"Does this jalopy have a radio that works?" Ela asked. "Maybe we can find out what’s up with this weather."
"There isn't much FM reception in this part of the canyon, but AM stations come in fine, I think. You try it, with my hearing it isn’t worth the effort, I don’t understand much of what’s said."
Ela turned the key to power the accessories and started searching. A political talk show came over the radio’s speaker, "I’ll leave it here for a bit, if they have news and weather updates it will probably be on the half hour, a few minutes from now."
Con stayed quiet for the next fifteen minutes while Ela listened intently to the fading broadcast.
"Okay Mom, I got some of it and here is what is going on: our weather problem has a name, it's Winter Storm Abe. He's stalled to the south of Las Vegas and continuing to dump snow across Western Colorado and the Four Corner States. The forecast is for continued snow today and tomorrow before this system starts to move to the east."
"What was that about the power?" Con asked.
"Abe caused a large power outage, but he also has help. Someone, they don’t yet know who, has unleashed a grassroots movement attacking basic utilities, and they've been, at least partly, successful."
After a pause Ela went on, "There are reports of vandalism to electrical substations and communications facilities. In response to that our military shut down the GPS system over this part of the country. They feared that terrorists and/or vandals were using the GPS system to navigate to some of the more remote substations and communications facilities. There is something déjà vu about all this . . ."
Con thought for a moment, "Climate change can affect more than just the weather. Sounds like the diplomatic climate is heating up too. If the powers-that-be are ever able to get an address for the instigator of these attacks, it wouldn’t surprise me if they sent a drone to RSVP, probably be a blast to watch, too."
"Mom, this is serious. We need to worry how the two of us are going to survive this," Ela said.
"We have shelter and heat for a while." She turned the key to power up the gas gauge. "And we are still at almost three-quarters of a tank of gas," Con added reassuringly.
"If we stay here we will either freeze or starve, so there's no long-term solution in staying here. I do agree that we need to hole up until it stops snowing; we don't even have winter coats. If the weather report was right, and I understood it correctly, then we have essentially two days and two nights before the sun shines again," Ela stated, with her usual need to put things in an orderly fashion.
"The bright side of our survival situation is we have plenty of water, a well and a year-round stream," Con said rolling her eyes and gesturing to the arctic like landscape. Then she continued, "And we have shelter, as long as we have gasoline to help keep us warm."
"Mom, I read that one of the first things to do, if time allows, when first realizing that you are caught in a survival situation is to do a complete inventory of everything in the immediate area. That way we identify the resources available to us."
Con got out of the driver’s seat and quickly jumped into the upright backseat, so she would have access to the stuff in the rear. "Good idea. Let’s do the food first, since that’s critical."
"Okay, how do you want to do this?" Ela asked.
"How about I find all the food back here and stack it in the driver’s seat. You look through the glove box, and anything else up there, and do the same?"
Ela popped open the glove box as an answer and started digging. Breath mints and wrapped candy were scattered among ink pens, owner's manual, and ammunition. Ela picked up a cartridge and read the head stamp, "9mm. Got the other part that goes with this, Mom?"
"Absolutely, never leave home without it. Never know when you might run into a hostile Indian out here," Con answered.
"See quite a few of those around here?"
"No, but I keep an eye out," Con answered, and then continued talking as she went through the rear of the car. "I admire the Ute people, it took hardy people to thrive in a harsh country like this. Unlike many other indigenous tribes there is no history of the Ute people migrating here, instead evidence suggests they lived around here for over a thousand years, some still do, and that's perseverance. In that time they developed a rich art culture, some of it pretty amazing. The Utes even discovered that quartz crystals in a rawhide rattle glow when they hit each other. Imagine a chief shaking that rattle as he addresses the tribal elders, as impressive to them as a light saber is to us, probably. They were also skilled warriors, so I'd need an equalizer if I ran into one."
Ela started in on the console and found more odd pieces of what was probably petrified hard candy. At the bottom she found two granola bars, and pulled them out with a grimace and tossed them in the pile of edibles. Reaching as far as she could under the seat she could feel something just at the tip of her fingers. Forcing herself to bend over further, pressing the side of her head against the dash, she finally pinched it between two fingers, and carefully slid it out from under the seat—a can of Copenhagen.
"Mom?" Ela questioned, holding it up.
Con turned around and broke into laughter, "That rascal!"
Ela waited for her mom to catch her breath and dab her eyes. "Hank, he must have just done that when he washed the car, hiding that as an emergency supply, in case he ever got stranded with me. Fooled him . . . I picked you to get stranded with. I’m sure it would be okay if you have some though, since you have to be here in his place."
"Yuck! Maybe we can barter it to a passing Ute for some pemmican," Ela said as she tossed it into the pile and they both laughed. "You've been anti-tobacco forever, yet you're okay with Hank dipping, why is that?"
Con turned around and settled back in the seat and studied her daughter as if trying to see if she wanted a real answer, or their usual banter. She decided on the former, "Relationships between two people, blood-related or not, are complicated for everyone over age twelve. As we get older forming a new relationship is much more complicated than it is for younger people."
She let that soak in and continued with, "By the time someone reaches age sixty, or so, they are usually more of a conglomeration than a single entity. For example, when I was in the Marines I was quite a different person than I was a couple years later, after you had arrived. All of us old farts have gone through character building times, each of them adding to the personality that makes us unique. If I choose to be around someone and enjoy my time, I've learned the best way for me to do so, is to accept others as they are; not waste a lot of time and effort trying to change them."
"Even if it's for their own good?"
Con laughed, "Only if you are willing to give up your own vices in exchange, even that's risky."
"Where did the accepting attitude come from? I don't remember you as exactly the accepting type growing up."
"You were so busy trying on personas and going through phases you probably just didn't notice. But, what I’m talking about is letting your partner retain some of those pieces of a former life that do no harm to you. You can’t just find a person you are physically attracted to and tell yourself that as soon as you train him or her everything will be perfect."
Ela didn’t say anything, so Con continued, "I don’t approve of tobacco or alcohol, and he doesn’t approve of smoking marijuana. The important thing is we are able to appreciate each other as we are, with acceptance of the other’s faults in return for their acceptance of our own." Con turned away and returned to gathering the food. Ela honored her mother’s unspoken signal to not tread any further down the current path.
"So, what have we got?" Con asked as they finished going through it all.
Ela started on the food pile, "For food we have: two freeze-dried meals, six assorted flavors of granola bars, one quart-sized bag of trail mix, one large bag of Peanut M&Ms, two bags of beef jerky, eight individually-wrapped hard candies, two tins of Altoid breath mints, ten green tea packets, one small jar of instant coffee,
twenty individual packets of sugar and one unopened can of Copenhagen. It looks like we can look forward to freezing to death before we starve to death." Then Ela asked, "I don’t suppose I overlooked a stove in here for the tea, coffee, and freeze-dried food?"
"No, you didn't. I took everything out of the car before I went to pick you up at the airport, and now it looks like I forgot to put the stove back in when I reloaded the car yesterday morning. I’m sorry." Con felt badly, but she decided that they really didn’t need it. "We can melt snow in this little pan that goes with the missing stove by using the defroster when we heat up the car. Then we can add a tea bag with some sugar and enjoy warm tea."
"Good idea, Mom. Gimme it and I’ll get some snow, I have to go out anyway."
Just before she closed the door behind her she heard, "Remember, no yellow snow." She shook her head thinking her mother acted more like six than sixty at times.
Tess - Chestertown, Chesapeake Bay, MD
Shortly after anchoring and going ashore, by way of Robin’s small inflatable dinghy, Tess’s exploration of Chestertown began. The local grocery store proved to be across town, about a mile from the dock. Tess decided to walk the distance after receiving directions from some boaters at the dinghy dock. They described a good way to see a cross-section of town by walking along High and Washington Streets to the supermarket. She came ashore prepared for just such an excursion, with four provision-hauling canvas bags stuffed into her backpack.
Even in the heat it felt good to stretch her leg muscles by walking on land, and in a straight line longer than the thirty-five feet that Robin's deck allowed. Tess stayed in the shade as much as possible, occasionally stepping into a store to browse and cool off. Heating up while walking, cooling off by shopping, and exploring Chestertown rewarded her efforts to get here and brought a smile to her tanned face.
When she made it to the shopping plaza and walked into Acme Food Store's air conditioning it felt deliciously cold, almost too cold at first. She wondered what percentage of the total price of her purchases would go toward paying the electric bill to run those air conditioners that contributed to the polluted air of the stagnant heat wave outside. For the moment she ignored her feeling and joined the other shoppers as unconcerned about the cost of climate change as everyone else.
Tess chose her purchases carefully; gauging her need against the effort of carrying it back to the dock by scrutinizing the weight of each item she chose. With her main goal to stock up on perishables, she started there. What went in the cart after that would be extra weight on this end, but a luxury once safely stowed aboard. Enjoying the cool, dry air she moved slowly through the aisles looking for the last "special" item, one that she would recognize when she saw it.
Chocolate looked good but would melt in this weather, she moved on to the cookie section, a productive area for finding craving-satisfiers in the past. Tess didn’t notice being studied; in much the same manner she studied the edible treasures in front of her.
Con & Ela - Unaweep Canyon, CO
Right now the fabulous view from the property was reduced to gray, speckled with swirling white, as if there were no other colors left in the world. Looking around at the dreary day with the snow continuing to fall, Ela estimated there was more than a foot of it now. Quickly she gathered some snow into the pan and hurried back to the shelter of the car.
As Ela got back into the car she set the small aluminum pan mounded with packed snow in the middle of the dash and looked over at Con, "Soon as you make your next trip out we can start the engine for a few minutes. What else have you found back there?"
"I have a little bag of hand tools with screwdrivers, end wrenches and pliers, though I don’t see them adequate for bridge building," Con jested.
As Ela looked at her mother she noticed she now sported a wide, black-leather belt with a holstered pistol. "Probably not, but tools are good to have. Speaking of tools, I see you’re armed. Did I miss something?"
"Just following orders and inventorying. This is my old Beretta M9; I'm wearing it like I did as a child."
"You had a gun when you were a child?"
"We all did. I was referring to my time as one of Uncle Sam’s Misguided Children."
"I thought you worked in supply."
"Every Marine is a rifleman first, and then some other military specialty to fill the time when not actually engaged in warfare."
"Lots of enemy activity in those warehouses?"
"More than you think, especially if you are a female Marine. I was never a beauty queen, but my figure must have been attention-getting, 'cause none of those bastards were looking into my eyes when they were around."
"How many did you shoot?" Ela asked, thinking her mom was bantering as usual.
"None, the ambushes slowed way down when I broke a corporal's leg with a forklift. That worked so well I ended up not needing to shoot anyone, but there was never any question as to if I would or not."
"Mom, you’re not leaving me hanging on this one, you might say we are a captive audience and captive speaker, so please . . . from the beginning."
"When I first got to the Fleet—"
"You were on a ship?" Ela questioned.
"Ela Nor, never again interrupt a sea story of mine, if you want to hear it," Con scolded, but then continued as if nothing had happened, warming to the idea of telling this story to her adult daughter just to see her reaction. Although this was a life-threatening situation they found themselves in, Con was determined to take advantage of the gifts it offered. She may never get such a perfect opportunity to get to really know and understand the person she had brought into this world. Most important to Con, being in the parked car meant close proximity to Ela, and a quiet environment. Both were critical conditions that enabled her to understand what her daughter said, without endlessly asking her to repeat what she said. She truly considered their situation a blessing in disguise.
"Yes, I was on a ship once, but that's not what the term means. As a Marine recruit-in-training for a military specialty, a recruit is part of a training command until graduation. Instead of a diploma the successful recruit receives orders to a permanent duty station, somewhere in the world on land or sea. That is called going to the 'Fleet.' The Fleet is where the newly trained Marine gets to join the other elite individuals that have already accomplished the challenges; it's joining the ranks of the professionals that you've busted your butt to be a part of.
Where was I? Ah yes, I had just received orders to 29 Palms in Southern California to join my first real command along with twenty-three other newbies.
Our first job was inventory. Supplies came in, got sorted, inventoried, and then sent to the units that requested the stuff. I was a PFC at that time and eager to make Lance Corporal, so I was being very diligent in my counting when this guy comes up behind me and starts pressing me up against a pallet. He had his arms around me squeezing so tightly I could barely breathe, or get my arms loose. I told him to stop or I would scream. He squeezed harder . . . then we heard a forklift coming and he let me go. I was stunned that a fellow Marine would treat me that way while on duty. I didn’t know what to do and ended up doing nothing, other than trying to avoid him.
A couple of weeks later it happened again, but this time I had a plan and stomped on his foot hard enough to teach him a lesson. He never tried anything with me again. When another guy tried cornering me a few months later, ripping my blouse and bra half off before I escaped, I had had enough.
About a week later I was on a forklift, one row of pallets away from him, and he wasn’t paying attention. I drove up behind him and put the forklift tines into a pallet stack, trapping him just like he had done to me. He was pinned against the pallet with his back toward me on the forklift, so he didn’t know who drove it at first. He started shouting, ordering me to back off. I pushed a little harder until his shouts changed to screams. I asked him if he wanted sex with me now? How did he like getting squished by something stronger and bigger than him?" Con
took a deep breath before going on, "We both heard the bones in his leg break."
"As soon as he quit screaming and begging enough to hear me, I told him it was his move and he could do what he wanted, but I would kill him if he ever tried anything with me again. No matter how long it took, I swore I'd never stop hunting him. Then I drove off on the forklift and left him lying there.
The so-called accident was investigated and I was given a bad enough fitness report that it took a change-of-command, and just short of forever, to make Lance Corporal."
"Wow, Mom," was about all Ela could say.
"The wow part is how lucky I was that I didn’t get court-martialed."
"What happened to the guy? Why didn’t he report you?"
"He didn’t report me because he had a reputation of doing that kind of thing; he knew if it ended up being his word against mine a few other female Marines could very well decide to join me. Maybe having bones in his lower leg broken while he begged me to stop opened his eyes to what it’s like being forced do endure something against one's will; hopefully he gained a sense of empathy. Anyway, I never saw him again."
Ela looked at her mom for a moment absorbing what she’d just been told. She knew her mom was tough, but breaking a man’s leg added a new dimension. She needed to think about what that would be like, having someone begging you to stop, but finishing what you set out to do; having utter faith in the righteousness of your actions. This was an aspect of her mother she had never seen, nor considered before. Growing up she had never seen her mom be cruel, Con usually went out of her way to be kind to others, so it seemed out of character. Ela decided not to question her mom too much on this story until she had time to ponder it some more.
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