SALT: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller

by Colin F. Barnes

  Secrets never lasted long on the flotilla.

  Eva headed toward the Alonsa, found herself in step with Jean, and remembered the woman’s confession just minutes before.

  “Look, it’s… I’m…” Eva began to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

  Jean just shook her head and placed an arm around Eva’s waist; her other arm gripped Danny. “Don’t say anything. We both loved him. That’s all that matters. Let’s just look out for each other from now on. We need you, Danny and I.”

  Choking on her long-held tears, Eva nodded and returned Jean’s hug, all the while trying not to break apart with guilt. She focused on the southern horizon. A gathering formation of slate-grey clouds conspired together; their secrets flashed white and yellow, lighting up their insides, x-rays of bad intentions. A storm was brewing and had the flotilla within its sights.

  Just keep going, Mike. Just keep going.

  Chapter 2

  Jim sat heavily at the captain’s desk. He lit a whale-oil candle and leaned back in his chair. The dull off-white decor of the Bravo’s captain’s office seemed to suck the light into shadow, reflecting his own mood. Despite what the rest of them thought, these days were harder on him than they could imagine.

  He didn’t enjoy sending people away, but their survival relied on it.

  If they just stayed where they were, they’d slowly go mad and turn on each other. He’d already seen it start to happen, fractures within the society growing wider, spreading like a cancer.

  Duncan entered the office, carrying a flask, and slumped in the chair opposite. “Studying the charts again, Dad?”

  “Just plotting Mike’s likely route.”

  Jim traced his fingers across the well-worn chart stretched across the desk, repaired by sticky tape at various points. He wanted to remind Duncan that he was his captain, not his father when on shift, but what did it matter now? His position was growing weaker by the day. He wouldn’t be captain for much longer if things carried on the way they were.

  “Frank in the brig now?” Jim asked.

  “Yeah, the crew got him settled. He won’t cause any issues now.”

  “I want him questioned, but don’t let them get too rough. We’re not at war here, you understand? Graves isn’t stupid; there’s more to this than it seems at first sight. Let’s play it safe, and don’t do anything rash.”

  Duncan nodded. “Sure.” He removed the cap from the flask, took out two inner cups, placed them on the desk and filled each with a healthy measure of flotilla-grog: three parts water, one part rum.

  “How much do we have left?” Jim asked as he lifted the cup to his lips.

  “Two more flasks after this.”

  Jim grunted his disappointment but knew that wasn’t entirely true. They had managed to salvage a few crates of cheap, Chinese knock-off rum when the container ship had drifted by. They’d cut it so thin with water to make it last that getting drunk took considerable commitment. Still, Jim took a deep gulp, enjoying the nasty burn it brought.

  One of the crates remained in Jim’s possession. Uncut. Just for emergencies.

  “It’s a reminder, son.”

  “What is?” Duncan wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “The burn. A reminder we’re still alive, despite everything. We’re still here.”

  “Much to Faust’s chagrin, eh? She’s real pissed that she and her delusional followers weren’t taken up in the rapture.”

  “This ain’t a biblical apocalypse. Maybe one day the crazy bitch will be right, but now it’s just science and nature, and we’re caught up in the middle of it. But we’re still drinking rum and riding the waves, and if there’s sufficient luck or fortune or whatever else you want to call it, that poor bastard Mike will make it.”

  Duncan held up his cup in a toast. “To Mike.”

  Jim finished his cup and made to refill it but stopped himself.

  After a silence, Duncan said, “He’s not, though, is he, Dad? Going to make it, I mean. None of the others have—no radio comms, no returns. The only thing that ever came back was Aadi’s boat wreckage.”

  Jim shrugged. “Ionosphere’s still screwed by the solar storms, so I doubt we’ll get another radio signal any time soon. Been what, six months? The planet’s hostile to us now; just got to find a way, somehow. But you’re getting me maudlin here. What was it you wanted to talk to me about before we saw Mike off?”

  Duncan leaned forward now and looked over his shoulder to the closed door. “The sabotage has stepped up. I took a measurement of fuel stocks after sorting out Mike’s share.”

  “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “No. We should have had enough reserve stocks for at least three months of running some of the generators and the desalinators, but when I calculated it, it appears we’ve enough for less than a week at current usage.”

  Jim took a moment to think of the consequences. With no fuel to run the desalination units, they’d have to rely on the manual evaporation methods. Would there be enough water generated to sustain the current levels?

  They’d been stockpiling rainwater in some of the containers, but with the bacteria spreading, Dr Singh had advised them to use only boiled desalinated water. The flu-like symptoms, brought on by unusual bacteria, seemed to mutate when water evaporated off the ocean and returned as rain.

  Dr Singh postulated that the salt kept the bacteria in a spore mode, which stopped it from mutating into its deadlier form: the turning of rational human beings into vegetables.

  The quarantine section, set up in the medical rooms of the Alonsa, had fifteen people within it now. New diagnoses had gone from monthly to weekly. The doctor and her young assistant, Annette, took weekly samples and tested them for the bacteria.

  Like volunteer day, results day always brought about a sense of dread.

  So far, they had discovered no cure. Every dwelling within the collection of boats and ships had salt baths by their doors. People were encouraged to continually wash their hands in these in order to keep the spread of the bacteria at bay.

  “We’re going to need to figure out a system of boiling the rain stocks,” Jim said. “Without fuel.”

  “We could dismantle some of the smaller vessels, perhaps trawl for wreckage and driftwood.”

  Given the world had drowned, all the world’s cities lay beneath the water, creating tonnes of debris. The waves often brought miles and miles of plastic and wood… and bodies. Jim considered for a brief moment using the bodies for fuel but was too sickened by himself to take that thought any further.

  They’d have to start sorting through all the trash and debris on the flotilla, organise material for burning, and not just the personal quantities that everyone used for their day-to-day needs. They’d need to be more organised, set up a proper system of boiling and allocation.

  “How’s the hydro and wind turbines doing? Our battery levels?”

  “I’ve got Ade and his team working on the wind turbines, as they’re generating just ten percent of what they normally should. Hydros… well, it’s not looking good.”

  Jim reached for the flask, poured another cup, and downed it in one. He focused on the burn, reminding himself that he was still alive.

  “What did you want me to do?” Duncan asked.

  “Ade’s compromised. Get him off the job, send some of our crew down to the workshops to help Stanic and see if they can’t get the hydro and wind turbines back up to full capacity. In the meantime, I’ll order a brown-out.”

  “Are you sure? I mean, you saw the crowd today, the levels of hate towards us—”

  “Me, Dunc, they hate me. And I don’t care how much they hate me. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this place go down. They can wish I’m dead for all I care, but power is to be shut off within th
e hour. You understand?”

  “Aye, Captain, I understand.” Duncan saluted and stood.

  “Go, I’ll inform the flotilla over the PA. Cut all power and generators until I tell you to put them back on. In the meantime, get the crew to get some answers from Frank; find out what the hell Graves is up to, if it’s even anything to do with him.”

  Duncan nodded and left the office, leaving the flask of rum behind on the table, the cups empty and waiting.

  Even though it wouldn’t help much, Jim finished the grog before moving to the radio PA system. He took the transmitter off the hook and informed the flotilla that all power would be cut until further notice.

  Even as he was saying the words, he could feel a shift in the air as though the very place had altered its psychology. He knew there would be a revolt of some kind at this, so soon after Mike’s departure. But they, and Duncan, were wrong.

  Mike would find survival, just not to where the others thought.

  And it would be for their own damned good.

  Chapter 3

  Eva and Jean, standing either side of Danny, took his hands and helped him across the narrow planks that led from a group of African fishing vessels, roped together like an island within the flotilla, to the half-sunk hull of the once-grand cruiser, Alonsa.

  Their progress to Jean’s cabin was soundtracked by the first grumbles of thunder. One day’s calm weather was all they’d got. Eva had wished for more, hoping that this day would prove to be a tipping point, the moment when the Earth’s weather settled and improved. Fine rain tickled the bare skin of her neck as she lifted Danny across to Jean standing within the Alonsa, her arms out.

  Today would not be the tipping point.

  The jagged wound in the hull, where it had first struck the rocks of the Orizaba, provided easy access to the ship’s lower levels. Only the lowest two had flooded. The rest were converted into various workshops, Dr Kyra Singh’s quarantine and lab, and general stores. Eva’s cabin, next to Jean and Mike’s, lay two levels above.

  Sometimes at night she’d hear Ade and members of Jim’s crew working on some contraption or other. They had dismantled the engines and other damaged parts of the ship to reuse elsewhere.

  No words were spoken as Eva followed Jean and Danny through the tight passageways toward the central staircase. The elevator had long since stopped working. Even if it did, they could never justify the power usage. The ship looked like an internal version of the flotilla’s exterior.

  Throughout the corridors and rooms, sheet metal, old doors, pieces of furniture and whatever wreckage could be used had been repurposed to create new floors and room partitions. The Alonsa tilted fifteen or so degrees to its port side, the side facing the Orizaba peak.

  At the lowest level, one could see the rock piercing through the bottom of the hull.

  Eva ascended the stairs, gripping onto a thick rope that had been tied to the top to help combat this tilt. The floor of the narrow wood-panelled corridor that led to her cabin had been wedged to counteract the tilt. Even though she only stood five-and-a-half-feet tall, she had to duck. The level above had collapsed during a fire. Burnt-out timbers and iron girders hung down like the guts of a whale.

  “Eva, will you come in, for tea?” Jean said as she and Danny reached their cabin.

  Although Eva didn’t want to, she knew she was in the woman’s debt, and the way Jean looked at Eva told her that she really didn’t want to be alone. In truth, neither did Eva.

  “Sure,” she said. “Thanks.”

  “We got extra provisions,” Danny said. “For Daddy’s mission.”

  “That’s good, Dan.”

  She felt for the kid. At his age, how could anyone truly explain the situation? That he thought his father had left on a mission was probably the least horrible lie. And in some ways, Mike was on a mission, but for survival rather than discovery.

  Before Eva entered Jean’s cabin, a group of Chinese teenagers ran past her, nearly knocking into her. One of the smaller kids, wearing what would have been highly desirable designer sneakers, led the others, chattering excited words.

  It made her realise how resilient kids were.

  Even after the near-extinction of their race and in their desperate situation, they still found joy in things. She’d seen this particular group take a small boat on one of the calmer days to scale the Orizaba. Once at the top, they had pinned a makeshift flag to the summit: a Chinese flag made from the red and yellow fabric from a life raft. Jim hadn’t been happy that he and some of his crew had to rescue them.

  The flag had lasted less than an hour before the storms tore it away.

  Eva closed the door behind her and sat on a cushioned sofa.

  Jean and Mike had made their cabin—two knocked together—a cosy and comfortable living space. Open plan, it featured two beds on the far side beneath a porthole, its glass covered with algae. A kitchenette made from packing crates lined the opposite wall. In the middle were a narrow sofa and a small table that Mike had made from driftwood.

  She’d once seen a table like that in her native Idaho.

  A designer-furniture store selling bespoke, handcrafted pieces had a table just like it for five thousand dollars. Authentic, they said.

  Value had a different meaning on the flotilla.

  Jean handed her a lukewarm cup of tea. A blend cut with dried seaweed. The container ship was full of tea, but like everything, the initial rationing expanded, and their stocks had diminished faster than they realised.

  It seemed everything was cut with something now.

  Soon, they’d be entirely reliant on the ocean.

  The tea didn’t help. It tasted foul. She could normally tolerate it. She choked it down regardless, not wanting to look at Jean from across the table. Danny had taken to his bed, where he had a collection of books and comics.

  He’d found a cache in one of the other ship’s cabins.

  After the Alonsa had come aground, a fire broke out through a section of the cabins.

  Eva could never get the sight of all those burned bodies out of her mind.

  She had had to remove four of them from her own cabin. The detritus of their lives was left behind, a reminder to her that so many who had perished were real people and not just numbers, bodies.

  “Jean, look, I have to say this.”

  “No, you don’t. I get it. Mike and I talked about trying for another baby.”

  Both women lowered their voices so Danny couldn’t hear. The increasing patter of rain against the hull provided a cover of sound. He wouldn’t hear anyway once he got absorbed in his stories.

  “Until I came along?” Eva said. “You know I never planned for any of this to happen? I never wanted to betray our friendship. I never even knew what I felt until…”

  “Go on,” Jean prompted. “Tell me. We’ve nothing to hide any more.”

  “I was out on fishing duty one day a few months ago. I slipped pulling in the nets; they got snagged on something. I nearly went over. Mike was there. He grabbed me, stopped me from going in while others stood by and watched. There was just something in that moment that I knew. Like I said, I didn’t plan it. I wish I could have changed my feelings. But we never… you know?”

  “I know. He told me everything this morning when Jim came by with the extra provisions. As though they would be an adequate replacement. It seems neither of us got to really love Mike.”

  “You didn’t try for the baby, then?” Eva asked, hating herself for putting her friend through the heartache of this conversation.

  Jean just shook her head before turning to look at Danny, his knees up by his chest, the comic flat against his legs. She turned back and said, “If anything happens to me, would you look out for him?”

  “Of course, but what do you mean, if anything h
appens to you? You’re not thinking of—”

  “Suicide? No, absolutely not. What if Mike comes back? I know his love for me is different, but I couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t let him return to find Danny orphaned.”

  Eva reached out and took Jean’s hand to stop it from shaking. Her hand was cold and clammy. “I’ll look out for him, I promise. But don’t go doing anything stupid. I need you too. There’s a bad feeling about this place these days. We ought to stick together.”

  Jean squeezed Eva’s hand. “Thank you. This might sound strange, given you’re effectively my husband’s mistress, but we’ve a spare berth here now. I’d like it if you would join us. I don’t like the idea of either of us being alone.”

  Before Eva could respond, a pair of long shadows appeared beneath the door. Someone knocked. The door handle turned, and it opened. Two of Graves’ firm stood in the doorway.

  “Well, well. You two ladies are lookin’ cosy, ain’t ya?”

  Eva stood, took two strides across the room, and blocked their ingress.

  She recognised them instantly. Graves’ cousins: Shaley and Tyson. The latter was essentially Marcus’s enforcer. His right eye had been taken out with a hot poker. Some dispute with another London gang back in the day. Shaley was his brother, the brightest of the pair, but still not exactly the sharpest tool in the box.

  “What do you two want?” Eva said, adjusting her weight onto her left foot and twisting her hips slightly, ready to kick out with her right if she needed to.

  Shaley stuck his head in further and looked either side, nodding his approval. “Nice digs, you got ’ere, love. Shame Mike had to go and lose his claim to it, what with his volunteering and all. But you know how this goes down. We won’t be complete bastards about it. Marcus has said to give you a hand clearing out. We’re gentlemen like that, you see. Old-fashioned manners, innit?”