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"Hello? Jonathan? Martha? Are you here?"
Martha and Jonathan glanced at each other, then out the window into the front yard where a blue pickup had just swung into the driveway. A woman had already jumped out of the truck and was on her way to the door, with a man hard on her heels.
"It's Doc McIntyre and his wife." Jonathan glanced nervously at the little boy. Now clad in Jonathan's old sweatshirt, the boy was cheerfully feeding himself dry cereal from the box Martha had given him.
Martha had cleaned him up as best she could without actually giving him a bath. There hadn't been a scratch on the child. How a child could be found in the middle of a meteor crater completely unscathed…Jonathan tried hard not to think of possible explanations. Instead he shrugged slightly.
"We were going to have to tell people about him sooner or later," he told his wife, opening the door to let their visitors in.
Dr. McIntyre had been a fixture in Smallville as long as Jonathan could remember; had delivered him, in fact. Before Jonathan's father, Hyrum, had passed away the two men had often wiled away Saturday afternoons with card games and fishing trips.
"Doc? Josie? You two all right?"
Josie embraced him. "We are, but we're checking on all the neighbors. Did you see them? Sam thinks they were meteors."
"What else could they have been? Unless World War III just started," her husband added, following his wife into the kitchen. Both stopped short at the sight of the little boy Martha now held in her arms. Jonathan wondered if Martha had any idea how protective she looked, hugging the child like that.
"Who is this?" Josie smiled at the little boy, coming close enough to chuck him under the chin. The boy smiled at the attention, and then buried his face in Martha's shoulder.
"Well…" Martha looked at Jonathan helplessly.
"We're not sure," Jonathan admitted. "A meteor totaled our truck, and we had to walk home. We found him by the side of the road."
It wasn't a lie. Not really.
"All by himself?" Josie was clearly horrified. "The poor little thing! In all the confusion he must have wandered away from his folks."
"Do you recognize him, Sam?" Jonathan wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved when the older man shook his head.
"Never seen him before, and I know most folks out this way. But he's in good hands until you find his parents." The doctor looked at Jonathan somberly. "Jonathan, I came to ask you to go with me into town. I tried radioing in to find out what's going on but didn't get any answer. We can see smoke from our place, though."
"Oh, no," Martha sighed. "I hope everyone's all right. We were just there this morning."
"As soon as it looked like the last one had come down I told Sam, 'You go get your old medical bag. If people are hurt they'll need all the help they can get,'" Josie explained. "And I'm sure another set of hands would be a blessing," she added, with a pointed look at Jonathan.
Normally, Jonathan wouldn't have hesitated, but under the circumstances…
Martha made up his mind for him. "Of course Jonathan will go with you, Sam." She waved away her husband's protest. "We'll be just fine here until you get back."
"I thought maybe we could take Hyrum's old truck, Jonathan. Josie's going to take mine and see if she can round up the other Red Cross volunteers. Though, lordy, we haven't needed the Red Cross since the tornado of '71."
"You don't think it's that bad, do you?" Jonathan felt a cold ball of anxiety settle in his stomach. Five generations of Kents had lived and died in Smallville. He couldn't imagine anything happening to the town.
"The way those things came down anything's possible," the doctor advised. He eyed the little boy. "Want me to take a quick look at him?"
"No!" Both Jonathan and Martha blurted out at the same time. The doctor and his wife looked at them with odd expressions.
"We already did. Not a scratch," Martha reported truthfully.
"Don't worry, sweetie," Mrs. McIntrye cooed to the child. "You stay here with Martha." The older woman's eyes brightened. "Y'know, I think I still have some of Toby's old things in the attic at home. He'll need more than an old sweatshirt to run around in. When I get back I'll have a look."
Jonathan kissed his wife on the cheek. "You sure?" He wasn't sure what he meant, but she smiled at him nonetheless.
"Of course."
The boy reached up and patted the side of his face, as if agreeing with Martha. They stood together on the porch as Jonathan backed his father's old Ford out of the barn and Dr. McIntyre hopped into the passenger seat with an old black doctor's bag tucked under his arm.
"They'll be just fine, Jonathan," the doc advised. "Martha's a capable woman."
"Believe me, I know that." As he waved goodbye, though, Jonathan couldn't help but worry. He still wasn't sure what they had gotten themselves into by bringing this strange child home.
p
Downtown Smallville was still smoldering when Dr. McIntyre and Jonathan pulled up to the top of Main Street. Jonathan stopped the truck, unable to go any further, and too awed by what he saw to speak.
Downtown lay in ruins. The tower of the old Smallville Savings and Loan was now a pile of debris on the sidewalk. Several overturned cars burned in the middle of the street. The glass had blown out of most of the storefronts, and people wandered dazedly. Even from their location they could hear crying, weeping. One group was trying to open the hydrant, no doubt to put out the fires. Where was the fire department? Other men were frantically pulling bricks away from the front of Hanson's Grocery. Sickened, Jonathan wondered if someone was pinned under the collapsed storefront. Above it all a tattered "Go Crows" banner still fluttered in the air, a reminder of what had been only that morning, but was now gone.
"It looks like a war zone," Jonathan whispered.
"That it does," the doctor said grimly. "Let's go."
Jonathan obediently followed his old friend. The two men picked their way up the street, pausing every two or three feet to check on people. A lot of people were cut and bruised, as he and Martha had been. Most could only look at them dazedly as Dr. McIntyre hastily taped them up.
"Sam! Jonathan! Over here!"
Across the street, Jonathan could see Ed Fordman waving at them frantically.
Sam looked up from the woman whose arm he was bandaging. "Go—see what you can do. I'll be right there."
Ed Fordman was a strong, stocky man, owner of Fordman's Sporting Goods next to the grocery. "Jonathan, thank god. Give us a hand. Hanson's under here. Damn fool came out when the first one came down."
Knowing full well the futility of their actions, Jonathan pitched in and started tossing away bricks as fast as he could. He'd read somewhere that places like California that had earthquakes never built with brick, because it collapsed so easily. Smallville had always prided itself on its turn-of-the-century buildings, like the one that had housed Hanson's business. But could any building material stand up to a meteor? Judging from what he'd seen so far, he didn't think so.
"Where are the police? The fire department?" Jonathan grunted.
"Police are trying to set up a perimeter around downtown," the other man explained hastily. "Some of the firemen are over in the Talon, setting up a triage center. There are fires all over the area, though, so they haven't got much manpower."
"People will come," Jim Dillon added. "For god's sake, this isn't the moon."
Doc McIntyre hurried across the street, but it was already too late for Tom Hanson. He checked the motionless form they uncovered anyway.
"Nothing we could have done," the doctor sighed. He looked at the devastation around him. "Never thought I'd live to see Smallville like this."
"Me neither." Ed rubbed his face. "You should have seen it. Right in the middle of homecoming, too. Blew the bank building to smithereens."
Jonathan wondered how Fordman could be so blasé, but then remembered the man had been in Vietnam. He'd probably seen scenes like this before. Jonathan hadn't, however, and he knew he'd still be seeing this for years to come.
"You get on over to the Talon, Doc; they'll be needing doctors," Fordman advised.
"Has anyone radioed the Metropolis police? Or their rescue services?" Jonathan wondered allowed as the crossed the street.
"I'm sure they're on their way," Sam suggested. "They must have seen the meteor shower on radar. But unless they're allowed to fly in it could take hours."
The movie theater was still redolent of popcorn and Milk Duds, but as they came through the shattered doors the two men found the lobby crowded with wounded and frightened people. Rows of blankets had been laid out for the injured.
"Doc?" Tony Robinson, one of the volunteer fire fighters, made his way over to them. "Can you take a look at Mrs. Harris? She's bleeding from the ears and I don't know what to do."
"It's from the concussive blasts," the doctor explained. "Saw it in the war. We'll be seeing more of it before the day's done," he added grimly.
Jonathan stayed put, looking around him. Finally he spotted Nell Potter sitting against the wall, a huddled Lana in her lap.
"Nell?"
"Oh, Jonathan!" Nell burst into tears as soon as she saw him. He put his arms around her awkwardly. "What's happening?"
"We think it was a meteor shower," he explained hastily. He glanced down; Lana was peering up at him with big, tear-stained green eyes. "Is she all right?"
"No." Nell started to sob. "Oh, Jonathan! Laura and Lewis are gone!"
For a moment he couldn't process what she was saying. "Gone? Gone where?"
Nell ran the sleeve of her expensive blouse across her eyes. "Gone, Jonathan. They were on the street when the first one hit. It was right in front of us."
"My God." Looking down at the Lang's little girl, Jonathan stomach roiled. In what kind of a world would a child have to see something like that?
"What are we going to do?" Nell asked numbly, mascara trickling down her cheeks. "Laura was my baby sister."
"I know." He'd gone to high school with both of them; Lewis had been class president their senior year. Jonathan laid a hand on Lana's small head. He desperately wanted to say something, but he didn't know what. How did you explain death to a three-year-old?
The child blinked up at him as if, on some level, she really did understand the enormity of what had happened to her.
"Josie McIntyre's rounding up the Red Cross volunteers," was all he could offer. "They'll be here soon." Jonathan knew Josie and Sam had lost their only son, Toby, years before; maybe they would know what to do.
Feeling more helpless than he ever had before, Jonathan went back to help the doctor. He knew some basic first aid, and helped bandage up wounds and splint limbs, but it seemed the more people they helped the more arrived.
"Radio's working again," one of the firemen explained. "Smallville General is swamped and they're diverting people here."
"The Interstate is closed to anyone except emergency personnel," an arriving ambulance driver reported. "We'll bring in all the extra supplies we can spare."
"What about Medivac? I've got head injuries and two possible heart attacks that need more treatment than they can get here," Sam complained.
"They've grounded all flights in or out of Smallville. The FAA doesn't think it's safe."
Sam rolled his eyes. "Bureaucrats. What, they think there are more meteors on the way? Do they realize the statistical odds of that?"
"I'm sure they're doing everything they can, Sam," Jonathan counseled. "We just need to hang in there." But as he looked around him at the sea of injured, he understood the doctor's frustration. People needed bones set, stitches; some were so badly injured that Jonathan wasn't sure anything could be done for them at all, like the woman who had been outside when a meteor had landed nearby. The resulting flash of light had burned her retinas and blinded her. Dr. McIntyre bandaged her eyes and gave her some of their precious supply of painkillers, but Jonathan could see him shaking his head.
Jonathan laid a hand on his friend's arm. "You're doing everything you can, Sam. We know that."
"If we had more doctors, more supplies…" Sam's lament was interrupted by a loud voice.
"Doctor? I need help here!" A tall man with a ringing, imperious voice stood by the doorway, cradling a child in his arms. His eyes scanned the room and seemed to instantly focus on McIntyre. He headed their way. "I need help," he repeated.
"Put the boy down over there." Sam gestured to one of the few remaining empty pallets. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
"You don't seem to understand. I need help now," the man repeated.
Sam stood up, and so did Jonathan. He had never seen this man before, but everything about him, from his shoes to his black overcoat, screamed money. More than that, though, clearly this man expected some sort of special treatment. He shifted the weight of the child in his arms impatiently.
"Smallville General turned us away," the bearded man complained loudly. "It's outrageous!"
"Look, we're doing the best we can, but we don't have enough help," Sam tried to explain. But the man cut him off.
"My son needs medical attention," he repeated.
"So does everyone else here," Jonathan put in. "You'll just have to wait."
The newcomer eyed him sharply, from head to toe. Jonathan had the distinct feeling he'd just been weighed, and found wanting. And he didn't like that feeling one bit.
"Who are you?"
"Jonathan Kent. Who are you?"
The man straightened his shoulders. "Lionel Luthor."
So this was the famous Lionel Luthor? Jonathan had expected someone older, someone with more horse sense than to start demanding special privileges during an emergency. He was about to tell the man so, when the child he held let out a pitiful moan. Jonathan suddenly felt terrible--this was no time to focus on personal animosity.
Apparently Sam McIntyre felt the same way. "Put your boy down and I'll take a look at him."
Luthor did as the doctor instructed, and Sam bent over the boy. He carefully unwrapped the jacket around the child, looking in his unseeing eyes, listening to his thin chest.
"How long as he been like this?"
"Almost two hours." Luthor ran a hand through his brown hair. "He was out in the Ross' cornfield when it hit."
Jonathan had thought he couldn't see a more pitiful sight than tiny Lana, but the sight of this child, curled in a fetal position and mostly bald, was even worse.
Lionel Luthor frowned. "Do you know what's wrong with him?"
Sam glanced up at the man. "What's 'wrong' with him is that he's in shock."
"But why can't he snap out of it?"
"You don't snap out of shock, Mr. Luthor. It takes time." Sam ran a skilled hand over the boy's scalp. "No burns, luckily."
"I want him taken to Metropolis General," Luthor announced.
Jonathan almost forgot his pledge to ignore the instant dislike he felt for this man. "Lots of people need to be transported there. They won't let any helicopters fly."
"According to whom?" Luthor eyed him suspiciously. "Let me talk to them. I can have my private plane in the air in fifteen minutes."
"The FAA's grounded everyone, Mr. Luthor, even you," Sam said tiredly. "But as soon as we have a way I'll make sure your son goes. Shock is no joke. If your boy wasn't young and strong it could have already killed him."
Lionel looked at the boy with an odd expression. "Lex has never been very strong," he corrected.
Sam and Jonathan shared a glance. Clearly Lionel Luthor didn't think much of his son. But then, under the circumstances, maybe Luthor didn't know what he was saying.
Dusk had started to fall by the time the first ambulances from Metropolis arrived. Jonathan nearly wept with relief at the sight, even though they had to carry the more seriously injured out on stretchers because the ambulances couldn't get past all the debris.
"They've got a crew coming out first thing in the morning to clear the streets," a police officer confided. "And FEMA will be here, too."
"Great." Jonathan's back hurt, as did his legs, but he felt better than he had all day. Sam supervised the moving of the wounded, and true to his word Luthor's son was among them.
Jonathan breathed a sigh of relief to see the boy loaded into an ambulance accompanied by his father. Hopefully that would be the last he'd have to see of the Luthors.
The Red Cross also arrived, and soon there was hot coffee and soup to pass out. Josie promised reinforcements were on their way from Metropolis and forced Jonathan and her husband to sit down and rest for a while.
"Now I understand why I retired," Dr. McIntyre groaned. "I am definitely too old for this."
"Me, too," Jonathan grinned slightly.
"Why don't you go along home, Jonathan?" The older man frowned. "Martha must be worried, and you've done everything you can here."
"I couldn't leave you and Josie to cope on your own."
"Nonsense—you heard my wife. The Metropolis Red Cross is sending more help. You've got folks of your own to look after."
Jonathan ran a tired hand over his face. In all the chaos he'd almost forgotten about the little boy. He hoped Martha had managed with him all right. "Well, if you're sure, Sam."
"I am." The older man nodded.
"But I'll be back first thing in the morning," Jonathan vowed.
Outside Jonathan took a deep breath. The night air was cool and crisp, but it still carried the smell of smoke on it. In the darkness the damaged buildings loomed like broken teeth. He thought of the Langs, and the others who'd lost their lives, and shuddered. No one had come up with an official death toll yet; too many people were still missing. He was relieved to climb back into the familiar confines of his dad's old truck and head away from town, away from all the misery and death.
Halfway home, so tired his head kept nodding towards the steering wheel, Jonathan abruptly remembered what the police officer had told him.
The feds would be arriving the next day. That was standard procedure in natural disasters, because they needed to evaluate the damage and decide what steps, if any, the government could take to help repair the town. Jonathan could remember standing in line with his dad to fill out the forms when the tornado of '71 had destroyed their barn.
But the federal government would be looking at the damage to crops, too. They would be trampling through fields, across country roads…and maybe finding things that he'd just as soon weren't found.
Before he could change his mind Jonathan pulled off the road as close to the spot as he could remember. Even with the flashlight from his tool kit it look him a bit of searching to find the right place. He finally found the scorched spot on the road and followed it into the field.
The object was still where they had left it that afternoon. Jonathan had half hoped the whole thing had been a bad dream, but there it was, reflecting in the glare from his flashlight. Experimentally Jonathan tugged at one of the wings. It felt light, lighter than something of its size made of metal should have been. He could just lift it on his own.
With some difficulty he half-carried, half-dragged the whatever-it-was to the truck, and loaded it into the flatbed. Then, with a quick look around to make sure no one had seen him, he left the field.
At home the house was dark, but a light came on in the kitchen as soon as he pulled up. He knew Martha would have watered and fed the stock in his absence, which was good—he didn't think he had the strength left to do chores. But before he went inside he took the thing from the back of the truck. As he lifted it down something fell off of it, and Jonathan absently stuffed it into his coat pocket. He lugged it into the barn and tucked it into a corner, behind the tractor. For good measure he threw some tarps over it.
Martha was waiting when he came out of the barn. She watched silently while he locked he barn doors, something he had never done in his life.
"I don't want anyone to find it, Martha, at least not yet," he told his wife. "How would we explain it?"
"We couldn't," Martha agreed. She had her arms wrapped around herself in the cold.
"Is he all right?"
"He's fine. I gave him some leftover chicken and some rice for dinner and then he went right to sleep. He's in our bed."
Jonathan put his arms around his wife, resting his chin against the top of her head.
"I don't know what we should do, Martha."
Martha sighed and snuggled against his flannel shirt. "I don't either. But we'll figure something out. I promise."
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