SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel (12 page)

The hour after midnight
found Tess quietly moving about Robin, making ready to up-anchor and leave Chestertown during the night.  She'd slept very little, thinking about the creep being on a nearby boat, and decided to leave before he could come calling in his RIB.  It would be difficult, or impossible, to keep him from coming aboard if he forced the issue, best to avoid any possibility of it coming to that.

Living aboard entailed giv
ing up on the many modern conveniences readily available when living ashore.  But when the neighborhood turned ugly being able to move her home, in the dark of night, surely trumped not having those conveniences.

After
the engine started, Tess used the power windlass to quickly winch in the anchor rode; she chocked the anchor, and hustled back to the helm.  Steering Robin only a short distance to the fuel dock and tying up, Tess topped off Robin’s fresh-water tank, emptied the holding tank, and disposed of last night's trash before departing downriver.  It would have been nice to top off the diesel too, but it wasn't worth waiting around until business hours.

Once well away from the anchorage she turned on Robin’s running lights
, designating her as a motorized vessel legally navigating the Chester River.  Tonight Tess suspended her purest notions about sailing and reducing carbon footprints as she motored away from the Chestertown Creep.  She kept the diesel engine's rpm at the most economical speed and hoped to burn only a gallon or two; a price worth paying to evade potential trouble she thought.

~~~

The last hour before dawn found Tess piloting Robin at dead slow, more feeling her way up the Corsica River than navigating.  Her eyes rarely left the depth meter, as long as the reading remained steady or climbed she continued straight ahead.  When the depth reading fell she turned the helm searching for deeper water.  If the digital read-out fell below six feet Tess was prepared; with one hand on the lever that controlled direction and speed, she would shift into reverse, throttle up, and stop the boat before its momentum buried the keel in the mud.

After
an hour of slow going Tess felt tucked far enough up the Corsica River not to be noticed from the main channel of the Chester River.  She anchored and put out seventy feet of rode in about ten feet of water for a 7:1 scope, adequate for now.  Later, she would probably need more scope, or possibly need to set a second anchor, depending on the severity of the weather forecast.  She'd look at that later in the day.

Over
the next half hour while securing Robin for the day she kept an eye on two pilings near the shore.  In the low-light conditions they appeared in the gray water as two black lines that were lined up, one just in front of the other, from where Robin had settled on her anchor. If those two pilings fell out of alignment it meant the anchor hadn’t set well enough and had drug across the bottom's surface.  Satisfied that she and the boat were secure Tess climbed into bed just as the sun came up.

Tess fell asleep nearly the same time local meteorologists were recording the day's lowest temperature readings; from that point the mercury would begin its rise toward another record-setting high.  In an exhaustion-driven sleep her body soon beaded with perspiration as Robin's red-colored hull began to heat up with the first rays of the sun.

Shortly after closing time of the local bars Jennifer was awakened at home by a text-alert beep from her phone.  When she picked it up she saw the text was from a waitress friend she had called earlier in the day about Jeff.  Quickly she read the message: 
"
ur boy jeff drunk & talking shit on way 2 store 2 find a yankee.
"

She hit speed dial for her best friend, Melissa, whose Deputy Sheriff husband, Sam, would be the person to go to for help in a dangerous situation.  Jennifer read the text message to Melissa.  Both of them knew the barmaid that had sent the text and agreed to take it seriously.  Melissa said she would call her husband to get him rolling to the store as soon as possible.

Jennifer threw on yesterday’s clothes, pulled out the long, black-nylon case she stored beneath the bed, and rushed out the door.  She jumped into her S-10 and headed for the store, hoping to meet Deputy Sam and set up a nice little welcoming-committee for Jeff when he arrived.

When Jennifer's headlights swung into the store’s parking lot and found Jeff’s truck already there she knew she had to implement plan B; and hoped it wasn’t too late.  She pulled the shotgun out of the case, shoved in four rounds, and took off running through the rain toward the darkness of the grove.

A few steps into the trees she could see a light bobbing around ahead of her; an instant later she recognized what she saw.  Jeff was wearing an LED-headlamp that illuminated the scene in front of him.  His right arm appeared useless as he held it immobile against his body, so he was forced to swing the bat left-handed.  Right-handed and drunk, the first few blows were absorbed by the tautness of the tent, frustrating Jeff and scaring the hell out of Andy, who was still caught inside the tent.  As soon as the tent's pegs pulled out and the poles snapped, the sound of the blows changed to dull thuds as they connected with the intended victim.  The collapsed tent, with Andy in it, flopped around making a moving target for Jeff.  Both men were screaming at each other so loudly neither heard Jennifer rack a round into the chamber of her 12-gauge.

A second after the
shotgun's blast the only sound—other than a distant siren—came from the falling branches and rain.  A hole in the tree foliage had suddenly appeared just above Jeff’s head, and with a small leafy branch sticking out of his shirt collar he jerked around to discover Jennifer with her shotgun.

"
Drop the bat and back up!" Jennifer ordered forcefully as she racked in another round.  "On the ground and put your hands on your head.  Now,
nice-and-easy,
toss that headlamp over here and know that shooting you would sure make me feel better."  Jeff did exactly as he was told. Jennifer grabbed the light and walked over to the tent that was still thrashing around on the ground, as if it had a life of its own.

"Andy!  ANDY!"
Jennifer knelt and put her hand, still holding the light, on the tent as she kept her eyes on Jeff with the shotgun pointed in his direction.

The tent quit moving.  "Jennifer?" c
ame Andy’s muffled voice.

"It’s me.  Are you hurt?" Jennifer
asked.

"I don’t think anything is broken, my arms and legs still seem to work."
  The sounds of nylon ripping and Andy gasping for air were followed by a few grunts as he peeled the wet tent off and then stood up.  Wearing only a pair of shorts his nearly naked body was covered with red welts as he stood in the pouring rain trying to figure out what had just happened.

When he saw the bat he felt like p
icking it up and beating Jeff to a bloody pulp.  He glanced at Jennifer, who was wearing the headlamp and holding a shotgun aimed at Jeff; and decided against it.

Flashing lights and the
crescendo of a siren announced the arrival of Jennifer’s reinforcements, prompting Andy to dig around in the remains of his tent and start putting on his wet clothes.  Jennifer kept her eyes and the gun on Jeff who, not moving or saying anything, clearly understood the trouble he found himself in.  Strobing red and blue emergency lights reflected throughout the attack scene and highlighted the falling sheets of rain that occasionally blew through the trees.

Soon Sam and another Deputy approached,
using their vehicles' spotlights and handheld flashlights to illuminate the grove.  Sam spoke first, "Jennifer, point that shotgun at the ground and safe it.  Is anyone hurt?"

Jennifer complied—
racking three rounds out before the gun went dry.  "I don’t think so, Sam, but thanks for getting here so quickly.  Jeff was here when I arrived and he was swinging that bat," she pointed it out on the ground, "at Andy who was still in his tent.  Good thing Jeff is drunk and one-armed tonight, or this could have been a lot worse."

While
Jennifer told Sam what had happened the other Deputy cuffed Jeff’s hands behind his back, evoking a howl of pain from Jeff during the handling of his right arm.  No one paid any attention as Jeff was jerked to his feet by the handcuffs and marched toward the Deputy's car in the parking lot.

"
Can you open the store, so we can get in out of the rain?" Sam asked Jennifer.

"
Of course, let’s go," answered Jennifer.  Andy gathered his belongings throwing them into his tent, which now served as a duffle bag, then he piled it all onto his bike and followed Jennifer and Sam out of the grove.

After
Jennifer and Andy each told their side of the story Sam took pictures of the welts on Andy, wrote some notes, and then looked up and said, "We’re pretty much done here until morning.  A tow truck will be out first thing for Jeff’s truck, to get that out of your way. I’ll need both of you to come by the Sheriff’s office tomorrow morning to sign your statements, around ten o’clock is good."  Sam looked at Andy and addressed him directly, "Looks like your camping is over for the night. Do you have some place to go?"

Jennifer
answered before Andy could formulate an idea, "Sam, I’ll run him out to the farm; he can stay in the bunkhouse."

"If that bunkhouse has a door I can lock, that sounds good,"
Andy said, visibly shaken and alternately looking at these two people who seemed to be more in control of his life than he was. 
Sounds real good
he decided, with the way his head throbbed.

Jennifer started
turning out the lights and locking the store.  Goodbyes were brief in the rain.  "Give my thanks to Melissa," Jennifer said to Deputy Sam as she escorted Andy, who was maneuvering his bike still loaded with the remains of his tent, toward her parked S-10.

"Melissa?"
Andy asked with a blank look once they were in Jennifer’s truck.

"
She’s my best friend since grade school, she is also Sam’s wife.  Earlier we put out the word among our friends to be watching for Jeff.  One of those friends has a job as a barmaid at one of the local hangouts and she text-messaged me that Jeff was on his way to find you.  I called Melissa and she alerted Sam.  We’d hoped to get here before Jeff did, sorry we were late."

Andy mulled that one over and then asked, "
What’s it like to be beautiful and smarter than everyone else?"

"What do you mean by that?" Jennifer
fired back.

"
Do you have any friends smarter than you?  So far, you are two steps ahead of everyone I’ve met in this part of Texas—including the local sheriff’s department."

"
Not tr—"

"
And
, is it just natural in Texas for a guy to be trying to kill another, over just any female Texan?  Beautiful women are the only ones men fight over, in my experience."

Jennifer
took an exaggerated look at Andy, even feeling the lump on his head, drawing a sharp intake of breath from Andy.  "You took quite a tenderizing from Jeff, I think it has affected your reasoning."

Even with
his head throbbing, Andy retained enough social aplomb to keep his mouth shut and see where things went from here.  A few minutes later Jennifer pulled into the driveway of a townhouse, the garage door opening in front of them.

"Nice bunkhouse, and with a garage even.  Just goes to show how e
verything is bigger and better in Texas," Andy said as Jennifer pulled into the garage and the door clattered down behind them.

"It’s nearly four
in the morning and I’m not waking up my folks.  This is my place; behave and deal with it.  Grab what you need and let’s get you through the shower, disinfected, bandaged, and to bed in the guest room.  Follow me," Jennifer said with an air of authority that cut to the essentials of his predicament.  Andy appreciated her brevity and efficiency of speech when things needed to be done—sheer logic is a thing of beauty to those of a digital persuasion.

He followed
Jennifer into the house as if she had just gained ADMIN access to his personal Operating System, and had reset his reality parameters, without even leaving a clue . . .

When Ela
opened the Forester’s rear hatch the next morning, it pushed snow on its way up, leaving a depression a couple of inches deep down to bumper height.  Ela got lost in calculating what that translated into for snow depth, and more important, what it meant for their ability to get anywhere away from the car.  Walking through snow that deep for any distance was scary to think about.

"Remember the movie Ground Hog Day?"
Con asked as she looked out at the wintery scene.

"Yes,
we’re still stuck in that north-polar-shift-thing you mentioned yesterday.  How effective is that M9 on polar bears?" Ela asked.

"
Probably not too good.  But we don't need to worry about that; with these freezing temperatures I'm amending my theory.  We must have shifted to the
South Pole
, even bears don't survive there."

“A little bad news, with the good,”
Ela said with a laugh, but the seriousness of their situation wiped the smile from her face as fast as it had appeared.  The future, as she believed it would play out, would bring many of these extreme storms to the point of them becoming commonplace in a few decades.

Would she face them with the courage and grace her mother had faced this one? 
Of course, to find the answer to that she'd have to survive this storm, and whatever else comes next. 
The possibility of dying seemed much higher the more she thought about what might be starting to happen beyond the canyon walls.

~~~

Con shut off the engine after ten minutes, which she had decided was enough time to reduce the chill inside the car and, hopefully, to get the water to just above car temperature for their small cups of sweet tea.  After the radio and fan noise powered down enough so she could hear and understand Ela, she asked, "What’s the good word?"

"
There have been quit a few rolling blackouts and municipal water failures in the East and South, probably due to high demand, and what the media is calling eco-terrorism.  It still sounds like what I told you about yesterday
is
happening.

The weather report is more of the same
for today, getting a little better tomorrow, and they think we might see the sun on the day after.  They were saying the Jet Stream has been 'stuck' in the same position for days now, but they believe the blocking high-pressure off the East Coast is diminishing; so things are going to become 'unstuck' in the next couple of days, and heavy rains will replace their heat wave."

"
I have the same problem if I don’t keep my fiber-intake up," Con added dryly.

"
It's true!  The older people get the more often bowel movements come up in the conversation," Ela said, with her forefinger extended and pointing up for emphasis.

Con was quiet for a bit, apparently digesting wh
at her daughter had just said.  "Well, my current understanding of the phenomena goes something like this—"

"
I've got to hear this, and I just happen to have all day available," Ela interrupted.

"
Good thing this isn’t a sea story or it would end here," Con admonished while focusing "the look" on Ela.

"
Hump ump umm!  As I was saying, when we’re born we don’t even spare the time to think about holding our tank purges; get an urge we purge.

That continues for a few years, longer for some than others.  And
it is here that important clues about the person-to-be can be detected.  For example, the really busy little maniacs usually take longer to potty train. Don’t bet on them to color within the lines . . . Ah, but I digress.

My point is;
when we're young each day is so filled with wonder that we don’t have spare time for the more mundane matters.  Our days are spent building the structure of our lives, and daily habits are the building blocks we use to do that. We are planning, because there is more life in front of us than there is behind us.  The young focus forward.

As we age
we start to achieve a balance in life.  In the midlife period we have roughly the same amount of memories as we have plans.  Along about this time the daily customs we've been developing emerge as the status quo of our lives.  The well-trodden path, through the daily grind between waking and sleeping, is the product of our tendency to do things the same way we've always done them.

The essence of who we think we
are, and how we think of ourselves, is based on what we see when we look back at our own accumulation of habits.  That is what we're known for, our individual ways of doing things—our reputation.

When more of your life is behind you than you can reasonab
ly expect to be in front of you, your focus shifts to the past.  Memories and habits become our primary means of filling the time we have left; planning is limited to near-term details.

Bottom line, no pun intended, the habits that we’ve developed over our lifetime now rule us.  They d
o that because they are our mental roadmaps for how to navigate another day.  So, don’t look at us like all we do is discuss the malfunctions of our aging bodies, when what we're really doing is comparing our collections; the culmination of our lifelong habits that we personify.
"

"As I remember you were always working, trying to make ends meet, and never seemed to stop moving.  Where do you find the time to think through these bits of wisdom?"

"I come up with this stuff tending my garden where I have the time, and the peace and quiet, to control what goes on in my mind."

The wind now had the floor as both women fe
ll silent, listening to its moan until Ela needed to break it.

"
It sounds like the snow will taper off day after tomorrow," Ela started to slowly talk through the plan.  "So, we need to plan on being hunkered down the remainder of today and all day tomorrow in the car. Then, if the weather clears, we can look for a place to cross the river.  Up or downstream—what do you suggest?"

Con thought a minute, "
I’m not sure how far, but I believe the closest bridge is upstream at the small place just before the dude ranch."

Considering for a moment
, while listening to and watching the blowing snow, Ela replied, "The most important thing now is this wind, until it dies down and we can see where we are going, we have to stay here."

"I agree.
Want to play poker for the M&Ms?"  Con flashed her most challenging smile. She was determined to enjoy every last second of being trapped with her daughter.  Life could offer no greater gift than the time to bask in the attention of her only child, now grown into a young adult.

"
You holding out on a deck of cards?" Ela's voice rose.

"
You think you are the only one that has read up on what to do in a disaster?  Not even. And I read that morale is everything when dealing with children.  One is well advised to keep little surprises and treats hidden for later, Sweetie," Con said with exaggerated sweetness and a wink.

"Deal 'em.
I’m hungry," Ela demanded.