SALT: A Post-Apocalyptic Thriller Page 3

  Jean stood, backing Eva up. “Get the hell out of here, you fucking sharks. He’s not been gone an hour and you’re already sniffing around. Well, you’re out of luck. You’re not having this place.”

  Tyson grimaced, his scarred lips making a weird twitching movement.

  “Temper, temper, love. I don’t makes the rules. We’re just following Marcus’s orders. Just doin’ my job, ain’t I? It’s not like you ain’t got anywhere to go, is it? There’s always the containers. I’m sure you and Eva here can make it warm and welcoming, eh?”

  Eva stepped forward, bringing her face within inches of Shaley’s, and stared into his dark, hooded eyes. “Listen to me real close. You’re to leave Jean alone. You and your stupid brother can go hassle someone else. You’re not bullying anyone here, you understand? If you don’t like that, I suggest you go running back to your feckless cousin.”

  At first, Shaley didn’t blink or move, but as Eva remained steadfast, blocking their access, he eventually let out a breath, smiled and stepped back.

  He cast a look at Jean and said, “I can see why Mike fancied this one; bitch’s got fire in her belly. I bet she’s a real goer in the sack too.”

  Tyson chuckled and brought his single green eye to look over Eva, devouring her body as if seeing a woman for the first time.

  His grimace turned to a lustful grin.

  Eva’s skin prickled.

  A blanket of heat flashed across her face and neck. She drove her shinbone into his crotch.

  He sucked in his breath and fell to his knees.

  Shaley spun to reach for his brother.

  Eva thrust out a palm strike, catching him in the throat.

  He stumbled forward, choking for air.

  Eva pushed him back into the corridor, where he collapsed next to Tyson.

  She stood over him, gripped the lapels of his smartly cut but tatty suit jacket, and yelled into his face. “I’m telling you once more out of courtesy. Leave this woman alone. If you have an issue, you come to me. And you can pass that onto Marcus. You get me?”

  The choking man nodded his head, tried to say something but wheezed, struggling for air as he scrambled to his feet. Groaning and clutching his balls, Tyson stood, and together the cousins stumbled back down the corridor.

  Eva stood in the doorway until they had disappeared from view.

  Jean stared at her, pale and shaking.

  “Here, sit down. Have some tea,” Eva said, helping her friend to the sofa. Danny had come to his mother’s side.

  “What did those men want?” he said. “Are they friends of Daddy?”

  “No, Dan, they’re not. But don’t worry about them, okay? You just look after your mom. She’s not feeling well.”

  Eva sat beside Jean, poured a cup of seaweed tea, and handed it to her.

  The other woman took the cup, and it shook in her hand. “I can’t believe you did that. Stand up to them, I mean…”

  “Ten years in the police force gives you certain skills, especially working the streets in Baltimore.”

  “I thought you were a homicide detective?” Jean said.

  “Yeah, but ten years before I was a cop on the beat. You get to deal with worse people than those assholes, trust me. I’ll pay a visit to Graves and deal with this directly later. But in the meantime, I’d find somewhere safe for your valuables or essentials. Look, I’m going to have to leave in a moment. I’m on patrol tonight, and Flick will be waiting for me to take over her shift. If you don’t feel safe, I’ve got a lock box in my cabin.” She handed Jean a key to the lock. “Use that to store anything precious to you, okay? I’ll check by later on my rounds. Graves’ expansion plans have been stepped up lately. Wouldn’t surprise me if he’s got a bunch of people running errands for him.”

  She thought of Ade then. Perhaps on her night patrol tonight, she’d take a walk over to the other side of the container ship and see what Ade had been up to earlier. If she met up with Graves, all the better.

  Jean took the key into her fist and hugged Eva. “Thanks, for everything.”

  “Least I can do.” And she meant it.

  Eva stood and was headed to the door when the PA sounded its familiar crackle.

  This is your captain, Jim. I’m afraid I’ve some bad news. I know this is the worst possible time, what with Mike leaving us, but it’s come to my attention that our fuel and power stocks have been compromised. Ade and my crew will work around the clock to get things back to normal, but in the meantime I’ve decided to cut power until we can get to the bottom of this.

  That means no radio, lights, or heating. Conserve what fuel or wood you might have personally. I’ll arrange a flotilla meeting in the next day or so. Once I have more information. Please support each other. Together we can make this work but only together.

  Captain, out.

  Jean slumped against the sofa and dropped her head.

  Eva sighed and tried not to get caught up with the bad news, but it didn’t stop the tingle inside her head from bothering her, nagging her like it used to back in the force. Something bad was going down. And now without the power, she’d have to run her patrol in the dark, with just her wind-up torch.

  To sum up her feelings, lightning flashed, striking against the Orizaba, lighting up the porthole, casting green light through the algae.

  Crashing of thunder immediately followed, directly above.

  The hull of the ship seemed to groan and voice her unease.

  It’s going to be a long night.

  Chapter 4

  Jim entered the wheelhouse of the Bravo, heading for the brig to find Duncan, but his son was already making his way to him.

  “You got something from Frank?” Jim said.

  Duncan grinned. “Yeah, we got something all right. And it didn’t require much to get him talking. He’s shit scared.”

  “Of what?”

  “You mean who.”

  “Go on. What did he say?” Jim leaned against the wheel of the ship. The steering had seized up when it had run aground on the range two years ago. Jim remembered the sight of it—nearly at a forty-five degree angle on the rocks—when he did the very same thing with the Alonsa. It had taken months of work, but eventually he organised them so that they made up the bulk of the flotilla. The two ships provided the backbone for all the others to join like ribs.

  Duncan closed the door behind him, shutting off any would-be eavesdroppers.

  “He said someone paid him a visit last night, threatened his family if he didn’t make the attempt on your life. Had to be today when the crowd were gathered for Mike’s departure.”

  “They wanted it to be public, then… did he say who coerced him to do this?”

  “No, he didn’t know him. The person wore a hood and a mask, visited him early this morning while Frank was still in his bunk. But he did say he had a US military pistol. Frank’s a gun nut apparently and recognised it instantly. The guy had already taken Frank’s wife and used her life as payment for this job.”

  Jim sighed, rubbing his chin. When they first set up the flotilla, they had a strict no firearms policy, for the safety of everyone. All guns were tossed over the side, and any new boats or ships that joined the flotilla were checked. Still, it wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility someone had decided to keep one for personal safety.

  “Other than the US sub here, there are no other American military vessels. And those on the sub were all dead. All weapons were tossed. I was there when we brought it in and swept it for resources.”

  “Could have found it on a yacht or one of the pleasure craft. There’s a whole bunch of American ones on the west side. What’s to say one of the owners of those wasn’t military? Perhaps on leave or retired, and whoever this is found it?”

  “Aye, it’s pos
sible. The last thing we need at this time is a nutter with a gun. But that brings up the question, if they’re armed and obviously not a little crazy, why get Frank to try and take me down with a gaff hook? Surely it’d be easier to shoot me if this guy really wanted me dead.”

  “So you think this was designed to fail? A distraction, or a warning or something?”

  “Maybe.” Jim thought about it. That someone wanted him dead wasn’t exactly startling news. His decisions were never popular, but then everyone else wasn’t in his position, trying to keep the community together. That it was likely to be a diversion or distraction seemed the most obvious choice. But for what?

  “The other issue is whether Frank’s telling the truth. This could be a load of bollocks to cover for Marcus,” Jim said.

  “I don’t think so. He even asked that we keep him locked up, for his own safety. He’s so scared at this stage, he doesn’t even care that this guy, whoever he is, has his wife. He says he’ll be dead within hours of leaving here.”

  “And he said nothing else about this man? Nothing else about what he wanted. What his accent was. Any weird smells or something that could identify him?”

  “Just said he was American. Couldn’t tell what state or accent. Frank’s only ever been out of the UK once, and lucky for him, it was the day he was on a boat with Marcus; otherwise he’d have drowned with everyone else.”

  “There are at least thirty Americans on board. We can’t just round them up. I don’t think our authority or leadership would extend that far.” Jim yawned, the effects of the rum and the stress of the day catching up with him.

  Before the solar storms melted the ice and set off the earthquakes, releasing all the trapped water in the Earth’s crust, he had lived every day with verve and optimism.

  It was what had got him his position on the Alonsa. But this was beyond his skills. An assassination attempt, faux or not, put a dent in one’s optimism.

  He needed someone who knew investigation. Eva. She’d be on patrol tonight.

  “Okay,” Jim said. “We need help with this. You fancy a stroll out in the storm with your old man?”

  “But what if he’s out there waiting?”

  “In this weather? I can imagine him being a little crazy, but he doesn’t sound stupid. Besides, there’s nothing stopping him from just coming in here and gunning me down. No, there’s something else going on here. And like or loathe Graves’ lot, we can’t just ignore the fact Frank’s wife has been taken.”

  “Would buy you some favour with Graves too, I imagine.”

  “Unlikely, but possible.”

  ***

  The wind gusted across Jim’s face, bringing with it stinging rain and sea spray. The sun had gone down, and the black clouds, full of menace, hid the moon. Brief flashes of lightning, followed by deafening thunder, lit up the flotilla erratically, each split-second flash burning the image into Jim’s vision and helping him find his way through the maze of wreckage paths.

  “Eva will be on patrol for a few hours yet,” Jim shouted over the din of the weather to Duncan, who had his waterproof fishing jacket done up tight around his chin. His hat blew at all angles with each gust of wind.

  “Reminds me of the old days on the trawler,” Duncan said as a wave crashed between the Bravo and the mountain, sending an avalanche of chilled water over the side of the ship and running off down the sides.

  Jim leaned into the wind, lighting his way with a rechargeable torch, and headed to the bow of the ship, where a rope ladder led down to what he called the fish-maze: a group of some thirty-odd fishing boats, tiny and large, cobbled together with chains and ropes and netting.

  Large sections of white fibreglass hull from some dead millionaire’s yacht had been cut into long pieces, creating a network of planks across the decks of the various boats. Holes had been cut into the ends of each one, and ropes looped through to keep everything together while allowing them to move with the rise and fall of the tide.

  Tonight was particularly wild.

  Since the oceans had risen to cover all but the tallest mountains, the tidal system had been strange and erratic. Some days, despite the storms, the sea remained level, and other times, like tonight; it felt like there were entirely unnatural forces at work beneath the water.

  Various people, their faces illuminated by flickering candles, looked out of their cabin windows and portholes as Jim and Duncan continued through the maze and headed for the west side: Graves’ territory.

  None of them returned Jim’s smile or wave of acknowledgement.

  The temporary brownout was clearly an unpopular decision.

  Jim slipped when he reached the end of the fish-maze. He tried to leap across the gap to the lower part of the container ship—all red rusted metal and square edges—but his foot lost its grip on an algae-covered board, and he fell backwards.

  Duncan was there, though, to catch him. “Easy, Dad, you’re not a young buck any more. Watch your step.”

  Jim shrugged him off. “I might be at the end of middle-age, but I’m not a cripple yet.”

  He adjusted his stance and jumped the gap, landing on the deck of the container ship. As he landed, the torch slipped from his hand. He reached out for it, the grip just bouncing off his fingertips, sending it rolling away over the edge and into the sea. The float device, attached to the end of the grip, was no help.

  As the boats rose and then fell on the waves, the two hulls crushed it, the light winking out in the gloom of the water. “God damn it.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Duncan said from the other side. “I brought a spare.”

  Jim helped his son across.

  Duncan’s right leg was permanently crooked after he had capsized during the early settlement of the flotilla. One of the smaller boats had broken away and was toppled by a freak wave. Despite a broken leg, Duncan had managed to save the crew and bring the boat back to the safety of the other ships. Dr Singh could only splint it. She said it really needed a plate and screws, but their medical facilities were not up to that level of operation.

  Still, Duncan was young enough to work around it.

  “Eva should be around here somewhere,” Jim said. “She’s covering this and most of Graves’ spot.” It pained him to refer to the west side of the flotilla as Marcus Graves’, but that was the truth. He and his firm had tight control of it.

  To make matters worse, some of the containers in his area held the stockpiled fuel and other resources, such as fresh water and canned goods.

  “Oh, crap,” Duncan said.

  “What is it?”

  “Battery’s dead in mine.” He tapped the side of the flashlight against his palm. Nothing happened.

  A crash of thunder covered his words, but when it dissipated, Jim pointed between rows of containers.

  Duncan leaned in, whispering, “What is it?”

  “I saw movement there. The lightning reflected off a dark coat. Someone’s heading for the northern section.”

  “The stockpiles?” Duncan asked, but really it was more of a statement. “And it wasn’t Eva?”

  “No,” Jim said. “Come on. This might be our saboteur.”

  Like predators stalking their prey, Jim and Duncan followed the dark shape through the rows of containers. They passed a few semi-open ones, the dull amber light of candles glowing inside.

  Each flash of lightning gave them a fix on their quarry.

  “Wait,” Jim said as he ducked in behind a blue double-height container. Duncan slipped into a row opposite. Jim pointed forward to the series of locked units, the very ones that held their reserve fuel stocks.

  Jim watched as their target worried at the iron padlock and chains. It occurred to Jim then that whoever it was, they weren’t professional. They had a steel bar and were trying to prise th
e lock off. It’d never be opened that way. Still, the person worked, their dark waterproof coat flapping in the wind.

  Stepping slowly and quietly, Jim moved out from his position and approached the thief. He took a gutting knife from his belt and crept closer. Duncan stepped out from behind Jim and took the left side, wielding the flashlight like a weapon. Jim took the right side.

  When the last crash of thunder passed, he called out, “Put your hands where we can see them, and step away from the container.”

  The person dropped the bar, visibly startled at the command. They spun round and nearly slipped on the wet deck. Duncan rushed forward, pushing the figure against the steel doors, and pulled its hood back.

  Jim leaned forward as a flash of lightning revealed a face.

  “Susan?” Jim said, taken completely off guard. “What the hell are you doing?” He had been expecting one of Marcus’s goons and certainly not the flotilla’s most devout person.

  Duncan lowered his flashlight and stepped back.

  The woman looked scared out of her skin.

  Jim didn’t blame her; Duncan was an imposing figure, especially with his thick ginger beard hiding most of his face and his long hair giving him the look of a Viking.

  Susan remained quiet, her face growing defiant.

  Jim moved closer. “I asked you a question, Faust. What do you think you’re doing? Why are you trying to get to the supplies? You working for Graves now, eh?”

  She spat on the deck. “Like I’d work for that scum,” she said in her strong German accent.

  “So you’re working for someone, then?” Duncan asked.

  “It’s none of your business who or what I work for.”

  “What? You telling me this is God’s work? God tell you to steal from your own people, did he?” Jim said.