Someone who made me happy.
I can’t stop quivering inside. The tightness in my throat makes breathing painful. Ari should be here. Not dragged through the current as if he’s an animal.
What to do now? I can’t just stay numb forever. I must find a way to focus.
Except . . . How can we treat each other like this, though?
I peer out into the melancholy waters of the North Atlantic Ocean. I reflect on the strange truths that unroll before me and stretch eternally all around. Strange, maybe. But truths nonetheless.
Fear has immobilized us.
And it might be turning us into monsters.
Fear of those different from us has caused the slaughter of so many innocent Anthropoids. Fear of the water, and of moving on—of change—has caused needless human deaths. The fear is all-encompassing, a deluge smashing into the deepest chasm inside us all. Into the gaping gulf the floods created within us. The dread breathes in the palpable darkness that sweeps all around us, ceaselessly tugging away—I should bloody know. I thought hiding in London forever would help keep me safe. From the unknown. From life.
We’ll do anything to hide in a familiar past, hoping it’ll save us, distract us from facing this world. But trying to hold on to the Old World leaves nothing for here and now—only fear. And the seasickness is just one of the side effects of that.
I think this is why Papa was really arrested. I’ll know for sure once he’s recovered, but I think he suspected the truth, looked into it, and was caught—taken away without any explanation or trial. Left to rot in a septic stone cage. I’m certain his “crimes” are discovering lies about the government, and trying to do something about it. And I am so proud of him. I straighten.
Maybe if we weren’t bombarded with the endless promotion of despair, we might think and feel differently about our lives.
Imagine if we actually looked forward to the future . . . If we could go to the moon, then I’m sure we can bloody well survive on our own planet without the constant dread. There’s still so much to look forward to.
We’re living, deep down in this liquid abyss, beneath impossible pressure and in the darkest depths, on a sphere covered in water, rotating in a galaxy inside a cosmos within a never-ending infinite space. We with our skin and bones and muscle and hearts and souls and minds and hopes and dreams, are still being. We’re alive.
We aren’t untethered from existence. The universe still acknowledges us, wraps us in its glittering, expanding embrace. The moon still tugs away. The sun rises and sets as ever, sustaining us even now. They didn’t abandon us down here.
We abandoned ourselves.
But enough.
“Oscar?” I whisper through my aching throat.
The Navigator appears, draped in a purple velvet cape. “My dear lady?”
“Oscar, are you able to track Ari’s heartbeat in the water?”
Ari was wrong on New Year’s Eve. The truth can set you free. I won’t let it cage me. I mustn’t let fear determine what I do with truths. Even though I am scared. Absolutely terrified.
The Navigator inclines his head. “Ah, it pains to admit one’s shortcomings, but no, regrettably not, my dear.”
I peer into the water. Where’s Skye? Oh God, I hope they didn’t manage to hurt her when she went after Ari.
“And what about thermal imaging?”
“Alas, the sea is awash with living things, my lady. The gentleman Ari would not be the only form of life to radiate heat.”
Living things. Gentleman. Form of life.
“Oscar? You know where the Faroe Islands are, don’t you?”
I can’t make any mistakes. Not a single one. If I do, the authorities will be onto me. I recall Captain Sebastian’s words and shudder: Know this: Leyla McQueen and Hashem McQueen are currently this nation’s number one enemy. It’s too dangerous to return to Cambridge—not only for myself but for Bia and her people, too. Besides, we’re close to the Faroe Islands.
The Navigator bows his head. “My dear lady, you need only give the word.”
I have to find Ari’s community, his family. Hopefully they’ll know how we can help him.
“Turn north, Oscar. We head at full speed for the Faroe Islands, in search of some simple truths.”
The Kabul sets course and speeds up.
“Oh, but, my dear,” the Navigator says, “the truth is rarely pure and never simple.”
I look down and swallow. I nod, then take a deep breath and straighten. “But . . . there’s always hope, Oscar. Always.”
THE END