by London Shah
“Wow, thank you.”
He waves it off. “It’s nothing, last year’s project. This year’s is bigger and better, only I’ve not had the chance to test—” He breaks off when the far wall flashes. “Just a tracer I was running,” he explains, moving closer to the communications wall and checking the stream of data.
I get up and walk over to the window, stepping around one of the large piles of wrecked belongings. Tabby joins me.
Wireless Man blares out around the flat, congratulating somebody in Surrey on killing a basking shark that had dared to drift into urban waters, scaring the residents.
“Sleep!” Tabby shouts at him, sounding more like she’s hissing.
It goes quiet as we both stare out at the water.
She shakes her head. “Surely you don’t have to leave, Leyla? We could try—”
“You have to leave, Leyla,” comes Theo’s voice from across the room. It’s subdued and tight. “You need to leave as soon as you possibly can.”
A cold nausea sweeps through me. Tabby and I exchange similar looks of dread before joining him. I follow his gaze to the coded text glimmering on my wall.
“What is it, Theo? What does it mean?”
He turns to me, swallowing before he speaks. “It means the Blackwatch themselves have you in their sights. You’ve been marked as a security threat.” He shakes his head. “There’s nothing left for them to do after that, Leyla—except to take you in.” Theo covers his mouth and turns back to the wall, deep in thought.
Tabby’s shoulders rise and fall. “Hell, no . . .”
The quivering in my legs is instant. I stagger back a few steps and Tabby grabs me.
“I knew it was bad,” I whisper breathlessly. “But I just didn’t realize how bad.”
Tabby helps me to the sofa and we sit. She takes my hands, her expression steely now, her eyes glinting. “You’re not alone. Look at me, Leyla. We love you, and we’re going to get you out of here before they come for you.”
My chest aches. “I can do it,” I say, nodding. I turn to Theo. “Does it say why? Why they’re watching me, what they want from me—why they took Papa?”
Theo shakes his head. “Nothing. I’m sorry . . . You were right. Leaving really is your only option now.” His voice is low, tinged with disbelief. He rubs his face. “Okay, you’ll need to contact the mechanic in charge of your sub. Grant me instant clearance and full access to it, for a start. Its defense and security systems are pretty cool already, but I think we can improve on them further. We have to make sure you’re prepared.”
I nod away eagerly. I’m not sure if I’m trying to reassure them, or myself.
“Are you out of your mind?!”
“I have to get out of here and find Papa.”
“Are you completely out of your mind?!” Grandpa lowers his raised voice.
We’re in his study and it’s late evening. Ari’s out, thank goodness; Gramps might trust him, but I can do without a scowling stranger hanging around. His bright amber gaze is too intense, and I just don’t like him.
“You’ve only ever known London, Queenie—it’s a whole other world out there. We need to do something, but wandering around Great Britain on your own isn’t the answer. Can’t you see that? Why must you be as stubborn as the seas!” He isn’t backing down as he continues to pace the room with his cane: tap-shuffle, tap-shuffle.
I chew on my lip; I have to do this. But I also can’t bear to upset him. “What do you propose we do, Gramps? This is the only answer. Everything I thought the government would never do—could never do, that things could never get that bad, that someone or some law would stop them before they did, has already happened. They took my papa away without having to prove why to anyone. They’ve lied nonstop about it ever since. Nobody’s going to come and magically save us. I’m taking the submarine and going to go look for him. But I don’t know where to begin. And you know until I’m eighteen I can’t travel long-haul without a guardian unless I have papers.”
His shoulders sag. “They slapped me with a travel ban after your father’s arrest. The ban also blocks me from underwriting travel papers for others. It’s no longer safe for you here. I understand that, child. But you traveling around Great Britain on your own would be like rising up and breaking out of the surface of the water, only to find yourself in the center of a merciless tempest. Why can’t you understand, you can’t simply—”
“No, why can’t you understand, Gramps—aut viam inveniam aut faciam, remember? You taught me that: ‘I will either find a way or make one.’ I’m leaving regardless—whether I have papers and a destination or not. I must leave before they take me, too, or who’ll help Papa then?” My voice breaks and I hush, steadying myself.
Jojo jumps into my arms and buries her nose in my cardigan.
Grandpa moves closer, wrapping me in an embrace as he leans against the wall. I huddle against him. Gramps always smells of tobacco and vanilla. Along with Papa’s, it’s one of the most magical smells in the world. Sometimes scent alone can change your whole mood, can even transport you somewhere else entirely. Scents are spells, and I love Gramps’s smell so much.
I’m reminded of when his heart attack temporarily incapacitated him, just after Papa’s arrest. That was the darkest time for me. The two dearest people in the world to me needed my help and there was nothing I could do. I put my head against him as he lay weak and helpless, and promised I’d always be there for him. I sigh, my gaze wandering around the study.
Images of Mama, Papa, and me are everywhere you look. All manner of quotes cover the walls, including one of my favorites, Gam zu l’tova—“This, too, is for the best.” Beautiful scientific models cover his shelves. A silver menorah graces the wide windowsill.
Grandpa shifts. I hug him tighter. “Papa’s somewhere out there, Gramps. He needs me, I know it. I can feel it. Please trust me. Don’t keep anything else from me, all right? I know you want to protect me, but I am capable. I must search for Papa.”
He gazes up at the ceiling and sighs heavily. “Before I even considered it you’d have to first promise me you’ll let me put in place any security measures I deem necessary and—”
“Anything! I promise!” Finally. Thank you.
“If you must leave, you will head for my cottage in King’s Lynn and you don’t move from there until I’ve joined you. Understood? I’ll be with you soon as I can leave without causing suspicion.”
It’s a start. “I’ll stay put at the cottage until you get there, promise. And then I can plan my next step. But, Gramps, your travel ban?”
“I’ll break it. It’s important that you’re safe, child. So many obstacles to overcome . . . How will you travel without papers? I can only think of Vivian Campbell, but it would be placing her at risk when—”
“No,” I say. “I can’t ask Vivian.” Grandpa’s right—it would only cast suspicion on the twins’ mother. They’d never approve her sponsor application, and they’d most likely place the Campbells under close observation.
“And Sebastian will be right behind you the moment you slip up. . . .”
“Let’s not worry about what might happen, Gramps. We can sail that trench when we come to it. I can’t let the fear stop me from trying. And . . .”
I raise my eyebrows. “We’re forgetting something. The Explorer Permit. They’re not going to deny the champion of the London Marathon a place with the prestigious Explorers.”
Taking a long breath, I release as much tension as possible as I exhale. Every time I think of my plan, a most profound terror surfaces.
Terror, and a glimmer of hope.
The nightmare that’s haunted me since childhood is always the same.
I’m about four or five years old. I stare out of a small window. I know that for leagues around there’s nothing but deepest, darkest waters. I’m frozen to the spot, Papa’s voice distant, calling out to me from somewhere. I’m too afraid to move a muscle, though. Because then I might miss something and will n
ever know what’s out there in the emptiness—and the not knowing is so much worse. I know I ought to breathe, but I’m always too afraid in case it disturbs the inky void outside. Something stirs. I can’t see or hear it, but I feel it, brooding in the unknown depths. My insides constrict, my chest crushing. The pain is excruciating, and yet I still don’t call out for help, for fear of interfering with whatever lurks in the bottomless abyss.
This time when I awoke from the nightmare, I could’ve sworn there’d been more. That someone had been in the water, suspended there in the wretched space.
The water doesn’t always arouse fear, though. The positive feelings are equally intense. Just sometimes, the water is promising and nothing is impossible. The constant soft, cradling thump that I feel more than hear, the ceaseless pulsing that gently reverberates right into the heart of me. As if the sea itself is alive and breathing. The emotions they stir within me at those times . . . a cocooning magic.
Of all the times for the nightmare to haunt me again, it had to return today, dammit.
I glance at the far wall for any sight of a waiting message, but there’s none. Come on. I can’t move until I’ve downloaded the permit, and the Explorers Administration promised they’d get back to me noon latest.
I’ve spent the last few days finalizing preparations. I’ve studied the submarine’s control manual nonstop, memorizing the vessel’s details over and over. Tabby’s been back and forth to the submarine, loading it. The cash prize is proving really handy. The sub itself is ready to sail. All the necessary programs have been installed and triple-checked over the last couple of days, including Theo’s latest modification—an anti-tracking device. Everything is coming together for me to leave this evening.
New Year’s Eve is my best bet at sneaking out of London unnoticed. Everyone’s always distracted by the New Year celebrations, and this year they’ll be huge because it’s not only a new year, but a new century. The authorities will be stretched throughout the night.
Jojo’s already at the hangar with Grandpa and Theo. We’ve gone over the plan countless times. I’ll leave via Dartford Tunnel, the shortest, relatively safest way over the borders.
“Anywhere but Epping Forest.” Tabby’s warned me repeatedly, the others immediately agreeing. “It’s bloody well dodgy, and we’re always advised to stay well clear of it.”
Once across, I’ll head to Grandpa’s cottage at King’s Lynn where I’ll be safe until I know my next move. The entire time I’m on board the submarine I mustn’t contact anyone unless it’s absolutely unavoidable, Theo explained. More than likely, all communication conducted by the twins and Grandpa is being monitored, and any contact between us could draw the authorities to the vessel’s location. But I’m more concerned about getting them into trouble. Once I reach Grandpa’s cottage there’s a secure line there, and I can communicate with everyone again.
Blackwatch’s intensified surveillance of me is hard to miss. The subs are no longer discreet about following me, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to shake them off. At least I haven’t seen Ari anywhere; Gramps finally saw sense and sent him away, I think. I don’t need anyone watching me.
I wrap Mama’s soft pashmina tighter around my shoulders. The faintest scent of jasmine and musky attar still lingers in its silk and wool fibers. My grandmother sent it all the way from Kabul, in Afghanistan, as part of a huge wedding parcel when Mama was getting married. The corners of my mouth lift.
The waters can’t halt human connections. The desire—the sheer will, to reach out, to anchor one another, is too stellar. People will always find a way to keep from losing one another—from losing themselves. The human spirit didn’t drown. It was swept up and carried along; it flows still, the stream coursing its way through everyone’s lives.
I just have to find a way to beat the dread, that’s all.
I walk over to the album wall to download the pictures but can’t resist glimpsing a few first. I swipe them into view, one by one.
There’s an image of Mama and me, in Kensington Gardens—her favorite place in London. At the time, it was “winter” in the never-ending indoor gardens. Mama has me in her lap. I wave past the image and pause instead at one of my favorite pictures of my parents.
I wasn’t born yet, and they were living in a single room, only able to afford basic amenities and tasteless reconstituted food. Despite their struggles, though, their expressions are blissful. Papa was studying at the time. Mama was the creative one, painting and taking photos.
In one image, Papa’s surprising Mama with their tiny room transformed into the closest thing to a studio he could create for her. In another, they’re huddled together under a woolly blanket wearing silly grins as they point to Mama’s first portrait painted in the new “studio.” It’s of my great-grandpa Kasim McQueen—an American who visited Afghanistan and fell in love with both the country and my great-grandma and never went back. The painting is striking. So was Mama. She always carried an expression of sheer wonder and exuberance.
What would she say to me now if she were here? I wrap my arms around myself. What’s it like to receive a hug from your mama? I gaze once more on both parents’ faces, then download the images and delete the album. I jump when the communications wall springs into life. It’s time for the Great Briton of the Day. The solemn voice lists off the lessons learned from the Battle of Waterloo as Lord Horatio Nelson’s face fills the wall. The broadcast is interrupted by a message alert: the Explorers Administration. At last! I play the message:
“Miss McQueen, we are greatly honored that this year’s London Marathon champion has expressed an interest in joining the ranks of so many pioneering Britons before her. You have nothing to prove so far as navigational skills go. And so it is with deep regret we inform you that on this occasion your Explorer Permit application has been rejected. We received a request from the authorities to deny you this undertaking. Captain Sebastian felt it was asking too much of somebody in a situation such as yours, what with your father’s unfortunate circumstances. . . . Please do accept our most humble apologies. Good day, Miss McQueen.”
I stare openmouthed at the wall.
No permit.
I have to leave now, and I don’t have the means to travel legally. I shiver.
How dare he? I hate Captain Sebastian so much. Why deny me? Exactly what he is up to? It’s all I can do to stop bursting into tears. I can’t give in now, I just can’t.
There’s only one thing for it: I’ll just have to hope and pray security forces or border patrol never stop me.
All I know is I’m not spending another night in London. If they come for me, Papa is lost to me forever—I’m certain of it.
There’s a sour taste in my mouth, and I try swallowing it away. I close my eyes, and all I see is a vast and terrible unknown ahead of me. An endless abyss of monstrous creatures and earthquakes and the all-destructive Anthropoids. And now I can add to that the threat of being stopped and discovered traveling illegally.
Can I really do this?
My insides heave. I scramble to the bathroom and hurl, throwing up the little I’ve eaten since last night. Damn the trembling in my legs. I take deep breaths. I must conquer the fear; I’ve no other choice. I have to leave this place so that I have some chance of finding Papa.
I wash and pray, asking for guidance and success for my trip. Retrieving any files I want to keep, I then activate Theo’s deletion device and wipe away the rest. Within minutes everything is gone. As if I never even existed here. I gulp at the air. Focus. I can do this.
I check the flat for the final time. I mustn’t leave a single thing behind that might lead anyone in my direction. The compact space is empty. And not at all like home.
Goodbye, flat. Wish me luck.
I open the front door and, stepping out, close it behind me. Ignoring the thumping in my chest and the quivering in my legs, I press on down the damp and dismal corridor. The tiny bells in Mama’s anklet jingle with each step. It feels ri
ght to wear it today. I tug at Papa’s “Christmas” jumper wrapped around my shoulders like a snug shawl and don’t look back.
I’ve never said goodbyes before. Not like this. I can’t remember Mama passing away. And though I waited and waited for Papa to come home from work, he never returned. In either case, there were no goodbyes.
Inside the hangar, ashen-faced, Grandpa manages a small smile as he indicates the letters gleaming on the side of the submarine. “I take it that was your idea.”
I nod at the name of my submarine: the Kabul. It looks perfect. Mama’s place of birth in Afghanistan and the city of Papa’s ancestors. I think Papa would love it. Every time he called me his Kabuli peree—his fairy from Kabul—his warm hazel eyes would shine even brighter.
A fair amount of activity is going on in and around the vehicle. Deathstar and several other crewmembers walk up and down the gangway, entering and exiting the vessel, making preparations for departure. All manner of last-minute checks are being carried out. The twins are inside somewhere.
Grandpa takes me to one side, and we sit on some portable wooden steps. He reaches into his pocket. “This is for Jojo.”
It’s a red collar with a silver bell. I shake the bell and smile at its chime.
“It was meant for Benjy,” he continues. “I was going to give it to him after the floods, when everyone was safe and we’d settled into the new place.”
I stare at him. He rarely talks about the time of the planet’s transformation, and I hardly ever ask. It’s such a difficult subject for him. “Gramps, you’ve never mentioned Benjy before.”
“Benjy was my dog.”
“But you never said . . . Why’ve you never told me you had a dog?” I lean closer, inhaling his familiar warm and sweet scent.
“What good would it do, child, to wallow in the past? Everyone lost something. We all lost somebody. And the animals suffered as we did. They panicked, ran kicking and screaming. Some tried to protect their loved ones till the very end. They drowned. Cats, dogs, cattle, wild creatures, billions of animals all over the planet, drowning.”