SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel (18 page)

With the cold, north wind pushing at his back it eased the strain of walking when Gus started out again.  Hard-packed snow on the ridgeline made it easier to walk.  Finally being able to pick up the pace gave him a glimmer of hope of making it to the highway before darkness set in; the highway where he'd been caught behind slow moving motor homes many times.  The thought of a Winnebago in his near future tried to put a smile on a face too cold to accommodate it.

He almost missed a snow-
encrusted road sign in the white-on-white conditions of late afternoon.  He figured the sign had to be somewhere along the 4x4 road shown on the map.  He waited for the next lull in the wind to see if he could detect the snow-covered road, and the direction it went.  When the wind did pause he could easily see the outline of the road angling downhill across the slope, its unnaturally straight lines cutting through the snow-covered brush of the hillside.

Walking
, stumbling, and then steadying enough to walk some more, became Gus's modus operandi in traversing the descent on the side of the ridge through the wind-packed snow.  He tapped into his reserves; fearing darkness would reach him before he reached the pavement.  Gus trudged into the fading light counting and recounting his steps.  He fell and got back up, promising to rest if he went just a little further, fifty more steps and he'd allow himself a breather.

Probably hearing things,
he thought, then stopped to listen.  A cough, there it was again!  He heard it twice in the blowing snow and growing darkness, he concentrated, looking for anything, and listening . . . He backtracked, thinking he might have missed something.

Thunk!  Gus stopped
and listened again.  It had sounded like a car door shutting.  He turned and started toward where he guessed the car door noise had come from.

Darkness crept into the canyon early in the afternoon as the wind picked up and blowing snow
effectively reduced visibility to zero. Con decided it was better to venture out now, instead of later, and informed Ela she’d be right back.

After getting out she walked to the rear of the car,
and then ducked down behind it to get as much windbreak as possible while she waited for the electronic vaporizer to heat up.  No flame was required, so it was possible to have her ganja nightcap, even in conditions like these. When that was done she walked about ten yards away from the car to void her bladder. To say that was a chilling experience would be an understatement she decided, as she got her pants up and coat hem down.

At first she could not find
the car, visibility was so bad.  She coughed from the burn of the cold air in her lungs as she peered through the blowing snow with fear starting to roil in her.  Con turned and then stood completely still as a fleeting image of an Indian, hunched against the storm, with a bow strapped to his back, passed nearby. She looked around franticly and relief flooded her as the car finally reappeared.  She hurried to the door and jumped in with as much agility as possible for a person of her age, who was stiff from sitting for days without any exercise.

"
I thought I was a goner out there.  I may never buy a white car again, I just couldn’t find it among the other snow banks; and it wasn't all that far away.  Then I had an eerie vision of an Indian with his hunting gear . . . then I finally saw the car. Maybe I'm starting to get stir-crazy.  I’ll be so happy when this weather breaks and we can get out and move around."

Ela
said, "I think you admire Indians too much. Now you’re seeing them in a blizzard.  Maybe you need something to eat, Mom."

Con started
scrounging around in the food bag and came up with the last of the granola bars, and handed one to Ela.  "Supper is on me.  Enjoy!"

Ela
took the first bite of the granola bar hoping to satisfy her hunger and thinking the worst of the snowstorm might be over.  She'd need the energy trying to walk to the highway in the morning.  Breaking out granola bars usually took place after bad things happened anyway, and it was probably safe to eat the last of them now.

She struggled to swallow the first bite of granola, chewing endlessly while waiting for her throat to give her mouth the go-signal for a swallow.  Looking at the uneaten portion while chewing, she wondered why her belief of granola being an omen of disaster overcame her now.  A suspicion strong enough to overcome hunger, what could possibly bring that on?

Gus's
knee hit something solid hidden in the snow, dead weight from the pack kept his upper body moving forward, and exhaustion failed to stop it.  Throwing out both hands to catch himself, his mittened hands slammed down with a loud metallic sound.

Lights came on just as two wipers arched out of nowhere
, clearing enough snow to reveal two faces. Each face was wide-eyed and blasting high-pitched screams of terror at Gus.

H
e jerked back so hard he lost his footing, and started to go down.  Then both arms shot off the icy hood, and as he continued down he was able to turn his head slightly before it smashed into the car.  The recurve bow, tied on his pack, continued its forward motion and met his head on its rebound off the hood. A sound similar to a stick hitting a rock was the last thing Gus remembered, as his body slowly slid off the hood leaving a bright red trail of blood.

THUD
!  A very loud sound, and the car jerking like it had been run into, startled both women and Ela cried out, "What was that?"

Con was too busy getting
the wipers and lights on, and then drawing her gun to answer. When the wipers made the first pass the interior lights revealed a man leaning over the hood staring at them with one end of a recurve bow visible behind his head.

Con and Ela
had been leaning forward to peer out before the wipers passed.  Both of them threw themselves back in their seats from the shock of seeing the large man leaning over the hood peering into the car, with his arms widely planted, and his ghostlike, snow-encrusted face just inches from the windshield. They both screamed at the terrifying apparition that suddenly loomed over them in the storm.

Just as Con was getting her M9 clear of its holster to bring it to bear on the intruder
, there was another loud THUD, as the man’s arms shot out to the sides and he head-butted the middle of the car's hood.  Both women were leaning hard back into their seats in a vain attempt to get as far away as possible, while screaming anew at the second assault on their car.

A
s the man’s head bounced off the hood the bow he was carrying whacked his head hard enough to draw blood.  The women were paralyzed as they watched him slowly slide down the hood and disappear over the edge, leaving a stripe of blood as proof of what had happened.

"Mom, did you shoot him?"
Ela asked after seeing Con holding the gun.

"
No, not yet, but I want you to stay in the car and duck as low as you can while I go check how hostile this Indian is. Do you hear me Ela Nor?" Con said with authority.

Ela
started to ask why, as usual, but Con was ready and cut her off.  "Listen.  Chief Ouray's spirit out there is an unknown, we don’t know if he is friend or foe. We do know that I have a gun making me the most dangerous thing around, to you and me as well, so I want you in here out of the line of fire.  Understand?  Just stay here for a minute!" And with that she started the engine to protect the battery since all the car lights were now lit.  Then Con got out holding her Beretta M9 with both hands.

Ela
, with just her eyes above the dash, watched her mom slowly move around the open door and circle out to the side of the car at a 45-degree angle, keeping the M9 in front of her and pointed at the area in front of the hood.  She stopped and abruptly shouted, "Freeze! Police Officer!"

Ela
didn’t hear any response to her mother’s orders.  Evidently her mother didn’t either, as she took a few tentative steps forward and kicked at whatever she had found.

~~~

Con looked at the unmoving figure she’d first kicked in the feet, and then kicked in the butt, seeing no response.  It appeared to be a big man wearing a backpack. When he slid off the front of the car he’d ended up on his left side, facing toward the passenger side of the car, so Con was behind him.  She decided to immobilize him to some degree at least, before he came to.  If he would she didn’t know, but she decided to take precautions.

Con unbuckled her gun
belt with her left hand while training the M9 on the intruder with her right hand.  She knelt down near the man’s feet, smacked his shin with the gun and got no reaction.  Feeling safe enough to put the M9 in her lap, Con looped her belt around his ankles and cinched it as tightly as possible, tying two half hitches just for good measure. Since the knots were in the back, and the man wore mittens, she figured if he proved to be dangerous she could put enough holes in him to take the fight out of him before he could get loose.

She then hurried back into the car and shut the door.  H
er bare hands were numb from the cold and she had to put the gun down before it became frozen to her hands.

"
Ela get out and go out to the side and watch him while I warm up my hands.  If he moves, holler. Now, go!"

Ela
got out and moved over to the side only a couple of steps before she could see a mostly snow-covered lump in the snow lying there facing her.  She saw no movement for the few minutes it took her mom to come around the car behind her.

"Ela
, stay right there, I’m going to walk in front of you.  Okay?"

"Okay."

Con got in front of Ela about the same time the frozen form in front of them started to move.  Gloves now kept Con's hands warm as she held the cold steel of the Beretta, with its front sight steadily aimed between a pair of transfixed eyes squinting in the glare of the car's headlights.

After a day spent catching up on overdue maintenance, temporarily stowing the awning in the head, and cleaning up a mess stretching from stem to stern, Tess decided to put off moving until morning.  She would make sure she was on public land and then set two anchors in preparation for Abe's passage.

Other than tomorrow's move, she felt good about Robin's readiness; all mechanical fluids, filters, and interior plumbing had been checked and or changed as needed.  Deck and interior were now uncluttered, and anything that might come adrift in high winds was securely battened down.  In the same way freshly washed cars seem to run better, being on time with routine maintenance procedures seems to make sailboats more reliable.  That gave Tess enough confidence to relax a bit.

Tess looked at the sky and verified the sun’s position as below the yardarm, the sailor’s traditional time for libation.  Well, she would have if the sun was visible, and Robin had a yardarm.  Either way, a cold beer in the cockpit was next.

With an insulated plastic
glass filled with ice-cold beer in hand, Tess settled into the cockpit cushions and took that first delicious carbonated sip.  The intermittent thrumming of rain, temporarily in its off-cycle, allowed tranquility to return to the anchorage.  Visibility improved and she enjoyed watching birds coming to roost in the verdant green trees along the shoreline.  Shafts of low-angled sunlight reflected off wisps of fog drifting over the river; the fleeting beauty a reward for surviving another day of heat and humidity.  Wildlife in the estuary shrugged off its heat-induced lethargy and came to life for Tess in the last hour of the day's light; she felt grateful to witness the celebration.

A sharp rapping on the hull hit her eardru
ms with tiny fists of angry energy, followed by an invasive "Hello" from a male voice.  Startled, Tess looked over her shoulder; about two feet away appeared Eric-the-Kayaker's face, framed by rain gear.  Suddenly finding Eric intruding into her personal space, she stood up quickly, spilling most of her remaining beer.

"
Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be sitting there," Eric said, although his manner conveyed being more entertained than concerned.

With one hand holding the dripping glass
of foaming beer over the cockpit drain and the other wiping her clothing, Tess snapped at Eric, softening her tone midway through, "Damn it Eric, you startle me every time.  In the future, don’t approach an anchored boat by its bow, please . . . that's the blind spot.   It’s rude to sneak up in someone’s blind spot, and it could be dangerous.  Next time I might be throwing the boiling spaghetti water overboard right where your face just appeared.  Hold on for a minute."  Not waiting for an answer Tess grabbed the sides of the companionway and swung down, landing in the galley.  She took a deep breath while rinsing the spilled beer from her hands, then wiped her blouse, and poured herself a fresh one, before grabbing a beer can for Eric—none too gently.

Back in the cockpit, she tossed the can to Eric and sat on the opposite side of the cockpit from him. 
As he popped the top he too had beer foaming down the front of him, and she got a bit of face back.  Eric looked up at Tess from his low kayak beside her much taller sailboat, craning his neck a bit, "So, what else is
shaking
on this part of my river?" he asked.

"How about a toast and a truce?"
  Tess stood and leaned across the cockpit, so they could clink drinks if he accepted.  She held her glass toward him, her eyes never leaving his, though they were obscured behind the tinted lens of his glasses, as she challenged him to pursue peace.

Eric studied her for a moment,
evidently not expecting how she had chosen to handle the situation.  Finally he said, "Okay," then touched his can to her glass.

Tess moved to the stern seat
making it easier for the two of them to see each other while talking, "Hope you like rain, looks like that’s all we’re going to see for the next couple of days, or more."  Tess hoped the weather was a safe opening subject.

"
Yes, the news is all about the flooding that this is going to cause; a Super Storm Sandy, but this one’s coming from the west where Abe is already killing people.  Glad my little bungalow is located on well-drained ground, evacuations from flooding are already stressing the system," Eric stated flatly.

"Really?  Where?" Some sort of interference has kept me from getting any news over the radio
, and there's been no cell service either."

"It's flooding from Texas to somewhere north of us.  My information says
FEMA is ineffective, or absent, out west—and floundering here in the rainstorm.  Some of that is due to our government’s secure, satellite-communications network being attacked with a virus, which has restricted or prevented communications.  Glaciers are receding faster than aid is getting to those in need.

Budget cuts have also hurt the government's ability to respond, now days Congress has to cut funding elsewhere to free up enough money to pay for emergency services.  Leading economists claim that cutting entitlements in order to respond to this
, or any, natural emergency is likely not to end well."

"So, Eric . . .
I may have judged you in haste when I accused you of being with the State Department, my apology," said Tess raising her glass and offering a nod in his direction.

"
Accepted, and thanks for the beer," came with a nod back from Eric.

"
Now I suspect that you are, or were, with one of the intelligence services, considering the crumbs of info you’ve tossed my way. I’ve been on Robin’s HF radio scanning the airwaves all afternoon, and only got an earful of interference.  Maybe Eric is your last name and your first name is Agent?"

"
No, I’m not with the CIA, FBI, or any of the rest of the acronym agencies.  I strictly contract privately; my income is from lobbyists, mostly.  Think of it this way.  Once a person reaches even a minor level of importance, around them in cyberspace is a cloud of digital data about that person.  Who a person is, as well as all those they associate with over a lifetime; it's all there.  A virtual mountain of data on everybody, referred to by the media as part of 'Big Data.'  I think of myself as a miner of that digital Mt. Everest, looking for nuggets of information I can turn into gold.  Isn’t the Information Age wonderful?"

"Until it stops, then it's hard to get used to living with only what you can see and hear with your own eyes and ears, it's like being transported to the 16th century."

"Maybe a greater intelligence has determined that mankind's present path is self-destructive and decided to step in to help us change our destructive behavior."  Eric took a breath.  "Anyway, this storm too shall pass.  What the Abe survivors learn from the experience still remains to be seen."

"Somehow I get the feeling you think there is a big lesson to be learned here.  What's the latest on Abe, how bad is it going to get?"

"Over the few days I’ve been using my information-gathering skills to see why the U.S. seems to be under attack, not only from Mother Nature, but also from enemies foreign and domestic."

"Assuming the information isn't classified,
what have you learned that you can share with me?" Tess asked.

"
I’ve learned that in WWII the Allies chose the day for D-Day based on weather forecasts.  Most people know that, but it's worth looking at how the weather ultimately facilitated the successful invasion.

Like D-Day, Abe offers a unique
opportunity for those that would like to change the climate-awareness of the majority of people who are living and voting in the U.S.  Some radicalized environmentalists plan to do that by multiplying the damage done by a natural, weather-related disaster with acts of sabotage to electrical and communications infrastructures, municipal water supplies, and whatever else they can think up.

The group behind this is a grassroots movement urging anyone tha
t wants to change the direction we are headed, to go shoot up transformers, microwave towers, and chemicals and fuel storage tanks.  Anything that lengthens the crisis helps the cause, or so they want us to believe."

"So . . .
Abe and his ragtag army of environmentalists battle to save the Union again, this time by fighting deniers of and contributors to climate change, instead of separatists?" Tess asked.

"
That’s a good one Tess, maybe I’ll Tweet it later, once the Internet is up again.  Giving my trespassing Captain full credit, of course."

"
Never doubted it.  I've heard and read speculation and opinion, but few facts.  Are we actually being attacked?"

"
Abe is just now gearing up for a full-assault on the most populated areas of the U.S.  First a heat wave, then four days of rain, then severe weather associated with a frontal passage, and all that followed by freezing temperatures.  While that is going on electricity is going off in parts of the country where the weather is fine, satellite communications are out, and the Feds have shut down the Internet.  Looks like a full blown war to me, how about you?"

"I wouldn't know, the only evidence I have is the interference on my radio and what you've just told me.  Nature’s already getting enough help from anthropogenic-influenced climate change to make extreme weather events happen more frequently.  The coming challenges of surviving extreme storms with the strength of Katrina and Sandy, hitting before recovery from the one before it, will eventually wear civilization down all by itself.  Conspirators making storms like Abe more damaging will do more than many of us can survive," Tess stated.  "I guess I don't see the point of making things worse than they have to be."

"There is another meaningful aspect of climate change, how many hungry, thirsty refugees it produces . . . history’s primary motivations for invading armies.  You’re better off paying attention to the global food-price index than checking the CO2 concentrations on the Keeling Curve.  Martial law being declared out west is evidence of that; hungry American refugees are better armed than most and, from what I read, have begun taking what they need at gunpoint to survive.  It doesn't get much worse than that for the individuals affected by the storm," replied Eric.

"You're probably correct, and I want to look into it when I have radio reception again.  In the meantime, Surviving Abe has moved up my priority list and it's all I have time for.  I need to get a few more tasks marked off the list before I stop for the night," Tess said, standing up to signal the visit had come to an end.

Rain picked up again with a vengeance turning the water’s surface white as if seconding the motion to end the conversation.  "And next time I’ll try to remember to knock on your stern, shapely as it is," Eric pushed off and paddled for shore.