eBook
About This Book
It was the year 2100 and John was cold, cold to the bone, but it was all he'd ever known. Had the sky not been full of low cloud he would have seen the Atlantic Ocean below him to the east. He had moved to the Appalachian Mountains in South Carolina, two years earlier. Together with his family, he lived within a small community of fellow survivors that had moved south from North Carolina. They had been forced to move south due to the plunging temperatures and it now seemed that they would need to move again. While the first year had been a marked improvement, during this the second year, the temperatures had begun to plummet, just as they had in North Carolina.
John's family had lived in New York for generations, but had been forced to move ever further south, as climate change began to take hold. He remembered the tales of his father, tales that had passed on from his father and his father's father, before he passed on, aged forty five. The so called experts back then had apparently predicted ever rising temperatures as climate change took hold across the planet. How wrong they'd been, the exact opposite had taken place. The northern and southern hemispheres were now uninhabitable, way too cold and ice covered. Even worse, it was a process that continued, hence the need to migrate south.
The tales had become folk lore, tales of how life had been, before the cold and the ice came. While the tales were difficult to believe, they gave John hope that perhaps one day the sun would find a way through the low lying and dark clouds.
John was twenty two, his wife Mary, was nineteen and their ten month old son, James, was sick, very sick, but had been from birth. While the tales lifted his spirit and gave him hope, he was finding it increasingly difficult to believe they were true and felt both cold and dispirited.
They were tales of warmth, cloudless skies and lush vegetation, lush vegetation that stretched way to the north and way south. He still had an old and treasured map of how the World had once been and took great care of it. Whilst now wildly inaccurate, he hoped to eventually pass the map to his son James, as his father had done to him.
Whether his son would survive to receive it was still in the balance, he was not well, not well at all. James was their third child, all boys. Christopher, his first, had only survived for three months. Peter, his second, managed eight, so he felt hope, James had out lived both.
The old tales told of the environmental catastrophe that had slowly swept the planet. From what he'd understood, the people that lived one hundred years earlier together with their governments and leaders were to blame. Seemingly a minority, a small minority, had tried to share their fears and concerns of the consequences of mankind's chosen way of life a long time ago. While John found it difficult to believe, they had apparently been ignored, marginalised and ultimately regarded as weirdoes.
John realised that he was now shivering uncontrollably and that the sky was fast darkening. He'd strayed far from home, almost a mile and at this time of day, that was a little foolhardy, the night time temperatures impossible to survive. Shit, he could no longer see his small log built home. The snow was now falling fast and furiously, already thigh deep, as he set off in what he was sure was the right direction. What had he been thinking, apart from too much, he knew that it was dangerous to be out in such conditions, particularly at night. John tried to ensure that he continued in a straight line, frequently looking back to check his passage. The snow storm was now a blizzard, the wind increasing in intensity, his foot prints quickly vanishing, shit.
John now seriously worried, tried to up his pace, he knew that at these temperatures, now way, way below freezing, he needed shelter and soon. If anything his progress slowed the snow now waste deep. He couldn't die, couldn't, his wife, his son needed him.
John's family had lived in New York for generations, but had been forced to move ever further south, as climate change began to take hold. He remembered the tales of his father, tales that had passed on from his father and his father's father, before he passed on, aged forty five. The so called experts back then had apparently predicted ever rising temperatures as climate change took hold across the planet. How wrong they'd been, the exact opposite had taken place. The northern and southern hemispheres were now uninhabitable, way too cold and ice covered. Even worse, it was a process that continued, hence the need to migrate south.
The tales had become folk lore, tales of how life had been, before the cold and the ice came. While the tales were difficult to believe, they gave John hope that perhaps one day the sun would find a way through the low lying and dark clouds.
John was twenty two, his wife Mary, was nineteen and their ten month old son, James, was sick, very sick, but had been from birth. While the tales lifted his spirit and gave him hope, he was finding it increasingly difficult to believe they were true and felt both cold and dispirited.
They were tales of warmth, cloudless skies and lush vegetation, lush vegetation that stretched way to the north and way south. He still had an old and treasured map of how the World had once been and took great care of it. Whilst now wildly inaccurate, he hoped to eventually pass the map to his son James, as his father had done to him.
Whether his son would survive to receive it was still in the balance, he was not well, not well at all. James was their third child, all boys. Christopher, his first, had only survived for three months. Peter, his second, managed eight, so he felt hope, James had out lived both.
The old tales told of the environmental catastrophe that had slowly swept the planet. From what he'd understood, the people that lived one hundred years earlier together with their governments and leaders were to blame. Seemingly a minority, a small minority, had tried to share their fears and concerns of the consequences of mankind's chosen way of life a long time ago. While John found it difficult to believe, they had apparently been ignored, marginalised and ultimately regarded as weirdoes.
John realised that he was now shivering uncontrollably and that the sky was fast darkening. He'd strayed far from home, almost a mile and at this time of day, that was a little foolhardy, the night time temperatures impossible to survive. Shit, he could no longer see his small log built home. The snow was now falling fast and furiously, already thigh deep, as he set off in what he was sure was the right direction. What had he been thinking, apart from too much, he knew that it was dangerous to be out in such conditions, particularly at night. John tried to ensure that he continued in a straight line, frequently looking back to check his passage. The snow storm was now a blizzard, the wind increasing in intensity, his foot prints quickly vanishing, shit.
John now seriously worried, tried to up his pace, he knew that at these temperatures, now way, way below freezing, he needed shelter and soon. If anything his progress slowed the snow now waste deep. He couldn't die, couldn't, his wife, his son needed him.
