by Ginger Booth
“You didn’t do it for me, either.”
“I’m not sure about that,” he said.
“Uh-huh,” I said, clearly enunciating each syllable.
“It couldn’t get this far unless it made sense,” he conceded testily. “To move millions of people, it has to make sense to millions of people. Not just Emmett trying to impress Dee.”
I didn’t know what to do with that – the idea that this powerful and influential man would even try to impress me. He’d impressed the military power brokers of the Northeast at this meeting. Me? But then, maybe it was true. He really did want me to tell him I loved him last night, really was that grateful.
“I’m beyond impressed, Emmett,” I said. “You’ve been so impressive at this meeting that it scares me. To also be behind the Calm Act –”
“We did what we could to soften it, Dee,” he said. “The Rescos and Cocos make a huge difference. Without them, this would have been hell on Earth.”
I could see that. I’d seen that all along, how people like Zack and Emmett stepped up and organized communities. Things still fell apart. But we weren’t terrorized, at the mercy of thugs stealing all the food production. So there was more food produced. We lived better, and more of us lived. If it were just a free-for-all within the boundaries, might was right. Life would have been far worse.
“Fifty-eight,” I said. “How many of them became Rescos like you?”
“Over fifty,” Emmett said. “A couple are missing. Some are a different kind of Resco. I can’t tell you much, Dee. You figure things out too easily. And you don’t lie worth a damn.”
“What are you afraid of?”
“All the SAMS are capable and dangerous. That includes me. But I only want the same things you want. Neither of us would like what some of the others want. But they believe in what they’re doing, and they’re effective. We’re all pretty zealous about our aims.”
“But you know who and where these others are, and what they hope to do.”
“Yes. There are some wild cards, but basically.”
“And they know the same about you.”
“I was supposed to be in Missouri. But yeah. Sort of. Some people are harder to predict than others. They’re not too worried about me knowing about them. If they thought you knew too much, I’m afraid they’d silence you.”
“You don’t want any of this published on Amenac.”
Emmett blew out a long breath. “How long did it take me to defend this to you, Dee? All that a stranger would catch, is that MacLaren wrote the Calm Act. Let’s save New York before you get me lynched. Please?”
I chuckled, and reached over to take his hand. He grasped mine back so desperately it almost hurt. He had a lot to accomplish, my tricky lover. And as he’d pointed out once, if ‘safe’ was my goal, I’d still be with Adam. I didn’t want safe. I wanted him to succeed, at least with the stated goals so far.
“I love you,” I assured him. “I’ve got your back.”
Apparently it was the right thing to say. He crushed me to him for a desperate kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered. After a few moments, he added, “It was good to see you back to your old tricks in there, Dee. You’ve been so sad since Zack died. I finally won the princess. But she was broken. I was afraid I wasn’t the prince who could fix her. But you were great in there.”
“Huh,” I said. He was right. Maybe we were both adrenaline junkies, people at their happiest in a crisis. That didn’t bode well for a happy life. Or did it?
My phone buzzed. “Adam,” I said.
“Take it,” Emmett said. He let me go just enough for me to pull out my phone. I put it on speaker. Hoffman may have been right about excessive heroism being one of Emmett’s Achilles heels. But jealousy sure seemed to come up more often.
“Hey, Adam.”
“Dee! Are you alright? Is Emmett with you?” Adam demanded.
“Hi, Adam,” Emmett replied. “We’re fine. What’s up?”
“Your suite’s been ransacked at the motel. No computers here, nothing but clothes.”
“We’d never leave computers in a motel,” I said. “Emmett’s checking the trunk. Are my clothes alright?”
Adam rummaged around on inventory, and we verified that the clothes and jewelry and makeup seemed more-or-less unscathed. Emmett found our laptops unmolested in the trunk. We weren’t surprised. There was a bonus screamer circuit on his car, in addition to the original electronics. We would have heard it from the restaurant.
“Thanks, Adam,” Emmett said. “I think we’ll just head home. Could you pack that up for us?” Adam would bring our luggage when he came to look over the fuel oil drums in New Haven in a few days.
The new normal was hectic, and I loved it.
Before the hard freeze, Emmett shut off the gas and water into the main part of his house – he left a lower water spigot to service the livestock – and moved in with me. Alex handled the livestock full time, because Emmett was too busy. Emmett living over there didn’t make sense anymore.
I was kind of astonished how easy it was for us to live together. When I imagined him moving in before, I felt it would turn my world upside-down. I’d feel invaded. Especially because Emmett was such a very pushy person. But in domestic matters, he claimed the hall bathroom as his, and kept it spotless. The living room couch and giant monitor were his office. That was entirely packed up when he closed his laptop.
He did talk on the phone incessantly. But he also stretched his legs and stepped outside when he was on the phone, or into the garage for a sensitive conversation. And he was often away for meetings, once overnight. We didn’t sleep on the same schedule, so even the bedroom was just extra friendly and warm unless we chose otherwise.
We were just too busy to get neurotic about anything, I suspect.
“First off, you did it! Take a well-deserved bow,” Emmett told the assembled Amenac team. We were back in the loft, a couple days after we returned from New London.
He clapped hard, and bowed to us with a grin. “You proved that we have the will of the people behind us, to relieve New York. You proved it carefully. Dee did a great job presenting your work, and received standing ovations – twice – on your behalf. Well done!
“I proved that we can do it on the operational level. I didn’t do as well as Amenac – half of my plan was scrapped.” We laughed. “That’s OK. The Navy had a better plan. We’re going to do a water evacuation. Amenac’s work got them on board. That gives us a lot more resources to draw on than just the border forces. Again – well done!”
“And the reward for a job well done?” Genghis prompted from the giant monitor.
“A bigger job, of course!” Emmett agreed with a grin. “Now we actually do it. Over the course of the next week, Army forces will take land areas at the New York periphery for our quarantine zones. Our first batch of refugees will be small, maybe 10,000 people.”
“That’s not very small,” Leland cut in, from the monitor.
“That’s one one hundredth of the number of people we hope to evacuate,” countered Emmett. “Essentially, just the people we need to remove from our staging and quarantine zones. This first batch will be handled by armed forces personnel, as a training operation.”
Some of the guys looked like they were still trying to get their heads around 10,000 people as a small down payment on this project.
“Let me explain how the batches are going to work,” said Emmett. “Quarantine will take four weeks. Week one, a batch gets collected and processed and moved to a quarantine zone. Medical attention begins. They start getting fed, regaining their strength. Active disease cases transfer into hospice care. If they recover, they rejoin a quarantine batch later.
“Each week, a batch graduates to the next stage of quarantine. The fourth week, they’re ready to move out. So you get the idea. We have three to four weeks to match refugees with destinations. Some may have to wait around longer for transportation. We’ll know who they are. We’ll have a list of relati
ves outside the city borders. If possible, we want families reunited. Remember, everyone’s willing to take in extra refugees, if they’re family members.
“So here’s what I need from you,” Emmett said. “ASAP, we need one of your lost-and-found databases for friends and family seeking to reunite. This first batch will be added to the database as soon as we collect them. If you don’t mind the bandwidth, I’d like to add a photo of each refugee?”
Mel and Mangal were already up and headed for a whiteboard to start mapping out the task. Mangal nodded and scribbled a portrait in the corner. Under it, he added a double-ended arrow for two-way, and ‘Notify.’ Mel scribbled ‘Last address,’ ‘Current location,’ and ‘Quarantine phase.’
Emmett continued, “Next. ASAP, I also need medical volunteers. Within two weeks, we want volunteers moving into the quarantine zones and getting trained. And yes, we will accept volunteers from Boston-Prov.”
That got a whoop of cheers all around. Mel scooted over to colonize another whiteboard, and proudly wrote, ‘Boston-Prov Welcome!’ across the top.
“Any supplies those medical volunteers could bring would help,” Emmett added. “Food. Blankets. Rescos and Cocos might be willing to organize caravans and buses to bring ’em down.” Mel took dictation, elaborating his database schema.
“Third,” Emmett began.
“This is a lot, Emmett,” Dave cut in, eying Mel’s work uneasily. “How long is this project going to take?”
“It is a lot,” Emmett agreed. “We’ll ramp up, then a couple-few months at a fever pitch. Then it might ramp down for months. Sort of a continuing clearinghouse. The immediate goal is to migrate over a million people. It’s going to take time.”
Emmett took another deep breath. “That’s where the third item comes in. Look, this all sounds noble and heroic. But it’s going to be a lot of hard work. These people will smell. They’ll scream with nightmares. They’ll stare at a wall and not earn their keep. This is really hard, folks. Reality will sink in and supplant the romantic fantasy. Mistakes and scandal may happen along the way. We need to keep public morale high. We need constructive dialogue, and solutions to the problems. What do you do with a teenage bed wetter with night terrors? How do you feed a person who’s been starved? What are the signs of permanent neurological damage from starvation?
“Basically, I want to commission a PR arm of Amenac. I want rah-rah, and I want practical advice. I want celebrations and events and human interest stories.”
Mel and Popeye frowned at him, starting to take umbrage. Emmett raised a hand to forestall protests. “I want it totally up front and above board. This is a part of Amenac created officially and specifically to support – We need a name for this operation.”
“Project Reunion,” suggested Genghis. “P. R.”
“Perfect,” said Emmett. “You can put a footer on every page. This sub-site is commissioned by the armed forces of the Northeast, to support Project Reunion. OK with you? Mel? Popeye?”
Their hackles looked soothed enough. “I want that separate from the databases, though, Emmett,” Mel insisted.
“I leave that to you,” Emmett agreed. “I leave staffing up to you, too,” he added apologetically to Dave and Mangal. “There’s a big startup community in New Haven who could help. They know marketing, or advertising, or PR... I barely know what the difference is between those.”
“Do you need them local?” Dave asked.
“I don’t care,” Emmett said. “No, I take that back. I’d like them in the northeast quadrant of the U.S. Yeah, a few from outside, in neighboring states, would be good. I can quadruple your tax credits, if it helps.” Emmett pulled out his phone and fidgeted with something.
“Nah,” elegant Dave ruthlessly decreed. “People will line up to do this for free.”
Emmett laughed. “Well, I’ve transferred the tax credits into your budget. Don’t pay anyone who already has a full meal ticket, alright?”
“You suddenly strike it rich, boss man?” Will needled him.
“Actually, I did get a raise,” Emmett admitted.
“Emmett got a promotion,” I boasted. “Lieutenant Colonel MacLaren is now the lead Resco for Connecticut.” I beamed and led a round of applause.
“Yeah, thank you,” Emmett acknowledged. “Don’t take that Connecticut part too seriously. I’ll be rather busy on New York for a bit.”
“Who’s taking point on PR?” Dave asked.
“I don’t know about PR in general,” I said. “But I had an idea for a blog series. I just met all the principals on Project Reunion. I’d like to write some interviews.”
“Yeah, people will read that!” Will said enthusiastically.
I picked a whiteboard and took the lead on PR. Will joined me there to pitch in on the initial design, plus a sales funnel for the site launch. And thus, naturally enough, we UNC media alumni took on the news and infotainment division of Project Reunion.
I was already deep into the brainstorming when Emmett came over to say good-bye. He gave me a quick kiss and handed me a leaflet. He shrugged with the deep inadequacy most people feel toward their attempts to write advertising copy.
“We thought we’d throw something out a helicopter to people in Staten Island,” he said. “To explain what’s going on. Maybe with granola bars. We’ll need to print thousands by tomorrow. Is this good enough?”
Will frowned at the leaflet. “Some time, we ought to come up with a better name for New York-Jersey-England. New Britannia? Old Colonies?”
“Blech,” I said. I scribbled ‘New Britannia’ on the board, and drew a line through to cross it out. I added ‘Naming contest?’ underneath. “Though it beats listing the states. I wonder how many people can spell ‘Massachusetts.’”
“At a guess, more people than ‘Connecticut,’” Emmett suggested.
“Right,” I sighed. “Or even find Connecticut on a map. Send us the text, Emmett?”
“Yeah,” said Will. “I’ll do a quick design pass, and get it back to you tonight,” he promised.
To: The People of Staten Island
From: New York, New Jersey, and New England
We cannot bear your suffering.
We want to help.
That begins here, with you.
Beginning in the next few days:
U.S. armed forces will take over the Staten Island Ferry Terminal.
Please vacate northeast Staten Island, north of Victory Blvd, east of Jersey St. This area to be used for Quarantine and Staging Operations.
Quarantine graduates will relocate outside the epidemic border.
We want to reunite family members where possible.
We can’t take everyone. Please decide if you can stay and rebuild.
Stay tuned for more details. This is a huge operation. Please be patient! And hang in there.
You are not alone.
12
Interesting fact: This year marked a low point in American entertainment. The television industry was decimated in California and New York. There was no money to fund high production values. Censorship on the Internet made it difficult to express anything with negative emotional content, yet audiences were in a solemn mood. Escapist fiction fell flat. Amenac bloggers like the Great Pumpkin, who combined dark acid wit with pragmatic hope, seemed to do well. But Bible commentary and weird apocalyptic rants drew the largest following after Amenac’s core offering – news you can use.
“You have a logo,” Carlos Mora said wonderingly, as he glanced over a sample leaflet he picked up from my dining table. He shook his head. “God, you’re an asshole, MacLaren.”
“Uh-huh,” returned Emmett. “Darlin’, Carlos and I’ll be out on the back deck,” he added to me.
I was in the kitchen, rummaging up beverage and snack service for them the following afternoon. “Ah, OK,” I agreed, contemplating this afternoon’s tropical downpour through the window. Two hurricane remnants had met and fallen in love off the coast of North Carolina. Their love-child
puppies and kittens were falling upon us. A good month’s worth of rain was expected over 12 hours or so. Over the summer, Emmett added a scrap of roof over part of the back deck for me. I’d never noticed it to succeed at keeping me dry in a hard rain. Indeed, the chairs under it splintered raindrops in every direction. “I’ll...bring this out to you.” I smiled hopefully at Mora.
Mora’s face maintained its usual implacable expression, Native American impersonates Easter Island stone head. His hair was dripping on his face and neck from his 10-second sprint from the car to my front door. He didn’t bother to wipe it away.
“Dee and her team did the leaflet for me, Carlos,” Emmett explained cordially as he manhandled Mora out the back door. “You’re just jealous cuz you don’t have a logo. Leave the food on the table, darlin’. Thanks.”
I thunked their glasses and plate down on the table with unnecessary percussion, and retreated to my office. So much for helping Emmett make nice. I understood his reasoning for bringing Mora here to talk things out, after giving him a few days to cool off. That didn’t mean I liked having Colonel Stoneface in my house.
I tried to put them out of mind while I revised my first interview blog post. I’d caught Pete Hoffman in New Jersey by phone first thing that morning. I’d meant what I told him, about realizing South Jersey was in an isolated position. I hoped to sort of cement Jersey’s friendship with the northern states that they were so nearly cut off from, aside from their common interest in New York City.
The rain suddenly doubled down in intensity, making me flinch. I collected towels and a couple man-sized robes, to bring to the kitchen as a hint. By the time I made it there, Emmett and Carlos were already indoors and puddling on my kitchen floor. There didn’t appear to be any blood or contusions. They couldn’t have been any wetter if they’d jumped into a pool again, though. Other than looking like drowned rats, the pair seemed to have turned a more affable corner in their relationship.
