Barren Waters, A Post-Apocalyptic Tale of Survival

It is a curious situation that the sea, from which life first arose should now be threatened by the activities of one form of that life. But the sea, though changed in a sinister way, will continue to exist; the threat is rather to life itself.

—Rachel Carson

Chapter 3

7 Years Prior

She shook her head, her hands fluttering in the air.

“We can’t do it, Jeremy. It’s not clean.” She glanced wildly about the room. “I’ve changed my mind. We can’t do this to her.”

As he gazed into his wife’s frightened eyes, Jeremy was sure his heart would break. Tears had pooled and were leaking down her cheeks.

“Susan, we talked about this. We have to. We have no choice. The insulin we have won’t last much longer. Every year, the pills are less and less effective. In the long run, this is the only way to keep her alive. This might be her last chance to live a normal life. We’ve done the research. We know the facts. And we know that this is our best shot.”

“But look at this place. It’s not sanitary.”

He tracked her gaze as it flitted around the room, from heaps of old newspapers, to stacks of dated books, to dirty laundry, piled high on the divan. Several days worth of dirty dishes had been left to soak in the sink. The cabin was cluttered, untidy even, but that wasn’t the same as unsanitary. It wasn’t unclean—so to speak. That was true. But it wasn’t a hospital; that was the issue. Over the years, they’d grown accustomed to hospitals, but hospitals had failed a long time ago. Hospitals weren’t an option anymore. Their halls had long gone ghosted and silent. The sick and dying now fended for themselves.

Jeremy ground his molars. They were lucky to have located such a specialized doctor, luckier still that he’d agreed to perform this surgery—though agreement had come at a price, he thought, and it had been a very expensive price. Doctor Jack had agreed perform this procedure in exchange for a list of supplies, and though the list was long, Jeremy had gladly obliged. The negotiation was more than he or Susan had dared hope for. It was an answer to a problem that had haunted them for years.

He turned to her, suddenly doubting his convictions. “Susan, if you really want to leave, we can. This has to be a unified decision. I won’t make it alone. I can’t have that on my conscience. But if we choose to leave, we have to devise an alternative plan. The insulin we have won’t last. And it’s not just the quantity I’m worried about. You know as well as I do, it’s the quality that matters. The pills are becoming less potent each year. They’ll spoil eventually. They already are. As time goes by, a higher dose will be needed to achieve the same effect. And what will we do when that happens? What will we do when we run out entirely? We’ve foraged for years, and what have we gained? A mediocre-sized stash that decreases in value as the years go by. We can forage ’till we’re blue in the face, if we want, but it won’t change the quality of the product we find. It doesn’t matter how many caches we find in an old shoebox or behind a dusty curio. Not if what we find is useless to her.” Lifting his wife’s chin, he kissed the tip of her nose. “My father sacrificed his life for Sam. I’d like to honor that gift, Suse. Let’s do what we came here to do. Let’s be bold. Let’s give her the opportunity to live a long and healthy life—whatever that life may be.”

She snaked her arms around his neck, and laid her head on his shoulder. “Don’t misunderstand what I’m saying. I’m thankful for your father, for the sacrifices he made—more thankful than you ever could know. I’m just afraid, is all, afraid of what could happen.” Raising her head, she waved her arm around the room. “And afraid of this crazy idea. This surgery is difficult in the best of conditions. But here? Now? In this shitty mountain cabin? The risk of infection is that much worse. What are the chances she’ll heal without complications?”

He pursed his lips. She was making good points. “But my father considered that as well, did he not? Susan, we may be the luckiest people in the entire country. We may even be the luckiest people on earth. Even the good doctor said so himself. Listen to me Susan, and listen to me well: had the circumstances been different, I would not have allowed that man into our home. In truth, we can’t trust anyone. Hell, he’s her doctor and I don’t even trust him. I just didn’t have a choice. I did what I had to do.” Jeremy ran a hand through his hair. He needed to get her beyond this fear. As he laid out his arguments, his beliefs solidified. This was something they just had to do. “Susan,” he said gently, “Don’t fear infection. If there’s one thing we have plenty of, its bottles of antibiotics. Come on. Let’s do this. Let’s follow our plan. We’ll keep her sugars low, give her a steady stream of antibiotics. We can get her through this. Together, we can. This is just a one-time thing. If we get her the implant, she stands a fighting chance.”

As he held his breath, he watched his wife slowly come around. She rounded her shoulders and firmed her chin. She wiped her eyes and cleared her voice. She’d never let Sam see her cry. It was something Jeremy admired her for, something he’d always respected her for.

“Okay,” she said weakly. “Let’s do it. Let’s get her the implant and get back home. Let’s plant the garden like we promised her we would. Let’s put this whole damn thing in our rearview mirror as fast as humanly possible.”

Kissing her again, he drew strength from the warmth of her lips, and the two of them moved into the doctor’s living room, where Sam was seated in an overstuffed chair. A picture book was splayed across her lap. She looked so innocent, so young and fragile. Her legs, unable to reach the ground, swung back and forth like an ominous pendulum. She raised her head and examined their faces, though Jeremy couldn’t read her expression.

“So,” she said. “do I get the disk player?”

Susan frowned. “Stop calling it that. It sounds so barbaric when you say it like that.”

Jeremy moved to the chair, lowered himself in front of it, and gathered his daughter into his arms. “It’s official, robot-girl. You’re getting the disk player.”

She playfully pinched his nose. “And I’ll be able to play music from my belly, right?”

“Wrong. It’s not that kind of disk player, kiddo.” He swung her around before burying his face into her neck.

“But I won’t have to swallow those icky pills anymore?”

Nodding, he cradled her against his chest. The pills were so weak she’d been forced to consume more. And lately, the doses were more and more frequent. She was tiring of the loathsome routine.

“Yep. That’s the plan,” he reassured her, “no more pills. How does that sound?”

“Sounds good. But will it hurt? I really don’t want it to hurt.”

“It won’t hurt. You’ll sleep through the whole thing. Just like a rock.”

“Rocks don’t sleep, Dad. They’re inanimate objects.”

“True.” He smiled. “But if they did, you’d be sleeping like them.” Setting her back to her feet, he caught her hand in his. “And guess what else we’re planning to do? When you’re better, we’ve decided to plant the garden.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. “Says who?”

“Says Mom.”

She clapped her hands. When Mom said it, it was real. As he watched her, his breath caught in his throat. He dared not speak, lest his voice falter or crack. He didn’t want her knowing how frightened he was. God, how he loved her—how he loved them both. He was good at pretending to be strong in front of Susan, but Sam had always seen right through him. His knees felt weak. He broke out in a cold sweat. Beneath his calm exterior, he was little more than a cowering child. He’d be lost if something happened to her—to either of them, for that matter.

Releasing her hand, he moved to the front door, where beyond, the mountain air felt crisp on his face. Inhaling its piney scent, he tried to calm himself. It was now or never. He bolstered himself.

Parked on the front stoop was a large cart, full of supplies, items the doctor had picked by hand. There were hundreds of canned goods, packages of crackers, large bags of rice, piled high and bundled with thick rubber bands. There were even—though he loathed parting with a single one—three small canisters of sardines. But there was something missing: water. Water was where Jeremy drew the line. He would never use it as a bargaining chip. It would never be part of any negotiation he would make.

Setting his hands to the cart, he shivered as he recalled his first meeting with the doctor, a month ago. When Dr. Jack had first seen the room—or the ark, as Jeremy’s family called it—his eyes had gone wide, his expression one of awe. Water was gold—no—more precious than gold, and Jeremy—as the doctor had learned—was wealthy.

He recalled every moment of the encounter as if it had happened only yesterday. Doctor Jack had looked upon the neat rows of bottles with unbridled envy, practically salivated down his chin as he did. Pints and liters, gallons and ounces: for years, Jeremy’s father had stockpiled all he could.

“Incredible!” the doctor had exclaimed out loud. “How many cases will you trade?”

“Not a one.” It wasn’t that Jeremy hadn’t anticipated the question. He’d expected it, of course. He’d known it would come, just as soon as the man crossed the threshold, in fact. He’d suggested a meeting in a neutral location, where the doctor could make selections from a list of items. Jack had refused. He hadn’t made it easy.

“If you get to see where I live,” he had said, “then I should get to see where you live, as well. It’s only fair, Jeremy. I’m sure you understand. Though we’re both honorable men, we’re not fools. If there isn’t an equal risk to us both, this transaction doesn’t make sense. I’m sorry, but that’s the best I can do. It’s the only offer I’m willing to make.”

It was a dangerous gamble for both men to make. But the doctor’s requirements had been clear. If Jeremy had refused, he could have lost him. It was a risk he hadn’t been willing to take. And so he’d complied with the doctor’s demands, with every single one—except for the water, of course.

The doctor had seemed an honorable man, for once he saw inside the ark, he could have set an unreasonable price. He could have ransomed Sam’s health for whatever he wanted. And as desperate as Jeremy was, he would have paid it. He and Susan would have given anything. Thankfully the doctor had settled on a portion of supplies, and though the portion was large, it was only a portion.

“No cases of water, I’m afraid,” Jeremy had said, in a voice that sounded more confident than he’d felt. “I don’t trade water. Not ever. Choose whatever items you want from the aisles. Fill this cart to the brim, if you want. But I’m sorry: the water’s off limits.”

He was thankful they’d reached an agreement, but scrutinizing the lot beneath the pale morning light, his stomach did a nauseating flip. He wouldn’t delude himself. It was a large portion of what they had left. What he and Susan were doing was risky. Though few humans inhabited this world, those who remained were dangerous and unpredictable. In this harsh new reality, one was either predator or prey. Jeremy wondered which one he’d become.

Taking a breath, he picked up a stone, and used it to prop open the cabin doors. It was truly massive, this cart Jack had chosen. It was one of those canvas laundry caddies they had used in hospitals and prisons, with a sturdy wood cover and four wheels at the base, and it was filled to the brim with life-sustaining supplies—his family’s life-sustaining supplies. With a sigh, he kicked the metal brakes off the wheels, rolled it past the threshold, and through the double doors.

By the time he pushed it inside, the owner of the cabin had entered the room, and with unconcealed glee, looked upon his new wares. He bowed to Jeremy, his freshly washed hands held awkwardly in front of him.

“She’ll be fine, Jeremy. I know what you’re thinking. My setup might not look like much, but it’ll get the job done, and she’ll be better for having done it. I’ll insert the unit, and inside, a fresh disk, and I’ll give you the rest of my supply. I have twenty-three insulin disks left, for which I have no use anymore. I can’t see myself performing this surgery again. So at the end of today, you’ll have two year’s worth of insulin. I’ll give you a list of locations, as well, places you can scout for more disks. There are gangs out there that’ll trade for other wares, and I’d be happy to give you their names and locations, but I strongly urge you to seek other means. Find your own replacements, if you can. Be smart. You don’t want other people knowing what you have.” He struggled to pull plastic gloves over damp hands. “The unit will supply her with a steady dose of insulin, but that doesn’t mean she shouldn’t monitor herself. Monitoring her sugars if a part of her life, and always will be, regardless of the disks. Physical exertion causes blood sugar levels to spike. Stress does as well. Be wary of both. I’m sorry Jeremy, but this is the best I can do. Once she has the unit in place, it’ll be your job to maintain it, to feed it. For the rest of her life, she’ll need to seek additional product.”

Jeremy quickly glanced at Susan, a wordless plea for her approval. He watched her terror-stricken eyes behold the doctor, from his faded white coat, to his inappropriate pants, to the dirty sneakers on his feet. She was barely keeping it together. So was he.

She shifted uncomfortably then crouched beside her daughter. “How bout it pumpkin? What do you say? It’s your body. Tell me what you want.”

Sam’s innocent voice broke Jeremy’s heart, and reminded him of the weight of this decision. A parent holds his child’s life in his hands. With a trusting smile and a confidence that was well beyond her years, Sam reached out and touched her mother’s face, thumbed away a fallen tear, and said gently, “You always know what’s best for me, Mom. What do you think? Should I become robot-girl?”

Gathering her precious daughter into her arms, Susan let loose a quiet sob. “I do, baby. I really do. And we’ll be here when you wake up. Both of us. I’m sorry to say, but you’re stuck with us for life.”

Jeremy moved to his wife’s side and clung to her with desperate hands, and together, they watched the most precious thing they’d ever created be taken to the bedroom of an old mountain cabin to undergo pancreatic surgery. It was madness. He wanted to tear his hair out. What the hell was he doing? Thinking? He could figure this out. He could find another way. Couldn’t he? Shouldn’t he? He owed it to Sam.

His mind began to race, as he doubted himself. They could bike to the public library one more time; try their luck among the stacks—try to find a different solution. Though they’d practically torn the place apart, who knew? It was possible they’d missed something important.

For months, they’d searched the drafty building, rummaging through information by candlelight, but it was impossible to know if they’d seen everything. There were thousands of books on the subject of diabetes. Maybe they should try another week of solid research. They had the time, didn’t they? They still had the pills: bottles and bottles, inside the ark.

He recalled sitting vigil by the library entrance, Glock G43 in his hand, while a bleary-eyed Susan combed the endless shelves, tossing reject after reject into the growing pile in the center of the room. She was doggedly persistent, frustratingly so, and would only switch places when her eyes gave out.

The books—unlike the rest of the burnt-out building—had luckily remained pristine. Books weren’t desirable to people anymore. Information wasn’t something people traded things for. Food was the currency, and water the coinage. Data and biological facts were useless. A wealth of information had been waiting for them.

For weeks and weeks, they went home empty-handed, for all of the reference materials had led to the same unfortunate conclusions. The first to die in a world without medicine were the diabetics and the chronically ill, or those unfortunate enough to require life support systems to live. Insulin simply wouldn’t last. Without electricity and proper refrigeration, or production and careful maintenance, all liquid forms were lost in a matter of weeks. Technology had introduced the pills, of course, which were infinitely better than liquid. The encapsulated delivery system kept the insulin fresh for longer periods of time, but as Jeremy soon discovered, even the pills had their limitations. Pills weakened over time. It was unavoidable. Sam had only lived this long because of certain sacrifices Jeremy’s father had made.

Watching his daughter disappear with Doctor Jack, Jeremy remembered the feelings of dejection, the endless hopelessness, the depression that followed weeks of fruitless research. He should be thankful, he reminded himself, for this rare opportunity being presented to them. He and Susan should be kissing the doctor’s feet. They’d spent countless hours inside that library. Days became weeks, weeks became months, and after a while, despair had set in. Despite their efforts to think positive, the situation had become hopeless.

Until one night it wasn’t.

Susan had been the one to make that discovery. It was a night Jeremy would never forget. He was stationed at the library’s entrance, once again, staring at the sky and picking at his nails. It had been a long evening after many long evenings when he heard her calling from the darkened building.

“I found something!” she’d yelled, and he’d squinted into the dark.

“Show me later. Put it in the pack. It’s late, Susan. We need to get back to the cabin.”

Her scowl had been audible from his position by the door. “Jeremy, get over here. Now. You can leave the door for five freaking minutes. There’s no one coming. We’re the only ones here.”

He’d let the door fall behind him with a frown. She’d summoned him like this, several times before, and just like before, it was probably nothing. With each passing day enthusiasm was harder to find. And though he hadn’t wanted to burst her bubble, he was starting to believe they’d never find a solution. There had been too many disappointments thus far, when his spirits had been lifted and then dashed to the ground. Every book had led them to the same frustrating conclusion: science hadn’t worked this out yet—this particular problem affecting millions of people.

With a frown, he stooped beside her. “Susan, it’s late, and I’m tired. Let’s get back to the cabin before Sam wakes up. We’ve been gone too long already.”

His wife’s eyes glittered in the wan candlelight, and her fingers trembled as they flew across the pages. “Jeremy,” she pointed out, “Look here. There was a new device they were testing back then. It was already in production before everything collapsed. No.” She shook her head, correcting herself, her thoughts coming faster than her mouth could shape the words. “It was released to the public before the collapse, but we didn’t hear about it because we’d already gone to ground.”

Leaning forward wordlessly, he tried to make out the odd-looking device on the page, while refusing to let his excitement surge.

“It was fully vetted,” she continued. “It passed all human trials. Before the collapse, people were already starting to use it. It’s an implant, Jeremy. It delivers insulin in a different way. They were planning its widespread release before everything fell to shit. That’s why we never heard of it before—why most people didn’t, in fact.” She pointed to the page. “Insulidisk. That’s what it was called. It’s nanotechnology, Jeremy. The insulin is encapsulated so it lasts much longer, like the pills only better, more advanced. The delivery is slow and consistent.” She set her hand atop his and squeezed, and for a moment, he dared to let hope blossom. “This is the answer we’ve been looking for. These disks won’t spoil for decades, maybe longer.”

She flipped the page and pointed. “Look here. It’s a list of doctors who can perform the surgery, people who were trained before the collapse. There are three right here in Tennessee! All we have to do is find a legitimate doctor, and see what he’s willing to trade.”

They’d spent the remainder of the evening side-by-side, combing through manuals, and reading about of the fundamental concepts of nanotechnology. The device—if it lived up to the studies that were written about it—offered Sam unprecedented freedom, and before long, Jeremy was drinking the Kool-Aid. The plan was easy. Find man. Make trade. And for a man of Jeremy’s considerable means, the trading part would be easy.

He remembered, a wistful smile on his face, something his father had said. “Before society collapsed, I wasn’t a rich man—not by traditional standards. It took an apocalyptic event for me to become a man of means.” And now, all of that wealth had passed to Jeremy. He could have anything he wanted in this world—end of the world notwithstanding, of course—but what he wanted most was to have a healthy daughter.

When the door to the spare bedroom closed and locked, Jeremy squeezed Susan’s hand. Anxiety was a parasite, slithering beneath his skin, a leech, sapping him of strength, leaving him weak. The waiting, he knew, would be a torment. They tried to busy themselves by walking the paths of old hiking trails and aged roadways, now impassable by vehicles, other than bikes. What foliage had survived the death of the oceans had pushed through the pavement, thrusting it upward, leaving behind a green and black patchwork quilt. Not that it mattered. Not anymore. Road maintenance was of little concern now. Cars were useless without a viable source of gasoline, and what little remained had long ago been pillaged. Gas stations had been raided; the covers of tanks pried up and tossed aside, and the contents drained with hand-held pumps. What little was left had long spoiled. Jeremy’s cabin was equipped with a generator, of course, but even that had ceased to operate years ago.

Having negotiated the winding paths as many times as they could make themselves do it, they returned to the cabin to pace its halls. Susan busied herself by cleaning Jack’s kitchen and unpacking his brand new collection of supplies, and Jeremy did his best to occupy his mind by delving into the man’s considerable medical library. It was hard to focus, to keep his head to task, and to keep his feet from pacing the room. When the door finally opened, the sun had dipped below the mountaintops, which were a jagged line across a pink-speckled sky. He had fallen into a fitful sleep, yet shot to his feet at the sound of the door, his knees nearly buckling at the sight of the doctor. Blood dappled the man’s lab coat. Unable to breathe, Jeremy watched him carefully. He pulled his mask from his nose and mopped his brow, pulled off a glove with a startling snap.

“It went well,” he said, his voice calm. “She’s a fighter. She’s strong. The device is in place and the stitching looks good.” He removed the other glove. Powder rippled through the air. “She’ll be waking in a few short hours, so I suggest you take her home as soon as you can. Get her comfortable before the pain meds wear off.” He glanced at the neat rows of supplies that lined his kitchen counter. “I see you’ve emptied the cart for me. Take it with you when you leave. Wheel her home in it. It’s yours. You don’t even have to bring it back. Don’t suppose I’ll need it after this.”

Jeremy was grateful Susan managed to find her voice, for he was much too emotional to find his own. “Jack,” she began with a cough. “We can’t thank you enough: for the disks, for everything, for making this easy, for doing what others probably wouldn’t, for taking an unnecessary risk…for all of it. I can’t find the appropriate words to say.”

Jack nodded, a smile playing on his lips. How good it must feel to be a doctor again, to feel needed, competent, proficient in a field. “Happy to, Susan,” he said with a grunt, collapsing into the nearest chair and resting his head against the cushions. “Suppose—if I’m being honest—it felt good to do something productive again. It felt good to help my fellow man. And,” he added, “I sorely needed the supplies.” He heaved a sigh, looking suddenly haggard. “This is the way of the world, I suppose: bartering and trading, using one’s skills, providing a service in exchange for goods. To be honest, I’m thankful to have met the two of you, thankful you’d let me do this at all. If you hadn’t, I’d have had to find a another solution to my food and beverage problem.” He massaged his temples and raised his head. “I threw in a little something extra, for good measure, a blood sugar counter on the inside of her wrist. It was the newest technology available at the time. Not many people received them. The concept is simple and it’s easy to use. It’s a display unit, powered by the body’s metabolic processes. You can read her current blood sugar any time. And it never needs replacing, winding, or recharging. If she’s got one now, she’s got it for life.”

Jeremy felt himself slowly relax, despite the gore that smeared the man’s cheek. “Amazing,” he breathed. “Thank you, Doctor.” He was suddenly as heavy as a ton of cement bricks. “I suppose you’re right, Jack. Trading and dealing is the future now—the only way to survive this new world. And you’ve got a skill men would give their eyeteeth for.” He peered around the room, as if seeing it for the first time. “I don’t mean to pry, but are you alone up here?”

“Lost my wife a few years back. Buried her up on the hill.” Shaking his head, he scrutinized his hands as if digging her grave had been a betrayal he hadn’t yet forgiven them for. “I couldn’t run tests or diagnosis her officially, but I’m fairly certain it was cancer that got her.”

Jeremy cringed at the horrific images. It was something he’d often had nightmares about. What if Sam or Susan contracted a life threatening illness? What if he did, for that matter?

“Toward the end, there was nothing I could do,” Jack continued. “Besides keep her drunk on scotch, that is. I ran through all the pain pills I could find: Percocet, Valium, even Advil and Tylenol. In the end, all I had to offer was good old-fashioned alcohol. I scoured the neighborhood for as much as I could find. It might surprise you to know how many folks keep a bottle of vodka in their underwear drawer.” He lifted his head and offered a weak smile, before his eyes lost focus as he reached for the memories. “I did everything I could think to do. But her pain became completely unmanageable. God, Jeremy, it felt so barbaric. At one point, I considered finding a leather strap for her to bite down on.”

He sighed and dropped his hands his sides. “Her death was a miracle of mercy, if you ask me. I was so broken-hearted to see her go, yet relieved to see an end to her suffering. Crazy, isn’t it? Never thought I’d feel that way.”

Jeremy’s heart went out to the lonely Doctor, but a deeper part of him, a much darker part, the shadow self that resides in us all, sprang and hissed. Get the hell out of here, it said. Go now. Get your family and run from this cabin, from the ghosts that reside in this house. Get away from this pain and this misery, from the phantoms that shuffle these empty hallways, from the ghosts that curl in these stone-cold beds.

He knew it was a sudden and irrational fear. It wasn’t like Jack’s misfortunes were contagious. Death wasn’t an oily film that multiplied and spread like a virus. His fear was childlike, not based in reality. But it was real enough, and it pushed him to his feet.

“We’ve taken enough of your time already. I’m sure you’re quite tired after what you just did, and it’s a long way home for us to walk, particularly when pushing a cart.” He lifted his hands. “I don’t know what to say. Like Susan said, we can’t thank you enough, for your hospitality, for your bravery when it came to my daughter. Ten carts of supplies couldn’t repay this debt.” Stepping forward, he thrust out a hand. “Doctor Jack. Our best to you. Always. If you need anything, you know where to find us.”

Jack struggled from his chair to clasp Jeremy’s hand. “Don’t be a stranger. You hear me? We don’t live that far from each other, you know. Seems to me, in this day and age, those of us who’re left ought to seek one another’s company.”

He let Jeremy’s hand drop, and Jeremy felt a sudden stab of guilt. Where did this impulse to run come from? Why did he always want to seclude his family? Perhaps the doctor was right about neighborly ties. Jeremy wasn’t a psychologist, but humans didn’t flourish in isolation and confinement. Was making a friend so bad?

“Perhaps we will, Jack. We’ll give it some thought.”

Turning to Susan, he gave her “the look”, the wordless gesture only married people understand. She gave him a nod and crossed the room, and together they lowered Sam into the cart, swaddled her in blankets, and began the long journey home.

For over three hours they walked in silence, negotiating the cart across a broken terrain, while jostling it as little as possible. They weaved between overgrown grasses and fallen trees, and the disintegrating fragments of man-made structures, and after a while, Jeremy realized something important. He felt happier than he had in years, like a man who could contemplate the depths of a problem and work out a viable solution. He’d given his daughter a chance at a real future. Smiling, he walked in a strange sort of peace, his gaze fixed on the purpling sky and his sights set on the glorious future.