Outpost

‘Pleural tap. Siphon off the liquid with a big-ass hypodermic. Place is about as sterile as a toilet seat, but it’s the best we can do.’

Rye emptied her pockets on to the altar: 20cc hypodermics; gloves; iodine; dressing.

Rye prepped a needle.

‘Ghost? Can you hear me?’

Ghost struggled to focus.

‘The cable,’ he whispered. ‘Listen. In case I don’t make it. You need fourteen-centimetre, single-core. Easy to splice. Bolt sockets every thirty, forty metres. Should say Con-Ex on the insulation. Look beneath C deck corridors. One length. That’s all it takes.’

Rye measured ribs with her fingers. Second intercostal space. Iodine swab.

‘Hold his shoulders.’

Ghost lolled semi-conscious until the tip of a big-bore needle pricked his side and punctured his skin. He convulsed. Jane gripped his shoulders.

‘Look at me. Look at me, Ghost. We have to do this. We have to get this done.’

Ghost clutched the back of the chair. Rye drew off three syringe-loads of fluid. She patched the wound. She pressed a stethoscope to his chest.

‘Better?’

Ghost gave a thumbs up and passed out.

‘Let’s get him out of here,’ said Rye. ‘Get him back in front of that fire.’

C deck. Jane lifted floor grates. Fire had spread through the conduits carried by melting insulation. The cables were burned.

Jane glimpsed Nail at the end of a corridor. He was carrying a sheet of aluminium. She quickly shut off her flashlight. She followed him to the pump hall.

Ghost lay with his back to the yellow hull of the submarine. He took occasional Heliox hits from a SCUBA tank.

‘You look better,’ said Jane.

‘A little less dead.’

‘Doing okay?’

‘Dr Feelgood and her magic pills.’

‘Jesus, you are tripping your brains out.’

‘Ask for the pink ones. Seriously.’

‘Nail is building something next to the pump hall. Know anything about that?’

‘A boat. You saw it. I was going to carry you off into the sunset. Sketched a few plans. I suppose Nail and Nikki found them and decided to finish the job.’

‘I’m not sure I can be bothered to intervene.’

‘Let them go. Nobody will miss them.’ ‘You’re staying?’

‘I’m not in much shape to embark on a long voyage,’ said Ghost. ‘Besides, I can’t ditch these lads.’

‘No?’

‘You and me. We’ll get them home.’

‘Want to shake on it?’

Ghost held out his hand.

‘Last men off?’

‘Last men off.’

Jane visited Punch and Sian in the observation bubble. They had invited her for dinner. Mushroom risotto. They ate from mess tins.

‘So you cook for yourself now.’

‘The men have stoves,’ said Punch. ‘They’ve got pasta and sauce. They’ve got dried figs. They aren’t helpless.’

‘Cosy little den.’

‘All this doom and gloom. You don’t resent a few snatched moments of comfort, do you?’

‘The guys are jealous. You can’t blame them.’

Sian looked over Jane’s shoulder out to sea.

‘See that?’ she said, pointing at the horizon.

‘What?’

‘Look west. The stars are going out.’

‘Christ.’ Jane threw her mess tin aside and stood up. ‘That’s a serious cloud bank.’

‘It’s coming fast.’

‘God just keeps on shitting on us.’

They zipped their coats and ran outside. Sian and Punch carried the radio case between them.

Jane climbed the distillation tower. She hauled up the radio on a rope, hand over hand as quick as she could. She set up the tripod. She crouched on the roof and shouted into the handset.

‘Rampart to Raven, over. Rampart to Raven, do you copy, over?’

No reply.

‘Rampart to Raven, come in.’

No reply.

‘Raven. Come on, guys. Tell me you haven’t taken to the rafts yet.’

No response. A fog bank approached from the west propelled by a bitter wind. A moonlit wall of mist. Jane collapsed the tripod and slammed the case, anxious to quit the tower before cloud eclipsed the moon and left her in absolute dark.

Part Two GHOST SHIP

Hyperion

Jane got some sleep then looked for Ghost. He had joined Sian in the observation bubble. They were sipping tea. Sian brewed a mug for Jane.

‘Feeling better?’

‘Restless,’ said Ghost. ‘Been lying on my back for days.’

He unzipped his coat and fleece. He lifted his shirt. A surgical dressing taped over bruised skin.

‘Feels like she broke most of my ribs.’

‘Rye saved your life. Battlefield surgery. She kept calm. I don’t know how.’

‘She’s a tough person to thank.’

‘You’re not going to get all distant on me, are you?’ said Jane.

‘Why would I do that?’

‘It’s happened to me countless times. I help people through their midnight hours. Later on, they won’t look me in the eye. They associate my face with hard times.’

Ghost gave her a hug. She tentatively hugged back.

‘Mind the ribs.’

Jane took the GPS unit outside. She and Ghost stood on the big red H of the helipad and studied the screen. They were searching for the Raven lifeboats, scanning for a clear TACOM contact.

A winking signal at the top of the screen.

‘Damn,’ said Ghost. ‘The Raven guys. There they are.’

‘How long has it been? Four, five days at sea? Poor bastards. Let’s bring them home.’

Ghost steered the zodiac. Jane sat in the prow. They had left Rye shivering at the refinery railing, ready with a spotlight to guide them home.