The God of Chaos

The greatest near-miss in history. That's what they were told.

Chapter 1

THE DAY BEFORE

Kody

Kody Marsh III took his eye from the lens of his telescope and, gazing up into the dark, star-strewn sky, felt his fingers come to his lips. Words like ‘awesome’, ‘extreme’, and ‘wow’ flashed through his mind, but they weren’t enough to encapsulate what he’d just seen in the heavens. A cold shiver ran down his spine. He looked around him – just shadows and the outlines of trees silhouetted against the distant city. He was alone. Who else would be crazy enough to come to this remote spot outside Cambridge on a weekday night? But he had to find somewhere free from light pollution. It was seven days until the historic flypast of 99942 Apophis, one of the largest asteroids to enter the solar system, which would pass within twenty thousand miles of Earth – closer than some satellites. Kody’s mind was blown with excitement. It was named after the ancient Egyptian god of chaos and darkness, and the press predictably referred to it as “The God of Chaos”. Apophis was massive – three hundred and forty metres across – about the height of the Eiffel Tower.

Friday, 13th April 2029 – the date of the most consequential near-miss in human history, and the whole world was waiting and watching. But as Kody scrolled through his phone on all the usual news feeds, there was nothing new – no breaking news informing the world about the development he’d just witnessed, and waking people up to what was happening. It was still daytime on the eastern seaboard. Boston. He thought about his folks, but they wouldn’t want to know anything about an asteroid with a blasphemous name. He snapped back to reality. Surely, he couldn’t be the only one to have observed it? He’d seen it. He was sure. A second object had just collided with the asteroid, smashing into it at incalculable speed, creating a fleeting burst of light. One blink and he would have missed it. He typed the figures into the Starmap app again – same result. Holy cow. His measurements were still telling him what his head couldn’t quite accept. He’d been tracking the asteroid for weeks, carefully plotting its course and speed. He knew exactly what the numbers meant. 99942 Apophis had changed course. Not by much, astronomically, but enough to… to what? His mind raced. The asteroid would be between the Moon and the Earth during the flypast. His heart was telling him something, but he needed to do the math, to get his rational brain around this. He should phone the authorities. But who? It was too late to call anyone at the University. Perhaps the newspapers? This was too important to keep to himself. He had a friend at the NYC Daily Post, but this was too big to entrust to them, and everything seemed to get distorted on social media. He needed to get the facts out in a way that was helpful and precise. He shivered again, but this time it was from the cold. He should head back. As he packed away his Orion Short Tube 80 telescope, he thought of his dad. Despite their wildly divergent belief systems, he loved and respected him, Mom too. The telescope was Dad’s parting gift to him when he left for the UK. Although not outlawed, their church quietly disapproved of the study of the heavens, so, since the 70s, Dad kept the telescope in the loft. Now it was Kody’s, and he had witnessed one of the most significant celestial events of the decade, maybe the century. But any sense of excitement was being overtaken by the nagging feeling that something was wrong. The new trajectory. Where precisely would the Moon be on the thirteenth? He had to contact his sister. Camille should get out of London and stay with him for a few days. But he knew what she was like; she’d need some persuading. She was always in the middle of a launch, a party… something that couldn’t be missed. Google was a demanding employer. He and Camille had barely seen each other in the six months he’d been in the UK. It was always ‘next weekend’.

But he had to try. He sensed that something was about to happen, something profound and unpredictable.

Apophis was going to come closer to the Earth.

Closer than anyone realised.

Chapter 2

Cooper

Cooper Harris slouched on a kitchen stool at the peninsula in his favourite grey joggers and sporty zip-up top. Mum was cooking breakfast. He’d given up on his hair. His elbow rested on the surface, chin in his open palm, while his free hand dangled a fork over a plate filled with toast, poached eggs, and sliced avocado. Thursday morning. The day before Friday – Friday the thirteenth. It’s the goddamn day before. Holy fucking Jesus. No school, but it was a swim day, so an early breakfast. Mum wasn’t going to like it when he told her. His phone pinged. Alisha. He rolled his eyes. It pinged again, so he turned it face down and sighed. Fuck it. He was going to have to say it out loud.

‘Look, Mum. I’m not going and that’s that. I’m not missing the biggest event of my entire life for a stupid weekend in Nottingham.’

Cooper’s mum stood with her back to him at the cooker, stirring bacon in a pan. The radio was playing softly, and she hummed along to an annoying tune. Claire Harris was dressed entirely in blue – jeans, trainers, and a shirt – except for the shock of wavy red hair that fell over her collar and onto her shoulders. She usually kept it tied back. From the pan, there was a lot of spitting and sizzling. She stopped humming, turned around, and waved a spatula.

‘Stop being so dramatic, Cooper. Seeing your father is far more important than sitting on a damp patch of grass staring at some streak of light in the sky.’

Cooper’s mouth opened, and his fork clattered theatrically onto the plate. ‘I can’t believe you just said that. This is literally the biggest thing that’s ever happened. Like, ever.’ He picked up his phone, pressed the home button, and held out his arm, making sure his mum saw the picture. ‘That streak of light you so casually dismiss is gigantic, and it’s going to come within twenty thousand miles of the Earth. Do you know how close that is?’ His mum moved nearer, still waving the spatula. The pinch in her mouth suggested both irritation and amusement.

‘No, and I don’t really care. What I do care about is that this trip to see your father has taken a lot of organising. Don’t you want to see him?’

‘Yeah, duh. But… why do I have to go up there? Why tomorrow? It means I have to meet her. Not just her, but her bloody kids as well. Why the hell would I want to do that? Look, I’m not going, and that’s it.’

Claire Harris turned off the gas, grabbed the coffee that must surely now be cold, and sat opposite her son. She leaned towards him, her voice softening. Cooper’s head was down.

‘I know it hasn’t been easy these last two years, seeing him every other weekend. But he has made the effort to come to London, and now it’s you and your brother’s turn to see him. It’s all arranged. As you well know.’ She reached out as if to run her fingers through the mop of tangled hair that was almost in his eyes, but stopped short and withdrew. Cooper looked up, and she could see the boy and the man. Regret was something cold and unpredictable that lay in wait at the base of her stomach. Cooper opened his mouth as if to speak, but his mum raised her hand and showed him her flat palm. ‘And before you say it, yes, I know you’ll have to meet his… new partner… and her kids.’

‘Three kids. And it’s irrelevant, cos I’m not going.’

She nodded once, breathed in, and glanced at her fingers tracking circles on the wooden surface. ‘But this is your father’s choice, and I’m sure you’ll get on with them.’

Cooper snorted. ‘Carla Rey. What sort of name is that?’

Claire Harris quickly controlled a smirk. ‘Now don’t be mean. And don’t start saying things in front of your brother. He’s really looking forward to going.’

‘Only because they’ve bribed him with an ice hockey match.’

‘Oh, Cooper… everything’s so over-the-top with you. They know he loves ice hockey, so they’ve arranged for him to see a match. It’s a really generous thing to do.’

‘Whatever.’ Cooper picked up his fork and stabbed at the shiny exterior of his egg and watched the yellow contents spill in a widening circle across the plate.

‘Look, if you’re just going to play with that, then Dev can have it. I’m not wasting it.’

Cooper looked at his mum, his eyebrows twisting up into his forehead. ‘You just don’t get it, do you? I want to stay here. This weekend is a big deal. I mean a super-big deal. I can’t miss it. Please, Mum.’

When he pulled that little boy face, she always found it hard to stand firm. She took a quick breath.

‘For goodness’ sake, Cooper, you’re not going to miss it. Everyone’s going to see it tomorrow night. Everybody.’ Her Irish accent was much stronger when she was annoyed. ‘I’ll be glad when we’ve seen the back of that blessed rock.’

‘It’s an asteroid, Mum. The God of Chaos.’

‘I know what it’s called.’

‘I mean, it’s just fire, the biggest thing ever. Like, I mean, it’s going to practically kiss the Earth.’

‘There you go, exaggerating again. Yes, it’s coming close, but to say kiss is hyperbole.’

Cooper shrugged. ‘Whatever that means.’

Claire Harris smiled and folded her arms. She knew the whole world was excited about this celestial event. Schools were closed in anticipation of the day. Not that she’d been given any time off from the hospital. Working on the high dependency unit demanded all her strength and dedication. She had to go back to work after the divorce, which had been tough on the boys. It was encouraging to see how captivated Cooper was by this cosmic flypast and the spark of wonder in his eyes. The only problem was that the timing wasn’t ideal. His brother was so different. Devlin, or ‘Dev’ to everyone who knew him, was easygoing – accepting of change and happy with his bike, friends, and his dog. Technically, Griff was everyone’s dog, but Griff and Dev shared a special bond. Wherever he went, the dog followed. Dev couldn’t imagine life without Griff, or was it the other way round?

Cooper sat up. ‘Yeah, but tomorrow it reaches the closest point, and that’s when everything kicks off. There’s this massive gravity party planned on the hill. Everyone says weird shit’s going to happen.’ He looked up enough to catch Mum’s raised eyebrow. ‘Yeah, anyway, everyone’s going. Well, everyone except me, apparently.’

‘And your brother.’

‘Don’t remind me. And where will I be? On a—’ his lips formed the ‘f’ of the next word, but he stopped himself. ‘Stupid train heading to Nottingham. I want to see Dad on his own, not with all of them around. You know, his new family. I mean, he left us. He’s the one who should make the effort. Why can’t he come to see us down here like he usually does?’

Claire Harris stopped stacking the dishwasher and placed both hands against the sink, her back slightly bent. She looked out into the front garden, bathed in April sunshine, and nodded.

‘Why indeed,’ she said. She sighed and straightened up, rubbing the small of her back.

‘It’s been two years, Cooper. Two years. This visit, well… it’s a sort of olive branch. He has been to see you, you know that. But the truth is, I haven’t been keen for him to come here, and then there’s the issue of Carla Rey.’

‘The bitch.’

Claire Harris stuck her head forward. ‘I don’t want to hear that word, thank you very much, Cooper. I hope I’ve brought you up to respect women.’

‘You have. I do. All women, except her. Anyway, you’ve called her that word loads of times.’

‘That’s not the point.’

‘So, it’s alright for you but not for me.’

Mum pushed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

‘She didn’t wreck your marriage.’

It came out as a shout.

‘Mum, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...’

Claire breathed out a heavy sigh, wrapping her arms around herself.

‘Oh, it’s alright. It’s just sometimes, I—’

‘What’s all the shouting? Who’s wrecked the carriage?’

Dev Harris marched into the kitchen wearing baggy trousers, white trainers, and a Nottingham Panthers sweatshirt. His voice showed early signs of breaking, plunging erratically into an adult register before returning to his sing-song boy voice. Close behind him, his nails click-clacking on the kitchen tiles was Griff. Mostly brown with white patches on his legs and tail, Griff was a German Shorthaired Pointer and a year younger than Dev. Although now an old boy who slept a lot, Griff still enjoyed his walks and being with Dev, his soul mate. Dev swiped a piece of toast off Cooper’s plate.

‘Oy.’ Cooper play-thumped his brother’s shoulder as he bit into the toast.

Dev licked his lips and flashed the cheeky smile that Cooper thought he cynically used to get away with most things. Griff jumped onto his bed in the alcove beside the cooker.

‘Morning, darling,’ said Mum. ‘You sleep okay? Your brother and I were just discussing the Nottingham trip.’

Dev smiled again and adopted the pose of an ice skater – knees bent, one arm thrust forward and the other back.

‘Yay, the capital of ice hockey, here we come. Dad’s booked us into a match on Saturday afternoon.’

‘Well, I’m not going,’ said Cooper.

‘Not going to the match or not going to Nottingham? Sound travels, you know. Anyway, your boyfriend’s in the car outside. He’s pipped the horn twice.’

Cooper felt a hot flush and glared at Mum. She frowned.

‘Dev, I wish you’d stop saying that. You know very well that it’s a swim day. Why didn’t Bradley come to the door? He could’ve had some breakfast.’

Cooper rolled his eyes and thumped Dev on the arm – hard. Then he saw the clock.

‘Shit. Why didn’t you say what time it was?’

Cooper piled a whole egg and rashers onto the remaining slice of toast, pushed it into his mouth and stood up, chewing. With his free hand, he managed to keep Dev at bay as he prepared to retaliate. Griff barked. Woken from a brief snooze, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was barking at, but, as always, wanted to be part of things. Cooper swallowed, mumbled something unintelligible, and ran towards the hall and up the stairs. A car horn sounded outside.

‘I have no idea what he just said,’ said Mum.

Dev rubbed his shoulder, put a slice of bread into the toaster, and started the timer. ‘Something about his kit?’

‘You’re a terrible tease, Devlin Harris,’ said Mum, ruffling his hair as she headed through the hall door before reappearing briefly. ‘There’s a plate in the oven for you, love.’ She smiled and disappeared again, shouting as she climbed the stairs. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Cooper. You’re seventeen, not seven. You need to get things ready in advance. It’s the same every time.’

Dev rolled his eyes and headed to the oven, taking out a plate with fried eggs, bacon, and a solitary tomato. He poured himself a glass of juice. Above him, came muffled sniping. He found the TV remote, pressed channel one, and sat down. Griff put two paws on his lap and sniffed towards the bacon. The TV on the countertop burst into life as the toast popped up. The image cut between a blonde-haired woman in the studio and shots of the sky filled by a bright ball with a gaseous tail. Dev, knife poised above the butter dish, didn’t take his eyes off the screen. An animation showed the path of the asteroid – passing by several planets before getting close to Earth, and even nearer to the Moon. Dev buttered the toast, licked the knife, and turned the sound up.

‘…unprecedented events in the coming days. Scientists predict that 99942 Apophis will pass slightly closer to the Earth than initially predicted, though officials stress there is no cause for concern. It’s expected to create a spectacular display in the April skies, reaching its closest point to the Earth tomorrow evening. Tomorrow is, of course, Friday the 13^th, which is traditionally believed to be unlucky. Several protesters have already started claiming that this is indeed a bad omen and that tomorrow’s flypast will herald the end of the world…’

The woman gave a professional smile that seemed to suggest that this was something only stupid people might believe. Dev cut the smallest piece of bacon in half and gave it to Griff.

‘There you go, boy. Don’t tell Mum.’

Griff’s tongue did a quick sweep of his chops as Dev patted him and resumed his breakfast.

‘Let’s hope they’re wrong,’ said the voice on the TV.

Chapter 3

Pat Carter

‘Mary Louise, it’s on again,’ shouted Pat Carter from the living room.

Wiping her hands on a tea towel, Pat’s daughter, a well-dressed, slightly flustered woman in her sixties, breezed into the bright, airy living room facing the street. Her mother’s house was a mid-terrace on a nice street in Hammersmith. Many familiar neighbours had gone now, but the newer, younger replacements were friendly and would smile and say hello.

Mum was eighty-nine and needed increasing amounts of help. White-haired, and always well-dressed with a whiff of Chanel and a dab of lipstick, she was becoming noticeably forgetful, although she always managed to remember Mary’s middle name. No one called her Mary Louise. She knew her mum used it affectionately, but it was both irritating and infantilising.

So much had changed since Dad died. Now, she was the dutiful daughter, spending as much time with her mother as possible. But it wasn’t easy getting across London three times a week and dealing with the unspoken but palpable resentment of Gerald, her increasingly distant husband.

The TV was deafening.

‘What, Mum? I thought something was wrong. What did you say?’

These days, Mary found it increasingly difficult to hide her frustration. There was too much going on. Mia, her precocious daughter, was thinking of moving back home to save money for a house. Mary and Gerald had found it hard to deny her anything, but this was perhaps a step too far. Mary felt as if she were walking a tightrope. After nearly forty years of marriage, she and Gerald were not in a good place. He seemed to have lost interest in her and their life.

‘The thing, the rock in the sky, the God thing. You know. Oh, for goodness’ sake, why can’t I remember the blessed word?’

Mary Louise Carter-Powell sat beside her mother who was gripping the remote and leaning forward, her eyes fixed on the images on her new Smart TV. She wore a powder-blue cardigan over a white blouse and a long skirt. Mum was always cheerful. She could still manage the stairs, but these days, outings had to be in a wheelchair. Her swollen ankles, the doctor said, were signs of heart failure. However, her mum had survived a world war, several dictators, and countless family crises, so she wasn’t going to be deterred by something wrong with her ‘ticker’ – as she called it.

Mum was clearly excited by the developing news story. Her difficulty recalling simple words left her frustrated, but sometimes she had the self-awareness to poke fun at herself. Dementia was a word that hovered around the edges of their conversations these days, and Mary dreaded the moment when she would need to be tested at the surgery. But they weren’t there yet. Her favourite “I’m a forgetful old codger past their sell-by date” line was repeated often, but with a twinkle in her eye. Her years as an English and science teacher must count for something. During moments of extreme clarity, she could recall every constellation, every planet, and recite the scientific formulae that governed their orbits and relationship with the sun. This asteroid had clearly made her sit up and take notice.

‘It’s today, isn’t it?’ said Pat, her eyes wide. ‘At its current trajectory, it should come very close. I think their estimate of twenty thousand miles is a cautious one, don’t you, darling?’

Mary sat down in the leather chair that offered a view of the mantelpiece with its array of photos. Dad, with a wheelbarrow outside the shed at the bottom of the garden that he had so lovingly tended for the best part of fifty years, and another of his and Mum’s wedding day. At the very front was a grainy black-and-white image of Mary with her younger brother, Ian. She must have been about ten when that was taken, so Ian would have been six. He’d moved to Australia five years ago. She missed him. Mum was far more stoic: “He has to live his life, to follow his dream – as long as he’s happy”. Mary felt a little betrayed. How could he move so far away when they’d been so close?

She sighed, dried her hands and pulled on an apron. Her grey skirt and top were new, from John Lewis, and she didn’t want to get anything on them as she prepared their lunch.

‘I’m afraid I’m not the right person to ask, Mum. I haven’t been following it, really. I think it does happen today, but later on, when it’s getting dark.’

She felt empty. Maybe it was thirty years in banking that had robbed her of her zest for life. That, or her safe, predictable marriage to Gerald. These days, he was still there – but not really with her. It was over in all but name.

Her mother’s voice had that insistent quality that reminded her of when she was little and absorbed in a book.

‘Mary Louise, are you listening to me?’

She wasn’t.

‘I was saying, I don’t think I can stay up that late. You know what I’m like these days.’

‘To be honest, Mum, I won’t be far behind you. I’m usually in bed by ten with a good book and a mug of cocoa.’

Her mother clapped her hands together.

‘A mug of cocoa. Do you know, I haven’t had one of those for, well… years. Let’s have one now.’

‘What, right now? We’re about to have lunch.’

Her mother showed all her teeth, and her eyes had the sparkle of a mischievous teenager. Mary loved moments like this when it felt almost as if they could turn back time.

‘Yes, why not?’

‘Carpe… carpe… Oh, what’s the damned word?’

‘Diem, Mum. It’s Carpe Diem.’

Mary tried not to react to the wave of anger that flashed over Mum’s face, transforming almost immediately into one of fear. She patted her Mum’s hand.

‘I’ll go and look in the cupboard. There’s bound to be a tin of drinking chocolate somewhere.’

Mum managed to resurrect a smile, and her eyes strayed back to the TV and an animation of a large rock tumbling through the blackness of space.

It looked closer than it should have.

Chapter 4

Sara Osman

Sara Osman kept glancing up at the sky, waiting for the thing from God to burst through the clouds and rain fire and ash over her and her baby. The buggy was second-hand and sturdy but would offer little protection against such a mighty force. Amir was asleep. He dozed off during their journey to and from the shops, so they took a detour through a much nicer part of Hammersmith, away from the tall, soulless buildings that seemed to crush her spirit. She did not know how long they had been walking, but it was nearly time to feed her son and maybe enjoy one of the falafels she had bought. It was a rare treat, but one that she and Mahmoud could just about afford. She reached the end of the road with its very English houses all joined together. The two words on the metal plaque fixed to the wall had to signify the street name, but she could not understand them. ‘Yes, please’, ‘no’, ‘thank you’ – those were her only words in this alien place. Despite being a stranger in a foreign land, she couldn’t remain like a prisoner, confined in that damp place they were forced to call home. There was a creeping blackness on the walls, and she feared for Amir’s lungs. It was a wet, damp country.

She pushed on, hoping to catch sight of the Muslim centre, or perhaps the Refugee Centre Mahmoud had spoken about. It would be nice to meet someone from Syria who understood what they had been through, and with whom she could speak freely. Maybe someone from their region? They should never have left, never left their family, their friends, their home. But of course, they had no choice. She was married now, and Mahmoud’s word had to be obeyed. He was a good man, but she hardly saw him since the permission came and he was allowed to work. Nine hours every day. Paid less than the others. He knew this but could do nothing about it. His degree meant nothing here. But she and Mahmoud were grateful just to be alive and to have hope of a future. Everything had happened so quickly: the bombs, the flight to the border, then the camps, the sickness, the treachery. All their money and possessions were gone. All they had left was each other and the baby growing inside her belly.

A tree in a small garden made her stop. She thought of the cultivated land in their home village of Deraa. Remembering the name made her feel sad. Once beautiful, it was now a ruin. Her parents. She could not think of them without tears. They were in her heart. But little darling Amir would never know his grandparents, never see their smile or feel the touch of their skin. Now, all she had were the hard faces and sharp looks from the angry people in this cold country, where the weather never stopped. More weather than she ever wanted to know in her life. The cold had settled inside her. It never left. How she survived the winter she would never know. Thank goodness for her hijab, which helped keep her warm. Little Amir was comfortable; she knew that. The refugee agency ensured that she and Mahmoud had enough warm clothes and food for the baby. She would give up anything for her boy, endure any hardship to know that he was safe and would have a future. He was the one with a life ahead of him. Born in the UK. Sara learned what this could mean. It had been fourteen long months since they made their terrible, heart-wrenching journey. Her heart ached with a pain she had never imagined possible. Mama and Baba were dead. Jets had bombed the life out of them and their village. It was hell on earth. She still dreamt of the killing machines. Out of habit, she looked up at the sky expecting to see a drone or a fighter jet, but there was only a clear spring sky with a scattering of clouds. This thing, the God thing coming from the other side of the universe – was it some terrible judgement on them? Everywhere they arrived seemed haunted by death and destruction. Why not here? Perhaps God was reaching out to take the only precious thing left to them. She paused, crouched down, and pressed her hand against Amir’s tiny face. His cheeks were flushed and warm. He was deep in his blankets and safe – for now.

Something was coming.