c. 2024 Rod Ice
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(8-24)
As Dr. Judson Baines approached the planetary surface in his misappropriated Digger shuttle, a sense of loneliness began to take hold. Unlike his previous visit, this landing was more somber and solitary. He would be working by himself with no contact from anyone. The Morningstar III had already left orbit, and turned toward its home base circling Mars. Below, at the abandoned site of Evergreen Estates, little remained of the trailer community. A storm pattern had wrecked visual targets he documented previously, to make any return trip easier. But at least the cycle of meteorological vengeance had finished.
He hovered over acres of wild, woodland growth until the property outline came into focus. The old Pine Trail Road traced a border’s edge, on its flank. After shedding altitude, he could recognize the maintenance garage, and postal barn. There was a main access boulevard, with two streets to the left, and a long connector to the third, that ran behind everything else. This meandering trail seemed to have been added later in the park’s history.
Baines was no pilot. He did not have the skill of a trained, Space Force professional. Yet onboard programming let him steer the small craft efficiently. He touched down by Lot 13, where the mobile dwelling of his great-grandfather still sat in humble silence.
Debris was scattered along the driveway. Weeds and clinging vines had grown up and over every vertical surface. Trees were busy reclaiming the soil. Many of the boxcar homes had collapsed on their concrete foundations. But a few, like the one he wanted to investigate, still retained their structural integrity.
After shutting down his transport, and putting its Cloitanium cells on standby, to conserve power, he crept toward the front entrance. A long access ramp, fashioned from wood planks, had disintegrated where it stood. So, he had to leverage himself up to a viable level by grabbing onto a post that used to secure one end of the railing.
Feral cats scattered as he brushed aside pine boughs and loose rubbish, before prying the front entrance open. In the living room there were more handwritten journals, items he could not carry before. With reverence, he found a place to sit, and started reading. The ink had faded a bit, from a century of neglect. Yet he had no trouble deciphering the scribbled text.
He read each line aloud, for no one but himself to hear.
“The neighborhood has been restless all day. Lots of trucks rolling around our dingy park. Drivers seething with rage. I don’t have to see or hear anyone though, it permeates the air. It crackles on my skin like static electricity. There was a protest march on the township square, earlier. With dozens of Confederate flags and cursing, and rifles discharging rounds toward the sky. What good will that do, I wondered? I can’t think that the National Guard troops will be impressed, though the boisterous mood here seemed to make them feel anxious. I’m sure they would rather have stayed in their barracks. There was a tense stand-off between Reverend Cabe Forester, and one of our representatives from the state legislature in Columbus. Everyone at our Church of the Lord Jesus in Heaven knelt together, and prayed. Many of the parishioners had brought their Bibles. They formed a human chain around the sanctuary. Inside, members of the local militia were holed up, and armed heavily. I hoped that no one would get killed. The weather made me want to go for a ride on my motorcycle. But gas rationing forced me to drain the fuel for my mower. It probably doesn’t matter though, if I have my nephew cut the lawn, anymore. Our park manager disappeared weeks ago. The ownership in California hasn’t been in touch since riots hit all their major, west coast cities. I used to think that we were secure in Ohio. But now, who knows? Maybe none of us are actually safe...”
Baines had to pause once he finished going through the first notebook. His eyes were tired. He took off his thick, composite-rimmed spectacles, and cleaned them with a shirttail corner.
A pungent odor of must and mold became overpowering as he sorted through plastic totes stacked by the entertainment center. He had to go outside for relief. But upon reaching the tilted porch, sun glare filled his field of vision. The cloudy, overcast conditions had given way to a raw blast of solar intensity. Depleted ozone left their bygone homeworld naked before the golden orb, spitting fire. He puzzled over details referenced at his university, about the environmental wreckage on their beloved Terra Firma.
He vocalized this foreboding reality, while filling his lungs with fresh air.
“In this barren remnant of Ohio, how could anyone or anything live here now?”
He dropped back down to ground level, then paced along the concrete driveway. It helped to stretch his legs and think while in motion. Electronic beeps and blips sounded from the Digger shuttle, which sat in the street. He barely paid attention, until a human voice registered from the radio receiver in its control board.
“This is Roosevelt Station, in the Free Territory of Atlantia. Our programming has been expanded to eight hours a day, seven days per week. We hope to lighten your burden by offering some classic tunes from American history. Today, we revisit the age of Country & Western, a cultural phenomenon that made our ancestors tap their toes while living in olden days! Here’s a slice of vinyl from the Willis Brothers!”
Strains of banjo and thumping bass echoed from the transport vessel. Then, music warbled out a funny tale of blue-collar adventure.
“He was headin’ into Boston in a big, long diesel truck
It was his first trip to Boston, he was having lots of luck
He was going the wrong direction down a one-way street in town
And this is what he said when the police chased him down
Give me forty acres and I’ll turn this rig around
It’s the easiest way that I’ve found
Some guys can turn it on a dime or turn it right downtown
But I need forty acres to turn this rig around!”
Dr. Baines stood still for a moment, like a statue from yonder days. He gasped and coughed and then shouted with exasperation.
“Radio? What the hell? There really are people living on this big chunk of rock, after all!”
...and then....???
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