Labrador

I stood at the side of the boat, watching the water skim by. Pops came up and stood beside me. We were silent for awhile, until he spoke without looking at me.

“You know,” he said, looking out at the depths, “this water wasn’t always here. In my lifetime. This was land — good land, fertile land. We called it the breadbasket of America because it was where all the wheat, corn, and soybeans were grown. Now, not so much.” He sighed, sadly.

“We talked about this in school.” I said. “North America used to be one big continent, with oceans to the east and west, but no water in the middle, like there is now.”

“That’s right.” He said. “But, this isn’t the first time there’s been water down the middle of North America. Back, way back, like 75 million years ago, in the Late Cretaceous Period, there was a much larger waterway called the Western Interior Seaway that ran north-south from the Arctic Ocean to the Gulf of Mexico.” He paused, scanning the horizon. “That waterway formed partially because of geologic activity, and partially because it was the warmest period in Earths’s history, and all the ice caps had melted. It took sixty-five million years for the inland sea to form. It took humanity two hundred years to effect almost the same change.”

“But, it’s not as bad this time, right?” I asked. “We don’t have volcanoes, and earthquakes like they did back then.”

“True. But we’ve warmed up the planet so rapidly, and to such a degree that there is unprecedented melting of the polar caps, which is what caused the lowland flooding from James Bay, through the Great Lakes, all the way down the Mississippi, to the Gulf. Humans did this. And we knew we were doing it but couldn’t, for a second, consider beyond the impact on the economy, or conceive this catastrophic change in our climate would happen this quickly, even with all the warnings.”

I knew Pops felt responsible for these environmental changes. He was an environmental sciences professor, and had repeatedly warned that the changes were happening quickly, far quicker than had been expected. But his warnings had fallen on deaf ears. Now, twenty years later, here we were, environmental refugees.

In my short lifetime I had seen the changes, both in the environment and in the people. Things were getting worse — there were shortages, and price gouging, and people were scared. Scared people did dangerous things.

Pops and Mam had always talked about how things were when they were young. They were — what’s the word? — wistful. California had supplied the entire North American continent with food in unbelievable quantities and varieties. Now it was a barren desert because the Colorado River had naturally diverted into the Grand Basin, and fresh produce was scarce and expensive. The southern United States was completely changed. Florida was completely under water, as were the coastal areas of Louisiana, Texas, and Alabama. The United States had tried to protect its largest coastal cities, with mixed results. Miami was completely gone. New York City was the new Venice — subways had been abandoned, and flat bottomed boats were used to travel around Manhattan. They had attempted to build bridges from one building to the next, but the continually rising water prevented it from being successful, and the city’s economy collapsed. Los Angeles had lost its beaches and much of its downtown core. Erosion was threatening all buildings along the coast. Lower Seattle, San Francisco, Oakland, and San Diego were completely flooded. People who could never afford ocean front properties were now living the dream.

I had learned that there used to be five Great Lakes. Now there was one big lake — HOMES Lake, an acronym for the lost Great Lakes. Cities like Chicago, Toronto, Detroit were, for the most part gone, as the water rose to beyond the shores of the ancient Lake Iroquois. There was no Niagara Falls — both cities and the falls themselves lost to the waters of the Grand Basin.

The loss of so many major cities had caused a great migration of people. Any city located in the mountains experienced massive in-migrations. Refugee camps were being built outside of Denver, Taos, and Park City to house the homeless refugees. 

Looking out across the water, here was no land, just the Grand Basin as far as the eye could see. There were no bridges over the waterway, because it was continually expanding. Only boats could traverse it, and they were expensive. Infrastructure was disrupted, roads needed to be diverted, new ports and terminals had to be built, only to be abandoned when the ever-exanding waterway overwhelmed them. All this added to the cost of goods travelling from one side of the Basin to the other. The price of the necessities was brutal because manufacturing had been disrupted. New means of production had to be built, but there were no building supplies or machines available. 

Things were getting worse, but I didn’t know how bad. About a month ago, Pops had come home early from work. I knew something was up because he looked so worried. He called a family meeting — the three of us sitting around the kitchen table.

“Well, I’m officially out of a job. But, it wasn’t unexpected,” he said. “Enrolment was down, and the costs of maintaining the campus were too high, so they’re closing down the campus. It’s going to be used to house climate refugees.”

I looked at my Dad, socked. I had hoped to attend the same university that Pops taught at, but I guess that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

“What about the students?” Mam asked.

“I don’t know. They’ll finish out the term, then have to make other plans.” He paused. “My last day of work will be May 13.”

There was a long pause. I was too distraught to ask what this meant for me — you know, how was my life going to change. 

Mam and Pops both looked at me. “Your father and I have been discussing making a big move. We’d like to know what you think.”

Mam’s tone worried me. I knew whatever it was, it was going to be super big.

She took a breath. “We’re going to leave Spokane and move to Labrador in north-east Canada.

“Labrador?” I asked unbelievably. “Why Labrador?” I had a vague idea where it was, on a map, but move there? Right now our family lived in the Spokane Washington, on a plateau between the Cascades and the Rockies. It was always hot, and we were plagued by severe weather — tornadoes, hurricanes, and freak winter storms. And there was a six year drought plaguing the area, so water was severely rationed. But, it was the only home I had ever known and I didn’t want to leave.

“Labrador is the best place for us now.”

“Why?” I said, sounding like a petulant teenager, which I was.

“When your father and I moved to Spokane it was not only because of our jobs, but because the weather was better here — better than a lot of the USA. It was hotter than it used to be, but there were very few days over one hundred degrees. Plus there was plenty of fresh water. Most of the lower states had been suffering through decades-long drought, much of the crop land reverting to scrub land. This caused food scarcity, especially in the south. We felt that a move to Spokane would allow us to become self-sufficient and grow our own food. At that time there was still predictable rainfall, enough so that we could collect it and use it to grow fruits and vegetables in the back garden.”

Pops took over. “But the climate continued to change, rapidly, and the temperature got hotter and water became scarce and tightly regulated. We weren’t able to grow food on our land any more. Spokane had lost one of the main draws that it had for us — our ability to be somewhat self-sufficient.

“Then the Grand Basin started forming, flooding the land for miles on either side of the Mississippi. There is a fear that the flooding could eventually expand all the way to the Rocky Mountains, and that would leave us on a thin strip of land between the Pacific Ocean and the Grand Basin. Plus there is flooding on the west coast, squeezing more people into the highlands. Most of Seattle and Tacoma are experiencing severe flooding which is only going to get worse.”

“But, why Labrador?” I asked again.

“We’re coming to that,” said Mam, holding up her hand.

Pops took over. “We’re going to a place called Churchill Falls, inland from the Atlantic coast.”

“Okay, but why?” I asked again. I was getting stressed — why weren’t they answering me?

“I was contacted by some other scientists, and our family has been invited to become part of an experimental community to see if we can, as a species, reduce our impact on the environment, and possibly reverse some of the negative changes on the planet that humans have caused over the last two hundred years.

“Churchill falls is the best possible choice on the North American continent. It has a reliable fresh water supply. The temperature is such that it will allow for crop cultivation, and for now, anyways, it is free from atmospheric instability, like tornados and hurricanes. There are four seasons, although summer is by far the longest, but there are enough differences between the seasons to monitor changes in the environment. It is also far enough above sea level to be safe from flooding.”

I had so many questions. What about school? Were we going to live in a house? Are there going to be any other fifteen-year-olds there? Will there be electricity? How normal is my life going to be?

My parents answered all of my questions. Yes, there was school, and there were expectations that I could go on to college. Yes, we were all going to live in a house, but a much smaller house with fewer amenities. On the plus side, I would have my own room. Mam and Pops weren’t sure what the ages of the children at the settlement would be, but there would be children — it was up to me to make friends. Yes, there would be electricity. Churchill Falls was actually the site of one of Canada’s largest freshwater hydro-electric projects, and was still generating electricity — reliable electricity, unlike back in Spokane were blackouts and brownouts were common.

But my life, as I knew it, was going to change drastically. I was going to be expected to participate in life at the community. We were going to be part of a cooperative, and, well, I was going to have to be cooperative. I would have chores around the house, and around the community. Mam would be busy setting up the hospital and medical facilites, and wouldn’t be around as much as she had been when she was head of surgery at Sacred Heart Hospital, and Pops would be busy creating an environmental monitoring station. So, that meant that I would be on my own a lot more.

I have to tell you, I was a bit stunned. Earlier, my biggest concern was whether the a/c was fixed at my school because it was so hot (it wasn’t), and whether there would be any food in the cafeteria for lunch (there wasn’t). Now I was literally moving to the other side of the continent. I was leaving the USA, my city, my friends, my life. I wasn’t happy — not happy at all — but I understood that things were not getting better, and life was becoming more and more difficult.

“I don’t want to leave, but I guess I have to.” I said, honestly. 

My parents seemed to be relieved. Then Mam looked at me, using her super serious face.

“Ethan, we have one more thing we need you to do for us.” She paused. “You can’t tell anyone about this. Not everyone gets this chance, and we don’t want anyone trying to stop us.”

“What? Who would stop us? It’s not like we’re doing anything illegal.”

Mam and Pops looked at each other. “Well,” she said, “actually we are. The government has restricted the movements of certain people with certain skills. Medical doctors are one of those groups. I’m forbidden, by law, from leaving Washington state. I have to be here in case there is an emergency.”

“So,” continued Pops, “Please, don’t mention this to anyone.”

Mam jumped in. “We don’t want to put you in this position, but you can’t tell anyone about our plans. No one can know, so please, don’t say anything.”

And I didn’t. Not to my best friend Trevor (I was going to miss that guy — we’d been friends since elementary school). Not to my sort-of girlfriend, Miranda (who I was also going to miss, but for other reasons). Not to my teachers, other friends, or neighbours. I couldn’t even tell my grandparents. My parents assured me they would contact them once we were safely relocated in Churchill Falls. They felt it was safer this way. I was super stressed.

Two weeks later we fled our home in the middle of the night, and travelled using a new set of IDs. Mam and Pops were now Tess and Michael Blankenship, itinerant teachers travelling east with their son Eric, to teach high school in northern Maine.

We set out east towards the coast of the Grand Basin waterway. We only drove at night, stopping to stay with friends of the movement during the day when we slept.

Forty-eight hours later, we boarded a cargo ship, the Black Gull, heading for the Atlantic Ocean. The captain knew that we were fugitives, but he and the crew were sympathetic to our cause, and had agreed to smuggle us into Canada. That didn’t mean that we didn’t work for our passage — we did. We all took turns cooking and cleaning. Unfortunately, because I didn’t actually have any culinary skills, I was mostly relegated to doing dishes and cleaning the mess hall. 

Time passed painfully slow. I still had school work to do — Mam and Pops made sure of that. For relaxation we played cards, sometimes with members of the crew, and I did become pretty proficient at poker and gin, but I was bored and lonely. The youngest crew member was nineteen, but compared to me, he was a full grown man. We had nothing in common. I missed my friends and my old life. 

And it wasn’t always smooth sailing. There were a lot of storms, great huge thunder storms that tossed the ship on huge waves. This was where I learned that I didn’t have my sea legs. Mam had drugs that helped, but I continued to suffer from seasickness, constantly barfing over the side of the ship.

 The entire trip was supposed to take about three weeks, give or take a day. We had been travelling across the water for over two weeks. 

I took a chance and asked Pops the most important question. “Are we there yet?”

He laughed and smiled at me. “We should be there in about a week.” 

I sighed heavily. I could hang on. Hopefully. It was only a week. 

Later that night, Mam shook me awake.

“Ethan, wake up. Wake up!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked. She never called me Ethan. I was supposed to be Eric. I was worried. 

“There’s a boat that’s trying to pull along side us. The captain believes it is the security police. He can hold them off for a bit, but we need to hide. Now!”

We had talked about this — what to do if someone came after us. We quickly threw all of our belongings into our backpacks, stripped the beds, and rushed down to the lower hold. There was a secret hatch that lead to the bilge tank, where a small area big enough for the three of us had been walled off. 

We opened the hatch and climbed down. Pops shut the lid, and we descended into the dank darkness. We heard the crew moving a container over the hatch. 

We sat in the dark, waiting. If we were found out, it would mean prison for my parents, and I would probably be sent to a re-education centre for teens. My heart was pounding.

One hour passed. Then two. I sat frozen in terror, my eyes wide, seeing nothing in the dark. No on spoke. Then the sounds of moving containers was heard from above. This was it — we were either totally screwed or free. 

The hatch opened slowly. All three of us covered our eyes from the light. The captain’s face filled the gap. 

“Come on out,” he said. Pops went first, then Mam, then me. 

There was only the captain and crew — no security police, no one ready to drag us back to Washington state. I was so relieved, I thought I was going to pee my pants.

The captain told us we were safe for now, but he didn’t want to take any chances that we would be seen. We were restricted to below deck, and for the remainder of the trip we slept in the hidey-hole, but with the hatch open.

On the sixth night, we pulled into the small port at Mary’s Harbour. We were safely in Canada. I felt a wave of relief. We were met by a well dressed man who introduced himself as Martin Cane. He led us to his vehicle, a cargo van with no windows. We drove for the rest of the night, and through the morning, sitting on the floor in the back. Around noon we arrived in Churchill Falls. We had made it to our destination.

We were driven to our house, a modest bungalow close to where the old hospital stood. There we were met at the door by a woman who introduced herself as Marjorie Blaine, “mayor” of the project. She shook our hands.

“I’m so glad to meet you all. We’re so excited that you could join our community.”

“Thank you for bringing us here,” said Pops, looking around at the trees and foliage, something that had been absent from Spokane for so long. “I hope we’re not too late to make a change.”