by Perrin Briar
The air was fusty with age, the sunlight failing to filter through the portholes located on the sides of the ship. He took the torch out of his pocket and waved it around at the darkness. Lights danced off the peeling walls.
Bill pushed a heavy door with ‘Wheelhouse’ etched on it. The only porthole that allowed light was in the top left-hand corner, but even that was dark with grime.
A shadow stretched across the wall from one corner that stuck out like it been half pried off. Bill moved over to it. Some kind of underwater centipede crawled out of it, and then worked its way back in. Bill slid his fingers in through the hole and peered behind it.
The walls had been covered with wood panelling, attached directly to the original wood of the ship. Bill’s heart raced like a child waking up on Christmas Day. He peered at the panels, at the pegs holding them in place. They were short stubs affixed with bolts. They would not be difficult to remove.
Bill returned to the outer corridor and turned into a large room where the tables had been thrust against the wall. He climbed over the long counter at the front and entered a backroom. All the kitchen utensils were piled up in the large cupboard space.
Bill set to filling the net he carried, loading first the pots and pans, then the cutlery, plates and bowls. He dragged the net toward the door, careful not to overstuff it. There were still plenty of cups and other items, but it was unlikely the Flowers would be playing host to guests for a while.
Bill took out his torch, expelling the shadows. The ship shuddered. Bill gripped the doorway. His swag began to slide across the floor. Bill hooked his foot through a hole in the netting and waited for the shuddering to stop.
The net slid into a hole in the wall that Bill hadn’t noticed was there. Bill gripped it with both hands, but the contents of the net was too heavy. He braced the weight with his legs and yanked hard to pull it back up. Once, twice, three times… There was a loud creak and the snap of wooden fibres, and the corridor wall gave way beneath his feet.
He fell for two seconds… three… four… Then his upper back hit the water’s surface. He held his breath, and immediately smacked into something hard and flat, forcing the air out of his lungs. He wheezed like an old smoker on fifty a day.
He got to his knees, and, about to get to his feet, paused, remembering his medical training. If he ran for help he would collapse long before reaching Fritz and Ernest on the surface.
He put his hands on his head to expand his lungs to their full size and closed his eyes, concentrating on sipping air into his lungs. He broke out into a cold sweat. As he breathed he felt his lung capacity expand, like a great weight was being lifted from him. He relaxed, letting himself breathe normally.
He got to his feet and brushed himself off. He was wet up to the shins, soaked through with stagnant water. He took the torch out of his pocket and aimed it up in the direction he’d fallen from.
The hole was higher than he expected. He couldn’t reach it by jumping or climbing. He turned and found a large staircase that wound up.
Bill’s foot connected with something that skimmed across the water’s surface and collided with something in the middle of the room with a dull metallic Ting!
He turned his torch on it. The bulb flickered. Bill smacked it against his palm. The light came back on. Bill’s eyes widened at what it illuminated.
“Oh my God,” he said.
Chapter Thirteen
BILL DUMPED a handful of yellow coins, a goblet and a set of shiny plates on the table.
“The coins are gold,” Bill said. “The goblet and plates are silver. There are mounds and mounds of treasure in the cargo hold of The Red Flag. No wonder it’s sinking with all that inside it!”
“Gold?” Liz said, picking up a gold coin.
“And a person, well, a skeleton now,” Bill said.
“What do you mean?” Liz said.
“Someone was lying amongst the treasure,” Bill said. “Wearing old clothes, from the seventeenth or eighteenth century, though I’m no expert. I left the gold. I don’t see how it’ll be of much use to us now. I just took these.”
The plates were solid silver with intricate floral designs around the edges. The goblet had large jewel stones around the lip.
“Thought we could use them for special occasions or something,” Bill said.
Liz fingered the skull etched into the goblet’s base.
“A bit morbid, isn’t it?” she said.
“I think it’s pretty cool,” Bill said.
Liz fingered the bright sparkling jewels.
“Are these real?” she said.
“I think so,” Bill said. “With all that gold why would you have fake ones?”
“Who was he?” Liz said. “The man in the hold?”
“I have no idea,” Bill said. “I’m not even sure if it was a man. But this stuff isn’t much use to them now. And I found something else too.”
He took a seat at the table and poured himself a cup of water. He took a long pull.
“I’m going to unbolt the panelling in the wheelhouse,” he said. “I’ve got the tools now. I can pry the wall panels free and bring them to shore. It’ll remove the need to build a whole new interior out of wood for the treehouse. I’ll be able to bring it here and reassemble it into a room. It means we won’t have to build everything from scratch. We’ll have a permanent structure over our heads.
“Funny, how the value of things changes depending on your circumstances. If this was the old world we would be able to pay people to come here and build us a mansion. We could pay kings to come build our house here. Why is it we never get the things we need when we need them?”
“Because then life would be easy,” Liz said.
“Sounds good to me,” Bill said.
“How’s the salvaging going?” Liz said.
“Slow,” Bill said, putting his feet on the table.
“It would go faster if you let the boys help,” Liz said.
Bill waved his hand, dismissing the idea.
“When do you think we’ll have the treehouse built?” Liz said.
“Depends how fast I can get the panels off the ship and transported here,” Bill said.
He stood up.
“It’s not going to get done any faster with me sitting here gabbing with you though, is it?” Bill said.
He left. Liz frowned and bit her lip.
Chapter Fourteen
AS THE NIGHT waded in and the light lost its resolve, small points of fuzzy yellow light floated up. First one, then a dozen, then hundreds, until the jungle was alive with fireflies. A fairy tale of glowing lights.
Bill stood at the tree stump the family used as a table with the pink radio laid in pieces before him like he was carrying out an autopsy. The pocket torch hung from a vine above the table, swaying lightly and making the shadows move like dancers around a May pole.
Bill picked up the radio’s outer casing and blew into it. He wiped the dust away with a rag. Content it was clean, he began reassembling the radio piece by piece.
“Any luck fixing the radio?” Liz said, drifting over from the treehouse.
“Not yet,” Bill said. “The boys?”
“Fast asleep,” Liz said. “It’s been a long day for them.”
Bill never took his eyes off the radio, concentrating all his effort on the exercise.
“Wonder what we’ll hear when the radio does work,” Liz said. “Maybe they’ll say it’s all clear and we can go home.”
“Maybe,” Bill said.
“But you don’t think it’s likely,” Liz said.
“At this point, no,” Bill said. “There was too much on the radio before. Too many warnings for it to be anything but a worldwide disaster.”
“It’s strange to be disconnected from the world for so long, don’t you think?” Liz said. “I don’t think I’ve ever gone so long without hearing the news. It’s like the rest of the world doesn’t even exist anymore.”
Bill stopped assembling the
radio.
“Would you prefer for the radio not to work?” he said. “For us to stay here forever? We could, you know. We don’t have to listen.”
“No,” Liz said. “I want to return home one day, if we can.”
Bill nodded, and then continued with the reassembly.
“Don’t you want to know what’s going on out there?” Liz said.
“I’m rebuilding the radio,” Bill said. “I would have thought my intentions were pretty clear.”
“Some people do all the hard work and decide not to take the final step,” Liz said.
“I’m not one of those people,” Bill said.
“I know,” Liz said. “Being disconnected affects people in different ways, don’t you think? Some people, when they’re on an island, they pull together and get closer, form close bonds they might never have otherwise have made. Others drift away, becoming their own little island. An island within an island. They never return to the person they once were, to the family that loves them. They do things, experience things, that change them forever.”
Bill sighed and turned to Liz.
“What do you want to say to me, Liz?” Bill said. “Don’t tell me it’s to speak in riddles and vagaries. Tell me what you want to say.”
“Fritz told me what happened today in the shipwreck,” Liz said.
Bill dropped the screwdriver. It clattered to the floor.
“Damn it,” he said. “It was nothing.”
“You almost drowned,” Liz said. “I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
“I didn’t almost drown,” Bill said. “The boys were exaggerating. I just got stuck under the water for a little while.”
“That’s what drowning is, isn’t it?” Liz said.
Bill continued to turn the screws.
“Take Fritz with you next time,” Liz said.
“No,” Bill said. “He’ll only get in the way.”
“Get in the way of danger, yes,” Liz said. “That’s what working together means.”
“No.”
Bill buried his eyes in the radio.
“Put the radio down and look at me, Bill,” Liz said.
Bill continued to prod at the radio, not raising his eyes.
“What, Liz?” he said.
“Look at me!” Liz said.
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it resonated, brimming with anguish and concern. Bill turned to her. Liz placed her hands on either side of his face.
“Do you know what we’d be without you in our family?” she said. “We wouldn’t be a family. You’re the glue that holds us together. I refuse to let you go back into that wreckage again. Not without Fritz.”
“I’m going back,” Bill said, turning to the radio and breaking contact with Liz. “There’s a lot to salvage.”
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” Liz said. “I don’t want you going back into that ship by yourself again.”
“There’s no other way,” Bill said.
“Then you’re not going in there,” Liz said.
“Liz-”
“I’m serious, Bill,” Liz said. “You’re not going in there without the boys to back you up.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” Bill said.
“I’m the one being unreasonable?” Liz said. “Listen to yourself, Bill. You’re on a suicide mission. What you don’t seem to understand is that we need you every bit as much as you need us. You’re going to get yourself killed. You do realise you can’t do everything by yourself, don’t you?”
“Right now I need to keep you all safe,” Bill said. “And if that means putting myself in a little more danger, then so be it. I do it gladly.”
Bill put the screwdriver down and placed the radio upright. He pressed the power button and turned the tuner. The radio hissed and crackled with static.
“If good news comes through on this radio maybe you won’t need to,” Liz said.
Static answered them.
“Please, Bill,” Liz said. “Listen to me. Listen to your wife.”
Bill turned the tuner, ignoring her.
“This island plays tricks on you,” Liz said. “It makes you believe you’re all that’s left in the world. I assure you, we’re not. There’s more out there. We can’t be controlled or governed by this island.”
“We’re all that’s left,” Bill said. “And if we’re not, we soon will be. We must prepare to live here for the rest of our lives. It’s the only way we’ll survive.”
Liz opened her mouth to argue, but it would have been a pointless exercise. She shook her head, turned, and walked away.
She crossed the clearing spread out before the treehouse. She looked up at the sky. A billion points of light went about their business, uninterested in the tiny blue planet around a dwarf star on the outer reaches of the Milky Way.
Maybe we are all alone, Liz thought. Maybe we really are the last survivors. And suddenly she felt cold. The old world felt like a dream, like it had never really happened. Already the memories she had of her early life were fading to mist – like an old photograph left in the sun. Faces of old friends and family already disappearing.
Liz looked back at Bill, at him hunched over the tiny pink radio, searching for some sign the old world was still out there, and yet certain there was none. The radio hissed louder, and then undulated like a rising tide.
Liz paused, her hands on the makeshift ladder struts nailed to the tree trunk. The static rose and fell again, in a short one-two incantation. The radio fuzzed and the words became less fuzzy.
“…come in, over,” the voice said.
Liz joined Bill.
“Reply to them,” Liz said.
“I can’t,” Bill said. “This radio can only receive.”
“Turn it up,” Liz said.
“It’s at full volume,” Bill said.
Liz rested her hand on Bill’s arm. His muscles were tense.
“…come in, over,” the voice on the radio said.
“This is Golden Eagle, over,” an American voice said.
“Requesting confirmation on target, over,” the first voice said.
“Approaching target now,” the American voice said. “ETA five minutes.”
The radio began to hiss again. Bill turned the tuner but couldn’t find the signal again.
“Where did they go?” Liz said.
“I don’t know,” Bill said.
“What do you think they were doing?” Liz said. “What do you think they meant by ‘the target’?”
Panic gripped Liz’s heart.
“You don’t think they know we’re here, do you?” Liz said.
“Even if they did why would they consider us a target?” Bill said.
Bill’s hand moved toward the tuner again, but this time the radio edged backward, as if loathing his touch. Bill shared a disconcerted look with Liz. The radio jittered across the tree stump table, falling over the edge and striking the soft earth on the other side. The ground shook, rising up their legs.
“What’s going on?” Liz said, words fuzzy with fear.
Fritz and Ernest stood on the edge of the treehouse landing, rubbing their tired eyes.
“What is it?” Fritz said. “An earthquake?”
“I doubt we’re near a fault line,” Ernest said.
“What is it, then?” Fritz said.
A deep rumbling rolled overhead, quickly followed by another. As it grew, dark shadows blocked out the bright dots in the sky, drawing like a blanket. In the glimmering light of the moon, the silhouettes of dozens of bomber aircraft passed overhead.
“Hey!” Fritz shouted, waving his arms. “We’re down here! Hey!”
“Don’t waste your breath,” Bill said. “They can’t hear you.”
“We could start a fire,” Fritz said.
“It would only give them something else to aim at,” Bill said. “We’re the least of their concerns right now.”
“What do you mean?” Fritz said.
The ground stopped shaking as the
aircraft drifted over the horizon. For a long moment there was silence. But the air was thick with anticipation, and the family watched, entranced, frozen to the spot.
A flash in the distance, blink and you would miss it, followed by a soft pop sound like a muffled party popper. And then another flash, and another pop, and then groups of flashes, one immediately after the other, with pops so frequent they sounded like the retort from a machine gun.
Then a deafening roar raged overhead at high speed. The Flowers covered their ears, but by then it was already fading. The treetops reacted with a two-second delay, blowing over at an angle by the passing of the aircraft.
The roar shrunk into the distance. A loud boom followed, and a light ten times larger and brighter than all the others combined mushroomed into the sky. The trees made jerking motions to and fro, unnatural, like they were in pain, leaves raining down like the trees were crying.
And then the world turned silent once again, the creatures continuing their nightly vigil.
“Do you think they’re doing the same thing in Europe?” Liz said.
“Maybe,” Bill said. “If they’re destroying the towns and cities in Asia can you imagine what they’re doing to the cities in the rest of the world? There’ll be nothing left. What you heard weren’t bombs but the swish of a broom across the face of the planet, wiping clean everything we once were.”
“Where are Jack and Francis?” Liz said to Fritz.
Ernest turned his head to the side, looking at the floor of the treehouse.
“Somehow, fast asleep,” he said.
“We’re never returning home,” Ernest said in the tone of one learning a bitter truth. “Are we?”
“No,” Bill said. “We’re not.”
Chapter Fifteen
BILL SLIPPED the length of wood up under the panel and pulled. The muscles in his arms tensed. The wood shrieked as the panel came free from its pegs and Bill fell back onto the floor with sudden release.
He got up and checked the panel for damage, but it appeared to be fine. He inserted his makeshift crowbar into the top of the panel and pulled. It fell to the floor, splashing in the ankle-deep water.
