For Those In Peril (Book 1): For Those In Peril On The Sea

by Drysdale, Colin M.

  ‘This is weird. There’s definitely something happening, but what?’ I looked at the others to see if they had any answers.

  ‘You know,’ Andrew said thoughtfully, ‘I remember my granma telling me how, when she was growing up, if a hurricane was coming, the dogs would start acting weird, and there’d be odd clouds in the sky.’

  Jack stared at the infected in the shore. ‘You think they can sense something coming?’

  Andrew just shrugged.

  Jack tried again. ‘D’you think there’s a storm on the way?’

  ‘Yeah, it feels like it.’

  I stared up at the clouds. ‘What’re we going to do?’

  ‘There’s nothing much we can do other than batten down the hatches and hope it’s not too bad.’ Jack was rattled. ‘We need to get everyone back here. This is probably the most sheltered place in the Abacos. We’ll have a better chance here than anywhere else.’

  ‘Yeah, I think you’re right.’ I wondered how long it would take, and whether everyone would get back before the storm hit.

  Jack got up and went over to the VHF radio.

  ‘Hey, this is Jack. We think there’s a hurricane coming in. If you’re not already in Hope Town, you need to come back now. If you’re here, we’re going to have an emergency meeting on my boat in about ten minutes.’

  After the meeting, we set to work, laying out extra anchors and a web of lines to keep us from dragging, no matter which direction the winds came from. All the clutter, all the little things that gather on the deck of a boat when it has sat too long in one place, had to be stowed away in any available space. Jon and Mike dealt with the dinghy, removing the engine before deflating it and carrying it into the cabin. I took the runabout and tied it up with the others in the most sheltered corner of the harbour so it wouldn’t smash against the catamaran in the storm.

  The garden boats posed a bit of a problem. They were large and heavy, and if they got loose, they could wreak havoc. They’d be more than capable of damaging or destroying any of the live-aboard boats they hit, and in the high winds there would be nothing we could do to rescue anyone if that happened. We also needed to ensure that the salt spray, which would be whipped up by the wind, didn’t coat them, contaminating the soil we’d work so hard to collect. Jon, Andrew and Jeff spent a frantic hour pulling the canvas covers across the top, bringing down the rain-catchers and stowing them away, checking the lines and doubling them up where needed.

  By the time the outer rain bands started to pass overhead, we were as ready as we’d ever be. We crammed ourselves into the cabin of the catamaran along with the dinghy, its engine and the sails which we’d taken down so they wouldn’t be ripped to shreds, as the wind built outside. Andrew was with us, worried that his own boat was too small and too old to survive the storm. As we waited, unsure of what to expect, we kept in touch with the others using the VHF radio, making sure they were okay and reassuring them the same was true for us.

  As the day drew on, the skies darkened and the winds picked up, the rain drummed on the deck and the waves tossed the boat back and forth. As it pitched and rolled, we held on to avoid being thrown about. Mike, Jimmy and Jeff had jammed themselves onto one of the seats surrounding the table, while Jon and CJ were nestled on the dinghy where it lay on the floor, wedged between the chart table and the galley. It was still partly inflated, cushioning them from the worst of the storm. Whenever a particularly strong gust of wind made the boat lurch violently, I saw CJ cling onto Jon as she reached for anything that would give her comfort. Whenever she realised what she was doing, she’d let go instantly, glancing around furtively, hoping no one had noticed. I was perched on the pile of sails, high enough to see through the cabin windows so I could see what might be coming, ready to react in an instant. Of all of us, Andrew was the one taking it worst. Unable to swim, he dreaded the possibility that he might end up in the water. He sat, terrified, with a life jacket on in readiness, his hands braced against the sides of the boat, flinching every time a large wave crashed against one of the hulls.

  Then, without warning, the winds dropped. I peered through the windows, wondering what was going on.

  ‘Is that it?’ Jon seemed disappointed that the hurricane hadn’t been as fierce as he’d expected. CJ thumped him on the shoulder to let him know he shouldn’t be so flippant.

  ‘No, it’s just the eye of the storm.’ Andrew had seen this sort of thing before. ‘It’ll pick up again soon.’

  ‘The eye of the storm? Cool. Can we go out and take a look?’ Mike was curious and I couldn’t blame him. You always hear that the eye of a hurricane is an oasis of calm within the maelstrom and he wanted to check it out. I had to admit I was curious too and, looking at the others, I could see they were the same. The only exception was Andrew, who remained apprehensive.

  I glanced over at him, ‘How long will it last?’

  ‘Don’t know. Five minutes, maybe ten. You can tell when it’s going pick up again. The wind will suddenly switch direction.’

  I considered this information. ‘Okay, we can go out and take a look, but we come back in the minute I say so.’

  The boys leapt up, CJ and Jon not far behind them. I pulled open the cabin door and stepped out into the cockpit. The harbour was unbelievably calm, only a slight ripple disturbing its surface. Above us, I could see patches of blue sky amongst the wispy clouds. A couple of frigate birds circled overhead, looking for scraps of food cast up by the storm. Palm fronds were strewn across the bay and, here and there, coconuts floated amongst the debris.

  Suddenly, my eyes were drawn to a movement. At first I thought it was a drifter, but then it slipped below the surface in a decidedly undrifter-like manner. It appeared again a few feet further on and I saw it was the sleek back of a dolphin that had come into the harbour, seeking shelter from the storm. A few minutes later, it was circling the boat, playing with all the new toys it found floating in the water. I stood there with the others, watching the dolphin, enjoying the spectacle. It was an odd moment of normality despite the infected on the land and the storm that surrounded us.

  As it swam between the hulls of the catamaran, I thought about how well adapted dolphins were to a life at sea. Over millions of years, evolution had honed them until they could survive almost anything the ocean had to offer. In contrast, we were creatures of the land; that’s where we evolved and that’s what our bodies were built to deal with. We were nothing but trespassers in the realm of the dolphin, but now we had nowhere else to go. We had none of their adaptations and none of their natural advantages. Without our technology, our aluminium masts, our fibre-glass hulls, we’d be nothing out here. Before the infected, it didn’t matter because we’d always had the land to run to if our technology failed. Now, because of them, we were marooned on one of the few places on Earth where we had no right to be.

  If, for whatever reason, we lost our boats, we no longer had the land to fall back on and we’d be finished. The thought made me shudder and I got an inkling of why David was so keen on trying to clear somewhere of the infected. He saw it as a safety net; one that would be there just in case we needed it.

  I took the binoculars, and one by one, I inspected the boats that surrounded us. A runabout had been swamped, but all the live-aboard boats had weathered the storm so far. Yes, our technology would give out eventually, but for now, it seemed to be holding firm and it was keeping us safe, just as it had been designed to do. I thought about this. As long as we looked after them properly, there was no reason our boats wouldn’t last for as long as we needed them. Maybe that was David’s problem. His army background meant he saw the land as the only safe option. Those of us who’d lived on the sea knew it could be different.

  I found this reassuring and I put the thoughts of how poorly we were adapted to a life at sea out of my mind. Instead, I cast my eyes around once more, this time not looking at the boats themselves but at the people who were on them. Many others in the community were also out on their decks, as curious a
s we were to see the eye of the storm. I waved to a few of them and saw them wave back. Next, I turned my attention to the shore to see how much damage had been done there. Many of the bushes had been stripped of their leaves and the breadfruit tree that had previously hung heavy with fruit was now bare. Some of the buildings had lost their roofs, but other than that there seemed little damage. Yet, something seemed different. It took me a few seconds to realise what it was. For the first time since we’d arrived, I could see no infected in Hope Town. At first, I found this unsettling and I realised I’d become used to seeing them there, lurking in the distance. Somehow the town around us looked even more deserted now they were gone. I wondered if we were finally free of them and, for a moment, my heart leapt. Then I spotted one, hovering in the entrance of an abandoned building. They weren’t gone, they were just hiding from the storm and I realised that just because we couldn’t see them, it didn’t mean they weren’t there, lurking somewhere. While I’d missed the infected when I thought they were gone, I found the realisation that they’d be back as soon as the storm had passed deeply depressing.

  I turned my attention back to the others. They were still entranced by the dolphin and were following its every move as it swam from one bow to the other and back again. Jon was the first to break the magic. ‘I wonder what they taste like.’

  CJ scowled at him.

  ‘No, really, I mean it.’ Jon glanced at the rest of us. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to get some red meat for a change? They’re mammals, aren’t they? Tuna’s okay, but wouldn’t you like a nice juicy steak?’

  Mike and Jimmy’s eyes lit up at the possibility, but Jeff seemed less certain. It was a thought, and I had to admit one I’d had before.

  CJ was disgusted. ‘You can’t eat a dolphin! What’s a dolphin ever done to you?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. You’d never be able to catch one.’ I was trying to be pragmatic and to put an end to this without seeming to take anyone’s side.

  ‘Rob, that’s not the point. No one’s killing a dolphin.’ CJ’s face looked like thunder.

  Jon was about to say something when we felt the boat shift beneath us. The wind direction was switching and it was time for us to go inside once more.

  Back in the cabin, the boys returned to their seat alongside the table, and CJ and Jon to the dinghy.

  ‘I guess you could shoot one,’ Mike mused.

  I looked at him, ‘Shoot one what?’

  ‘A dolphin, of course!’ Mike seemed tantalised by the possibility of red meat.

  ‘No, a harpoon would be the way to go. That’s how they used to do it.’ Jon too seemed to be taking the idea seriously. ‘If it wasn’t for the infected, we could drive them ashore, like they do — like they did — in the Faeroe Islands with pilot whales. Or we could use a net. I don’t think we could handle an adult, but we could definitely handle a baby. There would be enough meat on a calf for all of us.’

  CJ punched him hard in the arm. ‘You can’t eat a baby dolphin. That’s just wrong. Rob, tell them they can’t eat baby dolphins.’ She was now standing in the middle of the cabin, glowering at each of us in turn, hands placed defiantly on hips. I was captivated by the thought of red meat and took too long to respond.

  ‘You’re all sick.’

  With that CJ stormed from the cabin and descended to her bunk in the right-hand hull. It was cluttered with junk we had stowed there for the storm and she couldn’t have had much space, but then again she was doing it to make a point not to be comfortable.

  The winds in the second half of the storm were stronger, pushing and tugging at the boat, straining the anchor lines to the limit, yet they held firm. Looking out across the harbour I saw a small waterspout pass across the island to our north, but other than that it was as uneventful as the first and as darkness descended, the hurricane started to blow itself out.

  ***

  When I woke the next morning I could tell immediately we were riding gently at anchor once more. After a few minutes lying there on the pile of sails enjoying the stillness, I got up and went out on deck, thankful the storm had only been a small one. I gave the catamaran a quick once-over and found no major damage. I then spent a couple of hours going over every inch of it just to make sure. As I did so, the others emerged one by one, and sat around the cockpit waiting for me to finish. I could tell CJ was still mad at us but I heard Jon reassuring her we weren’t going to kill any dolphins, and that it had just been idle thoughts to pass the time in the storm. This eased her mood, but I could see she wasn’t completely convinced.

  Once I was satisfied the catamaran was unharmed by the storm, we set to work emptying the cabin. Soon everything was as it had been before and Jon, Jeff and I lowered the dinghy into the water so we could retrieve the runabout. We were about half way across the harbour when we saw a drifter clinging to the anchor lines of the nearest garden boat. I put the engine into neutral and we coasted forward. The infected sensed our presence and its head snapped round to face us. Its hair was plastered against its skull and I couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman. Its cheeks were sunken, almost skeletal, but the rage still burned within it. It gnashed its teeth and roared at us, one arm clawing at the water. It wanted us, but it wouldn’t leave the safety of the anchor line.

  ‘How are we going to deal with that?’ Jeff sounded worried.

  ‘With the rifle I guess.’ I’d have to be careful not to damage the garden boat when I took the shot, but it wouldn’t be too difficult.

  ‘We don’t have many bullets.’ Jon hesitated. ‘I counted then the other day. There’s only thirty left.’

  ‘I’ll just have to make sure that every shot counts then.’

  I considered this for a moment. I was impressed that Jon knew exactly how many rounds we had left. We didn’t use the rifle often and it hadn’t even occurred to me to keep track of how many of the bullets we’d used up. If we ran out, or rather when we ran out, it would make our lives much more difficult. We would lose one of our main weapons for dealing with the infected when we came across them clinging to floating objects in the sea, or if one got onto a boat and had to be cleared from it before it got to the people sealed in the cabin below.

  I circled the dinghy back and picked up the gun. I also radioed the other boats to let them know what we’d found. There would undoubtedly be more drifters lurking in the harbour, swept into the water by the storm, and they’d be clinging to anything they could get their hands on. When we got back I dealt with the drifter, dispatching it with a single shot, and we checked the garden boat it had been clinging to. I was glad to see it had ridden out the storm well and the rapidly growing seedlings were unharmed.

  We spent the next hour searching the rest of the harbour and we found five more drifters, four men and a woman. They were all bedraggled, some hanging onto anchor lines, others clinging to bits of wood that had been blown into the water from the shore. Each one snarled and snapped as we approached. Even in the water where they posed us no danger, being so close to the infected was unsettling. Their unblinking eyes burned with anger, as they bored deep into our souls. While most of the infected we came across were caked with dirt, these drifters had been scrubbed clean by their time in the water. This made them seen more human and it contrasted sharply with their infected state.

  Keeping a steady aim from a small dinghy wasn’t as easy as shooting from the more stable deck of the catamaran and I used up eight bullets finishing them off. Twenty-one left. It wasn’t much and I could see no way of getting any more. Bullets weren’t something that were usually kept on docks or boats and, as far as I knew, no one had come across any during their foraging trips.

  As we motored back to the catamaran, Jon was deep in thought. Eventually he spoke. ‘I think I’d rather die than end up as one of them.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Jeff looked horrified.

  ‘At least it would be over quickly. I can’t think of anything worse than being alive for months, maybe years, just empty inside.’ Jon pa
used for a moment, D’you think they remember what they were like before? D’you think they remember anything?’

  Jon turned to me, seeking an answer.

  I recalled the teenager I’d seen on Matt Lowe’s. He’d shown no sign he remembered Jack. There’d been no flicker of recognition or humanity. ‘No, I think the infection burns out the parts of the brain that make us who we are. Maybe there’re still memories in there, but if there are, they’re locked away beyond their reach.’

  Jon shuddered at the thought.

  That afternoon there was a community meeting to assess the aftermath of the storm. One runabout had been lost, swamped by waves, soaking the engine in salt water. It might be salvageable, but it would be difficult work. The engine would need to be stripped down, cleaned and rebuilt; a job that none of us had done before. Other than that, there had been little damage. As a community we were elated; we’d survived a major challenge to our long-term existence away from the land. Just as importantly, the garden boats had survived the storm without losing a single plant, something that pleased everyone … everyone except David.

  Just as the meeting was ending, he got to his feet.

  ‘Don’t you see? We were lucky this time. We mightn’t be so lucky next time and there will be a next time. There will always be a next time.’ David hesitated as if trying to gather his thoughts. ‘The garden boats are too vulnerable. Our own boats are too vulnerable. What would’ve happened if one of them had broken free? There’d have been nothing the rest of us could have done. They’d have ended up on the shore just like Dan did, and look what happened to him.’

  As the noise level in the room rose, it became clear no one was paying attention to what David was saying. I could see the anger rising within him, but there was nothing he could do about it. Everyone was just too happy to listen to him banging on about the need to clear somewhere on shore yet again.