Barren Waters, A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival

For most of history, man has had to fight nature to survive; in this century he is beginning to realize that, in order to survive, he must protect it.

—Jacques-Yves Cousteau

Chapter 13

52 Years Prior

Representatives from the environmental agencies of four different countries, including the United States, had been summoned to this conference, and it had been a long day at sea for all of them. It was a day of disappointing tests and contentious arguments, and this was about to be the worst one of all. Collectively battered and disheartened by their findings, the team was seated in a small conference room. They were an intimate group of scientists who had been called upon to diagnose a difficult disease. They were here to treat a critically diseased body that had begun showing symptoms over a hundred years ago. The room was an energy field throbbing with anxiety. The scientists leaned forward in rapt attention, foreheads creased, eyes focused on the center of the large round table, where a voice came crackling from a small communications unit.

“Have you concluded your tests, Dr. Colt?” it barked.

All eyes darted to Liam. He nervously pulled from a glass of water before setting it on the table. “Yes, Mr. President…Sir. We have.”

Liam felt overly warm, as if the temperature of the room had increased in a matter of seconds. He was about to deliver the worst kind of news to the President of the United States of America. “Sir,” he began, “the situation is dire.”

An electronic sigh filled the room. Liam could envision him reclining in his chair, the members of his cabinet gathered around him. “Details, Liam,” the man said. “I need details. And don’t spare the science for those of us without PhD’s.”

Liam felt frozen. Where would he begin? This was his final assignment for the D.C. Institute of Marine Sciences, and he wanted to be thorough and concise, yet compassionate. He wanted to convey optimism, if he could, yet there was no way to sugarcoat this. This, he was certain, was the end of the line. The situation in the North Pacific was the same as it had been in the South Pacific, and in the North Atlantic and South Atlantic, as well. There was no turning back from this.

He didn’t fear to deliver the information, not even to the highest official in the world. He didn’t even fear staining his professional reputation. Why fear that? He had no reputation. It had been a long time since he’d cared about things like that. He just wished he hadn’t been chosen for this. This was to be his last assignment, and what a thing to end on! The knowledge that this was his final professional act was nothing if not depressing.

People wanted to leave behind a legacy, if they could, retire from their work with a sense of pride and accomplishment. Liam, on the other hand, was leaving without closure, abandoning the pursuits of a lifelong passion as one who had failed or given up. The notion was ridiculous, of course. None of it was true. It was all in his head. But he just couldn’t help himself from feeling it. He’d never been good at letting go.

Before they’d made the trip to California, he and Olivia had reached an agreement. This would be the last time they’d venture from their cabin. They knew what the data and tests would reveal, and when that knowledge reached the rest of the world, what remained of civilization would fail. When that happened, they wanted to be home.

Just several days prior, at Pier 45 in the San Francisco bay, Liam and Olivia had reluctantly boarded the Nomad. Olivia had zipped their son’s parka around his neck and popped the collar to shield his ears from the wind. Holding tight to Jeremy, she’d peered up at Liam.

“Are you sure about this? About taking him along?”

“It’s not that I necessarily want to take him along, Liv. It’s that I refuse to leave him behind. I won’t split our family apart. We need to stick together, especially now. This won’t be a short trip, Liv. The Patch is seven hundred miles offshore. We won’t be there and back within a day. And I suspect, once we’ve investigated it, we’ll be asked to examine the Convergence Zone, too. This whole thing could take weeks, despite what we’ve been told. We can’t leave Jeremy alone. Besides,” he added, “I can’t think of a safe place to leave him. There’s no one I trust to leave him with. San Francisco is a disaster zone. There are too many people roaming these overcrowded streets, too many refugees, too many looters and thieves. Everyone in this city is jockeying for position. Everyone is trying to survive. A strange caste system has developed here. Can’t you feel it? Can’t you see it? It’s almost medieval. Those who had the wherewithal to notice the signs and make appropriate plans have assumed the roles of nobles and dukes, while others have been relegated to peasants or serfs. We can’t risk leaving Jeremy behind. It isn’t safe. People are starving, living in alleyways, dying on street corners, attacking one another. We have to take him aboard, with us.”

Standing on the tips of her toes, Olivia kissed him lightly. “Then I suppose,” she said, “in this strange caste system of the twenty-second century, you are the King, because no one is better prepared than you.”

He’d slipped his arms around her waist. “A King is nothing without his Queen.”

“Gross,” Jeremy said. “You guys kiss too much.”

Liam had laughed and swept his son into his arms.

Son. He smiled. It felt good to say that. Truer words were never spoken. Jeremy was Liam’s son in every sense of the word. They’d become a true family in a short amount of time. The adjustment period—if one could call it that—hadn’t been difficult to overcome. Liam still wondered at the ease with which they’d connected. He marveled at the comfort they found in one another. Perhaps a secluded life at the top of a mountain could do that to a family, bring it closer together.

He swung Jeremy around to face the sea. “So, big guy. Are you ready for this?” Jeremy’s hair lifted with the coastal winds, and his eyes followed the rise and fall of the cresting waves. When he saw the Coast Guard’s massive vessel, he reflexively tightened his grip on Liam’s neck. “No reason to be scared, son. Nothing to worry about. See that boat? See how big it is? It’s almost like a small city, isn’t it? You won’t even notice we’re on the water.”

Jeremy’s hand cupped the back of Liam’s neck. “Will I see any fish?”

“Nope. Probably not. Maybe an albatross though.”

“What’s an albatross?”

“A bird. A very large bird.”

“Bigger than a stork?” Jeremy laid his head against Liam’s shoulder. “Bigger than the one that brought me to you and mom?”

“Yep. Even bigger than that.”

He’d hugged his son close to his body, cradling him against the blustery winds. Since arriving at their home, Jeremy seemed to be suffering some type of amnesia. He’d locked all memory of his natural parents inside his subconscious. It was an unusual—yet fortunate—coping mechanism. His mind was sparing him the pain of that terrible day. Or maybe he was feigning ignorance. For sometimes, Liam thought, if one pretends at something, one can almost convince himself it’s real. Whatever the cause and whatever the reason, Liam was grateful for the way things had worked out. He and Olivia never pressed Jeremy to recall the events of that day. None of that seemed to matter anymore. Those events were in the past. They would stay in the past, and their future was brighter than it was for most people. What mattered now was their love for one another. What mattered was survival, moving on.

The symmetry of the situation had caused Liam—a scientist at heart—to believe in fate. It must have been fate, he told himself, or divine intervention that had woven the threads of this tapestry, for a just handful of weeks after Jeremy’s unexpected arrival, Olivia had miscarried their child, and because of the loss, had sunk into a near-debilitating depression. Jeremy was a blessing indeed. Prior to the stillbirth, Olivia had prepared for the baby’s arrival by decorating the nursery and purchasing a crib. She’d painted the room a soft pastel green, even ordered a white rocking chair, which had arrived too late and caused a second downward spiral of depressive thoughts.

Liam knew Olivia loved him. He’d never doubted that. Not even for a second. But for those few weeks, he’d been troubled by the depths of her emotional withdrawal. The pit she’d fallen into wasn’t one he’d been able to pull her from. Jeremy had been the only person capable of that. He’s shone a light inside that dark cave, grasped her hand, and pulled her toward the light.

He was a lovely child, spirited and alert, observant of the world around him. He followed Liam around like an adoring puppy and had adopted mountain life quicker than anyone expected him to. Liam and Olivia took delight in his newfound contentment, but agreed to always be honest with him. When the time was right, they’d tell him everything. They’d help him make sense of his murky memories, of information that had clearly become jumbled in his mind. He had a right to know the truth about his roots and his parents, even about the macabre way they died. For when knowledge is withheld from children, Liam believed, the secrecy can be more detrimental than the facts.

So their family had flourished despite rough times, and Liam had agreed to take Jeremy along on this final delegation. Not even a directive from the President himself was enough to split up his family.

A 140-foot Cutter class ship had been chosen to take them to the Patch. Liam hoped to reach the designated zone, take his samples, and get out quickly. They had set their belongings in one of the crews’ cabins, and though it was small, Liam had insisted they share it. It contained two sets bunk beds, one of which Jeremy had immediately claimed the top of. He’d scrambled up the ladder and planted his backpack in the middle of bed, as if planting a declarative flag on the moon.

They’d met the Captain soon after their arrival, a reed-like man in crisp white. He was friendly yet succinctly professional. “Captain Bernard Walden,” he’d greeted them sternly. “Welcome aboard the Nomad.” His handshake was firm and his jaw was tight, and though he’d frowned when he first saw Jeremy, he hadn’t yet voiced a complaint. He’d walked them about the ship instead, pointing to the galley, dining area, and seaman’s quarters.

The ship was impressive, one of the newest line of Cutters, and while on its decks, and with a sense of finality, Liam had said his goodbyes to the sea. He imbibed of her beauty and smelled of her spice. Olivia had clearly done the same. She’d stood, shoulders slumped, pale hands atop the railing. Her cheeks had been tight with tears. The day had been clear, not a cloud in the sky, and the sun’s rays had cast liquid diamonds across the shimmering waves, which had glinted off strands of her hair. She’d thrown her head back and peered at the sun. It was a perfect moment, in Liam’s opinion. She and it had been breathtaking.

It was the end of an era, as the saying goes, and it had been a painful ending at that. This was the last time either of them would see the ocean again, and it was difficult to make peace with that. The ocean had been a central figure in both of their lives. They’d committed to her professionally, and personally. She had been their mistress, an alluring siren, a mysterious and intriguing lover. She held endless secrets in her uncharted depths. Without her, life on this planet would end. Without her, life on this planet was ending. It was a tearful goodbye, but a necessary one, and a small part of Liam longed for closure, for once set free, he could return to his home, to his safe haven atop his private mountain, to live.

Society was nothing but pain and suffering now. When he’d arrived in San Francisco, Liam had immediately fought his instinct to return home. The city was like a war zone. California weather was mostly temperate, and thus, had attracted refugees from the Northern states in droves. They wove about the city, searching for food. They were mothers, fathers, grandparents, and children. They were families mixed with dangerous gangs. Were it not for the auspicious fates, Liam concluded, this could have been Jeremy’s future. He shuddered to think of the possibilities.

Stadiums and public buildings had been converted into refugee outposts, offering food and drink to thousands of unfortunate souls. Many people were unemployed, their jobs having become obsolete in a matter of months. Oceanic trade affected every facet of industry and commerce, and the fall of China and Japan had only worsened things. Industries with no ties to the sea were soon adversely affected. It was a never-ending chain of devastation and destruction. Crimes against persons reached a historic high. Liam and Olivia had even witnessed a few. The night they arrived, they were whisked to a private government facility, but were awakened repeatedly by the sounds of gunfire. Liam wanted out of here. Fast. And the quickest way out of any situation, he had learned, was often directly through the middle.

So here he was, in the middle of things, speaking to the President through a small comm unit, trying his best to decide where to begin. Rounding his shoulders, he leaned close to the speaker. “Mr. President,” he said, his voice thick in his throat, “As I said before, the situation is dire. The Patch has expanded exponentially. The refuse on the surface is visible, yes, but it’s the microplastics beneath the water that are causing the most damage. These particles won’t biodegrade. Over time, they’ll break into much smaller pieces, but will never fully disintegrate. Photo-degradation,” he added, “and the churning of the waves has broken the pieces into the size of fish eggs, which are mixing with the water to form a cloudy synthetic soup.”

The President’s voice was robotic through the unit. “Photo-degradation? For those of us in the back row please, Dr. Colt.”

Liam folded his hands and took a breath, but it was Olivia who leaned forward and answered. She nervously drummed her fingers on the table, but her voice sounded strong and firm. “Sir,” she began, “we’ve seen the heart wrenching advertisements and articles: pictures of animals caught in plastic rings, sea turtles choking on plastic bags they mistook for jellyfish, dolphins snagged inside plastic netting, and seals strangled by fishing lines. All of these things threaten wildlife, Sir, and though these images pull at the heartstrings and galvanize people to action, the trapping of individual animals isn’t the issue. That’s not what’s causing large scale extinctions.”

Liam easily picked up the thread, tying it back to the original question. “What Olivia says is correct. Crippled ocean life, though a travesty, of course, isn’t our greatest concern. Photo-degradation, on the other hand, is. It’s the process by which light breaks down plastics. Large pieces are broken into smaller fragments. Follow my logic,” Liam said. “Stay with me. Consider this example, if you will: a large piece of plastic is deposited into the ocean. Wave movement and light break it down. As it breaks apart, its surface area increases. And we all know the truth about plastic. As the surface area of plastic is increased, more and more toxins are released. The toxins, which are classified as human carcinogens, have poisoned our oceans irreversibly.

“When I was asked to take part in this mission,” he continued, “I was asked to test the chemical properties of the water, specifically within the Garbage Patch. Now that I have, I can tell you with certainty: the toxicity has reached a level I haven’t encountered before. In this particular section of the ocean, plastic particles outnumber plankton by a factor of 19. Let me restate it in the simplest of terms: for every pound of plankton, there are nineteen pounds of plastic fragments. This is astounding, Mr. President. Do you know how small plankton are?”

He let the question dangle in the air. The President’s breath came soft across the line. Liam had been stunned by the samples they had taken, but it was just as astonishing to hear the words spoken aloud. The group had been methodical in their work. They’d dredged different parts of the zone to be certain, taken samples at each of its boundaries, yet the results at each were the same. Each sample yielded fragments of all sizes and shapes: big, small, and microscopic. Liam had been reluctant—if not frightened—to take them under a microscope.

The President’s voice made Liam jump. “The implications, Doctor? What does it mean?”

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

“The implications, Jacob. What does it mean?”

Jacob’s answer effectively silenced the room.

“The microscopic plastics have irrevocably changed the ocean’s ecosystem. Hazardous chemicals are ingested by the smallest of species, by those that dwell at the bottom of the oceanic food chain. Larger animals are mistaking microplastics for plankton, and larger particles for fish eggs. They are eating the plastics instead of real food, and are either starving or are consumed by larger fish, which are in turn, ingested by even larger fish. The process repeats itself until it reaches the top of the food chain.”

“Us,” President Hall said slowly. “You’re talking about us. We’re at the top of the food chain.”

Liam nodded his head in confirmation. “That’s correct, Mr. President. Us. Humans. The issue for us is two-fold. Smaller oceanic creatures are starving to death, which results in less food for larger predators. Many species have become extinct, and the ones that haven’t aren’t fit for human consumption. It’s a slow poisoning that’s been happening for centuries. The Garbage Patch, first discovered in 1997, has more than doubled in size since then.”

“Not only this Patch,” said Lanfeng Tang, from China’s Oceanic Administration. “The North Pacific Patch, and the Eastern and Western Patches have joined. The Subtropical Gyre has linked them together. In a similar fashion, the North Atlantic and South Atlantic Gyres have joined to form a Convergence Zone.”

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

“There are a total of five gyres worldwide, Sir. Simply put, a gyre is a system of ocean currents, driven by wind patterns and the Earth’s rotation.” Liam pressed his fingers to his temples. “They’re like superhighways connecting one ocean current to the next.”

“Okay. So you’re saying these ‘Patches’ have connected. Am I getting that right?”

“Yes, Sir. They are. We’ve confirmed it, in fact. There are large concentrations of debris and microplastics in each of the gyres, and the gyres have connected to form Convergence Zones.”

Liam let the information settle. For his entire life, he’d loved the ocean: the symmetry of it, the rhythm of the waves, the delicate balance of its complex ecosystem. But of late, it was unrecognizable to him. It was toxic and lethal, a deadly poisonous brew. It had waged war on the world it created. Once a rich primordial soup, it was now a consommé of deadly toxins, algae, and chemicals. It threatened every corner of the planet.

He sipped from his glass while trying his best to calm himself. The ship’s engines thrummed softly beneath his feet. It was a lot of information for a scientist to absorb, much less a politician or layman. Hearing the facts relayed so succinctly brought to mind the comforts of his cabin back home. His eyes strayed to his son on the floor, playing innocently amid such melancholic talk. Ignorance truly was bliss, Liam thought.

The President, his voice strained and hoarse, finally broke the silence. Liam felt pity for the man. This was a man who’d aspired to greatness, but who’d inherited a dying world instead. He addressed no one in particular when he asked, “What else can I expect to read in your report, or is it safe to say we’ve covered the most important points?”

An EPA agent gave a breathless answer. “The data we’ve discussed today covers the chemical elements of the Patch, Sir.” She took a breath to steady herself. “But not all plastic floats. Seventy percent of all plastic sinks. I’m sorry to give such a depressive visual, but in the places beneath the Patches, the ocean floor resembles a landfill.”

“Stop,” the President said quietly. “I’ve heard enough for one day. I need to think. I’ll read through the rest when I receive your report. What I want to talk about now is a plan of action. What can we do to rectify this situation? Who can we call upon to clean the Patch zones?”

The scientists exchanged horrified glances. Liam could read their expressions as easily as he could a molecular compound. They looked to one another for guidance and support. Any suggestion or idea would be welcome, any theory or conceptualization, any wild supposition, no matter how fringe. Several had slumped in their seats and given up, and some had set their heads on the table in exhaustion. Others were openly weeping. There was nothing left to offer, no viable plan. The time for action had presented itself, but now that time had long passed.

Liam leaned in and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to say, Mr. President, but there’s no coming back from this. There’s nothing we—or anyone—can do. There’s no amount of money we can pay or spend.” Liam felt like he was wilting inside, like the weight of his words was an anvil on his shoulders. “No piece of equipment exists today that can filter thousands of square miles of ocean water, or comb it for microplastic contaminants. Understand, Sir, the oceans are miles and miles deep. Nothing can sift through miles of water, especially at that depth and pressure. The size and scope of this is inconceivable. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do. We couldn’t even conceive of a viable way to—”

Liam abruptly ran out of words. There was no other way to state the truth, and as he awaited a reply, his neck prickled. The Captain and his officer had paled.

The President’s voice sounded muffled, as if his lips were pressed to the speaker. “Dr. Colt,” he said. “Speak plainly. What are you trying to say?”

Liam felt Olivia’s hand touch his knee, and when he met her gaze, she squeezed it softly. He was grateful for her companionship and support. She’d always imparted him strength and warmth, and though he took a breath to steady himself, it failed to loosen the tension in his gut. He met the gazes of each person in the room, of colleagues and friends he’d worked with for years, before telling the most powerful man in the world that the world he ruled was coming to an end.

“Mr. President,” he said, “I’m sorry to say, but the oceans are effectively extinct.”