The Environmental Holocaust and Mundanities Boxed Set

By J Alan Erwine

The magazines Environmental Holocaust and Mundanities were short-lived magazines at Nomadic Delirium Press, but we are still very proud of them, and we hope to someday bring them back, but for now you can enjoy the single issue of Environmental Holocaust and the two issues of Mundanities in this one issue.

Environmental Holocaust was a magazine focusing on possible futures where global climate change continues on unchecked. Mundanities was the zine of mundane science fiction, and focused on science fiction that was completely believable based on modern science.

• Language: English
• Publisher: nomadicdelirium
• Release date: Jun 3, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227264152

J Alan Erwine

J Erwine was born Oct. 15, 1969 in Akron, Ohio. Early in his life he was exposed to science, and specifically astronomy. From there on, J's passion turned to science fiction, a passion that's never died. Due to family issues, J eventually found himself in Denver, Colorado, where he still lives (well, right outside now.) From the time he could put subject and predicate together on paper, J has been writing stories. None of those early stories exist anymore (thankfully), but that passion for writing has never waned. After several years of rejection, the story Trek for Life was eventually sold to ProMart Writing Lab editor James Baker. It wasn't Asimov's, but it was a start. Since that time J has sold more than forty short stories to various small press publishers. In addition ProMart also published a short story collection of J's entitled Lowering One's Self Before Fate, and other stories, which is still available. ProMart also published a novel from J entitled The Opium of the People, which sold a few copies before going out of print. The relevance of the novel after the events of September 11th caused J to self-publish the novel, as he felt the story had a lot to say in the new reality we now find ourselves living in. Now, this same book has been re-released by Nomadic Delirium Press. Eventually J would become an editor with ProMart. Then, after the untimely death of ProMart editor James Baker, J would move on to ProMart's successor Sam's Dot Publishing. J also spends most of his time working as a freelance writer and editor. J's novel was voted a top ten finisher in the 2003 annual Preditors & Editors contest, and his short story The Galton Principle won a ProMart contest for best story over 5,000 words. In addition, a number of his stories have been voted "best of" in various issue of The Martian Wave and The Fifth DI… and have been included in Wondrous Web Worlds Vols. 2, 3, 4, and 6. In 2009, the Ephemeris Role Playing Game was released. J is the co-creator of this game, and has written numerous supplements for the game. J has now sold three novels and four short story collections, all of which are still available from various sources, including Smashwords. J currently lives with his amazing wife, three wonderful children, three cats, and a very quiet turtle.

Book preview

A fire in the woods Description automatically generated

Environmental Holocaust

Edited by J Alan Erwine

Copyright 2018 by Nomadic Delirium Press

All stories are copyrighted in the names of their respective authors

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system, without the written consent of the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passes in connection with a review written for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, broadcast, etc.

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Nomadic Delirium Press

Aurora, Colorado

Table of Contents

What Lies Beneath by Lisa Timpf

Voracious by Tyree Campbell

Sunsets and Ice Cream by Kate Runnels

Seas of Red by J Alan Erwine

Author Bios

What Lies Beneath

By Lisa Timpf

Half a shift to go, Lucas Kemm said.

Wow. You didn't even get a smile out of Ryder, there, Joris Comeau, seated next to Lucas, commented.

Sorry. Ryder Brewer mumbled apologetically. I was thinking about the mine.

Aw, c'mon. We agreed—no shop talk at lunch, Lucas protested. Noticing the worry lines creasing Ryder's forehead, he paused. Fine. Out with it.

How long do you think it'll keep going? Ryder asked, the words coming in a rush. I've got a family to support, back in Newfoundland. He spread out his hands, palms up, as if beseeching them to come up with reassuring words.

We all have families to support, Joris replied calmly. But I wouldn't worry about the mine playing out in a hurry. He leaned forward. You're stuck in the maintenance bay, fixing equipment. But I've seen for myself, working haul truck—for the past two weeks we've been scraping down another layer into the permafrost. The good news is, the mine's still yielding.

Another layer, Ryder's voice sounded bitter. One day, we'll hit the bottom.

Shouldn't happen in a hurry, Lucas said. I've seen the projections—still lots of yield anticipated.

Besides, Joris said, leaning forward. If it plays out, there'll be other mines to go work at. Lucas here isn't letting it worry him, are you Lucas?

Lucas blushed. Ava's talked me into taking a trip to Europe while we're off, he replied. To celebrate our tenth anniversary.

See? You know how much Lucas hates to part with his money—wouldn't do it if he was worried about our job security, Joris said, rising to his feet and winking at Lucas before turning back to Ryder. Nothing to worry about. Cheer up. Two weeks off, coming up, in half a shift.

Ryder nodded and forced a smile. Two weeks off, he thought. Maybe I just need some rest.

*

See, there's the pile of waste rock and dirt we shifted, opening up the new layer, Joris said as he stood beside Ryder at the bus stop. Joris motioned toward a heap of sun-dried earth. During the daily grind, it seemed like you weren't getting anywhere, sometimes, but when stood back and looked at what you'd accomplished—

I still say it won't last forever, Ryder said glumly. Besides, I've heard there's new calls for restrictions on open pit mines.

Yeah, but they're not going anywhere yet, Joris said. "What's with you anyway? You aren't usually such a pessimist."

Dunno, Ryder replied. Under the weather, I guess. A shudder racked his body.

That is a heck of a wind, Lucas chimed in, rubbing his hands together and stamping his feet against the cold as he took up a spot beside Joris. Where's that bus, anyway?

Joris followed Lucas' example and craned his neck, eager for the arrival of the vehicle that would ferry them to the airport. There it is, he said, unable to keep the enthusiasm from his voice as the bus rounded the corner.

Like the group of miners surrounding him, Joris hoisted his bag over his shoulder with the familiarity of a seasoned traveller. Which, Joris supposed, they were, after so many trips to and from their hometowns scattered across the country.

As Joris clambered aboard, a gust of wind rocked the bus, and he felt a draft against his cheek when he took his seat. Joris grimaced at the glass pane beside him. Window seals aren't the best. Doesn't matter. The heat will crank up soon.

When the fully-loaded vehicle finally started to move, Joris felt a familiar tingle of anticipation. The two-weeks-on, two-weeks-off schedule dictated by the remote northern location of the mines played havoc with family life. He coped by packing in quality time with his wife and daughter during his two weeks of off time. He'd have a busy few days ahead of him, but he didn't mind.

What if Ryder's right? What if there's no future in mining? Joris struggled against a sense of foreboding raised by his co-worker's gloomy sentiments. With a sigh, Joris leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Man, I feel tired all of a sudden.

*

Seven days into the break, Joris leaned back in his chair at the Forest's Edge Restaurant, smiling indulgently as his daughter Katia sheared a bite-sized piece off the giant slice of chocolate cake on her plate. He winced and rubbed his eyes. Noticing a worried glance from his wife Adnette, he straightened in his chair with a conscious effort.

Just before they got into the car to drive to the restaurant for Katia's birthday dinner, he'd been tempted to beg off. He'd slept ten hours last night, and yet his head pounded and his body ached as though he'd spent the time playing in one of the round-the-clock broomball tournaments so popular back in New Brunswick when he was in his early twenties.

Joris coughed, a harsh bark of a sound that evoked concerned glances from the other nearby diners.

You can have a nap on the couch during the hockey game, he promised himself. Just stay awake for the rest of the dinner.

Joris took a sip of his coffee, grateful for the small jolt that provided.

*

Emergency room nurse Ella Morris looked up instinctively as a man approached, swaying slightly.

Drunk, at this time in the morning? she wondered. Don't be judgemental. Just assess.

She was about to tell the man to take a seat and wait his turn when she noticed his sweating palms, the bloodless white tenor of his face, and the tremor in his hands. He's afraid, she thought. And if I'm any judge of people, I'll bet he isn't the sort of guy who doesn't scare easily.

The man looked pleasant enough, with his rounded face. His ears stuck out slightly and his short brown hair hugged his head. He reminded Ella of an affable bear.

She found the strength to offer an encouraging smile and leaned forward to reassure him.

I've got spots, he mumbled.

Spots?

The man pulled up his sleeve, showing green-brown pustules. Ella closed her eyes for a moment, racking her brain for something positive to say. She felt a moment of panic as her muscles froze. Willing her eyes to open again, she looked at the man and surprised herself with her ability to muster a gentle smile despite her churning thoughts.

Your name, sir? she asked, trying to put the man at ease.

Joris Comeau.

Well, Mr. Comeau, let's see what this is all about. Come with me. Ella handed Joris a mask and gestured, her motions deliberately calm as though she feared he might flee like a startled deer.

As she led Joris to the isolation room, Ella grabbed a mask for herself. I just hope it's not too late.

Code Q, Ella told the triage nurse as she passed her colleague's desk, pleased that her voice betrayed no hint of her intense fear.

*

Erik Norberg stared out the back window of his bungalow, fascinated by the activity at the bird feeder. He frowned as a black squirrel shinnied up the pole and, in a feat of acrobatics, made his way past the baffle and up to the platform, where the proceeded to dine with obvious enjoyment.

Pests, he muttered.

His wife Shakela grinned. So, will your first official move as the new Chief Medical Officer of Health for Ontario be banning squirrels on some trumped-up illness charge?

I wish, he said.

Just remember, she told him as she gathered her gear, preparing to head out the door, you can't do it all in one day. I learned that when I took over the women's basketball head coaching job at the University.

Erik nodded. Shakela's advice made sense. He knew that. Still, after just one week in his new role as CMOH, he'd already compiled a long list of things he wanted to change. His predecessor had been, in Erik's view, behind the times.

Hearing the insistent buzz of his phone, Eric strode over to the kitchen counter, his long legs making short work of the distance.

He picked up the device and listened for a moment. He knew from Shakela's grimace that he hadn't been able to keep his facial expression neutral. No point trying to fool her.

When the caller at the other end had hung up, Erik looked at his wife, his blue eyes troubled. There's a potential outbreak, he said, willing his voice to sound calm. I'll pack a bag. I may need to stay at the hospital.

Be careful, Shakela replied. Husband and wife exchanged a glance that carried all the layers of meaning necessary.

I will, he said, realizing that the words sounded automatic, rote even. Headed into unknown territory the way he was—the way they all were—careful might not be good enough. But he had to try to make it back in one piece. For Shakela's sake, as much as anything.  

*

It's a monster, lab technician Ivar Paterson gasped, staring at the magnified image of the virus they'd isolated from Joris Comeau's blood.

A dinosaur, fellow tech Ragna Zhu corrected, brushing her thick black bangs back from her forehead as she stared at the image with worried eyes.

A giant virus, and, I think, an ancient one, Erik Norberg's clipped voice conveyed a certainty that belied his underlying unease. Similar viruses were found, dormant, in a ground squirrel's nest excavated from the permafrost in Siberia.

Well, this one clearly isn't dormant, Ivar said.

Where did it come from? And how did it get here? Ragna asked, staring at the image.

That's what we need to figure out, and fast, Erik replied.

He considered the question his assistant had left unsaid.

How do we stop it?

Erik shook his head. First things first. They had to figure out where the virus had originated and who might have been exposed—before they had a much bigger problem.

He sighed. We need to package up samples and send them to other Level One Security labs. He turned to look at the techs, relieved to see no signs of panic. The method's in the procedure binder. Let me know if you run into any issues.

He wet suddenly dry lips, then headed toward his office. He had procedures to brush up on himself. It would be his job to ensure the hospitals in Ontario understood, and followed, appropriate protocol in dealing with this threat.

At least there were procedures to follow—good ones. Maybe, he thought, I was too quick to judge the work of those who held this position before me.

*

Hot. I feel so hot. Joris Comeau moved the sheet off his body with a trembling hand, then noticed the white-suited figure standing beside him. He grimaced. They no longer came as a surprise, these visitors dressed as if preparing to explore outer space.

Joris assessed the newcomer. Tall, he was tall, and had the expression of someone in authority. Not one of the doctors, though. Or was he? Joris frowned. No, he didn't recall seeing this man before.

I'm Erik Norberg, the man said. Chief Medical Officer of Health for Ontario.

Joris closed his eyes. I was right. This is serious.

He opened his eyes again.

You're a miner, I understand, the man said.

Joris nodded.

Based on my understanding of your work schedule and what we now know about the incubation period for the virus, I believe you may have been exposed during the time you were at the mine, Eric said. Did anything unusual happen at work?

We opened up a new layer, Joris replied.

A new layer?

It's an open pit mine, Joris explained. We move soil a layer at a time to a station where the ore is separated out, then dump the waste rock and soil onsite.

Are you under the permafrost, by chance?

I believe so, Joris replied.

Anything else I should know? the man's voice was dull.

Just as we were leaving, the wind was picking up, Joris said, his brow creasing. I'm not sure whether that matters.

Wind?

Yeah. I remember it blowing across the hill of waste earth, toward where we wait for the bus.

There's a crew up there now?

Yeah, they'll be up there another week. There's time to catch them, if you need to.

Thanks. I'll let you rest. As Erik turned away, Joris settled his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, struggling to rein in his emotions. A thought struck him and he struggled to prop himself up on one elbow.

Dr. Norberg?

The space-suited man turned and nodded.

There's something else you should know, Joris said, his voice coming out as a hollow croak. Erik leaned in closer. One of the guys, Lucas Kemm—he was headed to Europe on vacation with his wife.

Erik stared at him silently for a moment before replying softly, Thank you for telling me.

Norberg left the room with long strides, and Joris watched him until he moved out of his range of vision.

Joris leaned back again, thinking about his parents and brothers, back home in New Brunswick. Had he made a mistake in setting up his home base in Hamilton, where the job prospects for Adnette had been better? He missed the forests and ocean views, particularly now, with the looming possibility that he might never see them again.

His lips twisted in a grimace. What am I thinking? he scolded himself. If I'd gone back to New Brunswick, I'd have gone visiting all the cousins. They'd have all caught it, from me. And I wouldn't wish this—whatever it is—on anyone.

*

Did you see the news, sir? Lena Herrmann, Erik's personal assistant, joined him at a cafeteria table, holding a coffee in her hand.

Just woke up from a nap. My wife reminded me this is more of a marathon than a sprint, and I've been pulling a few all-nighters, Erik confessed, his voice still fuzzy with fatigue. I'll have to crash again soon, he told himself. Even for a few hours. It was that meeting with Adnette Comeau yesterday, to give her the news about her husband. I can't get the expression on her face out of my mind. What's up?

Lena flipped open her tablet, toggling on a story posted on the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation web site. The video began to play, and Erik rapidly took in the highlights.

Turmoil in Newfoundland, where the disease was moving like wildfire through three small towns. Outbreaks in a number of cities in France, Germany, and Italy, where Lucas Kemm had been touring with his wife, visiting restaurants and historic sites. Scattered incidences of illness dotted across the prairie provinces as well as New Brunswick. Just