M. Banner - Stone Age

R.T. stared, through the porthole before him, at the seemingly benign colorful clouds below and he felt utterly and completely helpless.

Upon returning from his ranch, Max unloaded Miguel and a few of their supplies at Miguel and Maria’s home in town. Then Max headed back to his own beach home. Max never noticed the late model Chevy truck that had been tailing them the whole way down. He had other concerns.

About four hours before reaching Rocky Point, Max noticed a tweet on his phone. It must have downloaded when he had WIFI service at his ranch house, since he didn’t subscribe to Internet data on his phone. The tweet was from @1859Storm, one of the Tweeters that he followed whose avocation for following CME data was better than any solar physicists, except perhaps, Dr. Reid at CMERI. This one Tweet was one of his many daily Tweets reporting each day’s number of CME’s. It read, #CME summary: 15 coronal mass ejections in past 24 hours. (For updates visit: http://t.co/KlepA5unnr).

“Wow, fifteen in one day,” he had said out loud, but not loud enough to wake Miguel who was sleeping off the previous day’s work in the front seat. The sun normally emits anywhere from one to four CMEs during solar maximums and one every other day during solar minimums. They were definitely in a solar maximum, so multiple CMEs were expected each day. However, this number was completely unprecedented.

Max couldn’t open the picture because of his lack of Internet connection now. He considered this and all the other bulletins, emails, & Tweets he had received the past couple of days as he turned onto Avenita Mar De Cortez.

He was no scientist, but he knew all the information was pointing to one thing. He was out of time. They all were.

He pulled into his other house across the street from his beach house, what he calls — to himself — his beach warehouse . It was on a double lot between other lots already graced with two and three story edifices, all outfitted with many windows and terraces designed to afford sweeping views of the ocean over the on-the-beach homes, like those owned by Max and the Kings. These weren’t technically beach lots, because they were on the other side of the street and their views were obstructed by the beach houses in front, so all were half or a third of the price of similar sized homes on the beach. This made beach living affordable, or for many, with the lower cost labor and materials in Mexico, the ability to build big without the hefty price tag of a lot right on the beach.

Max’s lot and structure were built for a wholly different purpose, but were designed to look similar to all the other homes on either side of him. His structure was three stories as well, but instead of a typical second-story master bedroom with furniture positioned to take advantage of the stunning sunrises and sunsets, the large room contained the top of a 2-story 100,000-gallon gravity fed water supply tank. It sat on a reinforced concrete pad, hefty enough to support a 15-story building. Built around this, the rest of the house was an enormous warehouse, a two bay garage which were reinforced in case of attack, caged against an EMP, and insulated to protect its contents from the extreme heat of the Sonoran Desert summers. In the warehouse, he stored enough foodstuffs and supplies to feed and outfit an army, or in this case, enough for two years of survival for him and his only family, the Kings.

The master bedroom, besides having two feet of a water tank protruding through most of what would be the floor, had a spiral staircase leading up from the ground floor and going up to the roof terrace. Inside, the only furniture in the few unused square feet was a lounge chair placed in front of the sliding glass window and balcony, which faced the beach and ocean. Sometimes, when the Kings weren’t in their home, Max would park himself in this chair and enjoy the views and peace its isolation offered him by not being directly on the beach. Some nights, he found himself sleeping in what was probably his most comfortable chair. Then he would wake up with the window open to the sounds of the ocean, and the lively aromas brought in by the breeze. He also felt safe here, even though it wasn’t as protected as his safe room in his beach house, but he loved the ability to see miles in each direction, especially from the terrace above.

The terrace on the roof provided the best views of everywhere surrounding their homes. There were two chairs underneath a canopy for protection against the sun, where they could see any approaching combatant. Others around him built their top-floor terraces to soak up the sun and the ocean, whereas Max built his terrace specifically to afford the best vantage point if someone or some group attempted to take what he and the Kings had. Elevated above everyone else’s terraces for protection and secrecy, Max’s terrace had reinforced walls that could withstand bullets and an inside threshold on which the bipod of his new sniper rifle currently rested, with a special weather-proof cover, mostly protected from an unknown enemy below.

A light breeze blew. One by one, the sounds of morning, announced the coming day. The flapping flags flying from their flagpole, signaled homage to the US, the state of Michigan, and the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame; the calls of sparrows going through their morning rituals; the approaching roar of a jet ski, slicing through the calmness of the lake; the water lapping against the seawall from the newly created waves. These sounds were part of the melodic music Darla King knew as summer at her grandparent’s lake home in Michigan.

Like her parents, when she was able, Darla loved spending the first part of the morning by the water. When visiting Mammie and Poppy, it was on one of the wooden Adirondack chairs, with coffee in hand, taking in the view and smells of the lake.

At the last minute, she decided to make the quick journey to Clear Lake Michigan, figuring it would be good for her and Danny. He was off, plus she was done with her schooling until next semester and her aerobics class was finished for the summer as well. She thought, why not get the vacation started right away, visit the lake and then back to Chicago late tomorrow before flying to Tucson to meet up with Mom and Dad and hang at the ocean at Rocky Point. She would make any excuse to visit the water.

She loved the water so much that when she graduated from University of Illinois in Computer Science, she was going to get a job in California or Florida or any place she could be by water all the time and be warm. Like her mom, she hated the cold. Michigan was beautiful during the summer, but it sucked during the winter, and so did Chicago.

The sound of an older throaty engine echoed on the lake, then grew louder as the old girl announced its approach with pride. A classic Woody promenaded by, with its occupants happily waving at Darla. She didn’t recognize them.

The community surrounding Clear Lake was a close one, so it was not surprising that every third or fourth boat or jet skier waved at Darla. Most remembered Darla, her sister, and brother from her parents bringing her here over the years. Just like her parents, everyone seemed to know her grandparents. That meant lots of people would be coming by to visit, even during her short stay. Darla never minded. In fact, she thought it was pretty cool that so many people cared about her and her family.

Another engine sounded. This one was testosterone-filled, its pistons pumping more rapidly. Within a couple seconds, it floated into view. This time, its driver was someone she recognized. It was Steve-Something. Cute , she thought to herself, as Steve Something drove by waving. She couldn’t help herself. Grabbing her Droid phone, she surreptitiously snapped a photo of him and his boat with her right hand, while waving with her left. For just one moment, her eyes locked into his, her heart fluttered, and then Steve passed out of sight. She opened her mail app, started a new email, selected Sally’s email address from her contacts and started typing out her message.