Outpost

‘It’s called Hyperion,’ said Jane, standing before them like a teacher lecturing a class. ‘It’s Swedish, I think. All the bridge controls are written in Martian. We’ve dropped anchor. All we have to do is start the engines and we are on our way home.’

A general murmur of excitement ran through the canteen. Although the canteen was cold it was still the best place to hold a group meeting.

‘Yeah,’ continued Jane, her breath fogging the air. ‘It looks like our luck has finally changed. But there’s a catch. Most of the passengers and crew are still aboard. They’re infected, but locked below deck.’

‘Shotguns,’ said Nikki. ‘Go room to room. You saw them on TV. Infected move slow. Turkey shoot.’

‘They are people. Wives and husbands. Sons and daughters. They’re not vermin.’

‘Let’s cut the sanctimonious crap, shall we? If we sail an infected ship south to Europe not a single country will let us enter their waters. In fact they’ll probably order an airstrike and vaporise the boat. And remember what happened to Rawlins. This disease, whatever it is, drove him nuts. He damn near blew us to hell. You want to set sail in a ship full of ravening lunatics? A floating asylum? Anyway, it’s not like anyone ever recovered from this contagion. No one gets better. I vote we shoot them all. The kindest thing. Throw the bodies over the side.’

‘We don’t have enough shells. A ship like that might carry two, three thousand passengers. And a big crew.’

‘So gas them. Rev the engines and channel exhaust fumes into the ventilation.’

‘I agree,’ said Ivan. ‘We couldn’t sleep with those rabid fucks the other side of the wall.’

‘Right now we have them contained,’ said Jane. ‘Besides, we don’t even know if gassing them would work. They should all be dead. No food, water or heat. That ship should be a graveyard. But somehow they keep going.’

Nikki looked around. Faces lit by lamplight, all of them looking to Jane for guidance.

‘You can’t trust her,’ Nikki wanted to say. ‘In a situation like this, you can’t trust anyone but yourself.’

Nikki had a boyfriend. Alan. They spent two years together. A holiday in Mumbai, a holiday in Chile. And she left him out on the ice to die.

You can’t place your fate in someone else’s hands, she thought. When the moment comes you are on your own.

Some of the crew packed their possessions. They hauled suitcases and kit-bags to the submarine hangar. They sat in a semicircle around the convection heater.

Punch and Sian sat on their cases and warmed their hands.

‘Just like Spirit of Endeavour,’ said Sian. ‘I was so sure we were going home. I was counting down the minutes.’ She pointed to the cases. ‘I bet the guys won’t need half this stuff.’

‘No. There will be heated cabins, fresh clothes every day. More food than we can eat. Judging by the stuff on TV, we might as well stay aboard when we reach Britain. Moor the ship off the coast. Treat the place as our fortress. Send out forage parties as and when.’

‘Nice plan.’

‘Maybe we were the lucky ones. Safe at the top of the world while the shit went down. We wanted a ride home and God sent a limo.’

‘We’re not home yet.’

Nikki descended to the pump hall and inspected the boat. She had cut and stitched three weather balloons to make a spinnaker. The silver sail hung slack from the mast, waiting for a strong wind.

She kicked the aluminium hull. It resonated like a gong.

Days earlier Nail stripped to the waist, masked his face and spray-gunned the vessel with red rig paint. He used bathroom grout to secure the rubber seal surrounding the boat hatch.

She consulted blueprints. The boat was complete and ready to be stocked. She climbed into the cockpit. Could she sail the boat herself? Did she truly need Nail any more? The Dummies Guide to Sailing. Nikki found the manual among the neglected book exchange table on Main Street. Creased paperbacks. Plenty of car magazines. She reckoned she could trim and reef a sail. She could tack left and right. She couldn’t navigate. She couldn’t steer by constellations. But if she headed south-west sooner or later she would sight the Norwegian coast, then she could let it guide her to the North Sea and home. She didn’t need Nail. She could do it all alone.

‘So what do you think?’ Nail was watching from the shadows.

‘It seems solid.’

‘I reckon it could ride out a storm or two. Stable? Couldn’t say. Ghost’s design, not mine. It might capsize if it hit the wrong wave. But it won’t break up. I built it strong.’

‘Not much use for it now, though,’ said Nikki. ‘We can all hitch a ride on Jane’s liner.’

‘Jane Blanc? That waddling fuck? You really want to put your fate in her hands? Reckon she is going to get you home?’

‘Since you put it like that.’

‘I’m tired of promises. If you and I want a ride out of here we will have to organise it ourselves. So let’s get this tin can ready to go.’

‘What about the floor hatch?’

‘Maybe we should find some batteries. Big ones. Hotwire the hydraulics.’

‘Think it would work?’

‘Few minutes of juice. That’s all it would take.’