Storms

by Chris Vick

  When they were near, Goofy made a sharp starboard turn and raced to the largest of the Outer Gunners, then round it. They hugged the steep granite shore. They had the Gunners island, and the main Gunners Islands, between them and the men.

  There was no way they’d be found now. No way at all.

  Goofy grinned. Sean too, like idiots.

  Goofy toned the engine right down.

  Lancaster’s boat was a far-off whine.

  Then all Jake could hear was the wind whistling and the swell whooshing up and over the shallow rocks, lapping against the steeper ones. Their breath came in long and heavy puffs. Jake saw the sweat trickling down Goofy’s forehead. He felt it on his own brow too.

  ‘That was insane,’ said Sean, his eyes bulging, his skin white.

  Goofy laughed. Jake and Sean joined in.

  They were high and mad with what they’d done.

  It felt like victory.

  He’d been more scared than he had ever been in his life. He thought back to that moment in the cove – finding the stuff – then later deciding to sell it. Pound signs in his eyes had blinded him to what could happen. It was supposed to be a couple of meetings in a pub, not this.

  They came round the rocks into open sea and saw the black fins. There was Little One, covered by orange netting. The other whales swam round her. Up and down, in and out, along and under. One disappeared under the young whale, holding her up, taking over from another. Round and round like a dance.

  Little One breathed: Phwooooosh! The spray from her blowhole misted in the morning sunlight.

  Goofy killed the engine. He set the oars, and rowed. The skiff bobbed gently towards the whales.

  When they were twenty or so metres away, Goofy grabbed a wetsuit and snorkel, flippers and a knife, and piled them in front of him. He took his jacket off.

  ‘No,’ said Jake. ‘We need you steering. In case those bastards show up. And the whale knows me, from the beach. It’ll trust me, when I get near. I’ll do this. I need to do this.’

  ‘But your leg?’ said Goofy.

  The stain was seeping up his jeans. His thigh looked like a bottle of red wine had been poured over it.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said.

  Jake

  JAKE TOOK OFF his jumper, T-shirt and jeans and sat naked but for his pants and the bandage round his thigh. It was soaked red and leaking. He grabbed the T-shirt and wiped his leg down to make the blood go away; to make it look better than it probably was. Immediately, a crimson pool welled through the bandage.

  ‘Shit,’ he said, and wiped it again.

  ‘You can’t go in like that, man,’ said Goofy. ‘We have to get you to hospital.’

  Jake ignored Goofy. He tore at the bloodied T-shirt till it was a long strip, then held one end in his teeth and twisted the other. When it was as taut as a rope, he tied it round his leg.

  ‘That’ll stem it,’ he said. ‘And before you try and stop me – I’m doing this! D’you understand?’ he shouted at Goofy and Sean, glaring. He picked up his wetsuit and squeezed a leg inside. The rubber was tight. The tourniquet and suit would keep the wound as bound as it could be. But—

  Jesus, it hurt. He tried not to wince, not to show that every time he moved, a thrill of pain shot up his body.

  Should he take pills? No, he needed to be sharp.

  While Jake changed, Goofy picked up the mesh diving bag he’d brought. He put in a knife, the spear gun and a snorkel. Jake slung it over his shoulder and round his back, then put the flippers on.

  ‘What’s the spear gun for?’ said Jake.

  ‘Well, you never know,’ said Goofy, nodding at the whales.

  ‘They’re just giant dolphins,’ said Jake. ‘They don’t attack people.’

  Hannah had told him that. But as he put his arms in the wetsuit, he thought: Do I believe it? Any animal would fight to protect its young. And what would he look like to the whale’s mother? Help? Attacker? Food?

  A memory crept into his head from a programme he’d seen about whales – killer whales. One had been holding a seal in its jaw and thrashing its head from side to side to tear the animal apart.

  Would the whales think he was a seal?

  Would the blood in the water make them hungry?

  Best to get in before he thought about it too much. He zipped up the wetty, then took the board Sean handed him and gently leant over and laid it in the water.

  He sat down on the edge of the boat, breathed and paused, getting ready to slip in. Instead he stuck there, looking.

  The boat had floated, inch by inch, towards the circle of whales. They were massive. Bigger in the water, somehow, than they had been on land. And moving. All the time, moving. Muscle and black skin.

  Killer whales.

  And he was getting in the water with them.

  But there was Little One, under all that netting. And if he didn’t do this, she would die.

  He steeled himself, just like he did before paddling for a big wave. Feeling the cold fear in his gut. Owning it. Controlling it. Turning it into energy he could use.

  DO IT, he told himself.

  He was about to go in, to force himself. But …

  One of the whales, its dorsal fin as tall as a man, broke away from the circle. It dived and disappeared into the deep.

  Then bubbles rose from below, popping and frothing right next to the boat.

  A shadow was rising in the deep.

  ‘Shit!’ cried Jake. He grabbed the gunnel. Sean sank low in the boat. Goofy picked up an oar.

  The shadow became a shape, the white of its underbelly showing like a light. Jake could see the patches above its eyes, its open mouth, its teeth.

  It shot from the gloom.

  Just in time, it turned.

  Its head broke the surface, mouth open like it was showing them its teeth, just so they knew what it could do. It turned again, looking at them one by one, then fixed its gaze on Jake alone. Like it was talking to him with its eye.

  Who are you? What are you doing here?

  Electricity ran up Jake’s neck. His skin sang, not with fear but with awe. Sheer, mind-blowing wonder.

  The whale lingered a moment, its gaze steady as it turned over and headed back to the deep. Seconds later it reappeared, back with the other whales.

  Jake’s legs wobbled as he stood. This had nothing to do with pain. The pain had vanished. He moved to the side and put a leg over, dipping his flippers in the water. He had the mesh bag on his back. And before he could think – because thinking might stop him – he turned and slid backwards into …

  Their world.

  He climbed on to the board, and started paddling, as slowly and gently as he could, though adrenalin was coursing through him. He could hardly feel his body, or his hands dipping in the water. They looked mechanical as he paddled, like his arms were out of his control. He was numb but trembling as he forced long, deep breaths.

  He watched their backs; the fins, the rhythm of their circle dance. He was looking for movement, for change. Some sign that they’d seen him.

  Soon he was almost at the edge of the circle.

  He sat up on the board, took the snorkel out of the mesh bag and put it on, then dropped off the board and put his head under the water.

  He could see clearly that Little One was pinned under a great bulk of orange net. On the near side it was knotted and bunched, rising straight out of the deep.

  On the other side of her, it stretched out endlessly, floating into open water.

  The whales were still circling, but they saw him now. He was close enough to watch their eyes swivelling as they swam.

  He looked into the huge blue deep. There were two whales under the surface, swimming low, beneath the others. They left the pod and swam underneath him.

  He turned and twisted, to see where they went. What now? Would they attack? One of the whales passed him, and rose up. He felt sick. But it was only interested in the board. It nudged it: nosing, testing it to see if it w
as alive. Then the whale left it, to focus on the other thing in the water: Jake.

  It watched him as it swam softly by. It let out a series of booms and clicks and whistles.

  He felt the boom vibrating in his gut, being absorbed into his body.

  And what could he do? Swimming back to the boat would be pointless. It wouldn’t make the whale less likely to attack. Maybe more so.

  He had an idea.

  He put his head out of the water, took a long breath, turned over and swam down. And down. Till he was level with the whales, so deep that his ears were throbbing with pressure.

  He faced them, and put his arms out, so they could see him square. Then let his body rise steadily upwards.

  He did this so they could see him. How small and useless he was. That he was nothing. No threat. He felt naked.

  Because if they attacked him there was nothing he could do anyway. The spear gun was pointless.

  Whatever happened to him now, happened.

  When he surfaced, he used his flippers to reach the net. The whales didn’t follow.

  What now? Drag it off? No. Too heavy. If he could get near Little One, but not so near as to panic her, he could cut the net. Enough to make a big tear that she could swim through. Up close to the net, though, he saw that the job was enormous. He’d have to cut through dozens of links.

  He took the knife out of the mesh bag, grabbed one of the links of the net, and brought the blade to it. The knife was sharp, but the fibres tough. He sawed, watching the fibres break. One cut. A start.

  The net was wide and he was weak. He’d be at it for hours.

  All right, he said to himself. If that’s what it takes.

  Moving the flippers slowly, enough to keep him upright, he took another chain link, and cut it.

  ‘All right, man?’ Goofy shouted out.

  Jake nodded. ‘Bring her over. Slowly. Really slowly. We’ll have to do this in stages, and …

  Bham

  Gunfire cracked through the air.

  Hannah

  BHAM.

  The sound was distant, but loud and sharp. Hannah felt a shock in her gut. That was the sound of a gun firing.

  ‘Jake!’ She scanned the water, seeing only rocks and sea. A small group of islands was ahead to the right. Two o’clock. The sound had come from there. A long way distant.

  She looked back at Neil and pointed to the islands. He nodded, swerved the RIB, and headed where she was pointing.

  The RIB strained, crashing through the waves. Great sheets of water and foam banged over them.

  Dan and Jo were with her. The police were behind, launching their boat at the harbour. The coastguard were on their way too.

  But they were too slow. Too late. She wanted to race there. To be there. The desperation in her heart was tight and painful.

  Minutes passed.

  ‘Faster,’ Hannah shouted.

  ‘She’s going hard as she can,’ Neil shouted back.

  Then more shots.

  Her heart did somersaults.

  ‘Jake. Jake.’

  ‘Look,’ said Jo, pointing.

  A dark red flare fell out of the sky like a burning star.

  Jake

  A MAN STOOD high on the rocks, pointing a gun at the skiff. He was short-haired and wore dark clothes. It was the man who had shot Jake. Smithy.

  ‘That was a warning,’ he said. ‘Next time, I shoot you.’ He smiled, madly, like it was a great joke.

  Smithy had his gun and gaze focused on the skiff. He hadn’t seen Jake.

  Jake dived, praying the man wouldn’t see him, that he would be lost, among the rocks, seaweed and …

  The board. It was directly above. A giveaway.

  He braced himself for shots, expecting to see bullets whizzing through the water and feel them explode into his flesh. But they didn’t come.

  His only hope was to go deep. But the flippers moved slowly, like dead weights on his feet. He forced his legs to move, feeling his thigh throb sharply with the effort. As he swam down, water rammed painfully against his eardrums.

  When he’d gone as deep as he could, he swam to the submerged cliff off the island and followed it towards the skiff, below where Smithy stood. There was a ledge of rock and seaweed jutting from the cliff. Breaking the surface, he breathed deep and tried to calm his thumping heart. If he raised his head even an inch, the man would see him. So he floated, his nose and ears just above the water.

  ‘Where’s your mate Jake?’ said Smithy. He sounded relaxed, almost jolly. It was surreal, hearing the man speak his name. The man who might kill him, out here in this other world. This, here, was real. His whole life and everything he had ever known was so far over the horizon it no longer existed.

  ‘It was a trick,’ said Goofy. ‘We left him on shore. We scarpered. Throw you off the scent, like.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  Goofy kept his gaze on Smithy. But Sean glanced sideways and round towards the whales. Looking for Jake.

  ‘Why the surfboard? What’s with the whales?’ Smithy’s voice was hammer-hard now. Impatient.

  ‘We’re rescuing the whale that’s trapped in the net.’ Goofy pointed at Little One. The whales still circled, keeping up the rhythm, keeping Little One afloat. They didn’t seem to have been disturbed by the gunshot.

  ‘Crap. You said you came here like a decoy. What’s the truth? Perhaps you came here to hide the gear? Pass it on to a boat, maybe?’

  ‘We’re not smugglers,’ said Goofy. It was the truth, but it sounded lame. Like a lie.

  The motorboat chugged slowly round the cliff and into view. There were two men inside it. They must have dropped Smithy on the other side of the island, and waited for him to climb over. Clever. If they’d all come round in the boat, Jake, Goofy and Sean would have escaped. The motorboat stayed in the open sea, moving in an arc till it had trapped the skiff between itself and the island. When the boat stopped, it was behind the skiff. Jake couldn’t see it, so the men couldn’t see him. It was a small bit of luck, but it made Jake high with hope. If he could stay hidden, they might – just – get out of this.

  Sean looked from the man to the boat.

  ‘The police are coming,’ he blurted. Smithy laughed. His men did too. It was the sick laughter of men who might kill. Not even for money or drugs, but because they could.

  ‘Course they are. Where are the drugs?’ said Smithy.

  ‘Jake gave them to you,’ said Goofy. ‘You took them off him.’ Jake couldn’t see Smithy, but he could see and hear Goofy.

  ‘You think I’m stupid. What we got back was part of it. There’s more. Off the boat.’ He said it as a fact. He was certain.

  ‘No,’ said Goofy. ‘We didn’t take the rest, we …’ He paused, gulped. ‘We …’ He gasped, struggling to get his words out.

  ‘What? Speak.’

  Jake saw the danger now; the fear in Goofy’s eyes.

  ‘I cut up the bags and poured it all into the sea.’ Goofy hung his head. His hands, still in the air, began to tremble.

  No laughing from the men now. No sound at all, but the whistle of the wind, the distant gulls and the sea gently lapping against the skiff.

  What Goofy had said was true, but Jake knew the truth wasn’t enough. Not this time. Not here.

  Jake’s arm slowly, gently shifted the mesh bag off his back and round to his side. His hands searched for the spear gun. Jake’s heart felt cold as his fingers found the shaft and lifted it out. His head was light, as if all his blood was draining into the water.

  ‘I did it,’ said Goofy. ‘If you’re going to punish someone, this is on me. Let the kid go.’

  Smithy laughed again. His men joined in, like Goofy had told them the most stupid lie.

  ‘Yeah, right. You steal the drugs then throw them in the sea,’ said Smithy. ‘Makes really good sense, that.’ He snorted, coughed, spat. The globule spattered in the water near Jake’s head. Maybe it was a good job the man didn’t believe Goofy. He was more valuable t
hat way. They thought he could still lead them to their cocaine.

  ‘Where are my fucking drugs? You either have them here, or you can take us to them,’ said Smithy. Goofy lifted his arms a little higher. Sean collapsed in the boat with his hands over his head. He cried, a series of soft, desperate whimpers.

  Goofy lifted his head, showing a tear on his cheek. ‘I told you the truth. I swear.’

  Jake lifted the spear gun as quickly as he dared. It was their only chance. But Goofy had to gain time. Jake needed seconds to prepare the shot.

  Jake looked at Goofy, willing him to do something, to say something.

  Bham. A gunshot exploded above Jake’s head.

  His eyes shut. His ears rang. His heart froze.

  But when he opened his eyes, Goofy was still standing. Sean was still cowering, with his arms over his head.

  Smithy must have shot another warning. Their last chance. Goofy turned his head. Jake followed Goofy’s gaze.

  As the ringing in his ears subsided, he heard the whale’s shriek. A raw cry of pain, both animal and human.

  Below the net, just under the water, he could see a hole in the white skin under Little One’s eye and jaw. Blood flowed out like water from a tap.

  Jake’s heart filled with cold hate. He would kill Smithy, if he could. He would kill him. Jake unclipped the safety, and pushed himself away from the ledge before edging slightly further out. From under the man’s chin he saw the spittle flying and heard the screaming: ‘Where are the drugs? Next time I’ll shoot the boy!’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Goofy put his arms down, then turned and crouched to go into the locker. ‘In here, right? I’ve got the bags here.’ As Goofy turned and leant over, he glanced at Jake and nodded so slightly and quickly that Smithy didn’t see. Goofy’s back was turned to Smithy, and as Goofy stood up Jake saw a flare gun in his hand. He was lifting it, pointing it at the motorboat.

  Jake raised his good leg and pushed himself out. Smithy looked down. Pointed down.

  Bham.

  Smithy looked up, startled by the flare gun.

  Thwup.

  Smithy looked down again, surprised to see the spear buried in his gut at an upward slant. Jake reached up to the cord connecting the gun with the spear, and yanked.