SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel (13 page)

M
essage 1: From Ethos@uscybercom

CYBERCOM is at Red Alert in response to a sharp escalation of cyber attacks over the last 24 hours.  Preliminary investigations revealed dormant malware has been activated inside many Governmental agencies' firewalls and then spread outward crippling security firewalls.  Computerized hardware, crucial to many of our essential services across the Nation, has been damaged and requires replacement.

Message 2: From Reeves@nsa

Agency-wide computer systems have been compromised.  NSA's ability to monitor ongoing developments worldwide has been blinded and its top-secret data made public.  The agency is non-effective for the time being.

Message 3: Duenna@noaa

Winter conditions are spreading eastward closing roads, airports, and bringing transportation to a stop nationwide.  Abe is forecast to strengthen by drawing moisture from the Gulf of Mexico in the next 48 hours.  Conditions will deteriorate from Texas to the Great Lakes; heavy precipitation will be followed by deadly cold.

First light revealed winter conditions with colder temperatures in the still falling snow
.  His first reaction when he saw the continuing snow came as a sense of clarity.  He now knew with certainty he would begin to walk out, instead of waiting on a possible rescue.  Being independent and living up to his standard of self-reliance demanded he do something, even if it turned out wrong. 
Anything
would be better than the
nothing
he had done yesterday; sitting in the tent debating if he should take action to save his sorry ass, or wait on others to do it for him. Determined to show no weakness he prepared himself for an ordeal with his fate in the balance.

T
he packframe he'd brought to haul his trophy elk back to camp was now loaded with store-bought food to leave camp, all freeze-dried, plus some energy bars and trail mix to eat while walking.  Weight, as well as necessity, had determined if an item would be included, or not.  He loaded the remaining articles into his pack:  a Kelly Kettle, a small one-man tent, a ground pad, one Under Armour turtleneck, two pairs of SmartWool socks, and one bedroll.

He also included fire-
starting tools and first-aid items from his daypack.  As a final touch Gus duct taped the hydration bladder from his daypack to the packframe, for a better chance of remembering to stay hydrated.

One last try with the weather radio brought no joy
, and just to make things interesting his GPS had no signal either, meaning his earlier desire for a primitive experience had just worked out.  In this case he suspected satisfying his desire to go primitive was in no way a guarantee of his being able to survive its realization.  Now useless weight, he tossed the GPS and radio into the pile he was leaving.  He wondered if he'd ever come back to get the stuff.

Layered up with moisture-wicking inner garments
and outer garments consisting of a pair of wool pants, a waterproof breathable shell, and waterproof boots Gus felt he had dressed appropriately for the occasion, considering what he had to choose from.

He then made his way through the snow
to get under the fir tree to heat and eat breakfast.  Once again, the clothes dryer lint he'd brought from home and some dry twigs from the underside of fir tree branches got the fire going with a minimum of effort.

Gus considered the conditions while waiting for breakfast to h
ydrate.  The snow around camp was knee-deep, and the thought of walking through it all day a worrisome thing.  Crossing the valley below through the thick brush, then climbing up to the far ridgeline would be the hardest part.  If he could make it to the top of that ridge it was downhill all the way from there, piece of cake.

After eating there was nothing else left
to do but to get started; which was the quickest way to finish he reminded himself.  He told his concrete finishing-crew those very words on a daily basis, and he found he didn’t like the sound of them any better than they did.  He groaned, just the way they did, as he got up to go to work at saving his miserable ass.

Slipping his arms thr
ough the straps he got the packframe on, and then buckled the waist belt and chest straps.  The first step came yesterday when he had decided to take independent action; today the second step was taking the first stride on his way out of the mountains.  He, and those that knew him, would be disappointed if he had chosen to stay in camp, waiting in vain for rescue.

Even though he was n
ot expecting to see elk in the restricted visibility of a near blizzard, some faith in the hunt remained in his heart. His faith was strong enough that he decided to leave camp with his recurve and two arrows in hand; the deadly, razor-sharp, broad head-tipped arrow and the blunt-tipped arrow he used for practice.  The blunt would be handy at extending his reach to brace against a tree, deadfall, or other obstacles he climbed over, under, or around on the way down. The hunting arrow was for elk, a bull elk. This elk-hunting trip might just kill him, but he wasn’t giving up hope of filling his tag until it did.

After a few steps he tried bending over as if to pick something off t
he ground.  The pack changed his center of gravity, but it was more bulky than heavy.  He didn’t feel as if he would risk doing a header if he had to step over, or down, from something.  His trek began slowly, as he carefully tested his footing, and got into the rhythm of moving through the deep powder.  Backcountry snowboarders would love this stuff, backcountry bow hunters, not so much.

The visibility decreased when the wind picked up
, but during the lulls the heavy growth outlining the creek’s course could easily be seen.  Still, it required concentration to constantly scan the ground ahead for the best footing, while keeping a close eye on the stream.  Now would not be the time to get turned around and start moving in the wrong direction.  He had a healthy fear of losing his way in blizzards from stories told to him as a child, about a neighbor that had died between the house and the barn; walking in circles while lost in a blizzard, he froze to death and was eventually found days later.

Within the first few hours Gus knew his plan of making the pavement by nightfall was unrealistic.  At age thirty-two Gus considered himself to be near his physical peak.  Because of the type of work that filled his days, he felt he stayed in better shape than most.  That, and h
is annual pre-hunting season jogging routine, had prepared him for whatever the mountain could throw at him; or so he had thought before this storm had come along to challenge him.

Wading through the snow took the shine off all that youthful strength and prior preparation in no time; it even dulled his optimism.  Midday found him just starting to cross the valley, instead of climbing out of it.  He found that the oak brush thickets and deadfall, that were tough enough to navigate with no snow, became impassible
with snow, requiring him to detour around them, time and time again.

Tess
awoke wringing wet in stifling hot air.  With no awnings the direct sun on the cabin’s rooftop had heated the interior like a parked car, and no breeze made it worse. 
First things first
, she thought as she dove over the rail to cool off in the river as quickly as possible.

Treading water, Tess realized she had miss
ed the weather-net on the HF radio this morning.  It was the first time on this trip that had happened; she promised herself she would make up for it in her next broadcast.  For now, she wanted to get Robin shaded and cooled down in preparation for the day’s oppressive heat.  Then she would do a thorough analysis of the weather to see what else was going on in the world.  She swam around Robin for the exercise, then climbed aboard and went to work.

~~~

Late afternoon found Robin once again shaded by an awning, with tolerable enough temperatures below for Tess to get something to eat and to set up her laptop.  Tess connected to the Internet and then loaded her favorite weather sites; she noticed the sluggish connection, noticeably slower than usual when pulling up the images and weather maps.  While looking at a satellite image of Abe, that had finally loaded, Tess reflexively jumped at a sharp rapping on the hull.

She shouted, "
Hello," as she climbed the companionway steps.  Looking around, Tess didn’t see anyone or anything.

"Hello," came a voice close be
side Robin.  Tess climbed the rest of the way into the cockpit, only then seeing the kayaker holding onto Robin’s rail.

"Oh!  There you are," Tess smiled.  W
hen the man didn’t immediately speak she continued, "What’s up?  And where did you come from?"

"
Nothing’s up, and I come from right here.  This is my property, public property starts beyond that point,” the man said pointing downstream.

Tess gazed a
t the man beside her boat apprising his statement and demeanor.  She really couldn’t see much of his face behind the goggle-like sunglasses and the flapped, sun-protection hat.  Even the long-sleeved white shirt he wore was designed for maximum SPF protection.  The only distinguishing characteristic of the man was a tight-lipped, straight line of a mouth, surrounded by a neatly trimmed beard that was starting to go gray.

She decided the friendly approach might still work
, though she’d seen no sign of it yet.  Tess smiled, "I came in very early this morning in the dark.  I must have missed the sign.  Where is the property line?"

"Last boat I ra
n off hit the sign and knocked it down.  Now I’m the sign saying
This Is Private Property
," the man said.

"
It almost sounds like running off boats is an enjoyable pastime for you.  Please, tell me your concern with my anchor making a small, self-healing divot in the bottom mud."

"
Well, Tess Wyatt, of late from Portland, Maine, I probably don’t have a problem with you," he said.

His words shocked Tess.
"How do you know my name?" she asked.

"It's what I do for a living.  Nothing is secret in this day and age, if you know where to look.  Once I saw the name of your vessel, finding out who owned it was easy.  Your employment history gave a list of sources for almost anything about you."

"You know so much about me how about a name for you?" Tess demanded.  "Or do I have to wait and see who files a complaint against me?"

"
Eric."

"
Well, Eric.  You have a last name?"

"
Tess let's operate on a need-to-know basis.  I needed to know if boat-trash had just taken up residence in my front yard.  I found out that isn't the case, so I'm less concerned, but it is still my front yard, and I intend to keep it pristine and private."

"So, Eric The-Kayaker-
Guy, are you a big wig at the State Department?  Being you're so diplomatic and willing to compromise, and all." Tess took a breath and brought her tone of voice down, "Actually, I think the property values should be depressed after Dick Cheney bought a house not too far south of here.  You trying to sell?"

Eric did his best to keep the frown
solidly etched on his face.  "Cheney's old news and not spoiling my view, so no, my place is not for sale."

"
Are we talking about the little bungalow over there?"  Tess pointed to a large house with outbuildings and a substantial wall-like fence surrounding it.

"We are, and it includes the ground your little boat floats over.  Since we've got Abe coming to call you can stay here till the storm passes, but
continue your southbound journey after that.  Good evening!"  Eric pushed off Robin’s rail and dug in with his paddle, soon disappearing with his gloom.

Tess stood watching
Eric leave and wished it a permanent exit from her world.  If he had already satisfied himself that she wasn't a long-term threat to his viewing pleasure, why had he paddled out here to accost her?  Another territorial male, spraying the boundaries like a tomcat, failed to impress her in any favorable way.  Now she had both Abe and Eric menacing her.

Two of morning’s best aromas awoke Andy later that morning.  Coffee and frying bacon brought a smile to his face.  That smile was erased by the realization of how sore his whole body felt whenever he moved.  When he made it to the bathroom and saw the fresh crop of bruises on his legs, arms, and torso he stared at his reflection in surprise.  The prominent knot on his forehead would be there for a while.  He looked like he imagined he would after being hit by a car. 
He felt like it, too.

One system that remained
unscathed was his appetite; the bruised and swollen rest of him followed his nose to the kitchen.  Jennifer greeted him with a look of concern and a cup of steaming coffee.

"
You are more colorful then I remember.  How do you feel?" Jennifer asked while giving him a long visual appraisal.

Andy slurped a taste o
f the coffee before answering, "Like a car hit me.  Is the bacon done?  It smells as wonderful as you look."  Before Jennifer could answer, Andy continued, "Good morning, Jennifer, thanks for rescuing me."

"Good m
orning to you, too.  Getting that miscreant off the streets saves my peace of mind.  Sorry you had to take such a beating to get it done.  Now, sit down and eat your breakfast, we have to meet Sam in an hour."

During their meal Jennifer reported, "
The weather is going crazy.  Rain, heavy at times, is supposed to continue today, and then there is a severe winter storm coming.  It's been named Abe, and is forecast to be an extreme weather event that will affect most of the nation before it dissipates over the Atlantic."

"What does
that mean for the local weather," Andy asked feeling vulnerable without means of shelter, now that his tent was ruined.

"
If we don’t drown from flooding today and tomorrow, there’s a good chance we’ll freeze to death the day after Abe passes through, according to the mainstream news; but don’t believe it.  Many families around here have been living in the same homes for generations; that's strong evidence we’ll survive this storm too," Jennifer said, showing her confidence in the strength of her community.

"
Guess my mode of transportation and means of shelter need to be updated."  Andy gave Jennifer a long look.  "For more than a few reasons moving on doesn’t seem like a comfortable choice.  Yet, being a burden on you isn’t comfortable either."

Andy got up and started clearing the table, intending to wash
the dishes in gratitude for Jennifer cooking the meal.  Jennifer joined him without a word, helping to expedite the job.

When the last pan was dried and put away she turned Andy to face her
, holding him at arm’s-length, "First, you are not a burden. You got Jeff off of me before he took after you.  Second, I enjoy your company.  Let’s do this, we’ll go by and do whatever Sam wants, and then I’ll drop you off back here, so you can rest and heal up while I’m at the store.  In the next day or two, I’ll drive you to the city, so you can get what you need.  By then you should have a plan."

Any
affect his injuries were having on him faded when Jennifer had grabbed his arm to turn him to face her.  An instant fantasy of kissing her blossomed, then slowly withered, as he listened to her plan of him getting one of his own.  "Okay," Andy replied.

Jennifer
was looking at him with concern again, "You all right?  You’ve got that peaked look again."

"
Just an errant thought crossed my mind . . ." Andy answered.

"Do I scare you?"

"Only when your aura attempts to overpower my good sense."

"
For that, I’m taking you to jail.  Come on, Sam doesn’t wait well according to his wife," Jennifer said as she turned to gather her keys and purse.  Andy thought he might have detected a secretive smile on her lips as she turned away.

That
Andy followed her obediently came as no surprise to either of them.