The Hurst Chronicles | Book 4 | Harbinger

by Crumby, Robin

At the bottom of the stairs, Zed could hear water cascading, a towering waterfall rapidly filling the engine room. The pumps would have no chance against this volume of sea water. Below them in the abyss, lay a body floating face down amongst the drifting debris. Anders leant on the rail, muttering obscenities, shining his torch into the oily blackness, picking out the twisted metal surrounding a hole in the ship’s hull several metres across. The emergency lights in the engine room flickered like some nightmarish vision. How much longer they would stay on was thrown into doubt. As a precaution, Anders kept his torch illuminated, glancing suspiciously at the lights as they passed.

  “Wait here,” instructed Anders, setting off down the metal walkway, gripping the railing. “I need to check the far storage room.”

  “Be careful,” warned Zed.

  Zed watched Anders’s torchlight disappear into the gloom. Left alone for a few seconds, Zed’s ears became attuned to the grotesque noises all around him. Above the sound of crashing water, bulkheads appeared to groan, their metal rivets straining against impossible forces. Even as he watched, the water level continued to outpace the pumps, now only a few metres below the platform where he stood. When he looked back the way they had come, the doorway appeared twisted at an angle. It took him a moment to realise the ship was already heeling several degrees to starboard.

  Much to Zed’s relief, Anders reappeared carrying two bulky orange lifejackets, some tools and a coil of rope slung over his shoulder. Anders’s trousers were soaking wet, dripping in viscous oil. They slammed the door to the engine compartment behind them, bracing it with a timber, hammered into position.

  “How long will it hold?” asked Zed hopefully, met by a shrug from Anders. They both knew the answer.

  From the stairwell came the sound of voices shouting the captain’s name.

  “Captain, come quickly. There are men trapped on deck four,” said one of crew, trying to catch his breath. “Theo has a broken arm.”

  “Lead the way.”

  “Stairwell nine is blocked,” he warned. “We’ll have to go around.”

  “Is it flooding?”

  “Up to our knees when we left.”

  “Right, the rest of you, finish your sweep and get topside. Tom, grab that blowtorch,” he said pointing to the acetylene torch and tool bag he had left against the wall. Anders was about to tell Zed to go with them, when he noticed the stubborn look on his friend’s face. Zed was going nowhere without Anders.

  Chapter 49

  In the maintenance room, stacks of coiled hoses lined the walls. Anders wheeled aside some cleaning equipment to reveal an emergency hatch in the floor. Between them, they set to work with a wrench and brute force to release the locking mechanism and lever the cover open. Underneath, a ladder led to the deck below. Anders went first, supporting Zed’s legs as he descended second, awkwardly clinging to each rung with his good arm.

  Everywhere they looked tiny rivulets seeped through welded seams, fine spray leaking from broken seals surrounding pipework from the flooded level above. Every creak and groan caused Zed to look round nervously, expecting to find a torrent of water cascading towards them. The eerie metallic sounds echoed deep within the ship.

  At the next stairwell, a sign directed them down again to level seven. Anders quickened his pace, eager to reach the trapped men. From the seventh step down, Zed sank up to his waist into the freezing water, following the others. He struggled to breathe, his entire body shaking from the cold.

  The gradient appeared to slope upward as they climbed towards the ship’s bow. Thousands of tons of water now weighed down the Charlotte’s stern, forcing her forward sections higher. Ahead of them, Zed could hear shouting, a heavy pounding against the sealed door.

  Anders’s flashlight picked out a tangle of fallen metal, cables jammed fast against the sliding mechanism. He inserted the fire axe into the narrow gap, attempting to lever the twisted metal clear, while Zed and Tom pulled with all their might. Little by little, working in short bursts, they exposed the base of the bulkhead door, misshapen by the force of the blast.

  “Stand back,” shouted Anders at the anxious faces beyond the reinforced observation window, “we’re going to cut through.”

  Tom set to work with the acetylene torch, attacking the distorted metal. Zed shielded his eyes from its blinding intensity, his attention drawn by the slow trickle of water from the light fitting. He reached out to touch it, nudging Anders to get his attention.

  “I know, we’re going as fast as we can.”

  After what felt like an age, Tom stepped back, pouring with sweat. Between the three of them they levered the door aside a few more inches, water pouring through the gap to fill the air pocket. Anders used the handle of the axe, pulling and pushing with all his might. The steady flow of water cascaded over the doorsill, sluicing. Before they knew it, the level would be up to their knees.

  Hands gripped the edge of the door on both sides, yielding a few more precious inches, sufficient for the first of the Filipino crew to wriggle through, swiftly followed by two others. With a final superhuman effort, the last two were hauled through. Anders embraced each man, ushering them back towards the stairwell and the upper decks.

  Tom stooped to gather the cutting gear but Anders dragged him away. “There’s no time. Leave it,” he ordered.

  Another low groan and the ship rolled a few more degrees to starboard. Off balance, Zed braced himself against the passage wall, trying to imagine the scene top side. He just hoped Riley and the others had got clear by now, anxiously following the spectacle of a sinking ship from the safety of a lifeboat.

  Tom supported one of the injured Filipino crew, his ankle dragging impotently behind him, wincing in pain, further slowing their progress. The passageway was recast as some fairground nightmare, the flickering lights, shorting and sparking, accentuating the unnatural angle of the floors and walls. Dizzy and disoriented by the unnatural motion of the ship, Zed slid along the wall, keeping pace behind the others.

  Another massive explosion tore through the Charlotte, rumbling through her cavern-like holds. Her emergency lights flickered and died, plunging the group into darkness to a chorus of cries. Tom’s torch picked out the faces of the terrified crewmen. One had tripped and fallen, thrashing in the waist-deep water. Anders hauled him to his feet, patting him on the shoulder and encouraging him on, wading towards the main stairwell that led to the crew quarters and bridge above.

  “Should be just ahead now,” Tom reassured Zed, checking his bearings. Rounding the corner, he appeared disoriented, looking back the way they had come. Debris blocked their route to safety, the ceiling had collapsed.

  “Head for the other stairwell,” directed Tom, greeted by an animated exchange that ensued between the Filipinos, reluctant to retrace their steps into the rising water, fearing they could become trapped.

  “We have to go back,” shouted Anders. “There’s no way through.”

  The group waded deeper and deeper until they were up to their necks. The Filipinos hung back, straining on tiptoes. A junction gave access to a downward sloping lateral passageway leading to the starboard hull and the site of the explosion. The ten-degree heel of the ship meant seawater was already lapping the roof panels, many of them detached like floating stepping stones. With the gradient, even standing on the tips of his boots at six feet one inch tall, Zed struggled to grip the slick surface, fighting for purchase. One of the Filipinos refused to go further.

  “Stay to the right hand side,” Anders instructed, hands above his head, bracing himself against the ceiling and wall. “It’s shallower here.”

  Zed was right behind him, next in line. The icy water felt like a clamp across his chest. Without warning, Anders disappeared beneath the surface, losing his footing. He emerged spluttering, his torch playing around the darkened walls. Zed dragged him back towards the shallows, the water almost too deep to stand. Anders nodded in gratitude, pushing off, swimming towards what they both assumed was the end of the
passageway.

  “Stay here.” Anders took several shallow breaths and dived below the surface. The torch beam picked out half-submerged items floating in the water, flicked left, then right at the corner before disappearing from view.

  For a few seconds, an eerie silence descended on the group, listening to their rapid breathing in the confined space. How long had it been? Zed counted the seconds. Could Anders hold his breath this long? Zed fought to dispel images of the captain’s clothing snagged on jagged metal, wondering whether he should go after him. To Zed’s immense relief, Anders’s head broke the surface, hauling himself around the bend and kicking hard towards Zed.

  “The stairwell’s right there. Just round the corner,” spluttered Anders, chest heaving. He gestured for the rest of the group to follow but one of the crewmen refused, keeping to the higher ground, where he could still stand.

  “He can’t swim,” explained his friend.

  “There’s no time to go back,” countered Anders. “Tell him, we’ll pull him through. Give me that rope.” Anders tied one end to the hand rail that ran the length of the passage and the other around his waist. Tom did his best to explain in pigeon English what they were planning and, after a frantic exchange, a volunteer offered himself up to be first through. Anders took three short breaths before diving beneath the surface again. Zed played out the length of rope feeling the tug as Anders tied it off to the far end. He reappeared two minutes later.

  “Zed, you go first. Here, take the torch.” Zed tied the strap around his prosthetic arm. “All you have to do is pull yourself along until you find the stairs.” He hauled Zed closer in a bear hug, wishing him good luck. Anders’ whole body convulsed from the cold.

  Zed steeled himself, eyes closed, taking several deep breaths, remembering a school breaststroke trophy when he was twelve. The task would be hard enough with both arms, but with one, he doubted himself, giving the line a firm tug before diving under the surface.

  At first, the salty water stung his eyes, squinting through the dirt and debris. A dark shape loomed in front of him, an item of clothing, carried by the current. He pushed the woollen sweater to one side, heaving his body around the corner, expecting to see the stairwell, but the taught rope disappeared into the darkness. Hand over hand, kicking hard, he hauled himself along. Something metallic reflected in the torchlight’s beam. An emergency exit sign. The bottom step, the line tied off against the bannister, just as Anders promised. He grabbed hold and pulled himself clear. The air tasted toxic. Chemicals that caught in the throat.

  He tugged the rope three times, reassured by the tactile response from Anders, confirming the next man was ready. Tension increased as the line began to pulse and judder, like a sea trout fighting to free itself from a fisherman’s hook. After a short delay, Tom broke the surface, dragging one of the Filipinos clear of the water. The man’s eyes were still closed, mumbling prayers and incantations in his own language. Tom dumped him on the top step, patted his shoulder and plunged back into the water to retrieve the next.

  Seconds felt like minutes waiting for Tom to return. The Filipino tapped Zed on the shoulder, gesturing he would scout ahead, not waiting for the others. A moment later, Zed was alone again, listening to the trickle of water, flooding in from above. He checked his wrist watch. How long had it been since the first explosion? Fifteen minutes at least. Tom and Anders emerged together, dragging the last of the non-swimmers, curled up like a newborn child.

  A powerful blast shook the ship. Zed lost his footing, falling into the water. He looked up wide eyed as a huge fireball engulfed the stairwell where he stood just a moment before, splashes around him in the water. He stayed submerged until the flames dissipated. When Zed dared break the surface, a blackened face stared back at him, coughing in the dense smoke. It was Anders, his hair still smouldering. The Filipino crewman nearest clawed at his face, screaming.

  Zed snatched the rubber torch from the water and played the beam around the confined space. Tom floated face down, unresponsive. Anders hauled him clear and lay him across the step, blood streaming from a gash in his temple. They spent a couple of minutes trying to resuscitate him, pumping his chest, giving mouth-to-mouth. Finally, Anders sat back, tears in his eyes, shaking his head.

  “It’s just us now,” acknowledged Zed.

  “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

  Chapter 50

  Riley clung to the lowered walkway, waiting her turn with the twenty-or-so others. All wore bulky bright orange lifejackets, shivering against the biting wind. One by one, they bundled them across to the Nipper until her deck could take no more. One of the Charlotte’s lifeboats waited at a safe distance, already overloaded with those rescued.

  Riley eased her way between the huddled figures sheltering behind the wheelhouse, some lying exhausted in a tangle of limbs. As she threaded her way through, a hand reached out to tug at her ankle. She turned, half expecting to see Zed. Instead, a blackened face pleaded for her help. She stooped to inspect a suspected broken arm, draping a blanket over the injured man’s legs, trying to ease his pain.

  Sam gripped the wheel, keeping the Nipper’s bow tight against the towering hull of the Charlotte until the last of the passengers stepped aboard. Engine in neutral, they drifted back on the tide until the Nipper was clear of the container ship’s stern, angling away until Riley could see the bridge without straining her neck. She maintained her silent vigil, alert to any movement, hopeful Zed would appear at any moment.

  In the light swell, the fishing boat felt top heavy with so many passengers. Sam kept his eyes forward, acutely aware of the fifteen degree starboard heel the stricken ship had adopted. Minute by minute, the Charlotte’s bow rose immeasurably higher, her superstructure listing towards them at an altogether unnatural angle. Tommy played the Nipper’s powerful searchlight across the container ship’s angular bridge and upper decks, scanning for survivors. The entire ship seemed poised to roll and crush them. The resulting wave alone might overcome the Nipper’s overladen deck.

  Riley and the others listened in silence to the strange sounds emanating from the Charlotte, her hull groaning and creaking. Secondary explosions, deep within the bowels of the ship, echoed metallically across the waves. A swirling vortex appeared near her starboard quarter, sucking at the floating debris, dragging items under the surface. Riley imagined each bulkhead and compartment slowly succumbing to the icy waters.

  She counted the people crammed on to the Nipper’s deck. Twenty three in total. Sam said another twenty, at least, made it out on the lifeboat. Zed was not among them, nor Anders, agreed the other survivors. Riley determined to keep herself busy, helping the most severely injured below deck, out of the wind. The Nipper’s own medical kit lay exhausted. Rudimentary at the best of times, its reused bandages, scissors and tape, empty boxes, items never replaced. She used a drying up cloth to dress the wound to a forehead, clothes coated in a viscous oil that clung to everything, like treacle. She dabbed at the horrific burns to the back of one man’s hands with a wet rag until he closed his eyes and pleaded with her to stop.

  Another massive explosion from amidships sent a column of smoke and flames shooting hundreds of feet into the night sky. An open hatchway below the bridge vented super-heated steam like the dying gasps of a wounded beast. The blast sent glass and debris raining down on to the water’s surface around them. As they stared in strange fascination, the Charlotte’s starboard rail disappeared below the surface as the sea drew its black curtain along the quarterdeck.

  Sam put his arm around Riley, mumbling words of comfort, her face wet with tears. She had to keep believing Zed would find a way out. Another blast rocked the ship, as if to silence any remaining hope. The container stacks closest to them could resist gravity only so long before succumbing to the inevitable. One by one, they toppled like dominoes, hundreds of feet into the water below, sending a giant wave surging towards them, lifting and rocking them like a playground ride to muted cries of alarm.

  A
shout from the Nipper’s bow. An outstretched arm directed everyone’s attention to the flash of a torch on the bridge high above them. Riley blinked back tears, staring into the darkness, trying to pick out the shapes in the shadows. A figure emerged, braced against the rail, joined by a third. Riley clasped her hands tighter in supplication, not daring to hope. Everyone was waving and shouting words of encouragement. Those on the bridge beckoned the Nipper closer, but Sam refused.

  “It’s too dangerous,” he said. “They’ll have to jump.”

  The drop must be approaching one hundred feet, even with the extreme angle. The men would have no way of knowing for sure what was below. Half-submerged containers bumped against each other, jostling for position.

  “What are they waiting for?” pleaded Riley.

  The first figure climbed the rail, getting his balance, deliberating the right moment to hurl himself off to coincide with the next wave sweeping through. Several others jostled behind him, eager to take his place. The man fell like a tombstone, plunging feet first, arms across his chest. From the Nipper’s foredeck they were shouting, pointing as the jumper’s head bobbed clear, thrashing the water, fully clothed, making towards the fishing boat. Tommy lowered their stainless steel ladder ready to help them on board. Riley could scarcely imagine how cold the water would be tonight. No more than eight or nine degrees perhaps.

  Two more splashes in the water, gasping for breath, eyes wide in shock.

  “How many more?” asked Sam to a terrified Filipino who didn’t seem to understand. “Yes, more, Captain,” replied another man with a more solid grasp of English, pointing back towards the ship. Riley squinted into the darkness, convinced she had seen something. The flicker of torchlight inside the bridge. It was impossible to be certain from this distance.

  There it was again. Two shapes on the bridge, adjusting controls, checking screens. They seemed to linger, tapping at keyboards. What could they hope to achieve, thought Riley?