When I can no longer see anyone behind me, I dive. My pulse races. I keep the joystick pushed forward until I’m just above the seabed. At last I balance the craft and pause to check on Jojo. The puppy’s all right. I turn to view the surroundings and jolt. I hold my breath until I understand where we are.
It’s an ancient theme park.
Huge arches of rusted metal tower in the murky depths before me. To my side a hefty sign, too oxidized to decipher, hangs precariously off another twisting frame that trails onward until it’s out of sight. Below me, the bulky carcass of a sea creature is lodged in a vehicle lying on its side, a giant ice cream sculpture sticking out from the roof of the van.
We rise a little, swerving sharply to avoid a falling corroded sheet, with its faded image of a huge wave of water still just visible; the sign sinks below, finally giving in to the environment. All manner of frames loom in every direction; some are broken, others carry on, disappearing into the cloaking depths. I stiffen as tiny pulsing lights move erratically in the space ahead. Eyeballs. I rise higher.
I’m above the roller coaster now and speed along its track. Seaweed wraps itself around the construction and fish forage in the rusty crevices. A quick glance over my shoulder: the blip of a light. An Eyeball on my tail.
I loop under and over crisscrossing structures. The craft zigzags in and out of a long horizontal frame that still has a row of cars on its top and swerves around a vertical grid. Pole after defiant pole looms in the cloudy vastness. More lights—I need to hide.
I take a quick scan of the area. Nothing that would conceal us. The pulsing of the Eyeballs grows brighter, closer.
I peer below. The sub’s ground light picks up giant cups. My gaze darts to the ride next to it. It has several toddler-size vehicles around the edge and enough room in the center for the sub, if I’m really careful. I inch the vessel right into the middle of the cars. Movement to my left catches my eye; there’s something in the vehicle next to us.
A huge overturned shell tilts to one side, and a single, slimy tentacle reaches out from beneath. Bright suckers run along its dark, glossy arm as it unfurls and feels the water around the car. The tentacle retreats, and the shell moves once more to hide the octopus. Please just stay there. Octopuses are so bloody clever and known to be extremely stubborn if they attach themselves to your sub. I really don’t fancy carrying one back to the Kabul.
I take deep breaths—one, two, three—and switch everything off. Total darkness. I gulp.
“Hey, baby, you all right?” I whisper to Jojo, and reach out to comfort her; the dark can be paralyzing. My hand catches Ari’s instead, and I jerk it back at once.
Get a grip. Thank God he can’t see my face, because it’s roasting.
Minutes pass. The odd light still pulses here and there. My heartbeat whooshes away. It’s such a dense space. Something flickers and moves past the sub. Hold on.
I mustn’t let the dread in. Not now. I can’t afford to.
My shoulders rise and fall. Again, something unidentifiable passes by. I sit on my hands. A sense that I’m sinking claws at me. Just about anything could be lurking in the cloaked waters, watching us. Waiting to swallow us whole, to cloud the depths with our blood. I shudder, my breathing loud. At last, the pulsing lights recede.
I let out a shaky breath. “It’s time to go.” My voice is small. Everything feels tight—my face, hands, stomach, chest. My thoughts. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them on my thighs before powering up. The sub’s fore light illuminates the surroundings and startles some passing dab that swiftly bolt away. I summon the Navigator.
“Oscar, coordinates for the Kabul, please.”
He appears, tilting his head. “The submersible is connected to the submarine, my dear. If you select the house icon, the Kabul will guide you home to her.”
Home. Where is that anymore?
What is Ari’s home like? I frown; who cares?
The water ahead is clear. I relax a little and only now realize just how tense I was. I initiate the tracking device and follow the route back.
Ari gestures to the water. “There is nothing to fear,” he says quietly. “It’s the same environment. It doesn’t change when you can’t see it. It’s still water, creatures, people in vessels. That is all. Nothing else.”
Well, of course you wouldn’t be afraid of the environment! I want to spit out.
Instead I hold back my words and look ahead.
He’s wrong.
You might not be able to see the dread, but it exists. It visits me in dark places. And has done so for as long as I can remember.
I fold the paper Theo wrapped my brolly in—Christmas Day seems like a lifetime ago—bending and molding it into shape, my still-strapped fingers mildly annoying. Jojo’s just eaten and lies snuggled up beside me in the viewport. The cozy glow from an orange Lumi-Orb on the floor beside us fills the space, the small sphere’s light warming the evening. League after league of the dark waters roll by as we press on. This morning’s excursion
in the sub could have had serious implications. . . . I need to be more careful. The news plays in the background.
A gulper eel swims up to the windows; its lengthy tail glows bright pink at the tip as it whips the water in the sub’s light. The long creature spies some shrimp, and its humongous mouth opens wide, trapping a good deal of water along with the catch. The unwanted liquid spills out through its gills as it gulps the meat down. My tummy rumbles. Ari is in the galley. He wanted to prepare dinner and suggested I rest.
Do Anthropoids never feel tired?
I can’t think too much on his identity without panic and confusion gripping me, and then it’s all I can do to distract myself from the fact. But I do know that what I saw in him previous to finding out his secret hasn’t gone away. I’m not sure what this means.
How can I think anything positive about him still, when he’s one of them?
The news on in the background is as gloomy as ever.
A corner shop was robbed at midday on its route through Liverpool city center; a passing bot spotted it and alerted the authorities just in time. The elderly shopkeeper was given medical assistance, and the vandalized vessel towed to safety. Next there’s a vote for which Old World ruin ought to receive special renovation treatment—Windsor Castle or Syon House.
How can your sense of nostalgia render you so shortsighted that you at once spend millions to stop the unstoppable disintegration of ruins, while also happily believing you’ll be leaving them behind very soon, to return to the surface? I mute the news and put on soft music instead.
Ari enters with dinner and places the large tray of food down in the viewport. Delicious smells waft around the saloon.
He points to the tray. “I chose at random.”
“Thank you.”
We both sit to eat.
He tucks into the saffron rice and lamb korma, gesturing to the food. He clears his throat. “Your mother was from Afghanistan.” It’s a statement more than a question.
It catches me off guard. “What?”
I can’t help visualizing the scene. An Anthropoid boy speaking to a human girl about her family, where she comes from.
I am a human being, he’d said yesterday.
I’m so tired. So many thoughts and feelings and I don’t have a clue what to do with them.