Tsunami Wake: Post Apocalyptic Thriller (Calm Act Book 4)

by Ginger Booth

  “Hi Mangal!” Jennifer said sunnily, our usual PR News reader, an attractive woodsy Yale acting student we hired at the dawn of PR. To be fair, by now Jennifer had grown into the role, having studied up on journalistic ethics and other lore of the trade. Smart young woman. She stood on a New Haven railroad platform, eddied out from a crowd of militia and civilians, backpacks and boxes.

  “I’m here with volunteers and donations from Connecticut,” Jennifer explained. “Long Island and the Apple Cities requested extra medical personnel and supplies. Upstate and Connecticut are rallying to the call. Most of these medics will stop in the Apple. Train transportation is good that far. But getting out to Long Island today is a challenge.

  “Long Island is only eighteen miles from where I’m standing. But with the sea level rising quickly, and tsunami waves, even mild as they are in Long Island Sound, boating is off limits. So the toughest doctors and nurses have to go into the Apple, and then back out Long Island, with transportation often broken down.”

  The video cut to a couple hours later. Jennifer and a smaller throng stood at the current end-of-the-line train station in Queens, dubbed Sandsend. I did a double-take. I’d just passed through Sandsend this morning. It felt like the world had shifted on its axis since then.

  Jennifer proudly showed off her intimidating backpack and hiking boots. “As you can see, I’ve joined the New Haven sherpas.” A cheer went up behind her from a group of heavily laden backpackers, mostly in their twenties. “Some of the roads are washed out and impassible beyond here. We’ll have to hike part of the way. We sherpas volunteered to carry supplies, so the medical people can arrive fresh enough to work. Let’s head out!”

  For her next segment, the group walked parallel to a roadway covered in wet sand and debris. A power line straggled to the ground between bent poles. The camera panned to take in broken houses and trees off to their right, refugee tents pitched to the left. Then people waiting along their path, including a woman in full militia camouflage with cap, who appeared to be their leader. She stepped forward to shake hands and speak with a Coco leading the band of Connecticut volunteers. They waved happily toward the camera.

  The waiting locals took over backpacks from the ‘sherpas’, who gratefully sank to the ground for a rest break while the locals carried the load.

  “We’re in Nassau County now,” Jennifer explained in a voice-over. “Headed for Central Long Island, ‘Sea-Lie.’ About ten more miles to go. Along our route, local volunteers come out to greet us and carry the supplies a ways, to give us a break. We’ve only had to hike about four miles. We’ve had several bus rides.”

  She paused as a wiry lean local relieved her of her pack. He half-dropped it in surprise at the heft. Then they grinned and shook hands, and he plodded off, sinking into wet sand at every step.

  “Makes a huge difference,” Jennifer confided to the camera. “I’m getting tired! We’ll keep filming from here, but this is the end of the Internet lines for now. So I can’t send more video today. Signing off from the trek to Sea-Lie!”

  [ “Why didn’t they just drive along north LI, then cut south?” I asked Cam. He shrugged, looking grim. “Routing them around something else,” he said. Cam didn’t elaborate on what that might be. Ongoing insurrection, was my guess. Cam hadn’t finished pacifying CLI yet. ]

  “That is one strong young woman,” Mangal resumed. “I spoke to Jennifer again later by satellite phone. They reached West Babylon Long Island a couple hours after that clip. The Connecticut medical staff are hard at work, and the ‘New Haven sherpas’ are camping comfortably. Again, there are thousands of volunteer opportunities to help during this crisis. Most of them not quite that athletic.” Mangal grinned. “Please check the website below for ways to help.”

  The broadcast continued with other video reports. Amiri Baz and his war correspondent crew made it into Jerseyborough and Staten Island via bridges. I was relieved to hear the Staten Island ferries were safe. A southeast-facing section of Staten Island was hard-hit, though the maximum waves were only half the height of Long Island’s. The low-lying Jerseyborough waterfront looked impressively horrific. But the Rescos had long since marked that area condemned, anyway. Too low.

  Reports from the rest of Jersey were notably absent. I gnawed on a fingernail. Most of Emmett’s section of urban North Jersey should have been safe from any tsunami waves, tucked behind Jerseyborough and Staten Island. The Atlantic Jersey coast, and Delaware Bay to the south, I imagined had a remarkably bad day. The fact that Pete Hoffman wasn’t here, lead Resco of South Jersey and top Resco of all Hudson, tended to confirm this. Jersey was in deep trouble. There wasn’t a chance communications were still broken. Jersey was on the mainland. Our Internet connections were redundant by a bazillion-fold. Army censors, not the technology, were limiting our coverage. Not a good sign.

  Video from the New England coast, with just three coastal states remaining, was likewise suspiciously thin. Boston wasn’t too bad, sheltered by Cape Cod. There was no video from Cape Cod or the islands.

  A spokesman from the Canadian Coast Guard, in Rockland Maine, earnestly promised that he owed Cam and me a beer. Our warning came in time to save plenty of lives and Coast Guard boats in Maine.

  The editorial slant on all this was patently obvious. Good people were pitching in and helping the tsunami victims. Everything was under control. Want to help? See our website.

  “Whitewash accomplished,” Cam commented.

  “It was all true,” I argued. “Positive. Constructive.”

  “Just very incomplete,” he countered. “I’m not criticizing, Dee. Carlos kept it on-message. Today that’s what it needed to be. They did a good job.”

  Further debate was squelched by Sean Cullen wandering into the living room to perch on the arm of the couch beside me. Finally we’d reached his address to the nation. Lately, our Governor-General had stressed his Governor aspect, wearing nicely bespoke suits which fit perfectly, yet sat oddly on his military-perfect posture and haircut. Today he wore combat camouflage, his general’s three stars glittering, and looked significantly more at home in his own skin. They recorded his speech in my office while we watched the rest of the broadcast.

  “You look great,” I told him with a smile. Sean smiled back and squeezed my shoulder. And his address began.

  8

  Interesting fact: Estimates range from 50,000 to several million, as to how many people Homeland Security ‘disappeared’ under the Calm Act. In other words, no one knows. It’s fairly certain that most of these people died in custody, as there were few reappearances. Violating censorship, and inciting revolt against martial law, were the primary offenses.

  “Hello, citizens of Hudson,” Governor-General Sean Cullen greeted the nation. “We’ve had a challenging day. Easily the most challenging day in our brief history as a sovereign nation. I am awed, amazed, and overwhelmingly grateful at how the people of Hudson have met today’s events, of sudden sea level rise and tsunami. Hudson’s martial law government, both the Resco and military branches, have performed miracles. Ordinary citizens across the nation have stepped up to help their afflicted neighbors. For all your acts of hard work, competence, and kindness, on behalf of the entire nation, I thank you.

  “I also thank you for all your acts of preparation leading to today. Make no mistake, Hudson was ready to handle today’s events. We have carefully planned and prepared for this eventuality, sudden sea level rise, as well as other danger scenarios posed by continuing climate change. Our citizens were hurt today. Our belongings destroyed, our coastline permanently altered. Lives were lost. But it could have been so tragically much worse, if it weren’t for our diligence and foresight. Today was worse for several of our East Coast neighbors. Our hearts go out especially to the people of Narragansett, Delaware, Virginia and Maryland, the Carolinas, Georgia and Florida.

  “Why was our experience weathering this storm so different from some of our neighbors? Some was just luck. Narragansett had all too
little luck today. Lieutenant Colonel Cam Cameron happened to be in the wrong place at the right time, and issued a warning that saved lives. That too was luck, good luck.

  “But a lot of our results were not luck at all. They were preparedness. Our Rescos have planned for land use reform. Communities have been restructured to stay above near-term anticipated sea level rise. Emergency warning systems and evacuation plans stood ready. A simple text message, a few lines from Colonel Cameron, was all it took to launch those plans into action. Thousands immediately fled for high ground, and their lives were spared. Our National Guard and Army immediately began deploying stockpiles of food, bottled water, emergency blankets and shelters and medical personnel, to affected areas. Yes, and military police, to maintain order. That was on the martial law side of Hudson.

  “We’ve also prepared on the civilian side of Hudson. We have grown and developed, as a people. One of the most potent arguments for Project Reunion was what it would make of us, as a people. Were we a people of hoarders? Armed survivalists huddling behind barricades? People who gave in to fear and let our neighbors suffer and die? Who lived by and for our advantage over others?

  “Or were we a people of helpers, and givers? When we saved New York City, when we, with the help of our neighbors, chose the risk of saving others, we saved ourselves. We became something more. We became a people ready to face the hard days of climate change, by working together.

  “Our communities are strong, direct democracies, planned together, ready to adapt together. Our spiritual leaders stand trained and equipped to provide succor in sudden misfortune. Our medical personnel are organized, practiced and ready to meet whatever comes. And our hearts and resolve are ready to face a day like today.

  “And for that, I thank you. I thank God for you, and I am proud and humbled today, to be a Hudson. I hope you feel the same. For you deserve it.

  “With that, I’d like to pause for a moment of silence, to remember our dead in today’s tsunamis, and wish strength and wisdom to those who continue to work so diligently to save lives in Hudson and beyond our borders tonight.”

  I linked hands with Sean and Cam, and bowed my head to pray with them. I felt the Earth below, the sky above, the unquiet oceans moving in drastic change. I love you, Earth. Let this violent change in the oceans bring you peace, help you absorb the extra heat, find stability again. I could feel it, the planet striving toward a new stable equilibrium. As I could feel the millions of Hudsons praying at the same time, though probably not to the same god, nor for climate peace between people and nature, as I did. And Emmett, wherever you are, please be safe. Earth, take care of Emmett for me.

  Sean-in-person squeezed my hand as Sean-on-the-wall began speaking again.

  “Thank you for sharing that moment of silence. I would love to stop right there. I would love to end with cheering you on, to help more tomorrow, clean up, restore our lives to normal. And I do encourage that.” He smiled modestly. “But I’m afraid I also need to share some admonishments.

  “First, this event is not over. The shoreline remains dangerous. At this hour, the tsunami waves have died out. But, they could resume. Effective immediately, all buildings less than ten feet above sea level – the old sea level – are permanently condemned for human habitation. Coastal business establishments will need to relocate after the immediate task of saving lives. If you must go down to the shore, be sure you have communications gear to receive warnings and evacuation instructions if need be. If communications are out in your area, don’t go down to the shore. New warning systems have been established to keep an eye on the situation, so hopefully we will have warnings. But note that warning systems were in place before today. And they didn’t work, because we sure didn’t expect a tsunami.

  “We expect, within the next days and years, for sea level to continue to rise, more quickly now than it has historically. Our estimate is a permanent rise of about six feet from this event. It could be more or less. The thirty-two inch rise we’ve seen so far, nearly three feet, is permanent. We expect another one to five feet, most likely three feet, give or take.

  “Second, we did well. Not perfectly, and we will look for ways to improve. We already set up new tsunami warning systems today, for example. What we will not engage in is a witch-hunt, the blame game, or recriminations. The climate changed, is changing. We expect that to continue, with surprising and catastrophic events now and then. This is why we have contingency plans. This is why we have martial law at the national level, and direct democracy at the community level, for maximum responsiveness and flexibility. We will learn from this, yes. But no one is to blame. The climate is changing and we must adapt. And we will.

  “Three, some things we need everyone to pitch in on. Our power grid took a serious hit. It is crucial that everyone reduce their electrical usage. Communities that don’t comply voluntarily will suffer rolling brown outs, as usual. We also require all available medical teams to the coastline, emergency blankets, hand- and foot-warmers, bandages, antibiotic ointments, high-energy foods, bottled water. Please check the volunteer website and contribute what you can. Collections and transportation will be handled as we did during Project Reunion.”

  Sean pursed his lips and looked straight into the camera. “Four, let me be very clear. The vast, overwhelming majority of Hudsons have risen to this challenge selflessly, generously, blamelessly. But there are bad actors. There have been instances of price gouging. Selling bottled water at ten dollars a bottle. Charging three times as much for food today as it cost yesterday. Outright looting of shoreline properties.

  “This is not acceptable. All prices are hereby fixed at yesterday’s levels, and frozen at those levels for the next two weeks. Price gouging in time of natural catastrophe is hereby deemed a form of looting.” Sean glared at the screen. “You have been warned.”

  Sean waved as though swatting off a pesky mosquito, and sat back on his desktop perch. “Those were the most important points I wished to cover with you tonight. Tomorrow we will all continue and further the good work we’ve begun today. We will recover from this catastrophe, and reach a new normal. We lost some land to the sea, and people will be displaced inland a bit. We lost some agricultural land forever, but not much. Most of the oceanfront property was industrial, residential, recreational. The salt the tsunamis left inland, far from the sea, should rinse out with the spring rains. The sand the waves left behind will take some horsepower to move.

  “We have likely lost barrier islands, and that will hurt. Our natural breakwaters took a pounding, and will shift beneath the new sea level. Do not be surprised if your Resco instructs your community that ten feet above sea level isn’t enough. Some places, it won’t be, because of the loss of barrier islands. And we will deal with it.

  “All of this, we’ll deal with it. Together, strong, and of good spirit. Again, thank you soldiers and sailors, and voters and citizens of Hudson. Words cannot express how proud I am of you today, and the love I have for you in my heart. Bless you, and good night.”

  “Bless you, too, Sean,” I said, craning my neck back to smile up at him. “Good job.”

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Mangal resumed, “That was Governor-General Sean Cullen of Hudson. We contacted the leaders of the other Eastern super-states, but they declined the opportunity to give a statement. However, during Governor Cullen’s speech just now, several called us back to say a resounding ‘Ditto!’ on the issue of price gouging. General Link of New England wishes to specify fixed prices on fuel in addition to food, water, and shelter. General Taibbi and Admiral O’Hara, of Pennsylvania and Virginia, also endorse the idea that price gouging during a natural disaster should be treated as looting. And of course the maximum penalty for looting is death,” Mangal added with distaste. A Jain pacifist, Mangal would probably never reconcile with the looting laws.

  Mangal paused. I narrowed my eyes. There was nothing to pause about at this juncture in the broadcast. All Mangal needed to say was some v
ariation on ‘God bless, and good night,’ written right there on the teleprompter. Our news reader wasn’t allowed off script.

  “On a day like this,” he began, “I am glad that PR News shows us the best in people, brings us hope and assurance in a difficult time.”

  No, please, Mangal, don’t do this, I thought, sitting bolt upright on the couch.

  “But after the disaster cleanup is complete, I think it’s past time for a more candid discussion of climate change –”

  Mangal broke off and visibly quailed, recoiling from the camera. He gulped, then resumed from the teleprompter. “Signing off from Totoket, all of us here at PR News wish you safe and dry. God bless and good night.”

  The screen broke up into a PR News logo background, with an array of video clips from the program arrayed for the viewer’s convenience. My fingers itched for my phone or computer, still lost and drowned on the south LI coast and not replaced by my damned nannies. I needed to talk to PR News headquarters in Totoket! I lunged forward on the couch to stare at Carlos Mora and Ash Margolis beyond the French doors to my office. They huddled together talking, apparently to each other and to people on their phones. I gulped.

  Sean patted me on the shoulder. “No harm done, Dee. Carlos caught him in time,” he said neutrally. Generous of him to assume I was on the Rescos’ side, I thought, against my one-time best friend Mangal. Sean sighed and rose.

  “Sean… We don’t… Mangal doesn’t…” I stammered. Aghast, I have no idea what I was trying to say, except that I was terrified for Mangal.

  “Will he be remanded to Homeland Security, sir?” Cam asked, bailing me out. “I don’t know if you realized this, but Mangal was Dee’s partner. They co-founded Amenac together. And PR News after that.”

  Sean simply pointed at Carlos and Ash, now emerging from my office.

  Carlos reported, “Mangal is in custody. HomeSec.”