RUNAWAY MOON

by Howard Brian Edgar

  Fun? That is really pushing it. Deuce can’t quite cross his emotional chasm from fear to fun. Fun is last on his list of goals for this mission. First is getting through the day alive, followed by not falling off the raft, then keeping his self-respect and the contents of his stomach intact. Right now, fun is not even a blip on his radar as he mentally prepares to spend eight hours floating on a bed of giant toothpicks and pine twine over water that’s unfathomably deep.

  “Good morning, Professor,” says Deuce, perfunctorily.

  When Ankur arrives a few moments later, they choose Rachel’s raft and the three longest oars then drag the vessel to the lake’s edge.

  “Remember our main mission is to study water levels all around the lake,” Sam reminds them.

  With one great push, they move the front of the raft into the cold clear water of Emerald Bay. Ankur and Deuce check their supplies then jump aboard. They pull Sam up, distribute their weight evenly on the raft and push off with the oars. From there, it’s only a short uneventful trip to the mouth of Lake Tahoe. Unlike Deuce’s first trip with Rachel, this one is in daylight, a huge improvement. He still feels queasy, just far less so. At least he can see.

  The water is calm, glassy except for the raft’s wake and the motion of their oars. They pass through the mouth and out into Lake Tahoe proper. The lake’s sheer size is overwhelming to Deuce, unlike anything he’s ever seen except in pictures. Looking northward, all he can see is the lake. He repeats his new mantra, nothing to fear, for I am from the sea, silently.

  Sam has a small water tester salvaged from his old cabin storage room. He dips the device into the lake as they glide across its glassy surface. Deuce shoots him a puzzled look.

  “It’s a pH tester. I’ve been wanting to test this water since the rain stopped,” says Sam. “My fear is that the rain may have acidified our drinking water.”

  “Oh,” says Deuce. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already, now he ponders the grizzly specter of acid water eating away at the raft, eventually eating away at his guts.

  Sam studies the tester, holding it away from the glare of daylight, announces, “Five-point-four. That’s the low end for safe drinking water.”

  Ankur agrees. “It’s too acidic. I’d feel better if it was seven or eight, like normal stream water around here.”

  “So we shouldn’t drink the lake water?” asks Deuce.

  “Better not. It could get worse if we get more rain,” says Sam.

  Deuce remembers the aquarium he had when he was ten. He remembers how air bubbles and turbulence helped oxygenate the water, maintain neutral pH and keep his fishes happy and healthy. He remembers how they all got sick and went belly-up when he skipped a few water changes, suffocating in their own poop.

  “What we need is a water wheel,” says Deuce, “to create turbulence and oxygenate Emerald Bay. You know, like a big aquarium.”

  Ankur considers it. “A brilliant idea... if only we had electrical power to run a water wheel.”

  “We could use water power instead,” says Deuce. He pictures the enclosed filtration system in his childhood aquarium. “We’d have to build an aqueduct to divert water from a stream and drive the wheel.”

  Sam shakes his head. “Think smaller.”

  Deuce considers possible ways to oxygenate their drinking water. It diverts his attention just enough to take his mind off being on the lake on a flimsy raft. Think smaller. Of course, they don’t have to oxygenate the entire bay, just their drinking water. There are several mountains streams not far from them.

  “I think we should check the local streams when we get back,” says Deuce.

  “Seriously, I don’t think my sensitive gastrointestinal system will hold up very long drinking five-four water,” says Ankur. “I see lots of stream water in our future.”

  “We can also boil this water and distill it,” adds Sam. He alternates scanning the lake’s edges and taking pH readings while Deuce and Ankur guide the raft.

  “So what do you miss most from your old life, Deuce? You know, before The Crash.” Ankur breaks the long silence between them.

  “I miss the Internet and gaming with my friends. You?”

  “I miss my family and my mom’s Indian food,” says Ankur.

  “For me it’s coffee and steak,” says Sam. “What I wouldn’t give for a Starbucks or one of those juicy Porterhouse deals from Mastro’s that’s big enough to cover a serving platter.”

  They row past the ruins of the former Tahoe Vista and Incline Village communities at the northern end of the lake. Like everything else they’ve seen in the lake vicinity, the homes and buildings have been crushed. Deuce is struck by the irony of such breathtaking scenery surrounded by death and destruction.

  “So far, the lake levels are low on the western side and high on the eastern side. That’s consistent with our theory that the entire region has tilted upward ten to fifteen feet due to a massive plate shift,” says Ankur.

  “Can we not talk about massive shifting?”

  “Sorry,” says Ankur, “I just meant…”

  “Dude, I’m trying not to get seasick.”

  “Don’t worry. Many people get seasick.”

  “Right, nothing to be ashamed of,” says Deuce.

  “Right.”

  May 6

  “Yesterday we tested the water and, unfortunately, the lake has signs of increased acidity, likely caused by the recent rains,” Sam tells the assembled group of survivors. “It’s too risky. You can cook with it, but don’t drink it. We need to start boiling our drinking water or taking it from the local streams, instead.”

  Satin turns to Hannibal, “So much for paradise. This is becoming one big fucking disaster after another.”

  “Yeah, next you’re going to tell us we’re eating tainted fish,” snipes Marcus.

  “There goes Mister Positivity.” Rachel whispers to Julia standing right next to her, unable to hide her growing disdain for Marcus. Since their first meeting and her initial attraction, she has given him multiple chances to reconsider his narrow-minded, misogynistic opinions, and despite his dark good looks, she no longer cares that he is the only eligible bachelor her age.

  “You used to think he was quite the Adonis,” says Julia.

  “Until I found out he’s quite the asshole,” whispers Rachel.

  “No, Marcus, it’s still safe to eat the fish,” says Sam. “We also checked Emerald Creek. The pH is above seven, so start collecting drinking water there.”

  While most of the survivors head straight to Emerald Creek to collect fresh mountain stream water, Deuce herds Eric, Donnie and Mateo conspiratorially away from the group.

  “Listen guys, I’ve been thinking,” says Deuce reaching into his pocket. He pulls out four small packets, holds them up for their inspection.

  “Look, Donnie, Einstein’s got magic beans,” says Eric.

  “Maybe we can grow a beanstalk and get off this godforsaken planet.”

  “They’re not magic beans,” insists Mateo, “they’re seeds.”

  “Right. I found them in my dad’s stash. All we need is a suitable location to plant them,” says Deuce. “We’ll start with the spinach, kale and green beans. I’d like to grow potatoes, too, if I can find the sprouts he stored.”

  “Your dad’s a smart dude,” says Donnie.

  “Does he know you took his seeds?” Mateo asks.

  Deuce frowns. “No, but I don’t think he’d object. Between the winds, rains and raft-building, he just hasn’t had the time to plant anything himself.”

  This time, Mateo frowns. Mateo would never even consider doing anything without his father’s blessing. Deuce pokes him.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll tell him when the time is right. Besides, I’d rather ask for his forgiveness than his permission. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

  He leads them to the top of the ridge overlooking the beach, a place where the transient sun is most likely to shine, if it ever appears again. Deuce kn
ows that even a few hours of sunlight will help stimulate photosynthesis. With luck, the spinach, green beans and kale seeds will germinate.

  The boys clear a six-by-ten-foot rectangle in the dirt. They pull every weed, every rock and every tree branch then turn the dirt to loosen it for planting.

  “Dig as deep as you can to the fresh dirt below,” says Deuce. He uses a small hand shovel he absconded from Hannibal to dig and turn the soil. Eric, Mateo and Donnie follow his lead, taking turns with the shovel and their bare hands.

  Once they have turned the soil, Deuce directs them to mix the rocks back in and add a few inches of good topsoil. “If it rains again, they’ll get better drainage. It will keep the seeds from drowning or root-rotting.”

  “He’s right,” says Mateo. “No need to water. Too much rain.”

  “We’ll take it one day at a time on the watering. Someone should check on them regularly,” says Deuce, turning to Mateo. “You can be our head checker.”

  Mateo throws out his chest and smiles broadly, proud to be the ‘head’ of anything. “I’ll baby them like the little brothers I always wished for.”

  “Awesome!” Deuce fist bumps Mateo to seal the deal, “Let’s get these seeds planted while we still have daylight.

  They plant separate rows of kale, green beans and spinach. The fourth bag has no label and contains a dozen seeds Deuce cannot identify.

  “I have no idea what these are,” says Deuce, holding up the see-through bag, staring at the tiny football-shaped seeds. “My dad didn’t label it.”

  Eric and Donnie move in closer, recognize the seeds immediately.

  “Seriously, you’ve never seen pot seeds?” Eric grins at Donnie knowingly.

  “Pot seeds? Why would my dad have pot seeds?”

  “Just a guess, Einstein, but I’d say he’s planning to grow some weed.”

  It takes Deuce a few moments to process this revelation. He finds it hard to think of Alex and ‘pothead’ in the same sentence, much less the same person.

  “Whoa, your dad’s even cooler than I thought,” says Donnie.

  Mateo fidgets uncomfortably. “I have to get going.” He backs away from them and the pot seeds as if he has just stumbled on kryptonite. “I’ll be back to check in a few days.” Then, Mateo hastily disappears down the hill.

  “What the hell was that about?” asks Donnie.

  “I think the weed freaked him out,” suggests Eric.

  “Why? It’s been legal in California for ten years.”

  “Yeah, but he’s from Mexico. So should we plant it or not?”

  Eric snatches the baggie from Deuce, takes it to the space they reserved for the fourth bag of seeds and kneels on the ground. The dirt is loose and easy to work. For someone accustomed to throwing 85 mile-an-hour fastballs, he has a surprisingly delicate touch when it comes to planting marijuana seeds. He removes each seed from the baggie, sets it gently on the loose dirt then gently presses it a half-inch deep with his finger, covering each seed with soil then carefully trickling a few drops of water from his water bottle over the top. He completes the fourth row, planting six pot seeds, then reseals the baggie, hands it to Deuce.

  “Pray for sunshine.” Eric grins.

  “Wait, you guys and my dad smoke weed?” Deuce is flabbergasted.

  “Good deductive reasoning, Einstein.”

  “I don’t get it. What does it do for you?” Deuce asks.

  “Mostly, it relaxes you and expands your mind,” says Donnie.

  “Great! That’ll come in handy when he finds out I took his seeds.”

  “I don’t know, man. He might be grateful,” says Eric.

  “Hope you’re right. Right now, I’m thinking we really should go check on Sugar Pine. It’s been ages.” Without waiting for a response, Deuce heads straight for the hilly trail that leads back up to Sugar Pine Point, wondering what they’ll find when they reach their lookout. Eric and Donnie fall in behind him.

  Will the Pacific Ocean still appear as a thin strip of blue on the horizon, or have conditions worsened since their last visit? Donnie stops them halfway to the summit.

  “Who wants to bet on this?”

  “Bet? On what?” Deuce questions.

  “What we’re all thinking about right now. The ocean, dude.”

  “I say it’s a little closer.” Eric says it with an air of confidence.

  “I say it’s the same as last time. Deuce?”

  “I ... I’d rather not say.” As the words leave him, Deuce feels the blood suddenly drain from his face. Something pulls at him from the top of the trail. He picks up his pace, moving quickly, taking long strides, leaving Eric and Donnie behind.

  “I guess he’s not the gambling type,” says Eric, trying to catch up. Donnie shrugs and follows close behind him.

  With each step closer to the checkpoint, Deuce feels worse. By the time he reaches the lookout, he pitches forward and loses the contents of his stomach – before he even has a chance to glimpse the horizon. He quickly covers up his vomit, kicking dirt and rocks over it, hiding the evidence of his greatest fear just moments before Eric and Donnie reach him.

  “So?” asks Donnie.

  “Oh, I haven’t checked, yet.”

  Donnie steps up to the lookout point, stops dead in his tracks, slack-jawed. “Holy horse shit!”

  Eric and Deuce look out toward the horizon in disbelief. The Pacific Ocean is now lapping against a freshly carved shoreline about ten miles away, half the distance as before. Donnie checks Sam’s instrument twice, confirms what they are seeing with their naked eyes. Just as Deuce feared, the thin blue line of ocean water has expanded into a wide swath.

  “Guys, it’s half the distance!” exclaims Donnie. Eric pushes him aside so he can check the surveying device himself.

  “Damn good thing we built the rafts.”

  “Yeah, good thing,” says Deuce halfheartedly. “Wait until Professor Hayden hears about this.”

  Eric studies Deuce. “Dude, you don’t look so good.”

  Deuce is pale and unsteady on his feet.

  “You okay?” Donnie takes a quick step back away from Deuce.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.” Deuce backs away from them, too.

  “Please, not in my direction,” pleads Eric, hiding behind Donnie.

  Deuce wheels around, loses his balance and drops to one knee. He faces the mighty Pacific Ocean. It might as well be lapping at his doorstep, just as it did back in Dana Point, just before his family and the Guerrero family fled inland. The rising ocean had driven them all the way to Lake Tahoe and now it is threatening to drive them out of Lake Tahoe, to higher ground or further inland. Their only other option is to stay put and live out their lives on homemade rafts, endlessly rowing toward some distant, disappearing shoreline.

  Deuce barfs what little food is left in his stomach plus what seems like a quart of sickly yellow bile. He aims over the rocky ledge, hurling into the abyss below.

  Fearing he may topple over, Eric and Donnie race to his side, grab his shoulders and drag him away from the ledge. Donnie grabs Deuce’s water bottle and holds it up to his lips.

  “Just take a sip. If you chug it, you’ll hurl again.”

  Deuce takes his first sip, grateful that he’s not alone. He waits to make sure his nausea has passed then takes a second sip.

  “You okay?” Donnie sets the water down beside him so Deuce can reach it.

  “Better now, thanks,” he mutters. “I don’t know what came over me.” He knows exactly what came over him. He turns abruptly away from the ocean view and walks slowly toward the trail with Eric and Donnie at his heels.

  When they reach the lake, there’s no sign of Sam. Alex is there alone with a handful of fresh twine, adding new lashings to the Jacks’ raft. The first thing Alex notices is how pale Deuce looks. He places his open palm against Deuce’s forehead. No fever.

  “You’re cold and clammy.”

  “I threw up,” says Deuce.

  “What hap
pened?”

  “We went up to Sugar Pine to check things out.”

  “So…?”

  Deuce cannot quite form the words to describe his worst nightmare turning real.

  “It’s a lot closer than before,” says Donnie.

  “According to our instrument, it’s less than ten miles from here,” says Eric.

  Alex drops the twine, “That’s half the distance in a matter of weeks. Have you told Ankur and Doctor Hayden, yet?”

  “You’re the only person we’ve seen,” says Donnie.

  “We have to tell him. Deuce, you and I will look for Ankur. Eric and Donnie can find Doctor Hayden. Make sure he’s alone when you tell him.”

  They split off in opposite directions. Eric and Donnie head up toward Sam and Julia’s cave while Alex and Deuce head for Rachel’s down the beach.

  “It’s really weird, Dad. I saw the whole thing in my head before we even got there. That’s what made me sick to my stomach. I’m sure of it, because when I saw the real thing, I got sick again.”

  “Seasickness at eight thousand feet elevation? That’s weird, especially when you’re on dry land.”

  “Well, my stomach doesn’t know that, and Sugar Pine’s elevation isn’t eight thousand feet anymore, Dad.”

  Ankur is sitting with Rachel in front of her shelter when they arrive.

  “Mind if we steal Ankur away for a minute?” Alex eyes Rachel.

  “Please. I can’t seem to get rid of him.”

  Ankur gets up dejectedly, follows them down the beach. “You two are looking very serious?”

  “It’s still rising, Ankur,” says Deuce ominously.

  “How far?”

  “We estimate it’s within eight miles.”

  Ankur shakes his head, starts pacing. “That’s not good. Not good at all.”

  “Is it that mineral you told us about?” asks Alex. “What did you call it?”

  “Ringwoodite,” says Ankur.

  Rachel chooses that moment to startle them, having approached them from behind. “Sorry I was mean to you, Ankur. I was only kidding. Why’s everyone looking so somber, and what the hell is ringwoodite?”

  “It’s … just a mineral,” stammers Ankur.