Blighted Land: Book two of the Northumbrian Western Series (Northumbrian Westerns 2) (38 page)

‘Can we get some food?’ said Daniel.

‘All right,’ I said.
 

The music bounced off the houses as I led us along the quayside to a pub. It was an old building with stained joists and ancient photos of the town on the wall. Becky sat at a table with Daniel and I went to the bar. There were a number of pumps but most of their handles were broken or missing. They only had one type of beer so I ordered three glasses of it: one pint and two halves. The barman was an old fella who jabbered on about the weather and the noise of the music.
 

‘It’s quite a town I said.’

‘Aye, it is. Is that. A real party place now.’

‘It hasn’t always been like this?’

He laughed. ‘Only since the sub came. After the accident, you know.’

‘Oh?’

‘Aye, you know. You want food?’

I didn’t know but wasn’t keen to pry. Attract more unwanted attention. The only food was soup so I asked for three bowls.
 

When I went back to the table Daniel was describing everything he liked in the room. Becky didn’t reply. Gehenna was clearly visible in the loch outside. So it sounded something had happened to the sub’s base and it had moved here. Given the town a new lease of life. Brought its own madness.
 

I drank my beer and listened to Daniel talk about the pictures on the wall. He finished and grinned, pleased with himself.

‘We need to get a boat,’ said Becky.

‘We do?’ I said.

‘If we can get a boat, I think I can blow it.’

‘Right.’

She flicked her head towards the window. ‘We need to sail out to it. Blow one of the hatches. It’s its weak point. Its Achilles’ heel.’

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I suppose.’

She took a drink of beer. A young woman came over and dumped the soups in front of us.
 

I spoke once she’d gone. ‘And that’s the plan?’

‘You got any better ideas?’

‘This is good soup,’ said Daniel.

I tasted mine. It was salty but had big chunks of mutton. ‘Yeah, it is good soup.’ I didn’t have any better ideas so there was no point arguing. I’d work something out.
 

We ate in silence then walked back towards the hotel. On the way Becky stopped at a fishing shop. There was a rack of clothes outside. Amongst the waterproofs and patched over-trousers there were some wetsuits. She picked one and held it against herself, then me. She did this a few times until she had a couple.

‘You got some cash?’ she said.

I peeled off a few notes and gave them to her.
 

Once she’d bought them we continued back. The music was as loud as ever but most people seemed to be busy with day-to-day stuff. Shifting carts laden with wood or vegetables. Picking up provisions at one of the stores. If it hadn’t been for Gehenna sitting in the loch it would have seemed like a reasonable place. Maybe it would be once the sub left.

Back in the room Becky got me to try on the wetsuit while she slid into hers. She didn’t even notice me watch her as she stripped down to her underwear. Stood there half-naked. Hers was too big and had a few holes but she seemed happy enough with it. Mine fitted reasonably well but had a tear down one leg.
 

‘Great,’ she said.
 

We took them off and stacked them on the floor with a bag holding the gun and grenades.
 

 
‘When are we going to do all this?’ I said.

‘All what?’

‘When are we going to grab a boat? Go out and blow the hatch.’

‘When it’s quiet. When they aren’t expecting it.’

‘When’s that?’

‘I don’t know.’ She took her seat at the window to watch Gehenna. With the plans of the sub laid out before her. It wasn’t surprising that she was edgy after seeing the bits of the Eblis brought in. I’d let her calm down and talk it through with her. Work out a proper plan.

Me and Daniel played cards and talked about the pictures he’d seen in the pub. How nice the soup had been. Stuff to pass the time.

Later on Becky went out on her own. She came back a little while later. The music was cranking up ready for the evening.

She flopped back on her bed. ‘There’s some food there.’ She pointed to her bag.
 

I opened it and found three meat pies. I ate one and handed another to Daniel.

After we’d eaten we played cards some more. Becky lay on her bed and dozed. Daniel went to bed once it got dark.

She didn’t wake before nightfall and I lay on the bed beside her. Fell asleep myself.

Sometime later she woke me. ‘It’s moving,’ she said. ‘The submarine is on its way.’

W
E
RAN
OUT
OF
the hotel and down to the quayside. Just me and Becky sprinting down to the loch. There was no one else around. Not even any music. She had her bag with the gun and grenades over one shoulder and the wetsuits over the other.
 

She stopped at the dock and pointed at a small sail boat. ‘That’ll do.’

Gehenna was already a hundred metres on from where it had been. The water churned up behind it as it glided off. It moved steadily but not fast. There was only the sound of the waves that lapped at the boats; a swishing sound from the sub.

Becky led off down the steps to the boat and leapt in.
 

‘Becky,’ I said. ‘This is crazy. Leave it.’

‘Are you kidding? This is our last chance.’

‘We had our last chance when Casper blew the tank.’

‘I knew you’d blame him.’

‘There’s no chance we’ll blow it.’

‘I knew you’d chicken out. You were all keen before…’

For a moment we just stood there.
 

‘Look, Trent, I can do this alone but —’

‘All right, I’ll help.’ I’d come so far. Risked so much already. And I didn’t like the idea of chickening out. The boat rocked as I stepped into it and tilted towards the back when I sat down.
 

Becky untied us. There were a couple of oars lying in the bottom so she took one and shoved us away from the dockside. The boat rocked some more, worsened by her moving around as she set the sail.
 

‘Wind’s not quite right,’ she said. ‘You know how to sail?’

‘Not really.’

The sail flapped as the breeze caught it and she pushed me out of the way as she grabbed the rudder. The boat moved off across the loch but towards the far side, not after the sub. As it picked up speed it pitched and the water slapped at the front end. She adjusted the tiller and sail so that we were aimed towards Gehenna though still at an angle.
 

She glanced over at me. ‘You want to slip your wetsuit on?’

For a moment I didn’t move, uneasy in the undulating boat, then I twisted round and pulled my boots off and slid off my trousers. I eased the wetsuit up to my waist before I took off my shirt and slid it up. Slow movements.

The boat was going quite fast and soon we cut through part of Gehenna’s wake so that we jerked and lurched in the rough water. I had one arm in the wetsuit and held onto the boat’s side. Once we’d cleared the rough patch she changed direction. We slowed but were now on the same course as the submarine.
 

I pulled on the other sleeve and grabbed a lifejacket that was lying under the seat. I slid it on. There was a chance we were going to be flipped.
 

‘Take over,’ she said.
 

I grabbed the rudder as she squeezed into her own wetsuit and we rocked and tossed around.
 

For some time we rolled around in the boat as Gehenna ploughed on through the loch. There was a great trail of steam coming from the coning tower.
 

Becky laughed. ‘It’s venting. Must be a problem with the reactor. That’s why it’s so slow.’

‘Great.’ I had my own problems. I’d never been one for boats. As a kid I’d gone out in them on holiday. Bigger boats in lakes or the sea to watch fish, or smaller ones on ponds. Never a small boat on a rough loch. I tightened my lifejacket. ‘How’s this going to work?’

She adjusted the rudder. ‘What?’

‘Us with the sub.’

‘Get close, get on, blow the hatch…’

‘Then?’

She shrugged. ‘Get off.’

Water sprayed in our faces as the submarine plugged on and we bounced behind it.

Then I had an idea. ‘How about this?’

‘What?’

‘You stay on the boat and I climb onto the sub.’

‘Really?’

‘You know how to sail. Keep the boat handy so I can get back.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Great.’ She turned away from me and concentrated on Gehenna. She stared at it as we sailed behind it.

It sounded easy enough in my head but the sub was this big slippery thing and we were in a little boat. Maybe we’d never get that close and it wouldn’t matter.

But little by little we closed on it: until we were quite near, through the wake and just behind the bow wave. We were being pulled along by it and our boat pitched and rocked with water spilling over the side.

Becky messed around in her bag, took out the two grenades, checked them over then put them back and pulled the bag’s top tight. ‘You take this,’ she said.

I grabbed the rucksack, slid it over the lifejacket and looked over at the submarine. What the hell was I going to do now?

‘We need to get ahead,’ she said. As she adjusted the sail we picked up speed but the rocking became more pronounced. The boat lurched and waves slapped on its flank.
 

Then the bow wave caught us and we tipped over.
 

We flipped into the loch.

T
HE
WATER
CHURNED
AROUND
me cold and dark. It went into my mouth, over my head. Into eyes and ears. All my warmth was drawn from me as my wetsuit filled up. The current took me, dragged me down. Down into the turbulent loch. Into the darkness.

Then I bobbed up to the surface with only my face clearing the water. The lifejacket had saved me. I took a great lungful of air and looked around. There was no sign of the boat or Becky. I tried to shout but swallowed water. Beside me was the sub, a great dark shape that churned onwards, only metres away. I flapped towards it, keen to be on anything solid. I splashed around in the water but made no progress. Then I flipped over onto my back. Above me stars shone through thin cloud. I tried to remember the swimming strokes I’d been taught in school all those years ago. I circled my legs and kicked hard. The water moved between my feet and I began to go backwards.
 

I was caught by a current that swirled me around. I was tossed over in the water and flailed with my arms to try and straighten up. The turbulence worsened and I spun around, over and over, gasping for breath when my face was upwards but taking in water as well as air.
 

I hit a hard surface. What little air was left in me was knocked out as I thudded into the submarine’s side. The rough metal scraped past and ground against me and I grabbed at it. If I slid all the way to the back I’d end up in the propeller where it would chop me into chunks.

But the sub’s flank had nothing to hold, just flaws in the panels, not enough to grip. My nails clawed at its surface as it passed but there were no grips or handholds or anything. I was going to be sucked into the wake and smashed to bits. As a last effort I pawed at the hull to at least slow me down.
 

Then I got hold of something. There was a small recess and my left hand stuck in it. It was at the wrong angle and bent my fingers so that they felt they were going to snap but it held me. My face was now pressed against the sub, barely above the water. I took in great gulps of air but I needed to find something else. Another hold. I stretched out as far as I could with my right hand to feel for anything on the surface, further up above the waterline but there was nothing. Just metal plates. So I put both hands in the one niche. I could only get the thumb and index finger of my right hand in, but it was better than nothing. I dangled from the hull like a piece of seaweed, bashed against the metal, my head sometimes underwater. The wake of the submarine dragged at me and threatened to wash me off and to the back, into the blades.
 

For a second I thought about letting go. I’d drift off and in no time it would be over. I’d be sliced up and left in the sea. That would be it.

I just hung there.

Then I moved my legs around. Millimetre by millimetre I felt for a ridge on the plates. Apart from barnacles and weed it was even surfaced.
 

At last I found something. Only a tiny lip but it was enough. I wiggled my foot onto it and tried to put weight on it. Only a little. I braced myself between my leg and the handhold and pushed down at the same time that I pulled up. With my left fingers as tight as they would go I let go with my right hand and reached up. As far as possible. There had to be something up there. Some ridge or handhold or unevenness in the hull. There had to be. I flicked myself up and felt around up above the waterline. It was smooth, featureless. Impossible to get hold of. I tried once more.