Noah's Ark: Survivors (16 page)

“Right then, time to call curfew,” Jake announced.

Thirty-One

L
ARISSA
KNOCKED
AT
the door to cabin 854. She carried a wide bag over her left shoulder, and a folder under her right arm. The arm was aching from writing, and she decided that whoever was inside 854 was going to fill in the form themselves.

There was a click of a bolt turning, and the door opened inwards.

“About bloody time,” the man inside said.

Larissa closed her eyes for a second, telling herself to remain calm. “Good afternoon, I’m Larissa, I’m here to complete the passenger census.”

“Well get a bloody move on will you. We’ve been stuck in this cabin for four bloody hours. Just as this ship starts to go somewhere, we’re stuck in here.”

“Give it a rest, Ken,” a woman’s voice called from inside. “The poor girl has probably had just as long an afternoon.”

Larissa walked into the cabin. It was one of the larger ones, a full suite. She was standing in the sitting room. Opposite her was a huge balcony with a spectacular view of the ocean. There was a plush sofa and two arm chairs, arranged around a low mahogany coffee table. Larissa had polished that table on many occasions; it seemed strange for her to be here in another capacity.

“Do sit down, dear, and I apologise for my husband. It’s not as if he can’t appreciate the view from here.”

“Thank you. This won’t take long, there are only a few questions.”

The three of them sat down, Ken taking the sofa. Larissa opened the thick file she had been carrying and split the papers inside into two piles. One pile, slightly dog-eared and untidy, went back into the folder. The other pile comprised blank sheets. She peeled off the top two sheets and handed one each to the couple. From the shoulder bag she produced two black ballpoint pens which she set down on the table.

“I need you to fill in your full names, dates of birth, nationality, country of residence, and occupation, all in the boxes as shown. Underneath, please fill in any skills you may have, and anything else you think might be useful to the community if” — even after repeating the instructions countless times throughout the afternoon, she still found herself hesitating at this point — “if this community is all that survives of mankind and we have to start over.”

“Don’t you worry, dear, we’re on the move again, look!” The woman pointed to the balcony and the ocean beyond. “The captain says we’re going to find a safe harbour.”

“Oh, Tracy, you know as well as I do that’s just lip service. We’re heading for land alright, and when we get there we’re going to see what everyone knows full well: that the bloody asteroid has destroyed everything.”

Tracy blinked away tears. “I don’t believe it, Ken. I won’t believe it.”

“Um, if you could just fill out the forms?” Larissa was growing impatient. She had seen this same scene played out in countless cabins. In nearly every family or couple she had visited, most were in denial. Most couldn’t accept the fact the world had ended, that this was all that was left. The “community” question promoted the same argument, time after time. She just wanted this to be over.

For a few minutes the only sounds were the scratching of pens on paper and the sound of water crashing against the side of the ship, clearly audible through the open balcony door.

“Well, I don’t think I have anything to offer in the way of skills.” Ken was sitting back, sucking on the end of his pen.

“You’re pretty good at painting and decorating,” Tracy said.

“That’s hardly a skill, is it? Anyone can do a bit of painting and decorating. I think they’re looking more for carpenters, stone masons, people who can build a town.”

“Actually, painting and decorating would be great. If you’ve done any of that, please, write it down.” Larissa wanted to scream out to put anything down, just hurry up and finish.

Ken scrawled a few words, considered what he had written, and handed back the page.

“What are you writing? You haven’t got that many skills!” Ken snorted at his wife.

“I have many hidden talents, Kenneth. Mind you, not as many as you. Like being able to pay for a luxury suite on a cruise liner on a teacher’s salary.”

“Yes, well, we’re not here to talk about that.”

“Sorry, teacher?” Larissa’s ears pricked up. “Could you list the subjects you teach? That would be very useful.” She handed back the paper and pen.

Ken sighed heavily and started writing once more. Tracy handed her page to Larissa, who scanned through it quickly, then folded over the bottom and tore it off carefully. She rifled through the folder and extracted a page on which were written a long list of numbers. One of the numbers corresponded to that on the slip of paper she had torn off. Against it, she wrote “Tracy Frampton”.

“This is your meal ration voucher.” She handed the paper back to Tracy. “You’ve been assigned to the Nautilus restaurant for your meals, second sitting. You’ll need to present the voucher at each service. Please don’t lose it; no voucher means no meal.”

“My mum used to tell me stories about rationing during the war.” Tracy looked wistful. “I never thought I’d experience it first-hand.”

Ken finished his list and handed back his page. Larissa repeated the same exercise, returning his voucher to him.

“Second sitting, pah!” He didn’t look impressed. “So we get the leftovers. Probably cold ones, at that.”

“Everyone gets the same rations, Mr Frampton. There’s no preferential treatment for the first sitting, I can assure you.” Larissa got to her feet. “Thank you for your time. If you could remain in your cabin until an announcement is made, it will make our job much easier.”

“So we don’t have to stay? We’re free to leave?” Ken jumped to his feet.

“I can’t force you to stay here, but it really will make things go a lot quicker if you do.”

Larissa went to let herself out. At the door, she took one last look at the plush suite. A thought ran through her head. If they were all doomed to live on this ship because the planet was scorched, why should people like Ken get to live in such luxury? He’d paid for a cruise, for sure. But what gave him the right to stay here, in this room, in another week’s time, when the cruise was supposed to have finished? And another week after that? And after that? What right did anyone have to any particular accommodation anymore, if they were now a “community” of survivors?

Thirty-Two

“T
HIS
IS
THE
captain. I would like to personally thank everyone on board for their cooperation during the census this afternoon. The survey has been completed, and you are free to leave your cabins. Dinner service first sitting will be beginning shortly. Thank you.”

Jake replaced the handset and walked over to Lucya’s station. She was deep in discussion with Dave, both intensively studying a chart.

“How long until we see land?” Jake asked.

Lucya looked up. “I think we should already be able to see something. Dave thinks I’m wrong.”

“If you’re not wrong, then why can’t we see anything?”

“Because I think we’re in the wrong place.”

Jake looked confused. Lucya put her hand on his back and steered him round the table to better see the map.

“Look, I think we should be here. In which case, we should be able to see that.” She pointed at the land mass. “But we can’t. So we’re not where we should be.”
 

“Not where we should be if we go by our original calculations,” Dave interjected. “But my point is that those calculations are no longer valid. Which means we can’t base our position on them. So we are where we should be, we just don’t know where we should be!”

“Right, now I’m utterly confused,” Jake said, scratching his head. “What’s wrong with the calculations?”

“May I?” Dave looked questioningly at Lucya.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Sure, why not? It’s your theory, you explain it.”

“When Lucya calculated the route, she took into account the currents. Standard practice. They either carry the ship along or they push against us, slowing us up.”

“Yes, thank you for the navigation one-oh-one, David. Even I remember that much.” Jake looked put out.

“Sorry, of course. But I think the currents have changed. I don’t know how, but it seems like the asteroid changed something. Maybe the heat, or the quantity of ash falling on the ocean. I’m not a scientist. I’m really out of my depth here. But I’m sure the currents changed, and if I’m right then our calculations are void. We’re either not as far along on our course as we think, which would explain why we can’t see a big chunk of land anywhere on the horizon, or…”

“Or…?”

“Or we’re totally off course altogether. We’ll know in another fifteen minutes when we can take some more accurate bearings. But gut feeling? I’d say we’re on course, just running behind.”

“How do you know the currents have changed?” Jake asked suddenly, the question popping into his head.

Dave blushed. “Because our fuel consumption is worse than expected.”

Jake looked around, wanting to make sure nobody else was listening. Pedro was busy keeping lookout, and Melvin was falling asleep in his chair.

“How did you know that? I didn’t talk to anyone but Martin about that!”

“I’ve got a mate down in engineering. He called to ask if I knew why we were burning fuel so quickly. He said Martin did the calculations and he never gets them wrong. So I thought about it, and this is the only thing that makes sense.”

“Any way to know for sure?”

“Not while we’re moving. We could come to a full stop and drop some measuring equipment over the side, but as we’ll know in the next quarter of an hour anyway, that idea seems redundant.”

Jake sighed. “Okay, well keep me posted. As soon as there’s anything new, I want to know.”

“You’ll see it at the same time as us,” Lucya said. “If Dave’s right, you’ll see a big lump of land out that window quite soon.”

• • •

Fifteen minutes later there was a loud “whoop!” from the navigation station. Jake looked over to see Dave beaming from ear to ear.

“Report?”

“Sir, I was right, sir!” came the reply.

Lucya’s face was thunderous. “I can confirm we are on course and should see land within the next few minutes.”

Jake stood up and walked over to the front-facing floor-to-ceiling window that ran the length of the bridge. He picked up a pair of binoculars and slowly adjusted them, bringing the horizon into sharp focus. It was a grey blur. No sign of land. No sign of ash, either. It turned out the fears of floating ash islands had been without basis. They had passed some patches of the stuff, thin layers floating on the surface like seaweed, or the islands of plastic garbage that they often saw in the Pacific. But it hadn’t coalesced into rocks, or if it had, those rocks had sunk without a trace.
 

“Land ahead!” Pedro called.

Jake adjusted his binoculars again. He still couldn’t see anything, just a mass of grey. Were his eyes getting old? Could he trust his own vision? He was beginning to wonder when, right on the horizon, part of the grey appeared to thicken, and then solidify. As he watched, it began to take shape, to form into something with real mass. There was no doubt about it, there really was land ahead.

He walked over to the communications console where he swapped the binoculars for a headset. A thin microphone grew out of the right-hand earpiece and curled round under his nose. He pressed a button marked “Channel 7”.

“This is Max.”

“Max, it’s Jake. We’re seeing land ahead. You’d better brief your men. People are going to get excited when they see this. Who knows how they’ll react or what they’ll do.”

“Okay, thanks for the heads up.”

“Max, how’s your new lad doing?”

“Flynn? Yeah, he seems to be a good man. Committed. Good with people.”

“Can you assign him to deck ten? Or do you have specific plans for him?”

“Sherwood wants him floating about all over the place, but honestly that’s just a pain. I can stick him on ten. Why?”

“Just thinking if there are any more passenger revolts, having a cone patrolling around here might help.”

“You expecting trouble?”

“I don’t know. I just think that when they see land, a lot of people are going to want to try and get off…”

“No problem, I’ll station him on ten. Any sign of trouble I’ll call you on the radio.”

Jake pulled off the headset and set it down carefully.

Over at the navigation station, Lucya and Dave were busily working the radar, fine tuning the course.

“How are we doing, time wise?” Jake asked.

“Another hour or so and we will pull level with Spitsbergen island.” Lucya didn’t look up from the radar as she spoke. “Then, we slow down. It’s rocky out there. We can’t take chances. We have to circumnavigate Spitsbergen and Prince Charles Foreland, then sail up the Isfjorden. We’re lucky, at this time of year there will be a lot less ice around, but Pedro is still going to have his work cut out.”

A knock at the door, and Silvia entered with more trays of food. The crew settled down to eat, Pedro and Jake taking turns to keep a lookout, and Lucya and Dave alternately manning the radar. By the time everyone had finished their dinner, land was very clearly visible on the port side. Jake tried to get a better look with his binoculars, but the rocky archipelago was so desolate and inhospitable that is was impossible to tell if it was covered in asteroid ash, or was an untouched snowy wasteland.

“I think it’s time to get some rest. Lucya, you can take first watch. You’re in command. I’ll replace you at oh-three hundred hours. Dave, you’re taking a break, get some sleep. Pedro?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Can you find someone to take over from you? I need you rested and alert when we enter the fjord.”

“Of course, Captain.”

“Be back here at oh-three hundred. Melvin, you organise yourself and Stacey however you want.”

Jake looked around at his reduced crew. They were holding up well, all things considered. He himself felt dead on his feet, and he knew the others must be equally exhausted; more so, even. But none of them complained. Even Melvin had held his tongue for most of the afternoon.