I’m in the living room having my first beer of the night when I hear a crash and a scream. The crash doesn’t scare me—my Mellie isn’t exactly the most coordinated person I know—but the scream does. I grab my gun, which is just where I left it when I got home from work, and run into the kitchen.

My Mellie’s standing stock-still next to the dishwasher, the broken plate at her feet. She doesn’t look at me when I come in, brandishing my Glock. She’s too busy staring at the TV, where the newscaster is interviewing some man in glasses in front of the giant telescope at the McDonald Observatory. I stare blankly at her while my heart slows.

“Millie, hun, why the screaming?”

She finally turns. To my horror, tears are pooling in the corner of her eyes.

Her voice is shaky when she finally answers. “They f-found a meteor. A huge one. T-they think it’s going to hit.”

I go over to calm her down, to take her in a huge. “Shh, it’s—”

She ignores me. “It’ll be just l-like the dinosaurs. We’re all g-going to die.”