Project Maigo(57)

While everyone catches their breath, I say, “Bring us up and around. I want to see.”

We quickly top out at two thousand feet, high enough to see the harbor from a safe distance. The North End is gone. It’s not just ruins now, it’s totally obliterated. Wiped off the map. A flattened swatch of scorched earth.

I need to have a chat with President Colossal Fuck-Up.

Just as soon as I go to the hospital, have surgery and begin physical therapy. My only consolations are that Boston was empty, so no one died, and that Endo looks as shitty as I do.

“Woodstock,” I say, leaning back and closing my eyes. “Hospital. Rapido.”





30



Chris Marshal’s vacation had finally turned a corner. He’d traveled to Thailand from New York City, where he worked as a day trader. His life was loud and chaotic and focused on things he wasn’t sure he cared about any more. Like money. Sure, he understood and appreciated what money could do for him, but the daily act of gathering and hoarding numbers like a squirrel preparing for winter had become a hollow act. At least the squirrel worked for its survival. He toiled for what? More. That’s it. More. So he fled to Thailand for a week of mind clearing, and maybe the comfort of a woman. Or two. But Bangkok didn’t feel very different from New York. Sure, it smelled, looked and sounded different, but the vibe was the same. All eyes turned inward, seeing only what the self desired.

So he fled again, this time taking the train south to Thailand’s mountainous Pak Song region, where a carpet of green rainforest covered everything. There were no tourists and the locals spoke only Thai, which he got around using the translation app on his smart phone. Despite the communication barrier, he was greeted with smiles everywhere he went. After a week of lounging around, trying new foods and making new friends, he felt a little more human. A little less dirty in his soul. But he also felt restless.

At the suggestion of the local villagers he’d become friendly with, he set out on a bamboo rafting trip. The lazy trip down the scenic river relaxed him. Helped him forget the stress that ruled his life. As he lay on the bamboo, he listened to the wind rustle through the leaves while the water bubbled by below. He watched the clouds glide by, heavy with rain to be unleashed later in the day.

I’m going to stay, he decided. Learn the language. Find a wife. This was the life he’d been born to live, and with the money he already had in the bank, he could live it until the day he died without ever having to work. A permanent vacation.

Not that I’ll live idly, he thought. He’d already begun helping in the village, remembering the carpentry skills taught to him by his father. Working to help people, he’d discovered, was far more gratifying than working for stacks of green paper.

The raft shook beneath him. He leaned his head up, asking, “What was that?” The three men in the raft with him, Yosakon, Gan and Tanipat, looked bewildered. They spoke rapidly among themselves. Chris reached for his smart phone, but paused. The three were talking over each other. He’d never get a translation.

Chris sat up to find the placid river transformed. Waves bounced them in every direction. He’d researched the river before leaving. There shouldn’t have been rapids here. Judging by his friends’ reactions, the rough water was a surprise to them too.

The next quake—he felt positive this was an earthquake—forced Chris to cling to the boat’s side. The three men with him fell down, shouting.

The next booming quake shook the trees on the shore so violently that the small creatures—frogs, snakes, lizards—clinging to the branches fell into the water. A flock of bird soared past, moving away from the sound’s source.

He’d never experienced an earthquake before, but he didn’t think you could discern the direction from which it originated. But that last boom had definitely come from upriver. The three men with him must have realized this too, because they all turned around, speaking in worried tones. Their homes were back upriver. Their families.

Chris looked upriver, waiting for the next shake. The view behind them was mostly river and the jungle closing in on either side. But the open area above the river allowed for a spectacular view of a distant mountain. The village these men were from, where he’d been staying, was at the base of that mountain. Tiny specks appeared over the mountain, moving quickly. More birds.

But then the scene changed. It took him a moment to fully understand what he was seeing. The trees atop the mountain blurred. Then rose up. That immense unmoving mass of earth was rising! The jungle split apart, falling away. Dark earth and stone exploded into the air.

Boom!