This exposed more of the side to the flow, giving the water a greater hold. The vessel began to creep sideways and, as it slipped into thinner branches running off the main support, Dina fell.
Tumbling backwards, she flayed her arms, eyes wild with terror.
Stepan lunged for his daughter, grabbed her round the waist then dived for the newly-exposed branch, which had previously been hidden while it supported the boat. He knew he had one shot: the vessel was now moving towards the tipping point and his opposite momentum would certainly take it beyond. As wood snapped and the craft was kicked out from beneath them, Stepan hooked a hand around the bark. He felt the floorboards leave his feet and a fraction later, as the sound of the shattered boat bounced off the cliff wall, his body swung in the air, suspended only by the single limb.
Grateful a life of hard labour and even harder leisure had made him strong, he dug his fingers into the tiny ridges running through the branch to secure his grip.
Dina shifted her hold to cling to his midriff and free his other hand as he redressed their situation.
He tried to look up, but water gushing through the tree made sight impossible. Returning his attention down, he looked at the top of his daughter’s head.
“How’s your grip?”
“Fine,” she said. This was immediately followed by a grunt as a piece of debris washed over the edge and hit her on the shoulder. “I’m starting to get really cold,” she whispered into her father’s chest.
“Yes, me too,” Stepan confessed.
Suddenly she became excited, “Helicopter, there’s a helicopter!” she squealed. Her young and sensitive ears had picked up the sound of the blades a few seconds ahead of her father.
Stepan knew calling out was futile, so instead he waited, listening to pitch and sound, trying to gauge its location. In a breath-taking moment he thought the helicopter was passing by, unaware of their predicament. Suddenly the noise rose and he felt the downdraft, gentle at first then gradually increasing, until the unmistakable sound of a helicopter directly overhead reached an almost deafening pitch.
A short while later, “Help is coming,” was called over a megaphone and soon after a man was winched down to begin the rescue.
The pain in his arms eased, but did not cease, when Dina’s weight was removed and she was pulled to safety. Stepan continued to hang onto the tree by sheer will alone. He could no longer feel his fingers and only the fact he had not fallen convinced him that his hands were still intact.
A couple of minutes later he saw the legs of the coastguard slip into view and the harness was attached to him with reassuringly sturdy clasps. As he released his hold, he realised how close to death he had come. His numb, bloodless fingers were so weak he could barely grasp the strap that was hauling him up into the chopper. He looked down.
The boat had shattered on the peak of a large rock directly below the tree. Since then the tide had climbed and slowly, piece by piece, it was being washed out to sea.
Stepan began to tremble as he was helped into the main compartment and shock set in.
Dina rushed forward the moment he was onboard and eagerly embraced him. “I thought we were going to die,” she sobbed, her emotions no longer in check.
“Yes, so... so did I,” he stammered, so cold he was barely able to wrap his arms around his daughter.
“We’re taking you directly to hospital,” the pilot yelled as he spun the helicopter around and headed inland.
“I’ve lost contact with my mother,” Stepan called. “Can you fly over Joleridge? We were trying to sail there when we were washed over the cliff.” Stepan felt a chill that transcended his present condition when the coast guards shot each other a pointed look. “What? What’s happened?”
“You didn’t hear.”
He shook his head.
“There was a landslide at Joleridge Hill,” the mariner informed him. “The area’s completely buried.”
Dina pushed herself away to look at her father. “Grandma?”
Stepan gave a gentle shake of his head. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
“Grandma could be dead.” Her face contorted in despair, “Grandma might be dead!” she howled.
“She might be alive,” he said, trying to offer some hope. “We can’t say for sure,” but as he turned his head and looked out of the window, the full devastating scale of the weather suddenly became clear.
Fields were flooded as far as he could see. Small pockets of farm animals were trapped on high ground and in the distance a massive mound of mud lay in the location of his mother’s village, below an open scar in the Joleridge Hill.
Chapter Three
Ugarvian Government Headquarters
Yan Brukov, Minister of Defence, stood and addressed the Ugarvian emergency select committee. “Our stocks of food, no matter how much we limit them, will not last through the winter. We have approximately four hundred million tonnes of grain remaining. This will last for a maximum of three months, no more. After that our people will starve. Information on this year’s harvest is still being amassed but, as it seems only thirty percent of the crops have endured and over ninety-five percent of the growers have reported in, I don’t think what remains will make the difference we need to survive.”
Yan leaned forward and rested his hands on the table.
The men seated on either side of him shuffled awkwardly when his posture encroached upon their comfort zone.
A massive man in both height and frame, he often used his bulk to intimidate for his own gain. His dubious morals were also well reputed, with rumours of corruption and murder rife after ‘Mafia’ style connections were investigated a number of years ago. Yan was a major shareholder in TAROS International and was questioned alongside other leading directors when the corporation, which supplied military weapons to anyone who had the funds, was linked to a money-laundering network. Two months on, the officer heading the enquiry disappeared then turned up a week later in a fishing net, a mile out to sea. The directors were interviewed by police and a couple of arrests were made, including Yan, but soon after all were released. Despite the charges being dropped and his ‘perfect’ alibi, it was generally felt Yan was connected to the murder, either directly or indirectly. A bully by nature, Yan was unashamed of his links with the mob and revelled in the corresponding fear it spawned. As a result, his reputation was usually enough to discourage a direct confrontation from most of his rivals.
“There should be no more begging for food from foreign nations, only to be insulted by the meagre help that’s offered. I propose we face this problem head on: we have been left with no option but to take decisive action.”
“By decisive action do you mean military?” Ducan Ludcov, the Agricultural Minister, challenged. Ducan was unable to hide his loathing of Yan, despite being warned on a number of occasions by friends to curtail his objections for his own safety. His almost foolhardy, brazen defiance of the Defence Minister’s policies were to some degree down to naivety, but to a greater scale, morality. A man like Yan had no place in society never mind parliament, in his opinion, and it chilled Ducan’s blood to think that his strategies could endanger the security of the country – and the safety of his own three young children.
“Not necessarily,” Yan replied haughtily. “If we were to pool our resources with one of our neighbouring countries, we could ride out this crisis until our crops are gathered next year. Bulvaga has a greater proportion of livestock per head of population than we do. Through the slaughter and freezing of their animals and a controlled distribution of grain, we could successfully feed both countries until the following harvest.”
“So you do mean military action, Minister Brukov,” Ducan snapped. “When we attempted to buy surplus supplies from Bulvaga, we were told there was none. This was the same response received from a number of other countries as everyone is struggling to feed their populations and the extreme weather has been global. Therefore, I do not believe that Bulvaga’s government would
agree to suddenly share what little they have for their own people. Do you?”
Yan stood upright. “Some show of force may be required,” he answered indifferently.
“For years now you have been looking to wage war on our neighbouring countries,” Ducan challenged. “I believe this is nothing more than an opportunity for you to push ahead with an offensive.”
Yan’s face instantly darkened. “How dare you! I would risk war only because I can see no other way around this situation.” He waved a hand in the direction of the window. “We must think of our own people first,” he roared. He paused, knowing he would not swing this vote with aggression. Persuasion and political shrewdness would be required to ensure he came out the hero at every level – and if TAROS benefited from some military orders, all the better. He continued more calmly. “I want to avoid bloodshed as much as any man does but we must eat. Already our cattle are being slaughtered as there’s barely enough grain for the people. What do you propose we do, Minister Ludcov, when both the cattle and the grain are gone?”
It was Ducan who again spoke. “How many of our troops are likely to be killed during an occupation? And what of our neighbour’s allies? A confrontation could rapidly escalate.”
Yan’s face flushed with fury. ‘One of these days, I’m going to squash that irritant,’ he thought, before slowly lowering himself back into his seat, his ill-concealed rage drawing his body taut.
“We must try to bargain with them,” Ducan pleaded with the others in the room. “If we offer them oil or gold in return for their livestock and grain they may agree to trade with us. We must avoid a spillage of blood whilst there are alternatives.” Ducan freed the floor for another member to speak but, it was Yan who once again stood and addressed the committee.
“Let me warn you,” he said ominously, “if we are to take the passive approach, as the Agricultural Minister suggests, then make sure we do not linger for too long. In six weeks’ time we will not be capable of military action. The movement of troops requires a great deal of resources and in six weeks’ time we will not have enough food left with which to go to war.” Turning, he looked directly at Ducan. “And then, Minister Ludcov, you will see first-hand how many people die – when you step over their starving bodies in the street – simply because we chose to avoid hostilities.”
As Yan returned to his seat the Deputy Prime Minister took to the floor. “Hotels and restaurants will continue to remain closed and food vouchers will stay in place to control household supplies,” he stated. “Gardens, parks and allotments in areas unaffected by the rains have been claimed by the state and turned over to food growth for the nation. The army has been dispatched to disperse riots taking place outside of supermarkets and government offices and the use of force has been approved. There will be no mercy where looters are concerned and their punishment will be extremely harsh. Now, can I have a show of hands for Minister Brukov’s proposal?”
It was put to the vote and the committee agreed, there would be no war – for the moment at least.
Chapter Four
North Sea, Two Miles Off the North East Coast of Scotland
A cheer went up around the sub as, “That’s the last locked into place,” came over the radio. “We’ll check the seals and then we can start to displace the water.”
Karl Harris, Project Manager and Marine Engineer leaned towards the navigation console and pressed the comms button. “Thanks Bobby; good job, well done.” He sat back, resting comfortably against the support of the chair, a self-satisfied smile just short of smugness adorning his face. He knew the feat they had achieved here and it was one the global engineering industry had not thought possible. The project had been watched closely from the start and, although many had taken an interest in the proceedings, few were prepared to participate and thereby run the risk of losing both money and reputation. Everyone knew the success of the venture would be massive, but only a few, including Karl, had enough vision to see it could actually be done. He turned to face the man on his left. “So... what do you think?”
William Cramb shook his head gently. “It’s overwhelming.”
Karl had been worried; the professor was a difficult man to read. They had followed the blueprints precisely, but when the plans were so visionary and devised from the mind of a person who, like so many geniuses, was considered to be slightly mad, he was concerned that this was not what had been envisaged.
Despite the cynics, there on the seabed was the fruition of two years’ work.
Humanity was still unable to reach speeds great enough to travel to other planets; therefore the growing global population and resulting food crisis had prompted the need for alternative supplies. As most animal sources had already been exploited, reducing the possibility of alternate provisions further, William knew the solution would have to be found elsewhere within the Earth’s environment.
After spending the last ten years developing viable strains of antibiotics derived from plants rather than microbes, William had begun to consider whether his genetically modified flora could be used to improve crop yield. When he presented his research to the International States the following year, he received a massive jolt of reality when he was told it would not be enough even if all the available land on the planet was utilised. It was then he knew more radical thinking would be required and began to consider other areas previously thought unsuitable for populating.
Initially, he followed the well-trodden path of the deserts; however, this was quickly disregarded, as water was rapidly becoming the International States second biggest problem due to rapidly dwindling sources of fresh water globally.
Increased CO2 gases had given rise to growth in arid regions, but it was mostly trees taking advantage of this imbalance. Dry grasslands were being reoccupied by trees inedible to the local wildlife, which meant when the rains did come they made it more difficult for fruit-bearing shrubs and nutritious grasses to propagate beneath their light-grabbing canopies.
William’s thoughts first turned to the seas after he read a proposal by eminent biologist, Yanis Grior, who stated that algae were a rich source of nutrition. Professor Grior’s thoughts continued along the lines of using the sea for food, but it was this that gave William the idea that all previous thinking could be completely turned around.
His proposal that the occupation of the seabed could allow building land to be cleared for the growth of crops was originally greeted with great scepticism. William knew it would be difficult, but never once thought it impossible and likened the structure to the International Space Station where the pressure on the complex was external rather than internal. Still, it was argued that the strength of present materials was inadequate so the idea was shelved. That was until a chance conversation with the director of Belvedere Plastics at a party one night.
Huddled in a corner, oblivious to the other revellers, they excitedly exchanged ideas; two like-minded people, both obsessed with their field of study. By the end of the evening William was elated, realising the last hurdle could finally be overcome.
Belvedere Plastics had been working on developing an extremely tough plastic at a time when most organisations were worrying about biodegradability. The directors were hoping to acquire orders from the car industry, stating their incredibly light, polycarbonate composite, combined with epoxy resin, would allow electric cars to go as fast as their petrol counterparts whilst still remaining safe.
William worked closely for at least a month with John Belvedere, Chief Chemist and director of Belvedere Plastics, to decide on the design and cost of the domes before approaching the International States again with his solution. He knew funding would be required and a single nation alone could not shoulder the huge costs.
The project was approved, but still, years of testing and designs were to follow before the final stage of selecting a suitable site could be considered.
The Norwegian Trench was where the North Sea reached its maximum depth at seven hundred and twenty-five metres
but, with the average depth being about ninety-five metres, this was an exception. It was decided after much deliberation to settle on a rocky outcrop further south, two miles off the North East coast of Scotland; it was deep enough at one hundred and twenty metres to be safe for shipping, but would still allow enough surface light to filter down for plants to grow.
It seemed all eyes were on the project by the time construction began. By then some countries were already having to carefully select their crops to utilise maximum yield, acutely aware of the delicate balancing act they needed to ensure enough food would be available for the following year. Despite the urgency to clear land for the growth of crops, it was decided that a full test of the system would be required as safety, where entire cities full of people would be located at the bottom of the sea, was still an issue for concern. When William asked the scientific community for five hundred volunteers to join him in a two-year experiment to prove that life on the seabed was not only possible, but could also be comfortable, even he was shocked by the response when he was inundated with applications.
The past ten years of William’s life had focused on this single moment. He took in the sight for a few minutes more, his spectacles sparkling from the reflected glare of the four massive structures that covered over thirty square miles of seabed below. “Fabulous,” he whispered, then gave a rare smile; he turned his attention to Karl. “It’s been worth the wait.” He extended a hand for the engineer to shake. “Well done and all within schedule. That’ll certainly impress the money men.”
Chapter Five
Ugarvian Parliament
Ducan Ludcov stood and shuffled his notes, buying time. He had dreaded this meeting all week. The moment it was called he knew where it would lead – there was no more denying there was nowhere left to go.
Islands - The Epidemic: An Airborne Ebola Disaster Page 2
