By the year 2084, ice sheets, glaciers and snow had all melted. To the surprise of science, much of what was thought of as land in the Artic and Antarctica, for 1000 miles in every direction from the poles, was actually a dense slurry of earth and ice. It too melted causing oceans to rise to unexpected levels. People all over the world were terrified and fought to kill for higher ground. It was a life or death struggle. There wasn't enough elevation to accommodate the billions of people who populated planet Earth. This book is about a small group of people who left New Jersey for less populated mountainous land in Tennessee, only to encounter folks who didn't cotton to strangers. Food and security, well away from others who wanted to share in their provisions and elevations, were all that motivated them. By 2084 high water caused many nations to disappear or collapse. Civilization, including government of any kind was a thing of the past. In the United States a national economy was impossible. Currency was worthless. Congress had abandoned the capitol. The White House was vacant and partially under water. Disease, starvation and death haunted the land. But, while suffering unusually severe earthquakes, tsunamis and hydrogen bombs, four intrepid men and women began to organize and lead American into a new and better world emphasizing population control, computer brain development and robots, with the help of some Big Brothers and Sisters. Freedom is not free nor is it always obtainable or desirable. There is no such thing as complete, total, freedom. There have to be some restraints else civilization couldn't exist. Two Thousand Eighty-Four was the turning point.

TWO THOUSAND EIGHTY FOUR

A World In Trouble 100 Years After George Orwell's Polemic Masterpiece '1984'By V.A. Herbert

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 V.A. Herbert
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4490-0532-0

Chapter One

2084

Sitting beside an open window in his home, a hi-powered rifle equipped with a sniper scope on his lap, Dr. Mark Baker glanced once again at his watch and knew it was time to leave his home in Ft. Lee, New Jersey. It just didn't make sense, he realized, for a 44 year old psychiatrist to be watching and waiting for intruders so that he could shoot and hopefully kill them before they killed him. The fact that it was still hot, 75 Fahrenheit, and humid in this part of the country, at midnight on New Year's Eve, was so incongruous that it defied belief or understanding. A new year, 2084, was about to begin. But instead of celebrating as he and his wife, Dorothy, had done in years past, he was waiting, with a gun, to kill or be killed. For several years now, Baker and his friends and neighbors had been doing this: waiting and watching all day, all night. Shifts had been organized for some time so that sentries and others, in homes and buildings, many on rooftops, could protect themselves, their families and their property from attacks by people who lived below them, closer to the rising waters of the Hudson River and the ocean, seeking high ground and safety. There wasn't enough room, or food, or potable water for everyone. It was like the bomb shelter issue of the 1960's that Mark read about in school, when people debated whether they would allow their neighbors to share their shelter if the Russians dropped the "A" bomb. A decision was never reached only because it didn't happen. But now it was real. Millions of people were threatened by the still rising waters of oceans and rivers and were willing to fight and sacrifice their lives, if need be, to find dry land and food and drinkable water. They fought as individuals, as groups, and sometimes in large loosely organized formations. With guns and clubs, home-made spears, bows and arrows, they died in large numbers and were buried in mass graves. People felt sorry for them. They had really done no wrong but were, nevertheless, guilty in the eyes and minds of those who knew they had to take a stand. Many families fought each other only because of where they lived, sometimes just a few blocks below the crest. Many police officers, firemen and retired veterans were likewise divided by a mere few hundred feet of elevation. In some cases the attackers had been successful, but in many others it had turned into a stalemate. Even when the attackers won, there was no victory because other attackers would come to replace them.

Bits of news were hard to believe since no one could trust the source. Rumors and gossip held that Ft. Lee was not unlike other cities all over the world, particularly near water, all experiencing the same problems. Death by drowning, starvation, and disease were so common now that people didn't even bother discussing it. It was the way of life.

Millions of people had already died in New York City. The water level was now above the 30th floor of the Empire State Building, according to one intrepid flier who built and flew a small prop driven, open aircraft over Manhattan. For miles around the water was choked with the bodies of dead men, women, and children. For fuel, the pilot Judah Korn, of Ft. Lee, used alcohol which he manufactured from anything organic that he could find and ferment in an old still his family had used 160 years ago. The clear, 120 proof product tasted vile but, unlike wood alcohol, would not blind you or send you "on your way". Judah actually had a pretty good business making the stuff and selling it because so many people wanted to get drunk, and stay drunk. He said the odor of New York, at about 1500 feet was so strong he would not go back there. The stench of dead human bodies, sewage, and chemicals mixed with oil, gasoline and burning buildings was unbelievable. He said he anticipated that and had some heavy wet towels, but they were ineffective. The awful smells came right through. The water was on fire in many parts of the city. Several people on the roofs of buildings waved and shouted as he flew by. A few actually tried to shoot him down, apparently in an attempt to kill him, take his aircraft and escape. "Tragically," Judah said, crying softly, "none of them would escape. There was nothing anyone could do to help them."

Now in the new year, Mark Baker again began thinking of how he, his family, and others, could leave Ft. Lee. Born August 4, 2040, Baker was a tall thin man, 6'4" with a head of thick, dark brown hair, clean shaven and physically strong. A star quarterback for Fordham in 2060, '61 and '62, he had gone on to graduate from Boston University Medical School where, because of his lifelong interest in what made people tick, what made them do what they do, he decided to become a psychiatrist. He knew it would take years, but he also knew he would be good at it. He had been psyching people out since high school and Fordham, where he tried to predict what the opposing team's QB was going to do, and acted accordingly. He always seemed to know where the ball was going, and why.

Departure from Ft. Lee was a two-part problem. The first was where. You have to know where you're going before you can develop a plan to get there. But suddenly, before he could start the planning, Mark stopped rocking and sat absolutely motionless. Only his eyeballs moved, rapidly scanning the clear field to the east of his home. Scanning the darkness and listening carefully, he knew something was out there, not too far away. Once he knew exactly where, he could aim the rifle and fire accurately in less than 3 seconds. A floor switch for battery operated flood lights of the entire field before him was one inch from the big toe on his right foot. He waited patiently and listened for the snap of a twig or sudden movement. And then it came. From a 1 o'clock position, a click, as if releasing the safety on a hand gun, surprisingly close, about 10 to 12 feet away. Mark hit the light switch, aimed and waited just a fraction of a second before firing twice. He got them both, two teenagers who were obviously planning to kill him. And they were close. Baker immediately began to wonder how they did that. Norman Betts should have seen them if he had been alert and watching the north field from his home across the street. "Damn. Why didn't he see that?" Mark wondered. "That's sloppy. Almost got me." He shut off the lights and sat back. Could be more yet tonight. Pay attention. He knew there were a lot more where they came from.

It was just a few minutes short of 4 A. M. when Mark glanced at his watch again. Temperature down a few degrees but still humid. No breeze. He was hungry and thirsty, but knew there wasn't much in the kitchen.

What water was available from the city wells had been boiled for several minutes and bottled. No ice. Just water, because there was no electricity. Some old car batteries had been hooked up for lights in various places, but the city's power station went down long ago. No radio, television, internet, telephone, or toilet anywhere. No power. Some engineers in Ft. Lee had built a few windmills to generate minimal power, and several solar panels would produce enough energy to assist in an emergency operation, but that was under strict control.

Food, of course, was of vital importance to everyone. Pets had disappeared. In a few rare instances, they had been eaten by someone, seldom their owners. Pets were considered competitors. They eat too. Whatever food could be grown in your backyard: corn, carrots, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, cucumbers, were carefully handled and preserved in bottles of various shapes and sizes. Kind of pathetic. But it worked. Several committees, mostly women, grew produce on public property and shared it with those who had no land, renters for example. There were acorns which were roasted, and apples and pears, but very little wheat or grain. Obesity was not a problem in Ft. Lee, N. J.

Mark's wife Dorothy, Dot as she was known to everyone, made some spearmint tea and relieved her husband at 8, his 12 hour shift having been completed successfully. A special committee of unpaid police and undertakers would examine and bury the two teenage intruders later. Mark and Dot both missed a good cup of coffee, but coffee was no longer a staple or luxury. There was no coffee or tea anywhere. Someone started using spearmint and it caught on. So, with a little tea and an apple, Mark laid down and fell asleep.

Norm Betts had fallen asleep too. When Mark told him what happened Betts was deeply apologetic. "But hey, like you," he said, "I'm getting awfully tired of this. I'm more than twice your age Mark, and modern medicine or no, I'm just not up to it. I know almost all of us are 100 plus, thanks to all the drugs and things, but it will happen, sleep that is, and I know I'm guilty. Guilty as hell. God, what if you hadn't gotten them? I'm sorry Mark, I really am. And I promise, I'll do my very best not to let that happen again." Mark accepted the explanation and said, "We were lucky once again, but Norm, this is no way to live. I'm leaving."

"Where are you going, Mark? Maybe I'll go too."

"I have two sisters married and with families, who live on a mountain in the Cherokee National Forest. There's no way I can communicate with them so I don't know if they're still alive, or would want me down there, but I think that is where I belong now."

"You're probably right Mark, but how will you get there? You know how bad it is. No planes, trains, buses. You sure as hell can't walk. How you going to do it?"

"I don't know yet. That is the second part of the problem. Like my great-great-grandparents used to say: 'Where there's a will, there's a way'. Don't know yet, Norm, but I'm going to start looking."

"Well good luck Mark. And remember, if you find a way and want me to go too, I'll stay with you one hundred percent."

"Thanks. Right now I'm going to grab my rifle and take a little walk down to the river. There are some folks down there I want to talk to."

Dr. Baker went back home, told his wife what he had in mind, picked up his rifle, a few small gold coins he had accumulated, and left. He walked steadily along the road leading to the George Washington Bridge and marveled at the vastness of the quiet sea of water before him. The bridge, in shining silvery paint, one of the great engineering achievements of the early 20th century had been replaced 30 years ago with a bigger and stronger one, which meant nothing to the water that now covered its upper deck. It's hard to believe, he thought, that a structure so magnificent can be almost completely covered by the water it once dominated, and spanned.

A few minutes later he knocked on the door of a small white house near the waters edge. "Hi," he said to the pretty young woman who answered. "Can I come in?"

"You ever heard me say no?"

"Well miss," Mark said kiddingly, "what is your name? I'm not here to see you this time. I want to see Pepe."

"Pepe no here, senior," Rita replied in kind. "Won't I do?"

"Not this time Mrs. Ruiz. Unless you know something about boats. This is beezness."

"Well beezness or no beezness, Senior Pepe is not here but, in case you hadn't noticed, Pepe's senora is here waiting for a little kees, like in the movies."

Mark smiled, held her tightly by her shoulders and kissed her ready lips. "I miss you Rita," he said, releasing his grip. "And that's what I want to talk to Pepe about. I've decided to leave here and take you and the kids, and Pepe too. I give up. I don't want to live this way. But I want you with me. So I've got to talk to him about a boat. I think he could find one big enough, don't you?"

"I'd build the damn boat myself Mark, just to get out of here. Sure, he can find a boat," Rita said confidently. "He's down there now fixing one of them. Will I see you later?" she asked as Mark smiled at her and set out to find Pepe.

Mark Baker, an optimist, always walked about with a little smile and received a lot of smiles in return. His mother was like that and he loved her. She had lots of friends and a wonderful reputation for being friendly and helpful. People asked her for her opinion and advice on marital problems that they wouldn't discuss with anyone else. Mark inherited her good looks and personality. He liked to make people happy by complimenting them, casually and sincerely, whenever he could.

Until the government was forced to close the Veteran's Administration Hospital on the New York side of the Hudson, Mark worked with veterans and their families as a staff psychiatrist. Although the V. A. cannot accept any responsibility for non-veterans, including family members, Mark would meet with families if he felt it would help them or the veteran he was treating. He knew it would help the patient if others could understand the problem and the treatment. Except for his salary at the hospital, Mark never billed or accepted any money or gifts for the thousands of hours he spent helping people.

A tall thin guy with a natural smile and an easy way of handling anything that came along, Mark Baker was a natural leader. People had always looked up to him.

Dottie Regan, a smart and pretty Fordham cheerleader, fell in love with him the moment she saw him, and immediately told her pals on the squad that she was going to marry him. One of them knew the lyrics to a catchy old song 'you got to be a football hero to get a date with a beautiful girl', and sang it.

From then on it was Dorothy Regan's theme song. It made Mark laugh and love her for her humor and vivaciousness. Dot was a delight. Saucy and bright, she was the one. How could I do any better, he thought? She loves me.

But, a few years later, Mark screwed up. A third child, unwanted by Dot, was born nine months after a hell of a drinking party at a friends home. Coitus interruptus failed them. Dottie Baker stopped having sex with her husband. He didn't want to use condoms. Said it was no good that way. She didn't agree. "I don't want any more kids," she would say. "I don't trust you to get it out in time. I'll be damned if I'll ever, ever get an abortion. Go somewhere else and get it."

Mark gave that a lot of thought. Should he leave her or live with it? Or live with it but find someone he could cohabitate with? Or try to see it her way? He was pondering that when, weeks later, at a convenience store where he stopped occasionally for some beer or wine, a really cute girl was trying to tell the sales clerk that she had forgotten her purse and would pay for the six-pack she had in her hand 'next time'.

The clerk said, "Sorry, no credit. I can't let you have it."

Mark was the kind of guy who couldn't let something like that pass. "Here, miss, let me take care of that," he said, putting a couple of bills on the counter thus beginning, unknowingly, a long relationship with the pretty lady who needed him as much as he needed her.

A good carpenter, Pepe Ruiz used to work around Dr. Baker's house while Dr. Baker spent a little time at Pepe's house, with Pepe's wife. Rita, at 36, had 7 year old twin boys, Peter and Paul, but was a very unhappy woman. Pepe drank too much tequila too often and beat her. She had no where to go, despite the laws that had been enacted in the mid 21st century that so heavily favored women, and the agencies that were meant to enforce them. Times had changed during the past few years as government, what there was left of it, began more and more to focus on natural catastrophes, particularly rising water and its affects.

Pepe and another guy were trying to get an 85 hp outboard started as Mark walked up, exchanged a few pleasantries and began talking quietly.

"How many people you want to go?" Pepe asked.

"I guess it depends on what kind of a boat I can get." Mark begged the question. "How many will it hold? How safe is it?"

"Yeah, and depends on where you're going to take it. What you going to use for fuel, and food? I don't think it too good to go far. Some people got guns and look for guys like you."

"Pirates!" Mark exclaimed.

"Si, pirates. So where you going?" Pepe asked.

"Down south. I think it would be best to follow the coastline if that is still possible. We could go up the Hudson and take the Erie Canal, and the Ohio Canal down to the Ohio River ..."

"Forget it Doc," Pepe cut in, "it's too far and dangerous. Nobody knows what shape they're in; nobody can find out. Did you say we are going? Who is we? Me?"

"Yes, you, your wife and children. And my wife and kids. Why not? You don't want to live like this forever do you?"

(Continues...)

Excerpted from TWO THOUSAND EIGHTY FOURby V.A. Herbert Copyright © 2009 by V.A. Herbert. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.