The Dead Line

by Holly Watt

  49

  They leaped down the stairs, following in Hessa’s footsteps.

  ‘This way,’ Casey hissed.

  No one was shouting now. They were all moving with a grim determination.

  Above Casey and Ed, the moon was gleaming through the gap in the hull, sending a hint of light down the staircase. On each floor, a door opened out to an identical lobby. These doors were solid, with no glass panels, and no way of knowing what lay beyond. They crept down, step by step, until at last they ran out of stairs. This must be the lowest floor.

  Casey hesitated. Open the door and run? Into who knew what?

  Just as she was about to throw her weight at the door, there was a rush of words from the other side: Dylan. She couldn’t understand the Bengali, but the tone was enough.

  ‘Quick,’ Casey whispered to Ed. ‘Back up the stairs. Hurry!’

  They fled up the stairs, diving through a door a few floors up.

  ‘Shit,’ Casey leaned against the wall. ‘They must have realised the girls escaped. They’re at the bottom of the stairs now. We’re trapped.’

  It was pitch-black on this floor, and she couldn’t see Ed’s face. He didn’t say a word.

  ‘Do you think they’ll search the whole ship?’ Casey felt as if she was speaking to herself.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Probably,’ said Ed quietly. ‘They’ll have the workers coming out today anyway, so it’ll be impossible for us to hide for long.’

  They stood there in silence, as a shout from below echoed up the lift shaft.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Casey decided. ‘They’ll see us as soon as they come up the stairs.’

  Carefully, she felt her way to a set of double doors. They led to one of the corridors that would once have run down the ship. As the double doors creaked open, Casey held her breath.

  A cool breeze reached down the passage towards her, and she inched her way down, running her fingers along a panelled wall.

  Halfway along, the corridor was amputated. A cliff: rags of carpet ripped away, sliced steel shining bright in the moonlight, the wash of the waves in the distance, 50 feet below.

  She crouched down, in case anyone was looking up at the ship, but the seashore below was empty. Casey could see tracks in the mud, leading away from the Beauvallet. The fishing boat had gone.

  Without speaking, they edged back along the corridor and into one of the cabins. It was small, this room: only a few feet spare around a dusty bed. The mirrored cupboards were at the foot of the bed again, but these mirrors had distorted in the damp, reflecting a twisted view of the room as Casey stared round.

  Sliding doors had led out onto the balcony once, but the glass had been smashed long ago. Two beach chairs sat there incongruously in front of white steel railings. A blue hammock dangled gloomily, and the Tephi slumped in the distance.

  Casey peered over the edge.

  ‘Maybe we should jump?’ she whispered. ‘The mud might be soft.’

  ‘You’d break your legs.’

  Casey could hear movements in the ship. They would check the Emperor Suite first, she thought dully, then launch a proper search as soon as they realised all the girls had gone.

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ she said.

  ‘How?’

  Silence. Casey’s head jerked up. ‘How would they evacuate this ship?’ she whispered.

  She yanked open the fitted cupboard at the end of the bed. Clipped into the cupboard under a sheet of perspex was a neat piece of paper. The Beauvallet: How to evacuate, it announced. Casey scanned it quickly and turned to Ed, eyes gleaming in the dark.

  ‘Follow me,’ she hissed.

  There was a creak from the double doors at the top of the corridor.

  ‘We’re too late,’ Ed whispered. ‘They’re coming.’

  It sounded like several men, searching in a team. They could hear them moving quickly, throwing open the doors to the cabins one by one. After each door opened, there was a pause, just long enough to check the bathroom, behind the bed, in the cupboards. Then onwards.

  ‘There’s nowhere to hide in here.’ Casey’s eyes raced around the room. ‘Shit. Shit.’

  ‘Is there anything we can use for a weapon?’ Ed muttered. He was searching for any escape: a loose ceiling panel, access to the ventilation system, anything.

  Casey’s eyes fell on the rotting hammock out on the balcony, and she leapt forward. ‘Quickly, Ed,’ she whispered.

  Her hands shook as she untied the hammock from its attachments and knotted both ends to the lowest white railing. As soon as the hammock was tied there, she threw the bulk of the material out over the side of the ship.

  ‘Here.’ She climbed over the railings. ‘Come on.’

  In the darkness, the smooth steel of the Beauvallet fell away beneath her, no footholds, no handholds, nothing. Casey’s vision blurred. She forced herself to look down. The hammock dangled three feet below the edge of the balcony. Casey hesitated, testing it with her weight.

  ‘It won’t hold both of us,’ Ed warned. ‘The ropes are fraying already.’

  ‘Come on, Ed.’

  ‘It’ll kill us both,’ he whispered urgently. ‘I’ll hand myself in. I’ll . . .’

  ‘We have to stick together.’ In her head, Casey saw the hammock creaking, ripping, bodies plunging into the void. She forced the thoughts away.

  Ed straightened up. ‘I’ll jump, Casey. You hide in the hammock. They won’t find you.’

  ‘If you jump, I’ll jump too.’ Casey’s whisper was fierce. ‘Try it, Ed. It’s worth a shot.’

  ‘Casey . . .’

  She could hear the men getting closer, quieter now. They were thorough, these men. Hunters, trained.

  Ed had a foot on the railing.

  ‘Hurry’ – as loud as she dared. ‘Now!’

  He vaulted over the railing, scrambling down into the hammock. For a second, it swayed beneath their weight, and Casey felt the emptiness gape below them as the material stretched and sighed. Fifty feet of nothing, right down to the beach. Casey imagined the hammock ripping, shredding. Their bodies slipping into space and falling, and falling, and falling.

  It held, for now.

  There wasn’t enough space for both of them. Ed ended up half on top of her, his face a few inches from hers.

  ‘I’ve been’ – a sketch of a smile – ‘on better holiday breaks.’

  Despite herself, Casey grinned back at him. ‘Next year will be better, I promise you. Somewhere quiet.’

  She couldn’t bear to look up at her hastily tied knots on the railings. She imagined them pulling apart gradually, shifting inch by inch.

  She clenched her fists in the silence.

  Cat quiet, the door to the cabin opened. A man walked in, carefully. He hesitated, as if he could sense the recent movement in the room.

  The footsteps moved towards the bathroom. A cupboard door opened and closed. More steps. He must be by the broken windows, thought Casey. Just a few inches away.

  Ed’s eyes were boring into her. Casey couldn’t breathe. And just then, she felt the hammock give slightly.

  Go away – in her head it was a scream, quite primitive. Get away from us! Go away!

  Another step.

  From the room, all he would see was the ends of the hammock. In the dark, it could look like a few shreds of material just hanging from the railings. It might look like nothing at all.

  Another step.

  Silence.

  ‘Jeetu.’ A shout from down the corridor. Dylan’s voice.

  Abruptly, the footsteps swung away, retreated across the cabin. A heavy door slammed.

  Casey let out her breath in one long stream. For a second, she felt hot tears spring in her eyes.

  ‘Stay still,’ Ed whispered.

  Very cautiously, he raised his head to look into the room before putting a hand up to the railing. His other hand reached out to Casey’s wrist, gripping her hard.

  ‘Don’t move,�
� he whispered. ‘I can still hear them in the corridor.’

  Casey peered out of the hammock, across the dark sprawl of the beach to the Tephi, dead in the mud. A wisp of wind crept round the ship, sending a shudder through the hammock. At last, Ed inched himself upright.

  ‘I think they’ve gone,’ he whispered. ‘I haven’t heard them for a while.’

  Cautiously, Casey reached up to the railing with her spare hand. Slowly, very carefully, she pulled herself upwards, jerking as little as possible. One foot on the railing, then the other. The relief.

  Ed waited until she was safe on the balcony, and then he pulled himself up over the rail with a quick athleticism.

  Casey leaned briefly against the wall of the cabin, then straightened up.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  As they reached the end of the corridor, Casey could hear men, loud in the staircase to her left. There seemed to be voices all over the ship, other men talking loudly below.

  Casey nodded to her right, and dodged across the lobby, Ed close behind. She edged the door open, very slowly, waiting for any sound. The light from the lobby below spilled up the stairs. Casey hesitated, and then turned towards the flight of stairs leading up. Ed caught her sleeve, nodding downwards, vigorously.

  No, Casey gestured. This way.

  There’s no way out, that way, she thought. Trapped like rats.

  Ed stared at her for a beat, and then moved noiselessly up the stairs. According to the map of the ship, Casey remembered, on every floor there was a door from the staircase to a lobby in the middle of the ship. There were identical staircases on each side of the ship, both with doors onto the lobby.

  They climbed three flights, Casey counting in her head. She stopped at a door, standing there for a long moment, waiting for any sound on the other side of the door.

  Silence.

  Casey glanced across at Ed, eyebrows raised.

  Shall we?

  A nod.

  But as she was about to move, she heard the shriek of a door far below from the ground-floor lobby. The footsteps drew nearer, turning corner after corner with careless speed. Ed shoved open the door to the central lobby. It creaked, just too loud, and they heard the footsteps skid to a halt.

  Ed pushed Casey through the doorway.

  A shout in Bengali behind them.

  ‘Run,’ shouted Ed. ‘Run.’

  Casey rammed the door closed behind them, anything to slow their pursuers, and sprinted down the corridor, fear speeding her like flames.

  Deck, read a sign, and she burst out into the night air.

  ‘Careful.’ Ed grabbed her arm. The deck wasn’t wide here, and the railings had been stripped away. To her left was a sheer drop down to the beach, the deck tilting away as the Beauvallet sagged to one side. Casey felt dizzy, as if she might step into emptiness, almost on purpose.

  ‘This way,’ she whispered.

  There were shouts behind them, as they edged out along the deck. The men were searching the lobbies, racing up the stairs, getting closer and closer. They were relentless. Confident. Killers.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Ed murmured.

  ‘Here.’ Casey stopped. They were next to one of the big orange lifeboats, hanging lazily between two steel davits. ‘Get in.’

  ‘Casey.’ He turned to her. ‘Are you mad?’

  He stared up at the lifeboat. It looked like a solid orange bullet, the boat’s hard top-cover almost the same shape as its toughened keel. You could survive for days in one of these, out in the ocean.

  The voices were getting closer. Any moment now, the men would burst through the steel door, and out onto the deck.

  ‘Quickly!’ Casey pushed Ed towards the lifeboat’s hatch. ‘Strap yourself in.’

  ‘How the hell do you know it will work?’

  ‘I don’t,’ she almost grinned at him. ‘Hurry.’

  They threw themselves through the hatch, just as the door smashed open behind them.

  ‘Go!’ Casey yelled. She pulled some shoulder straps around herself, dragging them together, hitting buttons on a dashboard almost at random. Outside the lifeboat, there were shouts, and then the sudden, shattering blast of a gun.

  ‘Hang on,’ she screamed, and pulled a lever.

  The lifeboat reacted at once, coming to life with an animal surge. Moving fluidly, the two cranes lifted the lifeboat sideways and out over the side of the Beauvallet. Casey’s stomach turned as the boat plunged over the edge of the deck like a runaway roller coaster, the cranes releasing, the wires screaming through pulleys.

  It’s broken, thought Casey. They’ve stripped out everything important. It’s broken, and we’re going to die.

  Ed was wrestling into straps as the lifeboat roared through the air.

  ‘Hold on,’ Casey screamed. ‘Hold on!’

  A smash, and everything went dark.

  50

  Casey opened her eyes, slowly. There was blood in her mouth, she realised blearily.

  Where am I?

  She blinked carefully.

  What happened?

  There was a sort of light, trickling towards her. Straps were cutting into her chest.

  What are those?

  No answer.

  I want to sleep. I want to . . .

  A slow fade. And then, abruptly, from somewhere far below consciousness.

  Don’t sleep. No. no. NO. Stay awake.

  You must.

  Staccato thoughts. Discordant as an orchestra tuning.

  She could see her hands, she realised. She concentrated hard, and the fingers moved. That’s OK, then. Thoughts were settling, snow in a globe.

  It was very dark, in here, wherever it was. A sort of peace. She tried to look around. My neck hurts. For a second, she almost relaxed. Someone will be along to help, I’m sure. Just wait. Be still. And breathe.

  Like a curtain going up in a theatre, it snapped back to her.

  In a lifeboat. We fell. Ed. Oh God, where is he? The lifeboat swam around her, and Casey kicked out, trying to scramble loose of the safety harness. It gave way sharply.

  Ed was a few feet away, still fastened in, and Casey crawled over to him on bruised elbows and knees.

  He had hit his head as he fell, she saw. A trickle of blood curled down from his eyebrow. His eyes were closed, head lolling.

  ‘Ed!’

  All the first-aid lessons, those boring hours in a stuffy room, raced through her mind. But none of the careful rules would matter if they didn’t escape right now. Because it would only take seconds for the men to race down through the Beauvallet, and out onto the beach. And then—

  Casey tugged Ed hard.

  Nothing.

  ‘Ed,’ Casey whispered urgently in his ear. ‘If you don’t move now, it’s over. They’ll catch us.’

  She shook him. Carefully at first, and then with a sudden violence. The lifeboat rocked to and fro with an odd sort of movement.

  ‘Ed, wake up!’

  Ed came to, veering into consciousness like a car skidding on a road. His eyes opened, focused slowly on hers.

  ‘We have to run,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. But we have to run right now, Ed.’

  His limbs jerked. She dragged at the straps, trying to disentangle him. His movements became grew more coordinated.

  ‘You run, Casey,’ he managed. ‘I’ll be right behind you.’

  ‘Never,’ she said. ‘I’m not going to leave you.’

  ‘Casey . . .’

  She was yanking at his harness, her fingers tearing at the clasps. And suddenly, he was falling free, struggling towards the hatch.

  She scrambled after him, and stared around. Outside the lifeboat, the beach was oddly still, the moonlight a lace frill over strange shapeless shadows. In the darkness, the Beauvallet loomed above.

  Casey looked down. The lifeboat had landed in a pool of tidal mud, deep enough to float. The pool had saved them in the fall, but to get away, they would have to jump down into the dark liquid mud. She couldn’t make o
ut how deep it was.

  Casey stared around. Which way to go?

  A noise came from the ship behind her, and her mind ricocheted through the options, a panicking pinball, thoughts fragmenting as she reached for them.

  No way out. It was that endless nightmare, the terrible fear of the hunted. They’re coming, they’re coming, they’re coming.

  ‘We’ll have to jump.’ Ed’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘Yes.’

  Casey heard him take a breath and jump down into the mud.

  Watch out for the quicksand. The words of the hustler on the beach ringing in her ears, Casey pushed herself off the edge.

  Without a splash, the mud swallowed her up, smooth and overwhelming. Casey couldn’t kick, couldn’t swim, couldn’t float. Can’t breathe. She scrabbled for a foothold. Her legs slipped away as she lashed out. Like something living, the mud swamped her mouth and her eyes, blinding, choking, drowning her. She surfaced once into the darkness, and screamed as the mud pulled her down again.

  I’m going to die.

  No. No.

  Yes.

  Casey lashed out, the nightmare real. Thrashed around for something to grip, something to hold, anything to survive. Nothing. Her nails clawed the mud, running out of air, running out of time. Lungs screaming. Flashes before her eyes.

  Her arm reached out into the night air, one last time, and someone grabbed her, and dragged her out onto the bank.

  51

  It was Ed.

  Casey lay on the mud, fighting for air. Ed was lying on his back beside her, his chest heaving.

  ‘Thank you,’ she gasped.

  He turned his head, face dark with mud. ‘No problem.’

  More sounds came from the Beauvallet, and Casey was on her feet.

  ‘We’ve got to move.’ The panic flooded back. ‘Quickly. They’re coming.’

  She took a step away from the lifeboat, and the mud dragged her down. Another step, and another, and already it was exhausting.

  She forced away the horror.

  ‘There’s no way round the Beauvallet to that path,’ said Ed. ‘Not before those men get down the stairs. We have to try to escape down the beach.’

  Beyond the Beauvallet, vast blocks of steel were scattered across the mudflat, as if by a giant’s rage. A propeller, cast away into the sand, was a colossal metal flower.