‘In my head I’ve called you Sea Boy,’ I say.
‘Sea Boy?’ He raises one eyebrow. ‘Seriously? Sure I’m more of an Aquaman.’
Behind him, Poppy supports another girl as she takes her first breaths and relief sweeps over me. She’s safe.
I grin, and Sea Boy – Talal – grins back, then our smiles slide off at the same time. We collapse forward into each other and I surprise myself by wrapping my arms tightly around his waist. He gathers me in, his chin pressing against the crown of my head, and we almost lose our balance yet still hang on. His hug makes my ribs creak and when I squeeze back harder I feel the rumble of his laugh through my cheek on his chest – and my own laugh might turn to tears but it doesn’t, not quite, not yet.
Then Poppy wades over and grabs Sea Boy’s arm, pulling us apart and shooting me the best withering little sister look I’ve ever seen.
276.
That was what the timer read, in the container on the seabed.
It meant days. Days when I was asleep – a hibernating animal in an underwater pod instead of a burrow – and Poppy and the others were surviving, underwater.
Around half the sea people have surfaced and are now gathered around the fire, sitting almost too close, warming their hands, mesmerized by the heat and light. It’s dawn, but no one mentions sleep. Plenty of time for that.
Poppy sits cross-legged next to me, close enough that our knees touch and the contact makes me sag with relief.
‘Nine months,’ she says. ‘You do realize I’m twelve now.’
Poppy is only a tiny bit taller than she was, but a lot stronger. She seems so capable. All the others are around five years older than her, but they treat her like an equal.
She lowers her voice. ‘What would Mum say about this, Ast?’ she says. I look into the fire and my throat tightens. But instead of bundling it up and shoving it away, I touch the memory of Mum’s voice. It stings, but there’s something bittersweet beyond the pain.
My throat is thick. ‘I know what she’d say. She’d say you might be twelve now but you’d better remember I’m still your big sister. So you should do as I say, Popstar.’
Poppy breaks into a smile that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time. She nudges me with her shoulder. ‘Yeah right, Astronomer. As if,’ she says and takes a sip of coconut water, closing her eyes with pleasure.
I did it. I spoke about Mum. I feel light, and heavy, and strange, and like I might need to count my breaths in a minute.
‘So are you going to tell us what you’ve been up to without me?’ I say. The others around the fire fall quiet, listening.
Poppy tugs at her long dreadlocks and takes another gulp of coconut water before clearing her throat. I remember she’s been communicating by homemade sign language for the last nine months.
‘We washed up on the beach all rigged in Iona’s crazy kit and coughing up blue jelly. Set up camp inland. Freak. Ing. Out. Searching for you, searching for Iona. Only been here a day when Jack was diving, fishing, and started to form gills. Something went wrong and he breathed air. He choked. He . . . died.’
Beti stifles a gasp. I forget that everyone at Wildhaven is her family.
‘That must have been what happened to Callum, too,’ says Beti. ‘There were these gashes on his chest, so strange, long equal lines. Iona couldn’t think what could have made them. I guess they were gills, but savage, not neat like yours . . .’ She trails off.
Poppy takes another sip of coconut water.
‘Later we worked out it went wrong because they surfaced when the gills weren’t ready, so they were open wounds, bleeding, not working. When it happened again to Suki we agreed not to enter the water, keep our chests dry, but some of us already had these weird grooves in the same place, like pre-gills. Then the rainy season came and we were soaked all the time and afraid any water would open up our chests and kill us. Talal’s grooves were deepest. He ignored what we agreed – as usual – and his gills opened underwater. This time, they worked. He stayed below and soon we all joined him. We didn’t think we could breathe on the surface and underwater, that it would kill us like the others.’
‘So you chose to live underwater?’ I say.
‘You didn’t see Jack and Suki,’ says Sea Boy. ‘Living underwater was a better choice than dying.’
I remember Callum and shiver.
‘So that’s why you were holding me down beneath the jellyfish?’ I say to Sea Boy. ‘But I didn’t have these grooves.’
‘No. But I knew you were one of us, Poppy’s sister.’ He raises his wrist, showing the broken arc of my bite mark, now scabbed over. ‘Although this is all the thanks I got for attempting to save your life.’
Poppy inspects his wrist, mouth open. ‘You did that? Way to go, sis.’
I shake my head at her.
‘It wasn’t all bad, though. Living underneath,’ says Sea Boy.
‘Oh yeah, I mean, mainly it was good times. Hiding on a shipwreck in the dark, eating raw seaweed, shellfish, crabs. Scared stiff of the surface,’ says Poppy.
Sea Boy pulls a face at Poppy and continues. ‘We harnessed the mantas and taught ourselves to make weapons and hunt. Once we found the phosphorescent algae and made the globes, things were a lot easier.’
There’s a moment of quiet only broken by the crackle of the fire. I see grim companionship in the look that passes between Sea Boy and my sister. I remember what he said, how he trusted Iona, believed she would come back. I can’t begin to imagine how they all must have looked out for each other down there in the wreck, bonded in fear. I stare out to sea and picture the shipwreck, less than a kilometre away, resting on the ledge.
Darnell speaks up from the other side of the fire. ‘Iona told me what she planned that morning. It sounded insane, but she asked for my trust and I gave it. I helped her with the container and hibernation pods and we sunk the boat after, so there would be no sign.’
I frown. ‘So why didn’t you come back for us if you knew where the container was?’
Darnell chews his lip and looks across at Poppy then into the fire. ‘I did. I saw your pods were still closed. Honestly? I thought you were probably dead. If you weren’t and I interfered with the pods or the controls, I might kill you. So I didn’t show anyone else. And I never went back.’
I open my mouth to say more, but close it again. Would I have done things differently if it were me in his situation?
My mind pans out from the container, to the wreck, to the sinking of Nygard’s yacht in the centre of the atoll. Then further out, to the whole atoll, to Halo West, Halo South, a tiny ring of land in a vast nothingness of blue.
The New Zealander, Sam, sits on the other side of the fire next to Beti. He twists his fingers in his blond hair, face serious as he listens, staring into the flames. He has blond stubble that suits him and seems to be wearing Beti’s too-small T-shirt. She’s next to him. He catches my eye and smiles and it’s a good smile. Nygard promised him if he could find Iona, he could treat his granddad’s cancer with this Marisogen. He had no idea that it would be made from our blood. Tomorrow I will check the equipment chest for the memory stick containing Iona’s research, but I can’t see what use it will be. No. I can’t think like that. This has to all mean something.
I stand, my mind spinning.
‘I’m going to sit by the lagoon for a bit,’ I say and Poppy nods. I know she’ll shift position so her eyes are on me. I don’t want to let her out of my sight again, either.
At the shoreline I dabble my toes in the warm lagoon.
I run my thumb along the closed gills across the top of my ribs. They are barely noticeable even when not beneath clothing. I feel the four behind my ears, easily covered by hair.
Nygard is gone. The men he hired are gone. Iona is gone.
Sam is the only outsider who knows about us. He says his parents will start searching for him in a few days time, they’ll find his note and come here. We haven’t discussed it, but we can easily hide fr
om them or go back with them if we want to. I believe Sam wouldn’t give us away, even if he could find someone who would believe him.
Our protection is that we are impossible. You need to see us to believe.
Sam told me about the article he found, Nygard’s hoax, and Poppy explained how he admitted genetically altering us with fossilized mermaid DNA.
A myth is real. Mermaids once existed and that isn’t even the biggest miracle here. We are.
Nygard took our blood for his cure and he needed more if he was going to market it. To Iona we seemed to matter as people, yet she was also the one who started all this. She experimented on us with the hibernation genes and when she did that, she gave Nygard the opportunity to use us. To make us into these half . . . mer-people. I almost laugh at the word. But it’s true.
Iona believed she was saving us; she didn’t understand that we weren’t hers to save. But without Iona’s plan to sink Nygard’s yacht, we wouldn’t be alive now. I guess my feelings about my aunt will always be conflicted. Right now I’m numb. I can’t believe she’s gone.
We can stay here on the atoll, safely unknown, living off the land and sea. But I won’t hide for ever, knowing I have a cancer cure in my blood, that there’s people out there like Sam’s granda I could help. But if the wrong people find out where we are, what we are, we could be locked in a lab for ever. I think again of Iona’s memory stick.
An idea takes shape in my head.
The lab needs to belong to us.
I’d discussed with my teachers taking Triple Science and Further Maths in my exams; they were my best subjects. I picture Mum at the kitchen table, peering over my shoulder at my Maths homework and sucking in a sharp breath at the tough equations. ‘You’re as clever as my sister, Iona. Don’t you dare waste those smarts.’
I surprise myself by smiling at the memory. Anger and grief is there too, hot and sour, but it’s not all I feel when I think of Mum, not any more.
I never tried as hard as I could at school, distracted by my swimming, then by Mum’s illness.
Now I have a reason.
I’ve lost nine months. When I’m eighteen I’ll be old enough to get custody of Poppy. We’ll wear high-necked tops and our hair down and no one will know what we are.
A levels, university, could I really do all that, become a scientist? Sam said that his Granda has had an infection but he could still live for years on regular chemo. There might even be time for us to help him. I could work on a cancer cure for – everyone?
Reach. Kick. Breathe.
I’m listening now, Mum.
I’ll find out what my body holds, the secret deep in my blood.
The lagoon looks inky black from here, but I know if I dived in, moonlight would slice through the surface and my eyes would soon grow used to the dark. That was Maris’s place and it is our place now.
I turn to look up the beach. Sea Boy crouches next to Sam, who laughs at something he says. He prods the fire with his spear, sending up clouds of sparks, and when Poppy smacks his arm he grins and does it again.
I press my fingers to my wrist and my pulse keeps time with the waves surging against the reef. Salt water pounds in my veins. The breathing sea.
Acknowledgements
This book was supported by the Society of Author’s Author’s Foundation grant.
Publishing my first ever story is way beyond a dream come true. My heartfelt thanks to the following people:
My agent, Laura Williams. You were the first to spot me, and swooped in just when I needed you. You are honest, exacting and tenacious, and I wouldn’t be writing this without you.
My editor, Rachel Leyshon. You drilled to the heart of my story and helped me build it into the best it could be. I’ve learnt so much that I will hold with me for ever, thank you for believing I could do it.
My publisher, Barry Cunningham. Your creativity is legendary for good reason, and I still can’t believe I’ve reaped the benefit of your detailed input. I am thrilled to have you champion my debut book.
Elinor Bagenal, I feel in the safest and most accomplished hands when it comes to getting this book out in the world. Kesia Lupo, you sent your fresh editorial eyes over the story just when it needed it. Claire McKenna, for your eagle-eyed copy-edit and asking all the right questions. Jazz Bartlett and Laura Smythe, for working so hard to spread the watery word. Esther Waller, for making the production process so smooth, yet so exciting.
Helen Crawford-White for creating a cover more beautiful and fitting than I could have imagined. Rachel Hickman for your design vision, editorial comments, and for involving me in the cover design process.
The other wonderful Chicken House authors who have answered my wobbly questions and welcomed me so wholeheartedly into the coop.
Megan, for reading from a New Zealander’s point of view. Rachel Sweetingham, psychologist and dear friend, for your early advice, and constant faith and cheerleading. Sophia and Dan for your nuanced sensitivity reads. Thanks for all your input, all mistakes are my own.
All my twitter bookish friends, I’m afraid there are too many to name. I first met the YA community through Lucy Powrie’s excellent #UKYAchat. Lucy, you are a support and inspiration to me. To Lorraine and Miriam for hosting #ukmgchat and Emma for #ukteenchat. To all the bloggers and booksellers who champion reading and give their time and enthusiasm with such generosity. Louie and George, submission support buddies extraordinaire. Giles Paley-Phillips, Seaford writing buddy, for your advice and encouragement. The brilliant and lovely Sarah Harris for everything from edits, to laughs, support and friendship.
Mags, Emma, Lyann, Claire, Helen, Margaret, and Jude who remained my friends despite being subject to early drafts; I salute you. Anna KP for being there through it all, trusting it would happen. To my long-suffering book club who have either heard about my book or read it at various stages and still maintain enthusiasm, I suspect the wine helped. Jo S, who read at a critical time and arranged for my first two teen readers, Charlie and Amy, I am glad my book was more interesting than English homework.
To my brilliant uni crew, your response to hearing out of the blue that I was writing a book made me feel like I could do it. And yes, there will be a party.
Jo Hogan. First port of call, talented writer, searing editor, speed-reading critique partner and treasured stalwart friend. You’ve had a huge impact on this story and made the whole journey less scary and more fun.
To my Sally, for all the sisterhood and hilarity, and unnumbered kindnesses every day and forever. I’m glad my first ever criticism came from you, and no – I don’t know what the giant octopus was doing there either.
All of my fabulous family. My beautiful kind Nan, who has nothing but faith in me. Mum, for a house of songs, making and art, for showing me how to find something I loved doing and then do it to distraction. Dad, for my love of the sea, for all the adventures, the runs, and made-up stories, for believing I could do anything. My brother Rob for the bunk-bed daydreams that sparked my early imagination and for all the capers and scrapes; you told me to write the book and for once I listened. My sister Kathryn, trusted first reader, sounding board, and example of extreme patience.
Aster. The first fictional character I’ve written since I was ten. Nearly everything changed in this book apart from you. I never expected us to get this far.
My sons Edward and Oscar, I’m inspired by you every day. Yes, it will be a real real book.
Bill. You gave me the gift of time at the expense of your own and I couldn’t have done this without you. Thank you. Love you. What’s for dinner?
Reader. Thank you for sticking with me this far. It’s all for you.
TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
STORM-WAKE by LUCY CHRISTOPHER
Moss has lived on the island with Pa and wild boy Cal for as long as she can remember. Occasionally, fragments of memory swirl in her head like stormflower petals on the air, but she never doubts her father’s tale of how they fled there when
the Old World disappeared beneath the waves.
Now there is change on the wind. Wild weather seems to be stirring them all: Pa goes more often into Blackness. She and Cal are growing apart. And then the wildest storm of all brings something new that changes everything . . .
An excellent and very beautiful thing.
MELVIN BURGESS
I enjoyed it very much, I liked having my
expectations upset and my compass reset . . .
MARCUS SEDGWICK
Paperback, ISBN 978-1-906427-73-3, £7.99•ebook, ISBN 978-1-911077-59-6, £7.99
TRY ANOTHER GREAT BOOK FROM CHICKEN HOUSE
PAYBACK by M.A. GRIFFIN
PAYBACK is on a mission: steal from the rich to give to the poor. The more daring the heist the better. Online, they’re a sensation, but when fanboy Tom is recruited, he brings trouble.
Robin Hood never had it this bad . . .
Paperback, ISBN 978-1-911077-81-7, £7.99•ebook, ISBN 978-1-911490-43-2, £7.99
Published by Scholastic Australia Pty Ltd
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First edition published by Chicken House, 2007.
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Australia Pty Ltd, 2018
E-PUB/MOBI eISBN: 978-1-76027-284-5
Text © Heather Dyer 2007
Illustrations © Peter Bailey 2007
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher, unless specifically permitted under the Australian Copyright Act 1968 as amended.
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