It Was 2065, Life on Earth

By J. Richardson

It had been over 50 years since a catastrophic event changed the world. Jolie had spent most of those days in the Colony, a village on the American gulf coast. There had been rough and perilous times in her past. Just when peace seem to rule and she was feeling safe, Life had other plans.  New danger and unexpected encounters were ahead.

Jump in----there's room in the back of the truck for you, Join in the adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J. Richardson
• Release date: Feb 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393205678

J. Richardson

J. Richardson shares her time these days between her tiny house near her beloved Texas hometown and a getaway home on an Arkansas river. Her children, grand-children and two great grand-children are scattered across the large home state. She married her high school sweetheart. The small adventures and rich life experiences are the inspiration for her writing. She and her hubby built, from scratch, five homes in the past nearly fifty years...a log house in the woods of East Texas, a lakehouse, a farmhouse, a cabin at the foot of the Colorado mountains and their present river house. She published her first novel in 2013, with eleven to follow. There are also two youth (for ages 8-11 years) books published. A pen name claims her writings because she states that many of her characters are based on friends and family. "Although," says Jo, "many are based on my years of observing people, characters I have met and from my overworked imagination." Jo says, "I think the internet is such a fascinating tool for learning, to research new locations. Research is my favorite part of writing a novel. The social media sites are just not for this old gal, but the communications from my readers are a great joy for me.  Writing has been a fresh and exciting experience for me." "My favorite reads are mystery and humor. In recent years I've become very interested in the Preppers movement and the everyday person's options for survival of catastrophe.  I enjoy reading the dystopian fiction and that led me to wanting to write my own stories on the subject."

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

The Water

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If she squinted  against the sun, on a fair day like today, she  could  see the black string outlines. Shadowy blobs and spires danced on the rolling waves, far out from shore and beyond the sliver of land that rose on the horizon. She had fantasized for years about what mysteries were submerged in the salty water.  Was it the peaks of buildings that once stretched up into the skyline of the city?   Was it remnants of big ships?

Others had been out to where the ruins of the coastal town now bubbled under the gulf's waters. She heard plenty of stories as the years went by, tales of the deteriorating ghosts of life. Once there had been all the trappings of a popular tourist location. There had been vintage houses, colorful beach dwellings, some extravagant and some modest . Motels, restaurants and souvenir shops marched along the sea wall.  Big ships found portage and boats of all sizes cruised the bays and the intercoastal canal. The bustling activity, right on the edge of the sea, was the magnet that made people want to visit and live; not only here but all up and down America's coastal regions.

It was intriguing. She loved the wet sand under her bare feet, the swoosh of the brim of the ocean pushing in and creeping back out. She enjoyed the shore birds and liked to wonder about the distant views. In spite of her curiosity, she was a topwater. Even as a young girl, her father had affectionately teased her and used that term for a person who wasn't comfortable in the water. The ocean always seemed endless and bottomless to her. Danger lived there.

Come on out, Jolie! the brother that was four years her senior would taunt. Look, look. It's barely to my waist. C'mon, you ole sissy girl! He would be bobbing up and down and she would ignore his existence.  Continuing to splash and wade along the shallows, her bucket would soon be filled with shells.

That was nearly fifty years ago. When she came to the shore these days, she tried to pick out the happy and good memories and keep them alive in her heart. Her toes circled in the frothy wet, she inhaled one more deep breath. Turning to look behind her, she moved toward her boots, discarded on the wall of debri. What her young mind remembered  as a sea wall and huge slabs of rocks was now mounds of decaying rubbish and wreckage that spread for yards and yards inland. She dusted off one and then the other foot, slid into the heavy boots and tucked the laces down in the tops.

The trip through, over and around the wall of junk had to be made with care. Like so many places these days, the boots were necessary. Her hand  on the small pistol at her waist, to be sure it stayed in the holster, she stepped over the last obstacle and was finally in a clearer area. Two shells plonked into the bucket that stayed in the back of her pedal cart. I have piles of shells—-why do I continue to bring a couple home? Just a sentimental old fool, I guess.

She was proud to have the cart that once merrily hauled visitors and families up and down the sea wall. The bright striped awning had long ago rotted away, but she kept the cycle in good shape. It served her purpose well and all that pedaling, over all these years kept her fit. As she pumped away from the beachfront, she thought how she was thankful that her father taught her to take care of what she had. What she and her family once possessed became less and less after the big disaster. Sadly, so many, the large majority of people lost their lives.

First, came the grid down event. She was only ten years old, remembered her mother uttering a rare curse, Dam-mit! The power is out again. It turned out to be the biggest catastrophe the modern world had ever experienced. Things in her little world would never be the same.

The cause was always up for debate. While the country was still struggling to overcome the apocalyptic consequences, new disasters piled on. There were widespread and unstoppable fires, there was a huge earthquake that nearly cut North America in half. There was slow climate change. It wasn't relevant what or who was the reason for the shift, the climate was undeniably changing.

One step forward and three back. Fifty years later, life on earth had failed to completely recover to the way it had been in the early part of the twenty first century. More progress existed in former big cities, which still attracted larger populations. Much of the country continued to live a basic pre -industrial lifestyle.

Thanks to her father's tough, determined and level headed nature, they had survived. She, her brother, her mother and father had made it through the first few years. They had stayed on the move and alive. The waters didn't rise in a tsunami or a single event. The salty sea just slowly, bite by bite—-much quicker still than the doomsdayers had predicted—-ate away at the world coast lines. The life there was devoured in nibbles and sips.

Jolie twisted the gray streaked ponytail and tucked it up under her cap. The wheels of the cart spun faster as she pumped harder. This wasn't her favorite area. It was more populated and she liked to move through as speedy as possible..

Jo—-Jolie. Hey, old girl! a raspy voice carried across the noise on both sides of her. A wrinkled hand lifted and waggled at her.

The thin figure, wild white hair brushing bent shoulders, moved with surprising nimbleness to the side of the cart. She grabbed  the aged hand and brought it to her lips. The hand squeezed hers and a smile revealed a mouth full of teeth, not so straight and white, but mostly all there.

You need a ride, Johnson? What're doing up in the mad mobs.

The man climbed onto the seat, tossed his back pack onto the seat behind him. Sometimes, you have to have stuff, ya know.

She whistled to clear the way and started pumping again. Johnson held to the frame that once wore the awning with one hand and patted her knee with the other.

Suppose you been down to the beach, huh? Did you have a nice swim? The rumbling laugh got no response from her. The old man had known her since she was a girl, he was a loyal friend of the family.

He knows damn well that I don't go swimming about in the ocean.

See you got some shells, too. Well, that's good—-you could really use some more out at the Colony. Once again, the laugh.

The cart veered away to the right, under a lofty sign. There was a time when the faded letters on the lofty signs above crowded roadways, gave directions to the nearest town or services. In these times, the eclectic and crazy traffic just moved by it's own rules of the road. The criss cross high rising webs of freeway pavement had mostly deteriorated and only the ground level by-ways were used.

Far from speeding streams of assorted cars and commercial vehicles of old; the roads carry everything from bicycles, skate boarders and walkers, occasional horses to all kinds of invented vehicles that run on smoking, stinking fuels. Ironically, with all the panic before the devastating event, in regards to burning fossil fuels, this world had learned to create whatever fuel would put whatever crazy vehicle imagined into motion. Those that cared for mechanical transportation rolled along in a colorful parade of locomotion.

When they left the main thoroughfare, she breathed a sigh of relief. Two bottoms bounced up from the seat, as they bumped over cracked pavement, pot holes and nature growing up through the decay.

To the west lay the sprawling big city of Houston. Actually, only the northern quarter of the town  still existed on dry land. When the cart reached the crossroad, she looked  to the west and then guided their ride in the opposite direction. The Colony, home, was in that direction.

Don't know why people seem to want to be in the nasty, mean city. She nearly always grumbled this.

Johnson, as he always did, gave a running vocal description of I remember when—-used to be—-when I was a young-un.

She made a short detour, down to the old friend's tiny trailer. No color was left on it's beat up aluminum skin, patches and tarps covered the top. None the less, the neatness of it always surprised her. A big pot with a late blooming tomato plant and fall flowers sat by the door, a faded lawn chair and little table was nearby. Other dilapidated trailers dotted the surrounding view. Some were inhabited, some not.

You stubborn ole coot. I don't know why you don't let me move you over to the Colony. This was a familiar plea.

Johnson reached for his back pack, flashed her a smile. Thanks for the ride, my sweet lady. He picked a couple of small tomatoes from the plant, put them in her bucket with the shells. She watched him go through the door of the small camper.

It wouldn't be much longer now, about five miles and she would be home. The old man did have many more memories of the world before it changed. The truth was, life after was the only life she really knew. In the place that her father had finally settled, she had watched the years go by. She lived and survived. With the exception of some frightening and rough times in the first couple of decades, she felt basically safe and content.

Sam had entered her life and they made good partners for twenty five years. They never had children, though her brother had a daughter and there were plenty around to love. Her spouse hadn't been the strong and resilient man that her father was, but he was kind and good, she loved him. He had succumbed to a virus epidemic when she was forty five years old, the same illness had taken her mother weeks earlier. Her father was in her life for about seven more years. He had adored his son and she was thankful that he didn't live to experience the loss of her brother.

The deep dark sea that she was so afraid of, held pure fascination for her brother. On one of his adventurous treasure hunting expeditions out to the coastal ruins, that dangerous bottomless wet kept him. She was robbed of her last blood kin, except for her niece, Mariah.

Though it seemed that every loss pinched away a bit of her heart, she accepted the pain as part of life. As her father had taught her, she moved forward. Now sixty, she lived in common housing with her sister-in-law and niece, two other widows and one widower. The settlement huddled near the San Jacinto River, weathered and sparsely populated.

***   

The murky green waters flowed smoothly, a fat ribbon in the distance. This was water that Jolie enjoyed. The river supplied life for the Colony. Unlike the ocean that it flowed into, it gave her a feeling of security and peace. These fair weather days were not very common. The pleasure of this rare day had been what sent her pedaling to the beach on the edge of the ocean. More often it was misty and hazy and frequent rainy days ranged from torrential to steady patters. The river was quick to spill it's waters out of it's banks, rushing and flooding for days, then receding as if it was tired, inhaling and resting calm again.

Due to the unpredictable nature of the San Jacinto, the settlement had grown up on higher ground. It was close enough to have the resources of food and water, yet safer. As she pulled up to the patchwork building, she realized how tired she was. The muted sun of the day was already dropping low. A variety of dwellings, single and multi family, scattered around the community. Nearly the whole village was within her vision.  Some of the residents were finishing the day's chores and taking advantage of the last of the daylight. She returned a few waves and hello's.

In it's time, the large condo complex had been luxurious. Most of the tall palms and a few tropical plants still survived around the grounds, crowded with native willowy grasses. Awnings, huge umbrellas, metal outlines of sea horses—-the faux sea side trappings that made tourists feel like Ah-h, yes. I'm on the beautiful coast—-those things were long ago swept away. Metal patches dotted the building, stove pipes extended from some of the windows and many panes had been replaced with wood. The vivid torquoise, yellow and coral colors had faded, only visible here and there on a piece of trim. A few people inhabited