She ran forward, Sophie stumbling behind her. Daz and I followed, and within minutes we were on the beach. The dinghy was where it was meant to be, but there was no sign of Mitch. I stared nervously into the darkness, wondering where she’d gone. I could hear the snarls of infected mixed with panicked screams and the sound of automatic gunfire echoing around the bay.
Suddenly, a figure raced out of the darkness. Daz stepped forward, clutching a heavy lump of driftwood he’d hurriedly grabbed from the beach. Then the figure came within striking distance, I realised who it was. ‘Daz, it’s Mitch!’
He let out a relieved sigh. ‘Where the hell’ve you been?’
‘Just making sure they can’t follow us.’ She tucked a knife from the galley carefully into her jacket pocket. ‘What’s going on up at the house? Have they realised you’re trying to get away?’
‘Infected!’ I hissed, hearing the fear in my own voice. ‘We need to get out of here.’
‘Where did they come from?’ Mitch glanced round, horrified. ‘Where’s Tom?’
‘Mitch,’ I fought back the tears I could feel building inside me, ‘Tom didn’t make it.’
‘What happened?’ Mitch asked, shocked and dismayed.
From behind us came the sound of running and three marines emerged from the darkness, firing over their shoulders, before heading in the direction of the ribs. I watched them disappear. ‘I’ll tell you later, we need to get out of here!’
Wasting no time, Claire and I pushed the dinghy into the water as the others climbed in. By the time we were in waist-deep, Daz had the engine started and I signalled to Claire to climb in.
She looked away, avoiding my eyes. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to go without me.’
Sophie stared at her. ‘Mum, what’re you talking about?’ She grabbed Claire’s arm and pulled. ‘Just get in.’
Claire resisted. Sophie tried again, this time pleading with her, not understanding what was going on. ‘Mum, please, before the infected get here, before they get you.’
‘No.’ She said it so quietly, I barely heard it above the commotion going on behind her. Claire pulled the neck of her jumper aside. ‘I’m sorry, honey. They got me, already.’
The blood drained from Sophie’s face as she stared at the wound. ‘Wh—? When did that happen?’
‘I got bitten back there.’
‘When you pulled that infected off me? You … You mean it’s my fault?’
Claire reached out for Sophie’s hands and held them in hers. ‘Honey, it’s not your fault; it’s no one’s fault; it just happened.’
‘But there must be something you can do?’ Sophie looked desperately at each of us in turn. ’There must be something one of you can do. Please!’
Claire stroked the side of her daughter’s face. ‘There’s nothing anyone can do, you know that.’ Her eyes glistened as she did her best not to cry. ‘You need to leave me here. You need to go. You know you do.’
Tears welled in Sophie’s eyes, ‘But, Mum, you can’t. You can’t leave me. You promised. You promised you’d never leave me. You’re all I’ve got left!’ she sobbed. ‘You can’t be infected. I can’t lose you, too.’
‘But I am; I can feel it.’ Claire put her arm round her daughter’s shoulder, pulling her towards her and kissing her forehead. She held Sophie’s face in her hands, wiping away her tears with her thumbs, and stared into her eyes. ‘Remember when Dad was ill? Remember what we talked about then? About how someone’s never really gone if you’ve still got them in here.’ She tapped the side of Sophie’s head. ‘As long as you’ve still got memories, I’ll always be with you, no matter what.’
I glanced at Claire and saw tears streaming down her face. I swallowed. ‘Are you sure you’re infected?’
‘Yes.’ Claire sniffed. ‘I’m certain. You’ve got to leave me here.’
For a moment, we just stared at each other.
‘I don’t have much time.’ There was an urgency in Claire’s voice. ‘You need to get out of here. Now!’
I pulled myself into the dinghy and turned to Claire, not quite knowing what to say to her.
She leaned forward and kissed Sophie on the top of her head one last time. Sophie lunged towards her mother. ‘But you said you’d never leave me. You promised!’
Daz pulled her back.
Claire called out after us. ‘Just promise you’ll look after her for me.’
Daz and I answered in unison. ‘I promise.’
As Daz held Sophie, I grabbed the throttle and slammed the engine into gear. Within seconds, we were skipping over the water back to the yacht. I glanced back to where Claire was wading back to shore. When she got there, she sat down, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Not wanting to watch, I turned away, barely able to see through the tears which filled my eyes and rolled down my face. Yesterday, it had seemed like we were doing so well, and in just a few short hours it had all fallen apart: Tobermory was gone; Tom was dead; and Claire was infected.
I was pulled back to the moment by the sound of heavy machine gunfire. I turned and saw tracer rounds streaking through the darkness towards the dinghy and felt the spray as they landed in the water just to our left.
Instinctively, we crouched as low as we could despite the rubber sides of the dinghy offering little protection.
Mitch looked across at me. ‘I think they might’ve discovered what I did.’
Keeping as low as possible, I turned and searched the shoreline, trying to work out where the shots were coming from. ‘What was that?’
‘I slashed the ribs so they wouldn’t be able to follow us.’ Mitch looked guilty. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
There was another burst of gunfire followed by a shout in a scared voice I didn’t recognise. ‘Come back! You’ve got to take us with you. You can’t leave us here.’ Then, with more anger than fear, ‘We won’t let you leave without us.’
By this time we’d reach the yacht and had climbed on board. I set Daz to work lifting the anchor as Mitch and I readied the sails; Sophie sat in the cockpit sobbing and hugging her knees tight against her chest.
There was a cry from the bow. ‘It won’t budge. I think it’s …’
The last of what Daz said was lost amongst the sound of another barrage from the machine gun. I ran forward, leaving Mitch at the helm, but even with the two of us pulling on it, we couldn’t get the anchor to move.
I glanced at Daz. ‘Time for more drastic measures.’
I ran back to the cockpit and down into the cabin where I rummaged frantically in my tool kit. Grabbing my hacksaw, I climbed back onto the deck just as another shout rang out from the shore. ‘Don’t leave us here, you bastards!’
When they heard no reply, they fired again. This time the last of the bullets hit the side of the yacht, sending fragments of fibreglass flying across the cabin. I ran forward and thrust the hacksaw towards Daz. He wasted no time in grabbing it and set to work on the chain while I returned to the cockpit.
There was another burst of gunfire, this time ripping through the sails, leaving dark circles in the white cloth.
‘You’re not going to leave without us. You’ve got to help us.’ The cries from the shore now sounded desperate and panicked.
Then, out of the darkness, came the sound of splashing. A second later, a hand appeared over the left side of the boat, followed by an arm with a deep, red wound carved across it, then the upper half of a body. I picked up the hatchet from beside the helm, but before I could strike out, there was a shout from Daz and I felt the boat finally start to move: I had no choice but to turn back to the wheel. The injured marine managed to get his leg over the side just as the next barrage of bullets hit, cutting his body in half and splintering the hull along the waterline.
I wondered how bad the damage was, but there was no time to investigate. I tightened the sails and we finally began to move in earnest. Another round of bullets smashed into the back of the boat, showering us with water and fibreglass.
I glanced back and saw the dinghy deflate and sink under the weight of its outboard engine. Knowing it was now useless, I reached up and untied it from its cleat. Daz returned to the cockpit and wrapped his arms protectively around Sophie as I adjusted the sails, trying to wring every possible ounce of speed from them, knowing it was all that stood between us and certain death. Yet, finally, it felt like we had a chance.
After ten minutes, we rounded the headland at the entrance of the bay and were finally out of range of the machine gun. It didn’t matter, by then it had already fallen silent as the last of the marines had been killed, or worse.
Leaving Mitch at the wheel, I went to inspect the damage. As soon as I entered the cabin, I knew we were in trouble. The water was already several feet deep, but it was unclear where it was coming in from. I swore loudly.
‘What’s wrong?’ Daz poked his head through the companionway, and his jaw dropped. ‘Shit!’
I scrambled back onto the deck and opened the hatch which led down to the engine.
Mitch remained at the wheel, but she watched me closely, a worried look spreading across her face. ‘Ben, what’s going on?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ I stuck my head into the engine compartment and instantly spotted the problem. There was a series of bullet holes below the waterline, and water was pouring through them, but worse than that, there was a crack connecting them which flexed with every movement of the boat, letting in bucketfuls of water each time it opened up.
I pulled my head out of the hatch and looked up at Daz and Mitch. ‘We’re in deep trouble. The hull’s damaged and we’re taking in a lot of water, more than we can cope with for longer than a few minutes.’
Mitch stared at me, her eyebrows knitted with worry. ‘Can you fix it?’
I could feel the panic building within me. ‘I can try, but there’s a hell of a lot of water coming in.’
‘Well, get goin’ then!’ Daz urged me on.
I ran down into the cabin and waded through the water looking for anything which might help. The first thing that came to mind was an old oilskin that had floated out of one the lockers. I grabbed it and ran back outside. With Daz holding the spotlight, I snaked my way into the engine compartment, and started forcing the waterproof jacket into the crack each time it opened up. At first the amount of water coming in slowed, but it put too much strain on the already weakened fibreglass and, with a sound like a gunshot, the crack raced along the side of the boat, sending a torrent of water streaming into the hull. I felt the boat list and settle deeper into the sea with every passing second, and I knew there was nothing we could do.
I reached up my arms. ‘Help me out.’
Daz and Mitch dragged me up through the hatch and we stood, staring at each other as we felt the boat tip ever further to the left. Daz gasped as the first wave washed over the side and spilled into the cockpit. ‘We’re goin’ down, aren’t we?’
With those words, the reality of our situation sank in. We were about to lose the only thing which had kept us alive since the outbreak started, our only source of transport and protection. How we’d survive without it, I didn’t know.
‘Daz, we need to get the life raft into the water; Mitch, grab whatever food and water you can from the cabin, Claire …’ I stopped abruptly as I remembered Claire was no longer with us. I tried to ignore the pain that shot deep into my heart. ‘Sophie, grab the life jackets and make sure everyone has one on.’
Sophie didn’t move.
‘Sophie! Life jackets!’
The order seemed to break through her sorrow, and she looked round as if seeing us all for the first time.
I knelt down beside her. ‘Sophie, we’re sinking; you need to get the life jackets.’
She stared at me blankly for a moment before the realisation of what was happening struck home, and she leapt into action.
Within minutes, the large hexagonal life raft was floating alongside the rapidly sinking yacht and we were loading it with as many supplies as we could. Daz helped Sophie into it, before he followed and then Mitch climbed in. I took one last look round, seeing if there was anything else useful I could grab. That was when it occurred to me that the fishing lines might prove invaluable. I opened the deck locker and grabbed the first one I saw. As the boat started to slip beneath the waves, I threw it across to Daz before lunging into the life raft, just as the yacht finally disappeared in a swirl of inky black water.
***
‘What’re we going to do?’ Fear and despair were etched deep into Sophie’s face.
We’d been in the life raft for three days, enclosed by the orange, tent-like sides which came to a point above our heads, unable to do more than drift with the winds and the currents. I had a rough idea of where we were, but little more than that. We were already running low on food and water, and the constant movement of the thin rubber floor of the raft meant we felt sick most of the time. Ever since the yacht had sunk, I’d been wracking my brains, trying to work out what to do, but I could think of nothing.
After what had happened to her mother, I couldn’t look at Sophie; I couldn’t look at Mitch, either: I’d yet to explain to her what had happened to Tom, and I still wasn’t ready to say out loud what I’d witnessed in the woods, and how I’d been unable to do anything to save him.
I slept fitfully from time to time, but I usually woke feeling worse than when I’d fallen asleep. It was the dreams; whenever I closed my eyes I saw vivid fragments of everything that had happened: Iliana’s head exploding; Jake on the bench in the cockpit as his life drained away; Hamish’s body floating face down in the harbour at Tobermory; what was left of Gordon lying in the darkness of the lighthouse; Tom being torn apart by the infected in the pit; and Claire sitting on the beach, waiting for the inevitable, as we left her behind.
For a brief time, we’d had people around us, we’d had a plan, and I could see a way of surviving in a world which, only a few weeks ago, I could barely have imagined. Now we had nothing. There were just the four of us, trapped in the life raft, at the mercy of the tides and the elements. Eventually, we’d either drift out into the open ocean or onto the shore, and I didn’t know which was worse. The land had infected, but they weren’t everywhere; we might get lucky and wash up somewhere uninhabited, but then again we might not. In the open ocean, there was no chance of encountering any infected, but there was also no chance of life, not in the long term. We might last weeks, maybe even months, but eventually death would creep up on us, taking us one by one as the others could do nothing but watch.
When we’d had the yacht, we’d at least had a chance, but now I couldn’t help but feel the final roll of the dice had been cast: we just didn’t yet know if we’d got lucky or not. I thought back to the morning the outbreak had started in Glasgow, how the problems in Miami had seemed so far away. Now Tom was dead and the yacht, my home for the last five years, was gone, I’d lost my last connections to the world as it was before. I felt the final separation as deeply as if it had torn my soul in two. It was the last straw, and one from which I felt I might never recover.
I knew Sophie was still waiting for an answer to her question, but I didn’t have one. I’d promised Claire that I’d look after her, that I’d protect her, but now I was powerless to do anything. All I could do was sit in the twelve square feet of rubber and stale air that was now our home; existing rather than living, waiting to see what further horrors life had to throw at us in the frightening new world we found ourselves thrust into with little warning or preparation. I wondered why it had all happened. Why had the biotech company pushed ahead with the vaccine trial when its technology was still unproven? Why hadn’t they foreseen the consequences? I’d never know. But whatever the reason, it was humanity that had paid the ultimate price.
A shout from Daz brought me back to the present. He’d raised the flap on the side of the life raft to let in some fresh air and was now staring through it. ‘There’s land right beside us!’
The currents must have final
ly carried us close to shore, yet we still didn’t know if this was good news or bad. I lay there, unmoving, finding it difficult to care one way or the other. The world was now ruled by the infected and there was nothing I could do about it. That was when I realised I’d finally given up. After weeks of fighting to stay alive, I was physically and emotionally spent. I no longer cared if I lived or died.
I heard Mitch scramble onto her knees and move over to the opening. ‘Ben, I know this island: it’s Soay. No one lives here; not anymore.’ She bent over the side and started paddling frantically with her hands. ‘It’s close; really close: maybe a hundred yards at the most. Ben, I think we can make it.’ She stopped for a moment and turned to the rest of us. ‘Come on!’
First Daz, then Sophie joined her, and I could hear their arms splashing through the water, throwing spray against the side of the life raft. Yet, still I couldn’t bring myself to act. Instead, I closed my eyes and lay there, unable to move.
‘Ben, come and help!’ Sophie paused and I realised she’d stopped paddling. ‘Ben?’ She sounded concerned.
The next voice I heard was Mitch’s. ‘Don’t just lie there, Ben. You need to help us. We won’t make it if you don’t.’ I heard her shuffle across the life raft. ‘Ben?’
Still I didn’t move; I couldn’t.
‘Ben, are you okay?’ Daz had stopped paddling, too.
I felt Sophie’s small hand on my shoulder. ‘Ben, we need your help. We can’t make it to shore without you.’
I opened my eyes and saw them all looking down at me, worried expressions on their faces. I thought about Tom, and what he’d say to me if he was still here, and I realised I couldn’t let the infected win so easily. I held out my hand. Daz grabbed it and pulled me up.
For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak Page 31