The Quiet at the End of the World

by Lauren James

  “This is definitely not a few decades old,” I say, thinking of how overgrown the helicopter pad was and how broken the holographic projector had been. Something isn’t adding up here. I don’t know how, or why, but this place is a lot older than we thought.

  We pause at a split in the path, looking between the two routes. Both are smooth and man-made and equally interesting. There’s a low howl of wind coming from further inside one of them. Shen turns his head from side to side, cupping one hand around his hearing ear to work out where the noise is coming from. “Shall we split up?” he jokes.

  I roll my eyes. “Like either of us are that stupid.”

  In the end, we choose the left-hand route at random. After a few minutes, we reach a lift that is set into the rock. When we press the down button, nothing happens.

  “You’d think they’d have realised how quickly a lift would become unusable,” Shen says.

  “Even if it did still work, I’m not sure I’d trust ropes and pulleys this old,” I say. “The lights don’t even work any more.”

  We carry on walking instead. The tunnel slopes downwards, slow and steady, with doors on either side. We stop to open each one along the way. One is full of building supplies, with tools still covered in dirt from constructing the tunnels. There’s a giant digger covered in a faded tarpaulin, neatly parked in a chamber barely big enough to hold it. There’s a bathroom, full of portable toilets which have long since dried up.

  Another room is an old office, full of filing cabinets and desks with trays of faded papers and old computer monitors. The printed text on the documents discussing builders’ wages and architectural plans has faded into brown.

  It’s like an Egyptian pyramid, perfectly preserved just as it was left. I can imagine these rooms being discovered by future archaeologists trying to work out what kind of ancient ritual the computer monitors represented. The god of glowing screens, as Shen would say.

  We keep going, passing through the general work area and going into the real storage rooms. The tunnel doubles back on itself occasionally as it zigzags down the mountain. Sand and sludge have formed a soft and shifting floor beneath our feet. I reach out to Shen, and we hold hands for support, sliding our feet along the smooth floor.

  The water gets deeper until we’re wading through it. Mitch retracts his spindly legs and brings out a set of paddles, swimming alongside us on his belly. Finally, we reach a point where the water is at our chests, and we’re going to have to start swimming too.

  “Shall we carry on?” I ask.

  “We’ve come this far,” Shen says.

  My guide rope is nearly at the end of its tether, so I tie a second rope to it and unspool that instead.

  After half an hour, the water is so high that my head nearly brushes against the vaulted ceiling as I swim. I start to feel nervous when I stop being able to make out the floor of the tunnel below us.

  I’m about to suggest that we turn back and try the other tunnel when I catch sight of a weak light streaming through the murky water somewhere below us. “Do you see that?”

  Shen dives to look while I tread water. He comes back up, wiping water from his eyes. “I think there’s a side-tunnel on the right. It’s quite deep, but it must lead upwards if there’s light coming from it. I think we should give it a go.”

  “I’m up for the risk,” I say, shrugging. “There’s a light there. That’s a better sign than anything else we’ve seen.”

  I’m out of guide rope, so while Shen sets up our scuba gear, I wrap the end of the rope around an old light fixture, leaving it for us to find on the way back. There haven’t been enough twists and turns for us to get lost. Not yet, at least.

  Shen holds my oxygen tank while I hook it over my shoulders. I do the same for him, and we pull on our mouthpieces. Then I kick off the curved ceiling, diving down towards the light. Mitch keeps close to us, his lifeguard protocol clearly making him wary of any underwater activities.

  The mysterious light filters through the green. Beams of light drifting through the water were the first thing our ancestors saw, back when we were worms on the ocean floor at the beginning of Earth’s history. If this sight was the first thing our ancient predecessors saw, then what will be the last? It should be something as important and unique as that first worm looking at the sun with brand-new eyes.

  What if the last eyes are mine, or Shen’s? What will be the last thing that we – that any human ever – sees? If it were up to me, I think I’d want to spend my last moments looking at Shen.

  I turn to Shen, making an OK sign. He makes one back. Mitch extends some sort of clamp from his hand, opening and closing it in his own version of OK.

  The water gets lighter as we approach the light source up ahead. I’m focused on swimming towards it when I notice a stream of bubbles coming from my regulator. I slow down, reaching up to feel at my mouthpiece. There must be a leak. I turn to Shen, waving to catch his attention, then point at the regulator.

  His eyes widen when he sees the bubbles. He points back behind us, wanting me to return to the surface, but I can already tell it’s too late. We’ve come too far. My oxygen is already too low, and I won’t make it back before it runs out. The stream of bubbles is getting faster and faster, hissing loudly like a boiling kettle. When I try to pull in a breath, it takes a huge amount of effort to get any air.

  I’ve got no choice but to keep going and hope we reach shallower water quickly. I kick as fast as I can, holding my breath and aiming towards the light.

  Shen takes my arm, kicking hard to propel me forwards faster. My lungs are burning, and I fight to draw in any air from the mouthpiece at all.

  We’re not going to make it. I need to breathe.

  The surface isn’t getting any nearer and I can’t stop gasping fruitlessly for breath, even though I know it’s not coming. I feel my vision go black, and then there’s a surge of force behind me and we’re being pushed down the tunnel at speed. Mitch has his arms around us, and he’s driving us up and up and up until finally, finally, I break the surface.

  Treading water, I tear off my mouthpiece and gasp and gasp, drawing in oxygen until the dizziness disappears and my vision comes back.

  “I forgot the safety checks,” Shen says, voice high and panicked.

  I shake my head, still fighting to draw in breath after breath, unable to speak. The air is rotten and damp in the enclosed chamber, and I choke on the smell, dry-heaving.

  “Lowrie, you nearly – you nearly drowned! Just because I forgot the safety checks!” He’s panicking, just like I did outside the entrance, eyes wild and terrified.

  I press my hand to his chest. “Then we’re even,” I say, the words hoarse and tiny. “I nearly killed you too.”

  “You were right, this was a mistake. We’re going to get ourselves killed! What else have I forgotten? What else are we going to – we can’t do this.”

  I told myself the same thing outside the entrance, but now we’re here, I’m absolutely certain that leaving would be the wrong thing to do. “No. We can do this,” I tell him, “and we will. So what if we’ve forgotten things? So what if we make mistakes? This is all for our parents, Shen. We need to do this for them. We have all the skills we need to do this. We just have to believe in ourselves. And besides” – I try to smile – “we’re here now. Going back would be just as dangerous as carrying on.”

  Shen breathes in deeply, and nods. “OK.”

  We swim a bit further until the tunnel levels out and we are able to walk through the shallow water, carrying our scuba gear on our shoulders. Once on dry land, Mitch shakes like a cat and draws his flippers back inside his body.

  The light we saw through the water is coming from a bulb above a thick steel doorway fitted into the rock face. I call Mitch back from where he’s exploring the tunnel ahead. Another DNA scanner is set at eye level. I press my finger to it, and the lock on the door clicks open easily.

  CHAPTER 29

  The door opens to reveal a sma
ll foyer enclosed by clear glass walls. I press my face against the glass, shining my torch through it. There’s a giant warehouse on the other side. I can make out shelves full of boxes and crates, stretching out into the darkness. It’s so modern and new and crisp that it takes my breath away.

  I can’t believe that this tidy storage unit can exist just metres away from a flooded stone cave. The part that I can see must be three football pitches long, and this is just one vault. Who knows how many huge caverns have been carved out of the rock to build the warehouses? What kinds of engineers designed this place? These caves must have undermined the whole structural integrity of the mountain. If I’d designed it, I would have kept the rooms long and narrow instead.

  “There’s no door,” Shen says, pacing up and down the small foyer. “How do we get at the stuff?”

  An ancient bot is activated by our presence and rolls towards us, chittering in welcome. I reach out and rub its head. It blinks, pink lights flashing across its screen as if it’s blushing.

  Mitch walks up to it, flashing something back at it with the lights on his head.

  The bot, clearly delighted, lights up in a firework display of colours in reply.

  “Shen! They’re talking to each other!”

  “They must have the same software,” Shen says, grinning. “Neither of them can speak in beeps, so they’re using the lights instead.”

  “Mitch must have been so lonely,” I say, suddenly sad. “Not having anyone who spoke his language for all these years.”

  None of our bots speak using lights like this. No wonder Fitz and Mitch never got on. Mitch kept trying to copy the beeps he made and then ended up having to hang around with the dogs instead.

  We watch the bots circling each other in joy, both using a complicated pattern of flashes and colours.

  “Do you think that’s why Mitch has been hanging around with us?” Shen asks. “Because he was looking for someone who understood him?”

  “Maybe.” My heart pangs.

  The bot flashes at us, and I suddenly notice that there’s a screen on its back. It looks like it’s designed for humans to use.

  I crouch down, looking at it carefully. When I tap the screen, it displays rows and rows of symbols. I squint at them, trying to work out what they mean. There’s one I recognize – a picture of an apple – so I tap on it.

  From somewhere in the darkness inside the warehouse there’s a low grinding noise. Shen and I stare at each other, alarmed but intrigued.

  We press up against the glass. I shield my eyes from the glare of the light, trying to see what’s happening. A case has separated from the other shelves and is rolling towards us on a set of tracks. When it reaches the glass, it turns and rolls to the side, slotting against the wall. A hatch clicks open. Shen reaches inside and pulls out a handful of paper packets. I take one. It’s ice cold, like it’s just come out of a freezer. There’s another symbol of an apple on the front. When I tear the packet open, small brown seeds spill out into my hand.

  “We use the bot to ask for what we need,” Shen says, delighted. “Just like the door – they didn’t know what language the people who found this place would speak, so they made a system that uses pictures instead.”

  “Hieroglyphics!” I roll the dry seeds between my fingers. “When I tapped the picture of food, it brought us seeds.”

  “We just have to work out what the symbol for the Babygrow parts would be, and it’ll fetch them for us.”

  “It can’t be that hard,” I say but doubtfully. “This place was built by humans just like us. They’ll have used the same kind of symbols we would. Right?”

  I kneel back down beside the bot and scroll through the other pictures on the screen, trying to work out what they represent. Most of them are meaningless lines and shapes that I can’t make sense of, until I see one that looks familiar. “That’s a plough!” I say. “We found one at the river once, remember?”

  And it’s like that’s the key which unlocks the code images for me, because I start to recognize dozens of items – all things we’ve found while mudlarking. There’s a triangular shape that looks like an arrowhead. There’s a woman in a dress and a little boy in shorts, holding hands. I think that must represent clothes. A thin screwdriver that looks like a dentistry tool. A button and zipper. A lock and key. A paint pot and brush. A spade and pitchfork. A clock. A book. A pen and pencil. A plate and bowl, knife and fork. All of them are essential items that have been used by humans for millennia.

  “Whoever built this must have really been hoping the sterility would be cured, so this stuff might be used.” This is a starter kit for life as a human being.

  “It still might be,” Shen says.

  I shiver. “I don’t think so. Do you?”

  “No.” Shen is quiet, arms wrapped around his chest.

  “I think this whole place was a waste of time and money. Humanity is done for. Why is this even here?”

  “They couldn’t just give up. They kept fighting, right up until the last moment, just like us. I don’t blame them.”

  “Let’s get out of here as soon as we can,” I say. “I can’t stand it. It makes me too sad. Look for a picture that might represent electronics. A phone or battery, or something that might symbolize the Babygrow parts.”

  Shen taps on an image of a lightning bolt. The case full of apple seeds retreats back into the darkness, and after a moment of grinding, another box rolls up to take its place. The new crate is full of cables and wiring but no circuit boards.

  “I think we need to be more specific. We need Babygrow parts rather than just generic electrical items,” I say.

  We try a few other symbols that seem related to computers, but none of them give us what we need. After the third attempt, I sigh. The image must be here somewhere. I need to think like Maya. What would she list the Babygrows as, if she was going to choose a symbol?

  I notice the symbol of the lady and her son again, as Shen scrolls past it. Now I’m looking more closely, I can see that there’s a little lightning bolt on the boy’s T-shirt, just like the symbol for circuits. That could mean a robot child, surely. That would make more sense than clothing, anyway.

  “That one,” I say, tapping at it. “What if that’s, like … family?”

  The symbol expands, revealing a whole interface of other parts. They confuse me for a minute, until I recognize the plastic chest unit I opened in Alexei, and realise they’re parts. Each symbol represents a different Babygrow part, from the full body kits to replacement components.

  “The Babygrow parts are listed under family?” Shen repeats, stunned. “They did love the Babygrows, if they saw them as family… But then why didn’t they let them inside the vaults?”

  I frown. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it? Plus, I’ve been thinking: Maya’s posts make it sound like almost everyone had a Babygrow. So where did they all go? Why are there only three hundred of them left?”

  “Something must have happened to them. Maybe there was another malware a while back that wiped them all out? We aren’t going to find answers here. We need to fix our parents so they can explain everything.”

  “Right,” I say, shaking my head. I scroll through the pictures of parts, skimming past the limbs and heads and cooling fans until I reach the smallest symbols, including some for tiny parts that are no bigger than a pea. I search for the one that looks similar to the burnt processor – round, with slightly angled edges. I tap on it.

  The crates roll away again, and this time when they return, I know that we’ve chosen the right thing. The new box is full of processors, enough to build hundreds of new people. They are each so small and intricate that I’m relieved I don’t have to try and make one from scratch – even with a magnifying glass, I think it would ruin my eyesight to try to solder one of these things.

  “Got it!” I say, delighted.

  When Shen and I high-five, the bot flashes pink and swivels in circles.

  “Do you want to come with us?�
� I ask the bot, crouching down. Mitch is going to be so sad if we leave without it. “We can take you home with us. No one comes here any more.”

  The bot turns to Mitch, and they exchange a series of silver and gold lights that look to me how I imagine falling in love must feel.

  “Soulmates,” I whisper, but Mitch hears me and flashes orange, offended.

  Shen sighs. “That was the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Ignoring us, Mitch crouches down and scoops up the bot, before tucking it inside the storage drawer in his chest.

  While we’re packing the processors into our bags, Mitch keeps pulling the bot out again and flashing something at it in a series of lights, then waiting for a reply before putting it back. It’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever seen.

  “How are we going to get the parts out of here?” I ask. “There’s no way we can swim with them. They’ll break if they get even a bit wet.”

  “We’ll find a different way out. I don’t want you to risk using your scuba gear again anyway. There must be another way out without going back the way we came.”

  We finish filling our bags and haul them over our shoulders. I let out a wheeze at the weight. We’ve taken more than we need, just in case.

  “We did it!” Shen says, sounding a bit amazed. He tugs me into a one-armed hug, reaching out to fist bump Mitch’s shoulder at the same time.

  We leave the warehouse, turning left instead of going back to the flooded tunnel on the right. We walk uphill, following the tunnel as it twists back and forth, until we turn the corner and come to a stop. The ceiling has collapsed, filling our path with stone and rubble.

  CHAPTER 30

  “Tamade,” Shen swears hoarsely. “Shall we go back?”

  I shake my head. “Do you feel that?” I ask, holding out my hand. There’s a cool breeze blowing from somewhere up ahead. “If air is blowing, we must be close to an exit. The air has found a way through.”

  I walk along the wall of rock, keeping my hand out, trying to find the source of the wind. It’s coming from high up on the wall, where there’s a small gap between the ceiling and the pile of rubble. I climb up the rocks to peer through. It looks like it’s just wide enough for me to squeeze into the narrow tunnel beyond. I can’t tell how long it goes on for – far enough that my headlight can’t reach the end, anyway.