The Paradise Trap

by Catherine Jinks

  Luckily, Marcus was used to dodging vomit. In Cruising for a Bruising, the puke was usually flying through the air; more than once, his avatar had been splattered by a whole row of seasick passengers in evening clothes, projectile-vomiting onto a lower deck. He knew how to clear a path through the computer-generated puddles with a fire hose. He was also very good at avoiding runaway dessert trolleys, popping champagne corks, golf balls on the driving range, galley fires, freak waves, machete-wielding stowaways, high-kicking chorus lines, gushes of scalding steam, and drunken passengers careening around in stiletto heels.

  Not that any corks were popping on board this particular ship. But his training stood him in good stead. He had perfect judgement when it came to threading his way through an obstacle course in a heavy sea, thanks to all the practice he’d had; it was like a pilot finally taking off after months spent on a flight simulator. The only difference was that slamming into a virtual bulkhead didn’t actually hurt.

  Magic bulkheads were different.

  ‘We can’t really sink, though, can we?’ Holly asked, as they all clung to a handrail, waiting for the right moment to descend another companionway. ‘I mean, this ship doesn’t exist. How can it hurt us if it doesn’t exist?’

  No one answered. Jake was too upset. Coco was feeling too sick. Edison was still coughing up water and Sterling, at the rear of their group, was fending off a panicky steward. ‘Where are your lifejackets?’ the steward was demanding. He had an armful of lifejackets, one of which he thrust at Marcus. ‘Put on your lifejackets and report to your muster station!’

  ‘That’s what we’re doing,’ Sterling assured him. But the steward wasn’t buying that.

  ‘Not below, you’re not!’ he exclaimed. ‘Passengers muster on the upper decks—’ He broke off suddenly, interrupted by the arrival of a woman in a sparkly evening gown. She banged through the nearest swinging door, wide-eyed and hysterical.

  ‘We’re going to die!’ she shrieked. ‘We’re all going to die!’

  ‘Miss? Miss!’ The steward ran to intercept her. ‘You have to put on your lifejacket—’

  ‘Save me!’ When she flung herself at him, he lost his footing; they both collapsed in a heap.

  Marcus, meanwhile, was concentrating on the task in front of him. He had to get downstairs without falling off the companionway – and without tripping on the avalanche of oranges that swirled around its bottom step. The move called for split-second timing . . .

  ‘Now!’ he barked, then rushed to take advantage of that fleeting moment when the ship was more or less horizontal. By the time he’d reached the deck below, it was on just enough of a slope to make the oranges roll away from the spot where he landed. He realised that they must have spilled out of the dry store.

  ‘Quick!’ he cried. ‘We’re getting close!’

  ‘Oh God, this place is huge!’ said Holly, who was just behind him. She gazed around in despair at a long, irregular space lined with bins and cupboards and fridges. Many of the cupboards were open, their doors flapping dangerously, their contents strewn across the deck. ‘How are we going to find one little lift?’

  ‘We could use that,’ Edison suggested. He had joined Holly at the foot of the companionway, where a handy evacuation chart was attached to one of the bulkheads. ‘Look,’ he continued, pointing at a red dot, ‘it says we’re right here . . .’

  ‘But there’s no engine room on this level!’ Coco was peering over her stepson’s shoulder. ‘It’s all galleys and health spas . . .’

  ‘We have to keep going down,’ said Marcus, just as a giant tub of maple syrup crashed to the deck behind him. It wasn’t easy, wading through a slick of maple syrup in rough weather, but they all managed it somehow. And when a couple of enraged crewmen suddenly charged around the corner, this maple syrup turned out to be a blessing. The two men ended up with their feet in the air, spinning around and around on their backs before crashing into a pallet of tinned tomatoes. Marcus and the others escaped through a minefield of broken glass.

  Upon reaching the next companionway, they found its lowest portion wreathed in something that looked a lot like smoke.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ said Sterling.

  ‘It’s okay.’ Marcus had faced a lot of virtual fires. He knew the drill. ‘All engine rooms have fire extinguishers. It’s against the law not to.’

  Newt gave a snort ‘Uh – hello?’ she spluttered. ‘What law would that be, exactly? The law of Myth World?’

  Coco, by this time, was at the end of her tether, wet and cold and bruised and queasy. ‘We shouldn’t be here. We really shouldn’t be here,’ she moaned. ‘We should go back upstairs right now!’

  ‘But there’s nothing up there, Coco. Not for us,’ Holly reminded her. And Edison agreed.

  ‘We need to get to the lift. It’s our only chance,’ he assured his stepmother.

  Jake said nothing. His face was white and drawn, his gaze dull, his jaw clenched. Having taken charge of the suitcase again, he was clutching it as if it were a lifebelt. He gave the impression of someone working very hard not to curl up into a tight little ball.

  ‘That lift’s not far away. I know it isn’t,’ said Marcus. ‘I mean, just look at the smoke down there. It’s the last place you’d want to be. The worse things get, the closer we are.’

  He’d hardly finished speaking before the deck dipped abruptly, dropping from under their feet. They all bumped and slid to the bottom of the companionway, yelping and screeching and grabbing at the rail. After finally disentangling themselves, however, they found that no one had broken anything; despite a few sore knees and elbows, they’d survived the fall practically unscathed.

  ‘This isn’t smoke,’ Holly announced hoarsely, scrambling to her feet as she sniffed the air. ‘It’s steam, thank God.’

  ‘And this is the engine room,’ Marcus decided. ‘It has to be.’ He peered through the whitish haze at a vast tangle of chains, valves, switches, cables, dials, taps and pipes – pipes of every size, from tubes the width of his finger to cylinders as big as factory chimneys. Amidst all the humming, clanking machinery were a couple of red fire extinguishers, a metal walkway, a roll of duct tape, an empty soft drink can, and a sign that read ‘On hearing CO2 alarm, evacuate immediately’.

  ‘Okay. Here’s what we do,’ said Marcus. ‘We look for the bilge pump.’

  Everyone gaped at him. Even Sterling said, ‘Huh?’

  ‘The bilge pump is full of bilge. Which comes from the bilge wells.’ Thanks to Cruising for a Bruising, Marcus knew quite a lot about the workings of an engine room. ‘Bilge is slimy black stuff that sits at the bottom of the ship,’ he explained. ‘It’s a combination of water, oil, sludge and chemicals.’

  ‘So it’s disgusting?’ asked Newt.

  ‘Yes,’ Marcus replied.

  ‘And smelly?’

  ‘Very smelly.’

  ‘Then that’s exactly what we want!’ Edison squeaked. ‘Something you’d never, ever want to see in a billion years!’

  The words were barely out of his mouth when there was a deafening crack – and a roaring jet of seawater burst through a tear in the hull.

  42

  SINKING

  EVERYONE SCREAMED. COCO YELLED SOMETHING ABOUT lifeboats. But Marcus cried, ‘No, wait! This is good!’

  ‘Are you insane?’ Newt squawked. ‘We have to get out!’

  ‘No, we don’t! This is the worst place on board!’ Marcus looked around, desperate for a glimpse of the lift. ‘It’s got to be here somewhere!’

  ‘This way, Marcus, quick!’ Even Holly had given up. She tried to grab him and pull him back towards the companionway. Marcus, however, managed to shake her off. He darted towards the stern, past what he knew to be the main engine cylinder-head pistons. Behind him, Holly uttered a howl of despair. ‘Marcus! Come back!’

  The water was already surging around his ankles.

  He found a lift near the alarm panel, but it was a freight lift; the door was standing open and he could see it
s scratched paint, its warning notices, its clearly marked escape hatch. Next to it was a break room full of torn carpet and shabby couches. Then came a generator, then a compressor, then . . .

  Someone clamped an arm around his chest.

  ‘You moron!’ Jake screeched into his ear, before lifting him clear off the ground. As Marcus struggled, he caught a scary glimpse of Jake’s red face and bulging eyes. Jake was still carrying the suitcase. Behind him, some distance away, Holly was knee-deep in water, waving her arms. Marcus couldn’t see anyone else.

  ‘It’s gotta be here!’ he pleaded. ‘It’s gotta be!’

  At that very instant, a steep roll of the ship knocked Jake off his feet. He dropped Marcus, who was carried down the walkway by a foaming green torrent. Gulping and thrashing, Marcus grabbed at the first available pipe. He wedged his body against it – and found himself staring straight at a familiar door that was tucked between the bilge pump and the fuel-oil drain tank.

  ‘Here it is!’ he shrieked. ‘Here’s our lift!’

  But its door was shut. And when Marcus stretched out a finger to push the up button, nothing happened.

  ‘Where’s Edison?’ Marcus shouted at Jake, who was trying to retrieve his floating suitcase. ‘We need Prot’s hand!’

  Jake couldn’t seem to absorb this information. He faltered, looking confused. It was Holly who responded, from much further away.

  ‘I’ll get him!’ Her voice was barely audible above all the rushing, creaking, groaning noises. ‘I’ll get all of them! Coco! Sterling!’

  She turned and waded back towards the companionway – much to Jake’s alarm. ‘No! Holly! Don’t!’ he begged, forgetting his suitcase as he lunged after her. By now the water was waist-high on Jake, sloshing against doorhandles and lapping at light switches. Marcus’s legs were sucked out from under him by the turbulence. His glasses were snatched from his nose and would have floated off, if he hadn’t seized them. He had to kick his way up the pipe to which he was clinging, vaguely aware of Jake’s suitcase nudging his ribs.

  The suitcase had taken on a life of its own. It was caught in a kind of whirlpool that swallowed it up and spat it out and spun it around and finally tossed it straight at the lift button. When Marcus heard a faint ping, he couldn’t believe his ears.

  He gasped as the door opened.

  ‘Mum! Jake! Come back!’ he bellowed. ‘It’s our lift!’

  He hurled himself into the little beige box, landing on his hands and knees. The carpet beneath him was bone dry. Glancing around, he saw a hissing, churning, bubbling wall of water arrested on the threshold by some invisible barrier. It was freakish – unnatural – but Marcus didn’t have time to wonder what it meant. Because a stainless steel panel was already beginning to clank across his view of the chaos.

  ‘Hurry, Mum!’ He caught the door just in time. Then he reached past it and snared Jake’s suitcase.

  He was amazed to find that he could lean into the water as he would have leaned into a curtain.

  ‘Marcus!’ yelled Holly. She was being towed along by Jake, who was half-wading, half-swimming towards the lift. Marcus dragged Jake’s suitcase over the threshold before tossing it behind him. Then he braced himself against the edge of the door, using his whole body as a doorstop.

  ‘Oh, God! Thank God!’ Holly was coughing and gasping. When Jake pushed her inside, she tripped over her son’s leg and fell down. But Jake soon yanked her up again. He’d burst into the lift like a breaching whale, almost thudding off its rear wall in his eagerness to jump ship. Once he’d steadied himself, however, he turned back to help Holly.

  Only after she was on her feet did he throw himself against the door, adding his weight to Marcus’s.

  ‘Where’s Sterling? Where’s Edison?’ Marcus demanded. ‘Mum? Where are they?’

  ‘They’re coming,’ Holly replied. Sure enough, Coco suddenly appeared, framed in the doorway; she was paddling in their direction. So were Newt and Sterling – though Sterling, being taller than Newt, wasn’t so much swimming as ploughing through the waves.

  He was giving Edison a piggyback.

  ‘Edison! Hey! Do you still have Prot’s hand?’ Marcus called out across the surface of the deluge. ‘We can’t lose Prot’s hand!’

  Edison’s arms were wrapped around his father’s neck. But as Coco collapsed into the lift ahead of them both, her stepson unlocked one arm and raised Prot’s hydraulic hand with an air of weary triumph.

  He was still clutching the hand firmly when he slid off Sterling’s back onto the lift floor. ‘Still got it!’ he wheezed.

  By now the level of the water was way above Marcus’s head. It didn’t matter, though; all he had to do was let go of the door and retreat a few steps, tugging Jake along with him. A steel curtain was immediately drawn across the doomed ship’s final moments. There was a grinding, snapping, rending sound. Then blessed silence fell.

  At first no one spoke. Holly couldn’t stop hugging Marcus. Jake was sitting slumped in a corner. Sterling had crouched beside Coco, who was sprawled across the carpet, her hairdo ruined and her herbal mask completely expunged. They were all shaky, breathless and dripping wet.

  At last Newt opened her eyes, lifted her head and croaked, ‘So how do we get out of here?’

  43

  WHERE TO NOW?

  IT WAS A WHILE BEFORE ANYBODY ANSWERED. MARCUS FELT too drained to talk. Edison was retching up seawater and Coco was sobbing pathetically.

  At last Jake said, ‘What was that number? The one for the office?’ ‘Zero-zero-zero-zero-one-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-zero-one,’ Sterling recited.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Though Sterling looked pale and wrung out, he sounded absolutely confident. ‘I’m good with numbers.’

  Marcus, meanwhile, was trying to wriggle out of his mother’s vice-like hug. ‘That might not have been the real office,’ he warned. ‘It might have been a fake.’

  Jake shrugged. ‘So what?’ he rejoined. ‘It was better than this.’

  No one tried to argue. Even Marcus couldn’t disagree. So Sterling gently took Prot’s hand from Edison and used one lifeless steel finger to key Miss Molpe’s office code into the panel of wall-mounted buttons.

  But the lift didn’t respond. It just sat there.

  ‘Oh, God,’ Newt groaned. Holly buried her face in Marcus’s shoulder. Coco snivelled and Edison looked anxiously at Sterling.

  ‘Dad?’ Edison squeaked. ‘It’s going to work, isn’t it?’

  Sterling hesitated. He was clearly at a loss. Marcus, however, refused to give up. After playing so many computer games, he knew that there was always another way out. You just had to know the secret password, or complete the right sequence of tasks.

  ‘Try another code,’ Marcus suggested. ‘That one might be a dud. I don’t trust Miss Molpe.’

  ‘What code should I use?’ asked Sterling. ‘Does anyone still have a pamphlet on them?’

  There was a sudden murmur of protest. ‘Oh no,’ said Jake. ‘No, I’m not going back to Diamond Beach.’

  Holly muttered something about homicidal pink cats. Only Edison seemed open to the prospect. ‘I did promise those clowns that I’d be seeing them again . . .’ he reminded the assembled company.

  But Marcus had a better idea.

  ‘Pick any set of numbers,’ he advised Sterling. ‘Just pull them out of your head.’

  ‘You try.’ Sterling offered him the robot’s hand. ‘It might work for you.’

  ‘Okay.’ Marcus was finally allowed to break away from his mother, who let him go so he could take Prot’s hand from Sterling. ‘I’m not going to choose anything,’ Marcus announced, upon reaching the panel of buttons. ‘I’m just going to shut my eyes and wave this hand around until it lands on a number.’

  ‘What if it doesn’t land on a number?’ Newt objected. ‘What if it lands on the alarm button?’

  ‘In that case I’ll try again,’ said Marcus. Then he closed his eyes and jabbed Prot�
�s finger at the panel. After connecting with blank steel a couple of times, he finally hit plastic.

  ‘Six,’ Sterling muttered.

  ‘Shh.’ Marcus scowled without opening his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me, okay? I don’t want to know. This is meant to be random.’

  Again and again he poked at the wall, as the others whispered together behind him. Sometimes he was lucky. Sometimes he missed. It was a tedious and time-consuming process, but at last the lift sprang to life.

  It shuddered, bounced and began to ascend, while the people inside it erupted into a triumphant cheer.

  ‘Yay, Marcus!’ cried Edison.

  ‘Well done,’ said Jake.

  ‘Oh Marcus, I’m so proud of you.’ Holly wrapped her arms around Marcus all over again. ‘You’re such a clever boy . . .’

  Marcus flushed. He was trying not to grin. But Newt promptly spoiled the mood of congratulation by observing, in a sour tone, ‘Don’t get too excited. We haven’t arrived yet.’

  Silence fell. Jake sniffed. Sterling cleared his throat. Coco said, ‘Where are we going, anyway?’

  ‘We don’t know,’ Newt snapped. ‘That’s the whole point.’

  ‘I hope it’s somewhere with lots of food,’ whined Edison. ‘Because I’m really, really hungry.’

  All at once, without warning, the lift stopped. Jake jumped to his feet. Newt stood up more slowly. Everyone turned to face the door, which slid open to reveal a big log cabin set on a mangy patch of grass. Behind the cabin lay a basketball court; in front stood a rack of fibreglass canoes. The sign over the cabin’s screen door read ‘Dormitory B’. There were other identical cabins nearby, scattered around a lightly wooded clearing.