by Perrin Briar
“You do your own cooking, then!” Liz said, folding her arms.
They all smiled. They knew she was only playing. Bill turned to address them all.
“We don’t know what kind of wildlife is on this island,” he said. “So, don’t go anywhere alone. And keep your eyes open.”
“There’s probably not enough of a food source to support a larger animal,” Ernest said. “How would it have gotten here even if there was?”
“The same way we got here,” Bill said. “Or it could have gotten trapped here when the land around us flooded. We don’t know how this island was formed. It could be millions of years old or brand new. New islands are born all the time. Go get washed. Dinner will be ready soon.”
The boys walked to the coconut buckets. Liz slipped a finger through a hole in Bill’s shirt.
“You have to be more careful too, Bill,” Liz said. “These clothes have to last you a while yet—at least until I can make replacements.”
“I’ll have to walk around without a shirt,” Bill said. “I’ll look just like Tarzan.”
“More like Porky-zan,” Liz said, poking his stomach.
“Not for long on this diet,” Bill said.
“We can’t have that,” Liz said. “We’ve all grown accustomed to your squidgy appearance. What are you going to do for the rest of the day?”
“We’ll need tools,” Bill said.
“You’re going to make your own?” Liz said.
“No,” Bill said.
“Then where are you going to get them from?” Liz said.
The moment the question was out of her mouth Liz knew the answer.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re not going in there.”
“What are you talking about?” Bill said. “You’re the one who came up with the idea in the first place.”
“I was joking!” Liz said.
“Then you need to work on your delivery because I thought it was a great idea,” Bill said.
“You’re not going on the sinking ship,” Liz said, folding her arms.
“Do you have a better idea?” Bill said. “I can’t think of any. We’re lucky to have it to search.”
“At least make sure to take the boys with you,” Liz said.
“I intend to,” Bill said. “Don’t worry. I’ll never put the kids in harm’s way, you know that.”
Appeased, Liz relaxed. She sighed.
“No rest for the wicked,” she said.
“In which case we must be the most evil people in the world.”
Chapter Eight
THE SHIP lay twisted on the sandy beach. Intricate golden vines, blooming flowers and petals were engraved on the stern. It was an old galleon with the gorgeous sails, though the masts that had held them had long snapped off. The wood was damp and rotten, black scorches and punctured holes like pock marks. The ship’s name, half lost to the ravages of time, appeared to be The Red Flag.
“Looks like she’s been in quite a fight,” Bill said.
“Fought and lost,” Ernest said.
A surge of bubbles popped onto the surface, white and fierce, like the boat had broken wind. The ship groaned and sank a foot deeper.
“It looks old,” Jack said.
“Where do you think it came from?” Fritz said.
“It’s an old galleon,” Ernest said. “They aren’t sailed anymore. It must have come up from the bottom of the ocean.”
“From the ocean?” Fritz said. “How?”
“Tectonics,” Ernest said. “The plates move and push things up to the surface.”
“That doesn’t seem very likely,” Bill said.
“Unlikely, but not unheard of,” Ernest said. “Old ships have been brought up to the surface naturally before, only to sink again soon after. If we’re going to salvage something from this ship we need to act soon.”
“Doesn’t look like it’s going to stay much longer, does it?” Fritz said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Bill said.
“We’d best get in there as soon as we can,” Fritz said, taking off his jacket and setting it down on the beach.
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Bill said, removing his boots.
Fritz looked his father over, trying to ascertain if he was being serious.
“It’ll take both of us to get everything out of the boat in time,” Fritz said.
“We don’t even know anything’s on board yet,” Bill said.
“I’m the strongest swimmer,” Fritz said. “If anyone should go in there it should be me.”
“You stay on the beach and watch my back,” Bill said. “I don’t want anything sneaking up on me.”
“But-”
“Enough!” Bill said. “This is the way it has to be. The safest way. Stay here.”
Bill took off his jumper and waded into the water. He swam toward the wreckage. He didn’t look back. He put his hand to the stern of the ship and peered around at it. He edged hand over hand to the front, out of sight.
Fritz buried his anger deep down, so deep he choked on it.
Chapter Nine
FRITZ PACED up and down the beach, running his hands through his hair. He kept half an eye on the jungle’s tree line behind him, but most of his attention was focused on The Red Flag.
“If you keep running your hands through your hair like that you’re going to have none left,” Ernest said.
Fritz stepped toward the water’s edge. He stopped and backed away, shaking his head, reminding himself of his father’s words of warning. More bubbles gurgled up onto the surface. The ship sighed and sank another inch.
“He’s been gone a long time,” Ernest said.
“You think?” Fritz said. “We should never have let him go in by himself. That was stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“In our defence Father told us not to follow him in,” Ernest said.
“And we always do what Mum and Dad say, don’t we?” Fritz said. “Why did we decide to follow what they said now of all times?”
“Dad’ll be back,” Ernest said. “He’s a strong swimmer.”
“I don’t know,” Fritz said. “He’s not a spring chicken anymore.”
“Fortunate for us, as chickens aren’t renowned for their Olympic swimming abilities,” Ernest said.
Fritz looked Ernest over.
“You’re seriously not worried about Father at all?” he said.
“Not until you started kicking up a fuss, no,” Ernest said.
Another half a dozen bubbles popped to the surface.
“That’s it,” Fritz said, pulling his boots off. “I’m going in.”
“You can’t,” Ernest said. “Dad said-”
“Dad said to keep us all safe – that includes him,” Fritz said. He pointed to the boat. “That is not safe.”
He waded into the shallow water, preparing to jump in when another bubble burst above the waterline. Only it wasn’t a bubble. It was a thick mass of dark hair, greying at the temples. Bill was clutching something heavy to his chest that kept dragging him below the surface. He wouldn’t let it go.
“Father!” Fritz shouted.
He coiled his legs to spring forward. Bill’s hand appeared above the waterline and made a pushing back motion. Fritz hesitated. Bill’s head rose up above the surface again. He swam forward with one arm, carrying the object in the other. Fritz took it from him as he drew close. It was an old carved box that clattered with every movement.
“Are you all right?” Fritz said.
Bill coughed up a mouthful of water.
“I’m all right,” he said, gasping for air. “I can do it.”
“Let me help you,” Fritz said.
“No,” Bill said, pulling his arm away from Fritz and getting to his feet.
He wiped the water from his face and trudged back down the beach into the water. Fritz opened the box Bill had brought up. It was full of hand tools. Fritz shook his head.
“An awful lot to risk to get so little,” he said.
&n
bsp; Chapter Ten
ERNEST SAT in the clearing with a long oblong box before him.
“This is just a prototype,” Ernest said. “I’m not very good with woodwork.”
“Looks like you did a fine job to me,” Bill said. “How does it work?”
“I saw a documentary once on TV about humane ways of killing animals,” Ernest said. “They had a similar kind of trap. You have this long box. You put the food at the far end that the animal can smell. He comes along and walks down the tunnel toward the food. He gets halfway, steps on the switch, the door slams shut and he’s trapped inside.”
Ernest pressed the switch with a length of wood. The door slammed shut, snapping the stick in half.
“Excellent,” Bill said. “Learn a few lessons?”
“Oh yes,” Ernest said. “A lot. The next one, I can make faster and better.”
“Let’s get this one set up,” Bill said. “I’m sure we’ll be eating delicious meat in no time.”
Chapter Eleven
BILL MADE his way past the treehouse, down the steep incline through the jungle, and crossed the beach toward the wreckage on the southeast coast, which was frothy and white like the frilly lace around the sleeve of a nineteenth century dress shirt. Fritz and Ernest stood waiting for him.
“Are we ready?” Bill said.
“Yeah,” Fritz said, drawing a pattern in the wet sand with a stick. “Are you sure you don’t want me to join you today?”
“Yes,” Bill said. “I think I’ll be all right. You stay here and help your brothers. Where’s Jack?”
“He’s helping Mum today,” Fritz said.
Bill waded into the water. He dragged a net made of interlinked vines behind him. He kept it at a distance, dragging it behind himself like a squid with injured legs. He held a deep breath and submerged beneath the surface.
He opened his eyes and peered around at the bands of blue that surrounded him in every direction, from the shade of the sky to the dark navy of the ocean. He returned to the surface and let out a deep breath.
He pushed himself through the water, swimming arm over arm toward The Red Flag. He put his hand to its stern, the wooden fibres damp and soft beneath his fingers. He edged his way around the stern and found the hole in the ship’s deck. He ducked inside and walked down the steps into the galley.
Fritz turned and walked up the beach.
“Where are you going?” Ernest said.
“I can’t watch Father killing himself,” Fritz said. “There’s plenty of other things to do.”
“Like what?” Ernest said.
“We can check on the traps,” Fritz said.
“But that means going into the jungle by ourselves,” Ernest said. “You know what Father said about us going into the jungle alone. Fritz?”
But Fritz didn’t stop.
“Father told us not to wander around anywhere alone,” Ernest said, casting furtive glances at the jungle.
“We’re not alone,” Fritz said. “We’re with each other.”
“You know what I mean,” Ernest said.
“We’re castaways on an island,” Fritz said. “We have a million and one things we need to do.”
“I doubt getting attacked by wild animals is one of them,” Ernest said.
“We won’t be,” Fritz said. “We’re just going to check up on the traps we set up.”
Ernest cast a look back at the sunken ship, and then turned and followed Fritz into the jungle.
Fritz crouched down and picked through the chewed fragments of wood. The gnaw marks of the animal’s teeth were white and raw.
“They chewed their way out?” Ernest said.
“Looks that way,” Fritz said.
“All my hard work, wasted,” Ernest said.
Fritz dropped the pieces, letting them clatter to the stony ground. He kicked the remains.
“Damn!” he said. “I was looking forward to a nice squirrel steak.”
“We could build new cages,” Ernest said, “with the nooses over the entrance so the animal will die inside.”
“It’s no good,” Fritz said. “Other animals will come and chew them out and eat them like they did before. The animals will always be able to eat through anything we make from the island. We don’t have the time to keep making new cages every day. We need to get our hands on something tougher, something they can’t chew through.”
“Like what?” Ernest said.
“Metal,” Fritz said. “We need cages of metal. We’ll need to forage.”
“Forage for metal?” Ernest said. “We’ll never be able to harvest metal ore. We don’t have the right equipment.”
“I’m not suggesting we dig it up,” Fritz said.
Ernest searched Fritz’s expression and didn’t like what he saw there.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No way.”
“I’ll go,” Fritz said. “We don’t both need to go.”
“What do you think Father’s going to say when he finds out you’ve been in The Red Flag? And when are you supposed to go in there, exactly? Father’s in there.”
“Father doesn’t need to know,” Fritz said. “We can find time when he’s not there. If we can lighten his load, we should. It’s our duty as his sons.”
“It’s too dangerous,” Ernest said.
“Surviving here without food, that’s dangerous,” Fritz said. “I’m going to do this whether you help me or not. But I sure wish you had my back.”
He offered his hand to Ernest, who looked at it, and then up into his brother’s face.
“Okay,” he said, shaking his hand. “But just for the record, I’m not going into the wreckage. I’ll help in any other way, but I’m not going inside.”
“Fair enough,” Fritz said. “Instead, you can build the cages. How about that?”
“Fine,” Ernest said, peering at the jungle. “But let’s get out of here. This place gives me the chills.”
Chapter Twelve
EVERY SURFACE was covered in a slimy green substance. Slivers of water ran down the walls, the short flight of stairs, pooled on the floor, and filtered between the warped wooden boards into the cargo hold below.
They were already running out of time.
Bill turned a corner and entered a room he hadn’t explored yet. Shells and bones snapped underfoot. Limpets and shells clung to the inside of the ship like implacable ulcers. Dead crabs and squid floated in stranded stagnant pools. Half a dozen stacked crates leaned against one wall.
Bill pried open a crate and peered inside. There were bolts of cloth of various types, colour and size. Most of it was rotten with damp. He sorted amongst it and withdrew a few good samples. Bill added it to his net.
The air was fusty with age, the sunlight failing to filter through the portholes located on the sides of the ship. He took the torch out of his pocket and waved it around at the darkness. Lights danced off the peeling walls.
Bill pushed a heavy door with ‘Wheelhouse’ etched on it. The only porthole that allowed light was in the top left-hand corner, but even that was dark with grime.
A shadow stretched across the wall from one corner that stuck out like it been half pried off. Bill moved over to it. Some kind of underwater centipede crawled out of it, and then worked its way back in. Bill slid his fingers in through the hole and peered behind it.
The walls had been covered with wood panelling, attached directly to the original wood of the ship. Bill’s heart raced like a child waking up on Christmas Day. He peered at the panels, at the pegs holding them in place. They were short stubs affixed with bolts. They would not be difficult to remove.
Bill returned to the outer corridor and turned into a large room where the tables had been thrust against the wall. He climbed over the long counter at the front and entered a backroom. All the kitchen utensils were piled up in the large cupboard space.
Bill set to filling the net he carried, loading first the pots and pans, then the cutlery, plates and bowls. He dragged the net to
ward the door, careful not to overstuff it. There were still plenty of cups and other items, but it was unlikely the Flowers would be playing host to guests for a while.
Bill took out his torch, expelling the shadows. The ship shuddered. Bill gripped the doorway. His swag began to slide across the floor. Bill hooked his foot through a hole in the netting and waited for the shuddering to stop.
The net slid into a hole in the wall that Bill hadn’t noticed was there. Bill gripped it with both hands, but the contents of the net was too heavy. He braced the weight with his legs and yanked hard to pull it back up. Once, twice, three times… There was a loud creak and the snap of wooden fibres, and the corridor wall gave way beneath his feet.
He fell for two seconds… three… four… Then his upper back hit the water’s surface. He held his breath, and immediately smacked into something hard and flat, forcing the air out of his lungs. He wheezed like an old smoker on fifty a day.
He got to his knees, and, about to get to his feet, paused, remembering his medical training. If he ran for help he would collapse long before reaching Fritz and Ernest on the surface.
He put his hands on his head to expand his lungs to their full size and closed his eyes, concentrating on sipping air into his lungs. He broke out into a cold sweat. As he breathed he felt his lung capacity expand, like a great weight was being lifted from him. He relaxed, letting himself breathe normally.
He got to his feet and brushed himself off. He was wet up to the shins, soaked through with stagnant water. He took the torch out of his pocket and aimed it up in the direction he’d fallen from.
The hole was higher than he expected. He couldn’t reach it by jumping or climbing. He turned and found a large staircase that wound up.
Bill’s foot connected with something that skimmed across the water’s surface and collided with something in the middle of the room with a dull metallic Ting!
He turned his torch on it. The bulb flickered. Bill smacked it against his palm. The light came back on. Bill’s eyes widened at what it illuminated.