Hunting for Antibiotics in the World’s Dirtiest Places

On a chilly autumn morning in northwest London, just outside the Euston train station, Adam Roberts stops at the top of an outdoor staircase, looks around for police, and tries to appear inconspicuous. This is harder than it sounds, and not only because he’s 6 foot 3.

Roberts pulls a plastic-wrapped package from his pocket, tears it open, and slides out a long, slender tube and a swab that looks like an overgrown Q-tip. After checking again for anyone watching, he trots down the stairs, dragging the swab along the handrail, and slips the swab into the tube and the tube into his pocket. Then he strolls away.

After a block, Roberts veers off busy Euston Road and down side streets toward his lab at University College London. He’s not up to anything nefarious—quite the opposite—but with closed-circuit TVs everywhere and London on high alert for terrorist threats, he worries about raising alarms. Only once he reaches the middle of St. George’s Gardens, a green space of big trees and old tombstones, does he relax.

What Roberts has just done, in an action that he and people who support him have performed hundreds of times, is to return to a practice that was abandoned more than 40 years ago. He has sampled the environment, hoping to find in the dirtiest, most germ-filled places an answer to one of the most pressing problems of our day.

Drug resistance—the ability of bacteria to defend themselves against the compounds we use to kill them—has impaired the effectiveness of almost every antibiotic produced since the first ones were developed, in the 1940s. At least 700,000 people are estimated to die worldwide every year from infections that no longer respond to antibiotics. That toll could balloon to more than 10 million a year by 2050 if we can’t slow the spread of resistance or find new drugs; routine surgeries and minor injuries