“Director Cross seems to think I am approaching this in the correct manner.”
“Richard Cross is a stuffed shirt with his head up his ass. I answer to Nelson Banks alone.”
“I see. “Amanda took a deep breath and pushed her hair behind her right ear, taking a moment to regain her composure, she said, “Mr. Ashfield, I would respectfully ask that you wait for the senior officer to return. I’m certain that once we’re finished with the old woman, he’ll be able to extract something of use to us from the younger one—Chen’s sister. And since Director Cross has given me full authorization to continue forward, I’ll repeat: ‘Would you please wait?’”
Trip looked down the length of the hallway and ran his hand through his hair impatiently. “You’re asking me to stand around in this hell-hole while you get your rocks off watching some 80-year-old grandma undergo a round of pointless waterboarding—because, let’s be honest, that’s what you are really waiting for, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure what you are insinuating, Mr. Ashfield, but I take offense…”
“Pointless.” Trip sighed and rolled his eyes. There was no transportation out of the compound until HighTower’s helo returned and he didn’t relish waiting upstairs until it was summoned. He nodded with pronounced exasperation and strode back toward cell 1109 pausing long enough for the deputy director to catch up. Trip bowed and held out his hand, “Please, by all means, lead the way. If this can’t be avoided, then let’s at least make sure that it’s done efficiently.”
Peace Arch Park. Blaine WA. Jul 22. 2033
49°00'07.6"N 122°45'25.7"W
The two German Shepherds paced back and forth near the van’s rear door. One of the dogs placed his front paws on the bumper and sniffed the latch. The HSA officer stood nearby, arms crossed as he allowed his dogs to go about their business. The van’s driver stood behind the officer, fidgeting. The dogs completed their initial patrol around the van, circling the cargo compartment twice before sitting obediently near the rear door.
“Alright. You can open it now,” the officer said.
The driver hurried over to the van and unlatched the door. As he slid it upwards, an overpowering stench filled the inspection bay. The officer stepped back and fanned his face. With an expression of disgust, he shook his head. “Christ! Be quick boys—check it out.” The dogs promptly stuck their noses in the van and sniffed at the bags. The air was stifling in the enclosed bay and the officer held his elbow across his nose and mouth while the dogs performed their inspection. Finally, he removed his arm long enough to call out to the driver, “That’s enough, we’re good here. Close that door.”
The driver grabbed the handle. At that moment, one of the dogs barked and jumped onto a bag of diapers. The other dog ran over and began to aggressively sniff at the floor of the compartment. The driver nervously glanced at the official before daring to proceed. The officer ignored the barking and shouted at the dogs, “Clint—Bosco! Come—come here boys. Heel!”
At last command, both dogs reluctantly left the van and returned to their holder. He clipped the leashes on their collars and waved the driver away. “You’re cleared. Keep to the right lane and follow the arrows onto the highway.”
The driver jumped back into the van and carefully maneuvered out of the inspection bay. Entering traffic, he breathed a sigh of relief and adjusted his rear-view mirror, muttering, “HSA cocksuckers.” The van continued down the southbound freeway, turning right at the Blaine exit. Backing into a rest area, the driver hopped out of the cab, walked around the van and opened the door. He pulled a pack of smokes out of his jacket, drew a few puffs and ambled away. After several minutes, one of the bags tumbled out of the van. Jun lurched to the ground, gasping for air. He straightened, inhaled deeply and unzipped his foul jumpsuit. Ripping off the hood, he stepped out of the garments and peeled off the rubber gloves. With a quick glance in both directions, Jun sprinted towards Semiahmoo Bay, vanishing into the dense foliage.
21 Monk
Pacific Ocean Jul. 09. 2022
53°41'11.3"N 132°57'51.2"W
As if the last 72 hours of crumbling earth and tsunami were not enough for the Pacific Northwest Coastline, ruinous waves now crashed down upon its beaten shores. The Dottie Rose was momentarily consumed by greenwater as she pitched headlong into the steep troughs between waves. The deafening sound of water against hull drowned out all other sounds. Evie stood at the helm, her precious binoculars hung around her neck. She focused on the foredeck as it careened down a 16-foot abyss, only to be rocketed skyward by the next surge. She grasped the wheel and ducked as a loose object flew past her head. There was nothing she could do to alter her fate, so she persisted, blocking all other thoughts from her mind.
By mid-morning the sea’s rage had expended itself, and swells rose and fell in a more tranquil manner. The boat rocked with the waves, its miniature captain asleep at the helm. The loose items, no longer airborne, rolled along the cabin sole. The boat’s customary noises now filled the vacuum of silence; planks and frames groaned, rigging slatted against the mast and captive seawater sloshed in the bilge.
The sun’s shadow was well across the wheelhouse by the time Evie finally woke. Climbing out the wing-door, she walked to the bow and looked forward, repeated the process at midship and again at the stern; there was nothing to see—nothing but the heaving ocean in all directions. She scrambled onto the deckhouse and checked her makeshift sail, its fasteners had survived the storm. Untying the lines, she hoisted the halyard and the canvas filled. Evie returned to the wheelhouse and switched on the radar, waiting for a signal to appear on the screen—the display remained dark. The radio’s mic lay on its side near the binnacle and she clicked the power button back and forth. Silence. Overwhelming loneliness took hold of her and she placed her head on the dash to cry, but the tears refused to come.
Days passed, each following the same routine of turbulent, then calm seas. The jug of water she’d discovered in the ship’s galley was empty, and there were no replacements. Evie checked the compass and adjusted her heading to keep the arrow pointing north. She had no real reason as to why she’d chosen that direction, but her father’s stories of Alaska stuck with her. She held on to a sliver of hope that the earthquake had not occurred that far north…maybe she could find the little town in Thorne Bay where her parents met—find some link to their past that she could claim for herself. Of course, with no food or water and little fuel left in the tanks, she didn’t have much hope by that point. She placed the rudder-lock on her helm and settled down for another dreamless sleep.
It was twilight when she woke, the sky toward the west looked menacing. She heaved a sigh and slipped the lock from the spoke. As she looked out the window, a shape caught her eye. An extraordinarily large bird sat on top of the windlass—it’s blackness was so intense that its silhouette created a void in the dim surroundings. The bird looked westward at the gathering clouds and then tilted its glossy head to the side and stared straight into the wheelhouse. Evie tilted her head, mimicking the creature’s behavior as she studied it. She wondered what a land-bird was doing so far out at sea. Was he washed out here by the tsunami—just like me? Her thoughts were cut short as a rogue wave knocked the boat onto its side. The radio mic whipped away from the dash, smashing through the wheelhouse window. Seawater poured through the broken window, forcing the remaining glass from out of the sill. Then, as quickly as the boat rolled one way, it compensated to the other. Evie was flung to the opposite end of the wheelhouse, striking her head against the chart table and opening a three-inch gash along her temple. She fainted and knew no more.
A clicking noise brought Evie back to consciousness and she felt the sun on her cheek. What happened? As her fuzzy-headedness receded, she noticed the shattered glass and contents of the wheelhouse strewn all around her. Water pooled in the hollows of the sole. Water! Reaching toward one of the puddles, she cupped her hand to her mouth and then spat out the saltwater. I’m s
o thirsty. How long was I asleep? Evie crawled forward, pulling herself upright. There, on the dash, was the same black bird. She watched as he dipped his beak into the empty sill, clicking it against the window frame as he scooped water into his beak. The bird repeated this process for several minutes while Evie stared, transfixed. With a sudden movement, the raven gestured toward the bow—his beak pointing at a piece of debris on the foredeck. Evie stepped outside to investigate. What is that thing? The bird made a deep kraaa sound as she neared the object. Evie knelt closer and read the faded logo: “Furuno,” …radar? Squinting, she looked up at the rig—sure enough, the array near the top of the mast was missing its cover. What does it matter—the stupid thing’s broken anyways. She kicked the cover and water splashed inside the shell. Water! But, is it salty? The raven made another croaking sound and bobbed his head. Evie picked up the container and lifted it toward her mouth. Sweet, cool rainwater touched her lips and she gulped it down greedily. Satisfied, the raven hopped back into the wheelhouse and strutted across the dash. Evie returned to the cabin and acknowledged the bird with a tip of her head. She checked her compass heading. North-by-Northeast… I guess that’ll do. Slipping the tiller-lock on the spoke, she scribbled a hasty notation. The bird gave a quick shake, lifting his wings as his feathers ruffled. They spent the rest of their day in silence as Dottie Rose rocked on the ocean.
The Greenwood. Jul. 24. 2033
[Coordinates Unknown]
Dot woke from her dream feeling parched, the scar on her temple ached. She ran her fingers along its edge until the throbbing eased and reached for the glass near her bed. Still thirsty, she stumbled in the darkness toward the kitchen, wondering how late it was—or early. It’s so quiet and still outside. She filled her glass from the water barrel and turned back toward the bedroom when she glimpsed Monk on the wood pile outside the window. The bird glanced occasionally this way and that, as if expecting a friend. Dot tapped the sill as she pulled the window open. The raven flapped across the yard and landed lightly on the ledge. Dot touched Monk’s beak with her nose, then ran her forefinger down his back. Monk jumped onto the counter to see if any midnight snacks had been laid out for his visit, spying a partially eaten square of seed-cake on the table he flew over to get a closer look. Waving him away, Dot replaced the cake with a chunk of bread.
By now, Dot was fully awake. She downed another glass of water, yawned and stretched. The faintest tinge of daylight eked its way between the branches overhead. Feeling suddenly restless, she slipped on her jeans, grabbed her sweatshirt from the bedpost and opened the front door. Monk hastily swallowed the last of his snack and flew over to her shoulder as Dot slipped on her sandals. The night air was warm and tranquil, silence hung over the sleeping village—not even the sparrows were awake. Dot heard the soft crunch of cedar needles under her feet as she stepped off the porch. As she walked around the back of her cottage, the raven nibbled at her ear, she shooed him away with the back of her hand. Monk flapped his wings, brushing Dot’s cheek with the tips of his wings as he ascended. She blinked and watched him land on the railing of Kai and Reba’s porch. Monk looked down at his companion and squawked loudly. Quiet down, silly—you’ll wake up the whole village! Dot raised her finger to her lips, hoping to silence him. At that moment, Reba appeared, wrapped in a woolen blanket. She stood beside Monk and leaned forward, her long hair spilling over the rails. Motioning for Dot to join her, she called down in a hushed voice, “Come have some tea.”
The spiral stairs creaked softly as Dot climbed them. She entered the living room and looked around, a candle flickered inside a blue Mason jar on the table. Dot quietly passed through the dining room and found Reba standing next to Monk, gazing eastward at the hints of daylight. “I see you’re an early riser too,” she whispered.
Smiling, Dot joined them at the railing. Pastel blues gave way to coral hues as the sun’s arrival drew near.
“I like to come out here and think—you know, while it’s still peaceful enough that I can hear my thoughts,” Reba muttered.
Her statement made Dot think, it’s funny how even in the dense forest, subtlety can still be a distraction. She leaned her weight onto her forearms and watched the sun break over the mountain ridge. Her thoughts wandered back to her childhood vistas—of sunlight cresting over the byzantium peaks of the Coast Range, late morning shadows behind the Astoria bridge...
Reba’s deep voice cut into Dot’s reflections. “You like it here, don’t you?”
Without turning away from the scenery, Dot nodded yes. How could one not like it here? “As do I,” Reba murmured. “And yet, I’d leave it all behind if it meant that, in doing so, I could keep it safe.” Dot turned and looked at Reba with a puzzled expression.
“There’s a storm gathering, Dot. I know it, and I think you know it too. We can’t hide from HighTower much longer.” Reba wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders. “I need to send the scientist south—that much is obvious. But he must leave with a reasonable hope for success. Whether there is any hope or not, I don’t know… He’ll be traveling straight into the viper’s nest.” Reba paused as the sun rose over the tops of the evergreens. She stared trance-like, for some time before continuing, “I need to find someone who has knowledge of the people who live in the United States—someone who’s from there and might have proof of citizenship. I’ll need a person who knows how to read wind and currents—who can make sense of a nautical chart and navigate small boats through open water.” Reba sighed, glancing toward the bedroom where Kai slept and absentmindedly tugged at the blanket around her shoulders. “It’s an extraordinarily difficult choice to make. The security of the Greenwood depends on my decision and the fate of thousands rest on the success of Kim Chen’s mission.” Reba looked at Dot and smiled ruefully. “So, you see? At times, it is no great picnic, being the chief.”
Dot returned her smile and wondered how Reba would reach such a decision. At that moment, she felt sorry for the Greenwood’s leader. There were so few people in the village that could fit her requirements—in fact, Dot could think of no one. The only person who’s ever lived in the United Sta… Wait. Is she thinking—me? Am I who she’s describing? No, no… How could she possibly… I was just a little girl when… and Astoria is—was—a small town back then… What would I know of a city like New Seattle? It didn’t even exist when I lived in the states! Oh no, she can’t be that desperate. Dot stared wide-eyed at Reba and shook her head as the magnitude of what the chief was asking sunk in. Reba returned Dot’s expression with an even gaze, remaining silent for some time. At last she spoke, “I’m going to make us that pot of tea.” Without waiting for a response, Reba crossed the deck and went to fill the kettle.
Dot was too stunned to respond. Her eyes met Monk’s as he perched on the rail. Monk appeared to be observing Dot, his eyes, like black pebbles, stared sidelong—as if waiting for a reaction. The two of them remained frozen in their silent tableau as Reba stoked the pot-belly stove. Movement from the other room shook Dot out of her trance and Kai’s voice emanated from the bedroom. “Who are you talking with this early?” Monk croaked a greeting as Kai emerged. He pulled on his shirt and yawned loudly, addressing their guests, “Sheesh Dottie Rose, what’s got you awake to converse outside my bedroom door so early, ay?” Dot startled at the usage of Chanáa’s nickname for her. Noticing her reaction, Kai said, “Ow, is that a private thing? My bad, I heard Ol’ Pa calling you that. Should I just stick with ‘Dot’ then?” She shook her head, waving his question away. Relieved, Kai grinned, “Y’know, for a gal who has no words, you sure have a lot of names: I hear Táan call you ‘Kijii’ and there’s ‘Dot’ of course, and ‘Dottie Rose’…That’s impressive.” Dot smiled to herself, ahh, but you missed one.
Reba rejoined them, placing a mug in Dot’s hand, she handed another cup to her husband and said, “Dot has many words Kai, one only has to learn how to hear them.” She pulled a chair onto the porch and nodded for Dot to do the same. Then stre
tching out her long legs, she found a sunny spot to place her feet and sighed, wriggling her toes. Kai set his cup down and reached for one of her legs. Sitting with his back against the railing, he gently massaged her foot with both hands. Reba closed her eyes and smiled. “Dot and I were discussing the big journey right before we woke you,” she murmured.
Kai chuckled, “Yeah, I reckon you might have been. It makes sense that you’d pick her.” He set Reba’s foot down and leaned forward, raising his mug. “Chur, Dot! There’s heaps of adventure waiting for you out there. I hear New Seattle’s hard out amazing. I’m jealous.”
Dot was astounded. Why would anyone want to leave the Greenwood and go to New Seattle? Why go looking to get killed? Who needs more “adventure”—when there’s all of this—right here? It wasn’t often that Dot missed having a voice but at that moment she felt like screaming, “I’ve wanted nothing else but to be right here—and now here I am, but you’re asking me to leave!” She blinked back her tears and swallowed the lump in her throat.
Kai studied Dot’s reaction for several seconds, then shifted his gaze toward his wife with a puzzled expression on his face. “She hasn’t given me her answer yet,” Reba whispered, regarding Dot while she sipped her tea.
Dot’s forehead was furrowed in concentration. There were so many reasons why it should not be her: How will I communicate with anyone? How would I know where to lead them? What if we run in to trouble? …If—that’s a riot—of course we will run into “trouble” …We shall be going in search of it. And yet, Dot knew on some level that there must be strong reasons as to why it should be her. She considered the impediments and the many risks, then thought of her new friends. The idea of any harm coming to the Greenwood was unacceptable to her. Why should their lives be put in danger needlessly, when I could help in some way? She took a slow drink of her tea and looked around at the homes nearby, thinking of the families that lived in each of them—families she now called her friends. I was the one wanting new experiences, I guess I should have been more careful what I wished for. Setting the mug down on the railing, she faced Reba and nodded her head then, tapping her chest, she slowly ran her hand against her upturned palm, gesturing toward the south. I’ll take the scientist to New Seattle… somehow.
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