Tainted By Our Choices

By M K Lee

If home is where the heart is, then Jack will forever live in a state of having nowhere to belong. So far from the life he intended for himself, gone are his hopes for making a difference, replaced instead with sharp suits and damage limitation, working for an industry so controversial it is rarely out of the news.

A chance meeting at a protest brings Jack face to face with his past; is there more that can be saved here than just the environment that he grew up loving so much?

• Language: English
• Publisher: M K Lee
• Release date: Feb 8, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386395485

M K Lee

M K Lee is a freelance writer who is almost permanently attached to their laptop wherever their travels may take them, writing everything from poetry blogs to language articles and many other things in between.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Jack stretched up just enough to peek down through the tinted glass of his office window at the protesters gathered outside holding hand painted placards and could only bring himself to sigh. They had moved in that morning, encroaching on all the best parking spaces in the parking lot and chanting angry slogans that Jack thought perhaps were kind of funny but would do nothing to stop what was going to happen.

The fracking would be going ahead, whether anyone objected to it or not. Works had all been approved, reams upon reams of paperwork signed and countersigned, and if some bureaucracy involving clandestine deals and exchanges of money between those further up the chain and the local authorities had happened, well. It was absolutely nothing to do with him. Jack had done his job. He had produced the environmental report that had helped win them the contract, carefully detailing all of the possible risks and hazards involved, right down to potentially affected species in the local vicinity, and models indicating the likelihood of contaminated water coming into contact with nearby residential supplies.

With another sigh, Jack looked over his mostly-completed work for the morning and pushed himself back from his desk, spinning one full circuit on his chair before coming to a stop, then doing the same the other way. He stood with an exaggerated stretch, wandering over to rattle the cafetiere and frowning at its betrayal when he found it to be empty.

With every intention of topping up from the coffee machine in the break room, Jack made his way there, the voices drifting out to him immediately changing his mind. He took a brief stop in the restroom and gave himself a quick glance over in the mirror as he washed his hands, tugging at his hair and telling himself that lighter color was definitely blond, not gray, in his usual brown.

Biting down on his lip as he debated with himself with himself, Jack decided on a local bakery with excellent coffee and even better cakes, then shrugged into his suit jacket and headed out. If he was staying late as usual to go over those complex habitat surveys for their most recent site acquisition, and had to survive the dreaded afternoon meeting, caffeine and sugar would be essentials to get him through his day.

With a carefree jog, he took the stairs down, noting with no real surprise that the chants outside grew louder and even angrier the closer he got to the exit. Giving a brief nod to the receptionist Jack stepped out into the bright, sunny morning, shielding his squinting eyes behind sunglasses from both the sun itself and the attention of those protesting. His face became a neutral mask as he passed the group buzzing like irate bees over to his right, hoping they wouldn’t pay him any attention. This wasn't his first experience with opposition against what the company did and he'd learned early on to feign indifference, despite what he might really think.

A mop of messy black hair caught his attention, though, as it always did, whispering to him to take a look just in case. Jack's gaze turned casually in the group's direction as he continued walking, coming to a complete, shuddering stop and ripping his glasses off in disbelief as he watched pale blue eyes look him up and down in contempt, then spark with recognition before narrowing in quiet fury. His stomach sank and his mouth grew dry, and the only sound Jack could hear in that moment was the misplaced shriek of the crashing of waves.

***

1993

On a clear day, when the sky was the brightest blue and the reflection the sea gave back just as vivid, it made Jack feel like he could stare out at the horizon forever and never know where one started and the other began. The waves roared away any sense of unrest he might be feeling, waxing and waning with soothing sounds that never ceased to keep him calm.

Jack had been visiting this beach since before he could even walk, crawling along the sand and fisting it up into his chubby palms, squealing at the crunch and squeak of it between his fingers. He remembered helping his little brother build his first sand castle and watching the water lick it away one misshapen turret at a time. He remembered a red checkered picnic blanket pinned down beneath a cooler box to stop it blowing away, and laughter as he chased a corner of it that got repeatedly caught up in the breeze. Happy memories were what Jack had when he thought of this place. Happiness and home.

Today was not a clear day. The normally creamy colored sand was painted with jet black slickness, foam churning up gray against the shoreline. As if in sympathy the sky was dull and flat, clouds outlined with dirty smudges that bled into one another. It seemed to Jack in that moment as though all the color had been drained from the world. The waves rolled in as they always did, as they always had, but on that day, could do nothing to bring stillness to Jack, as each crest spewed out further victims of the oil slick everywhere he looked.

Though surrounding him was a flurry of activity, with rescue workers rushing about clad from head to foot in once-white hazmat-like suits and carrying bird after bird away to cleaning stations further up the shore, the only noise that got through to him, that broke Jack’s continual horror at what he was seeing all around him was one of heartbroken, hiccupping sobbing.

A boy knelt off to his right, gently stroking his fingers over a bird whose head, he had rested across his lap at an unnatural angle. The oil from the bird’s feathers left glossy rivulets of black running down the sides of his thighs, and he continued his gentle path along its back as though touch alone could bring it back to life. A trembling hand ran over the flat of the bill, tracing against the curved tip that suggested a hint of its natural red color beneath the poisonous black that every other inch of the bird was coated in like a terrible second skin.

Jack looked at the boy’s mass of messy hair and decided it was the exact same shade as the oil staining his fingers. He stepped closer to him, his own heart heavy despite what he’d been witnessing all morning. His footfall caught the boy’s attention, and when he looked up at Jack with a quivering lip and piercing blue eyes rimmed red with tears, Jack felt an inexplicable need to bring him comfort.

***

Now

––––––––

Dylan, Jack choked out, utter disbelief rippling through his voice as he continued to stare at him open-mouthed. Dylan glowered back at him, dropping the oversized placard he was holding down to waist height and resting his hands along the top of it in a fierce grip. He glanced up behind Jack at the office complex snorting in derision before dropping his eyes back down to Jack’s face in blatant scorn.

"You work here?" he asked, incredulous, a furious glare pinning Jack in place.

Yeah, Jack mumbled, and for a second he felt determined not to show any of the shame that surged through him just from being in Dylan's presence. He managed a full three seconds of maintaining eye contact then found his gaze dropped to the tarmac beneath their feet.

"How the hell did you end up in Houston? Working here of all places?" Dylan demanded, so full of anger Jack struggled not to take a step back from it.

I-

So, this is what you’ve become, huh?

Dyl... Jack pleaded, lost for any other words to say. What was he supposed to say? What could he, after all this time, without it sounding like a string of poor excuses?

As though reading his mind Dylan rolled his eyes, glaring back at him with ice lighting those eyes that Jack had first stared back at so long ago. Thought you wanted to change the world, Jack? Not rip it apart from the inside out,

***

1993

There’s just so many of them,

Those were the first words the boy managed to stutter out at Jack, a rapid blast of words as though he didn’t want them to escape, like that made them more true. He looked past Jack towards the sea still churning in more and more death, his eyes drifting over the black lumps that stirred slowly or lay lifeless on the sand.

Yeah. There are. Probably be a lot more too, Jack agreed with resigned sorrow. His unwavering hope had died earlier that morning with the desperate sounds of a bird by his feet gasping for air, knowing it was too late to do anything for it at all.

Can they save them? the boy asked him so pleadingly as he glanced at two volunteers staggering by them, who were desperately trying to keep hold of a bird in their arms as it slipped and writhed for its escape.

Some of them, probably. Gotta be honest though, it’s so stressful for them that half of their hearts give out even before they get their first bath.

The boy gave a curious tilt of his head at him. Bath?

Yeah. They gotta calm ‘em down first, see? Then give them medicine if they need it, check their weight, get them rehydrated, Jack counted on his fingers, reciting from a mental list he'd quickly picked up just from watching, then they go into a tub and they start cleaning ‘em off.

With what? The boy continued staring up at him, his hands still running gently over the dead bird resting against his legs. Jack found his eyes drifting repeatedly to the movement and the softness of the action sitting hard in his chest.

It's nothing special, Jack shrugged, just Dawn. They dilute it down, like... maybe a one percent mix. And they have to like... get a really soft toothbrush in around the head if the oil’s dried. And they just keep taking it from tub to tub until the water’s clear. Takes forever. Saw one this morning that took 20 dunks,

You’ve been watching all morning? the boy asked with astonishment evident all over his voice.

Jack shrugged, tilting his chin over to where the temporary cleaning stations had been set up.

Yeah. My dad. He teaches marine biology at the college not so far from here, and most of these volunteers are his students. He let me tag along, but ‘cos I’m not trained, and not old enough, there’s not much they let me do, in case I make it worse.

Jack couldn’t keep the sadness and frustration from his voice at that. The moment his dad had told him about the accident he’d been desperate to come, to try and help any way he could. And when he’d said they were coming down to this beach, with some of his students as well as some other volunteers, Jack had perhaps foolishly hoped he’d be allowed to be part - a proper part of the rescue team. But despite being the son of Giles Devon, one of the most respected lecturers of the local college as well as an active part of the area’s largest seabird rehabilitation center and community as a whole, Jack had barely been allowed to do a thing.

He’d stood helpless to one side, watching bird after bird being brought in, some already dead and laid out carefully in an ever-growing heap, with others passing him in a flurry of sticky feathers and stressed keening that Jack thought might give him nightmares for weeks. And the closest he’d got to doing anything remotely useful was running to every store he could think of in the area to buy up as much detergent as he could find.

So... you know about this stuff? the boy asked, those blue eyes flaring with interest starkly against all the monochrome surrounding them, and making Jack feel like perhaps he did have some kind of purpose here today after all.

He nodded back. Yeah. Grown up with all... this. Watched my dad lecture more times 'n I can count. Gonna do something in marine biology myself when I'm older, he added proudly, unconsciously puffing out his chest as he said it.

The boy looked back down at his lap, stroking over the bird’s head a final time before hesitant, stumbling words tumbled out of him. What kind of bird is it?

A brown pelican. You ever seen one flying?

The boy gave a slow shake of his head and looked back up at Jack in expectation.

They’re like... Huge. Their wingspan’s like... eighty inches sometimes. Their heads are yellow, not that you can tell right now, and their bill starts off pink around here, Jack said as he crouched down, gesturing at the widest part of the bill near the bird’s eye, and go all the way down to red at the end.

Jack fell to his knees beside the boy then and let out a sigh. "And when they fly... they look like they shouldn’t be able to, you know? ‘cos the bill looks way too big. But they’re awesome. So good to watch. And when they dive down - ‘cos that’s how they feed - they’re just so... I don’t know. Graceful, I guess." Jack shrugged as he finished, his hands coming down to rest on his thighs.

The boy gave him a shy smile. You sound like an expert, he stumbled out, making Jack grin back at the compliment even if he wouldn’t take it.

Nah. Just... like I said. I’ve grown up with this stuff.

The boy kept smiling back at him, and Jack felt a little caught in headlights by the earnest look on his face. For want of something to do he cleared his throat in an awkward cough and stuck out an even more awkward hand, stumbling out his name in introduction.

The boy reached out, looking down at his own hand and quickly rubbing it against the leg of his shorts in an attempt to clean it before clasping it around Jack’s. Dylan,

Jack’s eyebrows shot up in immediate amusement. Let me guess. Your parents are Bob Dylan fans?

Well, yeah, but... What's that got to do with anything? Dylan asked, his smile widening a little more.

‘cos. Gotta be named after him, Jack reasoned, certain of his own logic.

Dylan nodded, It's a good guess. But according to my Mom, I was named after one of Dad's first clients. Nothing more exciting than that I'm afraid,

Huh, was all Jack could manage to give as a response, "Well, Dylan. How ‘bout helping me shift this poor fella, he said, reaching his own hand out to gently stroke along the bird’s wing, over with the others? They’re keeping a track of all the dead ones so they know what kind of numbers we’re talking," he added with a grimace, gazing back out over the sea.

How many so far? Dylan asked, scrambling to his feet and clasping the bird against him, righting himself only when Jack took some of the weight of the bird in his own arms.

Jack shrugged again, angling his head from side to side looking at the bird to figure out where best to get a grip on it as it slipped repeatedly through his and Dylan's fingers. Just... too many. Dylan agreed, and squared his shoulders against the bird’s slippery weight, tightening his hold.

In silence, they trudged up the beach, and out of the corner of his eye Jack watched Dylan's reaction as they made their way through the stretch of cleaning stations. The sounds of the birds screeching and squawking in anguish made them both wince, as did the mountain of dead birds they found when they got to handing the one they held over.

Hey, Jack. You know your dad’s gonna kill you for getting your hands in, right? One of the volunteers mock-scolded him as she glanced across at them from behind a long bench, whilst pointing for Jack and Dylan to drop the bird down on a set of scales at the end.

Jack nodded back at the older girl with a smirk. Yeah... but you don’t need to tell him, right? and then he winked, which the girl seemed to find hysterical.

Jack turned to Dylan, tilting his head in the girl’s direction. This is Maggie. She’s in one of my dad’s classes. Maggie, meet Dylan,

Maggie turned and winked at Dylan, who blushed instantly in response. Hi, Dylan. Thanks for helping bring this little guy down, she said, giving a troubled glance over the bird before noting down its weight and nodding to it again. Think you can take him over with the others without causing too much trouble?

With still-slippery hands Jack and Dylan did just that, and then Jack led him over to another bench where there were piles and piles of cleaning products just seeming to overflow there. He handed Dylan a wad of tissue to wipe his hands off with, looking at the oil stains on Dylan's clothes and wrinkling up his nose.

You gonna get in trouble for that?

Dylan looked down at himself and let out a soft grumble. Probably won't even notice. Though I should probably tell my parents where I am, he said, with no enthusiasm at all for what he was suggesting.

Where are they?

Dylan shrugged, his face still unhappy. Probably at the hotel.

Not from around here, then, huh? Jack asked, then cursed under his breath for how needless the question was. Thankfully Dylan didn’t seem to mind.

No. We drove down to see some family, Dylan replied, plucking at his stained shirt and frowning at it. Never really thought about birds much before. My uncle - Mom’s brother - works at the Everglades National Park, he told Jack then, turning a little towards him.

Seriously? The Everglades?

Yeah. My parents don’t like nature stuff much, so they just... dropped me off there when they went to visit some old friends, and I spent a few days with the rangers and stuff. It was awesome, Dylan added with an eager smile. We saw some eagles, and some heron, and... I forget all the names. Think maybe we saw some of these too, but I’m not sure, Dylan finished with, casting an eye over at the dead birds again, his smile fading away.

The Everglades is cool, Jack told him with his own somber smile, I like it. Not been for a while, though

Dylan nodded, looking down at the floor as though he might find the right thing to say there.

So how come you ended up here? Jack asked, leading Dylan over to a wash basin where he watched Dylan begin to furiously rub his hands together in the water.

Dylan hesitated for a second, raising his fingers and screwing his face up at the oil that wouldn't shift and sighing. Dad said we could drive up the coast on the way home. I heard about the crash on the radio and asked that we stop to look. Think he was just looking for a reason to call back to the office to check if he had any messages. It was at least a couple of hours since the last time,

Jack watched the way Dylan's jaw clenched up at his words and took it to mean he didn’t approve of his dad's behavior at all. As Dylan dunked his hands back into the basin in another attempt to clean them, Jack finally took pity on him, grabbing his wrists to pull them back out of the water, then squirting soap over his palms and handing him a nail brush, nodding for him to keep talking.

We’d stopped like... ten minutes before he agreed to another case, Dylan sighed, though smiling to see the nail brush and soap were starting to work, said he had to work on some stuff, and booked us into a hotel,

Jack got the impression that this was the sort of thing that happened all the time to Dylan, but kept himself from asking if that was the case. What about your mom?

Dylan shrugged as if he didn’t care, but Jack could tell easily that he did. She just follows him around, tells me to do what he says. She doesn’t do much of anything, really.

Jack cast his eyes down to where Dylan was now gripping around the edge of the basin with mostly clean fingers, stuck for what to say for a moment and feeling that he needed to be able to offer something to help.

With a decisive clap of his hands and a nudge against Dylan's arm so he'd know to shift out of the way so he could wash his own hands, Jack suggested giving Dylan a quick tour around the rescue site, to which Dylan readily agreed. Doing their best to keep out of the way of those doing such vital work, Dylan asked question after question that Jack did his best to answer and keep up with, feeling relieved that he managed to answer almost every one of them.

At the end of tour, which brought them back to where they'd started, Jack looked over to see Maggie taking yet more notes down for another bird being weighed, then dragged his eyes away again, needing to see something that wasn't death and destruction even, if it was only for a little while. Wanna get a soda or something? he asked, when nothing else came to mind, tilting his chin towards a small cafe further up the beach.

Shouldn’t we stay and help? Dylan replied, sounding so full of doubt, looking back at all the activity around them as though they were in the eye of a storm.

I’d love to. But I just keep being told I’m in the way, Jack laughed, before his face morphed back into sadness, and besides, he added, this cafe’s where my dad told me to wait for him. Wandered off when I got bored. He forgets... I mean I understand why, but... Anyway, Jack stopped himself speaking with a shake of his head, and coughed to hide his mild embarrassment at speaking so much more openly than he was used to doing. Soda?

Okay, Dylan agreed easily, nodding for him to lead the way.

***

So. I seem to be asking you a lot of questions, Jack smiled, sliding down into a seat opposite Dylan and shielding his eyes against the sun that finally seemed to be making an appearance. On the walk up he'd not really stopped asking Dylan things, finding himself eager to know even more about him, and now that they were sat, Jack found himself surprised at just how easily the questions kept on tumbling out.

Dylan shrugged, seeming unconcerned, looking around them at the terrace cafe they were in with its mismatched tables and chairs covered in faded green-striped tablecloths and cushions, before his