SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel (10 page)

"No, you didn't.  I took everything out of the car before I went to pick you up at the airport, and now it looks like I forgot to put the stove back in when I reloaded the car yesterday morning.  I’m sorry."  Con felt badly, but she decided that they really didn’t need it.  "We can melt snow in this little pan that goes with the missing stove by using the defroster when we heat up the car.  Then we can add a tea bag with some sugar and enjoy warm tea."

"Good idea, Mom.  Gimme it and I’ll get some snow, I have to go out anyway."

Just before she closed the door behind her she he
ard, "Remember, no yellow snow."  She shook her head thinking her mother acted more like six than sixty at times.

Shortly after anchoring and going ashore, by way of Robin’s small inflatable dinghy, Tess’s exploration of Chestertown began.  The local grocery store proved to be across town, about a mile from th
e dock.  Tess decided to walk the distance after receiving directions from some boaters at the dinghy dock.  They described a good way to see a cross-section of town by walking along High and Washington Streets to the supermarket.  She came ashore prepared for just such an excursion, with four provision-hauling canvas bags stuffed into her backpack.

Even in the heat it felt good to stretch her leg muscles by walking on land, and in a straight line longer than the thirty-five feet that Robin's deck allowed.  Tess stayed in the shade as much as possible, occasionally stepping into a store to browse and cool off.  Heating up while walking, cooling off by shopping, and exploring Chestertown rewarded her efforts to get here and brought a smile to her tanned face.

When she made it to the shopping plaza and walked into Acme Food Store's air conditioning it felt deliciously cold, almost too cold at first.  She wondered what percentage of the total price of her purchases would go toward paying the electric bill to run those air conditioners that contributed to the polluted air of the stagnant heat wave outside.  For the moment she ignored her feeling and joined the other shoppers as unconcerned about the cost of climate change as everyone else.

Tess chose her purchases carefully; gauging her need against the effort o
f carrying it back to the dock by scrutinizing the weight of each item she chose.  With her main goal to stock up on perishables, she started there.  What went in the cart after that would be extra weight on this end, but a luxury once safely stowed aboard.  Enjoying the cool, dry air she moved slowly through the aisles looking for the last "special" item, one that she would recognize when she saw it.

Chocolate looked good but would melt in this weather, she moved on to the cookie section, a productive area for finding craving-satisfiers in the past.  Tess didn’t notice being studied; in much the same manner she studied the edible treasures in front of her.

Right now the fabulous view from the property was reduced to gray, speckled with swirling white, as if there were no other colors left in the world.  Looking around at the dreary day with the snow continuing to fall,
Ela estimated there was more than a foot of it now.  Quickly she gathered some snow into the pan and hurried back to the shelter of the car.

As
Ela got back into the car she set the small aluminum pan mounded with packed snow in the middle of the dash and looked over at Con, "Soon as you make your next trip out we can start the engine for a few minutes.  What else have you found back there?"

"I have
a little bag of hand tools with screwdrivers, end wrenches and pliers, though I don’t see them adequate for bridge building," Con jested.

As Ela
looked at her mother she noticed she now sported a wide, black-leather belt with a holstered pistol.  "Probably not, but tools are good to have.  Speaking of tools, I see you’re armed.  Did I miss something?"

"Just following orders and inventorying.  This is my old Beretta M9; I'm wearing it like I did as a child."

"You had a gun when you were a child?"

"We all did.  I was referring to my time as one of Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children."

"I thought you worked in supply."

"Every Marine is a rifleman first, and then some other military specialty to fill the time when not actually engaged in warfare."

"Lots of enemy activity in those warehouses?"

"More than you think, especially if you are a female Marine.  I was never a beauty queen
, but my figure must have been attention-getting, 'cause none of those bastards were looking into my eyes when they were around."

"How many did you shoot?" Ela
asked, thinking her mom was bantering as usual.

"None, the ambushes slowed way down when I broke a corporal's leg with a forklift.  That worked so well I ended up not needing to shoot anyone, but there was never any question as to if I would or not."

"Mom, you’re not leaving me hanging on this one, you might say we are a captive audience
and
captive speaker, so please . . . from the beginning."

"Whe
n I first got to the Fleet—"

"You were on a ship?" Ela
questioned.

"Ela
Nor, never again interrupt a sea story of mine, if you want to hear it," Con scolded, but then continued as if nothing had happened, warming to the idea of telling this story to her adult daughter just to see her reaction.  Although this was a life-threatening situation they found themselves in, Con was determined to take advantage of the gifts it offered.  She may never get such a perfect opportunity to get to really know and understand the person she had brought into this world.  Most important to Con, being in the parked car meant close proximity to Ela, and a quiet environment. Both were critical conditions that enabled her to understand what her daughter said, without endlessly asking her to repeat what she said.  She truly considered their situation a blessing in disguise.

"Yes, I was on a ship once
, but that's not what the term means. As a Marine recruit-in-training for a military specialty, a recruit is part of a training command until graduation.  Instead of a diploma the successful recruit receives orders to a permanent duty station, somewhere in the world on land or sea.  That is called going to the 'Fleet.'  The Fleet is where the newly trained Marine gets to join the other elite individuals that have already accomplished the challenges; it's joining the ranks of the professionals that you've busted your butt to be a part of.

Where was I? 
Ah yes, I had just received orders to 29 Palms in Southern California to join my first real command along with twenty-three other newbies.

Our
first job was inventory.  Supplies came in, got sorted, inventoried, and then sent to the units that requested the stuff.  I was a PFC at that time and eager to make Lance Corporal, so I was being very diligent in my counting when this guy comes up behind me and starts pressing me up against a pallet.  He had his arms around me squeezing so tightly I could barely breathe, or get my arms loose.  I told him to stop or I would scream.  He squeezed harder . . . then we heard a forklift coming and he let me go.  I was stunned that a fellow Marine would treat me that way while on duty.  I didn’t know what to do and ended up doing nothing, other than trying to avoid him.

A coupl
e of weeks later it happened again, but this time I had a plan and stomped on his foot hard enough to teach him a lesson.  He never tried anything with me again.  When another guy tried cornering me a few months later, ripping my blouse and bra half off before I escaped, I had had enough.

About a week
later I was on a forklift, one row of pallets away from him, and he wasn’t paying attention.  I drove up behind him and put the forklift tines into a pallet stack, trapping him just like he had done to me.  He was pinned against the pallet with his back toward me on the forklift, so he didn’t know who drove it at first.  He started shouting, ordering me to back off.  I pushed a little harder until his shouts changed to screams.  I asked him if he wanted sex with me now?  How did he like getting squished by something stronger and bigger than him?"  Con took a deep breath before going on, "We both heard the bones in his leg break."

"
As soon as he quit screaming and begging enough to hear me, I told him it was his move and he could do what he wanted, but I would kill him if he ever tried anything with me again.  No matter how long it took, I swore I'd never stop hunting him.  Then I drove off on the forklift and left him lying there.

The so-called accident was investigated and I was gi
ven a bad enough fitness report that it took a change-of-command, and just short of forever, to make Lance Corporal."

"Wow, Mom,
" was about all Ela could say.

"The wow part is how lucky I was tha
t I didn’t get court-martialed."

"What happened to the guy?  Why didn’t he report you?"

"He didn’t report me because he had a reputation of doing that kind of thing; he knew if it ended up being his word against mine a few other female Marines could very well decide to join me.  Maybe having bones in his lower leg broken while he begged me to stop opened his eyes to what it’s like being forced do endure something against one's will; hopefully he gained a sense of empathy.  Anyway, I never saw him again."

Ela
looked at her mom for a moment absorbing what she’d just been told.  She knew her mom was tough, but breaking a man’s leg added a new dimension.  She needed to think about what that would be like, having someone begging you to stop, but finishing what you set out to do; having utter faith in the righteousness of your actions.  This was an aspect of her mother she had never seen, nor considered before.  Growing up she had never seen her mom be cruel, Con usually went out of her way to be kind to others, so it seemed out of character.  Ela decided not to question her mom too much on this story until she had time to ponder it some more.

"So back to the gun, were you carrying it?"

"I didn’t have this gun then, these came out later.  Forklifts are intimidating enough, when the driver has vowed to stick a tine in you."

"Why this one?" Ela
asked pointing at the Beretta.

"Well the weapon issued during my enlistment was the 1911
.45, but it was a bear for me to shoot.  The Marine Corps accepted the M9 in the early '80s, after I was out, but it still got my interest and I tried one.  I liked it so much I bought it right then and there.  It’s much easier for me to handle and carry than a standard .45-ACP.  I like to wander around the hills here looking at wildlife, taking photos, and hunting for interesting rocks, and I do most of that alone.  So I decided to carry a firearm, knowing that it's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it.  For anyone that has been attacked there remains no doubt that it can happen again.  Surprise doth paralyze, and it can get you raped or killed.  Train and trust your instincts."

"Mom, you’ve always been my heroine an
d you are even more so now," Ela gave her mom a hug.  Con’s heart swelled.

Con smiled and tried to lighten the moment, "Don’t be too quick to judge, you haven’t heard all my sea stori
es."  They both laughed, but Ela knew as far as heroines were concerned she had picked a good one in her mother.

"Try the radio again while I reconnoiter for a drought-stricken bush," Con said as she bundled and z
ipped before exiting the car.

Ela
powered the radio and started listening for any news.  The same talk radio station was fading in and out, but it sounded like the discussion was about homegrown terrorists taking advantage of the storm to attack communications and electrical power.  As Ela concentrated and heard bits and pieces the hair on the back of her neck began to rise.  In a moment of sudden comprehension she realized a group she knew might be responsible for some of what was happening.  She fell back in her seat working her memory, and its connections, with what she'd heard.

Co
n climbed back in, looked at Ela, and immediately became aware of her daughter's changed demeanor.

"Mom, start the car.  Let's try to make some tea; it's after four in the afternoon.
And how about some of that jerky for a snack?"

Con looked at her daughter with a puzzled expression, "Did you get disturbed by something on the radio?"

"Boy, did I ever!  I need some energy to process this and sweet tea will do," Ela answered.

"Whatever you say, Dear.  The car is started, the heater's on full blast, and I’m armed for your protection, so relax."

Ten minutes later it was downright tropical in the car, so drinking the lukewarm tea in paper cups wasn’t so bad.  Con shut the engine off, and silence descended with the death of the heater fan.

Ela
took a couple of sips then blurted out, "Okay!  I knew there was something familiar about what's happening," causing her mother to spill some of her tea.

"I remind you I’m still armed," Con said,
wiping the front of her top.

"Mom, this is serious.  Remember I said something about meeting princes or knights in jail?"

"Yeah . . ."

"We were there for hours, a bunch of us that had been arrested at the demonstration.  We were all sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, talking.  The
guy across from me was a hunk, his maturity and experience held all our attention.  When I say
we
talked it was mostly
him
telling the rest of us about a plan for mitigating climate change that a small group of hackers—he only knew of—were working on.

He described a scenario where an extreme weather event is used as a call-to-action.
Any true environmentalist, wanting to make a difference, can answer that call with individual action, based on skills and availability of targets to that person.  Attacks on essential systems over a broad area during the height of the weather crisis would deepen and prolong the crisis.  If the supply of drinking water, food, fuel, electricity, or communications can be disrupted, even for just a few days, the chances of unrest in the populace go up dramatically.  The idea is to make the situation so bad that the Feds declare a State of National Emergency.

The key factors of a National Emergency are: a suspension of the writ of Habeas Corpus, and deployment of Federal Law Enforcement personnel, ra
ther than National Guard troops; thereby sidestepping congressional approval.  A crackdown without congress's approval is much more apt to cause unrest and riots.

It would be like having Guantanamo Bay rules in the U.S. with FEMA camps as
a means for the Feds to imprison and pacify the populace until it is convenient to reinstate individual rights granted us by the Constitution.  In a well-armed society like the U.S. this kind of thing can't happen more than once or twice before a tipping point is reached and an exponential spread of unrest and violence erupts.  And when it does, his goal of reducing anthropogenic induced climate change is addressed by reducing human populations to a sustainable level."

Con thought that over for a moment, "Trying to get all of us to start killing each other off is not new, using weather as
a cover isn't new either. Almost any snowstorm offers opportunity to interdict supply lines and weaken the enemy before the battle.  Using a storm that's packing enough snow to block all the roads and shut down electrical power is effective in isolating a region from outside help before the first shot is fired.  But what are the chances of him, and his cronies, starting enough of a movement in the rest of the country to be a force to contend with?  I'm doubtful."

"What I remember
the most is those piercing gray eyes of his, shining with the passion he felt for his subject.  It is easy to imagine him recruiting followers—what he said is coming back to me only after listening to the news again," Ela paused with an almost wistful look coming over her face.

"It's a good thing the cops had taken my pen or I might have signed on—