CHAPTER 1: The Calm Before The Storm

25th September, 2001

The early-September sun had begun to warm the town of Saint-Bonnet. Morning mist hugged the nature-wrapped fences outside a stone cottage, and the scent of toasted sandwiches spilled from its window. Sunshine poured through the glass, brushing past curled black hair with undertones of umber. Its light glinted against a jewel adorned by tender hands. A delicate band of rose gold crowned with a modest garnet, scattering a sliver of red light across the wooden countertop. Anne Dubois stood at the counter, deftly folding sandwiches into wax paper. 

“Mamaaa!” a voice called, small steps pitter-pattering closer behind her, breaking her rhythm. She turned around and was met by two small arms outstretched, wide and eager.

“Mamaaa! Allez, on y va! Papa said we’ll miss them if we’re late!” pleaded Danielle, her small fingers clutching and tugging at her mother’s sweater, as if trying to pull time forward. 

“What’s gotten into you? I almost dropped the sandwiches.” Anne turned slightly, eyeing her daughter’s bouncing form. “Is there a squirrel chasing you I should know about?”

“Nooo, Mama! Don’t you remember? Papa found a great spot to watch the deer! I really, really wanna add them to my sketchbook before they’re gone!” Her words tumbled out in a rush. She could already imagine their slender shapes emerging between the chestnut trees, soft and twitchy-eared.

“D’accord, d’accord, Daniella,” she said, tucking the last of the sandwiches into the woven basket resting on the kitchen table. Despite its worn-out handle frayed in places and half-loosened weaves along the rim, just beneath the basket’s lid was a faintly burned message carved long ago.

   “Pour les jours doux.” — For the sweet days. L & A

Two initials worn soft by time and touch, a promise etched into the grain by young lovers under the late-spring sun. Anne brushed her thumb over the words in passing, the gesture small and almost like a muscle memory of love. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll meet up with Papa and the deer.”

Sketchbook tucked under her arm, Danielle darted down the narrow hallway with her mother trailing after her, half laughing, “Slow down!”

“Aren’t you forgetting something, mon cœur?“ Anne teased.

“Huh? What is it?” Danielle blinked up at her mother. 

Anne reached into her purse and pulled out a bullseye-shaped hairclip, a gift Danielle’s father had forgotten to give. “Come, let Mama do your hair.”

Danielle trotted back as her mother stooped down to meet her stature. Anne threaded Danielle’s hair as she adorned it with the pin and clip clicked into place, glinting briefly in the morning light that spilled in.

“There,” Anne whispered, brushing a kiss on her daughter’s temple. “Perfect, comme toujours.”

Danielle beamed, her excitement renewed. She twirled with her arms out like wings before taking her mother’s hand. Lunch basket in tow and hearts alight, the pair made their way out the door. The morning sun had begun to chase away the chill, gilding the house in gold. Anne paused for a moment at the threshold, her fingers brushing the old wooden frame, a habitual farewell.

Then, with soft breaths and their hands clasped together, they walked out on the quiet path to foret domaniale.

The morning air was cool against their skin, and autumn had begun to brush her fingers across Saint-Bonnet. Their shoes crunched softly against a mosaic of dried leaves strewn along the gravel path like ribbons. Danielle reached up, catching at the low branches as they passed beneath a walnut tree, its green shells still clinging tight. A single yellow leaf drifted down and landed in her hair like a crown, unnoticed.

“Bonjour, Madame Dubois!” called an older man standing at the edge of his gate, sweeping dried leaves into a tidy pile, his wide straw hat tilted low over his brow. 

“Bonjour, Monsieur Pelletier,” Anne replied, raising a hand in greeting. “You’ll be chasing those leaves all week at this rate.”

“Pfft, I’ve been chasing the same ones since Tuesday,” he said with a mock sigh. “They’ve got a mind of their own, I swear. Leaf by leaf rebellion.”

Danielle giggled, pressing closer to her mother’s side.

“I liked it better when you were whispering to tomatoes,” Anne teased.

Monsieur Pelletier straightened with a playful groan. “Ah, but tomatoes don’t fall out of the sky! You two on your way to the woods?”

Danielle stepped forward, nodding eagerly. “We’re going to see the deer! I brought my sketchbook!”

“Well then,” he said, lowering his voice as if passing on a secret, “you be sure to draw them before they draw you. Deer are fast artists. Especially the ones near the ridge.”

Danielle’s eyes widened in delight. “Really?”

He winked. “Faster than squirrels. Slower than owls.”

She beamed, gripping her sketchbook tighter.

Anne gave a fond shake of her head. “Don’t let them run circles around you, Monsieur Pelletier.”

“Too late,” he grinned, nudging the broom into his leaf pile. “Bon courage, mes dames.”

With a wave and another soft crunch of leaves, they continued down the path. The broom’s rhythm faded behind them, blending into the sounds of Saint-Bonnet waking to autumn.

NASA Planetary Defense Coordination Office

03:47 A.M. —Emergency Call Transcript (Internal Use Only)

Far from the quiet woods of Foret Domaniale, where marshmallows would soon turn golden in the glow of gentle flames, lay a dimly lit control room, its rows of monitors displaying infrared satellite feeds. A man clad in a charcoal-black lab coat stood over a sea of white coats that filled the room. The stitched tag on his chest read: Dr. Etienne Virel. Arms crossed tight, he watched streams of data roll across multiple monitors with unnerving stillness. 

One of the central screens showed a streak of burning light cutting through space. The object pulsed faintly as it descended, a flicker of something not quite natural.

“How didn’t we see it sooner?” Someone muttered from across the room.

“It wasn’t there two hours ago on radar, and there was nothing in the deep scans. We’ve triple-checked the trajectory; the object is a meteor, inbound and large. Approximately one kilometre in diameter, stony composition. About the size of ten city blocks or more than nine football fields end to end.”

Dr. Virel snapped, panicked but hushed. “One Kilometre!? An object that size doesn’t just appear past our scanners; it’s not possible.” His face was expressionless, but his pale eyes narrowed with each passing second. His jaw worked silently, as if chewing over a thought he didn’t want to voice. 

He looked to one of the senior researchers, named Dr. Kravitz. “How far is it from earth?”

“Three hundred thousand kilometres, velocity fifteen thousand metres per second; projected Earth impact in just under six hours. Location: southern France, possibly near Saint-Bonnet.” 

Another replied, eyes darting across trajectories. “You’re saying it won’t miss?”

“I’m saying this will be a direct hit. All simulations converge within a hundred-kilometre corridor. The margin of error is shrinking, not growing. This is a real threat.” Dr. Kravitz responded. A silence followed. Tense and electric

“… My god…” The words hung in the air like ash, untouched by the frantic activity within the control room.

“Sir! This just came in. We’re seeing structural irregularities. New telemetry readings show asymmetric fragmenting; the outer shell has torn apart and is expected to fall across parts of the Val de Loire region.” The message came fast and clipped, a dam of information finally breaking.

“And the core?” Virel’s voice cut through the noise like a scalpel.

“Eight hundred metres wide now but still on course for Saint-Bonnet. It’s dense, intact, and tracking straight.” The core’s trajectory burned across the map.

“So, two impact zones. One narrow and catastrophic, the other scattered, but over a major civilian region.” Virel’s lips pressed into a thin line; not a single word was uttered. Yet fears still emerged. Without a second to waste, he straightened, adjusted his cuffs, and turned to the room.

“Alert the civil protection authorities, get the director of TSC on the line, and begin phased evacuation procedures for all projected impact zones immediately! Keep the language neutral; tell them it’s a high-altitude debris event, a satellite fragmentation.”

With a final glance that silenced any remaining hesitation, Dr. Etienne seized the Encrypted Voice Terminal (EVT) and strode out, coat flaring behind him, already barking commands into the device as the doors hissed shut.

Dr. Kravitz and the others didn’t waste a second. Fingers flew across keyboards, voices exchanged clipped updates, and alarms blinked softly in the dim light. The world carried on unaware, but here, every second counted. For something ancient and foreign would break through the atmosphere.

________

Now treading through the dense bush, Anne and Danielle made their way to the campsite, following the signs left by Lucien; broken branches, bent shrubs, and scuffed earth. All leading to a tent already pitched. But Lucien was nowhere in sight. No familiar silhouette, no cheerful call. Only the buzzing of insects and birdsong echoing off the trees. Anne set the basket down, her eyes scanning the foliage. 

‘Crrrk.’ The forest held its breath, and the birds went silent. 

Anne placed a hand on Danielle’s shoulder and gently sat her down, “Stay here, sweetie.”

She straightened, heart thudding as leaves rustled behind the tent. Her fingers closed around the handle of her knife. Small, but sharp. She stepped forward, breath held, ready to fend off whatever beast awaited them. The rustling grew louder. A shadow shifted.

Then –

“BOUH !”

“AAAH!” “EEEK!”

Anne nearly dropped the knife. Danielle shrieked, then burst into laughter.

Lucien sprang out, grinning, holding two marshmallows skewered on twigs, poised on his hair like antlers.

“Lucien! Tu es complètement fou, toi!” Anne cried, half-scolding, half-relieved, slowly lowering the knife.

He held up his hands. “Whoa, easy there! I was testing your tracking skills. Ten out of ten!”

Danielle ran to him, giggling, “Papa, you scared the forest!”

“Good. Keeps Mother Nature on her toes.” Lucien winked. 

“If Mother Nature carries a knife, you’d better run.” Anne sheathed the blade, still eyeing him like she hadn’t ruled out using it.

Lucien laughed and dropped to the ground, patting the grass beside him. “Truce? It’ll be a while until the deer come. It must be exhausting getting spooked after walking all the way here.”

Anne raised an eyebrow and sat down. Lucien thought she had gotten over the scare, but her pursed lips said otherwise.

“I’ll be sleeping on the couch,” he muttered under his breath. 

Danielle plopped between them, already eyeing the marshmallows. A beam of sunlight lit her sketchbook peeking from the basket, its empty page waiting for antlers and laughter.

Soon, the three of them were huddled by the fire, roasting marshmallows as the sugar melted into amber. Birds gave way to crickets, and the hush of evening settled in as they awaited the arrival of dusk and deer.