Plastic Treaty

Supernatural eco-horror. Environmentalist Eva Steinbeck seeks revenge against her corporate lobbyist nemesis, but gets more than she bargained for.

The Plastic Treaty is a real world event. But the specific happenings and people involved in this story are, thank goodness, fictional.

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Eva Steinbeck, a well-respected environmental scientist with PhDs in biochemistry and law from Harvard and Cambridge respectively, kicked the wall of her hotel room, hard. Nothing came from it except a sharp throbbing in her toes.

Still, at least pain was something she could control.

Hopping around the room, Eva cursed the world’s governments for being spineless cowards. She cursed consumerism and human greed. But most of all, she cursed Giles Stephens.

Corporate lobbyists were all vile soul suckers in her book, yet this particular lobbyist had really gotten her goat. He’d oozed so much smarm that the first time she saw him, she had literally shuddered, and his accompanying smirk was enough to incite one to murder. Her fellow NGO delegates had to restrain her from lamping him there and then.

At the time, she’d appreciated them holding her back. Now she wished she’d thrown them off and done it anyway.

As an NGO observer, Eva wasn’t allowed anywhere near the real meat of treaty negotiations, where national delegates hashed out the fate of the world. But there were opportunities to “participate” and “make statements”, and she and the team prepared with a fierce due diligence, as if by pouring their heart and souls they could fight the tide of profit.

It had all been going relatively well until about halfway through Eva’s speech, when she’d spotted the blonde, slick haired slimeball swanning his way into hall, taking a seat right behind her.

Eva was ruffled: the stench of the man’s cologne was enough to make anyone gag. But she’d persevered, condemning the harms of the petroleum-based product that was choking the seas and clogging the beaches and burrowing into our brains and blood. Holding up a plastic coin to illustrate her point, she was about to reach the crux of her argument when she became aware of a noise.

It began slowly, so quiet that she thought it might be her imagination, but building to a powerful crescendo that could not be ignored.

Giles Stephens was blowing raspberries.

Eva stuttered. Eva stumbled. She could feel the flecks of spittle on the back of her neck. The UN representatives seemed oblivious to what was occurring, or choosing not to notice. But from the rumble around the room, this was not in her head. At last, she stopped short and turned around to face her nemesis.

‘Will the representative behind me,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘do me the courtesy of kindly shutting up?’

Giles Stephens looked innocently back at her, the artificial light shining off his greasy hair in a budget halo. His puppy dog eyes seemed to say, who, me?

Muttering under her breath, Eva carried on with her statement.

‘As I was saying. If we don’t take decisive action now—'

Pop!

Eva spun around, like a schoolteacher trying to catch a kid in the act. Nothing. She turned back to her speech.

‘As I was saying. If we don’t place limits on overall production—'

Pop!

‘—we will be condemning ourselves and future generations—’

Pop! Pop, pop, pop!

The sound came from all around her, from every side. The truth dawned.

It wasn’t just Giles. Every single damn lobbyist was popping their cheeks behind their laptop screens.

Eva stopped talking. She threw down her piece of paper.

Dead silence in the room. Eva cleared her throat. She opened her mouth to deliver her final remark.

Giles belched loudly.

That did it. The crowd of lobbyists erupted into a fit of what could only be described as unbridled hysteria, leaning over their tables, their faces scarlet with mirth. Even the national delegates began sniggering like schoolchildren.

Rage and shame flooded Eva. She could have handled heckling; she was used to people screaming at her, their spit spraying as they called her a woke liberal shill. She could have deal with being patronised, kind smiles and a “that’s nice, dear, but the grown-ups are talking”. She could have even handled blank indifference.

But this was something else.

It was like being at school again, keeping your head down as the bullies threw ice cubes down your jumper and chanted, “Four-eyes! Four-eyes!” while your peers watched on. Letting it happen. Letting you feel small.

Eva wasn’t 12 anymore. She was a grown woman, educated and accomplished, with right on her side. She knew exactly what to do.

Eva leaned towards her mic. And, in loud, clear and no uncertain terms, she told the whole world exactly what she thought of this debate, these lobbyists, and most particularly of all, Giles Stephens.

They cut her off before she reached the C-word.

#

Foot still throbbing, Eva collapsed onto her hotel bed and shut her eyes. She told herself to go to sleep, because in the morning everything would feel a little better.

After ten minutes of thrashing her body into every sleeping position imaginable, Eva flung herself onto her front, pressed her face into the pillow, and howled out a cry of pure frustration.

The sound hung in the air, as useless as her speech. Because that’s all it was, at the end of the day – a speech, a bunch of hot air, ineffectual and pointless. Giles’ behaviour had made that very clear.

Face still buried in the pillow, Eva wished as a child might wish that there was some other way. Something concrete she could do that would make things right. Something real.

And as she made that wish, she felt a shift.

She didn’t hear a sound. Didn’t feel the hairs on her neck stand on end. But she knew, in no uncertain terms, what was happening.

Someone was in her room.

Heart thudding, Eva realised how just helpless she was. She had no weapon. Her phone was in her bag, on the opposite side of the room. If she cried out for help loudly enough, someone might come. But who knew how quickly?

She lay there for a moment, wondering if this was all in her imagination. Perhaps she was just overtired. If she could just shut her eyes and drift into sleep…

THERE ISN’T TIME FOR THAT, I’M AFRAID.

Eva almost screamed but bit the sound down. The voice wasn’t exactly coming via her ears. It was as if something very deep and very dark was being projected directly into her brain.

‘W-w-who are you?’ she mumbled into the pillow. ‘Are y-y-you trying to kill me?’

IT WILL BE EASIER IF YOU LOOK.

No! every instinct yelped. The pillow is safe! But she forced herself to peel her face away from her polyester stuffed, cotton covered protector and look at what was, you could loosely say, talking to her.

At first, there was nothing. Then, in the corner of the room, she became aware of a shadow. A dark and rather solid shadow. Like a group of shadows had come together and pooled all their resources for economic reasons.

The shape congealed. It stretched. At last, it stood before her: tall and crimson, with two dark curled horns, batlike wings and goatish hooves.

Eva opened her mouth and a sort of hmmmrrrghhhhhahhhhh noise came out. She thought about running, but it was a dim and distant thought, that in no way had control of any of her limbs.

The demonic creature appraised her thoughtfully. Then, with a sudden pop, it sucked its features into itself and rearranged into her old Maths teacher, a man in his late sixties with a soft voice and swept back grey hair. The only difference in his appearance was his eyes, which were the colour of blood.

And perhaps it was this erring detail, or the kindly smile the figure was bestowing upon her, that caused Eva’s brain to snap.

Grabbing the bedside lamp, the nearest available heavy object, Eva leapt from the bed and brandished her new-found weapon in front of her.

‘Listen here, you- you thing,’ she snarled, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. ‘I have had the day from HELL. So whatever you’re trying to do to me, I’m not going to take it lying down!’

And with a warlike scream, she brought down the lamp with all her might on the man’s head.

His red eyes met hers with an infinite patience, the kind she remembered from when she was struggling with quadratic equations. She might as well have struck him with a sheet of tissue paper.

Eva slumped onto the bed, defeated. She wanted to cry, but try as she might, her tear ducts wouldn’t play ball.

‘Go on, then,’ she murmured. ‘Kill me.’

The man sat on the bed next to her and patted her arm. It was an oddly cold sensation, inhuman but not unpleasant.

I DO NOT WISH TO KILL YOU.

‘So why are you here?’

YOUR ANGER DREW ME. STRONG AND DEEP YET FULL OF PAIN. I WAS CURIOUS.

‘You want to torture me.’

NO.

His explanation washed over her, a strange tide against an exhausted shore.

WHEN ENOUGH EVIL LINGERS IN A PLACE, SOMETHING COMES INTO BEING. IT IS NOT ANYTHING YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND. DEMON MAY BE CLOSEST, OR PERHAPS SPIRIT.

I AM ALL THAT IS DARK HERE. ALL THAT IS SELFISH. ALL THAT IS INDIFFERENT TO SUFFERING. ALL THAT IS CRUEL.

Eva gulped. ‘That sounds… bad.’

JUST BECAUSE I AM BORN OF SUCH THINGS DOES NOT MEAN I AM THEM.

‘I suppose not. So what do you want, then?’

I REMAIN NEUTRAL IN HUMAN AFFAIRS.

Against all better judgement, Eva scoffed.

YOU DO NOT BELIEVE THIS.

‘Neutrality is just an excuse to let the world burn.’ A choke of emotion ran through her. ‘What’s the point?’ she burst out. ‘All anyone seems to cares about is their fat pay checks and their point scoring when their own planet is dying. And they get away with it, too. They always get away with it. It’s not fair!’ The last word was a scream, a childish cry in the night. Not fair. Not fair.

Her kindly old maths teacher looked down upon her with his new red eyes.

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY IF WE COULD REDRESS THE BALANCE?

Eva frowned. ‘You mean… get revenge?’

SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

The red eyes stared back at her, so inhuman, so odd, but with intelligence and understanding. It felt like she was being let into some great secret. She found herself edging closer.

‘What did you have in mind?’

#

The following morning, Eva walked to her seat at the back of the room with exaggerated care. She was stone cold sober, yet it took all her effort not to stumble.

What is this doesn’t work? she thought, putting her laptop on the table with shaking hands.

TRUST THE PROCESS.

Her colleagues looked at her with worried frowns, like she was a five-foot five malfunctioning nuclear reactor that might meltdown at any second.

She smiled weakly back at them. ‘Sorry about yesterday.’

A chorus of “it’s fine”s and “so long as you’re OK”s came back. They were all so well-meaning and kind and bloody millennial about everything. She was both touched and infuriated in equal measure.

HUMAN SOCIAL DYNAMICS ARE VERY INTERESTING.

‘Shut up,’ she hissed, and the woman next to her flinched.

‘Sorry, not you. It’s just so noisy in here and I’ve got a headache.’

The woman nodded, eyes flickering around the half-empty and rather subdued room, where the buzz of quiet chatter barely went above murmur levels. Damn it. She would have to keep her comments internal from now on.

Slowly the room began to fill, and she watched with a pang as the representatives from various island nations took their seats.

BE PATIENT.

She took a long, slow breath. These discussions had been going on for years. The least she could do was wait five minutes without losing it.

At last, she saw him: Giles Stephens with his gang of cronies, who all seemed especially good humoured. Giles was, of course, still eating a bacon roll, and the meaty smell wafted strongly through the room. You weren’t supposed to eat in here, yet the guy tossed the half-eaten roll on his little table, not even bothering to put it away.

The last remaining knot of doubt in Eva’s stomach untightened.

She got up, murmuring “excuse me” over and over as she moved along the row towards Giles.

He took a little too long to stand up for her, and his bodily waft of bacon, cologne and hair oil made her feel both hungry and nauseated at the same time. Still, she gritted her teeth and budged past.

As she did, she slipped the plastic coin from her pocket, dropping it onto his table. Her new friend, if she could call him that, would do the rest.

HE WILL THINK IT IS ALL HIS IDEA, OF COURSE, he had told her.

It hadn’t been a comforting answer. Still, she had to rely on it now. The fate of the whole world might rely on whether this was real or the psychic projection of her over-exhausted neurons.

The session started off as usual; predictably boring, technical and obtuse. Eva found her eyes wandering to Giles and his pals, who were mostly on their phones and paying very little attention. Their lack of basic respect for humanity even bled into their meeting etiquette.

At last, comments from the floor were called for, and Giles’ team were the third selected. Eva found herself drumming the desk with impatience as an NGO representing the interests of Pacific Island nations condemned the watered-down language of the latest Treaty drafting.

Come on, come on…

Finally, the speaker sat down. It was Giles’ turn.

Eva sat listening to him, her jaw slowly widening. What shocked her was just how reasonable he sounded. Yes, he understood the concerns. Yes, he knew the scale of the problem. And yes, how he sympathised with those nations most unfortunately affected. The industry hadn’t taken enough responsibility in the past. But this was changing. They understood now. They would invest every bit of innovation and technology to rewrite historic wrongs and care for the planet and its most valued custodians.

But they had to understand. These things take time. Change takes time. Hearts and minds must be won. And people needed plastic. Didn’t they all have plastic around them, right here and now?

He leaned down and picked up a coin.

There’s an old Chinese proverb (Eva winced at the incorrect attribution): When the last tree is cut, the last fish is caught, and the last river is polluted; when to breathe the air is sickening, you will realize, too late, that wealth is not in bank accounts and that you can’t eat money.

But I say to you – we’ve gone beyond that point. Technology has taken us beyond that point. Dare I say it, capitalism has taken us beyond that point. A different, modern kind of capitalism. A human-centred capitalism. A caring capitalism.

Together, we can create a world that dares to dream. A world that says, we can have it all. We can preserve our planet, in all its beauty and majesty and wonder. And we can have money.

And, with a single gulp, he swallowed the coin.

A collective gasp went round the room. Giles smiled his wide, winning smile, and waved his arm in airy thanks.

Then his face went boardroom white.

He clutched at his throat. His eyes bulged in their sockets. One of his cronies tried to slap him on the back, but Giles’s face was still a silent mask. Someone screamed, ‘Does anyone know the Heimlich manoeuvre?’ A member of conference staff started sprinting towards him, shouting at everyone to make way. She stopped abruptly.

Golden plastic oozed from Giles’s lips, forming a solid coating around his head. The lobbyist was rapidly becoming a Grecian death mask, a man with no eyes, mouth forever open in a silent scream.

The plastic stopped pouring. Giles flopped forwards onto the table, and lay completely still.

No one moved. No one even dared breathe.

The member of conference staff, presumably trained in first aid, at last shook herself into action. She approached the collapsed figure, holding out a tentative hand.

Cobra-quick, the monster formerly known as Giles reared up. With frightening strength, shoved her to the floor, pressing his cold, dead plastic face against hers. The woman let out an awful, chilling scream, then fell still. Her mouth opened. Gold plastic poured out.

The room erupted, people leaping over chairs, scrambling for the exits, only to find them locked. They hammered on the doors, pounding their fists, crushing themselves as the monsters roamed free, claiming more and more victims, the melted plastic smothering them in final, frozen masks.

Eva sat there. Rigid. Watching as if through glass.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned, half fearing, half wanting the plastic to finally swallow her. But it was only an old man, wearing black sunglasses. He pulled them down, revealing red eyes.

‘You promised justice…’ Eva’s voice was small.

THIS IS JUSTICE.

Eva watched three delegates from the Pacific nations back against the wall, menaced by the monsters.

‘This isn’t justice. This is wrong. You have to stop this. Stop it now.’

NO.

‘But they’re innocent!’

AS I TOLD YOU. I AM NEUTRAL IN HUMAN AFFAIRS.

‘You’re evil,’ Eva whispered.

As people died around them, the creature that looked like her old Maths teacher lowered his kindly face towards her.

WHAT DOES THAT MAKE YOU?

#

The plastic plague lasted two years.

There were outbreaks in all major cities, with death tolls particularly high in the developed nations. Quarantines and army control and mass graves.

A horrible two years. A hellish two years.

Yet humans have a knack for survival.

As time went on, and memories of the horrors faded, some even said that the plague, while terrible and tragic, might have even been for the greater good.

Eva wasn’t so sure.

She didn’t hear the strange voice again. Never saw the demon, or shadows within shadows. Not even an old man, with a kindly smile and blood red eyes.

But she felt it. That unspeakable, inhuman benevolence.

Sometimes, late at night, or very early in the morning, she’d dream of monsters with golden mouths. And sometimes, on the worst nights, she’d wake to something cold and hard in her throat. She’d cough and heave for a long time, finally spewing the contents onto the bed.

A single plastic coin.