SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel

by O'Brien, J. Z.

  "Somehow I get the feeling you think there is a big lesson to be learned here. What's the latest on Abe, how bad is it going to get?"

  "Over the few days I’ve been using my information-gathering skills to see why the U.S. seems to be under attack, not only from Mother Nature, but also from enemies foreign and domestic."

  "Assuming the information isn't classified, what have you learned that you can share with me?" Tess asked.

  "I’ve learned that in WWII the Allies chose the day for D-Day based on weather forecasts. Most people know that, but it's worth looking at how the weather ultimately facilitated the successful invasion.

  Like D-Day, Abe offers a unique opportunity for those that would like to change the climate-awareness of the majority of people who are living and voting in the U.S. Some radicalized environmentalists plan to do that by multiplying the damage done by a natural, weather-related disaster with acts of sabotage to electrical and communications infrastructures, municipal water supplies, and whatever else they can think up.

  The group behind this is a grassroots movement urging anyone that wants to change the direction we are headed, to go shoot up transformers, microwave towers, and chemicals and fuel storage tanks. Anything that lengthens the crisis helps the cause, or so they want us to believe."

  "So . . . Abe and his ragtag army of environmentalists battle to save the Union again, this time by fighting deniers of and contributors to climate change, instead of separatists?" Tess asked.

  "That’s a good one Tess, maybe I’ll Tweet it later, once the Internet is up again. Giving my trespassing Captain full credit, of course."

  "Never doubted it. I've heard and read speculation and opinion, but few facts. Are we actually being attacked?"

  "Abe is just now gearing up for a full-assault on the most populated areas of the U.S. First a heat wave, then four days of rain, then severe weather associated with a frontal passage, and all that followed by freezing temperatures. While that is going on electricity is going off in parts of the country where the weather is fine, satellite communications are out, and the Feds have shut down the Internet. Looks like a full blown war to me, how about you?"

  "I wouldn't know, the only evidence I have is the interference on my radio and what you've just told me. Nature’s already getting enough help from anthropogenic-influenced climate change to make extreme weather events happen more frequently. The coming challenges of surviving extreme storms with the strength of Katrina and Sandy, hitting before recovery from the one before it, will eventually wear civilization down all by itself. Conspirators making storms like Abe more damaging will do more than many of us can survive," Tess stated. "I guess I don't see the point of making things worse than they have to be."

  "There is another meaningful aspect of climate change, how many hungry, thirsty refugees it produces . . . history’s primary motivations for invading armies. You’re better off paying attention to the global food-price index than checking the CO2 concentrations on the Keeling Curve. Martial law being declared out west is evidence of that; hungry American refugees are better armed than most and, from what I read, have begun taking what they need at gunpoint to survive. It doesn't get much worse than that for the individuals affected by the storm," replied Eric.

  "You're probably correct, and I want to look into it when I have radio reception again. In the meantime, Surviving Abe has moved up my priority list and it's all I have time for. I need to get a few more tasks marked off the list before I stop for the night," Tess said, standing up to signal the visit had come to an end.

  Rain picked up again with a vengeance turning the water’s surface white as if seconding the motion to end the conversation. "And next time I’ll try to remember to knock on your stern, shapely as it is," Eric pushed off and paddled for shore.

  Con, Ela & Gus - Unaweep Canyon, CO

  At the first, barest opening of his eyes nothing could be seen except a blindingly bright light. Holy SHIT! I’m dead and it's just like in the movies, Gus thought as he tried to raise his right arm toward the light.

  "Freeze! Police!"

  What? With his hand up enough to block the glare of the light, he saw the hole in the end of a gun aimed directly at his eyes; the barrel so close and large he couldn't see the person holding it. His face was so cold it didn’t flex well, but Gus tried to yell, "Don’t shoot!"

  Con heard the weakness of the groan that came out of the man and realized that he didn’t present much of a threat. She put her M9 in her coat pocket and asked, "What are you doing here?"

  Gus tried to say, "Hunting."

  "I don’t think he can talk, Mom," Ela said. "He looks frozen, there’s ice from his eyebrows down."

  "Okay, go put the seats down, and then come and get a grip on this figment of my imagination, so we can get him in the back and thaw him out," Con said to her daughter.

  Con first went to retrieve her gun belt from around the man's ankles. Once she had the belt on and her pistol securely in its holster she moved back around in front of him, "Okay Chief, we’re going to try to get you into the back of the car, so you can warm up. Do you understand?"

  "Be grateful," he mumbled. A long duration moan came out. Con missed a good part of what was said to her on a good day, so she had developed coping measures. That the last moan was of a longer duration than a simple "No" or "Yes" would take, told her he was mentally tracking, to some degree.

  Ela came back, "Is he alive?"

  "Barely, but yes. You listening Chief?"

  "Yes," he said. A short duration moan came out.

  "Okay, both of you listen up! Here’s what we are going to do," Con took charge naturally.

  "First you are going to let us get your pack straps off. Then we are going to help roll you onto your stomach and we are going to help—and I say and mean only help—you get to you knees. After that we are going to help get your hands on the car, so you can get to your feet while we steady you. One grunt for yes, two for no."

  "YES," he said as clearly as possible. One grunt that even sounded like a yes came out.

  Con got his right arm down and slipped the strap off his shoulder. The pack didn’t pull away, so she searched for and then released the chest and waist belts. Gus rolled over and struggled to his knees and then to his feet with the two women helping to lift and steady him. Once on his feet he just stood there a moment leaning on the car, his balance mostly gone. At a tug from Con he turned and started moving around the car toward the back.

  Ela went around him, opened the hatch and motioned Gus in with a smile and a bow. Gus still had doubts he was alive, and whether this was really happening. Then he considered his chances of dying, going to Heaven and getting two angels, the young one a ringer for his idea of what an attractive woman looked like. Not likely, he decided, so this must be a dream and I haven’t died just yet.

  The heat felt like fire on his face as he crawled in, and it went a long way toward convincing him he wasn’t dreaming. The hatch closed behind him followed by the opening and closing of two doors ahead of him. A dim light from a headlamp on a water jug came on by his head, more like a YouTube video than a Divine Light.

  "Well Chief, now would be a good time to tell us what a friendly Indian you are," said Con.

  While he was still in some sort of mental fog, still doubting if this was real, trying to come to grips with dying and getting two angels, he wondered, Who is Chief?

  "Mom, we better do something. He’s bleeding all over the car and our bed rolls," Ela said.

  Con got out of the front and into the side rear door next to him, after gently shoving him over enough to lift half of the back seat. She started going through one of the bags and came out with a roll of paper towels. "Turn your head away from me," she directed. She then tore off some paper towels and pressed them hard against his head. "Now hold still until the bleeding stops."

  Actually the sharp pain gave him more evidence he was alive, so he put that in the pro column. With his head turned toward the younger
of the two, he took notice of her in more detail. A young woman, younger than he was anyway, with dark, shoulder-length hair and very intense green eyes, studied him in return. Angel had been his first impression and he was sticking to it until proven otherwise. The heat began to feel less like fire and more like comfort; he felt his mental facilities shutting down.

  Con pointed to a bag, "Ela, dig around in there and find the Neosporin and some tape, please. Chief, I’m going to put some antibacterial ointment on a clean bandage and tape it in place. Gotta problem with any of that?"

  "No Ma’am," he said.

  "The Noble Indian speaks fluent English, what are the chances of that?" Ela asked trying to bring some levity to the situation. In truth she felt a vast relief from the foreboding the granola bar had brought on. Her hunger pains were back and she felt she could now finish eating the energy bar.

  "Please hold this Ela. Now Chief, as best you can, lift your head up and hold it up," Con instructed and quickly ran a roll of white electrical tape around his head to hold the bandage in place. "All done. And your new headband is color coordinated with your snow-white attire. Want to take off the outer layer, so it doesn’t melt and swamp the sleeping quarters?"

  "Yes Ma’am," he answered.

  "If you keep your answers short and respectful you will have found the key to my heart," Con said as she helped him out of the outer layer of coat, boots and wool pants. "Here’s a blanket to wrap up in."

  "Thank you," he said.

  "My name is Con, and that's my body guard, Ela."

  "I’m Gus, thanks for getting me in here . . . I was about all in. Up elk hunting on the Unc when the snow started, been walking down for two days."

  "Got any fresh elk tenderloin in that back pack?" Con asked.

  "No ma’am, I’ve decided to take up deep-sea fishing in Cabo . . . I'm on my way there now."

  "Better hurry, the oceans are quickly running out of fish from years of over fishing and global warming," Ela chimed in.

  Red flags went up in Gus’s mind like a May Day Parade in Moscow. I’ve been captured by at least one tree-hugger, he thought.

  "I’m more motivated by warm weather than the fishing. Just been thinking of the tropics a lot the last couple of days trying to warm up my thoughts, a mind-over-matter kind of thing," he explained. "Do you know what happened with this storm?"

  Ela answered, "It’s an unusually powerful winter storm named Abe that formed quickly, and then didn’t move for three days, gaining strength in the process. Last forecast we heard said it would begin moving out tonight, and the wind is supposed to die down tomorrow."

  "That’s good, maybe I can make it to the highway and get help," Gus said.

  "Don’t count on it. Just so you know, the whole region is snowed-in, the power's out, and the roads aren’t plowed yet. Plus, the government has declared martial law here," Ela told him.

  Con and Ela were both nice looking people, neither looked, nor acted, crazy; so he tried to believe them, but doubt remained. Here he was with his head practically in Con’s lap, not far from her holstered pistol, and they’re saying martial law had been declared—over a snowstorm? Things just didn’t add up for Gus.

  Gus looked at the two women in the limited light of a glowing, gallon-jug of water and said, "I’m going to have to get my 'believer' adjusted; it’s been a big problem for me to believe anything that’s happened lately. Please understand that I am very grateful that you two rescued me. Just before I ran into you I was looking for a place to lie down and die. Right now my mind is mush and I need to take a little power nap, if that’s okay?" He got that out and let sleep have its way with him.

  "Well, that was the entertainment I had planned for tonight, how did you like it?" Con asked.

  "Shh . . . Mom, he’s trying to sleep," Ela admonished.

  "He’s exhausted, I doubt anything is going to wake up this man for the next eight hours, not even me cuddled up beside him," Con said with a mischievous smile. "After all, I saw this wild Indian first."

  For the first time, in a long time, Ela didn’t know what to say, not sure if she was jealous, relieved, or what.

  "Okay, let’s get this organized," Con said as she looked around. "You have any suggestions you’re just dying to offer?"

  "Put as much in the driver’s seat as possible, so we can put both rear seats down. Are you okay with sleeping back there, really?"

  "I think Gus here is down for the count, lucky for him we let him in here before that happened."

  "Mom, I hear something!" Ela held up her palm for quiet. "It sounds like gunfire! Did you hear it?"

  Con turned out the headlamp plunging the interior into complete darkness. "No, but that doesn’t prove anything, I can’t hear much at any distance. However, we are sitting tight with no lights until daylight. Then we will talk it over, get an opinion from Gus and decide what to do."

  "Now I hear a motor sound."

  "Snowmobile?"

  "Maybe, I don’t know, but it’s an engine like a Honda motorcycle, not a Harley. Should we try to signal them with the headlights?" Ela asked.

  Con was looking at Ela thinking about that, but not comfortable with the risk of inviting in more strange people with her daughter here, especially if Ela had heard gunshots fired. She got ready to explain that when Ela held her palm up again.

  "I hear the motor sound again," Ela said. "It’s getting louder."

  Day 6

  Eric - Corsica River, Chesapeake Bay, MD

  Eric classified his normal schedule as diurnal with nocturnal leanings, since many of his nights were spent at his home workstation. Over the years he had developed a pattern of rarely sleeping more than four or five hours, and then he would be up and busy with the current project until he needed sleep again. During his daylight waking hours he made a point of getting outside and exercising, by usually walking or kayaking. During darkness he spent most of his time awake at his workstation in pursuit of openings; hunting down undiscovered code mistakes that allowed him access past the firewalls set up to keep people, such as him, out. Call them trapdoors, backdoors, or zero-day exploits; he thought of them as chinks in the armor that the institutions of unsustainability clad themselves in.

  His pastime, and means of income, was an extension of his childhood obsession with computers. His parents both worked on search-engine algorithm development, so family games and conversations had centered on learning how to ask the right questions, to successfully sort through the noise of overwhelming data. From an early age he was taught that the finite, physical world’s only purpose was to be the foundation for the infinite, virtual world, which humans were evolving into. Eric fundamentally believed the point of singularity, between man and machine, would happen within his expected lifespan, if mankind didn't force itself into extinction in the meantime. His life's passion, to evolve and eventually be able to merge with machines, required a healthy and sustainable global population of humans on Earth, to advance technology to that point. The risk of a species going extinct goes up sharply once that species' population exceeds its sustainable level based on available resources. If no way existed to make the Earth or its amount of resources bigger, then mankind needed to find a way to keep the human population smaller—simple.

  The plan he had recently put in play would reduce the risk of human self-extinction, until technology could negate that threat. Just like controlled burns prevent wildfires, a controlled die-off of humans would reduce the chances of a catastrophic human extinction due to some pandemic, nuclear war, or other deadly menace endemic to an overpopulated world. With a stable human population of approximately 2 billion, instead of the currently estimated 7 billion, planet Earth could stay habitable long enough for technology to reach a point of singularity between humans and machines. The evolutionary result, which he desperately wanted to be a part of, would be capable of colonizing the moon and beyond.

  His plan was as simple as using fire to fight fire; but in this case using control-systems, to spi
n the tenuous control of the masses out of control; and it all started with finding chinks. He, and a small group of like-minded individuals, searched for flaws allowing unauthorized access to computerized control-programs associated with providing electricity, water, food, and energy, giving them the ability to interrupt the supply chains; at least temporarily. According to the plan each extreme-weather event, earthquake, or disaster of sufficient size, would be exploited until the need to reduce human population no longer existed.

  ~~~

  Waking in the wee hours of the morning, as usual, he poured a cup of fresh coffee, from a computerized coffeemaker that sensed his movement and came on when he got up, and took it to his desk. Once at his desk he noticed an alert telling him the power was off and his house had switched to backup power, supplied by a generator-maintained battery bank.

  Even though his systems were designed to operate independently, he knew with the power now off the municipal water and sewer systems would quickly fail as well. Soon, society would sink below a rising tide of shit and contaminated water. But not at his home, he had planned for the consequences of a society in collapse by storing food, water, and renewable electrical power.

  Movement on the flat-screen monitor that showed infrared images from a tower-mounted FLIR (forward-looking infrared) camera caught his attention. A large powerboat, with a smaller boat tied alongside, moved slowly toward the spot where Tess had anchored Robin.

  After a few minutes he realized the heat signatures indicated the smaller boat was side-towing the bigger boat, when he noticed that the smaller boat's outboard engine gave off more heat than the larger boat's engine area, which grew cooler as time passed. Two people, one on each craft, implied the larger boat had an engine problem and was being towed by its dinghy to an anchorage. The FLIR picked up other small hot spots indicating each person wore a headlamp, and that some of the electronic gear on the fly bridge remained powered up. When the forward momentum of the two boats started to slow the powerboat's bow area blossomed with heat. Eric interpreted that to mean an electric windlass had been powered up to drop an anchor.