Twisted Little Things and Other Stories (26 page)

“We're just going to -”

“If you meddle much more,” she adds, “you'll go past the point of no return. When the living and the dead meet, a terrible plague will erupt. That is the warning that has been passed down from generation to generation, and you must not be the ones who finally go too far. You must leave the ferry alone, or the whole world will suffer. You've already gone closer than you should, you're lucky you were able to get away.”

She mutters something else, but it's clear that she's becoming increasingly agitated.

“You can't leave the area right now,” I tell her, figuring that I'm upsetting her and that I should leave. “There'll be roadblocks, just while we make sure that there's no risk to the public. You need to stay on your property.”

“I do, do I?” She pauses, before finally letting a faint, bitter smile cross her lips. “Where the hell else do you think I'd be going at my age anyway?” Grabbing her binoculars from the windowsill, she raises them and starts watching the trailers on the other side of the bay. “He won't like it if you interfere with his work.”

“He?” I reply. “Who are you talking about?”

She pauses, before turning to me with a hint of fear in her eyes. “Who do you think? Every ferry has a captain.”

“But -”

“Go,” she continues, interrupting me. “Tell those fools to pack up and leave this mess alone. I don't care how you do it, but you have to make them listen. If my brother was here, he'd tell you the same thing. Leave it alone and pray that you haven't done too much damage already!”

***

Once I'm back at the base camp, I head straight to the medical trailer. With everyone else focused on establishing the quarantine zone, I slip through the crowd and head to the trailer's door, before climbing the steps and looking along to the far end. Just as I expected, the survivor is still in place, still sitting on the chair and still staring straight at me. There's no expression on his face at all, just constant, calm vigilance. Even Carter's sudden illness doesn't seem to have phased him at all.

Turning, I look over my shoulder and see that no-one has noticed me. Taking a deep breath, I look back at the survivor and then start slowly making my way toward him. Sure, I don't have permission to be in here, but no-one's explicitly told me
not
to approach the patient, and if I was going to get the same sickness as Carter, I'd most likely have developed some symptoms by now. Besides, that old woman's words have stuck with me, and I need to prove to myself that she was just being melodramatic. As I get closer to the far end of the room, I finally stop and maintain eye contact with the man, waiting in vain for him to say something.

“Did you see me?” I ask after a moment. “Last night, I mean. When I was winched down to the boat, were you in the cargo hold? Did you see me, is that why you keep staring? Do you recognize me?”

I wait for a reply, but of course there's nothing. Glancing over at the nearby bench, I spot three vials of blood, which I guess are the ones that were collected by Carter shortly before he became sick.

“You really don't understand a word I'm saying,” I continue, taking a step closer to the survivor. “You're definitely not from around here, but where
are
you from?”

He maintains eye contact, but he doesn't say a word.

“Are you sick?” I ask, trying to hide my desperation. “There's a man out there who might be dying, all because he was trying to help you. If you know anything that could save him, you need to tell us.”

I wait.

No reply.

“I think you understand me,” I continue, meeting his unblinking stare. “I think you know what I'm saying, and I think you could answer all our questions. Are you scared? Are you worried we'll turn you around and send you right back to wherever you came from? At some point, you're going to have to talk to someone, so why don't you do it now, when you can still help? In return, I'll do everything I can for you.”

Again, I wait.

Again, silence.

“Say something,” I whisper, before stepping closer.

Nothing.

“For God's sake -” I begin, although I sigh as I realize that there's no point getting angry.

Outside, Carter has started coughing. From the sounds of it, I wouldn't be surprised if he brings up one of his own lungs.

“What
is
it?” I mutter finally, staring down at the survivor. “What the hell is it about you that's making me feel so goddamn creepy?” I pause, watching his calm, placid face. He's not moving at all, as if he's content to just sit here. I can't shake the feeling that he might be waiting for something. “No offense,” I add after a few seconds, “but you're really freaking me out, do you know that? There's something about you that makes my skin crawl.”

He stares at me.

Grabbing Carter's clipboard, I take a quick look at the notes he's made so far. “Huh,” I mutter, “seems like he thinks all his equipment is on the fritz. What if...” I pause, before turning to meet the man's gaze again. “What if it's
not
, though? What if you're just...”

Pausing for a moment, I suddenly realize what it is about the guy's calm, still demeanor that's freaking me out so much. I tell myself that I'm wrong, that I
have
to be wrong, but there's a slow feeling of dread starting to creep through my gut, clawing at my insides as I start to feel as if I was right to be suspicious. I want to turn and get out of here, to find help, but I figure there's one simple test I can perform that will either confirm or allay my fears.

I'm wrong.

I have to be.

“Okay,” I mutter, stepping closer, until I'm almost touching him, “if I was going to get sick, it would've happened by now, so I figure it's okay to do this. As long as I don't come into contact with your blood.”

As he stares up at me, his demeanor doesn't change at all.

Slowly, cautiously, I reach a hand out until finally my palm is just millimeters from his mouth and nose.

I wait.

Nothing.

A shiver passes up my spine as I continue to meet the stare from his calm, blank eyes.

I wait a moment longer.

Maybe he's trying to fool me.

Maybe it's a trick and he's just holding his breath.

So I wait.

Checking my watch, I see that a minute has passed.

Still, I wait.

Two minutes.

Two and a half.

Three.

Still nothing.

It can't be a trick.

I wait.

Four minutes.

“You're not breathing,” I say finally.

He stares at me.

I move my hand even closer, but I'm right: there's nothing, no breath at all from either his nose or his mouth.

“Jesus Christ, you're
not
,” I say again, trying not to panic.

Instinctively, I take a step back as he maintains eye contact.

“Why aren't you breathing?” I whisper, feeling as if my head is starting to spin. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He whispers a reply, but his words still make no sense.

Turning, I hurry to the door. I have to get help, I have to find someone who can confirm I'm not losing my mind, but a moment later I hear a dull thud over my shoulder. When I look back, I see to my horror that the survivor has fallen forward and landed on the floor, and now his entire body seems to be shuddering, as if he's suddenly having some kind of seizure.

“Medic!” I shout, leaning out the door and seeing Farrah still attending to Carter. “I need a medic in here!”

Chapter Six

“You're out of your minds,” Louis shouts as we hurry across the beach, making our way to the inflatable dinghy. “When Stratton finds out about this, he's going to have the pair of you crucified!”

“I don't doubt it for a second,” Mark replies, wading into the water and immediately tossing the rest of our gear into the dinghy. “Fortunately, my resignation goes into effect in about twelve hours' time anyway, so it's not as if he can haul me over the coals for too long. And don't worry, we won't tell him that you knew what we were doing.”

“What about Carter and the survivor?” I ask. “How long before the new medical team gets here from London?”

“An hour at most,” Mark replies, “which is why we need to get out to the wreck site before then. As soon as Stratton takes charge of this thing, it'll be out of our hands. We need to find out what the hell's going on while we still can. If we wait for other people, the ferry's going to slip away again.”

“So let me get this straight,” Louis continues. “After everything that's happened, with one man clearly sick and another who doesn't seem to speak any language that's been heard before, you two want to go out there and dive to the wreck? Without any back-up?”

“Sounds about right,” Mark mutters. “I'm sure as hell not going to sit around waiting all over again.”

“Me neither,” I reply, climbing into the dinghy. “Not after what I've seen so far today. Besides, there's still an outside chance of someone being alive in that thing, maybe trapped in an air pocket.”

“You don't seriously believe that, do you?” Louis asks. “There's
no
chance!”

“Get back to the trailers,” Mark tells him, “and make sure no-one starts looking for us until we've been gone for at least a couple of hours. By then, Stratton will have finally shown up and the site's probably going to be in full lock-down, especially if they think there's any kind of disease. This is our last chance to see the damn thing.”

“Two hours, huh?” Louis replies. “And where will you guys be by that point?”

“Hopefully using this stuff,” I point out, holding up one of the diving masks, “and getting to the bottom of whatever's going on with that ferry. Because if -”

Before I can finish, I spot the house high on the cliffs, and I see a figure watching us.

“Come on,” I continue, turning to Mark. “Let's get out there while we still can.”

***

With a decent outboard motor and a prevailing wind that helps us on our way, we reach the location of the sunken ferry must faster than we could have dared hope. The weather all around us is still pretty bad, with choppy waves and a gray, threatening sky, but the worst of the storm has moved east and technically there are no safety-related reasons for us to hold back from the dive. After all, Mark and I both have more than enough experience with this sort of thing, even if a few of my certificates are a little out of date.

“Think they're missing us yet?” I ask as I finish getting into my diving gear.

“I doubt Louis can keep his mouth shut,” he replies, slipping the mask over his face. “Not for long, anyway. By the time he caves and tells them where we are, they'll be ready to come and give us a nice lift back to shore. I'm sure the vein on Stratton's forehead is pulsing like crazy by now.” He pauses for a moment. “You know we could get into a lot of trouble for doing this, right?”

I nod.

“I just can't risk losing the chance to uncover the truth,” he continues. “I need to see the -”

“I know,” I reply, interrupting him. “Me too.” Glancing back toward the shore, I can't help but imagine Eileen Shaw at her window. “That woman I visited earlier said some pretty strong things about the ferry. She told me not to interfere.”

“Apparently she was shouting at people earlier,” he replies. “Don't let her get to you.”

Heading over to the other side of the dinghy, I look down into the dark, rough water. Five years after my last dive, I'm finally going to have to face my fear. I haven't been in the water since that night when we failed to rescue the Sullivans.

“Don't over-think this,” Mark says after a moment. “We just have to get the job done.”

“What exactly do you think we're going to find down there?” I ask, feeling a flash of concern. Turning to him, I can see that he's worried too. “The cargo hold was open when the ferry went down. The bodies should have all been washed out, but then they should have shown up somewhere by now. Plus, the survivor in the trailer... I wasn't imagining it, Mark. He wasn't breathing for several minutes before he got sick.”

“Let's not worry about that right now,” he replies, coming over to join me. “We have to confirm that this is the Aspheron, and then we have to hope we can find something on the bridge that lets us work out where the hell it came from. Every time this goddamn boat has shown up before, it managed to slip away before anyone was able to get to the truth, but not this time. This time we get answers, no matter what.”

I nod, even though I'm starting to have second thoughts. The truth is, the old woman's words are starting to get to me. I dismissed her at first, I assumed she was just some dotty old thing who'd spent too much time watching the world from her window, but now her words seem to be sinking in a little. What if she's right? Hell, what if she's even
half
right? At the same time, some of the things she said were so outlandish, and I know I shouldn't let myself be persuaded by superstitious nonsense.

“I'm glad you came back,” Mark says after a moment. “I know I've said it before, but... I work a lot better when you're around but... Are you sure you're okay diving again?”

“Why do you ask?”

“I could understand if you're nervous.” He pauses, waiting for me to answer. “Have you been down since the night the Sullivans died?”

“Of course,” I lie. “I'm fine.”

“But -”

“I'm fine,” I say again. “Stop worrying about me.”

With that, I lean back and plunge into the sea, and as soon as I hear the sound of water crashing all around me, I feel as if I never left. I twist around and swim deeper, forcing myself to stay strong even though I can't stop thinking about the vastness of the sea all around, as if it's waiting to draw me in. I let myself sink, drifting, feeling the sense of the current as it pulls me along, as if I'm no longer in control. After a few seconds, however, all my worries start to fade away and as I take my first breath of tri-mix, I realize that
of course
I still remember how to do this. Looking down, I see my feet and, further below, the vast nothingness.

No busy world.

No lights.

No voices.

No screaming and shouting.

No computer screens or ringing phones.

Just the sea, spread out all around me.

This is where I belong.

A moment later, Mark crashes down into the water next to me, filling my vision with a field of bubbles from which he finally emerges.

“Can you hear me?” he asks over my earpiece.

“Loud and clear,” I reply, as I turn and start making my way down into the dark depths. Ahead, there's nothing but a vast, hazy darkness, but I know from the imaging data that the ferry is right around here somewhere, waiting to be found. Assuming it hasn't managed to slip away again, at least. Glancing over my shoulder, I see that Mark is right behind me.

“Don't worry,” he says over the earpiece. “I'll stick with you. I just thought you should take the lead.”

Stopping for a moment, I swing my flashlight around, hoping against hope that we might get lucky and find the ferry immediately. All I see ahead, however, is a cloud of sediment floating through the beam.

“We've still got a little way to go before we reach the seabed,” Mark says after a moment. “Not too far, but come on, we won't get more than sixty minutes out of these tanks. Especially not you, since you're out of shape.” He pats my shoulder. “Arms and legs aching yet?”

“Of course not,” I reply, even though he's absolutely right. Ignoring my aching muscles, which already took enough of a workout last night, I keep making my way deeper, unable to see much ahead apart from the flashlight offering a faint glow in the darkness. Even though I know I'm probably imagining it, I can't shake the feeling that the tri-mix I'm breathing is somehow richer than the air up on land. It's as if, perversely, my lungs are more open when I'm underwater.

I've missed everything about this.

“Sophie!” Mark says eventually over the earpiece. “I see it!”

Turning, I see that he's pointing at something below us. When I look down, it takes a moment before I'm able to see the faint, dark shape of something large, resting on the seabed.

Somehow, deep down, I know we've found the ferry.

This time, he goes first, diving ahead of me as we get closer to the shape. It doesn't take long before we're able to see the wrecked ferry more clearly, and the first thing I notice is that there looks to be very little damage from the storm, even though I distinctly remember seeing the aft section starting to break away. I can already make out the bridge, as well as the main deck, but something else seems different this time: the cargo hold has been closed.

“Are you seeing what I'm seeing?” Mark asks as we edge our way toward the ferry.

“What could have sealed the hatch?” I ask. “Pressure, maybe?”

“I doubt it. Maybe they tried to save themselves at the last minute. It was madness to have it open in that weather anyway.”

“Would the hold have been closed from the bridge?”

“Maybe,” he replies. “On an old boat like this, who knows for sure?”

I want to tell him that something about this suddenly feels wrong, that we should maybe turn back and try to think of a more methodical plan, but at the same time I don't want to let him down. As we swim closer, I try to tell myself that this is
just
a wrecked boat, and that we're here to get information so we can finally work out where it came from. The old woman's words are still ringing in my ears, but I force myself to focus on the fact that she's probably spent her entire life at that window, coming up with crazy ideas about the world that passes her by. By the time I reach the railing and grab hold, I've more or less convinced myself that there's no point worrying.

“Welcome back,” Mark says, maneuvering himself over the railing until he's on the main deck of the sunken ferry, which has come to rest at a slight angle on the seabed. “Miss the place?”

“Like a hole in the head,” I reply, following him as we make our way toward the dark bridge. As we get closer, I spot something else that's different: whereas before the door to the bridge was locked, now it's wide open.

“I understand if you want to wait outside,” he says, stopping and turning back to look at me. “After -”

“Are you kidding?” I reply, swimming past until I reach the door and peer into the darkness. “I'm right with you.” Aiming the flashlight straight ahead, I feel a faint shiver as I see the cramped bridge area, with a control wheel and some panels but precious little else. Whoever's been in charge of this boat for the past few decades, they clearly haven't spent any time or money on upgrades, and as I slip through the door and shine the flashlight all around, I can't shake the feeling that this is almost like going back in time.

“It should be stable for now,” Mark says as he follows me inside, letting the beam from his flashlight cross mine. “We need all the paperwork or documentation that's still around. I refuse to believe that any vessel can sail without some kind of record.”

Making my way to the main control panel, I realize that the instruments are so old, I honestly wouldn't have a clue about how to control the ferry. Earlier, Louis said the boat had sunk in the 1940s, and it's clear that whoever raised it and put it back into service, they weren't remotely interested in bringing it up-to-date, not even to conform with modern international maritime laws. This hunk of junk would never have passed inspection in any port. In other words, the Aspheron must have been operating illegally, which I guess explains why it was keen to avoid attracting attention.

“There's nothing here,” Mark says, sounding frustrated as he examines the chair next to the navigation wheel. “I can't find a chart anywhere, or even any basic navigation equipment.”

“Could someone have bailed?” I ask, looking out through the window and seeing the deck stretching away into the darkness, toward the front of the vessel. “The crew must have gone somewhere.”

“We'd know if a lifeboat had been deployed.”

“Only if it got away. Maybe they tried to take things with them, and they capsized too?”

“It's possible,” he replies, making his way toward the rear of the bridge, “but we can't make any assumptions, not yet. There are clearly no survivors, though, so... This is just about clearing up the mystery of where the ferry came from.”

Hearing a faint bumping sound, I turn and see that he's managed to get a door open, revealing a set of steps leading down into the depths of the vessel.

“We can't go any further,” I tell him. “We don't have the right kind of safety equipment.”

“Seriously?” He turns to me, and I can just about make out his face behind the mask, smiling. “Are
you
, of all people, suddenly going to start lecturing me about proper safety precautions?”