Ninety Degrees Out
Chapter Thirty

Catherine jumped when the door slammed open behind her. Sitting in the ham shack, she listened to the steady traffic on the emergency frequency.

“Sorry Cat, that door gets away from me every time I come in here.” Jett Stroman dropped into one of the other chairs in the room.

“I’m jumpier than a frog in mating season,” Catherine said. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get over it. Even seeing the grave at Markham’s doesn’t make me feel any safer.”

“I was up to see my sister and she’s not much better. I wish this had never happened,” Jett grumbled as he switched frequencies on the VHF radio.

“Who are you trying to get hold of?”

“Sarge. Erik needs to talk to him and wants to know if there’s time for him to get into town. He’s taking a couple of the other hands by horseback. It’s going to be a three day trip. Twenty miles cross country.”

“Has he found more evidence of gangs around the ranch?”

“He wouldn’t say, but he’s scrounging for ammo. Also looking for hunting and survival knives.”

“You make your call. I’m monitoring the volcano watch.”

Catherine listened as he talked to Sarge. The man was the last arm of the law left in Anchorage. A handful of troopers stayed with him, keeping the worst of the marauding looters at bay. Orders to shoot to kill authorized by the US president had put a stop to most of the illegal activity, especially when Canada had rescinded their ultra tight gun laws to reflect the same concerns. Mexico’s army joined forces with the US military to make most of Western America one geo-political bloc.

The countries in Eastern America, also joined forces, including the Latin Americans in their union. The Panama Canal was the dividing line, and neutral to everything else going on between two mega caldera volcanoes. So far, the tremors surrounding them only reflected magma activity as it bubbled to the surface. In almost three months since the flip, only the Russian volcano Klyuch erupted covering most of Siberia in ash. The prevailing winds carried most of it over Europe.

Earthquakes continued to carve new costal lines as ocean side cities dropped into the water with destressing regularity. Scientists were divided on how long the activity would continue. Growing seasons in most of the Earth’s breadbasket countries were disrupted, with only the prairies and plains of Western America continuing to plant. And then only with the help of revived pre-combustion engine antiques.

Catherine shook the depressing thoughts out of her head. On the ranch fruit trees planed from the seeds harvest from their last oranges, apples and pears were flourishing. So were mango and guava trees. Someone had stuck slices of an old rotten banana in several pots, and seedlings were ready to be put in the rich soil of melted tundra.

Ariel Hiller, rescued on Kanti’s last flight before fuel rationing left her grounded, brought more medicines and a precious horde of vegetable seeds. Catherine heard the story from Killika when they flew in on the next to last flight for the Caravan. Avgas was in short supply, even though Alberta refineries were producing at top capacity. Fuel for bush planes was rationed in strict adherence to a schedule allowing for rescue missions first.

For some reason, the world wasn’t as worried about clean fuel sources anymore. Especially since the entire low lying oilfields in Saudi Arabia were under water. Dubai’s luxury man made islands disappeared in the first tsunami after Indonesia’s huge quake. Madagascar and Sri Lanka were washed clean of most of their populations.

Ariel Hiller was a rescue mission. Catherine knew Fairbanks and the lovely hot pools just on the edge of town well. A favorite summertime hangout whenever she had a chance between hunting groups and volcano studies, she went there to enjoy the naturally heated mineral water.

Ariel lived in the hills behind the springs, her three bedroom log house overlooking the valley. Cut off from Fairbanks by newly formed creeks flooding the roads she waited patiently for her son and his father in law to come. An out of control gang of teenaged marauders roared up the creek on jet skis, shooting her windows. She ducked out of the back door, disappearing into the greenhouse, and hiding behind huge bags of mulch, potting soil, and manure, saved her.

The glass shattered around her, and when the kids set the house on fire, she cried. Shivering in shock, she stayed there memorizing the faces who stole her home from her. It was three days before Oisin found her, calling her name desperately, he searched the burnt out house before following Dasan out to the decimated greenhouse.

They heard her moans, as they clambered through piles of crumbled tempered glass. None of her carefully horded preserved food, seeds, and medical supplies were lost. Her cold room was safe, under the trap door concealed by ash an ash covered, blackened polar bear rug.

As Ariel said, “Nothing but a bunch of idiots. Out of control, kids. We had a few fatalities in that quake. It cut the springs off. No more hot pool. My guess is the kids are just old enough to be considered able to take care of themselves. Couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. I’ll never forget their faces.”

“Jett, have you heard anymore about these teenagers running in gangs?”

“No, but I think it’s part of what Erik wants to talk to Sarge about. Ariel and I have been working on sketches of the ones she saw. Personally, losing my parents would make me a wreck. I guess kids are more self reliant up here, but still no rules and limits, look what we get.”

“Would you stay with me?” Catherine asked. “I’m still not comfortable being alone out here. I can do it, but I get the shakes.”

“Teach me about these radios. I’ve never considered them necessary, but now? I want to learn.”

Catherine chuckled, loving Jett’s toothy answering grin. “I’m the wrong one to ask. I just listen to hear what’s going on with the volcanoes. Sometimes I hear stuff from in Anchorage on the one you used to call Sarge. You need to ask Hakan or Chay. Their dad is the real expert.”

Jett pulled his sketch pad out of the satchel he carried with him everywhere he went.

“Do you recognize any of these kids?”

“That one for sure. Her family owned the lodge down from the springs by Ariel’s place.” Catherin said. “Her picture’s been in the local paper more than once.”

“The whole resort slid down the hill side in the quake. She might be the only survivor, from what Ariel said.”

“God help us. She’s been trouble for years. Out of control. She was in Juneau twice in juvenile detention. Stealing stuff from guests, beating up kids. Her name is Angel.” Catherine snorted. “Angel of Chaos is what her mom used to call her.”

“She’s a minor, how did she get in the paper?”

“Her mother had her declared incorrigible by the courts. Angel was a day away from being a permanent ward of the state. She was head to Juneau until she turned eighteen. She’s only fourteen now.”

“One more to watch out for. She’s going to take what she wants, whatever it takes.” Jett flipped the page and handed the book to Catherine. “Take a look at the rest of these brats.”