• • • • •

“You know how to handle one of these?” Max asked.

“Of course. I told you, I was a solider. Once a solider, always a soldier.”

Flynn took the gun. Holding the cold metal barrel upright in both hands, he looked it up and down, then held it to his left eye, checking the sight.

“I do not expect any weapons to be discharged on this ship, you hear me? This security team is here to keep the peace, not to terrorise. This is a deterrent. A last resort.”

“I understand sir.” Flynn pushed the strap of the weapon over his shoulder. “A last resort.”

“Glad that’s clear. Now, back on patrol.”

Max left for the bridge to pick up more weapons. He needed to arm the rest of his security team.

• • • • •

Lucya arrived at deck seven at the same time as Dave. He was accompanied by a young looking sailor. Lucya stopped and stared at him for several seconds, she couldn’t believe he was old enough to be working.

“This is Chuck, he’s going to take the raft across,” Dave said.

“Chuck? Really? There are actually people called Chuck?”

Chuck turned scarlet. “Ma’am,” he said simply.

“Right, Chuck. Tell me, once we open one of these capsules, the thing flies off, inflates, and lands in the water, right?”

“That is correct ma’am.”

“Okay, so two things Chuck. One, my name is Lucya, forger the ma’am thing, right?”

He nodded.

“The second thing is, once the raft hits the water, how do we get it back here so you can get in?”

The two men considered the question. They were standing outside next to a metal framed construction on which nine large white capsules, like giant pills, were tied down. The frame was angled in such a way that when a capsule was untied it would roll down and into the sea.

“Maybe I’m missing something,“ Dave said, “but can’t he just use the escape slide?”

“No. We’re not deploying that for one person. It’s single use, what happens in a real emergency when the slide has gone?”

“See? I knew I was missing something.”

At that moment there was a huge crunch, the sound of metal being ripped, then a groaning sound from below. The ship came to a sudden, jarring halt. Lucya, Dave and Chuck were thrown against the side railings. All three exclaimed in surprise and pain.”

“Jesus! What the hell?!” Dave looked around, confused.

“I think we hit part of that pier. Fuck! Jake is going to kill me.” Lucya, rubbed her side where it had connected with the handrail. “You, get down there.” She pointed to the sea. “Take the steps for the tender. I’m launching this thing and you’re going to have to swim for it. I have to get back to the bridge.”

The sailor looked at her as if he must have misheard.

“Now!” she screamed at him.

He nodded, and ran back inside for the stairs. Lucya reached under the first fibreglass capsule, wrapped her hand around the release buckle, and pulled hard. The strap holding it to the metal frame snapped in two. The capsule rolled slowly to the end of the metal ramp, out over the handrail, over the water, and fell. As it did so it split open. There was a whoosh of compressed air being released, and a mass of black and red material pushed its way out, separating the two sides of the capsule. Within seconds it had inflated to form a giant raft. It popped into its final shape just as it hit the water with a slap. Fully inflated, the raft looked like it could never have fitted into the capsule. It was made to hold up to thirty passengers. Rectangular in shape, and slightly tapered at the front and back, the outer edge was made of sausage like air chambers. Three more chambers within the raft provided seating. A bright orange hood that could be deployed to provide shelter from the elements was rolled up on one side, out of the way of anyone in the water trying to clamber aboard. Lucya watched the raft hit the water, threw her pink buoy after it, and jettisoned the oars over the railings. Before they had splashed into the sea, she had already turned around and run back inside in the direction of the bridge.

Thirty-Eight

SOMETHING WAS WRONG with Dante. At first it was hard to see exactly what, but as he approached it became clearer. He had no hands. His arms splashed in and out of the sea, but without palms and fingers to pull against the water, he was limited in his ability to generate propulsion.

Reeve took a step back then ran two steps forward and jumped off the end of the pier and onto the side of the upturned tender. As he landed his feet slipped beneath him and he fell onto his read end, slid towards the now vertical roof. With a grunt he rolled over onto his front and grabbed at the window frames, arresting his slide just as his feet and legs disappeared over the side. He hauled himself back up, got to his hands and knees, and proceeded to crawl to the rear of the craft.

Dante was approaching, slowly. Reeve called to him. He seemed to hear, changed direction slightly, and with a few more strokes reached the back of the boat. The security man reached out and grabbed the end of his right arm, pulled hard. The boat was low in the water, only half a metre or so was exposed, so it wasn’t too difficult to pull Dante out and onto the side, and relative safety. He lay on his back, panting, coughing.

“Dante, what happened? What the hell happened to your hands?”

“The ash…” he was still out of breath, struggling to get the words out. “It was the ash…”

Everyone stared at the stumps at the ends of Dante’s arms. Blackened, fused by the burning ash.

The awkward silence was broken by the sound of tearing metal echoing across the fjord.

• • • • •

Martin charged from one end of the engine room to the other, through the open door and into a passageway. A quick left turn and through two vast chambers. Both housed gigantic tanks, each bigger than the sixty person tender that was, unbeknownst to him, now laying wrecked in the fjord. As he ran, the sound of gushing water grew ever louder. By the third chamber, he was running through sea water. The noise was now deafening. It was coming from the fourth chamber ahead, a chamber that was filling rapidly with water, spilling over the threshold of the bulkhead. When he reached it, he tried to push the heavy metal door shut. But the water was rising, pushing the door back our towards him.

“Richard! Where are you? Get your arse down here now!”

He could hear the sound of his colleagues steps running towards him. Then the clicking of boots on the metal floor turned to the sound of feet splashing through water, and suddenly Richard was there, pushing the door with him. Martin turned and pushed with his back. It was as big as the side of a bus shelter, and thick steel. On its well oiled and balanced hinges it was normally simple enough to swing shut, but the pressure of the water coming through made the task almost impossible. The two men heaved with all their might, feet slipping and sliding in the sea water. With an almost herculean effort, the edge of the door finally reached the frame. Martin’s foot hit on something under the water. A ring in the floor, used to tie down equipment when the going got rough. He dug his heel against it and pushed with all his weight. The extra purchase was just enough, and the door thudded into place.

“Lock it!” Martin couldn’t hold the force of the water much longer.

Richard took his hands off the door and spun the wheel mounted in the middle. Almost immediately, Martin felt the pressure release from his back as the locking bolts moved into place. He dropped forwards, his hands on his knees, head hung low, panting.

“We did it!” Richard exclaimed. “Hey, it’s okay, we got it closed, we’re safe.”