by Holly Hook
The light's growing stronger, dancing faster. Pieces of metal dot the carpet. Shrapnel. Wooden planks. Slivers. Something else brushes across my hair and for a moment it feels like I'm going to get stuck. I duck down and free myself.
And then the world opens up.
It's gray and blue and brown. The floor falls out into jagged cliffs of wood and metal. Mud stretches out below us and my skirt billows out like a gray flower as we step over the edge. I pull Simon away from the Gustloff and we drift out into the sea. The land slopes upward ahead. The wooden beams of dock grow up in front of us as we sink to the bottom. My feet must touch mud, because clouds of it explode around us. The water's murky with highlights of gray and blue.
We must be near where everyone is getting off. I look at Simon and nod. I hope he knows what it means: that we need to get away from the ship before we come onto land. Far away. If the military sees us surface, they'll know. They might even open fire on us. We're lucky the water's so thick with mud. It'll shield us.
I take Simon under the dock. And another, and another. We're drifting through a forest of wooden poles. I look back. The ruined hull of the ship is a wall fading away into murk. We're still too close. If we stay under the docks we should be okay. A glance up confirms that the water's surface is about ten feet over our heads. It shimmers with early morning light.
It could be minutes later, or hours, but another glance back reveals that we're far enough from the Gustloff that we can't see it any more. I slug Simon on the arm and point to the nearest dock. It forms a dark rectangle over our heads. Small boats bob up and down. It will have to do.
I kick my legs and Simon follows. The shimmering surface draws closer and I strike air.
It feels weird at first, thin. I suck in a breath and wipe the water from my eyes. I blink away blurriness and find Simon floating next to me. We're between two small boats, a gray one with rust and one that's painted bright blue. The wood of the dock spreads out in front of us. Through one of the cracks, I catch a glimpse of white houses with thick wooden frames. Somewhere, a whistle blows.
We must have been underwater for about fifteen minutes. Maybe more.
And I did it without losing my sanity.
“Julia, you did great,” Simon says. He parts the hair from my face and we kiss. “You conquered it. You overcame your fear!”
My heart pounds. I can't help but feel great about it, but there's a more pressing matter here. “Isabel. We have to find her.” I feel for the butterfly in my pocket again. “I still have our special delivery. Now for the hard part.”
“Now I know you've overcome your fear,” he says, reaching for the edge of the dock and pulling himself out into sunlight. He bobs up and down and his dark hair's plastered to his face. “You're calling this next part hard.”
“Well, we have Nazis to contend with.”
Simon's face falls. “True. How much do you know about them? I know you only had a year of education in Nancy's time.”
“Enough.” I grab onto the dock and scoot myself towards shore, ducking to avoid the side of a boat. “I learned about them in History. The teacher made us watch a film about them and well, it was bad.”
“That's why we're not going to get caught.”
We embrace. Kiss. It brings back that beach and that carnival where we met back in our original life. For a moment, we're no longer under a dock in freezing water during the darkest time in world history. We're home.
But we can't wait long. I separate from Simon and paddle towards the shore. The water gets shallower and a car clunks past somewhere above us. I think my foot strikes mud. I don't know. It's numb. We're on the edge of a drop-off. Above us is a rail separating the land and the sea.
Sirens go off in the distance. Ambulances. There must be injured people on the ship. They'll also need to go down and look for the dead. And for us.
“Let me go up first,” Simon says, coming up behind me.
“I've got it.” I grab the dock and hoist myself onto gravel and over the railing. My clothes drip and stiffen. I straighten up. We're standing at a row of ships. The sky stretches out gray above us. Docks and rigging fill the space between us and the Gustloff.
It's maybe half a mile away. There's a hole in the bow. It's barely above the water but from here it looks like a gaping maw into a dark cave. We just came out of that. Above it people stand behind rails and behind glass, anxious to get off. There's a crowd gathering around the ship. Men with cameras. People with notepads. Journalists. They're probably writing a story about the miracle ship that made it across the Baltic Sea with a hole in its side, a ship that shouldn't be here.
Simon and I changed history.
For the better or for the worse, I can't know. Whatever danger Frank was talking about is sure to come down on us now.
I'll worry about that later. The crowd's swelling but it's not big enough for anyone to have gotten off the ship yet. Isabel still needs to disembark. We can catch her.
“Simon...come on!” I grab his arm again.
“Wait,” he says, stopping. “Soldiers.”
I stop. The crowd moves a little and I see.
There's a line of them waiting next to one of the gangplanks, guns ready. A black uniformed officer that looks a little like Isabel's father waits at the entrance, ready to check everyone who gets off. Yeah, they're looking for us.
“Good thing we're not still on the ship,” I say. I spot some long, low buildings not far from the crowd. “Maybe we can go around these warehouses over here. The crowd's probably going to go through the soldiers and down this street. We can wait for Isabel there. If they only let a few people through at a time, it should be easy to pick her out.”
“I like that idea.”
Simon and wring out our clothes the best we can. My skirt's stiff. It's freezing solid in the air. I stomp to bring some feeling back into my legs. A tingle runs up them both. I know this can't kill us but it's not comfortable.
We skirt well around the crowd, over some railroad tracks and past a few houses where an old woman standing on her porch stares at us. I look away, grab Simon's hand and move on. It's best not to open our mouths or blow our cover to anyone. We can't trust anybody.
“Here,” I say, coming up on one of the long warehouses. We stand at the edge, in view of the street. The faint sounds of chatter float away from the dock. Across from us, quiet shops wait in neat rows, their windows dark. One of them has a wooden swastika above the door. An older man sweeps the doorway of another. “It looks like we'll have to wait for a while for her to pass by. Then we need to figure out how to get her away from her father.”
“It won't be easy.” Simon licks his lips. Gulps. "Her father could be one of the ones searching for us."
Slowly, very slowly, people start to trickle past as they head down the street and to a new life. There's more children than adults. Mothers keep their kids close. Nobody really talks. All the families drag their feet. It must be taking a long time for the authorities to check and make sure they're not us.
The feeling comes back to my limbs after the first half hour. My skirt dries and turns lighter. Family after family walks past. Some include soldiers, but they appear just as exhausted as everyone else and don't give us a second glance. Most don't. The first hour drags past and the air warms a little, but not much. My breath spirals in front of me. How long will we have to wait here?
And then, there's a figure in black walking past us.
I grab Simon's arm. It's him. Isabel's father. The skull on his hat shines silver in the dull light and the swastika on his arm band glares out at me like a twisted eye. He has his arm around his wife, who drags her feet down the pavement. My stomach turns. Isabel and her younger sister walk behind them. Isabel's still wearing her blue and white dress and her hair's stringy like she's in need of a shower. Her sister fares no better, with red cheeks. They're tired. That might work to our advantage.
I hand the butterfly to Simon. He nods at me and faces the street. We'l
l have to meet her up there. Follow her until there's a point we can get her alone.
"We should stay out of sight for now," I say. "I don't want Isabel's father to think we're following them."
"Good idea." I can't miss the nerves in Simon's voice.
The two of us creep up around the back of another warehouse. There's more noise up this way. A car motor. We're headed into the city. There's more people. That might be good. Or bad.
“Fence,” I say. The wooden fence towers over us by several feet. It separates the warehouse from a row of what look like apartments behind it. There's a hole near the bottom. I get on my knees and crawl through. The ground's like a rock on my knees. At least it's not muddy. We'll attract attention if we're dirty.
Simon comes through right after me. I help him up. He grimaces at me. “I'm not in the mood to get shot again.”
“I hear you.” He took that bullet on the ship. More than once, I realize. Isabel's father has shot him before, too. I can tell he's trying to mask his nervousness and he's failing. “Look, I'll try to get Isabel away from her father.”
“You don't have to.”
“I will. You shouldn't have to take all of this.”
“But her father might have heard our descriptions.”
He's right but I can't let that stop us. Everything depends on this. Everything. If Simon and I fail, we will never see my family again.
I crane my neck to look around the second warehouse. Isabel's father stands out in merciless black and surgical silver. They're walking into what looks like a store. There are clothes on display inside the doorway, flowered dresses and jewelry. I can't read what the word above the doorway says, but there's another swastika nailed above it. People mill around like it's no big deal.
Isabel enters the store. She stops for a moment to feel the skirt of a dress on display in near the front. Her parents must need to get the family some clothes after their trip. Her mother's got one suitcase. They probably left in a hurry to get away from the war. She's got no idea what she's standing in, what her father really is, what she's supporting.
Her innocence is about to die screaming and I hate that.
I pull the butterfly out of my pocket. I'm holding her memories, her Timeless ones that nothing can ever erase, in my hands. I know how to approach Isabel with this.
“Let me go alone,” I say.
"No." Simon takes my arm. "We agreed that I should go."
"Forget it," I say. "I'm going. I don't look as threatening as you do. I'm another girl."
"But at least let me come in with you."
"Okay. Deal. We just don't talk until we get Isabel out of there."
I look down to make sure my skirt is dry. I grab the fabric and sniff. Salty and musty, but I imagine no one getting off that cramped ship smells the freshest right now. We'll blend right in.
Simon and I cross the street. It's getting busier. Suitcases and luggage roll down pavement. Tired feet drag bodies past. A jeep drives towards the docks, full of soldiers in bullet-gray helmets. I keep my chin up, trying to look natural.
The store's cramped. There's a little kid crying somewhere in the back. People push around each other, grabbing at the coats on the racks. I have to squeeze around a rotund lady wearing a thin blue dress that's not right for this weather. How many of these people left home with the clothes on their backs?
There's Isabel. She's standing next to her mother and her sister, sifting through some bright red coats. Her eyes are tired, the blue in them drained to a dull gray. It's like she's not even there. Her mind's elsewhere, lost.
Her father's not with them, at least.
I nod at Simon to tell him to stay back. He returns it and disappears towards a rack of men's coats. Sifts through them. Good. We're blending in.
I pull the butterfly out of my pocket. It glimmers yellow, green, blue in the dull light. I find a glass case of jewelry nearby, stand near it, and pretend I'm looking it over. Nobody's standing over here--everyone's busy picking up vital things--but Isabel's gaze falls towards me. A little bit of life flickers in her eyes as she catches a glimpse of the butterfly. I don't blame her. It is beautiful beyond any of the jewels and necklaces in here. It's probably the first pretty thing she's seen in a long time.
I wave her over. Isabel glances at her mother, who's still picking through kids' coats, and walks over to me.
My mind goes blank. We won't be speaking the same language until I feed her Timeless memories back into her.
“Here,” I blurt before I realize what I'm doing. I hand her the butterfly. Crap. What's the German word for here? I hope it's close to that.
Isabel takes the butterfly as another woman brushes past us. There's no confusion coming over her face, only wonder. Either she hasn't heard me or the word's pretty much the same in both languages.
She looks up at me. Before she can ask any questions, I point to my hair. Right now we're just a couple of girls looking at jewelry after a long trip, but my heart pounds. We changed history. Isabel never became Timeless now. How can her memories still be in this thing? Simon had better be right that Timeless memories are immune to being wiped no matter what.
And I'm still here even though Isabel never pulled me out of that icy ocean. Why am I still here? I should be back to human already if Timeless Isabel never pulled me away from the Titanic. My mind's about to explode. I'll think about it later.
Isabel's fixing the butterfly to her hair. She figures out the clip and winces as it rubs against her scalp. The red light blinks. It's starting.
She catches her breath. Stands there, completely still for what stretches into half a minute. A young couple push past us, bags heavy with clothes. It's like Isabel's frozen here while the world keeps going.
Then she turns.
Faces me.
Her eyes are full of life, of fear, of memories.
“Julia,” she says.
It takes all of my restraint to hide my relief.
It's worked.
Isabel's Timeless memories survived us changing history after all. Simon was right about that. Arnelia has come through.
I know it's not wise for me to talk here. Isabel doesn't press me to speak. She looks around the store, checking every corner and every display. Simon's walking over, weaving through families. I give him a thumbs up. He smiles and steps over a little kid on the floor, picking at a fallen tag.
“Isabel?”
A tall, leering figure in black and silver looms behind her and blocks Simon's way to me.
Her father.
He holds his hat against his chest like he's trying to hide the silver skull. He pats her on the shoulder. Her mother stands behind him, bag in hand. They've made their purchases and they're ready to leave.
A new look comes over Isabel's face.
Revulsion.
She squints like she's trying to swallow worms. Her face darkens and she looks down, ashamed to meet my gaze. Her shoulder flinches. The air gets heavy with her pain.
Right along with her Timeless memories comes the truth about her father, the one she was happy not knowing, the one that there was no way to filter out.
Her father says something, probably along the lines of are you ready to go? Isabel takes a breath like she's trying to calm herself. She's at a crossroads. She could go with her family right now and forget about us. It would be easiest for her. Is she angry at me for giving her these memories back? She should be. Now she has to go the rest of her life knowing her father's a monster and the cause she supported is vile.
But she lunges for me and seizes my arm.
“Come on,” she says, pulling me towards the door.
“Isabel!” her mother shouts.
We're running now. Simon joins us at the door, weaving around a cart of shoes. There's no going back. Isabel's crossed the line, the point of no return.
The three of us break out onto the street, where another convoy of troops is rolling past. They ignore us but we draw the stares of the thickening crowd.
/>
“Keep running,” Isabel says. She lets go of my arm and we're sprinting our way up the street. “We need to find a rift somewhere. There must be one.”
“Not much chance,” Simon says. I remember him saying something about there being one every ten miles or so. “We'll need to open one. It'll take all we've got.”
I remember Simon saying something about it taking two or more Timeless to open a rift quickly. Isabel can't help with that now. It's up to me and Simon and I've never done it.
We split, going around a caravan of families pulling luggage. Simon and I rejoin and Isabel comes up behind us. She's breathing heavy. There's no way she can keep up with us now.
“We have to slow down,” I say.
Isabel catches up, jogging. Her father shouts her name again from behind us. “I can't look at him again,” she says. “We need to hide.”
The road splits ahead past a small clock tower. The crowd's thinner. I smell pastries. I search for a building we can run into. A bakery. A restaurant. “In there,” I say, pointing. If we're lucky, her father won't see us ducking in.
The three of us dodge in under bells and frills. It's quieter in here. Curvy chairs sit up against tables with purple cloths. A tired family sits in one booth and a waiter stands with a cloth hanging over his arm near the entrance to the kitchen. We're in a French-style restaurant. The waiter smiles and gestures us towards one of the tables. Isabel says something to him in German. One of the words sounds like minute. The waiter nods and Isabel leads us towards the back. We're headed to the bathrooms.
“Everyone in,” Isabel says, holding the door open to what I'm guessing is the women's restroom. "The two of you will need to open the rift in here. We have to disappear. My father's out there. And it's rude here to use a bathroom in a restaurant if you're not a customer." She speaks the last sentence like she's just trying not to think about her dad. I can't blame her.
The bathroom door swings shut behind us. I scan the room to make sure there aren't any feet in the stalls. We're clear.
"I've never opened one before." It's like we never even changed history. This is the same Isabel that we left back in the Hub.
