1935(?)–1967: "Dust", a short story by Wallace West in Famous Science Fiction No. 2, Spring 1967, available at the Internet Archive. According to a note by editor Robert A. W. Lowndes in the preceding issue (Famous Science Fiction No. 1, Winter 1966/1967, also available at the Internet Archive), it is a slightly revised version of a story originally written in 1935 and rejected by Weird Tales:
We were sorry to have to postpone a most fascinating "lost" story — Dust , by Wallace West, to our second issue — but that gives us a chance to plug the tale a little. It was originally written in 1935, as the reproduction of a letter from Farnsworth Wright shows.
In re-typing it, Wally cut some of the dialogue, added a few modern references, and changed the ending — we won't tell you what it is; originally the refugees sought out deep caves — but the essence of the story, the descriptions of a world smothered in searing, poisonous dust, has not been altered. It sounded like fantastic fiction back in 1935; today, it's still fiction, but uncomfortably close to fact. RAWL
It is a story of a near-future pollution apocalypse, including melting ice caps and rising ocean levels resulting from a carbon dioxide greenhouse effect.
"Listen!" Frowning, she picked up a sheaf of newspaper clippings and began reading headlines: "'Dust Pneumonia Epidemic Hits Texas'. 'Asthma Attacks Cause Thousands to Flee New Orleans'. 'Dust Storm Sweeps Cincinnati'. 'Drought Cuts Niagara Flow in Half'. 'Canadian Wheat Crop a Failure'. 'Atlantic Ocean Level Rises Three Inches'."
[. . .]
"And this is only the middle of October." Dr. Norworth sighed. "Can you imagine what's going to happen when the heating season starts and November winds begin to blow?"
"No, you can't." She held up a slim hand. "You've been conditioned to ignore pollution as a nuisance and nothing more. 'Wear your nose plugs and your goggles. You'll be all right, fella.' That's why I issue no more jeremiads. When I was getting my doctorate, the debacle might have been stopped. We could have cleaned up our rivers, planted the Dust Bowl in forage crops, banned incinerators and leaf burning, used electric cars for driving in town; that sort of thing. It would have cost the taxpayers money they would rather spend on liquor. So nothing much happened in the long run. Now it's too late."
"Why?" My spine was a ridgepole for icicles.
"Because, if computers don't lie, dust storms, the seven-year drought, and air and water pollution will peak together this winter. Complicating the situation are the vast amounts of carbon dioxide belched from factory chimneys. That gas is causing a worldwide greenhouse effect that's melting the Polar ice caps and raising ocean levels. And the fallout's getting much worse, now that India and Brazil have started testing." She held her head in her hands.
[. . . .]
As days grew shorter they became gloomier as well. By February it was impossible to ignore that something had gone badly out of kilter. The mayor, as well as state and federal officials, issued vague assurances. Food stores ran out of stock frequently. Water was severely rationed and pipes often gurgled dryly when faucets were opened. Yet the Hudson Tubes flooded one day because of a sudden rise in the sea level. Sometimes the lights went out . . .