Page 61 of A Better World

Carole Fielding, MD, MPH

Linda read the letter more than once. The first time, she couldn’t focus. Fielding had been good to her. Like a parent, in many ways. It was hard to imagine the woman in a sickbed. In the entire time Linda’d known her, she’d taken every lunch break standing up.

What should she do? Should she fly out? Would she be allowed to leave PV for such a reason? Fielding had a daughter who lived with her. She was cared for. And Linda’d seen plenty of death. She didn’t think she could handle losing one more person she loved. Still, she shot off an email to Leticia, the receptionist:Let me know when things are going south with Doc Fielding. Please.

Then she closed those feelings away. Moved on.

She looked up idiopathic leukemia again but found no cases in PV’s system. She looked up leukemia, non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma, andWaldenstrom’s. Those weren’t present, either. How was it possible that not a single resident in any of BetterWorld’s eighteen company towns had been diagnosed with blood cancer? She printed Fielding’s email and handed it to Russell that night.

“Does this make any sense to you?”

He spent about ten minutes reading it over, which was a long time for Russell. As he read, he paled, eyes blinking.

“What do you think?”

“There’s no way Omnium makes people sick. I like Fielding, but she was always a conspiracy theorist. And there’s no PERC. Tetrachloroethene was outlawed in the United Colonies decades ago.”

“I know,” Linda said. “And I know neither Omnium nor GREEN has those chemical components. But maybe she’s right. Maybe in the presence of chlorine, like you might find in a landfill, something different happens.”

“Those disposal sites are clean,” he said, handing the paper back. “And we definitely paid off Ireland, but that’s because their standards on causality are so different. You don’t have to prove anything. It wasn’t worth the court fight. Easier to pay them off. You know she’s sick, Linda. Stage four lung cancer. I hate to say this, but that tumor might have traveled to her brain.”

Linda looked down. Tears came.

“Oh, honey,” Russell said. He hugged her.

Her voice came out muffled. “I know. The brain is usually the first place it travels. I hope that isn’t what this is. But then again, I do hope. Because either way, this is a very upsetting letter.”

“Tell you what. Let me have a look. I’m already researching idiopathic leukemia for you. I can poke around a little on this biochemistry stuff, too.”

“Thanks,” she said. “And sorry to be laying this at your feet.”

“Don’t be sorry. We’ll both feel better once we have the numbers. Then you can tell Fielding to receive a kick in the balls from me.”

CHAPTER 5:Plymouth Valley Case Study: Hollow

The events leading up to the catastrophic disaster in Plymouth Valley are indicative of a culture in decline. Imagine the Mayans upon year thirty of drought. Their people were starving in the streets, and their science had no explanation for it. They turned to their gods. We can see this throughout the mini ice age when Rome and the Incas finally collapsed. We can also see it toward the mid-to-late twenty-first century.

What’s interesting about the Plymouth Valley Hollow movement is that its birth was contemporaneous with like movements throughout company towns across the globe. These started as pseudoscientific ideological clubs—a source of bonding and civic pride and an occasional tax dodge. Over time, religious elements burgeoned.

—From THE FALL OF THE ANTHROPOCENE, by Jin Hyun, Seoul National University Press, 2093.

Giving Thanks

The Tuesday beforeThanksgiving, Linda’s front bell rang. She opened it to a young, pimpled man in a PV police uniform. He was familiar. Maybe she’d seen him at the Samhain festival, or perhaps he’d spoken at the Chamber of Commerce meeting.

“Mrs. Farmer-Bowen?” he asked. His voice was deep for someone so young.

“Hi! Do I know you?”

“Cyrus Galani. Most people do. I grew up here, so. But yes, we did meet a few months back.”

“When was that?” she asked, leaning into the doorway. “I know you, but I can’t place it.”

“You needed a ride,” he said. “You were feeling poorly.”

“The night I was with Gal Parker! That was you!”

“Awful night,” he said.

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