A tiny creature darted past the blue-green backdrop of the old city. April watched until it danced out of view, unsure of the animal’s identity. Everything here was foreign to her, though the hundreds of faded photographs she’d flipped through as a child gave it a peculiar familiarity. This was the city of her grandparents’ youth; she’d heard stories of it her entire life.

            “Where’s the skyscrapers?” April’s partner, Janae, asked. She sat next to her, slumped against the navigation system. She flicked a few buttons as though that would get them to their destination faster.

            “They’re a few miles away. We should see them soon.” April glanced at the house across from her, fascinated by the wild garden sprouting from its roof. The colors were muted, but she was certain better light would prove them to be a dazzling array of reds, oranges, and pinks. A green moss covered most of the building, climbing up the walls in stripes of various lengths. In any other city, landlords would have power washed it away, but here it remained, nature’s offering of a fresh coat of paint.

            Janae stopped fidgeting with her electronics and looked ahead. “It is beautiful,” she commented in a tone that suggested April had been arguing with her. “Nothing like home.”

            “No,” April agreed. “Nothing like home.” She pictured her boring apartment in a typical apartment complex under a standard three-city-block roof. Most neighborhoods now amounted to what were basically huge indoor malls; rows of apartments, followed by rows of restaurants, followed by rows of stores, all under one giant roof. They didn’t have sunlight to grow their own plants, since the only thing saving them from the excruciating heat was that extended ceiling, but in between their neighborhood and the next one was a large vertical farm. The restaurants owned most of the plots, though for a small fee anyone could purchase their own and plant whatever they wanted. April had a square filled with sunflowers and cucumbers. She held no particular affinity for cucumbers, but she got great satisfaction observing their tiny vines curl around anything close by.

            “Oh wow. Look at the wildlife here. The road’s teeming with it.” Janae, abandoning the search for skyscrapers, broke April’s recollection of her daily life.

Down on the road critters of all kinds cavorted along, some disappearing into sand and others dashing through unkempt yards on inscrutable missions. April’s eyes widened. “We should get samples,” she suggested.

            Janae started to nod, but she stopped herself. “No. We need to go forward. If we have room on the return trip, we’ll collect them.”

            “Okay,” April said easily, though she sunk back into her chair like a sullen teenager. She’d spotted a nest made from what appeared to be books; examining such workmanship in the lab would be a delight.

            Janae propelled their underwater craft forward, past the waterlogged homes and storefronts. Fish after fish glided out of their path, avoiding the immense bulk of the submarine. Finally, they reached the skyscrapers their employers sent them to study. It was remarkable, really, how deep the vast cerulean sea had dragged the sunken city. Janae stared up at the tallest building, a glass and steel monstrosity covered in rust and crustaceans. “It’s a shame,” she said. “Imagine working in the sky, almost floating on clouds.” 

            “Yes,” April agreed, her tone wistful. The vast waters surrounding them were somehow claustrophobia-inducing, and she knew they would prevent the decaying structure from ever again experiencing natural light. Despite this, the idea of an office without fluorescent bulbs casting glares on every flat surface tugged at her soul.

            The scientists stared a while longer, envisioning a lifestyle in the open air. They pictured the people who’d built the city, a group who’d taken what they wanted from nature and ignored the warnings when they’d taken too much. If April strained her ears, she could almost hear the echoes of bewildered cries as nature took the city back.

©

Beth Gaydon is a work-from-home mom living in the Knoxville area with a previous publication in Literary Juice.