Pandora Jones: Deception

by Barry Jonsberg

  She rushed to check. The deck rocked beneath her feet more forcibly than before. It was also slippery with a fine sheen of spray and her right foot skidded before she found purchase. But she made it safely to the masts. There didn’t appear to be a way to lower them, at least not a way that was obvious to her inexpert eyes. She ducked into the cabin and scrabbled around until she found bright orange lifejackets in a cabinet. There was also a small pack with MINIFLARES printed on the outside. A couple of torches nestled at the bottom of the cabinet on top of a small canvas bag. She threw the flares and the torches into the bag and zipped it up.

  The emergency beacon was located on the wall to her right. It was like a large orange mobile phone, secured in a bracket. There was a sign noting instructions and Pan quickly scanned it. This emergency beacon was both manual and automatic. It would activate automatically if immersed in water, but only if removed from the bracket. The device could also be activated manually by pressing a marked switch. Following the instructions, Pan removed the beacon from its holder and stowed it in the canvas bag, which she slung over her neck and shoulder.

  The instructions had also noted that the beacon was equipped with GPS that would pinpoint their location to within a few metres. The device would send its signal to orbiting satellites that would then alert search-and-rescue centres. A rescue helicopter or boat would find them, though obviously time would depend on exactly how far from civilisation they were. And that was another concern. Despite everything she had been through, Pan couldn’t feel one hundred percent sure those orbiting satellites wouldn’t be sending their signals to a world where there was no one left to listen.

  She put on a lifejacket and took the other to Jen.

  ‘Get into this,’ she said. ‘The way that storm is catching up with us, there might not be time later.’

  Jen said nothing, but allowed Pan to take over the wheel while she slipped into the jacket. Then she went back to steering.

  ‘How long before it hits us?’ she asked.

  ‘No idea,’ Pan replied. ‘The visibility is crap. I can’t even tell how far it is behind, let alone how quickly it’s travelling. Maybe it’ll burn itself out before it gets here.’

  ‘You think that’s likely?’

  ‘No. I’m just trying to make myself feel better.’

  Jen turned enough to meet Pan’s eyes. ‘Maybe you should try that radio,’ she said.

  ‘I’m on it.’

  Pan found the radio quickly, but no matter how many buttons she pressed or dials she turned, it did nothing. She took a deep breath and tried to think things through. Was there an on switch that she had missed? She forced herself to examine every centimetre of the radio’s surface, but there was nothing. Maybe it had never worked. Maybe a wire somewhere had come loose. Whatever she did, the machine remained lifeless. When she returned to the deck, she glanced towards the storm. Now it was almost impossible to see anything, and the driving wind made her gasp. She went back to Jen’s side, but when she talked she had to raise her voice against the screaming wind.

  ‘Bad news or bad news?’ she shouted.

  Jen didn’t reply.

  ‘I can’t get the radio to work,’ Pan continued. ‘And the storm is right behind us.’ As if to punctuate her point, a huge crack enveloped them and the gloom surrendered to a painful glare that highlighted a wall of rain.

  ‘Jesus, that was close,’ said Jen. ‘Any ideas, Pandora?’

  Pan thought furiously. She dragged the deepest recesses of her mind for any information that might be useful under these circumstances. This was something she had done so many times in the past, at school when a fact or an idea could be buried and an exam called for its retrieval. It was always something she had been good at, this dredging of memory for useful items. Sailing? Was it better to sail into waves or follow them? She thought she remembered it was best to breach waves square on, rather than trying to run parallel to their course. But it didn’t seem to help in their situation. The sea had become a broiling mass of water and it was impossible to tell where the waves were coming from. The boat lurched and tossed beneath her feet. Then they found themselves at the top of a monstrous drop. Pan screamed as they teetered, motionless for a while, at the very brink. Then gravity gripped them and they fell.

  For a moment the boat tipped up, its prow towards the sky. The next it tilted and raced towards whatever lay beneath. Pan’s stomach rushed into her throat and she felt, yet again, the intoxicating sensation of falling. The darkness and the lashing rain were punctuated by a flash of lightning and what she saw made her convinced she was on the verge of death. The chasm below seemed impossibly far off. Then the sky closed again and the darkness gathered around them. Pan knew the impact was close but she couldn’t see how close. In the last terrifying seconds, she held on to the nearest thing at hand – a cleat driven into the deck. Pan closed her eyes and waited.

  The shock jarred her whole body. Even above the screaming wind and the bone-crunching impact, she was aware of the world turning and turning. Water was the only element. Her mouth filled with it and she had no sense of up or down, no idea of where she was. Then the sensation was reversed as the sea caught them and drew them up and up. Waves washed over her and there was no respite to the wetness, no chance to find a pocket of air and draw breath. The only thing her body responded to was instinct – her lungs shut tight against the water and her hand locked onto her lifeline. Nothing could have pried her grip loose.

  And then, just as suddenly as it started, the storm spat her out. She spluttered to find oxygen and it was there. She gratefully drew a few sweet draughts into her aching lungs before another wave washed over her and she snapped her throat shut. She tried opening her eyes, but there was nothing to see, just walls of water. She thought another lightning strike hit somewhere to her right, but she couldn’t be sure.

  The next pocket of air lasted longer. This time, Pan drew breaths carefully, trying to ignore her body’s imperative to suck it in greedily. Somehow she knew that if she lost control now, it could be her last action. Her mind was back in control, though for how long she couldn’t guess. Another series of waves like the last would be the end. If that happened again, she would welcome death. She would let her grip loosen and allow the sea to claim her and it would be a relief.

  The boat fought to find purchase. It twisted and corkscrewed. Pan kept her eyes open for as long as her mind allowed. The spinning world, part chaotic sky and part surging water, made her senses spin. She couldn’t find a point of reference and her mind rebelled against that. At one point, she was aware that she vomited, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  And then, without warning, Pan had control over her body and mind. She searched for Jen, blinking against the furious spray and trying to find something that would tell her where she was. The first thing that she properly saw was the wheel of the boat spinning helplessly. Jen wasn’t there. Pan tried to get to her feet, but another wave knocked her down and spun her round.

  ‘Goddamn it,’ she yelled. This time, when she stood, her feet locked against the deck and she could see.

  There was no sign of Jen. Pan glanced behind her just as another bolt of lightning flashed and etched the world in white. The deck was clear, torrents of water flowing over the boards, drowning everything.

  ‘JEN!’ she yelled and choked on the word. There was no reply.

  Pan staggered to the wheel and grabbed hold of it, more to steady herself than in an attempt to control the boat. She knew that was useless. It – she – was helpless against the wind, the sky and the sea, but it allowed her to find a moment of stability. She suspected it would be temporary.

  It was a miracle she saw anything at all. A patch of orange, a shred of material at the side of the boat that disappeared almost as soon as her eyes fixed on it. Pan shook her head and there it was again, blinking into her line of sight with the vessel’s pitch and then disappearing again. She let go of the wheel and immediately the rocking of the boat threw her off
balance and she staggered to the boat’s railing. Then the wave subsided and she lurched upright. There was something on the railing. A small knot of white.

  Pan crawled along the deck. It was a hand, stark against the glistening brasswork of the railing. Pan threw herself forward and peered over the edge. A face loomed up out of the darkness, but the face was one she didn’t recognise. A white face, a death mask, eyes shut, pale against the sea. And then she saw the life jacket, snagged on a stainless steel cleat. Pan grabbed the hand, locked on as hard as she could.

  ‘Jen!’ she screamed, but Jen’s face did not react, her eyes remained obstinately shut. Pan tried to pull, but she couldn’t gain any traction. She needed to brace her feet against something and then use her body weight to gather strength. Pan squirmed and hoped that another wave wouldn’t hit the boat. If that happened she knew her own strength would evaporate. It was a miracle that Jen’s jacket had caught on the side of the boat. But time was running out.

  Pan scrambled onto her knees. Beneath her fingers Jen’s wrist felt waxy and cold. Lifeless.

  ‘Come on, Pan,’ she yelled. ‘You can do this.’

  Waves continued to crash against the boat and flood the deck, turning it into a turbulent lake, and it was difficult to find any kind of grip, especially in bare feet with frozen toes trying to dig in against the grain of the wood. As soon as she thought she had found traction, another wave broke and her feet slipped. But, by degrees, she managed to stand. The weight of Jen’s body was dragging the life jacket off her shoulders. Already her face was partially obscured by the jacket. Sooner or later, it would slip free and then Jen would slide into the sea and she would be gone. Forever. Turning and turning, tumbled by the tides and the forces of the ocean.

  Pan gritted her teeth and heaved. Jen was not a slight girl. Her body was composed mainly of muscle and her clothes were drenched, adding yet more weight. Pan gritted her teeth and pushed through the pain. She shifted her position, reached down with her other arm, grabbed Jen’s life jacket and heaved. Somehow she dragged Jen up level with the railing. Pan spread her knees further apart, let go of Jen’s wrist and quickly brought her hand over the railings and clutched the sodden mass of clothing at her friend’s neck. Pan took a series of deep breaths and summoned all her remaining strength. Jen’s face, her eyes still closed, inched over the railing. Pan grabbed the waistband of Jen’s pants. It became easier then. Not easy. It still required an enormous effort of will, but she hefted Jen’s body clear of the rail and it slid on board, like a strangely lifeless catch.

  Pan knew she couldn’t rest yet. Another wave could easily sweep them both over the side, and this time she would have no reserves to draw on. She dragged Jen to the centre of the boat, thought about putting her into the small cabin, but one glance told her that most of that small space was now underwater. I need some rope, she thought, to lash us both to something in the boat, the mast probably. We are too vulnerable. But she didn’t know where the rope was kept. There had to be some on board, probably in a compartment in the cabin. She cursed herself that she had not thought about it earlier.

  At least the boat was relatively stable. It still bucked and kicked and the rain continued to drive into her face, but there were no more massive waves swamping the vessel. She realised she had not seen a lightning strike for a few minutes. Was it too much to ask that the storm had passed over them? There was no time to think about it.

  She flopped Jen onto her back and wiped sodden strands of hair away from her face. Jen didn’t react. Pan checked for a pulse, but it was impossible, between her frozen fingers and the steady thrumming of the rain, to know whether she could feel one. But she didn’t think she could feel anything. Clear the air passage, she thought. She prised open Jen’s mouth and turned her onto her side. A trickle of water spilled onto the deck, but again it was difficult to know whether that was from Jen’s throat or another source. Water was everywhere. Pan thumped the small of Jen’s back and then turned her over again. She acted on instinct. She pinched Jen’s nose shut and blew into her open mouth, long slow exhalations that caused Jen’s chest to rise. After two deep breaths, Pan took her mouth away and pressed the heel of a hand against Jen’s sternum. Placing her other hand over the first, she leaned her body weight over and pushed down again and again and again.

  Pan was drawing breath to make her second exhalation when Jen’s body bucked beneath her, almost throwing her off. Her friend’s face twisted and a spurt of water shot from her mouth. Jen coughed violently, more water spilling out. Pan took her leg away – she hadn’t realised that she was straddling Jen’s body – and turned her quickly onto her side. Jen continued to cough with increasing violence, as if her body was trying to tear her apart. Finally the coughing subsided and Pan could clearly hear the deep, desperate inhalations as Jen fought for air. She held her hand and waited.

  Jen doubled up into a foetal position and gave one last series of wracking coughs. Then she turned her head and met Pan’s eyes.

  ‘I said you weren’t my type, girlfriend.’ Her voice was gravelly and weak at the same time. ‘You weren’t taking advantage of me, I hope.’

  Pan felt like crying, but she smiled instead. ‘In your dreams, girlfriend,’ she whispered.

  She felt a warm pressure as Jen squeezed her hand.

  Chapter 22

  Pan and Jen lay on the deck for what seemed like hours and waited for the remnants of the storm to pass. They were so drained of energy, they didn’t even talk.

  The world was still noisy, but it was quietening with every passing minute. The rain slowed to a persistent hiss, the wind dropped and they had heard no crack of lightning for a considerable time. The boat beneath their backs rolled and pitched, but its wildness was slowly tamed. At first all they could see of the sky was a grey blanket streaked with rain, like a television set not yet tuned in. But gradually, clouds resolved and shafts of sunlight seeped through them. The girls continued to wait, their fingers interlocked.

  ‘Ready to see just how deep in the shit we really are, Pandora?’

  ‘I’m scared to look.’

  ‘Yeah. Me too.’

  Slowly, they got to their feet. Pan felt sick and for a moment the world lurched. Then she steadied herself and forced her eyes to focus.

  At first glance, the boat appeared to be in reasonable shape. Both masts were intact, which was little short of a miracle. The stresses the small craft had endured must have been colossal, yet it seemed to be holding together. It was only when they checked the cabin that Pan realised her optimism might be ill-founded. Water lapped almost to the edge of the deck and the galley was completely underwater. Maybe some of the tinned food had survived, thought Pan, but even if it had, they had no way of cooking it. But cold food was better than no food at all. The water supply was another matter. Somewhere underneath that seawater was the container, and she could only hope that the screw top was secure. They could live for days without food, but no fresh water would be catastrophic. A few items floated on the grey, frothy surface, though Pan noted that her boots were not among them. But if they got out of this alive, lack of footwear was not a disaster.

  ‘It’s a mess,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Jen. ‘But the big question is whether this water is just what the sea dumped on us or whether, in all that battering, we have a leak.’

  Pan moved over to the side of the boat and checked their position in the water. There was no doubt they were wallowing deeper than before the storm. The sea appeared much closer. Could the weight of the water in the cabin result in such displacement? It was difficult to tell. She returned to Jen’s side.

  ‘Only one way to find out,’ she said. ‘We’d better start bailing.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can find a bucket, or a couple of pans,’ said Jen, feeling with one leg for a surface beneath the water level of the cabin. She took a deep breath and then ducked her head beneath the water. She was gone for only a few seconds before she reappeared clutching a deep saucepan. She
passed it to Pan and then ducked again. This time she found a shallow frypan.

  ‘There’s not much room here,’ she said. ‘We’ll get in each other’s way if we both try to bail. You stay there and I’ll pass the pans to you. No point chucking the water over the side. Dump it on the deck and I reckon gravity will do the rest. But check that it doesn’t flow back.’

  It was slow work at first, until they found a rhythm. Jen would fill a pot and then slide it along the deck to Pan who’d dump it as close to the side of the boat as she could. In the meantime, she slid the other container to Jen. After ten minutes or so, they established a routine, though the water level in the cabin didn’t seem to be dropping much, if at all.

  ‘Is it working?’ called Pan.

  ‘If it is, it’s damn slow,’ said Jen. ‘I guess we’ll know in an hour or so.’

  After that, they didn’t speak at all, just kept the pots alternating between them. Jen took a moment to gouge a scar into the frame of the cabin with her knife at the existing water level. It would provide a reference to check whether they were making any progress.

  Finally, Jen dropped a pot onto the deck. ‘Take a break, Pandora,’ she said. ‘I don’t know about you, but my arms are aching.’

  ‘Any progress?’

  Jen twisted her mouth. ‘Some,’ she said. ‘The water level is maybe five centimetres down. I suggest we rest and see if it comes up any.’

  Pan scanned the horizon. The storm had largely cleared, but it was still difficult to see far – the sea mist was closing in around them.

  ‘Did you find the water container? I could do with a drink.’