EDEN

by Dean Crawford

  ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ Cody whispered, ‘even if Hank doesn’t manage to turn Sawyer.’

  A man with lank, greasy black hair and dull eyes shook his head as he squatted nearby.

  ‘Ain’t gonna happen, boy,’ he murmured. ‘You heard what the lady said. You run, we die. You won’t get out of this cage because we won’t let you.’

  Cody looked up and saw that the other thirty or so people in the cage were still watching him in silence, but the air in the cage had become charged as though a live current seethed through the air between them.

  ‘They’ll eat you,’ Cody said. ‘Is that what you want?’

  The old man shrugged his emaciated shoulders, a bitter smile fracturing his jaw.

  ‘Ain’t much left to live for is there? Why worry about it?’

  *

  Hank Mears was prodded by a chunky guard into an office one storey above the great hall, where a long mahogany table was surrounded by chairs. At the head of the table sat Sawyer. He leaned on the table with one arm as the other shovelled steaming chunks of meat and roasted potatoes and vegetables into his mouth. He looked up briefly as he ate and gestured with his fork to a seat opposite.

  Hank walked to the seat before Sawyer’s goon could shove him there and sat down, watching the meat that Sawyer ate. Sawyer noticed the direction of his gaze.

  ‘Dog,’ he reassured the captain between mouthfuls.

  ‘That’s all right then.’

  Sawyer popped the last morsel of what had once been a man’s best friend into his mouth and dabbed at his lips with a napkin. He sipped a pale brown liquid from a glass and frowned at it.

  ‘We haven’t quite got this stuff right yet,’ he said. ‘Alcohol brewed from potatoes. It’s called potch, from the Irish drink. Some of my crew learned to make it in prison.’

  ‘I’m shocked,’ Hank uttered as he glanced at the guard standing nearby. ‘They seem such nice boys.’

  Sawyer watched Hank from the corner of his eye as he drained his glass and dabbed again at his lips.

  ‘You’re no scientist,’ he said. ‘What’s your story?’

  ‘Navy,’ Hank replied. ‘I was at sea when the storm hit.’

  ‘Safest place to be,’ Sawyer said. ‘You should have stayed out there. Why come to Boston?’

  Hank eased himself back in his chair. ‘Eden.’

  ‘You won’t find it here.’

  ‘I’m not looking for it here,’ Hank reasoned. ‘My idea was that most people would have died in harsher climes in the north due to the hard winters there, so we’d be safer. The cold oceans are as abundant with life as the land is empty, so we could sail and fish on the move, only coming ashore for fresh water. It was working well enough when we detected a radio signal, very weak, coming from the far north.’

  Sawyer’s expression changed, his gaze fixed on Hank.

  ‘You’ve got a working radio set?’

  ‘Partially,’ Hank admitted, ‘a spare that we had in the ship’s hold, packed in a powder store below the sea-line. It must have protected the circuits from the solar storm.’

  Sawyer absent-mindedly dabbed at his lips with his napkin as he went on. ‘So you’re the captain of that ship, correct? And this signal you detected?’

  ‘I’d hoped we’d found Eden,’ Hank explained. ‘We sailed north and found those scientists stranded up on Ellesmere Island. The signal we detected was their distress beacons. We picked them up and sailed south.’

  Sawyer scowled and tossed the napkin onto the table. ‘Then you’re of no use to me.’ He looked up at the guard. ‘Get this asshole out of here.’

  The escort moved behind Hank and reached out for him. Hank jerked up and backwards out of his seat, the back of his skull thumping into the man’s nasal bridge with an audible crunch. The man grunted as his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped backwards against the wall. Hank turned and drove a heavy boot into the guard’s face, his jaw crunching under the blow.

  Sawyer bolted out of his seat, one hand reaching for a pistol at his side, but Hank turned toward him and simply stood still.

  ‘I haven’t finished yet,’ the captain said.

  Sawyer looked at his fallen henchman, one hand fingering the butt of his pistol as he looked back at Hank.

  ‘Make it worthwhile,’ he replied, ‘or you won’t leave this room alive.’

  Hank smiled, deflecting Sawyer’s bravado. ‘The scientists detected another signal at their base, before I got there. The coordinates of that signal are encoded. To have been detected so far north they must either have been emitted by a powerful source or relayed by a satellite that is still functional in orbit.’

  Hank watched as Sawyer’s mind digested what he had said.

  ‘Military?’ the man hazarded.

  Hank nodded. In truth he had no idea, but he didn’t give a damn as long as Sawyer played along.

  ‘Can you find it?’ Sawyer asked, ‘the source?’

  ‘I have five scientists with me,’ Hank replied. ‘I can find the source.’

  Sawyer’s eyes flickered with delight as though sunlight had broken through within, but almost instantly clouds of suspicion drifted in. He glanced at the thug still lying unconscious behind Hank.

  ‘You’d have to leave your men behind,’ Hank said, keeping his voice low. ‘My ship can’t take many people.’

  ‘Who has these coordinates?’ Sawyer demanded.

  ‘Cody Ryan, the man you recognised and who tried to argue with you earlier.’

  Sawyer’s hand moved from his pistol to the handle of the long blade dangling from his belt.

  ‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘This shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘You try that and you’ll get nothing from him,’ Hank warned. ‘He’s a stubborn son of a bitch and will cheerfully go to his grave knowing he’s denied you what you want. He kept the existence of the signal from his own team for months.’

  Sawyer glanced at Hank testily. ‘Then he’ll die and we’ll find another way, agreed?’

  Hank smiled again. ‘I already have another way.’

  Hank shuffled his hips and managed to get one of his cuffed hands into his jeans. From a pocket he produced a folded piece of newspaper that he tossed awkwardly onto the table in front of Sawyer.

  Sawyer unfolded the paper and stared down at it for a long moment, then back up at Hank as a brutal smile creased his face.

  ***

  32

  Reece winced as he heard Saunders scream again, a grinding, drawn out sob of agony that rolled out across the lonely bay as Seth ground the belaying pin into the old man’s leg.

  ‘You comin’ out yet Mister Reece?’ Seth called.

  Hatred seethed like acid through Reece’s veins as he saw Seth’s manic face in the feeble light of dawn now leaking across the decks. The sky above was laden with heavy clouds, slate grey and menacing as they drifted down from the north. Beyond the relative sanctuary of the harbour Reece could see that the water in the channel was rough and choppy.

  The crew were standing back from Seth, watching as he waited for a response from Reece.

  ‘Put him in a boat!’ Reece yelled through the barricaded door. ‘The same one you came here in! And dress his wound!’

  ‘What the hell for?’ Seth bellowed back.

  ‘Do it!’

  Seth stared at his companions and they nodded as one. Reece heard a soft, whispered conversation pass between them. Seth lifted the belaying pin away from Saunders as two of the crew gathered around the old man and began tending to him. Reece saw another man hurry away to fetch a medical kit.

  ‘This don’t change nothin’!’ Seth yelled at Reece. ‘We’re coming in there, one way or th’other!’

  ‘You want the ship or not?!’ Reece shouted back. ‘You do as I say or I’ll burn her down right here in the harbour!’

  Seth did not reply. Reece staggered back from the door and bumped against the wheel. He turned and looked at it for a long moment. As long as he remained bar
ricaded inside the wheelhouse and the wheel was locked down, there was no way for the crew to steer the ship.

  He knew that Seth would abandon them as soon as they took control of the Phoenix. They hated Saunders for his unyielding support of the captain, they hated their captain’s ruthlessness and his pursuit of Eden and they hated Reece and the team from Alert. Reece guessed they’d probably be happier looting, plundering and raping like modern day pirates. That they would probably bring about their own downfall without Hank Mears’ guiding hand was an irony that Reece doubted they would understand or even care about.

  He looked at the wheel again.

  The wheel was connected to a shaft in the hold that turned the ship’s rudder. Thick metal chains ensured a link secure enough to take the battering of the open ocean’s wildest weather. Reece glanced again out of the windows at the severe seas building out on the ocean, and on an impulse he moved around to the wheel stand and prised off the steerage panel’s cover.

  The steel steerage chain looped through links in the wheel and disappeared down into the depths of the ship. Reece ran his hand up the heavily greased chains and quickly found what he was looking for: a collapsible link, used to remove the steerage chain for cleaning and replacement.

  Reece stood up and looked around the cabin until his eyes settled on some frayed para-cord lying coiled on the map table nearby. He picked it up and examined it. Probably five-hundred pound cord, no more. Not thick enough to take the immense strain of high seas. He turned and crouched behind the steerage chain again, and tied the cord to the links either side of the collapsible link, knotting them until they were secure. He then took a steel ruler from the map table and thrust it between the cords, twisting it until they began to draw together and take some of the strain off the collapsible link.

  Reece grabbed his pistol with his free hand and turned it around, using the butt to push the collapsible edge of the chain-link in. With a heave of effort the link opened and he pulled it out of the chain.

  Reece lifted the chain link out and then gently let the cord take the strain. With the ship in harbour it only had to bear the weight of the chain. He heard the cord creak under the strain but it held.

  Reece slipped the spare link into his pocket and replaced the steerage panel. The wheel would hold in the calm waters of the harbour, but out on the ocean the huge stresses on the rudder would snap that para-cord long before the Phoenix made it to deeper water. Getting below decks and re-linking the chain would be near impossible before she was smashed to pieces on the shore. If Seth wanted the damned ship, he could take it with him to his grave.

  ‘Come on out, Reece!’

  Reece walked to the wheelhouse door and saw Seth standing alone on the deck, a pistol still in his hand.

  ‘Where’s the boat?’ Reece yelled.

  ‘Starboard hull,’ Seth replied, gesturing to the ship’s bulwarks. ‘Saunders’s aboard.’

  ‘Where did you last see Saunders and the team?’ Reece demanded.

  ‘Beacon Street, under fire!’ Seth yelled. ‘How about you get off while you still can?’

  ‘Get out of sight!’ Reece ordered. ‘We’ll be gone soon enough!’

  Seth stalked away toward the ship’s bow, disappearing into the grim shadows cast by the weak dawn as though the world had been rinsed of colour. Reece unlocked the wheel house door and slid the heavy braces out of their holders, then pulled the assortment of boxes aside. He pulled the collar of his jacket up against the wind as he opened the door, his pistol held before him.

  The wind was bitter as it snapped and whistled through the rigging above. He hurried across the deck to the starboard bulwarks. He peeked down into the water below and saw a small launch rolling on the waves, secured by a single line. Saunders lay on his back at one end and looked up at Reece.

  ‘Come on,’ the old man said. ‘Get us the hell out of here!’

  Reece looked down the Phoenix’s deck and saw Seth watching him with the remaining crew from the bow. The sailor waved with a grim smile. Reece turned away, stuffed his pistol into his belt and clambered over the side, slipping down the rope ladder as fast as he could. He thumped down into the boat and unfastened the line, then grabbed the oars and pushed away from the Phoenix’s hull.

  He tossed Saunders his pistol, the old man catching it and aiming it back at the ship.

  Reece cranked the oars into their clasps and pulled away from the Phoenix like a mad-man as he saw Seth and the rest of the crew appear at the bulwarks and aim their weapons at the boat. Saunders fired instantly, the shots hitting the bulwarks. Seth and his companions ducked down out of sight.

  Reece heaved back on the oars for all he was worth as Saunders fired a few more warning shots at the Phoenix.

  ‘How many rounds do we have?’ Saunders asked, his gaze fixed back at the ship.

  ‘Twelve,’ Reece said, ‘minus the four you just shot.’

  Saunders nodded as he saw Seth appear again. This time, the sailor waved at them.

  ‘Give my regards to the captain!’ he bellowed.

  A chorus of laughter drifted across the water between the boat and the ship as Saunders lowered the pistol. Seth and his companions disappeared but Reece kept rowing hard anyway.

  ‘That’s it then,’ Saunders said. ‘We’ve lost the ship.’

  Reece hauled back on the oars. ‘We’ve all lost the ship,’ he said.

  When Saunders frowned, Reece eased his grip on the oars and fished the chain link from his pocket. The old man’s eyes widened as he realised what he was looking at.

  ‘Para cord,’ Reece explained, ‘won’t last them long.’

  A smile crept across Saunders’s features.

  ‘They’ll have to try to sail her back into the harbour once they lose the rudder,’ Saunders said. ‘Use the topsails or something.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Reece replied. ‘Either way, they’re not going far.’

  ***

  MAN KIND

  33

  The hall was filled with endless murmurs and groans as hundreds of people slept on the bare floors of the cages, exhausted and in the throes of deep and nightmare-filled slumber.

  Cody sat with his back against the bars of the cage and stared at Maria. Despite his own exhaustion sleep would not come. Having waited so long to see her again he could not bring himself to break his gaze. Alternating waves of joy, rage, anguish and anxiety flushed through his nervous system in an intoxicating elixir that buzzed through his veins. He could not tell what horrors she had witnessed but he raged against himself for ever fleeing her side.

  ‘She’s okay.’

  Cody looked up to see Bethany watching him from the darkness. Cody managed a brief smile. Charlotte was asleep now in the next cage and he felt a pinch of regret as he thought about her. He struggled to find in himself any hint of doubt that his course of action had been the right one, but he could find none. Maria had been his priority and he could not have known who the mysterious caller on the radio at Alert had been. Charlotte had said it herself: she would have petitioned the captain to sail on past Boston without a care for Cody’s daughter, Bethany’s brother or anybody else but herself.

  To hell with her.

  ‘She’ll get over it,’ Bethany said clairvoyantly as she watched him.

  Cody nodded but did not reply, his eyes fixed again on Maria. He kept his gaze guarded, one eye always on the handful of Sawyer’s henchmen posted near the entrance to the amphitheatre. He had learned that most all times they simply sat around smoking, bored with their lot. That Sawyer was able to hold them together as a group of enforcers was a source of some amazement to Cody, driven as it was by the human need for inclusion and interaction.

  It didn’t matter whether one was considering children in school clubs, young hoodlums joining gangs, members of the military or even those of government, the desire to be a part of something bigger was an overwhelming feature in the human psyche. Human beings did not generally like being alone. Sawyer’s thugs followed their
insane leader not because they feared or even liked him, but simply because his was currently the best game in town: the biggest gang, the coolest club. To not be a member was to be excluded, to be controlled and to be prey.

  Cody remembered stories of Nazi soldiers during the Second World War, carrying out extermination orders on innocent Jews or hideous experiments on little children so cruel that it beggared belief any human being could conduct them. And yet to have not done so, to have refused, would have seen those same soldiers themselves become victims, tarred as enemy sympathisers and shot at dawn. Or worse. Experiments had repeatedly proven that people were more than capable of inflicting terrible pain on their fellow human beings if that pain represented a requirement of some higher and adulated power or leader, or that the threat of not fulfilling that leader’s wishes was to suffer a like treatment.

  However, rebellion and discord were only a step away. Those same inflictors of appalling suffering abruptly regained their sanity and humanity when the need to perform their murderous acts was removed. Indeed, many suffered themselves for the rest of their lives as the regret, grief and disgust at their own actions haunted their every moment.

  Cody looked around at the cages lining the hall and felt certain that with sufficient motivation the people could stand again, could rally against their incarcerators or perhaps even turn the henchmen against their leader. If, and only if, something better could be offered in return.

  ‘Hank’s been gone too long,’ Cody said.

  ‘You think he’s in trouble?’ Bethany asked.

  ‘I don’t trust him.’

  ‘And we don’t trust you.’

  Charlotte had not moved but her eyes were now open, watching Cody from where she lay in the next cage.

  ‘Sawyer will kill us all,’ Cody insisted. ‘He’d burn this whole place down if it got him what he wanted, and Hank owes us nothing’