Three Days in April by Edward Ashton Page A

mass times velocity squared,” Gary says, “and a crowbar comes in at seven klicks per second. That means a ten-­kilo weapon has about four hundred ninety megajoules to give up when it lands on you.”
    â€œAnd that’s . . .”
    â€œIn terms of energy equivalents, just a bit more than a hundred kilos of TNT,” I say. “How much of that gets converted to explosive force depends on a bunch of stuff, like impact angle and the density and hardness of whatever it lands on, but it’s pretty safe to say that in most cases you’d rather not be in the neighborhood when one of these things drops.”
    â€œI dunno,” Gary says. “If you’re on NatSec’s shit list, there are a lot of worse things that can happen to you than eating a crowbar.”
    â€œI’m still not following,” Elise says. “I mean, I didn’t think they were even allowed to use armed drones on Americans. If this is really a thing, wouldn’t I have heard something about it?”
    â€œOh, Elise,” Gary says. “You sweet, sweet child. You remember that gas leak outside San Antonio a few weeks ago?”
    Elise looks at me, then back at Gary.
    â€œYou’re saying . . .”
    Gary taps his nose with one finger.
    â€œGas leaks don’t really leave craters,” I say.
    Elise looks like she might be sick.
    â€œThere you go,” Gary says. “Welcome to the real world.”
    â€œG ary thinks we’re humping right now, doesn’t he?”
    I nod. Terry’s head is resting on my chest. I can just see the tiny beads of sweat forming on her forehead. It’s after noon now, and the sun is slanting through my bedroom window. I’ve got a class to teach at three, and I thought a nap might do me some good. Doesn’t seem to be in the cards, though.
    â€œWe could be, you know.”
    I nod again. She’s been pretty clear on that point.
    â€œJust putting it out there. Could have last night, too. Not so much the night before, though.”
    I wrap my arm around her shoulders and brush the hair back from her face. She looks up at me, smiles, and pulls my arm tighter.
    â€œGary’s kind of a tool, isn’t he?”
    I laugh.
    â€œYou just have to get used to him,” I say. “He spends most of his time on the nets. He doesn’t always remember how to act out here.”
    She looks down, sighs, rests a hand on my stomach. Her breathing slows and her head slides a little farther down my chest, searching for a softer spot. I close my eyes. I’m just drifting off when she says, “I know you’re too pretty for me.”
    I pull her closer and stroke her hair. “It’s okay,” she says. Her voice is heavy, and I’m not sure she’s awake. Her hand slides lower, stops just above my waist. I breathe in, breathe out. Through the floor, I can hear Gary laughing.

 
    6. TERRY
    I wake up alone, soaking wet and panting. The afternoon sun pouring through Anders’ window has turned the room into a sweat lodge. Apparently, the excellent climate control is only for Gary’s parts of the house. I’d been dreaming of Elise. She was standing silent in the center of the road, with her back to me and her head bowed to her chest. The sun was setting beyond her, and I could just hear the low buzz of the bomber as it cleared the horizon. I broke into a run. Elise shrank to a dot and disappeared. I looked up to see the bomb drifting down under a fat red parachute. The sky flashed white, and the air was on fire.
    No wonder I was dreaming of being incinerated. It must be a hundred degrees in this room. I sit up, push my hair back with one hand, and wipe my face dry with Anders’ top sheet. Five seconds later, I might as well not have bothered. I need another shower. I need a functioning air conditioner. I need a change of clothes.
    I need to go home.
    G ary is sprawled across the sofa when I come down