Summary: By Josh Roseman Read by Mur Lafferty Discuss on our forums. An Escape Pod Original! All stories by Josh Roseman All stories read by Mur Lafferty Rated 15 and up for explicit language 113 Feet By Josh Roseman “This is a really bad idea, Elle,” Barry says. “You didn’t have to come.” “Don’t be stupid,” he snaps. “Phil would kill me if I didn’t come with you.” Barry is fiftyish, portly and gray-haired. Seeing him take off his shirt is an experience I wish I’d never had. “I have friends with certifications,” I say. “It’s not like I couldn’t have asked one of them.” “How many of them have actually been down there?” It’s almost a growl, and I’m actually cowed a little. “That’s what I thought.” I sit on the hard bench, wood planks covered in thin, all-weather carpet, and fiddle with my regulator. “How far away do you think we are?” he asks. “Don’t know. Ask the captain.” Barry looks up at the bridge, where Al — the captain — stands, driving the boat. Al is even older than Barry, narrow and hard and tanned almost leathery with decades of exposure to the sun. Instead of going up to talk to him, though, Barry goes around the cabin to stand by the bow, leaving me bouncing up and down on the bench as the boat zips across the water. The light chop makes the horizon rise and fall faster than is comfortable. I can take it, though, and if I get sick enough to throw up, at least I know enough to do it over the side. My guess is that we’re ten minutes from the dive site. Maybe fifteen. After waiting seven years to get my answers, fifteen minutes isn’t much of a wait at all. # I was seven when I first realized my dad was doing more than just studying the life cycle of coral reefs. I’d been in the ocean with Grandpa; I knew what they looked like. I knew there were natural ones and artificial ones; I knew that if you touched a reef, part of it could die, and that if you touched fire coral, you’d burn. The big tank at Dad’s office had plenty of coral inside. I separated myself from him — it was easy; he was so focused on his work that when I said I had to go to the bathroom he didn’t even notice — and went off on my own. No one watched me climb up on a chair. No one noticed my nose was so close to the water that all I could smell was salt. No one saw me reach in and brush the back of my hand on the bright-orange coral flower. The scream made Dad come running. He picked me up as I cried and shouted, carried me to a chair, and told me to hold out my arm. Then he poured clear liquid over my skin: vinegar, like what Mom used to clean the floor. It didn’t make the burn stop hurting, but it helped, and after a few minutes I started to calm down. “What happened?” When I looked at Dad, it was through a blur of tears. “I reached in the tank,” I said. “I touched the coral.” “Oh, come on!” Dad said — almost yelled. “I’ve told you before: this isn’t a game! It’s not a place to play! This is my job, and if you can’t behave, you can stay home with your brother next time. You got that?” I stared at him for a second, then burst into fresh tears. Dad shook his head and crouched in front of me. “I’m sorry, Eleanora. I didn’t mean to shout. You just… worried me. And you know you shouldn’t have touched something that was going to hurt you, right?” “I…” A hiccup. “I’m… I’m sorry, Daddy…” He leaned forward and hugged me, rubbing my back. “Come on. I’ll get my things, and we can go home.” “‘Kay.” He asked me to sit in his desk chair and wait while he called Mom. He’d left his computer turned on, and I read[...]
