was a swallowing of light. The sunset was switched off, followed immediately by a pulse of red, as though a bubble had burst. They both watched. Less than a second.

This is when he said, loudly, “What was that!” There was fear in his voice, acidic, and with it immediate anger. She felt his muscles tighten as though touched by a live wire, his arm pulled her roughly against his side, protectively perhaps, instinctively perhaps.

As soon as his three words were in the air, they were devoured. There was a dead sound from the west, a thud, like a body falling. The mind moves, all the synapses click open and shut, fast as light. She: “Artillery?” and then: “No.” He: “Nuclear?” but he already knew: “No.” But what —

The sky dimmed again and, as though a wave were drawing out, as though a tsunami tide drawn out, a red flare burned beyond the western ridge, a welding arc turned flame, a magma line, that suddenly flashed and unpinned the entire sky from the western horizon and tore it overhead. They were thrown back into the field, the contents of the river emptied over them, submerging then leaving them. There was a hissing like meat on hot iron: a thousand times louder. Heat. The sound of air howling at the back of a throat, HAAAAAAA! followed by a muffling as though all had been buried in ash.

He was on his feet in a second. He was standing! His scalp was tingling. He brought a hand up, saw it shaking, saw his arm was red and naked, found that the hair had been seared from his head. His next thought went to her.

She slowly stood up beside him. The river was empty. Across the empty waterway, on the ridge, the trees were gone, and there was nothing but bare soil, or rock. Venus was not in the sky. The light was dimming again.

His breath started, stopped. His mouth opened, but made no sound. He couldn’t think.

There was a swallowing of light. Then there was a pulse of red.

“WHAT!!”

His hand reached out to her then, he grabbed her arm, turned to the east, pulling. “COME ON COME ON COME ON!”

The sky dimmed again, and a red flare seemed to catch at the top of the ridge, though it was much, much farther away.

She twisted her arm out of his grasp.

She spoke his name.

Maybe it was how she said it. She had never filled his name with that much presence. It wasn’t a shout, and it wasn’t an order. It was just his name. One syllable. Once.

Shaking, he turned back toward her. A magma line spreading along the western horizon. She looked at him with more love in her eyes… she was larger than he knew. Her eyes were everything. His filled with tears. He gasped and began to breath.

She took his hand.

She said, “We don’t run.”

Then he wept for everything in gratitude thank you thank you and with all of his strength as a man he took her in his arms, buried his face in her hair, embraced her as though his body and her body would be one, embraced her as though they might fly together, as though silence might keep telling their stories, as if —

A flash took the entire sky.

~

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