by Jase Kovacs
I can't believe what I see.
I try to deny the reality of what is happening. Of what I see as it tumbles down and splashes into the water. Sinking like a stone. The glowstick landed in the water when I screamed that first time and is slowly sinking as well. Only slightly denser than water, it is drifting down slowly. Maybe only three metres or so deep. The creature eclipses it, I see the monster auraed with gold and then it tumbles past the glowstick and I see. It lights up the anchor chain and I see—
They are all down the anchor chain. A string of monsters that had walked across the bottom of the bay and are climbing up the chain onto my boat. Clawing their way up the chain hand over hand, mouths open, their skin and eyes burning in the brine, driven onwards despite the pain. Driven by him.
They are his hand. Coming for me.
A dozen of them on the chain. Who knows how many more, down there. Are they piling onto the chain? Holding it down. Locking me in. My god, there is no rock down there, it is them, it is them.
What would have happened if I just dived?
The next creature breaks the surface. Moving fast. They know they've been discovered. He urges them on. It scrabbles up the chain, the links rattle and bang on the roller with its mad rushing. No stealth now. All speed. Comes up the chain like a rabid monkey. It breaks the surface, arms and legs pumping and behind it come more, the monsters discovered, swarming me.
No time, no time to run back to the cockpit and reload, thumb rounds into the magazine and cock the weapon and fire, no time for that, it's coming up the chain and its hands reach up over the roller, long taloned fingers grasping for the rail, its open mouth hunting for my scent.
I dive and slam the ratchet pole into the windlass. Ram it forward, press down on the pawl with my palm and release the clutch.
The chain bursts free. Links run out the windlass and down over the roller so fast that chips of zinc fly. Voodoo lurches as the tension on the chain is released, the bow leaping, bucking the creature off. The grabbing fingers close on a rail but its feet still hold the chain and it is gone and I think, those things are so heavy, it must be hundreds of kilos of weight on the chain, a dozen of marys climbing, because it flies out so damn fast, whipping over the roller and gone-
The hand is gone.
I look over the side, and I see pale faces sinking. Men and women who have become monsters. People who once loved and lived reduced to deathly tools of hate. Red eyes gleaming furiously. Mouths opened in silent screams. Receding. Disappearing into the gloom, beyond the reach of the glowstick's light. Then the light too drifts down and fades and all I can see is the rope whizzing out until, with a sudden lurch, it comes up hard against the bitter end, where the rope is shackled to Voodoo's hull.
I gasp air for a second like a landed fish, looking down into the black water. Not believing how quickly it happened. The rope slackens as the weight comes off (all those creatures piling into the seafloor, makes me chuckle, haha you've gotta laugh right) and Voodoo adjusts to the sudden lengthening of her leash. I just am starting to wonder, how the hell do I get my anchor up now when the rope twangs tight. Voodoo has gone back, blown back with the wind.
But that's not right. If that was the case, the rope would be going out at an angle. Instead it plunges straight down. Then it thrums. Starts to vibrate. Shivering and leaping in the anchor roller like a living thing, thrashing like an angry snake.
And I know they're coming again.
I turn and run down the side of the boat. The pitching deck barely perceptible. The only light in the sky is Venus. My star. I remember something from my childhood, I'll tell you later, but the sight of Venus spurs me on. Heedless now. Risking a fall, the deck slick with spray, the stern pitching. My feet know this deck, I know this boat, come on baby, don't fail me now.
What are you doing!? You don't have time to reload!
I don't think I've ever seen Katie loose her cool. But tonight she's coming close.
I ignore her as I dive into the cockpit. Reach under the helm seat. My hand grabbing, closing around the familiar comforting wooden grip. A hundred hours spent chopping firewood oiling the smooth, worn walnut handle with sweat.
By the time I'm back on the bow with my father's hatchet, the anchor rope is leaping and jumping in the roller as they come. All of them, I know it, scrabbling up the line. Coming for me. I don't hesitate. I don't pause to look over the side, to confirm what I know I will see. Rushing before I can pull another trick out of my ass. How many times can lightning strike today? How much luck do I have left?
Enough. That's all I want. Just enough.
I bring the axe down on the anchor rope. The bow pitches and I miss, parting only one of the three strands. Good manila cordage. Can't scrimp when it comes to anchor warp, wouldn't want it to break, haha. I snap the hatchet down again and I hear a shriek as the first of them breaks the surface of the water. Rage. How can one being hate life so much?
The hatchet bites deeply into the deck and the bow leaps up like an animal that has just heard a gunshot. I stare numbly at the blade buried in the wooden deck. On one side, three splayed strands of rope, burst open like the lazy questing tentacles of a sea anemone.
On the other side:
Nothing.
No rope. Nothing but an empty anchor roller, the bow pitching free, thank god, the boat is free.
I look over the side and I can see nothing but black waves whipped by wind, the south wind that is blowing right in my teeth. Thank god, the boat is free and—
Yes, we're free - free to drift right back onto the reef. The diesel thrums impatiently, deep in Voodoo's belly, just waiting for me to put her into gear.
Katie says to me: can we please go back to Madau now?
Chapter 22
My earliest memories are of my family. The five of us on Voodoo. We left Brisbane when I was three. Jayden seven. Katie five. Mum and Dad turning their back on their lives in Australia. No, that's not right. Not turning their backs. But going forward, looking for another way to raise their children.
Yeah. Okay. I told you Katie is my imaginary friend. You've probably worked it out by now but she's also my sister. I can't think of Mum or Dad or Jayden looking over me because they're gone, they're gone forever, fallen in horrific circumstances, and anytime I think of them is a painful spear that stills my heart.
But Katie is still out there somewhere. I know it. She wasn't with us when the end happened, she was with Calypso on Sophie. Having a summer holiday break from us on Voodoo, cruising with Calypso, who was her age anyway. I remember being so furious that Katie got to go off with Calypso and I couldn't. Last heard of in Year One. Zis is Zophie, we are going to Zingapore. Mum and Dad hailing them madly, Sophie, come in Sophie, how copy, is Katie with you over? No answer, empty channel, no word. Ask any vessel we meet in the following years, all of us penitents roaming the plague lands, asking them have you seen Sophie? Rumours of them around Langkawi. But no news, never any news.
My big sister is still out there somewhere. Which is why she's here with me too, keeping me safe.
So it pains me to think of my family. As if I have a monopoly on loss. All survivors are is a list of people left behind. So I might as well tell you a story about them. One of my first memories is the five of us sitting on the foredeck at night. Some anchorage in Papua New Guinea. Our first big cruise out, the docklines slipped, ahead only adventure.
Three years until the end of the world.
Mum and Dad talking to us kids about stars. They know the names for them of course, they're my parents, I'm three years old and they know everything. This memory complete in my mind. As if, when I was little more than a toddler, I recognised its precedence, its importance for times to come.
Mum and Dad were talking about how we should not fear the night. One of our first nights out from the city, when we stopped and really looked at the mad sparkle of diamonds that fill the night sky. I was scared, used as I was to only a few scattered bright pins seen on the other side of sk
yscrapers and street lights. And now, out here, the night sky bursting open with stars, a vast bowl of heaven virtually limitless, making me feel like I was falling forever forward as I lay on the deck between Mum and Katie.
Mum saying: "The night is nothing to be afraid of. You should be happy at night. This is when you see the stars, who will never lie to you. Once you know their names and movements, you'll know when they come up, as regular as the sun. When we're out at night, or when you're old enough to take watches, you'll look forward to your stars when they come up. Look out for them, like old friends."
"Which star is your friend?" I ask Mum.
Katie swipes at my head. "That's not what she means, stupid."
Mum swipes at Katie. "That's exactly what I mean, missy, and don't hit your sister. Pick one. Make it your friend. And each night you will be happy to see them."
"So which one is yours?" asks Jayden.
"Your mother doesn't have a star. She thinks bigger than that," says Dad, dryly. The word that I use for him, when I am older and have access to a thesaurus, is laconic. But aged three I just think he doesn't smile much, yet always seems to make Mum laugh by saying things that don't sound funny but are.
"The Moon. She's mine," says Mum. She hugs me. "Sometimes she is bright and sometimes she is dark but she is always there. She brings the sea in and out in the tides and she lights up the night and plenty more besides."
"What about you, Dad?"
"See that red one up there?"
We follow his outstretched finger.
"Your father worships Mars. The God of War." Its Mum's turn to sound dry. "He thinks it makes him sound like a badass."
"Dad is a badass," protests Jayden.
"Attaboy. You hear the kid?" Dad asks Mum. "Bright kid. Gets that from me."
"Neither of those are stars," says Katie. "You guys are bad at this game."
"Alright, clever clogs, which one is yours?" Mum asks.
Katie considers the heavens. Right overhead, one abnormally bright, steady and untwinkling. "That one."
"You're bad at this game too," says Mum. "That's Jupiter. Another planet. King of the Heavens."
"Sounds good enough for me," says Katie smugly.
"What are those three? In a line," asks Jayden.
"That's Orion's belt," answers Dad.
"What's Orion's belt?"
"Holds up Orion's pants," says Dad, struggling to hide a sly chuckle.
Mum punches him in the arm. "That's Orion, a constellation. The hunter. In the olden days, people imagined pictures in the sky, drawn with stars, and used them to tell stories. Legends. Stories containing truths they would share with one another. Like we're doing now. So the night isn't so dark. So the dark isn't so scary."
"I want that one," says Jayden.
"You want a whole constellation?" protests Katie. "How come he gets a whole constellation?!"
"You chose Jupiter, lady. King of the Heavens."
Katie nods at this, mollified. "King is better than hunter, Jayden."
"Whatever. Who wants to be a stupid king? Stuck on a throne all day. Hunter is where it's at."
Dad nudges me, below my ribs, the tickle place where it always makes me laugh. "And you, missy?"
I point at the biggest, prettiest one I can see. "That one."
Dad sighs. "Another planet. It's official, Cath. Four planets and a constellation. As a family, we suck at being astronomers."
"What's its name?"
"Her name is Venus," says Mum. I can tell she's pleased at my selection. "The dawn star, the evening star, Goddess of love and beauty. You'll see her after the sun sets - or before it rises. So you know she is there, watching you when its dark."
I nod, pleased with myself. "Yeah."
Venus. My star. The brightest, prettiest one in the sky.
***
I'm motoring out of the bay when the new star rises. A burst of magnesium fire climbs into the dark sky, clouds thick, an ugly night ahead. The underbelly of the clouds painted red and I flinch. Clouds of crimson flames in limitless night. The Captain and his dark star, hidden in Hold One. His mind questing, probing for me. The whole scene, the whole bay opened up by the sudden flare.
Because that's exactly what it is. A flare, parachute red rocket, fired from the stern of Black Harvest. I spilled the bag of them before I went into Hold Two, throwing handhelds like grenades, flushing marys with a rocket. That seemed like an eternity ago. My smarting hand, gripping Voodoo's smooth chrome wheel, reminds me it was this morning.
The flare climbs up and reaches its apogee and burns even more brightly as it begins to drift. Swinging like a crazed pendulum beneath its little parachute, it makes every shadow dance like drunk revellers. It lights me up, lights up Voodoo and the whole sea and I raise my hand to shield my eyes. And it lights up Black Harvest and I see her deck swarming with creatures, most running and scuttling to avoid the light, some looking up at mesmerised, teeth bared, eyes open wide, their red fire reflected in the sky and I wonder do they think this is their dark star coming, their god that the Captain prophesied?
I look for him and he is nowhere to be seen. But I know he is there, up there, watching me. I can feel his eyes burning my skin. Feel his mind questing for me. Wanting me to come back to him. Calling me, willing me to come, like a parent whose child has broken curfew. I hate his obscene presumption that he could be my father.
But still, that doesn't answer the question: who fired the flare? A mary, ha ha, right, that would just be perfect. Not only are they setting clever traps and no, wait, get this, they aren't afraid of water any more, they can walk across the ocean floor and come up your chain like stinking barge rats, not only that but now they're using incendiary signal devices. Awesome, right!?
Then I see him. The child. Standing on the bridge roof, the highest point on the ship. Waving his hands wildly, an empty tube held in one, the other five fingers splayed out wide, whipped back and forth with mad panic. A small shape silhouetted by the flare falling behind him. But I can tell from Blong's body language the expression I would find on his face.
Fear.
The creatures twisting and running like startled rats beneath the red light but some are looking up, some are looking up at the bridge, and their teeth are bared and I hear a hiss rising from Black Harvest like a nest of rattlesnakes all lifting their tails in warning.
And then the flare dies.
I turn back to the wheel. Lights in my eyes dancing afterglow. Look out to the black night. No stars tonight. My star gone, set, dropped behind the island's spine. No Moon yet, no king of the heavens, god of war, hunters tonight. Just black muck and sloppy waves.
We're past Black Harvest now. Katie can tell I am thinking as I take the bow out of the wind and settle for an southerly course, to take us away from the island, so I can swing around on the same tack and head for home.
I'm moving more slowly than just fatigue. My hands lingering on each task as I open the clutch on the bow furler and play out three metres of line, enough to bring the jib half out when I winch in the starboard sheet. She knows I'm thinking about it.
Don't even.
I'm not.
He's part of it.
Sure. But.
The Captain controls him. It's another ploy. Another trick to get you to come back.
Sure. Of course.
The boy fell into a hold full of marys. Now he's on top of the ship, shooting flares. That doesn't strike you as suspicious?
Yeah, it does. I know. But.
No buts.
Hmm. Just, you saw his eyes. After I hit him and before he fell.
Katie shakes her head sadly. He's not Jayden.
Shut up. I know that. Shut up.
I yank on the starboard jib sheet and the sail rolls out of the furler and catches the wind. Fucking Katie, why did she have to bring up Jayden? The sail flaps but I am hauling in the sheet, hauling hard, the winch handle into the winch now and I grind, grind it in, the sheet tightening, groaning as
the strain comes on. The wind fills the jib, the sail takes shape, a smooth curve and the boat leans and heels and I feel the surge of power, as the wind takes over. The motor just spinning a prop now. I push in the engine shut off and the rumble dies, thank god for a regular maintenance schedule, thank god for good engines that can cope with old diesel. The oil alarm sounds as the pressure falls and I shut off the key and there is quiet as Voodoo comes alive, the water surging, shouldered aside as Voodoo comes down on the swell, sheets of spray rising as she splashes her way upwind until I can weather the island and turn west. Then it's just a downwind run all the way back to Madau. I can put on the autopilot and sleep.
I fall back into the seat. Finally we are away. My body falls and I crave sleep, the pit opening before me, my body saying you promised, you promised. And I say I know I did... but.
No way. Katie is adamant. We are not going back for him. He's not Jayden.
You're right Katie. He's not Jayden. You know why?
Why?
Because I can save him.
Chapter 23
I come down on the island out of the rising sun.
The wind piling waves up behind me. A strong south easterly, steady and true, the honest trade wind, that buffeted me all night, as I rode hove-to ten miles upwind from the island. Voodoo spending the night riding comfortably over the swell, jib backed and helm locked hard over to windward, drifting slowly downwind towards the island at a knot while I snatched four hours sleep like a thief in the night.
I thought there would be dreams, nightmares, pain and restlessness but sleep came easily. Once I had made my decision. Rest descending like a cloak on my untroubled mind. I sailed out and I tacked and prevaricated and I argued with Katie and myself and then I decided.
I'm going back.
Not in the future, not after returning to Madau with the news, resting and recovering and coming back when the time was right.
