SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel (11 page)

Anyway, he told us the group thinks of themselves as 'stewards' or 'shepherds' of a sustainable human presence on the Earth far into the future.  They've connected like-minded people around the world to form a grassroots movement to stabilize the climate, by doing whatever it takes. The proposal is to follow on the heels of extreme weather events as 'force multipliers,' adding to the damage and death tolls in all countries. Whenever a super storm hits, so will they.  And as extreme weather events happen more often, they'll have plenty of opportunities.  They vow to continue until the only humans left decide to work with nature, rather than against it, in keeping the planet capable of supporting life.

In a modern world a kid with a computer has the potential to do more damage than
a kid with a gun. The cyber attacks will be international as well as domestic, and since they can attack municipal power, water, and waste systems a cyber attack is a weapon of mass destruction, if so designed."

"It's circumstantial evidence at best that he i
s personally involved.  Some of what he described may be occurring, but he may have moved on to some other cause by now," Con said.

"I dunno, Mom.  It was like déjà vu to hear what is happening . . . just like he described it.
  I'm betting that he's right up there, even if he isn't the mastermind.  He probably works for the NSA or CYBERCOM, I'm pretty sure he was a hacker."

"I don’t understand what this means to you."

"Later I did some research and the strategy he talked about has been war-gamed by both civilian and government groups using supercomputers. Did you know that there have been only two times the U.S. has declared National State of Martial Law?  During the Civil War and World War II?"

"No, I didn't
, Dear."

"The Kent State massacre in 1970 happened under State-declared Martial Law
, and look how closely that brought the U.S. to the brink of riots, if the Internet had been around then who knows what would've happened," Ela said.

Both women were quiet as they sat
processing the situation.

"Maybe it's a good thing we are lost out here in the storm.  What if he remembers what he told you?  How long ago was this?"

"Ahh . . .two, no, three years ago," Ela said.

"Well
, you’re safe here lost in an epic snowstorm with your old, but armed, Ma.  Aren’t you the crafty one?" asked Con.  Ela didn’t laugh.

"Well, that was certainly good tea while it lasted,” Con said to break the somber mood.  “Any
good news on the radio?  Powerball numbers? Anything?"

"I turned it off after I heard the bad news about the terrorists
," Ela said sheepishly.

"Okay
, we’ll check in the morning to see if Abe has decided to go and play somewhere else."  Con paused and then continued, “It's still snowing, but now the flakes are like little BBs, so I don’t think the snow is getting that much deeper.  It’s settling and the wind is blowing it around and compacting it.  Did you know Eskimos have a bunch of words for snow?" Con asked.

"If they allow descriptive adjectives I think
I can beat them hands down; hard snow, damn snow, shitty snow, fu—"

"Ela
Nor, don’t you say it!  A young lady like you should not use that word in public!"

"I can say it in private?"

"All you want, but I warn you, it is habit-forming and will slip out at the damnedest times," Con warned sternly.

"Where do you come up with these truisms of yours?"

"College."

"Mom, you told me you joined the Marines right out of high school.  When did you go to college?"

"I started college the day I brought you home."  Con noticed Ela building up compression and continued before she had a chance to vent her disbelief, "Before that day it was the school-of-hard-knocks.  Waking up to the fact that I was a single-mother and there was this tiny, helpless person depending on me . . ." Con turned her head and took a deep breath remembering.

"Well
, that’s graduation day. You go from the school-of-hard-knocks straight to the college-of-hard-knocks.  No summer vacation, no weekends off, much less a full night's sleep."

Silence reigned until Con returned to the present.
"That’s where you find the truth. The moment you know you are not the center of
your
universe anymore.  Having a child means going into orbit around the child, now the center of a universe both of you cohabitate."

"Mom, I misspoke.  I meant to ask, 'Where did you learn your wisdom?'  That was the q
uestion that you answered . . . I love you, Mom."

"I love you too, Sweetie, and I didn’t mean to get all mushy.  I hate that shit!"

"You talk like a sailor, Mom!"

"I am a former Marine, and resent your implication of formerly being a lower life form!  Marines only associate with sailors when they need a lift across an ocean, a sea-going taxi."

"That’s not what I heard, Mom.  The real story is—when the Army and the Navy were choosing mascots, from what was available at the time, they found only Marines and mules were left to choose from.  The Army won the coin toss and got to chose first, they picked mules because they were smarter and easier to work with than Marines."

"You
little shit!  Just remember whom you’re messing with here.  The Army was right.  Marines are hard to work with, and this one’s armed and getting pissed."

They both fell back in their seats laughing.

The store clerk at the register seemed to know everyone passing through
her checkout, and she kept a running conversation going from customer to customer.  The woman in line ahead of Tess smiled and rolled her eyes at some of the checker’s comments, making eye contact with Tess as if to include her in the banter; a friendly small-town atmosphere Tess enjoyed.

When
it came time for Tess to check-through a man walked up and got in line behind her.  As soon as he did, the checker’s banter dried up.  At first Tess thought that it was because she, obviously not a local, had taken her turn.  The checker smiled at Tess as they completed the transaction with her subdued demeanor, as compared to moments before, transmitting a subliminal warning.

Tess had handed her canvas bags to the youngster doing the bagging and asked him to please balance her items by weight in the four bags.  Before he finished and she could gather her bags the man behind her spoke.

"Those cookies are my favorites.  You have a sweet tooth too?" he asked.

"They're for a friend," answered Tess, trying to be noncommittal.

"Well, your friend can contribute them as her party favor.  I'll bring the adult beverages, and we'll have a party at your place.  From those bags and your 'Top-Siders,' I bet you're on a yacht?"

"Just a small sailboat, no
room, no desire for a party."

"That's a lot of weight to carry in the heat, looking for a ride back to your sailboat?" the man asked, with a
pushy attitude and a calculating look that alarmed Tess.  She exhibited every non-verbal signal she could think of while trying to get it across that she had no interest in making his acquaintance.

"No, I have one lined up; and those cookies you referred to are
his
," Tess gathered her backpack and bags and walked out of the store without a backwards glance.  She was so eager to get away from the man that walking into the outside heat gave her a feeling of relief.

As soon as she made
the sidewalk she hitched up the bags' carrying straps on each shoulder and took off as fast as she felt she could maintain in the heat.  She kept looking back for the man’s white T-shirt and dark baseball cap.  Between looks backward she watched ahead for stores she could step into if he started after her.

"Ahoy!"  Tess looked toward the voice and saw the friendly woman that had checked out ahead of her.  "Come on!  I’ll give you a ride and get you away from that guy."

Tess didn’t hesitate; she had a lot better chance with this woman than she did with that man.  She set her bags inside the back door then jumped into the passenger side.  As soon as her door closed and the minivan took off Tess turned to watch as a man in a white T-shirt and dark baseball cap walked quickly out of the store and looked around.  Tess couldn’t tell if he saw her leave in the minivan, or not.

"Thank you!  That guy gave me the creeps.  I was looking for escape routes when you called out.  I’m Tess."

"Martha," the woman nodded at Tess, not taking her hands off the steering wheel.  "While you were shopping for cookies I noticed him staying in the same aisle, watching you more than shopping.  He’s been drinking, I could smell it on him when he walked by; there’s no doubt he’s trouble and looking for more of it."

Digesting all of that Tess realized that she had been so intent on finding her diet’s forbidden fruit that she had let her guard down.  "There has to be a lesson in all this, I mean it didn’t happen in the health food section," Tess said and looked over at Martha.  "Another reason I should give up cookies, huh?"

Both women laughed letting off tension and then Tess said, "You must have guessed I’m on a boat otherwise you wouldn’t have used 'ahoy' as a greeting, right?"

"Yes, my husband and I are sailors, or were.  Evidently, we’ve been to the same booth at the boat show as you have, by the looks of your tote bags.  We have the same ones," Martha laughingly explained.

"Never leave the boat without 'em!" Tess smiled.  "My dink is tied up at the dinghy dock by the Fish Whistle Restaurant.  Even without that guy I really appreciate the ride, these last two days of heat have had me rethinking how close to the equator I really want to get."

"No problem, a mile by car is much shorter than half a mile by foot.  Here we are," said Martha.  Shortly afterward as she wheeled the minivan into a parking space overlooking the river she asked, "What kind of boat do you have?"

"It’s a Tartan-3500, she started life as our club racer for Wednesday night Beer Can Races.  Then the original captain divorced both us girls; actually he set us free we like to think . . . Anyway, I moved aboard temporarily and haven’t found another place yet."

"Oh, nice boat.  How long ago did that happen?"

"About five years ago, but it seems like a prior life now."

"Know what you mean, there's just more living in a life when a boat is called home.  We sold our boat a couple years back.  On some days we don’t even speak to one another, each of us silently blaming the other for letting it happen," Martha laughed.

"See the red hull?  That’s my Robin," Tess said pointing to her sloop.

"She looks fast," Martha said.  Robin, as if knowing when someone admired her, swung on her anchor rode enough to show the aggressive lines of her bow and reverse transom, then swung back.

"She looks like she's impatient to take wing downstream," Tess said, thinking she should be ready to leave sooner than planned.  Between the looming storm and creepy guy at the store her alert level had moved up from "watch" to "warning" without her consciously thinking about it.  The need to have Robin ready to move had subconsciously moved up her priority list as part of her "flight" response too; she realized she needed to mentally relax and lower her stress level.  She made a promise to work on that just as soon as Robin could be made ready to set sail, by then she should have burned off all the lingering adrenalin and be able to rationally think her situation through.  At any other time she would have asked Martha to join her for a beverage, but this time her anxiousness refused to allow any deviation by distraction.

"I'd b
etter let you get done with driving sailors around.  Again, thank you
so
much!"

"Here’s one of our
boat cards, let us know when you’re in town; we’d love to swap sea stories.  Fair winds!" Martha handed Tess a business card, with a picture of their boat and contact information printed on the front, then waved as Tess grabbed her bags out of the back, and slid the side door closed.

~~~

Back aboard Tess breathed a sigh of relief as she set to work stowing the food. After she finished putting things away, Tess loaded the packaging from the provisions and two 5-gallon water cans into the dinghy and went to the fuel dock to get rid of the trash and refill her extra freshwater cans.  Tomorrow when she left the anchorage she planned to stop and top-off Robin's main 72-gallon water tank.

By evening Robin stood ready to leave with everything securely in its place.  Tess took a cold beverage to the cockpit to relax and watch Chestertown's lights come on.  Her earlier anxiety had abated with the physical effort of readying Robin.  The looming storm still concerned her, but re-provisioning and adding ten gallons of fresh water were essential steps in preparation and gave her a sense of accomplishment.  Topping off the diesel and water tanks on the way out of town tomorrow would complete the in-port chores.  Deciding on a location to ride out the storm remained the only, and most important, detail to address.

Darkness pushed Tess below where she intended to go over local charts and cruising guides to find a secure anchorage for Robin.  As she started down the companionway steps Tess turned to watch a rigid inflatable boat (RIB) come out from under the bridge and head through the anchorage.  Whoever piloted the RIB kept the speed just slow enough that it didn’t come up on plane, creating a larger than necessary wake.  The wake advanced through the darkened anchorage severely rocking each boat it came to, its progress marked by anchor lights sequentially starting to wildly arc across the night sky.

As the RIB went by Robin
, Tess saw the man at the helm wore a white T-shirt and dark baseball cap—proving to Tess it was possible to feel a chill during a heat wave.