The Light at the Bottom of the World

by London Shah

  The next thing I know, Ari is walking over to me, his expression tight, his face all hard angles and concern. I look up at him. His eyes flicker.

  He takes a step to close the gap between us. “Leyla—”

  I take a step back. My shoulders rise and fall. My throat’s dry. “I need to go take care of something.” I leave the room without looking at him.

  Once I’m in the bedroom, I close the door behind me and take deep breaths.

  He’s wounded because of me. Jojo’s hurt because of me. I didn’t secure the moon pool door.

  Ari was right when he said I have no idea.

  I look down at all the blood on me. I have to get rid of it. I can’t stand it—not a second longer.

  I become dizzy in the shower and have to sit to wash, and it all takes forever. Even on the gentlest setting, the spray hits my skin like a thousand giant needles. It burns my scalp. But I need to know I washed all the blood off.

  When I’m finally dry and dressed, I walk over to the huge, circular porthole. The sub glides through the current. These waters are much wilder than anything I’ve ever known in the capital. All I see in the thick gloom is one horrific image after another. Holiday goers at the resort, drowning, terrified. Jojo’s bloodied body, whimpering in pain. Grandpa’s heart attack. The beast in the engine room. Papa, in God knows what state right now.

  My heart is lodged in my throat. No amount of swallowing is easing the burden. Pull yourself together. The pressure in my chest intensifies. It’s as if I’m holding an ocean inside. It crashes against my lungs, squeezing, trying to crush me from the inside out. Don’t you dare; there’s no time for any nonsense.

  I slump down in front of the porthole. Pain, fear, and sadness all grapple for position, eventually merging as one unbearable, burdensome victor.

  The tears flow hard and fast, my body convulsing. I couldn’t help any of them.

  At last, my sobs subside, and my breathing finally relaxes. I peer out into the shifting void.

  Why did they do it? Why are they hell-bent on trying to eradicate humans? I shake my head. Why did it feel the need to hurt me like that? Why hurt Jojo? So much pain and destruction. Its frosty eyes flash before me and I shiver. And then there was something else. . . . And I don’t really know what it was, but it was there, etched in its face, beneath all the horror. As if some part of it knew it was so wrong to do what it was doing, and yet the anger wouldn’t let it stop. Where does that rage and hatred come from? Why did it—for one, brief moment—look at me with sympathy? Because it’s an evil abomination and can’t help itself? Or because of something else?

  What’s going on?

  And Ari. What did he mean by the truth not setting me free? And people believing everything they’re told? He’s keeping something from me. But I also feel safe around him. I shake my head. I honestly don’t know anything anymore. What was he going to do or say when he stepped toward me?

  I picture his arms and chest. I wrap my arms around myself. The thought of a hug right now seems like the best thing in the world. A part of me wants to turn back. Go home to London. To Gramps. My heart flutters at the thought of him. Theo and Tabby—I already miss them so much. Turning around is such an absolutely comforting thought. Ahead is only uncertainty.

  And Papa.

  He needs me. I must keep it together, can’t go losing it now. I won’t give in until I’ve found him. He’s all right. He has to be.

  I summon the Navigator. He appears, sporting a midnight-blue frock coat.

  “Oscar, we’re still moving too slowly. What’s the situation with the propeller?”

  “It is stable, my dear. However, it has been sabotaged, which is preventing it from operating at full capacity.”

  The Anthropoids messed with the propeller. I stand, slowly pacing the room as I absorb his words. “How far away are we from our destination in King’s Lynn?”

  “A little over ten leagues.”

  What to do? The thought of being unable to speed up if we hit any more trouble is too much. . . . Without speed, we’re helpless. I’m helpless. Crawling through these waters is out of the question. We’re powerless until we fix the propeller, dammit.

  “Where are we right now, Oscar?”

  “Above Ely, my dear. Just past Cambridge.”

  “Anything from our caution list between us and our destination?”

  “A security base at Saddle Bow.”

  Great; the one thing I can’t risk passing—and especially when I’m unable to speed away if trouble arises. Wait, Cambridge . . . Why does it ring a bell?

  Papa’s note. I rush to my drawer, rummaging through my things in search of the little purple box of papers I’d packed it in. Where did Tabby put it? I find it and check the note with his dear handwriting again.

  It’s just a few scribbled everyday reminders to himself, but it also has coordinates for Cambridge. Just beneath the numbers is a name: Bia. Papa circled it. The first thing on his list of reminders is: Respond to Bia. It’s ticked off—something Papa always did as he got through his list of things to do. And that’s it. It’s not much to go on, but it’s better than nothing.

  I have a location and the information that Papa knew this Bia person. If we retrace our steps a little, we could stop over at Bia’s in Cambridge, sort the propeller out, hopefully, and be on our way again. It’s a long shot—the location could very well be something other than Bia’s address, and they might not be in—and even if they are, they might not be able to help us. But still, there’s a small chance. I’m not staying out here like this, dawdling powerlessly through strange and wild waters. I shudder.

  “Oscar, are you absolutely certain the moon pool door is secure now?”

  I should have had it welded shut back at the hangar. We don’t need a hole that opens into the abyss. Anything could be hiding in the depths below.

  A tremor races along my spine, and I’m transported back to my failed freefall a few months ago. My ill-thought-out attempt at conquering the dread. The submersible spinning through nothingness—headed for only God knew what. The fear. The not knowing that gripped me and froze my thoughts, turned my muscles rigid. I was incredibly lucky to abandon the move in time. Never again.

  Ari’s wrong. It’s better to stay as alert as possible than to let down your defenses against the environment.

  “Oscar, you can get us to Cambridge, can’t you?”

  “Of course, my lady. Why, one could rule the waves from—”

  “Cambridge will do for now.”

  I register the new coordinates. The Kabul turns around as I return to the saloon. Ari’s using the Medi-bot to give Jojo her next dose of painkillers. He moves over to the viewport again and sits, rolling his shoulders. Oscar stands beside him.

  I pick the Medi-bot up and make my way inside the tip. “Your wounds need tending to. . . . I can do it if you want?”

  “Why are we turning around?”

  It’s like an afterthought. There’s no frustration in his voice. He seems shocked. Shocked, and also resigned. What’s going on in his head?

  “We’re stopping off at Cambridge,” I explain. “It’s too risky to go on with a broken propeller. My papa knows somebody in Cambridge, and I’m hoping they can help us with getting it fixed.”

  He looks away, his posture rigid. I was expecting him to fight the decision. I wave the Medi-bot at him, my eyebrows raised. He nods, and I get to work cleaning the wounds.

  Ari removes the torn T-shirt. Everything seems to still when I touch him; I’m too aware of my own heartbeat and of the strange sensation in my fingers every time they brush his burnished-copper skin. His broad shoulders and back stiffen at my touch, his muscles flex.

  Ahead, the unfathomable environment courses around the sub.

  “How about a game of chess, my dear lady?” Oscar announces suddenly, as if in a moment of inspiration. “I find it helps chase any melancholic mood away. Or perhaps we shall ruminate on the wonders of art? I daresay, my dear, I am quite t
he rogue when it comes to—”

  “Not now, Oscar. It’s not a good time. Something awful just happened.”

  Oscar bows his head, offering his sincere commiserations. The

  Navigator muses quietly on calamity and woe, happy to impart his own insights.

  I spray Ari’s wounds and work away. The swelling looks painful. I kneel in front of him, tending to the back of his hands.

  When I look up, he’s watching me; his eyes flicker, and his lips pinch together.

  He knows I cried.

  He searches my face, struggling with something. The amber gaze is conflicted—flitting between shimmer and shadow. Secrets seem to just ripple around him in an unnavigable flow.

  What is it? I want to ask. Instead I dip my head, letting my hair conceal me.

  Ari clears his throat. “Are you still in pain?”

  I shake my head. “Thank you,” I whisper. “For everything.”

  He shifts.

  “I’m sorry,” we both say at once.

  My shoulders rise. “You didn’t sign up for this. I forgot to secure the moon pool door, which let them board the sub and hurt you and Jojo. You should head home when we get to Cambridge. I can go on to Gramps’s cottage on my own; it’s not more than eight leagues from there, and I’ll hopefully be able to speed the whole way. You need to go. Nobody else must get hurt. It’s my decision to search for my papa, and you—”

  “It was a mistake,” he says. “There was a lot to think about, and you forgot about the moon pool door. We have all made mistakes.”

  I stiffen, before continuing to tend to his cuts and losing myself in my thoughts. After a while I quietly voice them, breaking the silence. “Do you think it’s a good plan—my waiting at Grandpa’s cottage until he gets there?”

  He pulls back slightly. I look up and he’s rubbing his jaw, thinking. “I think the most important thing is for you to be safe. Even if it slows down your search for your father. You can’t look for him if you’re hurt. Or if the authorities catch up with you.”

  “I just feel like . . . like there’s so much I don’t know, and waiting feels like I’m wasting time. I did promise Gramps, so that’s what I’ll do. But I can’t wait to actually be on my papa’s trail, you know?”

  “Yes,” he says softly, his brow creasing slightly. “And you’re not afraid?”

  I answer quietly. “I don’t think there exists in this world a person who isn’t manifestly terrified in some way. I think maybe we’re all carrying the trauma from the disaster somewhere deep inside us. And the existence of the Anthropoids . . . it’s only multiplied that terror a thousandfold.”

  Ari pauses and watches me, deep in thought. His chest and shoulders rise as he breathes. “What do you think would help heal people?”

  “Some hope, of course.” I shrug. “All right, we’re done.” The wounds are all treated.

  The sub heaves, and our gazes dart to the water. We’re descending.

  Soon Cambridge is visible below. We steer over both ancient and modern streets intermingled with colossal, never-ending pipelines, and gigantic tanks of all shapes and sizes. The sub moves around a vast power farm; tethered to the floor and reaching high above us, large kites glide on the current like seagulls on the surface.

  We both cock our heads at once when the Kabul slows down considerably.

  I get up. “Oscar? Have we reached our destination?”

  “Indeed we have. My dear, we are at the venerable former grounds of the antiquated Cambridge University.” He pauses, tilting his head. And then: “There is a message for you.”

  “A message? From who?”

  “A gentleman by the name of Charlie.”

  I frown, exchanging looks with Ari even as I say, “Accept.” Who on earth’s Charlie?

  A thin white face appears on the communication screen, wearing a nervous smile. “Hiya. You realize yer cruising through private territory now, don’t you?”

  “I’m sorry, I had no idea,” I say. “Nothing came up on the systems regarding private—”

  “Where are you headed?”

  “That’s none of your business,” Ari comes forward to say.

  “Whoa, hold yer horses,” Charlie says, holding his hands up in defense. “Only asking. Wait there. I have to report all unexpected drifters. If yer not here for trading, then—”

  “I’m looking for somebody called Bia!” I blurt out.

  Charlie frowns, his wispy eyebrows meeting. “You know Bia?”

  “Well . . . not exactly.”

  What can I say? How much is it safe to share? Papa knew this Bia person, and that’s all I have right now. I take a deep breath. I’m either about to do the right thing, or else I’m about to make a massive mistake. But I have to do something.

  I give Charlie my name, Papa’s name, and mention Papa knowing Bia. And then I tell him about our immediate predicament with the propeller.

  He puts us on hold for a few minutes.

  Though he’s smiling when he returns, he seems a little pensive. “Sure,” he says. “We’ll take a gander at yer propeller. There’s nothing the Johnson sisters can’t fix. Follow the escort.” And then he disappears.

  “What es—”

  A whole legion of camouflaged crafts materializes in the depths. They move in, lowering from above, rising from the seabed, and closing the gaps to the sides. They’re all circular and compact, and the closest in color to the oceans as I’ve ever seen a vehicle.

  Ari’s mouth curls into a sneer. “I don’t trust them.”

  Well, of course you don’t, I’m about to say.

  But he seems to have good reason right now.

  We move on, following the vessels in front. Minutes later, as we pass some crumbling ruins, the submersibles slow and we’re all hovering.

  “Why stop here?” Ari stands beside me, hands on his hips.

  I shrug. There’s nothing below us. Only a rocky terrain surrounded by the usual fluorescent warning signs. I peer at the unfamiliar seabed.

  “The subs below have fallen away. . . . I think they want us to continue descending. But why would they want us to rest the Kabul down there?”

  “Don’t do it.” Ari brings his face close to mine. His eyes burn bright.

  I stare into them. He really does have the fieriest gaze. Color floods my cheeks.

  He bares his teeth. “It’s a trap.”

  “My papa knows Bia. Erm, I think. We have to trust them. I’m not crawling around the water an open target. The Kabul has to be able to speed up—God knows where my search for Papa’s going to take me, and it’ll be hard enough, without me traveling in a substandard vessel. Descend, Oscar,” I instruct the Navigator.

  How strange . . . The flow of the current here, it shouldn’t exist. It wouldn’t exist if there weren’t anything below to cause it. The pitch-black craggy surface approaches. It looks like a huge field of flattened mountain. A school of coalfish seems unperturbed as they move over it. And there’s no depth-warning signal from Oscar. I wrinkle my brow. What the hell?

  The submarine doesn’t halt. It continues to descend.

  The water glimmers as the vessel lowers. I straighten. “Oh my God, the glimmer—the ground’s only a projection!”

  The seabed seems to swallow the submarine. A vast structure materializes beneath us. Dark and rugged. It looks like one humongous rock. A hiding place.

  We’re led to a camouflaged side hatch. All around us are open waters. I stand in the viewport, wringing my hands. Ari is still, hands on hips, as he looks at me. His expression is cloaked once more; the usual muscle tics along his jaw as his words echo my own thoughts.

  “Are you sure we can trust these people?”

  “Why the hell have you brought knives?” My mouth falls open. “We need their help. We can’t aggravate them.” Despite the painkillers, my ribs feel sore every time I speak.

  Ari hides the knife behind him somewhere, slipping it beneath his dark top. He rearranges the gray blanket-style shawl wrap
ped around his body. “We don’t know these people.”

  I peek inside the Bliss-Pod I’m carrying to ensure Jojo’s all right as we stand inside the Kabul’s bridge, waiting for the hatch to the place to release. When it does, we step through. It secures behind us again, and the inner door opens. Two armed men await us.

  Ari stiffens and I press my arm against me to ensure the brolly’s still hanging off it as we enter the building. We’re standing in a huge docking bay, with rows of hatches.

  I recognize one of the guys as Charlie. He can’t be much older than me; he’s thin and pale, with fair hair and kind hazel eyes. He smiles at the Bliss-Pod and the sight of Jojo, and steps toward us. I move back. Before I know what’s going on, Ari has him in a neck hold, his face tight and the gleaming tip of his knife pressed against the guy’s throat. My stomach rolls.

  “Steady on!” Charlie’s eyes are stretched wide. “The puppy.” He points at Jojo. “Just wanted to see the puppy. We don’t have any pets here.”

  Only now do I see that concentrated on Ari’s neck is the other guy’s laser weapon. My heart races. He’s tall and hefty, and wears a permanent scowl.

  I turn to Ari, pleading with my eyes. “Charlie was just checking on Jojo. He doesn’t mean any harm.” Don’t do anything stupid, or they’ll hurt you.

  Ari shoots Charlie a threatening stare, before putting his knife away. The burly guy, who looks South Asian, steps back, though his weapon is still pointed in Ari’s general direction. He wears a simple iron bracelet on his wrist—the Sikh kara.

  Charlie quickly moves aside, rubbing his throat. He offers me a hesitant smile. “Thanks. Bia sent us to fetch you. I remember you now—yer the Marathon champion! Knew I’d seen you somewhere before!” His smile stretches. “You were my favorite to win. You were awesome.”

  “Thank you.” I point in Ari’s direction. “And this is Ari. We’re really on edge right now, that’s all. We were attacked. Anthropoids . . .”

  Charlie’s brow furrows as he exchanges a swift look with the other guy before turning back to me. “How? Did they get away?”