by Tom Bale
‘Daddy, look!’
Sam falters. His posture changes. ‘Jode.’
She picks up on the tone of his voice and hurries to see what’s wrong, Grace alongside her.
Sam is pointing at the ground. ‘What’s that look like to you?’
Jody examines it, then laughs in disbelief. ‘It’s a prow.’
‘Prow,’ Dylan repeats, uncertain of the word but no less pleased with his discovery.
‘What’s a prow?’ Grace asks.
‘The pointy end of a boat.’ Jody turns to Sam. ‘Is that the right word?’
Shrugging, he kneels down and scrapes away some more sand before rapping his knuckles on it. The satisfying clunk of timber is unmistakeable.
‘Definitely manmade. Those two pieces are joined together, see?’ He gazes at it with an expression of wonder, then confusion. ‘Who’d bury a boat in the sand?’
Jody only snorts. Surely they’re past the point of asking questions like that.
30
Sam suggests using the sharpened ends of the stakes to loosen the sand around the boat. After that it’s a case of digging by hand, ploughing their fingers in as deep as they’ll go and flinging the loose sand over their shoulders. At first all four of them are at work – with varying degrees of efficiency – until Jody decides that the kids are too exposed to the sun.
They all take a few minutes to cool off in the sea, though Grace only paddles, still in her skirt and top. Then Jody finds the children a patch of shade just inside the trees, and she and Sam get back to work. His neck is starting to burn but he refuses sun cream: instead he drapes his shirt over his shoulders.
He digs feverishly, ignoring the thump of a dehydration headache, and gradually the boat is revealed. It’s been buried face down, at an angle of about twenty or thirty degrees, so they don’t have to go as deep as he first thought.
It’s a classic old-fashioned rowing boat, probably three metres long. There don’t seem to be any oars – and no attachments on the sides for the oars to fit into – but apart from that it appears to be intact. It’s certainly big enough to carry them away from here.
He stops to wipe sweat from his forehead. The salt stings his eyes and makes it hard to see clearly. Jody, working on the other side of the hull, gives a small worried exclamation: ‘Oh.’
Sam feels his heart sink as he comes round to look. She points to a thin black line, running for about thirty centimetres, right where the body of the boat curves towards the thin blade at the bottom. She rubs the sand away, using a fingernail to dig into the groove. When she swears, he understands what it is.
Not a groove. A crack. As she clears out the gunk, Sam can see where the wood has split. She turns to face him, cringing almost. ‘I don’t think it’s seaworthy.’
He stares at it, tilting his head as he tries to visualise the boat when it’s the right way up; whether the crack is definitely below the waterline.
It is. Once you allow for the weight of the people on board, there’s no chance it’ll float.
Sam stays where he is for a long time. His neck starts to ache and he thinks of the coconut, knocked into a crooked pose.
‘Daddy coconut, that’s me. Just not as bloody useful.’
It’s a shock when Jody asks, ‘What?’ He hadn’t intended to say it out loud.
He rises to his feet, the muscles in his back screaming as they straighten and stretch; then he stamps on the hull with all his strength, not caring if his foot bursts through the timber.
‘Don’t do that!’ Jody cries.
‘Why not? It’s fucked.’
‘No, Sam, it isn’t.’
He doesn’t really hear her, but she dives in front of him before he can launch another attack. Exhausted suddenly, he drops to his knees and falls forward, sprawling over the half-excavated boat like a mourner overcome at a funeral.
He’s dimly aware of the kids’ voices; Jody urging them to stay where they are. ‘It’s all right. It’s all right.’
It’s not all right! he wants to shout back. It’s not fucking all right, because we’re going to die.
Maybe he does say it. The next thing he knows Jody is behind him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her breath soft on his neck.
‘Don’t flip out on me again, Sam. I’m begging you.’
He’s sure he’ll sob, give himself away, but somehow he doesn’t. He shuts his eyes and squeezes them tight. ‘I’m so… angry,’ is what he says.
I’m so scared, is what he can’t quite say.
‘I know. And I am, too,’ Jody says. ‘You’re not the only one who feels like screaming. Our lives are on the line. The lives of our kids. After all these years, working our guts out, trying to make it a happy childhood. All the effort we put into staying together, so they wouldn’t have the misery of their mum and dad splitting up. All that love and care, and it’s being threatened by some... bastard. Some evil bastard who’s trying to destroy us, and we don’t know who or why.’
‘Jode, please–’
‘No. Listen to me. I can’t tell you how much I keep hoping and praying that I’ll wake up and find we’re all back in our hotel, you and me a bit the worse for wear after that bloody party, the kids feeling sick from too much cake.’
Despite everything, Sam manages a little snort of laughter. So does Jody.
‘But we aren’t going to wake up from this,’ she goes on. ‘We’re here, Sam. It’s real. And we have to cope with it, the best way we can.’
Silence. Jody’s holding him tight, but Sam doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t push her away. And yet Jody has no idea how he is going to react.
Is that a failing? Does it mean their relationship – almost eleven years together – is a sham? Would a couple that got together as adults, not kids, who didn’t have to worry about pregnancy and a screaming baby virtually from the start, have a better understanding of each other?
No, she thinks, I’m not going to beat myself up about our past. How many people ever have to face something like this?
She feels Sam move and quickly releases him, shifting aside to try and assess his mood. There are wet streaks on his cheeks – tears or sweat, or both. He looks subdued, even guilty. That’s preferable to anger, but still not ideal. Guilt, in her experience, mutates all too easily into self-pity.
She slaps a palm against the boat. ‘To me, this is another sign, like the coconut people. Directing us to this specific beach.’
‘D’you think so?’
‘Someone’s put this here. It would have taken ages to bury it, but they left a bit sticking out, which they didn’t have to–’
‘Unless it got uncovered by a storm?’
‘That’s true. But let’s say it’s here on purpose, for us to find.’
‘Why? It’s no bloody good.’
‘Apart from the split, it looks okay.’ She shrugs, glancing around. Grace and Dylan are huddled together in the shade, anxiously watching on. ‘There might be some way we can repair it.’
‘You’d need glue. It’s gotta be waterproof.’
‘What about tree sap? Or sometimes on beaches you get tar – like oil, you know? Plug the hole and we’ve got a working boat.’
‘No oars.’
‘The stakes?’ She’s excited, mapping it out in her mind: how they will paddle away from here, triumphant.
‘Wrong shape. Oars have to be wide and flat to push the water–’
‘We’ll fix something to them! Come on, Sam.’
‘I just don’t think it’ll float. If it’s good for anything, I’d say use it as shelter.’
‘Shelter?’ She nearly chokes on the word. How long are we going to be here?
‘Jode?’
‘Yeah. Use it for shelter, then.’ She stands up, reaching out to him. ‘We need some time out of the sun. Let’s check the woods, and find that café.’
He takes her hand. In a lazy, teasing voice he says, ‘Maybe it’ll have a bar. Cold beer on tap.’
They rejoin the ki
ds and explain that they’re going for a walk. Jody notices that Grace’s lips already look dry and cracked. She moistens her own and realises how tender they are. Dylan’s eyes seem slightly dimmed; he moves sluggishly as Sam helps him up. At home she’s always so careful to avoid dehydration that she’s never actually witnessed the symptoms. She has no idea how quickly the condition can progress; all she knows is that it’s life-threatening.
She leads the others towards the path she spotted earlier. It’s narrow and meandering, the hard earth scattered with leaves and twigs. They walk in single file, Sam bringing up the rear with the kids between them. Jody takes care not to trip on hidden rocks or tree roots; she’s holding one of the short stakes, using it to beat down weeds or branches that intrude on the path.
There’s a stillness in the trees that feels unnatural. No evidence of any human presence, and yet once or twice Jody is conscious of a tingling at the back of her neck. She wonders if there are guards or hunters out here; or could some kind of animal be tracking them?
Then a tiny snapping noise, off to her right. She freezes. Grace blunders into her, as if half asleep.
‘What’s up?’ Sam hisses.
‘Nothing.’
Jody stares at the undergrowth, wishing the shadows would transform into something she could identify. Although it’s gloomy beneath the trees, it isn’t any cooler. The air is hot and steamy, doing nothing to ease their thirst.
Another noise: this time Sam hears it. ‘What was that – a bird or something?’
‘I suppose so,’ Jody says – though when she thinks about it, she hasn’t heard any birdsong.
She quickens her pace, as a sign to herself that she’s not afraid. Both she and Sam are crap at identifying things in nature, but she’s pretty sure a lot of the trees are pines. The scent is very different in hot weather to the one she associates with Christmas. There’s also a sort of musky smell, like vegetables left too long in the cupboard.
Then a bright colour catches her eye, a vivid unnatural orange. It’s a plastic bag, snagged on a tree close to the path. She immediately spots the possibilities: maybe it could be used to repair the boat.
Hurrying forward, she has only a millisecond to register that the leaves beneath her feet are yielding when they should have crushed against the hard ground. Her foot sinks and she pitches forward, a whole section of the path giving way, and even as she falls she’s pushing one arm out behind her, all her focus on trying to save Grace from the same fate…
31
Sam has been walking with his head down, guiding a fretful Dylan as he stumbles along the path. When it happens, the first thing Sam hears is a strange dragging noise, then a shriek from Grace. He looks up and Jody is gone, while Grace is teetering on the path, windmilling her arms as if trying not to fall.
Sam grabs her shoulder just in time. As Grace staggers back, he’s able to see that the path has become an open pit, deep and black. There’s a strange pattern over it, like a giant cobweb, and it isn’t until he’s moved the children back and taken their place that he understands what it is.
A net. It’s well camouflaged, black nylon covered in leaves and small branches, and it’s bowing inwards, stretched tight by the weight of the person caught inside it. Jody is lying face down in an awkward sprawl, one leg bent at the knee, the other stretched out where her foot has caught in one of the holes. Sam can hear her urgent panting and along with the shock there’s also relief. She’s alive, at least.
Then she sucks in a breath and screams. Sam leans closer, trying to work out how he can reach her without getting tangled up himself. The pit is about two metres square and a couple of metres deep, and Jody’s in the centre, dangling just above the bottom–
Sam gasps. Did something move down there?
Jody is dazed, only half aware of what’s happened. She feels bruised, and has had the breath knocked out of her, but doesn’t think she has any broken bones. She’s all twisted up in a net, and can’t move. Below her there’s darkness and a dank mulchy smell. As her vision adjusts, she notices the gleam of something alive, slithering through the rotted leaves. Must be a worm or a slug.
Except that more and more of it appears – too long and fat to be a worm. It’s pale in colour, a kind of mottled brown, its body thick and sinuous, weaving from side to side as it moves.
A snake.
Jody screams. Snakes are one of her few real phobias. The previous summer the kids’ big treat was a day out at Drusillas zoo, and in the reptile section – even with protective glass between them – Jody couldn’t bear more than a few seconds before she had to get away.
Her body seems to shut down. The floor of the pit is only half a metre from her face. The snake is coming towards her. She shifts her head a fraction and sees another; this one is pale, thinner, with a strange little lump on its head, like a horn. It, too, turns in her direction.
She tries to scream again but her lungs are too constricted. A couple more snakes glide into view. One of them lifts its head off the ground, its yellowish eyes like buttons, zeroing in on her…
The net twitches. Her body reacts with a violent convulsion, as if she’s already been bitten. Maybe she has. Maybe there are more, hidden in the trees, sliding over the edge and dropping on to her from above.
Something takes hold of her foot and at last she can draw in the air for another scream.
‘Jody! Jode!’ It’s Sam, trying to calm her down – or maybe he’s warning her that a snake has wrapped itself around her ankle?
She kicks her foot and the net dips and shudders. Then another shout. This time Sam’s voice is clear and close. His hands are on her arms. He’s got hold of her, dragging her away, using his own weight on the edge of the net to roll her towards him.
As she turns, she’s able to reach out and make it easier for him. She tries to push with her legs but one foot slips through the netting and she almost faints from the terror. She’d gladly break an ankle if it means getting away from the snakes.
Then there’s solid ground beneath her hands, and Sam is hauling her out. She’s safe. But for a minute it won’t compute, and she isn’t able to stop shivering and crying until she registers the effect it’s having on the kids. She has to draw on every bit of strength to appear calm and focus on giving them comfort, reassurance.
But Sam is still frowning as he stares at something beyond her, down in the pit.
‘Oh, shit,’ he mutters.
At first Sam assumed she was panicking because of the fall. It wasn’t till he knelt down that he saw what was really freaking her out, and now he’s managed to rescue her, he doesn’t want to do anything other than get the hell out of there.
But when he glances back to make sure the snakes have stayed put, he sees what else has been hiding in this deep dark hole in the ground.
‘Oh, shit.’
He doesn’t hesitate: thinking about it will only put him off. He grabs one of the wooden stakes and leans forward, easing his body onto the net. He counts four snakes of different colours and sizes; he hasn’t got a clue whether they’re poisonous, whether some are more deadly than others. But he can’t let that distract him.
There’s a prize to be had here. A hell of a prize.
Jody is calling after him, confused and upset, and he can’t spare her a long explanation so he tosses back a single word.
‘Water.’
Two big bottles of the stuff. They’re propped up in one corner, half covered by a pile of leaves. It makes him feel sick to think he might not have noticed them at all; and then he wouldn’t be doing this.
Jody, disbelieving, says, ‘What do you–oh God, Sam!’
He grunts, trying to concentrate on his balance and positioning on the net, and the movement of the snakes in relation to the water. The holes in the net are large enough to feed the stake through, but his arm scrapes painfully against the nylon strands.
He jams the stake into the ground a few centimetres from the bottles and uses it to lean on with his le
ft hand. The nearest snake curls away. The others are at a safe distance for now
(nothing’s safe they’re lightning fast and they BITE)
so he forces his other arm through. His fingers stretch out and fumble the neck of one of the bottles, but it’s not quite within reach. He needs to be further out on the net, so his weight forces it down a little more. But that also means coming closer to the snakes.
‘Sam, be careful.’
‘Yeah.’ He can hear the kids whimpering, Jody trying to pacify them. The net makes a groaning noise as it sinks a little lower. His arm at full stretch, it feels like he’s going to dislocate his shoulder… and then his fingers close around the bottle and it’s his – just as one of the snakes comes nosing towards him.
Sam yanks his arm back, squeezes the bottle through the net and is going to throw it to Jody until he realises that it might burst. Instead he holds it out for her.
‘I’ve got it,’ she says. ‘Come back now.’
‘Nah. The other one.’
She says something else but he tunes her out, delving down before his nerve fails. One of the snakes is easing closer, slyly, as if hoping Sam won’t notice. He can’t afford to take his eyes off it, but that’s okay: he knows where the bottle is and can reach for it without looking.
The relief when it’s in his hand is a beautiful rush. He’s picturing the ecstasy of a long refreshing drink as he starts to withdraw his arm. Nothing the snake can do, so Sam glances at the bottle to make sure he’s holding it securely, and that’s when he sees that there is a fifth snake, long and thin and bright red, wrapped tightly around the bottom of the bottle.
The shock is too much. A shudder of panic causes his body to spasm; his hand opens and the bottle falls back and lands on its side. The tiny snake, just as startled, vanishes beneath the leaves.
32
‘Come on, get up,’ Jody’s taking a big risk, reaching out to grab his arm. Sam nearly loses hold of the stake but manages to pull it out, transferring his weight to her as she leans backward. His body lurches on the net as if he’s on a bouncy castle, then he throws himself on to solid ground, collapsing at her feet and curling into a foetal position.
