The Ferry

by Amy Cross

  “So you’re going to let them drown?”

  “Stratton’s orders -”

  “Screw Stratton’s order!” I hiss. “Are you seriously willing to just wait until we haul the ferry up from the seabed? Are you more worried about satisfying your curiosity than saving lives?”

  “No, of course not -”

  “Then we have to get back out there,” I continue. “You’re the one who dragged me down here, you must have known I wouldn’t just stand on the shore while those people drown.”

  He pauses for a moment. “The helicopter can fly again?”

  I nod.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Stratton’s the worst kind of bureaucrat,” he continues. “When he arrives, he’ll lock this entire operation down and there’s no way we’ll be able to get in the air.”

  “Then I guess we need to leave soon,” I tell him.

  ***

  “Here we go again!” the pilot shouts as the helicopter is buffeted by strong winds, just moments after lifting off from the makeshift helipad near the beach. “Get ready for a rough ride!”

  “How exactly did you square this with the rest of the team at the coastguard center?” I ask, turning to Mark.

  “I didn’t, really,” he replies. “I told them we were going out to see if we could make a close-line inspection. They’re going to be a little shocked when we come back with the first evacuees, but they can’t exactly complain. We’ll just say that we saw an opportunity and took it, and then they’ll see that a full rescue operation is possible. Stratton’ll be harder to calm down, but he can’t be too mad about something we do before he even gets here.”

  “By the time they get all their paperwork in order,” the pilot adds, “that ferry’s going to be split in two on the seabed.”

  “Did you hear about the Marienbad II disaster last year?” Mark asks.

  “Off the Shetlands?” I reply. “Twelve deaths, weren’t there?”

  He nods. “Twelve completely preventable deaths. David Stratton got us so tied up in procedures and rules, we weren’t even allowed to launch in those conditions until it was too late. Those people could have been saved.”

  “Sounds like things have really improved since I left,” I mutter, grabbing the harness and slipping it around my waist as the helicopter swoops low over the waves.

  “Hang on,” Mark replies, reaching out to stop me. “We can only send one person down onto the ferry at a time. I want you to operate from up here.”

  “Are you kidding?” I ask. “I was always better on the lower end of the rope, you know that.” I pull the shoulder straps up and lock them into place. “Just keep me steady.”

  He stares at me for a moment as I work on the harness. “Admit it,” he says finally, “you missed this.”

  “I will admit no such thing,” I mutter, before glancing at him as the helicopter shudders a little in the storm. “Teaching sucks,” I add. “For me, anyway. My heart’s not in it. I’ve spent the past five years going through the motions, getting up every day, trying to persuade myself that I belong behind a desk and that I’m good at getting kids interested in Shakespeare and Dickens. The truth is, I’m more use out here, doing something like this.” I check the harness again before glancing back at him. “And reminding you to have a conscience.”

  “We never should have lost you.”

  “I had my reasons for stepping back,” I mutter, turning and pulling the final strap around the waist and attaching it to the front. I give the whole rig a tug, to make sure it’s secure, before looking back at him. “We both know that our job usually involved a lot of sitting around, waiting for something to happen. I was never good at that part, especially after the incident with the Sullivan family’s boat.”

  “That accident really got to you, didn’t it?”

  “Sometimes I see…” Pausing, I realize that there’s no way I can tell him the truth. “Never mind.”

  “Contact from base!” the pilot calls out to us. “Sounds like David Stratton just got into town and he’s not happy about us coming out. He’s demanding that we head back for a briefing session!”

  “Stall him,” Mark replies. “Just give him static.”

  “Already on it,” the pilot continues, randomly turning one of the dials several times. Looking out the cockpit windshield, he pauses for a moment. “I don’t see the ferry where we left it. Looks to me like it must have drifted quite a way.”

  “That’s not a surprise,” Mark says, shuffling to the window on the other side and looking out. “It can’t have gone too far, though.”

  “Unless it’s gone down already,” the pilot points out.

  “Do you really think it’s people smugglers?” I ask, watching the dark sea below as I look for some sign of the ferry. “I’ve never heard of them coming this close to British shores, it’d be an audacious move to try to land a bunch of asylum seekers on the Cornish coast and think they can get away with it.”

  “We’ll work that out once we’ve rescued them all,” Mark replies. “I’ve been on the trail of this ferry for years, but it’s always managed to slip away. This time…” He leans closer to the window. “Got it!”

  Hurrying over to his side, I look out the window and see the ferry down below, listing even more dramatically than before as huge waves continue to batter the hull. To be honest, it’s a miracle that it hasn’t sunk already.

  “It’s not going to last much longer,” I tell him. “We have to get them all off before it goes down.”

  “We can fit a maximum of twelve on this helicopter,” the pilot explains as he brings us in low over the ferry. “That’s not including us, so once you’ve got twelve of them up here we’ll need to go and take them to shore.”

  “It could take twelve trips,” Mark replies, turning to me. “I don’t think we can -”

  “We can try,” I remind him.

  He nods. “Ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Pulling the handle, he slides the door open, and a blast of rain and wind immediately surges through, almost knocking me back. I grab a helmet and goggles and slip them on, before edging closer to the open door and looking down. We’re just twenty feet or so above the ferry now, which I guess is as close as we can get given that the wind is making us so unstable. I’d almost forgotten how it feels to be caught up in such a huge storm, but the adrenalin punches up through my gut like a fist.

  “Work fast and work smart,” Mark tells me. “Most of all, don’t doubt yourself. Prioritize children, and then -”

  “I remember the rules,” I reply, not wanting to spend too much time talking about what to do. Easing myself down, I set my feet on the landing skid, although I almost slip in the process. Reaching to my chest, I instinctively check once again that the harness is secure. My heart’s pounding as I look down at the ferry.

  “Good luck,” Mark adds.

  “When did you start believing in luck?” I ask.

  With that, I take a deep breath and push myself away from the helicopter. I immediately drop down a couple of feet through the driving ran, before the rope tightens and I’m left dangling as I wait for Mark to start operating the winch. I look down, seeing the ferry below my feet, and a moment later I feel a faint jerking motion in the harness before the rope finally starts to move, lowering me through the rain. At the same time, the helicopter moves around the stricken ferry a little, as the pilot tries to get us into position.

  “Can you hear me?” Mark asks over the radio.

  “Just set me down wherever you can!” I shout back. “We don’t have time to be exact, I can cover the difference.”

  I wait as I’m lowered further and further, until I’m swaying in the wind just a couple of feet above the rain-soaked hull. Slowly, the helicopter moves around, bringing me closer to the deck, and finally I’m lowered a little further until my feet bump hard against the tilted wooden deck. I reach out to steady myself, but a gust of wind blows me back and I hav
e to wait for another chance as I swing back out over the sea. I mutter a few expletives under my breath as I get ready to try again. This time, I swing faster and manage to grab onto one of the ferry’s guardrails, but when I try to gain a purchase with my boots, I realize that the incessant rain is making everything far too slippery.

  I might also be slightly out of shape.

  “Are you down?” Mark shouts over the radio.

  “Making my way to the cargo hold now!” I shout back, holding onto the railing as I inch across the deck. A gust of wind tries to pull me back, but I hold on tight and let out a strained gasp as I just about manage to keep from swinging back away from the ferry. As much as I want to hurry, I can’t afford to make any mistakes.

  “Sophie?” Mark shouts. “Talk to me!”

  “I’m fine!” Pulling myself further along, I reach the door to the ferry’s dark bridge. For a moment, I lean closer and cup one gloved hand around my eyes so I can try to see inside. There’s no-one in there, just a dark room with old, decrepit navigation equipment, a chair and a wheel. “The bridge has been abandoned!” I shout over the radio as I try the door, finding it locked. “Whoever was in charge of this thing, they’re probably long gone by now!”

  Spotting a faint number etched into the metal, I look closer.

  “I think I’ve found an ID mark,” I continue. “Write this down. Four… Eight…” I peer at the number, trying to make it out as rain continues to come crashing down. “Eight again… Nine… Zero… One… Three. That’s definitely not an IMO number, is it?”

  “It might be a national registration system,” he replies. “We’ll figure it out later.”

  Making my way past the bridge, I reach the wide-open section of deck. The ferry is listing now at a thirty, maybe thirty-five degree angle, so I have to hold onto the railing as I pull myself across, heading for the yawning hole of the cargo hold where the main hatch has been pulled aside. Before I can take another step, however, a huge wave comes crashing over the bow, sending a cascade of water into the hold and forcing me back. I steady myself against the front of the bridge until the worst has passed, and then I start making my way forward again.

  “Careful,” Mark tells me over the radio. “Hurry but take your time, if that makes sense.”

  “Sure,” I mutter, as I finally reach the edge of the hatch. I pause for a moment, before letting go of the railing and letting the wind blow me in the right direction until I bump against the tilted deck and grab hold of the cargo hatch’s open side. The impact is strong, catching me in the gut and knocking the breath out of me for a moment, and I know that if I let go, I’ll be blown clear off the ferry. The deck is wet and slippery, and I almost lose my grip before managing to hold myself steady. Five years ago, I would’ve had no trouble with something like this, but I’m out of condition and I can feel muscles aching all over my body. Still, I’m so close, and as I pull myself to the edge of the hatch, I brace myself for the sight within.

  Finally, I see them.

  Even though the boat is being constantly rocked by the waves, and despite the pouring rain that continues to drive down, the figures in the cargo hold are all standing calmly, staring up at me from about ten feet below. I swear to God, it’s almost as if they were expecting me to arrive. I open my mouth to call out to them, but now that I’m closer, I can see their faces more clearly and there’s something extremely uncanny about their expressionless eyes, and about the way they’re watching me. They all seem so thin and ragged, as if their skin is clinging tight to their faces, and in the bad light I could swear that the skin has worn through in places, exposing sections of their skulls. There’s no panic, no sense that they’re even worried about their fate, it’s almost as if they don’t mind the storm at all. They’re all dressed in rags, too, and it’s clear that wherever they’re from, they must have been on the boat for a while now.

  Refugees. They’re definitely refugees from somewhere.

  “Hey!” I shout. “Are there any children on-board?”

  I wait for a reply, but they continue to just stare up at me with dark, heavily-shadowed eyes. They’re all so thin and pale, and it’s hard not to feel a little unnerved by the way they’re watching me so calmly.

  “Children!” I shout. “I’m going to get you off this ferry, but I need to take the children first! Ninos! Les enfants! Watoto!”

  When they fail to reply, I pull myself a little further forward and look down into the cargo hold. It’s a large space, and there are more figures in the shadows, but so far they all seem to be adults.

  “Do you speak English?” I ask. “Does anyone here speak English?”

  No reply.

  “Damn it,” I mutter, figuring that I need to dust down my other languages. All two and a half of them. “Habla, uh… Ingles?”

  Again, no reply.

  “Hadlin… Ingiriisiga?” I continue, racking my brain for any other languages I can use. I used to be better than this, back in the old days. “Snakke du Engelsk?”

  I wait, but they don’t even seem to have noticed that I’m speaking to them.

  “Fine,” I mutter, reaching a hand down and waiting for one of them to accept my help. “Come on! We don’t have time to -”

  “Watch out!” Mark shouts over the radio.

  “What?” I ask. “What’s -”

  Before I can finish, the entire boat shudders as another huge wave hits, sending a torrent of water crashing over me and into the cargo hold. I manage to hold onto the edge, despite the massive forces that are trying to pull me away, and for a moment the sheer force of the impact is so strong, I feel as if my arms are going to be torn out of the sockets. When the worst of the wave is gone and I look back into the hold, I see that the figures down there have barely even reacted, despite the water pooling around their legs. A moment later, I hear an ominous creaking sound coming from somewhere deeper in the boat, and it’s clear that the hull is at risk of breaking apart. We’re running out of time here.

  “You need to get out of there!” Mark shouts.

  “Wait!” I tell him, still looking down at the figures. “Something’s wrong. They’re not panicking at all!”

  “One more big wave,” Mark replies, “and that whole boat is going to split in two!”

  “Hang on,” I mutter, dragging myself closer to the edge. “I have to go inside. I have to find out what’s wrong with them. Maybe there are fumes, or -”

  “There’s another wave headed your way,” Mark says suddenly. “I’m pulling you out!”

  “Not yet!”

  “Sophie -”

  “Not yet!” I yell, hauling myself into the cargo hold until I’m just a few feet above the figures. They’re still looking at me, and they seem to be following my movements, so they’re definitely conscious and aware of my presence, but they don’t seem to care about the fact that their boat is about to go down. Figuring that I have to try again, I reach down until the tips of my fingers are almost touching them. “You have to come with me!” I shout, staring into the dark, passionless eyes of one of the figures. “This whole boat is going to sink! Please, just -”

  Suddenly I stop as I stare at the man’s face and realize that I was right: the skin on his face has partially peeled away, and sections of pure bone are glinting in the moonlight.

  “Brace yourself!” Mark shouts over the radio. “I’m not going to risk losing you!”

  Before I can respond, I feel the rope tightening around my waist, and a moment later I’m pulled back, away from the cargo hold. A couple of seconds after that, however, I feel the rope snagging on the edge of the hatch, and I look up to see that part of the cord is caught on a twisted section of metal.

  “Sophie?” Mark shouts. “What’s wrong?”

  “Hang on,” I tell him, struggling to get the rope loose. “I just need a few more seconds! I have to at least bring one of them up!”

  “There’s no time!”

  “There,” I add, pulling the rope loose before turning to look
back down at the figures. “I’m going to have to grab one of them and hope for the -”

  “It’s here!”

  I don’t have time to react before another wave crashes into the boat, hitting me with such force that I’m sent swinging across the tilted deck. I kick out and manage to keep myself from hitting the railing, but as the boat creaks and starts breaking apart I’m sent swinging wildly back toward the bridge, finally slamming into the roof. I let out a cry of pain as I feel something snapping in my chest. Turning, I see that the rear of the boat has broken loose and is rising up, while I’m still on the front section, which is tilting to one side and starting to sink.

  “Sophie!” Mark shouts.

  I look up and see the lights of the helicopter above me as I spin around on the end of the rope. Before I can make another move, however, a third wave crashes into the boat. I’m sent slamming into the deck, before finally swinging out past the aft and over the rough sea, skimming the waves as I struggle to get myself back under control. With the helicopter above and the sinking boat to one side, and huge waves below, I feel as if I’m swinging through pure chaos. A moment later, a gust of wind blows me back over the boat as it continues to sink, and then I feel the rope shuddering as the winch is activated again. As I’m pulled up toward the helicopter, I can’t help but look down at the boat as the rest of the hull slips beneath the surface.

  We were too late. All those people are drowning.

  Chapter Four

  “I saw it on the news,” Rob says over the phone, sounding exhausted. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I can’t imagine how it feels to have it slip away like that.”

  Sitting on the steps of one of the trailers, I’ve got my phone in one hand and a towel in the other, and I’m using the latter to dry my hair. The storm has begun to die down a little, and the first rays of morning sun are starting to show on the horizon, picking out the cliffs and a house nestled high up on the other side of the bay. Nearby, several coastguard workers are involved in a discussion, while a little further off there are several police officers working to keep curious journalists from getting too close. When I arrived earlier, the nascent rescue operation was just getting started, but now a little more order has been brought to the scene. Rain is still falling, but with a little less intensity.