by Suzanne Weyn
Directly behind the counter was an all stainless-steel kitchen, and Gwen went right for the freezer, scooping a handful of ice into her parched mouth and letting the wonderful cold and wet melt there. This wasn’t an illusion—it was real. Pulling open the refrigerator, she was deeply disappointed to find it empty.
In the cabinet, she found a supply of green-tinted drinking glasses that looked as if they had been made from the bottom of bottles, their edges smoothed. She took one and turned on the filtered water tap. She couldn’t remember anything ever looking as delicious to her as the stream of crystal-clear water that ran out. Gwen gulped down an entire glass of it, and then refilled a second. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since she’d had anything to eat or drink, and the water instantly revived her.
A winding staircase in the corner of the room appeared to lead to an upper floor. Putting down the glass, Gwen went to the bottom of the stairs. “Hello? Anyone up there?” After waiting several minutes for a reply, she began to ascend the stairs.
Gwen emerged into a room flooded in sunlight; turning, she was greeted with a vision of the windblown forest, its downed trees nearly stripped of their foliage. It took a moment more of disoriented confusion for her to realize she was staring out of a window that ran from floor to ceiling and took up the entire wall.
Apparently, the underground path she had been on had sloped upward gently, bringing her just below the surface, and the staircase had brought her the rest of the way.
It had worked—she’d found a way out. But what was this place?
There was no other window aside from the one that covered the entire wall. Was this building set into the side of the hill? Going to the window, she pressed her cheek up to it, peered to her right, and saw nothing but rock. It seemed she’d guessed correctly.
The room was nearly empty, nothing but one long table on the highly polished wooden floor. There were three shut doors against the back wall. Gwen pushed open the first and found a small, windowless room she assumed was a bedroom. It was also empty, though there was an unfilled bookcase built into the wall. The second room was identical to the first, but the shelves were lined with various books.
Quickly perusing their spines, Gwen saw that they had titles such as Building for a Greener Tomorrow, Straw Bale Insulation, Conquering Lift and Drag in Wind Power, and The Green Potential of Magnets.
One book looked older than the others, and Gwen took it down. It was titled Hubbert’s Peak: the Impending World Oil Shortage by Kenneth S. Deffeyes. It was an updated edition from back in 2003.
Thumbing through, she saw it was filled with graphs and charts. On the back cover, Gwen read a blurb explaining the book’s subject. A geophysicist named M. King Hubbert, who was working for Shell, had predicted that oil production in the United States would reach its highest level in the 1970s, and after that, the production of crude oil would begin to fall off and would never again rise. Just as he’d foretold with the help of his complex mathematical formulas, since 1971 the U.S. had been dependent on the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Companies for their oil.
He’d predicted this in 1956.
Gwen laid the book back on the shelf. 1956? It seemed that this mess they were in the middle of now had been coming for a long time. How had everyone missed the warning?
A low, humming sound distracted Gwen from her thoughts. It seemed to be coming from the next room. It was a whirring motor of some kind. Leaving the second room, she went out to search for the source of the resonance.
Pasted to the back of the third door, Gwen found a sign.
WELCOME TO THE HEART OF THE
WHIPPERSNAPPER 3
GREEN MODEL HOME—
THE REVOLUTIONARY MAGNETIC GENERATOR
The only thing on the floor was a motor about the size of a microwave oven, but with all its parts exposed. Four heavy plates spun, two clockwise, the other two counterclockwise. They were set between two heavy blocks of some kind of metal. It seemed that the spinning plates were turning two fan belts. It was all moving very fast.
Gwen turned back to the sign to find out some more about the Whippersnapper 3.
WELCOME TO THE HEART OF THE
WHIPPERSNAPPER 3
GREEN MODEL HOME—
THE REVOLUTIONARY MAGNETIC GENERATOR
You have reached control central. For a one-time start-up cost of about five thousand dollars, a homeowner need never pay a single dollar more for electricity in his or her home. This amazing new generator from a visionary Australian inventor will completely power the Whippersnapper 3 home, producing up to twenty-four kilowatts of power per day. With an initial kick start from battery power, the generator utilizes magnetic attraction and repulsion to produce five times more power than it consumes.
We hope you’ve enjoyed your tour of the Whippersnapper 3 Green Model Home. From its third-floor greenhouse to its fully straw bale–insulated basement, this home is a completely self-sustaining answer to many of the fuel emergencies bound to face the planet in coming years.
Be part of the solution, not part of the problem. Ask your representative how you can purchase a Whippersnapper 3 Green Home today.
CHAPTER 14
Tom stopped in the second-floor hallway of his house to listen to the hacking cough coming from his mother’s bedroom. Guilt shot through him. He’d left her there alone in the basement. He’d figured she was all right and other people needed him more.
And then, the next day, he’d taken the canoe out with Carlos and Carlos’s dad, trying to help more neighbors who were stranded. His mother had gone down, once more, to try to bail out the basement. And now this morning, she’d started with this horrible coughing.
Moving to her door, he knocked. “Mom, can I come in?”
“Sure,” she answered, which set off another fit of coughs.
His mother was still in bed and looked pale. “Have you eaten anything yet?” Tom asked her.
She nodded, catching her breath. “Some cereal.”
“You found milk?” he asked hopefully.
“I had it dry,” his mother replied. “Listen, there’s not much food left. Can you go into town and see what you can find? And, maybe by some miracle, you can still get that dehumidifier.”
Tom nodded. “Okay, yeah. It’s cold in here. Do you have any other blankets?” His mother pointed to the top shelf of her closet, and he pulled down a woolen blanket to tuck around her. “I’ll take the canoe out and go into town.”
“Is the water still that high?”
“It’s down about a foot from yesterday, but it’s still high enough that the canoe is the best way to go.”
“Okay. Be careful. There’s money over there on my dresser. Or take my debit card from my wallet.”
“No one’s taking cards. They all want cash,” Tom told her.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It’s just what I heard.”
“Then take the cash. And get me some cough syrup.”
Downstairs, Tom pulled open the refrigerator door. What a disgusting mess! His stomach rumbled. He counted the money in his pocket. Two hundred dollars. That should be enough to stock them up for a while, but he’d have to remember to buy only nonperishable items.
“Larry!” he called, and the golden retriever scampered in from the living room.
Tom ruffled the fur that curled like a mane around Larry’s neck. Now that Larry was dry, he turned out to be a gorgeous animal with a thick, red coat. Tom hoped no one was looking for this dog right now. The possibility of giving up Larry was something he didn’t want to consider. In only days, Tom had grown completely attached to him. “Come on, buddy, let’s go find you some dog food.”
Stepping outside to the back deck, Tom saw that the brown floodwaters were just about a foot below. He turned and began to untie the canoe that he’d tethered to the picnic table anchored to the deck. The table had withstood the blast of the storm, so he figured there was little danger of it floating off now.
&n
bsp; He untied the canoe from the table, dropping it over the railing to the water below. Grabbing the oars from the table, he whistled for Larry as he descended the deck steps and grabbed the canoe at the bow. The dog came running, and Tom leaned aside to let him leap into the canoe. “Whoa, there!” he cautioned, laughing, as the canoe rocked from side to side. “You don’t want to land in the water again, even if you are a good swimmer.”
There was a strong current that required him to hang on to the deck while he climbed in, to keep from being swept away. The racing water carried him out to the street without even using the paddles. But then he had to stroke hard against the flow to turn the boat toward town.
Neighbors instantly noticed him and opened their windows.
“Hey, Tom, can you take me to the doctor?”
“I have money for food. Can you buy some for me?”
“Tom, the mold is making my sister sick. She needs to get out of the house.”
“I’ll be back soon!” he called to them. “I have to do something right now. A Red Cross boat will probably be by soon.” Sage Valley had been officially declared a disaster area, but there were places, especially places south of them, which had been even harder hit. Various groups offering aid had come in, but Sage Valley was apparently lower on the list of places in need of immediate relief than others.
As he spoke, his words seemed to him shameful and cold. But he’d have felt just as bad if he helped them and ignored his mother yet again. “I’ll be back,” he repeated to no one in particular. He set his gaze dead ahead to avoid meeting any of their eyes as he threw his back into the task of rowing the canoe to town.
CHAPTER 15
Niki balanced the tray as she went up the steps to bring her father his lunch of canned chicken soup. She wondered if he’d appreciate the fact that she’d warmed it outside on the gas grill, using the last bit of propane left in the tank. Would the soup taste any different—smokier, more satisfying—for having been cooked outdoors? He probably wouldn’t even notice.
Her mother usually did this, but she’d gone to see Niki’s grandmother, who needed her medications refilled—and whose pharmacy hadn’t reopened since OscPearl swept through. When Niki’s mother had discovered she was out of gas, she’d taken Niki’s bicycle for the four-mile trip. “I used to think Grandma lived close by,” she said as she walked the bike to the puddle-dotted sidewalk. “Suddenly it seems like she lives far away. Not being able to drive certainly changes your point of view about distance.”
Niki had nodded, though she hadn’t particularly wanted to think about it. She still didn’t want to spend time dwelling on any of this—not the aftereffects of the hurricane, not the war, not the gasoline shortage, certainly not her depressed, out-of-work father. Niki didn’t want to spend time worrying about global warming, or about the possibility of more superhurricanes tearing their way up the coast. She was sick of hearing about all of it.
Niki just wanted to be left alone to think about Tom. He was a good kisser, a great kisser—better than Brock, whom she was surprised to realize she didn’t think about much at all anymore. Brock’s kisses had been sort of slobbery, now that she recalled.
It was pleasant to think about Tom, thrilling to think of him coming across the lake on the Jet Ski, to remember how his arms felt around her.
These memories almost made everything else go away.
But not completely.
“Come in,” her father called in a sleepy, groggy voice when she knocked at his bedroom door.
“I brought you some soup.” She hadn’t intended for her voice to sound as annoyed as it did, but the sight of him lazing in bed, tranquilized, unshaven, wearing pajamas he hadn’t changed in three days, was infuriating.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the tray from her. “Your mother told me that storm I heard was a big hurricane. Is that true?”
Niki rolled her eyes and fought the urge to knock the tray over on him. “It was a superhurricane,” she informed him stiffly.
“Oh, really?” he said, slurping his soup. “This is a little cold, Niki.”
She ignored his criticism of the soup. It was too obnoxious to even acknowledge. “Yeah, a real slammin’ hurricane,” Niki said, her voice rising angrily. “The lake was halfway to the back deck. We still have no electricity, and now we have no gas for the generator, either.”
“Go to the corner gas station and get some,” her father suggested.
“Oh, you missed that, too. Marietta’s private gas tanker can’t get through the floodwater. There’s no gasoline. No food. Nothing! And there’s no way to get out except to walk like a bunch of refugees with all our belongings stacked in wagons or on our heads—and to where? No place is better off than Marietta, and Marietta is in big trouble. So you can imagine what the other towns are like.” Niki threw her hands into the air. “Basically…we’re all going to die.”
Her father gazed at her blankly for a moment and then tossed his blanket aside. “If things are so bad, I guess I should get out of bed.”
“That would be a start,” Niki snapped.
“Sorry to leave you to handle it all. I guess I’ve had a sort of meltdown since losing my job.”
“I suppose it’s understandable,” Niki grumbled begrudgingly. With everything that had happened recently, the idea of crawling into bed and simply staying there had a certain appeal.
“But what could I do about it all?” her father wondered aloud as he dragged the blanket back on. “What would be the point?”
“The point is that Mom and I could use some help!” Niki shouted.
“You two seem to be handling things.”
“Dad, you’re not an invalid! Snap out of it!”
Her father pushed the tray with the half-finished soup onto the bed and rolled over, facing away from Niki. “It’s just all too much to deal with,” he muttered.
Niki could only stare at his back, dumbstruck with disappointment. Then she picked up the tray and walked out. He had always seemed so in control. Was it his job that had been holding him together all along? How pathetic!
What held her together? As she walked back to the kitchen with the tray, she discovered that this was a question she couldn’t easily answer. Nothing leapt to mind.
She didn’t have many close friends. Was it Tom or, at least, the pleasure of thinking about him? Before Tom, being Brock’s girlfriend had given her a sense of where she fit in.
Was it cheerleading? It did give her a sense of purpose—to her school, to her team. It was part of who she was.
But was that all she was? A cheerleader? Brock Brokowski’s girlfriend? Tom Harris’s girlfriend?
If those things were taken away, would she be just like her father, adrift and useless? Niki suddenly realized her eyes were wet with tears, and she quickly brushed them away.
This question was one more thing she didn’t particularly want to think about. Only, somehow, Niki couldn’t manage to put it out of her head.
CHAPTER 16
“This is definitely weird, Larry,” Tom said as he canoed into the center of the Sage Valley business district. “Where is everybody?” Were any stores even open? He’d heard they were.
His canoe made a rough, scratching sound as it scraped the bottom of the road. The business district was at a higher elevation, closer to the valley’s rim, than where Tom lived, so it was less flooded. “We’d better stow this thing,” he told Larry as he got out of the canoe. Seeming to understand, Larry jumped out, splashing into the water, which came to the tops of his legs. He stayed by Tom’s side as Tom dragged the canoe into some bushes, pushing the canoe deep into them until only a bit of orange peeked through. It wasn’t a perfect hiding place, but it would have to do.
Tom slogged through the water with Larry leaping along at his side. The first store he came to was Maria’s Deli. CLOSED—OUT OF EVERYTHING. HOPE TO REOPEN NEXT WEEK read the sign on the front door. The pizzeria he came to next wasn’t open, either: PIZZA OVENS OUT OF ORDER DUE TO FLOOD.
By the time they were at the center of town, the water was below his knees. There were lights on in the post office, so he headed in. A line of people wrapped itself all the way to the door.
“No dogs!” the clerk behind the counter snapped.
“Aw, come on, man,” Tom complained.
A hand shot out to wave to Tom. It was Mr. Curtin. “Give the kid a break, Les,” he said to the clerk.
“Aw, what the heck. Okay,” Les grumbled.
“Hey, Mr. Curtin,” Tom said, joining him at the back of the line. “How’s it going with you?”
“Hopefully better once I pick up this care package my sister sent. Everybody here is picking up packages. I guess we’re the lucky ones. I can’t even imagine how much it costs to send a package nowadays. How are things at your house?”
“Not so good. The water is still much deeper than here, and my mom’s not feeling so good, either. She spent too much time in the basement trying to bail floodwater, and now she’s coughing.”
“I hope the mold in your house isn’t getting to her,” Mr. Curtin said. “I know mold grows fast in wet conditions and some people can get really serious respiratory conditions. I don’t want to worry you, but you should be aware of it.”
“I hope she doesn’t have that. I thought it was just a head cold from standing in the water for so long,” Tom said. Mr. Curtin had worried him.
“Maybe that’s all it is,” Mr. Curtin agreed unconvincingly. He took a pad and pen from the pocket of his corduroy sports jacket. “You know where I live. This is my cell phone number if we ever get electric and cell phone service again. If not, just come over if you need help of any kind.”
