Mark swung around. Blocking the doorway was the towering figure of a man, with Louise standing beside him. ‘Follow me,’ he said as he took Louise’s hand and disappeared. Rick grabbed Brad’s weapon and followed. Mark picked up his rifle and the bolt cutters and hurried out behind Julie.
At the exit gantry they stopped, listening. All was quiet. Julie led them down the gantry and through the shadows away from the wharf.
As they ran along the waterfront towards AWOL Mark pieced together what had happened. The man who had saved his life was called Roger Cox. He was the submarine’s doctor, and one of his duties had been to look after the welfare of the three women. In the process he had formed a bond with Louise — a bond which, fearful he would suffer the same fate as Frank, had been kept secret from everyone, including Anne and Julie. Believing she would be unable to convince Mark to attempt to rescue her lover as well as Rick, Louise had volunteered to be the lookout simply in order to follow them aboard and collect him herself.
Fergus and Jane had heard footsteps approaching and were already pulling AWOL’s stern into the quayside as the party arrived. Five figures tumbled into the cockpit.
‘We’re leaving right away,’ Mark said earnestly. ‘Jane, prepare to slip the bow-line. Fergus look after the stern-line.’
‘I see you’ve got us some extra genes,’ Fergus quipped to Mark as his cousin prepared to unfurl the foresail.
Nicole, who was holding a small torch illuminating the lines on the cleat that Fergus was releasing, shone the beam towards the two men standing in the corner of the cockpit. Then she leant forward and whispered in Fergus’s ear.
‘We’ve got a problem,’ Fergus called softly to Mark.
Everyone froze.
‘What sort of problem?’
‘The two men you’ve brought aboard.’
‘What’s the problem?’
‘Well …’ Fergus hesitated, groping for words.
‘They’re black,’ Nicole said.
‘You folks got a problem with blacks?’ Rick challenged.
Mark dropped the furling line. ‘We’ve got absolutely no problem with your colour,’ he assured them, ‘but we’re heading to England, and we believe one of the members of the community there, a little boy called Lee, may be an asymptomatic carrier of a modified form of typhoid. A form that’s fatal to people with black skin.’
‘Tell me more,’ Roger pressed.
Mark quickly relayed the story of their visit to Cape Town, how the crew had all fallen ill and recovered, of their experiences in Brisbane, where all the Aboriginal women died, and how, upon their return to Gulf Harbour, the two part-Maori children Holly and Zoë had died.
‘In other words this little boy Lee’s carrying the TSM98 variant of typhoid,’ Roger said.
‘You know about it!’
‘Yes. Your hunch is right. The strain was developed to wipe out black populations.’
‘You’ve got to wonder at the mentality of those South African bastards,’ Fergus spat.
‘It wasn’t developed by the South Africans,’ Roger said quietly. ‘It was developed here in the States. Someone passed it on to the South Africans.’
‘What?’ Fergus exclaimed.
‘Now’s not the time to debate national morality,’ Mark snapped nervously. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘Do I take it you don’t have medicine to treat the typhoid?’ Roger asked.
‘We’ve no medicine to treat anything. Which is why, upon reflection, it’s only fair to give you two men the chance to step back ashore.’ He turned and picked up the foresail furling line.
‘No,’ Julie and Louise said together.
‘They can always live somewhere other than Haver in England,’ Jessica pointed out.
‘Anywhere’s got to be better than staying in San Diego,’ Anne agreed.
‘Do you have a fridge aboard?’ Roger asked Mark.
‘Yes — and a freezer. Why?’
‘I’ve got just about every drug imaginable stored in the fridges aboard Midway including TT-21-A, which is effective against typhoid.’
‘Are you suggesting you go back and get drugs and medicines?’
‘Precisely.’
‘It’s too risky. We need to get out of here before Brad’s body is discovered.’
‘Roger’s right,’ Jane said in a measured tone. ‘Without drugs it’s difficult to treat even the simplest illness. We could do with them.’
‘It’s too risky,’ Mark repeated.
‘We need Roger, Haver needs Roger,’ Jessica said. ‘Apart from anything else, he can train the next generation of doctors. It’s not just a question of genes. It’s also a question of making sure that those who are born survive.’
‘No one seems to have heard Brad’s weapon discharge,’ Roger reasoned. ‘We weren’t challenged. He won’t be found till morning. I can get back aboard, collect the drugs and be back here within the hour.’
Fergus started to haul on the stern-line.
‘But …’ Mark began.
Roger scrambled up onto the walkway before Mark could protest further. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can,’ he called as he was swallowed by the darkness.
‘How do we know he won’t betray us?’ Mark asked angrily.
‘He won’t,’ Louise said indignantly.
‘Even under interrogation?’
‘He won’t betray us,’ Julie agreed. ‘He’s a good man.’
‘And a good doctor,’ Anne added.
‘It’s risky hanging about here,’ Mark complained.
‘What’s the risk?’ Rick challenged. ‘Even if they find the body, they’ll assume the women shot Brad and rescued me and that we are hightailing from San Diego on foot. They won’t be looking for a yacht.’
Mark resented the challenge, although he could see the logic in it. ‘What are you children doing?’ he asked grumpily, turning to the group who were standing on the boarding platform.
‘Pulling in the stern-line,’ Zach replied.
‘Why?’
‘Misty jumped ashore when the man went,’ Nicole explained.
‘Get back down here.’
‘What’s that noise?’ Jessica asked.
Everyone strained their ears.
‘Down below,’ Mark whispered. ‘Now.’
‘But what about Misty?’ Nicole asked.
‘I said, down below.’
The noise was growing louder. Everyone scrambled down the companionway. The sound of a horse’s hooves grew more distinct. From the companionway Mark made out the dim outline of Hank sitting upright in the saddle, weapon at the ready as he passed along the harbourside walkway, less than twenty yards from AWOL.
‘That’s it. God knows what he’s up to,’ Mark said when Hank had gone. ‘We’ve got to get out of here.’
‘We’re not going without Roger,’ Jane said defiantly.
Nicole’s voice was even more rebellious: ‘We’re not going without Misty.’
Mark glanced nervously at his watch. ‘I’ll give them both an hour,’ he announced. ‘If they’re not back by then we’re leaving without them.’
At least Jane supported her father’s decision not to allow Nicole and Zach ashore to search for Misty. Every few minutes Nicole would softly call her cat while Zach scanned the quayside with the binoculars.
17
Mark glanced at his watch. The hour was up. He licked his finger and held it above the companionway. His heart sank. The breeze was dying and had swung to the west, which meant tacking out of the harbour. If it died any further they’d be lucky to clear by dawn.
An hour later the breeze had died altogether and he angrily announced they would have to spend another day in San Diego.
As the sky lightened, neither Roger nor Misty had yet returned. Everyone was on edge. Most of the crew had been cooped up below for three days. As a precaution, Mark ordered the bow-line led through the forward hatch so it could be slipped and retrieved from the cabin. But everyone knew it was
a token gesture. If Roger betrayed them, their chances of escaping were virtually zero.
Mid-morning, Mark, Fergus and Louise watched in horror through a gap in the washboards as a group of horsemen approached down the harbourside from the direction of the Midway. Roger was heading the group.
‘How could he?’ Louise sobbed.
It seemed to Mark that every rider’s pair of eyes was staring in the direction of AWOL. Those in the cabin barely dared breathe. By contrast, the noise of the hooves on the pavement and the chattering of the riders seemed deafening. Incredibly, the horses continued filing past the yacht.
‘We’ll have a giant gang bang to celebrate, when we catch them,’ one of the horsemen suggested. There was a cheer, followed by a discussion on the rituals and retribution to be enacted. Mark noticed Roger was stony-faced although he had seemed to cheer with the rest.
It was a chilling reminder of the danger all the women faced if AWOL remained in San Diego. Jane and Jessica instinctively clutched the necks of their blouses and held their children close. Mark sensed there would be no argument about their departure when night fell.
Louise’s tears had turned to sobs of relief. ‘I told you he wouldn’t betray us,’ she said.
‘But why didn’t he return with the drugs he promised?’ Fergus asked. ‘And why is he leading the party searching for you?’
‘He knows where we are, but he didn’t betray us,’ Louise said angrily. ‘There has to be a reason he didn’t return last night.’
The breeze came up a little during the afternoon, but it was still blowing from the west. Through the forward hatch they saw boats fishing in the harbour. There was no way they could leave in daylight. Mark cursed as dusk fell and the breeze died again.
As soon as it was totally dark he headed ashore, keen to solve at least one of his problems. But despite searching and calling for over half an hour, Misty was nowhere to be found.
Over the next two hours the tension aboard increased. No Misty, and Roger had not returned. At last the breeze began to build from the east. At first there was the barest whisper, but by midnight it had risen to about five knots — still not enough to clear the harbour on a flooding tide.
By two-thirty the breeze was up to ten knots and the tide had turned. Despite there still being no sign of either Misty or Roger, Mark proclaimed they were leaving.
‘Please, just another ten minutes, Granddad,’ Nicole pleaded.
Reluctantly he agreed.
Fifteen minutes later he ordered the foresail partly unfurled and the bow-line released from the mooring buoy. Struggling against the offshore wind they hauled on the stern-line and pulled AWOL towards the quayside so that Nicole could call Misty one more time.
‘Misty, Misty!’ They all listened. She called again, but there was no replying miaow.
‘Right, slip the stern-line,’ Mark ordered. Zach started to cry. ‘Misty will have a good life here,’ his grandfather said gently.
‘He won’t,’ Nicole sobbed.
‘Let go the stern-line,’ Mark said to Fergus again.
‘I can hear him, I can hear him,’ Zach shouted.
The unmistakeable sound of Misty calling carried across from the other side of the street. The children began to shriek the cat’s name.
‘Keep your voices down!’ Mark ordered.
Nicole scrambled onto the walkway.
‘Get back here,’ Mark hissed.
‘Misty, Misty!’ they heard her calling as she ran across the street.
‘Someone’s coming,’ Fergus whispered.
They heard running footsteps, and shouting in the distance. They could also see flashing lights.
Mark jumped up onto the walkway and sprinted across the road. He reached Nicole just as she scooped Misty into her arms. He grabbed her free hand and ran back across the street. They arrived at AWOL’s stern at the same time as Roger.
‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ he panted, struggling with two large suitcases. ‘I’ve been rumbled.’
They could hear shouting further along the quayside and see torch beams illuminating the hull of the Star of India.
Mark, Roger and Nicole, with Misty clutched to her chest, cascaded into the cockpit. Fergus slipped the stern-line, Jane unfurled the remainder of the foresail and Mark took the wheel. ‘All of you, below decks,’ he shouted.
No sooner had everyone disappeared than a hail of bullets pinged off AWOL’s steel hull. Mark slammed the steel stern shutter closed and cowered beneath the coamings as he steered AWOL between moored yachts. ‘Try to start the engine,’ he called to Fergus.
Fergus turned the key. The engine cranked over, but wouldn’t fire. Mark was steering wildly, zigzagging to miss boats that loomed ahead. Twice he slammed into dismasted hulks. He was terrified AWOL would become tangled in submerged wreckage. The occasional volley of shots continued striking the hull and cabintop.
‘We want them alive! Shoot out the foresail!’ yelled a voice from shore. Several weapons opened up and a volley of shots peppered the foresail and pinged off the standing rigging and mast. But all the while AWOL was slipping away and the torch lights were becoming fainter.
‘Let’s get the cutter from Star of India,’ called another voice.
The firing ceased and Mark saw the flashing of torch beams as men raced along the quayside. He steered into the thickest concentrations of anchored yachts, hoping to give AWOL further shelter. As soon as it was safe, Fergus and Jane emerged from the cabin to hoist the main. As they worked they heard a voice astern chanting ‘One two three pull, one two three pull, one two three pull’ as the cutter rowed after them.
‘Hurry,’ Mark called. ‘They’re catching us.’
Roger and Rick clambered on deck. ‘Rick and I want to help.’
‘Go for’ard and help Fergus hoist the main. He’ll show you what to do.’
Roger started forward but Rick, who had been staring into the darkness towards the pursuing cutter, scrambled back down the companionway ladder. He returned carrying Roger and Brad’s weapons. Before Mark realised what was happening he was firing wildly into the night in the direction of the cutter. He emptied one weapon, threw it aside and picked up the other.
‘That’s enough, don’t waste all the …’
His words were too late. Rick had emptied the second weapon’s magazine. A few seconds later the cutter began to cautiously pursue them again. ‘One two three pull. One two three pull.’ When no further shots were fired from AWOL the tempo increased. ‘One two three pull, one two three pull.’
‘They’re catching us again,’ Jane warned as she continued clearing the mainsheet.
Fergus jumped on the cabintop to release the last of the sail ties. The cutter was now so close they could hear the splashing of oars.
‘Heading up now,’ Mark yelled as soon as Fergus had rejoined Roger at the foot of the mast, ready to hoist the last of the main. He swung the wheel over and AWOL turned head to wind, heading back towards the cutter that was bearing down on her through the darkness.
‘We’re going to get them,’ the cutter’s bowman called. The splashing tempo increased. AWOL’s mainsail had never been hoisted so fast. As Mark turned the wheel and AWOL slowly resumed her course, the cutter slammed into her stern. Nicole’s torch illuminated the bowman as he grabbed hold of the pulpit.
‘Got her!’ the bowman yelled as he prepared to cleat on the cutter’s painter.
A single rifle shot rang out. ‘Got him!’ Zach yelled, equally triumphantly. He was standing in the companionway, rifle raised.
AWOL was free again. The chase resumed.
‘Everyone below!’ Mark shouted. As they tumbled down into the cabin a single automatic weapon fired a continuous volley of shots from the cutter, ripping holes in both the foresail and mainsail. Then the gun fell silent. Mark guessed the crew of the cutter had, like Rick, emptied their magazines.
The breeze held steady. Gradually the chant ‘one two three pull, one two three pull’, grew fainter.<
br />
As dawn broke, the cutter was more than two miles astern. Everyone returned on deck. Roger led the cheering as the cutter finally slowed and gave up the chase.
18
As the cutter retreated, Mark took stock of the situation. AWOL’s cockpit suddenly seemed extremely crowded. He started grappling with the problem of how he was going to fit so many people below decks.
Fourteen-year-old Zach and twelve-year-old Nicole were sitting on the cabintop with the younger children. They were tall for their age, and needed as much space as adults. Fortunately Gina, Tommy and Audrey were all still small. Marion and Chelsea, however, had recently undergone a metamorphosis from babies to over-active toddlers.
The stress Mark had felt while moored so close in San Diego began to dissipate as they drew further away from the cutter. During the time the American survivors had been aboard AWOL he had had so much on his mind, their presence had been a blur. Now, for the first time, he found himself studying them intently.
Julie was kneeling on the port cockpit squab, watching the cutter. Rick was standing behind her, his hands around her waist. An attractive woman, her long dark hair was tousled by the breeze.
Rick was a good-looking man, and not as dark-skinned as Roger, who looked to be a full Negro. Mark speculated that his infamous Uncle William had got a Negro girl into trouble. He wondered if it had been Rick’s mother who had sent the begging letter to Mark’s grandmother asking for support for her child.
Uncle William had been a busy and fertile man. Although Julie, Louise and Anne could all trace their ancestry back to him, all had different grandmothers. Mark smiled to himself. While Aunt Margaret and no doubt his own father would have disapproved of Uncle William’s behaviour, he had done a great service to the Chatfield gene pool.
Roger was sitting on the starboard cockpit seat, his arm around Louise. They were spending more time gazing into one another’s eyes than following the progress of the retreating cutter. Mark thought Roger had to be one of the most handsome men he had ever seen. He had a film-star quality about him. Tall and muscular, his voice gave away his privileged upbringing and education. For Mark, Roger represented the greatest prize. He was the only member of the crew without Chatfield genes.
Blood Roots: Are the roots strong enough to save the pandemic survivors? Page 10