Chapter Two

The little town of Wahneta is not mentioned in any vacation brochure. Rural, rusted-out and populated by folks without goals or gumption, towns like Wahneta dot the map in places the interstate highway system forgot. On the other side of Wahneta, is a dilapidated, World War II-era bombing range. Strafed with gullies and craters, the surface of the moon could not be more pock-marked or silent.  The only remaining structure on the barren stretch of land is a tiny, chrome and glass guard shack, standing comically alone.  Cracked, misshapen roads crisscross the landscape, going nowhere. Shocks of weeds poke through pushed up slabs of concrete. The abandoned acres go on for mile after ghostly mile. 

Tanjee had left the funeral home in Clyettville determined to find Wahneta and that bombing range. The chatter on the radio was only exacerbating the anxiety gnawing at the pit of her stomach.  She turned it off and rode through the night in silence.  She figured she was still about 60 miles from Wahneta. How did she end up on this country road, 3,000 miles from home?

She knew the answer. It was because she loved encyclopedias. Funk and Wagnall’s, World Book, Nave’s Topical Science, Encyclopedia Britannica; there were ten different sets in the house she grew up in. Her grandmother bought a new set every summer when the door-to-door salesmen made the rounds. The old woman must have believed that just owning encyclopedias would make Tanjee smart, because she certainly never encouraged her to actually read them. At nine years old Tanjee quite accidentally discovered that those encyclopedias were filled with people and places and information. From then on, she lived in them, devoured them; she read them like other girls read romance novels. Not that most of the girls in her village read at all, but she imagined that in other, not-so-bleak places were girls who read romance novels voraciously. Tanjee loved to imagine what people in other places did.

Years later, Tanjee made another discovery: the internet was just one ridiculously gigantic encyclopedia. She spent hours lost in its brain-nourishing corridors, researching whatever captured her attention:  Korean cooking, Slovak folk songs, the marriage customs in Iryan Jaya—it was all there. And it was on the internet, five years ago, that she ran into Blaine. Yes, encyclopedias were definitely to blame for the mess she was in.

Stirred from her thoughts by the light drizzle falling on her windshield, Tanjee flipped on the wipers. She let out a long, whiny “ewww” as greasy tracks of bug guts smeared across the glass.  All of a sudden, and quite illogically, those bugs reminded her of home. “Stop it,” she said to the homesick tears. She cleared her throat to regain her composure and turned the radio back on.  Strains of Haydn’s “L’incontro improvviso” were barely distinguishable through incredible static.  She attempted to find another classical station, but it quickly became apparent that Spanish and hard-core country music ruled the airwaves in this part of the world. “This is why people have iPods,” she muttered to herself as she snapped off the radio, returning to silence and her thoughts of Blaine.

Five years. It seemed hard to believe. Most of Tanjee’s internet “friendships” had not lasted this long. They usually ended because of what she called the “ick” factor. Something would be said, it could be a totally innocuous remark really, and Tanjee would get a sudden, icky feeling about the person. She knew it was small of her, but the “ick” factor had ended most of her relationships. Somehow, Blaine had avoided it. He and Tanjee had the perfect arrangement for maintaining an online relationship: they had several common interests and each had lots of unstructured time at work. They chatted several times a day. Their most avid common interest was the weather.

Tanjee frequented a site called weathernerds.com. It was populated mostly by amateur weather watchers and the occasional meteorology student. They posted pictures of things that interested them: clouds, tornadoes, snow, hail. They gave updates about the weather in their particular area. The discussions were pleasant and low-key. After all, it was just the weather. Nothing confrontational. Until Blaine joined. He asked strange questions and espoused unusual theories. Tanjee often said that their initial conversation was just a taste of Blaine’s smorgasbord of crazy.  Halfway through, it got a little intense.

“Perhaps we could seriously discuss this, luvsclouds79, if you had any understanding of international law. There is a lot to consider. You can’t just schlep advanced technology into an underdeveloped, third-world country and not expect roadblocks. And that’s not a metaphor. These places are so volatile that their first response will be to put up literal, heavily-armed, ROAD BLOCKS”

Tanjee rolled her eyes and thought, “Just say 'No' to Caps Lock, buddy.”  He continued on, unaware that she was not impressed. “Do you know anything about Tajikistan?” (“No.” she said this out loud to the screen.)  “A tribal chieftain runs each village from a concrete hut, the door of which is a horse blanket.” (“I like horses,” she said, followed by a giggle.)  “His goons point to the parts of any paperwork they don't understand with the end of a Kalashnikov AKS-74 assault rifle the Russians left behind.” ("Left behind?" The mental image of a Russian’s left butt cheek made her laugh out loud.) “A project like I’m proposing could start an international incident.” (“Your megalomania could start an international incident.”) She was suddenly self-conscious about talking to herself. “Ok, I know that last remark isn't funny, but what the heck, I’m talking to myself here.”)

Tanjee typed back, “I thought this was a meteorology site.  Why are you going all ‘conspiracy theory’ about the weather?” 

“Listen, Ms. Information,” Tanjee groaned at his attempt at humor but continued reading. “You don’t get it.  What I'm talking about has the potential to change the world. If we can know with one hundred percent accuracy what each day's weather is going to be, we will have the ability to circumvent its consequences.  That means no more unprepared communities ravaged by hurricanes, tornadoes, monsoons, or typhoons.  No drought, no crop failures, no mud slides, no rivers overrunning their banks.  Can you imagine?  Of course you can’t. The entire history of this planet has been shaped by the vagaries of wind and rain.  Every culture has a version of the same story: that the entire world was once destroyed by what?  Too much rain.  We’ve been at the mercy of weather and its effects throughout our entire human existence. It is no exaggeration to say that this will change the world. You want another ancient story? I’ve got one for you: A world where we can control the weather will be the Garden of Eden.”

Tanjee had felt a little niggling pain start in her temple.  She knew she could not take five more minutes of this.  There were plenty of other people to chat with, folks less bombastic than this guy.

“And less nutty,” Tanjee said out loud, extricating herself from her inner dialogue. The rain was starting to pelt the car a little more intensely.  She wished she had not started out on this escapade alone. She had come to Florida to help Blaine but he was tied up with that other mess now. Big Carl dying was definitely not part of the plan.  “Oh, Blaine. What have you dragged me into?” She exhaled the words wearily. The hypnotic swooshing of her tires on rain-soaked pavement was the only reply as she pressed on through the desolate countryside.