Salt (11 page)

C
hapter 17

Eva winced as she leant over the table to grab another file from the cache of documents.

“Here,” Catherine said, “let me help.”

“It’s fine. I can reach it.”

“Look, I know our reputation, and I know what you think of us. But I’m trying to help you here. Genuinely, I’ve got no grudge against you. I don’t understand your hostility.”

Eva had to admit Catherine had a point, although she couldn’t extend that to all of Graves’ business doings. He’d been blackmailing, threatening and claiming possession of the flotilla for the last year and a half. Just because he was playing nice now didn’t make him what they’d call a “stand-up guy”. But Catherine certainly had done nothing towards Eva to warrant her hostility. She’d give her that.

“I’m sorry. This is weird, me being here, working with you and Shaley.”

“I can’t say I’m thrilled about it either,” Shaley said. “But we’ve got a common goal, so might as well make the best of a bad situation, right?”

“Fair enough,” Eva said. “Can you pass me that file, please?”

Catherine, sitting to Eva’s right, reached over and handed Eva the file. “What have you found out?”

“Nothing much yet. Just snippets from Mike’s and the first volunteer’s notes. Just trying to piece together what this could be about. Perhaps see if there’s anything that can help decode the text.”

“You know, this is probably about the bacterium,” Catherine said, pouring another cup of tea.

“Governments are always fucking with that kind of thing, aren’t they?” Shaley added. He was sat on the starboard side of the yacht, lounging with his legs up on one of the settees.

“You’re suggesting it’s manmade?”

“Could be,” Catherine said. “I heard Mike’s in a bad way with an advanced form of it. Who knows what he found out there? Could be that the government is behind it.”

“The government are gone with the rest of the world. No one has heard from anyone of any authority since the drowning. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Well,” Shaley said, sitting up and leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. “It’s got to be some big secret, some conspiracy, ain’t it? Otherwise, what would be worth killing for? It seems to me that this killer is either trying to cover something up, whatever is written about in those documents, or he’s trying to use the information for his own good.”

“Yeah,” Catherine added, “think about it. There’s nothing left, right? We’ve been on the radios since the damned apocalypse, and who have we found? A few survivors here and there. If there’s nothing else out there, why would someone on this flotilla be so interested in these documents?”

Eva felt like there could be something in that. It did make sense. What was there to gain from top-secret documents now that this flotilla was all that there was? It wouldn’t matter either way. Even if the infection was manmade and part of some government conspiracy, so what? It wasn’t as if it would change anything now.

“I don’t know. There’s something else going on here. But either way, we won’t know that until we decode this stuff, and I’m making no headway. I sometimes think I’ve identified words, maybe similar ones throughout the text, but they don’t match any kind of sentence structure. I think without that USB drive we’ll never know.”

“What do Mike’s notes say?” Catherine asked, pointing to the scraps of notebook paper among the files.

“Not much, just talking about the first survivor and his experiences of tracking the files down to a safe in a yacht. Beyond that, there’s nothing else. Hopefully, Dr Singh can help him and we’ll be able to question him directly. I’m sure he must know more than what he has written down here.”

“There’s also the engineer guy who left first,” Shaley said. “No one seems to remember his name. But if we ask around, perhaps someone will remember him and give us a new clue or direction.”

“That’s possible,” Eva said, but doubted it. It was a long time ago, and many people on the flotilla had died since then. Two years of post-drowning living was much more difficult to recall than regular life, with almost a daily struggle to keep things going. “One thing that would be interesting to find out: why both he and Mike wanted to leave the flotilla after finding this stuff. There’s something we’re not seeing. And that doesn’t sit well with me.”

Shaley stretched out and shrugged. “We could probably just wait until the killer turns up and ask them.”

“Yeah, no,” Eva said. “I’m not going to wait to be killed. That fucker’s going to pay for what they’ve done, and I’d rather find them before they come after us.”

Eva realised at that point that the killer probably knew who she was and where she was. After all, she was there with Ade when he attacked. He must know, too, where the files were being held. Probably all the more reason to stay with Graves, she thought. Strength in numbers. Also, by staying away from Duncan and Danny, it meant they were unlikely to be put in harm’s way unnecessarily.

“Look who’s back,” Catherine said, smiling and moving toward the steps that led onto the main deck.

Oh, great
, Eva thought. Frank. As if she wasn’t feeling awkward enough.

Marcus, Tyson and Frank came below deck and quickly filled up the yacht’s lounge area. Shaley stood and shook Frank’s hand. “Glad to have you back, you old crazy bastard.”

“How’s the wife?” Frank said. “Where is she?”

“She’s fine,” Shaley said. “Over in your boat. You wanna pay a conjugal visit?”

“Nah, poor woman’s suffered enough,” Frank said as everyone laughed.

Eva, to her horror, found that a smile almost approached her lips.
God
, she thought,
these bastards are rubbing off on me.
She would have to watch for that. She’d have to remind herself these were not in any way good people, even if they were helpful right at this moment.

“Eva,” Frank said with a nod. “How’s the ribs? I heard the news about you and Ade. Terrible business that.”

“I’ll live,” Eva said, and then added for gratitude, “It’s easier with Marcus’s kind hospitality.”

“Well,” Marcus said, stepping into the middle of the lounge, “aren’t we all a happy little family. Now that all this nasty business is dealt with, I guess we ought to turn our attention to the bastard who’s being a bit naughty in our manor. Where are we with the files, love? Any progress?”

He looked at Eva expectantly.

She hated when he called her “love”. She didn’t care if it was his idea of affection or politeness, his voice grated on her. Still, in the spirit of cooperation and a shared goal, she let it slide. “Not a huge lot of progress. The encryption is definitely of a good standard, and Mike’s notes aren’t complete or all that helpful beyond what we already know.”

“There’s something that might help things,” Frank said, passing Eva a key.

“What’s this?”

“A key, love,” Marcus said.

“Funny guy. I mean, what’s it to, and why is it important?”

Frank sat down at the table and leaned his elbows on the surface. “Well, the chap who blackmailed me to have a little go at Jim gave me that key as payment. It’s a key to one of the flotilla’s storage units. The one where a lot of the tinned food, seed, and water stocks are kept.”

Eva shook her head. “You stole precious reserves from the flotilla?”

“Hey now,” Frank said, holding his palms up. “I didn’t do no such thing. We might not be whiter than white, but we ain’t stupid. We wouldn’t steal food from our people. We’ve got our own luxuries anyway, which you’re benefiting from right now.”

“Easy, Frank,” Marcus said. “She’s doing her job, aren’t you, love?”

Eva looked at Marcus right in his eyes. “You call me love one more time and it won’t just be Tyson who’ll have bruised balls for a week. My name’s Eva, use it.”

Catherine smirked. The others went silent, expectant.

Eva thought she might have let her temper take her too far. But Marcus grinned and let out a belly laugh. “You’re precious, Eva, I’ll give you that. And fair enough, let’s all be civil, on both sides, right?”

“Right,” she said, returning his smile, unable to decide if hers was genuine or mocking.

“So anyway,” Frank said, “the key is a copy made from sheet metal. Who do we know who uses sheet metal and has the tools and equipment to make such an intricate copy?”

“Someone in engineering,” Eva said. “We already guessed that, but this only adds to that theory.”

“We’ll need a manifest of everyone who’s taken shifts there in the last couple of years,” Marcus said. “And who do we know who has such a document?”

“Jim’s got it,” Eva said, “and if anyone is going to get it, it’ll be me. I know you guys have issues. He’s under a lot of strain at the moment. Let me handle it.”

Marcus sucked in his breath and thought for a moment. “That might be best. Besides, I’ve other… things to do. Okay, we’ll keep the documents in my safe here. Shal, Ty, you mind staying behind and guarding it with Caff here?”

“I ain’t going nowhere either,” Frank said. “The nutter will probably do me in for not taking Jim out.”

“Bring the wife over,” Marcus added. “We’ve got room if we squeeze together.” He eyed Eva when he said that, and her skin crawled at the thought. That was her cue to leave the yacht. Before seeing Jim, she wanted to pay Mike a visit.

When she’d eased her way out onto the deck, Marcus followed her up and shut the door behind him.

“Hey, Eva, wait up.”

“What is it?”

“I’m not happy about you just wandering around on your own. It’s not safe for a—”

“A woman? Were you really going to say a woman?”

“Ha ha, no, of course not, I was going to say an
injured
woman.”

“It’s sweet of you, but I think I’ll be fine. This guy doesn’t seem to take unnecessary risks.” She looked around and pointed to the flotilla citizens around them, busy with their various tasks. Kids were running between boats while their parents were tightening ropes and making condensation boxes for manual desalination.

Whenever the wind dropped and the sun shone, it brought everyone out.

“Let me send one of the boys with you at least, just to make sure.”

Eva cocked her head, analysing this weird man in front of her. Clearly he was the biggest, sleaziest perp among all the survivors, yet here he was again, being all charming and caring. She couldn’t help but wonder what was in it for him.

“I’m fine,” she said.

He shrugged. “You can’t say I didn’t offer.”

“Nope, and I appreciate it, but if I don’t move about, this wound will just keep me laid up for ages. Better to walk it off.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Marcus said as he returned to the cabin door. “Just in case.”

“Appreciated.”

Eva had visions of Shaley or Tyson clumsily following her about the flotilla, making themselves entirely conspicuous. Still, she had to admit it didn’t hurt to have an extra pair of eyes on her while she headed to the Alonsa.

After all, Singh’s medical bay wasn’t far from engineering… perhaps she could scope it out, see if anyone reacted. She’d often used the same tactic to flush out a crim.

The human body has a terrible way of giving away recognition.

Eva winced as she headed out, but it felt good to breathe the fresh air. Even the light drizzle was refreshing. Despite the good mood, underneath it lurked an anxiety that gripped her stomach as if she were a kid waiting to go to prom.

She would finally get a chance to see Mike again—whatever condition he might be in.

C
hapter 18

It wasn’t yet afternoon, and Jim had finished another bottle of the reserve rum. A full bottle, gone. He could barely remember drinking it, just wanted the solace of the burn and the fog. His brain buzzed and spun. The radio dropped from his hands to his cabin’s floor.

“No fucking response,” he mumbled to himself. “I’ve been sacrificed.”

He laughed at the thought of those who had sworn him to secrecy just up and going, leaving him behind like some jilted teenage lover. Only this time there wasn’t going to be another sweetheart to come along.

This was the end.

He bent over to grab the radio and nearly fell off his bunk, only managing to keep himself from hitting the deck by landing on his forearms.

He swept the radio under the bunk, not even bothering to hide it behind the panel. “Fuck it,” he grumbled and sat heavily against the ship’s hull, his head resting against the porthole.

Through his blurred vision he saw the pictures of himself and his wife taped to the back of the cabin door. In another, he and Duncan were waving from the deck of Duncan’s first boat: a small two-man sailing boat that he used to teach Duncan how to sail. His son was only twelve in that picture, but already he was almost as tall as Jim. Kid Mountain they called him. “Growing like a weed,” his wife would say. “Good genes,” Jim would retort. He was, of course, talking about Morag, the light of his and Duncan’s life.

Or at least Duncan’s first sixteen years.

Cancer, he thought, the biggest scourge of the day.

Still, it had nothing on what had come after.

What he wouldn’t give to have helped her, or even to have the tumour himself. She deserved life more. Even now, he’d give anything to spend one more day with her.

Tears streaked down his face, but he wiped them away and continued to fixate on that picture. It was taken when he and Morag visited Egypt. He remembered they both got severe sunburn on the second day. Two pasty-white Scots didn’t stand a chance in forty-degree temperatures, but Morag had always wanted to see the sphinxes and the pyramids.

At least she got to see them before the cancer, he thought. At least there was that.

Faust was right in one sense about the way he looked at her, but he was seeing past her visage, picturing his wife. What cruel aspect of fate decreed that a vicious, evil harpy like Faust could survive while his wife had to surrender her life?

Was that Faust’s God? If it was, Jim hoped he had a chance to meet Him one day. He’d tell the fucker what he thought of Him. He slumped onto his side, waiting to black out.

The door to the cabin opened. Duncan’s shadow stretched across the floor until it covered the bunk. He just stood there, waiting.

“Man Mountain,” Jim said, his words slurring. “Growed like a weed. All the genes.”

“Dad? What’s wrong?”

“Hah, everything… haven’t you seen the world, son?”

Duncan ducked below the door and stepped inside, making Jim feel like a bug looking up at a giant, as he lay on his back.

“Are you drunk?”

“Why the fuck not? Not like being sober and responssissible’s done me any favours.”

Duncan knelt down and lifted Jim until he was sitting up, his back against the ship’s hull. Jim could feel the waves getting heavier, and he let his body and mind roll with them, enjoying the swaying, spinning sensation. Duncan looked like a wild bear with his hair and beard obscuring his face.

“How’d you get so damned hairy?”

“Like that’s important now.”

“Ah, what? There’s news, eh? Good, bad… lemme guess, itsa a bad ’un, right?”

“I spoke with Stanic again. There’s been a setback with the repairs. Also, the new parts fabricated for the wind turbines have been stolen.”

“Who cares any more, eh? You? Faust? Marcus… how about Mike? Said anything, he has? Mumble gibber, mumble… fuck knows what anyone cares about now, eh?”

“Get a grip of yourself, Dad. You’re supposed to be the captain of this place. We all need you. Stay there. I’m going to get my stash of coffee, get you sobered up. This ain’t you.”

“If only you knew, Bear, what would you think, eh? You’d forgive ya old man, ha! Not likely, eh… not likely.”

Before Duncan had a chance to speak, Jim stood on unsteady legs, grabbing his son to hold himself up. He pushed him back out of the cabin. “Go, leave me. I’ve got memories to forget.”

“Dad, wait.”

“Leave me alone, goddamnit. Go!”

Jim kicked the cabin door closed and fumbled for the lock. He couldn’t quite get the latch closed, just swore and returned to his bunk, waving an arm underneath to fish for the radio. He randomly pressed the buttons, hoping for some response on the screen, each press of “send” bringing another sob, more tears.

He kept trying until the excess of alcohol took over and darkness enveloped him.