Noah's Ark: Encounters

by Dayle, Harry

  A bowl of rice landed between his legs, spilling half its contents across the disgusting floor.

  The silhouette-man knelt, scooped up some of the white fluffy grain in a spoon, and held it to his mouth.

  He wanted to refuse it. If he starved himself, he would die eventually. He had to. Yet the survival instinct was too strong, and he found his mouth opening of its own accord. The spoon was thrust inside and before he could stop himself he was chewing hungrily. The overcooked rice had no flavour, but it didn’t matter, he swallowed it down, and grunted for more.

  As the food slowly made its way into his system, he found he could think more clearly. When he thought, it was of his wife. She was still up there, among them. A prisoner, yes, but not like him. She was being compelled to do their bidding, whatever that might be. His imagination got carried away, filling his mind with images of just what they might be forcing her into. It was too much. His stomach twisted, and with a heave the rice came back up, spewing from his lips and hitting the silhouette full in the face.

  Silhouette-man roared with rage. He jumped back, clawing at his eyes. He shouted something incomprehensible, took a step forward, and lashed out with his foot.

  He saw it coming, but that was no consolation. The heel of his captor’s boot buried itself between his legs. His groin exploded with pain and he was sick again, but his belly was empty and this time he retched dryly. The figure before him grunted and kicked at the swamp of excrement and urine on the floor, sending gobs of the foul mess raining over him.

  The pain reminded him that he was alive. He had to stay alive. For her. As long as he was alive there was a chance, no matter how slim, that he could help her.

  He made a promise to himself there and then: no more thoughts of giving in; no more willing himself to die. He wouldn’t let them get away with it. He would eat their rations, be an obedient prisoner. He would stay awake rather than hide in the fog of unconsciousness. And when the time came, if…when, opportunity arose, he would be ready.

  Nine

  JAKE TOOK HIS dinner rations on the bridge, as was his custom. He was in command, and also had the helm as Chuck’s shift was over for the day. Navigator Dave Whitehall was the only other person with him, maintaining the lookout as they sailed south-west.

  “Where do you think they’re going?” Dave asked. “That boat? If something survived at Ile Longue, why are they heading away from it?”

  “You’re the navigator, Dave. Haven’t you extrapolated a possible destination from their course?”

  “Yep, and it doesn’t make any sense. I’d have to say they were headed for the States, but I’m far from convinced.”

  “Why?”

  “If the size estimates are right, she just sounds a bit small to be going transatlantic.”

  “My dad went transatlantic in something much smaller. And don’t forget those mad people who circumnavigate the globe in bathtub-sized rowing boats. It could make perfect sense to go stateside. If whoever is on board didn’t see the final broadcast, they could easily assume the asteroid hit Europe. It might be reasonable to think, or at least hope, that the Americas escaped unscathed. If you didn’t know better.”

  Dave opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by a telephone ringing. He answered it, then passed the receiver to Jake.

  “It’s for you. Silvia.”

  “Hi, Silvia. How are you? Right…right…okay, that’s unfortunate. Thanks for letting me know.” He replaced the handset. “Don’t suppose you speak Korean do you, Dave?”

  “Ha!” Dave shook his head and laughed.

  “Shame. Can you believe that out of nearly three thousand people on this ship, there are no Koreans? I thought we had just about every nation covered.”

  “Have you tried the Ambush? They might have some polyglots down there.”

  “I already asked Coote. No such luck. Ah well, I don’t suppose it matters.” He patted his jacket, feeling the hard rectangle shape of the notebook inside. He didn’t like not knowing something. He liked it even less when the something was linked to dead bodies.

  There was a knock at the door, and without waiting for a response, it swung open and McNair wandered in, carrying a plastic bottle filled with water, and a copy of the complete works of Shakespeare.

  “Evening,” he said, smiling at both men.

  “Bit early this evening, aren’t you?” Jake shook the submariner’s hand vigorously.

  “Yes. I thought you might want to knock off a bit earlier, spend some time with Erica. It could be a busy day tomorrow. You should probably make the most of the quiet, now you’re a family man.”

  “That’s…that’s very thoughtful of you. Thanks, McNair.”

  “Don’t mention it. I’ve got reading material for a couple of months, and it doesn’t make much difference to me if I’m sitting devouring the words of the bard in my cabin, or up here. Besides, I want to get a look at that new boat the second we’re within visual range.”

  Jake smiled. “Not entirely altruistic motives then. How is it, out there?” He pointed at the door.

  “The atmosphere is electric.” McNair sat in the captain’s chair and got comfy, setting his water bottle down next to him, and putting his book on the arm rest. “Everyone’s talking about the new survivors. It’s the only topic of conversation, wherever you go.”

  “We don’t know there are survivors.”

  “There’d better be. I think the public have already decided there are, so there’s going to be a lot of disappointment if the thing is empty. Can’t blame them. First sign of life in nearly two months. Heck, I’m excited, and I’m used to spending months at sea seeing hardly a soul.”

  Jake didn’t admit that he did not share the excitement. He couldn’t help thinking about the headless men. He was far less convinced that finding new people would be a good thing.

  • • •

  The walk from deck ten to deck five was the furthest Vicky had been in weeks. The ship seemed to have changed. Last time she had been beyond the limits of their deck had been not long after the virus. The corridors had been quiet then. A large proportion of the community was shut away in their cabins, recovering from the terrible illness. Those who weren’t sick had been standing in for those who were; preparing meals, delivering medication, keeping things running. The atmosphere had been a mixture of relief at having survived the ordeal, and apprehension at what was to come. The contagion had brought home to everyone just how precarious their situation was.

  But that had been almost a month ago. Now, on this summer evening, the Spirit of Arcadia felt alive. People were out and about on every deck. Some going to the restaurant for their rations, others leaving, having already eaten. Most of the people on teams had finished their day’s work, and were happy to be spending time with family or friends.

  For the first time since the asteroid, Vicky saw the doors to the outside areas were open. Warm, salty air wafted in, reminding her of seaside holidays as a child. On the outside decks, couples walked hand in hand, giggling children skipped and ran, expending their pent-up energy. Somebody somewhere was singing, and a small crowd of onlookers had gathered, clapping along in time to the tune.

  “It’s almost like it was before. When we were still on holiday,” she said. She hung onto Dan’s arm, walking slowly, awkwardly.

  “It’s not always like this. The news about the other boat has got everyone fired up.”

  “It’s good though, isn’t it? Seeing people happy. After all that’s happened I didn’t think anyone would be happy again.”

  “People have short memories.”

  “Yeah, I suppose. Is it much further?”

  “No, not much. Just around the next corner. Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine. Just take it steady. I’m not used to all this walking.”

  They passed a group of young women, close in conspiratorial conversation. They stopped talking when they saw Vicky.

  “They were staring at me,” she said, when the girls
were behind them. “Everyone’s going to stare, aren’t they? They’re going to hate me.”

  “Don’t say that. Nobody will hate you. This is a good thing, right?”

  She nodded, but her sad eyes said she didn’t believe him.

  “Here we are. I hope there’s still someone in. It’s gone seven o’clock. Most teams pack up at six.”

  Dan knocked on the open door to the medical suite.

  “One second!”

  “Come on, you can sit down over there,” Dan said, leading Vicky over to a chair by the wall of the outer room.

  The door to the treatment room opened, and a muscular man with short cropped hair stepped out. He was drying his hands on a paper towel.

  “Hello, I’m Doctor Vardy. How can I…” His voice trailed off. He was looking directly at Vicky. She looked up at him, her dark almond-shaped eyes filled with tears. Dan avoided the doctor’s gaze. “I see,” Vardy said. “Right. Wow. You’d better come through.”

  • • •

  Jake hadn’t wanted to change up to a larger cabin. It was his view that he should lead by example, and that included making do with the rather mean accommodation he had been given as part of his job as first officer. When Staff Captain Jonny Hollen had been killed, he could have taken over his — larger — cabin. Almost immediately following that murder though, Captain Clayton Ibsen had also died, at Jake’s own hands. When Jake eventually accepted the position of captain, he was offered Ibsen’s palatial suite, but had refused, preferring to let it go to someone ‘more worthy’, in his words.

  That was before Lucya, before the virus, and before Erica. Now that the three of them were living together as a family he had to face facts: the minute single cabin was not practical. So Jake had finally accepted that he had to move. As he had been sharing with Lucya and therefore freed up two cabins with the change (three, if he counted Erica’s late father’s room), he didn’t feel quite so bad about the whole thing. The committee had asked Silvia to find something suitable, and she had put him in a small suite on deck ten. It wasn’t one of the most expensive on the ship; she knew he would never accept something luxurious, but it did have two proper bedrooms and a small salon. Space enough for the new family. It also had the advantage of being very close to the bridge, which meant he and Lucya could both get there in a hurry if need be.

  Erica was already in bed when Vardy knocked at the door to Jake and Lucya’s suite.

  “Russell, come in. How are you?”

  “I’m fine thank you, Jake. Good evening, Lucya.”

  “Still enjoying running medical?”

  “Hey, Grau’s still in charge.” Vardy sat down in an armchair by the picture window looking out to sea. Jake joined him, while Lucya disappeared into the bedroom, giving the two men some space.

  “Technically, but we both know you’re running the show.” Jake rested one leg across the other and began fiddling absent-mindedly with his shoelaces.

  “Only until he’s fit enough to take the team back under his wing. He’s doing remarkably well, actually. For his age, I’m impressed. He’s a real fighter.”

  “That’s Grau alright.”

  Vardy sat forward in the chair, scratching the back of his neck. “Listen, Jake, I thought I should let you know about a couple who just came to see me. It’s a delicate matter. Victoria and Dan Mitchell.”

  “Okay?”

  “Victoria is pregnant.”

  Jake’s head snapped up. His eyes narrowed and he stared at the doctor. “Really? I don’t remember anyone declaring pregnancy on the census. I mean, we didn’t ask the question, not outright, but I would have thought if someone was expecting, they might have mentioned it.”

  “Well that’s why the matter is delicate. Victoria didn’t complete the census.”

  Jake leaned back in his chair. “Okay. And how did that happen?”

  “Because she should never have been on the ship. You see, she’s not just pregnant. She’s very pregnant. She’s at thirty-six weeks. That’s about eight and a half months, Jake. She’s pretty much at term.”

  “Gosh. Right. We don’t allow pregnant women in their third trimester to book a cruise. Pelagios had that as a condition. Non-negotiable. All the cruise lines had that as a condition. It’s a standard thing. We don’t want to be dealing with newborn babies in the middle of the ocean.”

  “Exactly. Which is why she hid during the census. Apparently she was terrified of being thrown off, or punished in some way. She lied on her booking form, and because she’s very slight, and the baby is small, she could get away with it. For a two-week holiday, anyway. With baggy enough clothes I can well imagine that nobody noticed. Not two months ago. But now? Now it’s very obvious.”

  “I see. Did she really think we would throw her off the ship? After the world ended?”

  “Apparently. They’re a very young and naive couple. And to be fair, before you found the Ambush and the food at Faslane, things weren’t looking good. If there was going to be any kind of tier system for allocating rations, I can understand that Victoria would expect to find herself at the bottom, given she is on board under false pretences. She’s been hiding out ever since, hardly leaving her cabin. On the plus side, it meant they avoided the virus entirely.”

  Jake stood up and walked to the window. He stared out at the sea. They had left the English Channel and were heading out into the Atlantic. Land was no longer visible with the naked eye. He knew that the land offered no sanctuary now, but it still gave him a feeling of security knowing it was within striking distance. Being out in the ocean brought home how cut off they were, how entirely dependent on their own resources. “You ever delivered a baby, Russell?”

  “Actually, I have, although only the one. It was an unexpected event, on board an aircraft in fact. I was the only medically trained professional on board. A terribly messy business it was. Fortunately Carrie, one of our newer nurses, has previously worked as a midwife, so I have no major concerns when it comes to the birth. It would have been reassuring if we had ultrasound equipment and an incubator available. Alas that is not the case. The ship was never designed for such an eventuality.”

  “If she missed the census, this Victoria, how has she been getting rations?”

  Vardy stood and joined Jake at the window. “Her husband, Dan, has been giving her his. He’s been living off any scraps he can find in the restaurants, so he tells me. Young love, eh?”

  “People leave leftovers?”

  “Believe it or not, they do. Perhaps we should look at reducing the size of the rations!”

  “I don’t want to bring about a mutiny. Not again. Where is this couple now?”

  “They’ve gone back to their cabin. I gave Victoria a quick check-up and she is in good health. I’ve asked her to come back in the morning when Carrie will be on duty. She can check the health of the baby and advise the young lady on what she should or shouldn’t be doing, and get her better prepared for the happy event. I gave her a census form as well. She may be naive, but she seems to be a bright girl. We need to know if she has any skills or special knowledge that will be of use to the community. And apart from that, she should be getting her own rations. She’s promised to fill it in and pass it on to Silvia.”

  “So…life goes on, eh?” Jake stared far out to sea. “Life goes on…”

  Ten

  JAKE SLEPT FITFULLY. The prospect of meeting other survivors made it hard to relax. His mind played out different scenarios, and half the time he didn’t know if he was dreaming or not. He was also plagued by images of Stieg, and repeatedly saw him drowning, crying out for help as he was swept away by a turbulent swell.

  By 5:30 he was wide awake, soaked in sweat, and too on edge to consider sleeping again. He got out of bed as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb Lucya, but she opened her eyes and looked right at him as soon as his feet hit the floor.

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “Not really,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

>   “I wasn’t asleep either. Too much to think about.” She whispered the words, conscious of the sleeping child and the thin walls.

  “It’s a big day. An important day. We could learn a lot.”

  “Or be very disappointed.”

  He shrugged. “I’m going to take the early shift. Do you mind sorting Erica out this morning?”

  “Of course not. You should be on the bridge.”

  Jake took a quick shower, rinsing away the sweat and the bad dreams. He put on his best uniform. With power and therefore an endless supply of clean desalinated water, the ship’s laundry was still running. Detergent was rationed though, and most clothing was washed without soap of any kind. Instead, tennis balls were added to the huge machines. He’d been told that the effect was the same, the balls beat the dirt and grease out of the clothing, but it didn’t feel the same to him. If he was meeting survivors, he wanted to look his best.

  When he arrived on the bridge, it was brilliantly lit by a rare glimpse of the rising sun, shining through a break in the swirling grey cloud and streaming through the rear-facing windows. It was moments like this, with the light reflecting off the flat, calm ocean and sending tiny stars of sparkling light dancing across the ceiling, that he felt he could accept his job. He knew he was never a sailor, not really, but in these occasional instants of beauty and tranquillity, he could understand his father’s love of the sea.

  “Good morning, Captain.” McNair pulled his feet off a console and stood to greet him.

  “Morning. So?” He didn’t need to elaborate.

  “Our friends maintained a steady speed throughout the night, and we are steadily catching them. Another three to three and a half hours and we’ll be with them.”

  Jake walked to the windows at the front of the room. He could see nothing except a vast expanse of ocean disappearing over the horizon. “Still nothing on the radio?”

  “No. Dead as a dodo. The Ambush has been trying to hail them on all common frequencies, and Officer Levin’s distress beacon broadcasts round the clock. Neither her automated radio scans nor those of the submarine are picking up anything at all.”