July

by Gabrielle Lord

  It was rough standing under the spray of hot water—every little cut on my body stung like crazy. It was so painful, but knowing everything I’d collected was safe got me through. Without realising it, the gruff skipper had given me some serious cover.

  ‘I need to dry my gear out,’ I said to Squid as I came out of the shower cubicle.

  ‘Take it back to the Star. Star of Mykonos, that’s the name of our boat. Find somewhere to hang it. Hurry up!’

  ‘And I need to make a phone call first. Urgently,’ I added, showing him the dead screen on my phone.

  ‘It’ll cost ya,’ he said, reaching into his back pocket.

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Five bucks.’

  ‘Five bucks for one, quick call?’

  ‘It’s a good deal for an urgent call!’

  I was in no position to argue. I dug into a pocket in my backpack, scrounged up five bucks in coins and handed it over. In exchange, Squid passed me his mobile.

  I stood there, waiting.

  ‘Oh, I get it’ he said. ‘Girlfriend, eh? You only got one minute, OK? It’ll be my head on the block if you’re caught slacking off.’

  I ducked back into the cubicle and closed the door.

  Boges picked up the phone so fast, like he was there waiting for it to ring.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this!’ I blurted out.

  ‘Whose phone are you calling from? The state is in lockdown!’ he yelled over me. ‘There’s a man-hunt going on around the beaches. Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the fish markets.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll explain later, I don’t have much time to talk. We’ve gotta meet. We have everything now. The Riddle, the Jewel.’

  ‘That’s great, but I’m serious, you have to keep out of sight! Hide, blend in, do whatever it takes, and then we can meet up when everything’s cooled down again. I’m stuck here at the moment anyway, trying to get my application together for an internship.’

  Squid banged on the door. ‘Hurry up! The boss wants to know why we’re not working!’

  ‘Gotta go?’ Boges asked.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ I said before hanging up.

  ‘Be back here in five!’ Squid shouted at me as I ran past him, head down, on my way back to where the fishing boat was moored.

  It didn’t look like anyone was on board, so I jumped on and draped my damp gear over some crates on the deck. The wind and sun would dry them out soon, I hoped.

  I’d been very lucky. I’d escaped the police—again. But Boges was right, and I already knew the whole state would be looking for me. I hoped Oriana de la Force and Vulkan Sligo didn’t have any information on where I was.

  What Squid said about the police raids on the wharves had me rattled. This was a good enough place to hide out for a while, but I couldn’t stay here too long … I wanted to meet up with Boges and see what we could make of cracking the double-key code, now that we had both halves—the Ormond Riddle and the Ormond Jewel. I also wanted to know if he’d had any luck tracking down Great-uncle Bartholomew’s sister, Millicent.

  I could hear Squid yelling out, so I slung my backpack on and jumped off the boat to join him.

  Squid and I hurried over to a spot where hundreds of boxes of fish were piled high. The fish auctions were in full swing and the voices of the auctioneers boomed through the area. Buyers and sellers milled around on the wet and slippery floor.

  We worked hard, loading the heavy boxes onto our trolleys as they were purchased, and wheeling them through the crowds to the loading dock. Once there, we’d unload them and help the buyers stack them on the backs of their trucks, or in their vans.

  As we were lifting a really heavy box of red fish on top of a couple of boxes of flathead, Squid groaned and wiped sweat from his forehead. ‘Gary’s supposed to be helping us,’ he said.

  ‘You mean the other guy?’ I asked. ‘The other deckhand?’ I’d barely seen him—only heard his voice and I hadn’t liked what he’d said.

  ‘That’s Gary. He’s only been working here a few weeks. He just disappears when there’s hard work around. I don’t like the guy,’ Squid continued. ‘I don’t trust him. I mean, I know you can hardly trust anyone around here, but I really don’t trust him. The skipper only keeps him on because it’s hard to find deckhands.’

  Three hours later, the auction was almost finished and the last of the buyers were leaving with their purchases. Behind us, other workers were hosing down the tiled and cement surfaces, clumping around in bulky gumboots.

  ‘I’m so glad this is almost over,’ said Squid, sprawling on the ground near a brick wall. ‘I need a break.’ He took his phone out of his pocket again and started texting someone.

  ‘I’m going to duck back to the boat, to get my gear,’ I told him. ‘Back in a minute.’

  I snatched up my clothes—they were salty and almost stiff—then jammed them into my backpack. I jumped back onto the wharf, hurrying to rejoin Squid.

  The place had almost emptied and Squid had disappeared. I lugged the last two containers of sand shark and leatherjacket into the back of a van and looked around again for him. I couldn’t see him anywhere.

  Just then, a short guy in overalls—the owner of one of the vans we’d loaded—approached me. ‘Will you help me with this load, son?’ he asked, pulling off his woollen beanie and wiping his forehead with it. ‘If you ride with me to my shop and give me a hand at the other end, I’ll give you thirty bucks. Another young bloke was supposed to help me, but he’s useless. Didn’t even show up.’

  There was still no sign of Squid, and thirty bucks sounded good to me.

  ‘Sure,’ I said, shaking his hand. I felt bad for taking off without saying anything to Squid, but thought I had to take up the opportunity to get away—I had no idea what the skipper would expect me to do next.

  ‘My shop’s just a few blocks away,’ the guy explained as we drove away from the markets. ‘I injured my wrist, and Gary was supposed to help me with the load at the other end, but he obviously made other plans.’

  Gary? The guy Squid didn’t trust?

  A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of Mike’s Seafood.

  ‘That’s me. I’m Mike,’ he said, pointing a bandaged hand in the direction of the shop.

  ‘Tom,’ I said, before jumping out and walking to the back of the van. I peered around me, keeping a watch on the street in case of police patrols. Mike opened the doors and I began unloading and stacking his trolley.

  I wheeled the first lot of containers through his shop and out to the back where there was a big freezer room. Mike awkwardly unbolted the door and it swung open, releasing an icy cloud. It was so cold and frosty in there—it was like stepping inside an igloo in the middle of Antarctica—so I unloaded as fast as I could, my breath steaming out in front of me.

  Finally, I stacked the last load onto the trolley.

  ‘Wheel that load into the freezer room too, and then can you wait for me here in the shop? I need to get some cash out to pay you.’ He pointed to an ATM down the street. ‘Can’t spare any from the till, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Just as I was dragging the last heavy box of fish off the trolley, shivering inside the chilly freezer room, a figure appeared in the doorway, his face half-hidden in a dark hoodie.

  ‘I can help you with that,’ he said, with an evil chuckle. It was the second deckhand from the Star of Mykonos—Gary. As he grabbed hold of the freezer door, I realised too late why his voice had seemed familiar to me back on the boat. On the hand that held the door were three fingers! Before I could say or do anything, Three-O shoved me hard up against the trolley, sending me flying backwards into the depths of the freezer!

  ‘I know exactly who you are, Cal Ormond. Did you think we were all dumb or something?’ he said, spitting at my feet. ‘Everyone knows who you are! The cops were calling your name!’ I jumped up and braced myself, remembering too well how he’d beaten me up at the carpa
rk. ‘There’s a massive price on your head, Ormond, and you owe me big time! I could have got a thousand bucks for spotting that car. It’s time I cashed in!’

  He held up a camera phone, and snapped a picture of me.

  I lunged at him, but before I reached him, he stepped back and slammed the freezer door shut. My fists slammed into nothing but metal.

  I grabbed the door handle and wrenched it, but it wouldn’t open.

  ‘Let me out! Let me out, damn it!’ I shouted.

  I wrenched the door handle again, but nothing happened. I couldn’t get out. I banged and bashed, yelling loudly, realising that Three-O must have recognised me back on the boat, followed me here, and now he was off to tell the police and show them my picture.

  And I was locked up in the freezer, just waiting for the cops to come and get me.

  ‘Mike!’ I shouted, banging uselessly on the door, thinking surely he’d be back any second. He had to let me out before the police turned up. ‘I’m locked in the freezer!’

  Already my teeth were chattering. Again, I kicked and bashed and pushed the door, but despite its rusty hinges, it wasn’t budging. swung around to see if there was any other way out, but of course there wasn’t.

  I grabbed my phone out of desperation, but it was still as dead as the bins of fish that surrounded me. I flung it back into my bag, looking around again for a way out.

  Who was going to find me first, Mike or the cops? And how long were they going to take? A thermometer on the wall indicated minus twenty-five degrees Celsius. I didn’t know how long I could last.

  ‘Let me out!’ I shouted and thrashed my body uselessly against the door. I was going to be a dead fish too if I didn’t get out fast. A few minutes had passed already, and panic was starting to fester in the pit of my stomach. I’d have to get out of here or I’d die. Being arrested was better than freezing to death.

  My fingers and toes were aching with cold and my nose had gone numb. I backed away from the door and huddled, hugging my knees, trying to warm myself up. The cold was travelling through my body fast, making my arms and legs ache. My ears were throbbing too and the bones in my face were hurting.

  I got back up and jumped around, clapping my arms, trying to keep moving. It was impossible to warm up and I was starting to really freak out, like I had that night in Treachery Bay when the sharks were circling, ready to attack. It had been Dad’s words in my mind that got me through that ordeal. Think, Cal. Think. I was trying to think, trying to work out a plan of action, but it was like my brain was starting to freeze, making it impossible. How do you get through a locked door? Without being a ghost?

  The sight of my fingers made me feel dizzy—they were dead white, and when I pressed them together, they felt like pieces of wood, as if they didn’t belong to me. Was this the first stage of frostbite?

  I was still racking my brain for a way to open the door … but came up with nothing. Where was Repro when I needed him? I pictured him in his tiny living quarters behind the filing cabinets, surrounded by his piles of lost property and scavenged bits and pieces. And that reminded me of something …

  The track detonators!

  With my clumsy, frozen fingers, I dragged the backpack off my shoulders and dug around for the tin containing the blast caps Repro had given me.

  I figured if I could wedge them into the cracks between the door and its hinges, then slam something against the door to trigger them, there might be a chance for me to blow the whole thing open. And get out.

  Aside from the fact that I had no idea whether the tin had stayed airtight, protecting the caps when I’d fallen underwater, I had another problem: it was very tightly sealed and my fingers were numb, barely able to move. Feverishly, I battled with the lid, fumbling like a baby as I attempted to get it open.

  The intense cold tried to take me down as I battled to prise the lid up. My feet were starting to feel frozen to the floor, like blocks of dead weight, when at last the lid lifted. I threw it aside, and ripped out the mouldy roll that was still in there. Underneath, four blast caps lay flat in the tin. They were dry. They were intact.

  It took me ages to fumble the first two caps into position—one above and one beneath the top hinge. But when I went to do the same with the bottom hinge, I realised it wasn’t possible. The door didn’t hang straight and there was almost no gap between the lower jamb and the metal of the door. Two caps weren’t going to be enough.

  ‘Mike!’ I shouted again. What in the world had happened to him? ‘Help me out of the freezer! Mike, I’m trapped!’

  The police were going to show up any minute, and Three-O would get his reward for my capture. I didn’t know what to do.

  I’d never felt anything like this kind of extreme cold before. My eyelids seemed to be drying out. I blinked desperately, trying to see as I wedged the other two blast caps under the door, in a last-ditch effort. Worried I might explode them early, I flinched as I shoved and kicked them into position.

  Now that they were in place, how was I going to detonate them? And how could I be sure that the pressure of the blast would blow the door outward, off its hinges, and not towards me?

  I had to try something. I had to set off the detonators.

  All I had was the trolley I’d wheeled in. I grabbed it with fingers that couldn’t feel anything anymore, and with what was left of my strength I backed it up and then ran and rammed it as powerfully as I could against the door.

  All four detonators exploded simultaneously!

  The impact of the collision ripped through my body, and the sound and pressure of the explosion in the confined space blasted me back against the freezer wall. Icy splinters speared into my face.

  A rush of adrenaline gave me the energy to get to my feet and check the door. The top hinges had buckled and the bottom hinges were twisted, but the door was still stuck. Instantly I forced my half-frozen body right back into action, and got behind the trolley again. I ran full pelt at the door once more, bashing it with the weight of my body. I felt it shift and buckle. Yelling like a crazy man, I had my third go at it and this time I crash-tackled the door down, completely off its hinges, sprawling sideways as it collapsed to the floor outside.

  There was no sign of anyone—Mike, Three-O or the cops. I hesitated, my body madly re-adjusting to the change in temperature, but I couldn’t worry about the mess I was leaving behind. All I knew was that I had to get out of there fast. I grabbed my backpack and ran.

  I stumbled out the door of the shop, lopsided and off-balance like Frankenstein’s monster. I was starting to thaw, my skin first, then my muscles, and for a few freaky moments it was like I could feel my moving skeleton, each frosty bone of my body within the tissue that was starting to warm up and soften. A quick glance down the road, in the direction of the ATM, showed Mike shouting at Gary as they stormed up the street together, both of them with their mobile phones out. I shivered, increasing my pace, and turned down another street and out of sight.

  The sound of sirens started swarming, and in seconds I could hear cop cars skidding to a halt outside Mike’s shop. I didn’t waste time looking back, I just ran as fast as I could in the opposite direction, forcing my cold, numb legs to stride out and carry me away. Far away from the cops, and far away from the rotten smell of fish.

  183 days to go …

  I stirred, woken by a distant noise.

  After a moment, I shut my eyes and pulled the thick woollen blanket over me again. I was back at the beachside mansion—the place Boges had given me access to—sleeping on the plush rug. I’d had a good night’s sleep, sprawled out on the thick carpet, cocooned in its warmth. As soon as I’d made it back here after my crazy day, I’d taken a long, hot, painful shower. Next I’d dragged an extra blanket out of one of the walk-in closets, draped it around me, and crawled into a ball on the floor. I’d pretty much been in this position ever since.

  I hoped Boges wouldn’t go crazy at me for breaking the don’t-touch rules of staying in the house, but I figur
ed he’d understand once he knew I’d almost frozen to death.

  The gentle sound of the waves and the squeals of the gulls—sounds that used to remind me of family holidays at Treachery Bay—now created a very different atmosphere. The waves kept rolling in, relentless and oncoming, like the criminals who were after me, and the gulls shrieked and swooped, like birds of prey.

  A sudden scraping noise from the driveway jolted my body into defensive action. I tore the blankets off me, hobbled on aching legs to the front drapes and cautiously peered around.

  It was Boges’s uncle! He was unloading cleaning gear from the back of his station wagon!

  Instinctively I grabbed my mobile and switched it on, forgetting it had died on me. I was shocked when it actually flashed on for a second, before blacking out again. I snatched up all of my stuff and on my way to hide in the linen closet I grabbed the portable house phone that was hanging in the kitchen.

  ‘What are you doing ringing me on this phone?’ Boges’s alarmed voice shouted down the line. ‘What did I tell you about—’

  ‘Boges, quit talking and listen for a sec,’ I whispered. ‘Your uncle Sammy’s here! My phone got drenched; I didn’t know what else to do. He’s on his way in right now and—’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Hiding in the closet! Do something!’ I urged. ‘Please!’

  Boges swore and hung up the phone. I cowered in the back of the closet, running a check on whether I’d left anything incriminating lying in the living room. I had a sick feeling of déjà vu—I’d been in this situation way too many times to count.

  I could hear the clanging sound of equipment being unloaded. As I tossed up whether I should bolt out the back of the property, I heard a mobile phone ring outside.

  The voice that answered the call was only faint, but it was loud enough for me to know it was Sammy, talking in Ukrainian. His tone was frustrated, agitated.