The Ferry Page 2

  A child.

  The longer I stare, the more visible she becomes, and I can hear the worms and other parasites chewing through her body until -

  Suddenly I turn as my phone starts ringing. Looking over at the counter, I realize I must have left it here when I went to bed, and now it’s buzzing as the screen lights up, flashing slowly in the darkness. I step over, and somehow I know – before I even see the name – who’s trying to get hold of me. I look back at the corner, but there’s no sign of the girl now, so I glance back down at the phone.

  It’s 1:05am.

  Mark Phillips is calling.

  I haven’t heard from Mark Phillips in a long, long time.

  Reaching down, I pick up the phone and hold it for a moment, watching as it rings and vibrates. I briefly consider not answering, as a chill runs up my spine, but I know that I can’t ignore something like this.

  Mark wouldn’t call me.

  Not at 1:05am.

  Not unless something was wrong.

  Tapping the screen, I raise the phone to my right ear and immediately hear what sounds like a storm on the other end of the line.

  “Sophie?” he asks suddenly, his voice filled with urgency.

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words come out.

  “Sophie?” he asks again. “Are you there?”

  “Yeah,” I stammer. “Hi.”

  “I’m sorry to call you so late,” he continues, “but I need you.”

  I frown. “Uh -”

  “Have you seen the news?”

  “What?” My mind feels foggy, as if I can barely concentrate.

  “The news, Sophie!” He sounds frustrated. “Have you seen the news?”

  “Uh, no. Why?”

  “Turn it on. Any channel.”

  “But -” I pause for a moment, hearing someone shouting on the other end of the line. Realizing that something’s wrong, I hurry over to the kitchen table and open my laptop, quickly bringing up a browser and checking the BBC news feed. My fingers are trembling as I grab the mouse, clicking on a couple of links before -

  Suddenly I see it.

  In white letters, against a red background:

  Live: Emergency Rescue Operation Off Cornish Coast.

  I freeze for a moment as I look at a video feed, already starting to load up.

  “Sophie?” Mark shouts over the phone. “Are you still there?”

  “I’m here,” I reply, trying to switch into the emergency mode that used to help me through crises. I scroll down the page to find text updates. “What am I looking at?”

  “You know what you’re looking at.”

  “No,” I reply, “honestly, I -”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize he can only mean one thing.

  “I think it’s the ferry,” he continues.

  I open my mouth to reply, but fear has strained my chest so hard, I don’t think I can even speak.

  “Sophie? Are you still there?”

  “Yeah,” I whisper, staring at the screen.

  “There’s a hell of a storm building here,” he continues, “and I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think somehow the ferry got caught out in the worst of it. It’s almost tipped over a couple of times already, and the waves are getting stronger.”

  I nod.

  “Sophie?”

  “Yeah,” I say again.

  “We agreed I’d call you if it ever showed up again,” he adds.

  I nod.

  Silence for a moment. The only sound comes from the wind, howling on the other end of the line, and the light rain falling against the window next to me.

  “Sophie, talk to me.”

  “Have you managed to get a closer look?” I ask, forcing my brain into gear.

  “Not really. Conditions are atrocious.”

  “But you’re sure it’s the ferry. I mean… Are you sure it’s the ferry? The same one?”

  “Pretty sure. Looks like a sixty-footer, no markings to indicate a name or point of origin, and it appears to have no engine power or lights. It’s just drifting in the storm, plus there’s substantial damage to the hull and the bad weather’s making it difficult for us to get close. We’re going to try to launch some rescue boats to the scene, it’s about four miles off the southern Cornish coast, but I don’t know if they’ll make it. You should see this storm, and it’s still building.”

  “How many people on-board?” I ask.

  “No idea. There must be a crew, at least. Maybe passengers too.”

  “Have you pulled the records yet?”

  “There are no records.”

  I scroll down further. “There must be records,” I tell him. “No boat can be out there without records. There must be traces…”

  “I’m telling you,” he continues, “there are no records for this thing. It’s like it came out of nowhere, and it’s not responding to any attempts to establish contact. We’re still trying to track its route back, eventually we’ll work it all out, but right now we have to assume there are people on-board, and in this weather…” He pauses for a moment. “Sophie, the storm is getting worse, hour by hour. Check it out on the met pages, you’ll see what we’re up against. With waves this strong, the structural integrity of the ferry is going to be compromised. Whoever’s on-board, we need to get them out fast, or they’re going down with it.”

  I nod again, although I quickly realize that there’s no point since he can’t see me. I think I’m in shock.

  “It’s the ferry, Sophie. It’s the one we talked about.”

  “Okay, but -” I pause for a moment, reaching the bottom of the page and then scrolling back up to the video. Hitting the ‘play’ icon, I wait for a moment as the file buffers, and then suddenly my laptop’s speakers blaze to life with the sound of crashing waves. I quickly turn the volume down as I watch grainy images of spotlights picking out the waves. It takes a moment before I spot a dot in the distance, being tossed about by the storm.

  “Rescue attempts are being severely hampered,” the reporter explains, “by worsening weather conditions that make it extremely difficult to get any kind of emergency vehicle close to the ferry. With those conditions forecast to become even stronger over the next few hours, sources at the local coastguard station say that time is of the essence if anyone is to be rescued from the stricken vessel.”

  “You won’t make it,” I whisper, keeping my eyes fixed on the screen. “The waves are too strong. How many people do you really think could be on-board?”

  “A ferry that size?” Mark replies. “Could be a couple of hundred at least, maybe more if it’s an unofficial operation. One possibility we’re considering is that this boat might have been being used in some kind of people-smuggling ring, in which case it could be packed to the rafters.”

  “People-smuggling?” I reply. “This close to the UK? That’d be kind of brazen, don’t you think?”

  “Like I said, it’s just a theory, but…” He pauses again. “Sophie, I called you because I want you to get down here.”

  “Me?” I freeze for a moment, shocked by the idea. “Mark, I -”

  “I know, you quit. I was there, remember? The thing is, there might be hundreds of men, women and children on this ferry, and getting them out is going to be almost impossible in these conditions. I need my best people working with me, and five years after you walked out of here and swore never to come back, you’re still the best I’ve ever worked with.”

  “I can’t,” I whisper.

  “Plus, we made a deal,” he adds. “We agreed that if we ever had another shot at this ferry, you’d come back.”

  “I don’t have clearances.”

  “You don’t need them. I’m your clearance. I still have enough clout around this place to bring you on as a consultant, and you’re more than qualified, even after taking time out.”

  “I’m out of shape,” I tell him, desperately trying to think of an excuse. “I haven’t kept up with the latest techniques, I’m out of practice, I don’t -”<
br />
  “Sophie -”

  “I’m a teacher now. The last time I was even on a boat -”

  “Sophie -”

  “I’d be a liability,” I add, staring at the screen. “I’d be dangerous out there, I’d be…” I pause, watching the video of the storm. “I’m a teacher now. I teach English at the local comp.”

  “I know,” he says firmly, “all those things are true, but you’re still better at this kind of rescue operation than anyone else I’ve got down here. And you know this ferry, or at least you know it as well as anyone can. You know its history. Please, Sophie, there are lives at stake, lots of lives and -” He stops suddenly, and for a moment I hear him talking to someone else. “I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you,” he continues finally. “Sophie, I need you to get down here to Cornwall right now! You always said you’d come back if this happened. I can try to do it alone, but I really need you with me.”

  “But -”

  Sitting in my dressing gown in the dark kitchen, watching the laptop’s screen as it displays images of the storm-lashed ferry, I feel as if I’m looking at a window to another world. It’s as if the Sophie Carpenter who worked for the coastguard five years ago was someone else entirely, and I honestly don’t think I can step back into those shoes. When I promised to go back if the ferry ever showed up again, I never really thought it would happen.

  “Mark,” I start to say, “I really don’t -”

  “I know you can do this,” he continues, with a sense of real urgency in his voice. “Please, Sophie, I’m telling you, it’s the same ferry. Don’t you want to finally get the damn thing?”

  “I -”

  For a moment, I sit in silence as I realize I’ve run out of excuses. I either agree to go, or I admit I’m a coward.

  “I could get the first train,” I say finally, “but it’d take me five hours to get down there, and by then -”

  “No train,” he replies. “I’ve already got a helicopter coming to pick you up from the roof of your apartment building.”

  “You’re kidding, right? You -”

  Before I can finish, I spot flashing lights in the sky outside the window, and I turn just in time to see a helicopter heading this way. A moment later, I hear movement over my shoulder, and I realize that Rob has come through to see what’s taking me so long. Looking back at the laptop screen, I watch as another huge wave crashes into the side of the stricken ferry, tilting it so far that it almost overturns.

  “So are you in?” Mark asks, with the sound of people shouting in the background. “Sophie? We made a deal five years ago, you said you’d come back if the ferry returned. So can I count on you?”

  Chapter Two

  “It’s going to be a bumpy ride!” the pilot shouts as the helicopter rises up from the roof. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll get you there in one piece! Flying time should be about ninety minutes!”

  “Okay!” I shout back, fumbling to get myself strapped into the seat. To be honest, the past fifteen minutes have rushed past so fast, I’ve barely had time to even register what’s happening. I threw some clothes into a bag, but I’ve got no idea what I actually brought apart from the old work boots I never threw away, and as the helicopter swings out over the side of the building and races out across the dark city, I realize that I’m starting to feel nauseous.

  A moment later, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see that Rob is calling, and when I look back over my shoulder I realize I can still just about see him standing on the roof.

  “Hey,” I say as I answer, “what -”

  “I don’t think we’d finished talking,” he says firmly, sounding angry. “Sophie, what the hell are you doing?”

  “I -” As I lose sight of him in the stormy night, I turn and look ahead, staring at the lights of the helicopter’s control console. “I’m going to help out.”

  “You’re insane!” he hisses. “Seriously? After everything you ever told me about your old life, you’re suddenly rushing off in the middle of the night?”

  “They need me,” I reply, although the words sound weak and hollow. Rob’s right: what am I doing? I should get the pilot to turn back, I should call Mark and tell him I can’t do this…

  “You can’t do this!” Rob continues, as if he’s been reading my mind. “You’re not a coastguard, Sophie! Not anymore. You’re a goddamn teacher. You left this life behind, you said you were glad you left it behind, you said it almost killed you!”

  “They need me,” I say again. “They -”

  “They don’t need you!” he shouts. “Jesus Christ, Sophie, what are you talking about? I’ve seen the news reports, they’ve got all the people they need down there already! There’s no reason for you to go flying off in the middle of the goddamn night! As good as I’m sure you were at your job, I seriously doubt they’re depending on you going back to help.” He pauses. “What’s this really about, Sophie?”

  “They called,” I stammer. “Mark called. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t think I could help.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “It’s true!”

  “You sound really out of your mind right now,” he continues. “You know that, right? You sound desperate, like you’re clinging to some insane idea that you can go rushing back into the action like no time has passed. You’re a thirty-year-old English teacher, Sophie, you have a whole new life now. This Mark guy’s obviously crazy too, calling you up like this.”

  “I know, but…” I stop myself before I can say anything else. The truth is, I know I should have turned Mark down, but at the same time there’s some part of me that refuses to back away.

  “Is it about that family?” Rob asks.

  “What family?” Dumb question. I already know the answer.

  “The family who died five years ago,” he continues. “I know you still think about them, I know you think about how you could have saved them. Every time you wake up sweating from a nightmare, every time you tell me it’s nothing and that I should go to sleep and that you just need a glass of water… I know you’ve seen them again in your dreams.” He pauses again, as the line briefly fills with static. “Rushing back like this,” he adds, with a hint of distortion to his voice, “isn’t going to change the past. It’s not going to bring that family back.”

  “It’s not about them,” I lie.

  “So what is it about?”

  “I can’t hear you very well,” I tell him, as more static fills the line. “Sorry, I’m losing you.”

  I hear a swirl of distortion as he replies, but I can’t make out any of the words. A moment later, the line goes dead and I realize the bad weather must be too strong.

  I’ll be home soon, I type quickly, before sending the message to him.

  “You okay back there?” the pilot calls out.

  “I’m fine,” I tell him as I slip my phone away. For a moment, I sit in silence, staring straight ahead as we fly through the night sky. This whole experience feels completely insane, and I actually start pinching my arm after a few seconds, determined to see if I’m dreaming. As the pain builds, however, I realize it’s all real. I lean back, taking a series of deep breaths as I listen to the sound of the helicopter’s rotors spinning above, and finally I feel a kind of strength starting to creep into my chest.

  I can do this.

  I’ve missed the adrenalin.

  I grab my bag and unzip the top, before pulling out my laptop and balancing it on my knees. Opening the lid, I plug in the USB tether and wait for the browser to load up, and then I immediately start checking meteorological data about the storm that’s building in the English Channel. Using a few modeling tools, I’m able to work out how the storm is likely to affect the stricken ferry.

  This is what I do best.

  A moment later, I feel my phone vibrating. Pulling it from my pocket, I’m relieved to see that it’s not Rob trying to get in touch again, it’s Mark.

  “Hey,” I say as soon as I answer. “I’ve
been looking at the data maps, and I’ve already got a few ideas about how we can deal with this thing.”

  ***

  The journey down to Cornwall takes a little over an hour, and I spend most of that time on the phone to Mark, helping him work out how best to deal with the situation. With my laptop showing live video of the storm, and with headphones offering me direct access to the coastguard radio system, I start to feel less like an outsider and more like my old self. By the time the lights of the rescue operation come into view up ahead, it’s almost as if I’ve never been away.

  “We got here just in time!” the helicopter pilot calls back to me, as rain batters the windows all around us. “Another half hour, and I reckon the storm would’ve been too strong for us to fly!”

  “Is it safe to land?” I shout back at him, as the helicopter rocks a little from side to side.

  “Don’t worry about that. I saw worse conditions in the military.”

  After slipping my laptop back into the bag, I unfasten the buckle around my waist and lean forward, resting my elbows on the headrest of the empty passenger seat at the front of the helicopter. Looking ahead, I see a blaze of white lights along the shoreline, which I guess means that the rescue operation is in full swing, while a few more lights can be seen bobbing about violently on the furious waves, which seem so far to be repelling all efforts to head out to the stricken ferry.

  Feeling my phone vibrate again, I realize that Mark is trying to get in touch.

  “I see you!” he shouts as soon as I answer. “Tell John to get you on the ground as fast as possible!”

  “Do you have boats out there yet?” I ask.

  “The conditions are too rough!” he shouts. “We can’t even get anything in the air right now!”