by London Shah
Papa’s with me and he’s going to be okay. It’s too good to be true. A dream.
We’ve found a safe place far west of the prison, with no security bases for leagues around. We’ll keep our heads down until Papa’s out of the worst and then decide on our next move.
Bia’s still waiting to hear from McGregor. I really hope she’s safe and that she’s not been rumbled by the prison guards. Charlie messaged me, asking if Papa had come around and if he was speaking yet. They’re desperate to know everything. Gramps is aware of what’s going on, and he’s somewhere safe, thank goodness. I feel a tug at my heart; I miss him so much. I understand now why he thought it best to keep Ari’s identity from me. I would never have left London with him if I’d known what he was back then.
Jojo went totally barmy when she recognized Papa. We have to hold her whenever she visits him; she can’t contain her joy.
The Medi-bot bleeps. I replace one of the drips. Soon Papa will be up and about. And just wait until he sees the Kabul. He’s sure to love the sub as much as I do!
Back in the saloon, Ari stands in the viewport, facing the water. Right in front of him is a dolphin. I hold my breath, watching them. The sea creature is attentive and relaxed. Anytime Ari waves his hands a certain way, the animal responds, moving its head and fins. It’s as if they truly understand each other.
I sigh. “The dolphin, it’s the same one, isn’t it? I’m certain I saw it back in London and again following the vessel when we first set off. You know it?”
Ari turns from the windows, his eyes bright, and beckons me. I join him in the viewport. Jojo rushes over, mesmerized, and I scoop her up.
“Leyla, meet Skye,” Ari says. “Yes, she insisted on following me to London, all the way from my home in the Faroe Islands. Skye, this is Leyla.”
“Hey, Skye.” I wave and hold up Jojo, who barks happily.
The dolphin flaps a fin and I laugh. I peer into the water and find myself imagining Ari in it, playing with the creature. I turn to him.
I open my mouth and then close it again, color warming my cheeks. But I need to know. “What does it feel like, Ari? How does it feel to swim out there? Do you ever feel afraid?”
His expression brightens as he meets my gaze, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. My stomach flutters at the sight of him. He’s washed and shaved and his face is all sharp angles again, his smooth, dark-gold skin glistening where it’s still damp.
His eyes shine. “When we know a place is safe, then being at one with the ocean, moving with it, is the best feeling in the world, Leyla. It feels free. Like you with your racing, yes?”
“Yes,” I say, breathlessly. “That’s how racing makes me feel. That’s why I love it so much. It’s freedom and endless possibilities.”
He holds my gaze a little longer, tentative affection flashing in his own, before gesturing to a tray of warm food he brought in for us. “You don’t like it when it turns cold. So, how’s your father doing?”
The gentle evening waves lap at the windows as we sit to eat in the mellow apricot glow of the Lumi-Orb. Jojo tucks into her own bowl. Spicy scents waft from the biryani, warming the room.
“He’s resting,” I say. “It’ll be a while before the fluids and medicine kick in, but at least we’ve started. It could’ve been even worse.”
I sigh. Papa’s with me, and he’ll be all right. Jojo’s fully recovered. Neither Ari nor I are hurt. The Kabul survived the onslaught. And we’re well away from any security bases and borders. My heart expands. There’s very real magic in feeling safe.
“I can’t believe he’s with us,” I say, chewing the rice. “I’m so worried I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will all have just been a dream, you know?”
He nods slowly, a gleam in his eye. “You did it. You never gave up.” His expression turns abruptly somber then. “You’re okay? You weren’t hurt?”
“I’m good, thank you. It could have gone wrong so many times. . . . I can’t believe how lucky we were.” I’m stunned we did it; my legs still haven’t stopped trembling. “Are you all right? You were . . . amazing, you know—in the water? Thank you so much.”
His eyes shine and he nods in reply.
Jojo’s full and curls up beside us. We finish eating and sip warm drinks as we sit side by side on the cushions, gazing into the calm current outside. Even in the darkness, it’s clear from the sub’s fore lights that the water is different this far north, so much clearer. It must look beautiful in the daytime and natural light. Maybe we can climb a little in the morning and see it.
I recall watching the sun reflected in the current, the intensity of the moment. An experience Ari wanted to share with me. I’m acutely aware of how close we’re sitting now.
Once we’ve finished our drinks I sneak a peek at him; he’s staring into the water ahead, his thoughts somewhere far away.
He turns to catch my gaze. “You’ve found your father,” he says. He clears his throat. “I must think about returning home now.”
I swallow and nod. “Oh. Of course . . . I have Papa back, and your family will be waiting for your return.”
He was only ever here because Grandpa didn’t want me to be alone. He should be home. I try to imagine the sub without his presence but it’s impossible. An ache spreads in my chest. I try to picture him back home with his family. The red-haired guy back at the prison pops into my head, and my eyebrows shoot up.
“There was a guy at the prison. He swam up through the moon pool and—”
I said “guy.” Not “Anthropoid.” I know Ari’s noticed, too, because the most tender expression lights up his face.
“Jack,” he says. “That’s Jack Taylor. I thought you might need help and contacted—”
“Oh my God—”
“I was worried. I’d never forgive myself if—”
“No, I mean oh my God—Jack Taylor! I knew he seemed familiar! But what the hell? He died in the last London Marathon!”
Ari watches me as my mind races. How they never found Jack’s body . . .
How his little sister, Becca, always speaks of him as if he’s still alive . . .
Jack is not her imaginary friend!
“Oh my God, he never died, did he? He was an Anthropoid!”
I can’t believe it. Is the whole family Anthropoids? And who else might be one? Thoughts gather and swirl inside my head until it’s all I can do to shake it.
“There’s just so much I didn’t know, Ari. . . . And so much more I need to learn.”
He reaches into his pocket and produces one of the chips I swiped at the prison. I’d handed my findings over to him, to check if he could glean anything from them.
“One of them is useless, and I haven’t tested the third one yet,” he says. “But this one is full of files.”
My eyes dart from the technology to him. “I’d forgotten all about them; I thought they were probably rubbish! Maybe it holds Papa’s prison file?”
He shakes his head. “The prisoners’ files need a pass code, so they’re inaccessible. Sorry. But there’s information on Bia.”
“What?” I straighten. “Show me.”
Ari brings the info up. Not a document, but a whole file on her. Bia Achebe. And then a list of her crimes. My pulse races as I read on. There’s so much more to Bia and her group.
None of which I would’ve guessed about them.
From what I can gather, Bia’s lot have been wanted by the Blackwatch for years. And Captain Sebastian has especially been on their case, never easing up. They keep outwitting the authorities, though. According to the file, the group have tried, several times, to “expose the government’s sensitive action undertaken to preserve our heritage and ensure our survival,” but so far have always been successfully blocked. A paragraph from a piece penned by the group, that Bia tried but failed to have released, catches my attention:
. . . Furthermore, the government is solely responsible for the existence and spread of the seasickness. The fear thi
s administration has dedicated itself to promoting is the cause for this epidemic of malaise. Such dangerous and delusional behavior is unacceptable from our leaders. We have concluded the government is incompetent, acting out of fear. Their policies—all created in a state of fear—have and will cause irreparable harm unless abolished with immediate effect. We shall continue to monitor the authorities and to make their failings known. They were elected to act in our best interests—that is their job. The government works for us. We will not be silenced. Look around you. Forget “ No past, no future,” and ponder, if you will, “No truth, no future.” Resist.
There’s a sour taste in my mouth and my stomach quivers.
I turn to Ari. “They’re right, aren’t they? The seasickness is not something linked to the water. Oh my God . . . What if all those sufferers, all those who’ve taken their lives—Camilla included—what if they could’ve been saved if so much fear didn’t exist? What if the illness isn’t inevitable? It exists because of how we think and feel . . . and how we think and feel has been informed by our leaders.” My face heats. “How dare they, though. How dare they do what they do, and then turn around and blame it on innocent people? They accused Papa of doing what they’re guilty of!”
Ari nods away, his gaze soft and encouraging as he watches me.
Bia’s words make so much sense. Fear is stopping those in charge from even contemplating us staying down here for the foreseeable future; they want us to return to what we once knew. At all costs. But how can you want something so much that you don’t care about the facts anymore? So many Explorers and scientists have reached the same conclusion—that returning to the surface anytime soon is impossible—and yet the government refuses to acknowledge the findings. Instead they push this hope and dream as the only thing worth holding on to, worth living for. Nothing else is worth caring about, or enjoying.
How can a small group of people think they know what’s best for the majority without even asking us?
“We have to change the way we think, Ari.”
“But I like the way you think,” he says softly, his eyes brilliant and bright now.
My mouth falls opens and warmth radiates in my chest.
He leans back, raking his hand through his still-damp hair as if checking himself, and his cheeks flush. He turns his gaze to the water and clears his throat, nodding. “I agree. The seasickness isn’t inevitable. It’s a result of all the fear we’re exposed to.”
“Yes,” I say, gazing into the current. “It makes sense. Wireless Man and his constant droning on about all the dangers, daily scare stories such as Today’s Terrors of the Deep, the ‘earthquakes,’ everything. It all adds up. Couple that with the constant worshipping of the past and of course it’s eventually going to make us ill.” I rub my arms. “Anyway, I’ve yet to work out why they took him. Thank you,” I say, my voice small. “For everything. I’m so sorry about, you know . . . the Anthropoids who boarded the sub—they really hurt you.” I look up at him.
His reply is low, his voice husky and firm. “I would gladly do it again to protect you.”
Oh. I swallow. My chest expands forever until I’m floating away. We fall very still. His gaze burns into mine and neither of us blink. His lips look so soft. . . .
Oscar appears. We both turn from each other and warmth floods my face as I force myself to focus on the Navigator’s words.
“My lady, the notifications alert system has been triggered.”
“What? Where?”
“On the news. At this very minute, my dear.”
We jump up.
I command the screen on and freeze, all warm feelings instantly evaporating. Captain Sebastian is speaking, his ever-shifty gaze now piercing cold as he stares into the camera. Before I even hear his words, my eyes catch the text running along the bottom.
Wanted: Hashem McQueen. Leyla McQueen. Crime: Terrorism. Approach with caution.
Ari stiffens beside me. The PM’s right-hand man is still speaking, but I’m mesmerized by the images. There’s a picture of the Kabul while it was at the principal base in Mayfair. Then footage as a pack of cameras hovers inside the hangars. The police are everywhere. It cuts to Deathstar, the mechanic who’d been in charge of the Kabul, hurrying away from the manic Newsbots. Next, he exits a door, a metal pole in his hand and, oh my God, he swings at the cameras. There’s a scramble with several police officers and Deathstar is tased; he slumps to the floor, subdued.
I cry out, shaking my head, vaguely aware of Ari clasping my hand in his own.
Then Papa’s face and mine—it’s my official London Marathon
picture—cover the screen.
“A handsome reward,” Captain Sebastian says, his eyes narrowed, his bitter expression unshakable. A venomous sea snake devoted to the hunt, anticipating its immobilizing bite. “Your country needs your help in finding and apprehending these treacherous criminals. Know this: Leyla McQueen and Hashem McQueen are currently this nation’s number one enemy. As such, the safety of Britons is our top priority.”
“Screen one off,” I whisper, suddenly breathless. Everything’s flip-
flopping inside.
The screen goes blank and I stare ahead, not seeing anything. My pulse whooshes away in my ears; I can feel it all over my body. I shiver.
“Leyla . . .” Ari tugs my hand, urging me to return to the cushions in the viewport. I sit, while he grabs the nearest throw and wraps it around my shoulders. He kneels in front of me, clasping my hands in his. Tension sparks off his rigid posture, the muscles in his face straining against his skin.
A terrible, searing chill sweeps over me and I shudder. I take deep breaths and nod. “Papa . . . he’s not safe. We’re not safe. We—we have to keep moving. Yes, we’ll just keep moving—no matter where—until we’ve sorted this out.” Sort it out how? Hot panic rises up, threatening to burn me to nothing. I’d always hoped I could return to London with Papa once I found him. But so much has changed since then. . . . My world isn’t even the same one as before.
We sit there in silence, Ari in front of me, my hands in his. Finally my pulse calms, and I sort through my thoughts. I need to take control of the situation, make a list. First thing, Ari must go home immediately. He’s already put himself at risk too many times for us and needs to return to them safe and sound.
“I can do it.” I look at him. “I’ll—I’ll drop you off home first. And then I need to look after Papa and me. Thank God for the Kabul. . . . I’d never have made it a single day using public transport. With this sub, though, thanks to Theo’s modification, I have a chance. All I have to do is keep hiding, only moving when necessary, you know? Yes, I can do this.”
Though his eyes are heavy now, there’s a small tug on his soft lips as he watches me and nods, before looking down at our entwined hands. When he lifts his gaze, the spark has returned. “We can do this.”
I stare at him. He can’t mean it. Would he really do that for us? “No, you’ve already done enough. This is my problem now. I can look after myself, after Papa. I can. We might be hiding for ages.”
His amber eyes are imploring now. “I know. But I want to stay. I can’t leave you like this. I can help you; let me help you. You’re fugitives now. And there’s a substantial reward for capturing you. They know it was you behind the breakout. They’re not going to stop until they’ve taken you in.” He tilts his head, jaw rigid as he considers something, his eyes glinting as they dart to the blank screen. “We need to make sure that never happens.”
A scratching inside, sharp nails clawing as panic tries to rise again. But I push it down, down, down, and focus on Ari instead.
My heart expands as I take him in. There’s always a perfect radiance around him, reflected in his eyes, on his brown skin. He’s an ocean of coppery-gold bioluminescence, but infinitely brighter, and ten thousand times more mysterious than the deepest pockets of the earth.
It’s incredibly selfish, I know, but I want him with us. He’s been a light in the darknes
s.
I nod, and a wave of relief swamps the edges of the dread. Ari’s staying. “All right. Yes, we can do it,” I say. “All we’d have to do is evade them until Papa’s better and we know exactly what’s going on. We’re not clueless, and we have the Kabul. I know we can do it.”
He nods as he watches me intently. “You could do anything you put your mind to, Leyla,” he says, so incredibly softly now. “You must not worry.”
I can’t tear my eyes away from him.
His expression is dazzling. His face, mystifying in the soft apricot light, reflects the ripples of the waves lapping the viewport. The only sound to be heard is the comforting thrum of the Kabul, and the thump-thumping of my heart.
My mouth goes dry. I’m drifting into a dream as I stare into the honey-
colored specks in his eyes. His face relaxes, and he moves closer. I hold my breath. His face is inches from mine now. My fingers hover in the air for a moment before they edge forward and touch him. I trace his thick dark eyebrows, a tiny scar at his temple, his high-bridged nose and the smooth, sharp jaw. My fingertips slide all over the deep-bronze skin of his face, tracing every honed angle, every cryptic groove. A rich blush burnishes his skin. I catch my breath.
He’s just so utterly beautiful.
Ari reaches out, his dusky fingers weaving themselves in and around my hair and along its length. He gently brushes his palms across my face before cupping it. I stare at his mouth.
He leans even closer, sealing the distance between us. A sigh escapes his lips just before they touch mine. Soft, gentle. It’s like looking right into the very heart of him. I’m falling into him. Down, down, down. As if we’ve held hands and jumped together into some sweet, swirling vortex. I never want it to end. It’s a magic I never even knew existed. At last we slowly, gently come up for air.
His eyes blaze bright and unbound as they bore into mine. A glittering truth, daring to be discovered. His shoulders rise and fall, and a tidal wave of tenderness lingers at the corners of his mouth. He sighs as he pulls me to him. I bury my face in his chest, breathing him in as he wraps his arms around me. It’s a dream.
