Rising Seas, Falling Skies

By Edward Shafer

The near future…

Climate refugees migrate inland, leaving the flooded coastlines. They trade hurricanes and draconian laws for dust storms in the Midwest but face the same tyranny and racism.

A group of ordinary citizens defend the weak, protect the persecuted, and seek justice in a bleak landscape of mega-drought.

All may be lost as a virus, frozen in permafrost since the Ice Age, thaws and spreads leaving behind death and misery.

If you like a fast-paced plot with intriguing characters attempting to cope with the collapse of civilization, then you'll love Rising Seas, Falling Skies.

Please buy Edward Shafer's apocalyptic novel today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Edward Shafer
• Release date: Jul 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798887578194

Edward Shafer

About the Author I’m retired and live in Overland Park, KS with my lovely wife. After retirement in 2010, we moved to Kansas to be near our two children and four grandchildren. My interest in science started in childhood when I read Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring. After observing the trend towards hotter and dryer weather over the years, my concern has increased. After the 2016 election, I realized our country had taken a big step into ignorance. I actively joined the fight in resisting the manmade changes to our climate, building a more equitable democracy, and insisting on equal rights for all.

Book preview

Acknowledgments

My sincere thanks to the following people:

Cindy Vallar. Without your editing skills, remarkable patience, and constant support, this book would not have been possible.

Getcovers.com Thank you for your wonderful cover design and other artwork. Slava Ukraini. Heroyam Slava.

Russ Blatt. You helped more than you probably know in fine-tuning parts of this novel and making it better. I will truly miss you, my friend.

Nichole Herring. My daughter edited several chapters, helping with dogs, horses, and wolves and keeping me updated on current slang terms.

Mary Shafer, my beautiful and patient wife. She cared for me and our house while I spent hours at the computer. You gave me the safe space to accomplish this endeavor.

Last, but not least, I want to shout out to the wonderful people of Kansas and Missouri. On both sides of Stateline Road, all of you are of goodwill and kind heart.

Prologue

The U.S. Army and ISIS rebels agreed to a peace treaty in the Syrian war. Americans went home, but not to celebrations and the pursuit of happiness. The United States had fractured into a patchwork of ministates. Captain Bryan Abernathy returned from the conflict to find many of his fellow soldiers, now lived across an international border.

Kansas refused to join the secessionists. When the Heartland Republic declared war, the civilian government left. A suicide bomber took out the top military leaders. Defense fell upon the few base commanders still in control of a system of forts built in the 19th century.

Two long years of fighting decimated the wealthy suburbs in northeast Kansas. This area of bombed buildings, burned trees, and destroyed roads, became known as the Wasteland. Climate refugees, local homeless people, and outlaws live among the ruins. So does Abernathy.

Chapter 1

Strange Fruit

Bryan checked his weather app. Jason, did you know that today marks a milestone? Our current drought has lasted longer than the Dust Bowl days of the last century and today’s going to be another scorcher.

In other words, a typical day in Kansas. Dad, some people still call global warming a great hoax.

Some are neighbors, but let’s go before it gets hotter. They slipped on their full-face respirators and helmets. Lieutenant Jason Abernathy, M.D. hopped into the shotgun seat. Bryan unplugged his all-electric truck and climbed behind the wheel. The engine purred like a well-fed tiger as he drove out of the garage and the sun rose into a cloudless sky.

Bryan’s task was to patrol the Wasteland, helping anyone in need. That usually meant removing fallen trees, clearing the roads, or treating injuries. The morning was uneventful. Jason treated a few cases of dust pneumonia and one broken arm. They were about to pull into a small picnic area to enjoy lunch when Bryan hit the brakes. About a hundred feet in front of the truck, a body spun at the end of a rope. A short, scrawny man tried to cut him down, but his kitchen knife made scant progress. They ran to help.

When the man saw two large white men charging him, he fled to the woods. His mask, two pieces of cloth with ground charcoal sewn between them, and a cord to go over his ears, clogged. He ripped it off. Dust set him to coughing and gagging. He crouched in a defensive posture, pointing his pathetic weapon at Bryan, as he closed in.

Easy now. I’m not going to hurt you. He pulled a bottle of water from his duster pocket and handed it to the stranger. Don’t be afraid.

Dreadlocks hung around the man’s face like twisted ropes. His black eyes, filled with fear, darted left and right. He wore a tee shirt of indeterminate color. Bare toes poked out of his shoes. Warily, he stuck his knife into a thin twine that held up torn brown trousers and took the bottle. Thank you.

Cuts and deep purple bruises covered the hanging victim's face. As if cutting thread, Jason sliced through the rope with his Rambo knife and checked for a carotid pulse. There was none. He closed the man’s eyes.

Bryan unholstered his Beretta. The lynchers might still be nearby. I need a sitrep.

The stranger asked, Sitrep?

Sorry, my dad’s been in the army longer than I’ve been alive. He wants to know what the situation is. What happened? I’m Lieutenant Jason Abernathy, a doctor. This is my father, Captain Bryan Abernathy. Who are you?

"I’m Ezekiel Charles. Everybody calls me Zeke. This is... was Isaiah Watson, the gentlest man I’ve ever met. We’re from the South Carolina low country. When rising seas flooded our village, everyone had to move. About twenty adults and kids packed into our vehicles and drove west.

Eventually, we came to a small farm near here run by a man named George McKinnon. He promised that if we worked for him, he’d help us find abandoned houses we could have. The neighbors didn’t like black refugees living so close to them. Some hated the idea so much that they shot McKinnon a few days ago. Fearing the whites would blame us, we fled. Isaiah and I were walking to New Hope.

As a sign of determination to rebuild and regrow, a group of shattered suburbs formed one new city out of the Wasteland ruins.

Jason asked, Why was your friend hanged and you weren’t?

We walked all night, but when dawn broke, we searched for a place to rest. I saw the lights of a vehicle turn the corner and drive straight for us. Isaiah and I split up and ran in opposite directions. They went after him. Nobody came for me. I circled back. Five men drank beer while my friend choked to death at the end of that rope. When he stopped kicking, they left. I should have done something.

If you had, you’d be hanging next to him. We’ll take the body to Fort Leavenworth. You should come with us. Those lynchers might return. Jason, pistol drawn, scanned the surroundings.

Bryan and Zeke maneuvered Isaiah into the truck bed. A card fell out of his pocket and fluttered to the ground.

Jason snatched it up. A red circle filled the center. A black cross divided the circle into a bullseye. A white noose was draped over its arms. Beneath this logo were the words, Westtown Soldiers of God. Doing the Lord’s Work. He handed it to his father. It’s a business card.

Zeke said, I’ve seen this logo many times. We call it ‘The Hanging Cross.’ They’re scrawled onto walls, nailed to trees, and telephone poles.

In the distance, tornado sirens wailed a plaintive warning. The men looked at the sky. Dark clouds on the western horizon billowed high into the air. This wasn’t a tornado, but something much worse. Tumbling trash, debris, and tons of prairie soil rolled toward them in an avalanche propelled by gale-force winds.

The wind pummeled them as they forced the truck doors open and fought their way inside. Bryan flipped on the radar-powered Collision Avoidance System (CAS). It showed debris and dust blowing towards them, but, also, two white lines representing the road. This storm’s a monster, but I know where we can find shelter. Fighting the wind, the truck seemed to crawl through the clouds of dust.

Zeke’s mask once again clogged. He beat it against the floor, slapping out dust.

Bryan said, Those masks are useless. We’ll stop at our house and give you a real respirator.

The nasal voice of the CAS announced, A minimum of twelve birds, the size of crows, are about to hit the vehicle. Recommend staying on course. There’s a 98% chance damage will be minimal.

Like a drunken juggler, the wind tossed the birds up, down, and sideways. One slammed into the hood and slid over the cab’s roof. Another exploded in a mass of blood and feathers, but the windshield held. Bryan inched forward through the black, swirling cloud.

The CAS barely kept up with listing the myriad pieces of trash, tree limbs, and birds blowing past them. A building, dimly outlined on the screen, grew larger. At last, we found the shelter, but I need the two of you to open the doors. He skidded to the front of the door.

Grit peppered Jason and Zeke as they climbed out. The screaming wind slammed them against the wall. They slid along it to the tall oak doors and forced them open.

The CAS image morphed into a new outline indicating fifty feet to the back wall. Bryan had plenty of stopping room, but one major problem. The doorway was twelve feet high, but only eight feet wide. If he didn’t thread the needle perfectly, he could hit Jason or Zeke.

The wind dropped. Dirt, branches, and trash plummeted from the sky filling the back of the truck. It was now or never as a dune grew higher in front of him. Bryan pulled in the side mirrors and put the pedal to the medal. He bounced over the mound, shot through the doorway, slammed the brakes, and screeched to a halt.

As quickly as the wind slowed, it picked up again. A vortex swirled around the doors, slamming them shut, and flinging Jason and Zeke across the floor.

The headlights revealed scattered pews. Animal and bird tracks laced the dusty floor. A smashed altar and candle holders cluttered the front. The wind howled through shattered stained-glass windows.

Coughing furiously, Zeke crawled out from under the truck and pulled off his clogged breather. He spat out muddy saliva, thick as a wad of chewing tobacco.

Jason handed him a bottle of water. We’re inside a church?

It used to be. Bryan rummaged around in the truck bed. Next to Watson’s buried body, he found the lunch cooler. Dust swirled around in the nave. There’s still plenty of dust. Let’s eat in the truck. Zeke sat in the backseat of the crew cab. Jason took the shotgun seat. Bryan passed out sandwiches.

Zeke hadn’t eaten in three days and wolfed his ham and cheese. He washed it all down with water and came up for air. It’s ironic that I’m in a church. Isaiah and I had dreams of going to seminary. He was much more spiritual than me and believed that the Lord controlled every part of his life but look what happened to him. Was it God’s plan for lynchers to hang him while I was left untouched? There's no meaning in this. Maybe preaching isn’t for me.

Bryan turned in his seat and faced Zeke. Those white supremacists murdered him, and they want you to let it slide, to hide in fear, to do nothing. God kept you safe so that you could speak out and demand justice. You can become a man with a purpose.

How? I’m not powerful. I’m not someone to make a change. I’m just a poor black man.

Be a leader against the forces of evil. You’ll never know if you never try.

He considered the advice. You’re right. If I do nothing, Isaiah’s death will be in vain. I’ll become a minister in honor of him.

You should have no problem finding a church. Megachurches are everywhere these days. Big religion equals big money. I’m sure you’ll find plenty of work.

I’m not interested in becoming some huckster. I want to help poor people, the homeless, and marginalized people who will never be welcome in any megachurch. Zeke looked around. I’m going to rebuild this abandoned church as a home for all abandoned people. That’s my new goal.

Before you set such an ambitious target, you should hear the story about this place. The church was built in 1881. It served as a house of worship for almost 148 years. The registry for June 2029 listed about 150 members. One Sunday, the congregation attended mass. It wasn’t anything special, except for one thing, nobody returned home. Police came and searched the premises. Family and friends scoured the countryside and found neither parishioners nor the priest."

Zeke’s jaw dropped. Nobody? Any idea about what happened?

Some say the priest was molesting some of the boys. For this, God punished them by sending everyone straight to Hell, including the Priest’s victims. I don’t believe that at all. I think a platoon of Heartland troops, disguised as civilians, crossed the border. This was before the war, so the border was open and unguarded. The troops used a sleeping gas, such as BZ or nitrous oxide. They knocked out everyone, loaded them into trucks, and drove to the Gulf Coast. The Southern Confederacy is constantly building higher seawalls to keep rising Gulf waters from flooding oil refineries. They don’t care how they acquire workers. I consider this to be the first battle in the war to force Kansas into the new Heartland Republic.

Late afternoon sunshine slanted through the broken windows, lighting up the broken pews. Jason said, The sun’s out. Time for us to leave.

Bryan started the engine and slowly backed up until the bumper connected with the doors. The electric engine whined, but the wheels only spun in place. He floored the pedal. The tires found some traction and the truck shoved the doors slightly open. Four-foot-high drifts blocked further movement.

The three men shoveled away a mountain of dirt and forced the doors fully open. An unnatural stillness greeted them. No birds chirped. No wind stirred. Broken tree trunks, like the masts of wrecked ships, poked through an unmoving sea of dirt.

Bryan said, It’s going to be dark soon and the roads will be impossible to navigate. We’ll stay at our house and go to Leavenworth tomorrow.

They had to shovel several times, but shortly after sunset, Zeke said, There’s a spotlight sweeping back and forth. I’m surprised anyone has electricity.

Jason laughed. That’s our house. We’re self-sufficient because Dad installed a wind turbine and solar panels. He offered to help our neighbors do the same, but they claim to be rugged individualists and insist on their right to do nothing.

Bryan parked in the garage and the three men entered the airlock. Bryan and Jason left their dusters, helmets, and respirators hanging on the wall next to the door. Zeke didn’t have outer protective wear and joined them inside the airlock. Fans blew dust from clothing, while vacuums sucked it all away. A green light came on and the inner door clicked open.

Jaden Abernathy, Bryan’s wife, welcomed them home. She took one look at Zeke’s old, dirty clothes. Welcome to our home, but that’ll never do. Dust pneumonia is a killer. You need to shower and get some new clothes. Jason, take Zeke upstairs and find him something to wear.

In Jason’s bedroom, Zeke prepared for the shower while Jason rummaged around in his walk-in closet. After a few seconds, he dropped a bundle of cargo shorts and shirts on the bed. You’re welcome to any of these. I have some boots in the basement. You hit the shower and I’ll get them. He gingerly scooped up Zeke’s rags and ran to the basement, trashing them along the way.

Zeke showered, slipped on a pair of cargo shorts, and dug through the pile of shirts.

Jason returned and opened his bedroom door. He dropped the boots and his gut tightened. Sorry! I should’ve knocked.

Puzzled, Zeke glanced back. The dresser mirror reflected badly healed scars, like a tangle of vines, crisscrossing his back. Oh! You see my welts. He pulled a Bob Marley tee shirt over his damp dreadlocks. They’re the cost of five apples.

Jason’s brow furrowed. Huh?

I was sixteen, homeless, starving, and without a dime to call my own. I walked by a fruit stand and grabbed a bag of apples. I ran, but it took the owner about ten seconds to catch me. By the time the sheriff showed up, the owner had already made a noose. He only waited for the sheriff’s permission to hang me. However, the sheriff took pity and spared my life. He still gave me fifteen lashes. Then he gave me the apples, saying I had earned them.

Jason gasped. That’s truly horrible. I don’t know what to say.

There’s nothing to say. There’s one type of justice for people like me, another for people who look like you. That’s just the way it is.

My family and I strive to treat everyone with respect and dignity. On a happier note, Mom will have dinner ready in a few minutes.

They joined Bryan at the dinner table set with five settings. In the center of the table were bowls of fresh salad, mashed potatoes, and a tureen of gravy. Jaden placed a platter of baked chicken in the center.

Zeke’s eyes widened. Where did you get such fresh produce? There must be three kinds of lettuce in that salad.

Spinach too. Jaden patted Bryan’s arm. Tell him about our greenhouses, dear.

My great-grandfather built our house in 1910 near an artesian well. My grandfather added a greenhouse. My dad added a second one. I installed solar panels and a windmill. We’re off the grid and that’s why we’re sitting here in a well-lit, air-conditioned room enjoying a meal right after a major dust storm. He took a piece of chicken and passed the platter.

Jason asked, Why is there a fifth plate?

Because I’m here. A woman stepped out of the airlock. Sorry, I’m late. Who’s our guest?

Jason brightened. Val, this is Zeke. Due to unfortunate circumstances, he’ll be staying the night with us. Valerie is my older sister. She’s in charge of the local CDC office here in Kansas and has returned from Alaska. How was your trip?

Pleased to meet you, Zeke. She reached across the table to shake hands. My trip went better than I hoped. Let me bring Zeke up to speed. We kept receiving persistent rumors of a new disease among oil company workers. They called it the Arctic flu. We asked for details. The company doctors said it was the flu and we shouldn’t worry.

Bryan said, That’s what the cat said to the mouse. Everybody chuckled.

Valerie took a piece of chicken and passed the plate to Zeke. When permafrost thaws, it releases methane, a greenhouse gas, but of more concern to us are the viruses and bacteria that also thaw out. Any of these can become an epidemic. Two weeks ago, I sent a team to Prudhoe Bay to find out the truth.

Zeke looked puzzled. Germs come back to life?

They never die. Ten thousand years in deep freeze doesn’t harm microbes at all. They thaw and go about their business, but humans have never experienced these germs.

Jason asked, If you sent a team north, then why did you have to go?

They sent back blood and soil samples. Yes, there was a flu virus, but nothing new. We only found common microbes. We were getting the runaround. So, I contacted Ari. She’s one of the company doctors and agreed that we were getting the runaround but wanted me to see for myself. She convinced the company to invite me up for a tour and photos. She said that she would convince me everything was fine.

Ari? Is that your friend, Ariana, from college? I thought you two made a stunning couple. Any chance of you getting back together again?

Yes, Mom, she’s the one, but no, she’s four thousand miles away from here. We did spend a marvelous night together under the gorgeous Northern Lights before I had to fly home. She turned a slight shade of pink.

Bryan asked, Am I missing something? It sounds like she was going to play the company stooge and dish you up a load of crap.

In Ari’s email, she used our safe word, which tells me it’s the opposite of what she just wrote. I took them up on the offer. She and the company execs gave me the tour. They made sure to pose with us for photos and gave me samples. They didn’t know that Ari switched their fakes with samples from real patients. When I got back to the CDC, we ran tests. Some of the lab rats died within 72 hours from what I call pneumonia on steroids. I’ve never seen anything so destructive. At least now, we can work on treatments and develop a vaccine soon.

Jason said, Even if you do that, I’m afraid production is going to be a problem. The war destroyed most of our facilities and limited our medicine production.

Bryan finished off the last of his potatoes and gravy. I might be able to help with that problem. Colonel Overton, with the backing of the other base commanders, has been collaborating closely with Colonel Lewis in Heartland to broker a peace treaty. If we can develop the vaccine and they can mass produce it, then that is the perfect way to show how working together is better than fighting each other.

Jason said, The sooner, the better. An oil company plane landed at the airport last week with six Arctic flu patients onboard. Three have already died. We quarantined the other workers and the airplane’s crew. Twenty are now sick.

The next morning, the men prepared to leave. Zeke removed his breather from the wall hook. Bryan snatched it out of his hand and tossed it in the trash. Those respirators are useless. You need this. He handed Zeke a brand-new 3M 7900 full-face respirator. This will protect your eyes, as well as nose and mouth. I won’t lie, they are hot, confining, and smell like rubber dipped in antiseptic, but they’ll protect you from dust pneumonia.

Zeke’s jaw dropped. I can’t take this. It’s too expensive.

Dust pneumonia causes high fever, green snot that fills your lungs, and causes excruciating chest pain. Accept this respirator as my gift. My son has a gift for you as well. Now, I need to get out of the snowplow. Bryan pulled his respirator down and stepped into the airlock.

But wait, if you order right now, you will receive this brand-new duster for free. Jason handed Zeke a camel-colored long coat with a microfiber surface designed to shed dust.

The stoic Zeke cracked a smile. Thank you so much, but I don’t understand why we can’t bury Isaiah in town?

We must take Isaiah’s body to the fort. Our only funeral home ran out of caskets due to the amount of fighting before the current lull. The funeral director closed the shop and left town. If you’re ready, let’s meet Dad. It’s a long drive to Leavenworth.

Bryan drove out of the garage in a snow truck with a blade mounted on the front. There hadn’t been snow in fifteen years, but it worked quite well on dirt. Twin waves of Kansas prairie soil rolled off the V-shaped blade as he cleared the driveway and headed out to the cleared street. Jason and Zeke, with Isaiah Watson in the back, followed in the all-electric Silverado.

A couple of hours later, they reached Fort Leavenworth’s gate. The guard saluted. Welcome back. Major Price is expecting you.

A troop detail busily shoveled the street leading to headquarters. Bryan eased up behind them and honked. They stepped aside. To a chorus of cheers and applause, he plowed through the dirt and cleared a path to the front of HQ.

Major Gordon Price approached. Bryan and saluted, and then the old friends hugged. A flashy smile lit up Gordon’s face. I’m happy to see you, Captain. I’m sure my men are even happier to see your plow.

Bryan’s duties were to police the Wasteland as best he could. He often had Price’s son, Sergeant Tyler Price, and his squad at his disposal if something serious came up. He only reported to the base if something unusual occurred.

Jason and Zeke joined them. Jason snapped a salute. Sir. Happy to be back, sir. Permission to report to the hospital?

Welcome back, Lieutenant. I appreciate you cutting your leave short. The dust storm caused hundreds of injuries. We need every doctor we can find. Permission granted.

Bryan said, Let me introduce you to Ezekiel Charles. Just before the dust storm, we found him trying to cut his friend, Isaiah Watson, down from a lynching. Watson is in the back of my truck, but I need a favor. Will Commander Overton allow us to bury him in the fort’s civilian cemetery?

Price shook hands. Welcome to Fort Leavenworth. I wish it were under better circumstances. I promise we’ll make room for your friend.

A tall young woman came up and kissed Price on the cheek. Hi, Dad, Bryan. How’s Jaden? We never see you two anymore. She smiled, amber eyes flashing. Oh! Who’s this handsome gentleman?

Bryan smiled. Margaret, this is Ezekiel Charles.

I wouldn’t call myself handsome, but nice to meet you. Please call me Zeke.

Nice to meet you, Zeke. She shook hands and turned to her father. The rescue workers will soon break for lunch. We’re short-staffed. I’d like to help in the kitchen.

Zeke perked up. Sir, I’m handy in the kitchen. May I help?

Margaret said, Of course.

Major Price raised one eyebrow.

I shall enjoy working by your side.

I believe I shall like that very much. Let’s go. She tossed her wavy black hair over her shoulder and started toward the mess hall. Zeke eagerly followed.

What just happened? Price asked. My daughter has never been such a flirt.

That’s the first time I’ve seen Zeke smile. What are your orders, Sir? I assume you want me to plow the rest of the streets.

Yes, my men will love that, but you need to work fast. I have another task for you. I didn’t want to say anything in front of your civilian friend, but Base Commander Overton died yesterday, buried alive just a few feet from his car. That leaves me in charge of this whole FUBAR situation.

Bryan’s shoulders slumped. Sorry to hear that. He was instrumental in developing the peace treaty with the Heartland Republic. What’s going to happen now?

We have good intel that Heartland troops are assembling in Joplin and preparing to attack Wichita. I’ve ordered a full company to deploy as reinforcements.

Do you want me to lead them?

Negative. I have a more important assignment. You mentioned Overton’s treaty. I need you to take that over. Overton was able to collaborate openly with Colonel Lewis, deal directly with problems, and talk face-to-face with their leaders. But if they see my black face, the talks will be over before it starts. The leaders in Heartland don’t appreciate my dark tan. Your assignment is to find out why they are attacking Wichita and prevent it.

Bryan shook his head. Most of the Heartland troops are loyal to him, including two of my former sergeants, Henley, and Crane. Major Heinrich is the only significant enemy he has. Heinrich might be trying to blindside him. If he succeeds, he will claim the credit. If he fails, Lewis draws a court-martial, and Heinrich wins a promotion. It’s a win-win for him.

Sounds like you have a good understanding of the situation. Find out what’s going on and prevent this battle from ever happening. Our backs are against the wall. The company I sent for reinforcements is half of the garrison’s force. If we lose Wichita, Heartland will have a welcome mat to force Kansas into their republic. Major Price reached into his duster pocket and handed Bryan a phone. I found this on Overton’s body. It’s an untraceable burner you can use for Colonel Lewis.

Chapter 2

Battle of Wichita

The Wichita Electric crew worked all day stringing lines to bring the city’s power grid back up after a massive dust storm. The sun was setting behind dark clouds in the west. The crew wrapped up work for the day and headed back to the yard.

Rangers’ baseball cap pulled down over goggle-covered eyes, Roberto Sanchez tried to sleep in the back of the bouncing truck.

John, sitting next to him, nudged his shoulder. Border jumper, you want an apple?

Sanchez pushed his cap back and glared at John’s tanned face. "You know, amigo, I was born in Texas."

I know. I’m playing you. The lady at the last farm gave me a couple of apples in appreciation for getting her power back. You want one?

"Sí."

A co-worker, Pedro Ramirez, banged the dirt out of his mini respirator. He coughed and spat out a wad of greenish mucus over the side of the truck. He wiped pink frothy saliva from his lips and muttered, Damn cheap-ass company crap ain’t worth shit.

Sanchez put his hand on Ramirez’s back. Try to keep your head down and your breathing shallow. You’ll take in less dust. Pedro suffered from dust pneumonia and wouldn’t last another week.

John said, Pedro and I were born here, but why did you come to the Dust Bowl?

When Texas seceded and became the Lone Star Republic, the new all-white government had the bright idea that immigrants were taking all the harvesting jobs. So, they deported all the farm workers. They planned to give those jobs to whites, but few wanted them. Those showing up for work quit the first day. When crops rotted in the fields, many smaller farmers packed up and left. People like me followed them.

I’m glad you did. You’ve only been with us a month, but you do a better job stringing than some of the guys who’ve been doing it for years.

The vehicle drove down Clark Street in Augusta, a suburb east of Wichita. Dust masked the western skyline with lightning flashes brightening the clouds. Thunder rolled away in the distance. The pickup stopped in front of the house where Sanchez rented a room. He grabbed his backpack and pivoted over the tailgate.

See you tomorrow. John pointed to the sky. Maybe we’ll get some rain to cool things off.

Sanchez squinted at his Compuwatch. The temperature was 104 degrees and no precipitation for the next week. The app showed a