Tent City Convoy

By J. Stewart Willis

When the rising ocean, in the year 2086, engulfs the last vestiges of the Jamestown Visitors Center and drowns its manager, his wife, Margrethe Bernard takes her children away from the threatening sea and memories that haunt her and moves inland to temporarily live in a te

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors' Tranquility Press
• Release date: Apr 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960675828

J. Stewart Willis

About the author: J. Stewart Willis served twenty-five years in the United States Army and worked for twelve years with a division of a major tech company in Northern Virginia. While working in the tech industry, he worked on three proposals including the management of one for over a hundred million dollars. DEADLY HIGHWAY is based very loosely on those experiences.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The year was 2086.

The ocean beat against the earthen seawall, sometimes gently, sometimes ferociously, but always depleting the wall’s soul.

Woody Bernard sat depressed in his office at the Jamestown Visitors’ Center. He was reviewing the latest figures on Virginia’s financial support for the site and fretting about the diminishing hopes for preserving the last vestiges of the nation’s first settlement.

Outside his office window, he observed the seawall surrounding the Center and the reconstructed stockade emulating the original fort. The true site of the fort was long gone, as was much of the 1500 acres that had once been preserved. It had mostly been marshland which the rising ocean had easily enveloped. Global warming was destroying history everywhere.

Fortunately, archeologists had finished with the original site before it was flooded. Ten years ago, the decision was made to abandon it. As preservationists began viewing Jamestown as a potentially lost cause, funds diminished. When the present seawall was built, the reconstructed Indian village was let go to be swallowed by the tide, as were the glass works. Now, only the model of the Godspeed bobbed on the Powhatan River, the other ships having required repairs that couldn’t be covered by the budget.

As Woody cogitated over the budget, there was a knock at the door. Murray Symon, the groundskeeper, entered the office out of breath. There’s water coming under the seawall out by the fort!

Quickly, Woody was out of his chair, out the door, and off to the fort, leaving Symon in his wake. Sure enough, a trickle of water was coming under the seawall. Get the backhoe, Murray. We need to add some dirt.

Symon ran off. Woody bent down, scooping dirt with his hands, and trying to stuff it into the crack where the water was coming in. As he did so, a rumbling began in the wall. Woody stood up and spread his arms as if he could stop what was coming. Water exploded from a gap in the wall as a section of the barrier roared in the man’s direction, hurling him backward in a tumble underwater. He rose, thrashing to the surface, momentarily riding the crest of a wave, gasping for air, until he slammed up against the fort’s stockade fence with a force that rendered him unconscious. As the water burst through cracks in the stockade, Woody was left behind covered with mud.

The water raced to the Visitors’ Center, flooding the hallways, offices, and display rooms and floating Woody’s desk to the corner of his office.

Symon stood on the seat of the backhoe, watching the water rush by and wondering how he would get to the skiff that had brought him over in the morning.

Woody’s wife, Marg, and his children were at home, not knowing they would have to wait two days for Woody’s body to be recovered from the three feet of water and mud that encased him.

There was nothing of the reconstructed fort to recover.

There would be no five-hundredth celebration of Jamestown in 2107, at least not at the original site … not unless you could do it on a lonely replica of the Godspeed bobbing on an endless sea.

CHAPTER TWO

Margrethe (or Marg, as the world called her) Bernard sat crowded next to her daughter, Susan, on the passenger seat of the giant Walazon sluice truck. She held her son Quentin between her legs, clutched to her chest. Their two suitcases were under their feet. The children complained constantly. Why are we leaving our home in Williamsburg? Dad’s just died. We just buried him. How can we leave him so soon?

Marg wanted to say, Your Dad’s dead. You never lived in Williamsburg. You lived in a house with the roof caved in and water nearly lapping at the door. You lived in a place called Jamestown that exists no more.

But she restrained herself. After all, they were frightened. In their hearts, they knew the reality of their lives. Further, they didn’t know where they were going other than that it would be somewhere beyond the truck's destination. They knew only that their new life was unknown.

Marg had her reasons for leaving. Coastal flooding and a decaying house were not the only reasons, but they were all she dared talk about. She couldn’t tell the children of her fear of a telephone call, a knock at the door, of seeing a face in a crowd. It had happened before. She feared it would happen again.

So, she sat in the Walazon truck and tried not to think of the future.

Walazon was a subsidiary of World Zone, which had acquired over sixty percent of the nation’s retail companies. Others had simply vanished. Walazon was the new name used when Amazon acquired Walmart. The latter’s big-box stores survived under the new name until the late 2040s. It had then been combined with the old Walgreens, which now provided all the online sales of medicines and cosmetics for the master retailer.

The Amazon, Walmart, and Walgreen names were gone along with many other brands. Those that survived had been consolidated under the name World Zone.

Marg, Woody, and their children had stayed in their home on the edge of Williamsburg as long as the threat of the rising sea permitted. Marg had initially been determined to stay as long as her parents, Ostman and Helena Olafsson, were alive. Her parents had immigrated to the United States in 2057 when portions of Denmark had begun to flood from global warming. They had settled in Williamsburg. The area allowed Ostman to follow his love of history, but the couple should have known better than to live so near the ocean.

The two had passed within two months of each other in 2084.

Marg, and her husband, Woodward (Woody), had lived even closer to the rising water than her parents, not far from the Jamestown tourist site. Their house had been inexpensive and affordable. All property close to the James River had been inexpensive in 2073. They had bought it anyway, assuming they would work, save, and eventually move to higher ground. The structure was battered as the hurricane season extended and storms became more prevalent in the mid-Atlantic area. In 2082 a tree fell on the house’s roof and crashed into the living room. The Bernards had been afraid to spend money to have the tree removed as most people had done with such damage. It was predicted water from the river would reach her house in 2088. Why remove a tree from a doomed house? she rationalized. Woody and Margrethe endured life in their damaged home until Woody tragically drowned.

Now there was no reason to stay. Marg decided to leave before the ocean forced her.

Marg and Woody had saved over twenty thousand dollars, but she was afraid to spend it. No one knew what the future would bring.

Twenty thousand dollars was a lot. When the average price of a car reached $200,000 in 2059, the government devalued the dollar, one new dollar to twenty-five old. By 2086 the average price of a new car was back up to $32,000. If Marg bought a used car, she would be penniless. She didn’t want that.

Marg kept the money in a belt tied around her waist. She didn’t trust banks. The banks' future remained uncertain, with an enormous number of unpaid mortgages in existence. The availability of FDIC insurance was unclear. The government was stretched thin.

Marg hoped she would be able to make a future with her twenty thousand dollars.

She and her children got a ride in a 2075 Ford with a friend, Hillary Roth, to the Walazon Port Terminal, which had moved up the James River from the flooded docks in Norfolk, past Jamestown, to the new port city of Claybank Landing near the mouth of the Chickahominy River. The car was old, but it got her there.

She paid the dispatcher $400 to get her a ride on the sluice truck. The amount hurt a lot.

The Bernards had to wait and watch as a giant crane lifted forty-foot shipping containers onto trailers that carried two containers each. The containers had come out of the warehouse on a roller conveyor as if they were mere cardboard boxes in a conventional shipping center. The truck was to pull five of the trailers.

When they climbed aboard the truck, up a ten-step ladder, Marg was glad she had left her dresses behind. She was sure she would never need them again.

In her seat, she felt she was sitting on top of the world.

She turned to the driver, a large man with a four- or five-inch dark brown beard who looked wary. I’m Margrethe, er, Marg Bernard. These are my children, Susan and Quentin.

Quentin?

He calls himself, ‘Q.’ We go along with it. And you are?

Jerry Cobern.

He extended a giant hand that enveloped Marg’s. You a lost soul?

Lost soul? I don’t think so.

Do you know where you’re going?

Not exactly.

You pay the dispatcher to get on this truck?

Well, yeah.

’Cause you had no choice?

Uh, yeah.

Paid a big chunk of what you own?

Yeah.

Like I said … a lost soul. And, for your information, I got none of it. I’m the one who rides with the lost souls and listens to their stories, but I get nothing. The dispatcher gets it all. Maybe shares it higher up. Who knows?

You sound like you feel abused. Why do you do it?

Crazy question, lady. It’s a job … a good-paying job. I know where I’ll be next week. Better than lots of folks. Probably better than you.

Yeah, I guess..

Marg looked out the windshield, down from twelve or fourteen feet. This thing safe? Seems like we could rock and turn over.

Nah, we sit down in a groove and ride the sluice. Couldn’t turn over if we tried.

Sluice? We’re going to ride on water, like on some kind of canal?

Nah … an air sluice. See that white path like a road ahead of us. It’s a bladder full of compressed air. It’ll give us a puff when we’re over it … give us an air ride.

Q looked up at Cobern in curiosity. Sounds like we’d just sit on top of the puff and not do nothing.

Cobern looked over at the boy. Christ, I usually just deal with people complaining about their lives, maybe crying. What’s with you, kid? You going to be an engineer or something?

Don’t know. I’m nine years old. Got time to think about it.

Susan made a face of disgust and glanced sideways at Cobern. Be careful. If you don’t look out, he’ll have you outside adjusting nuts and bolts."

Cobern took her seriously. No nuts and bolts. It’s all welded.

Susan mumbled to herself. Makes me feel better. How long’s the ride?

Forty-seven minutes

Exactly?

Pretty near. Computer-controlled.

Susan frowned. Lord, what are we going to do for forty-seven minutes?

Cobern grimaced. You sound like you’re on a holiday. Don’t you realize your life is changing?

Marg glared at Cobern. It’s an adventure, Mr. Cobern. We’re making it an adventure.

Yeah, said Susan, and we need entertainment.

Cobern moaned, Lord, have mercy. Controls are in the center console. Heads up viewing in the side window … music, streaming, movies, what have you. It’ll work when we get moving. Need wind through the turbine.

Susan opened the console and took out two controls. She gave one to her brother and looked at her mother. You want one, mother?

No, but don’t you and Q fight over what you’re going to watch.

Cobern intervened. They don’t have to. They just need to sit at different distances from the window, and they can watch different things.

Susan grinned. Takes the fun out of being siblings.

Cobern nodded. Keeps peace and quiet in the cabin.

A red light came on the overhead controls. Cobern leaned over and pushed a button.

Marg tensed. What’s happening?

They finished loading the last shipping container. I told them we’re ready.

Who’s them?

The computer?

Marg looked at the console and then at the floor before the driver. Who steers … who brakes?

The computer. Don’t have to steer anyway. We just follow the sluice.

Marg looked at Cobern with uncertainty. What do you do?

Watch sports on the heads up.

CHAPTER THREE

Suddenly, they were all pressed momentarily back into their seats. Marg spontaneously clutched Q to herself.

Then they realized they had started. They were in motion. They relaxed and looked out the windows. The ports' warehouses, docks, and cranes were being left behind as they glided past the suburbs of Claybank Landing and finally out into open fields, some of which were being farmed while others had been abandoned to swamp.

All they heard was a soft hum.

Q leaned his head back. That was like blasting off in a rocket.

Susan looked annoyed. What do you know about blasting off in a rocket? The only thing you’ve blasted off in is an old Ford.

Q ignored his sister and looked at Cobern. What kicked us off?

Air pulse in the bladder behind us.

That keeps us going the whole way.

Nah, the bladder collapses slightly when the air is contracted under us. Then it expands behind us and gives us a shove … just a continuous process.

Boy, that’s neat, Q exuded. He turned to his sister. Isn’t that neat, Susan?

Yeah … neat.

After a few minutes, they could feel the truck slow and then wobble and settle. Marg and Susan grabbed the armrests as Marg protested, What’s happening? Are we safe?

Cobern shrugged. Just joining the mainline, the I-64 super sluice … coming off the Claybank Spur. From now on, there are two truck sluices, and two passenger sluices each way. When we get to the I-95 sluices, there will be three each way going north and south. The old highways below still running battery-powered vehicles. There will be periods of slowing and wobbling as our sluice truck changes sluice lanes and adjusts, along with more adjustments for the multiple spurs coming in from Richmond. Just stay cool, and we’ll be all right.

Past Richmond, the ride became less erratic.

After nearly forty minutes, Cobern warned, We’re about to exit … take the Route 15 Walazon Super Spur north at Zion Crossroads.

Susan didn’t hear. Her ear implants were adjusted to listening to music.

Marg put her hand on her daughter as a warning. She then turned to Cobern. Where’s that go?

To the Walazon Super Maze Warehouse a couple of miles up the sluice … huge place, maybe a mile square. It has a couple of sluice paths through it and flight paths for delivery and freight drones. It even has some docks for road freight trucks. There are still rural areas to serve.

Marg suddenly felt uncertain. Do you stop there?

End of the line.

So, we get off?

Have to. Maybe you can find a road truck. I’ll point out the dispatcher’s office.

Is he going to want more money?

Hesitate to say.

Right … you don’t get anything.

Suddenly, the sluice truck shuddered slightly as it left the I-64 sluice. They immediately passed an old shopping center on the right … a few fast-food places right next to their route, a large parking lot beyond them with weeds growing in cracks, and two large box stores further back. The one on the right had a steeple constructed on its roof and the shadow of an old Lowes sign showing on its front. Cobern commented, That’s a church on the right side now. Good Will is on the left side of the building … a good place to know about in case you need anything. The other building is an old Walmart store … Walazon owns it … rents to squatters now as it does with other box stores and old shopping centers around the country.

Marg looked interested. So, I might find a place to live there?

I don’t know. It’s supposed to be expensive.

Oh, why’s that?

It has a roof.

CHAPTER FOUR

Marg waved the delivery truck driver on and pointed. Up by the trees … up there.

The driver protested, You’ll have to walk further.

That’s okay.

Q gawked at the field. Is that where we’re going?

Marg turned his head away. Eventually.

Susan moaned, Oh, god.

The driver stopped next to the woods, just short of a bridge. You sure?

Yeah, we’ll get out here.

Susan complained. This is nowhere. What are we going to do here?

Marg leaned past her daughter and opened the door. Get out and thank the man.

Mother, it’s the middle of nowhere.

Marg pushed Susan toward the door while wrestling her son outside and thanking the driver.

Q dropped to the ground. You don’t have to push. I can get out by myself.

Just don’t want anyone balking.

Susan had stumbled out ahead of Q. Isn’t there a law against dumping children.

Not dumping. I’m with you.

Marg closed the truck door and pointed to the woods. Across the ditch and into the woods.

Why?

Because I’ve got to get some money out of my money belt. This will cost us money … everything costs money … spent most of the cash I had loose back there at that Walazon place … money for our meals in the cafeteria Cobern took us to and then more big money to another dispatcher. Cumshaw … cumshaw everywhere. Probably more here.

Cum- what?

Marg patted Q on the head. Chinese for a bribe.

Why Chinese?

Just seemed appropriate. ‘Bribe’ is just too clean-cut … not evil enough. Doesn’t describe what it does to the little guy.

Q’s face twisted in worry. Are we the little guy?

Marg’s internal alarm sounded. No … no … never. We’ll make our way.

Susan looked out past the edge of the woods, surveying the field. So, where do we fit in … three-bedroom suite in the barn or the top floor of the house?

Marg was counting the money from her money belt, trying to decide how much to take out. She had no idea how much she would have to fork over. She owned almost nothing material and would have to buy a tent, bedding, etc. She didn’t know what it would take to survive in a tent city.

She looked up to answer her daughter while looking out at the field. At least we’ll have a roof.

Momma. It’s a field of solar panels.

Yeah, I see.

People are living under them.

Yeah, surrounded by sheets of plywood, panels from tents, ponchos, cardboard boxes …

A couple with shower curtains.

Yeah.

We don’t have any of that.

Yeah … yeah, I know.

So, why are we here?

Cobern said it was the best place … not far from jobs at the Walazon Warehouse and goodies at Good Will and far from Gordonsville and Louisa, towns that don’t want us.

She took the handle of one suitcase, grabbed Q’s hand with the other, and started across a stretch of earth separating them from the field of solar panels. No use waiting.

They struggled initially through loosely plowed earth near the trees.

Q shook his hand loose. I’m not a baby.

Yeah, I know. It was kind of spontaneous. It’s what a mother does.

Don’t need it anymore.

Susan, pulling the other suitcase, scolded, For Christ's sake, Q, haven’t we got enough problems?

Don’t need my hand held.

Okay, okay.

As they approached the panels, they found a woman cooking in a pan on a frame over an open fire in a pit in the ground. Marg could see other pits outside the periphery of the solar panels.

The woman looked up uncertainly from her work as the three strangers approached. You visitors or new-comes?

Er, I’m Margrethe Bernard. I guess we’re new-comes. That is, we’re looking for a place to live.

To rent? The woman didn’t give her name.

Yes, I guess … to rent.

Don’t allow no squatters here.

No … no. Of course not. We’ll pay. Is there a landlord? Who do we see?

Landlord? Ha, more of a lord of the land. See Nancy in the double-wide over by the barn.

Double-wide? There’s a trailer here?

Trailer? No, no. I understand there used to be trailers named that, but the tornados and hurricanes got them all. No, two solar panels are connected by a tent. Not many of them. Too expensive. Easy to spot.

Marg looked over toward a cinder block building. The block building, is that a barn?

The woman turned to look at it as if it were a new discovery. Yeah, used to be frame. Storms got it. I believe Hurricane 2081-4 finished it off. There’s still some frame inside, but most of the old building went for cooking fires. The building is locked now. They don’t want us pulling down the last of the frame for fires. Only other wood is over by the river, but the ground is pretty clean.

Who’s ‘they.’

The Kilby’s. People who live in the house … own the farm.

Q joined in. Funny looking house ... wide patio in front.

"Portico, not patio. House used to have columns. The part the columns held up got damaged in the storms. Had to be torn off.