by C. W. Trisef
Imagine his surprise, then, when he saw the likes of Mr. Coy and Ivan, speeding to his rescue aboard the oncoming boat! Ret’s heart sighed with cheer as Mr. Coy threw into the air a sturdy rope for Ret to grab. Ret used the earth at his feet to launch him skyward toward the rope, which he caught before plunging into the river. With the ship still in motion, Ret pulled himself onboard, ducking amidst the onslaught of enemy fire from the shore.
“What are you doing here?” Ret asked, gratefully relieved.
“To see if Lye has ever—Ben Coy—of course,” Mr. Coy said, “and apparently to rescue you! Did you get the element?”
“Procured,” Ret said with a satisfied smile.
“Then let’s get out of here!” Mr. Coy stated. “Now, drive us straight through!” he instructed Ivan at the controls. “If we slow down to turn around, we’ll all be dead men!” Ivan obeyed, maintaining full speed. Glass shattered and the boat reeled as bolt after bolt struck the craft. They had almost escaped unscathed when a stray shot hit Ivan square in the chest. The immense energy from the electric blast surged violently through Ivan’s body, igniting his clothes and charring his skin. He instantly went limp and fell overboard.
“NO!” Ret screamed, racing to the side of the boat. “Stop! Stop now! Turn around!”
“Are you mad?” Mr. Coy replied, rushing to take command of the speeding boat. “We can’t! Do you want to die, too?” Mr. Coy maintained control of the wheel despite Ret’s attempts to turn it around. “One hit from those bolts means certain death, Ret.”
“We have to go back,” Ret urged with all of his emotion. “He could still be alive. We have to at least check!” His voice trembled with doubt as he spoke, for he had not seen Ivan resurface since falling into the river.
Mr. Coy made no response. Ret marched in front of him and stared Mr. Coy boldly in the face.
“How can you be so heartless?” Ret asked. “You’re just going to leave him? How can you do this?”
“I’ve learned to not get attached,” was all Mr. Coy said, straight-faced.
“Not get attached?” Ret balked. “You talk as if Ivan was your pet—a favorite toy. He was your friend—your right-hand man. Now turn around!”
“Learn to let go,” Mr. Coy said without emotion.
“Learn to—” Ret started to repeat, then voluntarily stopped, astronomically amazed at Mr. Coy’s ambivalence. “You know, Mr. Coy, you’ve got problems—serious problems. Everyone else sees it but you. Not only do you pretend like your own daughter doesn’t exist but now this? I mean, what’s going through your—”
Ret’s speech was stopped midsentence as Mr. Coy grabbed him with both hands by the shirt and lifted him off the ground, pinning Ret up against the side of the boat.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through, kid—no idea,” he breathed through his teeth, obviously controlling a storm of emotion brewing within himself. “Learn to let go.” He dropped Ret to his feet and returned to the wheel.
Ret took a deep, finite breath, evidence of his willingness to let the conversation die. As he turned to walk away, he noticed a wet streak on Mr. Coy’s cheek, the glistening remnants of a tear.
Mr. Coy maneuvered the boat until they arrived at the banks closest to the slums where Princess Alana and her people once resided. The shanties had been reduced to smithereens, now covered in a thick layer of ash and soot and dirt and dust. The ground, which rose in disorganized yet frequent lumps, had now been transformed into an outdoor morgue.
“The quickest path is back the way we came,” Mr. Coy directed. “The girls are waiting for us there. Hurry!” They set off en route to the westside entrance, but they hadn’t gone far when Ret heard someone call for him.
“Ret,” the hoarse voice said. Recognizing the voice, Ret feared the worst, which was exactly what he found. Princess Alana lay nearby, obviously wounded and approaching death.
“We did it, Ret,” Alana cheered softly when Ret arrived at her side. “We won our independence. We are free.”
Ret hadn’t the heart to inform her of the imminent destruction that was enveloping her entire civilization.
“It wasn’t until you arrived that my people first began to believe that we could succeed,” she continued. “I will die as their queen, but you will live as their king, Ret.”
For the first time, it occurred to Ret that, by taking the element out of this land, he had ensured its destruction.
“Thank you, Ret,” Alana said graciously. “Thank you.”
As the life of the princess slipped into shadow, Ret looked to his side to find Mr. Coy looking at him with a watchful eye. His words echoed in Ret’s mind: “Learn to let go.” Ret’s tears moistened Alana’s tattered dress as he laid down her head, closed her eyelids, and stood up to rejoin Mr. Coy.
Back at the place where they had entered Sunken Earth, the girls were rife with anxiety, having watched the events unfold from their bird’s-eye ledge. They paced back and forth, not speaking much, trying to convince themselves that their fears would not be reality. With the environment around them quickly falling apart, they wondered at what point they would save themselves and depart without the boys. It was with part happiness and part apprehension, therefore, when they saw the vegetation before them begin to rustle, evidence of someone approaching. Their hearts seemed to stop as they waited for whoever was nearing to show themselves.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Pauline shouted as soon as she saw Ret and Mr. Coy. “Thank goodness you’re safe!” The girls rushed to their sides and embraced them.
“Where’s Ivan?” Paige asked after hugging Ret.
Ret looked at Mr. Coy; the girls did the same, anticipating grave news.
“He fell,” said Coy. Then, stepping between them, he walked away to fetch the subsuits. The girls’ heads dropped in sorrow, and Paige’s weeping was muffled in Ret’s shoulder.
As everyone else filed into the foyer toward the mouth of the submerged road’s underwater shaft, Ret decided to take one final look at Sunken Earth before joining them. He turned around and winced at the sight. The great mountain, which once stood staunchly, was now half its original size and crumbling rapidly under the gushing flood of water that was pulverizing it continuously and mercilessly. Originating at the hole in the ceiling, massive fissures extended in all directions across the dome, evidence that the roof was succumbing under the gargantuan weight of the ocean above. Through these gaping cracks came torrents of sea water, inundating the land below. Through tear-filled eyes, Ret could only watch as helpless herds of the remaining people tried with futility to escape the tsunami-like waves, which wiped out villages and washed over buildings without leaving so much as a trace. Like a garden hose held over an anthill, Sunken Earth was drowning and would soon be nothing more than a memory.
Ret wanted to extend his hands and contain the destruction. He longed for power over water to command the floods to abate. He shuddered to witness something that he had caused. He was the one who had collected—stolen—the element. No one forced him to do it; he willingly chose to do so. And, as a result, he had ended a great civilization and caused countless innocent deaths. It was his fault that the Guardian was dead; it was because of him that Ivan had been killed; it was due to his mission that Alana hadn’t survived. Ret wondered if the end result of the Oracle would be worth the price that had been paid by Sunken Earth. He thought it a strange thing that, in order to cure the world, he might have to destroy it.
“Thus ends Sunken Earth,” a familiar voice rang in Ret’s ears as a wet arm was laid on his shoulder.
“Lionel!” Ret said in surprise, embracing him. “I’m so glad you’re alive!”
“Me, too,” Lionel agreed, hinting at the arduous task it must have been to survive what he had been through. “I waited for you at the foot of the mountain until I saw the peak explode, which I assumed meant that you had succeeded,” he explained. “It soon became too dangerous for me to wait for you, so I started heading here, where I hoped I would fi
nd all of you.”
“Why are you all wet?” Ret wondered.
“I took the river. I figured it was the safest and most direct route,” Lionel said. “Did you get what you needed?”
“Yeah,” said Ret in defeated triumph, holding out the Oracle, “but Ivan and Alana died, and the Guardian—”
“Then you succeeded, Ret,” said Lionel consolingly, “and that’s all that matters.”
“But look what I’ve done,” Ret mourned, pointing at the tragic scene before them. “Look what I’ve caused.”
“Sunken Earth has fulfilled its purpose,” Lionel taught. “You have relieved them of their duty; you have set them free.”
Ret hadn’t thought of it that way before. He could picture the contentment that had swaddled the Guardian even in death. The parting words of Princess Alana—“We are free”—came to his remembrance.
“Thanks, Lionel,” Ret said sincerely, somewhat comforted. He reciprocated Lionel’s arm clasp. “I’m glad to have your help.”
“Likewise, my friend. Likewise.”
Just then, a deep cracking noise filled the air and echoed against the collapsing walls as an enormous portion of the ceiling broke off near where they were standing at the westside entrance. The fragment shook the earth when it collided into the ground, and more ocean came pouring in, helping to raise the ever-increasing water line.
“Time to go!” Mr. Coy announced.
The party of six rushed inside the foyer and quickly got outfitted in their subsuits.
“What’s this?” Lionel asked, holding Ivan’s subsuit up against his body.
“You’re a smart guy,” Mr. Coy responded. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
One by one, they jumped into the pool and swam back the way they came. Ret was the last one to do so. He looked back once more at the land he had grown to love. The ceiling was nearly gone now, and rough water was licking the elevated ledge that led into the foyer. Ret’s thoughts turned to Lye, wondering how he would escape after having told Ret so confidently that they would meet again. Wanting to ensure Lye’s demise, Ret waved his hand and expedited the impending collapse that would soon greet this room of Sunken Earth.
“You coming, Ret?” Lionel asked from the water, having returned to check on Ret.
“Right behind you.”
Just as the walls came crashing down to seal their route of escape, Ret jumped in the water and followed after Lionel.
CHAPTER 19
RETURN TO TYBEE
It proved to be a much easier task to float up the underwater shaft toward the submerged road than it had been to swim down it. In fact, besides the help from such natural exertions as gravity and density, there seemed to be an additional force slurping them upwards, similar to the pumping of a plunger. With ever-increasing speed, the party ascended out of the vertical tunnel, retraced their steps—though this time upwards—along the submerged road, and reentered open water safely. Or so they thought, for they instantly realized the source of the great suction they had felt just moments earlier while in the vertical shaft.
“Look!” Mr. Coy announced alarmingly over the subsuits’ intercom. “The seafloor is caving in!” All eyes searched frantically to assess their dangerous circumstances. Immediately around them, everything seemed to lean eastwardly—an underwater wind tilting kelp and slanting seagrass; an unnatural current sending shells rolling backwards and fish swimming sideways; a strange force sucking sand like a vacuum and causing the entire floor to slide.
Looking back the way they came, they saw the underwater road begin to buckle as if it was alive. Then, in a matter of seconds, it refolded itself from the inside out, as if each individual stone was connected to the next on a string, like the recoiling of a giant yo-yo.
Ret was awestruck as he stared into the vast expanse of sea surrounding them. What was going on? The entire ocean, which had previously been clean and clear, now looked murky and clouded—befuddled by a colloidal mixture of disturbed sand and debris. This once tranquil island, with its playful beaches and calm currents, was transforming into a spiraling sinkhole of chaos, as if someone had pulled the plug of this gigantic bathtub called the Atlantic Ocean. Had the removal of the element really caused all of this?
“Everyone,” Mr. Coy instructed, as they all tried to swim against the increasingly strong current with little success, “we need to get to the yacht. Think fast!”
Ret and Mr. Coy, who had previously needed a quick getaway while wearing their subsuits, immediately thought to employ the small propellers located within the suits’ heels. The women followed suit. Curiously, however, nothing seemed to change about Lionel, and yet he swam like a fish, keeping pace with everyone else as they sped towards the yacht.
Entering deeper waters, the group watched as the cracking and crumbling of the vanishing seafloor chased them ruthlessly. They felt the pull of the sinking earth tugging and dragging them down. Though they had won the race to the yacht, they were still far from safety.
“Fire up the engines, Ivan,” Mr. Coy ordered as they collapsed on deck, “engage the—”
He stopped himself, recognizing his blunder. The mention of Ivan’s name caused everyone to freeze, then slowly turn and gaze at he who uttered it. Mr. Coy avoided their stares, lowered his head, and paced away to the control room—in silence, and alone.
The yacht creaked and groaned as the still waters around it were almost instantly transformed into raging rapids. Quite literally, the hundreds of thousands of square miles of Atlantic seafloor, which fell under the boundaries of Devil’s Triangle and doubled as the ceiling of Sunken Earth, had given way, resulting in a truly cataclysmic—even apocalyptic—event. As far as the eye could see, the ocean was steadily sinking, unavoidably dragging everything with it. Schools of fish were flung from their classrooms; flukes of whales waved goodbye before plunging; even entire islands wallowed in the maelstrom before being swallowed in the massive sinkhole.
Now chugging up the side of the pit, the yacht engaged its hover capabilities, sending the inflatable skirt around the hull and a wall of mist into the air. Then, with a great lunge, the ship employed its emergency propulsion engines, launching itself up and out of the widening crater. Mr. Coy continued to use all of the yacht’s power until his instruments confirmed they had sailed safely beyond the periphery of Devil’s Triangle.
With their safe escape assured, Mr. Coy relinquished the ship’s controls and returned to the main deck to join the others, all removing their subsuits.
“Dad,” Paige said in a relieved voice, giving her father a hug. “What happened back there?”
Mr. Coy looked at Ret. “I think that element is extremely more powerful than any of us had expected.”
“Where’s Lionel?” Ret asked, grateful to change the subject. They all exchanged blank stares.
“I saw him get on the yacht,” Pauline said, offering what little information she knew.
“I don’t like this,” said Mr. Coy with an air of suspicion. “Hurry, let’s find the bloke.” Mr. Coy quickly scurried off, looking in every place and in all directions, while the others followed behind.
“I’ve never liked this Lionel character,” Coy grumpily mumbled to himself repeatedly as the group searched the upper decks and middle sections. “Now he’s snooping around my beautiful yacht!”
As they were making their way to the lower levels, Mr. Coy literally ran into a member of the crew.
“Sir,” the crewmember said earnestly, addressing Mr. Coy, “the prisoners escaped. Come and see!” Temporarily delaying their search for Lionel, they rushed away with the crewman.
“What happened here?” Mr. Coy asked upon arriving at the vault. The crewman directed their attention to the metal bars behind which the trio had been kept. The entire console surrounding and including the cell’s lock had been melted away.
“And how could they do a thing like that?” Pauline said indignantly, upset that her captors had gotten away. She continued to interrogate
the crewman like a detective. “Did you loan them a blowtorch or something?”
“No, ma’am,” the respectful crewman replied. “There ain’t nothin’ on this ship that coulda done somethin’ like that. We found this here key, lying on the floor, but it don’t go to nothin’ on this ship.”
Mr. Coy took the key from the crewman’s hand. It was large and rusted, like something from a medieval era. After examining it, Mr. Coy slipped it into his pocket without saying a word.
“Those sneaky little crooks,” Pauline frowned.
“We think they done it at night,” the crewman continued, “even stole one of our lifeboats.”
“They were a fiery lot,” Pauline sighed as Ret examined the melted ore, “I’ll give ‘em that.”
The search for Lionel continued but soon ended when Ret entered one of the cabins on the lower level. On the bed, he found a subsuit lying neatly, next to a handwritten note:
Dear Ret,
Sorry for leaving so soon; I’ve been gone a long time and needed to get back. Thanks for saving me down there—I owe you one. I’ll be in touch soon.
Your friend,
Lionel Zarbock
P.S. Tell Coy thanks for letting me use this suit. I couldn’t quite figure out the science behind it—very…Coy.
Ret’s heart sank. Why did Lionel leave so soon? Was he not interested in what happened at the mountain’s summit? Did he not know of the long list of questions he wanted to ask? How could he go without at least saying goodbye?
Leaving the note for the others to read, Ret trudged to the end of the yacht’s stern and sat wearily on a large wooden crate. With heavy eyes, he followed the ship’s wake back to the scene of destruction, which now, so far in the distance, seemed but a small whirlpool. The setting sun warmed his right side and cast a crimson reflection across the surface of the sea. It reminded Ret of the blood that had been spilt, largely at his hand.
