And once the sun cracked orange, it came up quick.
It changed everything.
When Miles looked at the horizon he saw three shapes in the distance. They were heading out to the old islands. The Last Islands.
Black in outline, black in shape.
Black Witch, Flat Witch, Temple Rocks.
Rocks that stood alone in the middle of nothing, in the middle of endless ocean. Miles had never been this far out. Beyond here, what? Only a few clustered specks of black on the map where no one ever lived and where no one ever went.
Maatsuyker was the last island to reach out of the darkness.
The end of the earth.
Out here the pulse could get bigger than ten metres and the islands were marked and scarred. Battered cliffs, broken rocky beaches, caves worn well into the rock. It was like another world, roaring and squalling with life. Cliffs screaming with birds, with shearwaters and silver gulls, oystercatchers and storm-petrels. Patches of scrub and green clinging to any flat surface. And the water was really moving, deep channels carved between the islands. Silent currents.
Dad anchored the boat as far out of the wind as he could get, on the calmer side of Flat Witch. It was the smallest island, the flattest. It was just a baby compared with the others. The air pump was on, the boat steady as it could be in the water, and Dad and Jeff suited up.
They went down.
Miles got Harry a cup of tea and told him he could sit in the cabin now if he wanted to get out of the wind. But he didn’t want to. He said he might get sick, so he stayed on deck close to Miles. He seemed OK. He wasn’t green and he looked out at Flat Witch.
‘That is where that lady is meant to have lived,’ Miles said.
Harry looked up at him. ‘What lady?’
‘You know, the one who took off and went bush. Stayed out here.’
Harry shook his head. He mustn’t have ever heard that story.
And it was only a story. That lady. The one who hitched a ride all the way down here with some bags of rice and a tent. Stayed here. Lived here all on her own. Everyone knew it was only a story. But now that Miles looked closely at the sheltered side of Flat Witch, he guessed you could do it, live here, because there was life out here. The surface of every water-level rock chock-full of mussels and probably wild oyster, too. And there would be plenty of small fish in the kelp beds, plenty of crays.
When it wasn’t too windy – when the swell wasn’t coming in crazy – it would be OK out here. You could live here.
‘Where did she come from?’ Harry asked.
Miles shrugged. He wasn’t sure. ‘Maybe the city,’ he said.
‘When was it?’
‘Before we were born sometime. A long time ago.’
‘And what happened? Did she stay? What happened?’
But Miles didn’t know the end to the story. He didn’t know what was meant to have happened to the lady.
‘She decided she’d had enough after a while and she went back to the city,’ Miles said.
Harry looked back at the island.
‘How did she leave?’ he asked.
Miles shook his head slowly. ‘She must have seen a fishing boat and called them over or something.’
Harry looked like he was thinking about that. He looked like he was searching the island for clues.
‘She must have just had enough of everything,’ he said.
And Miles didn’t know whether he meant had enough of life before the island, or life on the island. But there was a loud sound of metal screeching, the smell of smoke. Then there was the sound of nothing.
Miles stood still. Heat shot up his spine and ripped through his guts. The pumps had stopped. The engine had stopped. Dad and Jeff had no air.
He ran into the cabin, turned the engine over. Nothing. He tried again, but it wasn’t even ticking over. He lifted up the floor, squatted down and ripped the metal cover off the engine. He heard his skin blister, felt the sting. The metal was red hot and it stuck to his skin. When he pulled his hand away his palm was raw. He closed his hand shut, bit down on his tongue. It must have been at least sixty seconds since the air pump had stopped.
He stood up and tried the engine again. Nothing.
He ran out on deck to the emergency generator to the air pump. It wouldn’t start either. The fuel tank was empty. Miles looked over at Harry. He was still standing exactly where he had been, looking blank, his arms by his sides. There was nothing else Miles could do. Nothing.
He stood next to Harry and looked over the side – searched the moving water for bubbles of air. Cold trickles of sweat ran down his back and he thought that maybe he should just run. Get the hell off the boat and swim for the island, because if Dad and Jeff made it up alive, then he was dead. But he knew he would never make it, not with Harry. The current was too strong. If the boat wasn’t anchored, it would be pulled along like it was just a stick on the river. It would get smashed up against the rocks. Like they would get smashed if they jumped over the side.
‘Miles? Miles?’
Harry was pulling at his arm as Miles threw up over the side.
‘It’s Dad,’ he said.
Somehow Miles managed to move, help Dad get Jeff on deck and there was blood coming out of his nose, out his ears. His eyes were open but only the whites showed.
Miles thought he might be dead. Maybe every drop of blood would pour out of him until there was none left.
Dad slumped down next to Jeff on the deck. He lay still and looked up at the sky. He took short breaths in and short breaths out. One of his eyes was trying to bulge out of its socket. It was bright red, filled with blood, and Miles couldn’t stop looking at it.
‘What did you do?’ he said.
He tried to sit up and Miles took a step back. He could feel Harry right behind him. Feel Harry’s hand on his arm.
‘It just stopped,’ he said. ‘The engine – it just stopped.’
Dad stared at him, told him to get the oxygen and he ran towards the cabin but there wasn’t any oxygen. They’d lost the tank with the mako; the first aid kit, too. He stood still by the cabin door.
Dad got to his feet. He stood unsteady as the boat rocked back and forth. The swell had picked up, maybe even as much as a few feet, and Miles could see the lines backed up high to the horizon. Coming in – pushing in with the wind.
‘I tried to get it started,’ Miles said, but Dad came at him, lurched at him, knocked him back against the rails so hard that his body bent over the side. His head fell back. It touched the water. And when the swell pushed in, he went under completely.
Into the cold.
Into the silence.
He opened his eyes, could see the water moving, and it felt like his whole head had smashed against the side of the boat because the cold stung so bad – the freezing water. His hands still held the rail but he couldn’t pull himself up. Dad was too strong. Dad was holding him down.
Finally the swell rolled back and Miles could feel the air on his face. He sucked it in. Dad was staring down at him, his big hand tight around Miles’s throat.
‘That’s what it feels like,’ he said, and Miles kicked his legs, rocked his body from side to side, but it was no use.
He gasped and was under again.
It felt like longer this time. It was a long time. And when his breath was gone and there was just a burning tightness in his chest, his hands slipped loose from the rails, his arms fell back. He felt them touch the water, felt them floating free. And his head was light. His whole body light.
But something was pulling him, dragging him up through the water. And it was heavy, the water. It was holding him down. But he felt the air again on his skin, felt the world spin. And somehow he was standing, dizzy. Somehow he was on the deck.
He blinked his eyes, wiped his face with his frozen hand.
Harry was going mad.
He was punching Dad and screaming. Screaming, ‘Let him up! Let him up!’ and he was kicking Dad. Kicking his legs.
And Dad was just standing there laughing like it was funny. Like it was a game. Harry kicked out again and caught Dad’s ankle hard. Hard enough to make Dad wince. Then he looked at Miles and he ran.
And he was yelling, he was saying something over and over.
‘We’re at the Witches. The Witches … Please!’
He was on the radio. And his voice got louder and then he started to scream as Dad smashed into the cabin. Miles heard the radio receiver hit the ground before he could even move. Dad had Harry by the shoulders and he shook him like a rag doll. He dragged him out onto the deck.
‘These are protected waters, you idiot! You always fuck everything up. You always fuck everything!’
And he slammed Harry against the rails. Held him there, and the spray was coming over thick now, soaking Harry, drenching his hair and running down his face. And Harry was squirming and moving and trying to get his body away from the edge until Dad pulled his hair so tight that he stopped.
Harry just closed his eyes then. He just shut his eyes.
And suddenly Jeff spluttered and coughed, and when Miles looked down he was on his side curled up, and he coughed again. He wasn’t dead. But Dad didn’t notice. He didn’t even look. His eyes were fixed on Harry. He just kept staring at Harry. And his hand moved away from Harry’s hair, moved down to the string around his neck. And he cupped it in his palm – the white pointer’s tooth.
‘It’s his,’ he said, and his face went pale. ‘His.’
He let the tooth go. He stared down at Harry.
‘She was leaving, because of him. Because of you.’
And that’s when it happened. When something inside of Harry must have just gone wrong. Because he opened his eyes and he looked right at Dad and he said, ‘I’m glad.’
And all of it came at once then.
Miles saw the wave; he saw Dad push Harry. And he went to run but something caught his leg, pulled him down. It was Jeff. Jeff right there next to him, all the blood drained from his face.
‘For God sake,’ he said.
And the whole boat tipped. A mountain of water broke the sides, swept the deck, and Miles smashed into the rails. He held on tight, held on until the boat straightened, until the water drained away.
But when he looked back there was only Dad.
Harry wasn’t there. Harry wasn’t anywhere.
Miles’s mouth was open. His tongue moved but there was no sound, only the muffled crash of seconds passing: one, two. Then it came, a million seconds too late. His voice screaming out Harry’s name.
Miles felt his blood as a fresh wave crashed against the boat. He climbed onto the rails, was ready to jump, but Dad grabbed him up – held him like stone.
And it was no good.
‘HARRY!’
Miles saw Harry’s arm reach out of the water. He saw his face there in the churning mess. The current had him now, his mouth open, his arms flailing. He was moving away, moving into the channel.
‘You remember,’ Dad said, and he held Miles tight. ‘You remember, don’t you?’
And he kept shaking Miles, kept pulling his face away from the water, away from Harry.
‘They were dead when I found the car.’
And the insides of Miles went very still.
He couldn’t see Harry now. He couldn’t see him anywhere. There was only water. Only all that water moving.
‘She was leaving me.’
Dad pulled Miles in close, so close that his face was all Miles could see. And it made him sick the way Dad’s face was. The way he looked like he was crying. Like someone had done something terrible to him.
‘I had to take him away, Miles. I had to leave you there. He was already dead and everyone would have found out. Everyone would have known.’
With everything he had left in him, Miles pushed. He pushed out his arms, braced his body back against the rail. And he screamed for Harry. He screamed his name out over and over. And he felt Dad move, felt his grip loosen.
‘You’re my son,’ he said.
Then he let Miles go.
Miles took a step, grabbed onto the rail, and he looked back at Dad standing still with his eyes closed, his arms loose by his sides. Then he leapt into the water. He bombed down.
The cold wrapped him up, took his breath, but his feet kicked out hard and he pushed through the pulse. He opened his eyes, searched the surface, but there was nothing. He stretched his arms out, kicked harder. He swam into the channel and ducked down into the water. Through all the bubbles of air and light, somehow his hands found Harry, his body limp and floating free. Miles pulled them both up to the surface, but there was only chaos. Wind and noise – white water moving thick and heavy. They were right in the break. They were already right up against the rocks of Flat Witch, waves pounding down.
Miles held one arm out, Harry heavy in the other, and his hand scraped along the slimy surface of the rocks. But he couldn’t grab onto anything. The water was too strong. His body hit the hard jagged rock again and again; sharp gnarls stabbed his back, his shoulders, the side of his head. All he could do was be a buffer between Harry and the wall. Harry lifeless in his arms, his eyes still closed. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to get them out here, out onto land. He’d have to swim out deep, past the break. He’d have to get through the channel and try for another part of the island.
When there was a break in the push, he kicked off the rocks, moved towards the rising waves. As the first one hit, he grabbed hold of Harry’s hair, gripping close to the scalp. He pulled Harry under and with his free hand he dug down. One stroke. Two. Three. The wave hit them hard and they began to tumble, flying like seaweed around and around in an endless circle. Surrounded by bubbles of air, the white of the churned water was all that Miles could see. He couldn’t tell which way was up until the wave let go. Then the confusion dulled. Miles turned his eyes to the light and kicked until he broke the surface.
Harry was choking, coughing.
He was awake.
But white water was already cascading down the next mountain. Miles grabbed Harry’s hair again but they were hit with such force that he lost his grip. He was alone in freefall, his chest on fire, his lungs empty. With both arms free, he made a desperate grab for the surface. One stroke. Two. Three. Four.
Air.
He couldn’t see Harry anywhere, just water moving. Just water. He called out Harry’s name but there was nothing.
This break in the swell would last thirty seconds at most. Waves came in sets and in this kind of surf, where the water suddenly hit shallow, you could get rogue waves. Bombs. Sometimes twice the size of the rest. On a board you could see them coming, lines that blocked out the sky and the sun. You paddled out wide or deep, out past the break. If you got caught, you bailed your board, dived as deep as you could, and prayed your leg rope would hold. And if you were lucky, the back of the swell just stroked you, pushed you round a bit, then you could come up for air. But ultimately it wasn’t up to you. This ocean could hold you down for as long as it liked, and Miles knew it.
He called out again, yelling as hard as his body would let him and this time he saw an arm waving. Harry was bobbing about fifteen metres ahead. Miles swam towards him as fast as he could. There was a new set forming, growing stronger, and it was truly massive.
‘Harry! Get behind me.’
‘Miles!’
‘Harry! Just get behind. Hold on!’
Harry could hardly clasp his hands together around Miles’s neck. Miles told him to link his legs around his waist and Miles began to swim fast.
‘Breathe!’ he yelled.
He ducked them into the base of the next wave and it swallowed them whole. They managed to slip through, but the tail of the pulse pulled them back with it. Miles battled hard just to hold ground.
He felt like stone.
‘Miles!’
Another wave. Harry was sobbing. ‘Don’t take me under. Don’t … Please!’
Miles increased his kick, burst into freesty
le. They started to move forward and met the unbroken face with as much speed as Miles could muster. He pushed into the steepness. If it started to crack, if the wave broke, they were gone. Miles reached as far as he could and with one big dig they were on the summit, the hump. He heard the wave snap and roar behind him but didn’t look back.
They had made it past the break.
With deep, dark water beneath, they were set loose. Unanchored. They soared up rolling hills and down into the giant troughs. From what Miles could tell, the six foot they had been pounded with on the boat was steadily growing into storm size. Ten foot, maybe, the south-west wind giving it extra strength. And it was blowing enough spray to make salt rain.
And they were way past the islands now. The rocks and the reefs were gone.
There was no land at all.
Miles kept his legs beating at a slow pace, just enough to keep them afloat, and now that all the adrenaline was gone, he could feel the cold. The wind stung his face, his wet head. He knew the more you moved your limbs around, the more heat you lost. Blood moved to the surface where its warmth was stolen by the water. The key was keeping still. Slowing down. Trying not to fall asleep.
‘I’m scared,’ Harry said.
Miles didn’t want Harry to know that he was scared, too. ‘We just have to wait, Harry. We’re OK.’
‘What about sharks?’
Miles could hear the fear in Harry’s voice. The tears.
‘No sharks, Harry.’
It was exhausting to speak and hard to hear in the wind. Miles had to yell so that Harry could understand. He checked his own hands. Cut and scraped. Not blue, yet, but the water had started to feel warm against his skin.
Harry’s crying eventually calmed, but Miles could feel his brother shiver. It was getting worse – rocking through his little frame like it was trying to keep his engine going.
‘Harry? OK?’
‘Is D-Dad … c-com-m-ing?’ Harry’s teeth were chattering like crazy.
‘You got your jumper on, Harry?’
Silence.
‘Harry?’
‘Ti-ti-ger … win-ch-cheater.’
Miles swallowed hard. He’d told Harry to put on his woollen jumper. He’d left one out for him. He should have checked. He should have made sure.
Past the Shallows Page 11