It was just before nine when I spotted another boat; the first we’d seen since leaving Glasgow. As we neared, it became clear that it was just drifting with the wind and the currents, rather than moving under its own power. Tom still hadn’t appeared by this point so I sent Sophie down to get him. She reappeared a minute later, looking worried. ‘Mum, something’s wrong with Tom; he won’t wake up.’
‘That’s not good!’ Claire disappeared down the companionway. Leaving Daz to steer the boat, I followed. In the saloon, Tom lay on the couch, his head moving listlessly from side to side as the boat rocked back and forth. Claire put her hand against his forehead and then pulled back the covers. She peeled back the surgical dressing, revealing that the skin around her stitching was red and inflamed.
‘Damn!’ Claire glanced up at me. ‘He’s got an infection.’
She opened her medical bag and rummaged through it. After a couple of minutes, she still hadn’t found what she was looking for and resorted to emptying its entire contents onto the table before going through each item one by one. After she’d finished, she looked up at me again. ‘No antibiotics. I usually carry some, but I must have forgotten to refill my bag last time I ran out. I don’t suppose you’ve any on board, do you?’
‘No, nothing like that.’
‘In that case, we’ve got a big problem. I’ve seen infections like this before. If we don’t get him on antibiotics within the next twenty-four hours, he’s unlikely to recover.’
Sophie let out a gasp. ‘You mean he’s going to die? Mum, there must be something you can do, isn’t there?’
‘Not without the right medicines.’
I stared down at Tom, and the redness that was radiating out from around the stitches. I couldn’t believe he was going to die just because we lacked something as simple as a few pills.
‘Ben, are you okay?’ Claire was watching me, concerned.
‘Yeah.’ I swallowed. ‘I’ll be okay.’
Sophie’s brow furrowed. ‘Is there anywhere we can get some antibiotics?’
I slumped dejectedly onto the seat opposite Tom. ‘Not without going ashore, and it would need to be in a town somewhere, which would be too dangerous. We almost got killed yesterday when we were on an empty beach. In a town, there are going to be infected everywhere.’ I looked across and saw Sophie’s bottom lip was trembling. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘No, it’s okay. It’s ...’ she sniffed, ‘I was just thinking about Jake ... and about all my friends: they’re all dead, aren’t they? It’s like I’m the only one left. We all had these great plans, the things we all wanted to do, and now they’re all gone, and I’m stuck on this boat. I’m never going to get to do any of it, am I? I mean, this is it; this is my life from now on: sitting here, waiting for the people around me to die.’
As Sophie descended into tears, Claire held her tightly and gently stroked her hair. I left them alone in the saloon and returned to the cockpit, wondering where we could possibly get antibiotics from.
‘Is everythin’ okay?’ Daz enquired.
‘No, not really.’ My voice sounded flat.
‘What’s up?’
‘Tom’s got an infection. Claire reckons if he doesn’t get some antibiotics soon, he’s probably going to die.’
Daz put his hands behind his head. ‘An’ Claire’s no’ got any?’
‘No.’
‘Where’re we goin’ to get some from then?’
Looking off into the distance, my eyes fell on the drifting boat: it was now only about 500 yards away, and a thought struck me. I wondered if there might be some antibiotics on board. After all, it wasn’t unusual for sailors to keep some in their first-aid kits just in case. Even if there weren’t any antibiotics, it was worth checking just to make sure, and there might even be some food we could scavenge.
‘We’re going to try there.’ I took the wheel from Daz and turned it to the right. I readjusted the sails and soon we were converging on it. It was a yacht, about ten feet shorter than ours. It looked in good condition and there was no evidence of any damage. I wondered what had happened to the crew: it wasn’t the first time I’d found an unmanned boat drifting around at sea, and it was something most sailors had either encountered or heard stories about. Sometimes you found out what happened; sometimes you didn’t; it was just a part of life at sea. The rules were also clear: once a boat became unmanned, it was very much a case of finders keepers.
Getting alongside a drifting yacht while under sail would be difficult, so once we were close enough I chose, instead, to heave to and use the dinghy to ferry myself across. I didn’t want to waste what little petrol we had left for the outboard motor, so leaving Daz in charge, I paddled across using the remaining oar. On reaching the drifting boat, I tied the dinghy onto the back and pulled myself on board, taking the oar with me, just in case. The cabin was sealed, but not locked, and I cautiously pushed back the hatch before reaching inside to open the doors.
Suddenly, there was a shout and something moved in the darkness. In a flash, a man in a cheap suit shot up the stairs and lunged towards me. I staggered backwards, tripping over my own feet and falling hard against the wheel. As I fell, the oar slipped from my grasp and skittered across the deck before dropping into the water, leaving me with no way of defending myself. Luckily, the man couldn’t seem to work out how to get through the cabin doors and was repeatedly throwing himself at them; snarling and gnashing his teeth. The doors shuddered and shook, and it seemed like they wouldn’t hold for long. I scrambled to my feet, glancing around, trying to find something else I could use as a weapon; just then, the wooden doors gave way, finally freeing the man from the cabin. I did the only thing I could think of and dived for the side of the boat, slipping through the guard rail and into the water just as he reached where I’d been standing.
I surfaced, wiping the water from my face; the man stood above me, his face contorted with anger. I stared at him: he was perhaps a couple of years younger than me, hair receding slightly more. His pale blue eyes bored into me, never once blinking, an intense rage burning deep within them. As I swam back to the dinghy, grabbing the oar from where it floated as I passed, he followed my progress along the side of the boat, growling as he paced back and forth. I tossed the oar into the dinghy and pulled myself out of the water before reaching up to untie the rope from the cleat on the deck. The infected man lunged at me again, just missing the tips of my fingers. I jerked my arm away and, with my hands shaking, I decided to untie the other end of the rope from the metal eye on the dinghy instead. Once it was free, I lay back as I drifted away from the yacht, breathing heavily and thinking about what had just happened. It was the second time in two days an infected had almost got me. That was when I realised I’d need to start being a lot more careful. I sat up, and using the oar, I paddled slowly back to the boat where Daz, Claire and Sophie were watching me, shocked expressions on their faces.
Daz helped lift the dinghy back out of the water. ‘Man, when he came out of the cabin like that, I was sure you were a goner.’
I straightened up. ‘You’re not the only one.’
Daz put his hands on his hips. ‘How the hell did he get in there?’
‘I guess he must have been injured by an infected, but got away and managed to make it to the boat. He probably turned when he was in the cabin and couldn’t work out how to get out again.’ I shivered, both because I was soaking wet, and because I was reliving how close I’d come to being caught. ‘At least until I was stupid enough to open the hatch for him.’
Across on the other boat, the man was still stalking the deck, screaming with frustration and hammering on the roof of the cabin. Daz shielded his eyes with his hand. ‘Is there no’ a way we can knock him off into the water? That way, you could go back on board an’ see if there’s any food an’ medicine an’ that.’
I shook my head. ‘No, it would be too dangerous. What if he’s not the only one on board?’
Daz gulped. ‘I h
adn’t thought of that.’
‘Yeah,’ I let out a low sigh. ‘This whole survival thing’s going to be one hell of a learning curve.’
We left the boat with its infected passenger, and carried on southwards. By six that evening, I could make out the dome of Ailsa Craig in the distance. Once we were past that, we’d be free, but there was something else there, too, which meant this might not be as straightforward as it would otherwise seem: the grey and distinctive outline of a frigate. A dilemma started to form in my mind. I could steer a course which would take us well clear of the warship, meaning we’d finally be free of the Firth of Clyde, or I could steer for it and ask for help. They’d almost certainly have antibiotics on board and they might be willing to give us some, but they would then know we were there and it was unlikely they’d let us past.
Before I could make my mind up either way, the decision was made for me. Two large black rigid-hulled inflatable boats appeared from the general direction of the frigate and it was pretty clear they were heading straight for us. As they neared, I could see that these ribs were about thirty feet long and each had a large calibre machine gun mounted on its bow. I could also see that they were crewed by two teams of heavily armed men. Not knowing what to expect, I sent Daz and Sophie below, but Claire, unwilling to be ordered around, remained alongside me in the cockpit.
I heaved the boat to and waited for them to approach. Soon, there was one on each side, standing about twenty-five yards off, their weapons trained on us.
A loudspeaker mounted on the right-hand rib crackled into life. ‘Remain where you are, and state the purpose of your voyage.’
I tried to work out which of them was speaking. ‘We’re just trying to get to safety.’
The voice boomed out across the water again. ‘You’re in a controlled zone and you need to stay within it until the situation’s resolved.’
‘When’s that going to be?’ Claire shouted back. I shot her an angry look; nothing good could come from provoking them.
‘As soon as the outbreak’s brought under control.’ The voice was stern and authoritative.
Claire was about to say something else when I quickly stopped her.
‘What should we do, then?’ I waited for a response.
‘We’ve set up a holding area. We’ll escort you there. How many do you have on board?’
‘There are five of us: four adults and one child.’
‘Have you got any medicines?’ Claire had stepped forward again. ‘We’ve got someone on board who’s badly injured and he needs antibiotics.’
Suddenly, the atmosphere changed; the men stood up straighter and adjusted their guns.
‘What sort of injury?’ There was an edge to the voice now. ‘Were they bitten?’
‘No.’ I hurriedly explained. ‘We were up by the Erskine Bridge when Glasgow was bombed. The explosion knocked us down, and he ended up with a burst lung.’ I nodded to my right. ‘Claire here’s a doctor. She managed to sort it out, but the wound got infected. We need antibiotics or he’ll die.’
‘What antibiotics d’you need?’ The voice was softer now. I ran my eyes over the boat again, and finally spotted the one with the microphone in his hand. He was slightly taller, and a good deal older than the rest, and he was the only one not carrying a machine gun. He was also dressed differently: while the others wore the green berets of Royal Marine Commandos, he was wearing the black and white cap of a senior naval officer. This was an odd combination to have on what was little more than a patrol boat.
Claire responded. ‘I’d prefer Doxy, but I’ll take anything you’ve got.’
There was a brief discussion on the rib before one of the men put down his gun, took off his backpack and started rummaging through it. There was another brief discussion before the voice spoke again. ‘We’ve got Amoxicillin and Tetracycline.’
‘Tetracycline’s close enough.’ Claire called back.
The rib manoeuvred slowly towards us until it was within throwing distance. The man lobbed a plastic tub in a gentle arc across the water that separated us from them. Claire caught it with ease. ‘Thanks,’ she yelled back before turning to me. ‘I should go and start him on these right away.’ With that, Claire disappeared down the companionway.
Once the rib was back in position, the voice came again. ‘If you drop your sails and start your engine, we’ll escort you to the holding area.’
‘We don’t have any fuel. The sails are all we’ve got.
‘Okay, leave them up.’ The man’s voice sounded resigned: it would undoubtedly be a much slower passage than he’d been hoping for.
Just as the sun was going down, we arrived at the holding area immediately to the north of Ailsa Craig, and within view of the frigate. There were five boats there already: three sloops; a double-masted ketch, like ours; and a powerboat. They had their anchors set and were tied to each other, side by side, making it easier for the people on the different boats to speak to each other and giving more space to move around. We dropped our anchor, manoeuvred ourselves alongside the one on the nearest end and tied our boat to theirs in a similar fashion.
Once we were in position, one of the ribs roared up and turned sharply, sending a wave crashing against our left side. The men had their weapons slung across their chests, clearly not anticipating trouble. The loudspeaker crackled into life again. ‘This is the designated holding area; you’re to stay here until we tell you otherwise. If you try to get past the blockade, we won’t hesitate to use force to stop you.’
‘How long are you going to keep us here?’ I yelled back.
There was no reply; they simply shifted the engine into gear and sped off.
‘So they got you, too, did they?’ I turned to see a man leaning on the guard rail of the neighbouring boat. He spoke with a friendly, northern accent and there was a half-full beer bottle dangling from one hand. ‘Where were you headin’?’
‘South.’ I rubbed the increasingly-long stubble on the side of my face. ‘We were trying to get to the other side of Hadrian’s Wall.’
‘Yeah, that might work.’ He took a swig of his beer. ‘I was thinkin’ St Kilda m’self. Ain’t no infection goin’ to get there in a hurry. You can live on it, too. People used to you know, right up until the thirties. I need to go get ma family first, though.’
His words were slightly slurred, but given what was happening to the world, I couldn’t really begrudge him a drink or two.
‘Nice vessel. Yours?’ His eyes lost focus for a moment, then he smiled. ‘Or d’you borrow her, like I borrowed mine?’
‘No, she’s mine.’
‘Very nice.’ There was a pause as he examined the boat more closely. ‘Is that a satellite TV receiver you’ve got there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does it work?’ He sounded eager.
‘Yes.’ I was beginning to wonder where this was going.
Suddenly, he got serious. ‘Can I come across an’ watch the news for a while? I want to be able to see what’s happenin’. I want to see if ma family’s safe. They’re in Liverpool, staying with ma wife’s mother while I’ve bin away workin’ on the rigs. I’ve bin tryin’ to call them all day, but ma mobile phone’s not workin’. The news on the radio’s just not sayin’ anythin’. I need to see pictures.’
‘Okay,’ I beckoned to him. ‘Come on over.’
‘Great.’ The smile returned to his face. ‘I’ll bring a couple of beers.’
‘It would be better if you could bring some food.’ I didn’t know whether he’d have any to spare, but I thought there was no harm in asking. ‘We’ve not eaten all day.’
‘That’s a deal!’ He started to go down into his cabin, but then stopped and turned. ‘How many of you are there?’
‘Five.’
‘Right.’ He ducked inside and reappeared a couple of minutes later with some cans of soup, a loaf of slightly stale bread and a six pack. Soon, he was climbing over the guard rail and onto our boat; he was halfway into the cabin when he sa
w Tom and froze.
‘What’s up with him?’ There was a touch of panic in his voice. ‘Did he get attacked by one of them?’
‘No, he just got injured. We got knocked down when they bombed Glasgow.’
His mouth gaped in shock. ‘They bombed Glasgow?’
‘Yeah, they pretty much incinerated it. I doubt there’s much left. There’s certainly no one alive.’
‘They never mentioned that on the radio. They said they were doin’ everythin’ within their powers to stop the outbreak, but they never said they’d done that.’
‘What do you think “everything in their powers” meant?’ Claire snapped back.
‘I don’t know.’ The man carried on down the ladder. ‘I didn’t really think about it, but I never thought it meant that.’
Before Claire could launch into another attack on the military and their tactics, I cut her off. ‘Sorry, I forgot to ask, what’s your name?’
The man waved, ‘I’m Bob.’
‘Bob has kindly brought us some soup in return for us letting him catch up on the news on the television. So if you’d like to join me in the galley, we can get it heated up.’
Daz and Sophie were on their feet almost immediately, and Claire wasn’t far behind. Tom was already looking a lot better, but he was still too ill to do little more than sit up.
I called across to him. ‘Tom, you want some as well?’
‘Yeah,’ he shifted his position and winced, ‘that’d be great.’
As we ate, we caught up on the latest news. It was only as I watched Bob as he saw many of the images for the first time that I realised that no matter how shocking they were, we were already becoming immune to them. Infected were now being reported throughout Scotland and it seemed like the attempts to contain them in the north had failed. The defensive line to the south, along Hadrian’s Wall, seemed to be holding, but there were persistent rumours of people slipping through: there just weren’t enough troops to guard every inch of it.
In the meantime, the military had given up any pretence that the politicians were still in control and had assumed command of the country. They were also continuing to move in on the media and most of the news broadcasts were starting to sound more like public information films than journalism. The main message seemed to be ‘Stay inside and stay safe’. An emergency number was being displayed along the bottom of the screen which people could call if they saw any infected, or if they thought they might have become infected themselves. A curfew had been introduced and the army was now patrolling the streets of the major cities alongside the police, halting the slide towards anarchy which had been gaining momentum over the last couple of days. Scotland might have been lost, but at least it seemed like they were managing to maintain some sort of control in the rest of the country. This pleased Bob, and he passed round bottles of beer in celebration. Claire relieved Sophie of the one she’d been given before she could even take a sip and, much to his annoyance, she took Tom’s, too, telling him he shouldn’t really drink while taking the antibiotics.
For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak Page 12
