by Perrin Briar
“That does not sound good,” Joel said.
Then came a sound soft and barely audible, like a whisper on the wind. It grew to the volume of a trickling stream, then to the frantic rush of a river.
“That doesn’t sound too good either, does it?” Jordan said.
The stairwell down to the maintenance bay gurgled and spurted as water rose up to the car storage level. A few Lurcher bodies floated on top. Prancing white-maned surf leapt from the stairwell and dashed toward them.
Joel and Jordan ran. They made a hasty b-line through the maze of cars, vaulting over bonnets and crawling beneath undercarriages. The rush of water roared in their ears. Wheels squealed, metal bent and snapped, and glass exploded as the wave swept everything up in its path. Cars were carried like Tonka toys, serrated body parts thudded into bonnets and vehicle roofs. The wave swept under the coach, lifting it and pushing it over onto its side, then forced it shrieking along the floor. The coach pushed the vehicles forward like a giant snowplough.
Just ahead was the door to the next level. Jordan weaved through the final few vehicles. Water sprayed the back of his neck, sending goose bumps racing up and down his body. Joel threw the door open. Jordan barrelled past. Joel slammed the door closed the instant the water descended on them. Huge fists of water banged against the door, water spilled in through the doorframe.
22.
Jordan and Joel tore up the stairs. The door bulged inward, and then flew open, the doorknob cracking the wall. The roar of the waves was deafening in the enclosed space. The water passed through the grating with ease, bubbling up like lava from a volcano, licking their boots.
Their heavy boots clanged in deep rhythmic echoes as they ascended each flight of stairs. The howl of the raging swell quietened, but Joel and Jordan weren’t aware of it as they pumped their legs as hard as they would go. They were ascending the final flight of stairs when Light gave another ear-bursting cry, and the boat turned again.
They slammed into the wall, the wind driven from their lungs. Joel and Jordan stretched and grabbed hold of the doorframe as Light twisted. Jordan’s feet left the ground and floated toward the wall opposite. He felt like a worm on a hook. His stomach trailed behind him. Light groaned to a halt, settling down once more. Jordan climbed through the doorway, and then helped Joel up.
“I feel like I’m in a washing machine,” Jordan said.
But Joel didn’t hear him. He was looking at something inside the lounge. “Now that’s not something you see every day.”
Two dozen benches ran in two equal-sized rows from floor to ceiling. Jordan raised a hand against the blinding sunlight that beat down from the window that was now in the roof, muting the pastel colours of the lounge’s interior. The light fixtures ran the length of the left hand wall like a railroad track leading nowhere.
“Light has turned completely on her side!” Joel said. “Ain’t that something?”
As Joel walked into the room there was a sound like sand crunching under his feet.
“Joel!” Jordan said. “Freeze!”
Joel turned. “What? Why?”
Joel looked down to find he was standing on a glass window that covered the entire floor. On the other side of the glass the deep turquoise of the ocean filtered into the deep darkness of beyond. Bubbles floated up from Light’s most recent roll, a million pricks of light that rose up in wobbly lines to the surface. The window was laden with the detritus of everyday ferry usage: empty crisp packets, used tissues, and magazines lay like discarded sprinkles. But that wasn’t what so grabbed their attention.
Long translucent fingers spanned the surface like a roadmap, all lines leading to Joel’s feet. The glass was thick, but at some point it must have taken a severe knock.
Joel’s face bleached white with the knowledge that should he fall through, there would be no finding his way back. Beads of perspiration poked up through his skin.
“What shall I do, Jordan?” Joel said, hardly daring to move his lips.
Jordan spoke whisper-thin. “Very slowly, get down on your knees.”
Joel did. The glass groaned, creaking like it were ice. Water seeped through the cracks over his fingers.
“There’s water coming through here, Jordan.”
“Good. You can wash your hands while you’re there.”
Joel smiled, more of a grimace.
“Very slowly, lay down.”
“What for?”
“To evenly distribute your weight.”
“Why?”
“Is this really the time for a science lesson?”
Joel got down on his front.
“Now crawl to me.”
Joel placed a hand and the window gave beneath it. He lifted his hand and placed it in another location, this one more forgiving. He inched his way across the glass, which splintered and cracked and popped, but never fractured into a hole large enough to swallow him. Once he got to the doorframe, he stood up. His body felt weak and fatigued. He breathed a sigh of relief that shook his entire frame. The cracks continued to splinter and spread across the glass’s surface of their own volition.
“The cracks are still spreading,” Joel said with dread. “Why are they still spreading?”
“We don’t have much time. We have to get out of here.”
“Even if we had ten thousand years we’d still never be able to get across this room. How can we if we can’t even touch the floor?”
Jordan looked up at the benches arranged in rows along the wall. They looked like spectators watching a drama unfold. In the farthest corner of the roof the stairwell door to the bridge flapped open like a trap door on a stage.
Joel followed Jordan’s line of sight. “We’ll never get up there in time.”
“Never say never. Give me a boost.”
Joel shook his head, but cupped his hands, making a stirrup for Jordan to step into. He hoisted Jordan up, who grabbed hold of the top of the bench and pulled himself up. The platform was three feet long, but only one foot wide. The tips of his boots hung over the edge, the drop to the glass below a good fifteen feet. Certainly not enough to kill him, but enough to pierce the glass like it were tissue paper. The gap between the benches was about five feet. Jordan had to crouch, back hunched over. He got down on his knees and extended his hand to Joel, who eyed it with apprehension. “The bench will never take both our weight,” he said.
Jordan hopped on the bench. The wood didn’t make a sound. “Seems pretty sturdy to me. Come on, we haven’t got much time.”
It was as he reached up and took Jordan’s hand that Joel picked up on the subtle shift in power that had taken place. It was usually him who gave the orders, who offered words of encouragement, who came up with the ideas and instigated them. Now it was Jordan. Joel was surprised to find he was not jealous or angry, but relieved. Finally, someone to share the burden of leadership.
The bench was crowded with them both perched atop it. They could hardly move without jabbing one another in the ribs.
Jordan turned and half-stepped, half-hopped onto the next bench. “Watch your head.”
“So this is it?” Joel said. “Hopscotch it over to the door?”
“Have you got a better idea?”
Joel didn’t reply.
Jordan hopped from one platform to the next. He got into a swinging, loping rhythm and was soon making good progress. From this vantage the glass below looked unblemished. It was only when the sunlight broke through the clouds above, piercing the water’s surface, that the cracks stood out like the capillaries on a dying man’s hand. Jordan stepped onto the next bench. It shifted under his weight. He crouched down and regained his balance, the bench rocking beneath his feet.
“Careful with this one,” Jordan said to Joel. “She’s a bit loose.”
“Just the way I like them.”
Jordan stepped onto the next bench. It gave beneath him. The bottom pushed up, the top back. Jordan threw his weight forward, but he knew immediately that he had made a mistak
e and over-corrected. The bench bolted forward, striking both the bench in front and the bench behind, the one Joel happened to be standing on. Joel’s bench did not move, but stayed in place.
The benches in front of Jordan fell into one another like a series of dominoes. The final bench was struck, but did not move. Despite the combined weight of the other benches pressing on it, it held. But surely not for long.
Jordan perched on the edge of his bench, waving his arms like a humming bird, a quarter of an inch between balance and falling through a plate of glass fifteen feet below.
“Now what do we do?” Joel said.
“I’m thinking,” Jordan said. The benches laid out before him like the peaks of wooden mountain tops. If he hot-stepped across them he might be able to make it to the end. But then what about Joel?
The bench below him jerked. He stood up straight and hit his head. His hands rose up instinctively. The bench beneath him stopped moving. Jordan took a few calming breaths before he looked up at what he was holding. It was the second row of benches. His eyes moved to the side like he was thinking.
“Joel?” he said. “Are you still there?”
Jordan daren’t turn around for fear of losing his balance. If he had, he’d have seen the flat look on Joel’s face. “Where else would I be?”
“You see the benches above us?”
“Yeah…”
“We need to climb up there.”
“How do you know they won’t be worse than the ones we’ve got here?”
“They probably are, but there are only…” He did a quick count. “Half a dozen or so left.”
“It’s that bad where you are?”
The bench acting as a bookend ahead jolted. Jordan tightened his grip on the bench above. “The bench you’re standing on, and the bench at the end, are all that are keeping us from falling. If either one gives way…”
“I’ll follow you, then.”
“Okay, good. On the count of three let’s both grab the bench above us and climb. It’s absolutely critical that we both climb at the same time.”
“What was that?”
Jordan could tell by Joel’s voice that he was in a different location. “Joel, where are you?”
“I just got off my bench. I didn’t know we had to be synchronised.”
The blood drained from Jordan’s face. “But it’s only your bodyweight keeping us in limbo-”
Snap!
Joel’s former bench jerked forward, adding to the bench weight, causing the final bench on the end to creak ominously, then crack. It spun forward, but with no other bench to knock into, it spun in a full circle. The bench Jordan was standing on flew out from beneath him, but his grip on the bench above was good. He dangled.
The bench at the end spun around on its remaining screws. It did not fall. Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment he thought it was going to-
Whatever was holding the bench in place broke with the pop of a handgun. The bench plunged downward, seemingly in slow motion freefall. The bench passed between the two below it, not so much as grazing the varnish on them, and then smashed into the glass with a hollow thunk. The bench stood erect, pointing up like Excalibur. Then the water began to filter in around where it had punctured the glass. The bench slipped through the hole, the sea swallowing it whole, disappearing into the darkness. The water spilled in.
“Sorry,” Joel said in a feeble voice.
Jordan heaved himself up onto the bench. He put his back to it and extended his legs to the bench in front. He edged his way up. His legs and arms burnt before he even got half way, but he pushed through. He could hear Joel puffing and panting. He was struggling every bit as much as Jordan was.
Finally Jordan made it to the top and pulled himself up. Joel appeared a little behind, having scaled his own bench. Jordan’s limbs felt heavy and unresponsive. He crouched down and made fists, pumping the blood back into them.
“Let’s go,” Jordan said.
The spider webs in the glass broke away, making the opening larger. The sea squeezed itself through the widening hole at an alarming rate.
Jordan hopped from one bench to another. One false move and he would fall forty feet into the maw of glass shards jutting up like a monster’s teeth. Jordan held his breath at every step he took, but the benches proved sturdy. After what felt like an eternity he got to the final platform.
About five feet of open space from the platform Jordan stood on, the door hung open from the roof like a flimsy milk tooth ready to be pulled. A square of natural light that led to the bridge, to freedom. Jordan focused on the round unadorned blob of a doorknob, the only part that could be latched onto with any certainty. It seemed impossibly small. Jordan took off his gloves and let them fall into the rising sea, now kissing the first row of benches, soaking the foam cushion.
Jordan wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. He coiled his legs, studied the distance and…
“You cannot be serious,” Joel said.
…almost fell forward. Jordan steadied himself. He glared at Joel. “You’ve got impeccable timing, you know that?”
“You’re seriously going to attempt that jump?”
“Yes. And so are you.”
Joel made a fart noise with his mouth. “Not in this life, I’m not. My hands will never fit round that piddly doorknob.”
Joel was right. His giant ham-sized fists would never wrap around something so small. “I’ll find something to pull you up with on the other side.”
Jordan coiled his legs for the second time, studied the distance, shut his eyes and said a prayer.
He jumped.
Time seemed to slow. The air resistance blew coolly against the sweat on his forehead and temples. The weightlessness felt invigorating. But the instant his feet left the bench he knew with certainty he had got the jump wrong.
But he’d figured it was better to overshoot than undershoot, and so when he smacked into the door headfirst, he was ready for it. He kept his eyes firmly on the doorknob. It was his world, his reason d'être. Nothing mattered at that moment but that drab little battered doorknob. He reached out with both hands cupped like a wicket keeper poised to receive the ball.
The door was knocked forward by his head butt. He adjusted his hands, extending his arms out further. He began to descend. His hands wrapped around the doorknob. He tightened his grip. His body continued falling. He anticipated the shock his body would have, and tucked his arms in to accommodate. As the door swung out wide, his body lengthened with it. He felt the jerk, and his hands slipped from the doorknob, but he forced his hands closed tight. His left hand lost its grip, left to clutch air. His right hand maintained it. Fearful of somehow losing his grip if his eyes were open, he swung with his eyes closed, the door squealing on its hinges.
He opened his eyes. His right fist held tight. Below, the sea erupted with white foam as if in anger. He pulled himself up with a bellow of exertion. He reached up with his left hand and pulled himself onto the stairwell.
It was like entering a new world. The air seemed fresher and full of hope. He allowed himself to lay for a few precious seconds, letting the relative silence wash over him. Then he snapped back to reality. He looked up at the stairs that led to the bridge, and then down through the door at the water rising rapidly. He ducked his head through the hatch.
“You made it,” Joel said, the slightest hint of trepidation edging his voice.
“Now it’s your turn.” Jordan extended his arm out through the doorway and braced his legs on either side of the door.
“You can't catch me with your arm, you bloody fool! I'm too heavy. It’ll snap off! Go get something else.”
“Just jump! We haven't got time!”
The sea had risen to midway up the second set of benches. Light juddered. “I’ll wait for the water to rise, then come up through the door,” Joel said.
“The boat will sink by then. Hurry up!”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Jump!”
Without preamble, Joel did. Catching Jordan's arm was evidently a lot easier than catching a doorknob. Jordan grunted at Joel's weight, and though his arm did not snap or dislocate, it wasn't altogether pleasant either. Jordan, red-faced and dripping with sweat, pulled with his whole body. Joel gripped the doorframe and pulled himself up the rest of the way. Joel laid on the floor just as Jordan had.
After a moment Jordan said, “I hate ferries.”
Joel laughed. Jordan joined in.
There was a beeping sound muffled by distance. Joel sat up and smiled. “I'd recognize that tired old horn anywhere.”
23.
Joel and Jordan hit Haven’s deck, drenched head to foot by their swim. The cold water felt incredible on their skin. Stan put down the horn he’d been using to notify them of their location.
Looking at Light now, Jordan and Joel realised just how lucky they had been. The ferry’s stern was completely immersed, the bow standing up from the waterline, only the first three letters of its name now visible.
“Did you get it?” Mary asked as she wrapped bandages around Anne's head. Anne grimaced in pain.
“Get what?” Joel said. He grinned.
Jordan unfastened the alternator from his chest pocket.
“What happened to you?” Joel said to Anne.
“Ask Stan.”
Stan blossomed red. “A little cookery accident.”
Mary pinned the bandage. Anne got up and hugged Joel. “Thank God you’re okay.”
“Don’t thank Him,” Joel said. “He was as useful as a chocolate teapot. Jordan’s the one you should be thanking. He was the one who got us out of there.”
Anne smiled, and then wrapped her arms around Jordan, a tangible feeling of awkwardness. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Jordan said.
“It was a lot of trouble,” Anne said, “but worth it.”
“Worth it if it works,” Joel said. “I’m going to go install this alternator.” He headed below deck.
The deck was silent a moment.
“How was it in there?” Anne asked Jordan.
