CHAPTER 18
During a special broadcast the next day, Nevio tells us that the breach was a terrible accident. That the water that came in was too powerful, too fast, that there was nothing to be done but seal off the deepmarket to prevent the water from reaching the neighborhoods.
Hundreds of people died. There’s no way to give everyone an individual burial with a death toll so high, no time for family members to prepare the bodies. The priests are working all day and late into the night to bless and shroud the dead, and the bodies will have to go up through the floodgates in groups. There is not enough time to bury them one by one. Nevio tells us that the first group will be released tomorrow morning.
We lost more people in the deepmarket breach than we have ever lost in a single day in Atlantia. This is a terrible tragedy.
And I am a terrible person, because in the tragedy I see an opportunity.
This is my chance to go through the floodgates.
And it’s even better than I could have hoped.
The mass burials are the perfect cover for my attempt to get Above.
Instead of just one body, there will be dozens going up at the same time. I’ll wear Bay’s wetsuit, the one I didn’t cut up for a costume, and find a robe to shroud myself in and conceal my air tank.
This time I will be the one who leaves.
I wait until it’s late at night, until the hours when even the priests have to steal a little sleep, and I slip into the morgue, find a shroud in a pile, and put it on over my wetsuit and air tank. The dead rest in their rows, and I lie down and pull the shroud over my face, making sure that the air tank is adjusted and strapped on tight.
I lie on the cold floor and wait. Wondering whether I’ve timed everything right, wondering if this will work.
And then people come inside. They move body after body. When it’s my turn, I hold very still. I pretend not to breathe.
The workers bring me from the morgue out to the floodgate chamber. They carry me on a stretcher, so they don’t touch the air tank, which is a mercy, and they settle me on the chamber floor. I know where I am by the echoes in the room and the smell of cold stone and salt water. I hear the workers placing other bodies around me. The floor feels very hard through my shroud.
A chill of foreboding shivers down the back of my neck. What if it all ends here? What if I drown before I even get out of the chamber?
Think about something else. Think about True.
I wonder if he is watching the burial. He won’t know that I’m here with the other bodies, but soon enough he’ll know that I’m gone, that I left Atlantia somehow. I wanted to leave a message for True, but I realized it was complicated—who could I trust to give it to him?—and, in the end, unnecessary.
I told him everything last night in the gondola. I didn’t tell him when I was going, but he knows I’ve always wanted to go Above, and he knows how much I miss my sister.
In the end True will think that I loved Bay more than I love him, which is true in some ways.
I have loved her longer.
The priests begin to say the prayers over us. They speak as one, and I can’t make out Justus’s voice.
I hold so very, very still. The priests are everywhere, walking among the rows. I wonder if any of them think they see a flutter of breath when they come past my body. My mask is in place, the tank still undiscovered, the control to the airflow in my hand. It will take a tiny movement to switch it on, one that I hope no one sees. And then I’ll have to hope that the air is good and the ascent slow enough that my lungs don’t burst.
The priests stop chanting. I hear the door to the chamber close as they leave us alone.
Somewhere in the viewing area, Nevio and the Council are watching. Is Maire with them?
The water coming from the gods’ open mouths hits the floor. I wonder if True will understand when he finds out what I have done. I hope he knows how I feel about him, that I didn’t want it to have to be like this. But how else could I go?
My shroud is soon sodden.
The last time I was in this chamber was with Maire. That’s when I had the idea to go up through the floodgates.
This is the perfect way to escape. But it’s also the perfect way to get rid of the last remaining daughter of a Minister you wanted dead, a Minister who knew too much. The Council killed my mother. Did they ask Maire to kill me?
What if going up through the floodgates wasn’t my idea after all? What if it was hers?
All it takes is a little fear to creep in. It’s like the water in the deepmarket. Once it breaks, you will soon have a flood. And then there’s no telling what could happen.
Don’t panic. Don’t be afraid. You’re meant for the Above. Your inner voice has always told you this. Trust it.
It is a good thing that I practiced in the lanes, because as the water lifts me I am buffeted and spun around, and I have to adjust and move without seeming to do so. I have to work to keep my head upright, hoping that with so many bodies they won’t notice. I switch on the air, and it flows into my mask.
Up, up, up, I go. They accelerate the water once the bodies have lifted off the ground. Artificial currents keep us away from the walls and toward the center, but we bump into one another.
Bile rises into my throat, though I’ve eaten nothing.
Don’t think. Just breathe.
I feel the cold of the water, even through the wetsuit. I know that the exposure might send me into shock. I know the suit might not be enough to protect me.
Up. Up.
The shroud comes loose over my face. I must not have tightened it enough. I can’t help it. I open my eyes.
The petals above me spin, and it is all I can do to keep staring up and not swim straight for the exit. It’s bright. So bright. Is that real light or artificial light? I don’t think the sun can reach this far down, but other things I’ve thought were certain have been proven wrong.
Some of the bodies reach the opening of the chamber before I do.
They become blazing, brilliant, bright; they disappear.
Is this the third miracle? Do I believe in the miracles?
I do. I believe in the sirens, because they exist and I am one of them. I believe in the bats, because I’ve seen them. I’ve scrubbed up their leavings and marveled at their wings. So a third miracle could be true, too.
But something is happening. A darkening. A pulling down on the inside, the very heart of me, on my body.
Am I dying?
The petals spin inward instead of outward, closing instead of opening.
“Open,” I say. “Open back up. Let me out.”
But it doesn’t work. Because of the mask? Because I am too far away?
The water is lowering.
They are bringing me back down.
They know.