The Book of Malachi

by T. C. Farren

  ‘Push the red button! Start the winch!’ the priest killer shouts.

  Samuel dives towards the metal mount at the railing of the rig. He leans out of the boat, shoves on the red power switch. Nothing happens.

  Romano sprints from the tower towards us. He swipes at the skinny rapist below the lip of the lifeboat. He grabs his straw hair, drags him back onto the deck. Angus fights back with startling violence. He snatches Romano’s feet from under him and pins him to the floor. Romano wrestles free, flings the rapist three metres through the air. Angus lands on his head with a crack that splits the night with a single syllable. He rolls to his hands and knees, his heart, miraculously, still sewn up. It is his head that is bleeding.

  ‘Pull the brake handle!’ the priest killer screams.

  I swing my eyes from the red mask dripping through Angus’s eyebrows, grab for the brake lever on the metal mount. I pull with Samuel. The brake suddenly gives, snatches at my sore hand. Pain rips away all sensible thought as I stand there, stuck in a beehive, stopping us from reaching the sea. Samuel heaves the handle up while I drag my hand out. I glance at my crushed fingers. The boat jitters and sways as the gigantic winch wakes up but Romano is running towards us, his Kalashnikov raised. As he passes the pillar, Lolie slips from her hiding place and rips the machine gun off his body. Romano snatches at her but she skips over the skinny rapist and runs towards the lifeboat, her bare breasts on each side of the machine gun.

  ‘Lolie!’ I scream. I have no need of a tongue.

  There is the scream of metal cable unravelling under hydraulic pressure as the winch lowers the boat towards the ocean. Romano flies beneath a canvas cover, throws up a hatch near the Dragonfly. He pulls out a second rifle. Lolie swings and shoots a burst of bullets at him. Romano’s Kalashnikov catapults through the air, detonates three times by accident. Romano hurls himself after it, rolling like a soldier across a killing field. The lifeboat is shunting down without Lolie.

  ‘Wait!’ I try to shout, but Josiah is already gunning the engines, preparing them for full speed. Lolie leaps towards the sea, lands lightly in the bow of the boat. Above us, Angus launches off the railing of the rig. As he jumps, Romano grabs hold of one flying wing. The skinny rapist twists off course and falls down, down, down past us.

  Angus lands with the smallest of disturbances in the monster sea. He rolls slowly to the surface and floats lopsided, his mouth wide, gasping. A dark shadow browses past him, vanishes. Then the moon catches an enormous fin. The beast races towards Angus, rams his thin body, propels him forwards half a metre deep. I think I see his bulging eyes, his mouth crying out. Then the rapist is gone.

  The lifeboat’s backside dips violently. We wrap our arms and legs around the benches as the boat stops. It rocks back, swings, filled with soft, naked targets in the traitorous moonlight. Gibril, the desert runner, hurls himself at a pulley on the bow. He heaves at it, every sinew stretched to snapping point. Above us, Romano aims his shattered Kalashnikov at him. DTT DTT DTT. Out of the corner of my eye I see Lolie rise up from the bow. DFF DFF DFF. The fabric on Romano’s shoulders rips. Something shiny flies up and tinkles on the metal deck. Lolie has shot off his epaulettes.

  Romano drops to his haunches, crawls out of sight of Lolie’s crack fire. He shoots from his hiding place. DTT DTT.

  ‘Barry!’ the social worker screams.

  ‘Ugh. Ugh. Ugh.’ Barry is on the floor of the boat fighting for each breath as he watches the blood pool around his buttocks. More blasts from the rig. The bald man next to Barry folds on impact. He stares at his toes like a puppet on a shelf. Three holes between his nipples bubble with blood. His eyes flare like stars, then turn to green glass. Next to him, red fills Barry’s folds, runs down his hips. Romano has shot him in the stomach.

  He smiles a weird smile, some kind of horrible reflex. ‘Oh. Shit.’

  High above us, I catch sight of Mr Rawlins’ silver hair and Meirong’s pale face at the railing of the rig. Romano rises up behind them, hurls them down on the deck. The wind tosses his scream towards us. ‘They’re shooting!’

  Lolie shatters a railing to confirm his words. Romano aims his disembodied weapon over the edge of the deck. His bullets shatter the steering wheel right next to Gibril.

  ‘Keep them alive!’ I hear Mr Carreira’s unmistakeable bellow. I might be imagining it, but I think I see a glimpse of his grey teeth. The desert runner wraps his whole wiry body around the pulley, pits every quivering strand of muscle against it. Suddenly the jammed wire screams out. The strangler has restarted the orbit of our earth.

  As the lifeboat tilts down at the bow, Barry’s blood streams towards Vicki and me. I lift my feet, clap my hands over my eyes like a refugee child. When I look again, Barry is staring up at Romano taking aim at our engines.

  ‘Shoot him, Lolie!’ someone screams.

  Lolie shatters the air next to Romano’s head. She could put a copper pellet through the cubic millimetre of his brain that tells him to breathe, but somehow I know, Lolie is desperate not to kill again.

  The lifeboat lands with a sickening violence, hurling bone against bone, cracking our faces against the fibreglass.

  ‘Pull the pins!’ Mohammed screams. His candle-wax hands drag at the steel tackle hooking us to the winch. A metal pin comes free. ‘Help me!’

  Samuel leaps up and fumbles with a catch, but Gibril moves like the wind, pops three pins in quick succession with his strong hands. The old boat is in the water, gunning through the waves, the rig a devouring shadow above us.

  Behind me, I hear Vihaan saying in perfect English, ‘Mayday, mayday, mayday. This is Sea Sprite, Sea Sprite . . .’ A screen illuminates his face as he reads off the solo sailor’s monitor. ‘This is Sea Sprite, RF, five four seven. Over.’

  White foam flies up behind us, creates a parting as we roar through the sea. This close, the ocean is our friend, dark and deathless, filled with ramming sharks to terrify our enemies. The moon path dissolves behind us, lets the vastness of the night cover us. The sea wind follows politely, escorting us. The broken wheel on the helm twists as if a ghost is steering the boat but it is Josiah, working the tiller under cover of the tarpaulin.

  I type on my phone, slide the volume to Shout, ‘Josiah. Due south!’

  He crawls to peer at an instrument. He eases the tiller, corrects our course. Vihaan persists in clear, confident English, ‘Mayday, mayday.’

  Samuel sits close to him, holds the black box steady on Vihaan’s knees. I don’t bother to tell them the radio will be useless for another fifteen sea miles. I stand up to get a glimpse of Barry, the Australian. He is a pale, inert form made of undulating clay, an unfinished figure, not yet smoothed by the fingertips of the creator. Someone has stuffed a sponge into his stomach. But Barry has already bled to death.

  * * *

  The Dragonfly shatters the beautiful synchronicity of fleeing prisoners, courteous wind, moonlit sea. The machine knocks its massive metal cogs, hammers at the sky. It strips the sea naked with its floodlights as it slices towards us. I shield my eyes against the cruel, white light. Romano is positioned at a gap in the door. Meirong is kneeling on the seat behind him, her face a white orchid blooming in the midst of metal death. Romano’s automatic weapon slides through the opening. I throw myself at Vicki, hurl her to the floor as bullets tear apart the air molecules surrounding us. The light bounces off the sea, bares the vulnerable belly of the Dragonfly as Lolie takes aim, returns fire. The helicraft roars away, advances again. More ear-splitting explosions. Romano is shooting at the hull of our escape vessel, not at our fragile skulls or our soft parts. Lolie, too, is shooting at their machine, not their mortal bodies.

  She puts a bullet through a spinning blade. Mr Rawlins jerks the Dragonfly sideways, swoops out of range. He charges at us again. Romano lets loose another volley of bullets suffocated by water. This time the lifeboat jolts, sends a shudder through our skeletons. Water washes beneath our seats.

  Vicki panics. ‘We’ll drown!’ />
  I crouch against her, squeeze her tightly. No. I will never let her. I can swim right across the Tantwa River.

  Lolie shoots the tail of the Dragonfly this time. The white beast simply shivers and flies straight up. Samuel crawls to the edge of the lifeboat, wrests open a sluice in the boat lining. Barry’s pink water drains. Fresh water runs in to take its place.

  Eulalie shouts hoarsely near the bow, ‘Milja Mongoose is dead!’ Her words thread between the sounds of splintering fibreglass. She is standing now, thrusting her hands at me, ‘Tell him! Her heart stopped last week!’

  I tear my phone from my pocket, stab at the screen. I tap Megaphone Mode, watch the speaker sound amplify a hundred times. I type the terrible news. My digital voice bounces off the sky, returns to us. It is not strong enough.

  The Indian stabs at his black box, shouts something.

  ‘What, Vihaan? Tell me!’ Samuel puts his ear to the Indian’s mouth. ‘Malachi!’ Samuel leaps up and grabs my phone from me. He jams a cable into it, lets Vihaan plug it into his communication system. The Dragonfly is plunging towards us for another hit on our hull. Samuel swipes the screen, pokes at a setting.

  My spokesman is no longer African. He is simply BOOMING. He shouts the terrible news of Milja Mongoose like the riot police before a crowd of angry thousands. ‘MILJA MONGOOSE IS DEAD! HER HEART STOPPED LAST WEEK!’

  Romano hears it through the metal casing. His bullets cease. The Dragonfly veers aimlessly. Romano is on his knees in the doorway, clutching his rifle to his breast. He cannot question the truth of Eulalie’s message.

  Mr Rawlins’ mouth barks something cruel at him. Meirong crouches behind Romano, tugs at the ripped fabric on his shoulders. She is trying to resurrect him, get her war vet to shoot.

  Josiah jams the engine to full speed. The waterlogged boat grinds slowly through the ocean. We strain towards the lightening skyline, stagger towards freedom. Behind us, the clatter of the helicraft sounds the savage grief of a bereaved father.

  There is a reckoning happening up there in the Dragonfly. The wind brings us wisps of a man’s roar, a woman’s shout. I think I can see Mr Rawlins, thin-lipped, glaring towards us. They dare not come close without the cover of Romano’s machine gun.

  Suddenly Lolie shrieks. ‘Josiah!’

  Josiah has left his engines and crawled to the bow. He is playing tug-of-war with Lolie’s rifle.

  ‘No-o-o!’ Lolie screams, but Josiah rips the weapon from her and gives her a vicious kick. Lolie smashes back against Shikorina. When she stands up, her back is smeared with red. Josiah is aiming for Mr Rawlins. DTT DTT DTT!

  Immediately the engine lowers its pitch. The flying creature loses velocity. Its tail dips then lifts, as if in a last desperate mating ritual. It tips onto its side, wallows in the night air. Something explodes. The Dragonfly plunges head first into the water fifty metres from us.

  White foam boils all around the crash site. Slowly the air bubble in the front lifts the cockpit. The machine sinks again, then finds its equilibrium. It floats, half buried in the purple sea.

  ‘Romano! Romano!’ I try to scream. ‘Meirong!’

  My enemies. My friends!

  A black head bursts to the surface. It is him! I can see from the gold streaming off his dark skin. Romano swims straight towards us, his arms cleaving through the heaving, shining sea. I stumble towards Samuel. He almost throws my phone to me.

  ‘Josiah. Cut the engines!’ The voice blasts from my Samsung, deafening.

  Josiah stares defiantly at me, his machine gun hanging in his hairy fist. I stand up, lurch for the engines. Josiah scrambles along the port side. He snatches my fingers from the engine, twists them violently. I howl with fresh pain, tear them free.

  I switch my settings to normal, top volume. ‘Let Romano live!’

  ‘Listen to him!’ Samuel shouts at Josiah.

  Josiah stares at us both with contempt. He reaches up reluctantly, kills a switch.

  The heavy boat rocks in limbo. Romano swims to the side. It is Charmayne who reaches down to clasp his wrists. The priest killer throws his arms around her waist, helps her haul Romano into our watery vessel. The sea is lapping at our shins now. Romano sits in his sodden clothes like he is seated in a grassy graveyard. He hangs his head as if he’s praying. I hear it before anyone else does. Romano’s sorrow escapes in that high, tearing whine. Lolie shifts close to him. Charmayne kneels before him, unlaces his boots.

  ‘Sorry Romano,’ I type. ‘I am so, so sorry about Milja.’

  It only makes his keening louder.

  The desert runner clips open a hatch somewhere near the back of the boat. He hands out five bright orange buckets on ropes. He scoops a load of water, pours it into the ocean. While Romano cries, some prisoners take up his respectful, careful movement. Vicki dips her orange bucket, pours water into the sea. The wind blows softly at our backs now that we are not moving.

  Something white floats towards us, lifting and dipping in the golden water. It is Mr Rawlins in a white vest and white boxer shorts, floating on his back like he is on vacation. His hair is swept to one side, just as he likes it, his complexion smooth in the fading moonlight. As the current pulls him close, I see that he has shaven legs. He must have been a cyclist. Or perhaps a cross dresser. Either way, Mr Rawlins is dead.

  A black shining ball bobs past him. Meirong shoots up, sucks a breath, sinks again. She is swimming the breaststroke. A tiny wave swamps her. She thrashes up, gasping, her nose streaming with mucous.

  I can’t watch her drown. ‘Josiah. Fetch Meirong!’ I thrust out an arm like a pirate captain.

  Strangely, Josiah obeys me. He switches on the engine, turns the tiller. We churn through the water, an overcrowded refugee ferry sinking at sea. Josiah ploughs towards Meirong’s little head. She raises a diminutive hand above the waves.

  ‘Malachi,’ she chokes.

  Josiah swings to miss her. I hang off the railing, reach down with my crushed fingers. Something hits me hard from the side, rams me from the railing.

  ‘Let her drown!’ Romano bellows.

  He picks me up like I am a matchstick, flings me to the floor at the social worker’s feet. Andride does something odd. He leans forwards, pats my head like I am a spaniel looking for affection. I grab my phone from my pocket before the water reaches it.

  I crouch, type quickly. ‘It is murder, Romano!’

  Romano blocks my way to the sinking, swimming woman. ‘She murdered Milja. She made her wait.’

  I shake my head. ‘Milja is watching you right now.’

  Romano stares at me, terrible hope flaring in his sodden eyes.

  ‘She doesn’t want you to live with a dead woman around your neck,’ I type desperately.

  Romano clenches his huge hands. ‘I will kill you, Malachi!’ He guards the side where Meirong is sinking and surfacing, scratching at the hull with what sounds like her fingernails.

  ‘Malachi is right,’ Eulalie shouts. She shakes her silver head, her crone’s face miraculously smoothed in the moonlight. ‘You are still her Sun Chief.’

  I gasp in surprise. This is what his daughter calls him.

  Romano crumples to the floor of the lifeboat. He sits with straight legs, his head sagging back like he is in a warm bath. He stares up at the stars, showing him home movies of his sweet Milja.

  Vicki acts quickly. She grabs the lifebelt off its hook and flings it towards Meirong’s submerged head. But it is too late, Meirong is sinking. I rip up my shirt, peel off the plastic sacs grafted onto my skin. I drop them on the bench, thrust my Samsung at Vicki. She clutches it against her breasts as if I have entrusted her with my tongue. I climb onto the railing of the lifeboat. I take a deep breath, ready to race across the crocodile pit. I dive through the air, cleave through the sea.

  It is icy. The crack in my rib feels like a savage bite. The sharks, the cold sea, they will tear out my insides. I have never in my life swum in the ocean but I dive down deep, flailing. I feel slippery skin. I lock
my arms around Meirong’s thighs, thrust her up like a rogue great white, my eyes wide open. Her one tiny hand grips the lifebelt. Then another.

  I break the surface. Meirong pulls her head from whatever sea we are in, lays her cheek against the lifebelt like it is a pillow. She seems to fall asleep. Strong arms pull on the rope that ties the lifebelt to the boat. Who is it?

  There are three of them forming a chain gang, Charmayne, Andride, Gibril. Gibril grabs Meirong’s small hands, hauls her up the side of the boat while Vicki throws the lifebelt back to me. The other two get behind her, drag me into our flooded vessel. Near me, some prisoners scoop slow, futile buckets of water into the sea.

  Meirong is shivering as if she has touched a live wire. ‘Malachi?’ she whispers.

  I bend close, listen attentively. She tries to say something, but she is too weak. Meirong is wearing a pale pink onesie. I think she is dying. I sink down next to her in the shallow water, begin to tremble.

  ‘What is she saying?’ Romano growls. He slouches in the shallow water, his hands hanging off his knees. ‘Bitch killer.’

  I look around for Vicki. She splashes over a bench, lets me dry my fingers on her soft stomach. She gives my Samsung to me.

  I take the liberty of writing Meirong’s silent truth for her. ‘She says her parents should have kept her.’

  Meirong begins to splutter.

  ‘Not left her in an orphanage.’

  Meirong cries uncontrollably. Josiah starts the engines, forces the broken boat through the water. Now that their adrenalin has subsided, a fever of cold spreads through the prisoners. They huddle and shiver, their teeth chattering.