I turned to port and Richard let down the jib, although the wind had almost disappeared anyway. We were back to calm water, but not as it had been before. There was an oiliness to it I didn’t like. Something was wrong.
‘What’s that smell?’ I said.
‘I don’t know, but it’s not good.’
He rummaged in a cupboard next to the helm and pulled out a pair of binoculars, which he held to the skyline, elbows extended like hawk wings.
‘What do you see?’ I said.
‘Yep, pretty sure that’s Cadiz. That’s the harbour, and that’s …’
He stopped.
‘What is it?’
Slowly he took the binoculars from his eyes, face pale, still looking into the mist.
‘Richard?’
He shook his head. ‘It’s nothing. There’s nothing. Come on, this water’s too dangerous, let’s go.’
‘What did you see?’
‘I told you: nothing.’ He busied himself with the lines.
I lunged for the binoculars but he grabbed my wrist.
‘Beth, believe me, you don’t want to see.’
‘Just give them to me.’
After a pause, he relented, released my wrist and offered me the binoculars. He turned away as I put them to my eyes. A fuzzy image shook of burned towers and shattered turrets.
‘I don’t see anything but damaged buildings.’
‘Good, then let’s go.’
‘Some burned out cars, no sign of any people, wait …’
I froze and backtracked, stopping on what looked like a harbour wall.
‘Beth, please …’
I steadied my hands. The details came into focus. In the centre was a tall flagpole upon which two flags were raised. The first, halfway down, drooping and tattered, was the Spanish flag; the second, billowing fiercely in the fog-drenched wind, was black and scrawled with white paint. A white face with a drooping mouth and two crosses for eyes.
Lining the harbour wall on either side of the flagpole was a series of sticks. There must have been at least two hundred of them skewered into the ground at odd angles, and on each was a severed animal head. Sheep, goats, dogs, pigs.
And humans.
My throat tightened. Shaking, I roamed through the sticks. Swarms of flies buzzed between the faces of men and women with lolling tongues and ragged hair.
Then I noticed that between some sticks were smaller ones. My brain caught up with my reflexes a little too late, and before I could snatch the binoculars away I saw something. It was just a glimpse, but enough to burn itself into my memory. It’s still there to this day, and I won’t talk about it, not even here.
I shut my eyes, gritted my teeth, tried to open my throat.
‘It’s all right,’ said Richard, placing a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s all right.’
I handed him the binoculars.
‘Come on,’ I said, returning to the helm. ‘Let’s keep going. It’s not safe here.’
Chapter 17
After Cadiz we sailed in silence. Neither of us wanted to talk. We let the wind pull us steadily along, making sure we kept as much distance as possible from the coastline, and gradually we left that boglike smell behind us.
‘Staines said there were people in these waters,’ I said. ‘Bandits, that kind of thing. Maybe that’s who did that.’
‘Pirates,’ said Richard. ‘I met some once.’
‘When?’
‘On a wreck dive in the South China Sea. Stupid, really, it’s a dangerous place but I needed the money. Luckily for me they were only small fry, just swung their guns at me, took my valuables and left me floating. One chatted to me as they were going about their business, asked me about my family, showed me a picture of his daughter. I just grinned and went along with it. He waved when they left.’ He turned to me. ‘A different breed to whoever did that back there.’
The hatch opened and Josh poked his head out.
‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hello, chief,’ said Richard. His voice took on a friendly, sing-song tone, the same way mine did with Alice and Arthur. ‘Motherese’, I’d heard it called, some evolutionary means for parents to connect with their infants. Except Josh was fifteen.
‘You all right?’
Josh nodded and pulled himself out onto the deck, shutting the hatch behind him. ‘How’s it all going down below?’ I asked.
‘Pretty rubbish,’ he replied. ‘Maggie’s unconscious and Carmela’s looking after Bryce. He’s locked in the toilet being sick.’
‘It’s called the “head” on a boat, Josh,’ said Richard. Josh bobbed his head, a nervous twitch I’d seen him do before. It was as if he was ducking from the correction.
‘What about Dani?’ I asked.
‘She’s just sitting there. Won’t talk to me.’
‘Never mind, eh, mate?’ said Richard. ‘Plenty more fish.’
Josh flushed. ‘I didn’t mean—’
‘You want to watch that girl anyway, she’s a feisty one.’
He gave him a wink. Josh ducked it.
I looked between the two of them – Josh’s eyes wide and wandering, Richard’s grin straining at the seams. Finally I took a breath.
‘Dani’s probably just upset after what happened. Maybe it’s best to give her some space, Josh. People need that sometimes.’
He gave me a sheepish smile.
‘Richard,’ I said, ‘why don’t you let me take over the helm and you can show Josh around the boat. Show him the ropes, so to speak … oh –’ I stopped ‘– that’s where that comes from. How about it, Josh?’
The boy’s interest peaked.
‘Dad?’
‘You’re sure?’ said Richard to me.
‘Aye, go on. This is a piece of cake anyway.’
‘Right, well …’ Richard gave me the helm. ‘Keep it on that heading for now, OK?’
I leaned in. ‘Just talk to him normally. He’s your son.’
He nodded, patted his sides and followed Josh down the deck.
‘Right, Joshy, this is the mainsail and that there …’
I watched them for a while. Richard pulled ropes and turned invisible winches, miming the various exertions required for sailing. This physical realm was where he seemed most comfortable. In order to be a man, you must pull that, push that, move like this. He hadn’t shown me any of those things on my brief introduction to sailing – everything had been in the abstract – and as I watched Josh nod his head and try his best to please his dad by doing the things he wanted him to do, and Richard try his best to train his son in skills he thought he should know, I wondered whether this model, when multiplied by billions of fathers and sons over countless centuries, might just have produced some unwanted side effects.
But I suppose he was just trying to teach him how to sail.
And what did I know, anyway? The eldest of my children was three, and I had yet to start teaching her about real life. She currently lived in a fiction, a half-fantasy world I had conjured for her in which dinner times, cars and train timetables existed alongside tooth fairies and an overweight elf who gave you presents if you were good. It wasn’t the real, visceral life in which dreams rarely came true and your body bled monthly.
At least, I hoped she still lived in that fiction. My heart sank when I considered the alternative.
A thought struck me.
‘Richard, what’s the date?’
He looked back from the mast. ‘Fourth of April. Why?’
I let my gaze travel west.
‘It was Alice’s birthday yesterday.’
The wind changed and Richard showed us both how to turn about. The mist persisted, holding back the sun. Josh sat on the foredeck while Richard joined me at the helm.
‘Florida’s what, five thousand miles?’ I said. ‘How long will that take us?’
‘Three weeks if we’re lucky. The Atlantic’s not a difficult crossing but there’s nowhere to stop, and if we’ve just passed Cadiz then we’re alre
ady going in the wrong direction. I’ve been hugging the coast in the hope that we’ll find somewhere to load up on supplies for the journey.’
‘Do you know how much we have?’
‘I had a quick root through the cupboards. A few tins, packets, not much, but food’s not the problem. The water tank’s full but I don’t know how clean it is, and it has to hydrate five of us for the best part of a month. That’s if we can find somewhere safe to drop Maggie and Dani off. I’m sure they don’t want a one-way trip to Florida.’
I watched the coast stream by. The thought of going in the wrong direction sent a shiver of panic through me. Suddenly the mist seemed to close in.
‘I don’t want to wait any longer. I want to get going.’
‘I understand, but Maggie’s been shot. She needs proper medical attention.’
My pulse quickened. ‘She can get it in Florida.’
‘In three weeks? Four? What if she’s infected?’
Richard jumped as I slammed my fist into the cabin wall.
‘It’s not my fault she was shot. Or that she took it upon herself to get into a siege with a lunatic. My children were taken from me, and I can’t wait around any longer.’ I flung a finger west. ‘They’re out there, Richard. They’re somewhere out there with a delusional child snatcher who tried to kill me, and every second I’m apart from them weakens the chance of me ever seeing them again. Right now this boat is my only hope, do you understand? I’m on my own, Richard. It’s just me.’
‘It’s not just you, Beth.’
The ladder rattled and the hatch opened again. It was Maggie. She looked weary and bruised, and her left arm was in a sling. Richard extended a hand but she brushed it off and pulled herself up with her good arm.
‘That’s better,’ she said as the fresh air hit her face. ‘It’s rather close down there.’
I shared an awkward glance with Richard. She noticed and smiled.
‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘I heard you.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
‘Are you all right?’ I said, nodding at her sling.
‘I’ll be fine. Carmela is a good nurse.’ She explored her shoulder delicately. ‘If a little enthusiastic. How about you? Your leg?’
‘Better than yesterday.’
Dani sprang up the ladder and shut the hatch.
‘How’s everyone else?’ said Richard. ‘Bryce?’
‘I haven’t seen him,’ said Dani.
‘Although we have heard him,’ said Maggie.
I turned to Dani. ‘Did you have any luck on the radio?’
‘Yes. I got through.’ Her face lit with a rare smile. ‘The Rock is safe, and the cruise ship too. The passengers have been helped onto land, they’re shaken but they’ll be taken care of. Everyone’s moving down from the Rock now, reclaiming the town and the harbour. Staines and what remains of his men are gone.’
‘So there is much work to be done,’ said Maggie. She looked at her daughter. ‘We need to get home.’
Dani folded her arms, avoiding her mother’s gaze.
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘But how? We can’t sail back. Staines may have left the Rock but nobody saw which way he went. You said yourself there’s a fair chance he’s on our tail.’
‘Of course. I was thinking we would travel back by land.’
‘We’ve been trying to find a safe place to stop,’ said Richard, ‘somewhere to drop you off, but we’re not having much luck. Cadiz was … not safe.’
Dani released an impatient huff.
Maggie’s eyes narrowed. She turned to her daughter. ‘And what do you suggest?’
‘We should push west immediately.’
‘West?’
‘Yes. I want to go with them.’
Maggie scoffed, then paused. ‘You’re serious.’
‘Yes, Mother, I am.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. We need to get home.’
‘No,’ said Dani.
Maggie gritted her teeth. ‘Yes.’
‘Why? What reason do we have to return?’
‘I told you, we have work to do. I have a responsibility to those people.’
‘What work? And what responsibility? Who put you in charge, anyway?’
‘It is our home, child.’
Dani’s mouth twisted. She took a step closer Maggie. ‘Home. An island cut off from everything. It might be your home, Mother, but it’s suffocating me. I want to see more of the world, and if we go back now …’ her breaths came hard and fast ‘if we go back now then we’ll never leave. Never.’
Maggie watched her daughter for some time. Then she turned to me. ‘Drop us off at the next available place, please.’
‘If you walk off this boat, Mother, then I’m not following you.’
‘Child,’ said Maggie.
‘I mean it.’
‘Watch out!’ Josh sprang up from the foredeck. ‘Dead ahead, there’s something in the water.’
Richard ran to the bow.
‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Beth, hard to port, now.’
The hull creaked as I turned.
‘What is it?’ said Maggie, craning her neck. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Richard?’ I called, but he ignored me, darting about grabbing ropes. ‘Josh, pull that line. No, not that one!’
Josh stumbled as his father yanked the line from his grasp. Richard pulled another and the jib began to fall. ‘Well, help me then!’
He ran to his father’s aid, clumsily pulling at the rope behind him. Soon the jib had fallen and we began to lose speed. Richard crouched on the starboard side, catching his breath and peering into the water.
We slowed up, drifting again.
‘Look at this,’ he said.
I left the helm and made my way to the bow. Floating in the water just metres from us was a huge, long cylinder, the size and shape of a fuselage. It had once been white but was now a rusty, weed-smothered green. Josh joined us at the guard rail.
‘What is that? A plane?’
We bobbed along its length.
‘No,’ said Richard, pointing ahead. ‘Look.’
Another shape drew out of the murk – a towering blade rising diagonally from the water, hanging with weed.
‘It’s a wind turbine,’ I said. ‘How the hell …?’
But as I spoke more shapes appeared. Pale, broken cylinders with bent and rusted blades. The sea was full of them, either upended or floating like the first.
‘Behind you,’ said Maggie, who had taken the helm. She stared upward, port side, where an upright turbine loomed over us, half submerged in the water. A gull perched upon a horizontal blade.
‘That one’s still standing,’ I said.
‘It’s not the only one,’ said Richard, nodding beyond at the array of blades now emerging, like stopped clocks from the mist. Richard shook his head. ‘It’s not possible. They never built any wind turbines in these waters. They were all on—’
‘Land,’ I said.
Richard paled. ‘The water’s risen. We’ve drifted too far north.’
‘Dad,’ said Josh, looking directly ahead.
‘Shit,’ said Richard, scanning the water, ‘we need to head back.’
Josh raised a finger. I went to his side and followed his gaze. ‘What do you see, Josh?’
‘Dad …’
Richard began to gather lines. ‘Not now, Josh, this water’s shallow and this boat has a very deep keel.’
More shapes appeared, these ones moving.
‘Dad …’
‘I said not now, Josh.’
‘Richard!’ I snapped. ‘Look.’
He dropped the rope and came to the side, peering out.
‘What is it?’
There in the mist was a grassy lump no bigger than a small truck. A rickety wooden structure stood on its prow, and near the water’s edge sat a figure.
‘Maggie,’ I called back. ‘Do you think you can steer us a little to the right?’
As we drew near there was a ripple in the water and a short raft emerged from the distance, paddled by a boy. He wore shorts and nothing else, clawing his scrawny arms at the water like a surfer battling through a reef. His face was drawn and he had the bulging eyes of hunger.
He clambered from the raft, tripping on a tuft of earth and sitting beside the old woman. She drew her shawl around him, placed her rod down and pulled something from the stone beside which she sat. It was a small fish, perhaps a sardine. She gave it to the boy, and there was a deliberation to the act that stung me. It made me think of all those times I had fed Alice and, more recently, Arthur – experimenting with vegetables, mashed lentils, chicken, the various concoctions designed to persuade my children to nourish themselves against their will, and invariably destined for the bin. But this was different; the fish was a prize, a body of hope that was not to be wasted.
The boy cradled the fish in his long fingers, looking up and down its body as if its geometry held as much nourishment as its flesh. Then, delicately, he ate it, head to tail.
We were metres from them now, and the suspicion on the woman’s face was tightening into fear. She picked up her rod as if it was a totem and pulled the boy closer.
Maggie spoke.
‘Buen día señora –’ she smiled at the boy ‘– señor.’
They made no reply, so Maggie spoke some more, a soft and rattling thread of words I couldn’t understand. The woman made some noises back, though they didn’t sound like sentences. As they conversed the mist revealed more shapes behind – more lumps, some far bigger than the woman’s, others merely perches for gulls. They stretched into the distance, an entire archipelago of grassy islands with figures moving on each one.
We had passed the first island now, and as we continued to drift the old woman croaked something, repeating it with a flick of her hand as if she was shooing us away.
‘What is she saying, Maggie?’ I said.
‘She’s warning us away. These waters aren’t safe for boats.’
The End of the World Survivors Club Page 15