[ WP ] The classic Technology vs . Nature story , but twisted on its head . Make the Technology side good and the Nature side evil .

It began with a whisper—A wind, sharp and cold, that blew from the north. 
 They said that it was unusual, for the time. Said that it must have been caused by us, by our smoke and our fires—that the Earth was angry, and she sought restoration. 
 
 That summer was filled with charcoal clouds and ceaseless rains—rains that flooded the streets and the rivers and the fields and drowned everything in its path. In the south, pictures of snow-topped dunes in the Mojave. In the north, rumors of blizzards that buried entire cities beneath them. These claims were forgotten, at least for the season. 
 
 That autumn, we encountered the first of the survivors. 
 
 They crossed the border with blankets and tears and whiskey, young and old, in droves, and settled in the marshlands and trailer parks, from Shenandoah to Yellowstone, with eyes that stared a thousand miles away. They told us not to go back—that too many bodies had already been buried. The government put them into camps—told them they would be relocated. 
 
 Then they sent the army to evacuate, with tanks and planes and helicopters. An entire collection—the largest rescue operation ever attempted. They walked into winter with guns and blankets and thermoses—and it was not enough. 
 
 The winter brought with it a howling wind—an angry gale that stung the eyes and froze mucus in the nostrils. Snow fell where it had never before—and buried the places it had. In the east, war had broken out as crops withered from the imposing pale. Warheads fell—cities turned to rubble in the blink of an eye. All the while the winter winds churned the northern oceans to foam, brewed titanic waves that crashed and floundered all but the largest ships. It was a season of empty ports, empty roads, empty homes. 
 
 In the spring, only the army ’ s planes and helicopters returned. They too said not to go back. That was when people began to pack. South, they ran—towards the sun that had fled their lands. Others began digging homes into their backyards, burrowing into the cold, dying soil hoping to find life. 
 
 That year there was no summer—for the wind had forced the seasons into hypothermic lethargy. Scattered reports said that they were clearing the amazon to be used for farms—for however long that would last. Armored trucks and cars full of soldiers desperately carried food and water to our homes. The president spoke hollow placates through the emergency broadcast stations. Many froze in the streets. Disease spread like silent fire through cities—those bodies were burned. 
 
 It was July when the soldiers stopped coming. It wasn ’ t long after that the streets began ringing with gunshots. 
 
 In July, I realized the Earth really was killing us. 
 
 We found the notice in September—the first one in a number of weeks. We had run out of food—my brother had begun hunting for all the rats and rabbits that were left with an old shotgun and a butcher ’ s knife. 
 
 “ All Surviving American Citizens should make their way to the Military Checkpoint Lawrence in California. THIS IS IMPERATIVE TO YOUR SURVIVAL. The United States Government can only guarantee continued sovereignty and military protection in these states and districts: ARIZONA, CALIFORNIA, FLORIDA, RIO GRANDE, PUERTO RICO. ” 
 
 We walked. Four hundred miles, from Oregon to the Great Snow Basin. My mother died along the way—we buried her in the snow, with a stick as a tombstone. 
 
 We arrived at the checkpoint barely alive. We were taken underground by soldiers, who showed us where we would stay, and where we would farm. Beneath the cold, they had built another sun—a man-made star, a controllable and beautiful thing that glowed and shone brilliantly for the entire compound. I had n't seen the sun in months -- I cried when I felt its heat. The rules were simple -- We were to grow food, evaporate water, and wait. 
 
 Wait for the winds to stop. 

