Safe Haven (Book 6): Is This The End of Everything?

by Artinian, Christopher

  “I love you, Em.”

  “I love you, but please stop crying; otherwise I won’t be able to stop, and it will totally ruin my image when I go back out there and the people from Kyle see me.”

  Mike pulled back, his eyes bloodshot and streaming, but now there was the start of a smile on his face. “You’ve got an image?”

  “Yeah! Everybody thinks I’m this badass, so I can’t go out there looking all girlie holding on to my brother’s arm, crying like a little kid.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t realise I was cramping your style so much.”

  “It’s okay. I’ll let it go this once.” She hugged him again and kissed his cheek. “Lucy said you’d had some problems.” She started wiping away her tears.

  Mike snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way of putting it.”

  “She said that you went to dark places.”

  “It was more like the darkness came to me, and to be honest, I don’t think it’s finished with me just yet.”

  chapter 7

  Noah walked the long corridor to the Jackson suite. There were lots of luxury suites on The Ark. When it was operating as a high-end cruise ship, most would set the average couple back about ten thousand dollars per night, but the Jackson suite made a few of them look like budget hotel rooms.

  He opened the outer doors and entered the foyer. Despite the well-built interior, despite the thick oak panelling along the walls of the hallway and the even thicker oak door leading into the opulent lounge, Noah could still hear his wife screaming.

  “Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

  The false smile that had adorned his face all day had vanished the moment he had begun his trek back to the palatial suite that was now his home. The flood had come as he had prophesied and as he had prophesied, it was not like the first. In reality, it had been a plague more than a flood, but The Ark had done what The Ark was meant to. It had saved the chosen ones. “Chosen” was probably a little bit of a stretch, but, nonetheless, the magnificent ship had been full to capacity the day after the news of the dead returning to life had broken; that was apocalypse capacity not vacationing capacity.

  For the best part of ten years, The Ark and its sister vessels had been the most profitable cruise liners on the high seas. Some of the devout spent their life savings to go on an oceanic pilgrimage. Others, less interested in the religious aspects of the cruise and more interested in the deluxe surroundings, were choppered in and out to spend a few days here and a few days there. They had permanent cabins and suites, both wealthy private patrons and corporate bodies wanting to use the ship’s more private enclaves to discuss deals that no one would want to discuss with the possibility of a parabolic microphone being pointed at them from a parked car or a playground. The corporations that had helped fund the building of the mammoth ships all received preferential treatment, with CEOs and senior board members able to use the facilities as and when they pleased.

  The whole operation was ingenious. When Angel with her femme fatale smile and a business degree from Brown had knocked on doors to put forward a proposition, so many had come close to laughing; they agreed to the meetings nonetheless just so they could spend half an hour drooling over her from the other side of the boardroom table. It was only when they had their lawyers and accountants go over the proposals in depth that they understood what a goldmine the whole venture was. Genius was too small a word, and as charismatic and engaging as Noah Jackson was, it was clear that the brain of the operation was Angel.

  Noah Jackson Ministries was a registered charity, and creative accountancy and some of the best lawyers in the country ran rings around the IRS, as Noah Jackson Ministries climbed into bed with a few of the largest and most sinister corporate entities on the planet. The fact that several of the activities that the good Christian vacationers could partake in were to do with delivering aid to those poor starvin’ folks in Africa and whatnot meant that the lines between charity and commercial enterprise became blurred beyond recognition.

  The whole concept was a smoke and mirrors magic trick that left every federal auditor scratching their heads and every TV evangelist weeping because they were several years too late to pull off the greatest legal heist of all time.

  The Ark had done all that and more, but the one earnest purpose of the seafaring division of Noah Jackson Ministries had been to provide sanctuary for the uber-wealthy and their various entourages if the shit went down, regardless of what said shit may actually entail. Before D-Day, or Z-Day as some called it, there had been worldwide cyber-attacks causing financial chaos, worsening relations between the West and the Middle-East. The trade war with China had looked like it was going to escalate into something far more dangerous, and tensions between India and Pakistan were at an all-time high. Of course, if anything kicked off in a major way there, their neighbours would soon get involved, and then we’d really be off to the races.

  So plans were put into place to mobilise whichever Jackson Ministries vessel was in port at the time of the pending apocalypse as an escape vessel. That term proved too simplistic though. It was far more than an escape vessel. As well as the vast food storage area that already existed, two decks were filled with tinned and dried food products as well as MREs in case things got really desperate. There were fuel tankers at various positions in the Atlantic just waiting; that was all they were doing year in year out. When the fuel was within a few months of its best-by date they would head to shore, unload and reload before going back out. The ship could hold up to five thousand people, but just less than two thousand, including catering staff and crew, were on board as it set sail.

  The Ark was equipped with biohazard suits, Geiger counters, and stores of drugs to combat radiation sickness. There was a full deck of more basic accommodation where private security personnel could be housed to make sure that the ticket-buying patrons were still protected to the utmost in a post-apocalyptic world. There was even an armoury, which was fully equipped by Stenna/Holson, one of the world’s biggest arms manufacturers and, coincidentally, a division of IFG Shipping and Holdings.

  The day of the outbreak, some of the biggest names in the corporate world chartered flights to Texas. As chance would have it, it was The Ark rather than one of her sister ships that was sitting in the port of Texas City just waiting to take them to safety. The cost of a ticket on the USS Apocalypse? $17.4 million per man, woman and child, with an additional $12 million for each member of staff who took a space in the lower, less luxurious quarters; all this was payable before boarding, with a third of it up front as a non-refundable deposit at the time of booking.

  Noah remembered that first day as if it were yesterday. He remembered how he had felt like the king of the world. He had watched the figures stack up on the computer screen, his eyes disbelieving. He didn’t realise at the time, though, that it would all be worthless. He had expected some level of normality to resume after the outbreak had been contained, after the governments of the world had broken out their emergency plans and dealt with the disaster. But, alas, it was not to be.

  They had picked up the broadcasts that the UK had remained unaffected shortly after they had set sail. They had got as close as they could, but the Royal Navy had made it very clear they were not welcome, so they travelled the Atlantic looking for safe harbour and finding none. A few months after the UK and Ireland stopped broadcasting, they began to make their way back to Europe.

  All this time they had hoped to find somewhere to land, somewhere to start afresh, but all they had found was their food supplies, their medicines, their ... everything depleting more each day. Now, though, there was a slim hope … no … hope wasn’t the right word. There was no hope for Noah. He realised soon after The Ark had set sail that he was nothing more than a puppet. He would have ended his life some time back, but, as ironic as it sounded, he had found some sort of religion.

  He had prayed for forgiveness for what he had done, he had prayed a lot, and as much as he wanted to die, he could not bring hi
mself to take his own life for fear that it would offend God. As he thought about it, it sounded ridiculous, but there it was nonetheless. Out of all the shit he had done, all the scams he had pulled, all the adultery, the strong-arming, the blackmailing, the cocaine, the prostitutes, male and female, the relief packages sent to African villages that had actually been arms shipments … out of all that he had done and was still doing, it was the taking of his own life that he was afraid would offend God.

  “Err, Mr Jackson, I think Mrs Jackson is busy, sir,” Doug said.

  “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Angel continued to scream from inside the room.

  Noah let out a sad laugh. “Either that or she’s auditioning for a remake of When Harry Met Sally.”

  Both guards couldn’t help but laugh too. “I’m sorry, sir,” Doug said.

  “What are you sorry about?” Noah replied. “You two are the only people who have had my back all these years. You’re the only two who’ve never let me down. You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Sir, are you okay?” Viktor asked with only a hint of the Russian accent he had when he first set foot in the United States.

  “The world’s come to an end. I’m stuck on a ship with the most over-privileged and insidious human beings who have ever walked this planet, and my wife’s in there screwing the hired help. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” he replied with a grim smile and opened the door.

  The door to the bedroom was closed, which reinforced just how loud Angel’s excited screams were. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

  Noah banged on the door three times. “Angel, you and your friend finish up in there, we need to talk.” The noise immediately died down, and Noah walked across to the drinks cabinet. He pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniels Number 27 Gold. He unscrewed the top then poured a single, double, triple, quadruple before taking another glass and pouring a shorter measure for his wife.

  He turned as the bedroom door opened and two young Hispanic men who he was almost sure had served him dinner the previous evening scurried out. Angel came strolling out a moment later. She wore just panties and a white shirt, open at the top. She smiled bitterly. Once she would have been mortified to have been caught in the act, but now she did not care.

  “Your timing always was impeccable,” she said, slithering over to where he was standing and picking up the glass. “This better be good.”

  “Troy thinks he’s found it.”

  Angel’s dead eyes suddenly sparkled with excitement. “What makes him think that?” she asked, taking a thirsty gulp.

  “For a start, they repelled the attack.”

  “What? How?”

  “Troy said they delivered the packages, the same way they always do, then, next thing they know, an old-fashioned air raid siren started screaming.”

  “That’s it? You interrupted my … entertainment for that?”

  “He said that they scoped the place out beforehand. It’s a long stretch of coastline, just one road, mainly cliffs down to the water, lots of cove and inlets. Hills, cliffs and woods to the back. Looks easily defendable, hence the fact they defended it.”

  Angel let out a sigh before sinking into the comfort of a well-cushioned armchair. She took another drink. “Still a lot of supposition on Troy’s part. The place could be a stink hole.”

  Noah took a drink from his glass. “Could be, but at least those people think it’s a stink hole worth defending.”

  “Isn’t the weather up here notoriously bad?”

  “My daddy used to say there was no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing,” Noah replied with half a smile.

  “Your daddy was an idiot, but this thing has been running on fumes for the longest time, and if we don’t find somewhere soon, we’re going to have all sorts of trouble on our hands. Troy has just about sucked dry every tank of HFO and MGO from here to Timbuktu.”

  “Well, listen to my sweet little Texan bluebonnet getting all nautical on me.”

  “Get Troy here, I wanna speak to him.”

  “Don’t you think you should put something on first?”

  “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’ll make sure I’m wearing my best smile.”

  chapter 8

  Shaw sat at the head of the tables and smiled as Emma took a seat beside Lucy. “Just like old times,” he said.

  Emma looked towards the space where Sarah used to sit. “Not quite.”

  “No. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s good to have you back though.”

  “I agreed to sit in on this meeting because I thought I might be able to help. I don’t know if this is going to be a long-term thing or not.”

  “Fair enough. We’re just happy to have you here now. So, I hope nobody minds, but I’ve asked George to pop in to see us too,” Shaw said, looking around at the faces. This group had made all the major decisions concerning Safe Haven over the last few months. They had steered the settlement from its shaky beginnings after the attack by Fry and his men to the thriving community they were today. They thought they had planned for everything, but they had never expected this … seafaring marauders.

  George walked into the village hall and nodded politely at all assembled. He placed a holdall on the floor then sat down in the vacant chair that Sarah had once occupied. “Morning,” he said a little nervously. George was never one to be the centre of attention, and he coloured a little as he looked around the pushed together tables. Raj, Jenny, Lucy, Emma, Hughes, Jules, Ruth and Shaw were all friends, more than friends, but he still felt uncomfortable as they all watched him take his seat.

  “Morning, George. Thank you for joining us. I’ve asked you here this morning—”

  “You’re wanting to expand our navy,” George said with a thin smile on his face.

  “You can read me like a book.”

  “Actually, it’s something I’ve been thinking about ever since last night.”

  “And?”

  “Well,” he said, reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out a tin of tobacco and a pipe. “Anybody mind?” he asked, looking around the table.

  “How the fuck do you still have tobacco for that thing after all this time?” Jules said as George took a pinch of brown flakes out of the tin and pressed it into the chamber.

  “Shaw, Hughes, Mike … whenever any of them go out on scavenging missions, if they happen across any, they’re always good enough to bring some back for me.”

  “They never fuckin’ bring anything back for me.”

  “It’s baffling, isn’t it? And you’re always such delight to be around too.”

  “Fuck you, old man.” Everyone around the table laughed and suddenly George felt a little less self-conscious.

  “Anyway, as I was saying, in the short term, given that our greatest threat is more than likely to come from the water now, rather than the land, we can take two of the mangonels from the Dead Man’s Pass approach, leaving just one in place there. If you think you can scramble up a couple more fishing boats, we could get them fitted on board and have them positioned equal distances apart up and down the coast. That’s in the short term.”

  “Not really much of a defence, but go on, what are your longer-term ideas?” Shaw asked.

  George reached into the holdall and picked out a thick, tall, antiquated, hard-backed book. He stood up and walked over to where Shaw and Hughes were sitting, placing it on the table in front of them. Several pages were bookmarked, and George immediately flipped to the page he wanted. The right-hand side was filled with tiny writing, but the left page had a diagram. “Here we go.”

  “A trebuchet?” Shaw said.

  “No. A dozen trebuchets, and these,” George replied, flicking to another bookmarked page. He flattened it out, revealing a title in big black lettering that said, “Siege Crossbows.” “I’ve thought about it and materials aren’t an issue. I could use Richard and David to help me with finalising the design and a few able bodies to help put these things together.”

  Shaw looked at the crossbows then flipped back to the tre
buchets. “You really think you could manufacture these in bulk?”

  “Bulk might be a bit of a stretch, but a dozen of each isn’t out of the realms of possibility.”

  “That’s a lot of work, George,” Jules said.

  George took a long suck on his pipe and released another plume of smoke into the air. “It is, but if you let me handpick my team, I can get it done. After all, this is Safe Haven. We don’t want to get sued for false advertising, do we?”

  The joke received polite smiles, but then Jules leaned across and took hold of George’s hand. “I need you to promise me that you’re not taking on too much.”

  George clamped the mouthpiece of the pipe between his teeth and placed his other hand over hers. “I promise you, poppet, I’ll be fine. Between you and Wren, I know I can’t get away with much, so I’ll make sure I don’t overdo anything.”

  “Where is Wren?”

  “She went into the woods with Wolf.”

  “Is she okay? I mean after yesterday. That must have been a hell of a shock.”

  “Wren has always been special. She’s always been self-reliant. More than anything, she was angry with herself.”

  “Angry! Why?”

  “She’d got out of practice with her crossbows.”

  “Seriously?”

  “She said that if she’d been any slower, it could have meant her and Sammy’s life. So, first thing this morning, she took Wolf and disappeared with her rucksack.”

  “She’s quite a girl.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “So, when do you think you could start work on these?” Shaw asked.

  “Are you saying I can have who I want?”