Polar Storm

by Deborah D. Moore

  David stared at her, thinking of all the wild mushrooms his mother loved.

  

  “David.” Helen peeked around the fireplace. “Jenna’s been staying downstairs for a week now.”

  “We miss our nightly hugs,” Lily continued. “Will you give us a hug?”

  “Ah, sure,” David replied nervously.

  “Longer please,” Lily asked when David let her go too soon.

  David sighed and closed his eyes. He was not accustomed to the type of intimate attention the girls were asking from him, but it felt good.

  “It’s been really cold at night,” Helen said. “Would you sleep with us and help us stay warm?”

  “Sleep?” David choked. “With who?”

  “Both of us, of course,” Lily said.

  “We’re identical twins, we share everything,” Helen said.

  “Everything?” he stammered.

  “Everything,” Lily confirmed.

  

  David stepped out onto the porch for an armload of firewood. He was fidgety with the girls gone hunting. It had been almost a month since Jenna had moved downstairs with Parker, and two weeks since his new arrangement with the twins. He was feeling very protective of them and had felt his stomach drop when they disappeared into the snowfall two hours ago.

  “Parker! They’re back,” he shouted when he saw them emerge from the white wall. “And they’re carrying something.” And I hope it’s not Chad, he thought silently.

  With the feet tied together, Helen and Lily had run a sturdy branch from one end to the other to carry the deer they had harvested. Jenna beamed with pride and led the way.

  

  “The girls managed to spot the doe bogged down in the snow right away and then I shot it. It was a team effort!” Jenna boasted. “And they did really well dressing it out and skinning it too.”

  “I would have thought you would do that back here,” David said.

  “I had thought about it. Since we’ve already had issues with wolves and coyotes, I didn’t think it wise to invite them into our space,” Jenna replied. “We left all the entrails, the skin, and the head at the kill site; most of the blood drained there too. We will still need to hang it for a day or two before cutting it up. Once we get it hung in the barn, I’ll cut the back straps out and that will be dinner tonight!”

  Parker looked a bit stressed. “I’ll put extra water on so all of you can clean up before dinner.”

  Jenna cornered him in the kitchen. “Is there something wrong?”

  “No, I’m just finding this role reversal … difficult; no, not difficult. I can’t find the right word yet. The women are out hunting while the guys are tending the fire and doing the cooking. It’s strange.”

  “Perhaps, but we are doing what we know how to do, to make sure we all survive.” She kissed him lightly and joined the girls and David out in the barn.

  “You two are really good at this,” David commented as the girls started cutting on the carcass. “Are you planning a career in the food-service industry?” he asked honestly.

  They both laughed. “No, silly, we’re going to be accountants and open our own CPA firm. We’ve both already taken some of the pre-college classes,” Helen said.

  “We’re now waiting for the scholarships to come through for the fall semester,” Lily continued. “I hope the time we’ve missed doesn’t hold that up.”

  

  “Parker, I want you to know I did something I think was a good idea.” David looked uneasy. “As they were hoisting the deer up, I took the … Chad tarp and laid it under the deer to catch the blood.”

  Parker nodded in agreement. “Now there is a very good reason for that tarp to have blood on it, even though there wasn’t much before. That was really smart, David. I was worried about that being found.”

  

  “I’m having some problems with blowing the snow,” David said, shutting down the machine and knocking the snow off his boots. “There isn’t any place left to put all of it! The piles are so high now it just keeps falling back into the paths. I’m open to suggestions.” He slumped into one of the wooden kitchen chairs. “Our most important path is to the wood shed, and that’s almost a tunnel now!”

  “What if we let it fill in some and pack it down with the snow-shoes?” Parker suggested. “Even though it will mean climbing down into the shed, we don’t have a choice until it stops snowing.”

  “There’s a short step ladder in the barn. You could prop it up and use that to climb down when the path becomes too high. One person stays in the wood shed and fills the sled that’s up on the path; someone else takes it to the porch while the second sled is being filled; one of us can stack and yet another stand guard. It would be a team effort and get done a lot faster too,” Helen suggested.

  All eyes turned toward her.

  “That could work!” Parker said.

  

  January proved to be exceptionally cold with bitter winds and the day-time temperatures hovering below zero and the night time dropping to ten to twenty degrees below zero.

  “It’s just too cold upstairs, Parker. I’m moving the girls down here to sleep by the fireplace,” David announced.

  “Do you want help moving the mattresses down?” Parker asked, immediately agreeing.

  With two twin mattresses lined up on the floor, the size was equivalent to a king bed. All the blankets from the four beds were piled thickly, and that night the three teens slept really warm for the first time in weeks.

  

  By the first day of February, the temperature began a quick and steady climb, and by mid-February, the temps hit in the 80s and everything started to melt—fast.

  

  The third incident that dumped radioactive material into the Pacific Ocean was no accident. The renegade regime of North Korea set off two underwater nuclear devices, with the intentions of disrupting all shipping and fishing activities. They succeeded. The nuclear devices poisoned the water to the point that no life, no matter how minute, could survive. The pristine beaches from Oregon to Mexico that were normally filled with sun-loving tourists now were filled with dead and rotting sea-life. It mattered not that their own North Korean waters were also now a wasteland.

  The water was heated another five degrees.

  The Jet Stream, stuck over the Arctic Vortex for many months, was now freed. Warm temperatures filled the air once more and the literal mountains of snow began to melt, much to the delight of every snowbound person.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Cliff Tucker and his small group stayed huddled in the study by the fireplace. Even though they were luckier than most, having had a large freezer and extensive pantry to eat from, supplies were meager in comparison to the need and were almost gone. They had all lost a great deal of weight and now they grew weaker by the day.

  “Which room next, Mr. Tucker?” Sam asked. They had been systematically breaking up furniture to burn in an attempt to stay warm.

  “I don’t think it matters anymore, Sam. If the snow doesn’t stop soon, it will be a toss-up whether we freeze or starve,” Cliff responded. He knew they all looked to him for a positive outlook, and that too, was getting harder and harder to keep up.

  “Cliff! Look outside,” Mary gasped, looking out from the parted drapes in the study.

  They all gazed out over the expansive backyard cloaked in pristine white. The snow had stopped. The skies were still a thin gray, but the snow had ended.

  “I do hope this is a good sign,” Justine said with a sob. Mary put her arm around the older woman and led her back to the chair beside the fire. The food preparation—and rationing—had fallen hard on the cook, adding years to her drooping shoulders.

  Sam and Cliff picked up their hammers and crowbars and set off to choose another room to destroy with renewed
enthusiasm.

  After each dropping off an armload of Louis XIV furniture turned to sticks and splinters, they were startled at the sound of loud engines approaching.

  Cliff barely parted the heavy drapes beside the massive front door, enough to see snowmobiles riding up and down his once quiet street in the closed community posh neighborhood.

  The sled’s jumped snow-covered vehicles and driveway monuments, making sharp turns and sending up clouds of powdery snow.

  He watched as Joseph emerged from his small snowbound guard shack and wave to the riders. Two of them veered off and ran over Joseph, sending sprays of red across the white snow. They laughed and circled back to finish him off.

  Cliff quickly closed the drape, visibly shaken. He headed back to the office study. Before he could stop her, Mary put several pieces of wood on the fire, sending a fresh plume of smoke up the chimney, alerting the riders to their presence.

  

  “Can you shoot, Sam?” Cliff asked, loading a shotgun with shaking hands.

  “Not really, Mr. Tucker.”

  “Well, with a shotgun, it’s mostly point and pull the trigger. Here, if you don’t want to shoot, just keep the guns loaded for me.” Cliff handed him one of the long guns. They entered the massive foyer to hear pounding on the door.

  “Come on, open up! We know you’re in there, and all nice and toasty warm too,” the voice said. “We don’t want to hurt anyone, and I sure don’t want to break down this pretty door and let all the heat out!” Laughter reverberated on the other side of the door.

  “Sam, you stay behind the door and open it when I tell you to,” Cliff instructed. He took up a position a few feet back. “Now!” he said in a loud whisper.

  When the door opened wide, Cliff could see several riders standing at the door and several more still seated on their machines.

  “Hi there, neighbor!” the front man said with a smirk and stepped forward.

  At that first step, Cliff opened fire, blasting the man backward, taking another down with him from the wide spray of the shotgun. Once those two fell, Cliff stepped forward and fired again, turned and fired again and again until all the shells were expended. He handed the empty gun to Sam and took the freshly loaded one. As he fired again, a shot came from one of the few men left that huddled behind their snow machines near the street.

  Cliff flinched as the bullet tore through his side and exited. He braced himself and kept firing at the fleeing men, much as he had done when hunting pheasant and with as little emotion.

  The yard was once again quiet and empty, except for several bodies.

  “Close the door, Sam and lock it,” Cliff said hoarsely and staggered backward. Sam did as instructed and when he turned, Cliff was sitting on the floor, bleeding profusely.

  Sam helped Cliff to his feet and half-dragged, half-carried him to the warm office.

  “Oh, Cliff, what happened?” Mary gasped at the bloody shirt.

  “I got shot, what does it look like happened?” Cliff snapped at her. “But I took down quite a few of them first.”

  Justine grabbed a towel and pressed it to Cliff’s wound. He gritted his teeth and stifled a moan.

  “How bad is it?” he asked his housekeeper.

  “It doesn’t look good, Mr. Tucker,” Justine answered. “Let me see your back.” He leaned forward and Mary gasped loudly. Justine put another towel over that wound. “The exit wound is really bad, sir. What do you want me to do?”

  Cliff took a couple of painful breaths and said, “My phone, see if it works; I need to call Parker.” After leaving a message on his stepson’s voicemail, he did the same to their attorney. Cliff remained a practical man.

  Before setting the phone down, he checked his voicemail and found a message from Bob Trudeau: “Cliff, Bob Trudeau here. I just left Parker’s. He’s doing fine. I’m impressed how well stocked he is and he should make it through the winter with no problems. Don’t worry about him, worry about the rest of us! Oh, and he said to tell you he’s finally learning how to play chess,” and that was followed by jovial laughter. Cliff smiled, knowing Parker would be fine and that he finally was growing up.

  Cliff Tucker laid down to rest and never woke up; he bled to death by the next day, just before the sun came out for the first time in almost four months.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Doctor, John Smith 27 woke up a few minutes ago,” the burn unit nurse said when the newest doctor entered the room. There were so many burn victims from when the plane crashed into the dome, an entire floor of the hospital had been converted to take care of them.

  Many of the victims had had limbs amputated and after minimal physical therapy, had been sent home. Still more never recovered and died. Most had no identification left on them after the jet fuel burned their clothing off, and those were simply labeled as John Smith or Jane Smith, followed by a number; those that died, were simply John or Jane Doe, followed by a number, and those numbers got very high. Until they recovered or at least woke and could give their rightful name, they were called by a number. There were still nearly one hundred in comas, induced or natural.

  The patient fluttered his eyes, and looked around. His face was swathed in bandages and he couldn’t move his arms. Turning his head slightly, he found both arms had IV’s protruding from them and were bound to boards to keep him immobile.

  “Mr. Smith,” the doctor smiled at him. “I’m sure you have questions. Let me tell you what we know so you don’t have to use your voice. Can you blink your eyes?” The patient blinked. “Good. Blink once for yes, twice for no.”

  One blink. The doctor smiled. “Would you like some water?” One blink. The nurse held a straw to his lips, and the cool water trickled down his parched throat.

  “There was an accident a while back. A small jet crashed into the dome during a snowstorm. Do you remember that?”

  One blink.

  “Good,” the doctor replied, smiling. She had been monitoring this patient for the last six weeks and was pleased with this progress. “Unfortunately, you were badly burned. Do you remember where in the stadium you were sitting?”

  Two slow blinks.

  “Okay, your memory will return slowly,” she assured him. “Are you in any pain?”

  Two blinks.

  “Okay. Can you move your fingers at all?”

  He flexed one hand, and then the other.

  “Excellent!” the doctor said. “Are you right-handed?”

  One blink.

  “I’m going to remove the restraints from your right side and attach a call button. I’m going to leave the IVs in your left arm, so that will need to stay stabilized. Do you understand?”

  One blink.

  

  John Smith 27 made slow and steady progress over the next few days, and was allowed to sit up while his bandages were changed. However, he wasn’t allowed to watch, which concerned him.

  The ninth day after he woke, the doctor made her regular stop at his bedside.

  “You are making very good progress, 27,” she said.

  He gave her a questioning look.

  “I’m not sure what you are questioning. Would you like some water?”

  One blink.

  After he sipped several soothing mouthfuls, he said, “Name?”

  “Oh, I see. There were so many unidentified burn victims from the crash we had to assign a designation. You’re John Smith 27,” she answered with a sad smile.

  “Not John,” he whispered. “Gabe.”

  “Your name is Gabe?” she asked excitedly.

  One blink.

  “Gabe what?”

  “Gabe Smith.” He grinned, causing some pain to the left side of his face.

  “Wonderful! Your memory is returning. Do you remember where you were sitting in the stadium?”

  Three slow bl
inks.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Plane.” The reply was a garbled whisper from his sore throat.

  “Plane? Were you on the plane?” she asked, startled.

  One blink. He closed his eyes in exhaustion.

  Dr. Agatha Morris sat back, stunned by this latest revelation. There was a survivor that was actually on the small jet. Maybe now there would be answers.

  

  Dr. Morris sat beside her patient, waiting for him to wake again. She waited for three more days.

  

  His eyes opened. This time, the lights were dimmer, not as bright as last time. He looked around, much as he had done before. There was now only one IV stuck in his arm. He looked back at his other arm and saw a woman standing there.

  “You’re awake again, that’s good. Would you like to continue? I can tell you what I know, although I’m afraid that isn’t much,” she said.

  One blink.

  “From what we know, during the afternoon in late October, the plane you were on was headed to Lansing, but was diverted to Detroit. Does that sound right?” she asked.

  He blinked three times.

  “Hmm, I see we need to add more codes. One for yes, two for no, and three for I don’t know,” she said, chuckling. “How’s that?”

  One blink and a smile.

  She grinned back. “I suppose those in the plane weren’t kept informed of the weather emergency going on, is that safe to say?”

  One blink.

  “Would you like more water?” she asked.

  One blink. He sipped and sighed.

  “Throat is sore,” Gabe said in a whisper. “What happened?”

  “Your throat is likely sore from the intubation tube while you were in a coma. It will get better. Anyway, the jet you were on crashed during a snowstorm,” Agatha explained. “Where on the plane were you sitting?”

  “I was standing; I got up to make a call.” His eyes opened wide as he remembered something.