Pristine

Waiting to be called to the first tee, Adam was seated at a table in the clubhouse, eyes on the TV screen, where a senator was lauding the enactment of strict environmental safeguards.

"With these programs in place, with new technology, we’ve taken a huge step toward the ultimate goal of all clear-thinking citizens – a pristine environment. All man-made greenhouse gases will soon be eliminated."

Bill joined Adam, placing a streaming cup of joe atop the table. "What’s goin’ on?"

"Environmental perfection."

Bill waved curtly. "They can’t even get the weather right. I didn’t play once all winter. Global warming, my ass - it’s Good Friday and it’s still freezin’."

"If it wasn’t for global warming, there’d be no United States of America, the greatest nation in history. Ask Siberians if it’s a bad thing. These guys think the warming’s gonna slow down with all these restrictions. Meanwhile, fossil fuels account for only five-percent of greenhouse gases."

"You’re kiddin’," said Bill, skeptical.

"They don’t want anybody to know that. It’ll jeopardize what they want. Some scientists think the warming’s from sunspots. Man accounts for very little of the greenhouse gases. Most come from nature, like cow farts…."

Bill tittered.

"And volcanoes and swamps."

Bill shrugged. "Fill in the swamps, black top over ‘em, – and make ‘em golf courses. Us baby boomers are gonna need ‘em once we retire."

Adam laughed. "You’d get my vote. Trouble is, a lotta people think we’re ‘one’ with nature. Nature could give a rat’s petootie about us. That’s what makes it so scary – it’s completely indifferent to mankind. Earthquakes, hurricanes and lightning will kill people of all ages, creeds, color and gender. Hopefully the environmentalists will be better at perfection than the Nazis and commies were, than the terrorists are."

"That’d be nice. At least their hearts are in the right place."

Bill’s drive on the second hole bounced into the woods to the left. They found the ball immediately.

"What happened to all these trees?" said Bill, troubled. "They look dead."

Adam shrugged. "Maybe those Chinese beetles got to ‘em – or were they Japanese?"

"Whatever. They shoulda used chopsticks."

Adam chuckled. "Why’m I laughin’? They might take out the whole course."

On Memorial Day, waiting on the 13th tee, they were buzzed by a swarm of insects. They swatted wildly with both hands.

"What the hell’re they?" said Bill, looking over his clothing, brushing himself off.

"They look like somethin’ you’d find in the tropics."

"Good thing we’re wearin’ sleeves. I’m buyin’ a case of bug spray this year."

"Sometimes I think the environment’s gotten so clean that species that’ve been dormant for decades have come back to life. A few years ago maggots that hadn’t been seen in years started chewin’ up wooden piers. They must thrive in clean water."

Bill smirked. "Just what we need. I got crickets in my backyard. I haven’t heard ‘em since I was a kid. Sometimes I can’t sleep ‘cause of the racket they make. My nephew in Jersey’s got bears in his backyard. He’s afraid to let his kids out."

Next morning, as John was walking to the subway, he felt as if he were on a movie set, as there were so few people on the street. He had his pick of seats on the train. He assumed schools were closed.

Even the streets of Manhattan were eerily quiet. As he entered the office, he found a handful of employees huddled around a TV. There’d been an outbreak of flu. Hospitals were swamped.

"No wonder," he said.

"Thank God I got a shot," said Lois, who was 60.

Everyone present had had one. Of the firm’s 25 employees, only ten made it to work.

Next day Lois called in sick. A week later she was dead, as were countless others in the nation, mostly toddlers and the aged. Doctors were baffled by the new strain, which had appeared just as the season should have been ending. By summer, millions around the world had perished. Terrorists had killed only a few thousand.

In August, waiting out the umpteenth rain delay of the season, Adam and Bill killed time watching TV in the clubhouse. Wildfires were ravaging the west. A business executive blamed environmentalists, who’d won the battle to keep certain forests untouched. The man argued that the brush, which would have been cleared by loggers, had fed the fires. Activists blamed arsonists, perhaps terrorists.

"Maybe it was the same nudniks who set fire to that development in ski country," said Bill.

"Sounds like the law of unintended consequences to me. My favorite was when they freed the minks, which wound up eating every animal in sight and, when there were none left, turned on each other."

Bill laughed and looked to the TV.

"Another thing is the bio-diesel craze. There’s so much money to be made that forests are bein’ cleared to grow the stuff that’s turned into the fuels. It’s the exact opposite of what the zealots want, unintended consequences again. When DDT was banned it was supposed to save people from cancer. Meanwhile, millions of Africans have died from malaria since then. No way even a tiny fraction of that would’ve died from the big C. And they still won’t let Africans use the stuff. It’s crazy."

Bill had stopped listening. Adam stifled himself.

"On a more positive note," said the anchorman, "officials report that the ozone layer, thought to have been damaged beyond repair, is closing at a rapid rate. Cases of skin cancer are expected to plummet. Activists cite this as one of the benefits of the elimination of greenhouse gases."

Adam and Bill let out a subdued mock cheer.

By next season tee time reservation was no longer necessary, as people were avoiding wooded areas. Adam occasionally had the entire course to himself. Bill no longer played, citing his wife and kids. Adam missed his friend’s cheerfulness and sense of humor. For the first time in his adult life he did not regret not having a family. He imagined how worried parents must be, despite the assurances of doctors and politicians, as disease was increasing at an alarming rate.

The beach season was brief, as the area’s waters attracted mysterious predators, which, soon lacking bathers to devour, resorted to feeding on their neighbors, which ruined the fishing. And insects moved from the woods to the streets, which drove people indoors behind closed windows and sealed doors. Many who did not have air-conditioning suffered heatstroke and were hospitalized. Some went mad, leaping from fire escapes and rooftops.

For a while theaters were packed. Soon rats invaded, causing panic in some venues. Those who remained activists insisted that other species had as much right to the planet as humans. One, interviewed on a street corner, was chased into traffic by a mob and struck by a truck. Police had to beat back the dogs that feasted on her remains. The incident was captured on film. Another activist said it proved which was the most dangerous species.

Bear, deer and wolves were spotted in Central Park, in Forest Park in Queens and Prospect Park in Brooklyn. Games at Yankee and Shea Stadium were interrupted, as trained handlers had to be summoned to corral the beasts. The sparse crowds booed lustily. All businesses suffered except those that manufactured bug spray or guns. From March to November people sprayed themselves from head to foot. Incidences of skin cancer rose dramatically.

Backlash began with human predators, criminals, who made sport of shooting animals. An occasional stray bullet found a bystander. The ugly element thrived, as civic resources were depleted at first by recession, then depression, despite the enormous savings on social security and Medicare realized because of the death of so many of the elderly. The police force was stretched thin.

Those in dire straits fed their families venison. Those who hadn’t abandoned the city went hunting at night, using homemade spears. Some were mauled by animals. The stench of rotting flesh was prevalent throughout the world’s large cities. Activists, diminishing in number each day, decried the savagery of man.

When dead rats began turning up everywhere, politicians found their spines. Tens of millions were dying around the globe. The price of food sky-rocketed, as corn was being used to make ethanol. This led to riots in developing countries. The hardcore activists lamented that environmental restrictions hadn’t been implemented soon enough, that the eco-disaster they’d long predicted had finally arrived. Soon they disappeared, or went underground. One pundit quipped that they’d joined the list of endangered species.

When the forests were made barren, the beetles turned to telephone poles, confounding scientists. Utility companies, understaffed, were unable to keep up with demand. Cities were frequently plunged into darkness for days. Looting was commonplace – until there was nothing left to loot. Those politicians unable to afford bodyguards armed themselves. Some were killed, others killed in self defense. Government buildings were vandalized, eventually abandoned.

Adam, now 65, long out of work, had not left his building in years, since depleting his savings. He’d traveled as far as the lobby to retrieve his mail. When it’d stopped coming, he no longer left his floor. He lived on the rats he caught and cooked. At times he went days without nourishment. Fortunately the water was as clean as it’d ever been.

He no longer feared eviction. He wondered if the landlord had died or simply abandoned the property. He didn’t hear much movement and suspected he was the last tenant in the building, which had housed hundreds.

The sun shined brightly beyond his windows. If not for the media, he would not have known of the horror outside.

His phone went first. Even his cell phone stopped working. He was no longer able to log on to the internet. He lost contact with relatives and friends. When his TV died, he relied exclusively on the radio, as newspaper delivery had ceased. He clung to life even when gas was no longer delivered to the stove. He cooked rats over fires he built in other apartments. He was constantly searching for matches, which in winter saved him, as there was no other means to provide heat or to warm water for bathing or washing clothes. He shaved his head to maintain cleanliness.

One day there was only static on the radio, then dead air. Eventually nothing came out of the tap.

Sand wedge in hand, he chose to go outside to die. It was not a tough decision, as he hadn’t much of a life and he’d relinquished hope that things would get better.

There was a pond several inches deep in the lobby. The water main had burst, buckling and cracking open the asphalt. The only living things Adam saw were rats, dogs and cats. The street looked as if a bomb had landed on it. There was not a trace of smog in the air, however. The environment was pristine save for the stench of death, which he supposed would dissipate once man was extinct.

He chuckled as he came upon his car. It’d been brutalized by vandals - and there were parking tickets, weathered by the elements, stacked under a windshield wiper. Priorities, he thought, shaking his head.

He was followed by dogs – or were they wolves? His vision had deteriorated during his seclusion. His hearing was fine, as the cackling above him was loud and clear. There were vultures in the sky – in Brooklyn. Will wonders ever cease, he said to himself ironically.

He felt the sting of mosquitoes and knew it would not be long. Although he was too weak to protect himself, he held on to the sand wedge, hoping it would deter the animals, have them wait until he was dead before they began gnawing on him. He would have liked to die on the golf course, but it was too far. Besides, he was certain it would be unrecognizable, wild with growth.

He sat at the curb and stared back at the animals who were sizing him up. He imagined they were drooling. "Dinner’s on," he thought, the phrase his mother had used to summon him from the street. He was glad she hadn’t lived to see this.

As the animals inched closer, he chuckled, wished for once he were an environmental activist.

They’d probably spit you out, he thought.

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