Barren Waters - The Complete Novel: (A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival) (20 page)

The President’s voice crackled with static. “Photo-degradation? For those of us in the back row please?”

Liam folded his hands and took a breath, but it was Olivia who answered. She leaned forward and drummed her fingers nervously against the side of the table. “Sir, we’ve all seen the photos. Pictures of animals caught in the plastic soda rings of six-packs, or a sea turtle choking on a plastic bag it mistook for a jellyfish, dolphins caught in plastic netting, and seals strangled by fishing lines. These are all real threats to wildlife, and have always been touted as the one of the most menacing aspects of ocean pollution. And thought these images pull at the heartstrings and galvanize people to action, it’s not the trappings of individual animals that are causing these large scale extinctions of species.”

Liam easily picked up the thread and tied it to the original question. “Olivia’s correct. Ocean life is crippled and maimed by large plastics—a travesty in and of itself of course—though not our highest concern. Light from the sun breaks the larger pieces of plastic into smaller fragments through a process called photo-degradation. If you follow the logic to its end, then consider this, a large piece of plastic, deposited into the ocean is broken down into smaller and smaller pieces by wave movement and light. The surface area of that original piece of plastic would be increased each time it breaks, and we all know that when the surface area of plastic is increased, more and more toxins are released into the water. Mr. President, the toxins from plastics are classified as carcinogens. We all know this. On this mission I was asked to test the chemical properties of the water within the Great Pacific Garbage Patch, and I can tell you that the quantity of these toxic chemicals have reached levels that have never before been seen.

“From my samples, I’ve determined that in this particular section of the ocean, plastic particles have come to outnumber plankton by a factor of 19. That simply means that for every pound of plankton there are nineteen pounds of plastic fragments.”

Liam had been stunned by the samples they’d taken and it was just as astonishing to hear the words aloud. The scientists had been methodical, had dredged different parts of the zone, yet the results had been the same. Each sifting tray had yielded the small fragments. Piles of them. So much that the contents of one small tray had filled his cupped palms. He’d been reluctant, if not frightened to take the remainder under a microscope.

The President’s voice was low. “And the implications?”

A man to Liam’s right cleared his voice. “Jacob Gagnon with the Canadian Department of Fisheries and Oceans, Sir.”

President Hall didn’t miss a beat. “Jacob. The implications?”

Jacob’s answer silenced the room.

“The microscopic plastics we’re speaking of have introduced highly hazardous chemicals to the smallest of creatures at the bottom of the oceanic food chain. As a result these animals either die of starvation, mistaking microplastics for plankton or fish eggs, or larger fish ingest them. These larger fish are in turn ingested by larger fish, and the process repeats until it reaches the very top of the food chain.”

President Hall’s single word was haunting. “Us.”

Liam nodded his head in confirmation. “That’s correct sir. Humans. The issue for us is two-fold. The smaller oceanic creatures are starving or dying, which in turn results in less food for larger predators, yet those that do remain have become unfit for human consumption. This is a slow poisoning that’s been going on for nearly a century or more. The Garbage Patch was first discovered in 1997 and has more than doubled in size since.”

“And not only this Patch.” This, from Lanfeng Tang, the representative from China’s State Oceanic Administration. “The North Pacific Patch and the Eastern and Western Patches have been joined by the Subtropical Gyre. The North Atlantic and South Atlantic Gyres have also formed a convergence zone.”

The voice from the comm unit crackled indignantly. “Dr. Colt, a gyre please?”

“Sir, there are 5 gyres worldwide. Simply put, a gyre is a system of circular ocean currents driven by both the Earth’s rotation and its wind patterns.” Liam lifted his hands to his head and pressed his fingers to his temples. “They’re like superhighways, Sir. They simply connect one ocean current to the next.”

“So you’re saying that these ‘Patches’ have connected?”

“That’s correct Sir. We have confirmation that there are now large concentrations of debris and microplastics in each of the five gyres, and that the borders of all five are connecting at these various Convergence Zones.”

Liam let the information settle. He’d loved the ocean his entire life, but at this point it was unrecognizable to him. Toxic. At this late stage in the earth’s history, the oceans had finally turned against life. Once a rich primordial soup from which all life had sprung, the ocean was now a consommé of deadly toxins, algae, and chemicals that threatened life in every corner of this planet.

He sipped from his glass of water and tried to relax, the ship’s forward movement a soft purr that thrummed beneath his feet. This was a lot to absorb for a scientist, much less a layman. The nature of the information was dire, and again brought to mind the safety and comforts of their cabin in Tennessee. Liam’s eyes strayed to his son, playing quietly on the floor. Ignorance truly was bliss. Jeremy smiled as he paged through the book that lay splayed over his knees and Liam had to fight a sudden panic that threatened to propel him from his seat. How he wished he could sweep his son off the floor, his wife from her chair, and escape this ship.

The President finally broke the silence, and Liam felt a sudden pity for the man, whose voice was now strained and hoarse. This was a man who’d aspired to greatness, but who instead had inherited a world standing at the brink of death. He addressed them all when he asked, “Will there be any other findings included in your report?”

One of the EPA agents answered shakily. “This data covers the chemical elements of the Patch, yes. But not all plastic floats, Sir.” Liam could hear a sigh on the other end of the line as the young woman continued. “Seventy percent of all plastics sink to the ocean floor. I’m afraid that in these zones, the ocean floor is similar to what a garbage landfill is on dry land.”

“I’ve heard enough.” The President’s voice was soft yet firm. “I’ll read the rest in your report. What I need to discuss now is a plan of action. What can we do to rectify this situation? Who can we call upon to clean the Patch zones?”

All members of the room exchanged horrified glances. Liam could read their expressions as easily as he could a molecular compound. In silence they looked to one another for guidance. Liam knew they’d take anything, any viable theory or conceptualization, any supposition, no matter how fringe it may sound when spoken aloud. Several of the agents had sunk back in their seats, their eyes downcast in defeat. There was simply nothing left to offer. The time for action had come and gone long ago. Liam leaned toward the comm unit and cleared his voice.

“Sir, I’m afraid there’s no return from this. There’s nothing we, or anyone can do. There’s no amount of money we can procure, no known equipment that can dredge thousands of square miles of ocean water for microplastic contaminants. Sir, understand that the oceans here are miles deep.” Liam felt as though he were wilting, the weight of his words an anvil on his shoulders. “There’s no equipment in existence that can sift through miles of water at that pressure. The size and scope of it is inconceivable. I’m afraid there’s nothing left to do, Sir.”

Abruptly Liam ran out of words. His palms itched and his neck prickled as he waited for a reply. Captain Walden and his first officer were plainly aghast, their faces drawn and pale. Clearly they hadn’t expected to be included in this briefing, much less to hear of confidential matters of international security.

The President’s voice sounded muffled, as though he had drawn too close to the comm unit’s speaker. “Dr. Colt, what are you saying?”

Liam felt Olivia’s hand slide into his own. She squeezed softly as he met her gaze, and once again he found himself eternally grateful for her partnership. Wordlessly she communicated her support, as only she could. He took a steadying breath, which failed to loosen the taut muscles in his face. Sadly he met the gazes of each colleague and friend who sat around the table, and then proceeded to answer to the highest office in the free world.

“Mr. President, what we’re saying is that the oceans are effectively extinct.”

Things are never as they seem. A person. A Mark. A statement. They are always deeper than we perceive, like walking in the ocean and suddenly dipping under the surface because the bottom has disappeared beneath your feet. The water appears shallow until you are suddenly flailing around beneath the surface, desperately searching for stable ground once again.

—Kelseyleigh Reber

For five long months, the four of them had lived together in this old house. For five long months he and Meghan had combed this countryside for supplies. For five long months they’d treated her son’s gangrenous leg and managed his disease, built fortifications around the house, and planned intricate escape routes should any bandits come calling. And for five long months Jeremy had nursed this same sick feeling, this edgy restlessness that screamed at him to
do something
! If only he knew what.

He flipped the empty disk case between his thumb and forefinger as if it were a casino chip, eyed it distractedly as the rain drummed a steady beat outside their windows. Night had fallen after another endless day of foraging. His gaze slid from the ever-expanding water stain that crept across the ceiling to the children, sleeping soundly before the fire. He turned to Meghan and pointed skyward.

“You know we need to find the source of that leak and fix it.”

Briefly she lifted her head but said nothing. His eyes traveled over her face. Though still she was too thin, the past few months had done her wonders. Her cheeks had filled out, and she and Peter both had regained a healthy flush. When she and her son had first appeared at Jeremy’s doorstep, they’d been so gaunt that he’d wondered if their bodies were too beaten and battered to recuperate at all. Particularly Peter’s.

Those first few days, Jeremy had encouraged them both to rest; to eat, to sleep, to hydrate, and then to rest some more. He supposed it felt good to he and Sam to take care of others for a change. They’d prepared starchy meals of beans and rice, and had even found some fresh berries and root vegetables in the woods that hemmed the property. They’d furnished water, comfortable beds, and most importantly, a renewed sense of security that had allowed the two to make a slow recovery. Jeremy was proud. He and Sam had done much to return stability to two lives that were previously circling the proverbial drain.

It seemed that the two had slept for a solid week before they emerged from their rooms, bleary eyed, and fascinated by the rich spoils laid out before them. Jeremy could tell that they’d been out in the world for quite some time, living among the wreckage, and struggling to survive, and though Meghan was exceedingly grateful for his hospitality, for a time she’d remained wary of his kindness, and protective of her son. But time heals all wounds and eventually she’d softened. Her shy curiosity became a bolder interest, which eventually evolved into rapt attentiveness. She was awed by Jeremy’s life, astonished by his resourcefulness, and she desperately wanted to acquire the same skills.

She had proven to be a diligent student, an industrious worker, and a devoted mother, and Jeremy was proud of her transformation. She’d come a long way from that once-frightened woman he’d met in a dilapidated convenience store. She’d become a friend. He and Sam had taught her how to start fires and cook over the tops of them. They’d shared recipes for different ways to prepare the kinds of foods that provided long-term sustenance, and he’d shown her how to make food last.

For the past few months he and Meghan had worked hard to stock the shelves of their home. There existed a finite supply of rations out there, Jeremy knew, and the two of them soon had to travel farther and farther each day to find new sources. They’d vowed to leave the items in the cart untouched so long as other sources of food could still be found. It was important to Jeremy that they attempt to sustain themselves, first, by living off of the land.

And it was a rich land at that. To Meghan, he’d pointed out that this particular area of the country was less populated before the dying, and might therefor contain a richer quantity of provisions than would a larger city. It was another lesson his father had taught him. They’d searched the area in a methodical fashion. Vigilantly, they’d plotted their course, crossed out places they’d already been, and lately their excursions were carrying them farther and farther from home. Jeremy was concerned that very soon they’d be forced to embark on overnight expeditions to locate untouched areas.

The furrow in his brow deepened. For several weeks his concerns had silently begun to grow. His fear was like a cancer, or a seed, heavy inside his belly, with a durable outer casing that had suddenly split and begun to sprout and swell within his gut. That familiar tiny voice had begun to whisper again, and as time marched on, he became more and more certain that he should heed its advice.

This won’t work
, it murmured quietly.
Not long term
.
Not for two children living under the same roof who share the same disease
.
You know this!

The pragmatism of the words lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. Jeremy could do his best to find more inventive ways to make things more sustainable here, but he wondered if they were fast reaching an impasse. Stability was key for the health and longevity of diabetic children, but this house was never meant to be a permanent solution. Was it? And if it wasn’t then what was? If not here, then where?

He and Meghan had found a hospital some thirty miles from here and inside they’d found a hidden cache of slow-release insulin pills, but even that was fast dwindling. The pills had done wonders for Peter. Those first few weeks he’d become more alert and communicative, and from there his appetite had increased, and his leg had shown subtle signs of improvement. He’d even begun to show interest in Sam and her books. While Jeremy and Meghan were out scavenging, the two were often left alone, and Jeremy noticed that Sam had begun to teach Peter to read. But the pills would always present an issue, and one by one their collection was slowly dwindling.

And what of Sam? Sure, she didn’t need the pills. Not yet at least. The disks alone successfully managed her illness. But for how long? They hadn’t found a single disk in any hospital thus far—or in any of the surrounding Urgent Cares or pharmacies for that matter. Not a single one. At what point would Jeremy’s friendship with Meghan give way to secrets and lies? At what point would they turn on one another to protect their own? It was as likely a scenario as it was an inevitable one.

It was this that had him so restless.

“What are you thinking about?” Meghan asked softly, the flames from the hearth dancing in her eyes.

He shifted uncomfortably. “Just thinking about ways we can create sustainability here.”

“Don’t you think we’ve done that?”

He considered the question and supposed that for the most part he had to agree. They’d tested several water wells in the surrounding area and had located two potable sources. That alone was one of the most important challenges to overcome. That, in and of itself, was reason enough to stay, he mused. But still, foraging was not sustainable and they’d done little else to create a life here.

“I suppose we have,” he answered slowly. “But what about food? We should be growing our own crops and planting fruit-bearing trees. How long will we find continued success with the scavenging? I just think we should be doing more.”

Her eyes slipped to her son. “You’ve done more for us than I could’ve ever imagined possible, Jeremy.” She grinned. “And to think I almost shot you. What a loss that would’ve been.”

He smiled back. “You wouldn’t have shot me.”

Seductively she held his gaze and he had to look away. He knew she’d developed feelings for him. They were feelings that had matured slowly but had suddenly become deeper. At the start she’d shown her interest in subtle ways. She’d touch his arm at unexpected times or brush her body against his in passing. She’d cup her palm to his hand when he was showing her how to perform a new task. “Just to ensure I do it right,” she’d justify through lowered lashes.

But lately her overtures were becoming bolder. And could Jeremy blame her? She was, after all, young and beautiful, and he was the only man to pick from. With nutrition and exercise, and the relief that comes with knowing where food and water could be found the next day, she’d shed the protective shell she’d built around herself. Her eyes had become bright and trusting, and her smiles came easy and often. She’d decided to molt that tough layer of skin that was no longer needed, opened herself up to other possibilities.

She leaned her head against the sofa cushion and tucked her long legs beneath her. “No. I suppose I wouldn’t have shot you.”

In wonder, he arched his brow. “Have you shot anyone before?” Funny, he noted, that the topic had never come up.

She folded her hands and met his gaze. “I have. Yes. To protect Peter and myself I most certainly have. And I’d do it again if I had to. Haven’t you?”

He shook his head. “Nope. Burned a few though.”

“Burned?”

“Long story.”

She sighed. “Okay. Well, perhaps one day you’ll tell it to me then.”

One day
, he thought strangely.
One day
.

One day is but an implication of many more to come is it not? In his fingers he stared once more at the smooth disk. There it was again, that uncomfortable sensation that pulled at his solar plexus, that restlessness of spirit that was trying desperately to communicate something important. His stomach lurched and he lifted his gaze to meet hers. Reflexively she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. She really was quite beautiful. Beautiful. Young. Pleasant to be around. But she wasn’t Susan.

Jeremy wasn’t sure how most men would react to an attractive woman living under the same roof for close to six months. A woman—mind you—who’d become utterly dependent on him for her very livelihood, a woman who’d come to admire and revere him above all others. Well, he supposed he
did
know. Was it such a leap? Jeremy was sure that for most men, it would be a heady combination, a combination that might compel one to take advantage of the situation. But Jeremy wasn’t ‘most men’. Strangely it did nothing for him. He didn’t know if perhaps the loss of Susan was still too fresh in his mind, or if those parts of him that craved companionship and sex had simply curled and died along with everything else he’d lost in that fire.

Again he glanced at the children. Peter was lying on his sleeping bag, his infectious leg propped up on a pillow, tiny teddy-bear key chain curled in a fist beneath his chin. His mother’s health had flourished these past few months, unfolded delicately like petals opening to the sun, and though they’d done much to slow the progression of Peter’s illness, he was still facing a steady decline. His illness had been ignored for far too long, and in Jeremy’s opinion, had reached a point of no return. He knew that once the gangrene set in, there was little that could be done to reverse it.

“He’s doing much better,” Meghan offered sincerely, her eyes following his line of sight.

Jeremy nodded. “Yes he is. But the leg–“

“Don’t even say it,” she warned. “I’m not having this discussion again.”

“Meghan, the rot is slowly climbing toward his knee. Once it passes over it, I don’t think it will be long before it claims the entire leg.”

Her fists curled instinctively. “We can’t cut it off. That’ll kill him for sure.”

“And you think this won’t?” Jeremy countered. He could do little to stop the exasperation from peppering his tone.

Her fingers twitched and then pulled absently on the frayed hemming of her T-shirt. She inhaled a ragged breath. “I’m not stupid, Jeremy. Of course I know it’s killing him. But what you’re suggesting isn’t possible. Not in his current condition and not in our current circumstance. Look at him!”

“Yes, Meghan. I
am
looking. That’s the problem.”

“No,” she argued. “I mean really
look
. When we first met he was suffering a
wet
gangrene. The leg was infected, hopelessly infected, or so I’d thought. But we’ve corrected that now.”

“It’s still gangrene, Meghan. Rot is rot. Proud flesh must be removed.”

“Proud flesh? He’s not a horse Jeremy.” She was silent a moment before trying to reason with him anew. “Yes, the flesh is gangrene, but it’s a dry gangrene now. You know that’s better. That can be tolerated if not controlled.”

Jeremy felt his irritation approaching a crescendo. “He is
tolerating
it, as you say, but we’re certainly not controlling it. Don’t delude yourself. If his leg looks like that, what do you think’s going on beneath the skin? To his organs? To his blood vessels and muscles?”

Stiffly she swung her legs over the side of the couch. “Okay then Jeremy. Are you telling me that you’re an efficient gardener, an adept farmer, a gifted cook, and also a surgeon?” She threw up her hands. “Well bless the Lord! I’ve found the perfect man! In the end times I’ve found the one man who can do it all! So tell me, Doctor Colt, how do you propose we cut off a leg in this house? We’ve no blood to transfuse, no sharp knives with which to cut, no antiseptic with which to cleanse. And most importantly, we don’t have a means of controlling his pain. Do you have any idea what that would be like for him? We have no anesthesia! Not a local one nor a topical one.” Her eyes glinted dangerously, and spittle had begun to dribble down her chin. “What you’re suggesting is absolute madness. It’s akin to human torture and I’ll not do that to him. Not in my darkest moment. I’d rather him–“