Prologue and Chapter 1
To Begin As A Whisper
Robert M. UnKauf
I would like to dedicate this particular novel to
Kira Isabella UnKauf
and
McKayla Rain UnKauf.
I write this hoping that the future you inherit is far better than the one I envision here.
If it isn’t, I hope that I have the strength to impart to both of you the will and wisdom to do something to change it.
PART I:
JUSTIN
Chapter 1
Justin McLeod stared at the newspaper sitting on the empty bus seat beside him, the headline seared across the page in bold type: “US President Ends Deadlock, Schedules Visit”. Running a hand through his thick, dark hair, he closed his eyes for a moment. How long had the US been boycotting Canadian goods? Twelve years, at least, he realized. He’d been a teenager when Canada’s criticism of American aggression had led the most powerful nation in the world to close the borders and sever all economic ties to this country.
It hadn’t been a good twelve years for Canada.
Mind you, he argued to himself, with the changing climate, things hadn’t been going so well for the US, either.
The drought that had clobbered the prairies for the last seven years had wreaked havoc in the agriculture-based States, too. People still spoke about the Great Depression of the 1930s, but it was no longer with the awe that his grandfather had mentioned it. Now it was with the usual Canadian scorn, the cynical comparison of how much worse things were now compared to then. Sure, the drought of the 1930s had been pretty severe, but it was nothing compared to this. Record temperatures, gale-like winds, no rain in nearly five years… He’d heard it discussed in the same terms as people discussed the winters… with a perverse kind of pride that they lived in such difficult times, in such a harsh climate.
He glanced back at the paper on the seat. “They want our water,” he whispered to himself, shaking his head sadly. People would realize it in time, but by the time they did, it would be too late. The idea that the US, and consequently all of the other countries who didn’t want to incur the wrath of the US, would begin trading with Canada again would be too attractive for most Canadians to see the snake in the grass before it bit them. People missed their luxuries, having their cars and televisions, access to fuel at a reasonable price. Enough people remembered what it had been like before the sanctions that they would leap at an opportunity to return to how things used to be and never pause to think about the cost.
The bus slowed, and Justin glanced out the window at the busy bus station. Public transportation was the norm in the cities, now. The cost of fuel had gotten too high for all but the wealthiest, the oil-industry CEOs who were still able to milk the system because they had what everyone wanted. So, now everyone took the decrepit busses, hoping that the ancient behemoths wouldn’t break down or blow a gasket on the major routes.
He glanced down at the paper again, and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He remembered a time when he would have been staring at a cell-phone screen instead of a newspaper, when he would have known what was going on in the world at the touch of a button instead of reading a tattered headline from yesterday’s news.
Maybe it would be worth it. At least if the government handled things properly, Canadians might actually get something out of the deal instead of having the Americans just invade and take what they wanted.
He didn’t hold out much hope.
He waited until the bus lurched to a stop with a squeal of brakes and a wheezy cough before he rose from his seat. Casting a final glance at the ratty paper on the seat, he shook his head and joined the press of people as they jostled to get off the fume-filled rattle-trap and into the dry chill of a Calgary autumn.
Noise assaulted his senses as he pushed through the crowd of people waiting to get on. A few street vendors had set up shop on the concrete island, and the smell of hotdogs filled the air. Music blared from a pair of old speakers from one of the vendors, conflicting with an out of tune guitar and the accompanying beating of a tambourine of a pair of young street performers. A small pack of hoodlums were yelling taunts at the men in business suits as they scurried towards connecting busses that would take them to meaningless jobs that would barely earn them enough money to make rent.
How far the mighty have fallen, Justin thought sadly as he merged into the press of people trying to escape the noxious cloud of diesel fumes from the dying bus.
The hoodlums ignored him, mostly because they knew him. He had taught most of them at one point or another. He smiled and nodded to one or two of them, and they grinned back.
“I’m gonna be late for class today, McLeod!” one of the young men yelled over to him.
“Will surprises never cease?” Justin called back. “Just do the reading this weekend! There will be a quiz on Monday.”
“Aw, hell, McLeod… you know I can’t read,” the kid laughed.
Justin kept walking, smiling slightly. They weren’t bad kids, once you knew them. They just didn’t put much faith in education anymore. It had failed their entire generation.
The school was as worn down as everything else in the city seemed to be. Standing across from an abandoned mall, the flags limp in the morning sun, it seemed to slouch like a drunk against the backdrop of wilting condos and patchwork townhomes that dotted the hill behind it. Old brown brick and yellowed concrete, decorated with a range of intricate graffiti, the school was a dying monolith in a city of decay. Funds that had been promised for various school improvement projects had invariably been diverted to other areas of the city over the years, and the result was predictable. Justin shook his head sadly as he walked through the faded blue front doors, stepping deftly around the broken metal-detector that framed the entrance.
The foyer of the school was stifling despite the early morning chill, and it would only get worse as the day went on. He moved down the right hallway to the school cafeteria. The grate in front of the kitchen had been shoved aside again, and Justin poked his head through. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen…” he called into the stygian darkness. “Playtime’s over. Get out of there.”
He heard soft rustling, and four teens poked their heads up from behind one of the counters. “C’mon McLeod! We ain’t doin’ nuthin’”
Justin frowned at them. “Then why are you back there, Mr. Lennox? Ms. Gauthier… we’ve had this conversation before, have we not?”
The blonde haired girl to his right blushed, and the boy beside her gaped at her. She stared at the boy with cold eyes. “What?” she demanded haughtily, daring him to say something.
The boy looked away quickly.
“Out,” Justin commanded, and the four complied meekly.
“We was… we were just…” one of the teens began.
“Looking for something you dropped. I’ve heard it before. Get to class.”
“But class hasn’t started,” the blonde began.
Justin stared at her and she dropped her gaze. “Sorry, Mr. McLeod.”
He watched them scurry away, knowing he’d have to repeat the act again the following day. Shaking his head, he carried on down the hallway.
His classroom was marginally cooler than the hallway, but only because of the window he’d left propped open overnight. He flicked on the lights, which flickered lazily, struggling to wake up. Moving to his desk he glanced at the battered television in the corner. His first class was senior Social Studies, and he decided to skip his usual lesson plan and focus on current events.
By the time the bell went, he’d set the television at the front of the class and had managed to find a news channel. He’d guessed correctly, he realized, as the news announcer was droning on about the imminent arrival of the American president in Ottawa. Cameras were on location at the Macdonald-Cartier Airport, and as the students took their seats, Justin muted the television.
“How many of you have been following your current events?” he asked after the students had settled down.
The blank faces told him how much interest they had in what was happening in the world.
“Alright…” he paused. “Let me put it this way: how many of you remember the discussion we had last month about the trade embargo the US applied against Canada in the early Twenties?”
“C’mon, Mr. MacLeod! It’s Friday! Can’t we just watch a movie?” one of the kids asked sullenly.
“No. Now, who remembers our talk about the embargo?”
One or two hands went up, and he sighed. “Well, at least you’re honest. Okay, here’s the quick and dirty review: You’ve all heard about the 9/11 attacks at the start of the century. You’ve heard about how it led to a range of hostile interactions with various nations, principally led by the US…”
One of the students, Courtney, raised her hand tentatively. He nodded to her.
“That was what led to the Afghan Conflict and the Iraq War, right?”
Justin nodded. “Correct. It also had a direct impact on several other nations in the Middle East. A lot of nations, Canada included, felt that American economics were playing a role in determining which nations came under attack. When the US attacked Syria, after the nuclear threat, there was international criticism because they acted against UN direction. The Canadian government voiced their criticism a little too loudly, and the US decided to retaliate…”
“That’s when they stopped trading with us, right?” another student asked.
Justin nodded. “Good. The US established a trade embargo against Canada, and consequently they also convinced their other trading partners to support their embargo. Consequently, Canada has had limited international trade opportunities…”
“Which is why we’re in a shithole,” one of the students at the back of the class commented softly.
“Essentially correct, though I ask you to avoid swearing if you can possibly help it, Jerome.”
The class giggled softly.
“So,” Justin continued, “without trade, Canada’s economy has stagnated. Combine that with the drought we’ve had for the last several years, and the result is the worst economic depression in the history of Canada.”
“So what? We know this sh… stuff, Mr. McLeod,” Jerome grumbled.
“So… why is the President of the United States about to land in Ottawa?” Justin concluded, pointing to the television screen where a huge blue and white jet, emblazoned with “The United States of America” was slowly manoeuvring up a vast runway.
There was a long silence in the class.
Suddenly everyone began to murmur excitedly to one another, and Justin raised his hand for silence. “So…?”
“He’s coming to reopen the borders?” Courtney ventured.
Justin considered the question. “It is a possibility that he is coming to discuss the resumption of trade with Canada…” he agreed finally. “But if that is the case, I want you to tell me why. What would motivate the US government to re-establish trade with Canada?”
“They need us!” Jerome shouted.
Justin felt his lips twitch slightly. “Jerome, they have the most powerful economy in the world right now, and have had it relatively consistently for the last century. Before the embargo, Canada accounted for less than 20% of the American market, while the US accounted for more than 80% of our own trade. Why would they need us?”
There was another long silence. The student beside Jerome, a lean kid named Darcy, sat back in his desk and stared at Justin, his eyes narrowed. Before Justin could call on him, however, one of the girls called out, “Oil?”
Justin shrugged. “It’s possible, but with the collapse of OPEC and the subsequent multi-national take-over of the Middle East Oil Reserves, oil isn’t a major issue for the US.” Justin glanced at Darcy. “Darcy? Any ideas?”
Darcy took a deep breath. “Well, the drought has hit them, too, right? That means that their agriculture industry has had the same difficulty that we’ve had. I’d say they want water.”
Justin smiled. “That’s an interesting observation… why water?”
Darcy shrugged. “We’ve got it… while the prairies have had a serious drought, it hasn’t impacted the arctic or the glaciers overly much. They don’t have the same reserves we’ve got.”
“Hey!” Courtney interjected. “The plane has stopped!”
Justin turned to face the television and hit the volume as the door to the plane opened.
The President of the United States was a relatively young man, with a smile that had charmed a nation. His popularity ratings in the US were higher than any president in modern history, and his efforts at international diplomacy had begun to change the critical international perspectives of many nations about the US. He emerged from the plane, his classic smile brilliant in the Ottawa sunshine. His rich, tanned skin and his wavy dark hair reminded Justin of an actor from one of the many romantic comedies that had been popular when he was younger. With the confidence of a man who knew his own value, the most powerful man in the world stood on the top step, gripping the railing of the stairs with one hand as he waved indulgently to the crowd gathered below.
Then, as he moved to step down, there was a loud bang from somewhere, and the President stumbled, clutching at his chest. The sound repeated, and suddenly the crowd that had gathered on the tarmac began to scatter and scream. The President lurched sideways and pitched over the side of the railing, landing on the cement twenty feet below.
Justin stared at the television for a moment, unable to speak. From behind him, he heard Jerome whisper, “Holy shit! Someone just killed the President!”
Over his own laboured breathing, as the possible consequences of what he had just witnessed flashed through his mind, he heard Darcy mutter, “We are so fucked.”