by Bobby Akart
“No way!” Tommy’s was incredulous. His response stirred Knight in his cage.
“Unfortunately, that’s the email I received overnight. As my boss said, the optics would be bad for me to be parading around the zoo with a chimp by my side after what happened.”
“That’s a load of crap. He’s practically—hell, he’s more human than most of my fraternity brothers.”
Kristi laughed. “You were a frat boy?”
“Pike.” Pike was a nickname for college men who were members of the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity.
“Wow, small world. At OSU, I was an ADP. We live for each other!”
“I couldn’t have said it better, little sis.”
Alpha Delta Pi was a woman’s sorority and considered the sister sorority to Pi Kappa Alpha.
“Yeah,” continued Kristi. “Those were good times. You know, the kind that you could never write home to your momma about.”
The two shared a laugh and reminisced about their college days until they buckled down on their studies to pursue their careers. After glancing over at Knight from time to time, Kristi brought up the animal activity that had been relayed to her by Chapman. They also discussed the dog attack in Central Park and, finally, whether there could be any connection between these seemingly unrelated events.
“My brother Chapman is in Paris attending a climatology conference. Somehow, and I’m not sure how one field of science crossed with the other, he met a woman who’s been studying the Earth’s magnetic poles. She has a theory that the north pole is shifting, such that north will become south and south will become north.”
“Really? I haven’t read anything about this.”
“Well, apparently it’s a radical concept and not widely accepted in the scientific community.”
“Pseudoscience?”
“No, not that far. More like taking a scientific principle and putting it on a fast track. The poles have swapped places from time to time in our planet’s history. His new scientist friend seems to think it’s happening at a much faster rate than is generally accepted.”
Tommy sat back in his chair and tapped the arms with his index fingers. “The Earth is one big spinning magnet, creating a force field, to use a Star Trek term, of magnetic lines stretching from one pole to the other. Studies show that animal behavior can change rapidly because of major geologic events such as earthquakes, solar flares, and geomagnetic reversals.”
Kristi perked up. “Are you saying that some major event, like a volcanic eruption, or a quake, might be brewing out there somewhere?”
“Or it could be cosmic,” Tommy replied. “You know, the sun gives us life, but it can also take it away.”
“And the animals might be sensing this?”
“Yes, because they’re more attuned to their environment than we are,” he replied. “Let me give you an example. Years ago, there was an underwater earthquake in the Indian Ocean that generated a massive tsunami.”
“I remember. It killed a couple hundred thousand people.”
“Right. Same one. The quake was a nine-point-oh magnitude, resulting in a giant tsunami that ripped across the ocean toward Sri Lanka, India, Thailand, and Indonesia. The day before the tsunami hit these areas, animals began to flee the coastal areas. Everything from lizards to elephants, flamingos to leopards hightailed it to higher elevations.”
“Everything but man,” Kristi interjected.
“Yes. Man, curious about the receding shoreline, flocked to the beaches to gather seashells, or take photos, or marvel at the phenomenon. When the seventy-foot-tall wave hit, they were swept miles onshore, their bodies battered against buildings and trees.”
Kristi shook her head as she recalled the news reports. “The animals sensed the catastrophe was coming and they took steps to protect themselves.”
“They could feel it in their gut, and instinctively, they fled for safety.” Tommy paused to catch his breath. “Kristi, these events that your brother relayed by phone and what we’ve experienced could be isolated, or they could be connected to a pole shift. Maybe we should try to get—”
He was interrupted by an urgent knock on the door. One of Kristi’s supervisors entered her office. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying.
“Rhonda is dead.”
Kristi covered her mouth and gasped. “How? What happened?”
“Crocodiles. She was half-eaten by crocs.”
Kristi and Tommy stared at one another without saying a word. Neither had to.
Chapter 47
Isabella’s Loft
Paris, France
After Chapman and Isabella restarted their day, they showered and dressed. Chapman commented that he hoped she didn’t tire of his outfit, as it was all he had other than the suit he’d worn the day before. They discussed the fact that his story about the heat was now replaced with a segment on the beached whales. She, too, wanted to drive to the coast, but she cautioned Chapman that it was an eight-hour drive, round trip.
He grabbed his phone and made another call. As he was speaking with his production team in Atlanta, a series of text messages came in from Kristi. He juggled all of the communications with the deft of a Ringling Brothers Circus performer.
“Okay, Isabella, I’ve got my people securing us a ride on a France 24 news chopper. Where is the best place for them to pick us up?”
She thought for a moment and then scribbled down the address. “This is a helipad near the university. We’ll stop by my office first and then meet them in an hour.”
Chapman began to dial the number and stopped. He scrolled through Kristi’s text messages and relayed the primate incident to Isabella.
“It is happening,” she muttered as she walked away aimlessly through the loft. “We have to see if these events are isolated. Can your sister help?”
“I don’t think we can count on her right now. She has her hands full because of the monkeys’ escape and what happened afterwards.”
“Okay. I can put my graduate students on this. They will enjoy a change of pace.”
Chapman waved his phone and wiggled it. “Let’s do this. I’ll contact my research assistants to look into other weather anomalies, unexplained plane crashes, or anything space-weather related. You have your students try to find unusual animal and geologic activity. By the end of the day, we can come back here and cross-reference the events to see if there’s a pattern.”
“Oui!”
Chapman spontaneously walked up to Isabella and kissed her. “We make a good team.”
They’d gathered their things and were walking through the door when a ding on her computer interrupted them. An email had come through.
“Let me just check to see if that is the email I have been waiting for,” she said as she darted back inside the loft. “I have a friend at the World Data Center for Geomagnetism who respects my work. She continues to give me updates on the shift and its effect on the magnetic field.”
Isabella stood hunched over the keyboard and scrolled through the email. Then she dropped her Louis Vuitton briefcase on the floor with a thud.
“Oh my,” she said under her breath.
Chapman heard her and shut the door to join her side. “What is it?”
“My friend was of the opinion that the poles may be attempting a flip, but she believed it would go back to its original position.”
“Did she change her opinion?”
“Oui. The pole shift has continued to the south, and the south pole is moving now, but somewhat slower. With the continued movement, the magnetic poles looping out of both north and south are following along. This increased turbulence and unpredictability is beginning to weaken our magnetic field.
“She is showing a very strong positive geomagnetic anomaly around Lake Zaysan in Northeast Kazakhstan. Her email is saying the N-poles of magnetic needles show southward declinations toward Western China.”
Chapman stood and sighed. “It’s all French to me.”
Isabella started laughing.
“Yes, of course. It is written in French.”
“No, I meant, I don’t really understand. The phrase it’s all French to me is an American idiom meaning it’s hard to understand.”
“Oh, yes, of course. Another American idiom is bottom-line it for me, yes?” asked Isabella dryly.
“Yes.”
“Well, the bottom line is we are running out of time. The degree of the shift has increased by a factor of two.”
Chapman rubbed his forehead. “Did she say anything about the relative strength of the magnetic field?”
Isabella nodded and turned off her computer monitor. She reached for her briefcase, but Chapman picked it up for her. She responded, “Over the past century, the Earth’s magnetic field had begun to show signs of decreasing at a rate of five percent for one hundred years. This led scientists to believe that a full reversal was coming, but, as you heard yesterday, most think it will take many hundreds or even thousands of years.
“However, my friend’s data suggests that the north magnetic pole is becoming especially weak as magnetic metals are draining energy from deep in the Earth’s liquid core. As the polarity has shifted, the magnetic field has continued to weaken at a much faster rate.
“The result is more harmful radiation reaching the Earth than usual. Over an extended period of time, this radiation could cause a huge rise in cancer deaths and even make some areas of the planet uninhabitable.
“Also, as the magnetic field weakens, orbiting satellites will be at risk of malfunctioning, and ground-based electrical grids could be rendered inoperable.”
Chapman motioned toward the door to remind her that they needed to get going. He made a suggestion. “On the way to the coast, I need to reach out to one of my friends who works at the Space Weather Prediction Center operated by the National Weather Service. The SWPC can provide me up-to-the-minute space-weather forecasts and the resulting impact a geomagnetic storm will have on Earth.”
“Oui, but tell your friend, with the magnetic field weakening, an ordinary, weak geomagnetic disturbance will be felt exponentially under these circumstances.”
“Planetwide?” asked Chapman.
“Not necessarily. It will depend on the intensity of the geostorm and the location where it strikes in relation to the present pole shift.”
Chapman grimaced and shook his head.
And to think all of this started with a simple assignment to cover rain in Seattle.
Chapter 48
Thunder Bay, Canada
Levi and his boys, as he called them, had caught an early morning Air Canada flight from Louisville, Kentucky to Toronto, Ontario, Canada. The three guys had been friends since grade school, growing up on nearby farms from one another. They shared a passion for all things outdoors—camping, fishing, and hunting.
Karl Tate was a year older than Levi. His family operated Tate’s Creamery, a large dairy farm outside Corydon. The third guy in this band of brothers was Eddie Cramer. His parents used to operate the Half Moon Livery, a dude ranch near French Lick, Indiana, at the outer edge of the Hoosier National Forest, before it went out of business. Now he buys and sells horses for a living.
The guys had been inseparable throughout high school. None of them attended college, opting for the simple life working their respective family businesses. Remarkably, their lives followed a similar pattern—married within a couple of years of their high school graduations, a couple of kids, and a dog or two.
Levi was the undisputed trip leader this go around. The guys had always dreamed of moose hunting in Canada, but the time never seemed right. Either they were expanding their families, or finances prevented one or more of them from spending the money. But, as Levi finally convinced them this summer, just like having kids, there was never the perfect time to go on a hunting trip. So they pooled their resources, with Karl, the most well-off of the three, springing for the plane tickets.
After a brief layover in Toronto, the guys were settled into the small airport at Thunder Bay, Ontario, while they waited to be picked up by a charter flight to Smoky Falls Outposts in Northern Ontario.
“Here ya go, boys,” said Levi as he returned from a kiosk operated by the Canadian Wildlife Service. Thunder Bay was a popular starting off point for Americans who wanted to hunt and fish in the pristine wilderness of Northern Ontario. He handed the guys application forms he’d picked up at the kiosk.
“What are these?” asked Eddie.
“Ontario has huntin’ regs that require nonresidents to purchase a moose tag.”
“I’m gonna tag one, all right,” quipped Karl as he fumbled through his backpack for a pen.
“Man, I wish we could’ve gone after one of those massive Alaska Yukon bad boys,” said Eddie as he filled out his form. The giant moose, as it is called, ranges from Alaska to the Yukon Territory of Canada. They are difficult to track and are in high demand, so the price of hiring a hunting guide was more than double what they were being charged for this trip.
“We’ll have to settle for the second largest, the Western moose,” said Levi, shaking his head. Eddie was the whiner in the group. He seemed to find the negative in almost any situation. “Trust me, those five-foot antlers and fifteen hundred pounds of moose meat will be plenty excitin’ for ya.”
“Man, I’m ready,” said Eddie. “When’s that charter flight supposed to be here?”
“While I was pickin’ up our forms, I got a text from Clem at Smoky Falls Outposts.”
“Clem? Seriously?” asked Karl.
“Yeah, there are still people named Clem in the world,” replied Levi.
“He must be old as the hills.”
Levi continued to fill out his form. “She. Clem is a she.”
“Come on, man,” said Eddie. “A woman named Clem?”
“Yup. It’s short for Clementine. From the picture on the website, she’s stout, too.”
“You’d have to be to hunt moose,” added Karl.
“I can handle her,” said Eddie.
Levi laughed. “She’d break you in half.”
“Anyway, the text read that some bad weather was settling in off Hudson Bay. They had to use their shuttle plane to take some folks to Toronto this afternoon.”
Eddie stopped filling out his forms and turned to Levi. “So who’s coming to get us? Bullwinkle Airlines?”
Levi rolled his eyes. “Man, I hope you brought your own Garmin, ’cause we may just leave your dumb ass up there in the frozen tundra.”
“Screw you, Levi,” Eddie shot back jokingly. “It’d better not be cold. I packed for sunshine-summertime weather. It’s still August, after all.”
Levi shook his head in disbelief. He’d told both guys the weather was unpredictable this close to Hudson Bay, especially lately. After what had happened to Chapman in Seattle, Levi packed his winter gear, just in case.
Boone party, please report to departure gate six.
Levi was glad to hear the announcement. He hadn’t let on to the others that he was concerned about the delay in the charter flight’s arrival. It would be dark when they arrived in Smoky Falls, and he’d really hoped to get an aerial view of where they’d be hunting. Nonetheless, a surge of adrenaline hit him and the excitement raised his voice slightly.
“Saddle up, boys! It’s awwwn now!”
Chapter 49
Riverfront Farms
Southeast Indiana
“Come on, Squire! This will be fun. You know, like the old days.” She gave the horn of their 1972 antique Chevy pickup another blast. The apple red Chevy had been one of the original trucks used on Riverfront Farms and had become a mascot of sorts. Squire treated the old truck like one of his kids, doting over it and making sure it stayed healthy. The apple red paint job with white inserts stayed waxed, and the interior was meticulously kept clean.
Sarah tried to lift her spirits or, at the very least, put on a good face. The truth be told, she was a bundle of nerves, with anxiety enveloping her mind. After Chapman’s brush with death in
Seattle, she’d become increasingly on edge. She took to reading the news online, searching for weird happenings. It didn’t matter if the newsworthy item related to the weather, animals, or accidents, Sarah began to see a pattern evidencing the end of days.
“Sorry about that,” said Squire as he slipped behind the steering wheel. “Nature called.”
“This late in the morning? Usually you’re pretty regular.”
Squire shrugged as he turned over the 350-cubic-inch V-8 engine. “You’d think after sixty-some years, my body would understand these things should be scheduled.”
“Is it because you’ve had to do all of Levi’s chores? Maybe he shouldn’t have gone on his trip as pickin’ season begins.”
Squire leaned over and kissed his wife. “Let’s not worry about things like workload today. Levi deserved this trip, and we would’ve been just fine if Leroy hadn’t been bit by that rattler yesterday.”
Sarah sighed. Yesterday, one of their oldest orchard workers had just set his ladder in an apple tree. While rattlesnakes were capable of climbing trees and shrubbery, they rarely did. This one surprised their old hand and bit him near the neck, a deadly location. Squire raced the man to the hospital in Corydon, where he was still being treated. The doctor said he’d be okay because of their fast action. The rest of the pickers had been spooked by the snake attack. That was why he and Sarah planned on spending the day in the orchards with them.
“Are you worried that they’re ready to drop so early?”
Squire bounced the old Chevy through the ruts leading to the orchard, slowing down to make the ride a little easier on his sore backside, which had seen a sudden uptick in activity. He’d been feeling some pain in his lower intestinal tract, and his diarrhea had increased considerably over the summer. But, like every strong-willed husband, he’d hid this fact from his wife so she wouldn’t worry.
Besides, their apple harvest was more important than his bowel movements. It had been disheartening to discover the hundreds of small immature apples dropping from their trees too early in the growing season. There were several reasons apples prematurely drop, and Squire had experienced all of them over the years. Some fall off the tree as part of the normal life cycle of the tree, largely due to inadequate pollination. Other times, pests manage to infiltrate their orchards, like apple maggots, codling moths, and red mites.
