New York Deep

by Andrew J. Morgan

  Levering himself to his feet, standing hunched in a spattering of his own blood, Josh took a breath. In lumbering strides he staggered to the entrance, to the top of the ramp. He looked into the darkness.

  The feeling of familiarity, of warmth, filled him. He made his way down the ramp, his shoes slipping with the wet of his blood, the pulse drawing him through the darkness. The seed glowed brightly, growing hot, and he forced himself to hold onto it. With every step the pain lessened as his mind and body separated, the tearing agony in his side just a distant twinge. His head was clear, his thoughts unencumbered by flesh and blood. He was at the portal. The time had come.

  There were two choices available to him: the first was to take the seed into the portal and close it. Even if it worked, as Edwards had pointed out, he'd still be advanced well into the future. His family would be much older, having lived a lifetime without him.

  His other choice was to drop the seed, go back in time, start again. Perhaps he could do it over in such a way that meant he could still be with Georgie and Joseph. Perhaps he could persuade Edwards to close the portal quickly, so they'd all be safe. That was what he wanted, and wanted so badly, even if he didn’t believe it. He considered the seed in his hand. It wouldn't be a problem, to go around once more. If it didn't work, he could try again. And again. And again.

  Thinking back, he remembered Manhattan as it was in the future, rotten and crumbling. He tried to think beyond that, to the pulsing memory of death that sat no more clearly than a fog. He'd been through the portal before, he knew that. The portal was familiar to him, comforting, like an old friend. He couldn't think of a time before it's existence.

  A slow, creeping horror built in him as he came to a terrible realization. How many times had he been through the portal already? Once, for sure. Twice was hazy. Three times? Four? Ten?

  There was no way to know. There never could be. Had he spend eternity doing this, trying to find the ultimate solution? Trying to avoid this ultimate sacrifice?

  When he had landed after his flight back from Niagara, he had called Georgie, but she had not answered. He'd worked for three days solid after that, sleeping in the office on-site, and when he'd finally returned home, Georgie was already back. She didn't mention it, not even once. It was like nothing had happened.

  But everything had happened. Their relationship had been permanently damaged. A blemish, a chip that would not polish out, that looked uglier and uglier every time he saw it. Josh knew the only way was out. He had given her the divorce without a fight. He had been praying for it to come, if anything to give her peace.

  He loved her, and she loved him. That was why they had to move on. But it didn't have to be like that. For years, Josh blamed his work, blamed his upbringing, even blamed Georgie, but only now did he see the truth for what it was: his life was in his control and no one else's. The blame lay squarely with him.

  The decision was his; it always had been. He wished he could take it back, try again, wished the portal would transport him to the moment he took that phone call at Niagara and stepped on the plane to go back to New York, but it wouldn't. And it shouldn't. He had to take responsibility for himself, now. And that meant making the hard decision.

  He thought of Edwards's commitment to the portal, the sacrifices he'd made. He'd described himself as dedicated. That was what Josh needed to be, but being dedicated didn't mean doing what was best for him. Being dedicated meant doing what was best for them.

  He took a breath, and gripping hold of the seed tight, the scent of blood twitching his nostrils—he stepped in.

  Chapter 31

  'What makes you think you'd be suited to work below ground?'

  It wasn't a question Josh had expected, but one in hindsight he really should have. 'I don't know . . . I'm not claustrophobic or anything.'

  The interviewer's questioning continued in the same detached manner. 'How do you know that?'

  'Well, I guess I've never really had any problems squeezing into tight spaces or anything like that.'

  'Do you have any examples?'

  Josh thought. 'Yeah—last year, me and a few friends went on a potholing experience for Sam's—he's one of my friends—twenty-first birthday. I was the only one who could do the hardest course there; the others all gave up.'

  'And it wasn't a problem for you?'

  'No. I just pushed on. Better to see it through, that's what my dad always used to say.' Josh laughed nervously; the interviewer did not reciprocate.

  'This is a five-year program—you think you can see that through? It's not going to be easy.'

  Josh shrugged. 'Once I've made my mind up, there's no stopping me.'

  'And beyond that? This is young man's game—there's no long-term future in this for anyone.'

  'Management, I guess. Training. Passing on the baton.'

  The interviewer nodded, a seed of approval showing on his face. He scribbled on his notes.

  The old makes way for the new.

  'What are we going to call him?'

  'Him?'

  Georgie pointed at her gently rounding belly.

  'Oh,' Josh said, 'right! It's still not quite sunk in.'

  'So? What are we going to call him?'

  Josh put down the magazine and shuffled across to Georgie, and they snuggled together on the sofa, Josh stroking her belly. 'How do you know it's going to be a him?'

  'I just know.'

  'I'll take you up on that bet. Fifty-fifty odds, right?'

  Georgie laughed. 'Prepare to lose. Fifty dollars?'

  'Make it a hundred.'

  'Confident, huh?'

  'You may as well give over that hundred dollars now.'

  Georgie squeezed Josh's knee, making him squirm in pain. 'You won't see a single cent out of me, because this bump right here is going to be a boy.'

  Josh, giggling and rubbing his knee, having wriggled from Georgie's death-grip, said, 'You're lucky you're pregnant or I'd have you for that!'

  'Oh yeah? I'm pregnant, not paralyzed. Bring it on!'

  Josh pounced on her, laying himself gently on top of her. They rolled back and forth on the sofa for a minute, then Josh kissed Georgie. 'I love you,' he said.

  'And I love you too. But you still haven't given me a name.'

  Sitting up and mock pouting, Josh said, 'Aw, damn! I was hoping you'd forgotten.'

  'You're going to need to be sneakier than that to distract me. So, what's it gonna be?'

  Josh felt his smile fall as he sat and thought about the baby's name. He'd purposely avoided thinking about it up to now because he knew that doing so made it real. His chest fluttered; he wasn't ready to be a dad, and he knew it. A young thing, under his care—he couldn't do it, didn't want to do it. Well, he did; he just didn't want to do it wrong.

  'I'm waiting . . .' Georgie said, folding her arms.

  'Hang on, I'm thinking!' Josh replied. He wondered what it was like for Georgie, actually growing the child inside of her. At its most vulnerable time, she was responsible for every part of it; she held its life within her. Yet here she was, smiling and happy, not a ball of nervousness like Josh knew he would be. How did she do it? 'I don't know,' he said. 'I can't think of any.'

  Georgie looked sad, but not because she resented Josh for not picking a name, but because she sympathized with how he felt. She stroked his arm. 'You'll get there,' she said. 'What lies ahead of us may be uncertain—may be crazy—but we have each other. We'll get through it, and it will be amazing. You'll love it, I promise. It'll be our future, the three of us together. Besides,' she added, grinning, 'if that ditzy Joan and her stupid boyfriend next door can manage it, it should be a piece of pie for us!'

  Josh laughed, but felt empty. A weight hung from his shoulders.

  You carry our future.

  'Jesus, it's cold,' Lionel said, rubbing his gloved hands together. He and Josh surveyed the landscape, or at least what they could see of it through the blizzard. 'Have you ever seen such a godforsaken hell hole?'


  Josh didn't mind it. In fact, he found it to be quite beautiful in a melancholic kind of way. The isolation was powerful, made him feel a very small part of a very big universe. 'You're just an old New Yorker who refuses to learn new tricks,' Josh said, jabbing an elbow into Lionel's ribs, making him cough.

  'Damn, what was that for?' Lionel said, rubbing his side. 'I'll teach you a new trick all right—it's called writing you up for being an insolent little shit. Then we'll see who's a miserable New Yorker.'

  Josh laughed. 'I said old, not miserable, but yeah, you're that as well.'

  Lionel muttered something under his breath, talking into his gloves as he resumed rubbing them together.

  'So where do we start?' Josh asked.

  'Somewhere over there,' Lionel told him, pointing. 'The desalination plant is going just south of that ridge, and we're piping all the way out to the coast a mile over.'

  'Do we have any rough figures yet?'

  'Twenty-foot diameter, reinforced concrete. Seems the right way to go. The bosses are talking about jacking the pipe in.'

  'Really? A twenty-foot-diameter pipe?

  'That's what they're saying.'

  Josh peered into the landscape. Soon all that pristine white would be turned to sludgy brown as work commenced. Perhaps jacking was a good idea after all. 'We'll need a hell of a hydraulic ram to push that pipe through.'

  'The bosses have been in talks with Grundoram; seems they've got a new ram coming out that'll do just the job.'

  'Oh yeah? Must be a monster.'

  'It's called “The Goliath” apparently.'

  Josh chuckled. 'Really?'

  Nodding, Lionel said, 'Yeah, really.'

  'Well, there you go. We'll be pounding our way through the ground with it in no time.'

  'I'd actually been meaning to ask you about that,' Lionel said. 'The bosses want someone to be the liaison with Grundoram, work with them from the ground as a kind of advisor. I've recommended you to do it.'

  Josh was taken aback. 'What, me? You want me to do it?'

  'Yeah,' Lionel said, seeming to have misinterpreted Josh's surprise as dismay. 'There'll be a sizeable pay rise of course, a new job title, more time in New York. You've got the baby on the way and I thought it would be good—'

  'Thank you,' Josh said, taking Lionel's hand in both of his and damn near rattling it from Lionel's arm. 'Thank you. I accept.' He beamed. 'I'm going home,' he said.

  'I've said it before and I'll say it again: you're a lucky bastard,' Lionel said, freeing his hand from Josh's grip. 'Make the most of it.'

  Josh looked back out at the wash of snow. Somehow he didn't feel quite so lonely any more.

  You have returned.

  'What? Now?'

  'Yes, now!' Georgie yelled.

  Josh froze in panic. He knew what he had to do, had rehearsed it in his mind over and over, but now the time had come, he couldn't get his body to move.

  'So I'm getting myself to the hospital, is that—' Georgie cut herself off, wincing, clutching her abdomen.

  Then, all at once, the world was real again, high definition, as clear as it had ever been. Josh shot up out of bed, threw the clothes from the pile in the corner on, and got some out for Georgie too, helping her dress. 'Do you want something to eat before we go?'

  'No! Get the bag!'

  Nodding, Josh rushed out to the kitchen and grabbed the maternity bag, already pre-packed with just about everything anyone could ever need, or so it seemed. As he hoisted its surprising weight onto his shoulder, he remembered how he'd wanted to argue about its contents, but he'd kept his mouth shut. At least he'd not been carrying it on his front for the last nine months.

  'Where are you?' Georgie called out from the bedroom.

  'Just coming!' He rushed back in, helping her up and out into the kitchen, where she sat at the breakfast bar.

  'Have you called a cab?' she asked as she grimaced.

  The cab! He'd forgotten! 'I'm just doing that now.'

  Georgie's response was a long growl as she buried her head in her arms. Josh picked up the phone and dialed out. The phone rang, and a man answered.

  'New York Best Taxis,' the man said.

  'I need a cab, now—my wife is going into labor!'

  'Okay—where you want cab?'

  'What?'

  'Where? For cab.'

  Josh didn't understand. He couldn't understand. A panicked rage gurgled in his throat, spilling out uncontrolled and unmeasured. 'It doesn't matter where I want the cab, I want it here, now—' He cut himself off as he realized that he'd made a mistake, misunderstanding the question. In fact he couldn't even figure out what he'd thought the man had been asking. It seemed so clear and obvious now. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I'm—I'm stressed. Please send the cab to 82nd, number 1034.'

  'Okay, ten minute.'

  'Thank you.'

  The man hung up.

  'Cab's on its way,' Josh said.

  'How long?'

  'Ten minutes.'

  Georgie groaned. They sat in silence—Georgie's grunting aside—for the longest ten minutes of their lives, while Josh rubbed Georgie's back and Georgie remained slumped over the breakfast bar. All the things Josh had thought would happen, all the little tips and tricks he'd learned in the build up to now—all of it was moot. He was floundering, treading water, and only just staying afloat.

  A horn sounded outside.

  'The cab!' Josh yelled, making Georgie jump.

  'Jesus, you don't have to shout,' she said, looking up at him with a frown. She was pale, and sweating profusely. 'I'm not deaf . . .'

  Josh, not sure how to respond, stood there staring at her. Her frown wavered, and she smiled, then laughed. Josh did too. It was a moment he'd remember for the rest of his life, not because of what she'd just said, but because of what happened next.

  'I don't feel well . . .' Georgie said, smile falling. She really did look pale.

  'Shall I call an ambulance?'

  Georgie shook her head. 'No, cab's already here. It's the middle of the night. It'll be quicker to take the cab.'

  She was right. Josh helped her up, and his stomach lurched when he saw that the stool glistened with blood. He didn't tell her.

  The cab raced through the night to the NewYork–Presbyterian Hospital, sparking the sound of horns as it darted through the traffic. Georgie was faint and barely talking, mumbling to herself as she grew more and more pale. Josh could only urge the driver to go faster—other than that, he was helpless. Helpless and useless.

  When they arrived at the hospital, he screamed to a nurse standing outside smoking a cigarette to get help. When she saw Georgie, she stomped the cigarette out and flew off into the hospital, returning a few seconds later with a wheelchair. Together—after Josh had paid the driver and apologized for the blood on the seat—they helped Georgie into the wheelchair and pushed her inside, where more nurses met them. The group of nurses briefly exchanged a few quiet words, then rushed Georgie off. Josh had to jog to keep up. He wanted to ask what was going on, but his voice had left him.

  When they arrived at the maternity ward, the administrator was just putting down the phone. Front desk must have called through, because she waved them in. 'You'll have to wait here,' she said to Josh. 'They need to work.'

  'But . . .' Josh gasped. 'My wife . . .'

  'Please take a seat, sir. Your wife is good hands.'

  Josh wanted to be sick. His legs were going to give way. He needed to sit down. 'Okay . . .' he said quietly, fumbling his way to the waiting area and collapsing onto a seat. He was the only one there. In his mind he was bursting through the doors and demanding he see his wife and be told what was happening, but the reality was that he waited in that room, exhausted and scared, staring at the poster on the opposite wall. It was sun-bleached and dog-eared, and although he stared at it for hours, he never actually read it. It had a pony on it, he remembered that, but the words he never took in.

  'Mr. Reed?'

  Josh looked
up. A doctor stood in the doorway, addressing him. She held a clipboard.

  Josh nodded. He wanted to stand; couldn't. He could already hear the words. The doctor's expression said it all.

  'Mr. Reed,' she said. 'Your wife suffered a hemorrhage during labor.'

  Josh's entire body tingled with nausea. He wanted to run away. He didn't want to hear it. But he couldn’t move.

  'There was some bleeding, but we managed to stop it. We delivered the baby by C-section.'

  If Josh moved he'd be sick for sure. The room spun.

  'Because you got Mrs. Reed here quickly, I'm pleased to say that everything is going to be okay. Mother and baby will need to stay in overnight so we can keep an eye on them, but you should all be able to go home together tomorrow.' She smiled. 'Congratulations.'

  Time had frozen. Josh's heart had stopped. Nothing moved. There was no sound. 'A—a baby?' he said.

  The doctor nodded. She was patient, and kind, Josh could tell, letting him take everything in at his own pace.

  'They're both . . . okay?'

  'Yes, Mr. Reed, they are both doing well. Keeping them in is just a precaution. Hemorrhaging isn't unusual, but it's better to be safe.'

  'Yes,' Josh said, nodding. 'Of course . . .' He swallowed, throat sticky. 'Can I . . . can I see them?'

  'Of course you can,' the doctor said, gesturing for him to come through. 'Right this way.'

  Josh stood. He wobbled, righting himself on the arm of the chair. Steady, he moved. Each step was long and unstable, like it was his first time walking. He couldn't remember how to do it. 'Is the baby . . . is . . .' He couldn't finish.

  'He's doing well. Come and see him.'

  'Him . . .?'

  'Yes—he's a healthy baby boy.'

  A boy. Georgie had been right. She was always right. And now he needed a name. Where none had come to mind before, one did just now: Joseph. He would be called Joseph. He had seen the name on a poster somewhere and he liked it. A poster with a pony on it. He couldn't remember where he'd seen it.