Everlasting Daylights

Chapter 2-4

“Agriculture, our most vulnerable, long-term resource, is a huge question on our scientists’ minds. A great deal of specialized starter seeds have already been delivered to American farms all over the country where follow-up phone calls will empower farmers to help us deal with the crisis. For instance, we have corn that will grow with little water in temperatures up to one hundred and fifty degrees.

“Special clothing has already been planned for, but with not knowing which side of the daylight coin our country would be on production will not begin until today. Because of national security, the security of peace and prosperity for all citizens is why we have not warned the public. I know that sounds like a dodge, like typical Whitehouse secrecy, but you have to consider that nothing other than a flip of the poles should have been all that happened. The senators on the committee saw no need to start a national panic until we knew. Now that we know what the country is up against, we can go into action with that.”

“Hey, look you guys,” came Dena, sitting on the right side of the cabin. “The sun is coming up. Sort of.”

“She’s right,” comes the voice of a lady agent, from behind the teenager. “It doesn’t look any different.”

“Do not stare at it,” Drissa alerts. “My friend told me that.”

The senator gestures his arms to be inclusive of the entire group, “That goes for all of you. The sun hasn’t changed. So don’t get caught up in the drama. Remember to use the right equipment for looking at our friend and foe, the sun.”

Drissa can manage to see orange light outside the aircraft. She is suddenly forlorn over the sunrise she will never see, coming up over the ocean she may never see again. The view from the plane just did not compare.

“Senator,” Joseph Drisden, who had worked the campaign along with Drissa and known to her as a solid guy. “Teachers told us in high school that planets that do not rotate get as hot as lava on one side. Is that what’s going to happen?”

“Good question, Joe,” John Hastings answers. “We don’t think so. For one, our planet has a thick atmosphere, lots of water in the sky to help stabilize the temperature. We haven’t seen it in action yet, but the frozen side of the planet will figure into the new weather pattern to also help keep it moderate. Our scientists think America will see highs around one thirty to one forty-five.”

He holds up his hands to squelch the murmuring, adding, “I know that sounds like being inside an oven, but believe me it is survivable. As with all parts of this emergency we will have to keep our cool, pardon the pun, and do not panic.”

“I was in a heat wave once and it was that hot,” Drew takes his courage in hand, usually quite shy in speaking situations. “Central Texas and it was one twenty-seven. The locals knew how to get by and they told me just to keep hydrated. Everyone will have to keep a bottle of water on their person.”

Drissa beams an immense smile. It means a lot of growth on her husband’s part to stand up like this. Making him an ideal person to go through a disaster with, someone who can adapt to new situations.

The senator touches his palm to his forehead in an effort to recall, then says, “Yes, thank you, Drew. The water bottle also makes a good practice in that it gives people something they can do to help themselves. It keeps them focused in a crisis situation.”

“A big thing we’re all going to be hoping for is that the pole reversal will build up quickly. It’s fluttering about right now and is too weak to shield us and the atmosphere from radiation…”

John pauses to gather his thoughts and notices that the room has fallen silent. The mood was too tense and they all needed some levity. From what is essentially a fully functional captain’s chair, controlling all aspects of the room, he flips a switch on his armrest to call the hostesses. An LCD readout promptly signals 10 minutes, the wait time until coffee service is on the floor.

“We have coffee on the way,” John offers, gestures at the teenagers. “Some hot cocoa or soda for the younger ones. And doughnuts!”

Gena taps Melody on the arm, “Do you think I can get more juice? I’ve hardly eaten anything in two days besides the crackers back at the hotel.”

Melody hits her call button and takes her first good look at Gena while waiting. She is athletic despite her tummy and looks to be eight months or so along, though she is not expert about babies. She is wearing khaki, knee length shorts and a similar button shirt that is open with a bright yellow t-shirt underneath. Her socks match and she is wearing Sketchers hiking wear. Definitely not poor, as if it would matter with her and John, she is what she purports herself to be, an American girl down on her luck.

“When are you expecting, Gena?”

“April tenth,” she returns politely, smiling and seemingly more at ease with her surroundings.

Faster than expected, an attendant suddenly reaches above Melody and turns the call off. “Yes, Mrs. Hastings?”

“This young lady is expecting and hungry,” she indicates Gena. “Can you find her something to eat now, please? And a juice?”

“Of course.”

The hand of a staff member near the rear of the lounge raises, John points and says, “Yes, Lori.”

“Just what are people supposed to do when the temperature is one hundred and forty-five degrees?” Fear is prevalent in Lori’s voice.

The Senator thinks that those present must want some Q and A instead of being lectured to, saying instead, “We can’t just sit around and hope that things will get better, Lori. People must keep on living, doing the things they normally do within limits of the hot weather. People can adjust, just like those who live at the edge of the Sahara Desert. But I’ll be straight with you up front. Lots of folks, like the sick and the elderly, won’t survive long at these temperatures. Municipalities are going to be overrun by those who need help. It’s not going to end well for a lot of people. But we can’t just give up. Do like Drew Philips said, drink plenty of water. Wet towels and put them on your head, live under a fan, my point is there are always things that can be done in order to survive.”

“Yes, David.”

“What about countries that were already hot, along the equator?”

“We’re all hopeful that the weather will do something we can’t predict,” John begins, “but you’ve got to wrap your minds about what’s really happening. This is an extinction level event. Billions of people are going to die and we can’t prevent that. We have to focus on what’s in front of us.”

John sees that the attendants are bringing in the refreshments, actually breakfast sandwiches, pastries and beverages, around yet chooses to preserve the momentum of the conversations, pointing and saying, “Who’s next. Billie?”

“I have houseplants,” Billie leads in. “A lot of them, if they get too much sun regardless of having plenty of water, well, they just don’t do so well. What about our crops?”

“Remember the corn I mention a while ago? Well, more accurately it is a super corn. In the lab, it grows fine at one hundred and fifty degree temperatures and, get this, it will mature in three weeks. From seed to corn in three weeks. And it grows with very little water because it has a very deeply root system. It’s got double DNA strands and the plant itself is perennial. It will keep on producing corn as long as it is harvest every three weeks. We have supplied thousands of farmers with the seed corn to use in the case of an emergency. I suspect they will be planting it real soon.”

“Okay,” he winds down, “we’re going to take a break here. Everybody get something to eat and drink. While you’re kicking back, I’m going to put on a little movie about the magnetic poles reversing. Maybe it will answer more questions that it creates.”

Exchanging knowing glances with his audio/visual tech guy, John activates a large screen up and behind his chair, then walks over to Melody, inquiring, “Is it just me or am I talking above everyone’s head this morning?”

She looks away from Gena, who is nursing a cold sandwich voraciously, up at John who appears unsure of himself, offering, “I think everyone is in shock. I know I am. Today’s has been a rather rude awakening right into the middle of some B movie and we’re all waiting for the theatre lights to come up.”

John crosses his hands in front of him, “What do you think I should do differently?”

She focuses on his tie clip for an instant, then, “Try dropping the Senator facade. Make the playing field level. Couldn’t hurt.”

“How is our young rescue doing?”

They both look at Gena, catching her breath from the first actual food in two days, by her own account, and sipping somewhat casually on her juice. She smiles at them, saying, “I’m doing a lot better than yesterday, thank you.”

“Gena,” Melody begins, “when we get to LAX, do you have any way to get home? To Bakersfield?”

She touches her lips to a paper napkin, offering, “I’ll have to call somebody from home to come and get me.”

“John,” Melody looks up at him. “We can do better than that, can’t we?”

“Well, sure. Our home is actually on the way to Bakersfield, about half the way there. When we get close enough, you can use one of our cell phones to call home, but we will run you up there.”

She breaths a sigh of relief, “You guys, that would be great. Now that I’ve had something to eat, I can recall my manners. Thank you so much for the ride back home to America. If it’s all the same to you, just let me call my dad to come and get me . I already don’t know what I would have done without your help.”

“Little girl,” John laughs a bit, “You would have been stuck in a whole lot of dark, is what. You ladies watch this film. The super corn is going to save everybody’s life. I’m going to the head.”

Gena stands to inform Melody, “My back’s hurting a little. Think maybe I’ll walk around for a bit.”

“Alright,” she says, watches the young lady pace back towards the standard seating, making note to ask if she wants a blanket because of wearing shorts, saying, “I guess young people just don’t feel the cold.”

Sharen Tate welcomes Barry Mendel’s urgent hands exploring the far reaches up her skirt. While sitting together out in the plane, whispers underneath the din of catastrophy built the feelings of wantonness to a fever pitch as they mutually agreed they had to feel something in all the confusion of the sun. Finding an out-of-the-way restroom proves a simple walk to the tail of the aircraft. Still, they moderate their heavy breathing so not to get caught, gasping into each other’s ears as they stand against one another, increasingly nude. She wrestles fervently at belt and fastener and his waist line staves off the clothing for her approving, urgent grasp.

“Hold on a second,” she voices into his ear, performing what he cannot do with her skirt and it billows down to the floor with his trousers.

He has had enthralling contact with her folds of skin but she lowers the lacy patch of her undies all the same. Glistening flesh peeks out into the cramped space, promising full participation if allowed to come out and play. Barry’s trunks joins the pile of clothing at their feet and he exhibits high attitude for their unplanned tryst. A good bit taller than he, she draws near and can feel his wonderfully taut nature below her naval. With a twist of her thighs and up on her tiptoes for a moment, she makes his wonder to efface the edifice of her gender, marvelously. Suddenly, the rough play of skin and muscle becomes the matter of hard sinew swallowed by the tender escarpment of her very essence. She feels his body strain to make the union more complete, her systems already enslaved by the elation. Wanting even more, she dances to the base rhythm of human behavior, writhing and twisting and thrusting against him.

He dances along with Sharen, moving as bewildering as he dare to preserve their much valued coupling. They feed from the plethora of living sensations, pursuing an all important measure of delight to blot out the ugly reality of their dying world.. In a blinding fury their love leaps from philios to eros, co-worker to lover, to a tempo laid out by the sun.

Sharen perceives muscular flailing inside her spasmodic p***y, bringing a nearly instant eruption of her own earthquake. Its waves of pure delight seizes her conscious balance and she collapses forward into his form, nearly sending them both to the floor in this close quarters.

“Whoa, sweetie. You alright?” He asks, having slid out of her warmth.

“Barry. Oh, Barry, yes I’m fine. Wasn’t expecting such a rush,” she whimpers. “We’d better get back before we’re missed.”

Juggling their clothes, helping to afford each to its owner, he ponders, “You’re not ashamed, are you?”

“No,” she answers, seating her bra back into its position. “It’d just be best if the Senator doesn’t find out about our little tete au tete. I care more for you than our jobs, but I don’t want to be suddenly fired.”

Barry works with his briefs and pants at once, all without knocking her to either side, offering, “Agreed. But I feel like we both needed this time to ourselves. I mean, the world’s gone so crazy.”

“Isn’t it so wild,” she began, aligning and fastening her skirt along with shirt tails tucked in, “last night we were just friends, staring at the Southern Hemisphere star field and today we’re making love in a jumbo jet. I, for one, treasure the few moments I could forget about all this s**t going on around us. What happened?”

“We got up this morning and the sun didn’t. That’s what happened, babe.” He remarks inside his own thoughts of how it feels so nice to call her a pet name.

“Okay. How do I look?” She says and stands still before him.

“You’re more than fine. Now me.”

She reaches out for his chest, “Your tie is a mess,” she says and works it straight. “Other than that you’re pretty fine, yourself.”

He smiles at her, his chiselled Roman, dark features beaming his love towards her. She slowly draws near and kisses his lips with great meaning. He holds her dearly, neither of them wishing to refrain from the embrace.

“If we don’t stop,” she whispers, “we’ll have to get undressed again.”