Doggerland (Sam Applewhite Book 2)

by Heide Goody

  Sam risked a peek. Two of the Odinson men were pointing some sort of mounted weapon at them.

  “What the—?”

  Abruptly, her wrist tape was grabbed and she was dragged along the edge of the boat and back down onto the rear deck. Polly had the tape loop firmly in her hand.

  “Now, that’s enough of that, gal,” said Strawb, coming round with the pistol aimed. “Stay still so’s we can keep an eye on you. I liked you. Don’t make me change my mind.”

  Sam was chilled by the use of the past tense.

  There was a thumping noise followed by a loud, nearby crack. Something dark and arrow-fast shot directly over the deck at head height and splashed into the sea.

  “They’re shooting at us!” shouted Polly.

  “They can’t be!” said Strawb. He was immediately contradicted by another thump-boom.

  This time the projectile crashed onto the deck. It was a big metal hook, a grappling iron. Sam watched as it slithered across the deck, jamming in place by the back rail, one of its claw fingers embedded in the fibreglass bodywork.

  Strawb laughed. “These lot think they’re the pirates of the fackin Caribbean!”

  “What’s going on?” called Margaret.

  “They think they’re going to board by shimmying along this bit of rope!” grunted Strawb. “Don’t fancy their chances of that!”

  Sam wondered whether it was the plan. The steel wire attached to the grappling hook tightened, and the cruiser jerked. Jacob gave a shout of alarm. The Viking ship might be slower, but it was bigger and definitely heavier.

  * * *

  “Good shot, farsa!” Hilde shouted.

  “A remarkable piece of equipment,” said Camara, pointing at the launchers. Sigurd and Torsten put them down carefully and made the spooled wire fast around a metal stanchion.

  “Aye, well we needed a way to grab hold of, you know, things,” said Hilde.

  “Of course.” Camara’s face told her he could very well imagine what things they might need to grab.

  “It’s based on the same sort of principle as a paintball gun, made with some bits and pieces I found lying around.” Hilde felt the deck shift beneath her feet. It was tilting forward, which loosened the rope. She saw what had caused it: most of the Odinsons were coming forward to see what was happening. “Hey, farfar! They need to sit down!”

  Ragnar strode forward, his arms raised and his robes flowing. “Back to your seats! ’Appen we might need to move quickly, so take your places at your oars. In the reading of the saga you will all want to be known as the crew who reacted with the speed of a striking cobra, yes?”

  A hand went up. “Are cobras allowed in’t sagas? Aren’t they from India or summat?”

  “We can talk later about what goes in, but I’ll have final word,” said Ragnar. “If us Odinsons want to be world travellers, then we must embrace the unusual and exotic.”

  Hilde rolled her eyes. She had once suggested that her farfar might like to try an Indian takeaway and he had railed against the idea as if it undermined his very being.

  “We’ve got them snared. What next?” Camara asked.

  “When’s your backup coming?” said Hilde.

  Camara sucked his teeth. “I can’t get a signal on my phone.”

  “Another ship!” shouted Hermod from the ship’s stern, pointing. He was right. An orange speck was coming towards them from the coast.

  “The lifeboat,” said Camara.

  Not backup as such, thought Hilde, but some actual competent seamen coming to the rescue couldn’t be a bad thing.

  “We can hold them ’em a while,” said Ragnar. “There’s nothing they can do about it.”

  “And we could slide a life jacket and a line down to Sam,” said Hilde.

  “Ship to ship rescue?” said Ragnar, intrigued rather than doubtful.

  Camara wasn’t paying attention. He was staring, open-mouthed at the other boat. “Shit! Has he got a gun?”

  He tried to push Hilde down below the safety of the gunnel wall, but Hilde wanted to look.

  89

  Strawb took aim with his pistol and fired at the Odinson ship. He was using his good left hand, his grip was wrong and the pistol recoil nearly knocked him over.

  “Bladdy hell, that hurts!”

  As the ship rolled, Sam clung to the handle of one of the aft deck locker seats. She was happy to keep low.

  The boat engines accelerated as the Calypso tried to pull away.

  Margaret came onto the deck with a pair of brightly coloured plastic tubes.

  “Ooh, you’re full of surprises, aren’t you, Margaret!” said Strawb.

  Margaret ignored him, pointed a tube and twisted. A flare fired out at the sailing ship.

  “Ooh!” said Polly, possibly out of some Pavlovian response to fireworks.

  The fireball didn’t hit the sail or the side, but slid onto the deck. Odinsons scattered.

  * * *

  On the Sandraker, most of the novice sailors demonstrated what not to do when a fire starts on deck. The men bunched together, collided with each other and got in the way of anyone who might have tried to extinguish it.

  As the pink-red ball skittered on the deck, leaving scorch marks and throwing sparks, Astrid tried to smother it with a cushion and stamped on it.

  “Mormor!” shouted Hilde in warning, forcing her way down through the men to get to her.

  The flare was too hot and needed no oxygen to burn. There was no smothering, with cushions or anything else. Hilde scooped up a bailing bucket, wet with sea spray, and came at the flare. She inserted herself between Astrid and the flare and, with a fluid action, with more luck than skill, scooped it up. She tossed bucket and flare over the side together.

  “You can’t stamp it out,” she panted to her grandmother.

  Astrid, wet grey hair stuck to her face, looked at her scorched cushion. “That has ruined my needlepoint.”

  Hilde yelled up to Sigurd. “Let’s get a life jacket and line over to Sam!”

  Torsten grabbed a spare life jacket and looked about for a rope.

  “Shields up everyone!” Ragnar bellowed.

  There was a brief scramble as everybody retrieved their shields. Ragnar directed them to form a makeshift roof to deflect any more incoming flares. Another one came fizzing over their heads, but it skidded harmlessly off the shields and into the sea. A cheer went up.

  * * *

  “Look at that Polly! They’ve only gone and put a lid on the whole boat!” declared Strawb. “You gotta admit, this is pure gold.”

  Polly seemed unimpressed. “I just wish we could get out of here.”

  “Just you wait girl, we’ll be fine.”

  At the helm, Jacob was over-revving the engine. Was he hoping enough force would rip the hook from their stern? By the cracks in the rear deck wall, it might be possible. The taut wire sang a high note, discernible above the waves and the wind.

  “There’s more flares in one of the lockers,” said Margaret.

  Strawb had his back to Sam, while Polly was as fascinated by the exchange of grappling hooks, gunfire and flarefire as any of them.

  Sam shoved Polly aside, leaping forward to grab the gun from Strawb’s dangling hand. Polly stumbled and slid against the rear rail, crying out, but not before Sam had grabbed the gun from Strawb’s weak grip.

  Margaret yelled, “No!” Not so much in alarm, but as though to say, “How dare you! On my boat!”

  Strawb tried to grab the gun back from Sam, but she managed to stumble clear. They were too close for her to point it and threaten him.

  Polly sat in an untidy slump in the rear corner of the deck, groaning and pulling a face as seawater ran across the deck and soaked her clothes.

  Margaret flung open under-seat lockers in search of more flares.

  Strawb, taller than Sam, tried to reach round and snag the gun from her. He overbalanced and Sam pushed. She was not generally in favour of giving open-palmed shoves to older members of society, b
ut she was in the mood to make exceptions.

  Strawb’s legs went from under him and he came down hard on his knees. Amid the roaring elements, Sam imagined she heard them crack against the deck like dry branches. Sam sidestepped, trying to stay upright on the pitching deck.

  Margaret was rooting through the lockers with wild abandon, the location of the flares forgotten in the chaos. She had lifted up a seat at the very rear, but all that was inside was a mass of shiny fabric and fine rope.

  Sam pointed the pistol at Margaret. “Stop it! Stop this now!”

  Margaret glared. Her gaze was feral and filled with hate. She flung the seat cover at Sam. Sam had to twist to avoid it smacking her on the head. Emboldened, Margaret grabbed handfuls of the fabric from the locker and hurled that too, but the wind caught it and it spun into the air. As it rose, it unfolded into something really, really big. It whipped in the wind and expanded. Sam realised it was a parascending chute as its cords and harness unreeled from the open seat.

  “Oh,” said Margaret, automatically trying to haul it back.

  Sam didn’t see the cords snarl around Margaret’s arm – it was too quick. Margaret shot up into the air, lifted by the strands of the parachute. It continued to sail upwards, trailing cords and a screaming Margaret. A reel in the seat locker unspooled rapidly until the parachute and Margaret were high above the boat.

  The line reached its end and went taut with an audible snap. Far above, Margaret’s doll figure pirouetted, one arm outstretched, and fell away from the chute and back towards the sea.

  * * *

  Hilde watched the unfurled parachute.

  “Jesus! Someone just went overboard!” said Camara.

  Ragnar hollered over to Gunnolf, pointing out the spectacle. “Put that in the saga!”

  “A parachute?”

  “It’ll be like the colourful sacred bird of the gods!”

  Gunnolf’s face creased in confusion. “So, is that a good thing, or a bad ’un?”

  “Reckon we’ll find out soon enough,” said Ragnar.

  * * *

  The two boats were perilously close to each other, which didn’t seem wise when the waves kept making them lurch. As the Viking ship went up, the smaller boat went down. The line connecting them snapped up and down, threatening all sorts of damage. As Sam nervously watched the line, she realised something was hanging on it. A life jacket. She saw one of the Odinsons gesturing to it, making a shooing motion at it with his arms. They were sending her a life jacket. Sam waited for the two boats to complete another cycle of the disconcerting up and down. When the cable was higher at the Viking end would the life jacket slide down? She watched carefully, although the movement of the two boats was making her feel giddy. The life jacket moved along the line.

  As the wooden ship rose high on a wave, the life jacket slid all the way to the rear of the Calypso.

  “Grab it!” shouted several voices on the wind.

  Sam stuffed the pistol into a crevice between seats and leaned over the edge to grab the life jacket.

  Strawb was crawling on hands and knees to where Polly sat.

  Sam pulled the life jacket off the taut cable line. There was a rope tied to it. It led back to the Viking ship. Understanding dawned. They wanted her to bail into the water so they could pull her in.

  “Fucking terrible idea,” she muttered to herself.

  She would think of it as a backup plan. A plan B to the brilliant plan A she was about to think up. She pulled on the life jacket and checked the knots tying it to the rope. As the daughter of a stage magician, she’d grown up knowing something about knots. The one part of this insane plan that would not fail was definitely the knot. Backup plan, she reminded herself. Backup plan.

  90

  Hilde clapped her hands. “She’s secure.”

  “Turbines ahead!” shouted Ragnar.

  “Incline ahead!” echoed deaf Uncle Bjorn.

  Tethered together or not, the Sandraker and cabin cruiser were still heading out to sea as one. They were approaching the wind farm. Up close each windmill was a giant Redwood tree on its own concrete island in the sea. The spinning blades made a bass thrum-thrum-thrum as they turned, a sound more felt than heard. The gap between each individual turbine mast was at least a hundred metres, but it would not do for the battling boats to get snarled together and dashed against a solid base.

  “We should cut the tether,” Hilde said. “We don’t want it taking us with it.”

  She went to a chest to get her tools.

  * * *

  Polly was wet and aching, and coming to the conclusion that her sea legs weren’t quite as seaworthy as she’d thought. She took Strawb’s hand, but he barely had the strength to hold himself on the rocking boat, let alone lift her up from her ungainly slump.

  “Think I’ve done me knees in,” he said. He shivered as he spoke.

  “Silly man,” she said.

  At the other corner of the rear deck, Sam Applewhite stood contemplating the dark waves. Polly couldn’t picture anyone throwing themselves into that churning freezing void deliberately.

  “Hey!” Jacob skidded out of the cockpit. He grabbed Sam by the shoulders and hauled her back. “We need her as leverage,” said the neat little man, storm-tossed and not so neat anymore.

  Sam tried to twist out of his grip and he threw her down. Polly saw a rope running from Sam’s life jacket and over the side. Jacob grabbed the pistol wedged between seats.

  “Strawb, get up here and—” He stopped and crouched at the sight of something on the deck: a small grey patch, sodden with sea water.

  Jacob peeled away the jigsaw piece and turned it over. “Ravensburger. Camping and Caravanning. Part of the sunbather’s leg. I’ve been looking for this for weeks.” He blinked through rain-dotted glasses. “Strawb…?”

  Strawb patted a pocket and gave a weak laugh. “It’s all just a bit of joke, Jakey boy.”

  The pistol twitched in Jacob’s hand.

  * * *

  Hilde worked at the grappling iron cable with her cutting pliers but it was thick, and the pliers were slick with rain and hard to grasp. The Sandraker groaned as the cabin cruiser pulled against it. Offshore rains and the motorboat’s powering engine were edging them onward. The wire had already gouged a shallow furrow in the side of the longship as the tug of war between the vessels dragged it back and forth.

  “I can’t…” she said.

  “Here,” said Ragnar, hefting his raiding axe.

  “Aye,” she said, grabbing it. “Stand clear. The tension in the wire…”

  * * *

  Sam saw the axe raised on the Odinson boat and immediately thought of the line between them. It would be a very bad idea to be near to the recoil. She flung herself flat against the deck.

  There was a sharp crack and a singing, whistling sound as a heavy cable, under hundreds of pounds of pressure, snapped back. It was followed by a different noise: a soft oof followed by a fleshy thump. She looked up. Jacob’s arm had fallen to the deck. A second later he followed it. His head and shoulder went one way, the rest of his body the other.

  Sam yelled in horror, pushing up her arms to get away from him.

  The Calypso was accelerating forward now, freed from the dragging Odinson ship. They were passing between two turbine towers, close to one but far enough to avoid striking it. Sam glanced up.

  Strawb was moving towards the dropped pistol. Sam lunged forward and got there first. She slipped on the deck but kept hold of the gun and maintained her distance.

  “Don’t do anything stupid, gal,” said Strawb.

  Sam laughed involuntarily. “Stupid? Me?” She looked at Polly. “Whatever your reasons. This couldn’t be worth it.”

  * * *

  Polly pushed herself to her feet against the deck seat.

  “Don’t patronise us,” she said. “You have no idea.”

  “No,” Sam agreed.

  Sam glanced up once more. Without hesitation she ran for the rear of the b
oat. She didn’t even launch herself properly off the side. She half slithered, half jumped into the icy water.

  Polly gripped the rear rail and watched where she’d gone. Grunting, Strawb came beside her.

  Sam’s orange life vest was momentarily visible between sea swells. The parascending chute flapped high above them. Polly looked up. She saw the chute. She saw the huge sweeping blades of the wind turbine.

  She found Strawb’s hand with hers.

  * * *

  As Hilde watched from the prow of the Sandraker, the cabin cruiser reached the wind turbine. The blades swept round, looping into the cords of the parachute. The blades continued to turn. The effect on the boat was immediate and catastrophic. The line tightened. Before the rope snapped under the pressure, the motorboat had been lifted tail first from the water. The rear of the hull cracked, the aft deck coming away. The vessel flew apart in brittle chunks. The forward section nose-dived into a wave and flipped end over.

  “Heave!” yelled Camara to the crew on the rope. “And heave!”

  * * *

  Being in the North Sea was much, much worse than Sam had imagined. The coldness was so extreme that it was a solid pain, crushing her body and her head. She was incapable of doing anything but pant-gasping, which was massively unhelpful as water filled her mouth. The crushing sensation changed slightly, and she realised she had been pulled out of the water, although she didn’t feel any warmer. The rope dug into her ribs and dragged at her chest. With arms she wasn’t sure she could control, she reached up to grab the rope that was now above her. Moments later she was hauled over the side of the Viking ship. Strong arms wrapped a woollen blanket around her.

  She tried to say thank you, but her mouth and her tongue and her lungs were not listening to instructions for the time being.