For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak (21 page)

I
looked backwards. ‘Tom, keep it facing into the wind.’

‘Aye,
Aye, Cap’n!’ He gave a mock salute and turned the wheel. The boat twisted to the
left and the sail billowed out even further, threatening to yank the halyard
from Daz and Sophie’s grip.

‘Other
way.’ I yelled towards the stern.

‘Sorry,’ Tom replied, apologetically, and turned the wheel to the right. The
sail emptied and started to flap lazily.

Turning back to Daz and Sophie, I showed them how to wrap the halyard round its
winch, making sure to keep their thumbs out of the way, and crank it tight using
one of the detachable handles. ‘Now, see if you two can work out how to put the
mizzen up on your own.’

‘Okay,
cool.’ Daz’s eyes moved around the boat. ‘What’s the mizzen?

I
pointed over my shoulder. ‘It’s the smaller sail on the mast at the back of the
boat.’

‘Oh,
yeah.’ Daz looked sheepish. ‘You’ve told us that before, haven’t you? Sorry, I
forgot.’

I
returned to the cockpit and sat next to Tom. Together we watched the two
youngsters struggling to get the mizzen up, followed by the jib at the front,
with me shouting instructions as and when they were needed. After ten minutes,
they’d finished and came back to the cockpit.

‘Okay,
so now you know how to get the sails up …’ Both Daz and Sophie were listening
eagerly as I spoke. ‘… you need learn how to bring them down again.’

The
teenagers groaned, but did as they were told, and soon the sails were back where
they started. They were even more annoyed when I got them to put the sails up
again, this time with absolutely no help from me whatsoever. When they finally
returned to the back of the boat, they both looked very pleased with themselves.

Next,
I showed them how to tack and how to heave to; how to use the winches to tighten
up the jib; and how to reef the sails. I took them through a man overboard drill
and showed them how to tie a bowline and a reef knot. I wasn’t too sure how much
they’d remember, but I had the feeling they’d have plenty of time to practise,
and I felt they now knew enough for us to head out of the sheltered waters of
the Clyde and into the open sea.

Taking
the wheel, I turned it until we were pointing south. The dome-shaped outline of
Ailsa Craig, with the snow-white lighthouse, lay off to the west.  Staring at
it, I realised it was a little over six days since I’d passed it on my way to
Glasgow; it hardly seemed possible that so much could have happened in such a
short space of time. I looked north, back the way we had come, and saw dense
black smoke still spewing from the infested frigate. Off in the distance, dark
clouds hung over the smouldering remains of the now-distant city. I thought
about all those who’d lived there: friends, family, people I only knew in
passing, ex-girlfriends, those I’d gone to school with, but hadn’t spoken to in
years. Faces and memories rolled through my mind. All of them were almost
certainly now dead: either killed by the infected or by the military as they
tried to contain the outbreak. One day, they were all there, living their lives;
the next, all that was left of them were the memories locked away in my mind.
Yet, many of those killed in the city would have no one still alive to remember
them; all trace of them would have been wiped from the face of the planet. It
was as if they’d never existed.

Trying
to push these thoughts from my mind before they overwhelmed me, I turned my
attention back to Ailsa Craig. The lighthouse was the only building on the
uninhabited island, but in the breeding season it was home to thousands upon
thousands of seabirds. It was still a little early in the year, but many had
already returned. While humanity was wiping itself out, nature was carrying on
like nothing had happened. I watched gannets floating high above the cliffs,
white crosses against the blue sky. Then my eyes were drawn to a small flock
circling about half a mile ahead. Every few seconds, one would fold its wings
and plummet, a fountain of spray shooting into the air as it sliced through the
water and disappeared. This meant only one thing and I steered the boat towards
them.

‘Hey,
Daz, can you open that deck locker there?’ I watched as he lifted the lid.
‘There should be some fishing lines in there. D’you see them?’

Daz
leant inside. ‘What d’they look like?’

‘Like
string wrapped round a wooden frame with coloured feathers on them.’

He
reached inside and pulled one out. ‘You mean this?’

‘Yep,
that’s one. There should be three others as well.’

Daz
rummaged around until he had found the rest of them. After closing the locker,
he picked one up and examined it closely. ‘D’you no’ use rods to catch fish? My
grampy took me fishin’ once, down on the canal; we used rods then.’ He fell
silent, as if reliving the memory. ‘We didn’t catch anythin’ though.’

‘That’s what you use when you’re fishing for fun. This is a hand line; it’s what
people around here use when they’re fishing for food.’

Daz
turned it over curiously. ‘How d’you use it?’

‘You’ll find out soon enough. See those birds up ahead?’

‘Yeah.’

‘They’re feeding, and that means there’ll be fish under them.’

‘What
sort of fish?’ Sophie had been listening as Daz and I talked.

‘It’s
a bit early in the year, but I’m hoping it’s mackerel.’ I glanced ahead. We’d
almost reached the area where the birds circled 100 feet above the water. Daz
and Sophie watched as one of the birds started its dive, following it down until
it hit the water with an audible
whump
. Sophie ran forward and peered
over the guard rail. ‘Hey, you can see it under the water! It’s almost like it’s
flying!’

The
bird popped back to the surface and shook itself, before taking off in an
ungainly manner. They watched as it climbed back to where the other birds
circled before dropping into the sea once more.

Daz
stared, open-mouthed. ‘This is amazin’! I’ve only ever seen stuff like this on
TV before.’

I
smiled at him. ‘It gets better.’

Daz
frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’

I
pointed to where a large, dark object appeared out of the water, rolled slowly
across the surface and disappeared again.

A look
of confusion mixed with fear flashed across Daz’s face. ‘What the fuck was
that
?’

I did
my best not to laugh at his reaction. ‘It’s a minke whale.’

Sophie
squealed with delight as the whale surfaced again, this time alongside the boat.
Daz joined her at the guard rail and together they watched the massive animal as
it manoeuvred just below the surface.

‘It’s
swimming under the boat!’ Sophie glanced at me nervously. ‘Is that safe?’

‘Yeah.
It knows exactly where we are.’

Tom
stood up. ‘You can see it coming out on this side.’

Daz
and Sophie scampered across and draped themselves over the opposite guard rail.
The whale’s head broke the surface a few feet from the side of the boat. There
was a loud
whoosh
as it exhaled, followed by a deep
phup
as it
breathed in again. Its back appeared next, glistening like black glass in the
morning sun, followed by the dorsal fin, just before it disappeared below the
surface once more.

Sophie
wrinkled her nose. ‘Urrggg. What’s that smell?’

I
chuckled. ‘Whale breath.’

Daz
waved a hand in front of his face, trying to waft it away. ‘Awww, that’s
mingin’.’

I
looked round: we were now right in the middle of the feeding gannets. ‘Time to
get the sails down and start fishing.’

I
steered the boat into the wind; Daz and Sophie dropped the main while I dropped
the mizzen and Tom rolled in the jib. The boat came to a standstill, birds
diving all around us. I passed out a hand line to each of the others and showed
them how to dangle the twelve hooks — each covered with chicken feathers dyed
bright and unnatural colours — into the water. As the line unfurled from the
wooden frame, the weight at the end helped it sink out of sight.

‘Once
the hooks are down deep enough, you need to jerk them up and down like this.’ I
pulled my line sharply up and then let it sink before doing the same again. The
others quickly got the hang of it and soon there was a cry from Sophie. I turned
and saw her line was vibrating wildly. ‘Looks like you’ve got something there.’

‘What
do I do?’ There was a note of trepidation in her voice.

‘Pull
it in!’

Sophie
pulled up her line until one of the brightly coloured lures broke the surface.

‘Lift
it out of the water and see what you’ve caught.’

She
grabbed the line just above the first hook and lifted the rest clear of the
water: two mackerel were flapping from the lower hooks as she held the line out
at arm’s length. She stared at them. ‘What now?’

As I
showed Sophie how to deal with the fish, there was a shout from Tom, shortly
followed by one from Daz, indicating they, too, had hooked some. I went back to
my own line to find I’d caught some as well. Within twenty minutes, we had
enough fish on the floor of the cockpit to feed us for several days and I
decided it was time to stop. We brought the lines in for the last time and
turned our attention to our catch.

Sophie
picked one up. ‘They’re beautiful.’ She moved the fish back and forth, watching
as the sun glinted off the electric blue stripes along its side. ‘Look at the
colours! It’s a shame we killed them.’ There was a hint of regret in her voice.

I took
one of the fish in my hand. ‘You’re right, they are beautiful, but we’ve got to
eat something.’

Tom
picked a fish up, too. ‘What do we do with them now?’

I went
down into the galley and came back with some chopping boards and sharp knives. I
showed Tom, Daz and Sophie how to fillet and skin the fish before casting the
bones and the innards over the side. When we were finished, we raised the sails
again and continued our journey south.

Leaving the others to wash the blood and scales from the cockpit, I took the
fish down into the galley. I wanted to keep what little power we had left in the
batteries for running the television. That meant we could no longer use the
refrigerator to keep things fresh. Cooking the fish immediately would stop them
going off too fast and it would mean they’d last for at least a couple of days.

Claire
was sitting in the saloon staring blankly at the screen as I heated up a frying
pan and dropped the first of the fish in: within seconds they were sizzling
away. I turned my attention to Claire. ‘You okay there?’

‘Huh?’
Her eyes remained glued to the television.

‘I
said, are you doing okay over there?’

‘Yeah.
I mean, no … I mean ...’ She sighed deeply. ‘I’m not really too sure what I
mean.’ She got up, turned the television off and came over to the galley. She
leaned back against the sink; her forehead creased with worry. ‘How the hell are
we going to survive all this?’

‘I
don’t know,’ I flipped the fish over in the pan, ’but there must be a way. I
think we’re pretty well set for the short term; I mean, as long as we can keep
away from the shore, we should be able to avoid the infected. I’m not too sure
what we can do in the longer term, but something will work itself out.’

‘Do
you really think that?’ Claire looked at me incredulously.

It was
a couple of seconds before I answered. ‘No.’ I shifted the fish around with a
spatula. ‘But I keep telling myself I’ve got to at least try to stay positive.’
I glanced at her. ‘Right now, it’s the only thing that’s keeping me going.’

‘Yeah,
I know what you mean.’ She watched as I shook the pan. ‘Sophie keeps asking me
when this is all going to be over; when things are going to start getting back
to normal. What can I tell her? She’s fourteen, and I’ve always tried to be
honest with her, but what can I say now?’ Her voice was quivering. ‘I can’t tell
her what I really think: that it’s quite possible we’re all screwed.’ She put
her head in her hands. ‘How the hell am I meant to tell her that?’

It was
late in the afternoon by the time I went back up on deck. Claire and I had spent
the last couple of hours trying to work out what we should do, but we hadn’t
come to any firm conclusions. The best strategy we could think of was to wait
and see what happened once we got out to the islands. Until we knew the
situation there, we wouldn’t really know what we’d have to deal with. As we
talked, I felt the sea change beneath us: the swell was getting stronger and the
waves further apart, meaning we were starting to pass into open water.

Outside, I looked behind us; Ailsa Craig was little more than a speck on the
horizon. For me, it had always been a marker of coming home, and it suddenly
struck me that I’d never pass it again because I’d never be going home. A sense
of sadness and loss settled over me, and I slumped, dejectedly, onto one of the
seats in the cockpit. I sat there staring at the little dot on the horizon as it
grew smaller and smaller. I thought about what it meant: I no longer had a place
I could call home. Throughout all my travels, Glasgow had always been there for
me to come back to: it was my anchor point; the place where all my journeys
began and ended. Now, it was gone and I felt I’d been cast adrift, disconnected
from the world I’d always known.