The Light at the Bottom of the World

by London Shah

  Right, time to get going, but first I dig my feet deeper into the warm white sand, stretching and curling my toes. I bend down, scooping some up and letting it run through my fingers. The ground quivers faintly beneath me.

  I peer closer. Grains of sand jump up before my eyes as I feel another tremor. Is that normal? I straighten, glancing around. Nobody else seems concerned. Maybe it’s a new addition. Perhaps they’ve installed—

  The sky flickers, and then the birds begin to disappear.

  A seagull flying low over the distant horizon vanishes, only to reappear frozen in flight. I take a step back. If it’s only a technical failure, why does the ground feel funny?

  At once, the whole sky—along with every cotton cloud, kite, bird, and the shining sun—turns to rigid lines of vivid color. I shiver. Others notice the changes, looking and pointing above them. It’s very wrong. In the absence of the blue skies, the entire arena has taken on a whole different aura, an uncomfortable and surreal tone. My stomach rolls.

  Alarms ring out. The lighting dims inside. I glance upward and freeze.

  The colorful stripes are gone. In their place is the see-through roof of the resort. All around us the vast, dome-shaped cover, never before seen from the inside by holiday goers, is now fully visible. With no holograms or projections to disguise it, the real thing is terrifyingly jarring against the safe and staged interior. The dark evening waters sway as they beat against the structure. Somebody cries out, and chaos ensues.

  People abandon deck chairs, and those gathered around the Punch and Judy show and the candyfloss and ice cream stands disperse in seconds.

  An animal, the biggest I’ve ever seen, swims over the roof of the resort and down to one side. A giant moving shadow. I stand rooted to the spot, a cold stinging in my chest. It’s some kind of whale, gliding to and fro. Every time its dark form comes closer, the bigger it appears, its empty eyes staring. Ominous red lights flash all around me, and then an announcement:

  “Brighton Pier is under Anthropoid attack.”

  Oh my God.

  “Please evacuate the building in an orderly fashion,” the voice continues. “Do not stay. Please remain calm but exit immediately.”

  The place fills with terrified screams. The warning keeps repeating itself. The resort’s staff call out loud instructions as they try to organize an instant evacuation.

  Another tremor now, this time stronger. Figures fall off the donkeys in panic, unwilling to wait for the merry-go-round to stop. Cries for help carry from the distant rocks where the climbers now dangle helplessly on ropes.

  I shake. I stamp my feet to regain the strength in my legs. It makes no difference. I take deep breaths: Think. It’s impossible. How will they attack? Weapons fired from a distance? An explosion? An attack in person? My mind races from one terrifying possibility to another. Nausea rises, threatening to choke me. It hurts to swallow. Anthropoids.

  We are the tiny decorative fish in a sad Old World fishbowl. Trapped.

  The shadowy creature rams the roof again. Focus. Jojo . . . Will she be all right? Will the vessel survive the attack? A cry nearby. The little boy who was building a sandcastle earlier sits bawling in the chaos of screams and sirens. Way above him, a winding slide rocks.

  I finally stir and hurry toward him, grabbing him and running away. The slide comes crashing down and panic only increases. The boy’s shrieking mother spies her son. She snatches the toddler off me, and they speed away. Another tremor.

  I jolt. What am I doing? I need to leave. Now. I join the throng running along the beach, headed for the hatches. I try ducking through the crowd. No luck. It’s too large for the narrow stretch, and I can’t move fast enough.

  I head for the swaying trees. There are far fewer people there, moving much faster. I drag my feet, forcing one in front of the other. Jojo and Sam . . . What if the submarine—

  A tremendous rumble lifts me off the ground. I soar through the air.

  Vivid colors pulse around me, and an onslaught of noises all merge into one: Alarms, shouting, crying, and from somewhere so very far away, something that sounds like Jojo barking. I hit the floor. My whole being screams silently.

  The huge palm tree above me cracks and swerves down in my direction, just as a dark void washes over me.

  The boy is around the same age as me, not more than four or five years old. We happily gaze at each other. When he places his hand on the window, I giggle and mimic the gesture. As I watch, he jerks his head back, his concentration elsewhere. An expression of absolute horror breaks through the previous joy. I cry. I can’t stop the tears as I look on his terror-stricken face. Everything darkens. Somewhere, a soft, deep voice speaks urgently. Papa’s skeletal figure appears, shackled by heavy chains. He moves forward, reaching out to me, but the clanging metal stops him. His emaciated form is too much, the hollowed eyes defeated, the soul crushed. I scream and scream, but no sound escapes. And the redness . . . the redness is everywhere, beckoning me to focus.

  I force my eyes open, blinking. Muffled sirens and other sounds, a deep, husky voice among them, resonate from every direction. The world around me pulses vivid red. For a second I’m back in Tabby’s sub in the marathon, hovering until the effects of the flare wear off. Above me, copper tracks dotted with light bulbs run the length of the space—the ceiling of the submarine. I’m on the sofa in the saloon.

  Jojo whines. I turn toward the sound and pain stabs at me. Ari sits a few feet away, Jojo cradled in his arm, her paw bandaged. In his hands he holds the first aid kit.

  I inhale sharply as I suddenly remember. The attack! What happened? Did everyone get out? How did I get here?

  Ari glances up. “You’re awake, good. How do you feel? You need to get us out of here.” His face is rigid, his voice wrought with tension. “I can’t command the sub.” His eyes shine in the throbbing redness of the room.

  A resounding boom rocks the vessel.

  “Now,” he urges again.

  I manage to raise my voice above a whisper and instruct Oscar to make an immediate departure. The submarine hums into action.

  I swallow. “Jojo.”

  He places the puppy into my arms. I gasp; she looks terrified and confused, and immediately snuggles closer to me.

  “She’ll be okay,” he mutters as he watches us together.

  “Why is she hurt? What happened?” I try to sit up. Ouch.

  His mouth presses into a straight line. “She’s okay, just hurt by falling debris. Look, you shouldn’t be moving around. I need to tend to your wound. I only had time to clean it before the puppy needed my attention.” The sub heaves and he scans the viewport. “I recognized the tremors and then saw you were already gone. I knew Jojo would be able to locate you faster, so we went after you. A rumble threw you, and we found you just as the trees began collapsing.”

  I again move to sit up but wince as pain jabs at my leg. Ari groans and sits down by the sofa with the first aid kit. He gestures to my leg. “I need to touch you; is that okay with you?”

  I nod and he immediately tends to my leg. There’s an obvious gash and it stings. Though his hands are huge, they’re unexpectedly gentle.

  What if he hadn’t gone looking for me? Sam! I beckon Oscar and question him.

  “Our visitor left a message for you, my dear lady: ‘The modification is now fixed and running smoothly. There should be no further problems with it. Good luck!’ ”

  Did she escape the resort in time?

  Ari watches me as he secures a dressing on the wound, the orange depths of his gaze shifting as he narrows his eyes. Curse the color rushing to my face; he’s so close, though. And it’s as if he’s trying to understand something. When our gazes meet, the muscles in his sharply angled face flex, a curtain draws over his taut expression, and he’s unreadable once more.

  “It makes it harder for me to ensure your safety if you go running off without letting me know.” He says it very matter-of-factly.

  “I don’t need you to—�
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  The vessel lurches. I gasp and move to stand.

  He shakes his head. “You need to rest for a while.”

  “I want to see what’s going on. I need to see it.”

  I make my way to the viewport and he joins me, though unlike me, he doesn’t pause a good distance from the windows. He continues walking right into the very tip. I gulp; how can he stand so close to the windows? He stares at the sight below us. I grab a pair of binoculars from their hook and slump down onto the cushions several feet away.

  As the submarine pulls away, the resort is barely recognizable. Only an eerie shell exists now. The odd submersible escapes the madness, hurtling away at full speed. Defense vessels and bots of all kinds scurry around the place. I zoom in even closer on the binoculars and cry out.

  “Oh my God . . . There are people still trapped down there! We need to go back. We have to go down and help them!” I stop to catch my breath.

  He stares at me.

  I shake my head. “Why did they do this? Why do they hunt us down like this?”

  He pinches his lips together, his expression tense.

  “I hate them,” I whisper. “I hate them so much. . . .”

  Whoa. My head grows light and I fall sideways. He’s beside me in an instant. I wave him away. I need to see what’s going on. He turns back to the view, swearing under his breath as he takes in the scene beneath us, his eyes shadowed.

  A deep tremor rocks the submarine. My insides zigzag and coldness sweeps through me. It has to be an explosion. Jojo barks and scurries to me. The surrounding waters cloud with bubbles as further tremors and eruptions follow from below. I roll along the floor. Ari halts my movement, Jojo in his arms. I peer out. Oh my God. I cry out at the sight.

  The mighty ocean smashes its way through the resort’s curved roof, and the wild and very real sea pours into the building. An escaping submersible is caught in the downward flow and sucked back inside the resort. The huge whale that had been looking in on us all is also tugged down toward the doomed building with the unflinching force. It fights through the turbulence, though, and speeds away.

  I stare, shaking my head nonstop. It’s too much. It’s hell. The submarine shudders.

  “Rise now!” I shout at Oscar.

  The vessel battles against the pull from beneath us, rising above the deadly maelstrom. The waves are frantic and the water churns, blocking the view. My insides heave; my mouth tastes funny. Did Theo’s friend get away in time?

  People are dying down there—the impossible pressure, the water smashing its way into their lungs. They’ll be fighting for their last breath. So much horror. Such loss of life. My whole body shakes. I need to pull myself together. Focus.

  Ari’s expression is dark as his gaze meets mine, his mouth set grimly. I turn away.

  “O-onward, Oscar,” I instruct the Navigator, forcing my voice out and trying hopelessly to slow down my racing heart. “To the borders.”

  I lie on my side, my eyes closed. The same scenes play over and over inside them. People terrified, running for their lives, the ocean crashing down on them, flooding everything and everyone in sight. I shudder and open them again.

  Security is heightened further. Naval subs, bots, and unmanned patrol drones everywhere you look. Despite Theo’s device now running smoothly, remaining discreet in the heightened climate seems impossible. We cannot be stopped, though. I need to get us across the borders and then on to Grandpa’s place in King’s Lynn. Once he joins me I will insist he tell me everything he knows about Papa’s disappearance so I can work out where to begin searching for him.

  At least Sam made it out, thank God; she messaged us to let us know. And the authorities don’t know about her and so won’t have been tracking her communications. I don’t want her getting any grief from them. I check the news.

  The attack on Brighton Pier is so far an isolated incident. Every news station is covering it and Anthropoid Attack! flashes away at the bottom of the screen. The chill returns, the tightness in my chest. I keep watching. I need to know. And then the pictures emerge.

  There are a couple of them. Each figure caught by Eyeballs and Newsbots as they dart through the water, hungry for death and destruction. Bloodthirsty and inhuman. One even brazenly swims right up to a Newsbot. A long, pale face with limp, fair hair swaying in the water around her. There are three fingers missing from her hand. Gaunt cheeks sink inward, and her icy blue eyes are penetrating. . . . Her gaze burns with rage and loathing. I recall all the notices and warnings now: It isn’t a she. It very definitely is an it. My pulse races as I take in the pictures. Crushed bodies float around inside the resort. It’s too much.

  I turn away, only now realizing Ari has entered the room. He stands rigid, his shoulders rising and falling as he watches the screen. He catches my eye and moves over to the wall, staring intently at the picture of Papa and me. I command the screen to turn off.

  I chew on my lip. “There were others headed for the hatches,” I say. “Maybe some of them might have been saved if they’d come on board the sub?”

  He doesn’t turn around. “My responsibility was only to you.”

  How can he be so matter-of-fact? “We might have saved someone. If you could’ve helped even one person survive that madness, then you should have. The pain their families are going to go through . . .”

  He swings around, his mouth clenched as he looks down at me through hooded eyes. He shoots a quick glance back at the picture again, before returning his gaze to me. Although his expression is blank, there’s something behind the flickering amber specks in his eyes. Something he’s struggling with. He opens his mouth to speak, when he tilts his head, distracted. His gaze darts past me to the view outside, his expression expectant.

  I turn around. Nothing. “Do you think Gramps will know we’re all right? I don’t want him to worry.”

  He nods. “I think he’ll know.” He glances over at the viewport again. “We’re not alone.” Though low, his voice is assured, as if there’s never any question about anything he says. “It’s a security check.”

  No. I check again but can’t spot any indication of a nearby vehicle. Please, God, let him be wrong! And then Oscar appears.

  “My dear lady, we appear to have been graced with the good company of a security vessel,” he announces.

  Oh bloody hell. This is it. So soon, too. My pulse races.

  “It’s just a routine check,” Ari explains, taking in my expression. “They’ll need to see the Explorer Permit Gideon said you’d applied for. I had to leave for London in a hurry and don’t have anything.”

  “No, you don’t understand. . . .” I gulp, my eyes widening. “I don’t have anything either.”

  He straightens, his face concentrated on my words.

  “I applied for the permit, but—” I hesitate.

  I trust Ari with your life, Gramps had said.

  “Captain Sebastian told them to deny me. I never told Grandpa. I’m afraid we’re traveling illegally. . . .”

  Ari lifts his chin and cocks his head, thinking.

  “My lady, there is a priority communication request,” Oscar says.

  Here we go. Ari and I both stare at each other with what must be the same faltering expression. I gesture to him to move out of sight.

  I accept the security officer’s communication request.

  A voice infiltrates my vessel as a face appears on the screen. The officer asks for my papers. The official is irate in the wake of the attack and follows her request with quick-fire questions, hardly giving me time to answer.

  Keep calm. I reach inside one of the walnut cabinet drawers and take a bendy, translucent card out. It’s my old membership card for Clio House, the historical-reenactment hall. Why am I even doing this? Because having security forces chase me should be a very last option.

  Okay, my trembling hand is most definitely going to give me away. I hold the card up against the scanner by the screen and give the officer my best smile.

>   Seconds later, she shakes her head. Oh hell.

  “I’m afraid that doesn’t seem to be registering as a working permit, Miss McQueen. You are in a submarine, so I assume you are traveling long haul. I’ll need to see papers or a permit that allow for that. Let’s try one more time, shall we?”

  Let’s bloody not. My legs quiver. I stare at her. “That’s because it’s an old permit. I do have a new one, but I can’t find it just now. . . .”

  The officer watches me closely. My legs nearly give way. Stay calm, dammit.

  Her eyes narrow and then recognition breaks through her expression. “You’re Leyla McQueen! The London Marathon champion?”

  I nod, sighing in relief. That’s right—I’m a champion!

  She straightens. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to accompany me back to the Mayfair Hangars, Miss McQueen—under the direct orders of Captain Sebastian.”

  Oh God.

  I end contact immediately, and Ari rushes forward.

  “Oscar, speed up. Now!” I shout. “And register security forces as primary hostile bodies.”

  “Yes, my lady!”

  Ari nods. “And we should stay on course; if backup doesn’t arrive in time, then we have a good chance of losing them without straying from our route.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping!”

  The Kabul thrums into maximum life and hurtles through the water, its nose piercing the current and frothing the surrounding waves. We must lose them immediately; it’ll prove harder to outrun security when there are more of them.

  “My lady, I detect four more security vessels on our tail.”

  Argh!

  Ari rushes into the viewport, peering out. “Oscar, fire on them!”

  “No, wait!” I shout. “We don’t attack preemptively, only defend. Keep going, Oscar, and ensure all defense systems are active!”