2055

By Jeremy Gilder

“2055” is set in a time when the Chinese governed Australia and its people had grave concerns on two fronts – first, the capacity to produce enough food, and second, the possibility of nuclear war. Even people on the land, with large properties like Ewan Mackenzie, worried about the proliferation of nuclear missiles that had occurred around the globe, knowing that leaders of a number of countries could “pull the trigger” at any moment. This was the reason Ewan decided to purchase a large Unit in one of the enormous nuclear-proof structures the Chinese had built outside of Canberra.
When nuclear war broke out, Ewan sought immediate refuge in his Unit. However, this Unit, in the circumstances, became his prison, from which there was to be no escape.
As chance would have it a beautiful woman from Ewan’s past, Olivia Langham, found her way into Ewan’s building and an instant attraction began. Ultimately, Ewan and Olivia had the choice of staying together in the building, or somehow escaping into what was certain to be a hostile environment. With help from unexpected sources their lives suddenly took a dramatic and unexpected turn.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press AU
• Release date: Sep 26, 2019
• ISBN: 9781504319232

Jeremy Gilder

Jeremy Gilder, 83 years young, man of the sea and land over many decades, has developed a deep understanding and love for the power of nature in all its manifestations. This is reflected in the way he writes. He has written two novels, a health book and three children's books, based on the many animals he has loved. Jeremy has five sons and two grandsons and has been married to beautiful wife Robyn for 52 years. He loves windsurfing, swims every day and lives in Northern Rivers, New South Wales.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The cataclysmic nuclear war of 2053 all but destroys planet earth, forcing many survivors to live inside enormous nuclear fission-proof concrete structures for their safety.

The riveting 2055 tale is told primarily through the experiences of 43 year old Australian male – Ewan Mackenzie – lifelong owner of a vast farming operation. Ewan has great difficulty in coping with the frustrations of life inside the Chinese Government controlled building, totally disconnected by sight, sound and touch from the world outside. He dreams constantly of escape and return to his life as it once was, if that still is a possibility?

Although responsible for a unique indoor natural-food production enterprise, Ewan’s existence seems barren and pointless, until he becomes besotted with a beautiful woman from his younger years, who has similar feelings for him. These two, Ewan and Olivia, develop a special love, a love for the ages, a commitment to one another that can rise above even the most impossible of circumstances – which it is required to do. Powerful criminal elements view Ewan and his food production enterprise as a threat to their aim to dominate the new order, and set out to destroy him. Eventually, Ewan is forced to accept that if he can not escape his monolithic prison he will be killed, while at the same time recognizing that he and Olivia almost certainly will die from radiation effects on the outside.

The characters, a mix of Australian and Chinese men and women, politicians, army personnel and an aboriginal Elder, come to life in dramatic circumstances and through dynamic conversational exchanges. The reader can not help but become engrossed in the life-threatening challenges faced by Ewan and Olivia, nor moved by their love and the assistance that comes to them, often from unanticipated sources.

CHAPTER 1

TRAPPED

Ewan Mackenzie was standing in the middle of his living room in eerie silence. It was 4.00am and pitch-black, the only light coming from standbys, and sound from quiet breath of air-conditioning.

Four in the morning was the regular time for ten minute shut-down of building computers - computers that delivered holograms into apartments, of stars at night, dawn rising, vistas of land and sea.

Ewan’s sub-penthouse Apartment was on the 119th floor of a gigantic 150 level structure. This building was one of 20 in the Canberra Group, with one metre thick concrete and steel walls, specifically designed to keep residents safe in the event of nuclear blasts or fallout. However, this level of safety had come at a very considerable price for residents, and especially for Ewan. To ensure ultimate protection there could be no gaps or openings in any external walls and no windows. There was no way to see out, nor for light or fresh air to come in.

For Ewan, a man of the earth, of wide open spaces, of personal freedom, living in these circumstances was particularly challenging. He had reached the stage now where he was beginning to believe that if forced to remain inside this concrete mausoleum for much longer he would lose his mind.

Ewan began pacing around the room, talking aloud to himself, his anger rising: How did it all come to this? HOW?! he demanded to know. I’ve been trapped in here for TWO YEARS! It was supposed to serve as a refuge for just a few months! Yet still I’m here, and I can’t get out. I am a prisoner of the Chinese Government and they are using me. All for my safety? Ha! At what price?! Ewan stopped pacing and stood staring into the gloom as reality struck. I can’t escape the building…and even if I could, the levels of radiation outside would kill me.

Oh, dear God! What can I do?!

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Of course, Ewan wasn’t the only one so affected. Since China’s Takeover of Australia in ‘48, all sense of the individual had been lost, and, after that, the devastating effects of the Nuclear War of ‘53 not only had decimated many of earth’s countries but also had driven virtually every person remaining on earth into living in mausoleums like this – above, or below ground.

Long gone were the days of spacious homes and separate estates. Everyone, including Premier Chen himself, lived in an apartment like Ewan’s, if a little larger. ‘Is it the fault of the Chinese takeover or the Nuclear War that we are living like this?’ Ewan mused, ‘or is this where our world was heading anyway?’

The fact was that before the Nuclear War, planet earth and its people already were at serious risk. Climate Change had fried some countries and drowned others. Great tracts of fertile land, battered by chemicals and starved of water, had turned into useless deserts incapable of supporting any plant growth. Low-lying arable country had been swamped by sea-water, never to recover. Development of land to house earth’s burgeoning population had intruded relentlessly into areas designed for a higher purpose – food production. The land area available to grow crops and raise animals to feed earth’s people had shrunk alarmingly - by an estimated 80%.

It was true also that the populations throughout the world had reduced significantly, primarily as a consequence of the global flu epidemic of the Thirties. However, there simply were far too many people on earth for all of its citizens to have enough food to eat.

That was the precursor to real trouble beginning, as populous Nations staked their claim for increased territory. And, of course, there were the usual out-of-control maniacal leaders making demands far beyond their weight, until they were slapped down, or decimated, by their more powerful opponents. But the consequences of the Holocaust, well, that was another matter.

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Ewan’s stream of thought was interrupted by a message suddenly appearing on his central TV screen - Important Message for Ewan Mackenzie. ‘What is it this time, another piece of Government propaganda garbage?!’

All the floor-to-ceiling screens around the room switched on simultaneously and Ewan suddenly found himself in 3D world, surrounded by musicians in a fifty piece Orchestra, with boys of a Scottish Choir standing immediately in front of him. Confetti appeared to drop down from the ceiling as the Choir began singing, beautifully:

Happy Birthday Ewan Mackenzie, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Ewan, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!…………

Throughout the rendition, a message flashed on all his living-room walls:

Congratulations Ewan Mackenzie - Born 2 June 2012 – YOU ARE 43 TODAY!

Ewan’s long-established cynicism temporarily vanished as he became overwhelmed by the purity of sound of the boys’ choir and power of the orchestra supporting it. Momentarily, he even felt tearful. ‘I suppose you have to pay the bastards – who else remembers my birthday – there’s no-one left to remember it…..they’re all dead, all gone, I’m the last one……’

The screens around the room and on the ceiling gradually merged into the pre-dawn imagery prevailing before the birthday wishes appeared. Soon, dawn began breaking in the pictorial east, with the sun gradually rising through pink clouds on the ocean’s horizon. As Ewan turned away from the glare of the rising sun he imagined he could feel its heat on his back and smell the mist from the morning sea. It brought him fleeting happiness. Illusory though it was, it actually felt good.

A voice wafted down from above: Temperature range 18 to 25 degrees, radiation 100 Terabecquerels, before fading out.

At the mention of radiation levels Ewan’s mood rapidly returned to where it had been before the birthday greetings episode had intervened. ‘How had it come to this? How? Really? What was the Truth? How could anyone know?’

The problem was that it was virtually impossible to know the truth about anything, any more. It was difficult to know what the truth had been pre ‘53, because nearly all of the world’s records had been destroyed by nuclear blasts and raging infernos. And, it is said, that for good measure, the Chinese Government had swiftly dispatched army personnel throughout the country on a search and destroy mission – of all documents in the public domain, as well for capsules buried deep beneath the earth’s surface, loaded with technology and plant seed samples - some reaching back hundreds of years.

In essence, all that remained of the truth of the past resided in the memories of the older people living in the present, and Ewan now was one of these people.

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With these last reflections, Ewan decided it was time to get ready for the day, heading out of the living room and into his bathroom.

No wall-to-wall TV screens in here, but an ever-present built-in smaller screen, although never switched on by Ewan, potentially able to record his every move. From the size and angle of the screen, Ewan had calculated that there were just two areas of total privacy available in the bathroom - the first being in his separate toilet and the second when lying on the bathroom floor.

In the knowledge of total safety from prying eyes, Ewan unselfconsciously commenced his daily twenty-minute floor exercise routine. It was a habit he had maintained for 20 years, rarely missing a day.

On completion of the routine, Ewan got back up onto his feet and turned to face the TV screen front on, as he always did, demonstrating to his Masters of smaller appendage, that he indeed was well hung. His torso too was big and powerful, however, his legs were a bit too skinny for the bulk of the top. His dark brown hair, speckled with grey, was beginning to thin but there was still enough of it for him to look passably handsome, while the ladies to be seemed impressed with his clear blue eyes. Spare body parts had become all the rage, but with Ewan what you saw was what you got. For better or worse he was 100% the genuine Aussie male article.

With his gaze lingering perhaps a little too long on himself, Ewan suddenly became self-conscious, wrapped a towel around his waist then quickly hopped into the shower recess. The heated artesian water was soothing, as always, and it was good not to have to bother with shaving any more - one wipe of the shaving pad did the trick. Shower jets, coming from every direction, mixed with a combination of skin-moisturising detergents and perfumes, thoroughly cleansed the body leaving one feeling refreshed and totally alpha male. ‘Who cares about 43, I’m less than half-way (male age expectancy had increased to 95) and a mile fitter than men half my age’ Ewan challenged, ‘however, I will admit my daily dose of the miracle drug Telomeres (anti-ageing) might have something to do with it?’

The next step in Ewan’s established pre-breakfast routine, was a swim. He donned a costume, grabbed a robe, and then strode purposefully out of his apartment to the lift that dropped at high speed 149 levels to the pool area below. As usual he was greeted by one of the Chinese Lifesavers.

Good morning Mr Mackenzie, you swim today?

Ewan, who had long since grown tired of such banalities, and the irritating ritual of the pool-book questionnaire, simply signed where indicated, grunted and walked over to Pool 5 – the daunting 100 metre long swimming pool with its 10 lanes - ideal for an uninterrupted swim, especially at 6.30am. Not that starting so early really was necessary. Most of the residents in Ewan’s block were totally disinterested in exercise in any form, the young in particular, who spent their days and nights wedded to their cyber-world of video screens, cell phones and computer games, deliberately avoiding face-to-face interaction.

Despite all the frustrations of living life as it was, Ewan had to admit that the pool area had become one of his favourite places. Being down there really was quite pleasant, with the artificial sun shining through clouds above and surrounding gardens and shrubs, although plastic of course, creating a pleasant atmosphere. Also, the sheer size of the pool complex, 200 metres long and 200 metres wide, including five pools of fifteen to one hundred metres in length, gave one a sense of space – an essential contrast to apartment living. It offered space certainly, but not the space that Ewan yearned for – the vast land areas of the Mackenzie family’s sheep farm with its 20,000 acres of rolling plains and river flats.

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Ewan dived into the pool and swam swiftly through his first 100 metres. As he approached pool’s end, he noticed an unusually tall, massively built Chinaman, standing on blocks ready to dive in.

‘Here we go’, Ewan said to himself, ‘another "challenger’.

It happened frequently. Someone would race him over the first one or two of his ten laps, then stop of course, while Ewan would continue on to complete his kilometre swim.

After turning at the end of the first lap, Ewan sprinted away for twenty five metres, expecting to leave his potential challenger in his wake, but on this occasion the tactic did not work - the challenger quickly was close up behind him.

‘Oh well, let’s just keep up a strong pace and see how long it takes you to give up like all the others – mate’.

Ewan’s competitive juices were flowing freely now and he was swimming a little faster than he would have liked. After all, he had a long way to go – but his challenger was staying in touch and showing no signs of dropping off. This was quite incredible, considering the fact that Ewan could see the challenger’s style was atrocious - he was more like a thrashing-machine than a swimmer.

After having swum an exhausting eight of his ten laps, with the challenger now moving up to his shoulder, then level, Ewan knew he had a real fight on his hands this time. He looked across through the water and their eyes met. He was sure he saw hatred burning in his challenger’s eyes.

Toward the end of lap nine, Ewan began to the think the impossible - ‘This guy is going to beat me!’

As Ewan turned for his final lap, he was gasping for air and his style was going to pieces. About 20 metres into the lap he suddenly realised that his opponent had dropped off - ‘Thank God!’ - allowing Ewan to slow down considerably over the remaining 70-80 metres.

As Ewan touched the wall, he looked back to make sure his opponent had in fact quit, only to see him standing near the starting blocks back at the other end, staring straight at him, seemingly not exhausted? He was a very big man indeed, probably two metres tall and 150 kilos, with a huge head and thick mop of black hair. He looked totally intimidating.

Who are you? Ewan challenged under his breath, who the Hell are you?!

By the time Ewan had regained his breath and climbed out of the pool, his opponent had vanished. There was no sign of him anywhere in the complex.

‘How on earth did he get out of here so quickly?’ Ewan questioned, feeling strangely disturbed by the whole event. He felt he had been beaten at his own game, in his territory, by someone in the Block he had never seen before, and who chose to disappear rather than at least have the courtesy to have a chat with him.

‘Or am I overreacting? I won, and he slunk off defeated. That’s all there was to it - or was it?’

Troubled by the issue, Ewan had sat quietly during his Fruit and Muesli organic tablet breakfast and was somewhat startled by the announcement from his TV voice message: You are due down in the Vertical Farm offices on level 7 in 15 minutes Mr Mackenzie.

CHAPTER 2

DISCONNECT

Ewan was one of only a handful of Australians among tens of thousands of Chinese who lived in Block 3 – just one of the twenty enormous buildings in the Canberra Group. His building constantly swarmed with people, in the corridors and in the lifts, masses of people with black hair and glasses, who to Ewan mostly looked the same.

Talk about a culture shock, this had been it!

From the tranquillity of vast rural areas, essentially with only his dog to talk to, Ewan now found himself in the midst of hordes of people, who never seemed to stop talking. Not to him mind you, but to one another, on their cell phones. Although the conversations were in Chinese, Ewan could get the gist by observing the conversational patterns. Mostly, it was one of men and women holding the floor as it were – talking in symbols and loud voices - to invisible parties on the other end who apparently rarely got a word in. Talking, literally without drawing breath, then suddenly disconnecting - presumably when recipients of these tirades simply tried to say something about themselves/family/friends. The expressions on the callers’ faces would change from self satisfied to startled, as their diatribe was interrupted. Then there were the vacant stares. Cold eyes, that somehow could look directly at you, without apparently seeing you, look straight through you as it were.

If Ewan had to put a label to it, these people demonstrated a total lack of empathy. Perhaps, in fact, empathy had died many years ago, globally, as self-interest fuelled by social media had attained sickening heights, cyber communication dominated lifestyles and killed personal interaction? Of course, Ewan’s experiences had been much the same on leaving his property and going to the big smokes of Canberra and Sydney. "I am doing this and I am doing that and I am now worth this much." Rarely even the slightest interest in the other person – merely an incessant dissertation concerning their latest achievements/illnesses.

This was one of the reasons Ewan rarely visited the big cities, quite apart from reasons of congestion and pollution. The interesting thing for him was that according to city folk it was he, Ewan, who was supposed to be disconnected, lonely, living way down there on the farm - how can you stand the isolation? - when in fact Ewan sensed a deep loneliness amongst the city dwellers. Life in Block 3 represented a magnification of these issues. People seemed disconnected from one another and of course everyone had been disconnected, albeit involuntarily, from Nature – Life’s force.

There was no doubt about it that Ewan, living in the bush, had developed his share of biases, and the insensitivity of many of his fellow humans was one of them. Sometimes, he genuinely believed animals were better company than people, especially dogs.

If ever empathy was exemplified, it was in dogs - particularly Australian Kelpie working dogs. Ever alert to their Masters’ moods and wishes, always warm, always welcoming, always non-judgemental, devoted, trying to please even when it no longer was possible for their ageing bodies. They would die for their Masters and in some cases their Masters would die for them - a bond between man and animal that reached back into the eons of time. And they were good conversationalists too. Feel like ploughing the river paddock today Mighty dog? Woof. Going to help me bring in the sheep this afternoon? Woof. Woof. How about a swim in the river? Woof. Woof. Woof! The body language and reciprocal actions of these dogs made it clear that they understood every emotion, maybe every word, of the person communicating with them. How many humans were like that these days? Not many. People generally seemed to have stopped listening long, long ago.

Ewan had to wonder how the people in Block 3 actually communicated with one-another? They seemed more like robots than humans, utterly unresponsive to others around them. Frightening really. And these people now were Ewan’s neighbours, tens of thousands of them.

Certainly, Ewan had noticed a general antagonism towards him – he could sense an historical arrogance – China’s history spanning millennia and white man’s Australia, a paltry 300 odd years. And of course there was the unrelenting, unforgiving Chinese bureaucracy, ever-present – continually intruding into one’s daily life with seemingly endless enquiry into even the most trivial of matters – what you ate, where you ate it, who you met with during the day, even the clothes you wore – with severe penalties advised for non-compliance. Someone wanted to know every single detail of Ewan’s life. He wondered whether the same level of enquiry applied to any Chinese residents?

The other major issue for Ewan was language. It was rare to hear anyone speaking other than in one Chinese dialect or another. Persons speaking English, at least in public, were virtually non-existent. Why would they bother? Before the Holocaust, the Chinese were by far the dominant race, dominating even the universe with their manned space missions to Mars and Jupiter, and of course presenting scientific proof that human beings had descended from a planet in a distant galaxy – imaginatively named 1-320007-2022 - after the year of discovery. The Chinese had left the rest of the World in their technological dust. India, ever the pretender, never really got into that race.

It was an understatement to say that Ewan was not enjoying life in Block 3. Disconnected from the human beings that surrounded him, and increasingly frustrated by his inability to escape. Being kept safe in such circumstances hardly seemed worth it.

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It was only by a stroke of very good fortune that on 12th July 2055, an old Aussie mate, Rick Wheeler – a science and computer whiz – was transferred into Block 3.

Ewan and Rick both had attended Canberra University in the early Thirties. Ewan had befriended Rick after seeing his gutsy performance in a boxing match. Rick had been hopelessly outclassed, but, showing sheer guts and determination simply refused to give in, and eventually gained a moral victory.

By Round 2, with blood streaming from Rick’s nose and one eye almost closed, the Referee had intervened to stop the fight. Rick, swaying against the ropes, insisted he was able to continue - No way, I’m fine! Somewhat reluctantly, after inspecting Rick, the Referee called ‘box on’ with which Rick lunged off the ropes and managed to land his one and only really good punch - smack on his opponent’s jaw. Unfortunately, this impertinence only served to enrage his far more skilled opponent who then unleashed a barrage of ferocious punches to Rick’s head and body in retaliation. Despite the onslaught, Rick, miraculously, managed to stay on his feet, just, and actually saw out the full three rounds of the contest.

The two young men had formed a close bond after that, although there always was a sense of competition in the air. Ewan had a size advantage, and was the superior athlete of the two, although this never prevented Rick from trying for a victory, in sport, or winning the women.

After their time together at Uni they both had