Chapter Nineteen
Back on track
Chantel had lost track of how much time they had spent languishing in the big house. On a day that seemed to be just like the day before it, she and Beren were passing the afternoon in the same way they had idly consumed each day ever since their arrival in the community. As the post-meridian sun descended towards the horizon, spilling the house with golden light, Chantel and Beren were in the living room, reclining in large wooden armchairs bolstered with makeshift cushions of stuffing. The windows of the house had been flung open allowing the cool breeze to sweep into the room on its saunter down the hill, scouting out the dust in the crevices and corners before being ejected from the house, billowing the curtains upon its triumphant exit in a last hurrah. The retreating sun hung low in the sky, casting its last warm rays of sunshine upon the trees in the orchard like a multi-coloured net of flames, illuminating each of the leaves with a fiery texture. Laziness seemed to be in order for the pastime of the afternoon.
The servants had just brought freshly squeezed juice to the idlers. Chantel and Beren had watched November 9 lead a band of people to the orchard to pluck the fruit from the trees and minutes later, bring the pulped fruit directly to the lounge room still oozing with freshness.
It was into this scene that Wolram casually burst in.
“Its all fixed now,” he declared, implying that it had been broken before. “The Saharan is ready.”
Beren turned around, startled at Wolram’s entrance but soon enough elated with the news.
“My ramp is ready?” he asked, eyes bright with excitement.
With Wolram’s emphatic nod, Beren instantly clambered into his wheelchair and manoeuvred himself out the door of the living room to assess the modifications made to the boat. Chantel scrambled up to follow Beren back to the river. They made their way to the spot where the Saharan had been docked the entire time, revisiting the place where they had first set foot in the community. The boat had been cleaned up since they last laid eyes upon it.
“She looks good doesn’t she?” interjected a proud Julie from the bow of the boat. “Come up on board and check out the new digs.”
Beren wasted no time in wheeling himself aboard the familiar deck of the Saharan, a place that he had formerly loathed beyond all belief because of the captivity that it represented. The change in his mood upon this revisitation was noticeable as he headed straight to the ramp that was now located where his hermit fortification had previously been stationed.
“Weeeeeeeee,” squealed Beren, rolling down the ramp with his hands in the air before coming to an abrupt stop at the bottom. “I bags the master bedroom!”
He swung himself into the various chambers below deck, exploring the cramped conditions of the Saharan that were now accessible to him.
“Geez, is that the size of the bathroom? I don’t know if I’ll fit in there after all the weight I’ve put on these last few days. Wolram, you’re really gonna struggle in here too mate! Its all your own fault though for feeding us so goddam well.”
Julie and Chantel laughed at Beren’s youthful jubilance, relieved that his elation at the ramp signified his approval of the changed conditions, which in turn heralded a more exuberant mood for the journey ahead.
“Well I guess its time to take off again for the high seas,” said Julie, throwing her arms around Chantel’s shoulder in a cheerful hug. “Back on the road again.”
“Back on the ocean again,” Chantel echoed, with a twinge of disappointment that they would be leaving the good life of the community and the good food that accompanied it so soon.
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The sound of Wolram’s vomiting was thankfully drowned out by the gales of wind thumping the sails and rocking the boat. Chantel was uncomfortable enough on the boat and this was her third trip on the Saharan. For someone who had never been at sea before in their life, she could only imagine how difficult this journey would be. She realised that they had been blessed previously with the calm weather that had accompanied her and Beren from Sydney to the wasteland community. As soon as they left the shores of the wasteland, the storms hit and for the last few days they had been battling night and day to keep the boat on track and upright. Chantel looked at Julie behind the steering wheel in the Captain’s box, concentrating on making sure the navigational coordinates were correct using the boat’s unsophisticated GPS and doing her best to steer away from any rocks that might be lurking beneath the water. Chantel was sure that Julie had not slept for days and even Chantel was growing weary with fatigue after spending the restless nights on the boat being tossed from side to side in her cabin. She hoped they would be arriving at Freetown soon. There was only so much inclement weather all of them could take.
The next day they had their first calm day on the water since setting out on this latest leg of their journey. After going to bed in the midst of howling wind and buffeting waves, Chantel was surprised to awake the next day to clear blue skies and calm water. She ventured to the top of the deck where she saw Beren taking Julie’s place in the Captain’s seat.
“Are you for real? Did she really let you steer this thing?” Chantel could not contain her astonishment.
“Well she needed to get some sleep finally. Plus I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”
Chantel had to admit that Beren did seem entirely comfortable behind the wheel of the boat. His previous escapade on the Saharan had evidently paid off.
“Just don’t make me call you Captain or I’ll vomit like Wolram has been the last few days,” remarked Chantel cynically.
While Julie was no doubt below deck sleeping, Wolram and Auntie Bessie were already enjoying themselves in the sun on the top deck. Wolram seemed obviously relieved that the weather had cleared up finally, although he was still sure to stay near the boat’s railing in case he needed to hurl over it. Chantel observed him finally at ease on the sea.
‘This must be such a strange place for him,’ she thought, ‘after having only known the community for so long.’
He appeared at rest in Auntie Bessie’s company, although he was far removed from the community that adored him. Chantel and the others had stood by awkwardly for what seemed like hours while Wolram and Auntie Bessie bode their farewells to the community dwellers. They did not take the news of Wolram’s impending departure lightly and when the time finally arrived for the Saharan to set sail, the masses lined the shore of the river weeping and bawling for Wolram not to leave. He placated each of them individually, reassuring them that he would be back before they knew it and that they would hardly even notice that he was gone. Despite this, a few of the community dwellers seemed to be inconsolable and Wolram gave many a hug and clutched many a hand before the crew could finally be on their way. Chantel wondered if she would ever be as distressed if something were to happen to the Chairperson of the World, the leader of the global regime and head of Pangaea. She tried to conjure up an image of the Chairperson, a person that she had undoubtedly voted for on numerous occasions. However, she found her mind drawing at a blank and realised that when elections occurred she had simply ticked the box for Pangaea without even bothering to find out who the Chairperson of the company was. Chantel shrugged off her ignorance. Unlike the situation in the community, it made little difference to her who was running the civilised world, as long as Pangaea was the dominant brand.
“We should be getting to Freetown soon,” Auntie Bessie announced. “Once we’re there, Wolram says he knows where to take us.”
All eyes on the boat turned to Wolram with a mixture of hope and anticipation, as he steadfastly averted their gaze by staring out to sea.
“The storm has put us back a day or two,” he mentioned. “We’ll be there soon enough though. I can feel us drawing close.”
The mood of the passengers on the boat had been noticeably bolstered with the fine weather as the boat bobbed along, bearing them ever closer to their long sought-after destination. They were hugging the s
horeline on this journey, the view of the beach lining the perimeter of their voyage like a static compass, leading them ever northward. The Saharan was no longer like an island, with the ocean spread out on all corners as it had been on their expeditions before. Instead the boat gravitated incessantly towards the shoreline, the border of the wasteland serving as a constant guide for the travellers as they crept ever closer to Freetown. The interruption to the skyline gave Chantel something to keep herself occupied, scenery to watch as the journey developed. The wasteland zone on the shore was piled high with garbage, mountains of rubbish enveloping the land for the entire stretch of the horizon. The legacy of the civilised world to the neglected zones. Chantel wondered if other communities lived beyond the waste, like that of Wolram’s. Despite her first-hand experience of the community, the thought that anyone else could survive out there in the dump, that there could be other communities in the wasteland, was almost inconceivable. She wondered again what the purebloods featured in the glitch were doing, how they managed to survive in a wasteland such as Freetown.
Later that afternoon, it was once again Beren who heralded their arrival at the destination.
“Location -23-134. We’re here!” he called to the sleepy passengers of the Saharan reading off the coordinates on the GPS.
They craned their necks towards the shore, straining to catch a glimpse of some sort of signal that this was indeed Freetown.
“It doesn’t look any different from the rest of the wasteland,” Julie stated blatantly.
“No, this is the place,” Wolram affirmed. “Bring her to shore where you can and we’ll walk the rest of the way.”
“How long will the walk be?” Auntie Bessie asked looking slightly concerned about the requirement for exertion.
Wolram shrugged.
“Could be hours, could be days…it’s been over 20 years since I last made that long walk to freedom. I can’t be sure how far inland the facility is.”
Julie moved to take over the controls from Beren.
“Why don’t we drop the anchor here and rest for the night,” she said sensibly. “We can start out fresh early tomorrow.”
Chantel sensed a hint of disappointment from Beren who she assumed was ready to go charging into the wasteland.
“Are you sure this is the right location, Julie,” Beren prompted. I wasn’t sure if I was reading your GPS correctly since it’s from the last century and all.”
“Positive,” Wolram asserted. “But Julie’s right. We should wait until tomorrow before wandering in there. We’ll spend tonight out here on the water. We’ll have one more chance to sleep…to dream.”
The weary crew agreed with this plan and made the arrangements to bunker down for their last night on the sea before the next day, the day that would hopefully deliver the answers they had been seeking. That night, the cries of Wolram calling out from his nightmare echoed around the cabins of the small boat, shaking the walls with his pitiful screams.
“The horror, the horror…”
Pangaea Page 19