Advance Praise for Polar Storm
“POLAR STORM starts out as a story about growing up and an unlikely friendship, and then turns into a grand scale disaster flick. But at its heart, it’s a story of survival and the bond between humanity and nature. Deborah D. Moore is a master storyteller. While other writers are content to coast along on formula plots and stock characters, Moore infuses her stories with realism and sudden twists. Just when the reader gets comfortable, she pulls the rug out from under them. She truly gets better with every story she tells. Do not pass this one up.”
- Slade Grayson, author of AUTUMN MOON
Also by Deborah D. Moore
The Journal Series
Cracked Earth
Ash Fall
Crimson Skies
Raging Tide
Fault Line
Martial Law
A Prepper’s Cookbook
EMPulse
EMPulse2
Time Shadows
A PERMUTED PRESS BOOK
ISBN: 978-1-68261-851-6
ISBN (eBook): 978-1-68261-852-3
Polar Storm
© 2018 by Deborah D. Moore
All Rights Reserved
Cover art by Christian Bentulan
This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.
Permuted Press, LLC
New York • Nashville
permutedpress.com
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
To all of my friends and family who helped make this story sound as real as it does. This could indeed happen.
Adversity doesn’t build character, it reveals it.
Prologue
The Arctic air shifted and caught part of the Jet Stream that had moved further north than normal. The warmer air pushed the stubborn cold winds back, but only slightly. The cold front hovered in place, building.
Chapter One
Cliff Tucker sat at his wide wooden desk, drumming his fingers on the polished oak surface, thinking about his situation. He had married Janet Adams fifteen years ago. He loved her unconditionally and he missed her deeply. However, she died two years ago and it was time for him to move on.
Janet was left a widow with a young son when her husband was in a horrific plane crash, and after the settlement and his life insurance, she was a very wealthy widow. She began seeing Cliff after five years of mourning her loss. Her son, Parker, was ten when she married Cliff, and they made a good family.
Janet made sure Parker had a good by-the-book education and went to private schools and then to college. It was her goal in life to make sure he was happy and wanted for nothing. In fact, he was too happy and at a point of expecting everything handed to him, and she realized this too late. On her deathbed, she made Cliff promise that he would help Parker to finally grow up.
“Parker, we need to talk,” Cliff approached the difficult subject. Justine, their housekeeper and cook, cleared away the dinner dishes. He watched his stepson; Parker was much like his mother: tall, slender, dark blond hair, warm gray eyes, attractive but not what some would call handsome.
“What about, Cliff?” Parker refilled his wine glass and then Cliff’s.
“About what you plan on doing with your life,” he replied in all sincerity. “You’ll be 28 soon and you’ve never held a job.”
“That’s not true.”
“Delivering pizza for a couple of weeks doesn’t count, Parker, and neither does doing craft shows.” Cliff looked at his stepson. “I still can’t believe your mother let you take basket weaving and pottery classes in college and as nice as some of your baskets are, that’s not going to earn you a living.”
Parker slumped in his chair and stared at his wine. He knew Cliff was right.
“Is there anything, anything at all you would like to do? You can always go back to school and take more classes.”
“Let me think about this and we can talk more in the morning, okay?” Not waiting for an answer, Parker downed the rest of his wine and headed for his wing of their huge house.
Parker tossed aside the game control and stared out the huge picture window. He was bored.
It was late April; the gardener, Sam, was mowing the lush and vast backyard while the pool was being refilled. Soon the yard would be filled with color from all the exotic flowers his mother had lovingly planted. Living in a posh suburb of Detroit meant mild winters, early summers, and a seemingly unending source of entertainment.
He was still bored.
Parker started thinking about those classes Cliff suggested. Why did he need more classes? The basket weaving and pottery was fun for a while, but what he enjoyed the most though, were the creative writing classes. He loved to read and wasn’t too bad at the short story assignments. He picked up the back to nature magazine he had been reading recently and had an idea.
“Cliff, I want to write a book!” Parker announced over his breakfast of lemon cream cheese stuffed French toast.
Cliff’s hand stilled in mid-motion for a moment, and then continued to bring his delicate bone china cup to his lips. He sipped his gourmet coffee while collecting his thoughts. “What is it you want to write about?”
“I’d like to write about living off-grid!” Parker said, grinning.
“You’ve never even been camping,” Cliff commented slowly.
“I know! Won’t it be great though? I need to learn … everything!” His enthusiasm was mounting. “And I’ll learn it first-hand … which will be better than taking more boring classes…”
This could be exactly what this boy needs, Cliff thought, and what I need too.
“Let me make a few phone calls.” Cliff smiled behind his steaming coffee.
“Marcus and the realtor are still working out the details. In another week, you should have your own cabin in the woods so you can learn and experience living off-grid, just like you wanted,” Cliff said over dinner. It had been a week since Parker made his announcement.
“That quick?” Parker’s voice faltered a bit. He had hoped his stepfather had forgotten.
“Money talks, son, you should know that. Marcus found a cabin in litigation and got it for a good price. Seems the owner died suddenly and without a will. The heirs have agreed to sell rather than fight over it in probate.” Marcus Myhrum, the family attorney, was also a close friend and was acutely aware of the situation with Parker and Janet’s dying request.
“Where is it?”
“Northern Michigan, the Upper Peninsula to be more precise; it sits on 80 acres, 30 miles from the nearest small city. There’s a creek that runs across part of it. The cabin itself was built not that long ago, maybe ten years. It was to be a hunting camp, so it’s rustic. I think it’s exactly what you’re looking for.” Cliff intentionally left out there was only a hand-pump for water, and the reminder that off-grid meant no electricity. “I have a few more details to take care of with it, but you should be able to move up there in about two weeks.”
The details included making sure the property was surveyed and marked. It also included making sure the rustic cabin was cleaned, fumigated, and stocked … not too stocked though. Cliff felt his stepson needed to learn how to grocery shop, something he had
never needed to do before. He wasn’t heartless, and he really did love the boy, so as a gift, Cliff was also getting Parker a new four-wheel drive truck, to be waiting for them at the airport when they landed in Marquette.
“Are you packed and ready?” Cliff asked an obviously nervous Parker. His own overnight bag was waiting by the door.
“I will be honest with you and admit I’m a bit nervous,” he said. “I’m also excited for the experience. This might be the first time I’ve ever been truly on my own.” He set his suitcase down next to several boxes.
“Oh, and as a gift, here is a new laptop, for you to record your experiences and start on that book.” Cliff handed Parker the sleek machine. As an additional learning tool, it will be up to Parker to figure out how to keep the battery charged.
Parker smiled broadly. He loved the gadgets that technology had showered on him.
“This is mine?” Parker asked walking around the dark blue F-150 with an extended cab, thinking the truck was really cool. The flight was in the small private business jet belonging to Cliff and they had abundant air turbulence. His stomach was still a bit upset, in part from the flight and in part from his building anxiety; however, the new truck made him forget about his unease. Parker had always enjoyed what money could buy.
“Yes. I was going to get a standard cab for you; however, they had the extended cab with the full eight-foot bed already on the lot. Let’s check in at the motel and have some dinner. We can go to the cabin in the morning with the realtor.” Cliff planned on leaving Parker there and arranged for the agent to drive him back to the airport. There’s nothing like a sink or swim situation, and being honest with himself, he feared Parker would back out when he saw how remote the cabin was.
“How long do you think it should take to understand what off-grid living is like?” Cliff asked when dessert arrived.
“A couple of weeks, months? I really don’t know,” Parker replied, spearing a fresh strawberry floating in the melting ice-cream. His entitlement mindset never questioned where fresh strawberries came from in early May.
“I’m going to make a deal with you, Parker.” Cliff wiped his mouth with the bright orange cloth napkin and set it aside. “We both know that ten percent of your trust account comes available to you when you turn thirty, along with your regular allowance, of course. If you make it in this off-grid cabin for one year, I’ll see that you get double that. And to assist you during that one year, here is a debit card that I will refill every month.” He slid the plastic across the table and told Parker how much was on it, setting the bait. He could just keep the card filled, knowing the kid loved to spend money, but he thought the boy should also learn how to budget.
“Deal!” Parker said with unbridled enthusiasm, and tucked the card into his shirt pocket.
Chapter Two
With the realtor, Bob Trudeau, leading the way, Parker followed in his shiny new truck. Moving from an asphalt road to gravel concerned him. Going from gravel to a two-track dirt road alarmed him.
“Are you sure this guy knows where he’s going?” Parker whispered. He instinctively ducked when a leafy branch smacked the wide windshield.
Cliff chuckled. “Just pay attention so you don’t get lost when you leave and try to come back.”
A mile of cautious, slow moving on the dirt road, overgrown with weeds and brush, they came to a clearing. A lovely log cabin sat in the center.
“Wow,” was all Parker said. The two-story log cabin shined with a fresh coat of stain and sealant; a long-covered porch graced the front of the impressive building; and various outbuildings sat off to the side.
Two new rocking chairs sat unoccupied on the porch and moved lazily in the mild spring breeze. After parking the vehicles, the three walked around the outside of the cabin first. What little lawn there was had been freshly mowed, offering a fresh natural scent.
“You’ve already got a decent barn for storage and a woodshed just waiting to be filled; close to the cabin too, a bonus!” Bob Trudeau commented.
“Why do I need a woodshed? And why is the closeness a bonus?” Parker questioned.
Bob glanced at Cliff who was trying to stifle a smirk. “Well, son, this cabin is off-grid, like you requested and is heated in the winter with a wood burning stove. The fact that the wood is close to the house, or will be once you fill the shed, is a bonus because it means less snow to shovel to get to it.” Bob immediately thought this boy was in trouble already.
“Oh.”
“Let’s take a look inside,” Cliff suggested.
The heavy door opened easily on well-oiled hinges, leading them into a cozy living area, complete with a stone fireplace dead center in the spacious room.
“I thought all fireplaces were on an outside wall,” Parker commented, running his hand over the roughness of the beautiful stonework.
“That’s often the case,” Trudeau replied, “however, here in the woods, it’s more efficient in the center. See, a lot of heat can be lost through the stone or brick being exposed to the cold temperatures when it’s on the outside. In the center of the room, you keep all the heat inside; plus, this one is a double chimney.” He led them into the kitchen area and faced the wood cookstove. “The two flues are using the same chimney.”
Parker stared at the old-fashioned stove. “That’s actually very cool looking. And it really works?”
“It works quite well. I had it fully cleaned and checked out before listing the place. Over here, is one of the best features of all: the indoor hand-pump.” Trudeau smiled lovingly at the odd thing protruding from the side of the deep sink. He grabbed the handle and gave it several pumps to prime it, and clear water gushed into the sink. “Most wells are located a short distance from the house, but then they need electricity to power the pump that brings the water into the house. When Mr. Smith planned this place, he drilled the well first, and built the house around it. According to my notes, the well is a fairly shallow one at 35 feet deep. As long as the house is heated, the water line will never freeze up. This one wouldn’t anyway since it’s a newer and self-draining hand-pump.”
“That’s my water?” Parker gasped.
“And the sweetest, cleanest water you’ll ever drink!”
“What about hot water?” Parker squeaked out.
“During the cool months when the woodstove is in use, it’s easy to heat as much water as you need. When I’m at camp, I find it useful to keep a pot on all the time; you’ll get used to it,” Trudeau grinned over the boy’s head at Cliff. “When it’s too warm to run the stove, there’s a single gas burner, over here, near the propane refrigerator. Now that is quite the invention! Before, we had to keep bringing in ice to keep the beer cold.” He laughed and opened the fridge, a short, apartment-sized boxy thing, exposing all the perishable food Cliff had ordered in. They then moved away to the next room.
“At least this looks like a normal bathroom,” Parker grunted, thinking about the beer he saw in the small refrigerator.
“It functions like one too, mostly.”
They moved on to the next room, the main floor bedroom.
“I had all new mattresses brought in, Parker, and a cleaning service purchased new sheets, pillows, and blankets,” Cliff said. “For upstairs too,” he said as an after-thought.
“What’s upstairs?”
“The bunk room,” Trudeau replied. They climbed to the loft on the solid wooden staircase that hugged an outside wall. There were two sets of sturdy, wooden bunk beds, one on either side of the open room. In the center was the stone chimney, exactly like the lower level. The beds were already made up and left with a sheet of plastic over each one to keep the dust off; a dresser and a large closet graced the back wall. A small wooden table with four matching chairs sat off to the side.
“There’s no plumbing up here to freez
e, so unless you have company, keep these double doors and the floor registers closed to keep the heat downstairs.”
“Why is there a railing around the chimney?”
“I’ve seen other units like this, and the stone never gets hot enough to be a danger; however, building code says to put it there so the builder puts it there,” Bob explained. “On the positive side, the stone emanates some warmth and that’s better than some cold.”
“What are those old lamps for?” Parker pointed to the odd-looking glass on the table. His questions seemed never ending.
“The oil lamps? Those are your lights. There is no electricity here, remember? You wanted off the grid, Parker, and that’s what you’ve got,” Cliff said. Trudeau demonstrated how to light one and adjust the wick. The glow filled the big room. Then he blew it out.
“There are several more oil lamps in the cupboard in the kitchen to use in the rooms downstairs.”
Once in the main living area again, Parker dropped down onto the heavy wooden couch, the soft green plaid cushions easily absorbing his weight.
“So what do you think?” Cliff asked, expecting the worse.
“I like it!” Parker answered and stood. “How long are you staying?” he asked his stepfather.
“I’m not; Bob is taking me back to the airport after we help unload your things from the truck.”
Parker looked stunned and a touch scared.
“Here’s my card, son, and my cell is the second number. If you need anything or have any problems, don’t hesitate to call,” Trudeau said smiling. “Oh, and remember, when you’re coming back in from the main dirt road, if you always go right, you’ll never go wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you pull into this road, and are faced with making a choice of which road to follow when the road splits, always bear right and it will lead you home,” Trudeau explained. “And here’s your dump pass.”
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