It must be chaos.

In some areas, people were reported to be blowing up bridges and blocking highways to stop the flood of refugees. Lisa Monroe of CBS interviewed a man who claimed to speak for an entire municipality when he assumed the right to defend town land against the "hordes coming out of San Francisco."

"They'll overrun us," he said. "Look around you. They're all going to want to sit on this mountain. Where are we supposed to put everybody? There's just not enough room. Not enough food. Not enough water." He spoke with an actor's precise articulation. A professional of one sort or another, she realized. "So, yes, we dropped a tractor-trailer on the road down there. And when they move that, we'll drop another one. I don't like it, but we've got our own to think about."

She looked at the relatively light traffic on the county route and wondered if it too had been blocked somewhere west. She shook Jerry.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking dazed.

She told him. "They're saying everything's going to get hit."

"And we've got no flood insurance," he said. "Son of a bitch, Missy, we're going to lose everything."

They were nosed in against a hillside. Headlights moved rhythmically across the gravel every ten seconds or so. And lightning broke across the mountains.

But it wasn't lightning.

It was fire.

It came silently out of the sky and glided slowly across her field of vision. The highway and the mountain stood out white and stark. It seemed almost to float in, and then she could hear it, a succession of loud bangs and explosions. Pieces of it blasted away, and the thing itself passed out of sight behind the mountain. A roar shook the ground.

Lights came on across the highway above the souvenir shop. The shaking went on, stopped, and started again. More violently. The highway broke apart. Brakes screeched and cars piled into one another. There were screams and people running and flashlight beams lancing through the night. The lights in the shopping center, the security lights, the signs at the charge station all went out.

Engines were starting. A crevice opened near the foot of the cliff. A car slipped in and vanished.

"Quake," said Jerry.

Flashlight beams jerked up at the face of the mountain and faded into the dark.

The screams continued. Marisa heard a rumble. Overhead.

The cops were out of the cruiser, trying to wave people onto the road, away from the overhang.

Cars and trucks were trying to get clear, careening against one another, spilling into the highway. Air horns blasted. A Buick hit one of the cops and kept going. Another dropped its wheels into a hole and rolled over. The wheels spun and the occupants fought to get out.

"-out of here," Jerry was saying, scrambling for the front seat of the wagon.

Marisa was an EMT. Her first instinct was to reach for the first aid kit. She wanted to help the injured cop, but she was torn, knowing she should get her family to safety. And anyway, nobody was stopping and she couldn't reach him. While she tried to make up her mind, the face of the mountain exploded.

The kids had been sleeping in the back of the wagon. They woke now and screamed. The entire world was dissolving. Jerry rammed the tailgate shut while Marisa jumped in on the passenger side. Jerry dived in a moment later and climbed into the back to calm the kids. Rocks rattled off the hood and roof.

There was nowhere to go. The station wagon shook under an impact, and something shattered one of the windows. The landslide went on and on, and she couldn't see what was happening through the cloud of dust that had been kicked up. Then it was over.

"Everybody okay?" said Jerry.

They were fine. But the sound of moving earth had been replaced by screams and frantic cries for help and the sour blat of a jammed automobile horn.

"Take the kids," said Marisa. "Up that way, on the highway." She showed him where she wanted him to go. Away from overhangs.

Jerry looked helplessly at the half-buried line of cars blocking him in. "How'm I supposed to get out?"

"Walk," she said. "And make it quick. The rest of this thing might come down any time."

"Where are you going? "

She slid out the back, carrying a flashlight and the first aid kit. "To help," she said.

She picked her way through the carnage, punching numbers into her cell phone, and looking for the cop. He was unconscious, hemorrhaging, and had several broken ribs.

Nobody answered at 911. Skyport Orbital Lab. 4:54 A.M.

POSIM-32 went down three hundred miles southeast of the Virginia coast. Tory relayed its coordinates to her waiting consumers, one of which was the U.S. Naval Satellite Tracking Service.

EMERGENCY*** EMERGENCY*** EMERGENCY

SEA WAVE INBOUND VIRGINIA-MARYLAND SHORE. RANGE SEVENTY-FIVE NAUTICAL MILES. SPEED TWO-NINE-ZERO KNOTS. White House Briefing Room. 5:00 A.M.

The room was packed with reporters and cameras.

Henry looked grimly into the TV lights. "My fellow Americans," he said, "this has been a terrible night for the American people, and for people around the globe. As you know, despite our best hopes, giant waves have hit us very hard. More are coming. I wish I could tell you otherwise; I wish I could tell you that this national nightmare is over. But I cannot.

"In addition to the assorted calamities of the evening, we are also now threatened by a large object that we've come to call the Possum. Its real name is POSIM-38, and it's slightly over a mile long. POSIM-38 is a piece of moonrock that was blown clear during the collision, and it has the potential, should it fall to Earth, to do irreparable damage to the environment.

"This object will make a close approach to Earth at eight forty-seven this morning. It will pass through the atmosphere, and it is then likely to go into an orbit that will decay, that will bring it back.

"It will continue to present a major hazard unless we act. And the reality is that we'll never have a better opportunity to get rid of it than we have today. Therefore, I've ordered the air force to prepare a massive missile strike, which will be delivered after it leaves the area of the Earth.

"In this way-"

It was as far as he got.

A bolt of lightning exploded directly over the White House, the lights went out, flickered on and off a couple of times, and finally died altogether.

"We're off the air, Mr. President," said his producer.

"Can you get us back on, Herman?"

"In a few minutes. Maybe."

The emergency lights came on.

Henry glanced down at the crowd of reporters. "You can see how things have been." The remark drew a few tired smiles.

While he waited, he talked with them, explaining informally what the consequences might be if they failed to act against the Possum. Had he consulted with China? Someone wanted to know. He hadn't; it wasn't a Chinese issue. CBS asked if the administration would now budget seriously for Skybolt.

He began to explain that the administration had always supported the concept, and was about to fudge history when a young navy lieutenant stepped into the room from a side door and handed a piece of paper to Al Kerr. Kerr glanced at it, came forward immediately and handed it to the president. It read: TIDAL WAVE IMMINENT.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Henry said, "we'd better continue the discussion elsewhere."