200 Minutes of Danger

by Jack Heath

  ‘You’ve been murdered,’ Wesley said. ‘Got it.’

  ‘I was going to say, “Send a search party”,’ Zak grumbled. He crept into the darkness of the shipping container, and shone his torch behind the crate.

  No-one was there.

  Zak wove around the towers of furniture, peering into the dark spaces around every corner. There was just dust, and grimy metal.

  15:10

  At the start of the voyage, there had been a rumour about a stowaway—a Verdan boy smuggling himself out of the country. Zak had assumed the story wasn’t true. If the boy was on board, someone would have seen him by now. But what if he was hidden behind a false wall in this container?

  Zak reached the back of the container and knocked on the wall. The metal didn’t sound hollow.

  Relieved but disappointed, Zak lifted his radio. ‘Hey, Wes?’

  ‘You been murdered yet?’

  ‘Nope. There’s nothing here. Guess I was imagining it after all.’

  He started to make his way back towards the other end of the container—

  14:05

  There was a huge crash, followed by a deafening screech. The container lurched sideways as though a truck had ploughed into it at top speed. Zak screamed as the impact flung him sideways, face-first into the wall. His radio and torch went flying, sending wild circles of light across the walls like at a disco. A pile of cheap garden chairs tumbled onto him as he hit the ground, his head spinning.

  Bang! Something else crashed into the outside of the container, hard enough to dent the steel wall . . . and slam the doors shut.

  ‘No!’ Zak cried. It was his worst nightmare—getting trapped inside one of the containers. ‘Somebody help me!’

  13:40

  There was a horrible scraping sound. The floor was tilting. A wooden table and a barbecue were sliding towards the back of the container, where they would flatten him.

  Zak dived under the wooden table, just in time. The barbecue crashed into the side of the table and stopped moving. The stack of terracotta pots toppled over, shattering against the tabletop and sending jagged shards flying. Zak covered his head with his arms as everything around him was smashed.

  And then he realised it wasn’t just the furniture. The container itself was moving. Sliding across the floor of the cargo hold.

  His radio crackled from somewhere in the darkness. ‘Zak! The ship has hit something! We—’

  13:00

  Then there was a sudden drop. The container was falling, like a lift with snapped cables. Zak’s stomach felt like it was trying to crawl up his throat. The furniture floated around in the sudden weightlessness. Daylight appeared in the dirty window of the shipping container. The container was outside the ship somehow—

  12:55

  Splash! The container hit the water. Everything in it hurtled towards one end, like asteroids plummeting out of the sky. Zak crash-landed on top of a pile of broken wood, twisted metal and shattered ceramic. It hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced. Worse than falling out of that tree when he was eight.

  He blacked out.

  12:10

  When he woke up, everything was still. Zak tried to move. His arms seemed OK. His legs, too. No bones broken, as far as he could tell. None of the spikes beneath him had gone through his body. He’d been lucky. Sort of.

  ‘Can anyone hear me?’ he croaked. ‘I need help!’

  The only sound was water lapping at the walls. The container was in the ocean!

  Zak heaved himself up off the pile of debris. He had to get out of here, fast. Before the container floated away, or the ship did.

  The back of the container was underneath him, so the container doors were several metres above. He carefully climbed up the corrugated wall, which wasn’t quite vertical. When he got to the top, he pressed his palm flat against the one of the doors and pushed upwards.

  No good. It was too heavy. If the container had been floating on its side, it would have been easier. Actually, the fact that it hadn’t settled onto its side seemed ominous, though Zak wasn’t sure why.

  10:50

  Bracing his feet on the wall, he tried pushing with both hands. The door still wouldn’t budge. The latch must be on the outside of the other door. So this door wouldn’t open unless the other one did first.

  And the other door would never open again. In the reflected daylight from the window, Zak saw that the crash had mangled the hinges and bent the door out of shape. He was trapped.

  Zak fought down the rising panic. He climbed back down the wall and started searching for his radio. It was like sifting through a mountain of rubbish at the tip. Soon he unearthed his torch, the light still beaming cheerily. He held it in his mouth so he could dig through the debris with both hands.

  09:05

  He was about to give up when something in the pile hissed with static.

  ‘Zak?’ Wesley’s voice. ‘Are you there?’

  Zak scrabbled frantically through the junk, looking for the source of the sound.

  ‘Zak-Attack? Talk to me, bro!’

  Zak kept digging, deeper and deeper. ‘Kee’ ’alking!’ he shouted around the torch in his mouth.

  There it was! The radio’s casing was cracked, and the screen backlight was out. Hopefully it could still transmit.

  08:30

  Zak snatched it up and pushed the button. ‘I hear you, Wes.’

  ‘Oh, man. I was losing my mind! I thought you might have been, you know, in trouble—’

  ‘I am in trouble.’ Zak looked around. ‘I’m stuck in a shipping container which has gone overboard.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  Zak realised his feet were wet. He shone the torch down. There was water under the debris. That was why the container wasn’t floating on its side. There was a leak at one end. It was sinking.

  ‘I need someone to get me out,’ he said. ‘Like, right now.’

  ‘There’s no-one! It’s total chaos in here! Some kid fell overboard, no-one can contact the captain, the ship is accelerating to try to get to land before we sink—’

  ‘I’m sinking, Wesley! I need help!’

  ‘I know, I know! I’ll figure something out, OK? Just, uh, hang on . . .’

  08:00

  The icy water had covered the debris now, and was rippling around Zak’s ankles. How long would it take to fill the container? How long could he hold his breath?

  The light was fading. Zak whirled around. The window was underwater now. He could see the dark, empty ocean through the glass.

  No, not empty. There was a shadow in the water. Like a whale, or something even bigger. It was hard to judge the distance.

  Thump, thump. Zak looked up. Was someone walking around on top of the container?

  ‘Hey!’ he yelled. ‘I’m in here! Get me out!’

  No response from above.

  ‘Is someone up there? Help me!’

  Nothing, not even footsteps. Maybe the sound hadn’t been a person. Just been more stuff falling out of the cargo hold.

  07:15

  Zak grabbed the radio again. ‘Wes. Do you know if someone’s looking for me already?’

  His radio just hissed.

  Fear clutched his heart. ‘Wes? Can you hear me?’

  There was only static on the line.

  Zak didn’t know much about how radio waves worked. But he knew that his phone usually didn’t work inside a metal box, like a lift. He guessed that a metal box submerged in seawater would muffle the signal even more.

  Drip, drip, drip. The doors above his head were leaking, water pouring down the wall. The whole container was underwater now. The amount of air inside was shrinking. The rising tide had reached Zak’s knees.

  06:45

  He couldn’t wait around to be rescued. He had to get himself out of this.

  Zak sloshed through the water towards the window. A school of fish swept past like a tornado outside the glass. He wrapped his sleeve around his fist.

  Then he he
sitated. There were two bars across the window. He couldn’t fit between them. If he broke the glass, the water would come in even faster, and he’d still be trapped.

  Zak gripped the bars and tried to bend them. They were thin, but they were steel, welded to the frame. They wouldn’t budge.

  05:30

  He looked around for something he could use. He needed bolt cutters, or a hacksaw, or even a crow bar . . .

  Something submerged in the debris caught his eye. A gas canister, attached to the barbecue. It was dangerous to transport them that way, but people often did. This gave Zak an idea. Not a good one—in fact, it was likely to get him killed—but a slim hope of survival was better than none. And given the choice, he’d rather burn to death than drown.

  04:50

  Zak took a deep breath, and ducked under the water. His face stung in the cold. It hurt to open his eyes, and he could hardly see in the dark. So he went by feel, finding the lid of the barbecue and then fumbling his way across to the gas canister. He lifted it off its frame. By the time he traced the hose to the burner and unscrewed it, his lungs felt like they were ready to burst. It was hard to hang onto anything. The container was moving, swept along by the undersea current.

  Finally the canister was free. Zak stood up, getting his head above the water, and took a deep breath. The water level inside the container was already at his waist. Soon it would reach the window. If he hadn’t gotten out by then, he would drown.

  Zak’s plan was to turn the hose into a cutting torch and use the burning gas to slice through the bars. He didn’t know if the flame would be hot enough to cut steel, but the bars were thin. There was a chance.

  04:05

  Suddenly he realised he had no way to ignite the gas. He ducked back under the water and found the barbecue again. There was a red button on one side. When Zak unscrewed it, he found a small rectangular object, trailing wires. Designed to create a spark.

  03:35

  Zak surfaced again, gasping for air. The freezing water was up to his chest now. He was running out of time.

  The gas canister seemed to weigh a tonne. It was hard to hold it up as he twisted the valve. Bubbles appeared in the water, and the foul smell of LPG filled the air.

  Zak raised the hose above the water, and held up the igniter next to the end.

  ‘This is so dangerous,’ he muttered.

  He clicked the button.

  No spark.

  He tried again. Nothing. The igniter was wet. He couldn’t create a flame. The water inside the container was neck-deep now. It had almost reached the window. Broken wooden slats floated around his face.

  02:30

  ‘Come on!’ Zak shouted.

  He kept clicking the button, but nothing happened. And then it was too late. The water had reached the window. The bars were submerged. There was no way he could cut through them now, at least not with fire. He was doomed.

  The stink of LPG was getting overpowering. Zak didn’t want to die breathing poison. He tried to shut off the gas valve, but it wouldn’t tighten. It kept turning and turning.

  02:15

  Too late, Zak realised that he was twisting it the wrong way.

  Boom! The valve exploded off, and the canister shot out of Zak’s grip. He barely let go in time to save his fingers. The canister rocketed through the water, faster and faster, until it slammed into the wall—

  And punched straight through. Leaving a hole.

  02:10

  Zak gasped. A way out, at last! But it was also a way in, for the ocean. A barrage of water blasted through the hole. The last of the air was disappearing. He had to get out, now.

  Zak took a deep breath—mostly air, with the sharp tang of LPG—and ducked under the water. He swam towards the hole. He could see the canister dancing around outside, spewing bubbles of gas. The hose had gotten tangled in the sharp spikes around the edge of the hole.

  01:55

  Zak’s shoulders were just narrow enough to squeeze through the gap. He found himself in the open ocean, looking up at the surface. It was like a rippling curtain, at least twenty metres above. Too far. He’d never make it!

  Worse still, the thrashing hose had wrapped itself around his ankle. He was tied to the container, which was sinking faster than ever towards the darkest depths of the sea.

  01:35

  Still holding his breath, Zak frantically tugged at the hose, trying to free his ankle. The canister whipped around him like a giant swooping bird. Zak couldn’t free himself from the tangled hose. It was dragging him down towards certain death.

  Instead, he wrenched other end of the hose off the spikes.

  Suddenly the gas canister wasn’t tied to the container anymore. It launched itself sideways, dragging Zak through the ocean by his ankle, leaving behind a jet stream of bubbles. Zak frantically struggled to turn around. His lungs were in agony.

  Finally he managed to grab hold of the canister. He hugged it and steered it upwards, so it was shooting towards the surface. The metal vibrated against his cheek, rattling his teeth.

  The canister didn’t make it. It sputtered and died, empty. No! Zak was still at least ten metres below the surface.

  01:20

  The speed had loosened the hose. He kicked it off his ankle so the canister didn’t drag him down. Then he swam upwards, kicking and thrashing towards the light. The air in his lungs expanded until it hurt, but he was afraid to let any of it go. His clothes weighed him down. He kicked off his sneakers and shrugged off his jacket, then kept swimming.

  Halfway there. He was getting dizzy. He knew that it was dangerous to swim up too fast, but decompression sickness was better than drowning.

  Three or four metres to go. Almost there. His vision was fading. His hands and feet were numb. He was suffocating.

  00:25

  Splash! His head breached the surface. He took a deep gasp, so deep he nearly threw up. He couldn’t stop coughing for almost a minute. But at last there was sunlight on his face. He had escaped from the container. He hadn’t drowned. He was alive.

  Zak wiped the water out of his eyes, and looked around for the ship.

  00:00

  It was gone.

  20:00

  ‘If I’d put the container where he told me to, it would have blocked access to the lifeboats,’ Yasmin rehearsed as she trotted up the stairs.

  The words were true. But they didn’t sound true, no matter how many times she practised them. She could picture the captain’s face going redder and redder, like he was about to have a heart attack.

  I’m sick of your excuses, he would bellow.

  This is why they shouldn’t hire teenagers.

  You’re confined to quarters.

  I’m kicking you out of the junior cadet program.

  Yasmin had reached the top of the stairs. She took a deep breath, and rapped on the door marked BRIDGE.

  19:20

  ‘Come,’ Captain Kelly said imperiously, like he was on Star Trek.

  The electronic lock disengaged with a beep. A green light flashed next to the handle, and Yasmin twisted it.

  The bridge of the Vanguard was a six-sided room with windows on five sides, sloped forwards so the captain could lean over and look down on the deck. A row of control panels and computer screens stood in the centre, lit up like Christmas lights.

  19:05

  No-one was here except for Captain Kelly, who stood in front of the steering wheel as though posing for a photo. He kept his eyes on the radar screen as Yasmin approached, even though it just showed a line spinning in a circle, scanning hundreds of kilometres of empty ocean.

  ‘If I’d put the container where Davis told me to, it would have blocked access to the lifeboats,’ Yasmin said.

  Captain Kelly glared at her.

  ‘Sir,’ she added.

  ‘This ship is not a democracy,’ Kelly said, his voice rough from years of barking orders. ‘I tell the chief officers of the Engineering, Stewards’ and Deck Department what to do. They
make sure the crew performs the tasks I set. No-one is exempt from orders, especially not cadets like you.’

  18:15

  Yasmin knew he hated the junior cadet program. She had overheard him telling someone that the human brain was not fully developed until age fifty, and that anyone under the age of eighteen couldn’t be trusted with anything more important than polishing his boots.

  ‘Imagine an ant,’ Kelly continued, ‘who decided that instead of bringing back food for the nest, she wanted to become the new queen. How well would that nest function?’

  ‘What if there had been an emergency?’ Yasmin asked. ‘No-one would have been able to get to the lifeboats.’

  ‘It’s not your job to worry about that.’

  ‘It’s illegal to put a container—’

  17:00

  ‘Davis is more qualified to know maritime law than you.’ Kelly shook his head sadly. ‘I blame the schools. Teaching “leadership”. The world already has enough leaders! What we need is people who know how to follow.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ Yasmin said, which was an exaggeration.

  ‘This is the third time I’ve had to call you up here. First you complained about strange noises in the cargo hold. Then there was the disrespectful behaviour towards Davis. I’m too busy to keep disciplining you.’ Kelly gestured at the radar screen. Still empty. ‘I’m relieving you of your duties.’

  Yasmin was aghast. ‘But sir—’

  16:00

  Suddenly a silent flash lit up the horizon. Like lightning, except there was no thunder, and no clouds in the sky.

  ‘What was that?’ Yasmin blurted.

  ‘I’m not . . . ’ Kelly’s cheeks were going grey.

  Yasmin glanced at the radar screen. There was a blip on it now. She was sure nothing had been there a minute ago.

  ‘Captain,’ she said. But then the radar screen went dark. All the control panels around the room flickered and died. The overhead lights fizzled out.

  ‘There was something on radar, sir,’ Yasmin said.

  15:40

  The captain wasn’t listening. His left arm was spasming, his hand clutching at his chest.

  ‘My pacemaker,’ he gasped. ‘It’s . . .’