by Amy Cross
Again, no reply.
“Can you hear me?” I continue.
Nothing.
And then, slowly, he tilts his head slightly. Not much, not really enough to mean anything, but just enough for me to be able to tell that he’s definitely alive.
“How have you -” I start to ask, before realizing that I’m not sure I want to know how he survived for this long. I guess it’s technically possible that he swam from one air pocket to another, but the odds are pretty miniscule. Still, I’ll figure it all out once I’m back on the surface. Right now, I have to get out of here.
All around us, the ferry’s hull creaks again. If it shifts one more time, this air pocket could easily be lost and then I’ll have no option but to try to get away. I have maybe seven minutes of trimix left in the tank, probably less since I’ll inevitably lose some, and getting lost in the ferry’s corridors would be fatal.
I wait, keeping my eyes fixed on the man’s face.
He’s not even blinking.
Suddenly I feel the whole ferry starting to shudder. It’s as if the hull is moving slightly, but so far the air pocket is remaining more or less intact, albeit with the edge moving dangerously close to the door, which could allow the air to escape into the corridor if the ferry turns in a certain direction.
“I have to get out of here,” I whisper, too scared to break eye contact with the bald man who’s still watching from a few feet away, his face picked out by the flashlight. “I don’t know what’s going on here, but -”
Before I can finish, the ferry shifts again, just a little more, and I realize that the vessel seems to be moving. Reaching out, I put a hand on the wall and feel a kind of constant shudder. The only thing that would explain something like that would be if a salvage team has arrived and already started to move the damn thing, but I know there’s no way they’d get here so fast. Besides, it’d take days or weeks to move the ferry.
“Can you tell me what’s going on?” I ask, waiting for the man to say something. “Do you speak any English at all? Espanol? Come on, one of you guys has to be able to understand something!”
I wait.
“Talk to me!” I shout, finally losing control. “Just say something!”
With the ferry shuddering all around me, I wait again, but this guy is as uncommunicative and unresponsive as the guy back in the trailer. Even with the flashlight in his face, he hasn’t blinked once.
“Okay,” I continue finally, “I’m -”
Suddenly the entire boat pitches violently to one side, knocking me against the wall before everything seems to tilt back in the other direction. Losing hold of my air tanks and the torch, I’m pulled through the door by a rush of water and sent tumbling out into the dark, submerged corridor. I try to reach out and grab my air supply, but all I feel is a torrent of bubbles, as if the tube is wide open. As I try to cry out, the torrent of water is too strong and I bump against the corridor’s walls, sinking further into the all-encompassing darkness.
A moment later, I feel myself hitting a wall, bumping gently. Still holding my breath in the freezing cold, pitch dark water, I try to turn and push myself away, still with the vain hope of finding my air tanks, but suddenly the boat seems to shift position again and I can’t get any momentum going at all. I try to swim forward, but in my disorientated state and with the flashlight gone, I simply end up bumping headfirst into another wall. Turning in the darkness, I try again, but this time my hands fumble against something and I realize it’s another of the bodies. I try to fight the sense of panic as I clamber past the corpse and swim on, but the ferry shifts again and I feel myself being tilted upside down, at which point I instinctively gasp for air, only to feel freezing, dirty water running down the back of my throat.
I reach out and grab hold of a railing.
This is it.
There’s no -
Suddenly the boat tilts again. I hold on, while trying not to swallow more water, but I’m starting to feel light-headed and I know that this time there’s no-one around to save me.
In my mind’s eye, I see little Mary Sullivan staring at me.
This is what it’s like to drown.
Unable to stop myself, I swallow more water. There’s a sharp pain in my chest, as if something is trying to force its way through, and finally I let go of the railing and let myself drift.
I barely even notice as the water all around me starts to rush and as I’m carried faster and faster along the corridor, bumping hard against the side. All I can do is surrender to the forces that are pulling me along, and I quickly lose track of where I am in the boat, even as I’m bumped into several more surfaces before, finally, I come to rest against another wall.
I should have known it would end like this. The nightmares were trying to warn me.
Chapter Seven
Suddenly, all the water rushes away and I slam down hard against the floor with enough force to wind myself and force water back up out of my mouth.
Spluttering for breath, I instinctively try to get to my feet, but the pain in my chest is too strong and I fall back down, barely able to draw breath in the pitch darkness. A moment later I bring up more water, and then even more, before I’m able to gasp for air and I find, to my utter shock, that I’m no longer underwater. I instinctively start punching a fist against my chest, forcing a little more water up. Coughing and desperately hawking air into my lungs, I open my eyes and see the dirty, soaked floor just a few inches from my face.
Suddenly there’s light.
Not much, just a faint hint filling the corridor.
But it’s light.
Natural light.
All around me, the ship’s hull creaks again, followed by a brief shudder.
For a few more seconds, I can’t move at all. There’s still excruciating pain in my chest and abdomen, but as that sensation starts to pass, I finally lift my head and look around. I’m in one of the ferry’s corridors, and all the water has somehow rushed away. Turning, I see a window at the far end, with a cold gray sky visible on the other side of the broken glass. I stare for a moment, convinced that there has to be some kind of mistake, but as I catch my breath a little more, I realize that the impossible has happened.
The ferry has not only righted itself, it’s actually been re-floated.
I stay completely still, convinced that there has to be some kind of a mistake. Reaching up, I finally start running a hand over my face, checking to see if everything is still real. In the back of my mind, I’m worried that somehow this is what it’s like to die, that I’ve entered some kind of strange twilight world and that my neurons are firing to give me one final experience. As the seconds tick past, however, I find myself wondering how this could possibly be any kind of afterlife. Hell, I’m soaking wet, my muscles are aching, and I feel as if there’s a gallon of foul, cold seawater in my belly.
The pain is real. In my head, in my chest, in my shoulders and arms and legs…
Everything else must be real, too.
Once I’m sure I’m not going to collapse, I slowly, carefully get to my feet. Forcing myself to ignore the pain, I turn and look both ways along the corridor. This isn’t a part of the ferry that I remember being in before, so I make my way to the window and look out, only to see the vast gray English Channel stretching out before me, while a strong breeze hits my face. After a moment, I realize that the ferry actually seems to be moving, although I can’t hear or feel any engines running. Reaching up, I try to find the earpiece that would allow me to talk to Mark, but I realize quickly that it must have been knocked loose. Still a little short of breath, I turn and look along the corridor.
As if on cue, the ferry’s hull creaks again.
Rescued.
Somehow, in some way that I don’t understand, we must have been rescued.
Hurrying along the corridor as fast as my aching legs will allow, I quickly reach the stairwell that I remember from before. All the water has run out of the ferry, and there’s no sign of any of th
e bodies that were floating around earlier, so I make my way to the stairs and look up. I don’t hear voices anywhere, but I figure I need to get up on deck as fast as possible so I can make contact with whoever has hauled us up from the seabed. Heading along the next corridor, I try to remember the route back to the bridge, although my progress is slowed a couple of times as the entire ferry lurches to one side and then the other, causing the doors of several nearby rooms to creak open and closed.
We’re underway.
We’re moving.
It takes a couple of minutes, and I make a few false turns, but eventually I reach the steps that lead back up to the bridge. Clambering through the door, I find myself standing next to the empty chair and the ship’s main navigation wheel, and I have to shield my eyes a little from the bright daylight that’s streaming through the main windows. Once my eyes have adjusted, I hurry across the bridge and look out, expecting to see a trawler or some other rescue ship towing us to shore.
Nothing.
The entire ferry is moving forward, but with no sign of engines running, I have no idea how we’re being powered.
“Mark!” I shout, turning to look back at the door.
I wait.
No reply.
Figuring that he might be out on the main deck, I head across the bridge and pull one of the doors open before stepping outside. A strong wind immediately hits me, and although my wetsuit is conserving a little of my body-heat, I can’t help but feel chilled to the bone. Hurrying around the side of the bridge, I try to spot whatever vessel is towing or pushing us along, but there’s nothing. When I reach the aft of the ship, I see to my shock that the English coastline is rapidly receding into the distance.
Somehow, for some reason, we’re heading back out to sea.
“Mark!”
Turning again, I wait for some hint that he’s still here.
I shout again, so loud that my throat hurts: “Mark!”
Nothing.
“Where the hell are you?” I mutter, once again trying not to panic as I head back to the bridge. As I hurry through the door, I notice the main wheel turning slightly, although it slows to a halt after just a few seconds. Looking around, I realize there’s still no sign of anyone, but I can’t shake the sensation that there was someone here, just before I came back inside.
Mark. I have to find Mark.
***
Ignoring the pain in my chest and the aches in every limb, I pull open the door that leads down to the ferry’s engine room. I think it’s only about an hour since I last saw Mark, when he made his way through here and swam down to take a look, but so much has happened in that hour. If his trimix tanks weren’t damaged, he probably still has a little air left, although I doubt he needs it since all the water has clearly been drained from the vessel.
“Mark?” I call out. “Hey, can you hear me down there?”
Staring into the darkness, I wait.
Nothing.
Not even the sound of engines.
With my flashlight having been lost in the tumult earlier, I can’t light my way, but I know I still have to go down and find him. I hook the door open using a chain that connects to a slot on the wall, before taking a few steps down the rickety, slightly swaying metal staircase. A few shafts of light are showing through cracks in the hull above, but for the most part I can’t see anything at all, until a moment later I spot a strong, clear light far down at the bottom of the steps.
“Mark?” I whisper, as I realize that I’ve found his flashlight.
Hurrying down, I almost slip on the wet steps before reaching the bottom and grabbing his light, and then shining it all around. I’m in a large room with a high ceiling, and there are various machines and gauges running across the far wall, with pipes everywhere. I’ve been in engine rooms like this before, although this one is clearly much older than anything I’ve ever encountered. Stepping over some of the pipes, I shine the flashlight around, hoping against hope for some sign of Mark, but there’s nothing.
No-one’s down here, and the engines definitely aren’t running.
“Mark!” I shout, my voice echoing in the large, metal room. “If you can hear me, just make a noise! Anything, just let me know where you are!”
I wait.
Nothing.
A moment later, I feel the ferry tilting slightly, as if it’s changing course. I look back up the steps, and although I want to believe that there’s a rational explanation for all of this, I can’t shake the feeling that the navigation wheel is slowly turning in the bridge and that even if I was there, I wouldn’t see a soul.
“This is impossible,” I whisper, forcing myself to stay calm and to keep from imagining crazy things.
Stepping over more pipes on the floor, I head over to the bank of gauges and see that they’re all showing as empty. It takes only a few more quick checks to ascertain that there’s no way this ferry’s engine is in any state to operate, and some of the cylinders are missing, which means that something else must be keeping us going. Making my way around the back of the gauge panel, I look at some of the other equipment and realize that it’s way, way older than anything I’ve encountered before. This ferry is literally straight out of the forties or fifties with no obvious upgrades that I can see.
There’s no way it should be running.
Figuring that I need to focus on finding Mark, I head back toward the base of the steps. Shining the torch around, I try to work out which way he’d most likely have gone once he got to this point, and finally I head over to a door at the far end of the room. I lean through and shine the torch down and see that I’ve reach the main part of the engine inspection unit, but there’s no way that he’d have gone that way.
“Mark!” I call out, just to be sure.
No answer.
I pause for a moment, listening. The truth is, with the engines running on silent, he should be able to hear me easily. If he’s injured, I need to find him and get him to the lifeboat, and then hopefully I can get us back to shore before this damn thing gets too far away. At the same time, someone from the rescue group should have noticed the ferry rising up from the seabed and setting off again, so I’m convinced that before too long there’ll be at least a flyby from a helicopter. Until then, I have to find Mark, because it’s looking increasingly likely that he’s injured.
“Mark!” I shout.
Nothing.
I reach out and bang on one of the pipes, and then I wait, hoping that wherever he is, he’ll do the same.
Still nothing.
Heading back across the main engine room, I spot another door at the far end. I make my way over, still in pain, and pull the door open, before stepping out onto a small gangway and -
Freezing for a moment, I stare ahead in shock before ducking back and out of the way. My heart’s racing as I try to make sense of what I just saw, but finally I find the courage to peer around the side of the door again and shine the flashlight through.
I’ve found the main cargo hold, and there are scores of figures standing around, all looking up at the open hatch, just as before. They’ve got their backs to me, and even though the flashlight’s beam is shining over their shoulders, they don’t seem to have noticed me at all. Stay completely still, I realize that there could easily be two hundred of them in here, packed shoulder-to-shoulder. After a moment, spotting movement nearby, I turn and see two more of them entering the hold through a door at the side, quickly taking their places with the rest.
They’re coming back.
After drifting through the sunken ferry, they’re making their way back to the hold now we’re underway again.
In the distance, there’s another faint creaking sound.
Hearing a noise over my shoulder, I turn and look back into the engine room for a moment. I shine the flashlight around, but there’s no sign of anyone, so I turn back to look into the hold again.
They’re looking at me.
Some of the figures have turned their heads and are now st
aring straight at me with the same dark, impassioned expression that I’ve seen a couple of times now.
Taking a step back, I grab the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut in case one of them comes closer.
After a moment, they all turn back to look up at the open hatch, as if they’re waiting for something.
“No,” I whisper, carefully swinging the door shut and then sliding the bolt across, hoping to at least make it harder for them to follow me. With shaking hands, I take a few steps back as the boat creaks again. “This can’t be happening,” I continue, feeling as if my thoughts are spinning out of control. “I must be imagining it, I must be hurt.”
Reaching up, I run a hand through my hair, trying to find some kind of wound that might explain everything. Finally, I turn and head back to the steps. Mark isn’t down here, and I’m starting to realize that wherever he is, he must be hurt. If he can move at all, however, he’s going to head up to the bridge and then maybe out onto the open deck, so that’s where I have to go, so I can meet him. There’s also the small matter of the rescue team back on the shore, and since they’re definitely going to send a helicopter to follow the ferry’s route, I need to get up there so I can signal to them and let them know we need help. Racing up the steps and then heading to the bridge, I ignore the pain in my belly and try to slip into a calm, focused mindset.
When I reach the bridge, I see that the wheel is turning again, spinning first one way and then briefly the other before coming to a halt.
I wait.
Nothing.
“Hello?” I call out.
The only sound is the wind outside, and the crashing waves as the ferry makes its way forward.
Hurrying past the wheel, I head to the door and then back out onto the open deck. I look up, desperately hoping that I’ll spot a helicopter, but there’s no sign of anyone coming after us. Running through the possibilities, I realize that it must be half an hour or so since the ferry was somehow raised from the seabed. Since that could only have been achieved with significant outside effort, there’s no way the shore team aren’t aware, so I don’t understand why they’re not monitoring us in any way. Heading over to the railing, I look overboard and stare down at the waves for a moment, and I try to work out what’s happening.