by Philip Webb
“How long were you listening?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just came to find you.”
Her face is just as slack as ever, but her eyes are raw, blinking away tears, and I reach out to comfort her, but she holds up her hand, warning me away.
“You can go back to her,” I urge. “When this is all over …”
“And do what, Cass? And become what? You know what I want to do now? I want to run. I want to go where the chase takes me. That’s all.”
I know that feeling – when it’s just one stride into the next that matters, not caring where and not caring why. I try to picture what she must’ve been like when she’d been well and strong, a young girl, smiling.
She turns from me to gaze out at the waves ahead.
“Anyway,” she says at last. “I’m ready to become a sleeper if I must. For Wilbur.”
I wonder at her then – she really is ready to die for us. And my blood runs quick, cos I know then she’s got the guts for the plan.
“You ain’t got to be a sleeper. I know a different way to win.”
She don’t move. I look at her calm face, fixed like a mask in the pitch and fall of shadows. How can I be sure of her? There ain’t nothing to read in her eyes, but still I’ve got no choice. Cos without Maleeva on board, there ain’t no plan. It’s as simple as that.
“Just listen first, then make your mind up, OK?”
She just looks back at my reflection in the wheelhouse window and nods. So I tell her my plan to rescue Wilbur and all the sleepers. She don’t make a sound, she just soaks it right up, every last detail.
For some time she stays silent, and I think maybe she’s gonna wake the others up and spill the beans. I couldn’t have stood in her way.
“It’s risking everything,” she says at last.
“That’s the only way to make the ship sit up and take notice.”
“But it’s ancient and clever. How can you know what it will do?”
“Cos I know how bad it wants them flinders. It’ll do anything to keep them safe. That’s what matters.”
“You don’t know enough – the struggle will be on its territory.”
“I know the lie of the land. I been up there twice already. Where the air is, where the breach is, the way the ship’s busted, how there’s only one shuttle left – it’s all in my favor. It has to listen to me. It ain’t got no choice. So then it’s about whose will is stronger. That’s what it comes down to. And I ain’t gonna back down.”
“You are brave. But to win, you must be ready to lose everything.”
“I’ve figured it all through. I ain’t never been so sure about something my whole life.”
“But what if you’re wrong?”
“Look, Maleeva, it’s up to you now. Make your mind up. Either you’re in or you ain’t. If you go and shout your mouth off now, everything’s scuppered.”
I let it all sink in. I can’t see if she’s tipping one way or the other, but I guess she’s stewing about it, trying to pick out the mistakes.
“It is so powerful. What if it can know right now what you’re thinking?”
“So what? Bring it on. Look, I just can’t leave Wilbur up there. So there it is. If the ship’s listening in right now, it can strike me down for all I care. If it’s smart, then it won’t, cos each step we take toward Arbor Low, we’re one step closer to giving it what it wants – the forty-nine flinders.”
“You’ve really thought all this through, haven’t you?”
“Look, it’s simple. It’s all about the numbers. If I get there first, then I can burn the ship’s bridges. Don’t you see? It won’t just be tough for the ship to win, it’ll be impossible. It’ll have to give me what I want.”
“But it won’t just be the ship’s bridges you’ll be burning. They’re your bridges, too. They’re everyone’s.”
“That’s why the plan’s gonna work. Look, are you with me or not? Cos I’ve got to know now. When I give you the shout, you’d better be there for me or it all goes down the pan.”
She nods slowly. “All right. I’m with you.”
“No backing out.”
I hold out my hand to her and she clasps it, the cold armor of her fingers pressing firm. And so things are set in motion. It feels right then, like me and the ship are hurtling toward each other, like nothing can stop us. And maybe it could swat me out of the way, turn the others against me, crush me from above. But what else can I do? I’m locked into the charge now.
As I back out of the wheelhouse, I see Erin on the deck, staring at me. And I feel bad for shouting at her, but she’s the one to come over to me.
“You ain’t sick no more?” I go.
She shrugs. “There’s nothing left.”
“Figured you’d be the one to find their sea legs quickest.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re the one most at home floating around in space.”
“It’s different. Here, I just feel … trapped between the sky and the sea, on this tiny boat. We can’t go up or down. The two places just keep fighting over us.”
She gazes out at the waves. “I want to belong to this world, too, you know. Peyto says we can’t live here and not change the way we are. He says it’s not like Homefleet, where we just watched the stars go by. But Homefleet wasn’t like that for me. This place, it’s just bigger. That’s the only difference I see. And pretending it’s endless, like nothing you do matters, that’s what makes people cruel.”
She takes her earmuffs off and studies them for a moment, then she just tosses them overboard.
She turns to me. “I try not to think about my family too much. It’s better for me to keep them just in my heart, in silence.”
I’m so sure that my plan is the only way to save her family that I ache to tell her. But I can’t. Not yet.
Instead I say, “You’re gonna be the one that wakes them up, Erin.”
“I’ve thought about that so many times I’ve lost count.”
“And then what? What happens when you wake them?”
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we might not make it in time. We’ve been traveling for countless millions of years and the saddest thing is, we might be too late, by what – a few hours?”
“Hey, we’re gonna make it, OK?”
“What makes you so sure?”
A silence hangs between us then – just the slap of the hull and the wind.
She stares at me coldly. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Tell you what?”
“What you’re planning.”
“What makes you think I got a plan?”
“Because you’re so calm now.”
I stare back. I ain’t gonna lie no more, but I ain’t gonna tell her neither.
“You can trust me, Erin.”
“No, I can’t,” she says quietly, and then she turns away.
The coastline inches by. For the next few hours, we take turns at the wheel and, under Dad’s direction, round the coast into the Wash. The farther west we chug, the calmer the water gets, till by late afternoon it’s near flat, though you can make out furious currents as the tide sweeps in from the open sea, lifting us onward in mini-surges.
I stay with Dad in the wheelhouse as he plots a way through new islands that ain’t on our map. For a while, we both fuss over the charts and the compass, not saying the one thing that matters.
At last I go, “Dad, you know you can’t come with us – on dry land, I mean. With your leg … You’d be too slow.”
He don’t look at me. “I know. Anyway, someone has to stay with the Lodestar, make sure it’s safe, eh?”
We fall silent for a bit.
“Cass?”
“What’s up?”
“When it comes to it, don’t leave your brother alone up there.”
“That’s the whole idea, Dad …”
“I mean it now. Promise me.”
; “Promise you what?”
“That you won’t leave Wilbur.”
“I promise.”
He smiles then, but his eyes are sad, gazing at the waves ahead.
For a heady few seconds, I let myself picture the future. “Do you reckon we’ll get away with it – you know, get back to Gravesend with Irene’s boat, start all over?”
My voice trails off as the situation really hits me. If things go pear-shaped for us, he’ll never see me or Wilbur again. I block the thought out of my head. I hug him then, trying to hold it together. And when I pull back, his face is wet with tears.
“Hey, none of that! We’re gonna be gone three days max. I got it all worked out, Dad. It’s all over, bar the shouting – just you wait.”
He wipes his face, angry at himself. “Just take care of each other now. All four of you have to stick together.”
I think about my plan, and I feel cold to the bone, but there ain’t no point in dwelling on it now. It’s set, like nothing can knock it off course.
Outside, the light is failing again. Flat windswept islands dotted with bushes and dead trees clutter the way ahead. The channels run fast and smooth, churned brown with sand and mud. And out of the setting sun these old town ruins appear – half-bridges, roads and walls submerged into the water, bent lampposts and the craggy spike of a church tower. The sea and the land at loggerheads.
THE NORTH WILDS
The channels get narrower and more treacherous. A couple of times you can hear the hull scraping stuff below. Dad figures the tide is as high as it’ll get, and that trying to push on in the dark is pointless. So we pull into a little inlet on the east side of one of the islands, finally coming to a stop in a bed of reeds. Peyto shuts off the engine, and I do my best to tie us down to an old tree poking out the water. It’s shallow there – no more than a few feet to the bottom – and sheltered on three sides by mud banks and bushes. Not a bad place to anchor up and keep the boat out of sight.
We ain’t taking much with us, just some water and biscuits – no point in being weighed down with too many supplies. So we take the chance to down a bit of grub before the off. Everyone’s quiet, thinking about what lies ahead.
I watch how Maleeva “eats” hers. First up, she opens this little chamber near her belly and packs it with broken biscuits. Then she takes this black bag with a tube taped to a hole under her jaw, pops it free, and squeezes a load of spit over the crumbs before closing the door. She does all this without fuss, glancing at me as I chew.
“Ain’t given yourself much” is all I can think of to say.
“I don’t need much. I just need it for cell repair. Nearly all my energy for moving and breathing comes from this.” She pats an armored box that’s fitted to one of her hips.
“How long does it last?” Me and my big gob.
Will you make it to the ship? How long before you keel over? Nice one, Cass.
“It depends on what I do, how much power I use up. Normally the battery lasts about two weeks before I need to recharge. I’m down to about fifty percent.”
I think about her dash from the Vlad base with Peyto on her back. This last stretch overland is gonna cost her.
At last we’re ready, and there ain’t no point in hanging about. Dad ain’t big on hugs, so he shakes hands with the others, but you can see he’s choked. Finally, he takes me in his arms.
He whispers in my ear, “I love you, Cass. Come back to me. Come back with Wilbur.”
I nod, but I ain’t able to say a thing. I just hold him for a bit, drawing in the smell of his old jacket – scav dust and toil. Then I clamber off the Lodestar and into the shallows. The last time I turn, I see a lonely figure on the deck, his arm stretched out in farewell.
It ain’t easy to see in the gloom, but we strike out for the tallest clump of treetops, hoping that’s the mainland. We have to wade in places, but most of the time it’s pretty easygoing. In fact, it’s harder when the tide goes out, cos then the channels are just pure sludge and there ain’t no water to hold you up. I keep thinking about when’s gonna be the best time to make my move. I figure I’ll wait till we suss out where we are on the map. Maleeva has to be thinking all this, too, but she never catches my eye. We just slog onward in silence, trying to pick out the shadow of the land against the darkening sky.
It takes us about an hour to reach what we hope is the mainland. The bushes and trees here are proper rooted down and there’s the remains of a road, too, all cut up and loaded with plants, but the white lines are still there down the middle. It leads roughly westward, winding through the forest, rising and dipping with the lie of the land. After a mile or so, we come across an old road sign facing back the way we’ve come, half buried under brambles.
Peyto reads it out. “Twenty-two miles to Lincoln.”
“So we passed it in the boat, then?” I go.
Ahead of us, Erin calls out. “There’s a village up here!”
We hurry along the road to what’s left of an old settlement. Lumps of concrete and slate lie about, covered in moss and ivy. It ain’t till we’re on the far side of the place that we find out exactly where we are. There’s a PLEASE DRIVE CAREFULLY THROUGH OUR VILLAGE sign, then, a little farther on, the name Darlton.
“We’re here,” goes Peyto, casting a lighter flame over the map. “On the A57 road. It’s maybe fifty miles to Arbor Low.”
Erin checks her cuff. “We’ve got just over twenty-one hours.”
“It’s going to be tight,” mutters Peyto.
I glance at Maleeva but don’t say nothing. It ain’t the right moment. But maybe I’m stalling, kidding myself. Cos when exactly is the right time to betray your mates?
We hurry on at marching pace, following Peyto’s directions onto a smaller road, checking the village signs along the way, past the odd rotted-down car or truck, and, in places, gray tangles of bones – probably copped it from Quark bomb radiation. Tuxford, Broughton, Ollerton, Edwinstowe. We trudge through the night, slowing up with each mile. Only Maleeva looks fresh – bounding ahead now and then to scout for trouble.
Toward eleven at night, she goes missing for a good twenty minutes and I start to worry. At last she comes striding firmly between the potholes toward us, but when she spots me, she waves at us to get off the road. We scramble through a ditch and into the woods proper.
“What is it?”
“There’s a camp up ahead.”
“What? Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s on the edge of a built-up area – Mansfield maybe. They’re wild – Ferals.”
“This is not good,” mutters Erin.
“What are they doing?” I go. “How do you know they’re Ferals?”
“Who else are they going to be?” groans Erin.
“I mean, did you get a good look at them?” I ask, ignoring her.
“Whoever they are, they look dangerous. And we’ll have to be careful skirting around them because they’re not asleep,” goes Maleeva. “They’ve got a big fire going and they’re roasting a deer or something, and they’re all hooting like they’re drunk. Some of them are just wandering about in the woods singing.”
“How many are there?”
“Hard to tell – maybe a hundred. I don’t think it’s where they live – there’s no huts or shelters, just the fire and their horses.”
“They’ve got horses?”
“Yes, there’s about twenty of them tied to logs and trees.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to guess what I’m thinking.
“Oh, no, Cass. It’s too dangerous …”
“Are you kidding? It’d be rude not to! Listen, you said yourself they’re all half cut. It’d be a cinch. We need to make up the distance …”
“You’re crazy,” goes Peyto. “Me and Erin, we can’t ride horses!”
“You don’t need to. Look, we only need to nick one. You can ride with me, then Maleeva can carry Erin. We’ll be there in half the time.”
“Unless they catch us snooping ar
ound!”
“No, Cass is right,” goes Erin. “It’ll save time. Walking’s just too slow – we’ll never make it.”
Maleeva is still staring at me, probably trying to fathom out how all this changes the plan. But it makes perfect sense to me.
“How far ahead are they?” I ask.
“About a mile. You hear them before you see them. Cass, I can’t go anywhere near horses – I spook them.”
“That’s all right. I’ll do it. You just guide the others past the camp. I’ll meet you farther up the road, where it’s safe.”
“This is insane!” complains Peyto.
“Look, you’re outvoted three to one. It’ll be a breeze, don’t worry.”
Maleeva takes Erin by the hand and leads her away from the road, north into the trees. Peyto hangs back, then he leans toward me and grabs a kiss.
“You’re wasting time,” I whisper. “Just keep going, I’ll catch up with you. Go!”
But when he’s disappeared into the undergrowth, I linger there in a daze, suddenly shocked at the idea of being totally on my jack.
I creep onward, keeping the road in sight. Maleeva is right – I hear the Ferals long before I spot them. The drumming comes to me over the wind, a scary clatter of beats and bellowing. I slip from tree trunk to tree trunk, my legs all weak with fear. The woods give way to a concrete clearing and some old factory buildings. A hard core of Ferals are gathered around a huge bonfire, kicking up a racket that’d wake the dead. God knows what they’re on, but they’re completely wild, charging about half naked and screeching at each other in a frenzy. They’re all men – no women or kids – like a hunting party, or maybe they’re just bandits. And they’re all daubed up in splashes of blue, the paint glistening in the firelight. A smell of cooked meat reaches me through the trees, and I can make out the remains of a big animal on a spit. By this time I’m pretty terrified, cos being this close, you can see they live up to their name all right. Some of them are smearing themselves with meat juice.
As I’m trying to make out where the horses are tied up, I realize I’m a tad too close for comfort. No more than twenty feet away in the undergrowth are a couple of bodies snoring gently. I whip out my knife, but they carry on snoring just the same.