“For what?” I asked.
“Doc-Flo wanted some rope,” Zach said.
“Again, I’m going to ask, for what?” I said.
“Always good to have a bit of rope handy,” Leo said. “She’s less distracted when she knows where things are. Throw me a coil, and label the side of the box, too.”
Why would that scientist aboard this ship want a coil of rope? Asking the question a third time wasn’t going to get a clearer answer, but it makes me want to keep a closer eye on Avalon.
“Excuse me, Sergeant,” the sailor, Sullivan, asked from the doorway. “Colonel Hawker requests your assistance.”
“Is there trouble?” I asked.
“No, ma’am,” Sullivan said. “The colonel is training some of the new crew in close combat.”
“Ah, no worries,” Nicko said. “He must want me to show them how it’s done.”
“He’s using the helicopter deck,” Sullivan said. “Can you find it? Only I’m supposed to be scrubbing the med-bay.”
“I can give you a hand with that,” Zach said.
“Um… you’re volunteering to help clean?” Sullivan asked.
“You’ll finish twice as quick,” Zach said. “If that’s all right, boss?”
“Permission granted,” I said.
“She joined our table for breakfast,” Clyde said after the pair, and Nicko, had gone. “To be strictly accurate, Zach joined hers, and we joined him.”
“She’s something to do with the helicopter crew?” I asked.
“And she’s the ship’s librarian,” Clyde said. “Something of a ship’s mascot, too. Saved the commander’s life during a fire, then refused a promotion because she was simply doing her duty. She asked permission to take over the library instead.”
“Good luck to Zach,” I said, and opened an oat-bar. “So how did plastic explosives end up mixed in with syringes?”
“Best I can tell, this was a temporary crew,” Clyde said. “The refit was rushed, and the ship was rushed back to sea out of political stupidity. While it was in dock, it was an accounting liability, but if it was at sea, it became an asset. Then came the outbreak. The more experienced hands were sent to command the fuel-freighters. A month on high alert, and standards slipped. But the captain now wants to make space for the injured when we get to Cape Town. She wants to prepare for the worst.”
20th March
Chapter 15 - Radio Free England
After three nights aboard, I’ve begun to fill my days with routine. Breakfast with my team, dinner with the captain. The rest of my time is spent helping move boxes, and in checking up on Dr Avalon. Today, I found her watching videos, though with the sound off.
“Have your headphones broken?” I asked.
“Most of these have no sound,” she said, moving the laptop around so I could better see the screen.
“That’s a zom attack,” I said.
“In Manhattan,” she said. “That coffee shop is where I used to wait for Leo. They did a passable croissant loaf.”
“Never had one of those. What’s it like?”
“As it sounds,” she said. “I dislike waiting on others, particularly if I’ve been summoned from a different continent. I cannot abide an inconsistent application of urgency. That is where I would wait until Leo said it was time.” She pressed the space bar with a forceful display of anger. Unusual for her. As was her giving an explanation of her past behaviour. But aboard this ship, we’ve all found ourselves with time to think and to tally what we’ve lost.
“Where did you get the video?” I asked as, on-screen, a customer pushed open the doors. She fell to her knees, and was abruptly tugged back inside, out of sight.
“It’s one of the clips uploaded before the internet collapsed,” Avalon said. “Leo gathered all that he could.”
“Watching them isn’t good for your mental health,” I said.
“I’m watching them to narrow down the location where the outbreak began,” she said. “We know it was Manhattan, and it can’t be far from the U.N. building. I have a few theories, but those won’t be enough when we get there.”
“If we get there,” I said. “I don’t know if we’ll even get to Colombia.”
“If we don’t, these videos will be the only evidence we have,” she said.
Talking with Dr Avalon is like talking to a drunk witness; it takes a lot of patience, and even more thought, to tease out some sense. But before I could formulate a new plan of verbal attack, a rat-a-tat was knocked on the door.
“Teegan said you’d be here, boss,” Zach said, pushing it open a cautious fraction.
“That’s nice of her,” I said. “Are you looking for me?”
“Not me,” he said. “I’m mega-busy, but the captain wants you on the bridge.”
“Zachary!” Avalon said, closing the laptop. “Your assignment is overdue.”
“You were being serious about that?” Zach asked.
“Of course,” Avalon said.
“What assignment?” I asked.
“The first part of his coursework for his degree,” Avalon said.
“At which university?” I asked.
“Whichever I decide to teach at when we return to Australia,” Avalon said. “I see no reason he can’t get ahead of his studies.”
“Yeah, actually, maybe you could help, boss,” Zach said.
“With your homework? Sorry, but you did say the captain needed to see me,” I said.
Life goes on. In weird and odd ways that sometimes seem like nothing more than getting from morning to night. But it does. We find ways of occupying our days, as we search for ways of filling them with joy. Although I’m not sure whether Zach will be getting much joy out of being Avalon’s pet student.
Leo was on the bridge, wearing headphones, and scrolling through radio frequencies. The crew were at their screens, but the captain was in her chair.
“Commissioner, thank you. We’re between Durban and Port Elizabeth,” Captain Adams said. “But I’ve cut our speed.”
“Have we picked up a distress call?” I asked.
“Not as such. These are rough waters, near the Cape. Ships with power, or sails, would have sought calmer waters, while those without would sadly not last long. No, there is a radio signal. It’s coming from land, and it’s not a distress call. We made good time to Durban. I’ve taken us out to sea.”
The captain has a deliberately split personality. The few times I’ve been alone with her, she’s spoken as a colleague, an equal. It’s not surprising. She’s only a few years older than me. We’re both at a similar level in similar professions, which are dissimilar enough that we’re neither rivals or subordinates. But when she’s within earshot of her crew, she reminds me a little of Dr Avalon in that she skips a good portion of the explanation, leaving you to fill in the blanks. With Avalon, it’s because her mouth can’t keep up with her brain. With Captain Adams, it’s the self-censorship of command. She’s mindful that everything she says will spread through the ship faster than hope, and she doesn’t want disappointment clinging to its heels.
“Durban was an evacuation hub for South Africa, wasn’t it?” I asked. “After Durban was overwhelmed, some South Africans drove north, crossed the border with Mozambique, and went to Maputo, which was overwhelmed in turn, and so the locals there went up to Inhambane.”
“Overwhelmed is an understatement,” Captain Adams said. “A liquid gas transport ship exploded in the harbour. We believe it was deliberately targeted. Initial reports suggested a torpedo, though our chief engineer, Mr Dickenson, thinks it could have been a subsurface drone.”
“Who would do that?” I asked.
“That’s as murky as the Mariana Trench, and nearly as fathomless,” Adams said. “At the time, a small military police-fleet was gathering in the harbour. These were coastal protection vessels, cruisers, cutters, and patrol boats from many nations on the African east coast. Lightly armed and lightly armoured. They arrived to refuel, and were then drafted
into a new fleet which was supposed to come north and help deal with the piracy problem in the Mozambique Channel. Very few ships escaped the inferno, which has left a floating debris field off the coast, hence our detour. Our next waypoint is Port Elizabeth, on the eastern shores of the Cape. But this radio signal is coming from much further inland.”
“From South Africa? It’s a distress call?” I asked.
“Not really,” Adams said. “They are manually, verbally, repeating reports broadcast elsewhere in the world. The lack of formal radio discipline suggests a civilian, but one with some level of technical skill.”
“Can I listen?”
“Do you speak Swahili?” Leo asked. “I don’t. But I think that’s the language they’re currently speaking. We’ve had English, Arabic, Portuguese, Spanish, and now… ah, maybe it’s Zulu. I’m certain it’s not Xhosa. There’s been no Afrikaans yet, which is an interesting detail. But the place-names repeat, so it’s the same message in different languages. It’s a recording. Not a live broadcast.”
“What are they saying?” I asked.
“That there are pockets of survivors across the world,” Leo said. “Survivors with access to a radio transmitter. They mention Israel. Zambia. Tunisia. England. Ukraine. Other than the location, there’s no real information. Tel Aviv. The Dnieper River. They’re saying there’s a station calling itself Radio Free England. No location specified there.”
“Do they say what happened in Israel?” I asked. “Or what happened in Ukraine?”
“People survived,” Leo said. “That’s basically it. They’re saying that there are survivors, so if you can hear this, you should look for more. Help each other. Listen to the radio. Help will come.”
“From whom?” I asked.
“They don’t say,” Leo said.
“They don’t know,” Adams said. “They’re broadcasting a message of optimism to keep their own hope alive. There’s no mention of the African Union, or of the evacuation to the Pacific.”
“What about their location?” I asked.
“They haven’t mentioned it yet,” Leo said.
“We’ll keep listening,” Adams said. “But we’ve got to ask ourselves whether they’re really retransmitting radio signals, or are they making up a good-news story to bring hope to anyone listening? I think they mixed up the BBC with Radio Free Europe, and called it Radio Free England by mistake.”
“I take it we tried saying hello?” I asked.
“Partially,” Adams said. “I broadcast a message asking where they were, saying we were a New Zealand ship, off the coast. Until we know more about them, I didn’t want them to know more about us.”
“Are we going to look for them?” I asked.
“If they are who they claim, they’re a repeater-station run by a handful of survivors,” Adams said. “Our priority must always be the largest number of survivors. In this case, the African Union convoy. Once we’ve secured their position in a coastal refuge, we can arrange a search for this transmitter using soldiers who have local knowledge.”
By the time the next watch changed, everyone aboard would know of the signal, and want to know why it wasn’t being investigated. Waiting on local knowledge was a believable explanation. But the captain hadn’t wanted to explain that to her bridge crew. No, she’d summoned me to the bridge to be her Dr Watson. Why? I pondered that as I watched the waves, uncertain if I was supposed to propose we send the helicopter ashore, or voice agreement for her decision.
“We’re back to English,” Leo said. “Yep, it’s a recording.”
“This would be a powerful transmitter, wouldn’t it?” I asked. “We can find a list, and map, of large transmitters in South Africa, and narrow down our search area.”
“Contact!” Lieutenant Kane said. “It’s the sub. Bearing one-four-zero.”
“Is it the same submarine, Mr Kane?” Adams asked, her tone instantly becoming clipped, formal, far more precise.
“Yes, ma’am,” Kane said. “Royal Navy. Astute-class. Probably the Adventure.”
“Maintain course and heading,” the captain said. “Mr Renton, attempt contact. Same message as before.”
“You’ve spotted this sub before?” I asked.
“This is the second time today, the fifth sighting in total,” the captain said. “We picked her up twice over a week ago. As we approached Durban, we caught an echo. She’s the newest of the Royal Navy’s Astute-class subs. They modified the propulsion system since the first boat in that class was commissioned.”
“Does she have nukes?” I asked.
“No, but she is nuclear powered,” Adams said. “She’s an attack sub, armed with torpedoes and Tomahawk missiles.”
I surveyed the seemingly empty ocean. “Shouldn’t we go to action stations?”
“If it was our first sighting, yes,” Adams said. “She hasn’t adopted an aggressive posture. Nor will we. The boat came close to attack range while we were in Inhambane, but then retreated. The next occasion we identified her, she maintained her distance. We picked her up last night just north of Durban. Now here she is to the south. I think she’s marking her territory.”
“In Durban? I thought you said it was a ruin.”
“The harbour is, but some of the city still stands,” Adams said. “She doesn’t need fuel, but her crew will need provisions. As we can identify her, she’ll have identified us, or at least our class, and is aware we were operating in protection of the refugees in Africa. She’s decided we’re no threat.”
“She’s gone, ma’am,” Kane said.
“Turned back?” I asked.
“We’re about to find out,” Adams said.
It took me a minute to understand. I held my breath. I wasn’t the only one.
“The time, Mr Kane?” Adams finally asked.
“Two minutes, ma’am. No contact.”
“Maintain course, increase speed two knots,” Adams said.
I said nothing. Not then. Ships have a routine, and so does the captain. She really does set aside time each day for rehab-exercise. Today that involved stripping the motor on one of the ship’s fixed-rib boats.
“It’s not boxing,” she said. “But it does involve my hands.”
“And most of your arms, too, judging by the oil,” I said. “Need a hand?”
“Start on the starboard bolts. See if you can work them loose.”
“Whose boat was this?” I asked.
“The Americans,” she said. “Kept ten of their crew alive after their destroyer was blown out of the water by a sub.”
“That submarine following us?”
“We don’t believe so,” Adams said. “But only because it is more comforting to assume that it was someone else.”
I picked up a wrench, and attacked the bolts. “If we can’t fix it, do we chuck it over the side?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m certain we can fix this,” she said.
“But you’re making space aboard for the injured, and training the crew in close combat.”
“Only because of what I saw in Madagascar,” she said. “Not because I know something you don’t.”
“I reckon there’s a lot you know that I don’t,” I said. “Back on the bridge, you never really answered my question. Is someone going to hunt for the people transmitting the message?”
“I hope so,” Adams said. “The general was adamant a foothold be kept in Africa. These broadcasters could confirm whether there is merit in the idea, or whether it will be nigh-on impossible, but our primary mission must be assisting the African Union in securing a coastal redoubt.”
“I don’t know much about ships except what I’ve picked up in movies, but your actions seem counterintuitive. We’re not trying to contact the sub?”
“We did, and we have,” Adams said. “They haven’t replied, which is why I believe they are guarding their territory. Britain was an ally, but the old alliances are broken. The British launched their missiles just like everyone else.”
“So we don
’t know if they’re hostile or friendly?” I said. “Could it sink us?”
“Yes, and we could sink her if it came to an open battle, but they could run silent, and take advantage of surprise. As no assistance can be summoned, she only has to cripple us and retreat in order to destroy us.”
“Then why are we not at action stations?” I said.
“I want them to see we are not hostile even after what they have done.”
“Like sinking that U.S. destroyer?” I asked.
“I don’t know what specific actions that boat took during the last month,” Adams said. “The Royal Navy Trident submarines launched their warheads, following their orders to wreck our planet. This submarine must have had similar orders. Perhaps their target was Durban, or Suez, or shipping in the Mozambique Channel. Did they follow their orders, or disregard them? If they went rogue, they will need a new flag. If they didn’t, but if London is gone, they will want a new home. I would prefer it is with us rather than against us.”
“You’re thinking of the future,” I said.
“I’m thinking of the rescue fleet on its way to Cape Town. That submarine doesn’t need to refuel. They carry ninety days of supplies, but they can loot more ashore. Munitions are a different matter, but if they had no torpedoes left, why follow us at all? One of the rebroadcast radio signals purported to be from Radio Free England. If this was a genuine broadcast coming from Britain, then England has collapsed. Britain is gone. Your scientists mentioned wanting to collect a sample of their vaccine. That broadcast suggests that vaccine didn’t work.”
“Dr Avalon was adamant a vaccine was impossible,” I said. “We were promised some was on the way, but that promise came from Ian Lignatiev, one of those responsible for the coup. After he was dethroned, we found no trace of communication with Britain among his papers.”
“If Britain had a vaccine, wouldn’t they have had to know about this virus before the outbreak?” Adams asked.
“Yes,” I said. “That assumes the vaccine is real. But why claim to have one if it didn’t exist?”
“You said that these cartel sisters were working for, or with, politicians. If they designed this virus, wouldn’t they also have designed a vaccine?”
Life Goes On | Book 4 | If Not Us [Surviving The Evacuation] Page 16
