One of Us Will Be Dead by Morning

by David Moody

  “I’m not.”

  “You are. I see it all the time when folks come here. It’s because you’re so used to having to count every minute and second back home. I used to be the same. You might as well chuck your watch in the ocean. Everything moves at its own pace on Skek, and there’s nothing you or I can do to change it.”

  * * *

  Natalie’s words rattle around and around in Matt’s head, but he’s not convinced. After another half hour, even though the mist has begun to lift, there’s still no sign of the boat.

  5

  “It’s obvious something’s not right,” Paul says to Matt, keeping his voice low. “You watch their body language. I did a course on this last summer. See the way Stuart keeps disappearing to talk to his missus? And none of them are involving us, you notice that? They’re just talking to each other, keeping us out of the loop, all turning their backs.”

  It doesn’t take a genius, Matt thinks, but Paul does have a point. Rajesh, Nils, Natalie, Stuart, and Ruth are in the middle of an intense-looking confab in the kitchen. Matt can see them through the half-open serving hatch. What worries him more than anything else is the way they keep looking out at the rest of them in the mess hall, then look away again whenever they make eye contact with anyone who’s non-island.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Ronan announces, getting up and heading for the kitchen. He’s been tapping away on his laptop for a while, trying to prep in his diary for a couple of meetings tomorrow, but getting frustrated because he can’t access his emails. “I’m going to find out what’s going on.”

  “Christ’s sake, Ronan,” Frank says. “Come back and sit down, will you?”

  But Ronan won’t. “I know it’s a cliché, but time’s money. I’ve got important meetings set up for this evening and tomorrow. I can’t afford to spend an entire day sitting here twiddling my thumbs.”

  “For crying out loud, Ronan,” Rachel protests, “don’t you ever stop? Vanessa’s dead. Doesn’t that put things into some kind of perspective?”

  “Of course it does,” he answers angrily. “But the sooner I can get back and speak to the police and her family, the better. Like I said, I can’t afford to just sit here doing nothing.”

  “And I want to get home to see my daughter, but getting angry with the staff here won’t make it happen any faster.”

  “Don’t look like you got any choice till the boat comes,” Joy adds unhelpfully, but that’s the last thing Ronan wants to hear. Frustrated, he marches into the kitchen and starts demanding answers from the Hazleton Adventure Experiences staff, who clearly don’t have any. The sparse conversations in the main hall are silenced as everyone strains to listen to what’s being said elsewhere.

  “Ruth’s already spoken to the coast guard, you know this,” Stuart says, clearly agitated and annoyed by the interruption.

  “When was that?”

  “A couple of hours ago,” Ruth replies.

  “And what did they say?”

  “That the ferry left port as planned. No reported problems.”

  “And the police?”

  “They’re aware of the situation. They know about Vanessa.”

  “So where are they? Isn’t it time you tried again?” Has Ronan overstepped the mark? His voice is accusatory, borderline patronizing.

  Ruth bites her lip, doing what she can to keep herself calm. Stuart picks up on his wife’s frustration and tries to explain.

  “Look, Ronan, we’ve got established procedures and we’re following them. Rod’s red-hot on safety. He has to be, otherwise we wouldn’t have lasted five minutes. We’ve a number of protocols we use when there’s an issue with—”

  “Damn your bloody protocols,” Ronan shouts, cutting across Stuart. “A member of my team is dead. You should have either got us back to shore or got someone out to the island by now. It’s unacceptable that we’re all still sitting here waiting and—”

  “You think we want a situation like this, you silly little man?” Ruth yells. “I’ve been trying to get hold of the coast guard again for the last hour. I’ve been on to them constantly.”

  “So why haven’t you got through? Is there a problem with your equipment?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the equipment. The problem is no one’s answering.”

  Ronan’s mouth opens and closes like that of a fish out of water. Nils looks over his shoulder and sees frightened faces and wide eyes staring back at him from the mess hall. He nonchalantly slides the serving hatch shut, but all that does is increase the suspicion outside.

  “This is crazy. What the hell’s going on?” Gavin asks.

  “I knew this trip was a bad idea,” says Frank. “I said to him it’s frigging madness sending your whole senior management team out to a place like this.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “What do you think he said? He never listens to anyone. Ronan knows best, you know what he’s like. I said it’s all well and good telling me how good Hazleton Adventure’s track record is, but what about contingency? What about disaster recovery if something happens?”

  “What, like one of your team being pushed over the edge of a cliff?” Rachel says, voice full of accusation and animosity. She glares at Stephen.

  He’s still alone in the far corner of the room. He’s barely moved all afternoon, but he slowly lifts his head and reacts. His voice is a dry croak from a broken man. “I never did it. It wasn’t me.”

  “Bullshit,” Rachel spits back. “We all know you had it in for her.”

  “What, and you thought I’d just been waiting for the right moment to bump her off? Give me a fucking break.”

  “You killed her, that’s all I know.”

  “Then you know nothing, because she came for me!”

  “And you threw her off the cliff in self-defense?”

  “I didn’t throw her off the cliff, you stupid bitch, she fell,” Stephen screams at her.

  That’s enough. Rachel cracks. She gets up and launches herself at Stephen, who cowers back in his seat. His weight makes it difficult to move with any speed, and the legs of his chair scrape back along the floor, making an ugly, abrasive sound. Stuart’s remarkably alert, and he’s out of the kitchen before Rachel can get anywhere near. He blocks her as she lunges, talons lashing, and he holds her back as she fights to get past.

  “Chill out,” he orders, and he manhandles her away. He turns her around and pushes her toward Gavin. “Get her under control.”

  “Calm down, Rach…,” Gavin says, reaching out for her. Rachel storms straight past him and disappears out through the main entrance, filling the building with wind and noise. Natalie also tries to stop her, but Rachel’s not having any of it.

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Come on, Rachel … let me get you a cup of tea.”

  “I don’t want a bloody cup of tea. I want to go home.”

  With that she’s gone.

  She leaves the door wide-open. They can still see her. “Is someone gonna go after her?” Joy asks, making it clear with her question that she herself has no intention of going.

  “She won’t get far,” Frank says.

  In the distance Rachel slips and almost falls. She angrily picks herself up and keeps walking, looking more determined than ever to get away.

  “Bloody hell,” Natalie says, “you’re just going to leave her?”

  “It’s like Frank says,” Gavin agrees. “Where’s she gonna go? No sense us all getting cold and wet again.”

  “Looks like all that teamwork training really paid off, eh?” Natalie says as she looks around the room, disgusted.

  Paul’s the first to take the hint. “I’ll go.” He snatches up his waterproof jacket. But Natalie’s beaten him to it and is already on her way outside.

  * * *

  By the time Natalie and Paul catch up with Rachel, she’s almost reached the beach. She stops when Natalie calls out to her. “Come on, Rachel, come back inside. You’ll catch your death out here
.”

  “Probably not the best thing to say in the circumstances,” Paul says. He immediately wishes he hadn’t.

  Rachel turns on him. “You can be such a prick, you know that?”

  “All right, all right … there’s no need to be like that.”

  “Vanessa is dead. Do you not understand?”

  Rachel turns and storms away again, then stops and rocks back on her feet like she’s hit some kind of invisible wall. Then she sprints down toward the water.

  Paul looks at Natalie and shakes his head. “What the hell’s the matter with her? She’s fucking crazy.”

  But Natalie’s not listening. She sidesteps Paul, then races down onto the sand after Rachel.

  Rachel’s up to her knees in the surf and is dragging something out of the water. Someone. The washing of the waves helps her get the body onto semidry land. It’s a young boy. Unruly hair. Five foot nothing. She drags him farther up onto the sand. Her hands are numb with cold and the kid’s clothes are heavy with water, and she drops him. He lands facedown with a painful-sounding slap. With Natalie’s help Rachel flips him onto his back. Natalie drops to her knees and tries to resuscitate him, her emergency first-aid training immediately kicking in. She listens for any sounds of breathing—her ear pressed against his swollen lips—but all she can hear is the wind and the waves. She shoves her fingers into his mouth, then pulls out a long strand of slimy seaweed he’s half swallowed. The greasy vegetation keeps coming like a gross magic trick, ribbons from a top hat.

  The boy’s face is ice white, skin like marble. His eyes are empty, pupils fully dilated. He’s not responding.

  Natalie does what she can, but it isn’t much. She works flat out for several minutes, alternately breathing into his mouth, then pounding his chest, before giving up when Rachel pulls her away. “It’s too late, Natalie,” she says, shivering with the cold. “He’s dead.”

  Truth is, he was gone long before they hauled him out of the water.

  “What the hell’s going on here?” Paul demands. He can’t tear his eyes away from the dead kid’s engorged face. “I hadn’t seen a dead body before today. Now I’ve seen two.”

  “Make that three,” Natalie says, and walks back toward the waves. Another body is out on the water, floating facedown. A little girl this time, wearing a purple fleece.

  “What the fuck is this, Nat?” Paul asks. “Where the hell have they come from?”

  “Where do you think?”

  All three of them know the answer, but no one wants to say it out loud. If I say it, Rachel thinks, then I have to admit this is really happening, and if this is really happening, then how am I ever going to get home?

  6

  They find the wreck of the Heavenly Vision smashed against the rocks near where they found Vanessa dead this morning. The boat’s blue-and-white hull is ruptured, wedged between two fierce-looking rocks that jut up out of the water like upside-down vampire fangs. For the second time today Rajesh rappels down the cliff face. Natalie and Nils are close behind. Paul follows too, while most of the others gather up top and watch nervously.

  The boat looks bigger than Paul remembers. Considering the Hazleton Adventure operation is relatively small scale, the Heavenly Vision is a surprisingly substantial vessel. It was a salvaged passenger ferry, rescued and refurbished by a charity by all accounts. It wouldn’t look out of place pootling down the Thames, though it’s clear that no amount of renovation or restoration will save it this time.

  By the time Paul’s made it down, Rajesh, Natalie, and Nils are already approaching the wreck. The waves are crashing against the rocks and the wind continues to howl tirelessly, but the boat itself appears unnaturally still like a freeze-frame, like it’s been abandoned. It should be teeming with movement. People should be scurrying to safety like half-drowned rats.

  Nothing.

  Natalie climbs up the beached hull by straddling the narrow gap between the side of the boat and one of the jagged rocks, then grabbing a dangling length of safety-rail chain and hauling herself up higher. The deck’s seriously off-kilter, and the unexpected listing of the vessel catches her out at first. She gets her balance and looks up, and only then, once she has a higher vantage point, that she sees many more bodies are drifting out on the waves beyond the boat like spilled cargo. She counts seven of them. All different shapes and sizes, but mostly small.

  She clears her throat and shouts, “Hello? Hello … is anyone here?”

  Rajesh is right behind her. He startles her when he speaks. “What’s gone on here, Nat?”

  “Dunno.” She’s trying to catch her breath. “Some kind of panic?”

  “Seriously? You think something panicked a load of kids enough for them to start throwing themselves overboard? Enough for them to jump rather than use the lifeboat?” Rajesh takes a few steps closer to the Heavenly Vision’s sole lifeboat and sees that it’s been crushed against the rocks. Ignored previously, useless now.

  “A problem with the boat itself, then?”

  “Maybe. But it hasn’t sunk yet. If it had been going down, I might have understood.”

  “It must have been moving at some speed to end up on the rocks like this. Rules out engine failure or fire.”

  “Guess so. But again, why the panic?”

  Natalie takes a couple of cautious steps forward, pausing only when a wave hits the side of the boat and showers her with icy spray. It’s like the water’s trying to push her back, trying to stop her from seeing any more. She reaches the bridge and turns the key on the control panel to kill the power.

  The ferry’s skipper, George Auden, is dead at the wheel. Natalie’s legs threaten to buckle when she finds him. He’s curled up on the floor, wedged into a gap that’s too small. He was a big man, overweight and unfit, but he looks like he was snapped like a twig. His face has been smashed in, skin split and jaw broken, and he has unusual bruising on his upturned cheek. She realizes it was made by footprints.

  “Some kind of stampede?” Rajesh suggests.

  “Yeah, but what were they running from?”

  Whatever has caused the carnage on the Heavenly Vision, Nils is ready for it. He takes the lead with his brutal-looking hunting knife held ready. A few wooden seats are on the deck, but he knows most of the passengers would probably have been down below. He edges cautiously toward the top of the staircase, then looks down. “Fuck me.”

  Paul peers over Nils’s shoulder to try to see what he’s seen and immediately wishes he hadn’t. Dead faces stare back up at him from down below. An unruly heap of piled-up corpses is on the lower deck at the foot of the steps. “They must have died in the crush trying to get out,” Paul says, thinking out loud.

  Nils descends, jumping the last few rungs to avoid the dead. He crouches and examines the nearest body. It’s a young boy, thirteen or fourteen, perhaps. His T-shirt is soaked with blood. He looks back up at Paul and the others looking down. “This kid didn’t die in any crush.”

  “How can you be sure?” Paul asks.

  “Because he’s on top,” Rajesh tells him.

  “He died because of this.” Nils gently tilts the boy’s head to the left and reveals a vicious-looking wound on the side of his neck, like his throat’s been ripped open.

  Natalie climbs down to get a better look. “This makes no sense. It’s like an animal attack. What did this?”

  Nils corrects her. “Not what, who. Look, there are bruises around the edges of the cut. Finger marks.”

  Paul and Rajesh are now belowdecks too. The four of them jostle for position in a small, square area, tripping over one another. Space is at a premium with the mound of bodies taking up most of the room.

  A single door leads deeper into the boat. Rajesh lifts his hand to open it, then stops. He looks nervous. “Maybe we should stick together? Whoever did this might still be here.”

  Nils is ready. On his mark Rajesh pushes the heavy metal door open and lets him through. He looks up and down, his eyes quickly becoming accustomed to t
he different light levels in here. He almost wishes it were darker because then he wouldn’t have to look at the hell they’ve just uncovered. More bodies. Many, many more. Lying at his feet is a kid with a badly broken arm, grossly swollen and misshapen, bone snapped at the elbow and jutting through the skin. Behind him, another child is wedged between two rows of seats like he died trying to either escape or hide. Nils is distracted by something at the window. The rough waves lap against the glass, and a buoyancy aid floats past. Behind it are some tangled netting and other flotsam and jetsam. In the middle of it all is yet another dead kid, long hair splayed out like seaweed.

  Thankfully it’s quiet and there’s minimal movement inside the boat. Blood and seawater drips, dribbles, and flows, and the wreck groans with the effort of staying in one piece. Yet, inside the wreck it remains deceptively calm. It reminds Rajesh of a fairground fun house: all crazy angles and potential jump scares. He’s half expecting someone in a fright mask to lunge at him from around a corner.

  He thinks, Maybe it’ll be the killer who comes at me? The crazy bastard who did all this?

  Still waiting in the doorway, Paul feels his guts constrict. His mouth begins to water. He wants to vomit, but nothing is there and instead he can only spit. Natalie moves around him and heads deeper into the butchery. She takes slow, cautious steps, looking for spaces among the outstretched limbs and death masks that litter the ground. This is both heartbreaking and terrifying, yet the impossibility of what they’ve discovered seems somehow to cushion the blow. From end to end and wall to wall, the entire place is carpeted with death.

  “What is this, Nat?” Rajesh’s voice fills the cabin. He looks up when she doesn’t immediately answer. She just shakes her head and bites her lip, tears flooding down her face.

  Nils is squatting down next to another body. The middle-aged woman has a bloody chunk torn from her wrist. “I think the same person did all of this.”

  “How can you be sure?” Paul asks.

  “I’m not sure, but I think it’s likely. I’ve looked at quite a few of the bodies now. Their wounds are varied, but the manner of each attack is similar.”