by Mike Kraus
She and Tom had talked about setting up alarms, tripwire hooks, and trail cameras around the property, but she wasn’t sure they had all the equipment on hand. Barbara wrote tripwire and noisemakers on her notepad and sat back again, the scope of what she had to protect settling on her. Their property was massive, and anyone could approach from the woods or sneak up on them from any side.
“I swore Tom had some notes on this stuff." She muttered to herself as she stood and made her way to the basement to Tom’s battery room. She flipped on the light and crossed to his workbench, the surface of which was covered with an assortment of small batteries, wires, tools, and a pile of spiral notebooks. She opened the first one and read through his tree stand designs, sheds, and other structures they’d planned on building.
The second notebook held battery room designs with various current and wattage notes written in the columns, arrows showing the direction of electrical flow through the circuits. He’d scribbled the names of connectors and wire gauges in the margins with question marks next to them and while Barbara wasn’t clueless on basic wiring, what Tom had written might as well have been Chinese.
Hoping there was something in the notebooks she could use, she tucked them under her arm, flipped the light off and went back upstairs where she piled them onto the kitchen table and sat down in front of them. Choosing a notebook that looked like something she could read, she pulled it in front of her. Lifting her coffee cup, she took a slow sip and then opened to the first page, silently praying that Tom could give her some ideas without actually being there.
Chapter 4
Tom McKnight, Outer Banks, North Carolina
Tom McKnight walked along the median with Jerry’s arm thrown over his shoulder, keeping the injured young man upright. He’d handed Sam his flashlight and she kept to his left, training the beam on the concrete barrier, though it occasionally slipped across the murky water to show the surface bouncing in agitated waves. Heavy drips echoed in the dark chamber, stones plopping as a mist of seawater clung to their faces, the flooding having leveled off with no signs of draining.
“I wasn’t sure at first,” Tom said, “but I kept thinking about the Atlantic Drift. Much of our warm temperatures are brought up from more temperate oceans by currents.”
Jerry added adjusted his grip on Tom’s arm with a grunt as he replied. “And if the saltwater infusion is screwing up those currents, that would cause major temperature shifts in the United States?”
“Probably the world. At least in the Northern Hemisphere. The sun would continue to warm the more temperate zones but even those temperatures would drop over time.”
Sam clicked her tongue. “But earlier, on the, um, boat, you said it would take weeks to see any significant changes, remember? It’s only been a few days.”
“That’s what worries me,” Tom lifted his chin. “This thing is accelerating way faster than any of us – well, probably anyone at all – predicted.”
“How long will take for things to get really cold?”
Tom gave a mental shrug. “It just depends on how much water we’re talking about. At this point, it’s incalculable. Beyond quadrillions, certainly. And the surge pressures being exerted must be insane. Plus, there are the regular atmospheric conditions to consider. And what do you mean by ‘really cold’? There are so many factors I’m not an expert at.”
“You’re not an expert?” Jerry scoffed. “You sure sound like one.”
Tom chuckled. “No, I’m a glorified technician who picked up some oceanic and biological tidbits over the years from people I’ve worked with. I’d never profess to be an expert on any of it. Especially not on something so esoteric as a possible shift in the North Atlantic current.”
“If it’s so esoteric,” Jerry grunted, “how do you even know about it? Has anyone theorized this before? I mean, I’ve watched documentaries on climate change theories and all that stuff but none that predicted this.”
“That’s just it,” Tom blinked into the swirling mist as droplets spun in the flashlight beam. “It’s bits of theories I heard over the years. No one ever came right out and said, ‘ice age.’ Most people I've talked to tend to agree that an ice age occurs when summer temperatures in northern hemispheres fall below freezing. But it usually takes place over thousands of years and lasts even longer.”
“What normally causes it?”
“Again, most agree that it’s related to the Milankovitch cycles.”
“What are those?” Sam asked.
“Well, it explains how changes in the Earth’s tilt and orbit combine to disperse solar radiation differently,” Tom clarified as he shifted beneath the young man’s weight, jaw clenching with the strain.
Jerry nodded. “I’ve heard of that. It has to do with how the environment reacts to the heating of the planet.”
“Exactly,” Tom nodded. “The Earth tilts and shifts continuously, but the currents are usually there to balance things out. Now, the anomaly is there, disrupting the currents by messing with the temperature and salinity of the water. If they’re not bringing that precious warmth up from the south...”
“Ice age,” Sam finished for him.
Tom nodded. “Of course, scientists love to speculate and play the ‘what if’ game, asking questions about things that may or may not happen.” Sam shivered, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders, hand shaking as she held the flashlight pointed forward. “Well, what they thought might happen,” Tom corrected himself, teeth chattering momentarily. “No one has ever proved a theory either way. We’re still taking shots in the dark.”
"You sure it's still a theory, dad?" Sam chuckled half-heartedly, though Tom had no good response.
They fell into silence, their heavy breathing keeping them company as Sam played her flashlight all around the tunnel. The air had turned frigid and their breaths puffed in the dim light like a trio of gusting steam pipes. The drips were heavy and slow, like molasses plopping into the brackishness on either side of them. Sometimes, droplets landed on his head and neck, sending deep shivers through his body.
Ice and small pieces of debris crunched beneath their feet and whenever Sam swung the flashlight upward, Tom noted cracks and fissures in the stones, though they didn’t seem deep enough to cause a cave-in. Then again, collapses often happened in the blink of an eye and without warning. With a grimace of urgency, Tom picked up the pace, shuffling them forward faster.
The median stretched wide enough for two people to stand side-by-side, though Jerry’s right foot occasionally slipped off the edge, sending concrete dust and ice chips into the water. Grabbing an extra flashlight from his jacket, Tom flipped it on and shone the light across the murky surface to his left, moving back and forth as he looked for a vehicle or other mode of transportation. So far, the tunnel was almost empty of wrecks and stalled cars. Anything they spotted was stuck in the flood, seawater no doubt having gotten in the engines, the occupants having long since gotten out – or worse.
Tom suddenly stopped and flipped off his light. “Sam, turn off your flashlight.” She did, leaving them in complete darkness. Eyes squinted, Tom peered ahead, searching for a sliver of light that might mark the end of the tunnel.
“Okay, Dad, this is creepy,” Sam whispered. "What are you doing?"
“Sorry, I was just trying to see some daylight ahead.” He flipped the light back on. “Looks like nothing yet.”
Sam turned her light on, too, and they continued walking.
“It’s getting steeper,” Jerry noted with a weak voice. “Could that mean we’re closer to the exit?”
“Probably,” Tom replied, watching the water beginning to rush past them, surging in a gush of grayish foam as it licked the sides of the median just beneath them. His energy surged as their chances of escaping the oppressive tunnel grew real. “Let’s pick it up. We’ve got to be almost there!”
Encouraged, Tom urged them even faster, lifting Jerry up and practically carrying him to the end. After another fifty y
ards of limping and shuffling, he spotted the soft pale light of day beckoning them from the tunnel’s end.
“Is it morning?” he asked, more to himself than anyone. “Or afternoon?”
“Who cares?” Jerry replied with a grin. “As long as it's outside!”
“I’ll second that,” Sam said, shuffling up behind them.
They approached the tunnel’s entrance, and Tom stared out at what remained of the storm. The tunnel sat back off the ocean, hidden in brush and bending trees, giving them a wide view of the beach as waves rushed in and flowed over the road. The seawater swept in low toward the houses on their left, crashing against them in massive sprays of foam. Boats lay stranded or gently rocking in people’s yards, piled up along with the cars like toys—hulls shattered, stripped clean, a wasteland of detritus mixed up and scattered by the hurricane.
Sam came to stand on Tom’s left, wrapping her arm around his. The wind buffeted them, blowing sideways rain inside the tunnel to sting their faces. “I’ll take this over being in stuck back there any day.”
“Agreed,” Tom nodded firmly.
“Sandbridge Beach is ahead,” Jerry breathed. “I used to come here a lot. We’re getting close.”
Tom glanced down at his ward. “You hanging in there, buddy?”
“I am. Literally.”
“Okay, let’s keep going,” Tom gave a shivery chuckle.
He trudged another fifteen yards with Sam on one side and Jerry clinging to his other. Eventually, they ran out of median and had to climb down, Tom wincing as water rushed over his shoes as wind blew their wet pants against their legs. They had about thirty yards to the median’s end and Tom stopped, hesitant to leave the protection of the tunnel and re-enter the storm, but something caught his attention in the distance. A light - several lights - winked and flickered through the haze. He pointed and raised his voice to be heard above the din. “It looks like something up ahead.”
“What are they, houses?” Sam asked.
“Not sure,” he replied. “I guess we’ll find out soon enough. It’s a good sign if the power’s still on.”
“That means heat!” Sam’s teeth chattered next to him.
“And shelter,” Jerry added tiredly.
Tom scanned along the beachfront homes then switched to the left side of the road where the North Bay sandwiched them in. The houses on that side were built on land strips that wove out into the water and every other foundation had been swept out, leaving piles of wreckage floating in the shallows. It looked like a giant child had dragged their hand along the bay shore, spreading brick and wood framing like jam across a tabletop. Boats had floated up onto roads with the rest of the flotsam, smashing their hulls against street signs and trees and the wind, while still volatile, didn’t hold a candle to the RV-rattling gusts from the day before.
“Maybe it’s not all that bad anymore.” Tom cocked his head as he listened. “In fact, I think the storm is letting up a bit. Sam, can you turn on the phone and check it?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said, pulling the phone from her pocket and powering it on. After a moment, she shook her head. “Nothing yet.”
“Keep it handy. We have to get a connection sometime.”
They increased their pace, shuffling the last few yards to the exit. Tom remained aware of Jerry’s fragile state, though the young man was stabilizing. He carried most of his own weight but still leaned on Tom’s shoulder as they fell into a good rhythm, Tom stomping one boot in front of the other, half bent under the strain while Jerry shuffled beside him, stepping strong with his left foot but swinging his right in a wide arc. They plodded forward in the same manner, trudging stiffly against the water rushing past them into the tunnel.
“Good job,” Tom said, encouraging him. “Hang on and lift your feet. If you trip, we’re both going--”
“Dad!” Sam screamed.
He half turned to his left, trying not to unbalance Jerry as his daughter stood with his phone in her hand, eyes wide. The screen was lit up, and it buzzed repeatedly, causing it to slip from Sam’s slick grasp. With quick reflexes, she caught it and gripped it tight, then held it up for him to see. “Look!”
Tom watched as a flood of notifications and messages poured through, the phone continuing to ding and buzz as even more rolled in. There were news alerts, texts, and emails and Sam wisely pulled up the messaging app and scrolled through the text messages. Tom spotted some from his boss, Ray, at Maniford Aquatics Engineering, but Barbara had sent him at least a half dozen.
“Pull up your mom’s messages,” he spoke through tight lips. “Hurry.”
Sam leapt off the median and landed with a splash while Tom guided Jerry back toward it and lowered him down so he could sit on the edge. Then, Tom hopped down and huddled over the screen with Sam, reading the texts while continually wiped water droplets away.
“They’re okay, but they’re worried about us,” she grinned. “Mom wants us to get our butts home safely.”
Tom glanced up at the sky and murmured sarcastically. “Be home soon, honey. As soon as Mother Nature lets us.” He turned back to his daughter. “Call her now. Please.”
Sam clicked her mother’s name and put the phone to her ear. A pause followed as the girl sniffed and stared out into the grayness until, finally, she shook her head. “It won’t ring through.”
“Let me try.”
He took the phone from her, used his thumb to redial, and put the device to his ear. He waited as it rang and rang, finally breaking to a message stating that “All circuits are busy. Please hang up and dial again. If you--”
He ended the call and pursed his lips, pulling up the text app. Then he replied to Barbara’s message, going back and forth repeatedly with his shivering thumbs after making several cold-induced errors.
We’re safe. Got to shore. Heading north. Almost to VA Beach. Will find a ride home. Don’t worry about us. Stay safe!
Hitting the “Send” button, he stared at the spinning status icon in the center of the screen. It churned for a good thirty seconds before the message finally showed as sent and he offered Sam a hopeful smile. “Well, that’s all we can do for now.”
“What about all the other notifications? What do they say?”
Tom held the phone in front of his face and began scrolling through them. His jaw slowly dropped as he read the most prominent headline; an emergency announcement from the president. While several news sources offered a full replay of the video, Tom wasn’t foolish enough to think it would actually load with him standing in the middle of the storm and very low reception. Focusing on the headlines, he mouthed the words as he scrolled.
“A surge of water from the anomaly...suspected freshwater aquifer... flooding... destruction of sea life habitats...” He stopped and looked at Sam. “Nothing new there, right?”
“That’s what we saw on the ship,” she agreed with a nod. “The rift in the sea floor, and those rovers getting wrecked.”
Tom continued to scroll. “Massive destruction of sea life... desalination of ocean waters... currents disrupted... temperature changes...” Tom squeezed the phone and looked up, blinking into the cold mist as fear gripped his heart. A different kind of fear than the claustrophobia of the tunnel, but constricting all the same. After taking a deep breath, he reluctantly resumed, shaking his head. “They expect it to get colder over the coming months.”
“Things are already colder,” Sam observed.
“No kidding.” Tom reached the end of the president’s announcement, which amounted to the usual platitudes. The American people had nothing to fear. He would bring the might of the Federal Government to bear. Looting would not be tolerated.
“Looting,” Tom murmured with a shake of his head.
“You think it's going to be bad?”
"I don't know." Tom shook his head. Their family lived well outside the Bristol city limits but could certainly be one of the first targets of people raiding in the surrounding countryside.
Digging deepe
r into the notifications, he chose an alert from his weather app, opening it to reveal more notices about record low temperatures and ice advisories along the East Coast. Maine was posting chilly numbers in the coming week, and Virginia was looking like early fall.
“It’s the end of summer,” he shook his head. “We shouldn’t be seeing temperatures in the forties and fifties yet.”
“Jeez, Dad.” Sam stood on her toes, reading around his shoulder. “That doesn’t look good at all.”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed.
“What should we do?”
“We focus on what we can control,” he replied easily. “We’ll take Jerry to a hospital and then get our butts home, like your mother said. Once we get back, we’ll worry about whatever else is happening.”
Tom put the phone in his pocket and moved over to where Jerry crouched.
“How you feeling?”
The young man lifted his head. “Pretty good. You know, hanging in there. Terrible, if I'm being honest.”
“Ready to travel?” Tom smiled.
“Yeah, man. I can’t wait to get soaking wet again. Highlight of my life.”
Tom laughed, came over and squatted, letting Jerry wrap his left arm over his shoulder. He heaved the young man to his feet and turned them toward the storm. The trio left the tunnel’s protection, leaning into howling gusts with saltwater whipping around them. Tom sniffed brine and sometimes swallowed it, making him want to gag while the wind brought cold like a scythe to cut across them. The collective noise roared in his ears, whipping against his cheeks, but he kept his head down and focused ahead through the grayness.
It only took twenty minutes of slogging to feel miserable again and, at some point, Tom realized he’d allowed his chin to drop to his chest, eyes tracing the concrete and swirling waters instead of keeping an eye out ahead. Waves sometimes washed across the road, dragging sand and dirt from beneath the foundation to leave it cracked and breaking apart and they had to step over the rough patches or circle around if the cracks were too wide. After fifteen minutes of slogging along Sam suddenly broke away.
