Forty-two years safeguarding his flock,
but when the baddest bear came, her eyes fell on him.
— EPITAPH FOR THE REVEREND DESHAWN TIMMS
(JANUARY 18, 2000–AUGUST 8, 2067),
BY LUCILLE TIMMS, HIS WIFE,
NOVEMBER 6, 2068
A few days, Mom had told me when she left, and for once she’d been accurate. Her trip didn’t stretch out to a week or two or three. She spotted me, pushed past Tia and Sunday, and hurried down the steps. I met her halfway, and we tried to out-crush each other. It was a draw, but I was sure I’d get her next time. I was getting bigger and stronger; she was getting skinnier and older.
She kissed me on the tip of the nose and both cheeks, something she’d learned on her travels to some foreign land, no doubt, a remnant of the Russian or French cultures. I half expected her to kiss my hand next. “I’m so happy to see you, Kellen,” she said, not letting go of my arm but allowing me to start for the house. “I missed you.”
“Me, too,” I said, even though I hadn’t been that thrilled with her the last time we “visited.” And I hadn’t really had time to miss her. Three or four days or whatever it had been was a short absence for my globe-trotting mother. She said she was happy to see me, but her eyes didn’t look happy. They still looked tired. Once more, I wondered what was going on.
We reached the front door, where Tia, Sunday, and the old woman were hanging out. I should have been embarrassed at Mom’s public display of missing me, but I wasn’t. I’d been under the microscope for so long, I’d quit caring.
“Septiembre and Sunday, this is my mom, Dr. Heather Dent,” I said. The majority of kids — and I was in the majority — shared their mothers’ last names. Marriages, on the rare occasions they occurred, tended not to last. A lot of married men, even though they’d passed their trials and maybe had a kid, succumbed to the multiple temptations to wander, in every meaning of that word. Single dads were even less likely to stick around. Moms were the constants in kids’ lives.
“Tia,” Tia said.
“I love your names,” Mom said. “Sunday and Septiembre. How beautiful.”
“Tia,” Tia repeated.
“And this is Dr. Rebecca Mack,” Mom said, nodding toward the old woman, and I found myself instantly zeroing in on her. Up close her crumpled tissue-papery skin made her look older, but her eyes reminded me of the fierce, watchful eyes of an owl I once did a face-to-face with at wilderness camp.
“Sunday,” she said, shaking Sunday’s hand warmly. “Septiembre.” Another friendly handshake, even though I was sure Rebecca Mack caught Tia’s eye roll at the use of her full name.
“Rebecca, this is my son, Kellen,” Mom said, and it was my turn for a handshake.
This one was even warmer. And for an old woman, she had a grip. She hung on tight while she smiled and said, “I’ve heard so much about you, Kellen. Your mother thinks you walk on water.”
“Nice to meet you,” I lied. Besides being Mom’s demanding boss, Rebecca Mack was the chairwoman of PAC, the organization dedicated to keeping me from walking on water. Closing in on eighty years old, she was still running the worldwide show.
What was she doing here? I wondered, but I didn’t ask. I knew what was okay by now, and asking about Mom’s work definitely wasn’t.
I remembered Anderson once referring to the old lady as “Mack the Knife,” which prodded me to do a Net search. I’d discovered that “Mack the Knife” was a once-popular song originally written for a 1920s play called The Threepenny Opera. That was about as far as my curiosity took me. I chalked up the nickname to the good doctor maybe having a background as a surgeon before moving into her current line of work. It was as good a guess as any.
We went inside, where the air felt heavy and lifeless, the colors looked murky. Mom and Rebecca Mack headed to the study, talking in low voices. The girls invited me to do homework with them at the kitchen table, but I was ready for breathing space. I carried my backpack to my room, turned on some music, and hit the button on my e-spond to load the assignment onto my desk display. In an instant the words HISTORY LESSONS, COURTESY OF PAC ARCHIVES, EXCERPTED FROM JUNKYARDDOG.BITES, showed up on the big screen. But the vision of San Francisco evaporating was still stuck in my brain, replaying itself again and again. It shoved everything else to the fuzzy edges of my mind.
I touched the PRINT command on the screen and my printer began spitting out the information while I sat and started spooling slowly through the stuff on the display. I noticed the heading again.
HISTORY LESSONS, COURTESY OF PAC ARCHIVES, EXCERPTED FROM JUNKYARDDOG.BITES
Now I was focused enough to wonder what PAC had to do with Anderson’s assignment. I puzzled over the question for a moment, but then I dove in. It looked like a big batch of heavyweight facts, and I didn’t have all day to devote to studying. I wasn’t going to obsess over this. I wasn’t Ernie.
SEPTEMBER 15, 2035, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — CHICAGO POLICE AND FEDERAL AUTHORITIES REPORT THEY HAVE NO SUSPECTS IN THE ASSASSINATION OF CONGRESSWOMAN AND LEADING PRESIDENTIAL CANDIDATE CHERYL BAUER LAST WEEK.
DECEMBER 11, 2035, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — EXECUTIVES OF CROWN INDUSTRIES, THE NATION’S LARGEST CONGLOMERATE, HAVE DISSOLVED ITS RETIREMENT BENEFITS PLAN, EMPTYING THE ACCOUNTS OF TEN MILLION EMPLOYEES AND RETIREES.
JUNE 8, 2036, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — A U.S. JUSTICE DEPARTMENT STUDY REVEALS THAT FOR THE FIRST TIME, THE NUMBER OF EIGHTEEN-TO TWENTY-TWO-YEAR-OLD MEN IN PRISON, JAIL, OR UNDER THE JURISDICTION OF THE COURT SYSTEM EXCEEDS THE NUMBER IN COLLEGE.
AUGUST 2, 2036, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — A MALE CALIFORNIA CONDOR NICKNAMED HAN SOLO, THE LAST KNOWN MEMBER OF A SPECIES SAVED FROM EXTINCTION MORE THAN A HALF CENTURY AGO, HAS DIED.
NOVEMBER 21, 2036, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — INDIA, SURPASSING 1.5 BILLION PEOPLE FOR THE FIRST TIME, NOW HAS AT LEAST A BILLION OF ITS CITIZENS LIVING BELOW THE POVERTY LEVEL. HALF OF THEM ARE IN EXTREME POVERTY AND FACING STARVATION.
FEBRUARY 4, 2037, JUNKYARDOG.BITES — GLACIER NATIONAL PARK TODAY WAS RENAMED GOING TO THE SUN NATIONAL PARK. ITS LAST GLACIER HAS MELTED.
True once, but when I was ten, Mom and I took the flash train to Montana. A new glacier was forming on a high peak at the park. People had come from all over the country to admire it, as if it were a newborn baby with the cutest nose ever. Mom cried when she saw it. Tears of elation, she said.
APRIL 2, 2037, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — OVER THE PAST DECADE, REPORTED INCIDENTS OF RAPE IN THE UNITED STATES HAVE INCREASED 176 PERCENT.
MAY 10, 2037, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — HOOD CANAL, A ONCE-PRISTINE BODY OF WATER ON WASHINGTON STATE’S OLYMPIC PENINSULA, NO LONGER SUPPORTS MARINE LIFE. A LONG SERIES OF FISH KILLS HAS LEFT NOTHING LIVING IN ITS OXYGEN-DEPLETED, PLASTIC-POISONED DEPTHS. WORLDWIDE, FISH POPULATION NOW STANDS AT 5 PERCENT OF 1900 LEVELS.
Hood Canal. I thought about my dad, the fisherman. Mr. Lucky. What would he have done if the fish hadn’t made a comeback?
MARCH 23, 2039, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — CITING FAMILY FEARS LINGERING FROM THE ASSASSINATION OF PRESIDENTIAL HOPEFUL CHERYL BAUER PRIOR TO THE 2036 CAMPAIGN, SENATOR SUSAN ABRAMS TODAY WITHDREW FROM THE 2040 PRESIDENTIAL RACE.
JUNE 3, 2044, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — EXPLORATION TEAMS HAVE FOUND VAST OIL RESERVES UNDER ICELAND’S CRUST.
JANUARY 27, 2045, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — PRESIDENT MONTY STRONG ANNOUNCED TODAY THAT EVIDENCE OF WEAPONS OF MASS DESTRUCTION HAS BEEN UNCOVERED IN ICELAND.
FEBRUARY 16, 2045, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — WITH THE APPROVAL OF THE LEGISLATIVE BRANCH AND A SHRUG OF THE MEDIA’S SHOULDERS, THE UNITED STATES AND A CONSORTIUM OF OTHER OIL-POOR-BUT-HUNGRY COUNTRIES TODAY INVADED ICELAND.
NOVEMBER 3, 2048, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — PRESIDENT MONTY STRONG WAS REELECTED TO OFFICE EARLIER TODAY WITH AN UNEXPECTEDLY, AND SOME SAY SUSPICIOUSLY STRONG, SHOWING IN MIDWEST STATES.
OCTOBER 17, 2049, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — WITH POPULATION DENSITY AND SPRAWL BOTH REACHING CRITICAL MASS IN THE UNITED STATES, TRUE GRIDLOCK HAS SET IN. COMMONPLACE ARE HUNDRED-MILE, FOUR-HOUR COMMUTES AND CLOUDS OF TOXIC EMISSIONS BLANKETING CITIES AND SUBURBS AND HOVERING OVER RURAL AND WILDERNESS AREAS.
AUGUST 3, 2050, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — IRAQ HAS JOINED OTHER MIDDLE EASTERN COUNTRIES IN FURTHER TIGHTENING RESTRICTIONS ON FEMALES’ RIGHTS IN MARRIAGE, DRESS, EDUCATION, VOTING PRIVILEGES, AND ELIGIBILITY FOR PUBLIC OFFICE.
SEPTEMBER 6, 2051, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — THE SOON-TO-BE-DEFUNCT SOCIAL SECURITY ADMINISTRATION PAID OUT ITS LAST RETIREMENT BENEFIT YESTERDAY. STATES ARE GIRDING UP FOR A COLOSSAL INFLUX OF WELFARE APPLICANTS; LAW ENFORCEMENT AND EMERGENCY AGENCIES ARE SCRAMBLING TO PREPARE FOR A WINTER OF CRIME, VIOLENCE, AND DEATH; CHARITABLE ORGANIZATIONS ARE PLEADING FOR DONATIONS AND VOLUNTEER HELP.
I recalled last semester’s history class. Female political leaders, lawmakers, and social workers reestablished Social Security in 2073, when they wrote the constitution for the new country of North America.
MARCH 28, 2053, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — WITH SUPPLIES OF OIL IN THE ENTIRE MIDDLE EAST WANING, THE REGION HAS TURNED TO A MORE RELIABLE INDUSTRY: DRUGS. THE BIGGEST IMPORTER, DESPITE THE FACT THAT ITS JAILS AND PRISONS ARE CRAMMED WITH PEOPLE CONVICTED OF DRUG-RELATED CRIMES: THE UNITED STATES.
JULY 4, 2054, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — OUR WORST FEAR HAS BEEN REALIZED.
I pictured the morning’s lesson — San Francisco shedding its skin, the mushroom cloud rising above the city like a gloating grim reaper, surveying his handiwork.
JULY 5, 2054, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — MADMEN BLAME IT ON THE VICTIMS.
JULY 6, 2054, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — THE MADNESS CONTINUES.
JULY 8, 2054, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — WHEN WILL IT END?
JULY 10, 2054, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — PRESIDENT NAPPER’S ONEDAY IMPEACHMENT TRIAL HAS CONCLUDED WITH HIS REMOVAL FROM OFFICE. VICE PRESIDENT JAMES CORSON ASSUMES THE PRESIDENCY.
JANUARY 21, 2059, JUNKYARDDOG.BITES — PRESIDENT CORSON’S ORDER FOR THE INVASION OF MEXICO WAS BASED ON A TERRORIST-INFESTED VISION FROM GOD, HE CLAIMS. HIS ORDER TO DEFOLIATE AND OCCUPY A FIVE-MILE-WIDE STRIP OF MEXICAN TERRITORY STRETCHING ALONG THE ENTIRE BORDER HAS COUNTRIES TO THE NORTH AND SOUTH OF THE UNITED STATES IN AN UPROAR.
I shut down my computer and pushed back from my desk. I was having a hard time coaxing the air out of my lungs, as if I’d just crashed into a wall chest-first.
Where was the world headed before Elisha?
I exhaled finally.
To hell, I decided.