by Kathryn Hore
Gone in a second but the impact was much longer lasting; I felt it swell within me, that despair, devouring the small morsel of hope he had given me back in his cabin, and leaving in its wake a bottomless dark that threatened to overwhelm me.
‘If we did that,’ Leahner said, ‘we’d overload them, wear out their supplies and doom everyone. Do you really think we’d save any deaths that way?’
McDonald went to say something else but the captain held up his hand.
‘The decision’s made. But you’re right; it’s not going to be easy. Our magnetohydrodynamic drives are on the verge of failing for good, and when that happens, we’ll be left drifting in the middle of the ocean. We’ll have exhausted all available power sources by then.’
The Hodson had left port on its maiden voyage with ground-breaking and multiple energy sources, enough fuel to last decades, but the environment had changed since those days in ways no one had envisioned — and more quickly than the scientists had predicted. By rights, this damn ship should have drifted to a stop a long time ago.
‘What about wind?’ Toby asked.
‘The weather’s too unpredictable. If the mast didn’t snap off through corrosion, who knows what the winds would give us. We could end up going around in circles until the bloody ship fell apart beneath us.’
The resolute old man stared around the room, meeting the looks of those before him and turning them away with his determination. There was no hint of the weight bearing down upon him anymore; whatever I’d seen was long gone. ‘There’s more,’ he said.
I couldn’t meet the stares coming from my colleagues and friends. I couldn’t meet the captain’s staunch look. I didn’t want to be here in this room that thrummed with silent tension. Hell, I didn’t want to be alive in a dead world anymore. What was the point?
‘I can’t afford to lose any of my crew or we won’t make it anywhere, so that means it will be up to you to take the message to New Zealand Dome. You will have to make it there and back again within three days if you want to re-join us. That’s the longest we can dock waiting for you.’
His words caused an uproar. Weary scientists caught in a freak of timing so long ago surged forward like an angry swell; mathematicians, geochemists and physicists, biologists and ecologists, they thundered their disapproval at the captain, who stood unmoving before them.
‘It’s suicide!’
‘You can’t expect us to do this!’
‘We won’t make it there and back in that time!’
‘We’re not soldiers; we’re not trained for—’
‘Enough!’ Captain Leahner roared, and like that, the mess fell silent.
Right then, I wished the engines never restarted and the vessel did dissolve beneath us. I’d gladly open my mouth and drink the poisoned waters.
‘Humanity is standing on the precipice and it will take the slightest of whispers to blow us over the edge. This ship is the last remaining means of transport between the domes. When it goes—’
Before he could finish what sounded like a well-used speech, one of his crew burst into the room. He was a thin wisp of a man topped with grey hair. ‘Sir! Sir, you’re needed on the bridge.’
The captain glared at the man but the seaman wasn’t to be perturbed. ‘Sir, you have to see this, it’s, it’s—’
I wondered if I was about to get my wish.
#
I stood next to Andrew and Toby on the port side of the enclosed deck that wrapped around the bow; this would have been a spectacular dining room in the past, offering a one-hundred and eighty degree view of the ocean. Even now we stared out at an incredible sight. The Hodson cut through waters that had an unnatural oily sheen to them, and my first thought was that the engines had finally surrendered and bled to death and I’d get my wish — but I knew that wasn’t the cause.
‘My God...’ Andrew said next to me.
There were patches of green weed drifting alongside the vessel. Great clumps of the floating weed stretched ahead in the distance, sometimes so thick it rose up like low-lying land.
‘But that’s impossible,’ someone said from behind me.
It was Angela Jenkins, the one-time lead biologist in the Mission to Mars project, now the failed Portland Dome. Her forehead was deeply gouged as she shook her head and stared at me. She had shaved off her grey hair long ago and kept it short. ‘The scale of recovery is too fast. Impossibly fast. You’d expect some seaweed, a few thin strands here and there maybe, but not this. It’s making a complete mockery of our science.’
‘Who cares about science anymore? Science didn’t help when the world died, did it?’ Ben Thomas, the dome’s ex-head engineer, with his thick beard and worn-out eyes, he didn’t even afford Angela a look; his eyes were fixed on the ever-thickening weed. ‘From what I heard, extinction events like we went through should’ve taken thousands of years, hundreds of thousands of years. We sure as shit got that wrong, so maybe we’re wrong about how quickly things recover too.’
There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd gathering along the tinted windows. Most of those standing there had long since given up their science. They drifted as aimlessly as The Hodson right now.
‘Look!’ Toby pointed but it wasn’t necessary because the crabs were obvious, scuttling over the weed, dropping down into the waters. Their bright red and white shells were in stark contrast to the greenery of their world.
‘What I’d give for fresh crab,’ Andrew muttered, and his words caused a flashing cut of memory: sitting in a restaurant and being served crab curry; my wife opposite, smiling in delight at the sight of the whole crustacean sitting on a plate in a puddle of rich, spicy sauce.
But even as the memory once more seared my mind and grazed my heart, something caused the weeds to undulate; something big. The crabs froze, then darted in their curious sideways manner out of sight.
I tracked the hidden creature’s progress away from us until it sank deeper beneath the waters. Whatever it had been, it was huge. A shark? Or whale? Were there such creatures still alive in the oceans?
Or was it something new?
The Event hadn’t been as terrible as the Permian extinction, but it had been bad enough. Things still lived on land and in the waters, but even over the decades since the atmosphere filled with hydrogen sulphide and the ozone layer filled with holes, those life forms had mutated into maddened blackened beasts. The oceans had remained mostly dead in that time; no plankton blooms, no sea birds flying just above the sickly waves, no fish either.
No one had seen crabs for a long time.
The murmurs filling the deck grew into excited whispering. Some of my people were crying again and their sobs were contagious. Even my throat constricted.
Was it possible? Was the world starting up again?
The weed continued to thicken until The Hodson, running on ocean currents alone, slowed to barely a crawl. The wind had died down, the swell flattening, and the floating matt of weed barely rippled. We all stood there staring at a sight none of us ever expected to see again, and the silence was complete; it was almost too much. All about us lay this mysterious weed, in places so thick it was like the banks of a massive river and we slowly navigated its course.
‘I half expect to come across a derelict,’ said Andrew. ‘I heard the Sargasso Sea is filled with them.’
I paid him no notice; he was always going on about old books no one else was ever likely to read again.
‘What’s that?’
We looked around to find Jillian Armstrong, the dome’s ex-medic and staunch atheist, pointing into the distance. She was skeletal these days, but then who wasn’t? Food wasn’t exactly abundant anymore — except for here.
I looked where she was pointing and felt my legs grow weak.
‘Is that...’
The Hodson continued to drift, snagging every now and again on weed too thick to push past, its stern then swinging out and around until we were casting backwards. It was hard keeping the thing in sight, bu
t as we drew ever closer, the trees became unmistakable.
‘Trees. Living fucking trees!’ Thomas cried.
He was the only one to make a sound, because the sight stole the rest of our breaths.
But the island never came any closer and we could only watch as it slipped by us on port side, swinging slowly out of sight as The Hodson navigated itself through the silent ocean of weed.
‘Why aren’t we stopping?’ Thomas grasped me. ‘We need to stop!’
I pushed him off and rushed aft in the hope of catching a final look but the view there was too restricted, and we must have passed by the thickest clumps of the weed because we didn’t become snagged again. Soon, the greenery drifted into the distance, leaving us once more in dead waters.
Not long after, we heard the familiar thrum of the magnetohydrodynamic drives as they came back online. The vessel picked up speed, carrying us on toward our final destination.
#
When we made port nine days later, I was last to leave. I stood before Captain Leahner and offered the weathered old man my hand. ‘Believe it or not, it was a pleasure to meet you, sir.’
I meant it. The man’s courage and dedication, not to his job but to the whole of mankind, was beyond me. Whatever power source he ran on needed to be spread out amongst the debris of humanity left on this ravaged earth. Maybe then we’d truly have a chance.
‘God speed, son. I hope you make it to your destination without trouble.’
‘So do I.’
‘We’ll stretch it and give you four days, but after that, we’ll have to head on. We can’t afford to sit around when the vessel’s falling apart around us.’
‘I understand, and don’t worry, we’ll make it back.’
As I turned for the re-jigged gangplank, the question I’d asked myself constantly these past few weeks flared brightly in my mind again. I paused at the top, knowing I had to ask it. ‘Captain, how do you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘Handle living. It’s kept me awake ever since you told me to choose. All I kept seeing was death for those I’d selected. How do you keep going, knowing that blood is on your hands?’
The captain didn’t say anything for a long time. He looked past me, past my team organising themselves on the dock; he looked out across a desolate landscape where death ruled. His expression never changed; even behind the mask of his protective suit I could see his fierce determination.
I had the feeling that he kept a close watch on those small fractures I’d glimpsed, lest they grew too big.
‘You have to hold onto hope. It’s all we’ve got left. Hope that we’re more than this, more than we’ve been. That our best days are yet to come. We were shown what awaits us the other day, a glimpse of what we’d lost. Now we just have to prove we’re worthy of finding our way back there again.’
I looked down at the men and women waiting for me to lead them ten miles across the world toward New Zealand Dome. Ordinarily, such a distance would be an easy day’s stroll, but I knew there would be losses along the way. The trailer with the oxygen tanks would take some pulling, but it was the most vital thing amongst us.
The heavy suits made them all look like astronauts, but there was no relief from gravity on this world. That was one thing that hadn’t changed.
‘God speed,’ the captain said again. Then he turned and headed back inside his ship, back to the myriad tasks that needed doing before The Hodson would be ready to attempt its final voyage upon the dead oceans.
BEAST
Natalie Satakovski
I have heard of your paintings too, well enough; God has given you one face, and you make yourselves another.
- Hamlet
I stalk the offices like a ghost until someone needs me. When they talk to me, it’s as if they’re trying not to breathe. This morning at Bella Cosmetics, things are quieter than usual. I don’t know, I’ve got a weird feeling about it.
I enter the lift with Marie whose computer I’ve serviced a hundred times only to be aggressively ignored on each count. She’s also niece to the CEO, Louis Labelle, who hasn’t approved my pay rise in eight years. I guess the genes for cruelty and beauty are inseparable. Marie’s wearing that signature high ponytail of hers and I imagine myself dishevelling it. She presses the button for the seventh floor. I hit the tenth. Her basketball arse pokes out through her skirt-suit. Oh, God, I am going to die a virgin — fucking pathetic. I look up to find Marie's reflection peering from the doors, watching me.
She turns, her eyes like loaded pistols pointing at me, and moves in, so close I can smell her Dior. Suddenly she’s touching me, running her fingers over the waist of my pants. But I’m an ogre, she’d never do this.
‘Do you want to touch it?’ she says.
I stand there, frozen. I don’t understand.
Marie’s petite hands tighten on my waistband, smooth fingers knuckling my gut. Then her heels click and she swings around, pushing her arse up against my crotch. My erection surges. I’ve seen something like this in a porno and I so badly want to find out what her cunt feels like. But there’s no time. The light flashes past the 5th floor. I move to the side. Marie follows. I move back and thump into the wall, pinned by her arse.
‘Stop,’ I beg.
The lift chimes and the doors glide open. She sails out, flicking me one last grin. I get off the wall and feel a shift against my leg. Look down. My pants are sliding to the floor. Marie had undone them.
I cave forward in an attempt to catch my pants. Out in the open office space, people are crowding the lift. Someone gasps and female voices shrill.
Laughter.
I cower in a corner, hiding my hard-on with an arm, thumbing the ‘close’ button in a frenzy. The lift finally leaves.
Quarter past six. I’ve been waiting behind this post box for an hour and a half. I’m so high on rage my nerves are live wires. Marie will exit the building and I’ll follow, wait for the chance to drag her into a dark corner, crush her skull with my bare hands.
She emerges from the revolving doors wearing a huge furry rich-bitch coat. My neck prickles. I taste hate. She stops at the curb and a cab pulls up. A guy bounces out, a real fucking prince charming, opens the door for her. Fuck. The cab cruises past and I don’t try to hide. Her eyes meet mine, just for a second, before her gaze drifts away, nonchalant. The cab disappears into the traffic.
I smash the red metal with my fist.
A child’s voice wafts toward me. ‘Mummy, mummy, look.’
A sandy boy of about four is cowering into his mum’s leg, shaking like he’s just seen Sasquatch. The woman veils his face with her fingers while shooting me a concerned look.
‘What’s your fucking problem?’ I say.
The kid screams. She picks him up and sweeps away.
#
A vertical strip of golden light. My mouth is dry and I don’t know where I am. When I try to move, I realise I’m stuck, my face glued to linoleum with dried vomit. My skull splits down the middle, makes me wince. I remember. I ate a cabinet full of pharmaceuticals and I have to laugh inside because I’m still alive. Antihistamines could have prevented the vomit reaction, but I was so desperate I didn’t bother to go out for some. Rookie mistake.
There’s no way I can report what happened in the lift. The last time I tried to approach authority was in high school. The beautiful kids used chewing gum to stick thumb tacks onto my seat. Though I ended up developing an infection and bleeding through my pants for a week after, the principal laughed and told me it was all in good fun.
I’m not going to work tomorrow. I’m not going back to Bella Cosmetics, or anywhere, ever again.
A knock at my door.
Fuck it. I won’t answer.
‘Damien?’
It’s a woman’s voice muffled through the wood. The shadow of her head bobs through the opaque glass.
‘Damien. Are you home?’
Rocket. She must have noticed my car in the drive and wondered why I wasn�
�t at work. Probably come over to check on me. She knocks again and her dark caramel voice calls my name once more. It shatters me, my face starts steaming with tears.
If I open the door, I’ll have to explain myself. If I don’t, maybe I can try this again and do it properly.
Please go away, Rocket. This is none of your business.
The shadows of her feet shift beneath the door. They grow into the shape of her thigh and she's kneeling down, lowering her head to peer inside.
#
Rocket emerges from the kitchen with a tea pot while I wallow on the couch, wrapped in a towel.
I call her Rocket because of a game we used to play as kids. Although we were the same age, I was much bigger than her. I’d lie on my back and use my feet as a seat for her. I’d push my legs up, propelling her out onto a sea of cushions. I was the launcher, she was the rocket. My first cousin — and the only person who’s ever been nice to me — now lives in the same apartment block.
‘Do you need me to drive you to the doctor’s?’ she asks.
I tell her I’m fine.
Rocket wipes sticky hair from my forehead. It tingles and I freeze up because so few people have touched me and because I repulse myself. Her kindness is humiliating.
‘I can stay if you need me,’ she says.
I tell her I’ll be fine.
#
I’m sitting in front of my PlayStation when there’s a knock at my door. That’s funny, I haven’t ordered pizza today. And the only time I hear that sound is if Rocket comes to visit — the only person I’ve seen in two weeks. I peek past the curtains but it isn’t her. It’s a girl of about sixteen. She’s one of those Disney princesses: skirt so short it’s enticing but not enough to be slutty; golden locks untainted by chemical hair dye. She’s a natural beauty. She doesn’t need to hide behind mascara or foundation; just a bit of day cream from the Bella Naturals line and some cherry lip gloss to set off her eyes. She’s even got that high pony tail. No way am I going to open for that bitch.
