I’ve never said goodbyes before. Not like this. I can’t remember Mama passing away. And though I waited and waited for Papa to come home from work, he never returned. In either case, there were no goodbyes.
Inside the hangar, ashen-faced, Grandpa manages a small smile as he indicates the letters gleaming on the side of the submarine. “I take it that was your idea.”
I nod at the name of my submarine: the Kabul. It looks perfect. Mama’s place of birth in Afghanistan and the city of Papa’s ancestors. I think Papa would love it. Every time he called me his Kabuli peree—his fairy from Kabul—his warm hazel eyes would shine even brighter.
A fair amount of activity is going on in and around the vehicle. Deathstar and several other crewmembers walk up and down the gangway, entering and exiting the vessel, making preparations for departure. All manner of last-minute checks are being carried out. The twins are inside somewhere.
Grandpa takes me to one side, and we sit on some portable wooden steps. He reaches into his pocket. “This is for Jojo.”
It’s a red collar with a silver bell. I shake the bell and smile at its chime.
“It was meant for Benjy,” he continues. “I was going to give it to him after the floods, when everyone was safe and we’d settled into the new place.”
I stare at him. He rarely talks about the time of the planet’s transformation, and I hardly ever ask. It’s such a difficult subject for him. “Gramps, you’ve never mentioned Benjy before.”
“Benjy was my dog.”
“But you never said . . . Why’ve you never told me you had a dog?” I lean closer, inhaling his familiar warm and sweet scent.
“What good would it do, child, to wallow in the past? Everyone lost something. We all lost somebody. And the animals suffered as we did. They panicked, ran kicking and screaming. Some tried to protect their loved ones till the very end. They drowned. Cats, dogs, cattle, wild creatures, billions of animals all over the planet, drowning.”
My heart drops, sinking lower and lower.
I’ve watched countless graphic simulations, all the live recordings, documentaries, and endless replays—we all have, and still do—of what happened. But they’re nearly always framed by someone else’s gaze. To hear a firsthand account from Grandpa, knowing it’s his own experience, is something else. No wonder he doesn’t like to talk about it.
I swallow and slip my hand in his. “And Benjy?”
“Benjy . . . he vanished when the tremors began. We searched everywhere, and then we had to leave for the holding centers.” He shrugs, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he made it and spent the rest of his days with a loving family.” He pats my hand at the thought.
My mouth trembles. I lean in even closer. “Gramps, did you ever wonder if your biological parents survived?”
He takes a shaky breath, his eyes weary and far away as he wraps an arm around me. “Constantly, in the beginning. Even though all evidence pointed to the contrary. And then it was confirmed a few years later—my parents were just two of the billions that died during the disaster.” He takes a deep breath and exhales it in a short puff. “People had hoped taking to the seas would save them from what was to come, but eventually all such last-hope vessels found their way to the bottom of the world.”
Image after horrific image flashes before me; I shudder. This is the most Grandpa’s said about that time.
He waves a shaky hand in the air. “And that’s when my aunt Esther took off with me—the moment she heard of my parents’ plans for us all. It was such a confusing time for everyone. It was chaos, everywhere. There wasn’t a scam people didn’t think of. And then there were doomsayers, and mass suicides, and of course those that welcomed the news, were excited at the prospect of such a dramatic change. The poor couldn’t afford to be excited by it, though; they never welcomed it, child.” He shakes his head.
I gulp. “How come you were fostered? Why didn’t you stay with your aunt Esther?”
“After the disaster, she became my only living relative. And she died six weeks later. Toxins from the water leaked into places, spreading disease and death. So many were lost in those weeks immediately after. Nobody had anticipated just how much water was held deep in the planet’s mantle. When the rock’s impact released it, the levels just kept rising, child. Where they would stop was anybody’s guess. Too many buildings didn’t hold up to the devastating reality, the pressure on them far more than had been accounted for. Traffic accidents . . . So many unforeseen matters.” He lets out a long, heavy sigh and squeezes my shoulder. “Respice, adspice, prospice.”
I swallow past the heartache, nodding. “ ‘The past, the present, the future.’ And I will, Gramps, promise. I’ll try to look in every direction, as best I can—always.” My voice is hushed. I squeeze his hand. “Do you miss it—the Old World? Did you spend years wishing everything would go back to how it was? Does that world seem like a dream now?”
“The memories remain very real. I’ve never quite forgotten the fear. And the nightmares never really left. Of course I wish we still lived on the earth’s surface. But you know, Queenie, the Old World wasn’t quite the utopia it’s made out to be. The reality was very different. The changes in the climate . . . It had become a frightening place. Certainly a far cry from the Lost World.” He chuckles.
The Lost World is one of the Campbells’ hotels. I visited it recently when the twins took me for a sixteenth-birthday treat. Located in Notting Hill, it reflects life in the first three decades of the twenty-first century, just before the whole planet was reordered in 2035. It’s the most blissful place I’ve ever experienced. Every single thing is perfect: trees grow, birds sing, flowers bloom, the sun shines, children play outside. It looks and feels like magic.
Grandpa tucks long strands behind my ears. “You made me so proud, what you did in the race, child. I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you. ‘And fill your hearts with love and selflessness . . .’ ”
“I know this, wait, Sri Sathya Sai Baba?” I bite my lip. He smiles, nodding. “But, Gramps, is it selflessness if you don’t want someone’s death on your conscience? Is that a selfless act, or were you looking out for yourself?”
“I never, ever want you to doubt that you are a loving human being, Leyla Fairoza McQueen. Do you understand?”
I nod.
His face eases into a smile, his eyes glistening as he taps me on my nose. “Meeting your papa was the best thing to happen to me. He doesn’t need to be related to me to be my son. He is my son. The McQueens are my family. You remember the day you took my vintage Dragon out for a spin?” He grins. “You were only twelve. I think I almost had a heart attack when I glanced up to catch you driving past my study in the sub. I saw my whole world come crashing down before me. I told myself I’d never see you again.”
“I’m so sorry about that, Gramps. It was such a smashing shade of purple, I just had to have a go.”
He chuckles. “You were deeply apologetic when you brought it back an hour later, but practically floating with exhilaration as well. You know, your mother was exactly like you, Queenie. Nobody could ever tell Soraya she wasn’t allowed to do something. Once she got an idea into her head . . .” He gazes off into the distance, a deep sadness in his eyes. “Your mother would have been so proud. I’ll be looking out for you; we all will be.” He clears his throat. “It’s a dangerous world out there, and I must do what I can to keep you safe, child. Please understand that whatever I do, it’s only with your survival and success in mind.”