by Frank Tayell
“People!” Chester said.
“Rhoskovski,” Flora said.
“Keep walking,” Locke said. She raised a hand, waving at the group.
The group was strung out in a long line, but there were over twenty of them, less than four hundred yards away, on the quayside beyond the destroyer. At the front, noticeable even to Chester, was a fat man, a long fur coat trailing behind him, a tricorn hat perched on his head.
“They’ve seen us,” Locke said. “Don’t look. Act casual.”
“Get ready to run,” Flora said.
“No, don’t—” Locke began, but it was too late. Flora raised her rifle and fired.
Rhoskovski’s hat flew off as the stout man fell to the ground.
“Move!” Locke said, raising her own rifle, firing at the strung-out column.
Chester pushed Bill ahead of him, and towards the only cover nearby: the building in which the decanted diesel was stored. Gunfire erupted behind him, in such volume he couldn’t place from where the shots came, but most had to be coming from Rhoskovski’s people. Having dived for cover after their leader was shot, they were firing wildly, but in a few seconds, they’d find their courage, raise their heads, and take more careful aim.
Chester grabbed Bill around the waist, hauling him on, reaching the relative cover of the building just as a burst stitched a line across the path they’d left in the snow.
Chester didn’t bother aiming as he fired a three-shot burst at their pursuers.
“Go,” Bill said. “I’ll cover you.”
“We’re not done yet,” Chester said.
Bill staggered out into the open, raised the AK-74M, firing one-handed. The barrel jerked as a dozen bullets flew wildly into the air, and only vaguely in the direction of Rhoskovski’s people. Locke, reaching cover a second before Flora, barrelled into Bill, knocking him down, but behind the building’s wall.
“This isn’t the time for desperate heroics, Mr Wright,” she said.
“I’d say we’re close,” Bill said. “Go. I’ll hold them here.”
“Nope,” Chester said. “I still owe you for London.”
“You won’t repay him with your death,” Locke said.
Chester stepped towards the building’s edge, but bullets were coming too thick, too fast for him to even peer around the corner. “I’d say we’re trapped. And we’ve got about a minute before the people from that terminal reach us here.”
“Boats,” Bill said, slumping against the wall. “Boats. Harbour. Sea.”
“A mine or a bullet?” Locke said. “Captain Fielding, we need a boat. Go!”
Flora nodded, sprinted towards the sea, dived, and rolled over the quayside, onto the concrete walkway below.
“No one shot at her,” Chester said. “They’ve not got the angle.”
“Scant comfort,” Locke said. “I’ll get the fuel. Keep them back, and keep them wasting their ammunition.”
“Aye, aye,” Chester said. He aimed the gun’s barrel as far around the wall as he could without stepping into the open himself and pulled the trigger. “I think they’re keeping their distance,” he said. “I suppose they know we’ve got nowhere to run.”
“Radios,” Bill said.
“What’s that? Oh, right, yeah. They’ve got radios, haven’t they? So they’re just waiting for reinforcements.”
“Antenna,” Bill added. “On the roof. Did you see it?”
“No. You saw an antenna on the ferry terminal roof?”
“Saw cables, metal scaffolding. Probably an antenna. Perhaps.”
Chester fired another shot, but then glanced back at Bill. “You all right, mate?”
“They’re waiting for reinforcements,” Bill said.
“More fool them,” Chester said. He fired a three-shot burst.
“Waiting for a tank,” Bill said. “Can’t you hear it?”
“I can hear the waves, that’s all.”
“About London,” Bill said. “Thanks for coming back.”
“What?”
“You came back. I was gone, but you came back. Thank you.”
“Yeah, we can talk about that later. I’m out. Do you have any bullets left?” Chester turned around. Bill had slumped to a crouch, leaving a red stain on the wall where he’d been leaning. “You’ve been shot? Damn. Let me see.”
A bullet slammed into the snow, near the seawall. Chester spun around. Figures were approaching from the north. It was reinforcements, coming from the terminal. He grabbed Bill’s rifle, and fired a shot. A few figures dived for cover. Others kept running. The door opened. Locke came outside, a fuel canister in each hand.
“Bill’s been shot,” Chester said.
“Get him to the boat,” Locke said, thrusting a fuel can into his hand. “Go!” She opened fire.
Chester grabbed Bill, hauling him up, and then to the steps leading down to the quay. “Come on, mate, not much further.”
He looked for Flora, but couldn’t see her. There were four boats, secured to a jetty in a harbour filled with flotsam. Flora appeared from the boat at the furthest end, a battered wooden skiff with a cockpit that looked more like a garden shed and a sail-less mast more akin to a telegraph pole.
“Here!” she said, turning around, re-entering the cockpit. A second later, there was a chugging grind.
“The boat works,” Chester said. “Do you hear that, Bill? The boat works. Must have fuel in the tank. Bill?”
But Bill said nothing. He sagged in Chester’s arms, a dead weight. Chester threw Bill into the wooden-hulled boat and jumped in after him. A second later, Locke reached the jetty. She tore at the rope.
“They’ve stopped,” Locke said, springing aboard. “They’re not following. To them, the harbour doesn’t represent an escape. Go, Captain, go!”
“Come on mate, let’s see what we can do for you,” Chester said, dragging Bill into the cockpit. Three steps led down to a plastic curtain, beyond which was an open space too small to be called a cabin. Chester laid Bill down on the bench seat.
“How is he?” Flora called as the boat bucked and turned.
“It’s not serious,” Chester lied. “Just a graze.”
“My bag!” Locke called. “There’s a shirt you can use as a bandage.”
Chester did what he could using his belt to strap the bandage to Bill’s shoulder. It would slow the bleeding, though not stop it, but if they hit a mine, that wouldn’t matter.
He climbed back up to the cockpit. From the way the boat had rocked and bucked, he’d thought they’d left the harbour. They were only a few dozen yards from the jetty.
“Slow beast, this boat,” he said.
“Wooden hull,” Flora said. “I chose it in case the mines are magnetic.”
“There was fuel in the tank?” Chester asked.
“There was. The boat was ready to go. They all were,” she said. “How’s Bill?”
“Unconscious,” Chester said. “Took a bullet in the shoulder.”
“The rifle! Now!” Locke called. Chester grabbed the sniper’s rifle that Flora had taken from the terminal’s rooftop, and took it outside. Locke was crouched at the stern.
“Thank you,” she said, taking the rifle. “No. We’re moving too much. Can’t get a clear shot. I was wrong.”
“About?” he asked, crouching down next to her.
“So much, as it turns out,” she said. “More specifically, about why they didn’t immediately attack. I think they suspected a trap.”
“That’d be a good place to have sprung one,” Chester said. He glanced up. “Was that a bullet?”
“Yes, but I don’t think they’ll hit us, not from there,” Locke said.
The quayside began to disappear behind them as the boat moved out towards the clearer water near the harbour entrance. They finally picked up speed.
“Bill said something about hearing a tank,” Chester said.
“One problem at a time,” Locke said. “There are figures on the seawall. Two of them. Get ready to
fire.”
“I’ve no gun,” Chester said.
“Mine’s on the deck.”
Chester grabbed the AK-74M as Locke peered through the sniper-rifle’s scope. “Two women. One in white. Other… I can’t tell.”
“Bet it’s Cavalie,” Chester said.
“You think? Fine.” She fired. “Got her. She’s down. Fire.”
Chester emptied the assault rifle’s magazine, but didn’t think he hit concrete, let alone the sniper. A second later, that was confirmed when bullets whined through the air above them.
“Keep your head down!” Locke said, as the boat sailed through the harbour entrance, and so beyond the seawall. “Stay down!” she added. Chester was happy to comply.
“Surprises never cease,” Locke finally said. “We made it.”
“I suppose we did,” Chester said.
“I mean we didn’t set off a mine,” Locke said. “We’re outside the harbour, and we didn’t trigger a mine.”
“Oh, hell,” Chester muttered. “Flora said the boat was ready to go. So were the others. There weren’t enough boats for all of them, sure, but I bet it was enough for Rhoskovski. He probably planned to sail out of here before Cavalie turned up.”
A high-pitched buzz-saw drone filled the air, resolving around a needle-shaped red fibreglass hull. The speedboat bounced across the waves towards the gap in the seawall.
“How many bullets do you have left?” Locke asked.
“None,” Chester said.
“I’ve two.” She knelt down again, bracing the rifle as she tried to line up a shot. “I’ll have to wait until they’re closer,” she said.
“Maybe they won’t follow us,” Chester said.
“I can’t take that risk,” Locke said. “They’re closing fast. A minute more, they’ll be outside the harbour. I’ll have… to take… the shot…”
The speedboat was level with the gap in the seawall. Chester could see a figure aboard. Two? No, there were three, and they were armed. The guns were held one-handed, the other hands clutching grab bars. At that range, they might miss, but the distance was shrinking fast. He heard gunfire. Saw the guns buck. Saw the boat bounce and skip over the waves. And then he saw the speedboat erupt in a plume of sea spray and flame.
“There were mines in the harbour,” Locke said.
Chapter 31 - Night Fishing
The English Channel
“Not much of a cabin,” Chester said. “That sheet separating it from the cockpit looks like a shower curtain.”
“I think that is exactly what it is,” Locke said. “The entire boat has been furnished with the odds and ends of what could be salvaged and found. See what’s in the lockers while I take a look at Mr Wright’s injuries.”
“Fishing line,” Chester said opening a wooden drawer. “And a hook. I might see if I can catch us some supper. Unless you need it for sutures.”
“See if there’s anything we can use as bandages first,” Locke said.
Chester continued rummaging through the drawers, then the cupboards. “Some glue, will that help?”
“A needle would be preferable,” Locke said.
“Not found one yet,” Chester said. “But we made it, didn’t we? We actually made it.”
“Only out of France,” Locke said. “Considering we boarded the plane with the intention of landing in Belfast a few hours later, I can’t view this as a victory. Bill, can you hear me? I’ll be honest with you. This ship is too small for us to talk without you overhearing, and your situation is too grave for us not to discuss our options. There is a bullet lodged in your shoulder. It will have to come out. You’ve suffered considerable blood loss, and you’ve got frostbite to add to what I think is a broken collarbone. That you’re not screaming is because you are in shock. Hypothermia, too, I think. Chester, is there any cloth, blankets, towels?”
“This canvas.”
“Sail cloth? It’s not large enough to tie to the mast. Fine. That will be more secure than your belt. It’s a start. Keep looking for needles.” She turned to the doorway leading up to the cockpit. “How far can we reach, Flora?”
“Between sixty and a hundred miles,” Flora said. “Depends on tides and wind. The further we travel, the more accurate I’ll be able to estimate.”
“We need dry land,” Locke said.
“There’s no needles, no first aid kit,” Chester said.
“Pass me the glue,” Locke said. “This will be the very definition of a temporary fix. You mustn’t move, Bill. I… He’s unconscious. That’s for the best.”
“Do you need me to hold him?” Chester asked.
“I can manage,” Locke said.
Chester climbed up into the cockpit. “A hundred miles? There’s no way we can reach Ireland,” he said.
“No,” Flora said. “And a hundred miles is our maximum range.”
“What about Sheppey?” Chester asked. “My… my, uh… hmm.” He thought for a moment, before realising it was a decision he’d made weeks ago. “The woman I’m going to ask to marry me if I ever see her again, she was in the Tower of London. Went to Sheppey a few weeks back. Said there were vehicles in the import-lot with diesel still in their tanks.”
“Sheppey? Possibly,” Flora said. “We can make for Margate, then follow the Thames. I’ve no chart, but we might be within range. I can’t guarantee it.”
“We just need dry land,” Locke said, coming up to join them both. “Somewhere with a medical facility. It doesn’t have to be a hospital. A GP’s surgery. A nursing home. Even a good-sized school would have sterile dressings. We need to extract the bullet, clean the wound, stop the bleeding.”
“And the infection?” Chester asked.
“If we can find any antibiotics, yes,” Locke said. “Sorry, I didn’t make myself clear. He needs a doctor. A hospital. That means Belfast. We can’t do much more than keep him alive, and we can’t do that while we’re on this boat. We have to stabilise him, then two of us will continue to Ireland. One stays with him. That is the fastest route to get him into professional hands.”
“So we need to make landfall?” Chester said. “And we want to avoid going back to France. Speaking of which…” He turned around, peering behind. “We’re too low on the water. I can’t tell if they’re following.”
“They won’t be,” Flora said. “Not yet. Not after that speedboat hit the mine. But they might follow after they’ve taken stock. It depends on how much damage we did to their vehicles, and on who is now in charge. I think I shot Rhoskovski. Even if I didn’t, his people will finish him. His grip on power was based around fear, and after that debacle, afraid of his wrath, someone will depose him.”
“And you shot Cavalie,” Chester said.
“I think so,” Locke said. “Rather, I think the woman I shot is dead. I didn’t get that other sniper.”
“The other prisoners called them the women in white,” Flora said. “I said it was dangerous to give them such a title. Adding to the mystery added to the fear. Perhaps she’ll take over, or perhaps no one will. Nevertheless, it will be at least an hour before they pursue us, if they do. Our most logical destination is Dover, and I would suggest, wherever we go, it isn’t there.”
“What’s our heading?” Chester asked.
“Ten degrees west of north,” Flora said. “We’re making about eight knots, and, from the position of the sun, I’d say we have less than an hour before dark.”
“Can we sail at night?” Chester asked.
“Fisher-folk have for millennia,” Flora said. “We have lights, and we will be travelling slowly. I would suggest we head north until dawn, then make for land.”
“And we’ve got to decide whether that’s England or France,” Chester said. “There are no charts? I’m trying to remember what Styles told us. He was a… a cop who saved a group of kids when an enclave collapsed. Did you hear about the enclaves and muster points?”
“No.”
“It was all connected to the evacuation. I’ll tell you
about it in a bit. A lot of people were evacuated to an enclave around Margate, I think. Or was it Whitstable? I don’t recall, but it’s immaterial. They gathered tens of thousands to that section of coast. Medical supplies will be among the first things they gathered.”
“Then I suggest we head to Belgium, to Nieuwpoort, and to my ships,” Flora said. “We have the range, I think. And if not, we won’t come up far short. It’s possible my crew have returned. We had a number of doctors among our passengers. Retirees for the most part, on the penguin-tour when the outbreak began. But they would still know more than us.”
“What if the ships are gone?” Locke asked.
“There wasn’t enough fuel in the Ocean Queen for it to sail more than a dozen miles,” Flora said. “It’s the same with the Courageous. We removed the fuel to use in the vehicles the admiral took east. The ships will be there, even if the crew aren’t. And there is a town, one of the least devastated I’ve seen in either hemisphere. Too small for a hospital, I think, but there would be clinics to raid in addition to dozens of houses.”
“That doesn’t get us much closer to Belfast,” Chester said.
“Nor will this boat,” Flora said. “We’re making eight knots. That’s about nine miles an hour, and it’s about as fast as this craft can manage. On the Courageous, rather, on a Belgian beach, is a Pacific-24 RIB. It can manage forty knots. And there was some diesel left. Not much, and not enough to power a ship like the Courageous, but enough to charge the emergency generator and so keep the lights on. Together with whatever we have left from this boat, it should be enough to reach Ireland. And if my crew have returned, and taken all the fuel, we should still be able to reach Sheppey. Regardless, we’ll have a more reliable craft in which to travel.”
“We’d have to take a northerly route, around Scotland,” Locke said. “It won’t be safe for us to sail through the English Channel. A RIB is an open vessel, yes? Designed for speeding Marines ashore, not for traversing the North Sea.”