His and Hurricanes of the Future Pt. 13

EDITOR’s NOTE

This is the 13th in a series. For best experience read it sequentially starting at Pt. 1. Click on the His and Hurricanes button on the website for the others.

SCENE: Prosby was on his way due west to get to the Underground where Burneese was being held. Burneese had been found guilty of the trumped up charges and sentenced to death.

***

Burneese was popular, had lots of friends inside and outside of government. She got the highest grade meals because of her friendship with those in the kitchen. Instead of the dried spiced meat and smashed potatoes, she ate like a Queen, yeast rolls, turnips and collards and mushroom and leak soup.

Meat was rare and unwanted these days. Most of it was potted or jerked and at least 20 years old. Vegetables were both the mainstay and the delicacy as people mastered the art of hydroponic gardening and experimented with crossbred seedlings. For desert she had kiwi and raspberries.

Although confined to a small cell, she had two hours in an open space with televisions and music-makers. If you were really lucky you might snag a HelmVirt or HV. It was a helmet which you could put on for many virtual reality experiences. You could put it on and be on a beach in Hawaii in your mind. The HV’s were given to reward the “good inmates.” Of course Burneese, a big fan of vintage cop shows, used her connections to get an HV.

“Why do you get that, bitch?” A large woman with a hateful look, squinting eyes and snot tattoos, approached Burneese. In the old days ex-convicts could be easily spotted with their prison tats: Lettering between the knuckles; a tear drop on the face under the eye. Now snot tattoos which came with shiny ink looked like a trail of green and yellow snot dripping to one’s lip.

“I have permission.” Burnsee gave her a convict’s staredown.

“Give it to me now” the woman said, “or I will beat you down like a junkyard cat-rat.”

“Huh,” said Burneese.

The woman approached. Burneese could have taken her with one spinning leg kick to the head, but then she would expose herself as a trained fighter, bringing attention she did not need.

So she gave her the helmet.

Go ahead, the shows weren’t too hot anyway. Unbeknownst to the woman who bent down to pick it up, Burneese had opened with one hand a bottle of YaSuba Ghost-Haber sauce. And she had emptied it into the helmet. One drop of what was billed as the world’s Hottest Hot Sauce can heat a 2-gallon pot of beans feeding 25 people. Wonder what 100 drops will do on one persons head?

The woman immediately put the helmet on. and the screams were still loud behind the face mask. Apparently it was so hot, it impaired the woman’s thinking and she couldn’t take it off as big drops of the sauce dripped down in her eyes, her cheeks, mouth and nose.

She ran screaming down the hall.

Meanwhile, Prosby, about five miles from as the crow flies, was cold. A stiff breeze was rushing in from the north. And this used to be the Sunshine State?

Snow began to fall. It was common now. Snow in Florida. The climate had been turned upside down for the world.

That climate change is caused in part by humans used to be a debate, Prosby remembered from his school teachings. Hundreds of years ago some folks said climate change didn’t even exist. Their rantings fell silent over time as they saw record storms, tornadoes, Hurricanes and HIsicanes, 10-year droughts, massive flooding, and people moving underground. Prosby smiled when he remembered how one news investigation found the oil companies had underground shelters and living spaces for decades before the general populous. But of course, the tycoons and CEOs also had an average of 5000 times the annual salaries of the middle class workers.

In 2200, Prosby remembering his ancient history, the average plumber, computer technician or farmer made about $80,000 per year while the average CEO pay was $400 Million a year.

Over the last 100 years, the destruction of our ozone layer has turned up the volume — to 11 — on nearly all weather events. Scientist now theorize that the very laws of gravity are soon to be affected as the earth’s rotation slowly speeds up.

Many folks have actually attached chairs beds and couches, upside down on the ceilings because some think we’ll be weightless and pulled upward as gravity’s pull reverses itself due to the faster spinning globe. They think people will be literally walking on the ceiling, living in an upside down world. How long this will take is still a matter of scientific debate, it could be slowly over a period centuries or it could take place over a matter of a few years.

The slow believers say there will be people and all objects not tethered on earth will lose weight eventually reaching a weight of 0 pounds. People will feel very light and will be able to jump over houses. As the weight goes into the negative territory ( which the standard scale can measure as it sticks to the ceiling, people will be in danger as the lack of gravity can take them to space. Screaming untethered humans will begin to rise off of the ground and eventually suffocate as they move closer to outer space.

Critics of this theory point out that folks can wear weights on the ankles and waist and be just fine for hundreds of years until the counter gravity pull is too strong.

But this hasn’t stopped an entire industry now of selling at Tar-Mart “Ceiling Living” room concepts.

Prosby broke out of his reverie wondering how comfortable it would be lying on your couch on the ceiling when he heard a noise.

It was the sound of footsteps crackling in the ever increasing snow — about 2 inches now.

“Who goes there?” asked Prosby, feeling cold, damp and grumpy.

To Be Continued

His and hurricanes (Part 12 of a serial story)

SCENE: Prosby woke up feeling fuzzy headed after dispatching a killer bot into Alexander Springs. The head pool of the spring was about the size of two backyard pools.

Prosby’s first thought was relayed to him by his face. It was planted, face down of course, in the sand.

His second thought was relayed to him by his upper shoulder. It had been sliced by the circular saw on the robot’s arm and it hurt like a mother$%#$#@.

“Hey man, stay down! We are trying to help you.” Prosby’s eyes came in and out of focus. He had lost a lot of blood.

“Hippie Chick,” he said without thinking, looking deep into the pools of black dilated eyes, tinged with ocean blue.

It appeared she didn’t have any clothes on as her honey brown hair nearly touched her knees. While confirming that observation he suddenly he realized he was naked. And he had no hair to use as cover! He started looking around.

‘Relax Robot Hunter. Clothes aren’t used much here. Your closes are dirty, torn and bloody. We will make you new ones.” Hippie Chick seemed to have a bevy of hippie chicks.

Prosby’s head hurt. They were in a small clearing covered by a canopy of trees. It was warm. It appeared as an outdoor cathedral.

Hippie Chick brought him something to drink. “This will help heal you” she said.

He drank it and fell into a deep dreamy state but was awake. He asked what they gave him. The nectar of honeysuckle, ground nutmeg concentrate and oil of budding yellow primrose, said Hippie Chick.

“Let’s get you to camp where you can recover,” she said. He felt for his right shoulder using his left hand. He felt wet dirt.

“Gray clay,” she said.

“It wounds all heals,” she said laughing, running away. “Stay here, they will bring you.”

About 10 naked hippie chicks were laughing; He was not sure if they were laughing at him as he stood up in all of his glory? Or the joke Hippie Chick made before running away?

They took him to see the men, hippie dudes. They sat in a circle and urged him to sit in the middle. The women came and sat next to the men. He started to daydream, thinking of Burnese and how difficult it will be to rescue her. He imagined running away with her and being safe as they live out their years together. He thought of Burnese saying: “And how long did you stay in the woods with the naked women while I was near death?”

This snapped out of his reverie. The hippies were laughing. They talked into the night sipping Elderberry wine.

He spent a day or two healing. He practiced WoW with them. The hippie colony had a meditative spiritual focus on the word ‘WoW. At around midday, they would gather in a tent revived from long ago. And they all said WoW. Not in unison. They would just walk around and say, ‘WoW.’ WoW, WoW, I mean WoW. It was the perfect word, they said, it was their word for creation. It was the same backward and forward. It was WoW that opened the universe to their beings, their souls, they said.

Wow. Just WoW.

Prosby actually got into it a litle bit. Making your lips shape the WoW was kind of funny after a few hundred WoWs.

HIppie Chick took an interest in Prosby, and snuggled up against him around the communal fire pit, But Prosby told her his story and said he loved another woman. She kissed him on the forehead and said, ‘Go rescue Burnese. She’s a fine woman. I’ll always be here.’ She smiled and disappeared into the darkness. He was off.

He didn’t look forward to this leg of the trip.

The Hippies persuaded him not to use Alexander Springs because every time someone uses it as a portal, it draws unwanted attention. One time after three assassins went through the portal and killed a rising young politician J. Effum Kaye, the government attempted to plug the spring shut with cement. The Hippies plagued the shut-down efforts with diversion tactics and nighttime raids. Finally the government gave it up.

So Prosby took it to the road, onward to Auburndale, which was near the coast now as Tampa and St. Petersburg were underwater. The air will likely get worse as Prosby approached the area. It’s as if Florida residents had retreated and huddled up, millions of them around the Auburndale area. Underground was the desirable place to live and breathe, above ground you need masks and a protection from the bounty hunters, rabid, vicious animals, diseases, and of course the ever-present drug gang wars. In the Underground, you had restaurants, fitness gyms, health care and decent employment if you don’t mind being part of the History of the World Project, rewriting and documenting thousands of pages and computer drives of tedious information. All other employment consisted of services such as cleaning, cooking, waiting tables, and a few entertainment jobs but you could only play songs approved by the government. The elite rulers knew the power of music.

To Be Continued …

His and Hurricanes Pt. 10 (a serial story)

The 10th in a serial story of great expectations.

(SCENE: Boybando a wasteland of abandoned theme parks, restaurants and squatter filled hotels. The Creekers controlled most of the southern part of what used to be Orlando where the tourists stops once flourished. But Prosby was looking to the north, to the woods, to the Ocala National People’s Reserve.”

Prosby was less than two miles from Burnees, but he didn’t know that.

Staying in the shadows, he still felt a presence, like somebody tailing him.  Who’s there? He stopped and asked. He’d seen a figure in black garb, an overcoat maybe. Before you could say ‘Show time’ a Light came on, mostly in Prosby’s face. He knew he was circled by four men but they were shadows.

Suddenly in one melodramatic breath, that really was quite professional sounding, the four young man sang in unison: Bye Bye Bye.

Then broke it down: “I’m doing this tonight,” they sang: “You’re probably gonna start a fight.”

Now Prosby by this time had calculated his odd (singular because he could only come up with one). He needed to get the leader. Take him out and the rest will run like boys to the backstreet: Bye Bye Bye.

“Hello I’m Justy”, the leader said, walking over hand extended.

They shook hands and Prosby palms out said “Who are you and what do you need from me? If nothing, then I’ll be on my way.’

“Hold on cowboy,’ Justy laughed, sending the others into a odd cycle of giggles that sounded like chirpin’ crickets. “We’re not through here. I  need a little dialogue here.”

“And then it’s Bye Bye Bye,” the way they sung it on queue was freaking Prosby out.

So what do you want to do. Prosby had managed to slip very close to Justy. Unafraid, Justy turned and they were nose-to-nose.

“No, I’m not going to kill you. You maybe useful to us later on,” Justy said.

Justy started to walk away. They all had leather jackets, the dressy kind. But most were barefoot and their feet were dirty and scraped.

“Oh, I understand you’re trying to find Burnees,” Justy said with a smile.

Prosby jerked his head up and began advancing — “Where is she? Where? If you have her I swear I’ll………..ZZSSTZZZZZZ77STZZ

The stun gun deposited the big spark in the back of  his neck. Prosby went down in a crumple.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and one-inch from his face was Justy.

“Don’t fuck with us,” Justy said. “We have an interest in seeing Burnees alive — but you? You? We are only interested in you as you can help us find her. Get it?”

Justy softened: “Listen, not looking to hurt you for real. But we need you to deliver.”

“Where is she?” Prosby was feeling out of sync with this young man.

“We believe she’s in federal custody in the Underground.  She was set for trial and will probably get death. Have not heard word one about what’s going on.”

“Where’s the portal?” Prosby asked.

“Best one to use is Alexander Springs. Once you get in, it’s easy. But be careful, it’s loaded on the surface with gators and Dizz Bots.”

Just last week, they say a man named Vanilla Ice Cream was attached to a kite by the Ben Franklin Diz Bot.

He was immediately sailed into the air and promptly electrocuted when the key taped to his forehead was struck by lightning. He still hangs in a tree. He was reported missing by his employer, MacyMart, where he did seasonal work during Christmas with packages.

He was a wrapper.

Justy stared at Prosby, then smiled: “We’ll be watching Prosby. Don’t make us find you.”

TO BE CONTINUED

Read the others in the series here.