The ARK

Raven sat in front of her computer like she did most nights, the glow of the screen as pale as her skin. She tapped a few keys, like a bird pecking its prey but the results never satisfied her. The young woman sat back with a groan, “Taffy, what are we going to do?”

Taffy, her massive black dog, looked up from his chew toy, licking his lips.

“I know, I know but I’ve been looking all night,” Raven picked up her black Moleskine notebook, fingers rubbing against the raised flower texture. She flipped through it to the last entry—the words WHAT IS THE ARK written in thick bubble letters there. The page filled with crossed-off items, everything from an off-food brand to a crime syndicate. Picking up a pen, she circled the words conspiracy theory again with a sigh and then switched to checking her emails.

The fifth rule of journalism: be accountable. Raven was in a writing slump and her editors knew it. She deleted an email from one of them pleading for her to meet the fast-approaching midnight deadline. Then she deleted another email from the same editor with the subject line DON’T IGNORE ME. Just for fun, she tabbed over to her junk mail. Scrolling past the Medical Miracles and African-Manhood-Elongation emails, she paused on the one titled Hi Raven.

Check your bank account was all the email read. Opening the app on her phone, her eyes widened, seeing a substantial increase in her balance. The name of the sender made her mouth fall open. THE ARK.

She refreshed the screen with a jab of her thumb, but the entry remained, “That’s not…”

Taffy bumped her elbow with his muzzle. She smoothed the soft fur on his head, “20,000 for what?”

Her phone buzzed with a new email. How is Taffy? The subject line read.

“What the hell…” Raven mumbled, worried now that this was some prank. Someone hacking her and trying to mess with her head. She opened the email finding a set of coordinates and the words, I’ll see you there. Love Uncle.

Raven’s uncle had been missing for a decade. She had been eighteen when he left her with a black puppy and a postcard saying be back soon. Better late than never, Raven supposed. She had spent a decade searching every corner of the earth for him, but that level of emotion was rather difficult to condense into a short and sweet email.

The fourth rule of journalism: fairness and impartiality. That kinda goes out the window when your presumed dead uncle starts emailing you from the void. Raven chewed at her lip until Taffy started barking, “Okay! Okay!”

She had questions, of course, but the coordinates were only on the other side of town. All she wrote was, Okay. With Taffy in the passenger seat, Raven waited near the coordinates for signs of… something. She didn’t see her uncle, instead, a young man carrying a cooler approached her.

“Nevermore,” he said.

“What?”

“You know, the poem, ‘quoth the raven nevermore’. You’re Raven right?”

“I… Right. Who are you?” Always remember to ask the important questions.

“Oh, I’m Harpreet. Here are the DNA samples, as requested. You can keep them in your freezer,” he handed her the cooler and started walking away.

“Hey, wait! What am I supposed—”

“It’s all in the cooler for you,” he said, not even turning around, leaving Raven with the plastic box. She set it on the sidewalk beside her car, while Taffy sniffed the air curiously. Raven paced—where was her uncle? Was she going to find his heart stuffed in this cooler? She was still wondering if it was just a trick but the buzz from her phone told her differently.

Open the cooler for instructions to the next location. Love Uncle.

Hands shaking, she opened it. Inside was a letter, a recorder, and a set of tiny test tubes filled with what looked like backwashed food—skin samples. Folded inside the letter was a polaroid photo: her sitting in front of a large cake, her uncle bent and smiling to fit into the frame of the photo. She paused at the sight of it, but rather than succumbing to the swell of emotion, she continued investigating the contents. The letter had a list of ten more coordinates. She pressed play on the recorder and listened to a short explanation leaving Raven with more questions than answers. She didn’t normally ignore deadlines, and this was about her uncle, the biggest mystery of her life. She couldn’t just let it pass her by. She played the recording again, trying to imagine her uncle saying the words. She wondered what he looked like—had his hair gotten gray? Did his eyes still hold that sparkle of adventure?

So, Raven kept going—the coordinates took her around the world, her bank account automatically replenishing with the collection of each sample. The third rule of journalism: Independence. Much easier when the finances are taken care of. Finally, after carefully packing all eleven DNA samples into the cooler, she received one last message. Another email this time. One line of coordinates. Love Uncle.

That was how, after all the flights, hotel beds and fast-food Raven found herself hanging over the edge of a fishing boat. Her stomach flipping end over end as the Icelandic shoreline shrank away. Taffy wagged his tail happily, tongue flapping in the sea breeze beside her.

“Caw, caw goes the raven,” the captain of the boat said after accepting a lump sum of cash from her when they docked.

“Actually no, it’s more of a croak,” Raven corrected. The second rule of journalism: speak for humanity—or in this case, birds.

The island itself didn’t have much to offer. It wasn’t on any travel blogs. It was barely on the map with a community of only a couple hundred people. Stepping onto the dock, Raven was just grateful to be back on solid ground. The fisherman didn’t stick around while she untangled her hair from her backpack. Picking up the cooler filled with samples, she looked around the empty pier, “Where to?”

Taffy walked into town, his large tail swaying. Raven, having no better ideas, followed her loyal pet. She stopped at a fish and chip shop, getting extra fish for Taffy. With the help of Google translate she asked the cashier about the coordinates, showing him her map. He simply shook his head, “Nothing there.”

Raven found a bench so they could eat in peace. She wiped the grease from her fingers and pulled the polaroid out of her black notebook. It had been from her eighteenth birthday, just before her uncle had gone missing. The cake had been far too big for the two of them. Raven still had trouble making eye contact with black forest. Raven sniffed, rubbing her eyes. Taffy whined.

“I’m not crying!” she tucked the photo away.

With bellies filled, the pair hiked out to the coordinates; Raven miraculously keeping a signal on her phone. The landscape was flat except for a low rocky plateau sticking up from the grass and rocks. They were meters from the coordinates, but all Raven saw for miles was rocks. Just like fish and chips had said. Raven dumped her backpack and the cooler on the ground. Tired, feet sore and back aching, she pulled out the polaroid whispering, “Where the hell are you?”

I’m right here.

The voice startled her, Raven looked around, thinking she was hearing things.

Come inside.

Confused, she jumped back while the ground started vibrating. An elevator-sized cylinder rose from the ground.

Welcome home, Raven. Thank you for taking care of her after all this time Taffy.

Quieting Taffy’s barking with a pat, Raven hesitated, “Is that you Uncle?”

The voice made a strange rasping. More of a caw than a croak—laughter? Yes and no. Please come inside. I’ll explain everything.

Swallowing hard, Raven stepped inside the cylinder with Taffy at her side. Whatever the answer was, she had to know. As the elevator sunk below the earth, she tried not to think about the mining accident she had investigated when she was first starting out as a journalist. Instead, she dug her fingers into Taffy’s fur, comforted by the dog’s warmth. Below ground, deep below—the elevator ride took a few minutes—the walls were made of smooth metal with soft lights overhead. Taffy’s claws clicked across the floor as they moved down the hallway into a larger room. It was hexagonal, with hundreds of thousands of lights lining the walls. Each light had a tiny little label written on masking tape. Raven leaned in to read one, struggling to pronounce the words, “Thylacinus cynocephalus.”

“Yes, the once extinct thylacine may live again soon,” the voice was coming from a whirring machine that hovered in the center of the room now. Taffy sat before it, head cocked inquisitively.

“You’ve changed so much.”

It did sound like her Uncle; clearer than the recording she had listened to every night since all of this had started. The mix of emotions stirring through her left her unable to speak, so Raven simply nodded.

“Welcome to the ARK. This vault contains the DNA of every known species now, thanks to you. One day, it will serve as the epicenter of wildlife restoration, bringing even the extinct animals back from the dead. Raven, welcome to your new home.”

“Uncle? What happened to you?”

The cawing sound again, “Ah, yes. This may be difficult for you to make sense of, but I have transferred my consciousness into this machine you see before you. I am sorry I couldn’t get back to you, but the work here is critical to earth's future. I couldn’t exactly wander through the streets like this, now could I?”

The number one rule of journalism: always find the truth, no matter how hard it is to swallow, “No, I guess not.”

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Written by Kelsey Reich on February 14/2021 in Ontario. Edited February 20/2020.