Copyright © 2013 Dale Langlois
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1-4810-5271-3
ISBN-13: 9781481052719
eBook ISBN: 978-1-63002-164-1
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to my daughter, AJ and my son, Chris.
This book is not my legacy, my children are.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1: Good to Have a Choice
Chapter 2: Gluttony and Lust
Chapter 3: The Earthquake
Chapter 4: The Fire Storm
Chapter 5: Heroes and Truth
Chapter 6: The Basics of Survival
Chapter 7: Scavenging
Chapter 8: Another Survivor
Chapter 9: The Gift
Chapter 10: The Tower
Chapter 11: A Cold Reception
Chapter 12: On the Road Again
Chapter 13: Refugees
Chapter 14: Awakened by the Breakdown of Society
Chapter 15: Back to the Tower
Chapter 16: One More
Chapter 17: Marcos’s Inheritance
Chapter 18: New Wheels
Chapter 19: Junk Food and Smokes
Chapter 20: The Hay Ride
Chapter 21: Dazed and Confused.
Chapter 22: Thank God for the Amish
Chapter 23: A New Source of Food
Chapter 24: Thanks, but No Thanks
Chapter 25: On Foot
Chapter 26: Tragedy Leads to New Hope
Chapter 27: New Hope Leads to Tragedy.
Chapter 28: Confrontation
Chapter 29: Getting to Know One Another
Chapter 30: Building a Clan
Chapter 31: The Next Generation.
Chapter 32: Mentoring a New Apprentice.
Chapter 33: Therapy
Chapter 34: The Wall
Chapter 35: An Atlatl
Chapter 36: More Instruction
Chapter 37: Grit
Chapter 38: Wrong Turns
Chapter 39: The Chase
Chapter 40: Predators
Chapter 41: New Duties for Jorge
Chapter 42: Building Jorge’s Confidence
Chapter 43: Splitting Up
Chapter 44: Labor Day
Chapter 45: Praying
Chapter 46: Alone
Epilogue: The Cyclical Earth
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First and foremost I thank my father, Bruce Langlois who passed two years ago. He unknowingly gave me an artistic drive. He taught me how to make something out of nothing. I thank my Mother, Joan Jones, who always encouraged me when others thought I was wasting my time. I want to thank my daughter A.J. for teaching me to have the courage to be myself. My son Chris taught me anyone can do what others think you can’t.
After this book was conceived, I needed the help of those with writing talents. The first person I approached was Doug Buchanan. A retired editor of a local newspaper, Doug gave me drive and hopes to follow a dream. He saw something in the story and pushed me on. Thank you, Doug.
Carol DeFord McClain and Tom Grady each hosted meetings in their homes. I loved being understood; we spoke the same language. Thank you, Carol and Tom and all who were there.
At Carol’s first meeting, I met Linda Rondeau. A successful author, Linda not only taught me, but inspired me. Thank you Linda, you are my mentor.
I joined The Adirondack Center for Writing at Paul Smiths New York. There I met several famous authors, agents and publishers. I learned about the industry. Thank you Nathalie Costa Thill, administrator of ACW.
Thank you to my editor Meredith Efken at Fiction Fix-it Shop. A year and a half passed from the time she received my first submission till I was ready for the final line edit. Thank you, Meredith, for your patience.
The artist, who did my cover, gave far more than I paid for, and has become a friend. His encouragement and tips have been invaluable. Thank you, Dan Waltz.
I want to thank Lori Doughty Hickman. She came into the frozen Adirondack woods to take the photo on the back of this book. You are a true professional.
My slogan “Sci-Fi for the Working Guy” goes to all the people I work with at an aluminum smelter in upstate New York. I would love to thank all of them, but I know I would miss someone, and I am limited on space. One small group I must thank is my Alpha team (my Beta readers): Barry LaBar, Mark Goodfellow, Chuck Collins, Chris Adams, Adam Crump, Pat Bronchetti, Nick White, Mike Gollinger, and my toughest critic Paul Fedoryk, Thank you. Without your input, this would have been a very different story.
Thank you to everyone at Alcoa, Massena West.
Finally to my loving wife Charlene, your tolerance is immeasurable. Thank you, sweetheart.
I hope you enjoy the read.
PROLOGUE
The world’s population approached the twelve billion mark. Millions migrated. The problems of every landlocked nation changed almost overnight. The destruction of low-lying cities along the coasts of every continent pushed civilization inland, taking up valuable farmland. Global flooding destroyed another third of the planet’s fertile soil. Farming moved north, but all too slowly. Famine plagued all nations.
A planetary power grid and bioreactors built to produce synthetic meat were the only solutions. They were astronomically expensive and took a big chunk out of every country’s budget. When the true effects of mankind’s carbon footprint became blatantly obvious to the taxpayers, the people who warned of the future problems of climate change were the first to be denied grant monies; funding for science seemed less important than money spent feeding the masses.
Concerns shifted to solving immediate problems and away from studying possible problems of the future. Telescopes lay idle all over the globe and in outer space. Fuel supplies and coolants ran out in existing space observatories; they were never replaced. Mars was unattainable. NASA no longer existed. Exploration was put on hold. Anything above the outer atmosphere was deemed unessential spending. Commercial spacecraft made regular flights to several In-Orbit Hotels where the affluent went to vacation in a zero gravity, Vegas-like atmosphere with planet Earth looming out every viewing portal. Space had gone commercial. The human race wanted to play in it before we learned more about it.
No funding was given for asteroid or comet observations, most of the objects considered a threat wouldn’t hit until long into the future. The prevailing opinion was that there was plenty of time to develop ways to deflect a threat. Ninety-nine percent of all objects had been mapped and were being tracked.
“Some things come in hot,” was the explanation given to the most powerful man on the planet. Nothing could be done. He and all the leaders of Earth unanimously agreed to keep the fate of their species a secret. It would be the last act of humanity.
Chapter 1
Good to Have a
Choice
“Is that a real steak?” Beth asked. “I can see it now on the news, ‘Local man, Nicolas Hunter was arrested for possession of non-certified beef. The offense will include a hefty fine, which in turn will result in one pissed off wife!’”
I knew she would bitch as soon as she saw them. Getting caught with unregistered, uninspected beef or any other animal tissue was a misdemeanor. All “Once Alive” meats must come from huge farms, strictly monitored by the federal government for safety and health, and the majority of that was reserved for the military. I think most of it gets eaten in Washington.
Everything else comes from the huge bioreactors popping up everywhere. Bioreactors are where Eco-Meats are cultivated, grow
n, harvested, processed and packaged. Raised in a vat from stem cells of living animal host, slabs of beef, pork and assorted types of fowl lay motionless at the bottom of a pool of steroid-rich brine. The two near Syracuse and the one in Watertown made three within two hundred miles.
“I work hard. I deserve the best once in a while. Yes, dear, these wonderful T-bones were walking two weeks ago. I’m sick of Phony Bologna. I need flavor, and I need texture. That test tube stuff tastes deader than dead. That’s because it never lived. I need muscle, fat and gristle. I want to suck the marrow out of a bone. Tell me when you hear it sizzle on the grill if it is or isn’t worth the risk. I’m sure the cops are eating steaks off the same cow right now.”
“Who sold it to you? Did you buy it from someone at the farmer’s market?”
“You know we don’t reveal our sources. I didn’t get it at the farmer’s market. Nobody would try to peddle that stuff there. I was called out to relocate some raccoons, and the customer was so happy she gave me a couple steaks.” My mouth watered like some Pavlovian dog. The petri dish stuff just can’t give off that sound or that aroma of …fat. “Come smell this.”
“I’m just worried we’ll get sick on it, it hasn’t been inspected and who knows what the conditions were like where it was butchered. At least Phony Bologna is grown in a sanitary environment. This cow was walking in its own shit. I bet you got it from the Yoders. They’re the only people permitted to have cattle.”
“The Yoders are not the only Amish around, just the closest. Come on, Beth. You can’t tell me you don’t like the taste of real beef compared to that manufactured crap.” I held the grill cover shut till she got close enough, and then rapidly lifted the cover to give her a smell. Smoke rolled under the cover catching Beth head-on.
Her head snapped back from the intensity of the heat. Once the smoke curled over her head, she wiped her eyes to focus on the two T-bones. “You better hope the breeze stays in this direction. You can certainly tell the difference. Nothing smells like real steaks on the grill.”
“Will you stop worrying? Nobody’s going to turn us in.”
“No, I mean we don’t have enough to share.” She smiled and took another sniff. “Make mine well done, I don’t want to get sick.”
“You won’t get sick; your stomach can digest far more than you think it can. You could eat this beef raw if you wanted to.”
“Yeah, and I could eat bugs too, but you’ll never see me munching on butterflies.”
“Oh, that reminds me…” I ran to the truck and lifted the panel with the magnetic sign of my company, “Careful Critter Catchers,” and took out the vacuum canister. I needed to incinerate all the cockroaches we’d collected this week. “Here, they’re not butterflies, but I think they might taste the same.”
“That’s disgusting. You’re going to catch something from the things you pick up someday. As long as it isn’t rabies I guess I could fix you up. You don’t incinerate them in here do you?” She lifted the grill top again to take another sniff.
“Hey, they won’t cook if you keep lifting the lid.”
She took one more sniff then closed the top. “Since when are you the expert on cooking steaks? How many have you grilled while we’ve been together?”
“I’ve barbequed more than you have, some while you were at work.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” She stomped off to the house shaking her head.
The only shaking I was interested in was the view as she walked up the hill to the house. Beth looked good in a pair of hiking shorts, even if they were a size or two too small. “Hey, get me a beer on your way out.” Beth was my third wife. Building up a customer base and my devotion to the volunteer fire department in years past took more time than the first two wives wanted to give. I quit the service, but not the job. I made sure I spent more time with this wife. They say a smart man learns from his own mistakes; a wise man learns from the mistakes of others. I hope somebody has become wiser learning from my mistakes.
Beth returned seconds after I turned the steaks, handed me a beer, and opened one for her.
“Thank you. I’m going to go set a couple of skunk traps after dinner, want to tag along?”
“No, babe. I’m going to pick up the kids so they can spend the night.” Although she was still a young sexy woman of forty-two, she had five grandbabies already.
“That’s okay. I know you don’t like Mrs. Spencer anyway.”
Beth set her drink down. Beer foamed up and over the top, spilling off the picnic table to the ground. “You aren’t going to help out that old bitch, are you? You know how much that family has messed up my life.”
“I’m not doing it for her, I’m doing it for the skunks. I don’t want them killed. I’ll pick them up in the morning. Plus it’s not that old lady’s fault that you decided to quit teaching. That was your decision. We’ve been through this.” I wiped up her mess.
“They didn’t give me any other choice. I’m not going to teach anything I don’t believe is the truth.” Teaching science was Beth’s passion, until she had a confrontation with a few parents about where humans came from one night at a PTA meeting. She refused to deny that Man evolved from apes and would not teach alternative theories, religious or any other. “If you catch any, make them piss on her front porch.”
“Boy, you sure have a mean streak running through you. Must be the red hair.”
“Kiss my ass, Nick.” When Spencer’s daughter told her kids that God killed the dinosaurs to make way for Man, and their teacher was just ignorant, Beth couldn’t take any more. “Why try to teach the truth when the truth is being stifled? Since NASA fizzled out, nobody cares about science. At least with nursing, I can see results from my efforts.” Her face took on the same color as her hair.
I decided to change the subject. “So how long are the kids staying?”
“They’ll be staying the night,” she snapped “but you’ll have to watch them while I go to work tomorrow.”
“Damn it, Beth, why would you invite them if you’re not going to be here? What am I supposed to do; take them to work with me?”
“Yes, you can. You’re your own boss. They’ll love it. Let them play with the skunks, but so help me if I smell it on them, you will be giving them the tomato juice baths.”
“Never mind. Mrs. Spencer will have to live with the smell a couple more days. I’m sure she’s used to it.” I could handle wild animals, but children pushed me past my own limits of bravery, and I wasn’t about to have them tag along.
“Oh, one more thing, I lost the same diamond in my ring again, one of the little ones. Can you take it to the jewelers tomorrow?”
“This is the third time. I thought diamonds are forever?”
“They are, but the settings aren’t. They’re insured.” The attention Beth gave her diamonds was rivaled only by her grandchildren.
I couldn’t resist opening the grill cover; it had been almost three minutes. “Two more minutes.” I rubbed my eyes and blindly said, “Get the other food together; I want to eat these while they’re hot. Probably won’t see a real steak again for a long time. I’m not going to want to go back to that other crap. I’m so sick of nugget this and breaded that. They’re feeding us paste. It makes me sick to think of what I’m eating. I can only imagine some slab of flesh being extracted from a vat and placed on an assembly line of grinding and mulching machines, the excess fluids running off and used to nurture the new batch of stem cells for the next sixteen months until it’s their turn to be harvested. The remaining mush would be breaded, baked, and bundled for mass sales: cheaper, eco-friendly, and easy to prepare. One minute in the microwave. Yum, just like Mom used to make.”
The entrée: T-bone steaks marinated in Worcestershire sauce, accompanied by summer squash and portabella mushrooms swimming in margarine. Butter was deemed unsafe and unnecessary, (lovers of French cuisine disagreed). I also made some baked beans from scratch. We had more food than the two of us could eat, and all of it was re
al.
I clasped my hands and lowered my head to give thanks while Beth was up in the house searching for steak knives. Since we never needed them, I thought I would have time.
“Haven’t we had this argument before?”
I guess she knew where they were better than I did.
“Do you really need to do that in front of me?” she said walking down the hill leading into the back yard.
I didn’t mind missing grace when served Phony Bologna. It was made by man, and to tell the truth I wasn’t all that grateful. “Dear, this meat had a soul. Something died so I can keep living.” I never thought about that until they left no option but to eat the fake stuff. “I feel grateful and humbled to eat this cow and I wanted to thank somebody. You know how much I respect the animals I catch. I haven’t euthanized an animal bigger than a rat in ten years.”
“A: You should be thanking the Yoders, and B: the only reason you don’t kill those stinking skunks, is when you pick one up at Mrs. Spencer’s, you bring it to a woodlot near Mrs. Hampton’s home where you can charge double to get rid of it.”
“It’s called job security, dear. I’ve even named two of them. I can carry Angel, the oldest one, to the truck without the cage, but the customer prefers I move it in a professional manner. At two hundred dollars a skunk, how can I argue?”
Chapter 2
Gluttony and Lust
Times were good and we wanted for nothing, except more time with each other and the kids.
After eating the banned banquet, I chased Beth into the camper, slapping her ass all the way up the rusting steps. For some reason the camper made her horny. That’s where she hooked me, and that’s where she always went when she was in the mood to be naughty. She was giving me all the signs. I could get lucky if I wanted to.
Paying more attention to her behind than to where I was going, I nearly knocked myself unconscious when my head hit the top of the door, (third time this year).
“You did it again, didn’t you?” she said smugly, walking straight as an arrow, stretching her neck to hold her head held as high as she could. “Stubby people don’t have that problem.”
The Second Intelligent Species: The Cyclical Earth Page 1