Calm Act Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Ginger Booth

  Of course, Mangal and I knew what was happening in New York and Boston, at least to some degree. Mangal looked grey with it, especially when the putrid smoke blew from the west from unimaginable pyres of burning bodies. After a while the confirmed Ebola case counts weren’t updated anymore. CDC personnel were withdrawn, at least the ones who were willing to leave. Health care, public services, first responders, all the social systems broke down in the city itself. Without any credible care, the virus proved unusually deadly. The CDC records stopped at 75% fatality, but it had been climbing for days. Past experience with the hemorrhagic fever topped out at 90% fatal to the afflicted.

  Fleeing refugees within the New York borders met scared locals trying, and mostly failing, to barricade them out of their towns. Phenomenal quantities of ammunition were expended. Tunnels and bridges into New Jersey and Long Island were blown up where possible, but it couldn’t stem the tide of refugees. The disease crossed the waters before the border was closed.

  Boston-Providence, at that point, was probably descending into anarchy without viral assist. Our secret sources could only tell us so much about what was happening there, as public order broke down. Before the cities were hemmed in, populations were assured that food and medicine and fuel and power would still cross the boundaries to support them in safety. It simply wasn’t true. And those metro areas didn’t have the agricultural capacity, or even enough fresh water in Boston’s case, to support the number of people penned in. They didn’t wait for shortages to develop. Riots broke out as soon as food shipments stopped.

  The metro borders were simply planned slaughter to cull the population. At least, that’s what it looked like.

  Jean-Claude responded to my email. Under the guise of more Christmas greetings, he sent codes to reach him more carefully. He pressed for further details and regular updates. But I wasn’t willing to play. Telling him something important now and then was different than researching and reporting to a foreign agent. If that’s what he was.

  Not that the U.S. government was exactly inspiring my loyalty these days.

  Yet the damnedest part of it was, I prayed those borders would hold. With the agricultural output of half of America dead or dying to climate change and storms, I knew full well we couldn’t all survive. For all the people who defended the borders and lived behind those borders, it was our chance to live that we were defending in deadly earnest.

  To the best of my knowledge, the U.S. government never formally admitted that this was the plan all along. The President committed suicide on Christmas Day. The borders and other Calm Act policies marched on without him.

  11

  Interesting fact: Atmospheric carbon dioxide levels began to fall at this time. The collapse of trans-Pacific trade, and local revolt against killing levels of air pollution, cut coal emissions in China. In North America, radical reductions in air traffic, trucked goods, automobile traffic, turning out the lights at night, industrial agriculture, and livestock, cut emissions sharply. However, these reductions were almost offset by melting tundra, burning forests, and vast grasslands turning to dust.

  I was kneeling in my garden pulling up spuds for Christmas Eve when Zack dropped by. The potato plants were long dead, but the tubers kept pretty well in the ground until about Christmas time. They’d all have to be dug up before the deep arctic cold that froze the ground. If that came, it came about New Year’s, so any day now. We were still working our way through the cabbages, kale, and late spinach, as well. Those were still alive, but not growing, in a plastic tunnel. The short hours of sunlight weren’t enough for crops to grow, even if it were warmer. But merely staying alive kept the greens fresh.

  “You’ve got quite the farm here,” said Zack, plonking himself down on the cold muddy ground. I kneeled on a pad to save my wardrobe. “Can I help?”

  “I’m just sorting now. This is enough potatoes for today. I don’t think Alex is home.”

  “No, he’s off doing some work for me,” Zack clarified. “I was hoping to talk to you, if you have a few minutes.”

  “Sure. Let’s move these into the garage to dry.” I grabbed the trays of small and medium potatoes, and Zack picked up a heavier tray of the large ones. We stowed them on shelves in the garage. I grabbed a harvest basket and knife, closed the garage again, and headed to the poly tunnel.

  “Sorry, just need to grab some greens,” I explained. “Almost done.” I cut the heads off three cabbages and tossed them in my basket. Debris went into a second basket for Alex’s many rodent pets. Then Zack helped me harvest spinach, all that remained in the tunnel.

  I stood up and stretched the small of my back. “That’ll do it. Or – would you like anything? Christmas present.” I smiled at him.

  “For me?” Still kneeling, Zack placed his hand on his own chest and grinned. He looked honestly touched by the offer. “I would love some cabbage and kale. I’d kill for some of those potatoes, too.”

  I pursed my lips. “Not a felicitous choice of words these days.”

  “No. Sorry.”

  “How about two cabbages,” I knelt back down and started cutting, “one each of the three kale varieties, and we yank you up another potato plant.”

  “Thank you! That’s generous. Sure you can spare it?”

  “Oh, this all needs to come up within the next few days,” I assured him. “I’m happy to have some more of it enjoyed fresh, you know? And I really appreciate all you’ve done for Alex, Zack. And the rest of us.”

  Eventually we landed in the kitchen, me washing vegetables, and him drying. He was good at pitching in and being quiet while I focused on doing something. Companionable silence is a wonderful thing. But, he had an agenda I was ignoring. I sighed.

  “You wanted to talk to me about something, Zack? And here I’ve been dragging you around on my chores. I’m sure you have your own.”

  “Oh, don’t apologize. I love my Christmas presents. Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome.” I dumped another head of cabbage into detergent water to loosen any critters. “And?”

  He looked up and across, as though sifting through topics. “What do you think of the new neighbors?”

  “The ones you moved out from New Haven? Alex said you hand-picked them for gardening skill and recruited them to move here. That was interesting.” I shot him a look of inquiry. “I helped a couple last weekend, down the block. They were trying to peel off the turf and turn lawn loam into vegetable beds. I talked them into raised beds instead. I explained how to get leaf compost from the town recycling complex. I liked them.”

  “Not too dark for you?”

  I took a deep breath. “Had another talk with the neighbors down thataway,” I nodded toward the opposite end of the block. “They were… concerned. But they allowed that they were concerned when Mangal and Shanti moved in, too. Shanti converted them to her love slaves real quick.” We both laughed. Shanti’s shopping, considerate ways, and electric car, had won her raving fans in the neighborhood, in mere weeks.

  Zack was a Shanti fan himself. But he sighed and said, “I’m not sure we needed more pacifists. But the Jains make good leavening.”

  “It’s a neighborhood. Not a loaf of bread.” I wiped a strand of hair off my face. “Look, people in Totoket are mostly white. And racism is tricky. It sneaks up on you. It’s hard to even see when you’re being racist, or who’s being racist to whom. But I think we’re mostly good people. Some more than others. I don’t think we have crazies here like the ones who attacked Shanti in Broomfield. People have concerns. We address the concerns. And everybody gets used to each other. I introduced them,” I nodded left, “to them,” nodded right, “and we got a start on that. Anybody gets too hot and bothered, we can always sick Shanti on ’em.”

  “And you personally?”

  “Well, I’m grateful for new people who can shoot. I’m more grateful for people who can produce food.”

  “You’re certainly good at it. What do you grow with those light rigs in the ga
rage, by the way?”

  “Seed starting, transplants. I’ll rev them up soon for spring cabbages and such. You never quite know when spring will come anymore. And I have the poly tunnels for early crops.”

  “Hydroponics?”

  “For greens indoors,” I agreed. “My indoor cucumbers and tomatoes are starting to bear, too. I use soil for those.”

  “There’s a lot of gardening expertise in the community co-op,” he said thoughtfully. “But they’re heavily into the… politics of organic gardening. They’re pretty anti-technology.”

  “Technology is a girl’s best friend,” I quipped, finger to my chin coquettishly. “I noticed, with the co-op. That’s why I don’t have a plot there. I like tech. I like it a lot. It’s my career. I think the co-op and I would get on each other’s nerves.”

  Zack gave me a rueful look, probably agreeing. He picked up a potato. “Good seed potato?”

  “Too small.” I grabbed a bright green plastic bag out of a cupboard. “Take some of the bigger ones with good eyes. Keep them in this bag, maybe twice as many as you think you’ll want for seed potatoes. Eat the ones that start shriveling. But this bag absorbs ethylene gas, which keeps them from rotting. Keep them in the fridge, and most of them will keep for planting in March. The bag will help keep the rest of your vegetables fresh, too.”

  He folded up the bag. “Technology. The girl’s best friend,” he echoed.

  “I’m sure there’s a difficult, chancy, and organically correct way to do it,” I allowed. “And I’ll be sure to learn it. After I run out of ethylene absorbing bags and a refrigerator.”

  I smiled pleasantly. The vegetable cleaning was done.

  Zack tapped thoughtfully at a new potato. “What do you think of our local RTM member?”

  “I should think your opinion was the one worth having. You’ve spent more time with her. She always seemed big on zoning and maintaining high property values, to me. She got on my case once for growing vegetables in front of the house. I told her to take a hike, and planted a few more flowers as neighbor repellent. How’s she handling the conversion to… life within borders?”

  “Not very well. She’s trying the fire up the town to evict the ‘squatters’ here. She claims they depress our property values.”

  “Our property values are effectively zero. No buyers.”

  “Some of the RTM members are buying what she’s selling.”

  “Well, you can’t fix stupid.”

  He snorted a laugh. “What I’m trying to do, is to organize a West Totoket civic zone, with a more local government. To handle things like the food cache, neighborhood defense – neighborhood watch, I mean – and arbitrate between neighbors, manage resources. With a direct democracy, instead of the representative town meeting. All within walking distance. Are you interested?”

  “Sounds smart,” I allowed. “Interested, in what way? A democratic meeting is one person one vote.”

  “There’s always leadership.”

  “I nominate Shanti for the junta. She likes community crap.”

  Zack’s cheek twitched. “I think we need people who’ve been here a while.”

  “Paler.”

  “That too. But only to get it off the ground. Once we’ve got the town’s blessing and a state charter, I’d back Shanti for president of the thing. I don’t think she’d win. But she’d be on the leadership, for sure.”

  I considered this. “What does the town’s blessing buy you?”

  “Police, fire department, public works, trash collection, sewers…”

  I shrugged. “We have all that now. We pay taxes, as much as anyone does. Which is probably fewer people all the time. What I meant was, what does an official charter buy you? If it includes any real authority, I don’t think they’ll give it to you. You just need to take it. After building up support, of course.”

  He stared at me. “That was Plan B,” he allowed.

  “OK, so you’re talking to a middle-class homeowner. I’m afraid that the zombie apocalypse is heading up the road to rape and pillage any day now. Tattered rags a-flutter on Ebola-carrying, gun-toting inner city hoodlums, who’ll kill me for my food because I’ve got more than they’ve got. What’s your pitch, Mr. Harkonnen?” As role-playing, this was mighty thin. I was exactly the audience I pretended to be.

  “We’re organizing for the defense of West Totoket and to pool resources. We have an armed cache to defend bulk food supplies, so that anyone who gets through our lines can’t steal all our food and seed.”

  Now I stared at him. “That’s exactly what you’re doing, isn’t it.”

  “Yes.”

  “The West Totoket survivalist camp.” I scowled.

  “No camp. But I think organizing for survival is a good thing.”

  “And what do you want from me, an ordinary neighbor?”

  “Contribute your bulk supplies to the cache –”

  I tossed my dishtowel onto the counter. “No way in hell. Thanks for dropping by. Door slams.”

  “I’d ask you to contribute your guns to the cause, but do you know how to shoot?”

  “No. I don’t have any fighting skills. But your pitch needs work.”

  “Like what? No, Dee, I’m really asking. Like what?”

  I considered, arms crossed, lips pursed at him. Then I sighed. “Beat back your first horde of Ebola-bearing zombies, I guess. You need a track record.”

  “Already have that. I don’t know about Ebola, or zombies, but we’ve got Route 1 blocked at the reservoir, and the bridge over the estuary at the south end of the marsh. So far the gangs coming out of New Haven have turned back at verbal advice that they weren’t welcome in. The gangs are getting larger, though. At some point, someone will open fire.”

  The side of our neighborhood facing the rest of Totoket was wide open. But the side facing East Haven, and beyond it New Haven, was pretty easy to block off, now that he mentioned it. There were only those two ways across a giant reservoir, a giant marsh, and a river, unless the intruders knew the land.

  “There’s an old railway bridge from East Haven into the marsh,” I warned thoughtfully.

  “We blew that bridge.”

  “And who’s manning these barriers?”

  “I’m coordinating,” Zack said. I easily read that as ‘I’m in command’, but he continued. “I had the boys inventory all the fighting men in the area when they were doing the housing survey. Some women. Cops, National Guard, veterans, hunters, armed survivalists. We could train more.”

  I considered this, then shrugged. I said quietly, “I value your effort. I’m amazed at how quickly you’ve organized what you have. Nothing I can contribute to defense, though. Sorry.”

  He nodded slowly. “Are you sure about that?” he asked softly. “Alex seems to think that you and Mangal know more than, say, gets past the censors.”

  “Well… Just a couple things. The rumors about an Ebola epidemic in New York? Believe those.”

  “Shit.”

  “Boston-Providence is just anarchy so far, turned inwards. New Haven… You know East Haven isn’t your problem. Neither is the part of New Haven on this side of the harbor. These gangs don’t have gas or vehicles, really. The interstate and the railroad are closed to them.”

  “Effectively?”

  “I think so, for now at least. But there are two pedestrian-friendly bridges across the Quinnipiac River and the harbor. The gangs could try boats, if they can get boats. But there’s the harbor patrol and quite a lot of firepower out there guarding the fuel oil tanks.”

  New Haven was a fuel oil depot for tankers coming into Connecticut. There were no more tankers arriving. But the giant storage drums in New Haven were still filling tanker trucks, so they still held precious fuel oil.

  I continued, “My point is, blocking off the Forbes and Grand Avenue bridges would make for a really long and pointless walk to Totoket. Easier to head north than east. And it shouldn’t be too hard to block two small bridges, right? Getting people f
rom Totoket to do it might be more of a problem. Those bridges are inside New Haven.”

  He nodded thoughtfully. “Thank you. I’ll see what I can do there. Any other… privileged information?”

  I led him into the living room. Once there, I brought up a live satellite feed, uncensored, with map overlays, on the living room TV. This kind of live map hadn’t been available even to the police for over a year. Zack’s eyes widened. I put a finger to my lips for discretion. I showed him how to pan around with the tablet controller. I left him to study the bird’s eye view of the current state of Connecticut while I chopped vegetables for supper.

  “Seeing this on the big screen is really helpful, Dee,” Zack called from the living room. “Could I borrow a pencil and paper?”

  In my office, I printed street maps of New Haven, East Haven, and western Totoket for his annotating convenience. He also wanted overview maps of the state and county, so I printed those, too. I laid out graph paper, lined paper, and 11x17 sheets of Bristol board for pencil drawing on the desk, and pointed out my drawer of drafting and coloring tools. I left my huge work screens in the office showing the same illicit maps as on the big display in the living room.

  “Have fun,” I bade him. “You staying for supper?”

  “I’d love to,” he said wonderingly. “This – Thank you.”

  “No problem. Just a map.” I looked him in the eye inquiringly, until he nodded. “Just a map.”

  Eventually I had food on the table, and killed all the electronics. I helpfully shoved all Zack’s annotated papers into a large envelope for him. “No work while we eat,” I explained, and waved him to the table.

  Zack might have been expecting a rather awkward intimate dinner for two. I knew better. I served supper at 6:30 on the nose. Alex blew in with a gust of cold at 6:30 on the nose. He stomped off his winter boots and unraveled himself from scarves. He washed his hands in nothing flat, and parked himself at the table.

  “Hi, Zack. Aw, cabbage again? What good is it to have a rich boyfriend if you don’t bring home leftovers. Zack, Dee had filet mignon Sunday night. And she didn’t bring me home any.”