After a while, his shadow slips from the wall and the basement stairs creak under his weight. Maia lets out her breath. She does not move again until nightfall.
Hours later, Maia slides back up the wall. Gripping the dewed netting, she grimaces from her aching back. Her knees throb as new blood courses through her joints. The ship has been silent for hours. She glances around the corner down the dark steps, a gaping mouth into the basement.
She feels her way down the stairs, horrified when she reaches the creaking step once again. Fourth step down, fifth step up. Not that she’ll ever come out here again. She tiptoes blindly across the basement with her hands in front of her, slowly sliding and tapping each foot before her like a cane. She has memorized the steps required to get to the toilet, but this is new territory.
When she reaches the outside wall of her room, relief showers over her. She latches the door behind her as slowly as possible and then crawls back to her nook under the blanket. Her heart pounding, she keeps her head to the ground and strains her eyes against the blackness. Her dinner bowl sits empty once more, or is it still her old bowl?
Lucas. Could he see her? It seems he was searching for something out there. She feels for her crate in the darkness and carves another tally into the wood, fervently praying that it won’t be her last.
Twenty-Five
Maia spends the next few days on high alert. Every thud reverberating across the floorboards sends a shiver up her spine. Every visit from Davies bringing her food and water, every creak outside her door, every bang or commotion in the slightest sends her body to the ground as she focuses her gaze on the space beneath the door.
Lucas continues to come and go from the storage room and each time she shakes violently under her nook, gripping her knife with both hands. She stares at the curtain, waiting for it to open at any time. She’ll swing her knife at him. She’ll lunge. If they drag her out, she’ll fight to the death.
I’d rather shoot you dead and put you out of your misery before letting them find you.
She won’t let them take her. She didn’t come all this way … no, she won’t allow it. Once again, she prepares herself for the fight of her life, the same way she prepared for the elders of the Northern Tribe. Not that there is anything she can do besides hide alone in this nook.
She curses inwardly for taking such a huge risk and exposing herself in the light of day. How could she be so foolish? She was desperate for it, the sun. She craved it. The fresh air and open skies were intoxicating, numbing any sense of logic. Now that a constant sense of terror has consumed her every waking minute, she cannot fathom how she could have been so careless.
After three uneventful days, Maia’s deep tension slowly begins to unravel. She uncurls her stiff fingers from around her knife and slides it back into its case. When Lucas comes in once again, she leaves it by her side, too tired to panic. She lays her head on the ground and watches his feet.
He stands nearer the door, three rows of crates away from her, and pulls a few boxes down, shuffling through them. After nearly six weeks of hiding, he has never once entered the last row of crates where her nook sits tucked in the back corner. She often wonders why. Maybe he knows about her, has an agreement with Davies to protect her. Or maybe her area is off-limits. This seems more likely. At least this is what she tells herself to stop from hyperventilating when it seems her capture is imminent.
Maia has memorized this Lucas’s voice, the shuffle of his feet, his tattered sandals. Some days he whistles and other days, depending on the severity of the muffled voices above, he curses in a foreign tongue. Or at least this is what she imagines he does as she listens to his dark, hushed tone.
Today, as usual, Lucas’s feet stay turned away from the row of crates where Maia hides. He picks up a box and grunts as he places it on a shelf. He sighs. Maia reaches for her knife as he shuffles closer. He pauses for a second, then works his way down the next aisle, and then around towards the last. He stands just around the corner, rummaging through a box in an impatient manner. His feet continue to face away from her. Despite herself, Maia keeps her head to the ground and very carefully lifts the bottom corner of her curtain.
His dark brown hair falls over his face as he rummages through a box. His hand dives deep within the crate and he looks up. She flinches, dropping her curtain.
For the first time in her life, Maia feels something she’s never felt before: drawn to him. Curious. She lifts the corner of the curtain. He closes up the crate and places it back on top of the stack. The deep grooves of his muscles are tense on his arms, his cut yet slender body visible through his oversized sleeveless shirt.
He sighs again and surveys the room. She slowly drops the curtain. A smile slides across her face, surprising her. Lucas. She watches his feet as he turns and walks towards the door, latching it quietly behind him as he exits the room.
Footsteps suddenly pound down the basement stairs, startling Maia out of a deep, mindless slumber. It’s late. She has already been out of her nook to use the toilet and stretch. She fumbles in the dark to close her curtain but the latch of her door has already clicked open. Bright light streams across the floor and she falls flat to her back, uncovered and holding her breath. A pair of soiled, neglected boots enter the room.
“Fucking rats!” The stranger scuffles and kicks, missing the large brown critter as it frantically scurries beneath the crates, heading straight towards Maia’s face. She recoils, but the creature is unfazed and dives into her bundle of hair on the ground. Her hands snap up to her mouth as she forces herself not to move.
The man stands at the open door. The rat burrows itself deeper into Maia’s hair and she heaves back a retch. Chills run up her spine. The man scuffles forward.
“Okay, where are you?” he slurs. His belt buckle clanks as he fiddles with it.
Maia’s heart pounding, she keeps her eyes fixated on his feet as her hand searches the ground for her knife. He shuffles forward again, his large boots just around the corner from her aisle. One step forward and she will be found. She reaches for her curtain.
He grabs a crate and leans forward, the top of his balding, scabbed head peeking into the aisle leading to her nook. He coughs and hacks a mound of yellow mucus onto the ground. He slides forward, his belt buckle hanging below a hard, extended belly. A sour smell wafts from his body and he hacks once again to the floor.
Maia’s trembling hand pulls at the blanket stuck on the slivered crate above. It won’t budge. A tear rolls down her cheek.
More steps pound down the stairs and a familiar set of boots appear at the door.
His voice booms through the silence. “What the hell … what are you doing?”
“Davies, you scared the shit out of me. What does it look like I’m doing?” the old man slurs. “I’m looking for the pisser.”
Davies laughs nervously. “Well, you’re not going to find it in here, you old drunk. Come on, you’re in the storage closet.” His feet slide towards the old man’s.
“For fuck’s sake, whereindahell did it go?”
Davies quickly shuffles the man out, slamming the door behind them.
Maia lurches forward. Chills race up and down her body as she squirms out from under her nook in a panic. She shakes her head and the rat races underneath the crates lining the back wall. “Get! Get out of here!” she whispers, stabbing her knife under the crates.
The rat scurries towards the door and squeezes underneath, leaving Maia on all fours, gasping for air.
Twenty-Six
“Darling, hurry!”
Her mother reaches out; the ominous city looming behind her is now bigger, closer, encroaching. The buildings tower into the sky and the sun glints off their vast network of metal and glass. The wind has picked up, angrily heaving surges of waves against the shore. Maia shields her face as they break at her feet, blasting a white spray into the air.
Tears glisten on Maia’s cheeks as she stands alone with clenched fists, a fiery temper burning wit
hin. She inhales to scream but is silenced as a single crack travels through the ground between her feet. A menacing roar thunders through the air as the crack splits in a hundred different directions. Before she can brace herself, the earth drops out from beneath her and she plummets into the water below.
Her body once again sinks as if being pulled from the deep. She strains her hands through the sun-pierced water, reaching for her mother who stands above, shaking her head in disgust. Maia flails about, sinking as the darkness swallows her whole.
A flashing beacon from the top of a skyscraper appears, shooting waves of red light into the deep gloom. Another building appears. And another. Maia sinks lower, the brightly lit windows flowing past in greater succession until she lands softly in the middle of a busy city street.
Shielding her eyes from the bright sun, a few air bubbles escape Maia’s mouth. They float up into the sky, then disappear with the surrounding water as if being sucked by a vacuum. Her hair slaps wet across her back as the weight of gravity pushes against her feet. She stumbles back, coughing and gasping for air.
Hundreds of people heading in different directions go about their days, taking no notice of her. Cars zoom past on the streets. Motors hum, cars honk, doors close, heels click … the noise coming from every direction hits her like a shockwave. She flips and twists and turns, watching as more people than she has ever seen in her entire life pass by in opposite directions.
Everyone seems to be holding conversations, laughing, talking, agreeing … with no one. They pass by, one after the other, with distant eyes, looking into something Maia cannot see. She reaches out to a young man walking by, horrified as he passes right through her.
A woman’s shrill voice yells from behind. Maia turns to find her leaning against the glass of a storefront, tears glossing over her bloodshot eyes as she screams at no one. Maia reaches up to touch her but her fingers slide through as if made of air. The woman’s eyes dart back and forth as if she were reading. Maia follows the woman’s gaze, searching the surroundings behind her. She turns back to the woman, bewildered. The woman’s fingers—they flicker into the air at her side.
“Yes, I’m looking!” she screams and Maia jumps back. “I’m looking right now. They haven’t raised the prices online. You go back in there and demand a reboot of their sales staff. They clearly haven’t been updated. Stop yelling at me!” She pushes off the wall and heads in another direction.
Laughing. Glasses clinking.
Maia follows the noise into a building’s open front doors. A flickering sign, BAR, looms above. She finds a large room filled with people standing at tall, circular tables with dividers extending up above their heads. Four to a table, each person divided from the next. Every person is drinking, a few eating as well. One man is taking a shot, lifting his glass to the blank partition. Laughing. Talking. Nodding his head. With no one.
“Aw, thank you, ladies. Cheers!”
Maia looks to the table closest to her. A tall, slender woman is holding up her drink and for a brief moment, Maia can see other women reflected back on her dividers, seemingly in other places like this one, holding up their drinks. Their arms all have icons lit up on their skin. The bottom of the partition reads, “CONNECTED.” A small rectangle is flashing in the corner with the word, “CHARGING.” Astonished, Maia moves closer to the screen but the women disappear. The woman standing next to her starts laughing.
Maia slowly wanders the room. The establishment opens to a handful of other rooms brimming with tables filled with people, all talking into the air. Not one person is speaking to another. Not one person is looking at another. Stairs lead the way to a second floor. The noise is deafening.
A large bar extending the length of the back wall is lined with patrons on tall stools. No dividers. Their eyes unblinking, they stare into blank space like robots. Their fingertips hover just above the wooden bar, scrolling, scrolling, scrolling. Their arms lit up like fireworks.
CONNECTED.
CHARGING.
A small child with fiery red hair shoves past, her giggle trailing behind her like dust in her wake. Maia looks after her in shock, clearly having felt the child’s hands push into her side. The child’s giggle travels over the noise, reaching Maia in soft waves as she weaves through the crowd. Maia strains to see past the bodies, just missing the girl’s face as she stops at the doorway.
With the crowd closing in, Maia barrels her way through, slicing through the oblivious patrons like a ghost. The child runs out onto the street. Maia steals one last glance at the woman with her partition of friends, now looking intently at the empty space in front of her, nodding her head.
As Maia steps out onto the sidewalk, silence falls over the city like rain. The people, the cars, the honking … everything disappears, leaving behind an empty, dripping, murky city. Maia glances back towards the bar, now dark and deserted. A long ribbon of seaweed hangs off the chair where the woman was just nodding her head. Water drips from its green tendril into a puddle on the floor.
Maia’s mother calls out to her. Her voice reverberates against the drenched city buildings. Maia slowly wanders the empty streets. She steps over a flopping fish, its gills opening and closing as it slowly suffocates against the wet cement.
Her mother calls again. Maia turns to see her standing down an abandoned alley, smiling and motioning for her to come.
“Mum.” Maia grins like a child, relieved, and runs down the alleyway towards her.
Her mother smiles tenderly, then slowly disappears as Maia approaches. Maia stops but her footsteps still echo down the narrow alley.
The small child peers out from behind the brick. She giggles, then runs across to another alley. Irresistibly drawn to her, Maia follows the sound of the child’s laughter through a complicated maze of soiled brick corridors, always just missing the child’s face.
Rounding another corner, Maia stops in her tracks. Situated at the end of the narrow lane is her old wooden cabin, nestled in the heart of the city. Maia gazes tenderly at her home. The little girl now stands on the front porch, reaching for the front door.
Maia’s mother’s face flashes before her. The child wanders inside, leaving the door open. Maia reaches out her hand as she shuffles towards the cabin, drawn like a magnet. Her mother’s face flashes before her like lightning.
Maia ambles up the front steps. The old wood groans as it always has, but she pays it no mind. She keeps her eyes fixated on the open front door. The child’s giggle echoes from within.
Crossing the threshold, Maia finds the young girl facing the fireplace, standing next to a man. With his back towards Maia, the man crouches next to the child and tenderly sweeps a red curl from her face. Something about him is so familiar. Maia strains her eyes but her vision blurs. He turns his head to the side as Maia’s world dims into blackness.
Twenty-Seven
Maia awakens to an unfamiliar noise. Grimacing, she rolls over and peers under the crates. Nothing but a network of thick cobwebs and a few dead roaches on their backs, their legs pointed towards the sky. She rubs her temples, the visions from her dream filling her head like a foreboding fog.
It smells different in here. Something is different. She peeks out from behind the curtain. A small plate of food sits around the corner. Davies never brings food in the middle of the day. Confused by how long she was sleeping, Maia looks up at the window. A hazy soup of gray clouds covers the sun. She touches the notches on the crate. Maybe Davies was feeling generous?
Maia peers out again. This plate has a few candies on it. She hasn’t had anything sweet besides a few half-rotten apples. She checks again under the crates, scanning every inch of the dusty floor before cautiously sliding open her curtain. Half-asleep and curious, she crawls towards the food, her mouth salivating. She slides the plate back into her nook and pulls the drapes closed.
“I had a feeling you’d do that.”
A loud thud shakes the floor as two feet slam to the ground. Maia’s curtain is ripped open
. She sits wide-eyed and shaking as they stare at each other face to face, neither one saying a word.
Lucas’s face is angry, his clenched fist ready to swing, but as he takes in the sight of her, his demeanor fades to confusion. “You are the one I saw the other day…”
He surveys the state of her in her cramped nook. His skin is rough. Lines trace out from his brown eyes and his sculpted jawline is sharp under a shortly trimmed beard. His gaping mouth clenches shut and he lowers his fist. “Who are you?” he asks. The accentuation of his r is drawn and sharp.
Maia cannot speak a word, shaking and gripping the plate. Her candies one by one bounce to the ground.
“Please, please.” He grabs the dish. “Stop with the shaking. I am not going to hurt you.” He picks up the candies one at a time and drops them back onto the dish. He nervously eyes the door.
Maia can’t stop staring at him. She hasn’t looked at another human this close in what feels like a lifetime. He’s beautiful.
Lucas turns towards her. “Listen,” he bites in a hushed tone. “You must be more careful. You are not supposed to be down here. Do you not know how dangerous some of these men are? It will be very bad if you are caught.”
“I know.”
He flinches, eyeing her like an illusion. After a moment, he regains his composure. “So, it was Davies, yes? He smuggled you on board?”
“No.”
“Right. No—I want nothing to do with this. This is dangerous, especially for a woman. Do you have a death wish?” He thrusts the plate back at her. “You are the reason he put me down here. It all makes sense now. I had the perfect job diving for food until Davies threw me down here. Now I know why. It is because with one ear I cannot hear. No. I will not cover for you. I knew someone was in here, but a woman? No.”
The Weight of a Thousand Oceans Page 14
