by Pamela Davis
One, two, three beats of powerful wings and then the rush of air passing over feathered wings, the power, soaring high above land. A Red-tailed Hawk circled, and then, flying high over the desert, listened to the voice of the planet, hearing the message with crystal-clear clarity.
A city that never sleeps, taking over the earth, the sand, bringing water where there was none, plants die, animals die, the city will soon be stopped.
In its mind's eye, the hawk saw large neon signs reaching for the stars. The shaman watched, alarmed as the hawk faltered in flight, and then wheeled back returning to the campsite in the Arizona desert. Margaret opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. Holding her wing, no, her hand in front of her face, she immediately patted her body, reassuringly human, as the pupils of her eyes seemed to enlarge, taking over the normal emerald hue.
Sitting up suddenly, Margaret said, stricken, "Oh my God--Las Vegas!"
Las Vegas, Nevada
The desert night was illuminated by the sparkling lights of Las Vegas under a full moon. In a casino on the main strip downtown, Oliver Trundell and his wife Beatrice, on vacation from Tulsa, Oklahoma, were eating breakfast at the restaurant that stayed open all night. They talked excitedly of increasing their winnings at the roulette wheel once their hunger was satiated. Just as Oliver opened his mouth for another bite of pancakes dripping in melted butter and maple syrup, a clattering sound caused him to glance out the plate glass window next to his booth. A baseball-sized piece of hail crashed through the glass and lodged itself in the middle of Oliver's forehead. Beatrice had time to scream before a spear of window glass pierced her throat as efficiently as an assassin's knife.
Tom Hanover panted heavily in the king-sized bed as he thrust himself into the highly-paid prostitute beneath his 286-pound body. The podiatrist convention was over and Tom was taking advantage of his last night in town to live dangerously. He'd paid extra not to have to wear a condom. He heard the woman's moans and gasps with delight. He really was that good, he thought to himself admiringly. Then he heard the sound of glass breaking and wind howling, before his body was pummeled to a pulp by hail.
The radar screen beeped in the meteorology office at the local Las Vegas TV station. Randall Quinn glanced casually at the screen, and then leapt to his feet. He'd never seen anything like it before. One minute the screen was clear, the next it was covered in the bright red that signified the strongest storms. As he was calling out to the morning news producer, the offices went dark and the computer died, along with Randall Quinn, who was smashed flat by the weight of the collapsing building.
The coyotes in the desert surrounding Las Vegas were joined by birds, snakes, roaches, rats and other assorted creatures that had fled the city minutes before the storm began. They watched in silence as hail and wind beat the city into a pyramidal mound of rubble and ice.
Fort Walton Beach, Florida
Lisanne Locklin did not want to get out of bed. Her short black hair was sticking out from under the covers like a spiky plant. She closed her eyes as she pulled the cotton sheets more firmly over her head. Yes, she needed to get up and go the bathroom and yes, she didn't really like the taste of her morning mouth, but it was so dark and comfortable in her cocoon of eggplant--dark purple, really--sheets that nothing could get her out of bed. Well, okay, maybe the need for coffee could, if she thought about it for very long, nothing like the first cup of French Roast with a splash of cream, but no, she wouldn't think of it just yet. The pressure of paws walking along her back brought her awake again. Lisanne groaned. The cat would never let her sleep in. Merlin was a large black cat with gold eyes that seemed to glow in the dark. Lisanne and Merlin had been together for eight months, during which Merlin had forced her out of bed every morning before seven. Lisanne was not happy with this development as she'd always been a night person. However, she loved the big black cat and was slowly becoming resigned to facing the day at times she considered ungodly.
Throwing the sheets off so that they covered Merlin, Lisanne slid out of bed, saying, "Just once I'd like to sleep till two, you hear that you big lug? Why do I put up with you?"
The response was a growl from under the tangled sheets.
Lisanne laughed and managed to walk into the bathroom, barely missing the door frame. Looking into the mirror, she groaned. Short, jet-black hair jutting out in all directions, violet eyes with angry red veins streaked through the whites, long black eyelashes mashed crooked from sleeping with her face buried in the pillow, and blue-black shadows under her eyes contrasted with a pale white face. Purple lipstick outlining pink lips remained on a mouth that grimaced back at her.
"Way too many margaritas last night...look like I've been hit by a Mack truck and dragged along I-75 for thirty miles or so...death warmed over one time too many. You woke me up for this, Merlin? You're a cruel, sadistic cat."
Merlin rubbed up against her leg, purring.
"I gotta pee like a racehorse, whatever that means. Do you know what that means? I always heard that saying, but I have no idea how racehorses pee. Go on, scram," she said, gently pushing the cat out the bathroom door with her foot.
Cape Fair, Mrs. Philpott's House
Mrs. Philpott stretched and sat back from the computer. The dream was similar to her earthquake dream in that she felt she had lived through the experience--only this time it was a hurricane, not an earthquake.
"I wonder if I'm overreacting," she said to Perceval as she gently scratched behind his ears. The sound of purring was a relaxing accompaniment to her voice speaking quietly of things she wished she didn't know. "If I'm right, that hurricane is going to happen, and happen soon--and a lot of people are going to die. Is it because of the oil refineries along the Gulf Coast and the oil rigs out there in the water? One thing's for sure, those rigs are going down if my dream was accurate. But isn't there any way that people could be warned so that all of them wouldn't have to die?"
The Siamese looked straight into her eyes and Mrs. Philpott sighed, and then continued. "I know. It is going to take a lot of death and destruction to get the attention of such a large population. Where will it all end, I wonder? Is humanity ready to listen, will anything get them to listen and change their behavior? If my years with the government taught me anything, it is that people will go to amazing lengths to satisfy their own desires, their own greed. Usually to the detriment of others. Our culture's story tells us we are the superior end to evolution, the ultimate creation. We expect the planet to provide for us and bend to our will, no matter what the cost, no matter what level of damage we inflict. Well, now I guess it's payback time. And payback's a bitch. Now that's a phrase I haven't used in about twenty years!" She sighed. "Lots of changes ahead, my friend."
The cat rubbed his head against her hand and arm, knowing she was scared. Then he jumped up to the computer keyboard and slowly pushed the keys with his nose. His message was printed on the monitor for Mrs. Philpott to read:
TIME TO TELL J AND J ABOUT DREAMS
HURRICANE
WILL BELIEVE WHEN COMES TRUE.
"Of course. You're right. This is the perfect chance to open their minds to what is going on. And we'll need them believing soon, to prepare for what is to come. Decisions will have to be made. And tomorrow--rather, today--the sun's up--I'm going to Springfield to that new computer store. There's got to be an easier way for you to use the keyboard. I'm sure I read somewhere about accessories developed for people with disabilities." She stood up from the desk and turned to leave the room, saying, "Come on, let's go raid the refrigerator. How about leftover roasted chicken for you and vanilla fudge ripple ice cream for me. Could be the last of the ice cream, you know. Hmm, need to check in the attic and see if I still have that old ice cream maker you turn by hand."
The cat followed a muttering Mrs. Philpott into the blue and white kitchen, bemused that she still wasn't thinking big enough. Ice cream would be the least of their worries.
Fort Walton Beach, Florida
Stumbling into
the kitchen, Lisanne didn't look any better than she had before standing under the hot shower for twenty minutes.
"Come on, let's see if I remembered to set up the coffee maker--no, I can see that I didn't," Lisanne said as she yanked the basket containing used grounds out of the machine to dump in the garbage. The can of coffee clattered as it was almost dropped to the floor and then caught. Coffee grounds flew across the countertop as her hands shook, measuring grounds into the coffee maker. Pouring cold water to the ten-cup level was an endeavor involving both hands to steady the pot of water. Finally, breathing a sigh of relief, Lisanne pushed the ON button and sank to the black linoleum floor, resting her head against the lavender painted cabinet doors at her back.
Merlin meowed.
"You actually expect me to stand up...you do, I can see that...."
Standing in the center of the kitchen, Merlin fixed a golden-eyed stare on Lisanne where she sat slumped in her black silk teddy.
"You are a pain, you know that? You really are."
Merlin meowed and glared.
"I'm telling you I'm not getting up from here until the coffee is done."
Merlin took a step toward her.
"I mean it. I'm too tired...." Merlin meowed. "Okay, okay--I'm too hung over to move an inch, a millimeter from this spot."
The aroma of coffee wafted through the air-conditioned apartment.
Merlin growled.
"Look, I don't even know if I can stand upright--there are three of you in my sight right now and that can't be a good sign. I'm probably brain damaged, you know. So much alcohol--so little time." She laughed. "I crack myself up."
Merlin pounced.
"Hey, get off me, you jerk! All right already, I'll get your food. You know, you have no respect for my still slightly inebriated condition," she said, enunciating slowly as she pulled herself up, using the counter's edge for balance.
The condominium apartment in Fort Walton Beach, Florida, had been purchased by Lisanne with proceeds from her mother's life insurance policy. Lauranne Locklin, the mother of all mothers as Lisanne liked to call her, had died nine months previous from a fall. Lisanne still dreamed of taking credit for the death, but Lauranne had managed to fall down the stairs all by herself after drinking her usual quart of evening vodka. Lisanne was the only beneficiary of the life insurance policy which netted $300,000. The money was a shock, as Lauranne had never planned for anything, but Lisanne finally decided that her mother probably kept paying the premiums each month without realizing what she was paying for. The policy had originally been taken out by Lisanne's father, who left five years after his daughter's birth. Beauregard Locklin, Beau to everyone, departed after finding greener pastures, namely a richer wife. Beau had been killed in a hunting accident a few years prior to Lauranne's death, so Lisanne was alone in the world, except for Merlin.
The condominium's living room contained a futon couch covered in a floral print of predominantly purple colors. The high pile shag carpeting was black, along with the desk and chair, which were situated in front of sliding glass doors that opened onto the white sandy beaches of the Gulf of Mexico. The room's only other ornamentation was a large lavender floor vase filled with sea oats, spray-painted black, collected in defiance of posted endangered species signs.
Lisanne stumbled across the living room to collapse into the desk chair in front of her computer. Sipping coffee from a mug emblazoned with the phrase, 'Don't even think of saying Good Morning,' she positioned her chair to survey the rolling waves outside. As her alcohol fogged brain woke up, Lisanne knew she was in trouble. This many hangovers in a month were too many.
"Merlin," she called, "if you're through stuffing your face, come in here so we can talk." Morning conversations with the cat had become a way to think things through. She liked being able to think out loud and not be judged for anything she said. Although lately, Merlin was not always so tolerant. Recently, he seemed to growl or meow at the more outlandish things she said, and Lisanne sometimes wondered if he actually understood her...although she was usually drunk when she had that kind of thought.
"That's right, Merlin. Another sign I'm losing it--like you could really understand what I say. So what am I going to do? Drink myself into oblivion? Guess I'm well on the way to achieving that goal. It's good to have goals in life."
Lisanne shoved papers off her desk, scrounging for her pack of Marlboro 100s. Lighting the cigarette, she dragged deeply on it, and said to Merlin, "I'm pretty sure I would have slept with some guy last night, some stranger, if I hadn't gotten so drunk I decided to just stumble on home." Lisanne laughed harshly. "I'm a suicide waiting to happen, Merlin. That's what all this is about and you and I both know that's the truth."
Because of her mother's pathological need to lie to everyone, and to herself most prodigiously, Lisanne had grown up certain of only one thing: she would never lie to herself. Sometimes she wondered if even that decision was a part of her need to remain depressed because being truthful with herself about her activities led inevitably to a black hole of self-hatred.
"What is it that makes me like this, Merlin? Am I trying to copy my mother's death? I don't want to be like that woman!" Lisanne said forcefully. "I'm not stupid, so why am I doing this to myself?"
Merlin jumped up onto the desktop and sat facing the distraught young woman. He knew she wasn't stupid. He'd found her papers from college in the computer during his midnight forays into cyberspace. She had majored in astronomy and appeared to be a mathematical genius, although, looking at her now, Merlin wondered if he'd misinterpreted the information he'd gathered about Lisanne.
Her drinking was out of control, had been since her mother's death. She had dropped out of her doctoral program with an impressive thesis three-quarters completed and seemed well on her way to dropping out of life altogether. Merlin was determined to see that didn't happen. He couldn't put his paw on why he liked her. Perhaps it was the honesty, or her potential, but more than that he thought it was the sense of abandonment that surrounded her like a mist, covering up who she really was. She reminded him of his days as a kitten, dumped out of a car on the highway by owners who didn't want to deal with a litter of kittens; he was the only survivor of six. Lost, hungry, and terrified, he had managed to find the minimum of food needed to survive as he wandered up the coast.
Lisanne had found him near death on the edge of the highway when she had pulled over to throw up after a night of drinking. She had saved his life and cared for him generously, and Merlin knew that he filled a hole in her life. She was the lost one now, feeling abandoned, trying to survive, and he wanted to return the favor. He meowed to get her talking again. It seemed to help some mornings.
"Here's the deal. I'm 23 years old, alone in the world except for you, still have some inheritance money but it won't last forever, and I have a drinking problem. I don't have a real life. When I left the university, I cut off contact with my friends. I have a love life which consists of sleeping with guys who disgust me, but I've at least had the sense to use condoms. I'm going to end up dead if I don't stop this. So the question is this: Why not just go ahead and end it? Why keep torturing myself? Why not show the world that I am just like my mother?"
Merlin growled at her.
"Oh, boy, is that it? Do I really think I'm like her, or is it that I'm so afraid I'm like her, that I'll turn into her, that I'm doing it on purpose just to get it over with?"
Lisanne sat up straighter and took a deep draught of coffee. "Are you really a shrink in disguise, Merlin? I don't know much about psychology, but I do know that parents have a major effect on their kids--and my parents were lulus. Beau--you know he never let me call him Dad--he thought he was the Stud of the South, a skirt-chaser of major proportions. And Mom, good old Lauranne, was a fruitcake. A nut, psycho, you name it what you want, but I know she was crazy. I don't know why she was nuts, but it probably had something to do with her parents. It's all about cycles, generations of screw-ups. So, am I destined to be one too?
I tried so hard to be unlike them--until they were gone. Then it was like I had to replace them or something by being them. Oh, man, is this whacko or what?"
Merlin meowed and seemed to shake his head, although Lisanne thought she probably just imagined the negative response. He jumped into her lap and faced the computer. "Maybe you're right, cat. Maybe it isn't whacko reasoning, but the truth," Lisanne said. "Now you sit there and be quiet while I turn on the computer and put some of this brilliant thinking into my journal."
Merlin quivered in her lap. This was it, the moment he'd been waiting for since last night.
Lisanne didn't have to actually turn on the computer since she left the CPU on all the time. Knowing it was always running gave her the sense that it was another person in her life. But she did keep the monitor turned off when not in use, so she reached up to click it on only to gasp in surprise at what appeared. The monitor showed a screen from the word processing program. Like everything else in Lisanne's life, she had configured the colors in her computer to shades of black and purple. On a black background, purple letters glowed with the message:
DANGER IS NEAR. WE MUST LEAVE THIS PLACE. GO AT ONCE--TODAY.
"What the freaking hell is this?" Lisanne whispered.
Merlin meowed happily. He was proud of his message, typed with great care. He felt it said everything necessary and was therefore quite dismayed at Lisanne's next response.
"Oh my lord, I really have lost my mind," she said. Rubbing her face furiously with delicate pale hands, she looked again at the computer screen. "When did I type this? And why? Did I have a blackout last night? 'Cause I know it wasn't there yesterday. I've never had a blackout before...that's like a sign of alcoholism or something, isn't it? What the hell is going on? Oh, man, I need help, I really need help. I mean really, I really need some major help here. Danger? What the hell kind of danger? And why would I tell myself to leave this place? The condo cost a fortune, a big chunk of the inheritance money. I can't leave here. And I sure can't leave today. Even if I was thinking about moving, which I'm not, I wouldn't just up and leave today. And why would I want to? Where would I go? Am I thinking things would get better for me somewhere else? Is this some kind of subconscious wishful thinking or something?"