Bubbles

Bubbles

My eyes track across to my team as we prepare to dive. A nod. Another nod. As I look across the faces of the people I have known for years, it seems different. They wear suffering and pain on their faces like war medals. I catch a glimpse into Aron’s eyes, so dark and focused. He motions for us to prepare our rebreathing sets. Routinely, I check the regulator’s seal as one of my pre-dive checks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the recruit’s hands shaking as he checks his. Silently we enter as dusk settles across the water. The water is murkier than I remember it; it is safer this way. We were concealed from the Machine. As we approached the barrier of the Machine, something was wrong. The recruit is clawing at their rebreather. I saw the whites in his eyes as he fumbled with the regulator in his mouth -seemingly gasping empty air. He writhed in the water column and instinctively reached for his oxygen reserve. At that moment, I felt a lump in my throat. We froze.

Bubbles.

We wait, statues in the water.

All of our eyes tracked the line of bubbles moving towards the surface. It was out of our control now. As if time wasn’t slow already underwater, the anticipation was foreboding as we watched the bubbles breach the surface. There was an eerie silence as the last bubble popped in the sludgy water, we all held our breath. We knew what happens next. My skin pricked underwater; a cool shudder crept down my spine. The scream of the metal opening was ear-piercing. I darted behind a pillar of the artificial garbage island. I gripped hard to the wall of disused rusted metal and plastic waste. Out from the depths, a blinding light disorientated my vision as I felt a pulse of water rush past me - like a shark going in for the kill. I didn’t see what it was. All I remember was Aron trying to reach the recruit. Then everything goes black.

It was grade 5 when Miss Harvey covered the Great Pacific Garbage Patch in school. We knew that our planet had been pushed too far. The air was becoming warm and steamy in the Winter and dry like a campfire in the Summer. The Earth was sick. Our priorities were sick. Everything changed so fast, we were separated like livestock. We had no choice in what terrain we would be sent to or which families would stay together. My father kept reminding me that ‘The Machine always knows best’. Almost a farce as my sister and I watched my parents board a different ship to us. The propaganda was everywhere; “The Machine governs all”. Well, that’s what we were taught to believe. Now, as I think about how we live, I feel the pang of hypocrisy. I am thankful for the patch. I can reminisce about the ocean’s blue and green algae swirling around the edges of the rusted pontoons. Monochromacy is all we see now. Even the colourful fish are fading in my dreams. My nostrils prick as I come to and inhale the pungent but familiar aroma. A sharp cough of seawater helps me quickly gather my senses. It all flooded back to me as I realised another one of us had been taken victim of The Machine.

I waded across in the shallows to find Aron. Around me was a familiar sight of children stripping and cutting seaweed. I used to be thankful for the seaweed, but that was when the oceans were clean. What we put into the water is exactly what we sowed. Petrol. Pesticides. Poison. The dark emerald moss is the only evidence of sustaining any fickle life on this garbage heap now. It is holding on for life, just like us humans. The plants regenerate, but the nutrients have dissolved. The brilliant colours I remember from when we arrived are long gone. Even the living here lack colour. They lack purpose. I could see Aron perched on the rusted sheet metal at the edge of the shallows. When I approached him, his gaze did not falter from the horizon.

“Did he...?” I paused.

His eyes said it all. They were dark and hollow. We’ve had this conversation enough times for me to know when to drop it. While we all know the risk we take when we leave the patch, we cannot continue living the way we are. Each time we push further and further in search for the microorganisms that can help to regrow our patch and sustain us. Each time, we come back empty-handed, and this time with one scavenger short. I dabbed my foot into the shallows and kicked up the sand. I felt something catch on my toe. When I looked down the sediment was settling, and I saw something glimmer in the reflection. Colour, bright colour. I could see gold glistening in the shallows. As I carefully pulled up the object, I could feel Aron’s eyes piercing through the back of my head. Anything unknown or unfamiliar is dangerous. I know this but I could not help my curiosity. It feels familiar, but why? As I twisted the thick gold chain in my fingers, more sediment washed off exposing a golden heart-shaped locket with a small ruby almost hiding in the centre of it. It hasn’t been here for long. It’s not tarnished or rusted like the rest of the junk. I instinctively drop and conceal the locket under my toes. In Aron’s mind anything that is different or new is dangerous. I tend to agree in most cases, but I couldn’t shake the instant connection I felt with this locket. Aron saw the water settle and his gaze steadied on the horizon once again.

“We have to go under again,” he sighed.

“Are you kidding? It hasn’t even been a day since the Machine took one of us,” I stammered. “We don’t even know if there’s microbes down there!”

“There’s hardly any seaweed left anyway. Plus, starving is slower,” he added.

Aron’s fists clenched and I could see the whites of his scars on his knuckles. I hung my head and waited for him to walk away. As soon as he left, I lifted the locket gingerly out of the water as if it was the most precious thing on this junk heap. As I placed the trinket in my pocket it felt like I was being watched. I swung around, expecting to see Aron waiting behind me. There was no one there. Just some kicked-up sediment swirling in the eddies amongst the hoard of the rubbish patch.

As I footslogged through the thick seaweed, I couldn’t shake the paranoia of another presence. I approached the dive site still nursing the locket in my hand, and caught sight of Aron and the rest of the group. They had that same distant stare before each dive. Until now, I saw the divers as the gladiators of our stricken world. Today I saw them for what they were; young people -all tired, worn and afraid. The pressure placed on the divers to gather microbes or forms of life to heal the reef was extreme. Knowing this pressure too well, I undressed and slipped on my battered wetsuit. As I did, I saw a figure shielded behind a small heap of tin. She was a teenage girl with a worn face and rough, matted hair. She looked like one of the mad scavengers working in the seaweed garden. She froze and turned her face away from me. Her movements were swift and deliberate. She kicked up the sand as she dived to escape my gaze.

I tried to follow her movements but Aron beckoned the group over for the final safety checks. This trip would be the longest we had been underwater with the rebreathers. The risks were not lost on the divers. The shallow breaths and shaky dive checks of the group said it all. I slipped through the solemnity to Aron.

“Did you see that girl?” I queried.

“What?” Barked Aron, his eyes dark again. “No idea. Just get ready.”

I ducked underwater to clean my mask and I heard the same metal screeching.

As my head broke the surface, chaos was around me. The Machine was here. People were scrambling. There were children wailing as a nearby rubbish pile burst into flames. Piercing on top of the noise I heard Aron yell, “Get underwater now!”

Just like we were taught, we descended fast. The squeeze in my ears confirmed that I was going down. I could see the other divers plummeting faster than me to a depth The Machine couldn’t see them. I reached up to release the air in my suit when I felt a sting in my leg. As I spun around I saw the girl. Her hair was more wild and unruly underwater. It stretched out next to me, just floating as I saw a slash of bare skin through my wetsuit - a seeping trail of red liquid telling me I wasn’t deep enough yet. She lunged again and grabbed for my pocket where some of the gold chain was protruding. I grabbed her hand to stop her and let out all the air in my suit as we sunk deeper - temporarily hidden from The Machine. I could see the desperation in her eyes. She squirmed under the grasp of my wrist and went for the locket once again. In our wrestle, it dislodged from my pocket and in one swift movement, the locket broke open.

I stared at the photograph and it was like an instant recollection. The memories flooded through me after so many years. All the heartbreak. All the loss. All the love. Inside the locket was the photograph of my sister and me and immortalised on the other half, our parents. I hadn’t seen this since we separated. It couldn’t be. Could it? As I loosened my grip on the chain the locket reflected the blinding light. That was enough to be sighted.