SALT: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Read online

  “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.

  Chapter 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.

  Chapter 19

  Eva reached for the door handle to Dr Singh’s medical room, smelling disinfectant. It reminded her of the hospital where she gave birth to Emily. She remembered the long labour. Ironic that Emily took so long to come into the world. Once she was out, she lived life as if she had it on short-term loan. Eva realised they all did, but still, for Emily it was too short.

  She drew a breath as the pain from her wound flared, making her pull her arm back. Her ribs ached, and the stab wound throbbed, a pulsing reminder of her task. She had both Ade and Jean to avenge; she wasn’t going to let a flesh wound stop her. She’d use the pain as motivation.

  “Here, let me.” An arm, a man’s, reached around her to take the door handle and open the door, allowing the hospital smell to waft out.

  She took a step inside, turned, and realised it was Stanic. He smiled his curious shy smile. The weather-stroked skin folded at the corners of his brown eyes. Windswept hair, black with flecks of silver, was brushed back behind his ears.

  “Hey,” Eva said, “thanks.”

  “I heard you had a fall,” Stanic said, pointing to her ribs. “How you doing?”

  “It’s okay. I can get about—to a degree. Just heading in to see the doc, get it checked out. How’s the repairs coming along?”

  A shadow came over the engineer’s face. “They’re problematic. Things go missing here, things get broken. It’s like I’m working against the tide.”

  “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You usually do.”

  “Hah, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Eva wanted to approach the subject of someone using the engineering department for making keys, but she couldn’t quite frame it without having him asking more questions. So far, no one had been told about Ade’s death, and Jean’s was mostly considered an accident by those outside of the circle of truth.

  Stanic made to turn but must have read somethin
g in her face. “Was there something else?”

  “Yeah, erm, no, just, who do you think is sabotaging the equipment. Anything strange going on in engineering lately?”

  “No idea. There’s been rumours it’s one of Faust’s lot, but I don’t buy it, personally. Probably someone working with Graves, but for what end, I don’t know. Engineering is fine, the men and women there are decent people. We’re all just trying to keep things going, you know?”

  “Yeah, I hear you. If you notice anything odd, you’ll come tell me, won’t you?”

  “Putting your old skills to use, are you? Should I call you Detective Morgan from now on?” Stanic flashed her a quick smile.

  “Ha ha, no, Eva’ll be fine, but you know, I’m just professionally curious, I suppose. Life on this old wreck will be much easier if we can keep the power and desalinators going.”

  “I’ll let you know. Would be nice not to keep having to repair the repairs. I’ll see you around, Eva. Watch your step.”

  “I will, Stanic, thanks.”

  She watched as he walked off down the narrow corridor, then closed the door behind her and headed toward the main office of the medical facility. Facility always sounded too grand for what was really a couple of doctor’s examination rooms, repurposed storage units and a retrofitted theatre. The quarantine section was situated behind this area, in what had been, in their former life on the Alonsa, a series of function rooms.

  Dr Singh, in her familiar blue medical shift, sat at her desk, filling out some paperwork. She dropped her pen when Eva hobbled toward her.

  “Hey, Eva, you surprised me there.”

  “Sorry, am I interrupting?” Eva leaned against the desk, her hand flat on its surface to take the pressure off her ribs.

  Singh sighed and sat back in her chair, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes. “No, I should take a break. I’ve been up all night, running tests on Mike’s condition.”

  “How is he?”

  “Still catatonic, still uttering gibberish, although…”

  Eva leaned forward, shifting her weight. “What is it?”

  “It’s the damnedest thing. It’s, this is going to sound weird, but…”

  “Go on,” Eva said. “I won’t judge. We’re all a little weird sometimes, right?”

  “It’s like the more I listen to his utterances, the more it seems like there’s real words there. It’s probably the cadence or just me getting used to the sound and trying to imprint meaning where there is none.”

  “What if he’s trying to communicate something?”

  “I don’t think so,” Singh said, shaking her head. “He’s displaying almost no response to stimuli. I doubt he even knows where he is or who we are. As I say, having listened to him all night, it’s probably just my tired imagination hearing patterns and trying to find meaning.”

  Singh leaned forward in her chair, took a sip of seaweed tea from her mug and yawned. “Here, have a look, see if this means anything to you.” She slid a piece of paper across the desk. “How are you, by the way? You shouldn’t be moving around.”

  “I can’t just sit around,” Eva replied, taking the sheet of paper. “It’s really not that bad. You did a great job of stitching me up, and the painkillers really helped.”

  “Hopefully that’ll still be the case when they wear off. Our stocks are pretty low these days. Come here, let me take a look at it, make sure it’s healing okay.”

  Singh eased herself out of the chair and lifted Eva’s sweater to reveal the bandage wrap. Undoing the adhesive pad at the edge, she lifted just enough to expose the wound beneath. While Singh was checking the damage, Eva held the paper in front of her and read the words.

  They were gibberish. Singh had written down what she’d heard from Mike. Eva mouthed the words as she read them. “I can see what you mean,” Eva said. “It’s nonsense, but it definitely has the cadence of speech. Could Mike have suffered damage to the part of his brain responsible for language? A stroke maybe? Perhaps he’s trying to talk, but it’s getting scrambled.”

  “He has full motor control when he decides to move, which admittedly isn’t often… the wound’s looking good. Stitches are holding up, no sign of tearing or infection. Come back again tomorrow so I can keep an eye on it, but it seems to be moving in the right direction.” Singh reapplied the bandage and pulled the sweater back in place.

  “Thanks, Doc.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re looking really tired. Why don’t you get some sleep.”

  “I can’t right now. Visiting hour for the quarantined patients. When that’s over, I’ll get a few Zs. By then, my assistant should have the results of Mike’s test.”

  “Can I see him?” Eva said, handing Singh her sheet of paper.

  The doctor hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Sure. But I’ll warn you, it’s not a pleasant sight.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Doc. I’ve seen far worse, I’m sure.”

  Dr Singh helped Eva through two doors until she came to the readapted function rooms. Each door along the passage, ten either side, had clear plastic taped to its exterior. Through the round windows, Eva saw the various patients lying on their cots or standing against the door looking out.

  Some mouthed what looked like hello.

  Eva recognised every person. At one time they had been kind and useful members of the flotilla, but one by one they had succumbed to the infection and ended up here.

  Although it didn’t seem to transfer easily from one person to the next, it was deemed too dangerous to take the chance. Most of them understood that, but there was always a few who didn’t and who wanted out. Eva waved and nodded at the ones by the doors, giving them the respect they deserved.

  How cruel, she thought, to have survived everything the world had thrown at them only to be rewarded with a sickness that slowly killed them without any hope of a cure.

  They reached Mike’s room at the rear of the quarantine zone. It was through a second set of doors for added protection. Dr Singh held back the plastic and allowed Eva inside.

  “I’ll wait outside,” Singh said. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure.”

  When the doctor left her on her own, Eva shuffled to the door and looked in. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when she saw him, sitting cross-legged in the corner of his room, his arms hanging limp by his side.

  He gazed off into the far distance, his lips moving in those strange patterns of his. Drool covered his chin. His eyes looked like someone had painted them on, or carved them from chalk. She had expected him to maybe notice her.

  A hopeful part of her thought that her being there might have woken him from his catatonia. A friendly face, a face that he had once declared his love for, but no, he wouldn’t look her way, couldn’t see her. Just what was it that he did see out there?

  Ten minutes went by with Eva staring in, wondering that very question.

  Behind her came the noise of visitors arriving to see their sick family members. She realised she’d been crying and wiped the tears away with the sleeve of Graves’ sweater. As though thinking of him had the power to summon him, Marcus appeared behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

  “He don’t look good, does he? Poor sod. I’m sorry, Eva. I know how much you meant to him.”

  “It’s the not knowing that hurts the most,” Eva replied, turning away. “What are you doing here?”

  “I said I’d keep an eye out for you. When you didn’t come out for a while, I came to make sure you were okay. So, are you?”

  Eva thought about it for a while: was anyone okay, really? At what point did being okay happen when all around them there was only loss.

  She didn’t answer, just made to leave the quarantine room, trying to deal with the grief of having to leave behi
nd the one she loved for the second time. In addition, it brought back that one memory, the one that would never die, the one where Eva left Emily behind and doomed her to die alone.

  Marcus helped her through the doors until she came to the main section, where the visitors, much like Eva a few minutes previously, were standing outside the various doors, looking in. The difference was, they could talk with their family members. Not that much was being said. What could be said other than “love you”, “get well soon”, “don’t give up”?

  They were just reactions now. Just something you said to avoid the cold silence.

  Both Eva and Marcus quietly greeted the visitors as they walked through. Everyone knew everyone on the flotilla, which made these situations worse.

  For Eva, anyway. She was always accused by her police chief of having too much empathy. Of taking too much interest in people’s lives. But the way she figured it, so few people did anymore; she could at least make a difference, albeit a small and insignificant one.

  Most of the cops in her district did it for the money and pension; they couldn’t understand that she did it for justice.

  She did it for the victims.

  Dr Singh emptied her mug of tea in a single gulp and stifled another yawn. She handed Eva the paper with the gibberish on it. “Take it. Perhaps it might make sense one day.”

  “Thanks,” Eva said, taking it and folding it up into quarters. “You will let me know if Mike does say anything, won’t you? I’d like to be the first when he does.”

  “That’s odd. Jim asked me the same thing last night. He was quite insistent. I’ve never seen him so… intense. What is so important about what Mike knows?”

  “Jim’s under a lot of strain,” Marcus said.

  “I guess we’re just curious about what happened,” Eva said as she wondered what would be so important to Jim. Sure, Mike was the first volunteer to ever return, but Jim had never really shown an interest in the volunteers beyond the day they left.