The Burn by Annie Oldham Page A

thick here—hydrothermal vents that
spew out sea water that seeps down into the earth and chars itself
on the molten core. The minerals that escape back into the ocean
with the hot water form layer upon layer into huge chimneys. The
water down here can get up to 500 degrees. That’s one of the
reasons the station is down here: to study the vents and the
organisms that can live in these conditions.
    There is a forest of the black smokers south of the
station, some of them forty feet tall. Surely this is where Gaea’s
home is hidden. Somewhere along the east wall where the lip of
rock, the smokers, the darkness, and the murky water will hide it
unless you know it’s there.
    I start just south of the station and study the wall
as high as the highest smoker here, down to where my lights no
longer illuminate the wall. The wall of the Trench is irregular,
but smooth, like the way a ribbon ripples in the air but is still
satiny. The lights from the sub bounce off these ripples and make
shadows. I think the first three shadows I see are the lip of rock
Gaea’s home hides behind, until I look closer and realize my
mistake. It will take me hours to find her home like this. It has
to be different. None of these ripples can hide an entrance that a
sub could squeeze through.
    I change the angle of the sub. Instead of facing the
wall straight on, I am now at a 45 degree angle, facing southeast.
I start combing the wall again.
    There, just up ahead. There is a mouth of shadow that
gapes open. I turn the sub full-face on it, and the darkness shifts
to look like any of the other shadows threading its way up toward
the abyssal plain. This has to be it.
    I squint at the shadow mouth through the light. It’s
hard to differentiate what is rock and what is mere darkness. I
inch forward and see the slightest variance between the shadows—one
looks more ghostly, less substantial than the other. I follow the
ghost.
    The tunnel leads behind the lip of rock and then
turns sharply to the left and up a steep climb. I follow it for
five hundred feet before the tunnel in front of me disappears and
the lights of the sub hit rock. This rock is more jagged. Even the
slight ocean currents haven’t made their way into this long tunnel
to wear at the rock. This is closer to what it might have been when
it was made.
    But where now? The topographical map says there is
nowhere else to go. I lean forward to peer up through the glass. I
smile. There is a sub dock right above me.
    When I open the top hatch, light streams into my
eyes. Not strong light, just enough to illuminate everything around
me. I’m in a small room filled with shelves of supplies—tins and
pouches of food, first-aid supplies, folded clothes in neat stacks,
shoes, tools, and other random odds and ends. An air filter chugs
in one corner, its intake tubes reaching up and burrowing through
the rock ceiling. There must be some kind of natural air pocket up
there.
    There is a door up ahead, the heavy kind that is on
one of the larger subs. It’s mounted to the rock wall. Light
streams through the chinks between rock and door. Not the wild
lights of the dance, or the pallid, white lights all around the
colony, but warm yellowish lights that almost feel like sunshine if
they had just been warmer. I hear voices on the other side—a jumble
of voices that changes every few seconds. Men, women, children all
talking over each other in muted tones. Who is on the other side of
that door?
    I creep forward, ignoring the scritch-scratch my
shoes make on the rock. Gaea might be expecting me, but I still
don’t know what to expect from her, and I don’t want her surprising
me.
    Before I heft the door open, I want a clue of what
I’m up against. I look around the door and see a gap between it and
the rock just wide enough for me to peek through. I lean my cheek
against the damp rock and peer through.
    My eyes adjust for a second. The lights are brilliant
and warm. I blink. The wall to the left of the