Last of its Kind

The lone falcon sat upon the rocky outcropping, its grey feathers blending with the rough surfaces about the bird. The black eye examined the surroundings closely as the head swiveled in a sharp, precise manner. Far below, the waves crashed over the rocks at the cliff’s edge. A soulless grey blue sky stretched overhead into infinity. With something that could only be described as a sigh the bird took flight. Stretching magnificent wings caught the invisible currents to which nature had attuned the animal. The razor sharp talons which moments before had secured itself to the tiny finger of granite now flexed as they were pulled in. Lazily the creature allowed the winds to take control.

Unnervingly and unknowingly it flew on towards the one peculiarity in the landscape. This abnormality could only be described as the sun, yet something seemed out of place with that definition. For the sun was warmth and brightness, was it not? This aberration was complete and bottomless darkness. An end rather than a beginning. Somehow though, the bird seemed unaware of this fact that seemed so obvious to the old man standing on the cliff’s edge below.

The wind coming up over the edge of the cliff whipped what little shrubbery fought out a meager existence in this harsh environment and tossed what little hair had survived a similar fight atop the old man’s head. His khaki polyester wind breaker and dark brown pants flapped in the breezes rushing at him, yet he seemed unfazed by their best efforts to knock him down or even distract him. The aged, wrinkled and spotted face was scrunched up in an effort to boost a failing eyesight. His gaze stayed with the airborne animal for a good time, watching the playful game between the currents and the bird. How gracefully it used the currents to gain flight, only rarely having to resort to the muscles within its body to flap those huge wings and sustain altitude.

Now though, the playfulness had left the bird’s flight, and the path of the falcon lay straight towards this antithesis of a sun which was rising behind the elderly man. Although it gave off no heat, rather it seemed to drain the heat and light from the air and the very landscape about the dark orb, he raised his hand to shield his eyes by instinct from this entity.

His other hand outstretched, he called out to the bird far overhead, “No, come back, come back…”

“Gramps, gramps…” The old man turned his head towards the sound of this familiar yet unexpected voice. His great-great-grandson Jimmy stood several yards away from him.

“What is he doing here?” The man thought to himself. “I need to get him away from here, this isn’t right. He’s not supposed to be here.”

“Gramps, wake up…”

Marcus awoke with a start to Jimmy rousing him from his nap. He straightened himself in his chair and looked about the interior of the vehicle, his gaze sliding over the dashboard before him with its reassuring lights and sounds telling him that it was really fine he was asleep, it could handle everything just fine. Finally, his eyes alighted upon Jimmy’s concerned gaze.

“I’m fine, I was just napping. What have you been up to?”

“Uh, nothing. Just some net games. You were telling someone not to go…?”

“Oh, sorry. Strange dream. Well, tell me. What do you think of coming to your first closing?”

“Uh…it’s ok?” Jimmy ended the response in the form of a question as if seeking approval for his choice of answer.

“Ok? Just ok? This is an important thing you know.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Jimmy trailed off, as if expecting some pre-prepared lecture to begin. As he nodded his head, he turned back to the screen on the dashboard where he was apparently involved in some game that appeared to be similar to chess or checkers. He must either be playing someone over the internet or the onboard computer.

“Well, regardless Jimmy, I really appreciate you coming with me to see this Closure.” The old man turned in his seat, adjusting the gold wire frames of his glasses. He looked expectantly upon the young boy seated next to him in the vehicle which was speeding down a wooded lane, hoping for more conversation on the topic with the boy. The automated vehicle handled every curve and bump in the road expertly, barely allowing the slightest jolt in the cabin.

The young boy, about 13 or so in age, cocked his head and looked whimsically at the gray haired man. “It’s no big deal Gramps. Closures happen all the time these days. Mom told me you wanted company and since I’ve never witnessed one I thought I’d go.” The skinny, tawny mop-haired kid turned back to the touchscreen in front of him, resuming his game.

Gently, quietly, the man sighed and let his face reveal the gamut of his emotions, from disappointment to acceptance of the inevitable. Suppose it was just the way these days, what with all the media these kids are exposed to and all its forms. Net feeds, holographic television, e-mail, satellite radio. Constant bombardment of music, games, and fantasy adventures. Nothing in the real world like this is of any significance anymore. Still, he hoped witnessing a Closure might impact Jimmy in some manner.

Breaking him from his reverie, the youth spared his great-great-grandfather an askew glance as he stated very matter of factly “And it’s Jim now Gramps, not Jimmy. I haven’t been Jimmy since primary school. You know that!”

“Yes, yes, I suppose I did.” ‘Gramps’ said softly, mostly to himself. For he did know that, but it was so hard after a dozen years to go from calling this exuberant brown haired, blue eyed joy “Jimmy” to calling this awkwardly tall, inquisitive and somewhat shy young man “Jim”. “Things change Marcus, things change.” He told himself.

Marcus controlled his seat to rotate him towards the glass windshield on his left. As they whizzed down the asphalt lane, embedded sensors beneath them invisibly guiding them to the Preserve like a gentle hand, he saw glimpses of the lake between the pine trees. Trees! Ha! He couldn’t help but let a small laugh escape himself, warranting a concerned glance from his young descendant, concerned if “Gramps” had finally lost it. Even the trees were sparse now in the cities. Trees for God’s sake! How hard can it be just to grow a few live oaks, elms, or some beautiful dogwoods? Spring memories floated back to him as if caught on a sudden breeze. Crisp afternoons in early March just after the last freeze. He and his brothers would run around in his parents yard, back when such things had existed. The blooms of the dogwood had just opened, and this lovely, gentle white cottony ball stood on a trunk in the middle of their yard. His father would be grilling real meat hamburgers on a propane gas grill. Quite a treat, those patties. He had always wondered why his parents would splurge on something like beef patties, when the vegetable ones tasted almost as good. Looking back though, Marcus realized that his parents were just doing the same thing he had tried to do as he got older. Cling to the remnants of a time and place that had slipped away. The part that hurt him the most was the fact that you felt like a bit of an oddity not accepting it all. As if you were standing in a town with thousands, watching the buildings crumble and fall about you, but everyone around you bustled on their way, ignorant of the change. In his youth, this frustration at the world at large’s acceptance of the destruction of the earth brought him to anger. Now, it just brought him to a state of resigned glum.

There were no more trees in the city now, no more yards. Only small, tiny stretches of grass barely choking out an existence in areas designated as “public green spaces”. Used to, people treaded over these areas so heavily in desperation to be near something green again that the grass was all but worn away. Now, most days it was just Marcus and perhaps one or two other gray haired fellows, on rare times a woman, perhaps with her daughter or granddaughter, just sitting on the benches and staring at the grasses. Crowding had been an issue at first, supposedly. To alleviate the situation, people moved into smaller and smaller apartments in vast buildings that reached towards the sky. Next, allergies were the reason to remove trees. It was argued that simulations could be made, genetic engineering could reproduce any needed species, and everyone’s allergies would be far better if trees such as dogwood were removed. Holograms could reproduce the beauty of these natural wonders should anyone ever so desire. Such a shame.

Here at least, on the drive to the Preserve, there remained a few trees, bushes, grasses, and even wild animals (Marcus hoped, for he had seen no signs yet of any). It was hard to tell though. The car drove itself at speeds in excess of 100 miles per hour, so little could be seen of the adjacent landscape as it blurred by. Only flora distant from the road could be focused on by the eye and viewed well. This region had a number of pines, but also some live oaks, elms, and even a few maples. Such a shame the Closure wasn’t scheduled for fall, the changing leaf colors would have been so wonderful to appreciate. Perhaps even Jimmy, er, Jim would appreciate the spectacle. Nevertheless, the sight was still gorgeous. The afternoon sun shone on the ripples of the lake, and the boughs of the trees swayed gently in the afternoon wind.

An image floated to the surface of his mind of nearly a century ago. He had been commuting to work and his vehicle was jammed with a thousand others in traffic. At that time, most vehicles were still manually controlled, even on the freeways. This typically led to an accident involving at least half a dozen cars every day on the major roads. This particular stretch of freeway ran beneath the street level surface. It was if some natural force had carved out a vast canyon, leaving behind a smooth cement surface. The evening sun shone over everything, casting the sky in purples and shades of red. The birds, the birds! Thousands of them were resting on trees, signs, even the edging of the feeder roads. Cawing in a thousand thousands of voices, every note different. Yet somehow, bouncing off the walls of that unnatural canyon, nature took that cacophony and transposed it to something beautiful. The signs then should have been clear. That many birds in such a small space…they didn’t have any other place to go. People had already destroyed too many of their homes in trees and bushes.

The gentle rocking motion of the car, the serene surroundings and his drifting thoughts must have done it. Marcus awoke to staring at his green cardigan sweater. Jimmy was nudging him awake. “Good grief Gramps! The drive wasn’t that long. We’re almost there.” Sure enough, the vehicle was gently beeping at him, slowly increasing in volume and frequency. Soon the vehicle would exit the freeways that allowed it to drive itself. Side roads, parking lots, and such still required the hand of a human to finish the journey.

Old and tired, yes, but he was still an alert driver with good senses. Modern technology did have its bonuses. Thankfully gone was the time that the elderly succumbed to illnesses of the mind and body, slowly losing their sense of the world. Marcus remembered faintly his great-grandfather when he was a young boy. Grandpa Thomas had been nearly 90 at the time. He was deaf as a board and his memory came and went. At times, they could sit and while away the time, just listening to the old man tell him stories of the twenty-first century when Thomas had been just a boy. Tommy, he said he’d been called. Strange to think of that tall, large old man as Tommy. The animals and plants had really been thick back then. People had front AND back yards supposedly. Marcus as a child could only imagine these vast mansions of homes (his great grandfather had grown up in vast home that had 5 bedrooms!) surrounded by rolling fields of trees, bushes, and flowers. Some families even kept animals around their homes too, cats and dogs Grandpa Thomas had called them. Marcus guessed to try and make it seem more like untouched nature.

From the stories Grandpa Thomas told him though, everyone took what they had for granted. People moved into smaller homes with smaller yards to make maintenance easier they told themselves. It was even popular to live in apartments like people did now. People lived in small spaces like that now because they had to, not for choice! Back then the urban sprawl was hardly noticeable. Most cities had no more than a few million individuals clustered around them. There were actually (again, according to Thomas, Marcus had seriously doubted this existed that recently) miles and miles of fields and forests separating some cities. He could remember asking his great-grandfather “So how did people travel from one of these cities to the others? On roads? Weren’t they scared with no city lights for miles and miles?”

His forefather would just cough a bit and laugh, trying to explain to the young boy that it wasn’t exactly deserted between most cities, but it wasn’t a continuous urban sprawl like it was now. It wasn’t until several years later that Marcus realized expanses like that still existed, at the time. Forests, plains, lakes, and swamps were still abundant at the time of his youth, just not prevalent in many urban regions like the one he had grown up in. It was only as Marcus had grown up that he had had to witness the horror of shrinking ecological zones around the world. At one time preserves had been common, and only been viewed as special untouched areas used to help protect some plants and animals. Now, preserves were special, they were Preserves. And they were few and far between, and housed the ONLY animals and plants other than those used for agriculture or other needs.

But, there were other times with Thomas that had not been so memorable. The old man, coughing and wheezing from the side effects of his addiction to some drug called tubakkah had looked at Marcus with glazed eyes, and not recognize him. The memories suddenly hit him hard of those encounters, moments best left forgotten. “Who the hell are you? What the hell have you done to me? Get this bastard out of my face!!” He would yell. Marcus’ mother and father would have to come rushing in to console the crying child and escort him quickly away. The cure for Alzheimer’s through retroviral recombinant gene therapy was still years away, and would be almost a decade too late for Thomas Milben.

Marcus guided the car in through the entrance, past the ornate granite stones bearing the words “South Central United States Government Flora and Fauna Experimentation and DNA Preservation Facility #8”. They didn’t even pretend any longer to preserve the animals, just their DNA. With the “miracles” of modern genetic technology, any animal could just be cloned and reproduced with an artificial uterus if it was ever needed. A wide selection for a gene pool existed in storage for every one of the thousands of species that had perished in the last century.

They drove down the wooded lane and the main complex of buildings came into view. Quite breathtaking really, Marcus had always thought. The tall buildings were connected by graceful bridges that appeared to be spun from spider silk. Giant glass domes bulged from the buildings where light could shine in on the homes of plants and animals. When they were occupied. Even from this distance, it was obvious. Most of these greenhouses and animal habitats were barren, empty. The large parking lot was fairly empty of vehicles, so Marcus drove towards the front near the building entrance. This Preserve would likely be closed down soon like so many others. Not enough species left, not enough work left to do to warrant maintaining this large of a facility. All of the DNA sample storage was offsite anyways, so there wasn’t much point anymore to a large operation like this.

The Preserves were relics of a different time and a different perspective. They were the last efforts of what had been known as the “green” or environmental movements. Their most basic arguments had been that some unknown deity-like force called Mother Nature had destined the earth and the lifeforms that existed on it had been placed together in a certain pattern for a reason. Start to take elements out of that tapestry, and the loose threads would unravel it all they argued. The food chain of animals and plants was interconnected. Remove pieces, and it would collapse. Early on, they had tried to preserve every species of plant and animal. Holistic attempts were made to repair or replace native habitats and sustain artificially entire environments. Opponents argued this was about as natural as a skyscraper, that man had moved in, and his destiny with “Mother Nature” had occurred. It was the time for certain species to die. But even the most simple of men could see through this argument when dozens of species would die in a single week.

The environmentalists had things going well for them for a while. Sure, they had their wins and losses against big business and urban development. Species still died, swamps still got filled in to make parking lots and stores. But overall, citizens and governments were aware of the need to protect the order of things as Mother Nature or God or whatever had seen fit to create. Nature preserves were created, and agencies funded to protect animals and plants. Things looked good. The rate of species dying off dropped significantly, pollution levels dropped, and there were many indicators that doing all this made for a healthier environment for humans as well.

Whatever changed, it must have been gradual to sneak in under the watchful eyes of the greens. Or maybe they just grew complacent and decided to take naps, and close those watchful eyes. Whatever, it happened. Technology was key, though. This time around, there was always a non-green answer to every problem where as before only the pro-earth folks could offer a real solution. Species began dying off again, population rates exploded as genetic engineering and other medical advances increased birth rates, decreased death rates, and made everyone healthier. Average life expectancy rocketed to nearly 130. Pollution started to climb. Now though, genetic engineering, nanotechnology, and all sorts of other bizarre solutions appeared. Huge amounts of simple crops could be grown due to transgenic alterations. Human cancers and diseases, often the result of problems in the air or water, were removed from the human genome, rather than fix the problem itself.

The interwoven web of dependencies that Mother Nature had woven was no longer necessary. The same affect still applied: If you pulled one thread out, others soon followed. But humanity was no longer a part of that web. Entire habitats collapsed, but it didn’t slow down people building apartments or stores at all. Complex nano-manufacturing techniques had man building anything out of anything. Stronger than steel girders from leftover cornmeal.

The Preserves didn’t come about until the Great Rain Forest Collapse. The only words that give it justice are awe-inspiring. The wrath of Mother Nature was immense. Live satellite photography was piped into every home on the face of the planet, and those who lived in orbit or on the moon. Apparently the fragile ecosystem of South American rain forests had finally taken too significant a hit from the urban development of Brazil and the pasturization of over 70% of the forests for livestock. Within a matter of weeks, every attack nature could muster in some sort of defiant self destruction occurred. Rots, fungi, and diseases spread like wildfire amongst plants and animals alike. While humanity had at large adopted a “we don’t need it anymore” attitude to wildlife, it did still appreciate the beauty of it all, and many things in the world still depended on natural products. Fires burned out of control throughout the forest. The massive amount of upheaval from the fires and dying trees (literally tens of thousands of them nearly simultaneously rotting and releasing gases) caused bizarre weather patterns never seen before and never seen since. It was later determined the fast spreading and growing fungi and viruses were results of failed genetic engineering attempts from several years ago. Meterologists had a field day as the gas releases and loss of wind breaks drastically shifted weather patterns. Marcus had heard one explanation that the collapse had acted like a vacuum, sucking the cold Andes winds down, and bringing them with horrific speeds to the warm Atlantic waters. Freezing blizzards swept across tropical regions, and massive showers poured down across arid regions for months.

After the chaos had settled, the governmental powers at the time gathered and issued a decree: the earth’s natural preserves would be saved and not plundered to prevent another occurrence of the mishap that had just been witnessed. Preserves were created, animals and plants studied. DNA samples were taken, and the sciences of cloning, artificial reproduction and genetic engineering advanced in giant leaps.

Soon though, it proved pointless. Even the weather could now be controlled to prevent little things like habitat collapses from getting the poor urbanites in New York Jersey too wet. Too many species had already died to hold together most habitats. The small enclosures created at the Preserves could maintain the environments for a period, at very high costs to run. But why? So important medicines and materials could be preserved for future needs? Everything could be synthesized. So children could witness the beauty of nature? Three dimensional holograms and immersive virtual reality were indiscernible from reality, other than you didn’t have to worry anymore about bad weather or insects or stepping in animal excrement.

People lost interest and so did the governments. Wildlife was still studied and “preserved” in the form of DNA samples. Environments, carefully controlled, still existed to grow some livestock and agricultural products. Patches of grass, small forests like the one around this Preserve, and the rare occasional insect, worm, or small rodent roamed the Earth. But they were few and far between.

Marcus began to pull the car in under a tree, and reflexively swerved to park in an uncovered spot. It would be evening soon, and the birds would roost in the tree, and likely cover the car in something very much found in nature, but VERY undesirable.

“Gramps…you can park under the tree! Duh!!! You do remember what Closure we’re going to, right?” The boy just looked like ‘I can’t believe my great-great-grandfather just pinched my cheeks in public’ as he said this.

Tears formed in Marcus’ eyes. “You’re right, Jim, you’re absolutely right. Silly me! Now, let’s get going, we don’t want to be late.” He parked and deactivated the vehicle and climbed out along with Jim.

He took Jim’s hand in his and ambled slowly up to the main entrance. “Jim, I want you to be very serious when we go in and really think about the Closure and what it means.”

“I know what it means. I have read about them in school Gramps. The last living member of a species or phylum is being killed using intravenous drugs. It has some sort of grand significance to the balance of things, so you’re supposed to come watch as the natural process of life unfolds.” He recited, as if from a textbook.

“NO!! That’s not it. I mean, yes, that’s what happens. But it’s certainly not the natural process. Man had quite too large a hand in what’s happened to try and give all the credit to nature. A Closure is a very sad thing to witness Jim. It’s the closure of a chapter in nature, and thus, in humanity. That’s where it got it’s name from. When they first started losing the species controlled in the Preserves, and decided it wasn’t worth continuing to artificially create members of the species, they realized it was important that we paid our respects to nature for the mistakes we have made. Try to think about that when we witness the Closure today.”

Afterwards, they made their way quietly into the building, and followed the signs to the small theatre where they could watch the process. Down quiet halls lit by fluttering fluorescents they walked. Consoles along the walls were showing information about various species the Preserve held. Marcus grinned at the antics of a monkey jumping about in a bush as the narrator spoke about the medicial benefits found in this particular species blood. Most of the consoles were quiet though. Silent tombstones for a species, each with a label underneath the console. “Caninus lupis” one stated. “The American Grey Wolf” it translated underneath. Sounds like an interesting creature he thought.

Finally, they arrived at the theatre. Sadly, Marcus looked around the small theatre which could likely only hold 30 or 40 people in its rows of plush red chairs. At his first Closure, he had been in a small stadium filled with thousands of people, many sobbing. Today, only a lab technician stood off to the side in a white coat, probably studying the process so he could Close someday as well. At least the profession was held in respect, if that meant anything. Perhaps that was actually a bad thing. Marcus didn’t know anymore, and wasn’t too sure if he cared. A gentle sob made him turn his head towards the shadowy back of the room. A small, elderly woman sat with a kerchief, wiping her eyes as she stared at the dark glass wall before them.

“I had a canary once as a very little girl.” She said, looking at Marcus.

“Really?” He asked. “Your family must have been very rich. I’ve seen pictures and heard recordings of their songs. Beautiful creatures I must say.”

“Yes, I had seen a holo vid of one and forced my dad to buy me one. It didn’t live very long, had some sort of genetic defect, but I adored hearing its lively song. I was so amazed such a little thing could sing with such heart.”

About that time, the dark glass wall was lit up from the other side. They all three stood and looked in.

Within was a small room, sterile looking, as if from a lab or hospital. A team of three or four scientists stood around a small table in white coats. Nearby stood a certified witness, carrying a book which could only be the Book of Closings. Marcus’ eyes blurred as he saw the large number of pages already turned, and likely written on with the names of countless species that had passed. Not every species passed, no one really knew if the last mosquito or e. coli or one of a thousand other tiny species had died. But major species of animals had been noted. There were plants too likely to be suspected, but in some final act of triumph against nature man had decided he was wise and powerful enough to decide which species were “worthy” of being noted in the Book of Closings, and that plants did not fit in that category. Perhaps man himself should not be listed within? Marcus mused to himself.

Entries like “Rhodesian Ridgeback, Canine” and “Bear family” existed, Marcus knew because he’d witnessed them.

The scientists parted from the table they had been surrounding to reveal the unfortunate guest of honor of the day’s ceremonies. One stepped towards a microphone to dictate into the system what was happening, and to give the situation some sense of formality and ritual. Marcus glanced towards Jimmy to gauge his feelings. But he couldn’t determine what they were, for the boy just looked as if he were seeing through the room beyond the glass wall, his gaze lost, likely in thought. Well, hopefully Jimmy was thinking about the horrible significance of this event. He hoped someone like Jimmy could make a difference in the future. They would just have to see.

He, Jimmy, the lab tech, and the sad woman all gazed through the glass at the creature lying on the soft white blanket on the table.

Surely in full health it would have been beautiful. But today this creature had most of it’s feathers missing, barely recognizable as the grand creature the doctor announced it as, “the red tailed falcon, last of its kind and last of the avian family. This creature is approximately 3 years and 4 months old and is dying from a cancer of the brain and lungs which has spread to the skin. Chemotherapy and retroviral therapy have helped but proved cost ineffective in curing the species, which has no known medicinal or agricultural relevance, and has thus been chosen as unneeded and fit for Closure. On this day, I announce the closing of the phylum Avian. I am now administering a dose of 125 ccs of retalrhyazine which should allow the creature to pass quickly into a harmless sleep and soon thereafter death. Time: 4:03 PM”.

Marcus felt a smaller, smoother hand grab one of his own gnarled hands and squeeze lightly. Marcus gave a squeeze back to Jim’s hand, saddened that Jim had to experience this, but inspired at the same time that this had made a difference to his great-great-grandson.

And with that, the book was closed on the last bird.