For Those In Peril (Book 2): The Outbreak (28 page)

‘Tom,
take the wheel. Just keep us pointing into the wind as well as you can.’ He
jumped up and took my place. ‘Daz, Claire, Sophie, come with me.’

I ran
forward with the others following closely behind. On reaching the foredeck, I
leant over the guard rail and started pulling in the wayward sail. ‘Daz, see if
you can get hold of the sheet there. Claire, Sophie, help me here; just grab any
of it you can get hold of and pull it on board.’

For
five minutes we fought with the sail until it was finally back on the boat.
While the others recuperated, I inspected it: the metal loop which connected the
jib to the halyard that was used to pull it up to the top of the mast had
snapped, leaving nothing to keep the sail in place. I went into the cabin and
returned with the spare I carried for just such an eventuality, knowing that,
with a bit of luck, I could have the sail back up in a matter of minutes. I
undid the jib halyard from its cleat on the mast and I looked up. Even though it
was now free the other end stubbornly remained at the top of the mast. ‘Shit!’

‘What’s up?’ I turned to find Daz standing beside me.

I
pointed upwards. ‘That is. We can’t get the sail back up until we get the other
end of the halyard down.’

He
looked up. ‘How the hell’re we goin’ to do that?’

‘One
of us is going to have to climb up there.’

‘How?’
Daz sounded incredulous.

‘See
those things on the mast? They’re mast steps: they’ll take you right up to the
top.’

Daz’s
eyes widened. ‘Me?’

‘Yeah.
I’ve got to stay down here in case anything else goes wrong.’

‘But
what if he falls?’ Sophie had come up behind us. ‘He’ll get killed!’

‘No,
he won’t. There’s a harness we can clip to the main halyard to keep him safe.’

‘But
it’s a long way up.’ Sophie seemed dubious.

‘Don’t
worry. I’ll be fine.’ Now Sophie thought it was dangerous, Daz seemed more
willing to take on the task.

‘Okay
then,’ I slapped Daz on the back. ‘Let’s get on with it.’

As Daz
struggled into the harness, I dropped the main sail and clipped him onto its
halyard. Daz stared up the mast, suddenly unsure of what he was about to do.

I put
a hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be fine once you’re up there.’

With
that, he started to climb and I pulled in the slack in the halyard. Every time
he took a step upward, I did the same; not enough to lift him up, just enough to
stop him falling if he should slip. At the halfway point, Daz paused to catch
his breath.

I
craned my neck upwards. ‘You’re doing fine. Just don’t look down!’

Almost
immediately, that’s what he did. I saw him tighten his grip on the mast and
close his eyes. He took a deep breath before opening them again and carrying on.
When he was within reach, some fifty feet above the deck, he took one hand from
the mast and pulled at the end of the jib halyard, but it wouldn’t move: he
tried again but still it wouldn’t budge.

I
shouted up to him. ‘Try using both hands.’

Shakily, he took his second hand off and grasped the end. He pulled tentatively
at first, then harder. Finally, he leaned back, putting his full weigh on it.
After a second, it came free, causing Daz to fall backwards and swear loudly.
Bracing myself, I pulled on the main halyard, and stopped him before he’d fallen
more than a few feet. I watched as he swung back and forth, doing his best to
avoid hitting the mast. Slowly, I lowered him down to the deck, with the end of
the jib halyard gripped firmly in his right hand. He was shaking as he started
to remove the harness. ‘Jesus! I thought I was a goner there!’

I bent
over, attaching the top of the jib to the end of the halyard with the spare
loop. ‘Ach, you were perfectly safe; you were never going to fall
that
far.’

Daz
gave me a look that told me he didn’t appreciate my flippant response.

Working with Claire and Sophie, we had both the jib and the main sail back up in
a matter of minutes and we all returned to the cockpit. For the first time since
it happened, I looked around to see where we were.

‘Shit!’ I leapt towards the wheel and took it from Tom and turned it so we were
heading north-east. The sails filled, but the currents were so strong that they
were pulling us backwards.

‘Guys,
we’re in trouble.’ I adjusted the course, trying to increase our speed. ‘Daz,
pull on that sheet there; Sophie, crank the jib a bit tighter with the winch.’

It
made no difference. I decided to try the other tack.

‘Ready
about!’ Then without even waiting for their response, ‘Lee ho!’

The
practice Daz had given the others paid off and we completed the manoeuvre
flawlessly. The only problem was we were still getting slowly and inexorably
drawn closer and closer towards the narrow passage between the two islands.
Without an engine, there was nothing I could do to stop it: we were going to go
through the whirlpool.

I
gathered the others in the cockpit. ‘This is going to get really hairy. You need
to get your safety harnesses out; if we end up in the water, try to swim for the
shore.’

I
glanced round to find them all staring at me. Tom was the first to break the
silence. ‘Is it really that bad?’

‘Yes.
Go!’

As
they raced off, I turned the boat and adjusted the sails until we were pointing
directly towards the whirlpool and then considered our options. I’d seen it
worse than this, but still it was going to be rough: very rough. I tried to
remember what I knew about navigating this channel. The only advice I could
bring to mind was that it was best to do it at slack tide and to try to keep to
the southern edge. We couldn’t do anything about the first, but at least we
could try the second. I changed course again and headed for the coast of Jura to
our south. As the others returned to the cockpit, I could already feel the
waters starting to buck and churn beneath us. Ahead, waves were rearing up and
breaking almost everywhere.

I
pulled on the harness Daz had brought up for me. ‘Everyone clip on to the safety
lines and stay clipped on, no matter what.’ I looked at the sails: we wanted
enough up to keep us stable and moving forwards, but not so much we’d lose
control: at the moment, we had too much up. ‘Daz, Sophie, get the main sail
down. Claire, loosen the jib off a bit, while Tom winds it in. A bit more than
that; that’s it.’

We
were now as far to the south as I felt safe to go without risking running
aground. It was keeping us out of the worst of it, but we were still being
tossed around like a cork. I could feel the eddies pushing and then pulling at
the hull as we passed through them, while the bow was rising and falling as we
crashed into standing waves. I glanced round: Claire was gripping onto the side
of the boat with one arm while her other was tightly wrapped around Sophie; Tom
and Daz sat on the other side, hanging on and ducking whenever a wave crashed
over the side. They all looked terrified and I couldn’t blame them.

Suddenly, a movement on the nearby land caught my eye. I turned and saw three
figures tracking our progress. With the strength of the currents, we were moving
at six knots, but they were easily keeping up despite the rugged shoreline.
Their clothes flapped loosely in the wind as they moved, yet they didn’t seem to
notice. Instead, all their attention was focused on us. One slipped and fell,
but quickly sprang to its feet again and had soon caught up with the other two.
Given their actions, I had no doubt they had the disease and a realisation
settled over me, leaving me cold: if anything happened to the boat and we were
lucky enough to make it to shore before we drowned, we’d almost certainly be
torn to pieces by the infected that waited for us there.

I
surveyed the surrounding land, trying to judge our position. As far as I could
work out, we were only a third of the way through and had yet to reach the worst
of it. Off to our right I saw a standing wave, some six feet in height. It
wasn’t breaking; instead, it was milky green with a sheen like glass. On the
other side, it dropped into a trough which boiled and foamed like the water in a
washing machine. If we hit something like that, we’d be lucky to get out in one
piece. In an instant, I came to a decision. ‘Daz, take the wheel.’

His
jaw dropped. ‘What?’

‘Take
the wheel.’ I stepped to the side.

Daz
gaped at me. ‘But I can’t handle it.’

‘Yes,
you can.’ I tried to look at him reassuringly. ‘All you need to do is follow my
instructions.’

There
was a moment’s silence before Daz finally responded. ‘Okay.’ He stood up and
stepped behind the helm; tentatively at first, then with more certainty, he put
his hands on the wheel. I unclipped myself and ran forward to the foot of the
mast. I climbed up to a point where I could see as far ahead as possible before
clipping my safety line onto the metal mast step just above me. While the
movements on the deck were rough, they were many times worse near the top of the
mast and I had to grip on tightly with all my strength to avoid being thrown
off.

I
scanned the waters ahead of the boat and saw a boiling mass of water about fifty
yards from the bow. ‘Daz, to the right.’

The
boat lurched beneath me. I shouted again. ‘Now straighten up.’

We
narrowly missed the worst of the seething mass of water, but the bow still rose
and then plunged deep beneath the surface. The sea swirled and washed across the
deck below me before it broke the surface again. There were a few yards of what
looked like calm water and then a swirling eddy about twenty yards across.
Before I could call out, we hit it. Glancing down, I saw Daz and Tom fighting
with the wheel, trying to keep us straight, but they were losing and the boat
spun round. The mizzen’s boom crashed across as our position relative to the
wind shifted. Now broadside to the current, we were spat out only to immediately
hit a wall of water. We rolled as we were lifted to the top of the standing wave
where the boat hung momentarily before dropping over the other side. I slipped
from the mast and swung wildly on my safety line as the boat heeled over, almost
onto its side, and I was dunked into the sea. I surfaced to see water filling
the cockpit: Sophie and Tom had been swept off their feet and were only saved
from being washed over the side by their harnesses, while Daz and Claire somehow
managed to keep themselves upright.

On the
shore, the infected stalked back and forth, driven wild by the screams and
shouts emanating from the boat. Above them, another appeared over the brow of a
low hill, drawn by all the commotion. This was quickly followed by another and
another. Soon, there were so many of them that I could hear their roars and
snarls even above the noise of the water and the wind. They milled around,
jostling for position at the water’s edge, frustrated that uninfected humans
were so close and yet still beyond their reach.

For
what seemed like an age, we lay there half under the water, half out of it.
Finally, the currents pushed us free and the boat started to right itself again,
throwing me upwards towards the mast: I hit it hard and was sent spinning across
to the other side. Below, Daz and Tom fought with the wheel again as the water
drained from the cockpit. Finally, they started to win and soon the boat was
pointing in the right direction once more. As I scrambled to regain my footing
on the mast, I glanced across to the island. We must have finally moved beyond
the range at which the infected could sense our presence because they were no
longer pacing, following our every move; instead, they stood staring out to sea
after us, before gradually drifting away from the shore, some on their own,
others in small groups.

Looking ahead, I could see we were through the worst of it. Satisfied we were
now safe, both from the dangers of the whirlpool and from the infected on the
shore, I unclipped myself and climbed back down to the deck. Returning to the
cockpit, I surveyed my fellow crew: they were soaked to the skin, but were
clearly relieved to have survived. I bent over and shook my head, trying to get
as much water out of my hair as possible, and then straightened up. I gazed back
at the maelstrom before turning to the others. ‘Well, that went better than I
expected.’

They
glared at me, but said nothing.

Chapter
Thirteen

We
were anchored out of the wind on the west side of the island which lay to the
north of the whirlpool, recovering from our ordeal, when I heard the sound of a
distant engine. Grabbing the binoculars, I scanned both the water and the land,
but found nothing. As the noise grew louder, I suddenly realised it wasn’t
coming from the sea, or the nearby island: it was coming from the sky. Craning
my neck, I finally found it: a dark speck moving against the clouds.

Tom
stood beside me, shielding his eyes with his hands. ‘Is that what I think it
is?’

‘It
sure looks like it.’ I lowered the binoculars.

Tom
stared at it. ‘I wonder what it means.’