---

Inside Merriman’s hospital room the two men sat like stoics.

The young officer watched the TV with rapt attention. Every few seconds he would check his phone for a signal and try to make a call. Invariably the call would fail, and his attention would return to the television.

Merriman lay in bed, his gaze fixed outside the window. The Book and all the supportive texts lay in a neat stack on the window sill. The late summer sun was beginning to set, painting the clouds in warm, deep shades of red, orange and yellow.

Now and again hospital staff and patients raced through the halls. A group of nurses could be seen through the interior glass window from inside Merriman’s room. They sat taut and still, their attention fixed to the screen of a phone.

On the small TV screen across from Merriman’s bed, a live stream from the ISS depicted the Earth from orbit. The model-like structures of the continents and the expanse of the oceans stretched across the screen.

Standing out among high white clouds was an impossible sphere, floating several miles above the Siberian tundra. The object was the width of a small country. It was so black it looked more like a two-dimensional circle than a sphere. It was as if a hole had been drawn upon the Earth by celestial cartoonists.

An eery silence pervaded the room as the ISS continued its orbit and the sphere disappeared beneath the curvature of the Earth. The video feed did not cut away but continued to show the slow passage of the planet beneath the station.

Swallowing a lump, the young officer took out his phone yet again. He checked the signal, dialed a number, and held the phone to his ear. After a few moments, he lowered the phone to his side, shut his eyes, and took a deep breath.

Merriman looked down at the cheap patterned hospital sheets, his face aglow. The golden hour sunlight seemed to wash away Merriman’s exhaustion and the pallor of the old professor’s skin was infused with amber life.

Another minute passed before Merriman looked up.

“Who are you trying to call?” Merriman asked the young officer, his voice placid.

The officer looked up from a personal reverie. His eyebrows were heavy with concern. “My mother.” His eyes darted away from Merriman’s gaze, out the window. “She’s in Chicago.”

Merriman gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then the professor looked back out the window himself. He was lost for a moment in the wisps of peaceable cloud, splashed over with vibrant color. The flitting silhouettes of joyful birds cut across the oil painting of the sky.

“Son,” Merriman said, “what’s your name?”

Despite all the time they’d spent together, Merriman had never asked the question before.

The young officer’s features softened and his lower lip began to shake. It seemed like he might burst into tears at the slightest provocation. When he spoke his voice quavered, ripe with emotion.

“Howard,” He said. Then he added, “Sir.” A single half tear escaped Howard’s eye and rolled down his cheek. Howard swiped at it gently with the back of his hand.

Merriman gave the young man a quiet smile, sitting up in the bed. “Timothy,” Merriman said, raising his hand up and offering it. “A pleasure to meet you Howard.”

Howard smiled in spite of himself. He reached out to shake Merriman’s hand and felt the tension behind his eyes lessen. Then the two of them released the handshake, Howard looking down at his feet, Merriman back out the window.

On the television screen, the Earth passed in silence as the ISS entered full night. The land and sea disappeared, replaced by vaguely differentiated shades of darkness.

Howard looked briefly out into the hallway through the interior window. The huddled group of nurses had dispersed. Howard walked over to the door, opened it and peered outside. He looked down the hallway, left and right, and perused the administrative area. Lots of abandoned medical equipment, but not a living soul.

A chill ran up Howard’s spine and he needed to take a deep breath to stop it running amok across his body. When he felt calm enough again Howard gently closed the thick hospital door and walked back toward Merriman’s bed.

“Sir,” Howard said, “I think the hospital’s empty.” Howard gestured toward the window. “Would you like to go outside?”

Merriman shook his head. “No. Thank you Howard, but no.” Merriman met Howard’s gaze. “But if you care to, you should. I’ll be just fine.”

Howard considered for a moment before raising an eyebrow. “Eh, I bet it’s a mess out there anyway.”

The two men watched the TV for a moment in silence. Then Howard turned to Merriman again. “Sir, if there’s someone you wanted to try and call—” His voice trailed off, realizing he had no way to make good on his unspoken offer.

“It’s alright,” Merriman seemed to look at some distant, invisible thing as he spoke, “I don’t think she’d want to talk to me anyway.”

“Who?” Howard asked, “if you don’t mind me asking?”

Merriman’s eyes thinned as if he were squinting in bright sunlight. “My daughter,” he began, “we haven’t spoken in,” he paused to consider, “15 years. God, has it really been that long?”

These last words he muttered to himself, only faintly loud enough for Howard to hear.

Then Merriman began to cry quiet, almost delicate sobs. In so doing he turned his face away from the window, passing out of the warm sunglow. Howard saw his pale, thin skin and remembered how old the professor was – how tired.

Uncertain what to say, Howard leaned in and placed his hands on Merriman’s shoulder. The professor felt frail beneath Howard’s touch. Merriman’s face was curled up into his hands and his shoulders shook. It felt to Howard like caring for an injured bird.

Merriman reached up and placed his hand on top of Howard’s as he released the last of his tears. When he had expended the uppermost layer of his grief, Merriman looked up, with red, puffy eyes.

“I did my best,” he said, speaking to Howard, but also addressing something else, “we really did.”

No sooner had the words passed Merriman’s lips than a new sound filled the room. It came from the television and from Howard’s cell phone. Howard and Merriman were both jolted from their reveries by the noise. Howard reached up and muted the television. Then he reached into his pocket and shut off his cell.

But still, the sound permeated the room from the myriad electronic devices in the hallway. A faint echo of it even came through the thick windows facing outside the street.

Gəh Nū Pan Tlə Kah

The sound echoed from every electronic device in the world. A basso profundo pronouncement, like only two others in all of human history.

Of all the people on Earth, the several billion still remaining after the nuclear conflagration, perhaps only a dozen had even the faintest idea what this signal meant.

Merriman was one of those dozen. Without surprise or shock, Merriman looked up to the TV.

From over the darkness of the far horizon, in the direction of Siberia and the irradiated remains of the meeting area, there came a wall of light. It shone like a new-risen sun, seeming at first to be on top of the curve of the Earth. Then it passed over the lip and began to spread. Where it went the blazing energy rended the ground and the sea, exploding up from beneath the surface. Its spread was swift, and it lit the blackness of orbital night, turning the planet into a nuclear torch.

Howard and Merriman watched the wave of pure, unbridled destruction in terrified awe, trying and failing to internalize its speed and unbelievable power. Then the TV went dead.

For about a minute, there was only Howard and Merriman, alone in a hospital room. Despite the fast-approaching doom, the sun still shown in the twilit sky. The leaves of tall trees still waved in the cool wind and songbirds still flitted about from branch to branch.

Even as the muted sound of the signal crept its way through the window and the walls, Merriman felt no fear. All his life he’d wondered how he would handle this moment. In wondering, he decided that there was no wrong answer. Fear or terror, stoicism or bravery, longing or gratitude – there was no right way to die.

There were only the pieces we’re given, the hand we’re dealt, and, if we’re lucky, the way we choose to play them.

Merriman took Howard’s hand and held it tight in both of his. Howard shut his eyes and began to pray.

For his part Merriman watched the setting sun, losing himself in the purples and reds. His gaze remained fixed on the sunset: Even as the ground began to shake; Even as a new light crept over the distant buildings.

Merriman kept watching as doom overtook the world, and the fiery curtain fell upon the final act of the human drama.

---

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