X-Isle

by Steve Augarde

  Baz still didn’t understand what was happening.

  Preacher John lumbered across the gangplank. “Don’t forget what I said!” he shouted to Hutchinson. “You find those girls by tonight, and that other kid as well, or you’re both on the next trip out!”

  There was a deep thudding sound, a shudder in the bowels of the boat as the diesel motor kicked into life. Then Luke appeared on the bank, jumped across the gangplank and shouted, “Cast off!”

  A cloud of black smoke arose from beyond the transom of the Cormorant. The engine speed increased and the jetty began to slip away.

  Baz was still gripping the gunwale. He felt a twitch of movement through his fingertips, a slight jerk of resistance. The wooden dinghy appeared through the haze of diesel smoke, rocking from side to side in the churning wake of the main vessel. It was being towed away from the island. There was no chance of escape now for those who remained.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “Get out o’ soddin’ way.”

  Amos brushed past him, carrying an air tank. Baz dumbly moved towards the stern of the boat and collapsed onto the bench seat. He stared back at the island, X-Isle, visible now in its entirety. The boys had already vanished from the jetty.

  A shadow passed over Baz’s head, and the twisted frame of the hammer-head crane appeared to his right, rusting iron stanchions rising from the murky water. Then came the stonework of the church tower, lichen grey, sliding past the gunwale, close enough to touch as it had been before. Baz was aware of these things only at the corners of his vision, saw but didn’t see, his blank gaze still fixed on the dark mass of land. Shrinking now. A blur of shapes and colors, the details gradually fading.

  He watched the little dinghy bobbing along in the wake of the Cormorant. The little dinghy...

  The ‘little ’un’. And now he understood what the divers had been talking about – the conversation he and Ray had overheard. Tie her up... rope her to the transom. They meant the dinghy, nothing more. God, this was such a mess.

  Amos and Luke were in their wetsuits now, or at least half in and half out. They hadn’t pulled the tops on yet, the air being already hot and humid. Consequently they moved around the deck with their bare torsos exposed, hard and muscular men – another reminder to Baz of how small and feeble he was. After checking over their gear, the two divers disappeared into the wheelhouse. But Preacher John climbed up onto the foredeck and stood there, one hand resting on the roof of the cabin as he faced the horizon.

  Baz sat on the transom bench and turned again to gaze at the receding island. It looked as in substantial as a lump of driftwood now. Nothing there to cling to. He was lost in a fog of helplessness, his thoughts too jagged and jangled to fall into any proper order. Everything had failed, everything had come apart. He knew that much. The threads of how and why, and what it meant, were beyond his grasp.

  When the true horror of his position finally struck him, it was in such a crushing wave that it took the breath from his lungs. He was on the boat, and the bomb was there with him. Death was just meters away, hiding in a locker in the wheelhouse. The bomb might go off, or someone might open the locker and find it first, but either way it would be the end of him.

  The bomb would go off, and he would die. Or it would be discovered, and he would die...

  Baz could see no other possibilities.

  What if he could choose between the two? Which would it be? If he had the choice...

  Here was a beginning, perhaps. A way of starting to think.

  Baz looked at the scaffolding tripod, where last night Gene had knelt with his pliers and cabling, fiddling with the winch motor. One quick tug on the starter handle, and that could be the end of everything. But surely the winch wouldn’t be needed until the divers were underwater and had netted their haul? They might not find anything for ages yet, so he had a little time to try and figure out his options.

  Jump overboard right now, while nobody was looking – that was one thing he could do. But Baz knew that he had no hope of getting back to the island from here. He wasn’t a good swimmer. Going overboard meant drowning.

  He could try and cut the cabling, and disable the bomb. The penknife that he had stolen from the storeroom was in his pocket. He kept it on him always now, tied to the belt loop of his shorts by a length of green garden twine. It was a puny little object, but reassuring nevertheless. He could just walk over to the winch motor, rip the lead up from the planking, and cut through it...

  But even though that might save him from an explosion, it wouldn’t save his life. The bomb would be found and Preacher John would kill him.

  What if he simply confessed to everything and threw himself at their mercy? No. There would be no mercy.

  So there was nothing he could do, after all. He had no choices.

  Baz crouched back in his corner, numb with misery. An hour went by, maybe more. He wondered what they would be doing back on the island. Gene and Jubo, Robbie and Amit. Dyson. Nadine and Steffie. That was the last he would ever see of them, he knew that. And Ray... he would never see Ray again...

  Resentment burned through him. Why had he been picked for this trip? Isaac would have chosen Gene – the mechanic – which at least made some kind of sense. But Preacher John had definitely wanted him, not Gene. Why?

  Baz stared down at the passing waves. They said that it didn’t hurt. Not if you relaxed, it didn’t. You just let go... closed your eyes... allowed yourself to sink peacefully into the blue-green world below...

  Blue-green. The water had changed color. It was clear, translucent, no longer murky grey. The thick soup that had been familiar to him for so long had given way to something different, something long forgotten. Sea water. When had that happened?

  The engine note altered, slowing down to an uneven chug, and Baz sat up straight. He was alert again, trying to get his bearings. The mainland coast was visible now, far off to his right, a low line of hills. So they must have been travelling west. Baz gazed back over the transom, searching the horizon, but could see nothing. The island had long disappeared.

  There was activity. The two divers came out of the wheelhouse, zipping up their wetsuits. Preacher John shouted something from the foredeck, where he had been standing for the entire journey. Baz could see the back of his head and shoulders, a raised arm signaling directions. The boat swung round and part of a large plastic sign came into view – tilting to the right, the top corner protruding from the choppy waves. BP in green letters. Petrol.

  It looked as though Preacher John had got lucky. Wherever there was a petrol station there was likely to be a store. Perhaps even a supermarket.

  Baz felt his bladder tighten, a sense of panic and fear rising within him. Something was about to happen, something was coming. And still he could do nothing but sit and wait for it.

  The engine cut out, and Isaac appeared from the wheelhouse. He walked around the winch tripod, glancing behind him before joining his brothers. Preacher John was still up on the foredeck, alone, looking out to sea.

  Luke and Amos hoisted aqualungs onto their shoulders as Isaac spoke to them. He kept his voice to a low mutter. “We’ll just have to see how this goes. If we’d brought the mechanic kid we could have sent him out to have a scout round in the tender. Covered a lot more ground and saved ourselves some time. But the old man had to bring that idiot Cookie instead. There’s no way I’m letting him loose in a dinghy, so all we can use it for now is a bit of extra loading space.” Isaac glanced over to where Baz was sitting. “God knows what the old fool was thinking of. He’s ruddy lost it.” He spat over the side of the boat. “But then he lost it a long time ago.”

  The two divers began adjusting their masks.

  “Where’s he got to, anyway?” said Luke, his voice already muffled as he maneuvered his breathing gear into position. Baz looked up towards the foredeck. Preacher John was no longer visible.

  “Must be there somewhere.” Luke pulled at one of his cuffs. “Look after him, Isaac. Try and ke
ep him out of mischief.”

  “Oh, I’ll look after him all right.”

  Isaac stepped back towards the winch motor. He reached up and tugged on a thin wire that was attached to the crossbeam. Ting! The single note of a small bell, very clear and bright in the surrounding silence. It seemed ominous somehow, a marker of time, or the signal for some ceremony to begin. The skipper then crouched down beside the motor to adjust some part of it, and Baz felt his stomach begin to churn. He shrank back against the transom, his head turned away, eyes narrowed...

  But Isaac stood up again, wiped his hands on his greasy sweatshirt and made his way down to the stern. “Hop it,” he said. “Get in the wheelhouse, out of my way.”

  Baz found that his knees would barely support him as he rose from the bench. The very last place on earth he wanted to be right now was in that wheelhouse.

  “Can’t I stay out here?”

  “Wheelhouse, I said. Go.”

  Baz kept one hand on the gunwale as he walked towards the darkened doorway of the little cabin. But the two divers were blocking his path, standing together between the winch and the side of the boat, doing something with a bundle of netting. Baz waited. One of them turned to look down upon him, an unearthly being in his suit and mask, the reflected glare of light on glass making him unidentifiable. They were like invaders from another planet, aliens or warrior gods, clad in rubber and glass and metal. Webbed feet. Strange tubular breathing apparatus, heavy weighted belts around their waists. The air tanks on their backs could have been rocket packs. They might have lifted off from the deck there and then, and roared away into the heavens.

  But instead, they moved to one side and sat on the gunwale. Then, simultaneously, without apparent signal or warning, they toppled backwards into the water. In another moment the alien figures had disappeared, not up into the skies, but down into another world far below. A fading string of bubbles accompanied their departure – that and a high-pitched whirring sound. Baz looked round. It was the winch. A thin steel hawser was spooling from a revolving drum. It passed through a series of pulleys, up and along the cross-member, and over the side of the boat. The divers were taking the hawser down with them, along with the loading net. They were obviously confident of finding something to bring back up.

  Baz saw that Isaac was scowling at him, so he started again towards the wheelhouse.

  At the doorway he hesitated for a moment. Bright beams of light flooded in through the main window ahead of him, but this threw the rest of the interior into confused shadow. Baz automatically looked to his left, where the locker stood – and felt his heart jump. Preacher John was there. Kneeling in front of the locker.

  The bomb had been found! That was Baz’s first thought. But then he saw that Preacher John’s elbows were resting on top of the big wooden box. He hadn’t opened it, and he wasn’t trying to. Hands clasped in front of him, head bowed, voice muttering low... The preacher was at prayer.

  “And for bringing this clear blue water, we thank you, Lord. We thank you for leading us to such a place, where we might find and receive all that you hold in store for us. We see that we are your chosen people, and that you look favorably upon our prayers and sacrifices. And to thee our first fruits shall be given. Therefore, in accordance with your will, I bring a gift... aye, as Abraham did bring a gift...”

  Baz stood stock-still in the doorway, unable to breathe.

  “... a lamb, returned to your fold. Here I make my covenant, then. As thou givest to me, O Lord, so I shall give in return. Amen.”

  Preacher John remained where he was, kneeling in front of the locker as though it were an altar, the light from the porthole falling on his wild red hair. Baz saw that there was a gun – Isaac’s shotgun – propped upright in the corner between the locker and the cabin wall. It was a strange and frightening scene.

  “I said ‘Amen’. Do you not know how to pray, boy?” Preacher John hadn’t turned round, but he was clearly aware of Baz’s presence – and perhaps had been all along.

  Baz struggled to bring anything more than a squeak to his dry throat. “Er...”

  Preacher John placed his hands flat on the locker and tilted his head backwards, gazing for a moment out of the porthole. “Then it’s time you learned.” He turned to face Baz. “Get down on your knees.”

  “What?”

  “Get down on your knees, boy, and pray to God. Here, beside me.” He pointed to the filthy planking in front of the locker.

  Baz sank forward onto his knees, partly because Preacher John had commanded it, and partly because his legs felt so weak they could no longer hold him up.

  “God is in this place, as He is everywhere, looking down upon us. Place yourself before Him, then, and pray.” Preacher John had bowed his head again. Baz rested his elbows on the lid of the locker and put his hands together, clasping them tightly in order to try and stop their shaking. He stared at the upright shotgun, the blue-black smoothness of the barrels, the perfectly machined patterns in the wood. And beyond the shotgun he saw a piece of rubber cabling, just visible where it looped beneath the far corner of the locker. It was the cabling that he and Ray and Gene had laid only last night. It seemed like a thousand years ago now.

  “Close your eyes and pray for forgiveness. Pray for your sins, and for all the sins of the world. And pray that God will find you worthy.”

  Baz squeezed his eyes tight shut, his whole body shivering as he waited for what was to come, the blow that would surely fall. Because now he understood. He was the gift. The lamb. The sacrifice. That was why he was here.

  “Oh God... oh God...” The whispered words came out of him without any conscious thought. Spoken automatically in fear and despair. But the sound of them hung there, and their meaning grew. Help me. God help me. Don’t let this happen...

  He’d never prayed before, not really.

  Please, God... if you’re there. I’m so scared... and I don’t know what to do. Don’t know what to do...

  He’d helped to build a bomb. A wicked and murderous thing. It lay before him now, right beneath his elbows, even as he prayed to God to make it go away. And if he was killed, then it would be his own doing, his own fault.

  Yet nothing happened. The boat rocked gently on.

  Baz sank into his own inner darkness, no longer praying but just desperately hoping. Hoping for a sign, or an idea, or a miracle. Waiting. And at the same time he shrank from the overwhelming presence of Preacher John. He could sense the solid mass of the man who knelt beside him, could hear him breathing through his nostrils, deep and controlled and patient. As if he too were waiting...

  Jump up and cut the cable. This was still the only thing that Baz could think of doing. It wouldn’t save him, but it would take away his guilt – make it so that he wasn’t going to be a murderer. But no. That didn’t work either. If he exposed the bomb, or defused it, then his friends on X-Isle would die, and he would be to blame. What was the right thing to do? Where could he find the answer?

  There was a soft squeak of the planking behind him, a rustle of material. Oh God, it was coming. This was it. Baz opened his eyes wide. A huge hand crossed his vision, reaching out, thick hairy fingers closing around the barrels of the shotgun...

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “Well, isn’t this cozy?”

  Isaac stood with his back to the open doorway, the shotgun in his grasp.

  Baz looked at the barrels, and was then unable to look away. His eyes were fixed on those dark and sinister tunnels. Far into them he was drawn, his body cold, a bubble of sick-water rising at the back of his throat.

  “Get up.”

  Through waves of terror the words came, and Baz automatically raised one knee.

  “Not you, you ruddy half-wit. Stay where you are. You – get up.”

  What? Baz couldn’t tear his gaze away from the shotgun, but he was aware of movement, another squeak of the planking as Preacher John rose to his feet.

  “So it comes to this at last, then, Isaac. As I
knew it would.”

  “Oh, you knew it would. Well, you know everything, don’t you? Pick up that diving belt.” Isaac waved the shotgun towards the other side of the cabin.

  Baz grasped the fact that, for the moment at least, this had nothing to do with him. He turned his head and saw Preacher John stoop to pick up a tangled object from the floor. A webbed nylon belt – red and brown stripes – a series of what looked like big yellow buckles. No, they were weights. It was the same kind of belt that Baz had seen earlier on the two divers.

  “Put it on.” Isaac’s face was flushed, his voice slightly unsteady. He seemed the more nervous of the two men.

  “What do you think you’re going to do, Isaac?” Preacher John swung the heavy diving belt around his girth. He hitched up his seaman’s smock, brought the ends of the belt together and searched for the fastening. At no time did he take his eyes off Isaac.

  “I think I’m gonna watch you go for a dive,” said Isaac.

  “I see. Well, I can soon take this thing off, once I’m in the water. Unless you intend to shoot me first. Is that your plan?”

  “Just get outside.”

  Baz sank back down onto one knee, horrified. Isaac was going to kill Preacher John! He’d seen and heard enough to know that there was deep animosity between the two... but murder... to murder your own father...

  “What about Luke and Amos?” Preacher John seemed calm, in no hurry to move. “What do you intend to tell them?”

  “You had an accident. You must have over balanced, fallen overboard. Just disappeared.”

  “And you expect them to believe that?”

  “You were out of sight, even before they left. You could have already gone. And I have a witness.”

  Preacher John seemed puzzled for a second. Then he glanced down at Baz. “The boy? You seriously think he’ll be your alibi? Back up your story?”

  “He’ll say whatever I tell him to say if he wants to stay alive. That’s why I brought him.”

  “You didn’t bring him.” Preacher John was still unflustered, matter of fact. “I did. You would have brought the mechanic.”