“You’re a scary little bastard,” Tyler said, as they jogged around a corner.
“You don’t know the half of it. Hey, you’re not supposed to say that word!”
They reached the western shore moments later.
“That’s no pirate,” Kenny said, as they approached two Colonists huddled next to a young woman. “She might be the Little Mermaid all grown up.”
Chapter 2 - Rosemary
Rosemary was at her wit’s end. If she didn’t get the well treatment process off the ground soon, they would run out of potable water. July had been exceptionally dry and hot. They couldn’t blame that on man-made climate change now that mankind had almost perished from the planet. Who knew if the damage had already been done prior to Chicxulub, though? What she did know was that the rain shortage wasn’t normal for summer on the Florida coast, and it had thrown a potentially deadly wrench into the gears of their fledgling island community.
Before, you could set your watch by the brief afternoon thunderstorms which would blow up and disappear within a fifteen-minute period, dumping an inch of rain before they moved out. But that wasn’t the case this year. As a result, their rainwater reservoir systems were empty, and residents were relying solely on Ingrid’s well for their drinking water. Wells on the island were unheard of, but Ingrid was a far-thinking, suspicious, gloom-and-doom curmudgeon who had installed a 150-foot well on a section of her pricey real estate two years before the end had come.
And thank god she had.
The well water was pumped by wind power and then manually filtered and treated by hand in small batches using time-consuming, inefficient processes. At the current pace, people were already going thirsty. In her former life, Ingrid had used the water for irrigating her opulent tropical landscape. Its source was a surficial aquifer filled with undrinkable, salt-tinged brackish runoff, which is why she had also purchased a commercial-grade reverse osmosis system at the time the well was built...just in case. She had never even opened the boxes stacked in her cavernous garage. Now the well and its briny water were the only game in town.
And the old woman knew it.
“I realize the filter and carbon block must be changed out every twelve months,” Rosemary said, keeping her tone reasonable.
“And the membranes every twenty-four months.” Ingrid’s silver cotton-candy hair was pinned to the top of her head, and the hazel eyes burned with intelligence above the perfect cheekbones. She had been no sun worshiper; her flawless, alabaster skin was an anomaly in an ocean of leathery brown Floridian retirees. The German immigrant must have been a knockout when she was young, Rosemary thought, and the woman’s intellect rivaled her own.
“And when the time comes that they need to be replaced, how will that be done? Since you people destroyed the bridges, we can no longer easily get to the mainland, where we might have been able to procure replacements.” The German accent was faint. Most people might not notice it, but Rosemary did.
Rosemary noticed everything.
“We’ve been over this. We’ll send a team by boat, just like we do when we need other things that we don’t have here. As we’ve discussed before, the decision to destroy the bridges was not taken lightly, and it was voted upon. The majority of our citizens chose increased safety over easy access to the mainland.”
“Hmmph,” Ingrid replied.
“So what do you say?” The survival of their community depended on this cantankerous old broad. If she didn’t acquiesce on her own, they would be forced to take extreme measures. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
“What about the rain harvesting? My tank is still half full.”
Rosemary sighed. “I told you. The communal reservoir is almost empty, and everyone’s individual systems are the same. Your cistern is larger and there’s only you to provide for. This must be the driest July on record.”
The older woman made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Bunch of short-sighted idiots. They didn’t build their collection tanks large enough.”
Rosemary had realized more than a year ago that ‘idiot’ was one of Ingrid’s favorite words, along with ‘twit,’ ‘cretin,’ and ‘dummkopf.’
“Please, Ingrid. If we don’t install the RO system on your well, people are going to become dehydrated. Sick people can’t work. If we don’t have workers, we can’t grow all those fresh vegetables you love. Besides, we’re providing you with a new battery-charging wind turbine in the bargain. That well will operate on solar-powered electricity instead of this dinosaur.” She indicated the archaic windmill. “You’ll be getting a free upgrade, compliments of Jupiter Inlet Colony. What do you say?”
“What I’m hearing is, ‘Ingrid, we’re going to start pumping out a lot more of your water, and oh-by-the-way, we need your RO system too. You weren’t using it, after all.”
Rosemary kept her expression neutral. She watched the still-lovely face as it struggled with the concept of sacrificing a significant piece of her own far-sighted preparedness to help others.
“Don’t forget that in return, the community offers you security, companionship, and a much better variety of produce than you’re growing in your little victory garden. Can you imagine going out to sea on a fishing boat? Or scaling a coconut palm for that milk you so love? You’re no fisherman, and you’re no tree climber.” A sarcastic tone had crept in which did not go unnoticed. Ingrid was no fool. She had read the subtext of the speech: fish and veggies in exchange for more well water.
The older woman nodded. “Fine. I want Hector to oversee the work. Once it is in place, I want time limits on when people can traipse around my property. I don’t want anyone here before eight in the morning, nor after eight at night. Agreed?”
Rosemary flashed her a smile. “Agreed. Thank you, Ingrid. We’ll make this as painless as possible.”
The old woman turned and marched back into her home, a house valued at ten million before the end of the world. Now it was a forlorn-looking, two-story dwelling on which salt erosion had begun its relentless assault.
There was a time when Rosemary fantasized about owning such an opulent house. It had been her goal before Chicxulub to breach the stodgy, old-money society of Palm Beach and make her fortune on its back. She had been running a long con when the end of the world ruined her plans. The bad news: she would never achieve that dream. The good news: she could now have her choice of any unoccupied multi-million dollar home in the Colony.
The best news of all was that no one alive knew about her past.
Instead of the opulence she had previously desired, she had chosen for her new life a modest bungalow two blocks from the beach. She wasn’t sure what that said about her, and she didn’t care. She no longer struggled with the incongruence of her former life as a grifter and her current life as the leader of a small, post-apocalyptic community. Nobody’s ‘former’ mattered now. All that mattered were the skills, expertise, and experience they brought with them. Rosemary possessed many useful talents, but foremost were her matchless intellect and her ability to get people to do what she wanted. Both served her quite well in this new leadership role.
A popping noise emanating from the west shattered her introspection. Her feet were already moving, sprinting toward the Intracoastal, before her brain had given them the order to do so.
An invader was attempting to enter their paradise.
Chapter 3 – Amelia
“You might be the most vexatious creature on the planet.” The man who spoke was short in stature but leviathan in all non-physical ways. Blue eyes, bright now with annoyance, blazed from within the bearded face. The facial hair was a rusty Brillo-pad version of that which sprouted above. The follicular flames springing from the head seemed to defy gravity in their upward reach; it would forever remain a mystery to all who knew the man how such lofty heights were achieved in a world without hair-styling products.
“Excellent,” the equally small woman replied. “If I can’t be helpful, vexatious is the next best thing. And bes
ides, extolling that I’m the most of anything on this culled planet isn’t saying much. There are only a few million people scattered about the globe these days.”
Amelia loved when Fergus smiled at her like he did now. The smile said: I love all women, but I love you best. And since he was the love of her life (but not her only lover), the smile made her feel special. Which of course she was, as were all those who had survived Chicxulub, the pandemic that had annihilated most of humankind. She and Fergus were especially so, however, as members of an ancient race that lived in what amounted to a cavernous hyperbaric chamber hundreds of feet below the nondescript plains of Kansas. The name of their home, Cthor-Vangt, translated in modern English to “Home of the Ancients.” In the past, Fergus and Amelia (and others much older) had experienced historic events in person when they traveled up to observe humanity’s progress. They had also witnessed other momentous occasions from home, below ground, utilizing their scythen, an inherent talent similar to telepathy. All the ancients possessed the ability to scythen, but in various degrees, and a few of the people above ground could tap into it as well – they just didn’t know it yet. The true nature of people like Amelia, Fergus, and their brethren who lived below the Great Plains, was unknown to the current race of humans. Perhaps the survivors wouldn’t care if they knew, being preoccupied with the business of staying alive in their post-pandemic world.
“So we’re at an impasse,” he said.
“It would seem so.”
She no longer braided her silver-shot dark hair into two side braids. Because of the balmy breezes and high humidity of Jupiter Island, she coiled one thick braid onto the top of her head and off her neck, where it had been making her sweat. She adored this gem positioned off the Atlantic side of the Florida coast, but it was damn hot and muggy in the summer. She could cut her hair short, but alas, she was a prisoner to some minor vanity...and also Fergus adored her long hair.
“You’ve been here six months now. I think it’s time for you to go home. Every day that you linger is another day older. Don’t you want to go home where your increasingly decrepit body will cease to age?” She gave him a sly smile.
“Decrepit, you say. That’s not what you called me last night. I believe your words were, ‘You magnificent stallion!’”
“I said no such thing. But you’re right. You outdid yourself last night. Now back to the matter of your leaving.”
“I’m not leaving yet” Fergus said. “And you can’t make me. I have been mentoring some exceptional people, and I’m not ready to abandon them. I intend to stay a few more months until I’m certain this group will survive on its own. I don’t want to walk away at a critical moment and disappoint those who have come to depend upon me, and also those who have fallen in love with me and with whom I have fallen in love.”
“Yes, I know how you felt about abandoning Dani and Sam, but it was for the best. Those two are quite capable. Perhaps better than most.”
“Yes, yes. I just miss them.”
“I know, darling. And I miss Maddie, and Pablo, and Jessie. Such is the nature of our existence: to mentor and teach, become attached to our students, then leave them with our hearts broken. It’s not fair, but it is what we signed up for.”
“True. So dearest, please allow me the pleasure of your company for a few more months. More significant than my selfish happiness, though, is the mentoring. Also, I’m working on a bitchin’ tan. When I go home, I intend to look like a bronzed Greek god.”
“More like a sunburned leprechaun.”
Fergus pulled her into his arms. “So it’s decided. No more nagging until at least October. Agreed?”
She sighed. “Very well. Come October though, the nagging shall commence in earnest. So let it be written...so let it be done.”
“Aha! So you did watch some of those old movies. I thought you hated them. That Yul Brynner...now there was a manly man for you.”
“He can’t hold a candle to you, my love. What’s on your agenda for today?”
As she spoke, she puttered around the ground-floor, ocean-front condominium which was her home now. She had made it cozy and inviting, despite no running water or electricity. Such was the reality of their new world. If Curly Sue the poodle had come with her, it would have been perfect, but the shameless hussy was in love with Bruno, a handsome German shepherd living with her dear friends Pablo and Maddie in Liberty, Kansas. Curly Sue had decided to remain with them; Amelia’s scythen had told her as much. It was for the best. Amelia had barely managed to stay alive with only herself to take care of on the thirteen-hundred mile journey to find Fergus. Nothing would keep her from reuniting with him – not miles, nor near-starvation, nor bad gasoline. She had made it to Florida and her beloved, and it had been worth the hardships.
Perhaps she would find another pet to take the poodle’s place – a feral cat she could domesticate, or a homeless mutt nobody else wanted. Since she could never return to their belowground home with Fergus (having committed the unforgiveable violation of direct interference in a human conflict), she would make Jupiter Inlet Colony – a tiny section of land at the southern tip of the snakelike Jupiter Island – her home for the rest of her natural days. Why not make it as pleasant as possible?
Fergus stretched and yawned as he stood by the open window, allowing the balmy morning breeze to cool his sunburned face. The hot weather demanded he abandon his trademark army-green jacket, the one Dani called his ‘magic coat’ for all the useful items within its mysterious interior. He now sported a sun-yellow Hawaiian shirt and some khaki cargo shorts; the type with a multitude of pockets.
The man loved his pockets.
“I think I shall see about the water treatment business. There’s nothing more crucial to our little nuggets than having clean water.”
“You just want to gawk at Rosemary’s breasts. I don’t blame you. They’re magnificent.”
“Yes. Yes, they are. But that’s just a bonus. I want to talk to her about some other things too. The woman’s mind is remarkable. She’s an excellent leader. Next to you and Dani, I think she may be the most extraordinary female I’ve ever known.”
“That’s because you’ve never met Cleopatra, Sacagawea, or Katherine Johnson. Rosemary could hold her own with any of them, I admit. But back to her breasts...”
“Never mind her breasts,” he said, becoming irritated again.
Amelia smiled. She adored Fergus, even on the rare occasions when he was cross. She would never admit to him that she found his bushy red eyebrows especially adorable when they were furiously frowning – they looked like a pair of wooly bear caterpillars on a date.
“It’s not me you have to worry about when ogling her bosom; it’s her handsome partner who may not appreciate it. Just keep your eyes on her face and you’ll be fine. Lucas is as muscular as he is good-looking. I’m fairly sure he could kick your ass, if he felt so compelled.”
Fergus grunted, then nodded. “I believe you’re right. Duly noted, my dear. I’ll make sure my lust is well-cloaked. See you at dinner.” He gave her a lingering kiss, then was gone.
Amelia felt a rush of happiness as she watched him through the window. He trudged down the sidewalk of their building, past the communal fire pit everyone in the complex used for cooking, then turned south at the white sand beach. The ocean lay beyond; the water looked like turquoise glass this morning. When you could end your days here in paradise, who cared that you had given up eternal life? That lightness of being, knowing that she wouldn’t live thousands of years, or perhaps tens of thousands, felt natural. Felt like a gift, even – the casting off of the burden of immortality.
“I think I will visit Hector this morning. I’m concerned about his arthritis,” she said. She talked to herself often these days. It also felt natural and right.
She gathered her medical bag and a bottle of water. Here in her new home, she had continued her masquerade as a midwife. It was the role she had chosen for herself when she first met Pablo and Maddie in Arizo
na, and it suited her well. After all, she knew more about human anatomy and biology than most, having lived all those thousands of years. Still, it never hurt to expand one’s education, so she had made several trips to the mainland’s public library before they had destroyed the bridges. An impressive collection of medical journals populated the bookshelves in her living room. Since there was no doctor or nurse on the island, the task of keeping everyone healthy had fallen to her. She embraced it. With her considerable skills and knowledge, as well as a bit of luck, their tiny seaside community of fifty-two people would thrive.
She had committed to make it so.
Chapter 4 – Ingrid
Ingrid didn’t consider herself a ‘prepper.’ She thought of herself as a pragmatic realist with a cynical view of government and humanity in general. Prior to the plague, she had known the country teetered on the brink of a horrific world-shifting event. Would it be societal collapse spurred by the crash of the financial markets? A terrorist attack on the nation’s power grid? Natural disasters wrought by climate change? She had put all her eggs in the baskets of the former two, because her beloved island would not be the optimal place to live if the polar ice caps decided to melt completely. Since that wasn’t likely to happen for several more decades, she dismissed elevated sea levels as a trigger for the apocalypse; she expected it to arrive much sooner.
When the end did come, just as she had known it would, she wasn’t surprised. She had been ready.
With any catastrophe, survival comes down to two things: water and food. Before Chicxulub, she had installed the well and an impressive rain collection system. She had also purchased commercial-grade reverse osmosis products and many years’ worth of shelf-stable food, stored in a secret butler’s pantry off the kitchen. The room had been modified for the purpose of hiding it; nobody but her, and now Hector, knew it existed. It hadn’t taken long after the supply chains collapsed for her to develop an utter loathing for shelf-stable food. But it had kept her alive, barricaded in her mansion, until the world sorted things out. She was happy when the stench of rotting corpses diminished. The Colony’s prior population had only been four hundred souls, many of whom were not full-time residents. When the end came, it took all of her neighbors. She had no idea why she had survived when almost everyone else perished; and because she could never know, she banished it from conscious thought. That is the nature of the pragmatist.
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