I clear my throat. “They’re mostly only rumors. Like this ‘Broadmoor’; there isn’t really a top secret torture prison—” Ari turns to me, and the bald man also makes to speak, but I press on, forcing my voice to sound certain. “It’s a lot of scaremongering, that’s all. I do have to go now, but thank you for the invitation and your concerns. I’ll be seriously careful.”
The rest of the group looks sad, but they nod with understanding. The spokesman, however, tsk-tsks and his face tightens. “You think you’re too good for traditions, don’t you, missy? Getting all high ’n’ mighty and—”
Enough. I end communication and instruct Oscar to continue with our journey, and try my best to avoid Ari’s now irritated stare. Moving on proves difficult, though.
The group blocks our path. Whichever way the submarine turns, they drive right in front of it, preventing us from speeding off. The sub could simply continue, but these people might be hurt if they don’t move out of the way. And above us is border patrol.
Ari’s expression is unyielding. “Why not fire a warning shot?”
“Look, can you please just stop?”
Reluctantly, I contact the insistent craft again. The spokesman folds his arms and gives a slight smirk and knowing nod. “Changed your mind, love? Follow us.”
I purse my mouth. “Do you think this is ‘peace-loving’?”
His eyes narrow. “Just maintaining traditions. Someone has to.”
“Don’t manipulate the memories of those gone before us. Stop using them like this.”
His face hardens. I stick my chin out. The others look uncertain and even shrug apologetically behind him.
The thin man wipes his mouth, his eyes wide. “Oh, you’ve gone and done it now, lassie. You best be off right away. No backchat allowed, I’m afraid, nope.” He glances hesitantly in the bald man’s direction.
The spokesman shoots him a seething look back, scanning the group questioningly, before folding his arms and sneering my way. “Listen. You can’t—”
“Enough. Be on your way.” Ari moves beside me. His breathing is fast, his nostrils flared. His voice is dangerously low as he bares his teeth at them. “You have exactly one minute, or we fire on you.”
I nod along with his words, though I’m not too sure about the firing bit.
Papa’s gaunt face flashes before me; the hunger he silently endured so I’d have enough to eat. Shame on me. Wasting time here when I should be moving forward. I take a deep breath. So close now. I check the time. Has it really only been hours since I left the hangar? I could’ve sworn it’s been several days.
The spokesman shakes his head. “Oh, you’re going to regret threatening us, missy! Prepare to—”
I instinctively end communication. “Oscar. Defense mode on and rise now.”
As I suspected, the water immediately fills with firepower. Thankfully it’s old and weak.
Ari’s beside me by the window. “Why aren’t we returning fire?” He shakes his head and places his hands on his hips. “And we’re rising? What about border police?”
“We’re far bigger and stronger; we can get away without hurting them or damaging their craft. Besides, apart from their spokesperson, the group is actually well-meaning. And we’ve no other choice now but to ascend. Down here we have all sorts of obstacles. At least up there we only have the one. It’s time to rise up out of this—this strangeness and risk border patrol in the clearer waters. Better what you know, always. And we’re very close now anyway, won’t be for too long. We should be all right.” I chew on my lip.
Ari watches me. His hooded gaze—fringed by long dark lashes—is conflicted. Seeking something. What? He swings his attention back to the water, running his fingers through his hair. “Why do you have to be so stubborn?” he asks quietly.
Huh? I blink at his question.
He waves his hand. “You could have ignored them. Forced them out of the way!”
“Why would I do such a thing?” I snap.
He shakes his head and clamps his jaw. I fold my arms as I peer into the water coursing around the viewport. The submersible is still doing its best to block the Kabul from rising. They risk everything hovering above in its path. I order the sub to keep ascending.
Reluctant to test the higher, turbulent waters, the craft eventually drops back. I scan for border patrol. Not only is Epping Forest not a designated
border-crossing point, but also no crossing is permitted for twenty-four hours. We press on.
We’re now at the forest’s northern tip. The Bell Common Tunnel will soon be beneath us and once we cross over it, we’ll be out of London. Finally.
I pace the floor. “Keep going, Oscar.”
Then, most frustratingly, my entire body trembles. I gulp for air, stumbling back.
Ari’s beside me in an instant.
My insides quiver. The room goes funny, moving around me. The space sucks me in.
His brow creases. “What is it?”
I gesture to indicate that I’m all right and make my way to the sofa. Slumping down, I concentrate on my breathing. He stands beside me, staring, his thick eyebrows drawn.
“I’m fine,” I insist, but he stays put. “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine in a minute.” Except there’s such a weight on my chest, it will crush me, surely.
I’m leaving London.
Everything familiar, everything I’ve ever known, will be behind me. Everyone was right. I know nothing about what’s out there. Anthropoids on the rampage, random security checks, and strange people who at the very least could halt my search for Papa. Who the hell am I kidding, thinking I can do this?
My chest aches. I take deep breaths. “Oscar, maintain speed.”
I grab my bag and rummage through it before emptying the contents onto the floor: sweets, tiny gadgets of all kinds, the odd paper model, miniature emergency kits. And handmade maps. The few I made especially small so I could always carry them around. They comfort me when I need it. I open one up, staring at it.
I close my eyes. All the maps I’ve created over the years, far too many to recall. Papa always marveling at them, trying to provide whatever I need so I can indulge. The excitement of making one . . . The thrill of discovery and pinning the exact location down. I love making them.
I frown as I open my eyes. The idea of exploring is exciting. Definitely terrifying beyond belief, too, but there’s no doubt about it—I’ve also always found it thrilling.
Ari kneels beside me, his eyes narrowed as he checks the maps. “You made these?”
I nod.
“Why? Why would somebody who’s spent her life afraid of leaving London—”
My face burns. Why did Grandpa have to tell him that?
“Of ever crossing the borders,” he continues. “Why would she make maps? Maps not only of London, but the whole country?”
There are gold specks in his questioning eyes. Dark stubble covers his chiseled jaw; his face is quite perfect, really. . . .
I open my mouth, but no words come out.
“You were right,” he continues. “You’re stronger than you look. Your grandfather asked me to keep you safe. But not because you are weak. It’s because they will do whatever they have to, to achieve what they desire. You are not safe around them.”