Текст книги "Noah's Ark: Encounters"

Автор книги: Harry Dayle

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Thirty-One

DAN FOUND HER on the floor on all fours when he returned. Her strained expression told him everything he needed to know.

“Where….argh!” A scream, then panting, before she could speak again. “Where’s Carrie?”

He wrung his hands, knelt down, and kissed her again. “I’m sorry, there’s nobody. I can’t find anyone.”

She was sucking in tiny breaths. Her face was covered in sweat, her head hung low. “The baby’s coming. The baby’s coming now, Dan!”

From nowhere, a sense of calm enveloped him. For the first time in their nearly six years of marriage, he was the only one who could help now. It was up to him to get her through this, and although at any time prior to that instant he would have panicked at the prospect, faced with the inevitability of what was about to happen, he found a new peace. Vicky, it dawned on him, was undergoing the most difficult, painful, and traumatic of experiences any human being could be subjected to. Anything he could do to ease that, to help, would be worthwhile.

“Okay, first things first. Your breathing,” he said. He got onto his hands and knees in front of her, looked into her eyes, and smiled gently. “Remember? We’re not letting those classes go to waste. Let’s do it together. Breathe with me…ready? In!” He drew in a long, deep breath through his nose. “And slowly, out…”

She looked at him as if he was mad, then burst out laughing.

“Well, not quite the effect I was hoping for, but it’ll do. You keep breathing, I’m going to get some towels and stuff. Don’t go away!”

“As if….” She let out a grunt, which turned into a shriek as the next contraction gripped her.

• • •

The reaction in the classroom was instantaneous. The leader roared at his men. There was mayhem as those who could move scrambled to the ventilation pipe opening. Someone found the flashlight they had taken from Bembridge, and Lucya was momentarily blinded as it was shone through the grille, scanning the space inside.

More voices, more shouting. They were coming for her.

She tried to push herself backwards, but it was as if her arms were no longer part of her. She could still move her legs, but the more she tried to use the toes of her gym shoes to pull herself back, the more she succeeded in pushing herself forwards, even closer to the grille.

Outside the noise became louder as orders were shouted back and forth. A chair made a scratching sound as its legs scraped across the floor. She saw it being flung towards the grille as it was used as a crude hammer, trying to dislodge the screwed-down vent. The banging reverberated through the pipe, nearly shattering her eardrums. She screamed, kicked, pushed, and yelped. The tube seemed to close in on her, gripping her, squeezing the air from her lungs.

The chair struck again, the noise even louder. The right side of the grille fell away, unseen by Lucya in the blackness of her panic attack. A wild pack of hands snatched at the vent cover, pulling and twisting it until it came free. The pack turned to the opening and tried to force its way in, but the hands became tangled in one another, impeding their own access.

More shouting as the leader brought order to the chaos. The pack retreated, and a single hand replaced it. It ventured inside the tunnel, patting the sides, groping in the dark, blind. It found her wrist, latched on, and yanked hard. Had the nerves in her arms not given up long ago, the pain would probably have been too much to bear. As it was, she was already in another place. Her mind had retreated, escaping the physical realm for the safety of its own inner space. Lucya was vaguely aware of her body being dragged forwards, but the awareness was external to her, as if she was imagining it happening to someone else.

When her arms were free of the grille, the rest of the pack returned, clamping around any exposed part and pulling. The joint effort achieved the near impossible: first her head, and then her shoulders were somehow squeezed through the narrow opening.

• • •

Jake was transfixed. He knew he should be running, should be getting as far from the impending explosion as possible, but he stood glued to the spot.

The torpedo moved at incredible speed. As it got closer, he realised it was much faster than any dolphin he had ever seen. Faster than any jet ski or speedboat or indeed any powered vessel he’d seen too. Fast, and silent.

It reached the raft.

There was a microsecond between the torpedo disappearing out of view under the slowly deflating rubber, and anything happening. It was enough time for Jake’s brain to offer up a worrying scenario: what if it doesn’t blow up? What if it blasts right through the thick material of the life raft and keeps on going? Does it have to impact on a hard hull to detonate? As he reached the conclusion that it didn’t really matter either way, the torpedo exploded.

If the view from the bridge of the first torpedo blowing up had been spectacular, the view from the Lance of the second device going off was downright terrifying. For one thing, the noise was deafening. The wave of sound knocked him back on his feet, and when it bounced off the high side of the cruise ship, the second wave hit him almost as hard.

The column of water seemed to shoot even higher into the sky, though Jake understood at once that this was just an effect of his being so much lower. Unlike the first explosion though, this column was blown towards the Lance. The first drops of water splashed down on his nose, then more hit him in the face with considerably more force, spurring him into action at last. Turning away from the spectacle, he began to run towards the stern. It was far too late. A curtain of icy water hit the Lance full on, slamming into Jake’s back and sending him sprawling across the deck. The tidal wave caused by the underwater eruption reached the ship moments later, sending her riding high into the air, and dowsing Jake for a second time in the falling spire of seawater.

The Lance rolled over the crest of the wave and came crashing down the other side. Pitched at such a steep angle, Jake couldn’t prevent himself from rolling down the deck towards the bow and the handrail. The ocean was below him, threatening to swallow him up. He thrust out a hand and grabbed onto the foot of the harpoon launcher. The deck seemed to fall away from him, and he was briefly suspended in the air. Then as the vessel reached the very bottom of the wall, the floor came up once more to meet him, knocking the air from his lungs as they collided.

She rolled some more, but the worst had passed. The tower of water thrown into the air by the torpedo was now no more than a cloud, evaporating as it retreated behind them.

Jake coughed noisily, spluttering as water he didn’t even know he had swallowed ejected itself from his lungs. He hauled himself onto his hands and knees, wheezing and gasping. Through the handrail in front of him he saw a plume of smoke wind its way lazily into the sky.

The raft was gone. Beyond where it had been, a new movement. Another form stirring beneath the waves. Bigger than the torpedo, and slower too.

Jake pushed himself up onto his knees, shuffled forwards until he could grab the rail, and tugged, getting to his feet.

The ocean swelled, water pushing upwards, not into a column this time, just a bulge; a giant bubble which finally burst to reveal an array of antennae. The water appeared to turn black, it became shallow, and then fell away as first the fin, then the belly of the great beast forced its way through and out into the open.

Jake stared at it. He’d seen this sight once before, in the icy waters of Longyearbyen. But this was different. This wasn’t the familiar form of the Royal Navy’s finest nuclear submarine. This menacing monster wasn’t home to his friends and colleagues. This was not the Ambush, but something quite different. Angular, grey, bizarre, like a deformed whale.

Jake stood, panting, and stared at the enemy submarine. “Mission accomplished,” he muttered to himself. “Ambush…wherever you are: have at ’em!”

• • •

She lay on the floor, a shivering wreck. Behind her, she was vaguely aware of someone clanging around in the ventilation pipe, no doubt checking to see if anyone else was trying to intrude into their stronghold.

The sound of Erica’s voice pulled her some way to her senses.

“Lucya! Are you alright?”

The girl was silenced with a brutal slap to the face. Lucya felt an immediate and powerful surge of rage. She tried to hit out, to do something – anything – to draw attention away from the child, but her arms dangled uselessly by her side.

Her eyes were adjusting to the brightness of the room, so intense after being entombed in the tube. A figure stood over her.

The leader.

“Up,” he snarled.

“I can’t.”

“Up!”

“I can’t move.”

He shouted at his men. One came to his aid, pulling Lucya up into a kneeling position.

From her new perspective, and with her eyes getting used to the light, she could more fully take in her surroundings. The virus had progressed faster than she had thought. Of the seventeen men in the room, eleven were on the floor, their legs apparently paralysed. She looked up at the leader. His face was covered in red sores, and clumps of his hair had fallen out. She could even see a drip of blood running from his ear. He didn’t know it, but he had little time left.

“What plan?” he grunted at her.

“I don’t understand.”

“You plan what? You come here, you poison us?”

“No! I came to observe, that’s all. You’re very sick. You need to see the doctor.”

“No doctor.”

The man checking the ventilation shaft hobbled over to the leader. His legs may not have been entirely paralysed, but he was having great trouble walking. He handed something to his superior and muttered into his ear.

The leader held up the item, pushing it under Lucya’s nose. “No poison? This, poison!”

She squinted at the empty plastic vial.

“If that’s poison,” she said, “how am I supposed to have poisoned you? Look at it, it’s tiny!”

“You put in air!”

“Well then I’d be infected too, wouldn’t I? And I’m not.”

From outside came the unmistakable sound of an explosion. The children shrieked and covered their ears. The leader’s head spun around and he barked commands at his men. The two who were able to walk checked the door, peering out of the window and reporting back.

“Sounds like your submarine just blew up the Lance. What are you going to do now?”

“No. Submarine not destroy Lance.”

“Perhaps they were aiming for us? In which case, we’ll all be dead soon.”

“No. Submarine not sink cruise ship. Not before—” He stopped dead, as if realising he was giving away too much information. Instead, he walked towards the door. One of the others took his place, standing guard over Lucya.

The leader addressed the window in the door. “Your time up. Lance, now, or we kill.”

She couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but she didn’t need to. She knew what the answer would be. More time. They would always ask for more time, while they waited for the virus to finish them off.

“You send girl with poison, you no find Lance. Now, we kill.”

He turned and spoke in his own language. Lucya heard a scuffle behind her, then a cry of protest.

Erica.

The girl was dragged, kicking and scratching, and was dropped right next to her. Lucya wanted to hold her, to comfort her, but a guard was behind her now, holding her hands tightly behind her back. All she could do was look into her adopted daughter’s eyes and speak. “It’s okay, Erica. It’s okay, my darling. We’re getting out of here. Trust me, alright? Be a brave girl and trust me.”

“I trust you,” Erica said brightly, defiantly. “You came to help me. I know you’ll save us, Lucya.”

“Enough!”

The leader was back. He stood over them, his back to the door so the guards outside couldn’t see what he was doing. He held the gun, but he didn’t point it at them. Not yet. Instead, he looked at it, turning it in his hand, studying it. Then he handed it to one of his colleagues. “Too noisy,” he said calmly, before muttering something to the man by his side in their own tongue. The man nodded, and turned away from his leader so as to face the door. Lucya watched as he held the weapon aloft, pointing it at the small window. His position and proximity to the doorway meant that whatever the leader did next would be blocked from the view of those outside. The security men and women wouldn’t risk entering as long as the pistol was pointed at them, and neither would they have any reason to do so. As long as they were looking at the wrong end of the gun, it meant it wasn’t being pointed at any children. This didn’t give Lucya any hope, and her worst fears were confirmed when the leader walked to the front of the room, bent over with difficulty, and picked up what looked to be a steel pole. As he brought it back, Lucya realised it was a table leg. She could see more of them by the wall. The men had ripped them from a desk in order to provide themselves with additional crude arms.

The Korean held the pole in one hand, running his eyes up and down it. He slapped the palm of his free hand with it. It sounded heavy. Dangerous. He turned his attention back to Lucya and Erica, side by side, on their knees.

“Who first?” he asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he lifted the metal leg to shoulder height and swung it backwards, ready to strike a fatal blow.

Thirty-Two

DAN MITCHELL COULD honestly say he had never seen so much bodily fluid and blood in his life. Neither had he heard so much screaming. Impressive as his wife’s lung capacity and vocal cords were, Dan hardly noticed. He was too busy shifting from top to bottom, alternately reassuring her to her face that yes, she was doing very well, that no she wasn’t splitting in two, that yes she could keep going, and that no he wasn’t going to let the baby fall on its head. He also reminded her to breathe, to push with the contractions, and to relax in the ever briefer pauses between them.

He had half hoped that the noise would bring neighbours to see what the fuss was about, and that he could send them off in search of anyone from medical, but the folks on deck ten were either uninterested, or preferred not to interfere. Whatever the reason, nobody came knocking.

When the baby eventually crowned, he felt quite lightheaded. Repeating to Vicky that she should breathe, he realised the advice applied equally to himself.

“I can see the head!” His excited words were drowned out by Vicky’s moaning, and went entirely unheard. “Take a deep breath, and push with the next contraction.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” she bellowed.

The contraction came immediately, and with an almighty effort, the baby’s right shoulder was delivered, then the left. Dan held the tiny, delicate head in his large hand. The umbilical cord was wrapped around the child’s neck. He said nothing about it to Vicky, just kept muttering encouraging words whilst slipping a finger between cord and neck.

With one final push, the baby was born, slipping into Dan’s hands.

“You’ve done it! The baby’s out!” The words stuck in his throat as his emotions choked him.

“Why isn’t it crying?” Vicky was panting, exhausted.

Dan lay the child on the towels with which he had covered the floor. It was a delicate shade of blue, and made no noise. It didn’t seem to be breathing. His mind raced through everything he knew about childbirth. It wasn’t much, but he’d been to the classes, he’d been vaguely aware of the documentaries on television that Vicky had insisted in recording and watching back at mealtimes, and he seemed to remember having read something a long time ago.

“Dan? Why isn’t the baby crying?” She leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, face paler than he’d ever seen it.

Something clicked. He checked the nose and mouth were clear. Then with one finger, he gently tickled the infant’s left foot, then the right.

The tiny thing coughed, then wailed. Incredibly, it made even more noise than Vicky had managed.

The relief was immense, and Dan noticed that he, too, had started breathing again. He looked up at his wife, and found she was blurred. Everything was blurred.

“Let me see,” she said quietly.

“Of course.” He wiped away the tears with the back of his hand, wrapped the baby in a thick towel, and lifted it gently into her arms.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well what?”

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Oh! I didn’t even notice!”

“You big idiot.”

He hugged her, not caring about the blood on his hands.

There was a knock at the door.

“Come in!” Dan pulled a couple of the towels over Vicky.

The door opened and a man hobbled in, leaning on a walking stick. “Hello, I am Doctor Lister. I heard you were looking for someone from medical? Oh, my. It would seem I am rather late.”

Through the open door, they heard the sound of an explosion in the distance.

• • •

Daniel joined Jake at the bow of the Lance.

“You, sir, are a bloody genius if I may say so.”

Jake shook his head. “Not yet. If the Ambush doesn’t target that sub and put it out of action before she dives again, then we’re no better off. They won’t fall for the same trick twice.”

“Even so, Jake, using the raft? Very clever. I would never have thought of that. Lucky those guys targeted it and not the Ambush.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Jake said, grinning. “That radio made sure the Ambush knew what was going on. At least, I hope they understood my message. Where are the others? Are they okay?”

“It was a bit of a ride back there. That wave knocked poor Bodil out of her chair, but she’s alright. The boys are taking her back inside.”

They both stared at the enemy submarine. It was turning, no longer facing where the raft had been.

“Why aren’t they diving?” Daniel scratched his head. “They must know they’re a sitting duck. Surely the Ambush will have picked up the sound of them coming out of the water.”

“That was the plan. Even if they hadn’t surfaced, the torpedo launch must have shown up on the passive sonar. And yet, they’re not diving. Which means…”

“They don’t think they’re in danger.”

“Right. Which means…”

“They think they really did just sink the Ambush?”

Jake turned white as the implication dawned on him.

“Hang on.” Daniel was catching up. “If they think the Ambush is gone, that makes the Arcadia a target!”

“With no protection, they think they’re free to fire on her. Shit! Come on Ambush, where are you? Oh! The radio!” He reached into his pocket, but the radio had gone, knocked out when he was thrown to the deck. “It’s gone! Where’s the third one?”

Daniel stared at him.

“The third radio, Daniel? Where is it? If I broadcast another message, they’ll understand the Ambush is still out there!”

“The others have got it,” he said. He turned and started to run to the back of the ship.

Jake spun back round and looked out to sea. The strange angular stealthy submarine had completed her manoeuvre. She was facing directly towards the cruiser. “Come on…” he whispered. “Where are you guys?” He scanned the horizon, hoping to see the familiar black tower of the navy’s pride and joy, but the surface of the sea remained stubbornly unbroken.

He heard footsteps behind him. Daniel was back. “Here!” Arm outstretched, he held the radio in front of him. “It’s tuned in, go!”

Jake grabbed the device, checked the channel, and held it to his mouth. He looked out to sea again, and opened his mouth to speak.

“Too late,” he said quietly. “It’s too late.”

The two men stared at the hostile submarine. With barely a sound, something long and slender had shot out of the front.

Jake’s mouth fell open. He watched in disbelief as, just below the surface of the water, the torpedo sped towards the Spirit of Arcadia.

Thirty-Three

JAKE STARED AT the torpedo, his brain denying the image his eyes were relaying. The implication was just too huge. The submarine, off to his left, was diving again. To his right, blissfully unaware of the fate it was about to meet, was the Spirit of Arcadia. His workplace. His home. His family. His world. Speeding between the two, the weapon that would bring about its demise.

Not all hands would be lost. Not immediately anyway. The Arcadia still had some life rafts left. She was a big ship; she would take time to go down. Some might escape. Some might even make it to the Lance. And what then? The little research vessel couldn’t sustain life indefinitely. To escape the cruise ship would only serve to delay death.

“Jesus,” was all Daniel managed to say, before he threw up.

For Jake, time slowed down. His mind had processed the information to hand, and was going into overdrive, trying to find a solution. He felt as though he was waking up for the first time in his life, every sense on high alert. He discovered a clarity of thought the likes of which he had never before experienced.

From nowhere, he knew exactly what to do.

He strode quickly but calmly back along the deck.

“Daniel! With me,” he ordered. The young sailor, still dumbstruck, did as he was told, falling in line behind his captain.

Jake stopped and examined the rack of harpoons. His hand ran along them, fingers brushing against their slim metal bodies until they stopped on one with an explosives warning label.

“You don’t think…” Daniel began.

Jake ignored him and pulled the harpoon free. “Load this up,” he said.

Daniel took the device and stared at it.

“Quickly!”

While the weapon was being loaded, Jake positioned himself at the rear of the cannon once more.

Daniel stood aside and Jake searched the sea for the torpedo. He traced the straight line between where the submarine had disappeared below the water on their port side, and the cruise ship off the starboard side. There was no tell-tale trail of bubbles, no obvious wake, no disturbance of the water that gave any clues as to its whereabouts.

“There!” Daniel pointed at a shadow moving quickly. It was almost directly in front of the bow of the Lance.

“Move!”

Jake swung the harpoon cannon around to his left. It wouldn’t turn far enough; a safety precaution. It was impossible to fire across the Lance’s own deck. His eyes never left the dark patch of water speeding towards its target. The cannon held fast, his fingers curled around the trigger. He emptied his lungs and held his breath. His mind was clear and focussed. He had absolute confidence in what he was doing.

The torpedo cleared the bow; it was almost directly lined up with the launcher.

“Now,” Jake whispered. He squeezed the trigger.

It would have been the perfect shot. His timing was impeccable. The harpoon would have caught the torpedo dead centre. But nothing happened.

There was no launch. The explosive arrow stayed exactly where it was.

His mind, so clear and focussed, was filled with a thousand questions. Daniel usefully boiled them all down to just one: “What the fuck?”

Jake squeezed again. And again. On the fourth attempt the harpoon exploded out of the launcher and was away. But he hadn’t followed the torpedo, hadn’t tracked his target and moved the cannon. The harpoon arced out over the sea, and plopped harmlessly into the water where the deadly payload had been moments before. It didn’t even explode.

Jake roared with frustration, but it was a brief moment of anger. Just as quickly, he got himself under control. He hadn’t lost the torpedo. It was closing fast on the Arcadia, but there were still a few precious seconds left.

“Another!”

“On it,” Daniel cried. He was pulling out the only other explosive harpoon. It was loaded into the launcher, and the sailor jumped back out of the way.

Jake swung the grey tube around. He was now facing directly towards his own ship.

The shot was a difficult one. The torpedo was tracking away from him at an angle. He breathed out once more, all the time judging the speed and trajectory of the enemy weapon. He could almost hear Lucya whispering in his ear, guiding him, encouraging him. Still moving the launcher, still tracking, he squeezed the trigger.

Nothing.

He never blinked. He breathed in then out, kept the cannon rotating gently the whole time, following, stalking. He squeezed a second time.

The cannon recoiled very slightly as the harpoon rocketed out of the launch tube.

“Yes!” Daniel’s hands were thrown into the air.

Jake said nothing. He stood up straight and watched the little piece of metal soar through the sky. The torpedo was almost upon the ship. Sixty metres away. Fifty meters away.

The harpoon descended in a graceful curve.

Forty metres.

The arrow head dipped below the water, out of sight.

The world seemed to go black. Jake saw only a tiny patch of water, the shadow barely visible in the distance. It was out of his hands now.

• • •

“Close your eyes, Erica,” Lucya said. She kept her own eyes open, staring at the leader, showing she wasn’t afraid.

The metal table leg swung towards her.

At that precise moment, there was a huge explosion. Not like the previous explosion. This was bigger. Closer. It was followed almost immediately by a second explosion, further away.

Three things happened at once:

The lights all went out.

The ship rolled violently to the starboard side.

The metal pole struck Lucya.

It missed her head, instead catching her full in the side. She felt her ribs crack as it connected. It could have been worse. As she was already tumbling, rolling with the ship, the blow lost some of its force.

Erica was suddenly beneath her, screaming. In the dark, with the ship churning so violently, it was hard to know which way was up. Lucya was reminded of having had the same problem in the pipe. She remembered to use gravity to orient herself. The feeling was returning to her arms and she pushed herself up, freeing the girl.

Around them, there was shouting as the Koreans panicked, not knowing if they had been attacked by their own submarine, or if the whole thing was a ploy by the security team to take the classroom. Their voices were joined by a chorus of screams from the terrified children.

The lights flickered once, twice, then came back on. The ship was rolling back the other way.

Some of the men were in a heap at one end of the room. Partially paralysed, they could do nothing to help themselves.

The leader was back on his feet. He was reaching for the gun that had ended up on the floor in the commotion.

It was Erica who stopped him. She was alert, and her limbs reacted faster than those of Lucya. The girl sprang forwards and charged at him.

“Erica! No!” Lucya cried out, but she was too far away, and too late.

Her head down, Erica rammed the leader in the groin. It may not have been elegant, but it was mightily effective. The man went down heavily on his knees, which cracked as they hit the ground. His hands were still free though, and he reached for the weapon. Lucya was there. A blow to his arm knocked it free the very second he touched it. She raised her fist again, but one of the other men grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back. She shrieked in pain. Erica leapt onto the man’s back, but he bucked and threw her off. She staggered backwards and was caught by some of the other children.

The leader was recovering. He raised his hands and placed them around Lucya’s throat. She struggled, but her arms were locked behind her, and – she realised with alarm – she could no longer feel her legs. The virus too, had her in its clutches.

“Enough,” the leader said, choking on the word. “Enough.”

His hands gripped tighter. For Lucya, the world started to go black. Her lungs heaved and strained, desperate for oxygen. She looked into the Korean man’s eyes, and understood that he was enjoying this. He was enjoying killing her.

Then, a movement at the side of the room. A bang. The scraping sound of table legs on the floor. Shouting. Shapes approaching. Children screaming.

The man’s hands were pulled away. Lucya fell to the floor, choking and retching. Somehow Erica was by her side, calling her name, hugging her. She tried to look up, to see her one last time, but the room swam around her then faded to darkness.