Easy, careful, her fingers released the safety. She was a good shot but she’d never fired on anything living; not bigger than a rabbit. Hopefully it wouldn’t happen. She was betting they had nothing lethal with them. They’d have to back down. She’d picked her target, the guy who looked to be the leader of the shore party. She shifted position, so she had a clear sight, drew the gun and held it ready, down by her side.
‘Let us go or your captain’s dead—’
Had she moved? Had she shouted? Or had the words stayed trapped in her throat? Ought to come naturally, it was in the blood, but her grip was slipping, her fingers so sweaty—
A cold, gnarled, veiny old hand closed over hers. Corporal Harris took the pistol, and stealthily motioned her aside. Waving for the youngsters to get down, he didn’t waste words, just stepped out and raised the gun, in both hands, steady as a rock. A second report echoed around the cliffs. Corporal Harris tumbled. At the same moment a chequered shadow leapt into the air, as if it had burst from the old man’s body.
It was a net. It flew, it spread, it fell over the Exempt Teens, flooring them, entangling them, half-blinding them. Everyone in the heap of bodies started yelling and fighting madly, all with the same panicked thought. To escape, to run for it! Raise the alarm, call out the Coastguard—!
They calmed down when the man who looked like the leader went over to Corporal Harris. He turned the body face upwards, bent down, but soon stood up.
‘He is dead! ’ he shouted, in strongly accented English. ‘This poor old man is dead, and this is your doing. Now you will come with us.’
They were pulled out of the netting, one by one, and made to empty their pockets. Phones, watches, wallets, and ID were taken. They were roped in pairs, wrists tied behind them, and forced to march: down the beach, back the way Corporal Harris had come running, shouting his warning. The black ship was no longer visible, but it must be nearby.
‘One of my lads got away,’ muttered Joe to Heidi. ‘Dunno which of them, but he’ll take the proper action. This is an act of war. It’ll all be out in the open now. But we have to resist the enemy as prisoners and escape, it’s our duty. Any ideas?’
‘No,’ muttered Heidi.
‘You idiot, Joe Florence,’ hissed Brook, behind them. ‘They’re not going near the village. Why would they? They’re Recruiters, we’re the loot. What’s the use of your bonfire now?’
Heidi looked back and saw the two bodies lying scrumpled on the sands, one of them close to the cliffs. Among the picnic debris old Eric Dyson sat rocking to and fro, trying to get his wheelchair to move. She could hear him faintly calling.
‘Harris me old mucker? You okay? Say summat, mate—?’
As she craned her neck to keep the scene in view, she saw the chair fall on its side.
An open boat was waiting beyond the headland. The Exempt Teens, still roped together, were dumped in a huddle on the bottom boards —like booty in a Viking warship, whispered Cyril. The seamen shipped long oars, and rowed out to the ship with no name. The captives were taken on board, hustled below decks and herded into a cabin. It looked battered, but it was neat and clean. It had two bunk beds, made up with brown blankets, clean white sheets and pillows; a tiny washbasin, a desk and a chair. Everything was bolted to the floor. There was one porthole, and not much space for eleven people.
They shouted, and nobody came.
‘We should have sent a Mayday call, instead of fighting under that net,’ said Andy Mao.
Too late now.
‘We could yell that we need a doctor?’ suggested John. ‘Say Brook’s fainted?’
‘So glad to be useful,’ muttered Brook.
‘Don’t think that’s going to work,’ said Jo Florence. ‘They don’t mind losing one or two. Plastic bullets, close range. Everyone knows you can kill someone like that.’
She was thinking about the Coutance pistol. Where was it? The pirate who told them Corporal Harris was dead had not picked it up, she was sure of that. It must still be on the beach. Hopefully it would soon be at the bottom of the sea, washed away at high tide, but she wished she’d seen it lying there, after they were dragged from the net—
After time they couldn’t measure, two pirates did come. One was an ordinary seaman: he stood guard. The other man wore a neat, heavy dark blue jacket that made him look like an officer. He cleared the desk and the lockers. A third man brought two covered plastic buckets; one of them sloshing full, with a jug on top. ‘Toilet needs’ said the man who’d cleared the lockers, tapping the first bucket. ‘Drinking water.’ He tapped the other. ‘Make no noise, do not damage anything, or you will be taken to quarters you will like less.’
‘What are you doing?’ demanded Challon. ‘Are you kidnapping us?’
The first seaman hit her hard around the head; again on the recoil, and stepped back.
‘Behave yourselves,’ said the officer man, sternly. ‘And you will not be punished.’
The first seaman freed their wrists and they were left alone.
They found places to sit or lie down. Jo tried to open the porthole, if only to get rid of the stink of garlic, but it was locked shut, and too small for an escape route; except maybe for little Andy, who could not swim. Joe, barely able stand upright, slouched against the door, arms folded, brooding in silence. He had a swelling black eye, and a cut lip.
Challon, nursing her bruised jaw, sat next to George on the lower bunk. Heidi, who was on the floor beside it with Clancy, heard her ask softly. ‘D’you know what’s going on?’
‘I have no idea,’ snapped George. ‘What kind of question is that?’
‘The seamen don’t speak English,’ said Heidi to Clancy, under her breath. ‘They’re trying not to speak at all: I think they don’t want us to recognise their language. But I was doing Russian, at my old Learning Centre. I took Russian and Sign as my language options.’
‘They’re Russians?’
‘I think so. I think I caught a few words.’
‘So we’ve been nabbed by Russian Recruiters, just great.’
What had happened to Heidi was legal in England, and of course the Ag. Camps were legal. But there was a global black market in agricultural labour, now that there was no fuel for farm machinery. Teenagers made ideal prey, and everyone knew horror stories. Exempt Teens snatched. Whole work teams stolen from the Ag. Camp units in organised raids. Scammers who got kids to go with them voluntarily. The end was always the same: slavery, far from home. Russian gangs were rated the worst. Russia was outside the Empire, had no juvenile labour laws, and you were never going to get traced and brought home.
‘Cheer up,’ said Heidi. ‘Sorrel will look out for you. You stink of marijuana, by the way.’
She saw the corner of a wry smile, in the shadow of the hood. ‘Huh. I didn’t inhale.’
‘What were you up to?’
Clancy sighed and shook his head. ‘I’ll tell you when we get to Siberia.’
Only Andy, crouched in a corner with his knees to his chin, wept for Corporal Harris. Brilliant, brilliant Corporal Harris, he would never hum again, never clean his plate, never climb another tree. For once in her entire life his mum had found a man she could trust and respect. Mum could have been happy. Corporal Harris could have been their Grandad. They could have been a proper family.
Life would have been great, and it was all gone—
Clancy wasn’t afraid for himself. There’d be walls and tall fences, brutal treatment, so what? Nothing new. He’d escape and return to his mission. It would take a little longer, that was all. All he could think of was Mrs Scott-Amberley. She wouldn’t know where ‘Roddy’ had gone. She’d miss him helplessly, and keep waking to miss him again, in the misery of dementia. The demon Crace would tell her Clancy just got bored. He doesn’t want you, nobody does. Nobody comes, nobody cares. His heart was clenched in a vise. He had done the worst thing possible, got her to depend on him and then deserted her—
Andy’s sobs were quiet. The only person maki
ng a noise was Sorrel. Cyril, who’d ended up next to her, tried to offer comfort, but she shook him off. ‘Shut up!’ she wailed. ‘She’s got my Selim! I’ll never see him again, she can do what she likes with my kid—’
Heidi had never heard the baby’s name before. Poor angry Sorrel, so she did care—
The others had insisted that Brook had the upper bunk to herself. The cabin ceiling was pressing down on her, and the bulkhead light gave off uncomfortable heat. She had more reason to be scared than anyone. Hard labour would kill her, and she needed her medication. But fear is the destroyer. Do not be afraid, she told herself. Whatever happens will happen—
The ship was moving: they felt the throb of its old, forbidden engines.
Contraband marine fuel was difficult to get hold of, but that didn’t mean much except to prove they were in the hands of organised criminals, which they already knew. Nobody said anything for a long time. The porthole darkened to pitch black, but the light stayed on.
‘We’re heading east,’ said Clancy. ‘Hugging the coast, I wonder why.’
‘How d’you know all that? ’ demanded George. ‘You have a mental radar screen?’
‘We’re heading east,’ said Clancy patiently, ‘because that’s the way the ship was pointing when they brought us on board, and we haven’t turned around. I know we’re hugging the coast because we haven’t changed course, or not by much. We’d have felt that.’
Joe stirred out of his brooding and stood up straight as he could, his topknot crushed against the ceiling. ‘D’you want to hear the good news?’
The Exempt Teens groaned. Nobody cared what Joe had to say.
‘I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve been thinkin’ over plans of resistance but we can’t rush these bastards, they’re armed and they don’t mind shooting kids an’ old folks. Nah, the good news is that the Tower was only our first line of attack. There’s more.’
Sorrel had shut up. Andy went on crying very quietly.
Joe grinned, relishing his moment. ‘Dunno if it was Samedi or Bryan that got away back there, but whoever it was, he’s lit out for our other beacon on False Head. It’s blazing by now, that was standing orders. These guys are hugging the coast to keep out of shipping lanes. They’ll see our bonfire first, when they’re looking for the Clippe Light. They’ll steer by it an’ run aground. We’ve lured these bastard pirates to their doom!’
‘You are nuts, Joe,’ said Challon, after a blank silence. ‘You are bonkers.’
‘You and Jo are mad as each other!’ yelled Brook. ‘She brings a loaded gun to a picnic, you think you’ve got a right to turn wreckers, which is a life in prison offence! Don’t you even care that either your brother or his friend could be dead?’
‘ I couldn’t help it! ’ howled Jo. ‘I chucked the rest of the ammo, but I had to load the pistol or it was just a lump of metal, an’ then I had nowhere safe to hide it—!’
‘YOU GREAT SILLY LUMMOCK!’ screamed Andy Mao. ‘We are ON the pirates’ ship. We are on board this ship! If you drown the bad guys, we go too!’
Joe’s black eye had become a purple bulge with a glinting slit across the middle. He stared with his good eye, breathing hard, wheels turning in his slow brain. Suddenly he swung around and started hammering on the cabin door—
‘LET US OUT! LET US OUT! YOU GOT TO LISTEN TO US!’
Everyone started yelling. Heidi even tried calling for help in Russian.
Nobody came. It got colder: they shared out the blankets. They decided the drinking water probably wasn’t poisoned and the jug was handed round. The toilet bucket was used, Clancy and Cyril holding up a sheet in front of it. Thankfully, so far people only wanted to wee.
‘You’re a fool Joe,’ said George. ‘Just because we don’t have GPS these days, just because they’re pirates, it doesn’t mean they don’t have charts. We’re well past False Head and the Clippe Light by now. Your dopey little trap isn’t going to catch anybody.’
‘Charts could be wrong,’ muttered Joe, glowering. ‘Charts could be out of date.’
‘Now Elaine’s the lucky one,’ remarked John loudly, his Deaf accent stronger than usual. ‘She’s safe at home, scrubbing floors ’til midnight. We’re the ones in the soup.’
Cyril sang hymns, oh hear us when we cry to thee, for those in peril on the sea, and tried to get the others to join in, but only Andy Mao took up the offer. Heidi listened to the chug of the engine, and the drone of Andy’s terrible, out of tune voice. Put your hand in the hand of the man who stilled the waters. George had shifted position. He was sitting with Sorrel now: they were whispering together. She’d thought George was far too relaxed, at first. Angry but not scared, not even when Sorrel was howling. As if he knew he had nothing to fear. Now he looked as worried as anyone. She wondered what had changed.
She dozed, cold and cramped. The throb of the engines was making her queasy, the ship’s jolting, up and down motion didn’t help: then suddenly there was a thump, a clunk, and a frightening, jagged groaning sound from deep below her—
Nobody had been asleep. Everyone sat up straight, listening intently.
‘What’s happened?’ demanded Heidi.
‘We’ve scraped on something,’ said Clancy.
‘But how? I thought we were on the open sea, in deep water?’
‘It’s the artificial reef! ’ wailed Sorrel. ‘They didn’t know about the artificial reef!’
‘What’s the “artificial reef” ?’ begged Heidi, seeing everyone gripped by horror, ‘Please, someone explain.’
‘It’s a big floating slab of concrete,’ said Challon. ‘There’s a string of them, they damp tide surges and generate wave power. But you’re right, Heidi, if we’re well out at sea we’re nowhere near them. And they’re on charts, and lit. We can’t have hit—’
The light overhead went out. The chugging of the engines stopped, replaced by all kinds of scary noises: a thunder of booted feet; hollow crashes, rattling bangs, and above all the rest the screaming agony of metal being torn apart: like a monstrous giant can slowly being ripped open, by a giant can-opener. Heidi and the Hooded Boy gripped hands: a concentrated silence fell. Will they let us out, Heidi wondered. Or will we drown in here?
The door flew open. A powerful flashlight blazed, cold spray drenched them, the sounds of the ship’s struggle were suddenly, fantastically loud. The man who’d cleared the cabin and spoken to them in English stood there.
‘OUT! OUT!’ he shouted. ‘OUT! OUT!’
They stumbled out of the cabin. A seaman thrust lifejackets at them as they emerged, and hustled them up a flight of steps to the deck. Joe and Jo, George and Clancy and Cyril were grabbed, and disappeared into the roaring chaos. Heidi glimpsed boats down on the tossing water: the dark-coloured open boat that had brought them to the black ship, and at least two big yellow inflatables. A seaman grabbed her and Challon each by the arm, and dragged them to an open hatch. Another man was dragging Sorrel and Brook. Heidi was terrified they were going to be thrown down into the dark. Maybe there weren’t enough places in the lifeboats—
‘I AM NOT A DEVIL!’ shouted the man who spoke English, thrusting his flashlight and his wet, bearded, angry face at Heidi and Challon. He flung a rolled up ladder, it rattled into the depths, where they couldn’t see a thing.
‘YOU! SPEAK ENGLISH! YOU GET THEM OUT! WE SINK!’
‘We have to help get the cargo out of the holds,’ gasped Challon. ‘Toss it overboard!’
‘WHY—?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe to lighten the ship, try to float off the reef?’
But there were no bales, no boxes. There were terrified faces coming out of the foul dark, into the flashlight’s arc. There were sobs of relief, and bodies scrambling.
‘My God,’ breathed Challon. ‘They’re Recruiters. The cargo is kids.’
Thankyouthankyou, babbled the voices, as the slavers’ victims scrambled up the ladder—
‘They’re not foreign! They’re English,’ howled Sorrel, as if this
was the worst horror. ‘They’re English! ’
The bearded man kept shouting not a devil, not a devil. Two seamen were helping to get the kidnapped slaves up on deck. The rest of the crew, all those men from the beach, had disappeared along with the rest of the Exempt Teens. Where was everybody? Were they safe? It was pouring with rain, the sea and the wind roared, torn metal was still screaming. Soaked and blinded, Heidi kept passing on terrified slaves, who clung to her hands, to be grabbed by the men, and thrust over the side.
Was there an escape chute, or did they just have to jump? They had no life jackets, how would they reach the boats?
The world upended.
She was deep in the water, shooting to the surface, eyes stinging, spitting salt. Heads bobbed all round her, in black swells greased by random slicks of light. Where were the lifeboats? There had been three, at least three, two inflatables and the open boat. White lifebuoys like giant polo mints bobbed and tossed, in and out of the splashes of light: and roped lockers, and roped blue plastic barrels. The man who said he was not a devil must have had everything that would float chucked overboard.
But it wasn’t enough. Nothing like enough.
20: Death Is Heartwood
The artificial reef, having ripped the slavers’ ship open, then saved a lot of lives. Many of the kidnapped kids managed to clamber onto the submerged platform, despite the roaring seas. Heidi, Challon and Brook —flung clear when the ship rolled and foundered— ended up hanging onto the same rope-looped floating locker. Heavy swell tossed them against the rim of girders that framed the platform. Challon grabbed hold, scrambled over the barrier and pulled Brook after her, while Heidi tried to keep the locker steady. Then Heidi managed to scrabble up herself.
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