The docking clamps holding them to the davit disengaged, and after a second’s pause, the unstoppable forward motion began.
No going back now.
The boat cleared the skids and launched itself into fresh air, and three stomachs rose into throats as it tipped forward and began its five second free-fall.
Impact!
The passengers jarred in their seats as the boat sliced through the surface of the water into temporary darkness.
Almost immediately it bobbed back into the light grey water washing over the portholes, leaving behind streaks of angry foam. In the watery light of dawn Eddie could see the state of the sea.
Still too rough for normal sailing, but a little less than he expected. The rage of the storm had all but played itself out. Conditions could only improve from now on. They might have a chance after all.
Guided by the compass, Eddie turned the boat around until it faced a generally westerly direction, and let the tiny motor take over, and made quick calculations.
They were approximately 250 miles offshore, which equated to round about 217 nautical miles. At an average speed of 5 knots, in perfect conditions, it should take them 43 hours, give or take, to get to safety.
With luck, they would come across a ship long before that. He set the EPIRB and Search and Rescue Transponder and sent out a distress call on the short wave radio.
The reply, however, came only in the form of an electronic hiss.
He tried again. More static.
How could he be sure any of them were actually working? He could do nothing else but put his faith in the little motor and hope the weather did not turn on them again.
If it did, there would not be enough fuel to get them all the way to shore, and they would be left to drift with the tide until… Eddie didn’t want to think about it.
He made one last SOS call on the short wave before leaving the pilot’s chair to undo Lydia’s head restraint and take a seat across the aisle from her.
“Okay?” he said.
Her smile was fragile and frightened. “Yeah.”
“Wasn’t too bad, was it? Like being on a roller coaster.”
“I hate roller coasters. They make me sick.”
“Take one of your pills.”
“Don’t have any.”
“Shall I get you the bucket?”
Her mouth puckered and she scowled at him.
“Shutting up,” he said, and sat back in his seat.
Lydia undid her seat-belt and rooted out her medical bag from under her seat. “Duncan?”
Cameron, still fastened rigidly in his chair, looked at her with a dispassionate eye.
“Let me undo your restraints,” she said. “You don’t need them now.” She released his head and unbuckled the webbing straps, freeing him. “I’ve got some morphine in my bag. I know you said you didn’t want any, but I’m going to give you a shot. Okay? Doctor’s orders.” He spoke not a word, expressed no emotion, didn’t try to stop her as she administered the medication. “It should start to work very soon and you’ll feel better,” she said.
He nodded weakly.
She squeezed his hand, and changed seats to sit beside Eddie.
“Poor bugger,” she said, keeping her voice low. “He’s all but done in.”
Eddie took hold of her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips. “We’ll look after him,” he said. “And the first thing we’ll do when we get back on land, after we get him fixed up, is go to the nearest pub and take in more alcohol than makes any sort of sense.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
She rested her head against his shoulder, a strand of her mussed up hair tickling his chin.
“Eddie?”
“Hmmm?”
“About what I wanted to say to you…before, when I said it didn’t matter, it could wait–”
“What about it?”
“I think now might be the time…in case I don’t get another chance.”
“Okay.”
She leaned into him and pressed her lips close to his ear. “I just wanted you to know… I love you.”
He felt his heart stand still. “Me?”
“You.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
“But I thought - you and erm–” His attention flicked to Cameron.
“Who? Duncan? No. He’s a really nice guy and I’m very fond of him, but it’s definitely you who’s captured my heart, in spite of the fact you say okay waaaay to much and it irritates the hell out of me, but most probably because of your judicious use of coloured pens, and of course your sock fetish.”
Brewer had been right all along. Bugger.
She lowered her head to rest it in his lap, Mr Brown clutched to her chest, and Eddie stroked her hair until he felt her sigh and relax against him as she fell into sleep.
He now had a new impetus.
They had to survive, because he hadn’t told her that he in turn loved her and had done since the moment she handed him the bottle of ginger beer.
He vowed he would, the minute she woke up. It might be the last thing he did, but he would do it.
The throbbing in his right hand broke into his romantic reverie. He cursed this injury more than any of his others. To him writing was therapy, and by God he was going to need it, but without the use of his fingers it was going to be weeks before he could even make a start on exorcising these particular demons in the only way he knew how - onto paper.
He leaned back against the headrest and looked across at Cameron, the damaged man withdrawn into his own thoughts, gazing out of the small window with his good eye, the other swollen shut and a livid livery purple. A solitary tear coursed its way unchecked down the man’s stubbled cheek and Eddie’s heart ached for him.
His own cracked ribs, broken fingers, sprained ankle and various other bangs and bruises would heal in time with little or no after effect. The unspeakable horrors and miseries of the last few days had implanted themselves in Cameron’s head like a seed which had swelled and split and taken root.
If he fed and watered them enough by dwelling on them, they would continue to grow and eat into him, forcing him to relive his experiences in excruciating detail every day for the rest of his life, until it drove him out of his mind.
He’d already told Lydia they would look after Cameron, and he solemnised his promise. He would make himself available whenever Cameron ever needed to talk, and even if he didn’t. They would get together regularly to share a drink and a smoke, or to just sit in quiet companionship.
A problem shared is a problem halved? Not exactly, it just meant the problem got spread around a bit, but at least it couldn’t get any worse.
Although Eddie and Lydia would have each other to talk to and help purge the memories, Cameron did not have that luxury - he had no family to care for him and few close friends; not that talking to family or friends would do any good.
They would try to listen, would nod and make the right noises in all the right places, all the while thinking he was spouting the ravings of a madman.
No one outside this exclusive club of three members could have the slightest inkling of the horrendous happenings they had gone through.
They were bonded for life by their experiences, and they had to be there for each other, to support one another, always. If they didn’t, Eddie felt sure that one or other of them would be weeping over a lost compatriot’s obituary before too long.
The engine thrummed and the cabin pitched gently as the white capped waves of the North Sea carried them along, and like a baby rocked in its cradle Cameron soon succumbed to its soporific effect, eased along also by the morphine now coursing through him.
Satisfied his colleague would be safe if he took his eyes off him for a few minutes, Eddie too fell under the motion’s influence.
His heavy lids drooped and he let them fall close. He fell asleep, sheer exhaustion taking control of his shattere
d body. He slept and dreamed, twitching and groaning as he relived the events of the previous weeks.
Chapter 55
Eddie dreamed on, unaware of the unseen unnatural things happening inside Lydia.
Events beyond her control, beyond the control of Nature herself. The ejaculate Euterich had forcibly administered to her on that dirty pile of sacking in the tool shed was on the move. Injected through her cervix, carried by muscular waves, it migrated through her uterus, destroying any remnants of Cameron and Eddie’s deposits it came across along the way, nullifying her contraception.
Already it had reached the opening of her right fallopian tube where, in twenty four hours, the millions of spermatozoa-like entities it carried would meet the egg already released from her ovary as part of her normal monthly cycle.
The swimming gametes would then surround and assault it until, like Falcon Bravo’s drill bit had once bored into the seabed, one would breach its outer coat to instantly initiate a chemical reaction which would render the egg toxic to the rest.
The reward for the unlucky remainder’s failure to fertilise – death.
Within minutes of penetration genetic material would combine in a fusion of worlds, of the dark and the light.
Then would come the first of countless divisions, and life, in whatever form it chose to take, would go on.
The End
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Jillian Brookes-Ward hails originally from the North West of England but now resides in bustling historic Aberdeen, Scotland.
A former Medical/MedicoLegal secretary, she gave up the 9-5 rat race to pursue a writing career inspired by her locale and the people around her. A good move as it turns out because it has yielded nine books so far, ranging from contemporary romance to psychological drama and raunchy riverside romps, to the gut wrenching horror of OFFSHORE under the pen-name Lucy Pepperdine.
When Jillian is not writing she cares for her home and family, and takes long walks in the parks and on the beach with her dog, her writing buddy and constant companion, Wee Archie. Jillian is also an avid supporter of and fund raiser for military charities Help for Heroes and Combat Stress.
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