The Ward

36


4:15 P.M., SUNDAY


A red path mazes across the screen of the Omni’s dash. Remnants of the old city pass by in the windowpane, and it’s like someone’s taken out time’s batteries. Left everything frozen in place.

The underwater city is always like this. I imagine it’s different over in the West Isle, where so many people have mobiles that the canals actually get congested. Here, though, it’s dead quiet.

My cuffcomm buzzes. It must be Callum getting back to me about Aven. I pull one hand from the steering wheel, still there despite the autopilot. I read the message:

She’s stable, and though the mass’s rate of growth has slowed, it’s dangerously close to damaging her long-term brain function. Translation: Fine for the time being. Not fine if we can’t help her soon.

I swallow and pretend that the world is frozen—no ticking—above the surface. Aven has days that don’t become hours, that don’t become seconds. Soon.

I’m holding in my breath. Like holding in life.

I sit back. I do nothing, my hands on the wheel nonetheless. Though the Omni moves easily through the water, I’m not used to letting a machine make all the decisions. But right now, it’s a blessing to be able to turn off my head. I don’t want to make any more decisions.

Focus. I need to stay focused.

After a few minutes, the VoiceNav announces that I’ve arrived at my destination.

The spring could be anywhere, though. Can’t just walk in—what would I say? Please pass the fountain of youth, thanks! Not going to work.

I’m just gonna have to look around—but down here, nothing is familiar. There are no obvious landmarks. My sense of direction has flown out the window. If I knew the difference between this pylon and that pylon, maybe I’d have some idea. But they’re all brown, covered in green gunk.

Nonetheless, VoiceNav doesn’t lie.

I turn right into an alleyway flanked by two buildings’ brick foundations. The space between is so narrow, I couldn’t lie down sideways without having to bend my knees—the buildings are maybe only four feet apart.

Callum’s mobile better be small enough. It’s a later-model Omni, putting it at about three feet, nine inches, so I should be good, but I still drive slow, gripping the wheel too hard. The mobile shakes. Nearly bangs into the brick siding.

Why is she shaking so bad?

I look down at my grip—my fingers are the problem. His Omni’s just answering the command.

My hands never get the shakes during a race. Before, sometimes. But not during. Now, though, my nerves physically hurt. Every last one is a razor, ready to slice. Breathe.

I force air into my mouth, down my lungs, repeat, repeat, listening to the sound.

It’s because there are too many people at stake. Too much responsibility. I don’t like it, don’t know where to put it. And Aven’s life is riding on this, too—my one more shot at saving her.

I turn off the headlight in favor of the belly lamp, not wanting to draw too much attention. Actually, I’d rather keep the lights off entirely—it’s safer—but then I really might run into the building’s side.

Everything under me turns bright green as the Omni hovers alongside the walls. I search for a window, or anything. Just a way to make it inside the building and get scouting.

But then, there—a glint of silver?

What would be silver down here? You could store a mobile, I guess, but it would be hard to get at when you needed it. And if it weren’t being used on the regular, it wouldn’t be silver. Metal, plastic, you name it—it all gets covered in green underwater funk almost immediately.

I hit reverse, trying to catch the light again. Nothing, nothing—

There.

And it disappears. The alley is no more than algae and concrete blocks and brick turned green. Seaweeds move with such sway, if I weren’t so adrenaline-amped, I might find it soothing.

Again.

I’m along the Strait’s floor now, and I’ve lost sight of the glint. But, over there, caught underneath a pile of rubble, I think I see a tangled fishing net.

Normally this wouldn’t catch my eye, but there’s nothing else like it down here. And it’s the perfect place to cover something metal, something silver.

This wasn’t exactly in the plan, but then again, nothing was.

I know what to do next, but I’m not looking forward to it.

Dimming the belly lamp, I hop into the backseat, then dig around for the neoprene suit that I know is back here. After all, this baby has an airlock hatch.

When I find the neatly folded suit, I quickly strip out of my clothes and slide myself into the skintight fabric. It was obviously made for a guy: long in the legs and puffy in the shoulders and groin. The thought of Callum’s thing having been right here makes me snicker. I can’t help but pat the bulgy space. He must’ve had it made special order. The rest of it may be small enough, but this space . . . not small.

Tucked into a net on the roof I find a rubber storage pack. I pull it down and throw it on like a backpack, then fold the extra neoprene underneath itself. Last, I crank at the hatch in the back, crawl into a space no bigger than I am, and curl into a ball.

How would a guy fit in here?

Then again, Callum is pretty slim. Derek couldn’t fit. Who knew they made mobiles that came in a size small?

My head and hands are gonna be exposed, but so long as my core stays warm, my temp should be fine. I know I should take off my Hessians—they’ll only weigh me down. But we’ve been through so much together. I can’t abandon them now, when I’m finally doing something worthwhile.

I leave them on, and push the red button and take a deep breath. The bottom retracts.

I’m back in the water.


After the second or two it takes to shake off the pesky feeling of being knifed by ice water, I focus myself. My Hessians drag me down and I don’t have to swim to the floor—a happy accident thanks to my stubbornness. I reach out for the net, but it’s slick, slippery, and coated by algae, and we grapple with each other. I defeat the monster though, in the end, tossing it to the side once I free it from the bricks.

Then I see the thing that glinted.

Another hatch.

An underwater entrance for docking Omnis or subs is unusual but not unheard of. Still, it warrants some poking around.

I brace myself, steadying my legs against the wall, and with both hands I try to rotate the latch. Air bubbles drift away from me—How long can I go without breathing?

The latch won’t budge.

To the right, I see a small device glowing neon green under the water. I flip it open, and on the screen a series of shapes appears: square, triangle, circle, dot.

What do I do?

Seconds float by, each one seeming longer than the last. I’ll need air soon.

I look at the shapes again, then—to see what happens—I tap the square. It slides down onto the middle of the screen, blinking, waiting for me to do something else. I drag it back to the row of shapes, because I know it’s not right.

I need the circle. Using the pad of my finger, I drag the circle down. Next, the dot. But there’s no line. Without a line, how can I draw the tattoo? I look closer.

The square—

Dragging the bottom line, I lay it directly over the dot, across the middle of the circle.

I’d hold my breath . . . but I already am.

Air bubbles drift up from the circular hatch in front of me. Must’ve done it right.

I try twisting the wheel-shaped handle again and find myself spinning it to the left. In a rush of air and water, the latch makes one final rotation, and with a heavy click it automatically rises. Suction pulls me into an indoor pool.

I can almost breathe.

Behind, the hatch lowers. I try to get some air but the Hudson water hurdles over the closing door in a waterfall, pushing me down. I can’t stand until the airlock pressurizes and there’s no more water coming in.

When the door finally locks, suctioning closed with a heavy sigh, I’m standing waist deep in the pool. In front of me is yet another latch. I inhale the dank smell a few times. If I weren’t so short on air, I’d be plugging up my nose. The swampy rankness ain’t exactly pleasant.

I inspect the other circular door—it’s got no latch. No way to open it.

Below my feet, the metal flooring groans. It slides away, and I’m left standing on a grate, allowing the water to draining away. Soon as the last of the water disappears, the hatch opposite slides up, and, wasting no time, I step through.