1. 1 #2
As I move closer, the details become clearer.
What I thought was just random debris now looks methodical.
The framed room isn’t just collapsed wreckage, it was built.
Even the seaweed, which I’d assumed had simply drifted and tangled around the rusted beams, now appears strategically placed.
All four sides of the structure are enclosed, though there’s a narrow opening, almost like an entrance.
Just as I’m about to enter, quick movement in the corner of my vision catches my attention.
“Leo . . . anything on the radar?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.
Silence.
No answer.
Shit. I must have lost communication. I start to turn, and that’s when I see it: a sea turtle—brown and gold in color, the size of a large dog.
I barely have time to react. It’s not aggressive exactly, but it moves with purpose, heading straight for me without hesitation. I slowly swim backward, away from the seaweed-covered room, and try to reestablish contact with Leo.
“. . . fis . . . are you . . . can . . . hear me?” Leo’s voice crackles through the earpiece.
“Slightly distorted, but yes, I can hear you.” I keep my eyes on the turtle, which hovers near the structure like it owns the place. “That seaweed room is just past the edge of the dead zone. I lost contact when I got near it.”
“Yeah, I got worried,” he replies, his voice clearer now. “Your camera feed glitched. Glad you’re okay.”
“Physically? I’m fine,” I drawl. “But there’s something odd . . . sea turtles are native here, right?”
“Well, they’ve been spotted off the California coast, including near San Francisco. Still, it’s rare this far north. Why?”
“There’s one down here.” My eyes latch onto the turtle. “And not just any turtle—this guy is massive. Swam right at me when I approached the seaweed room. Almost . . . like it’s guarding it.”
Leo laughs, but I hear the discomfort in his voice. “Sarah, come on. Turtles don’t attack. They’re peaceful.”
“Yeah, I know, but . . .” My voice trails off as I float above the border of the dead zone. The turtle doesn’t leave. It swims in slow, calculated circles around the seaweed room. One lap. Then another.
It’s . . . patrolling.
I hover silently, heart pounding.
“Leo,” I whisper, “I think this turtle’s standing guard.”
“Turtles? Standing guard? That’s not a thing,” Leo states over comms, half-laughing. I can’t see his face, but I can hear the raised eyebrow.
I keep my eyes on the turtle as it circles the seaweed-draped structure. “Well someone forgot to tell him. He’s making laps like it’s his job. All he is missing is a badge and a flashlight.”
“Maybe he has a tragic backstory and a destiny to fulfill,” Leo jokes.
“Guarding an underwater shack full of decorative kelp. Real noble,” I reply dryly.
“Alright, Fishy. Be careful. You know how you get when something weird shows up—you poke it with a stick and ask questions later.”
“Relax. No poking yet. Just observing the world’s most territorial turtle.”
“Keep me posted. I’m not loving the sound of this.”
“Going quiet for a bit,” I say, lowering myself toward the ocean floor, moving with the current, to blend with the silt. The turtle circles the far side, and I edge closer to the entrance, seaweed swaying like a curtain.
Then, without warning, the turtle snaps around the side. It lunges—unnaturally fast—and its beak clicks inches from my mask. I kick back, heart hammering, until I clear the dead zone.
“Leo, you there?” I ask, breathless.
“I thought you said you were going quiet? That wasn’t even five minutes. Everything okay?”
“Yeah . . . he just tried to bite me.” I watch the turtle resume its laps like nothing happened.
“Did you provoke him?”
I roll my eyes. “What makes you think I provoked him? I was sneaking around, and he wasn’t near me—until he was. I think he was waiting.”
“Sarah, turtles don’t plan attacks like that.”
“Well this one does.” Static follows. I don’t wait for a reply. At this point, the turtle has officially raised my suspicions.
I slip into the room, faster this time, careful not to draw attention. It’s square-shaped on the inside, just like the frame outside. Nothing unusual at first glance—just sand, shells, and strands of seaweed drifting like loose threads.
Then, something glistens.
To my left, between two pillars in the back, a ripple hangs in the water—a shimmer sliding back and forth between them, bending light in a way that shouldn’t be possible.
Curiosity edges out caution as I drift toward it. The shimmer moves like heat waves over asphalt, distorting the water in a contained strip. I’ve studied every kind of current and refraction effect out there, but this is wrong. Too precise, too steady. Still and shifting all at once.
I stop inches from it, watching light fold into strange patterns that make the water feel . . . thicker. Heavier, somehow. I tilt my head. No temperature change. No surge or pull. Just that slow, mesmerizing pulse—like it’s breathing.
I glance back, but the turtle is nowhere in sight. Still, the sensation of being watched lingers like a weight between my shoulder blades.
As a marine biologist, instinct says observe, document, don’t touch. But the human part of me—the girl who grew up dreaming of Atlantis, sea monsters, and hidden worlds—wins out.
I lift my hand. Just a quick tap. Enough to see if it’s warm, cool, or if my fingers pass through like fog.
The instant my fingertips graze the surface, everything changes.
A force slams into me—not painful, but immense.
Like being caught in a whirlpool and a current at once.
I’m yanked backward out of the room like a ragdoll, flipping once before I steady myself, disoriented as hell, my heart pounding again.
Blinking fast, I catch movement. The turtle.
He hovers just outside the room, perfectly calm. Then, as if what just happened is completely routine, he turns and glides deeper into the dead zone, disappearing into a haze of distorted water.
And unless the pressure has messed with my head, or I’m absolutely losing my mind—I swear he winked at me.