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...