Chapter 9: Hauls and spillages

Somehow, Travis talked me into it. He talked me into going back down. That time I took some ropes. Ropes to haul stuff up by. No, I know how he talked me into it. He nagged. And nagged. And then he nagged some more. It took him five days to convince me to do it even once, and the others kept just looking at me like I was betraying them. I had to get away. I wanted to run and hide.

I sunk down into the water with eight faces watching me. It was worse than ever before; even on my home atoll I hadn't felt so horribly isolated. There'd been people willing to talk to me.

I sank down into the water and wished it would swallow me up, but even if I slipped the rope and swam away, sooner or later I'd fall asleep and float to the surface and Travis would find me. He'd done it before.

I cursed him silently, the water leaving a bad taste in my mouth.

I sank down. It was near noon, and as light as it was going to get, but I still had trouble making things out. I wasn't where I had been before; this was a different bit. Coral grew over the ground. I swum along, looking for a good spot to swipe things from.

An upthrust growth - a dwelling, I could see the door. It had to be big enough for ten or fifteen people.

I unhooked one of the lines from my belt, tied it around the door securely, and yanked on it. The door inched up and away. A wooden door, slightly warped. Not much of a haul.

I went inside, wary of animals. Even an octopus would be a nasty problem.

A table. Dishes. Curtains at the windows, even. Things I didn't understand and couldn't name, but even I could recognise a kitchen.

I gathered a bundle of things and wrapped them in the cloth, hoping it would hold. That bundle went up as well. There were other things - papers, cupboard doors, containers. Further in it was getting dark, but I could see soft chairs and a big table and electronics that would be useless. I didn't know where to begin; I only had five more lines; six, if I swam up on my own instead of letting them pull me up.

I threw in the paper - we could always trade it - and more dishes and containers, then two chairs tied back-to-back, then a load of cutlery I found, some kitchen knives miraculously free of rust… I kept bundling things up until I ran out of things to bundle, then I tied the last line around two more chairs - I couldn't get the table through the door - and tugged on it, following the odd shape up to the sunlight. When I surfaced, it was almost blinding.

After a moment I was back at the atoll and hauling myself out of the water. Only Travis noticed, offering me a hand up, which I ignored; everyone else was busy sighing over the new finds.

"Well?" I asked him. "Happy now?"

"No. You look miserable."

"I didn't ask how I looked, I asked if you were happy."

"Kayla, I'm not happy because you look miserable."

"I don't need you to care."

"Well, I don't need you to keep breathing. That doesn't mean I'd be happy if you stopped."

"I do when I'm underwater."

"Alright, so maybe that wasn't the greatest analogy." He wouldn't let me get away. "Kayla, just because you're different doesn't mean nobody cares about you."

I looked pointedly at the seven bodies crowding around their new furniture and dinnerware.

"I'm here," he reminded me.

"How much of that is because you like women who are a challenge?" I asked.

"Only a little," he said. "You'd be a lot more attractive if you did something about your hair."

"It covers my ears."

"Everyone here knows. You don't have to hide, you can look pretty."

"I wouldn't look pretty."

"Yes. You would. Come on, I'll show you." I was towed like a raft, unable to steer my own course. The alternative was to fall over and be dragged. Travis all but shoved me into a chair and set to work with comb and string and brush. It hurt. A lot.

He wouldn't even let me look in a mirror until he was finished, and when he did I could barely believe my eyes.

Two thick braids on either side of my head joined at the back and held the main mop back off my eyes - it would even work underwater. The little skerricks of hair in front of my ears were braided into far thinner ones to hang down beside my face, altering the shape to look prettier. As he'd said. My hair was still thick and dark and unruly, but it seemed quiescent, like a sleeping shark.

"Ah, stay still," he told me and was back in short order with some of Micah's beadwork. An elegant bracelet for each wrist, a string of small ones to be woven into the braid at the back and ones to end the braids by my face. Then he put the dingy mirror back in front of my face.

"Now," he said, gently spinning me around to look at him, "who says you're not pretty?"

I wouldn't look at him. My fingers itched to tear out those decorations, to clip my hair so close to the skull I'd be bleeding. Being pretty would only make things worse. Better to be ugly, to be no threat.

I heard a gasp behind me. I turned; Jason was staring, open-mouthed, then he blushed furiously and ducked behind a mast.

"I think he's got a crush," Travis whispered, his breath ghosting over my skin.

"He's not the only one," Tyla teased. "He's just a little less obvious. Nice work on that stuff, Kayla. There's a few things I may be able to use in the still, and we can store more water for longer now?"

"Tyla," Travis said after taking a deep breath, "can I have a word?"

"Oh, sure, why? What's wrong?"

I was left standing there, bemused, baffled and a bit hurt. Greta grabbed my arm and hauled me over to the table. "Now," she said, "a door is a good start, but we need more."

"Well, you still have to haul it up," I said.

"Right. We need a windlass. And maybe some kind of holder, like a huge bucket."

"Some packing material," I said. "Those curtains might be tough, but most cloth isn't. I was lucky half the dishes didn't break."

"I'll think on it," she said, sitting up. "So. You. Jason. Travis. Spill."

"I'm not nauseous."

"What?"

"Oh. Spill as in talk. Where I grew up it meant vomit. I'm not sick or anything." She took one look at my face and cracked up. I was embarrassed, but I could see the funny side. Not enough to laugh, though.

"I've never heard that before," she said when she'd calmed down. "No. I meant I've seen the way Travis looks at you." She flushed. "I'm envious," she admitted.

"You can have him," I said and meant it. "Guys are nothing but trouble."

"Micah wouldn't agree," she said.

"She can't even stand up without using both hands and she'd say guys aren't trouble?"

Greta shook her head. "Guys are great."

"A piston can do what they do and you don't have to clean up afterwards."

"Oh, gross! You are warped!"

I managed a slight smile. I don't think anyone saw.