Cold World Read online

  Cold World

  P. Mattern

  CHBB Publishing

  Contents

  Foreward

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  Foreward

  “Born into a world of ice, on fire to expose the truth”

  Introduction

  The Scriptorians write that we knew it was coming thirty years before, but we let the world go to hell anyway.

  There were differences of opinion in the global scientific community of course, between those whole like truth and those who like money. In the end, with a substandard funding of energy alternatives, a U.S. Congress that responded to the greatest emergency in the history of Humankind with the speed of a lame snail swimming through treacle, and no concrete plan among the masses to deal with the fallout, only about a tenth of the world’s population was remotely prepared for what followed.

  The ring of fire, volcanoes that hadn’t erupted in centuries, all erupted within weeks of each other. That was the natural disaster part, and all by itself would have changed weather patterns for decades.

  On top of that, the most powerful country on the planet, the Russian Federation, reached its bear claws out toward it’s only clear rival, China, and decimated them with a nuclear strike, ushering in a new Ice Age.

  After that, the earth went very cold. A permanent haze blanketed the sky, and the sun was not to be seen.

  I was born in the tenth year after the New Ice Age began in earnest, on the diamond shaped continent that used to be the United States, but was renamed Naris by the governing body known as the Collesium.

  My name is Billy Zhine. A frozen earth is the only world I have ever known.

  This is my story.

  Chapter 1

  LIFE AS I KNOW IT

  * * *

  “Billy Zhine, are you listening?”

  I’m not listening. I sit up and realize that I have totally spaced the last ten minutes of a lecture on geothermal energy.

  A trivial topic—except for the fact that Life As We Know it depends on it.

  I gulp and guess with the safest response that comes to mind.

  “Yes, Proctor Baines,” I say quickly.

  A lapse in concentration is a minor infraction and potentially punishable by the withholding of 50-100 calories of nutrition. Food is difficult to grow and exponentially more valuable than gold.

  I have a naturally slim build and can’t afford to skip any meals.

  To my vast relief, he winks at me and goes onto another topic. Across the room Pagan, my girlfriend, gives me THE LOOK—she knows I’m woolgathering again. I do it a lot and she is probably tired of buying me dietary supplements to make up for all the meals I’ve missed.

  She has a naturally slim build too, but more curves than she should have the calories for. I’ve only been to second base twice with her, but I could spend the rest of my life there. She even makes our drab green jumpsuits look stylish. In Naris continuing your education after 6th grade is a privilege only afforded to those that show promise and I have an IQ over 140 when I can keep my mouth shut.

  We don’t have much choice about our field of study. Both Pagan and I are on the fast track for Engineering degrees. My best friend Rollo on the other hand is studying medicine. It isn’t the traditional kind either. The New Ice Age we are in has completely changed the DNA of all the surviving species on the planet. Mother nature really likes to rub it in our faces: she’s better at this whole survival thing than we are. Even her bacterium behaves differently—

  Some of them go straight for the brain, where it’s warm, (Did you know your olfactory nerves are little stringy bits of your brain, just hanging out?) and there are many more types of bacteria out on the surface we are told, making it that much more dangerous. The only humans allowed on the surface. The only humans allowed on the surface are the work crews in their hazmat gear, and only when there are repairs to be made, or they happen to pick something up on sonar alert that is out of the ordinary.

  That happens a lot.

  There are always rumors floating around—urban legends—and the one that gets repeated the most often is that of the Mozaic Monster. The story goes that several years after the earth went cold the Russians, a heartier stock than the former Americans, made a special trip to our Tsunami eroded shores to conduct some natural experiments. These experiments were mostly genetic mutants that their scientists had created in underground bunkers, hyper adapted to extreme conditions. Those comprised of the DNA from three or more species were known as ‘genetic mosaics.’’

  The legend goes that the Russians loosed them upon us as both as a threat, to keep us busy, and a joke, to keep them amused. As a safeguard, they were made sterile.

  But according to urban legend, they were hornier than expected. And now the giant ‘things’ roam the frozen plains at will as we watch in rapt horror with our sonar devices. All we know about them is the frighteningly large ‘blip’ they make on the screen as they pass by.

  * * *

  The chimes that signal the end of class goes off and Pagan is instantly at my side waggling one finger in my face.

  “Stay awake next time Billy. If I give up any more nutrition for you, I’ll have to eat my own arm!”

  I grab her finger like I’m going to bite it but instead I suck momentarily on the tip of it.

  “Oh, your arm is delicious—do all parts of you taste the same or are there all different flavors?”

  She laughs as she pulls her hand back and I slip my arm around her slight shoulders as we walk down the hallway. The curved ceiling is projected to look like a sunny sky with a few clouds floating across it. It reminds me of pictures of the ceiling in a Las Vegas hotel that I’ve seen in books—back when people spent their whole lives in enclosed complexes for fun, instead of necessity. Sometimes they project a rainbow. Even though all the inhabitants of Naris know that it isn’t really nature, something in us responds to it—behavioral scientists are convinced it makes us feel happier and more content with our miserable lot. The tennis courts and swimming pools are also surrounded by a fake outdoors-the pool has palm trees 15 feet high around the periphery of the pool and the walls on 3 sides are projected on to seem like the pool is surrounded by a jungle. Off into the distance you can see magnificent buildings reminiscent of the Taj Mahal sitting high on hills.

  It’s all a joke, of course. Humans will never build anything like that again. All the pretty technological tomfoolery makes us believe otherwise, but we toil underground like earthworms, because that’s all we’ve amounted to.

  When Bree, my little sister and I were younger (all children of Naris are emancipated from their parents at the age of 12), and our parents used to bring us for a swim, we’d spend hours making up stories about who lived in the far away buildings and what they were doing while we were swimming. I was pretty good at it actually—sometimes Bree would offer me her Carb Ticket in exchange for my continuing the tale I was telling.

  Of course, I never took it—I love sugar carbs as much as the next teenager, but Bree was always kind of puny to begin with and I grew up worrying about her. Her pediatrician said that she was right on the line as far as her health and stamina. Even my parents sacrificed calories to keep her at a healthier weight.

  Naris is partly modeled after the lifestyle of the ancient Spartans. Any sort of genetically abnormal offspring is winnowed out, because our society can only be as strong as its weakest member. The phrase they always quote is “Virtus Salutis” which means “Strength is survival.” It also means “Sorry abo
ut your dead kid,” although no one is foolish enough to publicly morn or offer condolences for the loss of a genetic defect.

  No one talks about where the weaker ones are taken, or what happens to them. I like to imagine they string them up and put on dead person puppet shows, but there’s probably just an incinerator. It’s the same with older people. In Naris, no one is allowed to live past forty. It makes me sad because my parents, who live in the next quadrant, are getting close to 40 already.

  We visit them every Sunday, and the State of Naris provides quite a feast for our weekly visits. I always make sure that Bree eats her fill.

  That’s what a good brother should do, they tell me.

  Pagan and I part company with a quick kiss as soon as I reach the small T shaped apartment that I share with Bree. Here in Naris the cookie cutter accommodations that all citizens live in are called “Andronicus” (which means alcove in Latin) or “dron” for short. They’re not much more than well-carved closets, but they are efficient. The door opens on a central living area that includes a galley kitchen, a counter to eat on with three padded bar stools that are bolted to the floor, a flat screen to show movies, use the computer, or display Naris propaganda over a fake fireplace and a long couch that is pretty comfortable and folds against the wall to make a long desk for school projects. There are chairs for the desk that rise out of the flooring at the press of a button, though they usually need a bit of encouragement.

  The top of the ‘T’ shape contains a small sleeping alcove in either direction—Bree has the one on the left and I took the right. There isn’t really a door but a 3-panel partition that you can pull across for privacy. It’s just a bed, an oval one that sinks slightly in the middle and cocoons you. It’s big enough for two people, and I have been waiting for the first opportunity to get Pagan in mine.

  If we want to socialize or sit in a bigger space, we have the option of going to the common areas after we complete our homework assignments. The hours of 5:30-8pm are reserved for studying and no one is allowed to goof off or roam the halls during those hours without special permission.

  As I enter my dron, Bree is standing, a sheaf of white index cards in her hand, looking nervous.

  I shoot her a sympathetic look.

  “Another oral report?” I ask, even though I already know what’s bothering her. Bree is painfully shy and hates to get up and speak in front of other people. I take a seat opposite her on the comfy couch and tell her, “Just practice in front of me. Give me two or three run throughs. And remember: everyone you talk to is gonna die, anyway! There’s no sense getting worked up over what they think.”

  Bree gave me a dubious look, rolling her eyes and blowing her breath up through her thick honey colored bangs the way she always did.

  Clearing her throat, she begins.

  “My assignment was to report on the origins of Naris, I titled my report “Paradise Lost” because our story reminds me of the book by John Milton. In a lot of ways, the story of Naris is a story of triumph over unspeakable tragedy and beating the odds.”

  Bree stopped to give me a questioning and worried ‘how am I doing’ look, and when I smiled and nodded approvingly, she went on.

  “Up until 2022 the World was in a state of Global Warming, caused partially by environmental pollutants in the air, in the ocean, being expelled into the sky and into waterways over land masses. In spite of the warnings from environmental scientists, there was little attempt to find energy sources aside from fossil fuels. The search for natural resources located deeply underground led to a practice called, ‘fracking,’ which caused instability in the Teutonic plates below the earth’s surface were blown apart—this destabilized the earth even further.

  A group of environmentally concerned billionaires began to prepare for the worst, drafting plans for shelter-cities that rely only on geothermal energy, and building them underground, where they could be easily defended and hidden from view.

  During the last decade before the Great Upheaval, many governments of Europe, Asia and North and South America finally got on board and drafted plans to get at least a portion of their populations into underground cities.

  And then the disasters hit. The first when the volcanoes in the Pacific known as the ‘Ring of Fire’ simultaneously erupted, causing the huge Tsunamis that changed both the coastline on the Eastern Seaboard and the West Coast to be permanently altered. The Philippines, two of the Hawiian Islands, Florida, the Carolinas, Virginia all the way to the Appalachian Mountains and parts of Canada were obliterated. New England, Washington State, California, Oregon were all but wiped out. Idaho, Colorado and some of the inland states found ocean waves lapping at their borders.

  Chaos ensued and those who could afford placement in a pilot program knew they had to begin their lives underground.

  Somewhere between 85-99% of the global population were either killed by the Tsunamis or died in the aftermath. Many died of starvation or froze. Much of the infrastructure set up to deal with apocalyptic events disappeared along with the coastlines. We don’t know how many colonies have failed. Some scientists knew that an apocalypse was coming, but no amount of preparation could have withstood the blow that was dealt by both nature and man.

  Those that made it to the underground cities discovered that, out of necessity, their new society did not grant them the same freedoms…”

  Bree’s voice starts to wobble and she stops speaking, still looking down at her cards.

  “Hey,” I say quietly, “Don’t stop—you were doing fine, Sis! And it’s just me remember. And everyone’s dead!”

  Bree straightened up, sniffing and flipping her errant blonde hair over one shoulder.

  “I didn’t lose my place Billy,” she tells me “It’s just so sad. Almost everybody on Earth is gone. Sometimes I try to imagine what it must have been like to live on the surface before it happened. To feel the wind on your face…to see a real sky. Do you ever think about it?”

  “I did when I was your age,” I tell her. And it’s the truth—sort of. I got all my ideas of what life on earth must have been like by watching old movies from before the Great Upheaval—being very grateful to whoever had thought to archive them for our enjoyment in the underground Theatres. There are thousands of them but I believe at the tender age of 17 I have seen nearly all of them now—at least all the ones worth seeing. My favorites are the Sci-Fi and Horror ones. I also love the paranormal, especially werewolves and vampires.

  To date I have seen both the Perry Trotter flicks and the six Full Moon Series films a dozen times each.

  “I used to dream about it all the time,” I tell her, “In my dreams I was always outside, and it was warm instead of cold, and the sun was shining in my face… but then I’d wake up and realize that I was lucky to be alive instead of on the surface with all the other frozen stiffs.”

  Bree’s eyes light up.

  “Oh, Billy I dream about it all the time! Why do you think you stopped dreaming about it?”

  I want to tell her that sex is better than sunshine, but I’m not ready to have that conversation.

  “Hey Bree—I have homework I need to get to. Go ahead and finish, and then we can do one more run through. You sound pretty confident, and you know the material, so—proceed!”

  She delivers the rest of her report flawlessly. I have her run it through one more time just so she sees that she can do it. At the end she gives me a quick hug and runs behind the kitchen counter to grab a snack. She unexpectedly throws one at me, which I catch in midair. It’s a package of Strawberry Twinkles, the snack she was paid for her volunteer shift cleaning up the ventilation shafts. I feel guilty taking it, because she still looks a little too sick and a little too thin. But when she gives it to me, her face is beaming with pride, and I can’t bear to turn her down.

  “Why thank you little lady,” I say with a cowboy accent I got from a cowboy movie with an old-time actor named John Wayne starring in it.

  “Go ahead and eat it Billy—I mig
ht win more tomorrow in the Math Marathon!”

  I scarf the tiny sponges down in maybe three bites. I lick the pink cream off my fingers at the end, savoring the last delicious taste.

  Afterwards I join Rollo and a few friends in the Major Athletics Center that we affectionately refer to as the ‘MAC’, for a game of basketball.

  In Naris, the youth are encouraged to engage in sports, and afterward we get extra chits for food. It amazes me that there are still a few chubby folks here, as calories are rationed, but there really are. I personally would get bored if it wasn’t for extracurricular activities.

  I am just sitting around a table with curved benches afterward with my basketball buddies, shooting the breeze and wolfing down burgers when I spot Pagan and her friend Tish watching us from the huge entranceway. I wonder how much of the game they saw; I was hoping she’d been there for the three pointer I hit just before the game ending buzzer sounded.

  I motion her over and she and Tish sidle up to our table. It has a jumbo-sized striped patio umbrella over it to make the area seem more festive, I guess.

  “Nice shot Billy,” She grins, showing off the kind of sexy gap between her front teeth.

  “Think it’ll rain?” Pagan jokes, pointing at the umbrella.

  “I can’t tell,” I say, playing along as I pull her down on the bench beside me, “So you better get under it with me. I wouldn’t want my best girl to get wet…”

  She laughs, “Oh I’m not sure about that,” she says.

  Part of the destiny of all citizens is to get paired up shortly after graduation, move to the ‘Married’ quadrant and make as many babies as possible during a short five-year procreative window. If for some reason we haven’t managed to pair up by the age of 20, the officials assign you a mate. Having kids is vital to the continuation of humanity. Everyone understands that. And for most of us pairing up comes naturally.