(Scene is End of the Line Tavern in the year 2525)
Old Timer: “People say it’s climate warming or global changing or some shit like that. Ha. They been having them for years. The one in 2511 is legend.”
Of course Prosby knew the 2511 storm. Everyone with a well-made Walkie Talkie knows that one. Cat 5 with sustained winds of 220 mph. Turned St. Petersburg into Florida’s Venice.
Forty-foot storm surge dug its own canals.
Old Timer: “Glad I wasn’t down there at the time. You know 678 people died.”
Both men knew that much of Florida is underwater now. There is some dry land in Bithlo, but then you gotta live in Bithlo.
Lightning storms and meth heads made it difficult to venture out in that area of Florida anyway. Refugees from the now underwater Daytona Beach came to occupy Bithlo bringing more drugs upon drugs.
Prosby looked for the bartender, sat in silence for a while and then asked a question of the Old Timer.
“What is it then that storms coming out of nature keep getting bigger and bigger. If not climate change, what is it? God trying to kill us or trying to scare the hell out of us?”
“Don’t be skeered,” Old Timer said. “Just watch the spirals.”
Unconsciously Prosby put my hand on my gas mask, a high end military grade CBRN. Most folks wore them outside and lived in highly filtered airtight homes or apartments. If you didn’t wear one outside, it would only take a month or so before you were coughing up blood.
“Spirals? You mean these hisicanes and hurricanes?”
“No, something bigger,” he said, strapping on his pistol as he made a move for the door.
TO BE CONTINUED…