Secret Deep

by Lindsay Galvin

  ‘Look Ast, I’m eating raisins,’ says Poppy.

  It’s a joke; Mum once denied she’d put raisins in a curry because Poppy was refusing to eat fruit at the time. Every night when she called us for dinner we would answer, ‘Is there raisins?’ in sing-song voices and then collapse into giggles. It doesn’t sound that funny now, but at the time it never seemed to get old.

  Despite the sharpness of the memory of Mum, I grin at her. ‘Giant raisins, even,’ I say, and she grins back. Just like that, Poppy and I are back to being like we always are.

  I survey the wooden plates. The giant raisins look like prunes, there’s berries and some sort of cured beef. Not my usual choice of breakfast but my stomach rumbles and I help myself.

  Iona runs a hand over her short buzz of hair. ‘It’s our health check today, where I monitor the effects of the Wild-haven lifestyle. I thought you girls should have a check-up along with the others – some simple tests to make sure you are fit and well. OK?’

  When Poppy shrugs I give Iona a nod.

  After breakfast, Iona leads us outside to the bigger hut where we saw the laptop the day before. The laptop is still there, but now the screen is bright, displaying a spreadsheet of numbers. Next to it is an open medical case with equipment inside. The hut is lighter; windows that must have been shuttered are now open. She directs us to sit on two wooden stools.

  The medical check is in-depth. Iona tests our hearing, vision, and the reflexes in our elbows and knees, and then takes our blood pressure, pulse, height, and weight. She spends a long time listening to our chests, then gets us to blow into a tube with a dial on the side, do star jumps for a minute, and blow into it again.

  ‘You are both due a tetanus booster injection,’ she says.

  Before I can say anything, she turns and takes a syringe from a tray and taps the top of the needle. Poppy’s sleeve is already raised from the blood-pressure monitor. Iona takes her arm.

  ‘Ready?’ she says.

  Poppy nods, screws her eyes shut and with a sharp sip of breath the injection is done.

  I frown. ‘Do we really need—?’

  ‘Everyone needs to be up to date with tetanus. You are working with the soil, with tools, cuts can happen, and medical care isn’t as easy to get to as I’d like,’ Iona says lightly, already preparing a second syringe. She crosses over to me and this time she doesn’t even ask if I’m ready before piercing my upper arm with it. As she depresses the plunger I watch the half-syringe-full of creamy liquid disappear into my skin with a sharp tingly feeling. I don’t flinch at medical stuff any more; I helped the nurses a lot with Mum’s care towards the end.

  ‘All done. You two are in perfect health,’ says Iona. ‘Now take a seat outside for a little while, in case you feel light-headed.’

  Poppy and I sit down on the bench outside the hut and she shuffles close, her hot breath in my ear.

  ‘You have to admit this place is freaky. Did you see how quickly she did those jabs without giving us a chance to argue? Doctors are supposed to explain stuff to kids, we do have rights . . .’

  She stops mid-sentence as a man approaches the door of the hut, carrying a heavy-looking silver box. He’s white and about Iona’s age, with dark hair greying at the temples. Not a student then. His face is broad across the cheekbones, his eyes bright turquoise-blue.

  He starts back, apparently surprised to see us, and then smiles. ‘Hello. We haven’t met, I—’

  Before he can finish Iona appears at the door.

  ‘Jonathan. Come in,’ she says. Her voice is as tight as the expression on her face. When the man strides past us, the case he’s carrying rattles, as though it contains glass.

  ‘If you are feeling OK, girls, you can go now,’ she says. She doesn’t manage a smile as she closes the door behind us.

  Poppy and I stand outside, not moving. There are muffled voices from inside, the word ‘What . . .’ then whispers. Poppy grabs my hand and pulls me to the side of the hut. She finds a chink between the planks, cups her hands around her ear, and leans in. I hesitate for a moment before doing the same.

  ‘. . . your involvement is no longer needed. All there is to do is wait, then I will be in touch.’ Iona’s voice is low, reasonable.

  ‘We agreed we would continue to take bloods. We need to confirm . . .’

  ‘. . . Jonathan. When I saw your quad bike I presumed you’d been collecting your things from the lab. If I find you’ve been taking further samples—’

  ‘You will what, Iona? What exactly will you do?’

  There’s silence and Poppy and I stare at each other, her lips are turned down, her eyes wide. The man has that formal way of speaking of someone with excellent English, even though it is not his first language.

  Iona’s voice again. ‘Show me what is in the case.’

  ‘Iona. It really does not need to come to . . .’

  There’s a tinkle of breaking glass and the man curses in a language I don’t recognize. There’s movement inside, away from us, closer to the door. We dart away from the wall and round the back of the hut. Their voices are now outside, angry whispers, and Poppy has her phone out again, leaning around the hut and snapping a photo of them. I drag her back out of sight, wanting to shake her, and hold my breath, waiting for Iona to discover we’ve been eavesdropping. We wait, until they are gone.

  ‘What do you think that was all about?’ says Poppy.

  ‘Don’t know. I guess we should ask Iona,’ I say.

  We stroll back to the front of the hut, trying to look normal, and spot the man striding into the trees on the other side of the grassy area that surrounds Wildhaven. No sign of Iona, and the door to her hut is ajar. Poppy raises her eyebrows at me and I push it open. There’s a wet patch on the dirt floor and a glint of broken glass. I step closer, the back of my neck tingling. Poppy stands watch at the door as I crouch and touch the spillage. My finger is stained dark-red. That man had something glass in his case, containing blood? I shudder and wipe my finger on the inside of my T-shirt before Poppy can see.

  ‘What was it?’

  I shrug. ‘Just broken glass.’

  I don’t want to scare her.

  As we start back towards the main hut, Iona walks towards us, a bundle of fishing rods slung over her shoulder.

  ‘Thought you might help us catch some supper?’ she says. We stand and follow her across the field around the huts, towards the trees. Poppy nudges me.

  ‘Was that the guy who owned the quad bike?’ I ask Iona.

  ‘Jonathan? Yes. He’s gone now. If you see him again, tell me right away.’

  ‘Have you had an argument with him?’ says Poppy, and her innocent voice isn’t exactly convincing.

  Iona turns to both of us. ‘A disagreement. His contract is over now. He’s a doctor and he was analyzing samples to monitor the lifestyle effects of Wildhaven, but we don’t need him any more. He has had a little trouble accepting that.’

  Poppy and I say nothing. I’m not sure what to make of what we just saw.

  ‘If you carry on along this path you’ll find some others at the cliffs, they’ll show you the way down. I’ll catch you up.’

  Iona hands us the fishing rods and strides back across the meadow.

  Poppy glares at me. ‘You’ve got to admit she is weird,’ she whispers.

  We meet three of the students – Beti and Dimi and another girl – at the clifftop, and scramble down to spend the rest of the day in a rocky cove, with a stretch of greyish gritty sand. The coastline here wouldn’t be in a tourist brochure, but it’s good to be at the beach. Iona brings a packed lunch of folded flatbreads and cold mushrooms cooked in garlic, which tastes much better than it looks. Neither of us hooks a fish, but it’s a nice way to spend the time. Nearly the whole camp arrives during the course of the afternoon; some work on weaving lobster cages out of slim branches of wood, others attempt to harpoon fish with homemade spears. On the rocks, I watch a girl pull up a series of net-like structures and Beti explains t
hey are oyster nurseries. The sun is warm and a couple of the students strip to their underwear, unembarrassed, and swim. I imagine the feel of the clear water, surrounding and holding me. I consider taking off my shoes, dabbling my feet, but grief closes its fist around my throat. I can’t. I haven’t swum, not since Mum.

  Mid-afternoon Poppy complains of a headache. It isn’t like her to ever be ill and it gives me an anxious feeling; a throwback from when Mum was on chemotherapy and the treatment suppressed her immune system, so even one of us having a cold was dangerous. When I feel Poppy’s forehead she’s really warm. I call Iona over.

  ‘The tetanus jab can affect some people like this,’ she says, ‘I’m going to take you both back to the hut for a lie down.’

  We follow her across the clearing, and I’m surprised when Poppy takes my hand. She really must be feeling bad. Her fingers close tight, hot and dry around mine, and the sun seems very bright, hurting the back of my eyes. I’m relieved to see the cluster of huts – I’m not feeling so great myself.

  By the time Poppy and I collapse on to our beds we are both groaning. The fever is accompanied by powerful aches in our joints and a blaring headache behind the eyes. I shiver so much my teeth chatter, yet I’m burning hot. I’m so worried about Poppy. I want my mum.

  When Iona lays a cloth on my head I hold her wrist, her skin cold against mine.

  ‘You’ll both be fine,’ she whispers, ‘it’s just a fever and will break soon.’

  The next time I wake I feel completely different. Hollow and shaky, but not feverish or in pain. Iona isn’t there and Poppy is curled on her side, still asleep. I stagger across to her and lay the back of my hand on her forehead. Her skin has cooled, and I close my eyes and slump out a breath in relief. The black heart-rate monitor band is on her wrist, and mine is in place too, but I definitely didn’t put it on, I was feeling far too ill. Iona must have done it. There are noises outside. The light is golden, like sunrise. I sit on the edge of the bed, wobbly but better.

  Poppy sleeps until almost lunchtime, then we get up and wander through camp, vaguely looking for Iona. I’m beginning to recognize the faces of the students and remember some of their names but they don’t introduce themselves. It’s like they’ve been told not to and it’s starting to feel a bit strange when they almost act like they can’t see us, although they are friendly enough if we ask a question. Their activities are interesting. Boat building, rope making, fishing, cooking, and foraging. Iona is nowhere to be seen, so we join in the activities when someone looks up and gestures us over. Poppy and I don’t need to stick together, but we do. Poppy seems to be accepting this place more, but I keep thinking about the man, Doctor Jonathan, and the argument between him and Iona. I’m beginning to feel like we are in a giant containment pen, like a safari park enclosure. I can’t imagine being here for more than a couple of weeks.

  It’s almost like Iona reads my mind, because that evening around the fire, she suggests a dawn boat trip to a ring of islands a couple of hours offshore.

  ‘There are some rare bioluminescent algae in bloom, it’s quite a sight, it sets the whole sea aglow, violet. What do you think?’

  The students respond enthusiastically, grinning and asking questions, and Poppy and I nod, a bit surprised and very exhausted.

  Iona wakes us just before sunrise.

  She lays a pile of material on the end of my bed. ‘We’ll be snorkelling, so you’ll need to wear these,’ she says.

  She leaves and Poppy and I stare at each other, bleary-eyed. I unfold the clothing she’s left us. There is a swimsuit each in silvery grey, then another suit in the same material with long sleeves and legs and a black zip up the front. It even has a hood. I give it a dubious look.

  ‘I’m definitely wearing my hoody over the top.’

  Poppy nods. ‘Do you want to go? We don’t have to.’

  I pause, meeting her eyes through a slice of moonlight across the dark hut. ‘Well, the bioluminescent stuff does sound cool,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, I guess,’ says Poppy. We give each other a tentative smile. Poppy is right, this place is definitely not normal. And I’m not sure I want to snorkel, if I’m even ready to swim yet.

  Outside the huts, the others are already gathered, dressed the same as we are, some wearing sweatshirts and T-shirts over the grey suits. I am surprised when Iona heads to the back of the group and a tall boy with deepest-brown skin called Darnell takes the lead at a swift pace, so we almost have to jog. I wonder what the hurry is as Darnell leads us along the cliff path, past the beach we were on the day before.

  Then Iona appears back in front, directing us to where a dip in the cliff meets the rocks from the beach below, and we can scramble down. The bay is different to the one we were on yesterday, small, with coarse, gravelly greyish sand and pebbles, secluded from the rest of the coastline. A rowing boat rests on shore, and a little way out a larger boat is anchored, the size of the ferries we took between islands when we went on holiday to Greece.

  Poppy stuffs the phone into her pocket and as everyone follows Iona down the beach, she drops back and leaves her hoody bundled behind a rock. I see her checking it is visible from the cliff. What is she playing at now? I glare at her but I recognize the stubborn look she shoots back at me, so I say nothing. Let’s just hope the phone is still there when we get back.

  We cram in the rowing boat and I read the name painted in bold italics at the back of the boat. Deep Retreat. I count nineteen of us including Iona.

  At last Poppy and I climb the rungs at the back of the boat. It’s bigger than it looked and the back deck is dominated by what seems to be a beige-coloured shipping container made of corrugated metal, the size of one of those small offices you see on building sites.

  ‘Hey – look!’ The boy behind me points back towards the forest. Plumes of smoke rise in the distance, dark against the mid-blue dawn sky.

  Everyone turns. The underside of the smoke cloud glows orange; even at this distance I see bursts of tiny sparks above the tree canopy. Poppy grips my arm.

  ‘Oh – it will just be a small forest fire, they produce so much smoke,’ says Iona. ‘It’s north of Wildhaven, nothing to worry about. Remember we have a firebreak all around the camp.’ She seems a little out of breath. Her eyes are steady but beads of sweat glisten at her temples as she ushers us all into the cabin. I turn. Beti is hanging back, chewing her lip as she stares back at the fire, but when another girl links arms with her, she smiles and lets her friend pull her into the cabin.

  Iona closes the door behind her. She switches on the lights and everything seems better. When the others start to chat, my shoulders drop and my heart settles into a regular beat. The cabin is a long room, with windows on three sides, and sets of dining tables and chairs at the front. The rows of soft recliners at the back provide more than enough space for all of us to sit down, and Poppy and I take two seats near the door.

  Iona closes a window, although the cabin is stale-smelling and warm. The boat rocks and I feel queasy.

  ‘The journey won’t be too long,’ says Iona. ‘We’re heading to a beautiful group of islands where the algae only blooms once every few years, it’s going to be a real treat to see it. We are perfectly safe.’

  ‘It’s stuffy in here,’ says Poppy, her voice almost drowned by the rising noise of the engine.

  Iona’s words stutter in my mind. Perfectly safe. Why wouldn’t we be?

  A hissing sound. I scan around for its source.

  A rush of air hits my legs at the same time as a metallic tang stings my nostrils. I frown. Vibrations travel through my seat, jangling my teeth as the engine revs. I look around for the source of the smell and find a thin jet of steam shooting from a box on the floor at my feet. But it isn’t steam. It isn’t hot. It’s like the dry ice in Chemistry at school.

  I stand. Iona is now sitting, clasping a white mask over her nose and lips.

  What? What is she doing? My heart races and I go from confusion to panic in a flash. />
  I clap my hand over my mouth and turn to Poppy, grabbing her hand and shoving it to her face, shaking my head. Don’t breathe in. We need to get out. Now.

  I grasp Poppy’s free hand and pull her along the row of seats. There’s a girl in front of us, we’ve worked with her once on rope making, I recognize her unusual long red hair. Sunee. She holds my fingers tight and mouths something that looks like, ‘It’s OK’. Snatching my hand back, I freeze as the girl’s chest rises and she draws a deep breath of the mist through her nose. I stare fascinated, horrified, as her eyes roll back in her head. Her head lolls sideways towards me.

  Vapour now pours from what must be more of the black boxes, dispersing throughout the cabin.

  Iona is wearing a gas mask.

  This is no snorkelling trip.

  We scramble over Sunee – unconscious? Worse? – and another boy who is sprawled on the floor. Mist billows into clouds; the hiss competes with gasps, muffled screams, and the rising engine noise. The sounds suggest not everyone is taking this as calmly as Sunee, but I can’t see anyone now, the fog is too thick. Moisture clings to my skin.

  Staggering to the door, I drag Poppy, my lungs now burning for breath. A boy is curled at the base of the door. Dead? I can’t think about that. I twist the handle, back and forth, back and forth. Locked. I bang the window beside it with my fist.

  Panic courses through my veins. I can’t hold my breath for much longer and need to find something to shatter the glass. There’s nothing. I crash my fist against the glass again and again.

  Poppy is a hazy outline in the mist, then she drops my hand and her fists are next to mine, pounding on the glass.

  My thoughts spool out, one flowing into the next trying to find something that makes sense, something that will help us.

  Thud.

  Fists sliding across the glass, now slick with condensation. Why would Iona do this? The fences, the secrecy . . .