Calm Act Box Set (Books 1-3)

by Ginger Booth

  “Yes,” I agreed. “I felt sure you’d gone into upstate New York after we met in Alburg?”

  “Yes, the Adirondacks are lovely,” Jean-Claude agreed.

  “So you’ve crossed at least three closed borders since last we met.”

  “Oh, more than that.”

  I pondered how to ask what exactly Canada’s intent was. But that might be as meaningless a question as what the U.S. government’s intent was. Zack’s comment came to mind, about the U.S. military and the alphabet soup of Federal agencies as just a mob of citizens with differing opinions. I eventually came up with, “How is Canada doing these days, have you heard?”

  “Oh, very well, I hear,” Jean-Claude replied. “Canada is not overpopulated. The weather, the blight, they are problems. They deal with it. I hear they consider adding a southern tier of provinces. Minnesota, Wisconsin.”

  “Really,” said Zack. “And northern New England?”

  “I think that these states have not asked,” replied Jean-Claude. “Too many states at once is too much, anyway. Like the snake eating an elephant! But, Vermont, New Hampshire, Maine – these states are smaller in population than Michigan, or northern New York, for example. Those are very big, compared to Canada. The snake would rupture, to eat such an elephant.”

  “I imagine Canada is concerned about what’s going on down here,” I prodded.

  “Mm, Canada thinks there are war crimes,” Jean-Claude allowed. “And Canada had a safe border to the south always before. Now not so much. We must adjust to the weather, yes?”

  “We try,” breathed Zack.

  “But the gran caravan is not Canada,” Jean-Claude stressed. “The caravan, it has other goals. Sometimes these goals align. Friends work together, yes? To friendship!”

  “To friendship!” we all agreed.

  True to plan, only the most circuitous route was cleared of snowbanks for car traffic from the I-95 exit into Totoket. The route wove through strategic armed bottlenecks at bridges and railroad overpasses. After driving about four miles for every one a crow flies from the interstate, Zack parked my car back where it began, in the cache trading post parking lot on Route 1.

  Zack gentlemanly shouldered my bags, and pointed to the raggedly trodden path into the neighborhood, behind the trading post building. He let me clamber my way through about 25 feet of this non-path first, pretty much trying to step into the deep holes left by other people’s steps. The snow had melted slightly during the days and re-frozen at night, for a wickedly sharp ice crust. In the dark, I mostly found my next toe holds by patting around with my mittens. I was exhausted and I’d drunk one too many fingers of brandy at Jean-Claude’s, though that was wearing off.

  Then Zack commented, “It’s 1 a.m. It’s two blocks to my house, ten blocks to yours. You’re welcome to sleep over my house.” He waited a moment, then added, “Was that suave?”

  “Irresistible,” I assured him. “Thank you, I’d love to sleep at your house. You’ve been planning this all the way from Wallingford, haven’t you?”

  “Emmett tells me I need to be more suave, to catch a better class of woman.”

  “Emmett doesn’t think I’m a better class of woman.”

  “Emmett likes you,” he assured me. “He was trying to drive a wedge between us, so he could make a play.”

  I laughed. About 20 feet further along, the boot-hole path spewed me out into a clear, wide plowed walkway down a block of front lawns – across the grass, not the sidewalk or pavement. “Does this go all the way to my house?” I accused.

  “No. I cleared this for my cow and goats to exercise. Watch out for manure.” I turned to glare at him. He laughed. “I’ll go first.” He turned on his phone as a flashlight, which at least kept us out of the cow patties. Mostly. We had to clamber through a ragged snow path again to reach his perfectly-cleared front porch. Apparently Zack wanted to discourage the livestock from lazing around on the porch.

  And once again I stood dripping in Zack’s tidy entry-way. I pulled off my grubby coat and snowy boots, as he did. I contemplated my jeans, crusted to the thigh in ice and snow.

  “Uh, normally I just…” Zack attempted.

  I peeled off my snow-stiff jeans and soggy socks, and held out an arm matter-of-factly to collect his. Anyone with sense would strip all that here instead of traipsing snow into the house. “Where’s your laundry?”

  He pointed. “I’ll bring you a robe.” We both padded off bare-legged, him to his bedroom and me to the laundry. It wasn’t that risqué. We both wore layered shirts, and the lights were dim. The house was cool, but my legs were splotched red and itchy from the cold outside.

  As I got the washing machine running, Zack joined me in the laundry. He’d changed into ragg socks and a black-and-grey striped robe that looked vaguely Scandinavian. He held a basket of laundry, with a cotton robe and more ragg socks on top for me.

  “I got this kimono on Okinawa for Delilah,” he explained. “They assured me it was the right size for a big woman. ‘Big’ is relative, I guess.”

  I laughed as I shook out the folds. It was a perfect fit for me, and far too small for Zack’s sister Delilah. “Yukata wa kirei desu,” I assured him in Japanese. “It’s called a yukata, not a kimono. It’s gorgeous.” Orange hibiscus, white cranes, and stylized wisps of golden cloud, with metallic highlights, cavorted across a field of hot pink. I couldn’t imagine Delilah wearing anything so exuberantly cheerful. On Okinawa, this was a summer party dress for a teenager, not a house robe for a grown woman.

  Zack set to feeding the rest of his laundry into the machine. I turned away, pulled off my shirts and bra, slid into the yukata, and slipped my panties to the pile at my feet. Holding the yukata closed with one hand, I pulled apart the rest of my clothes, plucked them up, and added them into the washing machine.

  Zack was staring at me. He appeared to have forgotten what he was doing.

  “There should be a belt, that goes with the yukata,” I suggested, to reboot his mental processes. I dug into his laundry basket, hanging at his hip, and pulled the rest of his laundry into the already-gurgling sudsy machine, and closed the lid.

  “Ah,” he said. He thoughtfully ran his hand up the underside of my arm, and drew a belt out of the yukata sleeve. His hand left gooseflesh along its path. “This one?”

  “How clever. I missed that. Thank you.”

  “Do you, um, want some tea? Or something? You must be exhausted.” He reached out a finger to tuck my hair behind an ear.

  “I may be getting a second wind.” The humor and sensuality of the situation were getting to me, actually. “What I could really use is a quick shower before bed, if you don’t mind. It’s been four days.”

  “Sure.” He pointed in the direction of the bathroom. “So, how was the ark?” he finally asked.

  “Amazing. They made it out of an aircraft carrier. They turned the flight deck into the most gorgeous hydroponic greenhouse. The brig was surprisingly cordial and spacious. The normal berths were sardine cans. On the whole, I’m glad I don’t live there.”

  Zack laughed, then his gaze turned smoky. “Dee, I’m not sure how to ask this…”

  “I didn’t sleep with Adam. We broke it off. He belongs at sea. I belong here. Is that what you wanted to ask?”

  “Yes. Partly.” He drew me to him hard and kissed me deeply. “I wasn’t asking about Adam,” he clarified, nose to nose, after he broke off the kiss.

  “Hmm,” I said, and rubbed noses side to side. “You meant to ask about Zack.”

  “Zack and Dee,” he clarified. He held me more firmly waist to waist. The other hand pulled my head hard to his collarbone. He whispered in my ear, “Are we having sex tonight? Or going to sleep?” As an after-comment, he licked the lobe of my ear. “Because I’d really love to make love to you tonight.”

  Good idea, said my ear, and the whole body attached to it, in a delicious shiver. But needs must. “I’m not having sex tonight, without a shower first,” I clarified, pushing ba
ck from him. “You’re careful. I like that. Wanna come scrub my back?”

  “Sure…”

  I was home safe in his arms. As safe as I could be anywhere anymore, for a little while.

  23

  Interesting fact: Earth’s climate has never been stable. Human civilization emerged during an interglacial period only about 12,000 years old. Since then, there have been significant climate shifts, little ice ages, warm periods, civilization-destroying droughts, and shifting coastlines.

  Emmett called in his marker on dinner a couple weeks later. By then, late February, the deep snow had all melted away under heavy rains. Then we’d had a few 60-degree sunny spring-like days. I hoped it was just the February fake-spring thaw – a little bit of warm weather, when everyone went out to play in shorts and tank tops and caught colds, then winter resumed. But it was not to be. That winter was truly over already, traded in for a long unpredictable spring with several hard freezes, that played havoc with the fruit tree orchards. Anyway, the roads were clear again.

  Emmett invited all his community coordinators to the dinner, to make a regular meeting of the event. This was a smaller group than I’d imagined. Given that Zack’s turf was only part of Totoket, and there were 16 towns, including the city of New Haven, under Emmett’s purview, I would have expected more like 40 coordinators. In fact, they’d started with 10, plus Emmett, and only added one more so far. Like Zack, most had selected small strategic areas to build out from. Most neighborhoods had only what their townships could organize to deal with the new circumstances.

  A dozen people is still an awful lot of guests for dinner. My little house was packed. The dining table served as a buffet, with chairs pushed against the walls to seat everybody. Once I’d carted out all the food, I took a plate and sat by Vito, the new guy. After New Year’s, Zack and Emmett recruited him, the leader of Adam’s beachfront security in East Haven, and encouraged him to expand his turf. To their discomfort, Vito rapidly expanded his operation all the way north to I-95, including Route 1 across East Haven and the whole downtown area, with the enthusiastic support of the town.

  “Seems like you and me are the odd ones out here,” I said to Vito with a smile, as he scooted over on a storage bench to make room for me. Emmett and Zack looked over with interest.

  Vito nodded uncomfortably, and glanced around the ex-military types surrounding us. He was a powerfully built man in his mid-40’s, with craggy features, his hair and 6 o’clock stubble still black with just a few strands of steel grey. “It’s been good, though,” he said. “We wouldn’t have bothered organizing East Haven without these guys’ encouragement. So you’re with Zack? I thought there was a Dee Baker with Adam Lacey, over in my area?”

  I was impressed. Vito paid attention to people. “I dated Adam and Zack both, yeah. But Adam’s gone to sea now. You’re married?” He had a fat gold ring on the appropriate finger.

  “Yeah, 26 years. Brenda was my high school sweetheart.” He grinned broadly, still clearly infatuated with Brenda after all these years. “She got pregnant. So I dropped out and went to work for the Boss, because I needed the money. It’s been good. You?”

  I shrugged. “I’m a web developer. Probably turn into a farmer this year, though.”

  Emmett rose and rang his glass with a fork to get everyone’s attention, and call the meeting to order. “Our thanks to Dee Baker, Zack’s pretty lady, for this most excellent feed!” Round of applause. “I’ve got some announcements and news to start the meeting.

  “First off, the gran caravan is staying indefinitely. The good news is that they’ll help defend us against the procurement details from the borders. They’ve already driven off one raid. They’re heavily armed, and good at it. The bad news, of course, is that they need to be fed, too. Colonel Mora over in Middlesex has been negotiating with the border commanders, and with the Coast Guard down in Groton, over how much food we need to deliver to support the border forces and stop their raids. And we need a deal to pay for electricity somehow, and town services. Looks like 15%, more if we have a bad year. The city of New Haven needs food, too, so that’ll be like 25% in the townships.”

  Ouch. From my work with the agricultural planning committee, I knew that was more than the margin we hoped for, and probably weren’t going to get. The meeting broke into a number of discussions, talking about how they might extract that much food from people who didn’t have enough. Vito applied himself to his dinner beside me.

  “Does East Haven have an agricultural production plan?” I asked him. I didn’t recall having seen a single farm in his half of East Haven.

  “Nope,” confirmed Vito. “I’m not so good at math, but I think 25% of nothing, is nothing. Lots of gardens, and we’ll get food in trade, though. Business is good. If people have anything, they’re willing to spend it on what the Boss offers. And we’ve got some legit industries. Cheese factory. We’re trying to get more cows, to supply the cheese factory. Graze them on the baseball fields.”

  “You’ve got a cheese factory! Can they make cheddar? Can they do small batches? Zack has a cow and some goats.”

  “They make mozzarella, ricotta. Oh, and provolone. Yeah, if they can make provolone, maybe they could make cheddar, I dunno. They wouldn’t do small batches. He’d just add his milk to the big batch, and get a share of the cheese back. I think there’s another mozzarella maker up in North Haven, maybe some others.”

  Dishes were starting to perch precariously on corners. I hurriedly swallowed a couple last bites and got up to clear. “When you get a line on cows, Vito, please let Zack know, or Caruso Farms. We’d love more cows over here, too.”

  He nodded, with a smile. “Great way to turn lawns we can’t eat, into food,” he agreed, and handed me his finished plate.

  Zack added another half dozen dishes to the kitchen counter for me as I loaded the first round I’d collected into the dishwasher. He nuzzled my ear from behind and squeezed an arm around my waist. “Great job, Baker. Everybody envies me now.”

  “Thank you, thank you. They’d better have liked it, this cleared out my larder for the week.”

  Emmett butted in, eye on Zack’s arm around me. “Made friends with Vito, did you, Dee?”

  I nodded. “He’s nice.”

  “He’s a Mafia enforcer,” Emmett said, eyes narrowed. “They’re into drugs, gambling, and prostitution, darlin’. Wouldn’t have thought that was your kind of thing.”

  “He’s running half a town, now,” I countered. “Zack, they’ve got a cheese factory, and they’re getting more cows.” Emmett was still looking at me, so I added, “It takes all kinds, Emmett. You guys, the gran caravan, the Navy, who knows what’s out there. It’s not up to us to say who’s got the right solution. We make friends with people who share common interests, people going our way. I think it’s great you added Vito.”

  “Huh,” he said, and wandered back out into the discussions. Zack gave me a quick peck and waded back in, too.

  I mostly stuck to the kitchen while they handled business, and tackled the pans and dishes that wouldn’t fit in the machine. Several other coordinators wandered in to talk to me briefly, or just to grab some more water. Most of tonight’s guests assured me of how much happier Zack looked with me around. I smiled gratefully at them, and silently vowed not to repeat the Zack’s-little-woman act anytime soon.

  After another hour of this, Emmett and Zack showed them the door. “Is it safe to come out yet?” I called.

  Emmett, not Zack, popped into the kitchen doorway. “Sure, darlin’. No need to play Mrs. Zack anymore. It’s high time I got my inventory. Show me what you’ve got. All of it.”

  No, Emmett wasn’t likely to forget about that part. I sighed, wiped my hands dry, and sat them in the living room for the big screen treatment. The raw weather data. The satellite feeds. FEMA. CDC. Border action reports. Censored news stories and video footage. Current population estimates – I’d easily found that on FEMA, once I knew there was an official target. Canadian agricul
tural forecasts, the latest on Russia’s southern front –

  “What was that?” Emmett had me back up.

  “Russia nuked the Middle East?” I asked for confirmation, and backed up, to show him a few clips of the Al Jazeera coverage. “Yeah, Russia got tired of waiting for Europe to bottle up Global Jihad from the west. They nuked Damascus, Teheran, and Kabul. It’s like something out of the Inquisition now in Europe. Muslims either have to convert to Christianity and swear off Allah, or hit the road toward Mecca. It’s illegal to speak Arabic or own a Koran in the E.U. now.” I flipped to a clip of dusky women in Paris, wearing head scarves, being stoned in the street. “Russia said the E.U. either got rid of the Muslims, or Russia would come in and do it for them.”

  “It’s not our war anymore, Emmett,” Zack reminded him softly. I remembered he’d served with Emmett in Estonia, holding back the Russians. They’d both had tours in the Muslim battlefields as well.

  “Shit,” said Emmett, and rubbed his face hard. “Yeah. Guess not.”

  I changed the subject. “At our sponsor’s request, Amenac now has a few limited access subsites, like the real satellite feeds.” I showed him that. “I’ve already given you and Zack access to that one. You should probably give it to all your captains, but no one below that level. Niedermeyer has it, too, of course. The Feds weren’t feeding the Coast Guard and Navy true weather data, and they need that.”

  “Who is ‘our sponsor’?” Emmett demanded.

  He wasn’t happy when I told him the Canadian government owned us now.

  And so on. It was a long evening, but eventually Emmett achieved information glut.

  At the door, he said, “We just scratched the surface of what you’ve got tonight, didn’t we? I’ll be back, Dee.”

  And he was, often.

  “Dee, could we talk?” Shelley asked. She’d come up behind me while I plugged the final wave of cabbage transplants into the ground in April. “Brought you some iced tea.”