Smoke and heat bled into the machinery store, fouling the air with old grease and cooking oil, making Eva cough and choke. She tried to heave the door up to shut it completely. It wouldn’t budge. The gap wouldn’t close.
Patrice switched on a flashlight and inspected the gap while holding his shirt over his mouth. “We’ll need a crowbar or a hammer.” He turned and cast his light on the metal shelving units. They were bare, having been long since emptied of any tools and resources.
“What are we going to do?” Stimson said, coughing.
“Get back,” Eva said, ushering everyone away from the door. She took off her jacket, exposing the wound dressing on her ribs. All the movement had seemingly opened the stitches as blood spotted the white fabric. Her adrenaline had so far masked most of the pain, but as she reached up to try to squeeze her jacket into the gap, she winced with the effort.
Duncan’s hand covered hers. “Let me,” he said, staring at her wound. “You should rest. You don’t want to irritate it further.” He handed her back her jacket and took off his thick sweater.
“Thanks,” Eva said, covering herself back up and standing back. Patrice shone the light to give Duncan something to work with.
Even with his sweater pushed into the gap, the smoke still found a way in, filling the room, making them cough and splutter as it filled their lungs.
Eva joined the others in the far corner of the dark room. The flames flickering outside cast the briefest of lights, creating a shifting shadow theatre on the wall. At their backs, beyond the locked door, Eva could hear the fire roaring in the corridor.
No way out. Fire on all sides.
She thought about Emily.
Chapter 32
Sweat and salt stung Jim’s eyes as he grabbed onto part of the hull of an old boat. The piece of fibreglass had come loose from some part of the flotilla to bob about on the surface. He hauled himself onto it, kneeling while paddling to reach the safety of the flotilla.
Movement and splashing would give his position away, but it didn’t matter at that point. The sharks might already have him in their sights, but at least he had a barrier between him and them, albeit a thin one easily destroyed.
“Help,” he screamed as he neared the floating city’s edge. He could just make out movement on the edge. Three people clambering between the small wooden rowboats that lined the city. One of them looked up.
“Over here,” Jim shouted, his throat hoarse. “Help me, please.”
His flimsy barrier lurched to one side, but he gripped on to the edges and stopped it from capsizing. The bulk of the shark swam underneath, propelling him forward. He kept his hands inside this time.
The people on the edge shouted back, their voices barely audible. He waved his hands over his head, hoping they’d spot him.
“It’s Jim,” he screamed. “I need your help.”
He heard the words, “Hold on, I’m coming. It’s Stanic.”
The sound of his friend’s voice calmed him. He could make out the shapes of Stanic and two others hurrying into one of the rowboats. A rope was untied and flung onto the makeshift dock, and they were approaching, the oars splashing into the sea. A pair of fins rose out of the water and circled the boat as he came closer.
Taking a chance, Jim thrust himself forward, paddling for a few seconds with his hands, eager to meet the boat. Another nudge, much harder this time, made him nearly lose his balance and fall into the water.
“Hold on, Jim, nearly there,” Stanic said. He sat at the front of the boat, shining a flashlight on the water. Jim could see in his other hand one of the many makeshift harpoon guns the engineering group had made. Almost every boat and ship on the exterior of the flotilla had one aboard for emergency defence.
Not wanting to aggravate the sharks any more, Jim made sure to remain still, keeping his hands out of the water and flat against the surface to help his balance.
A few tense seconds later, Stanic and his two engineering colleagues had pulled the boat alongside him. Stanic held out his hand. “Come straight over. Make it quick.”
Gripping his hand, Jim did just that, leaping off the thin fibreglass to tumble into the rowboat, knocking into Ahmed and Brad, two of Stanic’s fellow engineers. Brad grabbed Jim’s tanks and helped him onto a narrow wooden bench.
Stanic surveyed the water with his large flashlight.
“Thanks, guys” Jim said, his heart still racing and his breath gasping. “I thought that was it…”
Ahmed gave him a polite smile. He had never spoken much in all the time Jim had known him. One of the few people to have arrived in the last six months, he wore a haunted look behind those dark eyes. No one ever asked what happened to him, afraid of what he might share.
The boat rocked violently to one side. Brad swore as the oar slipped from his grasp. Jim flashed out his hand and grabbed it before it could slip into the ocean.
“Fuck, nearly lost it,” Brad said. “Thanks, Jim. What the hell are you doing out here at this time of night anyway?”
“Long story,” he said, fully sober now, his head throbbing with an early hangover and stress, his adrenaline and energy drastically draining away. “Want me to take that?” Jim said, pointing to the harpoon in Stanic’s left hand.
The engineer handed it over as Ahmed and Brad turned the boat and headed back to the flotilla.
Only once did a shark seem brave enough to try to take a bite, its large mouth crashing against the hull, but it was a half-hearted attempt.
“We’re not weak enough,” Stanic said with a wry smile. “They only like the easy kills.”
“Which was me a few minutes ago,” Jim said, knowing it to be the truth. He was the weak one, the easy kill. “What are you guys doing out tonight?”
“Getting weapons,” Stanic said. “There’s a war going down.”
“A war?” Jim turned to look at the flames at the far end of the flotilla. “On the Bravo?”
“Yep,” Brad said. “Faust’s people have gone crazy, trapped people inside, and set it alight.”
“Who’s inside?”
Brad and Stanic didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to.
Jim knew Duncan was on there just by their expressions of sympathy. Even Ahmed’s eternally haunted look was now substituted with genuine pity. Jim slapped his hand against the bench seat, frustrated that he’d be so selfish in his own pain and anguish that he’d let this happen. “What’s the situation?”
“Half the flotilla is doing nothing. Hiding, as usual,” Stanic said. “The rest of us are trying to mount a defence. Problem is someone among them has a pistol. We can’t get near without getting shot at. We don’t know how much ammo they’ve got, and they’ve made makeshift barriers at the stern and bow. We came to get the harpoons, see if we could pick some off.”
As Brad and Ahmed carefully brought the boat into the dock and pulled them in by the rope, Jim watched out for any last-minute shark attack. A young girl had been attacked just the previous week while she was dangling her leg off the edge. She’d nearly lost her foot.
When they secured the boat, they moved onto the dock, Stanic constantly scanning the waters until they were safe. Jim breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the fins swimming away. They knew they’d lost this one, but they must have recently fed; otherwise he doubted he’d have got away with a couple of half-hearted nudges.
Not wanting to be in any doubt, Jim asked, “Is Duncan in there? Trapped?”
“Yeah,” Brad said. “The bastards have jammed the radios, but as far as we can tell, Eva’s inside too, along with Patrice, Stimson and some other crew members.”
“What about Danny?”
“We’ve not found him, so we have to assume so,” Stanic said.
“We’re going to need more than harpoons.”
“It’s all we’ve got,” Stanic replied, passing one each to Brad and Ahmed, having recovered them from the other boats tied to the dock. Crude metal shafts with tensioned rope, they were more like crossbows than real harpoons, but they would at least serve as a second option.
“I’ve got a better idea,” Jim said, shrugging the scuba gear off his back. “Someone helped us get into this situation, and they’ll help us out of it.”
“Who?” Stanic asked.
“Graves.”
Chapter 33
Eva shook Duncan’s shoulder. He’d already slumped against the wall, unconscious. Stimson and Patrice had followed. She wanted to join them, just close her eyes and let the darkness take her. Every breath was filled with smoke. Her lungs felt like they were on fire, starved of oxygen, filling with carbon monoxide.
Duncan’s sweater had fallen away from the door. Black, greasy smoke filled the machinery room, obscuring everything.
Eva gave up trying to wake Duncan. Her energy had all but died out as she laboured for breath. Somewhere outside, above them, she could make out the sounds of struggle. Dull thuds pounded against the hull before there was quiet. Another glass bottle smashed, adding more fuel to the existing inferno.
The door behind her, leading out into a passageway to the lower decks, was hot against her back. She stumbled forward, dragging Duncan’s body away, but she could only get him a few inches away, his bulk too heavy for her. She slumped against the floor, her muscles sore and screaming with the effort.
She mouthed the word “help” as she closed her eyes and laid her head against the metal flooring, all the while picturing Emily in her blue dress, the one with the white tulips on it, dancing around in the garden, trying to catch the monarch butterflies. But each time she reached up for them, only wanting to get a closer look, they evaded her grasp, making her laugh with delight and wonder.
If only Eva could have known then what she knew now, understand how much she lost when she had left Emily behind. Even on that day, despite being at home on the farm, with her parents, Eva had still been absent for most of it, dealing with calls at work.
But Emily didn’t mind. She was just happy that Eva was there for once. That’s why she wore her special dress that her grandmother had made for her. It broke Eva’s heart that Emily felt like seeing her mommy was such a rare and special occasion that she had to dress up for it.
Her eyelids succumbed, blocking out the smoke and the flickering light. Her mind reeled. The darkness shrouded her. Took her away, and she no longer fought it, wanting the end to come.
Chapter 34
Jim approached Marcus Graves’ yacht. Stanic, Brad, and Ahmed had headed back towards the Bravo with the aim of scouting out the situation, perhaps to find a way on and to outflank the Faust group.
Jim approached the cabin door. Candlelight glowed from inside. From the movement of shadows, he knew Marcus and his family were in there. The door opened before he could reach it. Frank’s face peered up at Jim. First confused, then smiling, then grimacing, as he quickly realised something was up.
The knife in Jim’s hand and the fact he wore nothing but a sodden T-shirt and shorts were clues that not all was well. Frank opened his mouth to speak when Marcus pulled him back inside and took his place at the door.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Marcus said.
“You not heard what’s going on with Faust’s people?”
Marcus’s shoulders tensed, and he stepped out onto the deck, closing the cabin door behind him, all the time watching the knife in Jim’s hand. “I heard. I just didn’t want any part of it. It’s your problem, Jim. You wanted her dead, remember? We had a deal. Part of that agreement was to keep your trap shut.”
“Give it a rest, Graves. I’m not here about what you did to Faust. She deserved it. I have no intention on reneging on our deal. I’m here for your help. My son, Danny and some of the crew are stuck in the ship. Those crazy bastards have trapped them inside and set fire to the damned thing.”
Marcus took a step back, rubbing his chin. “Those fuckers are out of control. This, Jim, is what happens when you don’t keep charge of things. You let one thing slip, and people take advantage.”
“That’s a joke coming from you. Since you arrived, taking advantage has been your number one strategy.”
“Exactly, which means I know what I’m talking about. So, what do you want from me? Why should I care what goes on over there?”
“Because, Graves, if they take over, you won’t have me and my crew keeping the peace. Besides, they’re armed.” That got Graves’ attention.
Marcus leaned forward as though he hadn’t quite heard correctly. “Armed as in firearms?”
“That’s what Stanic said.”
“You know what that means, don’t you? The murderer is likely to be among them. Which means we can kill two birds with one stone.”
“You want to bargain, at a time like this?” Jim said, shaking his head. His hands shivered with the cold. His fingers cramped around the knife.
“We’ll help you,” Marcus said, “but when this is over, you step down and give me the destroyer.”
“As long as my boy and crew are safe, you can have the damned ship.”
Holding out his hand, Marcus smiled. Jim transferred the knife to his other hand and reluctantly shook Graves’ hand. “There’s one more thing,” Jim added. “I want some of your clothes. I’m fucking freezing here.”
Marcus turned and opened the cabin door, bowing and holding out his arm. “Go inside, be my guest.” And to Frank, Tyson, and Shaley, he added, “Make Jim welcome, lads, and someone fetch the poor bastard some clothes from my wardrobe. While you’re at it, get tooled up. We’ve got ourselves a ship to claim.”
Jim stepped inside to be greeted by sneers and smirks. At one time it would have got right to the marrow of his bones, but all he could think of was getting those bastards off the Bravo and recovering his son and crew.
***
Jim hurried across the flotilla, eager to deal with the situation. He ignored the questions from the other citizens, just told them to get back into their cabins and not get involved. He didn’t want any more collateral damage on his conscience than he already carried.
The smoke rose into the night sky, adding a darker shade to the already inky blueness of the evening sky. Clouds had gathered, obscuring the stars and moon. Jim used a flashlight to find his way. Four other beams stretched ahead, belonging to Graves’ crew, lighting up their latest prize. A burned-out hulk of a ship.
That was how far they had come, Jim thought as he jumped across onto the container ship.
Where once a prize would be something worth fighting for, they now fought over scraps and wrecks. Despite everything, there were still men and women who couldn’t see beyond the gathering of physical possessions as a worthy concern.
Capitalism had indoctrinated some so deep it was present in their very being.
Navigating the way through the containers, Jim heard the voices and crackling of flames reverberating around the metal-skinned boxes. Someone was crying, others shouted.
“Remember our deal,” Jim said as he approached the final container before the deck leading directly to the bow of the Bravo. Graves, Tyson, Shaley and even Frank huddled in behind him.
Graves’ voice whispered into Jim’s ear. “Don’t you worry, old son. I remember everything.” No matter what Marcus said, it sounded like a threat—a pattern of speech honed over the years to promise or suggest some form of violence.
Jim suspected that all Graves’ types had picked it up, used it to scare their way to the top of their particular rat nest. But it didn’t work on Jim. A man who had wanted and courted death no longer feared another man. He saw Graves for what he truly was: a scared little boy fighting over broken toys.
Poking his head around the container, Jim saw fifteen of Faust’s group on the bow of the ship. They had erected makeshift barriers against the railings with pieces of sheet metal, broken hull sections and driftwood.
A crowd of onlookers gathered at the base. Some were just watching the spectacle, others demanding they stop the madness. Stanic, Brad, Ahmed and two others from engineering had their harpoons trained in the direction of the ship.
But something far worse was going on just behind the barriers. Illuminated by the flames, Jim saw Danny in the clutches of Heinrich and Monika. A fishing net was wrapped around his neck, trapping his arms behind his back. He tried to kick out, but Heinrich’s large frame seemed to swallow him like a storm.
“We go now,” Jim said, urging his uneasy allies to the front.
As he came forward, someone within the group of twenty or so citizens spotted him. Everyone, including Stanic and the engineers, turned to him. A hush descended on the situation. Even the flames seemed to quieten as Jim approached.
Stanic stepped forward. “They’ve been asking for you, Jim. Said they’d call all this nonsense off if you would talk with them. They’ve got Danny… We couldn’t attack, not with him…”
“It’s fine,” Jim said, gripping Stanic’s shoulder. “I just appreciate your backing me up. Who specifically wanted to talk with me?”
“Dietmar.”
“It had to be that little rat, didn’t it?”
Graves and his firm filtered into the crowd. Jim watched them take up positions around the ladders, ready to storm the deck as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
He doubted that would be an opportunity to suit him. They’d only get involved when it benefitted them, but still. Something was better than nothing.
SALT: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Page 22
