J. Curtis - Calexit - The Anthology

The pilot opened her mouth to reply, when the co-pilot shouted, “Look out!”

A stream of tracers from the shore came at them in a long, slow rope that missed by only a few yards. Again, the guard frequency sounded in their headsets.

CALI HELICOPTER OVER LAKE TAHOE, I SAY AGAIN, CEASE FIRE AND RETURN TO YOUR SIDE OF THE BORDER. WE DON’T MISS TWICE. OVER.

The pilot looked over at the man next to her, then hauled back on her controls. Jackson opened his mouth to shout at her, then thought better of it. Setting his jaw, he pulled himself back into his seat and slammed the door closed.

“Get us back on the ground,” he growled as Juan shut his own door. Both men cursed as the helicopter banked to the west and crossed back into Cali.

Jen was too numb to grasp the rope Mark threw to her, but she was able to hug it tightly enough that it didn’t slip through her arms as he dragged her back to the boat. It took both her husband and Luke to haul her out of the water and onto the torn green carpet of the deck, but soon she was huddled under several blankets as she watched Luke tromp down on the control pedal for the trawling motor.

“Main motor’s shot!” Ted shouted from his perch on the stern.

“We’ve got enough juice to keep us from drifting back across the line,” Luke replied. Now that the helicopter was gone and the big outboard was quiet, he could almost talk in a normal tone.

Mark pointed to the tree lined shore. “Somebody’s coming out!” he shouted.

“That’ll be the Border Patrol,” Luke said. “First time I’ve seen one of their boats in sunlight.” He chuckled at that.

A moment later, a large green and white boat pulled alongside them. A young man stood in its bow, manning a machine gun with a long barrel that he kept trained on the far shore. A tall man in brown trousers and a heavy green coat stood on the back deck. After Luke had tied his boat off with the line one of the crewmen threw to him, he helped Mark and Jen across to the large vessel.

“Mr. and Mrs. Costa?” The tall man drawled in a loud voice after he had helped the two of them up onto the deck.

“Yes,” Mark said. He tried to pull himself straight, but the boat rocked as small waves hit it broadside.

“Welcome to the United States!” the tall man shouted over the wind, a glint in his bright blue eyes. “Welcome home!”

Andrew “Andy” McDavitt giggled as he studied the lines of code on the two screens. “This is too easy,” he whispered. No one left a dam’s spillway-gate controls just hanging out for gosh and everyone to find. But there it was.

Or was it? Andy frowned and ran a hand over the bottom of his beard. Dominic said that two gates would let the river run again, one on the north and one in the south. The code activated emergency flow control systems, but were the right ones? He didn’t want to send the river where it had never gone before. Andy hunted around among the scraps of paper for a mostly empty one, found a pen, and made note of what he’d found. He’d triple-check with Dominic. They had to wait a little longer anyway, since the spring flows were only just now starting. Andy smiled, hands behind his neck and stretched in his chair, looking at the lines of code and imagining what the Colorado’s estuary would look like next year, after the flows had been restored. It would be very good.

He backed out of the water authority’s files, still wondering how anyone could be so foolish, and if they really were. Nah, this was Cali, and the Bay Area Water Authority he was looking at. They were that foolish. What about LA’s Metropolitan Water Department, the famous Metropolitan Water District of Southern California, a.k.a., the MWD? Andy stretched again, then began typing.

Dominic Exposito struggled to look at least politely interested and mildly understanding as the witch from the Cali National Water Board kept talking. “All treaties and compacts signed with the United States and Mexico concerning water are still valid,” she repeated for the twelfth—thirteenth?—time. “Arizona has a duty to continue storing water for the people of Cali and Mexico, especially the new farming communities in the Imperial Valley. Los Hermanos de la Tierra are concentrating on sustainable, community-centered agriculture as they reclaim the land both for themselves and for the natural environment.” She blathered about the LHdT for another minute or so, then blinked. “Moonbeam is concerned about rumors he has heard concerning restoration releases that will interfere with irrigation and municipal demand.”

Kira Nguyn, district supervisor for the Bureau of Reclamation, gave Dominic a poke as she said, “I’ll let our hydrologist explain, Ms. Villanueva.”

Dominic straightened up and toggled his microphone on, shifting the camera his direction in the process. He didn’t bother with a greeting, since she’d bite his head off for the crime of being a pale male from Wyoming and a former Cali resident. He’d gotten out just before the chipping started. But, his sister and her family had not been so fortunate.

“Per the Colorado River Environmental Management Plan of 2004, updated in 2020 and 2025, a seasonal flood simulation release is scheduled for late May or early June. We are not publicizing the date because of the white-water rafters, as you know” She probably didn’t but that was her problem. “It is the semi-annual release, in order to move sediment and rebuild the proper riparian habitat within the Grand Canyon. Smaller releases downstream will precede it, because of this year’s snow pack and the predicted run-off. We do not want a repeat of 1983.”

She glowered. “Remind me. What did you foul up that time?”

“Snow pack of greater than three hundred percent of yearly average, combined with rapid warming and an unusually wet May led to emergency released from all the main-stem dams on the Colorado as well as at Imperial and several other irrigation diversion structures. Even so Hoover Dam suffered some damage.” Hell, for several hours they thought they might lose Hoover and everything downstream with it! The river would win, sooner or later, and it had almost been sooner. The old photos still gave him the willies.

“Don’t interfere with the irrigation flows at Imperial or the municipal diversions, do you understand? If you do, Cali will consider it a breach of international law and possibly a declaration of war, as will Mexico. The reclamation farms will get their water, as will the rest of the country.” She didn’t say “or else,” but she didn’t have to.

District Supervisor Nguyn took over. “We quite understand the Cali Water Board’s concerns, and have taken them into consideration, Ms. Villanueva. Flows from the upstream Colorado River basin will not be interrupted.”

“They’d better not be. Villanueva out.” The logo of the Cali Water Board replaced her on the screen.

Mrs. Nguyn turned off the Bureau’s end of the call and stood. She ran one hand through her grey-frosted black hair and gathered print-outs with the other. “So, straight scoop. How high will the water get, Dominic?”

The others around the conference station leaned forward. Rick and Lupe had a bet going, that much Dominic knew for certain, and he suspected a few others did too. “As high as eighty-three, I can tell you that much. Maybe higher if this rainfall continues. El Niño has been very good to us this year, a little too good for the engineers’ peace of mind.” Since the white-board was full with a large “Do NOT erase” note on it, he flipped over one of the print-outs of the proposed meeting order, pulled a freebie pen out of his shirt pocket, tested it on a corner of the page, and sketched a curve with flat ends. “This is your normal water year. These are your municipal and irrigation minimum flows,” he pointed to the flat bits. “The peak in May-June is the average release when the Bureau releases environmental restoration water if there’s enough melt to do so without endangering late-season irrigation flows.”