Outpost

Jane hunched over the GPS screen. An intermittent signal to the north.

‘Left. More left.’

She shone her torch into the darkness and fog. The beam of her flashlight lit nothing but broiling vapour.

‘We’re getting close. They should be around here somewhere.’

Ghost shut off the engine. They rode the swells. Jane scanned black water.

‘I don’t get it. They should be right here.’

A blinking TACOM signal at the centre of the screen.

Jane shouted into the dark.

‘Hello? Is anyone there?’

Nothing.

Jane took a flare from her coat pocket. She popped the cap and pulled the rip-strip. A red star-shell shot skyward.

‘How long do you want to wait?’ asked Ghost.

‘It would be tragic if they are floating out there and we miss them.’

They took turns to shout.

‘Two more minutes,’ said Jane, ‘then we call it a night.’

‘There,’ said Ghost. ‘See that?’

A faint strobe blinking in the fog. It was hard to judge distance. Ghost gunned the engine and headed for the flashing light.

The TACOM beacon was a cylinder the size of a Thermos flask. It floated in the water attached to a ragged strip of red rubber. The remains of a raft.

‘So they didn’t make it,’ said Jane. ‘Lonely place to die.’

‘We needed that cable. Guess it’ll be at the bottom of the ocean.’

‘Over there.’

More ripped rubber. Jane undipped a paddle from the side of the zodiac and dragged the punctured raft closer. A boot. She lifted the edge of the tattered raft. A body in a red hydro- suit. A bearded man, floating face up. Marble-white skin. Open eyes.

‘Was that him?’ asked Jane. ‘Ray. You said you met him once. The guy I’ve been talking to these past couple of weeks.’

‘Maybe. Hard to tell. Want to say a prayer?’

‘No.’

They headed back to the rig. Neither of them spoke. Jane switched off the redundant GPS and sealed the case.

Ghost suddenly swerved the boat. He struggled to avoid a sheer white wall that confronted them through the fog. Jane was thrown to the bottom of the boat.

‘Jesus,’ said Ghost. ‘Fucking berg.’

He killed the engine.

‘That’s no berg,’ said Jane. She shone her flashlight across the white cliff face. Rivets. Weld seams. Steel plate. She looked up. An anchor the size of a bus.

HYPERION.

Jane ran up the steps to the observation bubble. ‘Punch, wake up.’

She unzipped the tent. Punch and Sian sat up, shielding their eyes from the flashlight glare.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ muttered Punch.

‘Get up. Grab your coat. We just got lucky.’

They hurried to fetch rope from the boathouse.

‘It’s drifting,’ said Jane. ‘A superliner. Fucking big. Dead in the water. No running lights. We’ll have to be quick. It’ll pass out of range in a few hours. We have to get aboard and take control. This is our ticket home.’

‘We should get the lads together. Ferry everyone across.’

‘No time. Ghost is upstairs pulling the legs off a chair to make a grappling hook. Where’s Ivan? We’ll need him too.’

‘Why him?’

‘Ghost is running round like he has fully recovered. I need you two to help him out, slow him down. We don’t want to provoke a relapse.’

They ran through the canteen kitchen. Jane unlocked a refrigerator. Punch held her torch.

Shotguns laid across a shelf. Jane tugged the weapons from their nylon sleeves. She slotted shells into the receiver. She swept boxes of ammunition into a backpack.

‘I’ll tell you right now,’ said Jane. ‘There will be no negotiation. I don’t care how many people are hiding on that boat. They are sure as hell going to stop for us.’

They found the ship drifting twenty kilometres south of its previous position.

‘The current is pretty strong,’ said Jane. ‘No time to fetch the boys. Three or four trips in the zodiac. Guys would get left behind.’

‘Jesus. Look at the size of it.’

‘Bring us round the stern,’ said Ghost. He hurled the grappling hook upward and snagged railings.

‘Maybe I should go,’ said Punch.

Ghost ignored him. He shouldered his backpack and gun, gripped the knotted rope and began to climb. He hauled hand over hand, walking his way up the side of the boat. Punch tried to keep the zodiac beneath him. If Ghost fell in the freezing water the shock would kill him.

Ghost reached the deck. He climbed over the railing. He caught his breath, coughed and spat.

‘Looks pretty dead,’ he shouted. ‘No one around.’

Jane grabbed the rope and hauled herself up the side of the boat. Weeks ago, when she was fat, she couldn’t have managed the climb.

She tipped over the railing and fell on to the deck.

The ship was ten storeys high. Six rows of portholes in the main hull, and four stacked decks like the concentric tiers of a wedding cake.

Jane found herself on a teak promenade laid out for an Arctic pleasure cruise. Whale-watching loungers and curling stones.

She looked up and down the walkway. Every cabin window was dark. They un-shouldered their shotguns. Safety to Fire. Ghost chambered a shell.

‘Let’s find the bridge.’

They walked towards the prow. A couple of cabin doors were open. Scattered possessions. Jane wanted to investigate, but there wasn’t time to explore.