Bericodia

My eyes snapped open as I felt the water beneath our floating yacht begin to grumble and rock my hammock from side to side. Normally, I would close my eyes again to resume a well-needed slumber, as being a new mother in the middle of the world ending had proven to be exhausting, however, the cracking of the thunder in the distance began to make my palms slippery with sweat and I was instantly awake.

Quickly peering down at my sleeping baby, bundled safely inside our improvised bassinet in the kitchen sink, I pushed aside a tattered hanging sarong, to find blustering, turbulent marble grey skies awaiting my company on deck outside the window. Before I could gasp, my legs had already begun sprinting up the stairs and my hands launched onto the ropes I had left scattered on deck the night before. I felt furious for not having been more organised in the event of a storm arising, but it was too late now. I was dashing up and down the stairs, trying to clear the top deck while beneath, store away our belongings and tasteless tinned beans I had been learning to ration.

Tears began mixing in with the falling raindrops splattering onto my face as my arms shakily pulled the hatch shut on the violent black sky that had now drifted above us. The helpless cries of my son rang from the sink and I frantically tried to pull myself together so my quivering arms softened just enough to pick him up.

“Shh my darling, Mama’s here” I whispered breathlessly into his small fuzzy ear. The two of us sat huddled together against the wall, the hammock above our heads swung rhythmically in tune with the storm. The forceful slapping of the waves outside sent the little bundle right back to sleep, while my toes were turning white from pressing us so firmly against the floor, that we didn't tumble around the cabin. My gaze fell onto baby’s peaceful face, which twitched from a runaway tear that had fallen off my chin and planted itself on his chubby, pink cheek, causing him to nestle his head further into the crevice of my elbow. I shut my eyes, trying to distract myself from the now.

My mind went back to the morning of my twenty-first birthday. The rough, yet such gentle touch of my husband’s hand swept the long tawny kinks of hair off my neck.

“Good morning, Babe. Happy birthday”, he whispered his warm breath into my ear. Groaning, I rolled my body over to face him, flipping my leg up onto his and wrapped us into a tight cuddle. The warmth radiating from his skin onto mine released a cage of dormant butterflies into my stomach.

“What if I don't want it to be my birthday?” I erupted sarcastically, “what if I wanted to stay twenty forever?” His eyes twinkled as he smirked with excitement.

“That would mean I couldn’t give you this!”

A hand slipped under his pillow and he brought out a shiny scarlet box.

“Honey!” I exclaimed, “I thought we agreed, no presents?”

“As if I wouldn’t get you anything, Love, it’s your twenty-first birthday! C’mon, open it up.” I joined my shaking head with a smile, as I took the small box from his hand.

Without warning, thunder clattered heavily above our vessel, waking the sleeping bundle into piercing cries, bringing me back to the mess of reality I was sitting in. I pulled a hand free from holding my weeping son and let his legs rest on my knees. The two of us let tears fall, while my free hand subconsciously glided across my chest, clutching onto the gold heart-shaped locket that enclosed one of the last memories I would ever have of my husband.

The memory of my birthday came back and continued to play on in my mind. It brought back the events that unfolded throughout that day. I waved good bye to my husband at the airport later that morning, as he went to work in the oil mines for the next two weeks. I remembered deciding that I shouldn't mope around home waiting for his return, and took my son and I on a spontaneous sailing trip off the coast of our home town, Exmouth, in Western Australia. I had packed plenty of tinned food and water in case of an emergency, but I never truly expected that I would be here in this position, rationing, knowing once the cans are gone that I may not eat again.

The panicked voices of those warning others about the rising water, and others on land radio calling for help, echoed in my mind. For years, people knew about climate change and we knew about global warming, but we were too late to make amends. The atmospheric shields are weak, and have been continuing to weaken over centuries. I suppose even I took our Earth for granted. The ultraviolet rays heated the Earth’s antarctic temperatures and melted all of the ice. The ratio of ice to land was imbalanced and the outcome inevitable. The water, what we called ‘the floods’, was rising and becoming a real threat to human existence. It all happened so quickly, some days it still hasn’t sunk in that I will never dock on land. My son and I were already at sea when the floods hit. I tried to sail into shore as soon as I heard the radio warnings, desperate to get in contact with my husband and somehow figure out a plan to survive together. But I was too far out to make it in time and the floods were not waiting.

I never expected to be a widow at twenty-one, alone in a never-ending sea, with a six month old baby and tinned food to ration. My son’s cries were becoming more deafening than the waves crashing against our yacht. I didn’t know how to help him. With hope, I pulled out my breast to offer him some sort of comfort, before what I feared would be our looming time to die. He accepted my offer and his screams turned into soft sniffles and sobs as he gulped down the warmth of my milk. We sat there together and waited for death to greet us in the ocean’s deep blue depths. After what felt like an eternity, the storm eased and the pelting rain turned into light sprinkle onto the deck above, the waves reducing into a gentle lapping against the outside of the cabin’s walls. Tucking my son onto my hip, we unlocked the hatch and went on deck. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

The still sea surrounding us was glistening emerald, with patches of white staining the surface. The sky beamed down a peculiar shade of wispy maroon, encapsulated with swirling silver clouds, which brought a strange stillness into the air. The hair of the back of my neck stood tall. Something felt off. I realised the yacht was sailing backwards. Unsure of how that could be possible, I turned around to see a whirlpool of emerald sea pulling us in. Without hesitation, I sprinted below beck, locked the hatch and sat down at our spot under the hammock.

This isn't happening. This can’t be happening!

My heart was pumping so hard it had made its way into my throat. More tears had begun pouring down my face, and I started saying my goodbyes to the little bundle of love my husband and I had created, only to have die with us.

“Oh my baby, Mama loves you so much sweetheart” I cried. I could feel the yacht starting to tip, my stomach dropping with it. Unable to resist, I let out a massive scream. Desperately trying to hold my son on my chest, we lost gravity, and both of us flew up so my back hit the roof of the cabin. I cried out in pain. Strangely, the fall was short, because before I knew it the yacht came to a halt and send baby and I piloting back down. My son miraculously landed in the hammock, which had swung against the wall, knocking his head. Rubbing my aching back, I stood up and could see a purple egg forming on his forehead as he screamed.

“Shhhhh” I tried comforting him as I hobbled over, and my brows furrowed as I saw out of the cabin window. I was lost for words. Just outside our sunken yacht, was not simply the ocean floor, but a maze of tall glass tunnels running along the sand, with flickering light from the surface shining through the water above. Puzzled, I realised I could not see any marine life. In fact, I was beginning to think that there wasn’t any water surrounding the yacht at all. I kissed my son’s pulsing head and left him to lay in the hammock while I investigated. Opening the hatch, I came to find that I was correct, there was no water around us, so I went above deck to get a better view of the tunnels.

“HELLO?” I shouted, “IS ANYONE OUT THERE?”

A part of me knew there was no point, I could just be wasting my breath. I went back down to pick up my son, when suddenly, I could hear what seemed like footsteps on the deck above. The hatch began to open, I awaited cautiously to see a tall, wide framed man peer into the cabin. His eyes were covered by a thick wave of shaggy blonde hair, but his smile beamed when his eyes locked with mine.

“Hello” said the man, “my name is Connor, I saw your vessel arrive! As I came to greet you, I heard your call for help. You sounded frightened, are you okay?”

I gathered my jaw, and stuttered, “who...how...but we...”

As I was trying to gather my words, Connor had come over to help me to my feet, and let me grab my son before leading us to the top deck.

This has to be some sort of dream...or is this the afterlife? Did I die?

“Where are we, Connor?” I asked, finally finding my words.

““You have arrived to the city of Bericodia. The people who live in behind these tunnels are those who found The Bermuda Triangle, and we, the Bericodians, believe we have been gifted a second chance at recreating a meaningful life here under the water.” He had read the confusion on my face and smiled in slight amusement. Leading us off the yacht, we began walking towards a large opening glass gate, revealing a beautiful field of soft, dry sand, holding rows of houses made of oak brown driftwood and what seemed to be a rainbow of disposed sea plastics. I noticed a lot of the roofing was created by broken air craft shells and other machinery pieces.

“I don’t understand how all of this is possible” I responded. I gazed up and realised the emerald sea that had engulfed us was swiftly swirling in circles above, as though we were safe below, alive in a giant air bubble. Connor continued to lead us further into Bericodia. We walked past windows displaying families sitting in their recycled homes eating a meal together, couples hand-in-hand strolling between the rainbow corals planted along the sandy floor, and children laughing and playing imaginative games together. It felt heavenly.

“Before I show you any further,” Connor paused, “there is someone in here who I want you to meet”.

As I held my son in my arms, I followed Connor’s arm gesturing to step into a home we had suddenly stopped in front of. Peering inside the door, my hand instantly clutched the locket on my chest, feeling my heart skipping a beat, and tears of joy met a widening smile on my cheeks. There, stood before my own two eyes, was my husband.