The Great Wave North - speculative fiction of probable North American population displacement

[AndrewLechner]

Hello everyone!

I'm a writer. And I'm using EB to tell the story of the Great Wave North, where I use existing climate data to imagine a series of super storms that destroy the Gulf Coast, bankrupt the insurance companies, and displace 10,000,000 of the 140M Americans who live on the coast (not all that unlikely when you think about it). All of a sudden, these 10M Americans realize that it is no longer feasible for them to live on the coast. What do they do? Head to Detroit, Cleveland, Toledo, and other cities where the property is cheap and latent manufacturing is plentiful (I'm also including a supply-chain disruption that re-invigorates American manufacturing). 

It's told from an oral history perspective, with the stories of our near future being said toward the end of this century. See below.

I need to wrap my head around what type of template to start with in EB. I have tons of climate data. There's just so much that it's hard to know where to start. Also, I'm not a proficient user. I'm learning on the fly. Any suggestions?

Local's Only
We arrived in Memphis two days after the evacuation. Me and Dad shared the driving, and I could tell that he needed the rest. Losing everything is exhausting work. We spent last night in the car, and we were running low on food, so Dad pulled into a grocery store while I doom scrolled on my phone, reading about how bad the storms were. They were saying that it would break the insurance companies, which I didn't understand, but from the way that they said it, I knew it was what business people considered the end of the world.
The grocery store parking lot was full of other refugees like us and there wasn't any parking. "Get your Mom's tag," Dad said. Mom got a handicapped parking tag when she got bone cancer. They were concerned about her falling and breaking more bones. Dad hated to use it, because "it feel dishonest" he would say, but he held onto it for time like this.
There was a sign in great big soap letters on the front windows of the store that read: LOCAL CUSTOMERS ONLY - REFUGEES GO HOME. I thought that was pretty stupid because not having a home is what made us refugees. It wasn't a hobby or something we chose, and it made me mad to see it, but I didn't say anything. Neither did he, and I could tell he was scared. That was the hardest moment of the entire trip - seeing that my Dad wasn't invincible against the world like he was inside our home. The home we didn't have any more.
Dad backed into the handicapped parking spot, which I didn't understand at first, but I soon would. "Get in the driver's seat and keep the car running," he told me.
"What about gas?" We were running low on that just like everything else but that didn't seem to be his concern right then.
"Just keep it running," he said as I slid over into the driver's seat. Then he grabbed my phone.
"Hey, what are you doing? I'm using that."
"Not right now," he said, "I need you to pay attention and be ready."
He got out and went inside. He wasn't gone long when our car grabbed the attention of some old man. I saw him pointing at me a few rows deep further back. Then he came over.
I thought for certain he was going to bust me for the parking pass. I thought he was going to tell me to get out and make me walk. I locked the doors.
He came up to rolled up car window and tapped on the glass like I wasn't already looking right at him. "Ya' see the sign?" he said. His accent was so thick, but then he pointed to the sign soaped on the store's windows. "Ya'll ain't from here. Ya'll from Louisiana." That's when I realized that when he was talking about our license plate and not the parking tag. "There ain't enough food for ya'll come here. Need to get gone." I just shrugged, which made him shake his fist at me before going inside.
I was just fifteen. I was on my learner's permit. I didn't understand things like supply-chain shortages and insurance defaults. I just knew that I was hungry and that I was in America. Right? It's all one country, or so I thought, but if it was, it was a new country that was strange to me.
It was about ten minutes later when a man ran out of the store still carrying a basket of food. A shop lifter. He was running, and some little fat man in an apron was chasing him. I almost peed in my pants when he ran to the passenger door of our car and tried to get in. I didn't know what to do, so I honked the horn, hoping to attract attention, help.
"Tracy!" And holy **bleep** that man was my Dad. I unlocked the door and he jumped in. The fat man was almost upon the car, and Dad shouted, "Drive, drive, drive!"
I put it in gear and squeeled the tires something fierce and the fat man backed away as the car fishtailed out of it's spot. Thank God the entrance was mostly a straight shot, although I still got some of the sidewalk when I pulled out into traffic. Into on-coming traffic. There was swerving and honking and yelling and then I was just driving on the street in Memphis. I started to laugh, but when I turned to look at Dad he was crying and then it wasn't funny anymore. I wanted to go home more than ever, and I understood that I never would.