SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel (2 page)

Anxious to know the status of her daughter's flight from Denver
, she went to the Flight Status Board as soon as she entered the main terminal building.  Once she saw the flight number her daughter had given her had been marked "Delayed" in the ETA column, Con approached the agent behind the adjacent airline ticket counter.

The young agent hung up
the phone with her attention still on the computer screen in front of her. She glanced up at the approach of a woman whose gray-streaked, dark hair framed a captivating face, topped by a western-style sun hat.

"How may I help?" the agent asked
with a smile.

Con asked for an updated ETA on her daughter
Ela's flight from Denver. The agent told her the time while looking down at the screen, and Con had to ask her to repeat the time.  The agent's smile faded as she repeated herself, trying unsuccessfully not to show her irritation.

Con
smiled tightly at the young agent, did a quick inventory of a vast assortment of coping measures she'd developed over a lifetime, and opted for a light-caliber reply, "Thank you again for your help, may you never get old."

Just having an
arsenal of replies at the ready gave her comfort in her personal struggle anytime she was forced to interact with a public that had no concept of hearing loss. Con usually went with the simple solution of avoiding non-essential conversation, which wasn't an option while Ela visited her.  She wanted to hear and understand everything her daughter said without constantly asking her to repeat herself.  To that end she hoped to spend as much time in quiet surroundings with Ela as possible.

As she
took a seat in the waiting area outside of the secured departure terminal she wondered what changes she would notice right off when she first saw Ela.  That’s what a parent really does, Con mused.  Every time a child leaves and returns we want to see the changes the world forced on our most precious possession.  What signs of new wisdom has our child gained from experiences while beyond our sphere of influence and protection? If Ela would only allow it Con would conduct a full debriefing and detailed inspection, finding all the dings, mars, and dents the world had inflicted, so she could buff out the ones that could be fixed; and retaliate for the ones that couldn’t.

In the
hour Ela waited at the terminal gate for her delayed flight she watched a televised news channel, as would be expected of a young freelance journalist and part-time activist.  Ela wanted to see how the stories were presented, both the spin and the style of how it was done rather than the actual content, the brushstrokes of the painter more important than the subject of the painting, in this case.

A
slow news day for political scandals meant most of the stories today headlined the heat wave enveloping the East Coast, from where she had just departed.  Since the television in the waiting area had been set to a liberal news network, the commentators were exploring links to climate change.  She wished she could check the conservative news channels and see what they attributed the abnormal weather to; perhaps cyclical bovine flatulence had been blamed this time.

Today is the first day of vacation, she reminded herself.  Looking away from the TV she noticed all the people around her concentrating on smartphone screens, which made the temptation to pull hers out of her purse almost irresistible.  Nomophobia, the fear of being away from a cell phone, had its grip on her; going on vacation
for a week felt like checking into a rehab center.  She planned to fight her addiction while at home, but still ease her withdrawal symptoms by reducing how frequently she pulled her phone out.  She promised to resist at least until the plane landed in Grand Junction.

~~~

For once boarding went as though designed to save time, since passengers and crew felt anxious due to the delay, and they were quickly backing away from the terminal.  From her window seat Ela was able to glimpse the Rockies only through occasional holes in the cloud cover.  She had hoped for clear skies on this, the most scenic leg of her trip; but the weather was not cooperating.  Flight time was only an hour though, so Ela didn’t have long to wait to enjoy the views offered by the plane’s approach to Grand Junction’s Walker Field airport.

During the descent the view
of the Grand Mesa drew her attention.  Seeing the aerial view of the world's largest flattop mountain had her wondering if the fall colors were just better this year, or if she suffered from more nostalgia than she was aware of.  Then the plane circled and lined up with the runway, so that the Colorado National Monument and the Uncompahgre Plateau could be seen, as they landed and taxied directly to the terminal.

Keeping up with a soccer-player friend
had taught Ela how to get through crowds without breaking stride; by watching the feet of people around her, rather than the faces.  Faces follow feet, not the other way around.  Simple stuff, but it worked.  As she walked into the main terminal the crowd waiting at the doors to GJT’s secured boarding area offered little impediment to Ela, and she didn’t bother looking for her mother in the crowd either.  That would be the last place to look for a woman named Con.  Short for Contrarian, if the truth were known.

Ela
soon spied a familiar looking hat and determined her mom stood under it, waiting across the room away from the hubbub, near the down escalator, and a quick way out of the terminal.  Her mom smiled and watched every move as Ela walked up to her and gave her a heart-felt hug.

Con let go of the restraints she
placed on herself and hugged Ela as hard as she wanted to, for a moment, and then released her, "We better stop somewhere and get some food into you girl, you’re way too thin!"

Ela
looked into her mother’s face and saw an expression of concern, belied by a twinkle in her mother’s green eyes.  She rolled her younger version of the same eyes and replied,  "Don’t start trying to fatten me up, Mother.  But, if you want to buy me a belated lunch I guess I can allow that."

"There’s a new bistro on Main
Street with sidewalk tables I’ve heard about, but haven’t been to," Con suggested as she guided them toward the baggage claim area, one level down.

Once they negotiated the escalator and w
ere waiting and watching for Ela’s one checked bag, Con kept quiet while Ela’s concentration was on her smart phone.  A couple of moments later Ela turned to her mom with raised eyebrows, "Been to Gateway, lately?"

"Yes, why?" Con answered.

"I just got a text asking me to attend a meeting and interview there tomorrow morning.  It won’t take long, and it will give us a chance to enjoy more fall colors on the way.  Afterwards lunch is on me at the new resort there, a business expense we both can enjoy."

"Okay," Con agreed without
discussion, which surprised Ela until Con smiled and followed with, "I’ll be glad to drive you to your meeting.  In return I’ll get to interview you on the drive there.  So get ready to tell me everything that's new with you; job opportunities, men, children, . . . clock’s ticking you know."

Ela
was saved from answering by a bell and flashing light announcing an imminent mechanical catharsis of luggage.  Con often lobbied for Ela to settle down enough to give her a grandchild.  Ela wanted to avoid that perpetually open-ended conversation with her mom for as long as possible, and concentrated on the luggage streaming past without answering.

Ela
clean-jerked her suitcase off the conveyor in an unintended exhibition of the results of her regular workout regime.  She popped out the handle and started for the exit walking beside her mom and asked, "Where are you parked, Mom?"

"Oh, I parked
at the rental car return area.  A friend works there part-time to keep occupied and to supplement his retirement pension.  I cook him dinner once in a while for fixing things around the house, and he takes care of my parking when I come to the airport," Con answered.  "It’s closer than parking in the lot, and I don’t get one of those 'Disabled' parking passes, even though I am disabled."

Ela
looked at Con trotting alongside her, pulling her carry-on bag, and asked, "What’s physically disabled about you?"

"My hearing is bad, you know that," Con replied.
"That makes me a disabled person just as much as a legally blind person.  But the rest of me is fine—including my sense of fairness—if you ask me."

"How can you say that, Mother?  You can walk just as good as I do, you don’t need a close-in disabled parking space."

"Oh yes I do!  The further I have to walk the greater the chance I’ll be run down by some heavy-footed person in a hurry because I didn’t hear them coming in time to get out of the way," Con replied with complete sincerity.  "You’ve never heard of Helen Keller? She was both blind and deaf and claimed that deafness was the far greater misfortune.  Ergo, I should get a Disabled Parking Pass."

"Mom, please let me know how that works out for you
," Ela said with a smile, hoping to put a stop to the jousting.

Con lead Ela
to a freshly washed pearl-white Subaru Forester, as an older gentleman with a long gray ponytail finished the drying process with a shammy.  "Hi Hon, thanks so much for washing the car," Con said, walking up to the man and giving him a quick hug, then stepping back to admire her clean car.  "You didn’t have to do that."

Hand
ing the keys to Con he replied, "I had a couple of minutes and wanted your daughter to have a clean ride while she’s here."  He turned to Ela with a smile and stuck out his hand. "Pleased to meet you Ela, I’m Hank."

Ela
shook his hand and looked into a weathered, but kind, face showing a big smile.  "Hank, this will be a first.  I don’t think Mom has ever picked me up in a freshly washed car."  Her last few words came with one eyebrow raised, and she directed "the look" at her mom.

"That’s because I was always in a hurry to be there early
, so a certain Young Lady would never need to wait," Con said as she turned and opened the back hatch to store the luggage.

"Hank, I’ll catch up with you next
Friday at six o’clock for dinner?"

"I
look forward to it," Hank said as he waved and walked toward the back of the terminal building.

After stowing Ela
’s carry-on Con turned to find Ela still standing in the same spot staring at her.  "
What
?" Con asked, giving her daughter the "original look" back, with added attitude.

"Something I shoul
d know about going on here?" Ela asked.

"Yes, there c
ertainly is, and it’s called mutual assistance.  Hank lives nearby and he can fix most anything, except supper.  He fixes things for all us old girls and we fix him with a home-cooked meal in return.  It’s a basic premise of being part of a community.  You should try it."

Ela
threw her suitcase in the back, climbed in the front passenger seat, and asked, "Building a community or cooking for a man?"

While getting settled into the driver's seat Con asked, "You've learned to cook?
"

"I've mastered the science of modern cooking."

"You probably got a new microwave, read the instructions, and think you're a chef.  It's no mystery why I have no grandchildren . . . I probably need to give you a refresher lecture on the birds and the bees complete with cooking lessons.  There may come a time when fixing a hot meal for a hungry man will be high on your priority list."

"Maybe, . . . when restaurants go extinct."

Message 1: From Duenna
@noaa

Data collected from sources at NOAA indicate a strong winter storm will form over the U.S. Southwest then move northeast affecting much of the U.S.

Minimum Parameters forecast for this event:

1. Cost to the global economy will exceed one billion dollars.

2. Regional transportation will be interrupted or stopped for more than three days.

3. More than 100 million homes and businesses will be without power for more than three consecutive days.

Message 2: From Ethos@uscybercom

USCYBERCOM sources report the level of cyber attacks at a normal level.  There is no indication
of a heightened alert at this time.

In a tucked position, his view of the bike’s front tire splitting the biker’s ribbon of designated pavement—white line to the left and gravel to the right—hadn’t changed since lunch, four hours ago.  The late afternoon heat radiating from the pavement of the east Texas farm road made it difficult to breathe, difficult to stay hydrated too.  His sweat dripped off
, impervious to cooling from evaporation.  Worthless, just like he would be if he didn't find shade
soon.

Long-distance bicycle trekking, in the extreme heat of the last two days, had Andy feeling hollow and light-headed.  Knowing the heat and humidity were combining to make it impossible for his body to maintain a safe temperature, he realized he needed to find water and a shaded place to cool down.  The low hills ahead, with its grove of trees, became his immediate goal.

With his legs pedaling at a practiced cadence, Andy put his head down for less aerodynamic drag on his waning energy, and continued grinding his way toward shade and its implied coolness.  His mind sought distraction from his growing physical discomfort and found solace down a well-trodden lane of memory; reexamining how he came to be here, and if continuing made any sense.

An idea to help brick-and-mortar stores marke
t their products online had become a moneymaker for Andy and his business partner, George
.  Both of them made a nice living
for a decade as a result.  Then George, and a very supportive wholesaler, decided their vision of the future didn’t include a three-way partnership.  So it was decided that Andy would be eased out of the company with a stack of freedom chips.  Most he fed to his retirement account, the rest he cashed-in for a year's worth of frugal living without working.  He seized the opportunity to spend part of his year-of-freedom pedaling a bicycle across the U.S. from Seattle to Key West
; he needed a physical goal after spending too much of his life
sitting at a desk tied to a computer.

Early spring
—when it had all started—Andy walked along an Olympic Peninsula beach considering how much his part of the business was worth, and if he really wanted to sell.  The walk’s modus operandi that day had been to avoid even the proximity of another human, and to come to a decision he could live with, even when he looked back on it in the years to come.  A solitary stroll with uninterrupted time to make a final decision
; that was what he needed.  It didn't happen.

Andy ducked when a thrown stick barely missed him, gouging a fair sized divot in the sand where it landed.  Andy whipped around in the direction from which it came . . . nothing.  When a noise from above caused Andy to look up, he saw a woman on top of an eroding bluff franticly trying to get his attention.  Just below her, someone was spread-eagled, holding onto the sloughing dirt-and-rock bluff, situated high enough above the beach to make any landing "iffy" should a fall occur
.

Resembling sand passing through an hourglass a mini landslide, just below the person, gave evidence the situation was becoming more precarious by the moment.  Just to the left of the person a vein of sturdier rock jutted out from the unstable rock and dirt that made up the majority of the bluff.  It looked climbable from the beach, so Andy ran for it, picking up a long piece of driftwood on the way.

Andy made i
t up the rock formation to a point level with, but separated by about ten horizontal feet from, a man he now guessed to be the husband of the woman above.  The middle-aged man looked at Andy with surprisingly calm eyes, but didn’t say anything.  More familiar with talking to computers than people, Andy opted for the "search function" by asking the man if he had any solutions to offer
.

The man asked Andy to climb as high above him as possible, while still being able to reach him with the piece of driftwood Andy still held.  Doing what he asked only took Andy a moment.  He then asked if Andy had stable footing and a strong grip on the driftwood
.  Andy readied himself and said, "Yes."

Without hesitation, the man jumped for the rocks just below Andy, using the pendulum motion of the stick to extend his leap enough to clear the gap.  He landed gracefully, though the chunk of bluff he’d been hanging onto went tumbling down, kicking up a cloud of dust and noise. Andy followed the man, now the-coolest-under-pressure person he knew, back down to the beach.

Using a nearby beach-access trail, the woman ran to meet the two men as they clambered off the rocks and away from the still shedding bluff face.  About that time, both of them enveloped Andy in a group hug
—so much for his solitary walk on the beach.

It turned out the co
uple lived in Key West, but was on vacation touring the Pacific Northwest after a busy winter season in Florida.  They both believed Andy had saved the man’s life; he felt he was just being a good guy following their directions—nothing more.  Andy argued with them for several minutes before deciding to let them exercise, whichever Constitutional Amendment gives us the right to believe-whatever-we-want; true or not.

They coerced Andy into lett
ing them take him to lunch; during the meal he found out they owned a bar in Key West.  They found out he did Internet marketing and pumped him for information about what Internet marketing might do for their bar.  Since their marketing strategy started and ended with the local phone book and a neon sign—hung on a street lined with them—Andy had offered much for them to think about; becoming a life-saving hero and marketing guru in the space of about an hour.  Good for one free lunch
; or so he thought.

A couple of weeks passed before a proposal from them arrived with uncanny timing.  A rent-free efficiency apartment for the winter above their establishment on Key West's Duval Street, in return for doing the marketing for said bar; plus a profit-sharing plan was included in their offer.  Their letter arrived two days after George had called a final, special meeting to explain how the company’s goals had changed, and so had the positive, long-term outlook of Andy’s compensation package—the "long-term" part particularly in question
.  The proposed buyout figures were officially on paper and handed to him.

"Is that serendipitous, or what?" Andy thought when the letter arrived.  In the end, the exit money that George and his new associate had offered was just too good to pass up.  Next stop, Key West
.

A roadside sign coming into view broke Andy’s reverie, but not his stride toward the shady grove of trees.  Displayed were H T Q S in huge letters shaped like a hot rod.  Under that was written, Hill Top Quick Stop.