Carbon Run

by J. G. Follansbee

  How could anything have survived the fire? The blaze had crowned every tree in the 20-hectare parcel, turning them black as matchsticks. She ducked under the crime scene tape and paced forward with slow steps, listening. The still air carried almost no sound, and the cloying odor of burnt pine sap irritated her nose. Small flags marked the bodies of dead magpies.

  Anne heard the call again, stronger, from the western edge of the refuge. She knew where to go. A few individuals of the Klamath magpie had an odd nesting behavior for the genus Pica. Instead of building domed nests made of mud and sticks, Klamaths liked to find a hole in an old tree and build the nest there. One of the nesting pairs had done just that, the same one that Anne had watched before the fire. When she reached the gnarled and twisted pine growing out of a clump of basalt boulders, she saw that the fire had skipped it. Perhaps the robotic firefighters had stopped the flames before they reached it. She jumped for joy when she saw the male Klamath magpie deliver a fat grasshopper to his mate. Anne put her hand to her neck, touching the crucifix on the thin gold chain.

  A part of Anne wanted to call up her c-tribe and trumpet the news, but she held back. C-tribes were much like small towns or tight city neighborhoods; everyone knew everybody’s business. What if my discovery could somehow be used against Dad? She wouldn’t take the risk. On the other hand, she understood the fragility of her find and its importance. The birds she now watched more intently than ever before might be the only nesting pair left in the wild, or anywhere. They needed protection, at least until the chicks fledged. What if they didn’t, or a predator found them? She rejected the idea of telling her biologist contacts, again fearing the information would somehow be used against her father. She remembered a story from environmental history: In the mid-20th century, scientists had saved the California condor from extinction by collecting all the wild eggs and making sure every egg hatched and every chick survived to adulthood. The species was saved from extinction, at least until the Spike.

  The law proscribed lengthy jail terms for unauthorized interference with the life-cycle of an endangered species. As she finished the modifications to the coop, Anne thought little of the legal consequences. She wanted to make right what had gone wrong. She stuffed a handful of straw into an egg carton and loaded it into her backpack. She dragged out a six-foot step ladder from the shed, and trudged back to the refuge with the ladder balanced on her shoulder. The ladder wobbled as she climbed to the hole in the old tree. The male magpie screeched as he attempted to drive Anne away, and she felt the pecking of the female through her heavy gloves. Anne felt seven eggs and removed six so the male and female wouldn’t abandon the nest. Even if all seven hatched, only one might survive. The others might be killed or die of malnutrition as the strongest sibling out-competed them for food. It was possible the female might reject the egg left behind after Anne’s invasion. Magpies were intelligent, even crafty birds, and Anne hoped they would give her a pass. Cradling the pilfered eggs as if they were precious jewels, she placed them in the egg carton.

  Returning to the coop, Anne set the magpie eggs in one of the nesting boxes. A week before, she and her father had slaughtered the chickens, most of whom were old and had stopped laying. Their plucked bodies were frozen in the shed, waiting for the stew pot. In the nesting box, Anne had set up a heat lamp to keep the eggs warm, though she didn’t know the optimal temperature for the magpie eggs to mature. An access panel at the rear of the box let her feed the chicks once they hatched.

  Her preparations complete, she brought a rusted folding chair to the coop and sat next to the nesting box, watching the mottled green-blue eggs for signs of life. She researched magpie habits on the net, and she settled in for a long wait. It could be days or weeks. She left her spot to stretch her legs or prepare a meal. She tended the large garden, weeding around the rows of drought-resistant corn and tomato plants, and examining the apple and pear trees for pests. With the chickens slaughtered, she had no animals to tend, other than Maxie. She and her father couldn’t afford the methane licenses for horses or ruminants, though they sometimes boarded horses for wealthy people who kept second homes in the valley.

  A notification in her minds-eye stopped her cold. Her father’s avatar un-grayed. The location reference put him halfway across the mountains to Port Simpson. He’s moving fast. She nearly dialed in a voice call, but she hesitated. If I call, will the bessies see it or hear it? The last thing she wanted to do was expose him.

  Dad, are you okay? Anne couldn’t keep herself from sending a text, though a wave of guilt washed over her. She waited, but he didn’t respond. That wasn’t unusual. It all depended on the com signal strength. Would he text back if he could? Yes.

  Bill’s avatar grayed out again. Anne was relieved. She didn’t have to worry about whether she was giving her father away to Kilel.

  A few seconds later, Mike’s avatar lit up. The signal was strong. He was in Thomasburg at his job.

  < Sorry that I lost you earlier. Com signal’s terrible right now. There’s another fire, on the other side of the valley. I heard it hit one of the towers. > His emo-sig showed remorse. The sig for yearning faded. He missed me!

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Anne took the bus into Thomasburg the next morning for supplies. She’d heard nothing from her father since her one attempt to text him, and his avatar never activated. Her worry lingered, but lessened as time passed. Her heart quickened when the Applegate Feed and Seed came into view. Mike worked at the supermarket., which hugged the outskirts of town, keeping the name of its ancestral business and little else. Discreetly, she scanned the check out area where Mike worked, but he wasn’t in sight. Anne breathed out, surprising herself, because she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

  The fire destroyed all the food in Anne’s house, including the canned preserves she and her father had set aside from the previous year’s harvest. Blessed with meat in the freezer, she needed flour, salt, and sugar, not to mention personal items, over-the-counter meds, and cosmetics. With her robot basket following her like a mute servant, she prowled the aisles, picking things by habit rather than plan as her mental focus caromed between the unhatched magpie eggs in the chicken coop and wondering if Mike was in the store. The inventory system transmitted the prices and a running total to her minds-eye, keeping track of suggested retail prices and the sale prices and noting whether a purchase qualified for special deals. She had to limit her purchases to what fit in her pack.

  Anxious to get back home, she led the basket to the checkout, and she stood aside while it docked and the store computer confirmed the secure connection to her com, relisted her selections, and rang up the totals, including tax. With a thought, she accepted the total and her minds-eye displayed a cheery “Thank-you! Come again!” message. With all the distractions, she failed to notice Mike as he placed her items in her pack until he had said “Hello, Anne” twice.

  “What?” Anne glanced upward and brushed a handful of pale gold strands from her eyes. “Oh, hello, Mike.”

  “You okay?” Mike bent down, trying to catch Anne’s attention. He was tall and his hands and arms bare as he packed Anne’s purchases. She compared the strength in his hands and forearms to her father’s: a good match, though Mike’s were less sinewy.

  Anne folded her arms against her chest. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

  “You look a little tired.” His face twisted. “I mean, you look great, but it must be hard.” He put more items in Anne’s pack. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright. I never know what to say when bad things happen.” Something in Anne swelled, a kind of emotional zeppelin that lifted her off her feet, and she felt a sudden urge to spill every emotion that swirled inside her. I can’t keep it all to myself. He thinks Dad is at home. He doesn’t know about the magpie eggs. Who can I trust with the truth?

  “If you need anything, let me know. Okay?”

  “Thanks, Mike. I really... Shit!” Out of the corner of her eye, through the store windows, s
he saw her bus trundling through an intersection toward her stop. Mike had barely pulled his hand out of her pack after loading the last item when she grabbed it and ran off. The pack’s weight surprised Anne and she stumbled, recovering as the store’s automatic doors opened. The bus halted, then pulled away. Anne yelled at the driver, but he accelerated.

  Mike came up beside her. “I know that driver. He never waits.”

  “The next bus isn’t coming for hours.” Anne sat on the bench next to the bus sign. The schedule readout in her minds-eye confirmed the two-hour wait time for the next coach.

  Mike sat next to Anne. A whiff of a breeze stirred the dust on the pavement of the parking lot in front of the store and the small businesses of the adjacent strip mall. Anne realized she would miss a scheduled feeding of the magpie chicks, but there was nothing she could do. Now she had two hours to kill.

  Mike cleared his throat. “Well, my lunch break is in about ten minutes. Do you want something to eat?”

  Anne admitted to herself that she had an appetite, in spite of the disgust she felt at missing her bus. “Sure.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you over at the Squeeze.” Mike waved in the direction of a small restaurant. He smiled and went back into the Feed and Seed.

  Anne yanked her backpack onto her shoulder and entered the restaurant, whose full name was the “Squeeze Inn.” A bell tinkled, announcing her arrival. A radio somewhere in the kitchen played Asian country. All ten of the tables and booths were empty, and she picked one of the booths.

  “Hello.” A plump woman wearing an apron come out of the kitchen. “What can I get you?”

  “I’m waiting for a friend. He’ll be here in a minute.”

  “No problem. Just order when you’re ready.”

  The restaurant’s menu popped up in her minds-eye. The fare consisted of variations on vegetarian burgers and Szechuan, all with reviews and recommendations from patrons, and the restaurant remembered her last order of a vegetable stir-fry. Anne glanced at the clock.

  The bell over the door tinkled and Mike came in. He spotted Anne and beamed. He had removed his work apron and combed his curly hair. A com stud sat high on his right ear. His shoulders were broad and neck thick but not disproportionate; He had played football in high school. For an instant, she forgot the burdens of the last few days, and she smiled back at Mike, taken aback at her own response to him.

  “Sorry I took so long,” Mike said.

  Anne noticed that he was pleased, despite his polite apology. “I was just going to order a stir-fry.”

  “Let’s see.” Mike paused. Anne knew by the look on his face that he was logging in and checking the menu. She switched to her c-tribe readout and saw his current activity noted as “lunch.” She updated her status to the same, but didn’t mention Mike’s presence. If someone noticed us at the same location, well, two plus two equals...

  Mike drew a breath. “Stir-fry looks good. I’ll have that too.”

  In each of the patrons’ minds-eyes, the restaurant noted their orders and gave a list of ingredients, estimated cooking time, and estimated delivery time.

  The waitress brought out two iced colas. “Here you go. Your orders will be out in a jiff.”

  Anne took a sip of the cola, and her mind wandered back to home and the magpie eggs.

  “Something wrong?” Mike’s concerned face was disarming.

  “I was just thinking about a project that I’m working on, back home.”

  “What’s your project?”

  “I found some bird eggs in an abandoned nest. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t leave them there, so I’m trying to hatch them.” I won’t say they’re from an endangered species. She explained the set-up in the coop.

  “That’s amazing. I mean, with the fire and everything, you’re still doing that.” Mike grinned, showing perfect teeth. “I think I’d be going crazy.”

  “It’s pretty important to me.”

  “I heard your dad took off.” The statement came out like a bullet from a gun.

  Anne straightened. “He did not...take off. He wouldn’t abandon me.”

  “Oh, hey, sorry. I didn’t mean, didn’t say that he just took off...” Mike coughed. “I mean, he’s gone, right?”

  “How do you even know about that?” Did I give it away somehow? Is Mike spying on me?

  “My dad’s a policeman, remember? Everyone’s out looking for your dad. He’s been missing almost two days.”

  Anne glanced away, embarrassed.

  “I was just thinking that it must be hard without him, right after the fire and everything.” The words came out staccato, as if Mike was trying to erase an earlier mistake. “I mean...”

  Anne regretted her assumptions about Mike’s statements. He’s only being sympathetic. She took another sip of her drink. “Yeah, he left.” Condensation on the glass dribbled to the table. “He had to find work.”

  “I know what that’s like.”

  Anne was uncertain about Mike’s meaning, but before she asked, the serving robot rolled up to the table. On smelling the spices and the steamy warmth, Anne’s appetite spiked, and she dug in. Mike followed suit. After a few bites, Anne found herself studying Mike’s face with its roman nose, hint of stubble, and occasional acne scar, the modest tattoos on his upper arms, his t-shirt—clean, if faded—and his soft eyes.

  “I had to find a job, too.” Mike poked his fork at his food. Is he upset? “Dad needs me. Mom’s getting worse, you see.” Mrs. Schmidt had an inherited genetic disease that destroyed her brain. The disease was terminal. At least Mike knows his mother.

  The scorched photo of Anne’s mother flashed in her mind. Her father said it was taken a few weeks after they were married. Psychiatrists had the power to erase memories with pills and nanobots. Can they wipe the images of my mother from my mind? Anne didn’t allow herself to think of her as Molly Penn, her father’s wife, even though he still had feelings for her. The woman was not a real wife to her father, and she wasn’t a mother for Anne. Molly never wanted to be either of those people, or she wouldn’t have abandoned me and Dad.

  Anne bit down on a slice of carrot in her stir-fry, her resentment hot as the oil in the kitchen’s wok. She glanced up at Mike, ashamed of her anger in front of her friend. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

  Mike’s face brightened. “Hey, I meant to tell you. I’m working on a novel. It’s about life in the Valley, my friends, and...well, things.” He fidgeted and caught her eye. “I’m almost done.”

  “How come you didn’t tell me before?” Anne knew he liked to write. She saw his byline on local sports news blogs. “Can I read it?” Anne was months behind on her book list.

  Mike’s face flushed and he cleared his throat.

  Anne was alarmed. “If it’s not ready, I mean, don’t feel like you have to, just for me...”

  He lifted his brows, making it even easier for Anne to lose herself in his eyes, which promised comfort, if Anne asked. She chided herself for imagining anything beyond mild interest in Mike. He lifted a hand in reassurance. “No, I’d love to show it to you. I was about to send a note to my c-tribes looking for alpha readers. You’ll get the first copy.”

  “Does it have a title?”

  “I was thinking How Brown Was My Valley or How Scorched Is My Valley, but...” He laughed, and so did Anne.

  Mike paused, and Anne recognized again the minds-eye stare. He spoke up. “Crap, I’m going to be late to work. I’m sorry. I have to go, Anne. Wait one...”

  A notification appeared in Anne’s minds-eye. He paid the lunch bill. “Thanks, Mike.”

  “No problem.” He grinned. “I’m glad you missed your bus.”

  “Me, too.” The words came out of Anne’s mouth before she realized it. “Wait a minute. I’ll walk you over.” Anne slipped the pack over her shoulders.

  The powerful sun forced the pair to squint as they headed for the Feed and Seed. Anne noticed two black cars jump away from the curb on the far side of the store. They r
aced toward her and Mike and she slowed her pace to watch what was unfolding. They stopped in front of the pair and four green-shirts—two from each car—exited the vehicles and surrounded Anne, pushing Mike out of the way. The cars had BES logos on the doors. They didn’t bother to deploy the security bots.

  “Anne Penn?” The question came from a sturdy man with a buzzcut.

  “Yes?” Anne was frozen in place.

  “You’re under arrest. Please come with us.”

  Mike spoke up, challenging the bessies. “What for? She hasn’t done anything.” A second man put a huge hand on Mike’s chest and pushed him away. “Anne, don’t go with them,” Mike yelled.

  Before Anne protested, a third man removed her backpack. He tossed it into the open trunk of the first car. The first man had her by the biceps of her left arm and directed her to the open rear door on the passenger side of the first car.

  “Stop!” Mike’s yelling irritated Anne, because it was useless. The car door closed on her, and all sounds from the outside halted. She saw Mike’s mouth moving as one of the green-shirts pushed him back. The BES cruiser sped away.

  Panic flooded Anne’s mind. She was squeezed between the green shirts, trapped like an animal. She wanted to scream. Instead, she gasped for air. Thoughts raged. What have I done? What about the magpie eggs? Have they caught Dad?

  CHAPTER 9

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  THE TRUCKER WHO PICKED BILL Penn up on the highway above Port Simpson dropped him off at the docks. So much had changed that Bill hardly recognized the area, but the anticipation and excitement of salt water was the same. Old habits, memories, and routines came back to him as if his twenty-year hiatus from the sea was twenty days or twenty minutes. He counted a dozen wind ships of various types and vintages tied up at a vast new terminal. He wanted nothing more than to jump aboard the first ship and cross the bar, partly to escape the BES, and partly to feel the freedom of going aloft to unfurl the huge sails. He filled his lungs with the tangy salt air, and he let the ancient sea wall guide him to Yesler City, the oldest neighborhood of Port Simpson.