by Mark Robson
‘NO!’
Beeeep.
‘Dad! It’s Niamh. Ring me now! It’s urgent. Pleeease ring. I think something terrible’s happened.’
She hung up and instantly dialled the number again. Hopping from one foot to the other as she waited again for the connection, she prayed that he would pick up this time. The ringing tone began. Again it rang and rang until the automated message began. There seemed little point in leaving a second message. She hung up and tottered across the living room and along the hallway to her bedroom. There was nothing more she could do until she was warm, dressed and thinking more clearly.
Rather than dry off, Niamh elected to have a shower first to rid her body of the smell of the pool chemicals. Moments later, she was standing under the powerful spray of hot water and the stream of warmth cascading over her body ended her shivering. The heat felt almost therapeutic. She closed her eyes and tilted her face upwards to allow the water to beat against her forehead, eyes, cheeks and nose. Turning, she rinsed her hair, feeling her body relax as the heat washed over her.
It was a good five minutes before she left the shower. Once out, she was quick to get dried and dressed. What to do next though? The overwhelming sense that something bad had happened to her brother had not gone away. She returned to the living room and tried ringing her father again. As before, there was no answer. She hung up.
Who could she ring? Instinctively, her fingers began a text to her best friend Beth, but she had barely keyed in a line before she abandoned it. Beth was a good friend, but not renowned for level-headedness. Niamh needed to make rational decisions. Texts from Beth were likely to be a distraction.
Her right index finger hovered over the number nine. Should she dial 911? Who would she ask for? The coastguard? The Sheriff’s Office? And what would she tell them? ‘Hi, I’m a fourteen-year-old girl visiting from England. My brother’s been an arse and nicked our dad’s boat. I’ve got this feeling that he’s in trouble. Please send out your men to find him.’ They’d probably think she was some sort of crackpot.
No. Any official agencies would need something more concrete to go on than the intuition of a teenage girl.
Suddenly, Niamh had an idea. Mr Mitchell had a boat. Maybe he would go out and look for the boys. He might even take her with him; though she was not sure she wanted to go. In the back of her mind, she was worried about what they might find. Niamh grabbed her mobile from the breakfast bar, took the house keys from the hook on the wall nearby and started locking up. Although she had not seen the Mitchells for a couple of years, they were good friends of her father and she had often spent time at their house when she was younger.
It was only a two-minute walk to the Mitchells’ house, but despite still feeling shaky, her legs suddenly seemed to take on a life of their own and she broke into a run. As she raced around the corner and tore up the Mitchells’ driveway at a sprint, she caught a glimpse of someone moving inside. A warm rush of relief welled inside her. The Mitchells were lovely. They would help. She knew it.
Moira Mitchell answered the door. ‘Niamh, honey! Look at you! You’re all grown up! We missed seeing you last year. Come inside. It’s great to see you. What’s the big hurry? You’re looking kinda flustered. You on yer own?’
‘Yes, Mrs Mitchell,’ she panted, interlocking her fingers in front of her body as she stepped through the door. She took a deep breath to calm her breathing. ‘That’s kind of why I’m here.’
‘Please call me Moira. Mrs Mitchell makes me feel so old!’
Niamh smiled. It was hard to imagine Moira Mitchell ever being old. She had one of those ageless Hollywood faces: beautiful skin, perfect teeth, immaculately styled auburn hair and not a hint of a wrinkle in sight.
‘So the boys have gone out and left you, have they?’ Moira continued, ushering her through to the living area. ‘That’s not very friendly of ’em. Come on through and I’ll fix you a drink. Whaddaya fancy?’
‘A fruit juice would be nice, thank you, Moira,’ Niamh said. The name felt strange on her lips. ‘Um. Is Mr Mitchell around today?’
‘He was, but he went out fishin’ a few hours back. Is there a problem? Did you need a hand with somethin’?’
‘No . . . that is, yes . . . I’m not sure. It’s Sam. He and his friend took Dad’s boat out without his permission earlier and I’ve got a dreadful feeling that something bad has happened to him.’
‘Were you expecting him back already?’
‘No, it’s not that . . .’ How could she explain the experience by the pool to Moira without sounding neurotic? ‘It’s just that Sam and I have always been close. I know it sounds weird, but I can sometimes sense when he’s in trouble.’
‘You’re twins, ain’t you?’ Moira said, nodding. ‘I’ve heard stranger things. Come on. If it’ll make you feel better, we’ll call Sam on the radio. Your dad’s boat’s got a radio fitted, don’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘We’ve got a VHF transmitter in the garage. I got it so I could remind Mitch to come home an’ eat occasionally. The range ain’t great, but I can usually holler loud enough to get his attention. If they don’t answer, Mitch will. Worst comes to worst, Mitch can go look for ’em.’
‘Sam was talking about fishing just beyond the reef. He should have his radio on, but I expect he’s several miles away. Will your radio reach that far?’
‘Who knows, honey? I just press the button ’n’ yell. Mitch normally answers pretty quick. He knows his life won’t be worth squat if he don’t. Let’s give it a try, shall we?’
CHAPTER SIX
‘Could it be a sort of illusion?’ Callum asked.
Sam could hear the note of fear in his friend’s voice and his face looked ghostly pale. He hesitated to respond. He wanted to assure Callum everything was fine, but he knew that the moment he spoke, his own voice would betray the panic rising inside him. His chest felt as though an invisible strap was tightening round it, restricting his breathing. Speaking at all was not easy.
He felt hollow inside, as if something was missing. Within a few seconds, he realised that whatever was wrong, it related to Niamh.
‘I don’t know what’s going on,’ he admitted, forcing the words out. ‘The satnav has lost its lock and the compass is going nuts. Also, I’ve got a horrible feeling that something bad just happened to Niamh. Call it intuition. Call it telepathy. I don’t know what it is, but we need to get back to shore as fast as we can. The only good news is that the sun hasn’t deserted us. I’ll set a course north and a touch west. That’ll take us back into shallow water.’
‘OK,’ Callum said, his face shadow-grey. ‘The sooner the better, mate.’
‘Breathe deep and slow,’ Sam advised. ‘Clip the rod into the holder and concentrate on looking forward as much as possible. Watch the approaching waves. The more you anticipate the movement of the boat, the better you’ll feel.’
Sam turned the boat and focused on following his own advice. The pattern of the waves was confused and irregular, making the boat rock and wallow, lurching and dipping in a most uncomfortable fashion. Although he was eager to open the throttles and power them back towards shallower water, he knew better than to do anything rash. Why couldn’t he see the Keys any more? They had to be ahead somewhere, yet he knew instinctively that something had changed. He had a cold, hollow feeling in his belly and knew in his head that this was nothing to do with the movement of the boat.
All the tales his father used to tell him of strange occurrences in this region, including the mystery of his mother’s disappearance, began to fill his mind: Flight 19, the USS Cyclops, the Star Tiger. Were Callum and he going to become the latest victims of the Bermuda Triangle? There was a strange odour in the air. Something literally didn’t smell right.
‘Cal, I’m not being funny, but can you smell anything strange now?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied. ‘Sort of like rotten eggs. You farted?’
‘No,’ Sam replied, glancing back at his friend and giving
him a quick grin. ‘Not me. But think about it – what gives off a scent of rotten eggs?’
‘Stink bombs. Charlie Popkins after he’s been eating spicy food. The chem lab . . .’
‘And volcanoes,’ Sam suggested. ‘The smell is sulphur.’
‘There’s a volcano in the Keys?’ Callum asked. ‘I had no idea.’
‘That’s just the point. There’s no volcano anywhere near the Keys that I know of. I’m just wondering if there’s something happening on the seabed. Maybe there’s seismic activity down there that’s releasing gas. That might explain the strange wave patterns. Keep your eyes peeled for any signs of large bubbles. There are some people who think boats are lost in the Bermuda Triangle region due to streams of rising gas. I don’t want to prove them right.’
They continued for several minutes, both boys looking ahead for any sign of trouble or land. As they drove on, the waves increased in size, forcing Sam to throttle back still further on the power. A gusting breeze began to rise from the south, and the weather on all sides appeared to be closing in on them. Flashes of lightning behind and to their right preceded the ominous distant growling of thunder. Sam was becoming increasingly worried. He had no desire to be caught out in open water by a passing storm.
His memories of being caught out in a heavy shower with his dad a couple of years ago were awful. The increasingly frequent flashing of lightning gave warning that the approaching weather was far worse than anything he had encountered before.
‘That doesn’t look good,’ Callum commented, pointing back at the approaching wall of dark cloud. He watched as the sun was swallowed. The air was still warm, but the temperature was dropping. ‘Do you think we should use the radio and call for help?’
‘The radio!’ Sam exclaimed. ‘Of course! Thanks, Cal. I was so focused on getting us back that I forgot the obvious.’
Picking up the handset, Sam twisted the dial to the distress frequency. He paused for a moment to mentally compose his message. He had sailed and flown many times with his father. The phraseology his dad used when he was talking on the radio was familiar, but he’d not used it. Sam didn’t want to press the button and make a fool of himself.
‘All stations, all stations, this is Dream Chaser, over.’ He paused, his heart racing as he waited for a reply. The hiss of static was interrupted by an occasional louder crackle, but there was no immediate response. ‘All stations, all stations, this is Dream Chaser, I repeat, Dream Chaser. Respond, over.’
Nothing.
‘All stations, all stations, this is Dream Chaser, registration: Foxtrot Lima wun niner fife fife. Two persons on board. We’re having navigational difficulties. Bad weather approaching. Please respond, over.’
Static.
Why was no one responding? They couldn’t be out of range. The radio Dad had installed in the boat was one of the best on the market. There should be any number of people monitoring the emergency frequency. Aside from the static, the only thing Sam could hear was a faint string of clicks and growling, burping noises that made no sense whatsoever. It wasn’t Morse code. He double-checked that he had selected the right setting. He had. He transmitted the distress call again. Nothing but the same.
‘Weird!’ he muttered.
‘Not great,’ Callum admitted. He sounded terrified.
Sam glanced back at his friend. Callum was hunched over his mobile, tapping away on the keys.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Sending a text.’
‘Have you got a signal, Cal?’ Sam asked, amazed.
‘No, but it will automatically send when I do get one.’
‘Good idea . . . automatic! That’s it!’ Sam reached forward to the dashboard and pressed another button. ‘I should have thought of the EPIRB straight away.’
‘E purb? What’s that?’
‘E.P.I.R.B.’ Sam said, spelling out the initials. ‘I think it stands for Emergency Position Indicating Rescue Beacon or something like that. Dad’s never skimped on safety kit. Setting it off should kick the coastguard into action pretty sharpish.’
‘Great! But what makes you think the signal will get through? No satnav. No radio response. No phone signal. What makes that thing any more likely to succeed?’
Sam didn’t respond. The truth of it was, he had no answer. Instead, he sucked in his lower lip and ran his teeth across it, trying hard to keep his own rising panic from overwhelming reason. The waves were piling higher with every passing minute and the wind was strengthening at an alarming rate as storm clouds raced towards them from the southeast. The taste of crystallised salt was strong on his tongue, but even the salt didn’t taste right.
The sound of Niamh’s voice screaming his name echoed in his mind. Why had he heard her voice at the precise moment they had crossed into the strange water? There was something particularly disturbing about the memory of that cry. It was immediately after it had cut off that the strange hollow feeling had begun. Sam had a vague sense that she was suffering some sort of trauma, but it was as if the sensation was being muffled, or blocked, or happening at a vast distance. There had been many times during his life that he had instinctively known when Niamh was hurting, or in trouble, but it had never felt like this before. This entire experience was bizarre.
Concentrate on getting back to the Keys, he told himself silently. There’ll be time to think about the more difficult questions later.
It was good advice, but he was rapidly losing confidence in himself. So much for the fun fishing trip, he thought.
There was still no sign of land. A particularly bright flash from behind made him look over his shoulder. The dark clouds bearing down on them bubbled and boiled with black-hearted menace. Rolling across the water, the crack of thunder that followed the flash was much louder this time. If anything, the air beneath the cloud looked even darker than the cloud itself. The knot of fear in Sam’s belly tightened still further. They should be in shallow water by now. He glanced at the sonar screen, hoping to see they were approaching the shallows. What he saw brought no comfort. Controlling the boat in the roughening sea was becoming progressively more difficult. He didn’t want to risk getting distracted by fiddling with the sonar settings.
Callum chose that moment to throw up. Twisting, he retched over the side of the boat.
‘You OK?’ Sam asked.
‘Oh, yeah!’ Callum groaned. ‘Never felt better.’ He retched again.
‘Glad to hear it. Hang on in there. I’m taking us home as fast as I can.’
‘Great. Don’t mind me, Sam. Just thought I’d put out some ground bait for the next fishing trip.’
Sam laughed, but there was little mirth in his voice. He picked up the radio microphone again. ‘Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is Dream Chaser, Dream Chaser. Mayday, acknowledge. Over.’
Nothing but static and clicking. Sam’s fear began to transform into the heat of anger.
‘MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY!’ he repeated, shouting into the microphone as if the power of his voice could somehow carry the transmission further. ‘ACKNOWLEDGE. OVER.’
‘Sam!’ Callum gasped.
‘What?’
‘The sonar! Look! What’s that?’
‘It’s probably just a dense shoal of fish,’ Sam said, glancing at the screen. Much as he hated to admit it, the return on the sonar was as unusual as everything else that had happened in the past few minutes. If it was a shoal of fish, then it was a particularly dense one. ‘Or it could be a whale,’ he said.
‘A whale! Are they dangerous?’
‘Not normally,’ Sam replied, unable to keep the note of uncertainty from his voice. ‘At least, that’s what Dad says. To be honest, I’ve never seen one before.’
At any other time the sonar picture would have fascinated Sam, but his attention was fixed on controlling the boat in the growing swell. He could only spare momentary glances at the screen. The sea was piling up in great rolls ahead, white trails of foam frothing from the crests. The danger posed by the growing waves w
as his immediate priority.
Callum retched over the side of the boat again. Sam heard him, but kept his focus forward.
‘You still OK?’ he called.
‘I’ve felt better,’ Callum groaned. ‘But I’m still here. Hey, that thing on the sonar screen is coming closer! You sure a whale won’t attack?’
‘Short of Moby Dick, I’ve never heard of a boat being attacked by a whale.’
‘Gah! I never did like reading stuff like that! Now I know why.’
Sam laughed and shook his head. That was what he liked most about Callum. No matter what the situation, his friend always seemed to have the ability to make him laugh.
A bright flash from behind was followed very quickly by a monstrous crack of thunder.
‘Bloody hell!’
Sam automatically assumed Callum’s curse was in response to the thunder and lightning. A huge splash to their left drew his attention, but he was too slow to see the source.
Callum had. His mouth had dropped open with shock and horror as a gigantic head had risen out of the water on a long, black neck. The thing’s face was elongated like a crocodile, but smooth and black like the skin of a sea lion. Its enormous mouth was easily big enough to swallow a man whole. Great pointed white teeth gleamed in a terrifying grin. For a brief moment the creature had stared at him from obsidian eyes before plunging back down into the water.
‘It looked at me, Sam!’ Callum called. His voice was full of awe and disbelief.
‘What looked at you? The whale?’
‘I don’t know what that thing was, but it was no whale. If we weren’t in Florida, I would swear I just saw the Loch Ness monster!’
‘Stop messing about, Cal! In case you hadn’t noticed, this isn’t the time for it.’
‘I’m not kidding, Sam,’ he insisted. ‘A bloody great head with a mouthful of teeth the size of kitchen knives came right up out of the water on a long neck. It looked at me for a second and then it dived down through the next wave.’
Normally, Sam would not have hesitated to laugh at his friend’s joke, but having realised just how fast the storm was closing on them, he suddenly found himself too scared to appreciate the humour. If they didn’t get to land soon, they were unlikely to get there at all.