Down the Road

By Rebeca V. Taub

Difficult times overwhelm Mara as she comes of age in the Atlanta of the

2040s. She finds she must rely on friends for a way forward, crossing the

states in a country band. A young scientist shows her secrets and she

finds hope in a new love.

 

Author Rebeca V. Taub traveled widely and has lived in New York City for many

years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rebeca V. Taub
• Release date: Feb 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201012151

Book preview

Chapter 1

After I turned 18 and graduated from high school, things went from bad to worse. I had already lost my father in the troubles of 2037. He was a teacher. He led demonstrations demanding immediate abolition of all remaining fossil fuels and cryptocurrencies as well as downgrading of 8G networks. Things got violent when the Guard was called out. Demonstrators were shot, including my dad. Officially, it was a death toll of 32. Eyewitnesses said there were more like 100. It became clear that the decades of change in the energy, transportation, factory farming and technology policies were insufficient. Modern society was still actually devoted to energy consumption especially by the endless gargantuan needs of the digital economy. Grassroots efforts continued trying to stop the unsustainable trends destroying the physical, emotional and economic wellbeing of the people of the nation, and life on the planet. The economy kept spiraling in and out of depression, each one worse than the last. The crops were growing worse by the year. The nations in temperate zones supported different factions of civil wars in tropical nations, enabling the suffering people there to exterminate each other. They could not legally immigrate to countries in slightly more livable climes with more food. 

After the death of Dad, my silently suffering mom became distant and robotic. She kept working as administrative staff in the nearby hospital and taking care of the house. But, she was quiet and remote. I was in turmoil, grieving my dad. Then Mom was also not quite with me anymore. It was like salt in the wound, and made me irritable whenever Mom was around, driving further distance between us. I did my best to carry on, with the help of a school counselor. I got through middle school and high school with some friends to keep me on track, especially Elroy and Lena, my best friend. She moved north with her parents in 2038, at the end of ninth grade. We were often in touch online, texting or talking. Lena had first gone to Philadelphia. Her parents, doctors, were able to emigrate with her to Canada soon after, before seasonal flooding in Philly got even worse. Now, with many homeless refugees from the coastal areas, southwestern deserts and midwest, it was nearly impossible to get into Canada. After the controversial wall built up decades before on much of the southern border of the States, the country’s northern neighbor was fortifying its border to prevent refugees crossing up there.

In 2040, the first Amazon Ark was announced to fanfare. It was designated for 500 of the East coast wealthy to escape their disaster area permanently, by going into orbit between the Earth and the Moon. The next year, the Ark II also launched, for 500 passengers from the West, where beleaguered residents were fighting drought, rampant wildfires, rainstorms, mudslides and the encroaching Pacific Ocean, still bearing radiation from the 2011 Fukushima disaster. Their problems on the coast were all exacerbated by the exodus of homeless from the desert regions of the parched southwest who had fled to there or up north. The third Ark was quietly preparing to launch later for any wealthy enough able to pay the $29 million per passenger to flee the ravaged planet. Children could board for half fare.

After the first Ark was in orbit, I would try to look for it, especially on clear mild nights when the moon was full. It looked like a very bright star moving slowly past the other heavenly bodies and satellites shining in the western evening sky. One night, Mom and I went out to the backyard to cool off before going to sleep. Mom was sipping a chilled glass of beer, looking sad. She turned to me with a sigh.

I’m sorry I can’t get us up on the next Ark, Mara honey. I never really thought it would get this bad, that Jesus would let us suffer like this. It sure hasn’t turned out to be the Rapture. Maybe I was just in denial, since I could never even scrape up a half a million bucks on our salaries to escape somewhere. That’s why your dad was fighting to try to make it a bit better. Even then, I guess it was too late. And then we lost him. She retreated to her customary silence, as a tear rolled down her cheek. I felt awkward, and didn’t know how to comfort her.

Don’t worry, Mom, I said. We’ll be ok! Mom managed a weak smile.

I believe you will, honey, you are so bright and resilient. I’m proud of you. Always remember I love you, no matter what happens.  I had not realized how ominous those words could be.

Every year, the hospital had been cutting back staff. Medical bills were going unpaid as the health insurance structure collapsed due to massive unemployment. Public health programs had been hollowed out. Hospitals were going broke, stressed by new pandemics every 5-10 years (although eventually people made sure to contain them quickly.) Mom got laid off, in 2041, after working there for 15 years. I put off going to college, waiting to see if we could afford the tuition. I refused to be burdened by loans and was taking odd jobs. Mom sat around the house looking dazed, then started talking to me about how times were tough, and we had to stock up in case things got worse. She told me how sorry she was there was only a month of severance pay, as unemployment insurance would barely cover food costs. We were torn between staying put, as the mortgage had been paid off by Dad’s life insurance after his death, or leaving to head up to Nashville, or Detroit. Her attempts to sell the house were a failure. Who would buy a house in the South? Very few. The heat in summer was intolerable. Frequently, vicious tornadoes, storms and floods were very dangerous. At first she wept often, but after a while, just got even quieter.

I can never forget that July day, months after my 18th birthday. It again had been stifling hot, and promised to be an awfully sultry night. The air conditioning unit struggled to keep the house under 90 degrees, barely making the steamy oppressive heat less than torture. The AC  was doing little more than moving hot air around. With the voltage weak, the heatwave was winning the battle. I’d gone down to the basement after lunch to hide out with a pitcher of iced tea and an old Tolstoy novel from Dad’s bookshelf. I felt closer to him as I read it. Mom was up in the living room working on some papers. Around what would have been dinner time if we’d had appetites, Mom came downstairs to bring two small halves of cantaloupe with scoops of cottage cheese. Even in the half stupor of the heat, I realized what a rare luxury this was. Mom murmured, I wanted to give you a treat. I love you so much!

Thanks, Mom I smiled, thrilled with the extravagant fruit and dairy combo, and dug into the delight. When Mom said she had already eaten and slipped back upstairs, I barely thought how odd that was. Neither did I register the sound of the car starting in the driveway. 

It grew late. Finally, I felt like going to sleep but was surprised to notice Mom was not home. I texted her, only to hear the phone buzz in the kitchen, stuck on a counter with her purse. I felt a sickening knot in my stomach, but tried to rationalize that maybe Mom had just felt like taking a ride. I tried not to panic, but could barely sleep all night. I got up early and looked for my mom in the master bedroom. All I found was an envelope on the pillow marked Mara Important. I ran to the bathroom to be sick, realizing that something was very wrong.

I’d barely opened the envelope before a police officer rang the front door bell. When I answered it, he somberly told me that there had been a terrible accident. Witnesses had seen mother’s old blue Chevy falling off the side of the bridge in the twilight. It had taken this long to dredge up the vehicle and locate next of kin. I knew that the accident had been carefully planned. The envelope Mom had left for me had documents and a notecard. There was a life insurance policy, the title to the house in my name, and information about the bank account that was in trust for me. The card had a sad eyed hound on it. Inside was written: Sorry, but it will be better for you. Go North soon as you can. Love, Mom.

I numbly called my mother's pastor, at the little church where I had been singing in the choir since I was ten. He helped me plan the funeral. I called Uncle Stu, who lived an hour away, and let him know. The funeral was attended by the ladies from the congregation, Uncle Stu, his new wife and my older cousin, Arlyne, from Stu’s first marriage. They took me out to stay with them for a week while I got over the shock of what had happened. I took a bus to return to the city. When I got into the house, it hardly felt like home. I tried to get into a routine. I picked up gigs dog walking and babysitting anywhere I could get to on my bicycle. I was lucky to be a part time receptionist at a nearby veterinary clinic for a year, but people were having trouble affording good care for their pets. I lost that job after Christmas.

I found a lawyer to supervise the paperwork about my mother’s estate, for a small fee. Finally, I got an insurance payment, which covered funeral expenses and credit card balances, plus a few thousand bucks extra. I realized I needed to find a roommate. One day around then, I was near the counter of the drugstore when I heard a familiar voice behind me

Hey, Mara.

I turned around to see Elroy. I felt mixed pangs of relief and regret. In my grief and isolation, I had not been in touch since we graduated High School many months ago. He and I shared the sad bond of losing our fathers. Together they had led the protest during which my Dad was killed. Elroy’s Dad, working for the CDC, had died in the pandemic of ‘39. We had been schoolmates since first grade, often seated near one another as my name, Milburn, and his, Lincoln, were in the very middle of the alphabet. I always admired him, one of dozens with a crush on him in high school. He was a star of the basketball team, as well as a bright, kind person. He really looked out for me during middle school when I was drifting into a bad crowd that would mostly end up strung out on drugs or worse. He instead got me involved in working on the yearbooks, doing caricatures or drawings. After his father died, Elroy seemed to withdraw. He never got involved with any girls at school. At graduation he had planned to study pharmacy at a local college. I was glad to see him and asked what he’d been up to.

I just started working on that college degree, and I have a part time job here. It was quiet in the store so he stepped out from behind the counter where he had been handling the pharmacy register. He came closer and lowered his voice. I’m so sorry about your Mom. I heard what happened. It’s rough. Are you okay? 

I shrugged. I don’t know, I’m still kind of in shock. How is your Mom?

She’s heading up to Chicago to stay with her sister to get sober. She hadn't been able to sell much in her real estate gig, and went into a downward spiral. She just managed to sell our place to raise cash to get herself settled up there. Unfortunately, that means I have to get a new place, and work full time somewhere to support myself. I will have to take a leave from school until I get settled and save up some more funds.  Elroy could just about finish the term before he was broke.

I have an idea. How about you share my place as a roommate? I volunteered on the spot. I knew he was a dependable, thoughtful guy. I needed help with expenses, and felt it would be good to have him around the house. He agreed and shortly after that, moved into the big bedroom next to mine. After he left school, he was still only working part time. With his knowledge of chemistry, extra free time, and the need for more cash, he began to associate with shady business. He was selling little glassine packets of powder, and pills, when he went out partying until the wee hours. Mostly he would deal in bars and clubs Downtown. Sometimes, all sorts of people were stopping by to see him. I was not happy about it, but did appreciate the fact that he was paying me more rent, as food prices kept rising. We had an expensive problem with the roof, followed shortly by another with the plumbing. We decided to find two more roommates. Elroy would sleep in the basement. Mom’s old room was big enough for a couple.

We mentioned it to a few friends. Through word of mouth, two twenty-something sisters eventually stopped by about moving in. Their parents had both died in the last few years, their mom six months earlier of breast cancer, which was so prevalent. Scientific research linked it to the micro-plastics leaching into the environment, but despite efforts to limit plastic, it was too little too late. The sisters had finally gotten a life insurance check, while getting evicted from the house that their mom had been renting. They decided to find a cheaper share. When they met us, the sisters were