"Thank you, what’s the deal?" I asked as I took the offered towel from Sheila’s hands and fluff-dried my thinning mane. Hair loss among men is a myth. It’s not so much that our locks leave as that they change location. The stuff that had lived on my head now grew out of my ears.
"Jen thinks the ionosphere has settled enough for shortwave. At her suggestion, I’ve decided it time we start a twenty-four-seven radio watch. You got the first shift. Listen and log, let’s see what’s going on out there." She paused and sniffed as she knelt and held open my dingy, used to be white underwear. "Don’t you have anything clean?"
"I do," I said, "back in my room. I didn’t pack."
I thankfully touched my hand to her head for balance as she guided my foot into the correct opening. With the agility of an ox, I managed it on the second try.
---
"Last count, they're sixteen thousand commercial radio transmitters, give or take, in North America," Jennifer said as she fiddled with a bank of switches and meters.
"Come on baby, you can do it," she whispered and patted the Coast Guard gray metal case housing the vintage relic from the seventies. The thirty pound Yaesu FT-101EE radio was a Craigslist steal, acquired by the Society for a few cents on the dollar. Beautifully maintained and lovingly cared for, the fifty-year-old workhorse still had the original protective film of clear plastic covering its face to protect the rig from scratches and dirt.
"Then again, maybe not," she muttered after several minutes without success. Nothing but random static.
"Even in the worst atmospherics we should hear something," Her dark eyes narrowed as she slowly spun the silver dial and scanned the airwaves.
"It's called dead air for a reason," she sighed.
"Ninety-watts should get us noticed, she re-set the power and keyed the mike. "You-Hoo! Anyone on? Radio check."
"I read you four by four. Mable here down in Meeker, South between East Market and the river. Lady, it great to hear another voice. You're my first contact since it happened Who is this? Over."
"Liberty Mountain calling, Jen here. We're within fifty miles. We live away from folks. Mable, you are also first outside contact since the shit hit the fan. What happened at your end? Over."
"Jen, are you a licensed operator? Over."
"Negative. Qualified yes. Don't worry, we will make way for traffic. Over."
"Copy that. Things here are an ‘effin mess. The storm blew about every transformer and started hundreds, maybe thousands, too many fires to count. Except for a few hot spots they've since burned out. Half of Meeker is in ruins and most of the other half is heavily damaged. I’m okay. Over.
"Oh my God! That is awful. Mable, what happened? Over."
"Liberty, a better question would be, ‘What didn't happen?' Just about everything is busted, broken, or burned. Aside from a few go-karts, and ATVs, about the only working vehicles I've seen, are mostly older vehicles, trucks, and cars from the sixties or before. The sheriff's department is commandeering anything still running. Over."
"That is bad. Over."
"Yes Liberty, it is bad and getting worse. FEMA told us Air Force One went down in a mid-air collision while making an emergency landing at Andrews. They tell us the president, is dead, and so are the congressional leaders who were with him...." Mable's transmission died in a garble of nonsense as interference smothered her words
"Mable, Say again, you are breaking up. Over."
Static answered.
"Hayi suka! The Gods of chaos will not let us talk," Jennifer glared at studio speaker for several seconds before she silenced the storm of white noise with an angry slap of her hand.
"We'll try again at the top of the hour. Sky, can you brew a fresh pot?" Sheila handed me her empty coffee mug. It was going to be a long night.
---
"Well, that explains the hazy skies and gorgeous sunsets," Sheila said as she poured a shot of brandy into her half-full coffee mug.
"What explains what?" I looked around as I searched the Technicolor sky for the source of her speculation.
"It’s all the smoke from burning cities. Got a light?" Sheila reached her arm across the cafe’ style table and plucked my pack of cigarettes from my breast pocket.
"So far, every contact we’ve made in the last three days, all two-hundred plus, have told us pretty much the same story. The fire in the sky was followed by fire on the ground," she said as she held the flame to the tip of her cigarette.
"I can’t even begin to imagine what it's like out there," she shivered as she adjusted her gray V-neck Sweater to cover her shoulder. Cashmere was as practical as it was stylish, soft, and about three times as warm as wool, it suited her.
"Millions, more likely billions, of families homeless, hungry, and broke. Money's no good unless you got someone willing to take it."
not just here but everywhere around the Earth.
"Please hold me for a moment, I don’t want to feel alone," the Commander said as she slipped her arm around my waist and drew me close to her side.
She leaned into me as I braced myself against the railing. Despite the warmth of the evening, I shivered as I hugged her body to mine.
Together in silence, we stood as the colors drained from the day and night flooded the valley with shadows and twinkling fireflies searching for lovers in a mating ritual as old as time.
"The poor children. No food. No power. No place to live. It’s going to be a long winter," she whispered as she tapped the gray ash from the glowing tip.
"It’s going to be a long forever," I replied as I softly kissed the tears leaking from her closed eyes.
In the distance, an unseen owl cried, "Who?"
"Thank you. I needed that," Sheila said as she smiled and traced the outline of my mustache with her index finger.
---
"Why the blindfolds?" I inquired as I took one of the offered black silk bandannas from Martha's hand.
"Part of the surprise, no peeking," she placed the folded fabric over my eyes knotted the scarf behind my head.
"I feel like a cat in a sack, I can't see a thing," I grumbled as she pulled and poked the cloth and checked her handiwork for light leaks. Open or shut made no difference. My eyes saw nothing in a world blacker than midnight.
"Don't be such an old fart, you'll ruin the fun. The sisters want a proper unveiling. You know, half the pleasure of getting a gift is unwrapping it. Play along," Sheila's friendly voice advised me from behind.
"Is it bigger than a bread box?" I mumbled. The other half was guessing what was under the wrapping paper. I searched my mind for clues. Whatever mystery or magic lay behind the door, was likely connected to last night's hammering and banging. Twenty Five hours without sleep had drained my batteries and left me dead on my feet, too tired to indulge my curiosity.
"Step-up," Martha cautioned as she guided me over the threshold and through the back entrance to the meeting hall. The tangy scent of fresh sawdust mingled with the aroma of paint, varnish, and adhesive. The acoustics around me sounded different than on previous visits. Odd. More closed in, fuller, like the echoes were not as empty.
"Are they ready?"
"Star? Is that you?" I gasped.
I've hated surprises ever since my aunt gave me a shiny new Jack-in-the-Box when I turned four. Absolutely wonderful until the melody stopped. Later, before bedtime, I beat it to death with my dad's baseball bat. What kind of person gives a little kid a music box filled with monsters?
"Shh," Alice's daughter shushed me; Her soft elfin fingers over my lips wore a lavender flavored blend of soap, glue, and solvents.
I nodded, relaxed, and said nothing. Calm is the best armor against the unknown. I know, I have a lifetime of dents to prove it.
"Ready? Blindfolds off on my count," she paused a moment before calling out a countdown almost worthy of NASA.
"...five, four...er, three, ...two, ...one. Let there be light!"
"Wow!" My cry of astonishment was lost amid the GROUP's shouts of joyful thanks and cheers from the assembled sisterhood.
"Commander, if I may, "Starshine stiffened to attention as she saluted with a grin, "On behalf of us all, I present to you," she proclaimed as her salute became a wave of her arm, "This, our offering for the GROUP!"
With sweat and imagination, the society's artisans, painters, and carpenters transformed the meeting-rooms theater into a Monty Python set on mushrooms.
An expansive hexagon-shaped table dominated the center of the stage, beneath a hula-hoop sized dream catcher hanging from the rafters. Behind it, the concrete wall at the back was covered with a whimsical rendition of a yellow brick road winding its way toward an emerald green castle in the distance.
In the foreground, a mannequin dressed as Alice in Wonderland was emerging from the Looking Glass to the amusement of Dorothy and her little dog. The pet puppy from Kansas was attired in cowboy clothes, complete with head-gear. The ace of spades in the hatband of Toto's gray Stetson reflected back as red.
Further up the road, the Golden Way was flanked and almost blocked by a poker-playing Mad Hatter, Tinman, and a mangy hookah smoking lion seated around a tiny card table. The smoldering bud in the bowl was an Almanac, dated next year. Like his mentor, the Cheshire stand-in, from his transparent toes to his translucent thighs, was fading away. Even his upper torso seemed misty, only the smile was was clear and sharp.
A huge map of North America, about ten feet wide and five feet tall seemed to float in midair, suspended by thin black wires hanging from the shadowed ceiling. Damn clever, us on one side and the world on the other.
To the right of the road, the mural continued along the western wall and merged into a view of ancient Athens as seen from the Parthenon. Three lifelike nude priestesses of differing shades held hands as they knelt before the radiantly beautiful Goddess, Athena.
The Olympian woman of wisdom and war carried over her shoulder a military-style rifle. A single red rose grew from its muzzle.
The artist had turned light into poetry. The sunlit side of the virgin deity of divine intelligence appeared fair, blond, and stern. Her features in shadow were a motherly metaphor of African delight and ancient wisdom as her thin lips widened into a smile of kindness and compassion. She towered over her disciples with her hands above heads as if bestowing blessings.
I nodded toward the goddess as I studied the painting and fingered my necklace. I understood the guns and rose symbolism. A visual pun, very well done and a suggestion that the next blessing might be the wisdom to avoid war. Lot’s of luck.
Twin lumber and canvas structures painted to resemble Greek columns added dimension and depth to the illusion.
I smiled as I read the spray-painted graffiti scrawled across the pillars; 'If not now, then when?' and, 'The future ain't what it used to be.' Nice touch.
"What is this place?"
"Daddy, it’s a think tank. Do you like it, Wolfie?"
"No," I said as I kissed her cheek.
"I love it!" Every aquarium needs decor."
