The Iron Rain - Donald Malcolm, ebook, CALIBRE SFF 1970s, Temp 2
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The Iron Rain by Donald
Malcolm
CHAPTER 1
Looking back on it, you would think I should have known what was
coming. I was, after all, a professional astronomer; I had been doing a
long-term study of meteors and meteorites. But the Iron Rain caught me
as much by surprise as it did everyone else: all my background
accomplished was to allow me to understand the problem better once it
occurred.
It began as I was clearing up my papers, preparatory to flying back to
Manchester. I had just spent a busy two weeks as a guest lecturer at the
University of Strathclyde. Even at this time there were foreshadowings of
the nightmarish future. During my stay in Glasgow, reports had come in
about fourteen large meteorites that had caused havoc, destruction and
death at random parts of the globe; certainly others must have fallen
undiscovered in the oceans, the deserts and the polar regions.
I must say I
was
worried. One destructive meteorite that size in an
average lifetime would be headline news. The increased incidence made
me feel extremely uncomfortable. Had I known how bad the situation was
to become, I'd have been even more worried.
Trouble struck at about three o'clock that January Friday, just as I was
getting ready to leave my university office for Glasgow's Abbotsinch
Airport. I heard a distant, thunderous roar. As though ten thousand
rampaging steam engines were approaching from the west, the building
began to shake. From the street below came the screeching of brakes
mingled with the sounds of breaking glass and screams. The window
behind my desk shattered and a small object sizzled and flashed across the
 room and embedded itself in a cupboard door.
When the shaking had subsided, I picked my way through the glass to
the gaping hole where the window had been. The office was high up in the
John Street block, and as far as I could see in either direction, the sky was
fast being blotted out by flame and thick smoke.
I turned away and walked to the cupboard, scrunching on the shards of
glass. I had no need to speculate on the cause of the noise and the fire. I
prised a pea-sized object out of the door and let it roll about on my palm.
The tiny meteorite, a fragment of the large one, was black, pitted and still
quite hot. It had narrowly missed killing me.
I think I must have realized then that these meteorite falls were the
forerunners of an entire shower. At least, I understood the advisability of
mass evacuation from heavily populated areas. There were too many ways
to die in a city if a meteorite hit—falling masonry, vehicles out of control,
fire… the list was endless.
I picked up the telephone and dialed the number for the College of
Astronomy, listened briefly to the thin screech coming through the wires,
and replaced the receiver. Both the college and the observatory were at
least twenty miles away; there was little I could do to help. Escape was the
sensible solution, if escape were still possible.
I opened the door to the outer office. Miss Field, who'd been helping me
with paperwork, lay slumped beside her desk. She groaned as I raised her
head gently, revealing a livid bump on her forehead. I lifted her into a
chair and went to get her some water.
People were running and pushing past me in the corridor, some
talking, others silent. But every face wore the expression of fear I was to
see often in the future.
When I returned to the girl, my foot nudged the radio, lying beside her
chair. I switched it on, before feeding her sips of water. There was nothing
coming through except static, but I left it on.
"How do you feel, now?" I asked.
She pushed a strand of hair away from her eyes, one of which was now
puffy and discolored. "My head hurts. Was the noise made by a
 meteorite?"
"Yes."
"I thought so. I tried to dive under the desk and didn't judge my
distance very well."
There was still nothing on the radio.
"We've got to leave here at once," I said. "The building took a shaking;
another shock like that could bring it down."
"I'd like to telephone my parents first."
"The phone doesn't work and we don't have time—"
"It won't take a minute." She dialed the number as she spoke. I fiddled
with the radio to cover my impatience and succeeded in tuning in on a
station.
"… are vague, but the meteorite has gouged a channel from the Clyde to
the Forth and destroyed parts of Edinburgh. Fires have broken out in
many places and authorities are trying to keep control. Keep listening for
more news. You are urged not to panic."
"Well?" I didn't conceal my haste to be away.
"You're right, the line's dead." She winced as she stood up and we
hurried out to the empty corridor. I had the radio. We reached the
elevator, but it failed to come up when I pressed the button; someone had
left the door open and the elevator wouldn't operate. We went down the
stairs.
The place was deserted. The noise of our heels echoing eerily was
drowned out by the roar of another meteorite rushing by somewhere to
the south. Instinctively we clung together. The building shook again and a
crack appeared in the wall.
We pulled apart and ran down the remaining stairs until, gasping for
breath, we reached the street. Miss Field's face was drawn with pain.
Everyone had headed for the open at the same time, so we were jostled
and buffeted about. By now it was dark. Lights had been left blazing
 everywhere, lending the scene a false festive atmosphere like Mardi Gras
gone mad. High overhead, a long, brilliant streak scored the sky.
The crowds, spilling from the pavements onto the road, were pushing to
no purpose. Cars were marooned in the living sea, and at the foot of John
Street, where my own was parked, police cars were trying desperately to
clear a way through to George Street for ambulances and fire engines. Two
more meteors flashed by.
Taking Miss Field's elbow, I began to push toward my car. If we
couldn't move it anywhere, we might at least be safe inside it for a time.
A voice from a police car blared, miraculously managing to make itself
heard above the din. "Please keep off the road! Ambulances and fire
engines are trying to get through to stricken areas. Please keep…" The
officer was making little impression.
There was a gurgling cry just ahead as a woman tripped and
disappeared under the feet of the crowd. No one picked her up. I pushed
the radio at Miss Field and battled my way to the fallen woman. As soon
as I had helped her, she disappeared into the crowds again, shoving as
hard as ever. My companion was beside me again and gradually we forced
our way to the car.
It was already occupied; the youth glanced up in fear as I grabbed his
collar and pulled him out. The keys he'd been using dropped to the floor.
With a twist, he was out of my grasp and away. I got into the car just after
Miss Field. Suddenly the commotion was dwarfed by a horrible roar and a
whoosh: a huge, intensely bright, yellow monster, cartwheeling parallel to
George Street, came in from the west and exploded in the region of the
telephone headquarters, about two hundred yards up the street.
Sparks showered the milling crowds, but the screams around me were
nothing compared with the sounds from the point of impact. Following
the dreadful crash of masonry, flame and smoke exploded into view.
The woman was quivering in the seat beside me; I could see she'd been
crying and was wiping away the tears.
"How far is your house from here? Could we walk?"
"No. I live in Brookfield, about fifteen miles away."
 I gave her the appropriate map to chart our route. "Go up to Cathedral
Street and turn left," she said.
At least I knew where that was. As we moved off, the radio came to life
again. Part of my attention was diverted by driving, but I gathered that
damage and death were extensive. Robert Campbell, Scotland's Regional
Director, was calling for everyone's cooperation with the authorities.
We passed Love Loan and turned into Cathedral Street. Although most
of the traffic was going the other way, I still had to contend with the
gleaming, sharded carpet of glass that lay ahead of us; and hundreds of
pedestrians scurried about like rats in a maze. I kept my speed to around
twenty-five miles an hour. Compared with the other cars, we hardly
seemed to be moving.
We'd gone only a few hundred yards when an approaching van had a
blow-out. The vehicle was doing about sixty and it spun across the road
into the path of my car. The woman screamed. Realizing that braking
would be useless, I wrenched the wheel to the right. The tires screeched as
they grated through the glass. The van, which seemed about to go past,
suddenly spun again and smashed the passenger side of the car with the
force of a fighting galley ramming the enemy. Miss Field's second scream
was abruptly cut short. As my head jerked forward and hit the steering
wheel, I was vaguely aware of something hot spattering my face.
I regained partial, groggy consciousness, and floated up from the
depths of emptiness. A weight crushed against my left side. I tried to push
it away, but my hand encountered a hot stickiness. I glanced round and
was shocked fully awake.
Miss Field slid against the dashboard like a discarded puppet. The van
had plowed into the car at least two feet, demolishing the whole of the
front and most of the side. Miss Field had her back to me. I froze in the act
of easing myself away from her—an incoming meteorite seemed to shake
the world with its passage, then was gone, exploding somewhere behind
the university.
As I moved, the girl's body fell back and draped itself over the stubby
gearshift. I looked at her face. It was covered with blood, gore and glass.
Overcome with a painful retching, I averted my head quickly.
But I had to look again: she might still be alive, although I doubted it.
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