I need you to find something for me where the sunken lady is.
The flooded city is a forest of mirrored surfaces. Our reflections glance off mountainous silver pillars. These buildings were shelter for tens of thousands and now house only fish and stale air.
AN OCEAN-SWALLOWED WORLD BY JENNA ADAMS 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 123
Waves crash against the side of the old trawler ship. The ocean stretches out as far as the eye can see, save for the peaks of mountains in the far distance.
I dangle my feet over the cold surface of the water. The smell of salt and rust permeates the air, and I long for the smell of a freshwater river. That smell that reminds me of home.
“What’s up?” my brother Quin asks, dropping down and sitting next to me.
“Hey Quin. What’s that?”
“The top of a building.” he says.
“Know its name?”
“It’s the Empire State Building, I’m pretty sure it was famous for a while. The piece sticking out is a priority hazard, identified as the Enclosed Observatory dash 102. Classified as B-Sc.”
“B-Sc?”
“Galatia, you’re not a kid. This is a tough job. I know you can hold your breath for a stupid long time, but if you want to keep this job, you need to know the terminology, codes, maps, charts, sea currents, hazards, and how to manage your time effectively.”
“I know, I know–”
“B stands for breached, Sc means scraped clean, so there’s nothing left in there,” Quin says. “The captain is gonna be pissed if you come in under quota on your first day. There are-”
“There are a lot of divers gunning for this job, and I’m lucky I have a cool older brother who recommended me.”
Quin’s voice softens. “Focus and prioritize and you’ve got this.”
“Yeah, I’ve got this,” I say.
My mind flashes and my brow furrows, recalling the underwater training, the competition, the number of divers who showed up before cast-off begging to fill in for no-shows, those divers shouting and holding up their hands, desperate to earn even one day’s wage. The idea that just one screw-up and I’ll be replaced like I’m nothing makes me dizzy.
“Diving Team A! We are approaching Drop-Off Point A. Get below deck for a change to your resource list! Diving Team B, ETA 15 minutes!”
“What?” I had studied the Resource Priority List for hours last night so I wouldn’t forget. Why are they changing it?
“Good luck! And be safe!” Quin shouts as I head for the meeting room.
One of the divers is talking to the coordinator. I move closer to them to hear what they’re saying.
“With so much damage, there hasn’t been a single sighting of salvageable medication reported in the past five dives. I also don’t think we’ll find much else in Times Square.” The coordinator holds up a pen, “Do you have the Resource List handy?”
The diver he’s talking to checks his wetsuit’s pockets. “No. I know what’s on it, though.”
In hopes of taking the initiative, I speak up. “I have one, sir. Here.” I hand him the small booklet I made to color code and categorize the resources most useful versus most likely to be in the area.
“Thanks.” He takes the booklet and opens it. Surprised for a moment, he nods and starts writing something. “What’s your name, diver?”
“Galatia, sir.”
“The one with the record long breath. I remember your name, next to Quince’s.”
“Record?” The boy looks me up and down. “I didn’t hear about it. What’s your best time?”
“Twenty-four minutes and 36 seconds.” I spell out the number formally, but I can’t help but smirk. I’m so damn proud of that number.
“Have you eaten in the past eight hours?” The boy seems to be digging, but I can’t tell if he’s hunting for a reason to dismiss me.
“No. You can hold your breath longer and dive deeper on an empty stomach.”
He doesn’t say anything but does nod a bit as he looks at me with a bit more recognition.
“What’s your best time?” I ask.
“Twenty-two minutes and 19 seconds. Don’t get cozy, though. I’m willing to bet I can lift more than you.” He walks over to me and stands tall, showing off a mighty few inches difference in stature.
“Less body mass means faster at swimming,” I say. “A hundred small trips versus one big trip would be a fun competition some time if you’re game.”
“Hell, I could out-swim you on or off duty.”
“Knock it off, you two.” The coordinator snaps us back to attention. “I’m pairing you up. Nicholas, you have a good record with us. You’re reliable. Galatia has reached and trained in these depths before, and her stamina is going to be an asset.”
“Yes, sir.” Nicholas salutes the coordinator. He looks back at me. “We’ll settle this next time.”
The coordinator snaps his fingers and calls everyone’s attention. “Lisen up Diving Team A!”
The divers crowd around the table. “You guys are going to be two divers short and I’m removing Times Square from your list. It’s officially scraped clean. I am also changing medication to a secondary priority item. The new top priority is non-corrosive metals. If it’s not rusted over, bring it up. That’s all. Dismissed!”
The coordinator signals me and Nicholas to follow him to see the captain. My entire body buzzes with electricity and stiffens.
“At ease, soldier,” the captain says, looking at me with a half-smile.
“I need you two to find something for me. You know where the sunken lady is. You will be looking for a tablet, kinda like the digital ones that survived the floods but this one is sturdier. It’ll work just fine. Try to avoid firing it up if you can avoid it but you need to confirm this serial number. I want it intact and functioning, so keep your eyes peeled, and get the hell out of there if you spot other divers. If you can get the tablet without being seen, do it. Otherwise, fall back.”