“We just gonna let her walk away?”
“For now,” says Jake.
After Hannibal and Satin are out of earshot, Jake eyes the contents of the care package, grimaces and turns to his boys. “They left the wrong goodies.”
“Four against two, we should have just taken her.” Jake One rubs his crotch and licking his lips lasciviously.
“I need some new mama meat,” says Jake Two.
Jake Three eyes his brothers, makes a V-symbol with two fingers and stabs his tongue crudely between them several times for effect, much to their amusement.
“Did you hear that son of a bitch?” Satin is shaking as she mimics Jake’s dumb accent, “We just gonna let her walk away?”
“I wish I could say we’ve seen the last of them,” says Hannibal. “They made the hair on my arms stand up.”
“No shit,” says Satin. “I’ve been whistled at and catcalled a thousand times since the hormone fairy visited, but I never felt so naked as I did back there.”
Hannibal stops and faces her, frowning for the first time in weeks. “Yeah, I saw how they looked at you…”
“Are you kidding me? I’m still shaking. I felt like a slab of fresh fucking beef.”
“We have to warn the others,” says Hannibal.
“Are you crazy? You want to scare the shit out of them?”
“No, I want to protect them.”
“It’s not their problem.”
“Not until it is.” Hannibal smacks himself on the head angrily. “Dammit! I practically handed those cretins our location.”
Hannibal and Satin make it back safely to the camp, but with a dramatically altered perspective on their new life at the lake. Their sense of hopefulness and safety has vanished, replaced by something dark and ominous.
Jake prefers life in the mountain forest far from civilization, living alone in his cave from the age of six until he turned eighteen. He has only vague memories of his parents and no recollection of any siblings. His parents died when Jake was six years old. Their tiny log cabin burned down while they slept inside. Jake remembers lighting the match to his mother’s curtains, watching the blaze spread then running outside as the cabin burned until it was nothing more than a smoldering black stain on the cold, wet ground. Jake does not recall why he set it on fire or feel any sadness or remorse over losing his parents. He remembers living alone in the forest and finding the cave a short time later.
Jake grew up avoiding social interactions. The few unfortunate humans, mostly solitary hikers or tourists who accidentally crossed his path as he got older, regretted it one way or another. Jake never liked people. They were no different to him from the deer or Canada geese or golden-mantled squirrels. Living alone in the woods, Jake learned that anything that moves is prey and food.
Before The Crash, the Jakes feasted daily on fresh deer or squirrel meat and waterfowl. They lived like that for a few years after the boys’ mother died. Then The Crash changed everything.
Since The Crash, they had only dropped one skinny doe with barely enough meat on her bones to feed one predator, much less four. She was little more than table scraps for this hungry pack.
The large mammals are all gone. The Jakes haven’t seen a single black bear, mountain lion or mule deer since The Crash. They are left with hunting the occasional squirrel or marten, so Jake’s boys spend hours collecting pine nuts and fat green grasshoppers, which they panfry over the campfire until they are deeply browned and crispy. They learn to fish, too, though none of them really favors fish. With the mammals gone, fish is their most abundant source of protein. Fish means survival, but it isn’t meat.
Satin is meat.
Dana Point, December 5
The town of Dana Point is now almost entirely engulfed by the rising sea. Within several days of abandoning their home shelter, Alex, Jessa and Deuce find themselves forced to move again, this time with a new and even more pressing problem. The new shoreline has moved two miles further inland and is now in plain sight of the market. Deuce awakens first to notice that the Pacific Ocean has advanced dangerously close to their position overnight. He rousts the others from their cozy sleeping bags and bedrolls.
“Let’s go, people! We can’t stay here! The ocean is rising. We’ve got to move inland!” Deuce herds the other kids together and they organize the food and water so everything is stacked neatly along the sides of the van. There is just enough space in the middle for the three women and four children to squeeze in together like sardines.
Alex, Matias and Diego squeeze together on the cab’s bench seat while Samson curls up on one of the trike seats. Deuce chains all three trikes to the back bumper of the van so they can tow them behind as they head further inland. They have a full tank of gas and two five-gallon plastic gas cans in reserve, courtesy of a crushed gas station with one overturned but working pump, which they discovered during one of their frequent day trips.
They drive the toll roads to save time and head inland toward Santiago Canyon Road, which brings them right to the shoreline of Irvine Lake. To their utter horror and surprise, the lake has been completely transformed in the weeks since Alex and Deuce last visited. It appears a small earthquake has split the lake in half. The fault line is clearly visible, slicing through the embankment along the lake’s southern edge, creating a jagged ten-foot-wide rift in the lakebed.
“Wait here.” Alex and Deuce get out of the van and approach what is left of Irvine Lake. It has been reduced to a mud pit, as if some invisible plug has been pulled and most of the water has drained out through the bottom. All that remains are a few rotting lake trout carcasses in the mud. There is no haven for the Guerrero and Jacks families here. They must keep moving to find another source of freshwater.
“So much for a life at Irvine Lake,” Deuce shakes his head. “Now what?”
Alex considers their options for a moment and quickly decides they only have one left. “Our absolute best chance is Lake Tahoe.”
“That’s more than five hundred miles away.”
“I know.”
“What if that’s been destroyed, too?”
“We’ll have to take our chances, Deuce.”
They return to the van to tell Matias and Diego the bad news.
“Where do we go now?” Diego asks.
Alex eyes Diego and Matias. “Our only chance is Lake Tahoe. It’s five hundred miles north, two hundred miles from the Pacific and six thousand feet up in the mountains.”
“We have just enough gas to make five or six hundred miles,” says Diego.
“The old van won’t do uphill very well,” says Matias. “Too much weight.”
“We have no choice,” says Alex. “Lake Tahoe is the biggest alpine lake in America. Last time I checked, it had plenty of clean freshwater and fishing. Even if we have to get out and push the van uphill, I think Tahoe’s our best shot. It could support our families for life.”
“However long that is.” Diego gripes. “I hope you’re right, amigo.”
Alex has no way of knowing what conditions will be like at Lake Tahoe or anywhere else in this dying, post-apocalyptic California, or anywhere else in America, for that matter. There is no cellphone app or virtual voice assistant to answer his questions, no Internet he can turn to for answers or information about anything. Everything has been reduced to guesswork, instinct, a total crapshoot. All Alex really knows is that the sea level is still rising incredibly fast and at 6,250 feet above sea level Lake Tahoe represents high ground and the only hope for salvation and long-term survival. With luck, they can make it to South Lake Tahoe in ten hours.
“Okay, listen up!” Deuce commands the children’s attention. “This is going to be a long trip. We don’t want you guys singing a chorus of ‘Are we there, yet?’ So let’s all be patient and try to help the grownups.”
Jessa winks at Deuce approvingly as he opens the carton of Slim Jims and hands one to each kid. The girls look puzzled, as if they have never seen a Slim Jim before. Mateo peels
the wrapper from his straight away and takes a big dramatic bite, mostly for the benefit of his sister, Mia, and his cousin, Sofia.
“You should try it. It’s really yummy and spicy.”
Not wanting to be outdone, yet afraid to bite off more than they can chew, Sofia and Mia peel back their wrappers and take the tiniest little gerbil bites. Mateo and Deuce roll their eyes. The girls chew daintily and very carefully at first.
“Tastes like pepperoni,” says Sofia.
“Skinny pepperoni,” adds Mia. “I like it.”
Deuce grins. “Who knows how to play rock, paper, scissors?”
Mateo, Mia and Sofia raise their hands. Deuce won’t have to teach them.
“The winner of each game gets another Slim Jim.” Deuce is confident. He has enough Slim Jims for fifty-six games of rock paper scissors. “You can eat one now, but you must save the rest for later. We can’t afford to stop for tummy-aches. Let’s pretend we’re soldiers on a serious, lifesaving mission.”
Jessa, Mariana, Isabella and the kids all nod obediently. They know they’re on a serious lifesaving mission. Only the lives they are trying to save are their own.
“Hey, I thought we were playing rock, paper, scissors,” says Mia.
While the women and children play in the back of the van, Alex sits up front in the cab, wondering how long the dinosaurs might have lasted after the asteroid struck sixty-five million years ago. How many were killed instantly? How long did the rest survive before every last one had perished?
What about The Crash? How many Homo sapiens survived and how much time do they have left before the badly wounded planet claims them? Will Deuce get to live a full life? How many generations will pass before this latest mass extinction is complete and some other life form, ants or cockroaches, perhaps, claimed dominance over planet Earth? As the three men ride in silence, wrapped in their own thoughts, Alex has nothing else to do but ponder his family’s uncertain future.
The Jacks and Guerreros have lasted more than three months since Diablo slammed into the moon. Even though it is December, California’s weather has not changed. Alex estimates that it is fifteen to twenty degrees warmer than normal for this time of year. Will conditions in Lake Tahoe at much higher altitude be the same, or will they face a new threat from subfreezing nighttime temperatures, unbearable wind chills and the distinct possibility of death by frostbite?
Except for the occasional dead vehicle, the road is remarkably clear most of the way to Bishop, a small town 3,200 feet up in the high desert, a town that seems as if it has been transplanted from somewhere in rural west Texas, rodeos and all. Bishop has been reduced to a graveyard for abandoned cars and pickup trucks. The flattened “Annual Bishop Rodeo” billboard lies half in the street and half up against several brand-new pickup trucks that were squashed right where they once stood on the Bishop Ford dealer’s lot. The resulting mess makes Interstate 395 through Bishop nearly impassable. Diego slows the van to a rush hour-like crawl. Matias and Alex jump from the cab and walked along on either side of the van clearing debris while Diego maneuvers their little caravan carefully around each automotive corpse. Once they clear this mile-long stretch through Bishop and get rolling again, Diego punches the old van back up to sixty-five.
By the time they reach State Road 89, Alex feels more than a little anxious. It’s the final leg of their journey. It will take them from 3,500 feet to over 6,200 feet of elevation and bring them right into South Lake Tahoe. Will the lake be in good condition, full of freshwater? How livable will it be?
Behind the van, Deuce rides one of the trikes. He sits there wondering whether the old van will make it all the way to Lake Tahoe carrying three families with their worldly possessions and towing three trikes and a German shepherd. Deuce looks over at Samson. The dog is still curled up on the seat of the trike next to Deuce’s.
“Yo, Samson.”
The dog’s ears perk up.
“If the van dies, it’s all on you, boy. You’ll have to pull us the rest of the way up the mountain because you are Samson, right?”
As if he understands, Samson bolts upright, stares straight ahead and flexes his shoulders like he’s reporting for duty. Deuce smiles proudly. He has wanted a dog for years. Until The Crash, Alex was adamant about not keeping pets. Now, finally, Deuce has a dog and, as far as he is concerned, it’s the best thing that’s come from The Crash.
South Lake Tahoe
By the time they pass Lake Tahoe Airport, they have driven over five hundred miles without seeing a single survivor. The airport has long been abandoned. Several small planes still sit on the taxiway smashed to pieces and covered in debris. There are no people, no animals, no birds. The normal, ubiquitous sounds of nature and human activity have been totally silenced. The only sound now is the sputtering of the van’s overworked six-cylinder engine as they drive toward town.
Darkness has fallen over South Lake Tahoe by the time they arrive. State Road 89 passes the much smaller Cascade Lake less than a mile south of Lake Tahoe’s Emerald Bay. They decide to stop at Cascade Lake for the night. It is small enough to fit inside Lake Tahoe a thousand times, but the lake appears to be in good condition, so Diego parks the van and everyone files out to stretch their legs. Though the trees around the lake have been laid flat, the water is clean, fresh and welcoming. Their collective sense of relief is palpable.
“Yay, we made it!” Mateo exclaims as he scoops a handful of lake water, drinks and splashes his face.
“Almost,” says Alex. “This is Cascade Lake. Lake Tahoe is much bigger.”
They are all too exhausted to go any further. Instead they use the van for shelter and they treat Cascade Lake like a stopover motel, refilling their water jugs and taking much-needed baths before settling back inside the van or on the soft ground nearby. Sleep comes quickly for everyone except Alex and Jessa. Alex grabs her hand and takes her for a stroll around the lake.
“I can’t remember the last time we were alone.” There is genuine relief in Alex’s voice.
“Three months and three days,” says Jessa, “but who’s counting?”
He turns, faces her and looks into her eyes.
“I don’t know how much longer we have, Jess, but I’m crazy glad that our family is intact and I still have you and Deuce.”
“You could have stopped at crazy,” says Jessa hugging him tightly.
They kiss and continue walking.
“You know, for years I’ve had a strong feeling, a premonition something like this would happen in my lifetime. Not The Crash, but possibly another big asteroid strike, a massive earthquake or an alien invasion. You know, some huge, life-changing disaster for humanity.”
“So you bought a house with a bomb shelter that saved our lives. I always knew you were smart. That’s why I married you.”
“I thought you married me for my money.” Alex taunts her playfully.
“That’s it, Donald Trump, I’m still trying to figure out why you married me.”
“Because you have a cute butt.” Alex grabs her bottom with both hands then pushes her up against a big rock where they make up for the three months and three days of lost time that they have not been alone together.
Later, they return to the van and fall asleep on the recumbent bikes, which Deuce has jury-rigged into makeshift sleep recliners, under thick clouds and a dark foreboding sky.
Chapter 9
December 6
When Alex awakens the next morning, he has no idea how long he has slept. Thick clouds make it impossible to judge time. As long as the clouds linger, there is only Dawn, Day, Dusk and Dark times, names that become the only useful time designations. It has been that way for months.
Jessa is still asleep beside him. He leans over and kisses her lightly on the cheek. Always a light sleeper, she slits open her eyes almost immediately.
“Let’s eat something and go exploring.”
Breakfast consists of protein bars and the last carton of orange juice. Jessa awakens Deuce.
“Dad and I are going to check out Lake Tahoe. Stay here until we get back.”
Deuce barely opens one eye, nods and falls right back to sleep.
Alex and Jessa peddle their trikes out onto the northbound lane of State Road 89. In ten minutes, they reach the scenic overlook at Emerald Bay, the Southwest entrance to Lake Tahoe.
Except for all the downed trees and a surface layer of dust and debris along its banks, the lake is still as clear blue, breathtakingly beautiful and majestic as the pictures Alex saw online when he was considering a family vacation there. It’s twenty degrees warmer than normal for this time of year, by Alex’s estimate, something to be grateful for.
There has been no rain, either, not a drop in three months. The weather fronts and Pacific air masses that normally bring rain to California are frozen in place as if a giant invisible conveyor belt has been shut down.
Alex and Jessa dismount their trikes and stand next to the partially crushed concrete abutment that once formed the overlook. For several minutes, they just stare at the lake and marvel at the sheer immensity of one of America’s greatest natural wonders, possibly one of its last.
“I can’t believe how beautiful,” says Jessa.
“Welcome to paradise.” Alex makes his way around the abutment and down the rocky bank to the lake’s edge. Jessa follows right behind him as they cross a narrow strip of sandy beach between the embankment and the lake. When they reach the lake, they scoop lake water with cupped hands and drink.
“This is the best water,” Jessa scoops a second helping.
“I told you.” Alex enjoys a few gulps of water then wades into the lake ankle deep. He spots a school of mosquito fishes. They are only about an inch long and silvery gray like female guppies. He and Jessa watch them dart across the shallows and swim among the water grass and pebbles.
“Mosquito fishes are good signs. Where there are small fishes, there are big fishes.” Alex looks out over the lake just in time to see a trout breach the surface not fifty feet from the shoreline. Except for the downed trees and shoreline debris, Lake Tahoe is everything Alex hoped it would be. He can’t wait to tell Deuce and the others. Their ordeal is finally over. They have finally found their Garden of Eden.
RUNAWAY MOON Page 14
