part0048

The radio was playing a scratchy, distorted version of an old Bobby Vinton song, one that Ana remembered her grandmother playing on the old record player. I Love How You Love Me , it was called, and though she hadn’t heard it in about fifteen years, she still knew the words, every syllable and inflection. She and Rachel used to fall asleep to that album, the music bleeding through the walls as their granny, who was as deaf as a post but would never admit it, cranked the volume dial even higher.

She wondered if Rachel remembered.

She took a bandage from the onboard first aid kit and wrapped it around Chakrit’s chest.

‘You crying?’ he asked.

Ana drew in a breath. ‘It’s this song. It takes me back.’ She barely recognised her own voice.

‘Takes you back?’

She clasped a safety pin into the already reddening bandage. ‘Aye. To being a wee kid. Back when you were allowed to be stupid and silly and not care about anything. Before the reality of adulthood crushes your childhood dreams and you realise you can’t grow up to be an astronaut or a princess or a unicorn.’

Chakrit smiled and Ana smiled back as she dabbed at his ankles with a wet sponge. They were a write-off, particularly the left one. The white of the bone was visible between the angry red muscle. Still, she would wash it. It was the least she could do. Anything to create the illusion of hope.

That word again. That lying, deceitful word.

Where was Rachel’s hope? Ana heard her cough from below deck and imagined the specks of blood hitting the pillow. She had better check on her again, see if she had touched the water Ana had left next to the bed, draped in that stained, oily blanket, convulsions wracking her fragile body.

First, she had to check on Chakrit’s uncle. She finished tending to Chakrit, then walked to the stern and watched the dinghy they towed behind them, the old man in it lying still.

She hadn’t hit him hard enough to kill him. Had she? No, he was sleeping it off, she was sure of it. He was safe there, and they were safe from him. When she turned back to Chakrit, he was checking the map and plotting a course for Koh Phangan. There was a hospital there, and that would be their first port of call, followed by the police, not an encounter either of them were relishing.

‘No one’s gonna believe us,’ said Ana, sitting in the shade and counting her bruises.

Chakrit rolled them both a cigarette. He lit his first, then handed Ana the lighter.

‘So what are we going to tell them?’

He shrugged. ‘Whatever they want to hear. How’s your sister?’

‘Not good. How long til we get to the island?’

‘Six hours maybe.’

‘Shit.’ She took a drag on the cigarette. It was her first one in ten years and it simultaneously repulsed and calmed her.

‘She’ll be okay. Good doctors in Thailand.’

She smiled weakly. ‘Chakrit, what happened earlier? Why did your uncle try to kill us?’

He looked at his hands, the cigarette, out to sea, anywhere but at her. ‘He’s crazy. An old fool. He said he can’t let you on, can't let you anywhere near the mainland. Said you had to stay.’

‘He said you carried the mark.’

‘Yes. That thing they burn on her.’ They sat in silence for a while, both thinking about the strange raised welts on Rachel’s belly. Ana flashed back to watching from her cell window as the man had taken the piece of metal from the fire and advanced on Rachel, the tip glowing. She remembered the steam rising from her belly and blinked it away.

‘You believe him?’

He shook his head. ‘He’s crazy. Believes ladies shouldn’t sing while cooking, or else they will marry an old man.’

‘Okay. That actually makes me feel a bit better.’ She smiled. ‘Thanks again, Chakrit. For everything.’

‘Hey, you saved my life.’

‘Will you visit me in hospital?’

He laughed; a soft, pleasant sound. ‘You visit me .’

‘We can get beds next to each other. ’

‘It’s a deal,’ he said.

Ana leaned forwards and kissed him. He responded by putting his arm around her and moving in closer. His mouth tasted faintly of blood, but so did hers, so who gives a shit. She placed a hand on his chest, accidentally pressing on his wound.

‘I’m sorry! Oh god, I’m sorry!’

But he was laughing, and so was she. She stopped herself before it turned to tears.

‘What was that place?’ she asked.

He gave it some thought. ‘Some kind of Hell.’

‘They’re all dead. So many people. I guess Paul is too. I wonder what happened to him.’

Chakrit flicked his cigarette overboard. ‘I hope it was painful.’

She stood up, feeling like an old lady rising from a chair in a nursing home, bones creaking and beads of sweat rolling down her forehead. ‘I’m gonna check on Rach. Make sure she’s drinking plenty water.’

He nodded. ‘Want a cigarette?’

‘Sure. Why not.’ She started to go down the narrow stairs and paused. ‘Chakrit?’

She thought about their brief kiss, unsure of what she was about to say. She settled on, ‘Nothing.’

He nodded, then leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Ana watched him for a moment then descended the stained and water-damaged steps, thinking about Chakrit. He had all the qualities she liked in a man; handsome, easy-going and willing to fight giant spiders. Yup, he ticked all the boxes .

The noise of the engine increased with each step until she reached the bottom and was confronted by two doors. One led to a small toilet cubicle, the other to a sort-of bedroom. At least it was more welcoming than the last boat she had been on. There were maps and crates and a cooler, and some yellow raincoats hanging from nails hammered into the walls.

Grub the pug stood guard at the door. Well, he was fast asleep, but they weren’t expecting many visitors. Ana stepped over the slumbering beast and sat by the bed. She placed the back of her hand on Rachel’s forehead. She was burning up. Feverish. Ana pulled back the covers, damp with sweat and urine, and looked at the knotted flesh and bowing bones of her sister.

‘Hang in there, okay?’

She poured water onto her cupped hand and dribbled it onto Rachel’s lips, then on her face for good measure.

‘Uhhh,’ replied Rachel, her distended belly pressing against Chakrit’s shorts. Careful not to touch the cauterised flesh, Ana undid the belt and slipped them down over her sister’s legs. She tossed them to one side. Rachel’s veins were dark, black almost, and streaking down her thighs from a nasty wound near her navel.

‘We’re almost there, Rach. Not far to go now.’

‘Aye, I promise.’

A claw-like hand settled on Ana’s leg and she gently held it, the same way she had held her mother’s hand as she lay dying in the hospital bed.

‘I’m sorry Ana,’ said Rachel, her voice hazy and confused .

‘For what?’ whispered Ana.

‘For not being there. Before. With mum.’

‘Rach, it’s okay—’

‘She’s dead now, isn’t she?’

Ana swallowed hard. ‘Yes, she is.’

Rachel nodded, almost imperceptibly. ‘I thought so, but I can’t remember. Like my memories are…slipping away.’ Ana nodded. She could say nothing, her face was frozen. ‘I was scared, Ana. Scared of death. Scared of dying. I couldn’t watch it happen to mum.’

‘It’s okay, Rach,’ managed Ana, her lip trembling.

‘Oh. I used to be afraid of dying too, y’know. I ever tell you that?’

‘No,’ lied Ana, squeezing Rachel’s hand without realising it.

‘Hey, you’re hurting me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ana, relinquishing her grip.

‘It’s not so bad, you know.’

Rachel almost smiled, her dry lips cracking. ‘Dying, I mean. If this is what it’s like, then it’s not so bad.’

‘You’re not dying,’ said Ana.

Rachel didn’t reply.

In the dinghy, the man stirred. Easing himself up, he tenderly touched his nose and a sharp pain spread throughout his temple. Broken. Both nostrils were sealed with clotted blood and he had to breathe through his mouth. Also, his balls ached like a motherfucker .

He didn’t blame the girl. He blamed himself. He had underestimated her resilience and paid the price. In a way, he admired her.

The dinghy was attached to the boat — his boat — by a cable. He glanced around, moving as furtively as his swollen testicles would allow, making sure no one was watching. The island was far behind them now. That accursed place! He should never have come. Never. But the white idiot had offered him so much money. More money than he had ever held before, now safely stashed away beneath a loose plank below deck. But what good was money if you never lived to spend it? He gripped the rope with both hands and started to reel himself in. He couldn't let them reach the mainland.

He couldn't let them live.

Chakrit sat alone on the deck. Ana had been gone some time now. Should he join her below deck? No, what good would that do? This was between family. He didn’t think Rachel was going to make it; the mainland was too far away. Presuming, of course, he was taking them in the right direction. His uncle was the sailor in the family, not him. They could be heading for fucking Vietnam for all he knew.

He rolled another smoke and realised Ana had his lighter. No problem, he would wait. He gazed across the ocean, the crackle of the radio obscuring the soft footsteps of his uncle as he crept towards the discarded shotgun.

Chakrit heard the weapon being cracked open. His uncle thumbed the cartridges into place and snapped it shut.

With tears in his eyes, he said, ’I’m sorry, Chakrit.’

As a tortured scream rose up from below deck, he pulled the trigger. From three feet away, the damage was absolute. Chakrit’s head was blown to pieces, shards of skull and sticky brain matter splattering the walls like a Jackson Pollock. His hand, still clutching the cigarette, twitched once before the legs gave way and his headless body sagged to the ground.

‘It hurts,’ she moaned.

‘Drink some water.’

Rachel tried to shake her head. ‘Hurts to drink.’ She turned away from Ana, curling up into a tight ball, scratching at her belly, her face contorted. She was rapidly deteriorating.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Ana. ‘I don’t know how to help.’

Rachel mouthed something at her. Ana leaned in closer. ‘What? I can’t hear you.’ She put her ear against Rachel’s mouth.

Ana straightened up. ‘Rach, don’t say that, please.’

Ana put her head in her hands. ‘I can’t, and I won’t.’

Rachel spasmed, her body stiffening. She cried out. In the doorway, the pug woke up and looked at them, emitting a low growl.

‘Oh god, it hurts. It hurts!’ gurgled Rachel. She retched and Ana turned her onto her side, where she vomited black, gangrenous slug-like tissue onto the pillow .

The dog was barking now, howling at them and backing away.

‘Kill me! Kill me!’ screamed Rachel, her voice breaking.

‘I can’t!’ cried Ana. Rachel’s body twisted and cracked, her limbs jutting out at weird angles. Ana tore the blanket from her and screamed, just as a shotgun blast went off above deck.