Calm Act Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Ginger Booth

  Cut to the Cullens bowing their heads at the front of a huge crowd, while the new archbishop of the Apple consecrated the New York Calm Park, an extension to Central Park. Beside him stood a mullah, a rabbi, and a half dozen other clerics, who would each consecrate the cemetery in turn, and say a few words.

  The program continued with Lt. Colonel Ash Margolis, hugging his son Shimon: “I grew up on Manhattan, Lower East Side. My mom, grandmother, sister, her kids. I don’t know how many friends from school. Yeah. But also, my wife and I are Israeli-American. I mean, we chose American citizenship. But my wife served in the Israeli Army first. And we had family all over. We all have dead. A third of all Americans are dead, right? Pretty much all of Israel. And I’ve never been to a funeral for them before, a memorial. I’m hoping that this ceremony today, inviting the world in, that we can give everyone a chance to mourn.”

  Jennifer Alvarez of PR News prompted, “You choreographed all of today’s services, is that right, Colonel Margolis?”

  Ash shrugged. “Supervised. But arranging the memorial was nothing compared to building the Calm Parks. Nearly a million people in the Apple, and it took just about all of us. We’re still rebuilding. But we’ve come a long way. And we want to say thank you, to all the people outside the city, who helped us. And show off to the world what we’ve done with your help.”

  Ash and Shimon, his wife Deborah and daughter Shira, prayed with a rabbi and the crowd in what was once the Lower East Side.

  Ash Margolis lost 11 family members in New York City

  Emmett, standing with Ty Jefferson, leader of Staten Island: “I didn’t have family or friends in the city. I mourn the people we couldn’t reach in time. I’m from Missouri. I never really got to mourn them, you know? I wanted to save Kansas City, Joplin. I failed. They’re gone now, those towns. Vanished. The refugees from the Dust Bowl. Everything I’ve done for the Apple was inspired by the dead of the Dust Bowl. I couldn’t save them. But maybe I could do something here.”

  Ty Jefferson beside Emmett, shaking his head: “Too many to count. The survivor guilt. We all of us suffer from that crippling survivor guilt. With these memorials, let us lay that guilt down. And live.”

  Emmett and I shared an umbrella between Ty Jefferson and Adam Lacey’s family, Alex and the Niedermeyers, listening to a sermon.

  Emmett MacLaren led the Project Reunion evacuation

  Ty Jefferson led Staten Island while over 400,000 died

  The special report went on and on. Some segments didn’t have an interview, just Amiri and Jennifer speaking over the footage. Our friends Cam and Dwayne were among the chief mourners in Hoboken, Dwayne sagging on Cam’s shoulder, Cam looking grim. Carlos and his daughter Maisie stone-faced in Queens, the closest service they could find to where Carlos’ wife and older daughter died of Ebola, trying to flee to Long Island and then home to Connecticut. Other sequences had only interviews, mostly of ordinary apples, and what the day meant to them.

  The ceremony ended with bugles playing taps at each Calm Park, followed by a slow 21-gun salute fired in unison from the destroyers off-shore throughout the city.

  “Thank you for joining us to remember our dead,” Amiri finished solemnly. “On behalf of all of us at PR News, and IndieNews, on this All Hallows’ Eve, God bless you and those you have lost. May this memorial bring you peace. Good night.”

  The credits rolled over the opening sequence of rain scenes again, to Pachelbel’s Canon. After the brief credits, the confirmed death toll was given for each borough of the city, followed by every county in Hudson.

  “That was like devastating,” Alex commented, snuggled under Emmett’s other arm, next to me.

  “Too much, you think?” I asked him.

  “No, you done good, Dee,” he assured me.

  “Very good,” Emmett concurred, kissing the crown of my head. “Perfect.” He raised his voice only slightly to Gladys, on the other side of Alex. “What do you think, Gladys? I think you’re the only apple in the room.”

  Gladys nodded wordlessly, all cried out. She rose and held out a hand to Popeye, and drew him down to her apartment. Several of the guests looked puzzled at this, but Emmett and I took it in stride.

  “I’m an apple, too,” Maisie Mora piped up. “A Lawn Guyland apple. Bet Daddy won’t let me celebrate like Gladys.” She oomphed and grinned as her daddy Carlos squeezed her around the middle, reminding her to behave. The girl was fourteen now, a real dark-haired Hispanic beauty with flashing mischievous eyes. She was too mature and out of reach for young Shimon Margolis, but she’d already caught our Alex’s nervous attention. She’d left prostitution behind when she escaped the Apple Zone back to her family in Connecticut last spring. But that chick was hatched.

  “That’s right,” Cam pounced, lead Resco of Long Island. “What do you think, Maisie – should we hold a Long Island memorial too?”

  “Nah. This one was ours, too,” she replied. “Like they said on the news, this was for everybody, not just the Apple Core. We didn’t have like whole mountains of dead bodies like here. And we had green land already. The Lawns of Lawn Guyland.”

  Cam nodded his amused thanks. I jumped in. “So Maisie, do you think this was a good ceremony? And the video coverage?”

  “Yeah,” she allowed. “You know the best part, though, for me. Daddy and I hunted for where Mom and Jessie died. It was hard to find, you know? Because everything has changed so much. Buildings and roads are gone. It’s pretty now. But we traced the whole way, from Manhattan to Queens. I showed Daddy. I never told him all that stuff before.”

  “Felt like it was safe to talk about,” Carlos suggested. “I thought it was an outstanding memorial. Gave closure. My congratulations to everyone. Thank you.”

  “Yes!” I agreed, standing. “To the Rescos who staged today’s event!” I led a round of applause, and waved the last of the PR News team out into the living room. “And yay team, PR News! Great job, gang!” More applause. “And to IndieNews! Our esteemed competition! May we have many more successful collaborations!” Along with the applause, we shared high-fives, handshakes, and hugs between PR News and IndieNews.

  I clung extra long to Brandy and Blake. Searching gazes met minute nods. We weren’t over our shared ordeal. But we were getting better. IndieNews and PR News would continue to pursue different editorial focus, as we must. But it was a warm and friendly competition. We’d collaborate again. With more cameras and reporters and assets, both news teams could do more with less, report more widely on the events of the Northeast.

  The party broke up after another half hour or so. Curfew was extended for the big Halloween event, with last trains pulling out of the city around 11 p.m. IndieNews maintained an apartment in Harlem near the Hudson River and New Haven train lines. But most of my news guests would head home on those last trains, and needed to get moving. Alex chose to leave with Carlos and Maisie Mora. He was in good hands, as always, more young friend and farming partner to us than fosterling, since I left Totoket.

  Soon we were left with just Emmett’s guests. But the Rescos of Hudson were my friends, too.

  “Best way to observe a funeral,” I murmured, sated, beside Emmett in bed. “Affirm life.”

  “Uh-huh,” he agreed happily. He’d cooled off enough, and dragged me back onto his shoulder to cuddle. “So, Dee. Was this a good day? I think it was a good day.”

  “Very good,” I agreed. “That vision you had, or Will had, of the pilgrimage of the Calm Parks. That was cool. We accomplished that today.” Will was the artist who drew the original Calm Park concept sketch.

  “Good enough for an anniversary?” Emmett pressed. “Or would you get all prickly about me proposing to you the day of a funeral?”

  “Hm. What are you proposing?”

  He laughed, groaned, and rolled out of bed. He fished around in his nightstand, and brought out a small velvet box. He knelt to present it to me, to do it right, box snapped open to display the ring he’d chosen. “Dee Baker, will you mar
ry me?”

  I picked up the ring, entranced. “Bedroom, soft lights,” I said, and the lights warmed on minimum so I could see the ring better, plucked out of its navy silk nest. In a city with literally millions of cast-off gold and diamond rings on offer, Emmett had selected simple stainless steel, set with a gorgeous emerald, with matching emerald-and-steel stud earrings. “It’s beautiful, Emmett,” I assured him, and tried it on. “And it fits.”

  “Is that a yes?” he breathed.

  “That is a yes,” I agreed, grinning. I pulled myself up to rub noses and kiss him.

  “I have a further request,” he said, and held out Dane Beaufort’s gold wedding band, the one engraved with ‘God For Me Provided Thee.’ “I’ve wanted to wear this ring ever since you handed it to me in Pittsburgh. It fits.” He demonstrated. “We can figure out what kind of wedding later. But could we just act married, starting now? Monogamous. Forever. I love you. I need you. Partners.”

  “You know,” I warned him, “if you call me your wife in public, wearing these rings, it probably makes us common law married. Eventually, anyway.”

  “Uh-huh,” he agreed happily.

  “You’re not worried that I’m not a good Christian?” I prodded. “Because I’m not, you know. I spent a lot of time thinking in West Virginia. I meet God in nature, in math, in tech. I think that makes me some kind of pagan, Emmett. You’re sure that’s not a problem for you?”

  “I know who you are, darlin’,” Emmett assured me. “If God speaks to you through tech and trees, I know you’re listening. I trust your heart.” He placed his hand on my breast to illustrate.

  I nodded thoughtfully. “Why steel and emerald? Instead of gold and diamond.”

  He brushed hair out of my face and traced my jaw. “Strength of steel, eyes of green.” He shrugged. “The others all looked the same. Frail and girly. This one made me think of you. Not a porcelain doll. Beautiful, but tough enough to face life with. Practical. High tech. If you don’t like it, we can trade it in on another. Need to return the presentation box anyway. They’re short on those. Whatever you choose, I’d like to get it engraved to match.”

  “It’s perfect,” I assured him. “Thank you. Happy zeroeth anniversary, love.”

  He laughed. “Leave it to a programmer to count from zero.”

  “Of course,” I agreed, drawing him back into bed. “Bedroom, off lights.”

  29

  Interesting fact: One of the key arguments for keeping the University of Connecticut open was that continuing research in renewable energy had never been more important. Northeastern super-states encouraged physicists and technologists in the field to congregate at UConn to pursue their work. A similar energy research center flourished in the Virginia naval yards.

  “Let’s get started,” Sean Cullen announced, Governor-General of Hudson and commander in chief of the Rescos assembled around our dining table the next morning. Everyone had already congratulated us on our engagement over breakfast.

  “First of all, a promotion,” Sean continued. “Tony Nasser, effective immediately, you are a full Colonel in the Hudson Army Resco service. Congratulations!”

  Sean pinned a Colonel’s eagle on Tony’s lapel. Heart-felt hugs and handshakes proceeded around the room. No mixed feelings among this group – ‘Chandy Anthony’ had more than earned his promotion. He had only four years in service as a lieutenant colonel, but Sean had already established four years as Hudson’s minimum time in grade when he promoted Cam to Lt. Colonel. Aside from supervising the Rescos of the far-flung New York upstate, Tony coordinated and secured power and fuel supplies for all of Hudson and New England, and Internet besides. Many millions had reason to thank God for Tony Nasser the power czar.

  Once we all settled back into our seats, Sean quipped, “I believe the Hudson Resco service does not require more than two full bird colonels at present. Emmett.” The joking left his eyes. “Your eagle belongs to Penn, not Hudson. Taibbi could use a decent O-6. He’d let you keep that rank. I won’t. You’ve done well. You’ve performed miracles. But you have only a single year in grade as a light colonel. You’re not ready.”

  Emmett shook his head. “I agree, sir.” He detached Penn’s colonel insignia and placed it on the table. “I understood the rank bump as a tool for the job. Not a permanent promotion.”

  Sean nodded slightly, but narrowed his eyes. “New England, Penn, Ohio, Virginia-Del-Mar, they all want you. They’ll make bids for you. Hell, probably Ken-Tenn, and whatever Missouri is these days, too. You can write your own ticket. But Emmett, I need a team player. We did not appreciate the constitution getting upstaged by you again. If you can’t get back into the chorus as a light colonel, maybe you should entertain one of those other job offers.”

  Emmett shook his head minutely. “No sir. And I apologize to the team.” He looked around at each of them. “I didn’t intend to get famous. I needed public support for Project Reunion. It was for the good of the operation, not my ego. Dee and I will try to douse the media, much as we can. But I’d like to stay with this team, in Hudson. In fact, I’d like to stay right here, if I could. New Jersey has waited long enough. I’d like to work for Pete. Organize North Jersey. Keep the house here for Dee to stay nearby.” He swallowed nervously.

  Sean grinned. “Good. I wanted that settled before our final recommendations meeting this evening.”

  “Sir,” Emmett interrupted. “If I may, I’d like to speak to Pete privately first.”

  Puzzled, Sean waved permission. Emmett led his commanding officer upstairs to our bedroom to confer. They were gone for a long while, while the Rescos attended to other business in the dining room. Cam would report to Tony now, to take some workload off of Pete Hoffman in Jersey. Emmett and Ash would continue with Pete. Cam used the time to report his progress so far in bringing central Long Island under Resco organization.

  When Pete and Emmett returned, Pete stopped at the sideboard and poured himself a two-finger drink. Emmett simply sat down, subdued. His colonel’s eagle had been stashed away, normal lieutenant colonel insignia back on his uniform.

  “Is that scotch, Colonel?” Sean inquired sourly. “It’s 10 a.m.”

  Pete Hoffman sat with his drink. “No, sir. It’s good Kentucky bourbon. I just need the one.”

  “What exactly were you talking about up there?” Sean asked, perturbed.

  Pete shook his head. “Plans for north Jersey.” He took a pull on his drink. “They’re coming along. It’s under control, sir.” He looked haunted. So did Emmett. Sean continued staring at them. “You don’t want to know, sir.”

  “I rather think I do,” Sean said dangerously.

  “If I may, sir,” Emmett cut in. “I think we have good plans for north Jersey. It’ll work. One of the key components is building settlements for retiring service members. People who want to muster out. They’ll strengthen the militia backbone. Meanwhile organize civilian work details. Restore wetlands. Raze substandard housing, decrepit communities, disrupt the inner city ghettos. Especially around Newark and Trenton.”

  Pete finished off his bourbon, and slid the heavy tumbler away in finality. He nodded. “It’ll work. Not all that different from what we’ve done in the Apple Core.”

  I stared at the glass and thought of ‘death angel markers,’ and Canber’s insistence that Emmett needed to ask, to solve Jersey. Canber wouldn’t do it for him, unless he asked. No, that wouldn’t go over well with Pete Hoffman. Sean Cullen wouldn’t approve at all. Of all the Calm Act military governors, Sean was the most eager to declare the population culling over, forever, good riddance and never to return. Standing by while New York City died had been more ‘culling’ than the man could take.

  Pete sighed. “We’ll get started on that right away. I believe Emmett has preliminary drawings. Shall we adjourn to the office?”

  “After a fifteen minute break,” Sean agreed. He drew Pete away into our drippy garden for a tongue-lashing. I doubt Sean learned much. Pete just stood mute and took i
t. I hoped the bourbon fortified him. The other Rescos shot uneasy glances outside through the French doors, and at Emmett, but didn’t comment.

  Emmett slipped his arms around my waist at the kitchen sink-island. I was filling some water pitchers to bring into the office. “You alright with this plan, darlin’? I’d try to come home most weekends – home here – and talk to you every day. Like Project Reunion again. I’ll start with Newark.” Newark was the next town west from Jersey-borough, across Newark Bay. Before the epidemic, Newark was the largest city in Jersey, almost entirely poor non-white inner city. “Could come home during the week some nights. But North Jersey’s a hell-hole now. You don’t belong there.”

  I knew that. Alone of the Rescos here, Pete Hoffman was still bogged down in a shooting war, fighting gangs and insurrection in south Jersey. North Jersey, still barricaded in by the epidemic borders to north and south, and barred from the Apple Core, was a war zone, too. With some rural land to produce food, and charity shipments, their situation had never been as dire as in the Apple Core, the now-six boroughs of New York City. But the locals were shooting each other over food and everything else. Not much order had been re-established yet. Emmett had been studying the situation since we returned from Penn, and visited a couple times.

  “I understand,” I said. I looked Emmett in the eye. “Really.” I tapped one of his silver oak leaves, that had replaced his temporary eagle. “I’ll see what I can do about suppressing the press. Until Jersey looks prettier.”

  “Thank you, darlin’,” he said sadly. “Maybe in spring we could find a nice place with a garden out there. If things calm down.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. I’m good here.” The ghosts of New York lay quietly now. I wondered how long it would take before Jersey stopped feeling haunted to me.

  One of the things that came up during the conference was salary for me and mine. PR News. Amenac. The meshnet programming team on Long Island. My friend Reza on satellite intelligence. My latest project for an online distributor clearinghouse for the city’s warehouses full of salvage. The gleam in my eye for a match-making service to place retiring soldiers in communities. Governor Sean Cullen was shocked that all these projects were bankrolled by Emmett and Cam, and told Pete Hoffman to deal with it.