SURVIVING ABE: A Climate-Fiction Novel

by O'Brien, J. Z.

  "Good thinking. Yesterday morning I left everything that would weigh me down, so there isn't much food left, just enough for each of us to have an energy bar and some beef jerky. And we can divvy up what’s left of the trail mix."

  With the use of Gus’s knife to do some trimming both women had a warm outer layer. They started by opening the zipper at the bottom of the bag wide enough to get their heads through, and then cut slits for their hands just above waist level. With Gus's help they hacked the bags off at mid-calf, so the women could walk. Con gathered hats, bandanas and gloves for herself and Ela and they were soon ready.

  "The closest place I know of is a house with outbuildings a few miles up the canyon, a retired couple live there. I know them only in passing, but they are Hank's friends and good people he says. They also have a bridge on their property that crosses the creek; I've seen it from the highway. Anyway, we can get to the highway when it's plowed," Con suggested.

  "The gunfire came from that general direction. Maybe that couple will know what happened," Gus said as a way of seconding Con's recommendation.

  "Let’s go, point me in the right direction and I’ll break trail. Being cooped up in the car makes me want to move." Ela jogged daily, so she relished the thought of exercising, as well as the warmth it would generate.

  "Just keep the stream to your left and you can’t miss it," Con said, and they left in single file with Gus bringing up the rear.

  Before they had gone half a mile Gus had gained a new level of respect in Ela’s opinion. Walking through snow like this for two days represented an incredible feat that few of the people she knew could duplicate; a pretty impressive guy, so far, she thought. She could tell he and her mom liked each other by the way they looked at each other, each wanted to hear the other's opinion while planning this morning's excursion.

  Her feet were getting colder by the step, her throat and lungs ached from sucking in cold air, and her usually strong legs felt weak. She stopped and turned to face her followers. "I need a breather," was all she got out.

  Con looked at Ela with concern, though she felt relief that her daughter had finally stopped. "Good . . . I thought you were trying to . . . kill your old ma," she gasped, putting her hands on her knees inside the bag and leaning over and panting as well.

  By following, Gus had the easiest walking and was not breathing hard. Though the last two days had depleted his strength, the hours of restful sleep he'd gotten in the car had rejuvenated him to some degree. "Okay ladies, we’ll rotate trailblazing, I’ll go next."

  He waited a bit until the others' breathing had returned to normal, and then he started off at a pace slower than the one Ela had maintained. The snow on the level was mid-thigh deep, and crusted on the top due to the cold temperatures, making it exhausting to move through. Gus lasted a little longer than Ela had, and they took another break. While they were standing and trying to catch their respective breaths, Con noticed a line across the field ahead. "Is that a track?" she asked pointing.

  "Looks like a snowmobile track," Gus said. "Let’s head that way, it might make walking a lot easier."

  Con took her turn breaking trail; she made it to the track, but barely. What she'd seen proved to be that of a snowmobile, used more than once. The surface of the trail was packed down a foot or more below the snow level, and frozen as hard as a sidewalk. They stepped up onto the trail and remained on the surface without breaking through.

  "Wow, a sidewalk out here in the middle of nowhere, and just in the nick of time," Ela said, looking at the sense of relief showing on the others' faces; another couple of hours of floundering through the snow might have been more than they could do.

  "The snowmobile that made this track is probably involved with the shooting we heard, so both of you need to be listening for it. The place where we’re going isn’t far now, just in those trees up there," Con pointed.

  Tess - Corsica River, Chesapeake Bay, MD

  The sound of rain hitting the foredeck just above her head had aided Tess in getting a good night’s sleep, a solid eight hours without interruption. A good rest and last night's cooling rain felt invigorating to her in this early hour before the day warmed. As water for coffee heated and Tess got dressed, she mentally reconfirmed her decision to move Robin downriver and out of sight of Eric’s house; especially after his parting double entendre of last night. What had he meant by that? First he is obnoxious to her then he tries to hit on her?

  Once in the cockpit all other thoughts vanished at the sight of a large sport-fishing boat anchored way too close to Robin in good weather, much less with a storm coming. The more she studied the boat, the more it reminded her of the powerboat the Chestertown Creep went aboard. She didn’t get a good look at the boat the Creep had gotten on the other night, but this one strongly resembled it. She saw no movement on the craft and noticed the dinghy was absent from its cradle on the long foredeck.

  Now she had an even stronger desire to move. In fact, she wanted to vacate this side of the Chesapeake Bay entirely, rather than just move downstream a little way. She went below, put on her raingear, and turned on the navigation systems. In the cockpit she started the engine then went forward to the bow and stepped on the windlass "up" button.

  Robin's power windlass began winching in the anchor rode and pulling Robin toward her anchor. Tess glanced up to see the distance to the powerboat narrowing quickly; she stopped pulling in the rode. Somehow the larger boat's anchoring gear had fouled Robin's, presenting her with a literal puzzle in the bottom mud that required untangling, before she could retrieve the primary anchor.

  With the frequent rainsqualls and swirling wind gusts, she now had a potential for the boats to collide and grind against each other in the wind and water action. She let out some anchor rode and Robin drifted back a safer distance, for the moment. Most boaters considered it in their best interests to avoid the type of person that would drop anchor way too close and then disappear from the scene of an impending accident. With that in mind, plus the chance this was the same boat she'd seen in Chestertown, she desperately wanted to recover her anchor and get out of here before the power boat's crew came back, Chestertown Creep among them or not.

  It took Tess the rest of the morning to set her secondary anchor, so Robin would be safe while she figured out how to recover her primary. Digging the secondary anchor out of storage, bailing last night's rain out of the dinghy, and then taking the secondary anchor out a safe distance from Robin, she had finally dropped it. An entire morning that she had hoped to use to improve her situation had just been spent trying to save it, and it looked like the rest of the task might take up her afternoon too.

  With Robin finally hanging on a stern anchor, and safe from collision during a wind shift, she took a break to regroup. Since she hadn't eaten anything and needed energy she fixed herself a bite to eat. Eating and resting for thirty minutes gave her time to choreograph her next set of moves, plus muster the energy necessary to perform them.

  She decided to use the dinghy to pull the anchor straight up, hoping to shed the other boat's anchor rode in the process.

  ~~~

  She got back into the dinghy and began pulling in the rode hand over hand. The process of pulling in the nylon-rope part of the rode went easily, until she got to the last thirty-foot section of chain just before the anchor. Grimacing at the smell and feel of the muck-coated chain, she doggedly pulled it in and piled it on the dinghy floorboard, until it stopped coming. With each tug the inflatable dipped downward, rather than the chain coming up. She must be trying to pull up the powerboat’s anchor instead of just its rode she decided; it felt heavier than her anchor did even when full of mud. Maybe if she used the dinghy's outboard to pull?

  Tess hoped the 5-HP outboard motor might be enough. Using the outboard's mounting bracket as a cleat to belay the nylon line rode, she put the outboard in gear and slowly twisted the throttle. Once the slack had been taken up she gave the little outboard full throttle. Water churned and th
e dinghy's stern sank deeper in the water, but it couldn't budge the two-anchor mess below. She even tried taking her rode under the powerboat's rode and then pulling from the other side. None of the maneuvers moved the stubbornly fouled anchor.

  She needed more power to pull up her anchor with whatever had fouled it. Tess decided to go back to Robin to study the chart and see where she could position Robin to use the power windlass without grounding or colliding with the powerboat. With a storm coming Robin's survival might well depend on both her primary and spare anchors being set.

  While she was organizing for the afternoon's effort Eric came paddling up in his kayak, "My newest uninvited guests bothering you?"

  "They are, as a matter of fact," Tess said. By keeping her reply short and her attention on the task at hand, Tess hoped to let Eric know this was no time for chitchat.

  Eric ignored the attempted brush-off. "Boat came in early this morning. They used a rather large dinghy to side-tow the powerboat in and then left in that same dinghy," Eric said.

  "Don't worry, you'll get your chance to run them off as soon as they return."

  "It would be better if they just left, but I assure you I will serve them with an eviction notice as soon as they return."

  Tess started the main engine, put her hand on Robin's shift lever, and looked at Eric across the few yards of river separating them, "I hope to be off your property just as fast as I can retrieve my trespassing anchor. Then I'll start putting distance between us, and that should put a smile on both our faces. Adios." She started winching in the secondary anchor, so she could try once again to recover the primary.

  Andy & Jennifer - East Texas

  "Let me get this straight; hide my crush on you from your father and hide my appetite from your mother, did I get it right?"

  "Depends. You have a crush on me?"

  "Yes, but let's not go there while we're on the way to your parent's farm, I'm already nervous enough. How far is it anyway?"

  "Little over five miles."

  Conversation died with Jennifer concentrating on the road and Andy fiddling with the defroster controls, trying to clear the fogging windshield. He had enough success in clearing the windshield to notice the diameter of the radio antenna increasing rapidly. Located on the passenger-side front fender, Andy could clearly see the antenna now looked more like an airfoil than a round whip.

  "Jennifer, be careful. The rain is starting to freeze, look at the antenna."

  The truck started to slow as she took her foot off the gas. Due to the low-ratio rear axle and the big V-8 engine's compression, the truck's speed slowed abruptly, and they both felt the rear end swerve.

  "Oh-h-h . . . what's happening?"

  "Don't touch the brakes, give it a little bit of gas. We must be on ice."

  The truck steadied. Jennifer sat bolt upright, with both hands white-knuckled from gripping the steering wheel.

  "Good . . . good. Now let off the gas gradually. You'll be able to feel the rear tires start to break loose again if you try to slow down too quickly.

  Jennifer you're a pro, doing great. Now, edge over to the shoulder . . . easy . . . easy . . . easy. Okay, just keep the two tires on my side of the vehicle riding on the gravel. How does that feel?"

  "How do I tell?"

  "Tap the brakes. Just a quick tap, no more."

  The truck started to stop and didn't break loose.

  "Don't get much ice in this part of Texas?"

  "Not in the twelve years I've been behind the wheel. Where did you learn all that?"

  "Innate Yankee knowledge. I was born to drive on ice like Texans are born to drive trucks."

  ~~~

  "Time out. This ice is getting worse, I can't see." The truck slowed to a stop. Andy tried to open his door and found it frozen. He put his shoulder into it twice before it broke open.

  "Jennifer, I think we're in an ice storm, feel how cold it's getting outside?"

  "It was cold when we left, and it's getting colder by the minute, unbelievably frigid for East Texas in September."

  "Looks like Abe attacked earlier than originally scheduled—the tricky bastard."

  "What does your Northwest winter-driving experience tell you to do, Yank?"

  "Keep the truck moving slowly along the shoulder as long as you can. It should be okay as long as the ice stays thin enough for the truck to break through. After that we walk, if it gets too slick we take our shoes off and continue in our socks, if it's not too far."

  "It's a couple miles, maybe a little more," said Jennifer, easing the truck ahead with Andy looking out his open door to guide her.

  Jennifer listened and did as he directed, but found it nerve-wracking to drive blind, even when crawling along in second gear. She eased her grip on the wheel again and swallowed. The windshield had become opaque, shortly after the windshield wipers had become icicles. She forced one hand completely off the wheel and flexed her grip, trying to reduce the tension and fatigue, and then did the other hand.

  "Some mailboxes coming up and a four-way crossroads. Sound familiar?"

  "Our driveway is the next one on the right almost a mile past the intersection, and through the next tree line."

  They kept the truck moving, ignoring the intersection's stop sign. They almost made it to the tree line when Andy felt the truck abruptly decelerate.

  "Why are we slowing?" Andy asked, ducking back into the cab.

  "I'm not doing it. I think we're out of gas."

  Andy leaned over and verified the obvious, then turned and gave Jennifer a quick kiss and said, "Last time I heard that story I was in high school."

  "Yeah, and you were the one telling it. I'm not looking forward to facing Dad, not after he warned me. I wish I'd topped off the tank yesterday, but had planned on doing it today."

  "Abe changed all that, so stop beating yourself up. We can walk from here, but we'll have to decide what to take with us."

  "How about we carry these bags in the cab? And I'm taking the shotgun, can't afford to lose another one, especially since this one is Dad's."

  Con, Gus & Ela - Unaweep Canyon, CO

  Gus took the lead of the single-file procession, followed by Ela. Con felt more comfortable when she could keep an eye on her daughter, so she asked to go last. Walking on the track was easier and they made better time. The below-zero temperatures caused the hard, crusted snow to squeak with each step, and the sound could be heard a long way in the silence of the freezing morning.

  The track that they followed was soon joined by other tracks of snow machines, though none looked as well used as the one they were on. Some tracks even had footprints on them, evidence that people had recently been here, which made them proceed with caution, tempered by hopes of getting closer to shelter and warmth.

  Once they reached the trees a house was visible just inside the tree line. It had a thin stream of smoke coming from the chimney and going straight up, now that the wind had stopped blowing. There was no other movement. They looked at one another and then proceeded without saying a word.

  A figure, wearing a black snowsuit and a helmet, stepped out of the house with a rifle shouldered and pointed at them. They stopped in their tracks, still in single file.

  "Who in hell are you?" a man’s voice demanded.

  "Our car got stuck in the snow not far from here, we need help," Ela answered.

  "You won’t find it here, turn around and keep walking back the way you came, now!" the man said.

  "Can we use your phone first, maybe warm up?" Ela pleaded.

  Con knew this man did not live here and wondered what had happened to the couple that did. She began looking at the front porch instead of paying attention to the talking. There was a brownish-red splatter on the lower part of the front door and a glass window next to it had been shattered. She realized it was blood on the door and that the front of the home was riddled with bullet holes. She didn’t waste time thinking twice about what to do next.

  Since Gus and Ela were between
her and the man with the rifle, Con fell to her left side into the snow for a clear field of fire. She had kept her arms inside the sleeping bag in an effort to stay warm and to conceal the hold she had on her Beretta. Aiming the pistol as she fell, she started shooting with the pistol still inside the bag. Three of the five rounds she fired hit center mass. The man fired repeatedly as he fell, kicking snow up with his stray bullets. Bits of down insulation from Con's sleeping bag mingled with the dust of snow settling to the ground around them.

  Silence descended, broken by a sudden shout from Con, "Fire! I’m on fire!"

  Seeing smoke and flames coming from the sleeping bag Con was wearing, Gus scrambled up from where he had thrown himself in the snow and ran to her. In one swift motion Gus grabbed the bag and jerked it up and off of Con, throwing it aside.

  Ela crawled in the snow to her mother, trying to see how badly she was hurt. The three of them were all talking at once when a scream from inside the house stopped them short. Con was the first to break the silence, "What was that?"

  "There was a scream from inside the house. Are you okay?" Ela spoke close to her mother’s ear.

  "I’m fine. I saw blood and bullet holes around the front door of the house, and that scream probably came from the people that live here. Gus, check that guy and make sure he’s dead. Ela, please look around and see if you can find my hearing aid, I think one’s missing." Con was still holding her pistol on the man she’d just shot.

  "I don't see it Mom."

  "Okay, we'll worry about that later."

  Gus went toward the fallen man by the front of the house, carefully watching for any movement. The man lay flat on his back with steam rising from the wounds in his torso, but there was no steam coming from his mouth or nose; he wasn’t breathing. The snow had turned red beneath him, so he was probably dead. Gus edged closer and picked up the AR-15 the man had dropped. With still no movement from the man, Gus leaned forward and touched the rifle's barrel to the man’s eyeball; there was no blink response. Of the three bullet holes in the front of the man’s jacket two were to the chest, the third to the lower abdomen; all fatal wounds without immediate medical attention in Gus’s estimation.