For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak

by Drysdale, Colin M.

  Daz puffed out his chest. ‘I could do it.’

  His growing self-confidence made me smile. ‘Daz, you’ve done well so far, but you’ve still got a lot to learn. Wait till we run into a decent bit of wind, then you’ll see what I mean.’

  ‘Can we trust other people?’ I could understand Claire’s concern. ‘I mean, we won’t know them or what they’re really like.’

  I turned to her. ‘Until a few days ago, you’d never met Daz or Tom, or me, but you trust us, don’t you?’

  Claire looked flustered. ‘That’s different.’ She was obviously worried she’d offended us. ‘Anyway, I had no choice; it was the only way we were going to get out alive.’

  I slowly scratched the side of my face, where the lengthening stubble was really starting to itch. ‘I think it’s going to be the same with other survivors, but we won’t know that until we’ve met them.’

  ‘How d’you even know there are other survivors?’ Sophie stared at me solemnly. ‘What if it’s just us? What if we’re the only ones left who aren’t infected?’

  That was something I hadn’t even considered. I’d presumed that if we’d made it this far, there had to be others who’d made it, too. Suddenly, I realised I needed to know if there were others out there, or whether we were really the only ones who’d survived.

  ‘Okay, here’s a compromise. Why don’t we see if we can find any other survivors. If we do, and if they’ll let us, we can spend some time with them and then decide if we want to join up with them or not.’ I glanced at Claire. ‘That way we can at least see what they’re like before we make any decisions. How does that sound?’

  There was a general murmur of agreement.

  Tom sat back in his seat. ‘So where do we start looking?

  I retrieved the chart I’d spent so much time staring at the night before and laid it out on the table. ‘If there are any other survivors, it’s most likely they’ll be on one of the islands out here: the sea should have acted as a barrier to the infected getting to them. We can start here,’ I pointed to a medium-sized island which lay about twenty miles to our north, ‘and then work our way up from there.’

  Daz peered at the chart. ‘How’re we goin’ to know if there are people there, and if they’re infected or no’?’

  This was something else I hadn’t really thought about. ‘I don’t know, but if we find people, I’m sure it’ll be obvious, one way or another.’

  As the day wore on, the wind shifted to the north and started to pick up. To make any sort of headway, we had to tack back and forth, slowing our progress to a snail’s pace. As the wind strengthened, I handed out life jackets and safety harnesses, and insisted they were to be worn at all times when on deck. The strong winds meant it was more difficult for the others to both hear and follow my instructions, and it didn’t help that as the seas increased, so did the movement of the boat. Tom succumbed to sea sickness early in the afternoon and went down below, quickly followed by Sophie, who’d started to look a little green.

  By nightfall, we were still some five miles from our destination and the winds had built to a force ten. The waves, which had started the day as rough chop, had built into a sizeable rolling swell, lifting the boat high into the air as we passed over them and then dropping it into troughs so deep we could see nothing but water all around us. The mizzen had been reefed once, the main twice and the jib was little more than a pocket handkerchief. The rain which had started at lunchtime was moving almost horizontally as it rattled off the sails. Waves broke over the bow every few minutes and washed along the decks. It was rougher weather than I might have expected for the time of year, but it was by no means unusual.

  Daz seemed to be enjoying the challenge of sailing in the harsh conditions. He’d quickly picked up the knack of steering through the swell and tweaking the sails to keep us as stable as possible. He still couldn’t handle tacking, but that was hardly surprising, given that he’d only been at sea for such a short period of time. Claire sat in the cockpit with her legs pulled up to her chest, the hood of the waterproof jacket she’d taken from one of the lockers pulled tight around her head, and a pallid tinge to her face. Having thrown up continuously for about an hour, Tom was now lying on his back, with his eyes closed, on the floor of the saloon, at a point which he insisted moved the least. Sophie had bundled herself up in a sleeping bag and was wedged in the corner of one of the seats, looking dejected. She hadn’t actually thrown up, but it seemed like it was only a matter of time.

  Despite the darkness and the weather, I pushed on, knowing the others would feel better once we finally got into the lee of the island and by midnight I could feel the seas start to calm beneath us. Tom reappeared in the cockpit soon after, looking drained, but apparently feeling better. Daz took the helm and I went below to search the charts for a bay which would provide us with shelter from the wind and where we could anchor up for the rest of the night. Almost immediately, my eyes fell on Port Ellen. It wasn’t an anchorage I’d used a lot, but I’d been there a few times: the seabed was firm, meaning there would be little risk of the anchor dragging, and since it was almost encircled by land with a south-facing entrance, it would provide the much needed shelter from the strong northerly wind. Being the largest community on the island, it would also be the best place to start our search for other survivors.

  The decision made, I returned to the cockpit and gave Daz a new heading to follow. Since we were now going north-east, parallel to the island’s coast, rather than north, there was no longer any need to tack and there were no hazards marked on the chart which we’d have to worry about until we reached the entrance to the bay itself. With this in mind, I left Daz at the wheel and went back into the cabin to make a snack.

  Down below, Sophie was still wrapped in the sleeping bag, but she’d fallen asleep. I tried to be as quiet as possible, yet l managed to wake her as I opened the last of the cans of soup we’d got from the others in the holding area.

  She stretched and yawned. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Just before one. How are you feeling?

  ‘Better.’ She blinked blearily. ‘I think.’

  ‘Do you think you’d be up for some food?’

  ‘That depends.’ She got up, clutching the sleeping bag round her like a cape, and shuffled unsteadily over to the galley. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m just warming up some soup.’ I looked at the cans. ‘Tomato and basil. It might help you feel better if you get something in your stomach.’

  ‘Okay.’ She shuffled back to the table and collapsed onto the seat. ‘I’ll have some.’

  When it had been warmed up, I split the soup evenly between five mugs. I handed one to Sophie and passed three up to the others before taking my own and climbing back up to the cockpit. Claire blew on hers before taking a mouthful, while Tom sipped his tentatively, clearly worried it might come straight back up again.

  Once I’d finished mine, I took the wheel to give Daz a chance to finish his unhindered. While the seas had dropped, it was only because we were in the lee of the island and the wind was still driving the rain horizontally, meaning the visibility was poor and I had to rely on the GPS receiver to measure our progress towards our destination.

  Suddenly, there was a noise from below and Sophie shot out of the cabin. She made it to the left-hand guard rail just in time to throw up over the side. She wasn’t wearing her waterproofs, her harness or her life jacket, and I was about to tell her to go and put them on when something loomed out of the darkness directly ahead of us. It took me a second to realise it was a fish farm, a series of massive floating cages anchored to the seabed. They must have been new as I’d never seen them here before and I hadn’t marked them on the chart when I’d passed through the area the previous year.

  Since we were under sail and they were so close, there was nothing I could do to avoid the nearest set of cages. In a desperate attempt to avoid hitting them head-on, I spun the wheel sharply, bringing the nose of the boat into the wind. Sophie
straightened up and turned just as we jibed. The boom of the mizzen swung across the width of the boat and smacked her hard across the forehead, sending her tumbling backwards into the water. Claire screamed, but before we could do anything, our right side slammed into the outer pontoon of the fish farm, stopping us dead and throwing us all to the deck.

  Daz was the first to scramble to his feet. He ran to the guard rail. ‘Sophie!’

  Without thinking, he unclipped himself and leapt into the sea. The rest of us were up a second later, searching the inky waters, but we could see neither of them. I grabbed the spotlight, turned it on and shone it into the darkness.

  Claire was yelling desperately, ‘Sophie! Oh my god, Sophie!’

  Tom held her back, preventing her from jumping over the side, too.

  Then I found them: Daz, with his life jacket inflated, holding Sophie’s face out of the water, blood gushing from a wound on her head. I grabbed the life ring and holding onto the end of the rope, I threw it towards them, but the wind blew it out of Daz’s reach. I pulled it in and tried again. This time he managed to grab it with his free hand and as fast as I dared, I pull them both towards the back of the boat. As soon as they were within reach, Tom and I lifted Sophie from the water and placed her carefully on the floor of the cockpit. She lay there, unmoving; suddenly looking very small in the outsized clothes she was wearing.

  Claire barged past. ‘Out of my way!’

  She knelt down beside Sophie, checking her pulse and her breathing. ‘Shit!’

  Working fast, Claire started pushing on Sophie’s chest and breathing into her mouth. Daz climbed back onto the boat and stood next to Tom and me, shivering, as we stared down at Claire as she fought desperately to revive her daughter.

  There was a noise behind us: I shone the spotlight into the night and saw a man running along the pontoon of the fish farm towards us. Behind him were two more: all three were dressed in the same yellow waterproofs and black boots.

  ‘Infected!’ My yell alerted Tom and Daz. Together the three of us tried to push the boat away from the fish farm, but it wouldn’t budge. I ran the spotlight’s beam along the side of the boat, revealing the point where our guard rail had become entangled in the metal framework of the cages. The men continued their charge, their boots rattling the metal walkway as they pounded towards us.

  As I set to work trying get us free, the other two grabbed the boathooks. Tom was the first one to step onto the pontoon, with Daz close behind. Standing side by side, they waited for the infected to come within range; Daz trembling with cold and fear, Tom standing firm. Each held their boathook like a baseball bat, ready to swing. When the first was only a few feet away, Tom lashed out, grimacing as pain shot through his still unhealed body. He caught the infected across the side of its beard-covered face, sending it spinning into the water. It thrashed there, gripping on to the edge of the walkway and trying desperately to climb back out. The second arrived, younger and leaner than the first, and moving faster. This time is was Daz who struck out, catching it on the shoulder rather than the head: it stumbled, but didn’t go down. Daz swung again, this time breaking the wooden handle of the boathook across the side of the infected’s head: it dropped like a stone onto the pontoon.

  Tom and Daz glanced down, wondering what to do with the body which now lay at their feet. The distraction was enough to allow the third infected, who was little more than a lanky teenager, to take them by surprise. He lunged for Tom; doing his best to get out of the way, Tom tripped over the body lying on the walkway and stumbled into the water, sending the first of the infected into a frenzy as it stretched its grasping hands towards him. The boy turned his attention to Daz. Left with only the broken handle, Daz thrust it deep into the infected’s chest. The boy sank to his knees and Daz kicked him as hard as he could, sending him tumbling into the cage. As he slipped beneath the surface, I leapt onto the pontoon and grabbed Tom, pulling him out of the water just before the bearded man managed to reach him.

  The three of us stood there, breathless and terrified; the wind whipping across our faces and driving the rain against our skin.

  ‘D’you think there’re any more of them?’ Daz’s eyes darted along the walkways, searching for signs of any further infected.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Tom was breathing heavily. ‘Let’s just get the hell away from here.’

  I slicked my hair back with one hand. ‘It’s going to take time to get the boat untangled.’

  ‘How long?’ Daz was soaking wet and his teeth were starting to chatter as he shivered and rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself up.

  ‘I don’t know; five, maybe ten minutes.’ I jumped back onto the boat where Claire was still working away on her daughter. I glanced at Sophie: her face was grey and her lips were blue. ‘Is she doing any better?’

  Claire didn’t stop, or even look up. ‘No.’

  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

  ‘Just give me space; let me work.’ Claire snapped back.

  I swung myself down into the cabin and searched through my toolbox, looking for something that might prove useful. I had a hacksaw in mind, but my eyes fell on a pair of bolt cutters. Grabbing them, I climbed back onto the deck and, with a last look at Sophie, I ran forward to where Tom and Daz were trying to separate the metal work of the fish farm from the guard rail.

  As I got there, another infected came screaming out of the darkness. I stepped onto the walkway and swung the heavy bolt cutters. It stumbled backwards, but it wasn’t dead. Before it could get back to its feet, I fell on it, swinging the bolt cutters again and again until its face was barely recognisable. I stared at what I’d just done, and felt nothing but the rush of adrenaline pumping through my veins. I quickly turned my attention to the boat. Kneeling on the pontoon, I realised the situation wasn’t as bad as I’d first assumed. I took the bolt cutters and cut through the guard rails on either side of where they were tangled and within seconds the yacht was free.

  Almost immediately, the wind started to push it away, and the moment I realised what was happening, I leapt for the boat, landing half on the deck and half off. I struggled, knowing that if I fell into the water, the boat would drift away faster than I could swim, and with only Claire and an injured Sophie on board, there was no one who’d be able to sail it back. As we picked up speed, I could feel my feet dragging through the water and pulling me downwards. Using my elbows, I fought desperately to pull myself up and, on the third attempt, I managed to swing my left leg onto the deck. I hung there for a second, regaining my strength and catching my breath before dragging myself fully on board. The moment I was there, I jumped to my feet and looked back. Neither Tom or Daz had realised what was happening and were standing in their blood-streaked jackets, faces etched with fear, staring after the boat as it drifted ever further from them.

  I ran back to the cockpit, stepping on the seats to avoid Sophie as Claire continued to pump her chest and breath for her. The blueness had disappeared from her lips and there was now a hint of pink to her skin: I hoped this was a good sign. Claire stopped for a moment and checked Sophie’s pulse before carrying on.

  As I reached the wheel, I spun it to the left, turning us away from the fish farm. I heard Daz and Tom shouting after us, scared I was leaving them behind, yet I had no choice: before I could have any hope of going back for them, I’d need to turn the boat through the wind. With the wheel hard over, the boat tipped sharply to the left as it turned.

  Without even taking her eyes of Sophie, Claire screamed angrily. ‘Keep the bloody thing stable!’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’ I straightened up the helm, ‘but we need to go back for the others!’

  Claire glanced round. ‘Where the hell are they?’

  ‘On the fish farm.’ I turned the wheel again. ‘There are infected there, too.’

  Claire paused for a second, seeing the blood on my jacket for the first time and realising how dangerous the situation had become. ‘Just try and keep us as steady as possib
le.’

  The boat finished its turn and we were once again running north-east. I was aiming to steer a course which would take us along the side of the pontoon that was at a right angle to the one we’d previously hit. As we drew alongside, another infected, this time a woman, appeared out of the night, running at Tom and Daz. Weaponless, they’d stand little chance if I didn’t get to them before the infected did. As soon as I thought we were close enough, I pulled the wheel to the left, but oversteered and the boat crashed against the pontoon. Luckily, we didn’t become entangled again, and Tom leapt, landing heavily on the foredeck. Daz followed a moment later, but by then we were bouncing away from the fish farm and he only just made it across the widening gap. As he landed, Tom had to grab him to stop him falling backwards into the sea.

  The woman drew level with us and screamed as she threw herself towards the boat. I turned the wheel to the right, taking us far enough from the pontoon to ensure she didn’t land on the deck. Instead, her hands closed over the guard rail and she hung there, struggling to drag herself on board. I pulled the wheel to the left once more, aiming for the pontoon. As we glanced off it again, the woman was crushed between the edge of the fish cage and the hull. I watched as her grip loosened and she dropped into the water.

  Beneath me, I heard a cough and a splutter, and I looked down to see Sophie spitting water onto the deck. I shifted my gaze to Claire. ‘That was a long time to not be breathing for; will she be okay?’

  A second later, Sophie’s eyes opened and she tried to sit up. Claire hugged her, the tears streaming down her face. She looked up at me, ‘I timed it. It was only three minutes.’ She stroked Sophie’s wet hair and smiled. ’She’ll be fine.’

  As Tom and Daz made their way back to the cockpit, I stood amazed at all that had happened in such a short length of time: to me it had seemed like hours.