Laura Martin - The Monster Missions

For my four blessings.

You guys are the greatest mission of my life.

T he morning before I left the Atlas forever started the same as every other. I always woke up early, but thanks to Wallaces snoring, this morning was earlier than most. I winced and peered over the edge of my bunk at him. He lay in the middle of the narrow bunk, his arms splayed wide. For a skinny sixteen-year-old, he had the snore of a man twice his age and size. I debated shoving him off his bunk to teach him a lesson but almost immediately discarded the idea. It was the mean part of my brain that wanted to do that. The nice part of my brain, which would probably wake up any moment now, knew that he was exhausted from working with Dad in the engine room the day before. It wasnt fair to rob him of sleep, even if hed robbed me of minebesides, a quick glance at my watch showed that I was supposed to be up in ten minutes anyway. I lay in bed a second longer, wondering why beds were always the most comfortable right when you had to get out of them, before slipping silently from my bunk and pulling on a threadbare sweatshirt to ward off the ever-present chill of our tiny cabin. I was just easing my way toward the door when my dad sat up.

Heading out already? he asked, barely stifling a yawn as he slipped out of bed and past the snoring Wallace to see me off.

I wasnt planning on it, I whispered, but somebody sounds like he swallowed part of the ships engine. I jerked my head toward Wallace, eyebrow raised. Dad glanced over at my sleeping brother and stifled a yawn.

If youre tired enough, you can sleep through just about anything, he said. Maybe Gizmo isnt working you guys hard enough. He finished this statement off with a wink, and I grimaced.

Thatll be the day, I said. He has us starting early today, since were only going to be able to scavenge for a couple of hours.

Wallace grunted in his sleep and rolled over. Dad held up a finger to his lips.

Sorry, I mouthed silently as I slipped the straps of my backpack over my shoulders.

Dad nodded, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the palms of his hands. He still had a smudge of grease above his right eyebrow, evidence of his hard work in the guts of our ship. It wasnt easy to keep a ship like ours in good working condition, but Dad and Wallace and their crew of fellow mechanics and engineers managed it year after year. They had toour survival depended on it.

Be careful down there, he said. No unnecessary risks.

I nodded, knowing full well that unnecessary risks were some of the only ways you found anything useful these days. All the easy stuff had been picked over fifty years ago when everything first went under. Now we were lucky to find scraps. Today might be different, though, I reminded myself. This particular site hadnt been scavenged yetat least thats what our boss, Gizmo, had told us.

No unnecessary risks, I repeated with what I hoped was a reassuring smile. My dad smiled back, and I pretended not to notice the worried crease in his forehead as he gave my shoulders a quick one-armed squeeze. I slipped out the door. I knew my choice of occupation on the Atlas was a hard one for him to swallow, especially since wed lost my mom a few years ago, but we both knew full well that there was no such thing as an easy job these days.

If Id thought our cabin was cold, the narrow hallway was downright frigid, and I hunched my shoulders inside my sweatshirt as I tried not to think about what the water temp must be today. Id find out soon enough. Around me the metal of the ship creaked and groaned familiarly as I made my way toward the stairs at the front of the ship. The walls on either side of me showed the jagged marks of years of repairs and reconfigurations, and I ran my finger over one of the many thick welts of metal as I walked. Exactly like scars, I thought. Scars that showed battle after battle that the Atlas had fought and won, scars that showed the evidence of its transformations over the years from luxury to lean efficiency. I liked scars. Scars proved youd survived.

I finally reached the stairs and started making my way up, flight by flight, toward the deck. The chilly damp of the lower level seemed to stay with me, though, and I hurried my pace, hoping that the exercise would warm me up a bit. My legs were burning by the time I finally reached the top deck and walked out into the early morning air of the Mediterranean. Id asked my dad once why we still labeled sections of the ocean by their original names. It didnt seem to make much sense now that the world was covered by one massive body of water, but hed told me not to ask such silly questions. That was where he and I disagreed, though: I didnt think any questions were silly, not when it came to the ocean. I took a deep breath, letting the salty freshness scrub away the musty staleness of the inside of the ship, and headed toward the stern.

The ship was practically deserted this early, but I still kept my head down as I made my way across the worn deck, passing the large chicken coop where the ships fleet of hens snoozed safely in their nests. They were some of the only domestic animals that had survived the Tide Rising. Animals like cows and sheep required grass to survive, and we didnt have any of that anymore. However, it turned out that chickens could thrive on fish guts and the occasional cockroach, and because of that, we had eggs and the rare piece of chicken in our soup. It was a luxury we didnt take for granted. During the day the hens would peck around, roosting on top of the large storage crates that peppered the deck.

Although, unless you really looked, the crates themselves were almost unrecognizable since every square inch of available surface had a gardening box attached to it. It wasnt much, not like on a grower ship, but the herbs and vegetables we were able to cultivate on deck did help supplement our diet of fish, fish, and more fish. The layout was a far cry from the original deck design, but it worked.

Once upon a time the Atlas had been a small cruise ship used for vacations, and if you looked closely, you could still see where there used to be frivolous luxuries like a swimming pool and a running track. The very idea of wasting so much space was laughable now, but I liked to imagine what life was like before, when people sailed on the ocean for fun and not because it was the only way to survive.

We were on the move after having been anchored for two days, and above me on the huge masts the sails were filled with a breeze that moved the massive ship. They seemed disproportionate and out of step with the rest of the ship, for good reason: they had been an afterthought. When the tide had started rising, cruise ships were uniquely suited to take on large groups of people, but they werent designed to run without fossil fuelsfuels that would be hard if not impossible to come by once the water level rose. So the ships architects had scrambled to put together a system of sails and rigging that would allow the Atlas to maneuver itself using the wind instead of the engines, which would eventually be scrapped and melted down.

A lot of things had needed to be altered or reverted to earlier, less-wasteful forms of technology in order to navigate this new, water-filled world. It had been a bit painful for the human race to take a giant step backward. Theyd had to give up so many of the resources, technologies, and conveniences that theyd fought for and rediscover methods of survival carved out by their ancestors, but when your choices are life and death, the decision becomes a lot easier.