Countdown City

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It is now 77 days to the End of the World. Detective Henry Palace, recently retired from the Concord Police Department, is waiting out the arrival of asteroid Maya with his dog, Houdini, when he is approached by his former babysitter, Martha Milano nee Cavitone, about the disappearance of her husband, Brett. Brett is described by everyone as a good guy, so why would he abandon his wife and go “bucket list.” Henry agrees to take on the case for Martha to find her husband and ask him to come home.

Thereafter, Henry is on his mission with single-minded fixation, even though it takes him to the crazy, rapidly-emerging anarchic world of virtual governmental collapse. We travel with Henry to the headquarters of Homeland Security in Concord to the “Free Republic” of New Hampshire University and back to Concord. The story is pulled along as Henry follows the clues to the ultimate conclusion.

All along, of course, we are kept reminded of the imminent end of the world. What that means, or how total it will be, are still ambiguous, but the sense of hopelessness and a terminal event are felt as the survivors grow increasingly desperate. A recurrent theme is the question of why Henry is trying to solve a mystery which will never result in any criminal charges or improve anyone's happiness. The story offers some opportunities to explore some deep issues. For example:

“Among my regrets about what has just unfolded is that Brett never did ask me why I had come to find him, why I cared. I had my answer all figured out. Because a promise is a promise, Officer Cavatone, and civilization is just a bunch of promises, that's all it is. A mortgage, a wedding vow, a promise to obey the law, a pledge to enforce it. And now the world is falling apart, the whole rickety world, and every broken promise is a small rock tossed at the wooden side of its tumbling form.”

I think I liked this story better than the first. Henry is growing on me with his simple dedication and decency. I am also enjoying the development of this world of the end of days and the question of what would a person do in the face of utter meaninglessness. Winters pens some nice thoughts:

““You are a married man,” I say. I'm pressing my luck. He stares back at me in silence, impassive as a mountainside. “Your wife is confused. You've left her terrified and alone. You can't just abandon your promises because the world is over.”

And then there is this:

“Where's Brett, Henry?” says poor Martha, and I just tell her, I say, “He's dead,” and she collapses to the ground on her knees, buries her face in her hands and wails, one long keening senseless syllable. That's the end of the world right there for Martha Milano.”

The end of the world comes for all of us, just a bit differently for each of us.