The Buried Ark

by James Bradley

  I looked at Meena, who smiled.

  ‘It’s a marsupial lion. The way it’s lying suggests it was alive when it ended up here.’

  ‘So it died here?’

  Meena nodded. ‘Eventually.’

  I looked around the chamber. ‘Why didn’t it try to escape?’

  ‘It probably did. But it’s a long way back to the surface.’

  I looked at the bones, pale beneath their coating of limestone, imagining the creature down here, in the darkness, alone. ‘What a terrible way to die.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Meena said. ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘And now they’re all gone.’

  There was a long pause. Then Meena said quietly, ‘They say you were out there, on your own, in the Zone.’ Something in the way she spoke told me this was a question she’d been wanting to ask for a while. ‘What was it like?’

  I didn’t reply at once, the memory of that landscape, so alien and uncanny, vivid in my mind’s eye.

  ‘It’s difficult to describe.’

  ‘Try,’ said Meena.

  ‘If you’ve seen photos you know what it looks like, but what’s difficult to understand until you’re there is how it’s all connected, the way it seems . . . I don’t know . . . alive, aware.’ I shuddered, remembering the moving grass.

  ‘But?’

  ‘It’s horrible,’ I said. ‘But sometimes it’s beautiful as well.’

  Meena looked at me in surprise. ‘Beautiful?’

  I nodded and Meena tapped the lion’s head.

  ‘Somebody said you found your father there. That he’d Changed.’

  ‘It wasn’t him. It was something the Change had made.’

  ‘But it had his memories?’

  I tightened my jaw. Whatever it had been it was gone. ‘It was a thing. A monster.’

  Meena looked away. ‘All fathers are monsters,’ she said.

  19

  The next morning I was woken by Dash. When I answered the door she told me to get dressed and come with her.

  ‘Dr Omelas feels that if you’re going to stay you need to join one of the work units,’ she said as she led me through the caverns.

  ‘Doing what?’ I asked. Dash looked at me and for a moment I thought I glimpsed something cold beneath her manner.

  ‘Most of the personnel in the Ark are experts in their field,’ she said. ‘Those that aren’t are family members, but all of them work. We’ve arranged for you to be attached to one of the food production units.’

  ‘Okay,’ I said a little uncertainly.

  ‘We’ll arrange for you to join the school group at some point as well,’ she said, then looked at me. ‘At least if you think you’d benefit from that.’

  Before I could answer she spoke again.

  ‘I understand you’ve been spending time with Dr Omelas’ daughter.’

  ‘Is that a problem?’

  Dash smiled. ‘Of course not,’ she said. ‘Just be aware that the fact Dr Omelas is her father means Meena is granted a certain . . . latitude. It might not be wise to assume that same latitude extends to other inhabitants of the facility.’

  I didn’t reply. Was she warning me against something specific? Or against Meena in general? Dash pressed a panel and a door opened. Beyond it was an enormous cavern, its space filled with plastic tents and plants under artificial lights. Not for the first time I was struck by the sheer scale of the Ark, the resources that must have gone into its creation.

  Dash led me through the rows of plants. The lights were hot and the air was damp and warm. At the far end of the cavern were four small demountables, gardening tools piled up against them. Dash walked over to the second nearest and rapped on the side. A moment later a small woman with short dark hair appeared in the doorway.

  ‘This is Dr Ackerman,’ said Dash. ‘She’s in charge of the horticulture units. You’ll be reporting to her.’

  She looked at me. ‘You must be Callie.’

  I extended a hand. ‘Hello.’

  Dr Ackerman smiled, shaking my hand. She looked at Dash. ‘Unless there’s something else, I can take it from here.’

  Something I didn’t understand passed between the two of them, and for a brief second I felt aware of the same undertow I had felt with Meena. But then Dash nodded, her manner precise, distant.

  ‘Excellent. I’ll let Dr Omelas know.’

  Dr Ackerman stared at Dash’s retreating back for a few seconds. Then she gestured toward the prefab and smiled. ‘Come in and we’ll get you started. And if I’m allowed to call you Callie, you should call me Hannah,’ she said.

  Inside three desks were jammed against the wall, their surfaces piled with papers and computers. Hannah gestured to me to take a seat.

  ‘So, how much have they told you about what you’re going to be doing down here?’

  I shrugged. ‘Not much.’

  Hannah grinned, whatever had troubled her a minute or two before seemingly forgotten. ‘That’d be right. Well, as you can probably see, this is part of the horticultural complex. We’re responsible for producing food for the entire installation, but we’re also engaged in research, mostly to do with maximising yields and reducing susceptibility to disease. I’m guessing you don’t have a background in botany or biology?’

  ‘No.’

  Hannah smiled. ‘That’s fine. There’s plenty to do, and perhaps if you decide you enjoy it we can look at some kind of study program. We’re going to need botanists if this project is going to work.’

  After so long running and fighting to stay alive it felt strange to be shifting bags of fertiliser and mastering the watering systems. It was hard physical work, but it was reassuring to walk up and down the rows of plants and feel the weight of the bags and the dirt on my hands.

  I was working with a small team – Hannah and half-a-dozen others – but they were easy-going and didn’t seem interested in questions about who I was or where I came from. Once or twice I caught Hannah watching me, a thoughtful and slightly troubled expression on her face that made me wonder how much she knew, but for the most part they seemed happy to accept that I had joined the collective.

  At four o’clock, Hannah found me by the line of tubs I had been directed to fertilise and told me I was free to go when I was finished. I thanked her, and then, almost as an afterthought, she told me that she and some of the others were meeting that night to eat in the dining room and that I should join them.

  I hesitated, then, somewhat to my own surprise I heard myself say that I’d like that. Hannah smiled, and for a moment I saw that look again, that flicker of caution, so I wondered whether I had made a mistake.

  But when I joined them in the dining room a couple of hours later there was no sign any of them were sorry I had come. The meal that night was a chickpea curry, a sweet, spicy thing with pumpkin and some kind of grain mixed through it, and I ate it slowly, savouring it as I listened to the others talk among themselves. And when Hannah turned to ask me something, drawing me into the circle of their conversation, it didn’t feel strange, or awkward, it felt natural, more natural than almost anything I could remember.

  20

  Over the following weeks I was happier than I had been in a long while. There were times when I could hear the Change crawling about in the back of my skull, and nights I woke in a sweat, memories of the Zone or my time with Travis and the others leaving me shaken, but they were fewer and fewer with each passing week.

  Meanwhile I worked in the nursery, content in its warm dampness, the glow of artificial lights. Although the work I did could be repetitive I took pleasure in doing it well, and as the weeks passed Hannah trusted me with more complex and responsible tasks.

  I was also surprised to discover I enjoyed working with living things. Because the Change arrived when I was still a child I had never really been allowed the chance to b
e with plants, or nature, and now I was I realised how satisfying it was to see things grow, even in a place as artificial as the Ark, the way the process filled my days with meaning and purpose.

  More importantly, though, I began to heal. I still had days when grief overwhelmed me, but as the weeks passed it wasn’t the pain of losing Matt or Gracie or my father that made me cry. Instead it was memories of Matt’s kindness, or the way he held himself, the presence of his body; Gracie doing something silly, or explaining something in her serious Gracie way. Good things.

  It was also comforting to find myself among people again. Most of the Ark’s inhabitants were young, it seemed – certainly the majority in my work unit were only a few years older than me – and as the weeks passed I grew friendly with a number of them.

  That process sped up after the second week when I came back to my prefab one night to discover Dr Omelas had ordered I be transferred to one of the dormitory caverns. At first it was a shock to find myself living in a long room with a dozen women, my only private space a single bunk with a closable side, but for the most part my new bunkmates were welcoming and I quickly grew used to their company and sharing the common areas.

  Yet despite all the good things about the Ark, there were others that bothered and confused me. The first was the sheer scale of it. Did a seed bank and genetic repository really require hundreds of personnel? How had such an operation been kept secret from the world at large? And who made the choices about who got to come here, to live in safety? Other than Dr Omelas and Dash there were only a handful of people over thirty, and those that were seemed to be in senior positions. Likewise it seemed odd the senior staff had so little to do with the more junior personnel; although Hannah made a point of spending time with the horticultural team most of the other senior staff were almost invisible, sleeping, working, and eating in private quarters.

  There was also the fact that despite Dr Omelas’ assurance that I was not a prisoner, I was not allowed to leave or have any contact with the outside world. I wasn’t alone in that – Meena told me it was the same for everybody except the most senior personnel – yet still I didn’t like it, not least because it meant I couldn’t speak to Ben, and that I still didn’t know what had happened to Claire after I was captured by Quarantine that first time. Had she really been arrested? Whenever I thought of her I consoled myself with the thought that her work was important, that it would offer her some protection, but the truth was I didn’t really know, and it troubled me I had no way of finding out.

  Nor did Dash and Dr Omelas seem to be concerned about the possibilities of the vaccine. Twice in those weeks I went to the lab and asked to speak to them, only to be told research was progressing, and if they needed me they would tell me.

  Still, there was Meena, and despite Dash’s warning I kept seeing her. Where she went during the day was a mystery to me: I never saw her with her father, and she never seemed to sleep, but every day or second day she would turn up, appearing at the end of one of my rows or seated on a pile of fertiliser bags as I ended my shift, or messaging me in my bunk and telling me to meet her outside somewhere. There was never any warning nor, when we parted, did she ever say when I would see her again.

  We were friends, I suppose, or as near to it as Meena could manage. She was frighteningly intelligent and scathing of anybody who wasn’t. I had to work hard to keep up with her and even then I was painfully aware of her mind leaping ahead of mine and regularly astonished by the range of facts at her command.

  Yet while I thought of her as a friend, in many ways she remained a mystery, and every time I felt she might lower her guard she pulled away. Sometimes I wondered if it was just because she was only fourteen – but gradually I realised there was something eating at her, something she couldn’t talk about, even with me, or perhaps especially with me, and that whatever it was it had to do with her father, and the Ark.

  Despite it all though, there were times when it felt like she was on the verge of opening up to me, such as the night I asked her about her mother and what had happened to her.

  ‘Did she Change?’ I asked, but Meena shook her head.

  ‘Cancer. When I was ten.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be. She was sick for a long time. It was a relief in a way.’

  ‘My father said the same about mine.’

  ‘She died when you were young?’

  ‘When I was two.’

  ‘Do you remember her?’

  I glanced up, surprised by the kindness in her tone. ‘Perhaps. A bit.’ I hesitated. ‘Although sometimes . . . sometimes I worry the things I remember aren’t real, that I’ve just imagined them.’

  ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘Just fragments, really. Her standing above me in our kitchen. Her smell.’ My voice trailed off.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I remember the hospital, her being sick. My father crying.’

  She made a small sound of disgust. ‘At least he did cry.’

  ‘Yours didn’t?’

  ‘I suspect he was relieved. Her being sick was so inconvenient for his work.’

  I was silent for a moment, shocked by the bitterness in her voice. ‘Did you and he get along before she died?’

  She shrugged. ‘Perhaps. I didn’t know him as well then as I do now.’

  21

  I finally understood the reason for Meena’s anger a week later. It was a Friday, and together with the other members of the horticulture team I had spent the week harvesting and replanting the potato crop.

  It was hard work, hours spent bent over the huge potato beds, and although our hands were blistered and our backs and necks ached by the time we were done we were in a buoyant mood: it was an important job, and we had finished ahead of schedule, so after washing up we piled into the mess, laughing and talking.

  I liked a number of my co-workers but I liked Hannah best of all, so I was pleased to find her seated beside me. Although she was technically my boss she never acted like it, and even when I got things wrong she never told me off. It meant a lot to be trusted like that.

  Yet I knew she had troubles of some sort, and at times she looked haunted. But that night she was simply happy, pleased the week was over and the potato crop dealt with, and as we talked and joked she laughed along, even occasionally joining in the good-natured teasing.

  Sometime later in the evening Meena appeared. I was surprised to see her: she seldom sought out my company when I was with the garden crew. At first she pretended she hadn’t seen me and stood in a corner eating an apple. I knew she wanted me to go with her but I wasn’t ready to leave, so I waved to her until she couldn’t ignore me any longer, and finally she approached, stopping at the next table, her arms folded, just far enough away to make it necessary for me to turn and lean away from the group to talk to her.

  ‘You want to come out?’ she asked.

  The others laughed and I turned, anxious I was missing out on something. One of them snorted, accidentally blowing their drink out of their nose. There was another peal of laughter. Still chuckling I swivelled back to Meena only to notice Hannah was looking away from me, as if determined not to acknowledge Meena’s presence.

  ‘Maybe in a bit,’ I said. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’

  Meena glanced at Hannah, who kept her eyes carefully averted. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘It’ll be fun.’

  But Meena shook her head. ‘No,’ she said in her definite way. ‘Perhaps I’ll come find you later.’

  No doubt she would have left and that would have been the end of it, except that at that moment Dash appeared at the door and approached our table.

  When she reached our table she leaned over and said something to Hannah. There was a moment’s silence, then Hannah stood up and followed Dash across the room. Once they were out of earshot they
stopped and Dash glanced around, as if making sure nobody was listening. Then she said something and Hannah made a choking sound and lifted one hand to her mouth.

  I stiffened. Dash turned to leave. Hannah stared at her back then went chasing after her. There was another exchange, angrier this time, then Dash left. Hannah stood unmoving for a little while, then, glancing in our direction, turned and followed her out.

  I stood up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Meena asked.

  ‘I need to find out what just happened. Hannah looked upset.’

  Meena laughed humourlessly.

  ‘What?’ I said.

  ‘You think she’s your friend,’ she said. ‘But she’s not.’

  There was a hardness to Meena’s voice.

  ‘I don’t care,’ I said, and walked away, leaving Meena standing there.

  I thought Hannah had probably headed back to her office, since that was where she spent most of her off-duty time, so I headed down through the tunnels toward the gardens. I was angry with Meena, and her prickly manner. She was supposed to be my friend but sometimes I wondered whether she liked me at all.

  Usually when I was out in the tunnels at night it was with Meena, so there was something strange about being alone, a kind of solitude, a peace in the half-lit corridors and darkened work areas. At the entrance to the nursery I punched in my access code and stepped through the door. Unlike the rest of the installation the nursery’s lights remained on at night, to speed up growth rates, and the creak and swoosh of the watering systems as they clicked on and off was oddly soothing.

  I made my way through the plants toward the office. The light was on, and through the window Hannah was visible. She sat, bent over her chair, crying. Suddenly aware I was intruding, I hesitated. I knew I should go to her but something held me back. Partly it was a sense her grief was private, but it was more selfish than that as well: since I’d arrived here it had become almost possible to believe I might be able to forget my own grief, leave it behind. To find myself confronted by Hannah’s was almost more than I could bear.