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When I was living in Notre Dame de Grace In Montreal I joined the public library .
It was a bit of a disappointment.
The Separatist government didn't have a huge budget, (i.e., give a rat's ass), for buying English literature and the pickings were mighty slim.
On the plus side the few new books that appeared were by contemporary Quebec authors, some writing in English, some translated.
Authors I might not have read had I not been in Montreal.
One little tale crept into the darker areas of my mind and stayed there even though I no longer remember the title or author and the plot wasn't particularly original.
It slithers out every once in a while when something in the news rings a mental bell.
The story was post apocalyptic.
As is usual in stories of this nature, a terrible disease had killed most folks and North America was populated by a few thousand people.
The protagonist had to negotiate her way through streets that were full of mute, shadowy spectres forever marching arm-in-arm in a futile protest against the mistake that had sent them to the other side.
The sickness that killed most everyone was released when a group of well meaning people freed a group of plague carrying captive primates from some mysterious monastery in the Far East where they had been kept since time began.
The chilling point was that the plague wouldn't have happened if humans hadn't interfered in the natural order of things.
A small, short sighted group that has not known when to leave well enough alone.
What foolish, foolish people.