Runners

by Ann Kelley

  ‘They’re tin mines,’ Sid told Hazel, ‘aren’t they, Gaz?’

  Gaz grunted. He had a lot to think about. His ancient chart showed the main rocks, wrecks and hazards. But he wasn’t sure of his ability to sail his boat all the way to the island, any more. He wasn’t as strong as he used to be, or as confident. But he knew his night sky and could steer by the stars.

  Gulls flew with them, quiet for once. They came to Land’s End, the old buildings abandoned to crows and bats. The harsh cry of a chough followed them out to sea.

  As they left the shadow of the ragged cliffs, Sid felt as if he was leaving everything he had ever known. He had come a long way from home, driven out by The Emergency: a refugee, a Runner, responsible for the safety of his little sister. He thought of his mother’s pleading eyes, his silent promise to look after Lo. And he had, more or less, apart from the time she was taken by the New-Earthers. But he had her again, and she was safe. His mam would be proud of him. And his dad. He had learned many things – to fire a rifle, make a cooking fire, use a lance, grow food, sail a boat, so many other skills. Sid was looking forward to whatever might happen on the island he thought of in his head as Runners’ Island.

  ‘See the lighthouse? Longships, it’s called.’ There was no light, there had been no light for years, but a tall dark shape loomed ahead. ‘We have to go that way, past it.’ Gaz steered and Sid had control of the sail. Izzi had settled down at Hazel’s feet and Lo was asleep in Hazel’s arms.

  ‘How long will it take?’ asked Hazel.

  ‘Dunno. Fourteen, fifteen hours at this rate, if we’re lucky, wind stays aft of us.’ Gaz concentrated on the sky and the straining sail. A sliver of moon smiled on them.

  ‘Why are we sailing in the dark?’ asked Hazel.

  ‘Safer this way. Don’t want any coastguards to see us,’ said Gaz.

  ‘Thought you said there weren’t any coastguards?’

  ‘Best be safe than sorry.’

  ‘Look!’ Sid pointed. At least a dozen dolphins dived and curved at the prow of the boat, keeping pace with them.

  Lo, wakened by Hazel, hung over the side, laughing every time the dolphins leaped out of the water. Phosphorescence gleamed and fanned behind them.

  ‘Thought they were extinct,’ said Hazel, thrilled.

  ‘Maybe they’re Runners, like us,’ said Sid.

  They dozed and woke, dozed and woke, too uncomfortable to rest properly. Sid took the helm for a while so that Gaz could have a sleep, but the man didn’t trust the boy to handle the laden boat on his own, and kept up a torrent of orders: ‘Too close to the wind, boy, ease her off a bit.’ And ‘Going off course, ain’t you boy? Tack now, I say.’ He had no rest to speak of but insisted on taking over the helm.

  Hazel and Lo slept little; they were cold and wet from the spray that came over the sides and bow. Hazel sang to the little girl but nothing helped. Lo was violently sick in the boat.

  Gaz scooped a bail of water from the sea and threw it onto the vomit in the bilges. It swam the length of the little boat and back again. Sid and Hazel lifted their feet.

  Hazel held the little girl’s hair away from her face as she was sick again, this time over the side of the boat, away from the wind.

  ‘Watch the horizon, Lo,’ Sid told her, ‘then you won’t feel ill.’ Gaz had told him that the first time they had gone fishing in bad weather.

  ‘What’s the ’rizon?’ she whispered.

  ‘Where the sea meets the sky.’ But there was no horizon, only the towering blackness of rolling waves. A terrifying wall of water bearing down on them, receding as they rose and breached the wave, then rising up again and again, seemingly to engulf them. They gave up trying to avoid the vomit that swam around in the bottom of the boat and the cold spray that flew at them and drenched them. The waves were longer now, and taller. Every time the boat fell down into the deep trough of a wave Hazel thought that they would never come out of it. It was lucky that it was dark, she thought, she didn’t want to see the size of the waves and the vast expanse of ocean.

  ‘It’s a long time to be in a little boat, for a child,’ she accused no one in particular. What choice had they, really? she thought. Where else could they go to be safe? She had put her trust in Sid and Gaz, and now she had to live with it. Put up with the terror of being in a small boat in a big sea, with only hope to get them to safety. She had lost her mother at the camp, lost her friends, lost Sweetpea, and left Sand behind, and now there was only Sid and Lo.

  ‘Bad luck, women in a boat,’ Gaz grumbled to himself. ‘Daft idea, this. Should never have agreed to it.’

  It was indeed a foolhardy journey to make, especially in the dark and with no compass. What had he been thinking of? He wasn’t a young man any longer, and his cough troubled him, and made his lungs sore.

  Rose, his woman, came into his mind. She had adored him, for a while, until their boy died. He felt the usual bitterness when he remembered the death of his only son, Matthew. It had hit the boy so quickly, the terrible flu that had killed in a couple of days. The worst flu epidemic to hit the world since the 1940s, they said. It was God’s way of keeping down the numbers, some said. Their little girl had been born at Freedom Farm. And now he had let his old adversary, James Craze, have the child. But Stella was a good woman, strong, resourceful. The child would have a good life with them.

  Lo was wishing that she and Sid were in that other boat on the lake near the roundabout. She had liked it there. There were dragonflies and once they had seen a kingfisher diving to catch a small fish. At least, Sid had seen it and told her about it. She wasn’t sick in that boat. ‘Are we there yet?’ she asked the dark.

  They had been sailing for over twelve hours in a moderate breeze, when a violent squall hit the boat. It surged forward plunging into the waves. Hazel huddled, soaked, with Lo in the bottom. Izzi stood on the bow like a figurehead, not the least bothered by the motion, wagging his tail. Sid was exhilarated and scared, but Gaz seemed unconcerned. He sat in the stern, both hands on the straining tiller, while Sid controlled the sail, his hands blistered and sore from the wet, tugging rope.

  ‘Tighten your lifebelt straps,’ said Gaz, and Hazel reached across to refasten Lo’s lifebelt. The child was asleep from exhaustion.

  ‘Are we in any danger, Gaz?’ asked Sid.

  ‘Sailing’s always dangerous,’ Gaz muttered to himself, ‘if you don’t know what you’re doing.’ Clouds obscured the moon and stars. It was difficult keeping to the course he had decided on. He had to trust his instincts. A compass would have been good, but he had no such luxury.

  ‘Nah, boy,’ he added. ‘Not really in danger, as long as we don’t hit a rock or get blown off course. In which case we’ll end up in America.’ He grinned to himself. He liked a challenge. It had been a long time since he had come this far. He thought of the gig race to Scilly that time. He had been young and fit, broad-shouldered and handsome. The crew had had such a good time, even though they hadn’t won the race. It was a mixed crew, men and women, Stella being one of them. She was a strong rower and a good laugh. He and she had had fun in those days, before she had met the farmer. He spat away from the wind. It was a good feeling, being in charge, doing something well. He felt the craft answer to his steering. ‘I’ll have that main sheet now, he said, ‘Cleat it.’ Sid thankfully fastened the rope that controlled the lugsail and passed the knotted end to the man.

  ‘Aye, aye, Cap’n,’ he shouted over the roar of the sea.

  Gaz considered putting a reef or two in the sail as the wind was getting lively, but he left it as it was. They’d get there faster if he left the boat in full sail. ‘Get some rest, boy,’ he said. He raised the centre plate a little.

  Sid and Hazel lay, cramped, wet and tired, Lo dozing between them while the boat surged ahead into the dark. They held hands over the child’s restless body. She woke once and whimpered, ‘Mammy?’ gazed unseeing at the dark sea and sky, the fast purple clouds, the odd star, and fell back into their arms.
Gaz kept looking up, now and then recognising a star or two to help them on their way. He coughed and spat, coughed and spat. They were running fast before the wind, when the wind suddenly veered and changed direction. With no warning, the boat gybed, swinging the sail fast across the boat, and the heavy boom knocked him on the head.

  Sid slept and dreamed that he was working with Brunel, on the half-built bridge over the Tamar. The only way to cross was by basket slung from an iron rail, hundreds of feet up. He was halfway across together with Brunel when the roller stuck and he had to climb over the side of the basket to un-stick the roller.

  ‘Go on boy, you can do it,’ said Sid’s hero. For some reason he sounded like his dad. He launched himself over and woke to find himself floundering in water. He gasped for breath, not understanding where he was or what was happening. He heard screams, felt the weight of the sail on top of him, pushing him down. He thought he was going to die. He was pressed deeper into the icy cold. Lifting his arms above him he slipped out of the lifebelt and left it tangled in the ropes of the sail. He plunged down away from the submerged sail and came up a short distance from the capsized craft, which was drifting fast away from him. He remembered what Gaz had told him about never leaving a capsized boat to drift away. In two strokes he was beside the upside down boat, grabbing at the bow rope. He hung onto it and swam with one arm towards the vague shapes in the fast water. The weight of the boat pulled at his arm, slowing his progress. He was tempted to let go, but he didn’t. If he lost the boat they would all drown.

  ‘Lo?’ She was floating on her back, her face pale and still as a moon.

  ‘I’m coming, Lo.’ He swam to her and held onto her lifebelt. Hazel was flailing nearby, coughing and spluttering, and Gaz seemed to be unconscious in the water, barely afloat. The dog grabbed the man’s flotation belt in his teeth and paddled with him towards Sid.

  ‘Hang onto Lo,’ Sid spluttered at Hazel over the roar of the sea.

  He took a deep breath and dived under the boat. Unlike the practice capsize he had performed with Gaz, this time the boat had turned turtle. It was upside down. What should he do? The centre-plate! Feeling his way through the heavy sail, he felt for and pushed the centre-plate back into place. The mast had fallen out of its casing. He pulled at it and it swung up to the surface, the heavy sail wallowing. Still under the boat, being tugged by the waves, he lowered the lugsail and wrapped it onto the boom, fastening it. Out of breath, he rose to the surface and made sure everyone was still floating. Frozen to his bones, but determined to live, he manhandled the boat so it was facing into the wind. He clambered onto the upside down hull, stood on the side, and pulled at the centre plate to haul the Girl Rose right side up. Waves hid the others from him, but he knew he had to get the boat back in action or they would all die. He slowly dragged it upright, manhandled the mast into its footing, untied and yanked up the lugsail a little way and made the rope fast, set the rudder and tiller, and headed towards the drifting survivors, trying to bail out the water with one hand. He let go the shortened sail to halt the boat, and while the wet canvas flapped wildly, he lifted Lo out of the waves first. The small girl was nearly at the end of her endurance. She had swallowed a lot of seawater, and Sid pumped her chest to help her expel it. Hazel helped him pull and push Gaz over the side into the boat and then had to wait until more water was emptied from the hull before she pulled herself in. They bailed out as fast as they could. Gaz was still unconscious, his head bleeding. Lo sobbed and shivered uncontrollably. The dog paddled furiously next to the boat, trying to get into it.

  ‘Help Izzi,’ shouted Sid, fighting to keep the waterlogged boat afloat and upright in the strong gusts. Hazel managed to lift the dog to safety. Izzi shook himself and licked Gaz’s bloody face.

  ‘Good dog,’ she said. They were all exhausted by their ordeal and suffering from the cold.

  ‘Is he all right?’ Sid nodded towards the man.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Orright, Lo-lo?’

  Her teeth chattered so much she couldn’t speak. Her lips were blue.

  ‘Carry on bailing. There’s too much water in here,’ he told Hazel. ‘You too, Lo, do what Hazel’s doing.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she whimpered.

  ‘You must.’ He knew her small hands wouldn’t be of much use, but at least she’d keep moving and it might help her warm up. But Lo was too tired, too cold.

  The wind dropped as quickly as it had developed, and the moon appeared between huge clouds, showing a dark shape on the horizon, before it was obscured again. Sid reefed the sail even more, folding and tying it to the boom. and pulled the shortened canvas up the mast. The half submerged boat dropped sickeningly into the troughs between waves and each time Sid doubted it would rise above the next. He had no idea whether it was the land-mass of Cornwall that he had glimpsed, or the island, but he steered the boat in that direction. It was their only hope.

  He hung onto the tiller, feeling the drag of the waterlogged craft. Gaz was still unconscious.

  Hazel sobbed, ‘Sid, she’s not right, she’s not right. I can’t wake her.’ She held Lo in her shivering arms. The little girl was limp, lifeless. She couldn’t feel her breathing.

  Sid was torn between having to steer the boat, keep it sailing towards what he thought was land, and taking his little sister in his arms. ‘Look after my baby.’ His mam’s last words to him.

  He couldn’t do this. They were all going to die.

  Izzi barked and staggered about, frantic, licking Gaz’s face, clambering over the thwarts to Sid, then going back to the inert man.

  Gaz coughed and vomited salt water. Opening his eyes, he took in the situation at once and searched for and found the hand-pump, where he had stored it, tied under the bow thwart. Very soon the boat was floating a bit higher in the water, and he took Lo from Hazel, and rubbed the child’s body to try and warm her. Hazel now desperately worked the hand-pump. Sid, searching the blackness of sea and now starless sky for the elusive landmass, held tight to the sluggish tiller. He steered to a vague, blacker, darkness and prayed.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ Lo said, her teeth chattering again.

  ‘She’s alive,’ said Gaz, crying with joy. ‘She’s alive.’

  Izzi barked and leapt past everyone to his usual position in the bow, where he bounced up and down in excitement and taking the bow rope in his jaws, plunged into the water. He swam strongly, dragging the boat along.

  ‘What’s he doing?’ called Sid from the stern.

  ‘Leading us, he’s leading us!’ Hazel yelled. ‘Look!’

  A dark mass. The island! They could see faint dots of light, like fallen stars. No, they were torches. Not wreckers? The thought flickered briefly into Sid’s mind. He’d heard about people who had led ships onto rocks to be wrecked and stolen the craft’s cargo, long ago. But no, the dim beams were showing them the way to a safe harbour. On their right was a high cliff, or maybe it was a pier. Lights flickered high up. They swung past the dark wall. A slipway appeared then disappeared in the waves that swept over it. People shouted.

  ‘I’ll take her in,’ said Gaz, handing Lo over to Hazel. He lifted the cork fenders over the side.

  ‘No, I’ll do it,’ said Sid. He uncleated the mainsheet and the sail slid down the mast. The boat slowed. Sid skilfully steered and eased the drifting boat up to the steep slipway, leapt over the side as a wave lifted them, just as if he was leaping from one roof to another. He landed safely, staggered slightly, but regained his balance and fastened the stern rope to an old metal capstan. Izzi clambered up onto dry land, offered the other rope to Sid and shook himself, barking and wagging his tail vigorously.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  A SMALL GROUP of people waited on the jetty with towels and blankets.

  ‘Heard the dog barking, we did.’

  ‘Runners, eh?’

  They gathered round the bedraggled group, who could hardly stand.

  ‘You come along of us,’ said a woman. Lo and Haz
el were wrapped in blankets and taken next door. Sid and Gaz were whisked off to another cottage, but not before the men had helped secure the boat safely.

  After a hot shower – heaven! – and wearing borrowed huge pyjamas and dressing gown, and hugging a mug of hot milk – such bliss! – Hazel gazed around the small room. It felt odd, being in a proper house. The walls were of granite, but it was pretty. Flowery curtains were drawn across the window and coloured rag rugs sang on the wood floor. A solid-fuel stove warmed the small room. A black and white cat slept on an embroidered cushion on one of two armchairs, her ears pricked forward. Salt water still ran from Hazel’s nose. She mopped at it with the corner of the towel that wrapped her wet hair like a turban. She smiled but couldn’t stop shivering.

  Lo didn’t stay awake long enough to drink all of her hot milk and honey. The woman had bathed her and rubbed her in a warmed blanket until she was pink again. She hadn’t slept in a proper bed for a long time and fell asleep immediately, hugging a hot water bottle with a fluffy teddy bear cover.

  Sid and Gaz were given mugs of tea, warm towels and dry clothes. Gaz was given first aid for the injury to his head and a large plaster covered the cut. The happy dog sat at their feet by an open fire, head on paws, gazing lovingly at them. Every now and then either Sid or Gaz would reach out to him and ruffle the fur on his head and speak proudly about him, and Izzi thumped his tail lazily.

  But before they were shown where to sleep, Sid insisted on going next door to check on his sister. With Hazel at his side, he stood at the foot of the child’s bed and gazed at the peaceful picture – Lo was snuggled up under the heavy blankets, her fluffy pale hair spread on the white pillow. Her little face was pink. She was peacefully asleep. Another little girl was next to her in the same bed.