Extracted

by RR Haywood

  A vow is made, a prayer to the gods above and one that is as foolhardy as it is impotent. I will go back to my trade. If I survive I will work to be the man I dreamt of being. An offering, a sacrifice, and in his mind the lifestyle can go to hell.

  Alas, the dream is too late. The hope diminishes as the waves grow and wind screams through the rigging on the yacht. Sails torn and flapping. The boom loose and swinging with every pitch and toss. He fights just to keep a course into the waves, but each one becomes a monster to be defeated in a never-ending battle.

  The crest is reached, buying him another few seconds of life, and in those seconds he teeters on the crest, holding position on a centre point of balance that enables him to see the miles of raging sea in every direction. Such a sight. Such a thing to see. It’s time. Minutes maybe. Say your prayers to the gods you choose for your time is done.

  Down. Swooping with such speed that the air smacks into his face and he screams out in terror and joy at the sensation. Crashing into the bottom, sending a surge of water high into the air that rains down soaking him, but he lives and another monster is defeated.

  Every seventh wave they say. The seventh is the biggest. He hasn’t counted them off but that thought enters his mind as he turns forward to face the next monster coming, craning his head up and up but the top cannot be seen. This is it. This monster cannot be beaten. Sailing up a skyscraper but to hell with it, he’ll be damned if he won’t die trying.

  ‘COME ON,’ he screams. The words are whipped away but my God it feels good to scream. ‘COME ON,’ he cries again, louder, and the grief bubbles to the top of his soul and he bellows at the wave still coming towards him and growing with every passing second as he sinks deeper into the valley. Loss, mourning, a life of excess and regret, all channelled to the vocal chords of his throat and with veins bulging he vents his fear to gain the first peace in many a year.

  The bow hits and lifts, the sturdy yacht struggling valiantly to do the job it was designed to do and it goes up, dragging the middle and stern with it. Gravity-defying but still she goes on. He screams for her to keep trying. His fist pumping the air and she goes, she gives it everything she can, but the sea takes what it wants. The point of no return is reached. A single solitary second of contemplation and with respect he bows his head with a hat tip at being bested and the yacht begins the slide back down the wave. They sink stern first but the boat is not designed to move this way and she shifts to turn dangerously side on as the bow struggles to gain the lead. The wave bites, a gentle nip, but enough, and the boat is tumbling down and over on a wall of water. His life flashing in a sequence of images.

  Thrown clear of the boat he gains the sensation of air then water and plunges down into the darkness. The buoyancy aid pulls him up and he gasps air but that wall is still coming and this monster hasn’t finished toying with him yet. He goes up, pulled by the suction of the wave and the life jacket keeping him on the surface. Water. Air. Water. Air. He takes both in but feels the height being gained. Near the top he snatches a fleeting glimpse of his beloved yacht that fought so bravely and in that moment he prays she will survive.

  ‘We’re going to land in the water, right?’

  ‘Yep.’ Malcolm nods, dragging one of the poles out.

  ‘Fuck it,’ Safa says. ‘How big is this storm anyway?’

  ‘Big,’ Malcolm says apologetically, as if the storm being big is his fault.

  ‘Right.’ She tightens the life jacket then flexes her arms in the wetsuit clinging to her frame before fingering the thick rope tied to the harness under the life jacket. ‘How much rope have we got?’ she asks, looking to the huge reel at the back of the room. ‘Right,’ she says again without waiting for an answer.

  ‘You go through in the boat,’ Malcolm says. ‘Land in the water with the engine running and go into the waves. Remember that.’

  ‘Ah,’ Harry frowns, sitting in the rear, holding the twist grip of the rudder stick. ‘When you’ve been in a few storms,’ he says.

  ‘Mr Madden,’ Malcolm says politely, ‘the engine on this is really powerful, like . . . so much more powerful than you’re used to . . . like, ten times more powerful . . . you twist that grip and she’ll bite . . .’

  ‘Less talking, more let’s get going,’ Harry says, staring ahead at the bare concrete wall, then blinking and looking at the oversized, swollen rubber skirt of the boat. ‘What’s it called again?’

  ‘RIB, Rigid Inflatable—’

  ‘Got it, RIB.’

  ‘Interestingly, we actually had a boat when we extracted you, Harry, but someone said to get rid of it as we wouldn’t need another boat . . .’ Malcolm says with a look at Roland, who suddenly finds his feet very interesting.

  ‘We’ll pull the device over you,’ Konrad says to both of them. ‘As the blue goes over you so you’ll appear in the time and location chosen . . . er . . . which is the sea . . . in a storm . . .’

  ‘Yes, got that bit,’ Safa says through gritted teeth from her position at the front of the RIB, staring at the same bare concrete wall.

  ‘RIB,’ Harry says again.

  ‘Yes,’ Malcolm says. ‘Land in the water, turn into the waves, find the doctor, get him aboard and get back through the blue light . . .’

  ‘Got it,’ Harry says, hunkering down to face the wall with a look of serious intent. ‘Water, doctor, blue light, back for tea and cake.’

  ‘And in the event you can’t get back to the blue light,’ Malcolm says, wide-eyed at the lunacy of these two, ‘we’ll give it five minutes then pull you both back on the ropes.’

  ‘Ropes, got it,’ Harry says, rising up so he can hunker down again. ‘Water, doctor, blue light, rope, tea and cake . . . RIB.’

  ‘Five minutes isn’t very long so you’ll have to move fast,’ Malcolm says. ‘You’ll land at the GPS signal recorded from the distress signal when the boat capsized but you’ll have to search visually.’

  The last two hours have been frantic, with Malcolm and Konrad rushing through the device to get the equipment needed while Roland strutted and blustered about.

  A high-sided rigid inflatable boat. Wetsuits. Life jackets. Rope and reel. Water goggles. Gloves. And Ben being carried gently to his bed by Harry and Safa and the threat made that everyone here will die horrible, painful deaths should he not be alive and in the same bed when they get back.

  ‘This is madness,’ Roland mutters, tapping at the screen of the tablet. ‘Complete madness. Powering up.’ Red lights blink on the black boxes and the room fills with a low thrumming sound. ‘Calibrating . . .’ he says and waits. A few seconds and he starts tapping his finger on the side of the screen, humming a tune.

  ‘Water, doctor, aboard, light, get back,’ Harry says. ‘You want this engine on now?’

  ‘Oh, good idea,’ Malcolm says, blinking in surprise. ‘Didn’t think of that . . . you know how to do it?’

  ‘Pull cord?’ Harry says, staring at the big engine.

  ‘Er, no,’ Malcolm says carefully, ‘we don’t have pull cords these days . . . press that button.’

  ‘This one?’ Harry jabs the button. The engine starts instantly, coughing thick black smoke into the room before rising in pitch to a dull scream that only gets louder when Harry test twists the grip on the rudder stick.

  Roland coughs pointedly. ‘Ready,’ he says, and rolls his eyes when no one hears him. ‘I SAID IT’S READY.’ He waves.

  Harry nods, giving him a thumbs up. Safa follows suit then grips the safety ropes to hold her position at the front of the vessel.

  The blue iridescent light fills the room. A solid thing of shimmering beauty that bathes them all in deep hues of colour. Malcolm and Konrad grip a pole each, ready to pull the light over them from front to back.

  ‘GO,’ Roland shouts and tuts to himself at not being heard. ‘I SAID GO,’ he shouts again, waving at his two workmen.

  Safa stares mesmerised as the front tip of the boat simply disappears from view into the blue wall. Like it’s b
eing pulled through a curtain. The poles move, the blue light slides and the boat disappears inch by inch.

  ‘FASTER,’ Roland bellows, knowing the danger of what’s on the other side. They burst into a run, dragging the poles down as Safa’s eyes widen at the wall of blue light coming at her.

  One second she’s in the warm, dry room and the next she’s staring at a wall of water looming overhead with spray and wind whipping into her face. Noise everywhere from the angry thrashing of the sea and wind. She glances behind, watching the blue light move down the vessel, which appears as quickly as it disappeared. Harry comes into view, grimacing and twisting the throttle, filling the room behind him with more choking black smoke. Then it’s done and they drop a foot to land in the water with Harry already opening the engine to turn the boat into the huge wave bearing down on them.

  Malcolm was right. The engine does bite. A second later the propeller is pushing the prow into the base of the wave. Harry doesn’t falter. Not a flicker of surprise shows. He works with instinct and feel. The wave is big but not too big to be a problem, and he senses the power at play in the engine behind him. He twists more, powering gradually as they start the incline. Safa grips the ropes, swallowing at the experience and the sight. From a room in the bunker in the Cretaceous period to a raging sea somewhere in twenty thirty-two.

  It takes seconds for her mind to process the change and in that time Harry gets the boat to the top of the wave, where they hold for a precious few seconds.

  ‘CAN YOU SEE IT?’ Harry bellows, quickly turning to see the blue light still holding position at the bottom of the valley as the wave swooshes through it and wondering if the water will end up in the room.

  ‘THERE,’ Safa shouts, pointing to the left. ‘BOAT.’ A white yacht that looks tiny as it reaches the top of a wave and starts racing down the other side and a clear view of a man grinning wildly at the helm. Bald with greying hair round the sides and back and a beard the same colour. He’s still alive, the boat is upright and she watches as the yacht powers down the bank of water and hits the valley, pluming up a spray of water.

  Harry steers the engine, knowing he has to either stay on the top of this wave or go down nose first into the valley. He opts for the second and sends them over the crest, plunging with a stomach-churning drop as Safa keeps her eyes locked on the yacht.

  In the trough Harry takes advantage of the time before the next wave and slams the boat hard over while opening the engine fully. It bites to scream along the surface. Safa pointing at the yacht while he glances to the next wave and up at the sheer bloody size of it. No matter. He waits until the last second and forces the nose into the bank as it swells and starts to lift them higher. Easing the throttle, he lets the engine power them up until gravity starts to tug, then twists more, forcing the boat up.

  Safa watches the yacht and the man pumping his fist into the air. He’ll make it. He’ll get over the wave. In that second, she sees the battle at play and the determination of the doctor as he tries to make his yacht do the impossible, but without power or sail the yacht cannot surmount a wave so high and it stops, pauses and sinks back. Turning side on as the bow tries to take over and it rolls over and over down the cliff face of water back into the valley beneath.

  ‘HE’S DOWN,’ she screams at Harry, who nods calmly and keeps the RIB going up the side of the wave, knowing that to try to turn now will also see them tipping over. He forces to the top then a hard yank of the rudder and along that bursting froth of raging sea he powers the boat. Deft touches left and right, riding the wave as it sweeps on its journey. Safa keeps her eyes glued on the spot where the boat first tumbled, scanning the dark, roiling, seething mass for the doctor.

  ‘FIND HIM?’ Harry shouts over the noise, sensing they can’t hold this position for much longer.

  ‘THERE.’ She points down the wall to the valley beneath and a flash of orange breaking the surface with two arms flailing about. Harry peers over the edge, showing teeth in a humourless smile. Ah well, died once and lived. He turns the rudder to start the descent while powering off the throttle and letting nature pull them down. The speed they reach is incredible. Hair flying free and tears whipped from eyes but neither of them think to tug the goggles down over their eyes. The doctor sinks from view as he starts the climb up the same wall they’re coming down.

  Harry watches ahead, already planning on reaching the bottom and using the pit of the valley to turn and come back up.

  The doctor sinks down out of sight then comes up again. Drowning with each lungful of water sucked in. Safa watches closely, praying he’ll stay alive long enough for them to reach him and cursing when they fly past.

  ‘GO BACK UP,’ she shouts at Harry, pointing at the doctor. Harry keeps going, swooshing down into the base before powering on to turn and come back up the incline while nodding in satisfaction at the ability of the boat.

  She’ll have one chance to grab him. She knows that. The wave is so steep that to try and stop will cause the boat to plummet back down. Harry judges the approach, watching both the wave ahead and Safa’s arm pointing to the spot to aim for.

  She scrabbles forward, landing with her belly on the inflated rubber skirt as the water pummels into her face. Snatched glimpses now. An orange blob in the water and the realisation hits her. Leverage. She has nothing to pull against. The man will be heavier than her and if she pulls him, she’ll just be pulling herself into the water. She peers round searching for something she can hook her feet into but the handgrips are too far apart. There’s nothing to grip or hold. No way of dragging him in. She can’t even try to do it one-handed because there’s nothing for her left hand to hold.

  Harry powers on, driving the last few metres then easing the throttle as they reach the orange vest and the doctor, now face down in the water. Safa reaches out as Harry notices with alarm she has nothing to secure herself with and he can’t release the rudder or lose the power either.

  ‘SAFA, NO,’ he bellows, but too late. She lunges over, grips the vest and tries to heave the doctor up using just the strength in her arms but the man is too heavy and she slips into the water. Harry twists the grip as hard as he can, making the boat surge past them both, then dives over the side and into the freezing, turbulent waters. Instantly he feels a complex assault to the senses of plunging down into violently moving water while gaining the sensation of rising up the wall of the wave.

  His head breaks the surface, driven up by powerful kicks of his legs. He spins round, seeing Safa grappling to turn the doctor on to his back.

  Harry swims hard against the current, forcing his body down the wall as they rise up and into his arms. He grips them both in a bear hug, lifting them up and out of the water while Safa gets the doctor’s face free of the water. She gasps ragged breaths, spewing the gag-inducing seawater from her mouth and throat. Eyes stinging from the salt and all the time rising higher and higher with the rope trailing loosely behind them. The RIB, having reached the apex of its climb, now plummets down the wall, aquaplaning on the smooth underside and buzzing past their heads so close they could have caught hold if not for the speed of the thing.

  Rising higher as they’re pulled up the sheer side of the wave stretching to reach the sky and Harry uses just the power in his legs to keep them all afloat. Closer to the top now and the white foam at the pinnacle whips high into the wind.

  ‘Where’s the light?’ Safa gasps, coughing mouthfuls of water out.

  Harry cranes round trying to see the blue square, but seeing just shades of darkness in every direction. A hint of something, a flash of light, but gone again and so far away now. He locks his eyes on the spot, straining to see, then shouting out when the iridescent light shows true at the bottom of the valley with the yacht see-sawing towards it but it might as well be a mile away for all the hope they have of swimming down this wave.

  Stomachs flip and churn as they reach the dizzying top and for a second all is calm and clear and they catch a view of a huge sky full of roilin
g grey clouds shooting jagged bolts of lightning across the heavens with the deep roar of thunder booming in rage and anger. Riding on the crest, holding position as the wave carries them along for a precious few seconds, but the inevitable must happen and when it does they feel the plummet of a rollercoaster ride sinking on the terrifying decline. Plunging down a mountainside of water that bursts and slams into their faces. Screaming from fear, panic and the utter, sheer terror of sliding down a wall with increasing speed as Harry kicks to keep them above the surface, clutching Safa, who clutches the doctor, and the three are hopelessly outwitted by the power of nature.

  Going down the wave is bad enough. Going sideways is worse, but sideways they go as the rope snaps straight and taut and they feel the pull dragging them feet first along the side of the wave. All control is gone and they plunge down into the depths as the rope drags them mercilessly through the thick, wide body of the wave back towards the light.

  Into darkness and a wave too thick for the light to penetrate, but the roar of the ocean fills their ears as much as the blood pounding through their skulls, urging them to breathe. They hold fast, clinging to the hope that they’ll be dragged fast enough to get through the light before their attempts to hold their breath render them unconscious enough to try and draw air.

  Safa clamps her mouth closed. She can’t see or hear. She can’t reach out to touch anything and gets dragged so fast she has no hope of maintaining conscious thought. As her body starts to fight against her to draw air she feels only hope that the doctor will get through and save Ben. He must survive. Ben must live. He is Ben Ryder. He means something. The Prime Minister groping her. Other men that only saw her as a sexual object, but she knew there were decent men in the world and she saw one once.