The Call

His hand hovered over the phone for a moment as he stared at the name on the screen. He picked up the phone, pressing the button to answer.

"Hi, Irina."

The line crackled. A breath, then—

"Ken. I need to speak to you. In person."

"What...? Why? And where?"

"I cannot say more on the phone."

"Wait—!"

The beep of an ending call hit my ears. I let the phone fall to my lap. How am I supposed to get to her with no address?

"So..." whispered May's voice, wavering slightly. "What's going on, Dad?"

He paused before answering, looking at Alice, and then back to May. There was no avoiding it. They had to know. And Irina had, unfortunately, guaranteed that they would, in time. 

"Before I explain, please know that I haven't confirmed this, and—"

"Dad." Ken's mouth snapped shut. "What is going on?"

He took a deep breath. "Your mother has predicted that the extirpations will get worse." The words felt sticky in his throat, as though even they tried desperately to spare his children from the truth. "She has made a prediction, on national television, that they will grow. And, in a year... they will be able to consume the planet." 

The silence that followed bore down on Ken like a tidal wave. He looked between Alice and May, waiting for some reaction. May's face was frozen still, and she stared at the floor. Alice still sniffled once in a while, perched perfectly between the states of trying to compose herself and starting to cry. 

"The whole planet...?" May asked. She gestured to the TV. "Like with the president's arm? Just... gone?"

Ken nodded.

"We can stop it though, right?" May asked under her breath. 

"Yes. We can." A lie—or, at least, he didn't know whether it was true.

"That's why Mom called you. To get your help stopping it."

"Probably."

"And that's what your program was calculating. In a year, the date will be January 5, 2027. Almost exactly the date shown on that graph."

"Yes."

"When did you make that program?" She squinted at him.

Ken watched as her mind picked up the pieces. "I've been working on it since three days ago."

"So you had some idea before Mom even said anything?"

"A hunch. Yes." He held her gaze. He could see fire flickering behind her eyes. "Since the brake line incident last year."

Ken could feel the pressure of building anger emanating from her. "Even before three days ago you had a hunch? And you didn't tell anyone?" She leaned her head forward, shocked. "You didn't try to do anything?"

He swallowed. He knew the answer. When the brake line incident had happened... he acknowledged it, and even jumped to the conclusion of danger. But he did not act. Somewhere inside him, he wanted to be wrong. But that was just the expression of his fear—his fear to take responsibility for the truth. 

"That was the point of the simulations," he said quietly. 

"Why would you keep that from us? It's not your right to decide what I can and can't know."

"It is, May, at least somewhat. I'm your parent, and you're still in high school."

May stood from the chair, her phone thudding on the floor. "Unbelievable. I can't believe you'd keep that from us. From me." Grabbing her phone and backpack, she started walking away, toward the next room.

"What would telling you have done, May?"

"I don't know, Dad, but we could have figured it out," she replied without turning around, but she stopped in the doorway. "You were just going to sit there, running more tests, instead of trying to do something?"

"I just wanted to protect both of you, so I had to verify. If there was still any possibility that the world wouldn't end, why would I make you panic?" 

"I'm not panicking! Not even Alice is panicking, and she's seven!"

He looked at Alice. Her eyes were fixed on their argument, bouncing between the two of them. She had largely collected herself, it seemed, but each time her eyes passed over May, they showed more and more frustration. "Dad, we can help."

May flourished her hand toward Alice demonstratively. 

Ken stared at Alice for a moment. "Ever since your mother and I..." he began, hesitating. He felt the narrowing of May's eyes, trained on him. "No, even when she was still here, it was my responsibility to take care of you two. To protect you."

"But you don't need to do everything by yourself!" May exclaimed. "I'm here, and you don't need to protect me anymore!"

"I will always protect my family."

"Wow... such a saint, Dad." She shook her head. "I can't believe this. Have fun with your graphs. I'm gonna try to solve this." She turned on her heel.

Ken reached out to grab her wrist. "May, you're still just in high school." His stomach knotted as soon as he said it, dread and panic forcing the words out before his mind processed them. 

She scoffed and yanked her hand away. "Yeah, I am. And you can keep running your little simulations, Dad. I’ll actually do something." She turned away from him, but glanced over her shoulder. Ken thought he saw a glint of moisture in her eye as their eyes met. But tearing her gaze away from his, she stuffed her hands firmly into her pockets, and then stormed away. The front door slammed behind her, the force shaking the walls around him. 

He shook his head and brought his hands to it, pressing the bases of his palms into his temples. He envisioned Irina in his place, simply stating to the kids what she'd found with no reservation. 

"Dad?" Her voice trembled. Her hands were clenched tight against each other, folded in her lap. "We'll be okay, right?" 

Her words pulled him back to the present. He hesitated before responding, perhaps for a moment too long. "We'll be okay, Alice."

"We can fix it together, right?"

He forced a smile and knelt down in front of her, resting a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing we can’t fix, honey."

Alice’s lip trembled as the tears continued rolling. "Really?"

"Really," he said, though even he wasn’t sure if he meant it. He stroked her hair, wiping stray tears as his hand passed, and pressed his mouth into a thin smile. He couldn't tell if she had meant his argument with May or the end of the world. But it didn't matter—his statement applied, all the same. 

She sniffled and looked at him. As her innocent gaze met his, he found he couldn't help the tears that collected in his eyes. 

"Are you gonna see Mom?"

He pulled her into a hug. "Probably." It came as a whisper, or else his voice would have broken. 

"Can we see her too?"

"Of course. But Dad has to go to work first. Okay?"

"Okay." Her trembling steadied as he held her. 

"And I need you to be a good girl and stay here with May." 

She nodded. "But we want to help you..."

He nodded. "I know."

After a few moments more of holding her, he let her free from his embrace. 

Eyes pressing shut, he took a deep breath to recenter his mind. I have to find—

A knock rapped on the front door, jolting him out of his brief meditation.

He climbed to his feet at the sound, moving quietly over to the front door. Through the window, he saw a panel van. Unmarked. The shadow of a man was visible through the curtains. It looked like he held a box under his arm. 

He opened the door about a quarter of the way. "Can I help you?"

"Hi. I need you to sign for this," he said plainly, tapping the box with a tablet he held in his other hand. 

"What is it?" 

"They don't tell me that." His tone was flat and droning.

"Who's it from?" Ken's eyebrows were furrowed.

"Uh..." The man held the box up at eye level. "Doesn't say. Just says it's to this house, to someone named..." He held the box closer to his face. "...Irina."

His eyes widened slightly at her mention. "Okay..." His skepticism was written plainly on his face, eyes narrowed and mouth drawn to a line.

"Just sign here. Unless you don't want it." The man looked around, completely uninterested, but he held the tablet up in Ken's general direction.

He scribbled his name into the box on the screen. 

"Here you go." He switched to holding the box out, which Ken grabbed from him as he shut the door. 

The package was fairly heavy—maybe three pounds—but the weight was lopsided. The sound of him shaking it did not betray its contents. 

As he walked to the kitchen, he raised it to look at the shipping label. The date on it read "1/3/2026." He stopped, frowning. Their phone call had been ten minutes ago. But she sent a package 2 days ago?

He placed it on the kitchen table and grabbed scissors from the countertop next to him. 

Slicing through the tape on the top, he pulled aside the cardboard flaps to reveal four things: a plain white card, a train ticket, a note, and a loaded 9-millimeter handgun.