by Bear Grylls
Beck leaned over and raised his voice so that Steven could hear him. ‘It beats London!’
Steven was clutching onto the rail of the airboat. One eye was closed, the other only half open to check on where they were going. Steven usually seemed to think that the world was one big joke – most of it on him, but that was still funny. It took him a moment to remember to put the smile back on.
‘It sure does!’ he agreed.
OK, Beck decided, Steven didn’t like travelling at great speed in a boat that looked so top heavy it ought to fall over any second.
The tour had begun quite slowly, the airboat gliding down a natural canal while the park ranger in charge pointed out the wildlife: alligators that lurked just below the surface, or sunned themselves on mud banks, looking like part of the scenery until they moved; soft-shelled turtles lounging on logs or under the water with just their snouts sticking out. And there were more birds than you could shake a stick at.
But then came the bit Beck had been waiting for. The pilot picked up speed and the airboat headed for the swamp.
‘Technically, it’s a river.’ The ranger shouted over the noise of the engine as the grass whipped by. ‘It’s not stagnant like a real swamp. It flows very slowly from north to south, and the natural vegetation filters it. The water’s clean.’
There was no dry land out here, apart from the ‘hammocks’ – small islands that were scattered around them, some only a few centimetres above water level. You could spot them from a distance because they usually had trees on them. They looked like small spinneys dotted across an open plain.
‘You want animals,’ the ranger called, ‘you’ll find them on the hammocks. I’m talking wild boar, raccoons, deer. We’ll be stopping for a while shortly . . .’
Soon the airboat glided up to a ramshackle wooden jetty that stuck out from one of the larger hammocks. It was a chance to stretch the legs, take a bathroom break and – Beck was amused but not surprised to see – buy reasonably priced souvenir items from a stall. The stall was built in the style of a traditional native fishing camp, a chickee – a platform made of palm and cypress wood, with a sloping roof of palm leaves. Beck gave it points for authenticity. He had seen this kind of structure in other places. All around the world there were native cultures in areas like Florida – hurricane country – where there was no point in building permanent homes: the next storm would reduce them to matchwood, and you could rebuild them in half a day anyway.
Steven walked up to the end of the jetty and stopped dead. Beck laughed at his expression of distaste when he saw the earth he was now expected to walk on.
Steven threw him a wry look. ‘Beck, these were expensive!’
He was wearing the brand-new suede boots he had bought for the cruise.
‘I mean,’ he added, ‘these are made from calfskin and it’s a well-known fact that calves never get dirty.’
‘This is how you do it.’ Beck took a leap onto the dirt and scuffed his trainers in it.
‘OK, OK.’ Steven stepped gingerly down. ‘Anything’s better than risking our necks on that contraption.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘Right, where are the cocktails?’
‘I think I saw a bar over there. They were serving these things in, um, coconuts. With, um, four or five different-coloured liqueurs. And at least three umbrellas.’
‘Beck, you’re talking my language! I’ll see you in a moment.’
They both knew that a warm can of Coke was as much as Steven could expect. He headed over to the chickee and Beck took the chance to stretch his legs. He was gazing out across the saw grass when Steven called him.
‘Hey, Beck, take a look!’
Beck strolled over, wondering what had caught Steven’s interest. The man was crouching down by a bush. Beck peered closer and whistled. What had looked like a large clump of withered grass was moving, sliding, uncoiling. It took him a moment to understand what he was looking at, and even then his brain spent a couple more seconds processing the image so that he could see it properly. The snake’s camouflage was almost perfect.
It was a python, and a big one. Its body was thicker than a strong man’s arm. The scales glistened like well-polished leather. It was patterned with dark brown patches the colour of rich chocolate with rivers of caramel running between them.
‘It’s beautiful!’ he breathed. And it was. He knew snakes well enough to recognize that this one wasn’t poisonous, and it was unlikely to attack a human. Steven obviously knew this too, which gave him credit points in Beck’s eyes. He was fussy about getting his smart new shoes dirty but he knew something about the wild.
Even if the python did attack, it was slow: any human just had to walk away. Though if it did manage to catch him, it wouldn’t end well – a big one like this could crush a grown man to death. At the moment, this particular python just looked like it wanted all the humans to be somewhere else.
‘I didn’t know there were pythons in Florida,’ Beck said.
‘There aren’t.’ The ranger had come over to join them. ‘Or there weren’t. Then some jackass goes and imports them as exotic pets, and some escaped, or they were just turned out when they got too big to be cute . . . and next thing you know, they’re an invasive species. They’re really giving the alligators a run for their money.’
Other tourists were gathering around now, with ‘Oohs!’ and ‘Ahs!’ and flashing cameras. The snake shifted and lifted its head. Its forked tongue flicked in and out as it studied the crowd.
Beck knew that snakes are sensitive to vibrations. When you’re walking through a snake-infested area, the safest thing to do is tread heavily. Snakes will take the hint and move out of the way before you even see them. This snake must have decided it didn’t like all the vibrations coming off a group of chattering, camera-flashing tourists, and it slowly started to uncoil.
‘Hey, fella, don’t worry. No one’s going to hurt you.’
Before Beck could stop him, Steven reached out to tickle the snake under its chin. The snake reared its head back, its jaws gaped – and it sank its teeth into Steven’s hand.
CHAPTER 5
Steven yelped. He tumbled onto his back, clutching his hand. The surrounding tourists gasped and took several steps back. A small boy burst into tears and was quickly hushed and comforted by his mother.
The snake didn’t follow through with its attack. It had achieved its aim, which was to make Steven retreat. Steven stared down at his hand. Several red pinpricks were blossoming on his skin. Then, to Beck’s surprise, he laughed.
‘Well, that shows me!’
The father of the crying child had come to help calm his son down. ‘Hey, there, it’s OK. Daddy’s going to make it all better. Look, Daddy’s going to show the nasty snake. See? Hey, snake, get out of it!’ And he kicked out at the snake.
Beck shouted in alarm, an involuntary cry of protest, but the snake flinched away just in time and the man’s foot missed. He stepped forward again, but Beck ran across and stood in front of him.
‘Leave it alone!’
‘Leave it alone?’ The man glared down at him. ‘You screwy in the head, kid? That thing attacked the guy!’
The ranger was suddenly at Beck’s side, trying to placate the man. ‘Sir, please . . .’
Beck turned back to the snake while the men argued. It was resolutely making its way towards the water. The rest of the group were gathered around, obviously not sure if they should try and do something. The snake reached the edge of the hammock and disappeared under the surface, barely making a ripple. Cameras clicked away behind it as it went.
Beck looked at the spot where the creature had been and silently wished it well. All it had wanted was to warm itself in the sun and maybe digest its latest meal in peace. It hadn’t asked to be disturbed by a group of loud, annoying, ignorant humans.
Meanwhile the argument was still going on. The father was threatening to bring in his lawyers.
‘Sir,’ the ranger said, keeping his temper with a heroic
effort, ‘can I remind you that the animals are wild—’
‘Wild? The animals are wild? This is a nature reserve! You mean you have dangerous animals in a nature reserve? What kind of outfit is this?’
The argument continued as Beck rejoined Steven.
‘Wow.’ Steven gazed over at the angry man. ‘I suppose I didn’t put two and two together. Just because a snake’s not poisonous doesn’t mean it’s not bitey. I mean, my cat at home isn’t poisonous, but she’ll bite you given half a chance.’
Beck had taken a deep breath to remind Steven on how to approach animals in the wild. But the man seemed so contrite – and hey, Beck thought, he had been bitten, so it wasn’t like he hadn’t learned anything – that he let the breath out again.
‘Can I see?’ he asked. Steven held out his bitten hand and Beck studied it carefully. There were a few drops of blood and the start of some bruising. The snake had just given him a nip, barely breaking the skin. Beck was pleased it had let Steven go of its own accord. A snake’s teeth, even those of a nonpoisonous python, curve backwards so that its prey can’t pull free.
‘Have you had a tetanus shot?’ he asked.
‘Last year.’
‘Then just put some disinfectant on this and you’ll be fine. It wasn’t poisonous but there could be bugs in the saliva. Snakes don’t ever brush their teeth, you know! There might be a first-aid kit in the stall.’
‘Well, let’s see.’ They strolled over to the chickee, Steven still clutching his hand to his chest. His smile was a little twisted but he didn’t seem to be in pain. With a wry, self-mocking grin, he added: ‘You can put this into one of your talks on the ship, if you want.’
Beck pulled a face. The thought of talking about himself to a bunch of strangers still made him nervous.
‘Like, what does Beck Granger advise about avoiding python attacks?’
‘Exactly. So, what does Beck Granger advise?’
‘Don’t get into danger in the first place,’ Beck said shortly. ‘That usually works with any kind of animals.’
Though he had to admit it hadn’t always worked for him. When things went wrong, it was usually because the animals in question were humans. Animals attack if they feel threatened or hungry. Humans can just decide they’re going to come and bother you regardless.
CHAPTER 6
‘So, this is the one.’ Steven and Beck craned their necks to look up at the ship towering above them. ‘The Sea Cloud.’ The name was painted below the rail.
They slung their bags over their shoulders and walked along the quay towards the gangway.
Their taxi had dropped them off at the front of the ship. A large white bow curved above them. A pair of anchors were suspended above their heads and looked like they were poised to come crashing down. The sides were freshly painted white to reflect the heat. Ripples of light from the water threw a pattern onto the metal that reminded Beck of the python’s scales.
A pair of lifeboats hung, one in front of the other, near the stern – the rear of the ship. Beck assumed there would be another pair on the other side. The ship’s funnel was sloped, giving the impression that the Sea Cloud was cruising at top speed even when it was dead still. A slim mast further forward carried the ship’s radio antenna and radar. The ship was sleek and clean, ready to slip away from the quayside and take them on their adventures – though smaller than Beck had expected. He had seen pictures of cruise ships that were like floating cities, with thousands of passengers and guests. This one, he estimated, was maybe 100 metres long, maximum. He counted two rows of portholes between the water and the main deck.
‘How big is it?’ he asked.
‘Ninety metres – seventy passengers and thirty crew, four thousand tons, top speed twenty knots.’ Steven trotted out the facts like he had memorized them. He noticed Beck’s surprised look. ‘I said it was small and private, didn’t I? Al said you wanted to get away from it all. I wasn’t going to expose you to thousands of gawkers.’
‘Hey,’ Beck said with a grin, ‘that suits me!’ He was pretty relieved that he wouldn’t be facing a huge crowd every night.
Steven ran his eyes up and down the ship. There was not a soul in sight. ‘Looks like we’re the first, though I assume the staff are on board . . .’
The gangway led up to the main deck at a steep angle. Here there was still no one around. Steven looked about him with a wide, happy smile. It suddenly struck Beck that he felt the same way as Beck did whenever he set foot in the wilderness. This was his natural environment. This was where he was at home.
‘Still no one? Well, we’ve definitely got the right time and place! Let’s find our cabins. We’re on C-deck, cabins twelve and fourteen. That’s the next level down.’
They walked along the deck until they found a door, and Steven was just about to open it when a voice called, ‘Ahoy!’
The man wore a uniform that gleamed crisp and white, and he strode down the deck like he owned it. In effect, he did. He had four gold stripes on each shoulder, and Beck knew this was the code that meant ‘captain’. There was something about the way he moved, and the stripes, that tickled Beck’s memory. And then he had it. He had been stranded in the Indonesian jungle, and had come face to face with a tiger. He hadn’t respected the beast simply because it had claws and teeth and could kill him. He had respected it because it was proud and powerful in its natural environment. It deserved respect.
The captain of a ship was like that. He was lord and master of this whole domain, and he had earned it.
The man came up to them. He was tall and powerfully built – he must have been quite an athlete when he was younger, though now he was running to fat.
‘So, you must be Mr Holbrook . . .’ He was American, and had a southern drawl that could make a word like ‘Holbrook’ sound much longer than it was. He and Steven shook hands. ‘Benjamin Farrell, Captain. Welcome. Welcome aboard.’ He shot Beck a curious glance. ‘I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were bringing your son . . .’
‘Beck is our prime attraction!’ Steven said proudly. ‘He’ll be giving the main talks.’
‘That so?’ Farrell and Beck shook hands, though the captain was still eyeing him warily. ‘I understood you’d booked some kind of survival expert . . .’
Beck gave him a neutral smile. He was getting used to seeing people’s faces fall when they learned that he was the expert they were expecting. He had made himself find it amusing to stop himself being annoyed by it.
‘I have. This is him.’
Farrell’s eyebrows went up and he looked at Beck with more respect. ‘Well, hey! I look forward to hearing what you have to say. Come in, come in.’ He pushed open the door and held it for them.
‘So where is everyone?’ Beck asked as the door closed behind them. The interior of the ship was comfortably air conditioned, and it was a relief to step out of the heat and humidity. The inside of the ship, he had to say, was not as smart as the outside. The lobby was patterned with a carpet that must have been fashionable in the seventies. The air was nice and cool but it smelled musty. There was nothing wrong with it, but it wasn’t quite as swish and shiny as Beck had expected a private cruise to be.
Someone had made a half-hearted attempt at some Christmas decorations. The loops of coloured paper hanging from the ceiling looked as out of place as Father Christmas had in the mall.
‘The main crew – and the passengers – will be joining us in Bermuda.’ Farrell led them down a flight of stairs.
‘Bermuda?’ Steven exclaimed. ‘I understood we were starting in Miami!’
‘We do start in Miami. The ship has to get from here to Bermuda somehow. Sorry, Mr Holbrook, I assumed you’d been told all of this, because those were the orders I received.’
Steven’s usual confident smile actually wavered a little. Beck sensed his irritation.
‘Let’s just say Miss Blake could have been a little clearer in her communications.’ Beck wondered who Miss Blake was. It was the first time Steven h
ad mentioned her. ‘Our boss, Abby Blake,’ he explained, when he saw Beck’s questioning look. ‘She’s the lady whose company chartered the cruise. She said she’d be travelling with us. This is a new venture for her – she wants to see it all goes smoothly.’
‘Sure, she’s on board – she arrived a couple of hours ago,’ the captain told them. ‘She brought her son with her. Nice kid . . . a bit quiet – a little older than you, Beck, but might still be company.’
Beck had another question: ‘How can you sail a ship without a crew?’
Farrell laughed. ‘Most of the crew on a cruise are there to serve cocktails and canapés and pamper the guests. You can run the engines and make the ship move with a crew of six. And me. We’re all aboard.’
They were walking down a corridor lined with doors. The same seventies carpet was on the floor and in places it was scuffed and threadbare. Beck assumed this deck was for crew only – they would surely have made it look a lot smarter if paying passengers ever came down here. Farrell stopped by a door with a brass ‘12’ on it.
‘And here we are. You’re next door to each other. Settle yourselves in, and if you want me, then feel free to come up to the bridge. See how we run the ship. We cast off at sixteen hundred hours, which is,’ – he checked his watch – ‘two hours from now.’ He turned to leave.
‘Oh, before you go, Captain . . .’ Steven said quickly. His voice had changed abruptly. He looked from Farrell to Beck and bit his lip. Beck sensed some kind of bad news on its way and wondered what it could be.
Steven turned and put his hands on Beck’s shoulders. ‘Beck, are you at all superstitious?’
There had been many times when Beck had been stranded out in the middle of the wild, and he had put himself in the hands of a higher power because he knew he couldn’t get through it on his own.
