by Amy Cross
“Sophie -”
“I'm a teacher now. The last time I was even on a boat -”
“Sophie -”
“I'd be a liability,” I add, staring at the screen as a sense of panic grips my chest. “I'd be dangerous out there, I'd be...” I pause, watching the video of the storm. “I'm a teacher now. I teach English at the local comp.”
“I know,” he says firmly, “all those things are true, but you're still better at this kind of rescue operation than anyone else I've got down here. And you know this ferry, or at least you know it as well as anyone can. You know its history. Please, Sophie, there are lives at stake, lots of lives and -” He stops suddenly, and for a moment I hear him talking to someone else. “I don't have time to stand here and argue with you,” he continues finally. “Sophie, I need you to get down here to Cornwall right now! You always said you'd come back if this happened. I can try to do it alone, but I really need you with me.”
“But -”
Sitting in my dressing gown in the dark kitchen, watching the laptop's screen as it displays images of the storm-lashed ferry, I feel as if I'm looking at a window to another world. It's as if the Sophie Carpenter who worked for the coastguard five years ago was someone else entirely, and I honestly don't think I can step back into those shoes. When I promised to go back if the ferry ever showed up again, I never really thought it would happen. I thought the ferry would always be a phantom, something we never properly got our hands on.
“Mark,” I start to say, “I really don't -”
“I know you can do this,” he continues, with a sense of real urgency in his voice. “Please, Sophie, I'm telling you, it's the same ferry. Don't you want to finally get the damn thing and see what it's up to?”
“I -”
For a moment, I sit in silence as I realize I've run out of excuses. I either agree to go, or I admit I'm a coward.
“I could get the first train,” I say finally, “but it'd take me five hours to get down there, and by then -”
“No train,” he replies. “I've already got a helicopter coming to pick you up from the roof of your apartment building.”
“You're kidding, right? You -”
Before I can finish, I spot flashing lights in the sky outside the window, and I turn just in time to see a helicopter heading this way. A moment later, I hear movement over my shoulder, and I realize that Rob has come through to see what's taking me so long. Looking back at the laptop screen, I watch as another huge wave crashes into the side of the stricken ferry, tilting it so far that it almost overturns.
“So are you in?” Mark asks, with the sound of people shouting in the background, and as I hear the roar of the helicopter coming down to land on the roof. “Sophie? We made a deal five years ago, you said you'd come back if the ferry returned. Are you coming or not?”
Chapter Two
“It's going to be a bumpy ride!” the pilot shouts as the helicopter rises up from the roof. “Don't worry, I'll get you there in one piece! Flying time should be about ninety minutes!”
“Okay!” I shout back, fumbling to get myself strapped into the seat. To be honest, the past fifteen minutes have rushed past so fast, I've barely had time to even register what's happening. I threw some clothes into a bag, but I've got no idea what I actually brought apart from the old work boots I never threw away, and as the helicopter swings out over the side of the building and races out across the dark city, I realize that I'm starting to feel nauseous.
A moment later, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see that Rob is calling, and when I look back over my shoulder I realize I can still just about see him standing on the roof. I wait, watching as the screen flashes, until finally it falls still.
Sorry, bad signal up here, I type. I'll call when I can.
After sending the message, I wait a moment. A few seconds later, the phone starts ringing again, but I still don't answer. I know exactly what he'd say, and I don't need to hear it again, not after he followed me around while I was packing. He made his opinion more than clear.
Really bad signal, I type. Sorry. I'll call.
I wait.
And wait.
He doesn't try to call again.
I'll be home soon, I type quickly, before sending the message to him and then waiting a moment longer before switching my phone off. I'll make things right with him later.
“You okay back there?” the pilot calls out.
“I'm fine,” I tell him as I slip my phone away. For a moment, I sit in silence, staring straight ahead as we fly through the night sky. This whole experience feels completely insane, and I actually start pinching my arm after a few seconds, determined to see if I'm dreaming. As the pain builds, however, I realize it's all real. I lean back, taking a series of deep breaths as I listen to the sound of the helicopter's rotors spinning above, and finally I feel a kind of strength starting to creep into my chest.
I can do this.
I grab my bag and unzip the top, before pulling out my laptop and balancing it on my knees. Opening the lid, I plug in the USB tether and wait for the browser to load up, and then I immediately start checking meteorological data about the storm that's building in the English Channel. Using a few modeling tools, I'm able to work out how the storm is likely to affect the stricken ferry.
This is what I do best.
A moment later, I pull my phone out and switch it on again. There are a couple more missed calls from Rob, but I ignore them and bring up Mark's number, waiting impatiently for him to answer.
“Hey,” I say as soon as the call connects, “I've been looking at the data maps, and I've already got a few ideas about how we can deal with this thing.”
***
The journey down to Cornwall takes a little over an hour, and I spend most of that time on the phone to Mark, helping him work out how best to deal with the situation. With my laptop showing live video of the storm, and with headphones offering me direct access to the coastguard radio system, I start to feel less like an outsider and more like my old self, as if I'm part of the team. By the time the lights of the rescue operation come into view up ahead on the Cornish coast, it's almost as if I've never been away.
“We got here just in time!” the helicopter pilot calls back to me, as rain batters the windows all around us. “Another half hour, and I reckon the storm would've been too strong for us to fly!”
“Is it safe to land?” I shout back at him, as the helicopter rocks a little from side to side.
“Don't worry about that. I saw worse conditions in the military.”
After slipping my laptop back into the bag, I lean forward, resting my elbows on the headrest of the empty passenger seat at the front of the helicopter. Looking ahead, I see a blaze of white lights along the shoreline, which I guess means that the rescue operation is in full swing, while a few more lights can be seen bobbing about violently on the furious waves, which seem so far to be repelling all efforts to head out to the stricken ferry.
Feeling my phone vibrate again, I realize that Mark is trying to get in touch.
“I see you!” he shouts as soon as I answer. “Tell John to get you on the ground as fast as possible!”
“Do you have boats out there yet?” I ask.
“The conditions are too rough!” he shouts. “We can't even get anything in the air right now!”
“Hang on!” I turn to the pilot. “The ferry's about three or four miles out. Is there any chance we could get there and take a look?”
“Right now?”
“Right now.”
“If we're gonna do it,” he replies cautiously, “we need to do it fast. There's worse weather closing in from the south-west.”
“But we can do it?”
“I can do it. You just have to hang on tight.”
“We're going to go straight out there!” I tell Mark, raising my voice so he can hear me over the patchy connection. “We're not going to land first!”
“No!” he shouts back
. “We've had an official order not to let any helicopters take off in this weather!”
“Who said anything about taking off?” I point out. “We're already up here!”
“Tell him it's fine,” the pilot says with a sigh.
“It's fine,” I tell Mark. “The pilot agrees. I'm not pressuring him at all.”
I wait for an answer.
“Mark?”
“Okay, get out there,” he says finally, “but just take a quick look and then come back to shore. No heroics.”
“I grew out of heroics,” I tell him. “We'll be five, ten minutes maximum. See you on the ground.”
With that, I cut the call. Checking the data on my phone, I hold the screen up so the pilot can see the ferry's last reported coordinates. “I don't think it has any lights,” I tell him. “It's drifting without power, so it might be difficult to spot.”
Reaching down, he opens a panel near the control unit and pulls a lever, and a moment later a bright light blazes out from the helicopter's undercarriage.
“Think that might help?” he asks with a smile, as we're buffeted by another strong blast of wind.
Looking out the side window, I watch as we fly over huge, crashing waves that have turned the sea off the Cornish coast into a violent maelstrom. Mark was right earlier: this must be one of the strongest storms to hit the UK since the late 1980s, and it's hard to believe that any kind of vessel would have tried to navigate these waters in such terrible conditions. As I watch the sea flashing past beneath us, I see a huge wave rising up, coming within a few meters of hitting our landing skids.
“Sorry!” the pilot calls out, “this thing was built for bad weather. I just need to keep low to avoid the worst of the storm!”
“It's fine!” I tell him, turning to look out through the cockpit window again. For a moment, I stare down at the sea and tell myself there's no need to be scared, although I can't help thinking back to the night I almost drowned. I spot a couple of rescue ships still fighting to get out to the ferry, but they're being hopelessly tossed around by the storm and it's clear that they'll never get there in time.
“We're almost at the coordinates,” the pilot tells me. “With these conditions, though, the ferry could've moved a fair way.”
“Just keep your eyes peeled,” I tell him, making my way to the side window and looking out. In the distance, a few miles behind us, I can just about make out the lights of the shoreline camp. I know they're doing their best back there, but a bunch of equipment on dry land is no substitute for actually getting to the scene and checking out the ferry. We need to -
“There it is!” the pilot shouts suddenly.
Turning, I look out through the cockpit window, but all I see is the rough water below.
“Over there!” he adds, pointing to the right.
It takes a moment, but finally I see a dark shape being tossed against a huge wave, almost toppling over as it's sent crashing back down. A few seconds later, the helicopter's spotlight swings around and picks out the ferry, and my heart seems to twist in my chest when I see the state of the damn thing: I'd been expecting something reasonably modern, but instead it looks like something from fifty or sixty years ago, just a creaking old metal vessel that'd probably have trouble navigating a canal on a clear day, let alone a full storm in the English Channel. Even worse, it's tilting to the starboard side, as if it has already started taking on water. Frankly, it's a miracle it's still afloat at all.
“What the hell is something like that doing out here?” the pilot asks. “Looks like it should be in a junkyard.”
“Mark said they haven't been able to identify it so far,” I tell him, grabbing a set of binoculars from a pouch behind the seat and training them on the ferry. “There are no identifying signals at all, no markers, no nothing. They haven't even been able to establish contact.”
“You think it's a ghost ship?” he replies. “Maybe somehow it got cut loose from a scrapyard and now it's just floating out here.”
“Let's hope so,” I mutter, focusing the binoculars on the ferry. “I hope there's no-one on-board. We've never been able to get a response from it before.”
“Before?” He turns to me. “This isn't the first time you guys have seen it?”
“Long story,” I whisper, adjusting the binoculars.
It takes a moment, but I'm finally able to get a proper look at the ferry as we fly closer. In the past, we only ever saw brief glimpses, and this is the first time I've managed to really see it clearly. The whole thing looks like it's being held together by string and spit, and it's clearly an old boat, perhaps something from half a century back or more. There are no lights showing through any of the windows, and even the bridge looks to be in complete darkness. Using the binoculars to look across the ferry's deck, I realize with relief that there's no sign of anyone at all. Maybe the ghost ship idea was right after all. It's just a hulk, spending its final moments being dashed by the storm.
Hearing a blast of static nearby, I turn and see that the helicopter's pilot is turning various dials on the radio.
“This is EA71,” he says, speaking into his headset's microphone. “If anyone can hear me on this frequency, please respond.” He turns to me. “Gotta be worth a try, right? Maybe someone down there has a radio.”
“I really don't see any sign of life,” I tell him.
“I'll take us closer,” he replies. “I can't get too close, not with these winds, but maybe we can spot some kind of identifying mark.”
As the helicopter swings around, I use the binoculars to watch the ferry's dark bridge. I'm starting to feel more and more convinced that the whole vessel has been abandoned, which means it was most likely 'liberated' from a junkyard and then set free. There are plenty of reasons that might have happened. Pirates, maybe, or smugglers looking for a cheap ride. Still, dealing with an unmanned wreck in a storm like this is far less of a problem than dealing with a ferry full of people who could drown at any moment. Feeling a rush of relief, I figure that we can hopefully just let the damn thing break apart, and then we can think about gathering up the pieces and identifying the port of origin.
“Holding her steady,” the pilot says after a moment, as the helicopter slows and we get to within about twenty feet of the ferry's aft side. “I only want to do this once, so let's make it count.”
With huge waves rising up all around us, the helicopter pitches slightly as we make our way past the ferry. I keep the binoculars trained on the bridge's dark windows, but there's definitely no sign of anyone in there, and after a moment I'm able to make out the navigation wheel, which looks to be completely unattended even though there's an empty chair a little further back. Raising the binoculars slightly, I look at the very front of the boat, but once again there's no-one there. A moment later, the ferry rises up on the crest of another huge wave and then crashes down, filling the air with a wall of spray.
“The upper cargo hatch is open!” the pilot shouts, tapping the window. “I'm going to try the spotlight.”
Lowering the binoculars, I watch as the spotlight swings around, flashing across the side of the boat's rusty, dark hull. A moment later, I feel my phone vibrating again.
“Hey,” I say as soon as I answer, “Mark, we're just taking a look right now.”
“There's another front moving in on your location,” he replies. “You need to get out of there in the next few minutes. I don't care how good that helicopter is, it won't withstand those conditions for much longer.”
“I think the ferry's abandoned,” I tell him. “We're just checking to be sure. Either someone left after it got into trouble, or -”
I freeze suddenly as the spotlight flashes over the open cargo hold. For a fraction of a second, I swear I just spotted human figures down there, in the bowels of the ferry, staring straight up at us.
“Did you see anything?” the pilot asks.
“Turn us again,” I tell him, suddenly gripped with a sense of nauseating panic, deep in my gut.
“What's wrong?” Mark asks over the phone.
“Hang on,” I tell him, squinting as I watch the dark ferry. The spotlight is moving toward the open hatch again, although it's difficult to be precise in such high winds. A moment later, the light falls through the hatch and I see to my horror that there are scores of people, maybe a hundred or more, huddled in the open cargo area and staring up at us. I can't make them out in detail, I can just see the dark dots of their eyes, but they're definitely there.
“We have a huge problem,” I tell Mark, trying not to panic. “There are people on-board. Not on the bridge and not on the deck, at least not as far as I can see, but there are people in the hold. Lots of people. I think the crew must have abandoned them!”
“Are you sure?” Mark asks.
“I'm sure,” I reply, raising the binoculars and trying to get a better view of the huddled masses in the hold. It takes a moment, but finally I see scores of faces staring right back from inside the hold. For a moment, I'm shocked by their calm, empty expressions, and by the way their eyes seem to have locked onto me. The spotlight is shining straight at them, casting sharp, angular shadows across their faces and making them look even more unworldly. I try to refocus the binoculars, and after a moment I see that the faces seem distorted somehow, and some of the dots-for-eyes seem more like holes in their skulls. I try to adjust the focus again, but a moment later the helicopter shudders a little and the light is lost.
“Okay,” the pilot continues, turning the control column and bringing the helicopter around, “we need to get on the ground. If we're going to be out in this kind of weather, I need to make some changes first.”
“But -” Before I can finish, I realize he's right. With the storm getting worse and worse, it's only a matter of time before we're brought crashing down into the waves. As the helicopter swings out over the dark water and heads back to shore, I look down at the dark ferry and watch as it's battered by yet another huge wave.
“Don't worry,” the pilot tells me. “I don't think we'll have too much trouble. We'll get back to base just fine.”
