CHAPTER 4
Peggy Keeps a Journal
As days passed, Peggy exercised regularly, at least as much as she could, considering her condition and the spatial limitations of the facility. She developed a routine of walking rapidly through the areas of the seed bank that were not off-limits to her, a route of perhaps a quarter mile. She tried not to think of how much she felt trapped in this windowless bunker, essentially sentenced there against her will, and how claustrophobia had always been one of her biggest fears. Desperately, she wanted to leave, to get back out into the open air, but circumstances did not permit it. She had to think first of her baby’s welfare, and not of her own.
Each afternoon, Peggy made entries in a journal, sheets of lined paper in a spiral ring notebook that she found in a seed-bank office and slipped into her clothing, beneath a sweater that Belinda had given to her. On her first writing foray, Peggy came up with only a few sentences, but soon found herself filling pages on both sides and flipping sheets of paper quickly as she scribbled. Using three colors of ink from different pens, depending upon her mood, she wrote in blue, green, or red. Her feelings were new to her since she had never been pregnant before, but she thought her child might like to read these entries someday. As the words flowed before her, she began to feel free to say whatever she pleased on the pages. It was an escape from confinement of sorts, and she loved the new time alone, in which she basically talked to the pages. Committing her innermost thoughts to words, she described the seed bank employees, the routines they followed, and the eccentricities of their personalities.
She always wrote in the privacy of her tiny (though unlockable) sleeping room, then hid the journal afterward behind the bed. There, low on a wall by one corner, she had found a loose metal plate that someone had used to cover an apparent construction defect, using screws that didn’t hold in the concrete when she pulled at it. Behind the plate, a small, dark hole opened up that she couldn’t see the end of. The precious journal fit in there easily, and she put it in a thick plastic bag in an effort to protect it from any moisture that might be in there, or rodents. Then, like a prisoner in a cell tunneling a secret escape route, she jammed a table against the plate to hold it against the wall, thus enabling her to get into and out of the compartment at will. Most of the people in the seed bank would not like what she had to say about them. Director Jackson, in particular.
I promised myself that I won’t go crazy here, she wrote in one of her first entries, but I hate this place and the people in it, even the ones who are nice to me. Some days are worse than others, as my emotions fluctuate wildly. Often I can tell how bad, or how good a day is gong to be, based upon how I feel when I get up and start to move around. I always eat breakfast in the concrete-walled employee cafeteria: imitation eggs and sausages, and other foods from cans and shrink-wrap packages—with all portions strictly controlled, because supplies are dwindling. During breakfast, I continue to gauge my mood, trying to be upbeat. But with the chemical and psychic turmoil going on inside me, that is not always possible. Whenever I feel especially anxious or depressed, I find that I can’t talk with others at all, not even with Abe Tojiko, who has been so nice and helpful to me. I try not to offend anyone, and particularly the Director of Operations, Benitar Jackson. What a strange, aggressive man he is; I can hardly see the good in him that Abe points out. I’ve figured out Jackson’s schedule and I take every effort to avoid him.
Two weeks into her narrative, Peggy’s personal observations and feelings took a backseat to events outside the seed bank and around the world. In one of her entries she wrote: An F-5 tornado has just passed within a mile of here—Abe and I saw it on the projection screen in the weather room. Remote sensors report the base was more than half a mile across—something I would have thought impossible. Watching it on the screen gave me an unreal sensation, as if it was only a scary movie, or a bleak news report about some far off place, not Western Washington. Winds registered at 304 miles per hour! Conelrad says the main highway to Seattle is impassable, with roadways ripped up, choked with debris, and a main bridge destroyed.
Just then she heard a noise, and looked up. Of all the sleeping quarters in the seed repository, only Director Jackson’s room could locked. She had jammed a towel under her own door for privacy, to make it stick a little if anyone tried to get in, but Abe pushed it open with only a little difficulty and stepped into the room. He wore a long-sleeved blue shirt and jeans.
Quickly, she closed the binder and let it fall behind the bed.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, “I knocked, but didn’t hear any response. The surveillance system has been breaking down, and the Director wants to know where you are at all times. I was told to …” The slender man scowled. “Say, what were you doing there?”
“Nothing,” she said, feeling her face flush hot.
He nodded, but had seen something.
“It’s just a journal,” she admitted.
“You’d better hide it well,” said Abe.
Peggy nodded. “Don’t tell anyone, OK? You can read it if you want. Well, I’d rather you didn’t, but you’re the only person I trust here, and I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of saboteur or spy or anything. If you have to read it, go ahead.”
He grinned. “Does it say you think I’m cute?”
With a gentle smile, Peggy said, “Maybe, and maybe not. Maybe I said you’re overbearing, and I can’t stand you.”
Abe looked hurt. “But you trust me?”
“Mostly, though you may be a bit naive when it comes to assessing Jackson. I suspect he’s darker than you want to admit.”
Abe nodded. “Perhaps.” He paused, smiled tentatively. “It’s nice to hear that you trust me, because I do care about you.”
“A woman’s feelings are complex, especially when she’s going to have a baby.”
She searched his eyes, saw kindness there.
“No, I didn’t write that you’re cute,” she said, “though come to think of it, you are, kind of. With all the stresses we’re under, I haven’t had time to think about such things, and I’ve already had a bad relationship. Her eyes misted over. “I just want my baby safe.”
“I know, Peggy, and I’m here for you if you need me. Just let me know what I can do.”
“Thanks, you’re a big help.” She smiled shyly as she watched him back out of the room and close the door. She jammed the towel back under the door, more tightly this time.
Using green ink for no conscious reason, she continued writing in her journal, setting down information she had learned in the seed bank’s weather room: I can’t believe how bizarre the weather has become. Abe and Belinda told me that catastrophes started occurring after the deep ocean current failed, causing serious climatic changes. Last week it was 137 degrees Fahrenheit in Madrid, and two days later it dropped to 21. Now it’s 14 degrees in New York on August 20! The tropics are sweltering through deadly levels of heat and humidity—142 degrees in Caracas with 99% humidity, 138 degrees in Djakarta, 136 in Kuala Lumpur. People are still dying. It’s beyond comprehension.
Abe says he used to think the Pacific Northwest was somehow immune, even after the deep ocean current failed—that for a while it wasn’t that bad here, though cool—a high of 39 degrees last July 4th. Still, we weren’t having the 250 mph winds hitting South America and the floods inundating Europe and Asia. Then it all changed and we got it as bad an anyplace in the world.
In the last two months, Pacific Northwest weather has been the worst in recoded history and totally unpredictable. Intense snowstorms are followed by record high temperatures that melt everything, causing landslides and floods. The forest is torn up out there, and now the snow is coming down again, driven sideways by 150 mph winds. Conditions can’t get any worse, can they? It just has to get better. It just has to, with me being seven months pregnant. How could the climate change so fast, and what is going to happen next?
Oh God, please save my baby.