THE CREEPING KELP
by William Meikle
This eBook edition published 2012 by Generation Next Publications
www.generationnextpublications.com
Text © 2012 by William Meikle
www.williammeikle.com
Cover art © 2012 by M. Wayne Miller
Cover and eBook Creation by
Stephen James Price
www.BookLooksDesign.com
LICENSING The publisher and the author have agreed to release this eBook without Digital Rights Management (DRM) protection, but all rights are still in effect. This volume may not be resold or given away. Please show your support for this author by purchasing all additional copies through a reputable vendor.
With thanks to Steve Price for all the hard work he puts in that's never seen. But it is appreciated.
To the memory of John Wyndham, H P Lovecraft, H G Wells and all the keepers of the flame who have come after them.
From Greenpeace
Plastic pollution: A growing threat to the health of our oceans.
The scale of pollution in all our oceans is vast. The majority of the plastic—80%— comes directly from land. Whales, dolphins, turtles, seals and countless other marine life have become victims of land litter. Marine debris is found floating in all the world’s oceans, even near the Polar Regions. It also contaminates the seabed. It is found everywhere, from the beaches of industrialized countries to the shores of the remotest, uninhabited islands. Because it doesn’t break down, such pollution can linger for years, affecting marine environments far from where it entered the ocean.
July 21st - It begins
* * *
Dave Noble had just pulled up the last but one of his sample bottles when thin, grey smoke began to waft from the four-stroke engine of the Zodiac.
That’s all I need.
He had to clamber over the bottles to reach the helm, barking his shin on the raised fibreglass ridge that bisected the dinghy. He cursed, long and loudly. It didn’t make him feel much better.
The smoke had turned darker now and the engine rattled and whined. He switched it off and pushed the button that raised the propeller from the water. The dinghy seemed stable enough in the water, so he risked leaving the steering wheel and headed to the rear for a closer look. Black, almost oily goop hung from the blades in ropy strands.
Blasted weed.
At first glance, this particular area of the North Atlantic seemed serene; a sheet of blue glass laid under an azure sky, the water only intermittently ruffled by a breeze so faint it could hardly be felt; the water gently lapping on the side of the dinghy. But after two weeks of study, Noble knew that the surface hid a multitude of sins.
And all of them caused by the activities of a technological society.
The rotational currents created by the North Atlantic Gyre drew in waste material, mainly plastic bottles, from the coastal waters off both North Africa and Western Europe. As this material is captured, wind-driven currents gradually move the debris toward a certain area of the ocean, trapping it inside swirling vortices. Once there, they coagulate into ever-thickening soup of degrading plastic that now pollutes an area the size of Wales.
And things aren’t getting any better.
This was the study team – and Noble’s third year in the area. It was already obvious that the amount of plastic suspended in the water had increased rapidly in the last twelve months. Indeed, in many areas of the affected region, the overall concentration of plastics was greater than the concentration of plankton. Plastic was now the main item on the menu across the whole ecological niche. It was not yet apparent what effect this would have in the long term, but Noble suspected that no good would come of it. Fishermen were already reporting strange mutations turning up at intervals in their catches and even the Herring Gulls, supreme scavengers as they were, stayed well away from this stretch of water. Noble believed that it was only a matter of years before the whole place became an aquatic desert, no less dead than the sands of the Sahara.
He had more to worry about at this moment though. The black goop proved resistant to all his attempts to scrape it from the propeller blades, even when he took the edge of a knife to it – all he accomplished was to get his blade coated in a black tar that stuck hard like super-glue. That brought on another bout of cursing.
Let’s just get back home. The tech boys can deal with it.
When he turned the engine on it whined with a high whistle. More dark smoke rose from inside the casing. The engine wasn’t going to last long in that condition. Noble chose discretion over more sampling and turned the Zodiac back towards the main research vessel.
Earth Rescue sat in quiet water nearly a mile away. Before he was halfway there the engine started to screech and belch smoke like an old banger on its last legs. He tried to keep the dinghy on a straight line, but it pulled sharply to port, so much so that he was forced to tack as if he was on a yacht under full sail. He was kept busy for the next five minutes wondering if at any moment he’d have to suffer the humiliation of being rescued. As the whine got louder and more urgent, the dinghy wallowed like a luxuriating hippo in mud.
As he got closer he could see some of the crew standing at the rail waiting for him. They all seemed to be laughing and enjoying themselves immensely. Noble cursed some more. This time it did make him feel better. He tacked to starboard again, having to point the prow almost at ninety degrees to Earth Rescue.
In the end, he just made it. As he threw a line to the waiting crew, the engine gave up with one last diminishing whine. Noble leaned over to check on it and spotted thick clumps of the black tarry substance floating just beneath the water line. He didn’t have time to investigate. He waited until they hauled the dinghy up onto the lower deck and then jumped down to the main vessel.
It was only then that he saw the full extent of the black tar. It coated the whole bottom of the Zodiac, an oily sludge nearly an inch thick. It was soft to the touch, but resisted any attempt to pull it away from where it clung.
“Oil spill?” Suzie Jukes asked from beside him.
He shook his head.
“Too thick. It looks more like decomposed weed or whale blubber that’s gone off. But in that case, wouldn’t it stink to high heaven?”
The woman jumped forward like an excited schoolgirl and tried to scrape a piece of the tarry substance away. It had already started to harden more in the heat out on the deck, becoming smooth and moulded to the fibreglass as if it had always been there. More than that, now it had begun to smell, the stench biting at Noble’s sinuses.
Suzie managed to cut some of the material away, but only at the cost of ripping a hole in the side of the dinghy. She lifted it to look closer and then had to back away, obviously affected by the smell.
Noble laughed, but then had to stop as the smell grew stronger still.
I’ve had enough.
“It’s all yours,” he grunted at the biologist and headed for the galley and the beer fridge. He was halfway down his second beer before he lost the sour taste in his throat and was considering a third when Suzie Jukes found him and almost dragged him out of his chair.
“Unless you’re taking me to bed,” he said. “I’d rather have another beer.”
“You’ve got to see this,” she said. It all came out of her in a rush, as if it had been bottled, shaken, and released. “The tar is a complex hydrocarbon all right. But it’s much more than that. It’s alive… or at least it was until you chewed it up. There’s Golgi apparatus and mitochondrial DNA, but no real cell wall structure to speak of. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before… like nothing anyone’s ever seen before. I think we’ve found an incipient species, one that’s evolvin
g to take advantage of this unique ecosystem. In fact…”
By now she had him out of the chair and heading out of the galley.
“Whoa,” Noble said and managed a smile. “Information overload. Slow down.”
She stopped talking—but that only allowed her to drag him faster along the corridor.
“I get it, Suzie,” he said. “This has got you excited. But I was serious about that beer. It’s been a long day and…”
She almost pushed him into her small cramped lab.
“Look,” she said, guiding him forcibly towards a microscope. “Just look.”
He looked. She was right. He had never seen anything like it. It seemed to be mostly undifferentiated protoplasm at first glance, but on closer inspection, he could see some structure there. No amount of attempting to focus could bring any greater clarity.
“What’s this?” he asked. “These clearer particles embedded in the matrix?”
She smiled—a huge grin that made him forget all about that third beer.
“I wondered that, too,” she said. “So I had some tested. You’re not going to believe it.”
Noble sighed.
“Suzie, I’ve had a long day. I’m shagged out. I burnt out an engine and I haven’t had nearly enough beer. Enough of the twenty questions shit, okay?”
The grin never wavered. “You won’t need twenty…it’s obvious, when you think about it and…”
He just had to look at her. She sighed in mock disappointment before replying.
“The clear bits are plastic. As are some of the darker bits. You found a plastic eater—a natural garbage disposal unit. Do you know what this means?”
Noble smiled back.
“No. But I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
She punched him playfully on the shoulder.
“This is what I’ve been waiting for. The planet is fighting back,” she said. “Gaia hasn’t laid down to die just yet.”
Noble sighed.
“Come on, Suzie. Spare me the New-Age babble. You know how much I hate that stuff.”
She kept smiling.
“Mock all you like. But you’ll see. This…” she said, pointing at the black tar. “This marks the start of something new. Something wonderful.”
Noble was preparing a put-down when the first shouts came from up on deck. The vessel came to an abrupt halt, with a jolt so strong that Suzie fell against him and almost knocked him to the floor. The feel of her body in his hands would have been a distraction at any other time, but he scarcely noticed. By the time he got them both steady on their feet, the shouting from above had grown louder, more frantic. Heavy footsteps rang along the decks. The shouts soon turned to screams—high and wailing, like an animal in acute pain.
Suzie looked at Noble, fear suddenly big in her eyes.
“Stay here. I’ll see what’s going on,” he said.
When he made to move, she came along right beside him. He didn’t have the time to argue. He made sure that he reached the door first and took the steps up to the outside deck two at a time. The scene that met him stopped him as if he’d hit a wall.
Tall black tendrils swayed like cobras in the air, reaching high above the bows on both sides of the vessel, each thicker than a man’s thigh. Noble was tall enough to see that the sea beyond was a seething mass of black tar, like a rumpled carpet lying on the surface of the ocean. For a split second it hypnotised him, his mind straining to encompass the strangeness of the scene.
A fresh scream from the stern brought him back. He turned towards the sound. John Oates, one of the crew, hung suspended by his heels, caught by a tendril. Noble started to run in that direction, but it was already too late for the boy. Swift as a whiplash, the tentacle dragged him over the side. The youth’s head hit the gunwale. His skull cracked and, as fast as that, the lad was gone. Two more crew ran ahead of Noble, heading to the lad’s aid. They were plucked into the air before Noble got any closer.
I need a weapon.
The case containing the fire-axe split as he tugged at it, driving a splinter deep into his right palm, causing the axe handle to slide in his hand, slick with his blood. He turned, just as a new black tendril reached towards the doorway where Suzie Jukes stood with her mouth hanging open, dumbstruck at the scene in front of her.
Noble hacked. Once. Twice. A piece of tendril as long as his arm fell, still twitching, to the deck. He kicked it away and pushed the biologist back inside, almost throwing her back into the corridor. Her eyes widened, staring at a point over his shoulder. She tried to scream, but no sound came. Noble turned and ducked in one movement. The tendril fell on his back, knocking him to the deck. Fast as a snake, it wound itself around his right leg and tugged, hard.
Noble hacked with the axe, but although he raised welts along the tarry surface, they healed almost immediately, the wounds closing moistly like wet lips. He was inexorably dragged across the deck. His attacks with the axe became more frenzied, but the grip on his leg tightened and the pain shot white heat up his side.
“Look away,” he heard Suzie shout. “Cover your eyes.”
Almost instinctively, he obeyed. A white flash lit up the area behind his eyelids and there was a sudden burst of heat, singeing his eyebrows and tightening his skin. The grip on his leg loosened. He dragged himself backwards, suddenly free. When he opened his eyes, he looked down on a smouldering pool of black tar with a safety flare still burning bright in the middle.
Suzie tugged at his arm, dragging him back towards the door. Noble looked around the deck. There was no sign of any crew. Tendrils waved high all around the hull.
He allowed the woman to lead him inside. He had one last look at the black tendrils, swaying like trees in a wind, then slammed the storm door closed, ensuring it was secure before turning to face Suzie.
She threw herself into his arms and hugged him.
“The planet is fighting back,” she said and laughed, then sobbed.
She’s in shock. Best thing is to keep her moving.
He patted her on the back awkwardly, and then gently pushed her away. He still had the axe in his right hand. The splinter in his palm grated against the axe handle and brought new pain. He pulled the splinter out with his teeth, wincing as fresh blood flowed.
Outside, something slammed heavily on the deck and Suzie jumped, as if she’d been struck.
We can’t stay here.
“Come on. Let’s find the others,” Noble said.
“If there’s anybody left,” she whispered. But she followed, holding his left hand tight as he headed for the bridge. The ship strained and creaked around them.
She’s getting squeezed, like a tube of toothpaste.
They found four others still alive on the bridge, including the Skipper, who was staring out at a scene from a nightmare. Noble went to join him at the main control deck. He was about to ask what was happening, but the view told its own story.
Once again, Noble was reminded of a forest. And if he didn’t know better, he’d think there was a strong wind blowing. Black tendrils rose as far as the eye could see, waving in unison, like a wheat field at harvest time. He heard Suzie gasp next to him and her grip on his hand tightened. But the tendrils didn’t come any closer than the hull—there were none within twenty feet of the bridge.
The Skipper finally noticed that Noble was there. The older man had aged visibly since that morning. His eyes were red with new tears.
“Only six left,” he said softly. “Six from fourteen.”
“Nobody else made it?”
The Skipper shook his head.
“We never saw them coming. They came up out of the sea, like whales coming up for air. One second there was nothing but sky and water, the next, the sea was full of… full of things.”
He went back to staring out over the scene.
“What have we got into, Dave? What the hell have we got ourselves into?”
Nobody answered.
“I got out a mayday,” the Skipper said
, talking to himself. “Don’t know if anyone heard us, but I got out a call. And I’ve cut the engines… we were just burning fuel and going nowhere. All we can do is keep at the radio. Keep at it and hope someone hears us.”
Suzie replied first.
“Bugger the radio. We still have the satellite connection in the lab. Hell, we can get anyone we want in seconds online.”
The Skipper shook his head.
“I’m not sending anyone down below. We’ve got no way of knowing if those things are down there.”
Noble hefted the axe.
“I’ll take that chance. We need to get someone out here to rescue us.”
The Skipper hardly noticed as Noble led Suzie off the bridge. When Noble turned for a look back the old man had gone back to staring out of the window, fresh tears running down his cheeks.
As they descended the main stairs to the lab and crew quarters, Noble realised just how quiet the vessel had become. Normally, even when they were at anchor, there was a buzz around the boat, the slap of feet on deck or the sound of three different stereo systems vying for supremacy. Today there was nothing, not even any whistle of wind from outside. The things, whatever they were, seemed to have stopped squeezing for the time being.
I suppose we should be thankful for small mercies.
Suzie refused to let go of his hand all the way to the lab. She jumped once when they passed an exterior door, but it was securely closed, and there was no noise from the other side. When they reached the lab and Noble closed the door behind them, she loosened visibly—not enough to let go of his hand, but enough that it didn’t feel like it had been clamped in a bear trap.
“Over here,” she said, and led him to the desk where the laptop computer sat. It was only then that she let go of his hand. He started to move away, to check on the door, but she grabbed at him like a drowning man after a life belt and pulled him close.
“Please,” she said. “Don’t go far.”
Noble watched as she called up the coastguard in Weymouth. The man at the other end wouldn’t believe her at first. Not until Noble dragged over a Petri dish containing remnants of the tar they’d collected earlier. He held it up to the web-cam. As if on cue it started to ooze and coalesce.
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