Текст книги "Noah's Ark: Survivors"

Автор книги: Harry Dayle

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Four

THE VOICE BOOMED out throughout the ship. It rang out in the theatre, now empty. It echoed through the casino, heard by only a few souls who had come in to collapse on the comfortable chairs. It reverberated through every deck, inside and out.

“This is First Officer Jake Noah. This is an emergency. I repeat, this is an emergency! The dust cloud that follows the asteroid is headed for this ship. All passengers and crew must get inside now. The cloud is molten rock and will burn anyone and anything it touches. I repeat, everyone must take shelter inside the ship now. Please proceed in an orderly fashion to the nearest exit and get back in the ship.”

He let go of the button, thought for a moment, then added: “Deck thirteen may not be safe from the dust. Try and get to the lower decks for protection.”

Outside there was a stunned silence. Heads and eyes turned to scan the sea. Somebody somewhere screamed. It was as if a touch paper had been ignited, the scream quickly spread, and with it, panic. There was a stampede as hundreds of people tried to pile through small single doorways. Some fell, and were trampled upon without a second thought. Many made it inside, but just as many weren’t quick enough. The dust cloud had already arrived.

At first it looked like snow. Dark grey flakes, floating lazily in the air. It was pretty, in a way. Pretty, but deadly.

Maisie Warwick was the furthest from a door, and so the first passenger to feel the force of the asteroid’s poisonous payload. The recently divorced mother of two had come on the cruise to celebrate her newfound freedom. Years of physical and verbal abuse from her ex-husband were at an end. This trip marked her new beginning, a new life. She looked at the scrum of people pushing, kicking, and fighting their way to the door and knew she would never make it. Turning to look at the first flakes of dust as they glided gently towards her on the breeze, she smiled. A flake landed on her forehead, burning through the skin instantly. As it cooled, it embedded itself into the bone of her skull. She didn’t have a chance to scream, as more flakes dusted her, burning holes through her clothes, and through her flesh. She was dead within seconds, a pile of charred flesh and bone on the wooden deck.

Then the full force of the cloud hit the ship.

• • • • •

Deep in the engine room, Jake and Martin were oblivious to the carnage being wreaked on the outer decks. They were spared the smell of burning bodies. They were saved from hearing the terrible screams.

On the bridge, Lucya wasn’t so lucky. She had made it back just as Jake had finished putting out his emergency call. The place was nearly deserted. The ship had dropped anchor as the news of the asteroid broke. A skeleton crew were supposed to be present at all times no matter what, company regulations were very clear about that. Such rules were of little concern now though, and every last crew member had abandoned their post, gone in search of a television screen to see the horrific events unfold. The theatre, the casino, the crew bar, anywhere with a live feed and some space.

Lucya walked onto the bridge just as the dust cloud hit. It came from the rear. The prevailing wind had until then been in the opposite direction. Had that not been the case, Lucya would have been killed instantly as the bridge windows blew in. As it was, only those windows that wrapped around the deck to provide rearwards visibility were hit. Small in number they may have been, but they still sprayed an impressive amount of glass across the room as they exploded with the force of the wind and dust. Lucya instinctively threw herself to the floor. Searing heat roared into the room. It lasted ten, maybe twenty seconds, and it stopped as abruptly as it had arrived.

When she was sure it had passed over, she got to her feet and made her way to the front of the bridge. Looking out over the decks below she saw destruction and devastation. Most of the lifeboats were on fire, and smaller fires were burning on most levels. The pristine white paintwork of the Spirit of Arcadia, the flagship of Pelagios Line was blackened and charred, making her look more like a navy vessel than a luxury cruise liner. Bodies littered the decks. Some were on fire, some were still moving, but barely. She couldn’t bare to look, there was nothing to be done to save them. Instead she took a deep breath, and assessed what needed to be done most urgently. The burning lifeboats represented the greatest hazard. The smaller deck fires were blowing themselves out, but the lifeboat fires could spread. She ran over to a control desk and quickly located the release button. Hesitating for only a second, she hit it with the full force of the palm of her hand.

Nothing happened. It was only then that she realised that the usual blinking lights of the console and the whirring and chattering noises of the radar were absent. The bridge was devoid not just of crew, but of its own mechanical and electrical life. Everything lay still. Motionless, and silent.

• • • • •

The Spirit of Arcadia was equipped with three gigantic diesel engines. Two were used for propulsion, and lay idle. With the anchor down there was no use wasting fuel keeping the motors ticking over. The other, smaller engine drove the electrical generator that kept the ship’s systems running. A life support machine for the three thousand people aboard. Something was clearly very wrong with this engine though. Within a few seconds of the dust cloud hitting, it started to emit an earsplitting whine. To begin with it sounded like a washing machine gearing up to run a spin cycle. The noise quickly increased in intensity though, and then it began to vibrate.

“What the hell?” Jake looked around anxiously.

“Sounds like the exhaust is blocked. We have to shut this thing down, now!” Matin said, sprinting to to the other side of the room. He fiddled with chunky black plastic knobs, twisted graduated rotary dials, then stepped back and scratched his head.

“Problem?” Jake walked over to join him.

“I don’t understand, it’s not responding to the manual controls.”

The noise continued to grow louder, the men were shouting to make themselves heard. It was becoming intolerable, to the point that they wouldn’t be able to remain in the engine room much longer without risking permanent hearing damage. Jake spotted a glass cabinet on the wall. Inside were safely helmets, goggles, and ear protectors. He took out two sets of the bright red headgear and passed one to the mechanic. Martin gave him a sideways look that suggested health and safety was for other people, but as the sound ratcheted up another notch he grabbed the protectors and snapped them over his head. He tried a few more combinations of buttons, shrugged his shoulders, and walked back towards the huge motor. The vibrations had become so intense, the huge power plant was now visibly shaking.

Martin held out his forefinger and traced a line in the air. Jake watched, following his eye line until it alighted on a copper pipe painted white. The pipe entered the underbelly of the engine, and Martin was tracing it backwards. It ran up the side of a supporting metal post, along the low ceiling, and then along the wall. Just before it disappeared through a bulkhead it made a U shaped detour, at the bottom of which was a bright red lever. A small padlock prevented the lever from being operated. A glass box next to the lever contained a key. Martin walked over to the box, picked up the tiny hammer attached to it with a chain, and smashed the glass. He removed the key, unlocked the padlock, threaded the loop of metal out of the catch, and pulled the lever closed. At first nothing happened. Then, slowly, the whining noise started to drop in pitch. The vibrations of the engine reduced, becoming more of a rattle, before finally abating altogether. The beast of a motor was dying.

“Emergency fuel cut-off,” Martin said, cocking his thumb at the lever.

“Aren’t you supposed to know where that is without having to look?” Jake asked.

“Sorry Officer,” Martin emphasised the second word a bit too much for Jake’s liking. “We would have covered it when we took delivery of this boat. Never had cause to use it since then, so yeah, I probably should know where it is, but I can’t remember everything I did five years ago.”

“You think the dust cloud blocked the exhaust?”

“Could be, that would explain the noise. If enough dust blew down the funnel it could have caused this.”

“There’s an easy way to unblock it, right?” Jake feared he already knew the answer.

“Oh yeah, sure. Someone has to climb down the funnel and clear out the gunk. You volunteering?”

“Engineering isn’t my strong point, as well you know. I think I’ll leave it to a professional,” Jake said.

“Well whoever does it, they’re going to have to do it soon. Without that motor turning, this boat’s got now power, and that means no heat, light, fresh water, or sanitation.”

“Aren’t there batteries or something?”

“For emergency systems only. We can bring the bridge online if we need to. The emergency PA system too, as well as some emergency lighting in some areas.”

“Ok, get the PA working, but leave everything else off for now. We don’t know how long we’re going to be stuck without power, so we should conserve what we can.” Jake turned to leave.

“So you’re in charge now, huh?” Martin called after him.

Jake turned and looked at him.

“Captain Ibsen is in charge, I’m just trying to offer my advice,” he said.

“Your advice is noted, First Officer Noah,” Martin said, before turning back to his console and fiddling with more buttons.`

Five

THE DUST CLOUD had completely vanished. The sky remained grey, the sun partially blocked by more dust higher in the atmosphere. In the half light, Lucya made her way to the exterior of deck ten. Most of the lifeboats were tethered on this deck, and they were still burning furiously. One fire had already spread and the wooden floor of the deck itself was burning. A number of people, Lucya couldn’t see if they were passengers or crew, were already tackling that blaze with fire extinguishers. She sprinted to the first lifeboat, found the manual release handle, and tried to crank it. The instant she touched it she felt the skin on her hand melt. She pulled her hand away instinctively, leaving skin on the hot metal, charred and blackened. She screamed in pain, looked round for some way of easing the burning, but saw only more flames, hot metal, and burning bodies. Swallowing hard, she turned back to the crank. She pulled off her jacket, wrapped it around the handle, and pulled it round towards her. To her relief, the lifeboat gave a jolt and started to descend towards the sea. It took all of her effort, but after several minutes winding, the small craft hit the water with a hiss and a fizz. One last tug on the handle and the steel cables were released. The lifeboat floated free, away from the Spirit of Arcadia.

“One down,” Lucya said to herself, “fifteen more to go”.

• • • • •

Jake returned to the bridge, taking the more conventional route via the stairs. This place was home to him, it was where he spent most of his working day as first officer. He’d always thought it a soulless place. He was no stranger to ships and boats, having a captain as a father. But this bridge had none of the character or the romance of older vessels. There was no great wooden wheel, no impressive high perched captain’s chair, no beautiful polished brass instruments. This bridge looked more like some mix between a call centre and the control room of a power station. It was all clean lines and sleek grey control panels with embedded screens. Two rows of four consoles each dominated the space. They filled almost the full forty metre width of the room. The ship was was largely automated, so the consoles weren’t designed to be manned by more than a handful of people. This lack of human presence only heightened the lifelessness of the place.

One concession to traditional seafaring ways was the map table towards the rear. A huge brushed steel surface under which a set of drawers held charts of the world’s seas. It was never used of course, at least not for its intended function. GPS ruled the waves now. But every ship had to carry a set of maps as a backup. The map table of the Spirit of Arcadia was sometimes commandeered for the odd game of ping-pong on dull days, and this morning a game of Monopoly had been in progress upon it. Now the board was on the floor, laying among the thousands of tiny pieces of shattered glass from the rear windows, and a dusting of the grey ash that had caused the damage. Standing at the front of the bridge, surveying the carnage below, was Staff Captain Johnny Hollen, the second in command. He turned to see who had entered behind him.

“Jake. Good work on that announcement.”

“Thanks. Where is everyone? I thought the crew would come back here. Where’s Lucya? She was headed for the bridge last time I saw her,” Jake looked anxious.

“Place was deserted when I got here a few minutes ago. Have you seen anyone else? I think we should gather the senior crew members together.”

“Apart from Lucya, only chief engineer Oakley down in the engine room. He had to kill the generator, we’re without power for I don’t know how long.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Any suggestions on how we find the rest of the senior officers? No power, no comms.”

“The emergency PA system should be working, Oakley said it runs off a battery backup.”

Hollen walked over to a console, picked up a handset that looked more like it belonged on an telephone. He flicked a button, and spoke quietly.

“All senior officers are to report to the bridge immediately. I repeat, all senior officers to the bridge.”

“That’s it?” Jake looked surprised. “You’re not going to try and calm the passengers down, tell them what’s happening?”

“What is happening, Jake? Do you know? Because I have no frigging idea. This morning I was winning at Monopoly. Half an hour ago the world was ending. Then we get sandblasted or something, and now…” he stared outside. “Now I don’t know what happens next. So what do you suggest I say to the passengers?”

Jake didn’t have an answer.

Six

FLYNN BAKEMAN STEPPED outside into the Palm Plaza. The park was located in the centre of the ship, a vast open space planted with trees and lush vegetation. Balconied cabins towered above on each side. Shops and restaurants opened out onto the plaza over two levels. Normally the place was buzzing, packed with people walking through, or sunbathing on the patches of grass, or spilling out from the cafes, drinking brightly coloured cocktails while enjoying live music being played under the palm trees. For this arctic cruise, huge gas heaters had been installed too. The cruise company were apparently oblivious to the irony of burning thousands of extra tons of fossil fuels so that passengers could enjoy outdoor activities in the warm whilst on a trip to see ice caps that were melting because of global warming.

Today though, the park was, like the rest of the ship, grey and burnt out. The palm trees were smouldering, the rest of the plants and flowers lost under a thin layer of grey ash. Some of the shop windows had blown in, and many of the balconies had shattered, scattering shards of glass throughout the former greenery.

To Flynn, the grey, desolate scene before him mirrored the despair he felt within. He was alive. He had, against all the odds, somehow survived. Judgement day had come, and his life had been spared. He couldn’t understand. He had always been a faithful servant of the Lord. He prayed every day. He was a true soldier of the faith. And yet, when the end came, he had not been taken.

He walked to the middle of the plaza, and looked up at the grey, ashen sky.

“Why?” he cried at the top of his voice. “Why have you done this to me? What must I do to make this right?” His words sounded weak and pathetic in the vastness of the open space. He sank to his knees, and with balled fists, began ponding the floor, roaring incomprehensibly. Clouds of dust puffed into the air with every impact. When he had exhausted himself, he remained on the ground, curled over, his head on his knees.

And then, he smiled.

God had spoken to him. He knew now why his wife had won this cruise holiday in a radio phone in competition. He understood why he had been taken away from his home, and certain death. More importantly, he knew exactly what he was supposed to do now.

Seven

LUCYA WAS TORN. She had managed to lower five burning lifeboats to sea, but there were three more to go, and another eight on the other side of the ship. She was drained of energy, her burnt hand was in agony, and now the Staff Captain had called all senior crew to the bridge. As chief radio officer, responsible for communications and navigation, she certainly counted as senior crew, but Lucya decided the lifeboats were more important. Emergency flares in one of those she had already released, had exploded as it drifted away from the Spirit of Arcadia. They had turned the already raging fire into a true inferno. If the same thing happened to a lifeboat still on board, they would have a serious problem on their hands.

She put her jacket around the release handle of the next boat, and heaved with all her might. It refused to budge. She gave a scream, took a few steps back, then gave it a kick with the heel of her sturdy black boot. Nothing. Taking a closer look it became obvious why; the steel cable wrapped around the drum of the winch had started to fuse to itself with the heat of the fire.

“Young lady, maybe this would help?” a voice from behind her called.

She looked around and found a tall thin gentleman smiling at her. He was much older than her, in his seventies, she thought. Thinning white hair, and dressed casually. Passenger, not crew. He held out a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters, and raised an eyebrow.

“We really should get a move on. I believe the flares in some of these could go off with quite a bang.”

He spoke with a refined accent, London or thereabouts. Lucya had worked on ships long enough and met enough people to have become quite good at placing accents. She gave a half smile, grabbed the bolt cutters, and in one smooth movement, snipped through the cable that connected the lifeboat to the winch. The bows of the small craft fell away, but with the stern cable still attached it couldn’t entirely free itself, and swung dangerously close to the hull of the cruiser.

“I did say ‘we’,” the man said. He walked to where the second cable fed down through a shackle before connecting to the winch, and with a second pair of bolt cutters, set it free, sending it crashing into the ocean below. The man wandered off casually in the direction of the next boat.

“Wait, who are you anyway?” Lucya shouted after him. She sprinted to catch up.

“Tom Sanderson,” the man said without looking at her.

“What are you doing walking around this ship with bolt cutters, Tom Sanderson?”

“I’m cutting free burning lifeboats, before they endanger the ship and those people on board who have survived events up to this point.” He still didn’t look at her, instead, he positioned his bolt cutters on the cable of the next lifeboat. “Shall we try and better co-ordinate on this one?”

Lucya placed her own cutters on the second cable.

“After three,” Tom said. “1…2….3”.

The two of them snipped at the same moment, sending the burning lifeboat smashing into the dark and icy water. Tom had already set off towards the next one without waiting to watch the descent.

“What I meant,” Lucya was out of breath from all the physical exertion, “is where where did you get them?”

“If that’s what you meant then that’s what you should have asked, don’t you think?”

Lucya stopped in her tracks.

“Listen,” she said. I’m a senior officer and I need to get back to the bridge. Think you can manage the rest on your own?” She handed her bolt cutters to Tom. He couldn’t help but notice the state of her hand as he took hold of them.

“You want to get that looked at,” he said, then turned and set off towards the next burning lifeboat.