Last Gaia (first draft)

         Marty was watching the last plant on Earth die.  He was watching it on the television, which detached him somewhat from the pain.  Not by much, really.

         It had started two months ago, when alarmed scientists began reporting that all the plants in a decent number of small, unrelated areas seemed to be withering away, with no clear reason why.  Alarm turned to panic, and panic to terror as whatever unknown affliction was causing these plants to die off began to spread, slowly at first and then faster.  Aerial surveys, satellite photography, and deep sea submarines confirmed that the epidemic covered the planet; grass growing on the highest mountains was faltering just as surely as kelp in the deepest seas.

         Marty wasn’t sure when the last time he saw a living plant in person was.  He was sure that there were still a number of green trees standing a week and a half ago, but when he went for a walk five days ago, there were none.  Barren trunks of trees jutted naked from the landscape, and the ground was covered with fallen leaves and withered grasses.  It was a scene out of late fall, perhaps sometime in November, but the glaring heat had reminded him that it was, in fact, only June.

         Scientists fought to find a reason, then they fought simply to keep it from spreading, and then they fought only to keep peoples’ hopes up.  Whatever plague this was, no one could figure out what it was, how it spread, or really anything at all.  You knew a plant had it when it looked like it was dying, and you knew for sure when it died within a few days later.  Despair spread quickly, and most cities on the planet were subject to rioting, looting, and general unrest.  When the various seed vaults scattered around the planet went public to report that no, there had been no successful attempts to cultivate new plant growth even in a completely sealed and sterile environment, even the rioting stopped for the most part.  Religions around the globe fluctuated as record-setting amounts of new converts contested with equally great numbers who turned away from their various gods.  Some faiths claimed the plague was a punishment, others claimed it was a test.  Most had nothing to say at all but to stay strong, keep hope, and help each other in this time of need

         Hopes were rekindled, however, when an ailing seventy year old woman living alone in southern Ohio called her local news station to inform them that no, not every plant was dead, she had a nice little dogwood in her backyard that was doing just fine, thank you very much.  The government seized her property within the hour, and within three more a hyperbaric dome was erected around it, as the world’s best scientists flew in on the fastest jets they could find.  Television news crews almost beat the government technicians and security forces there, and soon the entire world was glued to televisions and webcasts, all footage streamed live without interruption.

         So much desperate attention was heaped on that scrawny, stunted-looking plant that one would almost expect it to bend and snap from all the metaphorical weight put on its nonexistent shoulders.  The reporters claimed that locals had begun calling the plant Gaia, and whether this was true or not, the name stuck.  Soon every channel on television, the ones that remained staffed and active at least, offered only 24/7 coverage of the scientists’ ongoing work to preserve and understand the mystery of Gaia, the last plant on Earth.  Two days later, a weary looking scientist approached the reporters and announced, amid a sea of shouted questions and thrusting microphones, that Gaia appeared to have been stricken with the disease, despite all precautions.  Work was ongoing, as men inside the sealed plastic dome went without sleep and even food, instead sipping liquid supplements and energy boosters from pouches tucked inside their airtight hazmat suits.

         And now they were announcing, ashen faced and red eyed, that the plant was too far gone.  That even if they made a sudden breakthrough and could stop whatever this plague was, Gaia would still die within hours.  The scientists seen through the clear dome were lying down where they had stood; too weary and too mired in hopeless loss to even leave the enclosure.  Attendants with stretchers came in and took them away, one by one, and not one stirred from sleep.  The world watched through the plastic material of the dome, since armed guards still would not allow them inside, as the last plant on Earth lived its final hours.

         Staring at the screen of his television, Marty shook his head very slightly.  You can’t even tell it’s alive now, he thought, and it was true; its leaves and flowers fallen away, Gaia now looked a great deal like a somewhat curved stick someone had carelessly thrust into the ground and left.  Plants don’t have a heartbeat, and there is no convenient monitor with a staccato beeping turning into a dull tone that lets you know it’s okay to turn away.  Eventually Marty turned the television off and stood, after some internal debate deciding to go for a walk.

         His emotions, he was sure, had paralleled most others’ for the majority of this rollercoaster ride.  Disinterest in early reports turned to fanatical obsession; soon Marty was out watering his lawn, performing soil tests, and even brushing down the trees in his yard, and he saw many neighbors doing the same, all to no avail.  Obsession turned to despair as every plant died off one by one, only to be replaced by the short lived flame of intense hope which spread around the world at the discovery of that one last dogwood.  Now all that remained was a sad emptiness, a sense of loss so profound as to be beyond words.

         Marty didn’t bother to lock the door as he left the house; he lived in a rural town on the seacoast of Massachusetts, and his neighbors weren’t the looting and rioting type.  He knew they would be glued to their televisions for several hours yet, until even the cameramen finally turned off their equipment.  He set out down the road, no clear destination in mind but vaguely headed east.  The asphalt beneath his feet was mostly hidden by browned leaves and pine needles, the town’s road crews having been in front of the television for the past few days just like everyone else in the world, and ill-equipped for the volume of debris besides.

         Before Gaia had been found, the television stations were full of scientists, preachers, and doomsayers proclaiming the future of the planet.  What was irrefutable was that as the plants decayed and root systems came apart, dust storms would begin to appear which would make the Midwestern Dust Bowl seem like picnicking weather.  Mass extinctions of most if not all life forms on the planet were considered inevitable, and the real debate was centered on whether humans would be among them, and how soon.  The world would soon become a great desert, as moisture levels dropped and carbon dioxide levels rose.  Eventually the air wouldn’t even be breathable, but most agreed that humankind would probably starve to death long before then.  The majority of the sane people who had been appearing on the TV agreed that with quick execution and proper planning, technology could be developed and utilized which would provide not only shelter but also nutrients and water to large amounts of people.  The minority actually believed it.  There was talk of domed cities and underground shelters, even orbital habitats which could house millions.  Personally, Marty thought the doomsayers were probably closer to the truth: the world would become an arid wasteland, and humankind would be left only in bones and ruined cities buried in sand.

         Without thinking about it, Marty had wandered to one of his favorite spots; a series of high cliffs overlooking the sea, some hundred feet below the rocky outcrop.  He strode through the waist high grass, dry stalks snapping and falling in his wake.  A rusty metal fence ringed the cliff’s edge, with faded signs cautioning tourists of loose rock and shifting dirt.  Marty sat on one of the steel rails, a hand resting on a post for balance as he looked out over the ocean.  The sea was as blue and clear as ever, one of the few landscapes left almost unchanged on Earth.  The image was ruined by the stench of dead marine life, and leaning forward slightly Marty could see the cause.  Scores of fish and other creatures had washed up on the beach, more dependant on a daily food source than most land mammals, which were wasting away more slowly, and now lay rotting in the sun.

         It occurred to Marty that it would be almost poetic to fling himself from the railing, over the edge, to fall to a watery death.  He certainly wouldn’t be the first or the last to take his own life, this afternoon.  Not his style though, he thought with a shake of his head.

         He wasn’t sure quite how long he sat there, but the sun had long since set and the moon was reflecting low in the sea before he slowly rose, turning from the cliffs and walking back toward his home.