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IT IS 2038. A creeping fungus has eaten Earth’s trees. Forget ecological heartbreak: now there is nothing to stop vast dust storms scouring skin, invading lungs, asphyxiating the unprotected with a new disease called rib retch, named after the cough that snaps ribs. Unless, that is, you are one of the 0.0001 per cent in air-filtered towers, or their lucky serfs.
The collapse of ecosystems was followed by that of the global economy. Only the world’s debt has survived.
Greenwood Island is the last refuge, a leafy oasis off the Vancouver coast that somehow escaped…
