"The storm of the century definitely seems to be winding down," Wolf Blitzer was saying in front of CNN’s new logo: The Sun’ll Come Out Tomorrow, "leaving in its wake a white Christmas for nearly everyone–"
"Hey," Chin said, handing Nathan the latest batch of temp readings. "I just thought of what it was."
"What what was?"
"The factor. You said there were thousands of factors contributing to global warming, and that any one of them, even something really small, could have been what caused this."
He hadn’t really said that, but never mind. "And you’ve figured out what this critical factor is?"
"Yeah," Chin said. "A white Christmas."
"A white Christmas," Nathan repeated.
"Yeah! You know how everybody wants it to snow for Christmas, little kids especially, but lots of adults, too. They have this Currier-and-Ives thing of what Christmas should look like, and the songs reinforce it: ‘White Christmas’ and ‘Winter Wonderland’ and that one that goes, ‘The weather outside is frightful,’ I never can remember the name–"
" ‘Let It Snow,’ " Nathan said.
"Exactly," Chin said. "Well, suppose all those people and all those little kids wished for a white Christmas at the same time–"
"They wished this snowstorm into being?" Nathan said.
"No. They thought about it, and their–I don’t know, their brain chemicals or synapses or something–created some kind of electrochemical field or something, and that’s the factor."
"That everybody was dreaming of a white Christmas."
"Yeah. It’s a possibility, right?"
"Maybe," Nathan said. Maybe there was some critical factor that had caused this. Not wishing for a white Christmas, of course, but something seemingly unconnected to weather patterns, like tiny variations in the earth’s orbit. Or the migratory patterns of geese.
Or an assortment of factors working in combination. And maybe the storm was an isolated incident, an aberration caused by a confluence of these unidentified factors, and would never happen again.
Or maybe his discontinuity theory was wrong. A discontinuity was by definition an abrupt, unexpected event. But that didn’t mean there might not be advance indicators, like the warning flickers of electric lights before the power goes off for good. In which case–
"What are you doing?" Chin said, coming in from scraping his windshield. "Aren’t you going home?"
"Not yet. I want to run a couple more extrapolation sets. It’s still snowing in L.A."
Chin looked immediately alarmed. "You don’t think it’s going to start snowing everywhere again, do you?"
"No," Nathan said. Not yet.
At 11:43 p.m., after singing several karaoke numbers at the Laughing Moose, including "White Christmas," and telling the bartender they were going on "a moonlight ride down this totally killer chute," Kent Slakken and Bodine Cromps set out with their snowboards for an off-limits, high-avalanche-danger area near Vail and were never heard from again.
At 11:52 p.m., Miguel jumped on his sound-asleep mother, shouting, "It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!"
It can’t be morning yet, Pilar thought groggily, fumbling to look at the clock. "Miguel, honey, it’s still nighttime. If you’re not in bed when Santa comes, he won’t leave you any presents," she said, hustling him back to bed. She tucked him in. "Now go to sleep. Santa and Rudolph will be here soon."
"Hunh-unh," he said and stood up on his bed. He pulled the curtain back. "He doesn’t need Rudolph. The snow stopped, just like I wanted, and now Santa can come all by himself." He pointed out the window. Only a few isolated flakes were still sifting down.
Oh, no, Pilar thought. After she was sure he was asleep, she crept out to the living room and turned on the TV very low, hoping against hope.
"–roads will remain closed until noon tomorrow," an exhausted-looking reporter said, "to allow time for the snow plows to clear them: State Highway 56, I-15 from Chula Vista to Murrietta Hot Springs, Highway 78 from Vista to Escondido–"
Thank you, she murmured silently. Thank you.
At 11:59 p.m. Pacific Standard Time, Sam "Hoot’n’Holler" Farley’s voice gave out completely. The only person who’d been able to make it to the station, he’d been broadcasting continuously on KTTS, "Seattle’s talk 24/7" since 5:36 a.m. when he’d come in to do the morning show, even though he had a bad cold. He’d gotten steadily hoarser all day, and during the nine p.m. newsbreak, he’d had a bad coughing fit.
"The National Weather Service reports that that big snowstorm’s finally letting up," he croaked, "and we’ll have nice weather tomorrow. Oh, this just in from NORAD, for all you kids who’re up way too late. Santa’s sleigh’s just been sighted on radar over Vancouver and is headed this way."
He then attempted to say, "In local news, the snow–" but nothing came out.
He tried again. Nothing.
After the third try, he gave up, whispered, "That’s all, folks," into the mike, and put on a tape of Louis Armstrong singing "White Christmas."