Wreck

by Fleur Ferris

  Aunty Selena and Uncle Oliver come out of their bedroom, scrambling on hands and knees.

  Portia stops and helps Oliver get to his feet and then they both help Sel. She looks at us struggling to keep Knox upright. Knox is much taller than me, and much heavier.

  ‘Oh, dear God.’ Blood gushes from Selena’s nose, but it is Knox she is looking at when she says it. I know what she is thinking …

  I don’t let my thoughts go there. We’ll be fine. The inflatable motorboat we use to get to islands will be submerged but we have two life rafts. One of them will be accessible. They have covers to help keep the water out. But then I realise, if this big boat can be torn apart on the rocks, the little life raft will be smashed to pieces. Suddenly life rafts seem stupid. How can a tiny raft survive a storm a massive boat can’t?

  As we reach the door Dad appears.

  Knox’s head flops down against the life jacket on his chest. Christian and I are literally dragging him.

  Dad rushes towards us. The boat rises high again and I wonder how it’s going to land this time. If it goes right over we might not even get out. But it doesn’t. It stays on its side.

  Dad takes over from me and they move much faster. I run ahead and Mum appears at the door. Fear is written on her face and her arms stretch out to me. I step into them and let her hold me.

  ‘Go on ahead. Get the life raft into the water, we’re going to abandon ship,’ Dad screams. Oliver pushes past me, holding Selena’s hand, pulling her along behind him. Mum and I follow.

  Outside is much worse than I imagined. Rain and wind lash at us and waves tower over the boat. I wonder how it hasn’t rolled right over. A few of the emergency lights are working on the deck, giving us just enough light to see which way we have to go. We climb along the cabin walls towards Oliver and Selena. Oliver has already released the raft from the boat and it is self-inflating by the time I reach him. He holds the rope so that if the boat sinks it won’t drag the raft down with it. Selena teeters on the edge of the boat, holding onto a rail.

  ‘Go!’ Oliver says.

  She doesn’t move. ‘No,’ she screams.

  I don’t blame her. The water is dark and wild. The wind howls and the gusts are so strong they almost blow us away.

  ‘You have to,’ Oliver yells. He prises her fingers from the rail. Selena clutches onto him.

  ‘No, no!’ Selena cries with desperation. Oliver shoves her as hard as he can and she hits the water, screaming for her life. A wave lifts her and rams her into the side of the boat. Oliver looks at me, horrified.

  ‘Help her!’ Oliver’s eyes are wild with fear and it feeds mine. I jump blindly, wondering if my next breath will be my last. I bob straight up and crash into Selena. I grab her jacket.

  ‘Kick,’ I scream. ‘Kick as hard as you can.’

  We kick our way through the rough black water until we reach the raft. The ladder hangs down and Selena grabs hold. I push her as she climbs. Getting up the ladder out of the water is much harder than I thought it would be. My jacket is too cumbersome to drag myself up with my arms so I bring my leg up until my foot finds the rung. I then use my leg to push myself up and eventually slide into the dark canopy of the raft. I lie on the floor of the raft, shaking from exertion, cold and fear. Then I realise I am lying in water. What if the only thing that can save us sinks?

  Through the darkness I make out a pail, tied near the doorway. The rope is long enough for me to bail out the water without untying it. Frantically, I get to work.

  I peer out and see Portia in the sea, making her way to us.

  I lean out to help her as soon as she gets close enough and pull her in. She lands on the floor behind me and quickly starts bailing water while I wait for Mum.

  ‘Kick,’ I yell.

  Mum hits the raft but then the current pulls her away. She uses her arms and legs to power her way towards us. This time she grabs the ladder and holds on tight. The swell tosses us around so violently it’s safer for her to just hold on and wait for the right moment to climb.

  When the time is right, she pulls herself up. I grab hold of her jacket at the shoulders and use all of my weight to haul her inside the canopy.

  We lie on the floor, gasping. Slowly we get to our knees and use the sides for support as the water in the raft sloshes around us. Mum and I make our way over to the opening and look out at the boat.

  Dad, Christian and Knox emerge from the cabin. As soon as Dad places a foot on the wall of the boat he slips and goes down hard, taking Knox with him. Christian remains on his feet, pulls Knox up on his own and keeps heading towards Oliver. Dad scrambles along on all fours behind them. The vessel tips. The lifeboat moves away from the yacht as our vision of Oliver, Dad, Christian and Knox is replaced by a wall of white. The stern of Land and Sea rises high and I will our lifeboat to move away from it. If it comes back down this way we will be underneath it. The hull slowly rolls away from us, goes over with the wave and capsizes. We all scream into the wind and rain as the mighty Land and Sea sinks into the wild, frothy depths.

  The cold air from outside rushes into the car as he opens the door and then his hands are on me.

  ‘Let me get this thing off you. I think we’re safe for now,’ he says.

  He pulls me up so I am sitting.

  ‘I’m going to have to get you out.’

  He means I have to get out of the car for him to untie me because the knot is now underneath me. My heart is thudding so hard I feel it in my throat and that incapacitating fear is coming back. I can’t give in to it. I have to fight it so I can fight him.

  He pulls me gently towards the door. I pause as he unties my feet. Once I’m seated half in and half out of the car he places a hand on each of my shoulders and helps me stand. We take a couple of steps away from the car and he moves behind me. He tugs at the knots restraining my arms and I hear the plastic handles of my skipping rope tap together. I stand still.

  Suddenly the rope comes loose and my arms are free. I pull the doona off my head. Because I was already in darkness under the blanket, my eyes adjust quickly. I was right about our location; we are in the plantation.

  ‘Tamara, I’m so sorry to have done that to you … I’ll explain everything.’

  I spin around and shove the guy in the chest as hard as I can. He is caught off guard and jerks back, cracking his head against the hard metal frame as he collapses onto the seat.

  I run in a blind panic.

  I sprint along the track for a bit, then scoot into the trees. The moon gives me enough light to see large shapes, which means he can also see. I can hear him behind me. I push myself to go faster.

  His boots pound the hard ground and I think he’s gaining. I see a clearing ahead and don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. But then it doesn’t matter because he’s got me. I stumble with the force of him on me, hitting the dirt at full velocity. The wind is knocked out of me on impact. This is it. This is where I will die. He spins me onto my back, straddles me and holds my wrists against the ground either side of my head. I turn my head away from his face, too terrified to look at him.

  I gasp and splutter from being winded and flounder for breath.

  ‘They will kill you,’ he says through gritted teeth. ‘You have no chance if you run. None!’

  Suddenly my lungs allow air and with this I kick and buck and thrash my head around. When I realise there is no hope of getting him off me I stop and start to sob.

  ‘Please …’ I say.

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you. Did you hear what I said? They will kill you.’

  His words don’t sink in. ‘Please, don’t hurt me,’ I beg. ‘I’m not who you want. I don’t have your note. I don’t know anything about it. You’ve mixed me up with someone else.’

  ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’

  ‘You are.’ Every breath I take now is a loud pathetic sob.

  ‘No. Tamara, listen to me.’

  I lie still and quiet for a moment.

  �
�I’m not going to hurt you,’ he says again. ‘You are Tamara Bennett, aren’t you?’

  ‘How do you know my name?’

  ‘From the paper.’

  ‘Oh, God, have you been stalking me?’

  I stop gulping and sobbing, but I can’t stop the tears. I think of the novelist in Misery by Stephen King and those girls who were held captive for over a decade. Please, somebody help me.

  ‘You’re in danger. I came to help you. As soon as I read your article I knew they’d come for you. And this time I made it before it was too late.’

  I try to focus on what he’s saying, but my brain is working too slowly.

  ‘What article?’

  ‘The one about the note.’

  ‘What note?’ I ask. ‘The only note I can think of was found in rubbish. It isn’t anything people would break into my house for.’

  ‘You are the Tamara Bennett who works at the Coastal Daily?’

  ‘Not any more. As of two days ago –’

  ‘You found a message? On the beach?’

  He takes my silence as agreement. ‘Then you are the right Tamara Bennett. That’s the note they want.’

  ‘It can’t be. Who wants it?’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Darryl was going to call the police. They would have it by now.’

  ‘And if something stopped Darryl from going to the police where would it be?

  ‘At work. But –’

  ‘We have to go there.’

  ‘What? No.’

  ‘Yes. We do. Before they realise that guy is lying unconscious in your house. We have to get there before they do.’

  ‘Unconscious? In my house? Oh my God! We need to call the police.’

  ‘No. If what I suspect is right, they are getting their information from the police. I need to see that note and then get you as far away from them as possible, somewhere they can’t find you.’

  ‘There should have been a photo of the note printed in the paper.’

  ‘Well, there wasn’t.’

  I stay quiet because I don’t believe him. He’s with them. He must be. If not with them, against them. I’m only guessing … but surely, if he was really rescuing me, he would want the police. Instead he brought me to a forest to ask me questions, where there are no witnesses. If I’d had that note, he might have killed me right now and left me here.

  I think about the day I found the bottle. I’d been out surfing early and decided to paddle into what I call the Rubbish Rocks. Rubbish that’s been washed into the sea from the beaches ends up swirling there overnight. I take a net to scoop up all the chip packets and plastic bags and bin them so they can’t harm any wildlife.

  After I’d paddled into shore and dropped the bag beside my board I noticed something in a plastic water bottle. I kept it and took it into work with me. I was sitting with Darryl, my boss, when I opened it up and shook out the note. It was dry and yellowed, rolled into a tight scroll. I opened it up carefully, so the brittle paper wouldn’t break. The writing was lighter than the paper so it must have been exposed to sunlight for a long time.

  Darryl held two of the corners while I unrolled the rest. I remember holding my breath as the first line became evident.

  I survived.

  We stared at the words for a few minutes.

  ‘Sweet fucking fuck,’ Darryl said.

  Simon, another journalist and Darryl’s boyfriend, stopped typing and looked over. ‘What is it? And don’t swear in front of Tamara.’

  ‘Sorry, Sunshine,’ he said to me, then looked back to Simon, exaggerating the wideness of his eyes. ‘You’ve gotta see this.’

  I wasn’t sure why Darryl was responding that way, but obviously the message meant something to him.

  Simon lifted his feet from the floor and pushed off his desk. He rolled over to our table, landing perfectly between us. He tilted his face down towards the note. His top lip curled up, indicating it meant nothing to him. I laughed, pleased I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know.

  Darryl rolled his eyes at Simon. ‘You don’t remember anything about this? What would it be now … er, five years ago?’

  Simon’s face was blank. ‘I was holed up in Tibet five years ago, so no, what’s it mean?’

  ‘Look at the surname.’

  ‘Chisel.’ He stated it without any emotion or recognition. Simon waited for Darryl to explain and when he didn’t he spun his hands in front of him. ‘C’mon, I have deadlines.’

  ‘Well, what Chisels do you know?’ Darryl asked.

  ‘None.’ Simon kicked off my desk and rolled back to his keyboard.

  Darryl stretched out his arms. ‘The Chisels. The Chisels who own this office, this paper, this entire effing country! The Chisels who own you and me and both of our souls.’

  Simon frowned at him. ‘No one owns my soul.’

  ‘It was a boating accident. They lost a kid at sea. This kid,’ he said, pointing at the note. ‘This discovery could kick-start another search. It was in the news while the search was on and then when it was called off it was all hush-hush, the family needing privacy, bullshit bullshit, and then it all disappeared from the media altogether. But I remember it. There was something stinky about it. They’re fucking crooks. All of ’em.’

  Darryl thinks everyone’s a crook.

  ‘Language, Darryl,’ Simon snapped. ‘I’m not sure how a family losing their child at sea stinks, or them needing privacy is bullshit.’

  ‘He was eighteen, not a child.’

  ‘Whatever.’ Simon rolled his eyes. ‘It’s human nature to need privacy during grieving. We’re conditioned to do it that way. I’ve written a paper on it, ten thousand words, you should read it someday.’

  ‘What were they hiding, though?’

  ‘Needing privacy doesn’t mean a cover-up,’ Simon persisted.

  ‘Truth without fear! What’s it mean, Sunshine? Tell me.’

  ‘Oh no, not this again,’ Simon moaned. ‘It’s a message in a bottle. A happy thing. A hopeful thing. Imagine if the kid survived!’

  Darryl ignored Simon and looked to me. ‘Sunshine …’

  Truth without fear is the motto of the paper. ‘News is only as valuable as its truth,’ I said, parroting his past rants.

  ‘And …’ Darryl coaxed.

  ‘News can manipulate and control the masses,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, and …’

  ‘It should be told with honesty, without prejudice, and without fear.’

  ‘Bingo!’ Darryl was happy. ‘Never forget it. If you want to be a good journalist, live and breathe by it. And who should own the news?’

  ‘No one,’ Simon said with a tired sigh. He’d heard this rant too many times. But Darryl didn’t care, he continued on his long-winded explanation about how the news is only truth if it isn’t censored.

  ‘The Chisel family think they can do whatever they want.’

  ‘It’s a conspiracy,’ Simon mocked.

  Darryl ignored Simon’s taunts. ‘Well, they can’t do whatever they want here. Not in my office. Not at the Coastal Daily …’

  ‘You just said this is their office.’

  ‘They might think it is, but while I’m in charge it’s mine, and at the Coastal Daily news is news.’

  ‘You are a truth warrior!’ Simon punched both fists into the air and flexed his muscles. ‘Yaaaas!’

  ‘Shut up. Fuck the Chisels –’

  ‘Language,’ Simon interrupted.

  ‘We’re going to report it. Sunshine, it’s your last story. Give me a happy message in a bottle piece, and submit it by lunchtime. I’m going to call the police and they can come and pick it up.’

  Darryl started up the hallway.

  Simon called after him, ‘You show those corrupt villains who’s boss.’

  Darryl entered his office and closed the door and we burst out laughing.

  Darryl’s door opened. ‘I can hear you!’ he said.

  We laughed louder.

  Darryl had done his
best to accommodate my report-only-good-news stance, but only because Simon had convinced him to. ‘The Coastal Daily needs sunshine, Darryl. Let Tamara be the warmth and brightness that this town needs.’ Darryl had griped about it, but when it comes to Simon, Darryl is putty. I think he’d do anything for him. That’s how Sunshine became my office nickname.

  So that’s what I did. I cast my last ray of sunshine on the town and hastily wrote a piece about my discovery of the note, the mystery surrounding it and the questions it provoked. I sent it to Darryl and didn’t give it a second thought.

  The crew at work often teased Darryl about seeing something sinister in everything, but now I realised he’d been right all along. Someone had held a gun to my head for that note. I can’t understand why someone came to my house looking for it or why the police don’t have it. Darryl said he was going to call them, tell them to come and get it. I even wrote that in the article because I thought by the time it was published in yesterday’s paper, it would have happened. Did Darryl change his mind? I didn’t see how my story read after it went to editing, nor did I see what was printed in the paper. I don’t have any answers but I am certain about one thing. Darryl was right; something about that kid going missing definitely stinks.

  My captor holds my arm as we walk back to the car so I can’t run away. He puts me in the front seat and goes to the driver’s side. When we’re both in the car he pauses before starting the engine and says, ‘Tamara, if you want to survive this, you’re going to have to trust me.’

  I say nothing, because as if. And maybe if he thinks I trust him I have more of a chance of escaping.

  I breathe deeply and feel grateful that I’m still alive, that I haven’t been bashed or raped, that I am not still bound and wrapped in my doona on the back seat. We’re driving back into town, towards my office, and this brings me new hope. If I get away from him I have a chance in my own town. This town is full of good people. Any one of them would help me. I’ll get away from him and run to the nearest house and call for help. Someone will ring the police. The clock on the dash says it’s 1.30 am. My little town is asleep. Pubs only stay open this late on a Friday and Saturday night.