Tsunami Wake: Post Apocalyptic Thriller (Calm Act Book 4)

by Ginger Booth

  Delilah’s big headache now was relocating people and livestock. The rule was no housing less than 10 feet above sea level, and that level was rising. In fact the whole neighborhood where I grew up would need to be evacuated. Popeye’s home, too, come to think of it. Several at Amenac–PR were squatting in luxury waterfront townhouses by the marina. All condemned now.

  Getting people to abandon their homes wasn’t easy. Delilah’s only leverage was that since people had no choice, they’d better move fast while local real estate was still available. Otherwise, their next move was into New Haven. The threat of being relocated to the inner city worked wonders to get people moving. Snobs.

  “I’m moving a problem family into the red house on the corner, Alex,” Delilah warned him. The deal was that when these blocks became farms, the non-farmers moved out, their houses left vacant. But housing would be tight without the waterfront. “Don’t take any flack from them. If they touch your animals or crops, I need to know about it. They have the house, and the driveway. Everything else is off limits.”

  “Delilah,” I complained, “that seems a bit much to ask of Alex. Couldn’t you put them somewhere else?”

  “Alex has two in-house militia for backup, Dee – Shelley and Trey. That’s why I picked this block for the Hightowers,” she explained. Turning to Shelley, she advised, “Don’t give them an inch. They’ll take a mile. Inflated sense of entitlement.”

  “The Hightowers?” Trey said. “Father always bragging he was CEO of whatever? Mother a religious zealot, kids out of control?”

  “That’s them,” Delilah agreed in disgust.

  “They’re gonna love this,” Shelley commented. “They’re always bragging how they paid ‘one point seven million’ for their place.” Glum head-nods all around.

  I put a hand on Alex’ shoulder. “Let Trey and Shelley handle them. Delilah’s right. You can’t give them an inch. Try not to talk to them.”

  Alex looked wholly daunted by this advice, but Shelley and Trey shot him a bracing thumb’s-up. I could count on them to stand up for Alex. And he did need to toughen up. Those lessons come hard, at sixteen.

  “Oh, and Dee, Colonel Mora’s brother Manolo is collecting marsh samples,” Delilah added. “The water is rising too fast for natural habitat tracking. The marshes might not shift inland by themselves. Most other states along the coast are still under tsunami watch. So that’s kind of a big push for Connecticut, to supply marsh seed and starter marsh sod.”

  “Oh, that’s so cool!” I agreed. “Good for Manolo!” Marsh was such a crucial ecosystem along the coast, especially for wildlife and managing storm surges. They were also peaceful and beautiful, to me.

  “Yeah, and he’s hired beaucoup day laborers,” Trey added. Shelley continued programming for Amenac when she wasn’t busy with the militia, but in the spring Trey hoped to take over the crop end of farming my spread. Alex’s livestock and hay operation was solidly in the black, enough to offset Trey’s learning curve on the cash crops, we hoped. He didn’t do too badly last summer, though I’d run the farm until July. The hard part was over. Trey only needed to carry through, with helpful neighbors, eager for daily wages and a cut of the harvest.

  “Are you planning to crop some marsh sod?” I asked.

  “I could host it!” Trey suggested. “Down in that low bit, three doors down on the other side? Bet I could keep some marsh sod alive for sale. Right?”

  I pursed my lips. “Wrong. You need salt water.”

  “I can get salt water.”

  I smiled. “Ever heard of ‘sowing fields with salt,’ Trey? No strewing salt water on my farm, please. Alex’s farm.”

  “Oh,” he said, crestfallen. “That was dumb, huh.”

  “Actually, Dee,” Delilah said, “the crew’s coming with low tide tomorrow. You know that marsh as well as anybody. Could you meet them and show them around?”

  “I’d love it! Just send me their contact –”

  “– We need to interrupt with breaking news!” Jennifer Alvarez cried, from the living room mega-monitor.

  “No we don’t,” I objected, with a sinking feeling. “We don’t do live news. Please don’t.” I dashed into the living room, to scrabble for my phone, which was thrumming in panic.

  Alas, they were doing it. Our anchor-actor Jennifer must have already quit for the night after the safely pre-recorded news was shot earlier. Her normal anchor wardrobe featured a woodsy wholesome New England look, turtlenecks and bulky sweaters and bright plaid flannel, with minimal makeup. This evening, it looked like Jennifer planned to go clubbing in New Haven after work. She’d already changed into a black knit dress with fetching peekaboo cut-outs. Thick Egyptian cat-eyes eye-liner was topped with contoured metallic plum and gold up to the eyebrows, with matching glossy lips. Her hair escaped a high ponytail in all-over wisps. She must have been out in the wind, about to take off on her scooter, when they called her back for this.

  “– Lieutenant Colonel Bob Brazeau, Lead Resco of New Hampshire and Vermont –”

  The phone showed a dozen texts already, red-flagged from the Resco Raj.

  “– Secede from New England! This afternoon Governor-General Link attempted to order the team of engineers sent by Hudson, to leave New England and the Seabrook nuclear plant. Seabrook remains in critical condition at this hour, having been struck with waves up to twenty feet during the tsunami, which the facility was not designed to withstand. Lead Resco Brazeau insists that New Hampshire cannot afford to lose the nuclear safety team. He requests Hudson border forces enter New Hampshire, across Vermont, to protect them. And! Brazeau requests admittance for both Vermont and New Hampshire to the nation of Hudson! Meanwhile, New England forces out of Boston are mobilizing to –”

  Carlos’ text first, I decided: Call me now. I paused the broadcast.

  “Hey!” the gang objected. “It was just getting good!”

  “We’ll watch it all in a minute,” I assured them, and stepped into my frigid office. “Hey, Carlos. Dee.” I closed the glass-paned door behind me, heart thudding almost as badly as when the tsunami was chasing me.

  “Hey, Dee. Just wanted to let you know. You don’t have to do anything,” Carlos assured me. “I approved the statement.”

  “Good,” I breathed. “But we’re at war with New England.”

  “Yeah, there’s that,” he agreed. “Just saber-rattling so far.”

  “Did Cullen really order troops in?”

  “Yeah,” Carlos allowed. “Gotta go, Dee. Just, I call dibs on this announcement. Do nothing. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said experimentally, and signed off with him. I still didn’t say yes, sir very often.

  I rapidly skimmed through my red flags. Everyone from Amenac got a common text: Carlos says Carlos has dibs. Let him. After reading the Resco Raj texts, I reused the same text. Emmett, bless him, sent me a heart and told me to call him, no matter how late.

  Alex had resumed the broadcast. I rejoined him with a hug to watch the end.

  “– As a native of Nashua, New Hampshire myself,” Jennifer shared. No, please don’t share. “– I applaud Resco Brazeau for calling in help to protect New Hampshire from the threat of nuclear meltdown. PR News thanks Governor-General Sean Cullen of Hudson for sending forces to Resco Brazeau’s assistance. Live free or die, New Hampshire!” That was the New Hampshire state motto, engraved on their license plates.

  Jennifer pumped a fist on screen in solidarity, looking both adorable and ferocious in her nightclub makeup. I held a hand over my mouth, spellbound and aghast.

  “Oh, yeah!” Jennifer continued, belatedly resuming her script. “A few reminders for ordinary citizens. When armed forces move through your area? The basement is the place to be. If there’s no basement, seek the highest floor of your building.” Jennifer used a horizontal hand to indicate low, then above her head for high, shoulder-level for in-between.

  “Most firefights take place at street level. If you’re above ground, try to create a
bullet-break out of mattresses, couches, and heavy furniture. Stack furniture as thick as you can, away from outer walls and windows. Walls can be flimsy compared to some ammo.

  “Do not attempt to protect yourselves with weapons. These forces are not looters, not insurrectionists, but rather professional soldiers. Put your weapons away, keep your hands up, heads down, and stay safe. Let your livestock fend for themselves. If active shooting breaks out in your area, we recommend checking the news for announced ceasefires. Try to take care of animals and other business during these lower-intensity pauses in the fighting. As always, look to your Cocos and Rescos to lead you through this.

  “Calling all militia! At this time, Hudson has announced lockdown throughout Connecticut, plus all Upstate counties bordering New England. That means limited movement between communities.

  “New England has not shared announcements with PR News. But we cordially suggest lockdown at the household level throughout Massachusetts, Vermont, and New Hampshire. Canadian forces have closed and reinforced the border with Maine and Quebec.

  “Let’s all hunker down, stay home, and stay safe. The wind out there is brutal anyway.” Jennifer grinned, clearly getting a rush out of this. She pointed directly into the camera. “See you tomorrow. Good night, and God bless Hudson and New England. Bye!”

  We all stared as the credits rolled, with the night’s best images cycling through the backdrop. At the end, a placard said to check back here throughout the day for updates.

  “What exactly were you here for today, Dee?” Delilah inquired.

  “Um, staffing issues.”

  She nodded. “Good. Trey, Shelley. Saddle up. We’ve got a lockdown to enforce. Need a ride? You’ll be on Route 1 at the reservoir.”

  As they grabbed their guns and decamped, Alex asked me, “I don’t have to wait for a ceasefire to take care of my animals, do I?”

  I gave him a reassuring hug, and shook my head. “Should be fine in the morning. Just, look around first. Check the announcements.”

  “Do you think New England will try to take Connecticut back?”

  Or Connecticut take Narragansett? I wondered. “I don’t know what happens next, Alex. Let’s finish dinner.”

  17

  Interesting fact: Facing the planned obsolescence of old water-cooled nuclear plants in the 2030’s, and public resistance to their dangers, the U.S. government resumed funding R&D for “fourth generation” reactors in the early 2000’s. Cheap coal and oil and natural gas, without the societal and environmental costs factored in, kept nuclear R&D costs prohibitive for private industry. Yet it was understood that safer nuclear, fueled by dangerous waste from the old plants, was the best technology option for “baseline power” – reliable power available 24/7. Hydroelectric power was limited by the availability of rivers. Solar and wind generated power intermittently, and were limited by a lack of battery technology to even out supply. Despite the technical verdict that fourth generation nuclear was our best option, public support lagged, having “learned” that “nuclear was bad.” Meanwhile unimaginable wealth and jobs and vested interest backed fossil fuels.

  “Hey, darlin’. You sound like hell,” Emmett said when I caught him by phone a few hours later. “Better than Cam, though. I hope he doesn’t develop pneumonia.”

  “Aw, poor baby. Give him a hug for me.”

  “No, thanks. Cam thinks I deserve a court martial. Poor baby can pout on the couch. Of course, he’s right. Not up to him.”

  “So are you still demoted?” I asked.

  “Nope, back to light colonel. All friends again. Except for Cam.”

  “Doesn’t that piss you off?”

  “Darlin’, I was born in the Army. A few hours’ demotion is nothing. I was naughty. I did penance. Sean’s easy.”

  “Want me to talk to Cam?”

  “Nah. What Cam needs is five-mile run. But his legs are broken, he’s stuck on the couch, and he wants his squeeze. Dwayne could fix him. You can’t. Need to get him some exercise. Or some Dwayne.”

  “I owe him my life,” I said.

  “He claims you owe each other, and it cancels out. Enough about Cam. How’s it going in Connecticut?”

  “Ah, not great. Amenac–PR will hold together a little while, I guess. But Amen1 wants to bolt. Mangal wants to bolt. I want PR News to act like a professional news program, but I don’t have enough professionals. It’s time I fix that. Did you see Jennifer on the news tonight? ‘Live free or die! Go, New Hampshire!’” I squeaked in a girlish falsetto. “What is she, a high school cheerleader?”

  Emmett laughed out loud. “Uh-huh. She looked kinda hot tonight, though. And the cute little fist pump. She was adorable. Darlin’, don’t sweat the small stuff. Jennifer was fine.”

  I picked at my comforter and stroked the phone.

  “Uh-huh,” Emmett said. “What do you want different?”

  “I want a professional anchor. And a professional news editor setting up the evening news. Great reporters. And I want to be able to jump in and do our own shows when we have something to say. And I want to broadcast the truth.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And I want a husband who says more than uh-huh.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I perceive that you do not believe me.”

  “Uh-huh,” he agreed. “There was this thing. About how girls want someone to listen. And guys make a mistake when they jump in and try to fix it, instead of listening. You ever hear about that thing?”

  “I think it’s a crock. And I’m a woman, not a girl. You asked about my day. I said my day is that I need to fix PR News. I’m not venting. Much.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “OK, I was venting. But I’m done venting now, and I still need to fix PR News.”

  “I have every confidence in you,” he said.

  “Is that a variation on ‘uh-huh?’”

  “Pretty much. But I have an idea.”

  “On how to fix PR News?”

  “No. But Valentine’s is day after tomorrow. How about I throw a Valentine’s Day party? Saturday night. Sean will be gone by then. We can invite Dwayne, and Ash and Deborah, and Carlos. A four-couple dinner party and dance.”

  “Carlos and Gladys are really a couple now?” I asked, successfully diverted.

  “Looks like. Popeye’s here tonight. Gladys told him he should have called before popping into the Apple. Carlos showed him to a room on the fourth floor.”

  “Poor Popeye!”

  “You’d rather Gladys stuck with Popeye?” Emmett asked. “Darlin’, I don’t think Gladys is ready to go steady.”

  “No,” I agreed. “After this party, does everyone finally move out of our house? If Dwayne comes, maybe he could bring a car, and take Cam away.”

  “An added bonus,” Emmett agreed. “But mostly we’d have fun dancing.”

  “Aw, Emmett!” I said. “That’s a nice Valentine’s present! Thank you!”

  “Cool. I had something else for you, but I left it in Passaic. So, can you be back Saturday night?”

  “I will. Somehow. If we’re under lockdown, there aren’t any trains, are there?”

  “No, but Carlos is driving Popeye home tomorrow. You can hitch a ride with him back to the party.”

  “I love you, you know,” I said.

  “Love you, too, darlin’,” he said. “Sucks that I’m finally home and you’re not here.”

  “Will you stay home a while? Cleaning up Brooklyn and Queens?”

  “Don’t know. So did you want advice on your PR News thing? Sounding board, really. You don’t need advice.”

  “Maybe I do need advice.”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “Seems to me there’s just a whole lot going on, you know? You’re sick from getting tumbled by a tsunami – don’t forget that part. You need to take care of yourself.”

  “Uh-huh,” I intoned.

  “Right.” I could hear his crooked smile though the phone. “And you have a husband who loves you and wishes you w
ere here. That’s the personal stuff. And then there’s this upset at work – Amenac–PR, feathers ruffled all around. You seem to think you have some kind of Resco assignment to soothe public feathers, too. Uh, didn’t you have an app you were supposed to build? Elevations and high water and stuff?”

  “Damn. Yeah, I should check on that before bed.”

  “No comment,” he replied with some difficulty. “And then there’s the world. Lot of upsetting stuff going on in the world right now.”

  “Were you going somewhere with this?”

  “I was,” he agreed. “You’re overwhelmed. Natural enough. Any time you’re in overwhelm, step one is to step out of the overwhelm. Because it renders you ineffective. Right?”

  I sighed. “Yeah. Oh. Hence the Valentine’s Day party, right?”

  “Mostly I just want to celebrate Valentine’s with you, darlin’. And I like throwing parties.”

  “Like our wedding.”

  “Dee? Out of all your problems today, where is our wedding?”

  “On hold,” I agreed.

  “I consider us already married, darlin’,” he said. “We can throw a wedding party whenever we have time. This weekend, three couples is enough.”

  “Yeah, that’ll be fun,” I said. “OK, priorities. Well, I leave here Saturday, because I need a ride. Between now and then, I focus on getting Amenac–PR onto an enthusiastic new direction, all hands on board. With less censorship.”

  “You won’t get less censorship, darlin’,” Emmett said.

  “I disagree,” I said. “But, you’re not the one I need to pitch that part to, I guess. Well, it would be nice if you backed me. Or do you back me? Do you think there should be this much censorship?”

  “I think Carlos is good at his job,” Emmett said. “I trust his judgment. But Dee, if you’re pitching less censorship, what’s at stake? What truth do you think needs to come out? And why? As in, what good does it do the people of Hudson? And New England and Penn and VA – you’ve got a strong audience there, too. Less other places. But that’s the key to getting Carlos and Sean on your side.