by E.W. Pierce
*
With forefinger and thumb, Joha measured the width of White Skies.
He'd not believed what his eyes had told him. But squinting at home through the gap in his fingers, he couldn't deny the truth - he was drifting, leaving White Skies behind.
He'd been in the diver every day for the past seven, catching his day's food. Invariably he found himself circling the smashed float and eyeing the cliff. Could the other float be down there, somewhere over the edge? He could use it to get home if it wasn't ruined in the crash. If he meant to try for home, it had to be soon, while he could still see White Skies.
Joha came to the water's edge and nodded a polite hello to Joha-in-the-water, then set to work removing the basket from the diver. He'd mended a new grabbing hand for the arm. It didn't open and close as the old one had, but he thought it would suit his purpose. Slipping his goggles on, Joha sparked his welder.
The sun was high overhead before he finally stepped away, snapping the welder off. His pants, cinched about his thin waist with a knotted strip of blanket, were damp with sweat and the spray of the sea. He ate an early supper and loaded the diver with supplies - another sea creature, in case of hunger; three jars of water; his satchel, which contained all of his precious mending tools.
The sea flooded over the diver's surface and the windows darkened. The familiar rush of panic gripped Joha's throat. He busied himself with the controls. The arm's new attachment held as he lifted and lowered it experimentally.
The sun was low in the west by the time he thought he was close to the spot. The idea of being under water after dark terrified him, but he didn't want to turn around and come back the next day. Pa always said when you take to dreading a task, best to see it done; otherwise it'll weigh you down.
The electric lanterns cast thin, insignificant light as the diver descended into black. Joha's eyes strained, looking for sign of the cliff and the smashed portable float. He spun the diver in lazy circles as it descended. A few of the creatures swam into sight and disappeared just as quickly into shadow. Of the cliff, or the smashed float, there was no sign.
Down and down the diver went. Long minutes slipped by. Joha wondered how much air the diver could hold, and if he'd know before its stores were depleted.
Tall stone columns - dozens beyond count - rose ponderously out of the gloom like spirits rising from death. Enormously wide, the columns descended far beyond the diver's meager light. The rock was not smooth or uniform; the surface seemed almost liquid, bubbling up in places and running thin in others. Wedged into cracks in the stone façade, green plants swayed on an invisible breeze. Huge openings looked into the column's interior, and though some were large enough to accommodate the diver, he felt no temptation to try the fit.
He stared gap-mouthed as the diver slowly moved down the path between columns. He wondered what purpose the columns served, or had served in some long ago. Had they been some invention of the old ones?
Something struck the diver, rocking it sharply to the side. Joha screamed. His hands went to the controls and yanked back, angling the diver for the surface.
The diver pitched forward with a metallic thud as it was struck again, this time from behind. The world spun, end-over-end. Joha fought to steady the control stick. He caught a glimpse of a rocky column drawing near, filling the window. The diver crashed into stone.
Rattling. Hissing. Water spraying Joha's face. He picked himself off the floor. The impact had cratered the roof in one section. Sea water sprayed into the interior. He thought he could weld it. Later. If he survived.
The diver bobbed unsteadily and responded sluggishly to the controls. Joha weaved the limping craft through a cluster of columns. His hands shook on the control stick. He watched the sea through the window, scarcely blinking.
He caught a glimpse of a massive finned tail, there and gone again as the creature rounded a column. Joha immediately turned the diver in the opposite direction and pulled back on the stick. The diver crawled upward. "Come on... faster," he whispered.
Joha spun the diver in a slow circle as he ascended. He flexed the grabbing arm, thinking he might be able to grasp the creature, or at least force it away, but it was gone, shorn away in the impact.
A monstrous creature rushed into view, propelled by its massive tail, all squirming tentacles and gnashing teeth. Tentacles snaked around the diver and squeezed. The fine spray of water became a jet. Dozens of unblinking eyes pressed up against the windows. There was a loud popping sound and then the world plunged into darkness. A faint burning smell filled the cabin.
Joha froze. Holding his breath. Afraid to move. Water splashed around his feet. The diver shook powerfully several times and then was spinning again. Joha tumbled within, hands grasping for purchase but settling on nothing.
One of the jars shattered. Shards bit into arms and feet and face.
The diver bounced off something. Rolling and skipping, it came to rest with a long metallic groan. Joha was lying on the ceiling, his face near the spray of water. Sitting up, he cast about in the dark for his satchel.
Joha lit the electric torch. Yellow light filled the space. The diver was quickly filling with water – already it was up to his ankles. Setting the light aside, Joha slipped his goggles on and ignited his welder. Sparks hopped and danced as he bent to the task.
He wondered if the creature would see the light, faint though it was. With the diver dark and quiet, hopefully the creature would move on and forget about him. He needed to get the diver working again. If he could; he thought it likely that water had gotten into the engine. If that was true, there was little he could do about it. Best not to think of such things.
Tears filled his eyes. Why hadn't Pa come for him? If he'd come, none of this would have happened. Now Joha was trapped down here in the dark with a huge monster. Was Pa trying to punish Joha? Was he so afraid of the sea that he'd leave his son down here to die alone and scared?
He slipped the goggles off and wiped them dry of tears. Pa wasn't coming. He never was. Pa, Uncle Emmitt, White Skies – it was all behind Joha now, a part of his past he could visit in his mind but never again touch. His home now was a tiny bit of land on the sea.
