by Chris Vick
‘Yaaargh!’ Smithy screamed, trying to point his gun. But Jake pulled again and Smithy lurched, jerking like a giant fish on a hook. His gun clattered on to the rock.
Smithy grabbed the end of the long spear with both hands. Jake pulled, as hard as he could, and Smithy toppled over him, crashing into the water.
There was a tangle of arms and cord. Smithy was thrashing, the two of them were tied together and tumbling. A storm.
Then the light was eaten by shadows as the world became a mess of blue and black, and white bodies, and red blood.
Smithy’s hand grabbed the flesh of Jake’s neck.
Smithy let go as the whale rammed his body, smashing him against the rock. Jake rose in the water, turned, and reached out his hands to stop the nose of the next whale ramming him. Below, the head of the first whale was pushing Smithy against the rock. Jake saw his face: his bulging eyes, his mouth open in a water-silenced scream. The whale covered Smithy with its body. He disappeared.
The second whale turned now, pointing at Jake. The whales knew they were in danger. They would kill anyone in their way. Jake grabbed the ledge and with an almighty effort tried to lift his body.
His leg stuck. He looked below and saw white teeth gripping the flipper, pulling at him. One yank, and it slipped off his foot. Jake crawled free. On to the rock.
A thudding shot rang through the air. Another flare.
Jake sat up and looked over to the motorboat. One man was trying to get a burning flare out of the chest of the other. Using his gun to knock it out. But it stuck there, burning. The man was screaming.
Goofy stood in the boat, reloading the flare gun.
Below in the water was chaos. Blood, bubbles. Two whales, thrashing.
He saw Sean, looking stunned, and Goofy, using the oar to paddle the skiff towards him. Goofy was shouting, but Jake could hear nothing.
The light was shifting and moving like the sea. The rocks and the boats were becoming a dream, Sean and Goofy becoming ghosts. Jake couldn’t see them. Just haze.
He lay back and looked into the sky.
Goofy was above him, his mouth moving.
A red star. Falling, burning, fading.
PART FIVE
AFTER THE STORMS
www.Eye-Sea-Surfcheck.com
Forecast
Winds: --------------
Conditions: --------------
Waves: --------------
Storms over. A lot of air and water moving around in the aftermath. Sorry, folks, but all systems are down. No data. Forecast unknowable.
Hannah
HER HEART WILLED the boat forward, urging it to get round the headland, to see what was on the other side.
She saw, and her hand rose to her mouth.
A storm of things.
Orcas circling Little One, who was trapped under a net.
A motorboat – Dad’s motorboat – with two men in it, wrestling with a fire. Only, the fire seemed to be in the chest of one of the men. The other was pouring water over his burning jacket.
A skiff, rocked by a commotion of thrashing, rolling orcas, fins and black skin. Blood and froth in the water.
Beyond the whales, Goofy and Sean leaning over something.
Some … one.
‘Jake!’
Neil turned the RIB straight towards the island. He killed the engine and they floated past the whales, thumping into the side of the skiff. Hannah launched herself, climbing and bouncing over the boat, slipping on seaweed, falling on rock, crawling, to where Jake lay cradled in Goofy’s arms.
‘Jake.’ She put a hand to his face. His eyes were closed, his skin cold-white and clammy. She leant down, and whispered in his ear: ‘Jake,’ believing – for a second – a tiny, precious sliver of time – that her voice might wake him.
‘Jake,’ she whispered again. ‘Jake.’
But he didn’t wake up. He lay there, still and limp.
‘He’s lost blood,’ said Goofy. ‘Loads. We’ve got to get him to hospital. Quick, like.’
She leant down and put her ear to Jake’s mouth. She felt his soft, seashell breath in her ear, as she had a hundred times. Only now, the breath was weak. Only just there.
She put her hand to his neck. Searching, till the slow drum of his pulse beat through her fingertips.
It was as weak as his breath. Erratic.
She sat up and noticed the trickle of blood seeping between Jake’s wetsuit and his ankle.
‘Get a knife,’ she cried. Goofy found one somewhere and handed it to her. She put the end of the heavy blade into the wetsuit at the top of Jake’s leg, and made a nick. Then again, picking till she’d made a hole. Next, she slid the top of the blade under the rubber, being careful not to touch Jake’s skin, and moved it round his leg, above the wound, cutting the rubber away.
Tattered stitches and open flesh lay revealed. The wound was gaping and streaming. The torn-cloth tourniquet was soaked, loose and useless.
Sean squatted next to her, crying. Hannah pushed him away. ‘Give me space,’ she shouted, and carried on cutting. She was getting into a zone. A focused trance. Pushing emotions deep down inside her. His life depended on her doing that.
‘Lift his leg,’ she said to Goofy and Sean. They did what she told them to. ‘Higher,’ she ordered. ‘Hold him there.’ She turned, searching frantically for something to use as a tourniquet. ‘Sean. Your belt,’ she said, her hand out, clicking her fingers. ‘Give it to me.’
Sean took it off and handed it to her. She cut away more of the wetsuit, then the ragged cloth. She replaced it with the belt, did the buckle up and pulled, as tight as she dared. The yawning wound stopped running: the tap of blood had turned off.
‘Okay, let’s get him in the RIB,’ she said. Mercifully, the whales had stopped their thrashing and moved away.
They carried Jake: Neil and Goofy taking his arms, Hannah and Sean with his legs. It was hard. Dan brought the RIB over. It rocked violently as they lugged him on, a dead weight. It was quick, and clumsy, and they almost capsized. But they got Jake on and laid him near the bow. Neil squatted by the engine.
Hannah looked around. Where was Goofy? He had gone back on to the rock and was standing there with a gun in his hand. It seemed surreal, cartoonish. He was pointing the gun at the men in the motorboat.
‘Take Jake,’ he said. ‘I’ll stay here till the law come.’
‘Wait,’ she said to Neil. She looked over at the whales. Little One’s nose was barely above the water. And in the water … was that …?
‘Blood!’ she said.
‘The man shot the whale,’ said Sean. Hannah watched with horror in her heart, waiting for the blow, the plume of breath and life.
But seconds passed. And there was no plume. Little One sank lower in the water.
‘Nooooo!’ she cried.
A red cloud grew in the water around Little One’s body. The young orca rolled, showing the harsh gape in her underside. A bullet hole.
‘We have to …’ Hannah started, but the words died in her mouth. She looked at Jake, and knew the truth.
Steve was beside her, grabbing her shoulder. ‘She’s dead already,’ he said. ‘Or dying. If we don’t get Jake to hospital soon, he’ll die too. Do you understand?’
She looked at Little One, lolling on her side.
‘Not this,’ said Hannah. ‘Not this.’
The whales had stopped circling now. One by one, they were swimming away, leaving Little One.
Leaving her.
‘I can’t … we can’t leave her,’ said Hannah.
‘You must. Just like they must. You see those whales now?’ Steve pointed, forcefully. ‘At least one is alive because of you. That has to be enough.’
He left her and sat by the engine, waiting.
‘Go,’ said Goofy. ‘Go.’
She looked at the whales. At Jake’s bloodless face. She nodded. The engine choked into life.
Hannah sat with Jake. She watched the sea, and the far-off land o
n the horizon, not back – she couldn’t look at that hard, cold, wild place. She pictured the whales swimming away, in her mind. Was this how it was? Animals didn’t have burials and ceremonies. One minute they were there, the next they weren’t, and their family left them, moving on. She wondered, numbly, if they grieved.
She looked down at Jake. His breathing was slow, and under his tan his face was bloodless. Lifeless.
‘I’ve lost everything, Jake,’ she said. ‘I’m not losing you.’
*
The ambulance was waiting at the slip. Police cars too.
‘Go home,’ said Steve, after they’d put Jake in the ambulance. ‘I’ll call you with any news.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m coming to the hospital. I don’t have a home.’
Hannah
STEVE DROPPED HANNAH at A&E, where she stood watching them take Jake off the ambulance. There was a mask on his face, and a drip in his arm.
A nurse came out of the hospital. She had a thin, serious face. She talked with the ambulance man, nodding and taking notes on a clipboard.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Hannah. They wheeled Jake through the doors of A&E, past the desk, down the corridor. The nurse walked beside them.
The ambulance. The stretcher-on-a-trolley. The nurses. A routine. Smooth and practised. Quick, but not rushed.
Hannah sped up her pace, catching up with them.
‘What’s happening?’ she said again. But no one paid attention. She was an invisible ghost, watching people in the real world.
Then they sped up, racing Jake down the hall. Another nurse appeared, from nowhere, and doctors too. They surrounded Jake, talking in numbers and strange words: five mil of this; get supplies of that; rate lower than sixty.
‘What’s happening?’ Still no one noticed her. The doctors were in their zone. Doing their job.
They turned sharp left through swing doors. The nurse stopped, turned and put out the palm of her hand.
‘I’m sorry. You can’t come in.’ She vanished through the doors, leaving Hannah alone.
She stood in a huge, clean hall like a desert. The air hummed and vibrated around her and she gasped, struggling to breathe.
She went to the door and tried to open it. But the nurse came out.
‘What’s happening?’ said Hannah.
‘He’s lost a lot of blood. His heartbeat is weak.’
‘I know that,’ Hannah snapped. ‘Talk to me, please. Tell me something.’
‘And you are?’ The nurse put her hands on her hips.
Hannah was thrown by this question, which sounded like an accusation.
‘What did you say? I’m his ex-girlfriend. I have a right to know and …’ She caught her anger before it exploded. ‘Sorry, I … I know you’re doing what you can. I just …’ Her mouth went dry. The walls closed in on her.
The nurse sighed. Her eyes softened. ‘I don’t honestly know. He’s in a bad way. Perhaps you could tell me what happened, how long he was bleeding. Anything you know that might help.’
Hannah nodded.
‘We can sit,’ said the nurse, pointing down the hall to a row of orange plastic chairs.
‘Is it okay if we talk here? I want to be near … That sounds stupid …’ Her voice cracked in her throat. ‘Oh God. Oh God.’
The nurse reached out and held Hannah’s shoulders, as though to stop her falling. The desert was transforming into a hole in the universe that was slowly widening. A silent earthquake had made a rent in time and space. And she was being sucked into it.
‘It’s fine,’ said the nurse. ‘In your own time.’
Hannah breathed deeply and fought to come back, to be in this world. She told the nurse what she knew, which wasn’t much. Where was Goofy? He had been there. He would know.
‘Will he be okay?’ said Hannah.
‘As soon as there’s news we’ll tell you. I’ll come and find you. Why don’t you go and wait?’ The nurse gestured, to the chairs.
Hannah shook her head and folded her arms.
She was left alone, again.
She noticed, after a while, that she was shaking. She had the vague, abstract thought that she might be in shock.
Then April came running towards her.
‘He’s in there,’ said Hannah. ‘We can’t go in. He’s having blood. They’ll let us know.’
April reached up and round her, hugging her rigid body till her flesh melted. The shaking grew, taking her over. She began trembling violently.
Then she was weeping in April’s arms.
*
An hour later, a doctor, a young man, summoned them to a side room with charts and a desk.
Was it a place for delivering bad news? So they could break down in private?
Hannah had imagined a moment like this, but she had thought it would come later in life. A parent or grandparent in hospital. Speaking to a doctor who delivered news of death, or life.
She’d imagined she’d know what was happening, just from the face. An expression of careful hope, or the unblinking gaze of someone steeling themselves for an awful task.
But she couldn’t tell anything from this man’s face. Nothing. April clung to Hannah, who clung back.
‘He lost a lot of blood,’ said the doctor.
Hannah sank into the hole. Air became water and enveloped her.
‘His heart stopped,’ the doctor said.
‘Is he alive?’ she whispered.
‘I’m afraid he’s …’
‘Is he alive?’
‘Yes. But …’ The doctor looked to April. Her eyes were bright with fear.
‘Tell us,’ said Hannah.
‘He’s in a critical condition. He’s had new blood, but his body isn’t responding as well as we’d expect. I’m afraid he has a bad infection, possibly contracted in the water. It’s in his blood. It’s gone to his brain. His body has shut down. He’s unconscious.’
‘Unconscious,’ said April. ‘For how long?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Is he going to be okay?’ said April.
‘In cases like this, there is often cause for—’
‘Please. Yes or no,’ said Hannah. ‘Just tell us.’
The doctor sighed. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What are his chances?’ said April.
‘This is serious. But he’s young. He’s fit and healthy. All of that’s in his favour.’
The doctor left them.
‘You’d better go home,’ said April. ‘To your family.’
‘I can’t do that,’ said Hannah, wishing people would stop saying she should. She hugged herself.
‘Why?’ said April.
‘My home isn’t my home. My family isn’t my family.’
‘Come to ours. Me, Sean and Hattie. We love you. Jake loves you. And Beano too. We’ll look after you, love. We’re in this together.’
Hannah
PHOEBE TOOK HANNAH to the hospital.
‘Please try not to worry too much, Hann,’ said Phoebe, as she parked in the drop-off zone. She looked at Hannah, concern etched into her face.
‘How can I not worry?’ said Hannah. ‘He’s lifeless. Half dead. He can’t even hear me.’
‘I’m sure just the sound of your voice makes a difference,’ said Phoebe, trying to smile.
‘I hope so,’ said Hannah. She repeated the words in her mind. I hope so. It seemed a lame thing to say, or even think. But what else did she have?
‘Come on, Hann,’ said Phoebe, placing her fingers under Hannah’s chin and lifting her face up. ‘Put a brave face on, eh?’
She got out of the car, breathed deep, and walked in to see Jake.
She talked to him, a little. In stilted chunks of one-way conversation.
‘Oh, Jake, if only you knew the trouble you’ve caused.’
‘There’s a storm happening. You’re sleeping through all of it. Bloody skiver.’
‘I dunno why I’m saying these things, it’s not like you can hear me.’
‘I love you.’
She sat holding his hand for long periods of time, not speaking at all.
Part of her didn’t want to be at the hospital. She wanted to walk the cliffs with Beano. Part of her knew she couldn’t be anywhere else. It was the only place for her to be. Like the hollow, that night at the mines, when she had run away from home. A refuge.
Part of her believed that her voice might wake him.
‘I love you. We miss you. Please come back to us.’
But that was a wish from a fairy tale. And life wasn’t like that.
*
Phoebe was outside, ready to pick her up. Hannah slumped into the passenger seat.
A minute passed. Phoebe didn’t start the engine.
‘Aren’t we going?’ said Hannah.
‘Are you okay?’ said Phoebe, gazing at her. What did she look like? Broken, probably. Hannah didn’t check the mirror. She didn’t want to see. The look on Phoebe’s face told her enough.
Hannah leant over and put her head on Phoebe’s shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a while.
She was lost. Zombified. In her own waking coma.
‘Thanks,’ said Hannah, eventually.
‘What for?’
‘Just being here.’
‘I don’t have a choice, Hann. I’m your friend.’
‘You do have a choice. You’d be surprised. The people who haven’t called. The ones who don’t know us, all of a sudden, now this is all out.’
‘Yeah, well. Screw ’em,’ said Phoebe.
Hannah pulled her head off Phoebe’s shoulder and folded her arms.
‘It means something, Phoebes. A lot, actually. I know you think I’m foolish. That he’s not worth it. But thanks for not saying it.’
‘I’m not here to judge you, Hann. Just to look after you.’
‘Like after that party.’ A memory shot through Hannah’s mind. Of the one and only time she had been drunk before she met Jake. Lying on the sofa, dying, while Phoebe collected bottles off the floor, and brought her cups of tea.
‘Yeah,’ said Phoebe. ‘Something like that.’