SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel

by O'Brien, J. Z.

  "So back to the gun, were you carrying it?"

  "I didn’t have this gun then, these came out later. Forklifts are intimidating enough, when the driver has vowed to stick a tine in you."

  "Why this one?" Ela asked pointing at the Beretta.

  "Well the weapon issued during my enlistment was the 1911 .45, but it was a bear for me to shoot. The Marine Corps accepted the M9 in the early '80s, after I was out, but it still got my interest and I tried one. I liked it so much I bought it right then and there. It’s much easier for me to handle and carry than a standard .45-ACP. I like to wander around the hills here looking at wildlife, taking photos, and hunting for interesting rocks, and I do most of that alone. So I decided to carry a firearm, knowing that it's better to have it and not need it, than need it and not have it. For anyone that has been attacked there remains no doubt that it can happen again. Surprise doth paralyze, and it can get you raped or killed. Train and trust your instincts."

  "Mom, you’ve always been my heroine and you are even more so now," Ela gave her mom a hug. Con’s heart swelled.

  Con smiled and tried to lighten the moment, "Don’t be too quick to judge, you haven’t heard all my sea stories." They both laughed, but Ela knew as far as heroines were concerned she had picked a good one in her mother.

  "Try the radio again while I reconnoiter for a drought-stricken bush," Con said as she bundled and zipped before exiting the car.

  Ela powered the radio and started listening for any news. The same talk radio station was fading in and out, but it sounded like the discussion was about homegrown terrorists taking advantage of the storm to attack communications and electrical power. As Ela concentrated and heard bits and pieces the hair on the back of her neck began to rise. In a moment of sudden comprehension she realized a group she knew might be responsible for some of what was happening. She fell back in her seat working her memory, and its connections, with what she'd heard.

  Con climbed back in, looked at Ela, and immediately became aware of her daughter's changed demeanor.

  "Mom, start the car. Let's try to make some tea; it's after four in the afternoon. And how about some of that jerky for a snack?"

  Con looked at her daughter with a puzzled expression, "Did you get disturbed by something on the radio?"

  "Boy, did I ever! I need some energy to process this and sweet tea will do," Ela answered.

  "Whatever you say, Dear. The car is started, the heater's on full blast, and I’m armed for your protection, so relax."

  Ten minutes later it was downright tropical in the car, so drinking the lukewarm tea in paper cups wasn’t so bad. Con shut the engine off, and silence descended with the death of the heater fan.

  Ela took a couple of sips then blurted out, "Okay! I knew there was something familiar about what's happening," causing her mother to spill some of her tea.

  "I remind you I’m still armed," Con said, wiping the front of her top.

  "Mom, this is serious. Remember I said something about meeting princes or knights in jail?"

  "Yeah . . ."

  "We were there for hours, a bunch of us that had been arrested at the demonstration. We were all sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, talking. The guy across from me was a hunk, his maturity and experience held all our attention. When I say we talked it was mostly him telling the rest of us about a plan for mitigating climate change that a small group of hackers—he only knew of—were working on.

  He described a scenario where an extreme weather event is used as a call-to-action. Any true environmentalist, wanting to make a difference, can answer that call with individual action, based on skills and availability of targets to that person. Attacks on essential systems over a broad area during the height of the weather crisis would deepen and prolong the crisis. If the supply of drinking water, food, fuel, electricity, or communications can be disrupted, even for just a few days, the chances of unrest in the populace go up dramatically. The idea is to make the situation so bad that the Feds declare a State of National Emergency.

  The key factors of a National Emergency are: a suspension of the writ of Habeas Corpus, and deployment of Federal Law Enforcement personnel, rather than National Guard troops; thereby sidestepping congressional approval. A crackdown without congress's approval is much more apt to cause unrest and riots.

  It would be like having Guantanamo Bay rules in the U.S. with FEMA camps as a means for the Feds to imprison and pacify the populace until it is convenient to reinstate individual rights granted us by the Constitution. In a well-armed society like the U.S. this kind of thing can't happen more than once or twice before a tipping point is reached and an exponential spread of unrest and violence erupts. And when it does, his goal of reducing anthropogenic induced climate change is addressed by reducing human populations to a sustainable level."

  Con thought that over for a moment, "Trying to get all of us to start killing each other off is not new, using weather as a cover isn't new either. Almost any snowstorm offers opportunity to interdict supply lines and weaken the enemy before the battle. Using a storm that's packing enough snow to block all the roads and shut down electrical power is effective in isolating a region from outside help before the first shot is fired. But what are the chances of him, and his cronies, starting enough of a movement in the rest of the country to be a force to contend with? I'm doubtful."

  "What I remember the most is those piercing gray eyes of his, shining with the passion he felt for his subject. It is easy to imagine him recruiting followers—what he said is coming back to me only after listening to the news again," Ela paused with an almost wistful look coming over her face.

  "It's a good thing the cops had taken my pen or I might have signed on—

  Anyway, he told us the group thinks of themselves as 'stewards' or 'shepherds' of a sustainable human presence on the Earth far into the future. They've connected like-minded people around the world to form a grassroots movement to stabilize the climate, by doing whatever it takes. The proposal is to follow on the heels of extreme weather events as 'force multipliers,' adding to the damage and death tolls in all countries. Whenever a super storm hits, so will they. And as extreme weather events happen more often, they'll have plenty of opportunities. They vow to continue until the only humans left decide to work with nature, rather than against it, in keeping the planet capable of supporting life.

  In a modern world a kid with a computer has the potential to do more damage than a kid with a gun. The cyber attacks will be international as well as domestic, and since they can attack municipal power, water, and waste systems a cyber attack is a weapon of mass destruction, if so designed."

  "It's circumstantial evidence at best that he is personally involved. Some of what he described may be occurring, but he may have moved on to some other cause by now," Con said.

  "I dunno, Mom. It was like déjà vu to hear what is happening . . . just like he described it. I'm betting that he's right up there, even if he isn't the mastermind. He probably works for the NSA or CYBERCOM, I'm pretty sure he was a hacker."

  "I don’t understand what this means to you."

  "Later I did some research and the strategy he talked about has been war-gamed by both civilian and government groups using supercomputers. Did you know that there have been only two times the U.S. has declared National State of Martial Law? During the Civil War and World War II?"

  "No, I didn't, Dear."

  "The Kent State massacre in 1970 happened under State-declared Martial Law, and look how closely that brought the U.S. to the brink of riots, if the Internet had been around then who knows what would've happened," Ela said.

  Both women were quiet as they sat processing the situation.

  "Maybe it's a good thing we are lost out here in the storm. What if he remembers what he told you? How long ago was this?"

  "Ahh . . .two, no, three years ago," Ela said.

  "Well, you’re safe here lost in an epic snowstorm with your old, but armed, Ma. Aren’t you t
he crafty one?" asked Con. Ela didn’t laugh.

  "Well, that was certainly good tea while it lasted,” Con said to break the somber mood. “Any good news on the radio? Powerball numbers? Anything?"

  "I turned it off after I heard the bad news about the terrorists," Ela said sheepishly.

  "Okay, we’ll check in the morning to see if Abe has decided to go and play somewhere else." Con paused and then continued, “It's still snowing, but now the flakes are like little BBs, so I don’t think the snow is getting that much deeper. It’s settling and the wind is blowing it around and compacting it. Did you know Eskimos have a bunch of words for snow?" Con asked.

  "If they allow descriptive adjectives I think I can beat them hands down; hard snow, damn snow, shitty snow, fu—"

  "Ela Nor, don’t you say it! A young lady like you should not use that word in public!"

  "I can say it in private?"

  "All you want, but I warn you, it is habit-forming and will slip out at the damnedest times," Con warned sternly.

  "Where do you come up with these truisms of yours?"

  "College."

  "Mom, you told me you joined the Marines right out of high school. When did you go to college?"

  "I started college the day I brought you home." Con noticed Ela building up compression and continued before she had a chance to vent her disbelief, "Before that day it was the school-of-hard-knocks. Waking up to the fact that I was a single-mother and there was this tiny, helpless person depending on me . . ." Con turned her head and took a deep breath remembering.

  "Well, that’s graduation day. You go from the school-of-hard-knocks straight to the college-of-hard-knocks. No summer vacation, no weekends off, much less a full night's sleep."

  Silence reigned until Con returned to the present. "That’s where you find the truth. The moment you know you are not the center of your universe anymore. Having a child means going into orbit around the child, now the center of a universe both of you cohabitate."

  "Mom, I misspoke. I meant to ask, 'Where did you learn your wisdom?' That was the question that you answered . . . I love you, Mom."

  "I love you too, Sweetie, and I didn’t mean to get all mushy. I hate that shit!"

  "You talk like a sailor, Mom!"

  "I am a former Marine, and resent your implication of formerly being a lower life form! Marines only associate with sailors when they need a lift across an ocean, a sea-going taxi."

  "That’s not what I heard, Mom. The real story is—when the Army and the Navy were choosing mascots, from what was available at the time, they found only Marines and mules were left to choose from. The Army won the coin toss and got to chose first, they picked mules because they were smarter and easier to work with than Marines."

  "You little shit! Just remember whom you’re messing with here. The Army was right. Marines are hard to work with, and this one’s armed and getting pissed."

  They both fell back in their seats laughing.

  Tess - Chestertown, Chesapeake Bay, MD

  The store clerk at the register seemed to know everyone passing through her checkout, and she kept a running conversation going from customer to customer. The woman in line ahead of Tess smiled and rolled her eyes at some of the checker’s comments, making eye contact with Tess as if to include her in the banter; a friendly small-town atmosphere Tess enjoyed.

  When it came time for Tess to check-through a man walked up and got in line behind her. As soon as he did, the checker’s banter dried up. At first Tess thought that it was because she, obviously not a local, had taken her turn. The checker smiled at Tess as they completed the transaction with her subdued demeanor, as compared to moments before, transmitting a subliminal warning.

  Tess had handed her canvas bags to the youngster doing the bagging and asked him to please balance her items by weight in the four bags. Before he finished and she could gather her bags the man behind her spoke.

  "Those cookies are my favorites. You have a sweet tooth too?" he asked.

  "They're for a friend," answered Tess, trying to be noncommittal.

  "Well, your friend can contribute them as her party favor. I'll bring the adult beverages, and we'll have a party at your place. From those bags and your 'Top-Siders,' I bet you're on a yacht?"

  "Just a small sailboat, no room, no desire for a party."

  "That's a lot of weight to carry in the heat, looking for a ride back to your sailboat?" the man asked, with a pushy attitude and a calculating look that alarmed Tess. She exhibited every non-verbal signal she could think of while trying to get it across that she had no interest in making his acquaintance.

  "No, I have one lined up; and those cookies you referred to are his," Tess gathered her backpack and bags and walked out of the store without a backwards glance. She was so eager to get away from the man that walking into the outside heat gave her a feeling of relief.

  As soon as she made the sidewalk she hitched up the bags' carrying straps on each shoulder and took off as fast as she felt she could maintain in the heat. She kept looking back for the man’s white T-shirt and dark baseball cap. Between looks backward she watched ahead for stores she could step into if he started after her.

  "Ahoy!" Tess looked toward the voice and saw the friendly woman that had checked out ahead of her. "Come on! I’ll give you a ride and get you away from that guy."

  Tess didn’t hesitate; she had a lot better chance with this woman than she did with that man. She set her bags inside the back door then jumped into the passenger side. As soon as her door closed and the minivan took off Tess turned to watch as a man in a white T-shirt and dark baseball cap walked quickly out of the store and looked around. Tess couldn’t tell if he saw her leave in the minivan, or not.

  "Thank you! That guy gave me the creeps. I was looking for escape routes when you called out. I’m Tess."

  "Martha," the woman nodded at Tess, not taking her hands off the steering wheel. "While you were shopping for cookies I noticed him staying in the same aisle, watching you more than shopping. He’s been drinking, I could smell it on him when he walked by; there’s no doubt he’s trouble and looking for more of it."

  Digesting all of that Tess realized that she had been so intent on finding her diet’s forbidden fruit that she had let her guard down. "There has to be a lesson in all this, I mean it didn’t happen in the health food section," Tess said and looked over at Martha. "Another reason I should give up cookies, huh?"

  Both women laughed letting off tension and then Tess said, "You must have guessed I’m on a boat otherwise you wouldn’t have used 'ahoy' as a greeting, right?"

  "Yes, my husband and I are sailors, or were. Evidently, we’ve been to the same booth at the boat show as you have, by the looks of your tote bags. We have the same ones," Martha laughingly explained.

  "Never leave the boat without 'em!" Tess smiled. "My dink is tied up at the dinghy dock by the Fish Whistle Restaurant. Even without that guy I really appreciate the ride, these last two days of heat have had me rethinking how close to the equator I really want to get."

  "No problem, a mile by car is much shorter than half a mile by foot. Here we are," said Martha. Shortly afterward as she wheeled the minivan into a parking space overlooking the river she asked, "What kind of boat do you have?"

  "It’s a Tartan-3500, she started life as our club racer for Wednesday night Beer Can Races. Then the original captain divorced both us girls; actually he set us free we like to think . . . Anyway, I moved aboard temporarily and haven’t found another place yet."

  "Oh, nice boat. How long ago did that happen?"

  "About five years ago, but it seems like a prior life now."

  "Know what you mean, there's just more living in a life when a boat is called home. We sold our boat a couple years back. On some days we don’t even speak to one another, each of us silently blaming the other for letting it happen," Martha laughed.

  "See the red hull? That’s my Robin," Tess said pointing to her sloop.

  "Sh
e looks fast," Martha said. Robin, as if knowing when someone admired her, swung on her anchor rode enough to show the aggressive lines of her bow and reverse transom, then swung back.

  "She looks like she's impatient to take wing downstream," Tess said, thinking she should be ready to leave sooner than planned. Between the looming storm and creepy guy at the store her alert level had moved up from "watch" to "warning" without her consciously thinking about it. The need to have Robin ready to move had subconsciously moved up her priority list as part of her "flight" response too; she realized she needed to mentally relax and lower her stress level. She made a promise to work on that just as soon as Robin could be made ready to set sail, by then she should have burned off all the lingering adrenalin and be able to rationally think her situation through. At any other time she would have asked Martha to join her for a beverage, but this time her anxiousness refused to allow any deviation by distraction.

  "I'd better let you get done with driving sailors around. Again, thank you so much!"

  "Here’s one of our boat cards, let us know when you’re in town; we’d love to swap sea stories. Fair winds!" Martha handed Tess a business card, with a picture of their boat and contact information printed on the front, then waved as Tess grabbed her bags out of the back, and slid the side door closed.

  ~~~

  Back aboard Tess breathed a sigh of relief as she set to work stowing the food. After she finished putting things away, Tess loaded the packaging from the provisions and two 5-gallon water cans into the dinghy and went to the fuel dock to get rid of the trash and refill her extra freshwater cans. Tomorrow when she left the anchorage she planned to stop and top-off Robin's main 72-gallon water tank.

  By evening Robin stood ready to leave with everything securely in its place. Tess took a cold beverage to the cockpit to relax and watch Chestertown's lights come on. Her earlier anxiety had abated with the physical effort of readying Robin. The looming storm still concerned her, but re-provisioning and adding ten gallons of fresh water were essential steps in preparation and gave her a sense of accomplishment. Topping off the diesel and water tanks on the way out of town tomorrow would complete the in-port chores. Deciding on a location to ride out the storm remained the only, and most important, detail to address.