Floodworld

by Tom Huddleston

  Kara beamed. “You saved us. I don’t believe it.” And she planted a kiss on his cheek.

  Nate blushed to his roots. “Something could still go wrong. We could get a clog in the propeller, or one of those blasts might have done damage we can’t see. They could drop depth charges, or—”

  Kara put her hand on his mouth. “Stop talking.”

  17

  Fishing

  Joe dipped his line in the water and waited. He didn’t have a real lure, just a piece of wire twisted round a lump of algae bread. Even out here in the middle of the ocean, he doubted any fish would find it especially appetising.

  The Marlin rocked beneath him, its sleek silver body steadied by a pair of branching side fins. Joe crouched on the curved roof, the metal hot beneath his bare feet. It was a bright, hazy day, the sun glancing off the flat sea. But the skyline was empty; there was no sign of another vessel. And it had been that way since sunrise, when they’d been forced to the surface to replenish the solar batteries. As far as they could tell no one was following them.

  They’d stayed hidden in the seaweed forest, watching as the Dory’s headlamps broke off towards the surface. Kara had feared a trick to tempt them into the open, but Nate had insisted – the longer they stayed, the more danger they were in. They’d gone barely half a mile before his fears were proved right. They’d heard a terrible roar, and looked back to see the jungle of wrack blazing with an unearthly, almost beautiful light. Then the shock wave had hit them, buffeting the little craft as they sped away.

  “Those were depth charges,” Nate had said afterwards. “He’s really got it in for you.”

  “For us,” Kara had reminded him.

  Joe could hear them again now, strained voices drifting up through the open hatch. The initial relief had given way to bickering as the reality of their situation sank in.

  “From where I think we were,” Kara was saying, “London should be sort of up, on the right.”

  “You mean north-east,” Nate said. “That’s the way we’ve been going. But we don’t know how far south or west we were to begin with, because we didn’t think to look at a map.”

  “Well, I was busy being locked in one of your torture cages,” Kara pointed out. “Don’t you have charts on that computer thing of yours?”

  “It only works when there’s a database to link into. I don’t even know why I brought it.” Nate sighed. “We were supposed to memorise sea lanes at the Academy but I was too busy drawing Aquaboy comics on my oceanography textbook. I can’t even navigate by the stars.”

  “It’s day,” Kara pointed out.

  “I realise that,” Nate growled. “I’m just saying they were right, Cane and the others. I’m not a real Mariner. I couldn’t tie a reef knot to save my life. I try to enjoy being at sea but I feel sick, like, all the time. And now I’ve betrayed my own people and run off with a pair of mudfoots.”

  “Don’t be daft, you haven’t betrayed them,” Kara said. “You said it yourself, if the Mariner High Council knew what Cortez was up to they’d arrest him. He’s the one who isn’t a real Mariner, not you. Now pass me a fish cake.”

  “We had the last two for breakfast. From here it’s seaweed chips or nothing.”

  “Wow. We really are in trouble.”

  Joe got to his feet, the wire twitching in his hands. A silver shape darted into the shadow of the sub, inspecting his blob of bread. He tightened his grip, spreading his feet for balance. He could see the fish now, a good-sized sea bass, thrashing as the hook bit in. He braced himself, jerking the line in steady motions. The fish broke the surface, panicked eyes staring up as Joe gave another tug.

  Then he became aware of a mass in the water, a darkness rising through the sun-dappled sea. Sunlight glittered on something white and jagged. A gaping mouth yawned up at him, the water rolling white as the surface broke.

  The wire sheared in two as razor-sharp jaws closed on the wriggling fish. Joe fell hard, feeling something snap as he dropped on his backside. The sub rocked as the shark curved alongside, tail flicking lazily. Joe saw a dorsal fin slicing through the still water.

  “What’s going on?” Kara poked her head through the hatch, making him jump. “Did something hit us?”

  “It was n-nothing,” Joe managed. “I think I’ve done enough fishing for today.”

  Trembling, he reached into his back pocket. Growly’s other arm had broken off when he fell, leaving a sort of furry tube with legs. Poor bear, he thought. Maybe I can glue you.

  Kara climbed the ladder, scanning the horizon. “We’ve decided we’re lost. I’ve really made a mess of things, haven’t I?”

  Joe shook his head. “I’m the one who messed up. You tried to warn me what Cortez was like. I should’ve trusted you a bit more and him a bit less.”

  Kara laughed. “You like people, Joe. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

  Joe blushed. “People are OK.” He leant against her, feeling her arms round his neck. “Listen, though, I’ve been thinking. I know we have to go back to the Shanties. Someone has to warn them. But maybe when it’s all over we can go somewhere else. Somewhere better.”

  “You could come to Frisco with me,” Nate said, climbing up beside Kara. “I think you’d like it.”

  “Um, no thanks,” Kara said. “I’ve had quite enough of Mariners for one… Hey, what’s that?”

  She pointed, shielding her eyes. As a cloud passed over the sun Joe could make out a dark speck against the horizon, a haze of smoke in the air above it. “It’s a ship,” he said, jumping to his feet and peeling off his shirt, waving it over his head. “Hey! Over here!”

  “Wait,” Nate said. “What if it’s one of ours? Or what if it’s fuel pirates? I don’t want to end up some pirate’s galley slave.”

  “And I don’t want to starve to death out here,” Kara objected.

  The speck grew larger as it chugged towards them. Nate ducked inside and a moment later Joe saw the sub’s headlamps flashing on and off. He waved his shirt again, laughing when he saw an answering beam from the approaching ship. Soon they heard the clatter of engines, and he could make out a rust-patterned prow and a hold piled with scrap metal and machine parts.

  “Ahoy,” a voice called. “What’s your game?”

  A man leant out of the rickety cabin; he had ruddy cheeks and a shaggy white beard.

  “We need rescue!” Kara shouted. “We have to get to London!”

  The trawler drew alongside, the junkman eyeing them suspiciously. “What are you, Mariners? You’re dressed like Mariners.”

  “We escaped from them,” Kara explained. “We have to get to the Shanties; it’s important.”

  He squinted. “I’m headed the other way, I’m afraid. I could take you to New Marseille, but my missus’ll have my head if I don’t flog this salvage to the Frenchies.”

  “She’ll be dead before you get back,” Kara said.

  The junkman drew back. “Is that a threat?”

  “She didn’t mean it like that,” Joe said hurriedly. “It’s just really important we get home.”

  The old sailor shrugged. “Well, tough luck,” he said, revving the throttle. “Try being more polite.”

  Joe felt Kara’s hand tighten on his shoulder. There had to be something they could do, something they could say. Suddenly it came to him.

  “Wait!” he called out. “This submersible. How much d’you think it’s worth?”

  18

  The Plan

  Kara could smell the Shanties before she could see them, a heavy reek of oil and fish and human waste rolling in on the evening breeze. The water turned from blue to brown, the battered old tugboat cutting through a sump of filth and faeces. She knew it was disgusting, this Stain on the living ocean. But still she felt her spirits lift as the Wall materialised through the heat haze, the jagged shapes of concrete blocks rising from the chemical smog. She was home.

  They’d hidden below decks as the ship passed through the outer security cordon, listening
breathlessly as the old junkman radioed the officers on duty, explaining how he’d suffered a block in his fuel line and had to turn back for repairs. The Marlin bobbed behind with its ballast tanks flooded, just the tail fin poking above the water. Nate hadn’t been happy about handing it over, but he’d agreed it was the only way. This time tomorrow the junkman would be rich. If he wasn’t dead.

  They chugged through the Cut and into the harbour, motors grinding down as he hunted for a berth. Through a zigzag maze of cranes and masts Kara could see the fence and the security turrets, and beyond them the teeming expanse of the Pavilion. There was nothing to stop them walking straight into the Zoo, demanding to see Lieutenant Singh and telling him everything. But he’d failed to protect them last time, and anyway she didn’t think he was high-ranking enough to affect anything. There was no sense talking to anybody but the man at the top, and there was only one way she could think to get to him. Yes, her plan was good; it would work. She was almost certain.

  The tug drew in beside a row of quayside storehouses and the old man kicked out the gangplank. “Down you go.”

  “You shouldn’t stay here,” Joe said, pausing at the top. “You should take your wife and leave.”

  The junkman frowned. “You’re serious? You really think the Mariners are coming?”

  “Armed and in force,” Kara said.

  He scratched his chin. “Well, I suppose I should say good luck to you. Now get off my boat.”

  They passed the harbour fence and struck out across the Pavilion, joining the flood of people pouring from the Gullet. It was a giddy feeling being home, the frantic bustle wrapping round Kara like a noisy, comforting blanket. They’d only been gone a few days but it felt like half a lifetime.

  Nate walked with his shoulders hunched and his shirt pulled up over his nose. “Are you OK?” Kara asked as they reached the Boardwalk. “I don’t think anyone’ll recognise you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “It’s the smell,” he hissed. “Every time I breathe I think I’m going to be sick. And everyone’s so dirty. Look at that guy, he looks like he hasn’t washed in a year.”

  Kara shrugged. “Probably longer. We can’t all afford showers, and what were those bristly things called? Teethbrushes.”

  She led them north over sturdy steel-frame bridges and between tall well-maintained towers. Joe was so exhausted that they’d almost reached the warehouse before he realised where they were heading. “Hey,” he said, his eyes widening. “I thought we were going home!”

  “Not right away,” Kara said. “Listen, before you get excited. I’ve got a plan. It’ll work. But we need this woman’s help.”

  “But she’s a criminal,” Joe complained. “She tricked us last time; what makes you think she won’t do it again?”

  “Because we know something important,” Kara said. “And when we tell her about it she’s going to be so mad she’ll do anything we say.”

  Maura Glass’s response was exactly as Kara had predicted; she smashed her glass down so hard it cracked, the colour rising in her cheeks. “How dare they?” she hissed. “The Shanties are mine.”

  The guard on the gate had recognised them right away, marching them through to the artificial beach where Maura waited, a frilly drink in one hand and a loaded pistol in the other. She’d pointed it at Kara, demanding to know where they’d been and where Redeye was, and how she could track him down and murder him for making her look a fool. Kara had explained everything, and as the tale unfolded Maura’s eyes had narrowed to slits, then widened again as she realised the implications of Cortez’s plan.

  “First they shoot up my home, now they threaten my livelihood,” she spat, laying her pistol on the table. “The Shore Boys have run the Shanties for fifty years. Those government boys might control things inside the Wall but out here I’m queen and prime minister rolled into one.”

  “We don’t know exactly what he’s planning for the Shanties,” Kara said, “but we know Redeye’s going after this back door.”

  “Yes, there were always rumours,” Maura mused. “A secret passage under the Wall so the ministers could escape in times of trouble. I assumed it was a myth.”

  “It’s real,” Kara said. “Redeye’s going to go through it and blow up the government or something.”

  “But what about MetCo?” Maura asked. “There are hundreds of armed cops inside the City.”

  “Redeye will have thought of that,” Joe put in. “Maybe he’s going to murder Mr Remick too.”

  Maura nodded. “You might be right. MetCo’s central offices are at Parliament, so he’ll be right there waiting for them. And MetCo couldn’t operate without Remick; he makes all the decisions.”

  Kara bit her lip. She had a question to ask, but she wasn’t sure what Maura’s reaction would be. “How well do you know him? Remick, I mean.”

  Maura’s head tilted, surprise overwhelming her anger. “What makes you think I know him?”

  Kara blanched. “Well, in the Pavilion, while everyone was shooting, you told MetCo not to fire at you and they didn’t. You hardly ever hear about Shore Boys being arrested. And it just makes sense. If I was a crime boss, I’d make a deal with the police so they’d leave me alone.”

  Maura studied her for a long, silent moment. Then her face cracked into a broad grin. “I’d better keep an eye on you,” she cackled. “You’ll be after my job in a few years.”

  Kara blushed. “No, thanks.”

  “It was my late husband who brokered the deal,” Maura explained, “back when MetCo were just another private security firm. It’s a simple arrangement – they look the other way and Remick gets a quarter share of our profits. It’s a lot of money, but it’s worth it. He’s never let us down.”

  “So you could get in to see him?” Kara asked. “Make sure he knows what’s coming?”

  Maura shook her head. “I’ve never actually met the man. That was part of the deal: no direct contact, nothing that could be traced back. He’s a government employee; the ministers could take away MetCo’s contract like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “So how would you get hold of him, if you absolutely had to?” Kara asked.

  “I guess I’d send someone to his office in Parliament,” Maura said. “Carrying a message that only Remick would understand. But it’d have to be someone with no obvious ties to the Shore Boys. Someone they wouldn’t suspect.”

  “Like a kid?” Kara asked. “Maybe even a kid that Remick would recognise?”

  “Yes, that’d be perfect,” Maura said, nodding. “Wait, you mean you?”

  “Who else?” Kara asked. “Remick saw me at the Zoo. You tell me the right words to make him listen, and I tell him everything I just told you. All we’d need are passes to get inside the City.”

  Maura sipped her cocktail thoughtfully. “You know, it might work. I could have the passes made up overnight. Then you warn Remick, I round up my Shore Boys, and when these kelp-eaters turn up we drive them back into the sea.” She frowned. “But you can’t go inside the Wall looking like a bunch of little Mariners. Come on, I bet we can find you something a bit more suitable.”

  The next morning, Joe awoke to the cry of seabirds. For a moment he was back on the Neptune, cocooned in soft blue warmth. But when he opened his eyes he saw grimy brick walls and a rotted wooden floor, and smelled the reek of sweat and Selkie. They were in a stone storeroom deep inside the Shore Boys’ warehouse stacked with packing crates and rusty camp beds. He wondered if this was where the brewery workers slept when they were too weak or too drunk to get home.

  He could hear voices in the adjoining corridor – Kara and Mrs Glass talking low. A moment later Kara stepped back in, her face reddening when she saw that he was awake.

  “Everything all right?” Joe asked.

  She smoothed down the fur-trimmed peach dress that Maura had selected from her stock of stolen goods. “Fine. I just feel a bit daft wearing this.”

  “Mrs Glass said they were the latest fashio
ns.” Nate sat up on his bunk, resplendent in a blue herringbone jacket with crimson lapels. “Personally I think we look pretty nifty.”

  “Well, I feel like a Little Candy doll,” Kara muttered resentfully.

  Out in the courtyard the Shore Boys were starting to assemble, checking their ammunition clips and strapping on their bulletproof armour. “I’m sending a squad to the Pavilion,” Maura explained. “They’ll report back if they see anything suspicious, like a giant black submarine.”

  Kara handed Joe a sheet of paper and a pencil. “We thought it might be useful if you could copy out everything you remember about Elroy’s map.”

  He bent over the glass table, sticking out his tongue as he sketched the outer circle and the wiggly lines, marking the cross where he thought it should go. “The words as well,” Kara said. “Wellington, and the rest.”

  Joe jotted them down – Sun four, six down, news, Wellington. Nate took the computer tablet from his pocket and held it over the map. There was a flash and a perfect image appeared on the screen. “You won’t need that,” Joe said. “I can remember how it goes.”

  Nate blushed. Kara opened her mouth and shut it again.

  “Tell him,” Maura said. “He deserves to know.”

  Joe was confused. “Tell me what?”

  Kara knelt awkwardly. “Joe, the thing is—” She broke off, biting her lip. “Look, you can’t come with us. Inside the Wall. It’s too risky. I told Maura to make just two passes, for me and Nate.”

  Joe looked at the Mariner boy. “But I… But he…”

  “He needs to be there,” Kara insisted. “He can help me convince Remick, tell him stuff only a Mariner would know.”

  “But so could I!” Joe insisted. “I could convince him too!”

  “What if we’re too late and we run into Redeye?” Kara asked. “All he’d have to do is point a gun at you and I’d do anything he said. No, you stay with Maura. Tell her everything you know about Cortez so the Shore Boys have the best chance to fight him.”