But escaping the Shanties stayed a dream. For the first few days Fenn went out with the others, trying to barter rats and water for anything they could lay their hands on. Then Gulper made good on his promise to train Fenn in rat-catching and, although Fenn hated killing, Tikki proved to have unexpected skills. Soon Fenn didn’t need to do much of the work as Tikki was catching more than Gulper and Fathom put together. Fenn always split his rats equally though, because if any of them returned with empty sacks Nile made everyone’s lives miserable; especially Mrs Leach’s. Whenever Fenn was up in the Sticks, he’d stare out over the bleak horizon, scanning for ships, but the sea remained a defiantly empty sheet of green, disturbed only by the froth of waves. Each time he’d climb back down with a heavy heart, despairing of ever getting home.
Today had been a bad day. People weren’t out bartering much as the rations had run to an all-time low. Milk had only managed to get a few sticks of firewood and Gulper had only picked up three runt rats. The others had nothing to show for themselves but sore feet. The weak winter sunshine that had warmed them a little that afternoon had now turned to drizzle, so the children had made their way back to the fort early to get on with evening tasks. Fathom was up on the roof making sure all the umbrellas were ready to catch the downpour, Fenn and Amber were mending the gull traps and Gulper and Milk were sharpening knives on a whetstone, grumbling about one of the other rat-catchers who they thought was stealing from their traps. Comfort and Mrs Leach were putting food on the table while Nile, as usual, was dozing in his chair.
As Fenn twisted the loops of wire into a slipknot, he thought he heard an odd noise in the distance, coming from the heart of the Shanties; a low moaning, getting louder by the second. The sound was swelling and falling as it ran up and down an octave in a wave of ugly notes. Amber’s eyes widened and she jumped up.
“The siren!”
At that moment Fathom hurtled down the ladder from the orchard.
“Sweep!” he yelled.
Nile scrambled out of his chair, suddenly nimble.
“Out, boys, out! You know the rules!”
Fenn didn’t have time to ask questions as Amber thrust his coat at him. He bundled Tikki into his jacket pocket and stumbled towards the hatch. Nile flapped at them frantically as he opened it.
“Get out! Quick!”
“Not Gulper?” Mrs Leach implored, wringing her hands.
“Go with him if you think he needs baby-sitting!” Nile snapped as he quickly lowered the ladder.
“I’ll be all right, Mrs Leach,” Gulper said as he clambered onto the first rung. “Don’t worry.”
They quickly descended, Fenn coming last. Outside the fort, the siren was wailing at a deafening pitch. The second Fenn’s foot touched the platform below, Nile hoisted the ladder back up. For a split second Fenn saw Amber’s anxious face peering down, then Nile slammed the hatch tightly shut, bolting it fast. As they scrambled down to the lower level Fenn looked out over the ocean; there were eight clusters of lights in all, coming in from every direction.
Down in the alleys people were spilling out of their barges. Everywhere was jammed with bodies trying to escape, carrying a few possessions on their backs or pushing carts, running helter-skelter towards the centre of the Shanties. Children were screaming and weeping; people fell and were trampled. The elderly or infirm cowered in their boats. As the boys got to sea level they were instantly swept into the human torrent.
“Which way?” Fenn yelled, grabbing Fathom’s arm to try and stop him being carried away. “The patrols are everywhere!”
But Fathom couldn’t hear him over the noise and his eyes were full of blind panic. Fenn remembered Halflin saying he’d seen people drown because they’d frozen with fear and had been unable to do something as simple as put on a life jacket.
“STOP!” he shouted, yanking the others off the main alley, down under the bow of a tugboat and onto a crumbling jetty.
“We need to keep going; lose them in the alleys, we’ve done it before,” Gulper gasped, straining to join the terrified mob hurtling down the gangways.
Fenn suddenly remembered how Halflin once told him about catching rabbits, when a few wheat fields still dotted East Marsh. During harvest the boys made a ring around the field and, as the older men scythed the corn in smaller and smaller circles, the rabbits became trapped in the middle. At the last moment, terrified, they would spring out, straight into the boys’ waiting nets. From the way the patrols were encircling them, Fenn guessed the Terras were doing the same. He had to yell to be heard.
“We have to hide!”
“They search everywhere!” Milk cried.
“Everywhere?”
“Except the Bilge,” Fathom shouted. “But that’s way too dangerous – it’s half underwater!”
“Then that’s where we’ll be safest,” Fenn shouted back.
Suddenly the harsh shaft of a searchlight swung near them. There were shouts from somewhere further ahead and the crowds started running back along the alley. It had begun to rain hard now and people were skidding and slipping in the grime. From out at sea, powerful white beams of light swept over the tops of the Shanties. People who had taken refuge up in the Sticks scrambled back down to hide, some falling in their haste, bouncing off the girders and into the water.
They ran back across the alley with Fenn in the lead, shoving their way through the streams of people and climbing up onto the propeller of a small fishing boat, jumping over its deck to the other side and into a deserted alley. They crawled under the hull of a wooden salmon boat and clambered down onto a long punt that had been lodged across the water: the only bridge from this alley across to the Bilge. As Fenn stepped onto it, some of the decaying laths disintegrated under his weight. Gulper and Fathom followed, bouncing lightly across the outer edges that were less perished. Fenn looked back at Milk but he was standing rigid, drenched in the rain, his hair frizzing into a luminous halo around his head, like an angel’s.
“C’mon!” Fenn shouted. Milk shook his head and took a step back.
“The Malmuts will get us!” he said, his face even whiter than normal.
Just then the beam of light tracked across the bridge and they heard distant snarls. Milk ducked back, terrified, trying to hide in the shadows, but it was impossible – the lights were too bright.
“Milk!” Fenn shouted again, but Milk had already bolted back the way they’d come. Fenn was just about to go after him when Fathom pulled him back into the dank shadows.
“It’s too late,” he said.
“We can’t leave him behind,” Fenn said, tugging to get away, but Fathom wouldn’t let go. Suddenly they caught sight of a monstrous creature as it skidded into the entrance of their alley, snarling viciously. It stopped and put its snout in the air. Steam clouded from its sharp jaw. A Malmut had found them.
The boys dived behind the sodden ribs of a Skipjack, its torn sails flapping in ragged wisps. Beyond it an old drifter was slowly sliding into the sea; two thirds of it was already below water, its Sunkmarked stern propped up by the barge wedged underneath. The searchlight swept up and over the barge, skirting past them as they squeezed themselves back into the shadows. Fenn heard another Malmut growling somewhere nearby. Tikki poked his head out in fear and slithered out of Fenn’s pocket, scampering up onto the drifter’s deck.
“Up there!” Fenn whispered, following Tikki. Fathom climbed up too, pulling Gulper behind him. The slanted boards were covered with black gunky seaweed. As soon as they stood up, they slid the length of the deck, crashing into a pile of rubbish and seaweed blocking the cabin door, which Tikki was already scratching at in fright. The ship shook and made a deep groan, like an old man fighting off a nightmare in his sleep. They froze, terrified. A harsh voice sounded close by, then Fenn heard the sound of a Malmut’s whine as it caught their scent.
Fenn grabbed Tikki and slung him around his neck, pulling the jetsam away from the cabin door and yanking it open. They squeezed through and scramble
d down into a dingy galley where the water was already waist high. Clusters of purple and white mussels grew everywhere and barnacles smothered the stove. They shut the door, reached down into the murky water and pulled the rusty bolts across.
Fenn leant against the door and listened, his heart thumping. He heard the scrape of the Malmuts’ claws as it jumped up against the drifter’s stern, scrabbling to get aboard. Then another started barking excitedly, a terrible sound quite unlike the sharp, clean bark of normal dogs. Malmuts always sounded like they had something thick and hot and sticky in their throats; as if they were choking on blood. Fenn froze, holding his breath, and Tikki wrapped himself tighter around his neck. The footsteps were getting nearer.
“They can smell something,” a Terra said. “Must be in there.”
At the top of the door there was a vent with angled gaps in the metal. Fenn pulled himself up on the doorframe and peered through. On the quayside he could see the Terras: two heavily built men, with black masks completely covering their eyes and mouths. They were practically being dragged along by two enormous Malmuts which, when they lifted their muzzles to sniff, reached the men’s shoulders. The dogs had dead-looking eyes, shrouded in cloudy white mucus. They only needed their noses and ears to see the world and as one caught Fenn’s scent, its long fur bristled. The Malmut yanked at the leash and lunged towards the barge.
Fenn gently lowered himself down and backed away from the door, trying to stay calm, slowing his breathing to keep his fear cloaked. Outside the siren had stopped blaring, which meant the Terras had got to the Mercy-Ship, and apart from the water lapping against the boat, all they could hear was the sound of their stifled breath. Fenn wondered if they’d got lucky and the Terras had taken their search to the next barge.
He looked at the others with his finger on his lips as he strained to catch every sound; his heart thumping in his chest, slow and hard, like a funeral drum. In the far distance he could just make out Terras calling through loudhailers for people to give themselves up, and he wondered if they were the same men who’d just been outside. They waited for a few minutes longer as the water steadily rose around them, but they were going to have to get out soon. Fenn waded back to the door, trying to make no sound. He leant against it again, listening out. When he was certain the Terras had gone for good he put his fingers on the bolts to pull them back.
At that exact moment there was a huge crash as a Malmut slammed into the door on the other side, snarling and scrabbling to get in. The bolt shook. Fenn staggered back and Tikki fell screeching into the water. He grabbed Tikki, praying the bolt wouldn’t shake itself open or snap. It was thick, but the ship was old and rusty and Malmuts were powerful creatures. A second Malmut crashed against the door, whining and snarling. The door bolts shuddered, and the old drifter made a kind of grunt, like someone taking a punch to the stomach. Quaking with the extra weight of the huge dogs, the ship shifted violently, sliding further down into the sea with a gurgling sound. Water began rushing up through the door on the other side of the cabin. Fenn tentatively peered through the grille again. The two Terra guards were almost within touching distance.
“Get the dogs off. It’s going down!” one of them shouted. There was a sharp whistle, then a scraping sound as something crashed against the door. From around the Shanties came the deep bellow of the patrol ships’ foghorns.
“Leave it,” the taller of the two Terras said. “There goes the Recall.”
He yanked off his mask to reveal something Fenn had not expected: a surprisingly ordinary face, crumpled, but not unkind.
“Shouldn’t have to wear ‘em unless we’re in direct contact,” he grumbled, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead and flicking the mask dry.
The other Terra instantly copied and pulled off his mask too. He was just a boy. Fenn was so close he could make out the yellow fuzz of his first beard.
“Reckon one of the other platoons got him?”
“Hope so. Chilstone will make us pay for it if we go back empty-handed,” the older one replied. Fenn could hear the fear in his voice.
“Why doesn’t Chilstone just tell us what he looks like?” the boy asked.
“Doesn’t trust anyone with that. It could lead the Resistance to him. Our job’s to cast the net and hope the Demari kid is in it.”
“Chilstone’s a madman; he’s chasing a ghost.” The older one shook his head at the boy’s naivety.
“Don’t you get it? The Resistance ain’t finished till they’ve seen the body.”
“I reckon the kid’s dead already!” the young one said conspiratorially.
“I wish,” the other replied bleakly. “I’m sick of raids, sick of the Warspite. I just want to get home to the wife an’ kids. Why should I help get the Walls built if I never get to live inside them?”
He rattled the Malmuts’ chains to bring them to heel, while the young one hammered his fist against the hull right by Fenn’s head.
“It’s going down. You’re dead now, Jipsea scum!” he shouted, grinning at the other to see if he was impressed. The older one ignored his showing off and wearily pulled his mask back on. They stomped back towards the heart of the Shanties.
Fenn’s heart was thumping so loudly now he could hardly breathe. They were hunting for him, exactly like they were when Chilstone took the Sargassons’ babies.
The three boys waited for a few moments in the dark, listening to the sounds of the Terras retreating in the distance. As the freezing water rose higher around them, they began shivering and their teeth chattered. When he was sure the Terras were gone for good, Fenn gave the nod.
“Let’s go!” he whispered. They waded over to the door and, with the tip of his boot, Fenn felt for the bolt under the water. He shunted it back as Fathom pulled back the top ones. Keeping an ear out for noise from outside, they gently pushed the door, but it didn’t move. They gave it a shove but it still didn’t move an inch. The water was up around their necks now, rising by the second.
“Harder!” Gulper said, beginning to panic. Fenn pushed his shoulder against the door and heaved as hard as he could. Still nothing happened.
“It’s jammed,” he said hopelessly.
The other two immediately heaved their shoulders against the door too, but it wouldn’t budge. Instead the boat shook again and from deep inside there came the sound of splintering wood as the drifter’s bow end filled with water and slowly began to rip away.
“We’re trapped!” Fathom cried.
15
They pushed and kicked at the door but it was stuck. Gulper swam to the nearest porthole and felt around the edge of it. It was rusted solid and too small to get through even if they could kick the glass out.
“Milk was right! This was a stupid idea!”
“It wasn’t stupid,” Fathom said defensively. “They left us alone didn’t they?”
“Yes! To drown on a sinking ship. Some escape plan!” Gulper yelled, pounding the door futilely with his fists. Fenn grabbed him by the shoulders and roughly dragged him around to face him.
“If water’s coming in must be a hole down there!” he shouted, jerking his head towards where the water was deepest. Fathom stared at him in amazement as he realised Fenn’s plan.
“It’s too dangerous!” he cried. Ignoring him, Fenn jammed his knife between two of the grille slats in the door, wriggling it back and forth until they were wide enough apart so Tikki could squirm into the gap. Then he gave Tikki a kiss and pushed him through. He pulled off Halflin’s jacket and sweater, passing them to Gulper.
“It’ll be pitch black down there!” Gulper said.
Fenn began to gulp in air like a fish, in a series of quick little breaths as if he was packing the air into his lungs, making his skinny chest swell and his ribs ripple like a keyboard.
“Wait!” shouted Gulper, but without so much as a backwards glance Fenn slid silently into the dark water like an eel and disappeared from view.
Many of the objects in the lower cabin had stay
ed exactly where they settled the day the drifter started taking on water and the crew abandoned her. There was just enough light from the Terra searchlights streaming through the portholes for Fenn to see as he swam through; plates and glasses had fallen off the table and lay scattered on the floor, the iron bench the crew sat on was upturned and smothered with tiny rusticles making it look almost woolly. Map drawers hung out of their chest. A sou’wester floated up from a hook, seaweed tangling out of its pockets.
Ahead he could make out the silhouette of another door and quickly headed for it. Its hinges had long rusted so it hung rigidly a few inches ajar, but Fenn was so skinny he could just edge through. He swam a few more feet into a corridor then pulled himself down a narrow iron ladder deep into the sleeping quarters of the lowest deck.
The light was dimmer here and he couldn’t see beyond a few inches in front of his nose. Fenn pushed past barnacled bunk beds, their blankets lying in rotten heaps and crabs scuttling over the decomposing pillows. As he swam, the water shifted in his wake and the blankets disintegrated, fluttering around like volcanic ash.
Fenn swam into the pump room, where the floor had splintered as the boat began to break in two, and another wrenching sound came from the core of the drifter’s hull. While he could still see a little he held his hand up in front of his face; the skin was still pinkish, which meant he wasn’t running out of oxygen just yet. He felt around and found a gap between the broken boards. He pulled himself through and dived down, right into the murky guts of the ship, where the water was thick with particles of silt. His hands were his eyes now as he felt the ship’s broken ribs to get his bearings. He reached the keel board and swam towards the bow end, searching for any sign of light.
Fenn was feeling faint now; he had been down several minutes already and it was harder to hold his breath with the water being so cold. It was tougher to feel too, as his heartbeat slowed down. He grubbed his way through the darkness, blindly groping in the empty coldness and praying his fingers wouldn’t become numb and useless. Apart from the occasional fish sliding against his body, he felt like he was swimming through an enormous watery coffin; it was so dark and lonely.
Fenn Halflin and the Fearzero Page 13