J. Curtis - Calexit - The Anthology

Chinmalish parked the four-wheeler and plugged it into the solar charger, then walked to where Tío Moctezuma stood, cradling a shotgun in his arms as he watched the workers.

“The little one is starting to moan and claims she’s in labor,” he nodded to a skinny figure at the far end of the row, one of the gringas . “I told her to shut up and keep working. Women of the People don’t whine.”

“True.” The little one was under a double sentence, for attempting to leave without a departure visa and for hiding her military dependent status. Chinmalish didn’t really care if she and the child died or lived. “Rosa?”

“Over there. I told her to stop and sit when she needed to.” Tío ‘Zuma shook his head a little. “Nice girl, too bad she was stupid.”

“ Sí .” Rosa had gotten pregnant but wouldn’t say if the man was of la raza pura or a gringo or something else. She’d told Eloi it was none of his business. And so she was here. She tried hard, all the work bosses agreed. “Any trouble?”

“No. All quiet.”

Chinmalish didn’t expect any trouble so soon after an execution, but she’d been surprised. People could be so stupid. Came from living too easy, she’d decided. People like her, who grew up with the rats and with gringos and slant-eyes sneering at them, they grew up hard and smart. “ Bueno .” She unplugged the four-wheeler, drove it to one of the filled produce trailers, and hitched it up. No point in wasting a trip.

She heard a commotion, and looked to see three of the other gringos rushing back to where the little skinny chica had been standing.

Boom! The shotgun thundered. “Keep working!” Tío ‘Zuma ordered. “Or the next barrel is yours.”

Chinmalish started down the road. She didn’t need to know.

That month went fast, Dominic sighed as he looked at the calendar and the hydrographs. The water’s going even faster.

“Are we going to lose Glen Canyon and Hoover?” Rick pointed to the numbers, showing the flows coming in from Colorado, New Mexico, and Wyoming.

“Not Glen Canyon,” Dominic assured everyone packed into the conference room. “Smith and Begay told me they have permission to start additional releases tomorrow. Hoover’s open already, and Parker should open soon to lower Lake Havasu. I am told,” he gave District Supervisor Nguyn a tired look. She’d given someone his direct phone number. “Told that the Imperial Diversion and other Cali diversions are opening. I was also informed that we are attempting to destroy this year’s crops by water-logging them.” Controlling the rain was far, far above his pay grade.

“Wait.” Frio Gavrijlla uncrossed his arms and leaned onto the table between Lupe and Ranger Pat. He picked up a laser pointer and circled the current estimated flows at Parker Dam. “Estimated? Should be open? I thought they were up and running per protocols.”

Kira Nguyn winced and rubbed her chin. “Remember the trouble they had just after Cali declared its independence? The flood flows and the lightning strike that took out the power station there?”

“Ah, vaguely.”

“Cali refused to allow Bureau techs from Arizona or anywhere else in the U.S. into the facility. Ran them off a gunpoint and said we were trying to sabotage the system and divert the power to the U.S.”

Frio facepalmed. “Oh sh— yeah. The Battle of Lake Havasu. Sorry.”

“Ten lashes with a wet noodle for not remembering,” Nguyn chuckled, then sobered. “We hope they got things repaired. We know they got the power reconnected, outgoing power, but as far as if the emergency spillway gates, the primary spillway gates, and other things still work? No idea.”

Rick coughed. “There’s also the little landslide problem after that earthquake two years ago. Kicked loose a bunch of sediment not too far from where the Cali side mates with the bedrock. And we don’t know about the foundations, if anything moved down there.”

“Does brown water, clear water work for high arch dams?” Frio asked with a wink.

“It does, sort of,” Dominic answered. “If you see brown water from the bottom, be nervous. If you see brown water pouring over the top, you should have started running a few hours ago.”

Kira Nguyn clapped her hands together, bringing the meeting back onto target. “Dominic, what’s our worst case scenario?”

He moved to the next slide, showing the chewed-out remains of Hoover’s emergency spillways from 1983. “This, but as high as the dam is tall. Absolute worst case is if one of the main-stem dams were to be overtopped. That’s not going to happen with the ones on U.S. soil if everything continues to function the way it is now. But if Glen Canyon were to go, then we’ll lose everything downstream.” Should he say something? Possibly, just in case. “I’m worried about Parker. We don’t know what the real-time flows are, we don’t know if everything’s been repaired and tested, and we don’t know if the landslide and earthquake opened weaknesses in the flank of the dam and the grout curtain on the Cali side. If it were to have a problem, which I hope it does not,” he crossed his fingers under the desk. “If it has a problem, it could possibly take out Imperial and the other downstream diversions.”

“We’ve already ordered evacuations of Yuba City and a few other places downstream of Parker, just based on projected emergency releases per the current protocols,” Frio said, nodding. “And we’ve closed the intakes on the Central Arizona ProjectLord knows we don’t need any extra water at the moment.”

Supervisor Nguyn nodded, looked at the slide again, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “That’s what’s coming. Dominic, ride herd on this, so to speak, please. Everyone else, we’ll touch base again at the usual time or if something changes.”

“Same bat time, same bat station,” Ranger Pat muttered under his breath, triggering giggles from Lupe.

“Careful, you’ll show your age,” Dominic kidded him.

Pat stood, looming as much as a broomstick could loom. “I happen to be an aficionado of classic television, sir, not old.”

Frio rolled his eyes and Rick grinned, then launched into, “Return with us now to the thrilling days of yesteryear—” as Dominic hummed the appropriate music.

“Hey! It’s not my fault the last person to use that computer left the speakers turned all the way up!” Pat protested, rolling his papers into a tube and swatting Rick.

“Back to work,” Nguyn ordered, looking up at the ceiling and imploring her deity for patience.

Four days later, Dominic stared at the numbers scrolling up his computer screen, shaking his head. Five hundred thousand cubic feet per second (c f/s)? Good Lord have mercy. The nightly news was full of dramatic pictures of the enormous white sprays of water coming from Glen Canyon and Hoover as they released water as quickly as was safe.

And Lake Havasu was rising. Frio had shown him photos taken from a recon drone, and the gates appeared open, no more than would be standard for this time of year. “I don’t like that,” Frio had stated. “That’s a lot of water running through the turbines.”

“That makes two of us. I really hope they know what they are doing, or that they are going to open the emergency spillways.” Dominic had leaned forward. “Can you zoom in here?” he pointed to the eastern side of the dam. “Something looks odd.” Frio tinkered with the image, then leaned back as Dominic peered at the screen. “Yeeessss. There, by the end of the turbine house,” he pointed to the rectangular concrete structure that angled southwest from the western side of the dam. “It looks turbulent, bubbling, and not where it is supposed to bubble, I don’t think. And why are the roads closed?” He straightened up. “I wonder if they are worried about undermining right in that area, if the quake shifted an unknown fault?”