“What’d you say?”
Judy turned down the radio and repeated her question.
“Sorry, I dozed off. Twenty kilometres. No, wait.” There was a pause. “How can that be? Twenty-one and a half kilometres. We’re getting further away.”
“We must have missed the turnoff.” Judy gritted her teeth, trying to conceal her annoyance. It was really pouring now and the windshield wipers, set on max, were barely keeping up.
“Sorry.” Sharon’s voice sounded pouty. “I guess I didn’t hear the GPS over the radio.”
“I’ll turn around,” Judy snapped. Sharon didn’t comment on the less-than-elegant manoeuvre that brought them to face the opposite way, though she gripped the armrest anxiously.
“Turn left in two hundred metres,” Sharon sang out at last. Judy could barely make out the dirt road, which appeared as a slash in the forest.
The vehicle crawled along as though feeling its way by touch as the narrow road twisted back on itself several times and large trees loomed on both sides. They splashed through more than one puddle, and Judy was grateful that it was the SUV they were driving and not the low-slung sedan that served as the family’s other vehicle.
“If the GPS didn’t say this was it, I’d be worried we were on the wrong road,” Sharon said timidly.
“This is it, all right. I remember.” Judy shivered. “Mom and Dad say you always have to keep a lookout for deer at night, along here.”
“Maybe they’re holed up for the night,” Sharon replied.
“They would if they were smart.”
Finally, Judy saw the word BLACK in reflective lettering on the mailbox just ahead. Uncle Jesse’s place. “At last,” Judy grunted as she made the turn. The headlights showed streams of water racing down the dirt driveway. She heaved a sigh of relief when the car rolled to a stop in front of her uncle’s sprawling brick bungalow.
“We’re here,” she sang out, waking her youngest sister, Val, who’d been sleeping in the back seat.
9:30 p.m., Thursday, September 24, 2048: Alliston Humane Society Shelter
Glenn Chandler listened to the rain drumming on the roof. Well, the storm had arrived. So far, all was quiet—just a bit of yapping from the canine inmates. They were restless, though, he could sense it—the dogs were panting, and those cats that weren’t pacing lay huddled in their blankets.
The fundraising campaign for a new building to house the animals couldn’t wrap up soon enough, he reflected. They weren’t exactly on high ground. Hopefully the sandbags the volunteers had put in place to address the most vulnerable areas would do the job. Otherwise, they’d all be floating.
Normally, of course, there wouldn’t be anyone here overnight. He’d set the cot up for the night so he could keep an eye on things. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if water started coming in, but he’d figure it out. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
1:00 a.m., Friday, September 25, 2048: CFB Borden, Infrastructure Design Testing Station
Patricia Griffin monitored the readouts as early data started to trickle in. So far, so good. Jerome, as the other lead researcher, would relieve her at the end of her eight-hour shift while she in turn caught some sleep. Other technicians were doing on-site monitoring of their own, including driving along the “streets” to confirm the effectiveness of the water runoff measures. Of course, the computers would capture the readouts as they happened, but nothing could substitute for the human eye and mind.
Tucked away in the middle of CFB Borden’s 21,000 acres, the Infrastructure Design Testing Station was a proving ground for technology. It owed its existence to funding from a variety of sources, including industry, universities, government, and a few select private foundations. Though they were situated on the Forces base, the object of their study wasn’t related to the types of battles that normally came to mind when one considered the military. Instead, it was related to the war against the effects of climate change. One of the spinoffs from the earth’s warming trend was increasingly intense storms, which in turn would require a different kind of thinking about infrastructure design and building codes. Here at the Testing Station, a miniature “town”—streets, houses, storm sewers, and all—had been established. The military site just happened to be an available piece of land to support a project of this scope. The key design elements were modelled after similar installations in the United States, with appropriate adjustments made for the Canadian climate.
Thus far tonight, all systems for water flow control, water retention, surge protection in the event of electrical strikes, and communications and electrical infrastructure preservation were operating as planned. This weekend’s storm, if it lived up to its billing, would be the system’s most rigorous test yet. She was keeping her fingers crossed. That wasn’t scientific, she knew, but it made her feel better.
3 a.m., Friday September 25, 2048: Jesse Black’s house
Boom! The thunder sounded like a cannon’s roar, and the third blast of it brought Sharon racing into Judy’s room. Val was already there, huddled at the end of Judy’s bed with Latte, Uncle Jesse’s red-and-white Border collie, cowering beside her.
The dog raised her head as the door leading from the garage to the mudroom opened and then closed.
“Uncle Jesse?” Judy called, hoping her voice sounded braver than she felt.
“Here,” he said calmly. “Just had to fire up the generator. We lost power a few minutes ago.” He padded down the hallway.
Judy noticed the wind’s wild howl. “Should we go downstairs, do you think?”
“Wouldn’t hurt, since everyone’s awake anyway,” Uncle Jesse said. “Bring some blankets. We’ll sit on the couches and watch the light show.”
With their uncle’s help, the girls ensconced themselves comfortably enough on the lower floor, which was a walkout with large windows. Judy sat upright in the middle of the couch along the wall facing the main windows, with Val resting her head against Judy’s shoulder. Sharon perched on Judy’s other side, patting a frightened Latte. Jesse sat nearby in his favourite armchair.
Sharon winced as a pink flash of light lit up the sky over the woods. “What if we get hit by lightning?”
“I’ve got a surge protector on the main panel,” Uncle Jesse said reassuringly. “That’ll prevent any damage.”
“Uncle Jesse, will we get flooded?” Val asked sleepily.
“The soil’s extra sandy here,” Uncle Jesse said. “I had to bring in topsoil for the garden and the lawn. I’ve never yet had a problem with flooding, touch wood. The water should just run away.”
“They might get flooding in the city though, mightn’t they?” Sharon asked timidly.
“Quite likely,” he replied. “It’s a lot of rain in a very short time.”
Another bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a ferocious grumble of thunder.
“Uncle Jesse, do you think that fawn we saw in the springtime is okay?” Val asked.
“He’ll be mostly grown up by now,” Uncle Jesse replied, “and the deer and the other animals will take shelter where they can.”
Judy glanced over toward her uncle. That’s true enough, as far as it goes, she thought. She knew a vicious storm like this might result in some creatures being flooded out of their homes.
Val, comforted by her sisters’ presence, was the first to fall asleep despite the crashing of thunder. Her sisters followed suit.
Jesse dozed fitfully, waking now and then to check the weather conditions, and then nodding off again.
3:45 a.m. Friday, September 25, 2048: Interpretation Center, Earl Rowe Provincial Park
Irma Cole snapped awake when she heard the knock on the Interpretation Center door.
She clicked on her flashlight and hurried over. Opening the door revealed the two campers who had been holdouts when her staff had gone around encouraging everyone to come up to the Interpretation Center. The man and woman looked to be in their late fifties. Water streamed off their rain gear and dripped onto the floor.
They both sported sheepish expressions.
“It’s nasty out there,” the grey-haired man said. “Got room for us?”
Irma smiled and gestured to a space where a pair of sleeping bags lay waiting.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she replied.
Inwardly, she heaved a sigh of relief. She hadn’t been able to compel anyone to come to the Interpretation Center, though most had come willingly. With the arrival of these final two, she didn’t need to worry about anyone being out there in that weather. They were much safer here.
9 a.m., Friday, September 25, 2048: on the road from CFB Borden to Alliston, Ontario
Jay Baker swayed along with the motion of the troop vehicle as they headed toward town. Help where they could, offer water and supplies to those who needed it, and be on hand for further orders, that was their assignment. They were laden with several cases of bottled water and other supplies for that express purpose.
The rain had subsided to a sullen drizzle, though the air still felt heavy with humidity. Large, shallow lakes lapped almost up to the roadside in several fields that had already been harvested, while in other spots crops still waiting to be gathered lay beaten down by the storm’s force. The shoulders of the road showed signs of erosion here and there, and the ditches brimmed with water. He felt a surge of gratitude that they were travelling in a large vehicle.
Behind the vehicle carrying the handful of reservists was a green Jeep hauling a trailer with an inflatable boat and an amphibious vehicle. Jay wondered whether they would need to use them.
10 a.m., Friday January 25, 2048: Alliston Humane Society Shelter
Glenn Chandler stretched and grinned as the black, mud-spattered four-wheel-drive pickup truck splashed through the gravel parking lot, coming to a halt to the right of the shelter’s entrance. Mick Williams, equipped with florescent yellow rain gear and sturdy green rubber boots, jumped down from the passenger side. Mick’s wife, Sarah, similarly dressed, emerged more slowly from the driver’s side, taking advantage of the running boards to make her way to the ground.
“Sorry we’re late,” Sarah sang out. “We had to take the long way around. The bridge on the Third Concession was washed out.”
“Took ‘em nine months to put that new bridge in,” Mick said, shaking his head. “Mother Nature just took a few hours to rip it all out.”
“At least the sandbags held,” Glenn said, gesturing to where the water from the pond had risen halfway up the improvised barrier.
“Well, let’s get those dogs walked, shall we?” Sarah asked, walking briskly toward the door.
11 a.m. Friday September 25, 2048: Interpretation Centre, Earl Rowe Provincial Park
Time to assess the damage, Irma Cole thought as she climbed aboard the park’s ATV. Several of the campers were evincing signs of restlessness and making noises about returning to their sites.
Already, it didn’t look good. A large tree branch had fallen in the open area behind the Interpretation Centre, and the parking lot lay half-submerged in a broad, shallow puddle.
She trundled downhill along the paved roadway, the wheels kicking up a spray behind her. Halfway down the ridge, she stopped. The small lake had tripled in size, its waters now lapping against the walls of the camp store. The campsites below would be thoroughly soaked, with many of them underwater. Doubly glad now for the action she’d taken in herding the campers up to the Interpretation Centre, she executed a tight turn and headed back up the hill. They were going to be there awhile, from the looks of things.
Noon, Friday, September 25, 2048: Jesse Black’s house
“At least the rain’s stopped for now, but look at that wind!” Judy exclaimed, gesturing toward the backyard, where even the tops of the oak trees were swaying wildly. Evidence of the storm’s handiwork during the night lay scattered across the yard in the form of fallen branches.
“The oaks have taken a beating lately, thanks to the oak weevil infestation,” Uncle Jesse said. “It’s made them weaker.”
“They came over from Europe, right?” Judy asked.
“Yes. And the trees were stressed to start with, due to the drier summers we’ve been having.”
“Drier summers?” Sharon snorted. “Doesn’t look like it.”
“It’s fall now, smarty,” Judy retorted. “And yes, there are prolonged periods of dryness, despite the storms.”
“Storms are stronger, too,” Uncle Jesse added quietly. “The intensity of the rainfall, the lightning, the winds.”
“Hey, where’s Val?” Judy asked, turning to Sharon. “Weren’t you watching her?”
“She was here with Latte a minute ago,” Sharon replied defensively.
“If she’s gone into the woods, with that wind—” Uncle Jesse’s voice was concerned. “You girls stay here. I know my way around.”
“I think I know where she might have gone,” Judy offered. “Check where we saw the fawn last spring.”
Uncle Jesse nodded, his expression serious. His wooded property spanned thirty acres, and there were hectares of county forest behind. He hoped Val hadn’t strayed far.
12:15 p.m. Friday, September 25, 2048: north of Alliston, Ontario
Jay Baker stared at the Nottawasaga River’s murky, tumbling waters as the amphibious craft trundled along the riverbank. The wind lashed his face and released drops of water from the trees. Between sweat and the water that had winnowed its way through gaps between his skin and his protective gear, he might as well have stepped straight out of the shower. He ignored his discomfort, remembering the orders that had come over the commlink half an hour ago, launching him and the vehicle’s driver, Jackson, into action.
Two boys, bored by the power outage and seeking adventure outdoors, had reportedly launched themselves onto the river on a small wooden raft. Their absence had been called in by their panicked parents, who hadn’t seen the boys depart but had noted the raft missing from the family’s dock. They’re the same age as my two guys, Jay thought, shivering. He figured the boys thought the danger was over once the rain had stopped. They couldn’t be more wrong, as water continued to flow into the river from the overloaded tributaries.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye. “Stop,” he yelled into the driver’s ear. “Over there, in that clump of driftwood.”
The craft eased its way toward the jumble of tree branches and dock boards where the raft had crashed. He could see two motionless forms huddled on the pile of debris. He hoped they’d arrived in time.
12:30 p.m., Friday, September 25, 2048: Jesse Black’s property
“Valerie!” Jesse cupped his hands to yell, and then ducked under a wind-whipped branch as he trudged along the trail. The odds seemed stacked against his voice reaching the girl, wherever she’d disappeared to. Still, he had to try.
Jesse scowled at the tossing treetops overhead, and flinched when he heard a loud crack in the woods to the right. He passed a splintered branch that had fallen jagged end first into the ground, implanting itself a good six inches. It provided a chilling reminder of the hazards that Val was facing.
Suddenly a woof sounded from the path ahead. Seconds later, Latte appeared. She raced up to Jesse, licked his hand, danced all around him, and trotted back along the way she had come.
Slipping on the wet grass on the pathway, Jesse hustled after the dog.
2:00 p.m., Friday, September 25, 2048: Jesse Black’s house
A small fire crackled in the woodstove on the lower floor of Jesse’s house, providing physical and psychological warmth. Latte stretched full-length on the warm tile in front of the stove, causing Jesse some inconvenience when he needed to toss on additional fuel. Given the Border collie’s role in leading him to Valerie, however, he didn’t comment on her choice of resting spot.
His three nieces perched on the couch. It had taken Val half an hour to stop shivering, once she got inside the house. There had been no need to lecture her on the consequences of her unauthorized expedition. Val had been thoroughly fright
ened by the time he tracked her down.
A battery-powered radio sat on the oak end table to Jesse’s right, and the occupants of the room had their attention fixed on the device.
“. . . a state of emergency has been declared in southern Ontario, due to widespread flooding. Many roads are impassable due to downed trees or bridge damage. Power is gradually being restored, although it’s expected some areas may be out until noon Monday.
“Flights in and out of all airports have been suspended due to flooded runways. Travellers are advised to check in advance for schedule alterations.
“Across southern Ontario, close to fifty people are believed to be missing, down from sixty two hours ago. Fortunately, there are have been no fatalities reported at this time, although all major cities report extensive flooding with many roadways underwater. Damage to homes and commercial establishments is already estimated to run into the billions, although it’s early to pin down exact figures.
“In area news, two military reservists rescued a pair of boys who took a raft ride down the surging Nottawasaga River. The Humane Society is fielding reports of missing animals, as well as receiving calls about ‘found’ cats and dogs. The majority of area roads have flooded sections, and the Ontario Provincial Police strongly request that all nonessential travel be postponed.”
“Uncle Jesse, will we be okay?” Sharon asked as the newscaster’s voice faded out, replaced by the bouncy music accompanying a commercial.
“We’re fine,” he said. “We have emergency power, thanks to the generator, a secondary heat source with the wood stove and fireplace, and plenty of food. We’re better off than a lot of people.”
“I wonder how Mom and Dad are doing?” Judy asked.
“They’re okay. I’m sure of it.”
5 p.m., Saturday, September 26, 2048: CFB Borden, Infrastructure Design Testing Station
“I’d say that was an unqualified success,” Jerome Griffin observed, a note of elation underlying the tiredness in his voice.
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