Flight To Pandemonium Page 15

  “So does every shaman. You’re all sinners, so she’s messing with your heads. Your shameful sins are to blame for the death of millions. Heard that yet? I’ll bet you have, first thing outta her mouth. You’re all stained, especially Judy. Wicked, pregnant Judy destined for the fires of hell. The apocalypse is now…God in his vengeance, and soon all will be judged. Do I have that right?”

  “Blasphemy! The devil incarnate! Just look at him!” shouted Sister Helena.

  “Blasphemy… shit!” Tlingit shook his fist at the nun. “The People’ve heard that ever since you devils invaded this land. Well, no more…things have changed. Soon, the wolves will have ya’ but the People will live forever; time for Tlingit payback! You’ll all starve this winter, you’re so helpless, especially Andrew. He wants to bring on disaster to save the planet. But Andrew doesn’t buy Helena’s guilt because he’s got his own god… himself. Cap isn’t onto his moves, yet. Life’s a bitch and then ya die. Andrew wants it that way!”

  “I think it’s time you left,” said Ted, glowering.

  “Ha! Look at me! Do you think I’m stayin’? I’m going back to my people. I wouldn’t help the likes of you anyway. Couldn’t trust you walking behind me. Some of you think Ted’s your buddy, but Ted’s found new friends… looking out for himself.”

  “Just leave,” yelled Ted.

  The Captain stood, but remained silent and distant.

  “When I’m ready, but maybe I should take her with me,” and he reached toward Judy. Immediately, Ted jumped to intercept Tlingit’s extended hand. In a whirl of arms and feet, Tlingit planted a devastating blow onto the center of Ted’s chest with a resounding thwack.

  Ted collapsed in a heap. Both miners jumped up separating left and right, starring at Tlingit but wary of making a move toward the agile man. Facing Tony, Tlingit said, “I wouldn’t hurt you, old man. You’re the only one here worth respectin’. The rest of ‘em are going to need your help ‘cause they can’t take care of themselves. I’ll leave Judy with you or her baby will die. But keep her safe from that wicked woman,” pointing toward the Sister Helena. “She has evil plans for Judy ‘cause she won’t kiss ass.” Without another word, Tlingit strode out of camp heading east.

  Recovering his breath at last, Ted gasped, “Thanks for the help, fellas.”

  “Ted… get a grip, you damned fool,” replied Jack leaving him to recover on his own. The other men remained silent.

  The women huddled together, chattering with Judy while the nuns whispered. Judy left them to prepare another pot of tea. The nuns glowered.

  “Did you know that man?” asked William.

  The Captain sighed. “Yes. He came with us. Let’s just get back to work. A cold storm is coming soon and we need provisions. We can be ready if we all work together for the rest of the day.”

  Mac was surprised at the Captain’s tepid reaction. Another unpleasant conflict; another member of the group departed. He didn’t miss Craig in the least, but Tlingit provided most of the fresh food for camp. Tlingit was remarkably insightful about Sister Helena and Andrew. Another revelation was mention of Judy’s pregnancy. If true, how had he known? Mac was certain Judy never mentioned it.

  But if Tlingit truly harbored vengeance, maybe leaving was best. The prized hatchet no longer seemed important.

  William went fly fishing while Mac spent the day experimenting with small creeks driving the fish downstream and into his gill net. They brought back a bounty of cleaned fish to add to the larder. As a young moose charged Jack, Tony shot it with the pistol. The miners dressed and hung the animal from the head structure. Others stacked firewood under the wing and tarp. Every berry that could be found was potted and cooked.

  By evening rolling storm clouds extended to the horizon. Following dinner, the wind shifted blowing slanting rain. The women retreated to the airplane cabin. Andrew and Greg joined them, each dragging in an airplane seat. Judy and Mac never had their private conversation.

  The cold rain forced the men to gather under the wing behind its wind-breaker tarp. The stone hearth fire blazed with bright coals, but even the broad wings of the airplane could no longer protect the fire from the slanting rain. Jack and Tony reinforced the tent and dug a trench around the perimeter to drain away the runoff.

  Eight men prepared for a cold night, gathering whatever cover they could find. They used a tarp spread across them all, trapping a layer of body heat.

  Fatigue and the drumming rain on the metal wing put Mac directly to sleep. He was awakened during the night and looked out to hailstones the size of marbles bounded chaotically against the metal.

  Ted, disturbing by dreams, mumbled and tossed, disturbing everyone. Richard was so cold and discomfited by the storm that he tried to sleep sitting upright in a corner of the tent with his boots on. Finally by early morning, the weather settled down to allow a few hours of peaceful sleep.

  16

  Green Gulch near Rampart, October 2nd. Pug reluctantly returned to his radio. He hadn’t listened to news for a week. He scanned broadcast bands hoping to find optimistic news. Instead, the reports were terrible. The airwaves were filled with frightening stories of rampaging riots, looting, urban firestorms, and the collapse of all medical care and public safety. Countless millions around the world had died.

  Pug was glad to hear of nationwide quarantines. But little was promised beyond enforced isolation… certainly nothing realistic, he thought.

  While government was on the verge of failure, his powerhouse continued to throb every afternoon with the same reliable heartbeat of a quarter century. Such steadfastness was reassuring.

  This late in the season, prudence dictated shortening his generating time as in the past. But regular messages from central dispatch ordered him to maintain full schedule. He decided to contact Charlie in the morning and press for a reasonable reduction.

  Meanwhile, Pug listened for his long established ham radio contacts. Instead of the intense clutter of a week ago, he found mostly silence. After long listening on the two-meter band, he finally heard a familiar voice.

  “Hey Pug… damned good to hear from you. You okay?”

  “Yea, Fred… got sick, but not that kind of sick. I’m better.”

  “Believe what’s goin’ on? Scary! Had your ears on?”

  “No, only just now. Things have gone to hell in a hand basket. Hard to believe everything I hear. All the crazies of the world have been turned loose on the rest of us. Things just keep gettin’ worse. Sure glad I’m not living in Fairbanks.”

  “Got that right. Damn glad I don’t have any neighbors and I’m keeping it that way. Had to chase a coupla’ crazies away from here. Best not to say what I did over the sparks, but you get the idea. How ‘bout you?”

  “Just had some nasty bad guys myself. I coughed in their face. That sent ‘em away quick. How’re the wife and kids faring in all this? Must be harvest season for you by now.” Fred’s family were low-bush cranberry farmers in the Yukon River Valley far to the west.

  “Kids are fine. Happy we’re not sending ‘em away to school. Wife’s upset. Her sister and the whole family got sick. Haven’t heard a word recently and we fear the worst. She’s working day and night preparing for winter. We’ve already had a good frost. Harvest came early, but we’re not sending anything to market this year. Too risky for the family, I think. Pro’bly couldn’t get there anyway. Can’t raise our flat boat driver on the radio to tell him.”

  “Yea, then there’s the hijackings. Trucking isn’t safe either from what I hear.”

  “We’re pulling in our horns. Canning everything we can. Not a cup left to pour my Scotch. Gladys and her mother are making pemmican and mash. Hadn’t made any for years. I’m not a bit fond of it and hope life doesn’t come to that. Keeps her mind off things, I guess. But who knows? Her mother thinks winter is going to be early here and
she knows how to read this country. Can’t possibly preserve all the berries we grew. I left the rest on the bush to dry and freeze, just in case. But the bears are coming in a horde. I’m about to take a coupla nice fat young ‘uns for the meat.

  “Pug, you going to winter over where you are… considering?”

  “I want to, but I didn’t bring enough food and they’re already a month overdue on my resupply. I’m into emergency rations, but I don’t have enough for the winter. Might know something more in the morning, but I’m stayin’ put for now. No time to get on the road. I’ll figure somethin’ out. Your berry talk gave me an idea.”

  “Then, you’re still turning out those watts?”

  “Yea, I’m still cranked up, but that won’t last much longer. Truth be told, I think the whole damned grid is about to crash. Wouldn’t be a bit surprised if I got tripped off tonight. From the sound of things, the grid won’t likely come back up soon. Sure wouldn’t want to be living in Fairbanks with all those whackos in a blackout.”

  “Pug, for the first time in my life, I actually feel sorry for some of my former friends… you know the ones I mean… my church friends. Wouldn’t trade places for anything. I’m a happy man and if this all has to end, I’m in the company of the finest people I could have chosen in life. I’m going to do my best to carry on with them.”

  Fred had confided in Pug after years of trusting conversations. Fred had fallen in love with Gladys, ten years his junior and not yet twenty. She became pregnant. Given her age and the fact that she was a native Koyukon in the care of the Catholic parish, a bitter scandal followed.

  The couple fled to the interior to live with her relatives escaping hostility like so many Alaskans before them. Given his own combative childhood, Pug could well appreciate their story. He was glad they had close company of one another. This family would be enduring survivors, if anyone would, he thought.

  Fred signed off by saying, “Keep in touch when you can. I get lonely out here… we can arrange a regular time to talk to save batteries if need be.”

  “We’ll do that, but I have a bank of fresh backup batteries even after shut down. Good luck to you. By the way… I’ve never picked a wild cranberry in my life. What’s the chance of my finding some up here in the foothills?”

  “Real good. Other kinds, too. Pug… berries grow nearly everywhere in Alaska where black bears live. Look in the glades. You can’t miss ‘em. Now’s the best season when they’re ripe and succulent. Watch the bears and they’ll lead you to the berries. But, Pug…chase away the black bears first. You do know the difference between a black bear and a grizzly, don’t you? If not, climb a tree and watch.” Pug thought he heard a titter creep into Fred’s voice. “If the bear climbs up after you, it’s a black bear. If the bear pushes the tree over, it’s a grizzly… I’m out.”

  The radio conversation prompted a change in Pug’s thinking. Fred’s family was squarely facing reality. Fred preserved his serenity of mind with humor.

  Pug had not. Instead, he tried to diminish every aspect of the crisis save those affecting the operation of his power plant. The reality was that his cherished comfort and security were rapidly winding down. He must to come to grips with survival.

  Hours later, Pug made a sweep of the powerhouse. Something wasn’t altogether right. He put his ear directly against the thick steel housing of a Pelton wheel. Having listened in similar fashion countless times, he could hear a subtle difference in the sound of the spinning machinery. He went outside and watched the foaming tailrace. The water was definitely discolored with mud, although a visitor would never have detected any change.

  That cinched the matter! He was shutting down immediately before gravel entered the system. Now, they could bloody well call him! Half an hour later, the plant was silent. He wondered if that was how it would be… forever.

  Pug rose early in the morning, having slept poorly, dreaming about… he couldn’t remember what, exactly. It happened repeatedly during his lifetime whenever his mind churned with an unresolved problem. It was time to put his mind to storing food.

  His emergency rations would last another month… six weeks, if he was careful. But he needed food for at least four months. Berries would help… and fish were always plentiful in the tailrace pond. He didn’t have tackle… but he could make a net…

  The alarm for his radio phone screamed for attention in the silent powerhouse. Pug put on his headset and answered.

  “Pug… Charlie, here. We’re dealing with a few problems, but we’re back for what it’s worth.”

  Pug thought the comment was strange coming from Charlie. “Then you must know I’m down. Pro’bly for the season. What’s up on your end?”

  “Blackout, last night… the whole frikkin’ map. No grid. No fuel. The city is on my back as if I’d brought it on myself. So why are you down, exactly?”

  “I’m draining mud. We pushed too hard, too long. Fore bay might recharge some, but there’s been no rain to speak of, so there won’t be much runoff. Coupla hours of runnin’ solitary, maybe not even that. Can’t promise anything. I’m running blind.”

  “Hardly worth…” Charlie interrupted with a spasm of deep coughing.

  “Hey… you don’t sound good. You okay?” Pug was alarmed by the ominous coughing… and Charlie wasn’t usually so… flippant.

  “No, God help us! It’s got us all… last night. We’re all sick.”

  “That fast… everyone at once? How’s that?”

  “We flew in a tech to reboot the computer. His helicopter pilot was exposed, slept over with us to bring the guy back, and realized he was sick during the night… too late for the rest of us.”

  “That’s awful… I’m sorry for you, I really am…”

  “Haven’t really come to grips, yet… but thanks. I just keep at it. I guess getting sick was inevitable when we all kept working together with so many other people. Wasn’t the right priority for any of us personally, but somehow, we couldn’t just walk off and leave…” Deeper coughing interrupted Charlie.

  “Our pompous mayor just called me. Didn’t give a damn that we were all sick, just wanted his power. Told us that we’d caused riots in his city all night with the blackout. Wasn’t going to happen again or he’d come over and take charge. I told him to come right on over, take a deep breath of our stale air and be reborn. Hung up on me. You may remember he’s both politician and preacher. Your favorite kinda people, Pug.”

  “God save us! Charlie… if you’re still talkin’ business… what now?”

  “Pug… if you tried spinning again, you’d just trip off. Way too much load to hold the voltage, even for priority circuits. You’re the only one left. There’s no point for just a few hours anyway… ‘Cept to piss off the mayor, maybe.”

  “It’d be worth it. Anything more you got for me?”

  “Just hang in for a few more days. Maybe my successor will care.”

  “Then, Charlie, I’ve got to ask one more favor even though you’re sick. I’m down to rations. Any chance of that resupply?”

  “Pug, I know you’re not here in town to see the situation, but there’s no more chance of that happening than of my making it through this. Sorry… you’re on your own, man… and so am I. God help us both.”

  “I haven’t prayed for nothin’ since my dear mother passed away, but I will for you, Charlie.”

  “Good luck to you, Pug… I’m gone,” and there was silence.

  Pug was stunned! ‘Gone.’ His close was just habit, but shocking… and for the first time, from someone he knew well. An upwelling sadness for Charlie and all of his colleagues overwhelmed his calm. What now, he wondered?

  His own existence had reached a watershed. With tears in his eyes for the first time since his mother’s funeral, he boiled a pot of tea and sat back to think. He had two obvious tasks to perform…
secure the power plant and find food. His mother would have insisted that he complete the plant as his first priority. But now duty could wait with little consequence. Gathering food came first in this new life.

  Several small brooks trickled erratically through the broad powerhouse enclosure. Prodigious summer rain greened a vast area within and without, inspiring the name “Green Gulch.” Pug frequently watched black bears foraging outside the fence. True to his friend’s advice, Pug spent the remainder of the day easily collecting bucket after bucket of wild cranberries and blackberries wherever he had seen bears feeding.

  The tailrace pond surrounded by reeds and cattails provided an unequaled habitat for propagating trout. Each afternoon, the powerhouse portals delivered a recharge of oxygenated water along with a bounty of natural food for the fish. Swept down the penstock from the fore bay, insects, small amphibians and a few crustaceans were forced through the high pressure nozzles and pulverized against the Pelton wheels into ideal fish meal.

  Consequently, the trout grew fat, lethargic, and thrived in prodigious numbers for such a small pond. They rarely pursued their naturally vigorous prey. Instead they nibbled drifting shredded scraps. Only an occasional night raccoon or rare fish hawk hunting after the thundering turbines were silent posed any threat. Strict regulation prevented any intruders.

  Standing on the boardwalk, peering over the reeds into the pond, Pug wondered if God had reserved its waters just for him. At first, netting trout was fool’s work. When the fish finally grew wary of Pug’s movement, he came up empty-handed. As enticement, he chopped entrails and grubs into bait, and caught four dozen fat trout by noon.

  Later that afternoon Pug watched a young caribou calf stumble into the fenced service yard from an overhanging ledge, uninjured and lively. Pug decided to lasso the calf, sparing his three precious rifle cartridges.