Chapter Seven: Floodwaters

The string of maritime "accidents" in the weeks that followed were both a blessing and a curse for Malia.

Regarding the former, mortals in distress were the only way Malia could have a chance to regain her life on land. That, and the strenuous tasks made her too tired to think about anything else. Even for the simplest incidents, Malia would focus on the mission and how it could be solved by science; that had always been her go-to method when she wanted to avoid the world outside her lab. And at that moment, she would rather think about anything other than the sounds of sobbing and visions of the young sailor's face that lingered in the back of her memories.

But that was where the curse came in. And with every life they failed to save, their faded faces would haunt her dreams.

This was the only reason she was already awake and dressed when the conch sounded once more.

"That was fast," Beatrice said when she joined Malia in the city square.

Malia shrugged. "I guess I'm getting the hang of it."

For a moment, Beatrice didn't respond, and Malia had to restrain herself from fidgeting under her firm stare.

"Hm," Beatrice eventually said, then redirected her attention to the announcements.

There was a storm brewing, and the water spirits had to head it off. They would disperse themselves along its path, up until it made landfall. Since the coastline was in range of the human rescue crews, that's where Beatrice and Malia, the water spirit most likely to slip up, were sent.

A few weeks ago, Malia would've been thankful that the notification of imminent danger came early, and she didn't have to embarrass herself trying to swim quickly and steadily at the same time. Things had changed since then, and their casual pace over the long distance left her with too much time and energy to keep out of her own head.

"At this rate, you're going to steer yourself straight into the sand," Beatrice said, her clear voice blessedly breaking Malia's spiraling thoughts.

Malia had to pause briefly to register Beatrice's words. "I think I'm doing pretty well, actually."

"And yet you don't realize I've been holding you steady for the last five minutes."

Her words made Malia's brain seize, unable to focus on anything else aside from the chain reactions of thoughts that came after it.

Beatrice had been helping her, and Malia hadn't noticed. Malia wasn't as skilled as she thought, even after weeks—no, months—of living underwater. No, she wasn't living; she was dead. Why couldn't she get the hang of this already? And she was likely to stay dead if she kept letting other people die. It was simple statics, wasn't it? The sum of all forces just needed to be zero. How many people had she let die already? She was supposed to be good at statics; she aced that semester, and that was before the curve. How many more people had to die because of her? All she could do was ace classes; she didn't actually know how to apply anything in theory. How many people on land had she disappointed... When she didn't achieve everything she said she would? When their loved ones didn't return?

"Malia!"

By the time Malia registered Beatrice's shouting, her vision was already filled with a dark gray rock. But before she could collide into it headfirst, she felt Beatrice's arms wrap around her body and a vicious force knock her to the side. After spinning widely for a few seconds, and remaining motionless for several more, Malia finally recognized the crystal blue waters above her and the feeling of soft sand at her back.

"Are you mad?" Beatrice exclaimed; only then did Malia realize that the pressing weight on her body was actually a physical one. "I don't know what's gotten into you, but we're about to swim into a disaster situation, and I need you to focus!"

"Sorry," Malia said automatically, but when she heard her voice, it was barely louder than a whisper.

For a moment, Beatrice was still and silent, but before Malia could question it, the woman pushed herself upright with a sigh.

"Malia," she said softly, letting the name settle in the waters between them. "What is it?"

Everything.

"What's wrong?"

She was.

"What do you mean?" Malia said instead, and while she felt like her body couldn't move, she managed to force herself to casually look at Beatrice.

Beatrice, as always, wore a slight frown and a crease between her eyebrows. And then, with no preamble, they vanished, leaving her expression soft and warm.

"You don't have to blame yourself," Beatrice said. "Those people... You did what you could. You did your best."

But what if that wasn't her best? What if she was supposed to be capable of more? Beatrice once said that she didn't want Malia to die before she reached her goal, but what about the people that Malia should have saved? What about their goals?

"Mali—"

When Beatrice cut herself off to stare at the waters above them with wide eyes, Malia did everything she could to push herself upright. Whatever Beatrice sensed—whatever Malia was too ignorant to detect on her own—couldn't be good, and Malia didn't want to be what held her back.

"The storm switched course, and it's moving fast," Beatrice said, sounding almost entranced. "We won't make it in time."

Malia felt her chest grow tight. "Sorry."

In the instant Beatrice's focused gaze snapped to her, Malia froze, bracing herself for criticism. So when Beatrice reached out a hand instead, Malia waited a beat too long to accept it, and was forcefully hauled to her feet before she could apologize again.

"I'll help with your balance, so just focus on speed," Beatrice said as they rushed through the water; if they changed their trajectory, Malia hadn't noticed, of course. "We might not be there when it makes landfall, but we can help with the aftermath. There's still a chance."

Okay.

"Sorry," Malia blurted out instead.

Beatrice only glanced at her for a moment before returning her attention ahead. "Don't be."

They saw the dramatic effects of the storm before they saw land. First, the sunlight vanished, shrouding them in the shadows of the sea. Next was the water, clouded by the dirt that washed off from land. Then, as the depth rose, so did the tumultuous currents, and both of them struggled to keep their speeds when the ocean insisted on working against them.

And then it was chaos.

The sea mixed with the streets, and Malia stuck close to Beatrice as they dodged obstacles ranging from shopping carts to car parts. As they swam further, the water grew browner, and Malia struggled to see the debris until it was right in front of her face. Even Beatrice seemed to be struggling to navigate, but Malia knew that it had nothing to do with her skill, not when she had seen the woman flying through worse.

"I'm fine on my own," Malia insisted, steadying her voice in lieu of her resolve. "Just focus on helping everyone else."

Beatrice glanced back at her, her expression clouded by the murky waters, before facing forward once more.

"Can you sense my energy? That can help us stick together."

The sudden, unexpected trial of Malia's abilities made her more nervous than she should've been, but she couldn't say that. Instead, she nodded once before focusing on the water around Beatrice, hoping that her luck was worth more than her skill.

First, she felt nothing, but she wasn't surprised. She could barely focus enough to maintain her speed; she wasn't nearly good enough for anything more complicated. She had to keep trying, but how?

Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; it's merely converted from one form to another.

A spirit's energy was different from the water's, sure, but there would still be a transference between the two. Just like they took energy from the water to give them life, they gave energy to the water, whether intentional or not. When they moved, it was kinetic energy; even if they remained still, there was thermal energy. What if the energy of life was the same?

As soon as that epiphany struck Malia, a wave of warmth washed over her senses. She almost stopped swimming when she felt it, only managing to get ahold of herself at the last second.

The energy was... comforting. It reminded her of a smooth new notebook in her hands and the smell of its crisp pages. It was the sound of cold rain as it echoed through the warmth of her lab. It was the taste of the instant hot chocolate from the faculty lounge as she waited for a simulation to run on her computer. It felt familiar; it felt like home.

It felt safe.

"Yeah..." Malia choked out, then cleared her throat. "Yeah, I can."

"Good. Follow that; I'll look out for mortals that need us."

The next few hours became a whirlpool of chaos and cries as they darted from one emergency to the next, doing their best to save who they could.

A young couple was stuck in their car with the water level rising inside and the doors crushed shut.

A child was caught in a vicious current, struggling to simply keep their head above water.

An elderly couple was stranded on a collapsing rooftop, both with several injuries.

A mother cat was desperately clinging to both her kitten and a submerged tree; Malia tried not to think about the children she may have lost beforehand.

When each imperiled soul first saw the spirits, they were speechless with shock. By the time they parted ways, they were inconsolable with gratitude, the felines included.

With not many safe places to leave the cats, they headed inland, Malia holding the animals while Beatrice steadily guided them along the surface of the water. While the storm had calmed, the sky was still dark with dusk, and if any humans saw them, they wouldn't be able to distinguish the spirits' strange skin.

"I thought you said you were a dog whisperer," Beatrice said. "I didn't realize that extended to cats too."

Malia couldn't even be annoyed at Beatrice's flat tone, not as she was watching the mother cat methodically clean her kitten's face. "I like cats, but they usually don't like me."

"Did you care for any animals during your mortal life?"

"I..." Malia watched the kitten's eyes drift closed. "I didn't really have time for that kind of stuff."

There was a pause. "Hm."

The flooding ended on the other side of a freeway; the road itself had become a river. By the time they reached dry land, the kitten was fast asleep, and they only stirred briefly when Malia set them gently on the grass. After the mother cat picked them up, she glanced at Malia, then Beatrice, before heading back into the world—back to land.

Land.

Malia felt the grass beneath her palms. It was scratchy and sparse, and other parts of the lawn were covered with bulky, grimy debris, but it was land. This was where she belonged. This was where her future awaited her.

She looked ahead.

Across the street was a rundown diner. There was a similar restaurant near her lab, just across the street from campus. When she left the windows of her lab open, the savory smells from their kitchen would waft in. She always intended on stopping by as a reward for an experiment well done; she never did.

Garbled music from a radio buzzed through the air.

There was a bar near campus that her colleagues frequented, and Malia would occasionally tag along to fulfill her bimonthly socialization quota. That was what she told herself, at least; no one else had to know that she would keep an eye on their musician line-up, syncing her visits with that of a certain singer. The woman's voice was captivating, and Malia could ignore her colleagues' drunken debates in favor of immersing herself in the melodic music. A few times, Malia had an extra drink herself, hoping it would give her the courage to ask the singer on a date.

But that moment never arrived. And when the singer stopped going to the bar, so did Malia.

She ran her hand over the rough grass; her fingers dug into the damp dirt.

On one rainy holiday, when none of her experiments were giving her the results she needed, Malia went outside. The campus was a ghost town; that was the only reason she did what she did. Before she knew it, she was kicking off her shoes and socks before sprinting out into the cold rain, staying there long after her clothes were completely drenched. She attributed it to a bout of stress or insanity, but even when she was at her best, she always had the urge to run through the campus fountains when no one was looking. And on that day, that's exactly what she did.

And she wanted to do that again. She wanted that freedom again.

Malia heard Beatrice calling after her before she realized what she was doing. By then, Malia was already out of the water and sprinting towards the street, ignoring the rocks and debris digging into her bare feet. She needed to get back to land; she needed to get her life back.

When she choked on her next breath, the road before her vanished.

It was replaced by darkness, occasionally broken by a strobing red light. Acrid smoke and salt stung her sinuses, making every desperate gasp burn. Rushing water filled her ears; next, it was screams.

"Go, kid! Run!"

But Malia refused. She pulled the team leader's arm as hard as she could, but her efforts were futile. Their lower body was stubbornly wedged under the toppled machinery, and Malia wasn't strong enough to help.

"Leverage!" she yelled at no one in particular. "We need leverage!"

But as her eyes scanned the flooding storage room, illuminated by flashing red lights, no one heard her. Because the only ones present were Malia, the team leader, and Nemo II; none of the other researchers had accompanied the leader when they went to retrieve the drone for a second attempt. None of them believed Malia could do what she promised. No one, except the team leader.

"Just go, kid!" the leader shouted, doing their best to shake off Malia's hold; their weak resistance was telling on its own. "I'll be fine, so go!"

"I'll find something!" Malia said. "I'll find something to lift this thing and get you out, okay? I'll be right back, I promise!"

When the leader nodded at her, Malia should've known that they knew the truth.

"Okay, you do that," the leader agreed, oddly calm. "Go, kid. Run! Now!"

So she did—and then she couldn't.

When the flooding ship lurched sideways, Malia did too, stumbling and slipping until she hit the floor—or the wall—hard. The next thing she remembered, she was surrounded by pitch black with water pooling at her back and the exit nowhere to be found.

She tried everything. She ran her hands over the floor until she could no longer feel it under her feet. She patted down the walls, pounding and kicking and screaming at every surface she could, hearing nothing in return but the reverberations in the steel and her own voice echoing around her. When those failed, she was in reach of the ceiling, but even her adrenaline-filled punches and furious head bashes were useless against the solid metal.

Even when the water engulfed her she persisted, stubbornly holding her breath as she continued to hit, scratch, and kick the surface before her. Even when her lungs burned for mercy, she continued; even when she could feel her mind leaving her, her body continued.

That is, until her limbs went limp, lifted only by the sea. And as her mind drifted away, the water replaced it.

"Malia..."

It was a soothing whistle in a storm.

"... my voice..."

It was a voice that was a spark of flame amidst the cold darkness.

"That's it, Malia. You're doing wonderful."

She was? She hadn't realized. She wanted to reject the undeserved praise, but she couldn't imagine that such a voice would lie to her.

"Just focus on me, Malia. Focus on my voice."

The first thing Malia saw was darkness. She felt danger lurking in the shadows, and her eyes darted around for any source of relief, eventually jumping to Beatrice's face with her soft features bathed in a gentle glowing light.

Her expression was familiar, but rare. It was the look she would give to the water spirit strays that scurried around Okeanos, or the occasional sea creature they passed on their missions.

Did that make Malia an animal? Maybe, but at that moment, Malia didn't care. All she needed was some reassurance that everything would be okay.

And when she reached out to the water around Beatrice, grasping onto the energy that left her, Malia felt safe.

Beatrice's eyes widened.

"Malia, are you alright?"

It took Malia a few seconds to realize that Beatrice couldn't hear her mental reply. "Yeah."

"Are you sure? Because you didn't seem alright when you rushed onto land. And you definitely were not alright when I dragged you back in here."

Malia felt her chest tighten as she averted her eyes down. There, a small orb of light floated in Beatrice's palm.

"Sorry. I'm fine."

But when Malia tried to leave, Beatrice held onto her shoulder, and Malia didn't have the energy to resist.

"Please, tell me what's wrong. You almost died out there; do you realize that? If you haven't saved enough souls, if you're still... green, the water is still giving you life; it's keeping you alive. And as soon as you leave it, it can't give you life anymore. As you are now, you would die. Do you understand that?"

Malia did, but she couldn't find her voice over the shame and guilt and pain that pressed against the walls of her chest, demanding to be released. She could barely even nod.

"Malia," Beatrice said, and even her calm voice couldn't disperse the frustrations that filled Malia's mind. "Talk to me. Please."

But she couldn't. And when Beatrice eventually relented, Malia thought she would finally feel relief.

Instead, she felt alone. And she could only blame herself.

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