The sun was high overhead, and the wind had stilled so that the sea was mostly calm. Only short, occasional gusts blew across the water, sending gleaming trails of shivering waves towards the shore. It was one of those days where you could see for miles across the endless water between us, and whatever was out there. Apart from the bobbing white of resting seagulls, there was nothing behind us until the blurred line of the horizon.
And the corpse raft was going well.
The large pieces of decking left over from the last smashed boat were making it easy to assemble. Those were being used for the main part, with loads of plastic bottles beneath for buoyancy. Too many people were already involved in trying to build the raft for it to be sensible. Most of them were doing more standing around poking and commenting than actual building, and there were a lot of raised voices – not of arguing, more of everybody trying to make sure that their voice was heard. Definitely one or two people alone could have done it more quickly – but there was a lot of nervous energy on board, and I think people needed to feel that they were involved in doing something.
Over at the Big House another, smaller group was repairing the plastic-bag rope. Another big pile of sea rubbish had been found towards the edge of the muscle ring this morning, so the rope was now almost as long as it had been . . . a few days ago. All the knots were just methodically being checked to ensure that it was as sturdy as possible.
‘What shall we do?’ I asked.
‘I have no clue,’ said James. ‘I might go and dig a hole and wee in it. Want to help?’
I shrugged. It was better than nothing.
Dr Jones strode towards us purposefully.
‘Uh oh,’ said James. ‘Don’t make eye contact. It looks like she’s about to give us some maths to do.’ He picked up a piece of plastic and started fiddling with it urgently, a frown on his face as though he was deep in concentration and doing something of vital importance.
‘You four can have one between you.’ Dr Jones held out a plain knife, with a smooth metal handle and a serrated blade.
‘Oh . . .’ said Kate, taking it. ‘Thanks very much.’ She clasped it uncertainly by the very tip of the handle. ‘What shall we do with this?’ she said, turning to us.
James grinned at me, dropping the plastic again.
‘I’ve got a few ideas,’ said Lana.
Kate slowly moved the knife round behind her back, keeping her eyes on Lana as she did so.
‘No! I’m not going to stab you with it. Why would you think that?’
‘I didn’t think that,’ said Kate. ‘I’d just like to hear your ideas before I give it to you.’ She smiled at Lana.
James sniggered. ‘This is going to be brilliant,’ he whispered to me.
‘We should cut our hair – all the salty, knotted bits that hurt and scratch when you lie down on them. There’s no way we’ll get a brush through them when we get on shore, so I think we should cut them off now. Plus, they might smell a bit,’ said Lana.
‘They do smell. And not just a bit,’ said James.
‘The knife’s too blunt for that,’ said Kate.
‘I’m going to give it a go anyway,’ said Lana, grabbing the knife from her. ‘But I’m going to try it on you first. OK?’ She reached out for Kate’s hair without waiting for a reply. ‘Sit down.’
‘Oh . . . OK,’ said Kate, kneeling down on the mesoglea.
Lana grabbed one of Kate’s matted clumps of hair and started sawing and sawing on those strands near Kate’s scalp that were still loose. First one strand and then the others were released, until Kate was left wincing, and with one short fuzzy patch near her forehead. Lana held up a stiff lock in triumph. ‘Look! Now you do me. All of my hair.’
‘But you said . . . ?’
‘Just do it, Kate. Stand up and stop whinging.’
They swapped places, with Kate taking the knife.
‘This is going to be amazing,’ I said to James. ‘I mean, it’s going to take a while, but it’ll be great to sleep without the lumpy bits in my hair. It’ll maybe be cold in the winter, though.’
‘We need to be gone before the winter,’ said James. ‘You know that.’
I shrugged again in reply, but I didn’t look at him. It was still best not to talk about it. It gave me a sore, tight feeling in my throat every time I thought about what was going to . . . you know . . . happen . . .
‘Do you think you could try my beard?’ he said. ‘I imagine I’ll be really good looking with sexy stubble, right?’ He stroked the wispy strands on his face. They did make him look older, like one of the men. But they also hid what he really looked like, and it would be nice to see his face again.
‘Aren’t you worried I might miss, and accidently slice part of your cheek off?’ I said.
‘If you do, it’ll make me look wizened and dangerous, like a pirate. People will call me Scarface, and I’ll start rumours about the battles that I’ve been in. It’s a win-win situation.’
‘Come on, Fuzzyface,’ I said. ‘Those two are definitely going to start bickering, so let’s go help with the raft.’ Already Lana was muttering something to herself, and Kate had a hard-done-by expression on her face that was ominous. ‘Their fighting might be more interesting now they’ve got a knife,’ said James, but he was already edging away from them, so I knew he couldn’t be bothered either.
‘Shall we strap the corpses on to the sides, or underneath?’
This was a design feature of a raft which hadn’t been considered before.
Most people were still standing on the edge of the Jellyfish near the boat, but a couple of men were on the deck itself, assembling the raft. ‘I think you’ll need to put them on the sides,’ somebody called up. ‘Otherwise it might make the bottom of the raft too uneven. Keep the most crumbly corpse to put over yourself. You don’t want to risk bits of the flesh or one of the limbs falling off into the sea.’
Lana gave a grimace. ‘Crumbly corpse,’ she said. ‘Sounds like you.’ We took it as a general insult. It wasn’t directed at anyone in particular.
With their new, shorn heads, both Kate and Lana looked younger and prettier, but also more vulnerable. Beneath their uniform dirty brown locks, it turned out Lana had soft white-blonde hair which was now almost invisible in the patches where Kate had cut very close to the scalp – particularly in those rare moments when the sun broke brightly through the clouds. Her scalp shone pinkly through her hair stubble, and sores were visible where the dirt and salt had rubbed against her skin.
Kate’s hair actually was brown. Who knew? It was a deep brown colour, with lighter, golden highlights. And either Lana was better at cutting hair with a blunt table knife, or Kate’s hair was thicker. It covered her scalp completely and seemed impossibly glossy and sleek. Her new haircut suited her, emphasising her jawline and dimples – but then, on Kate, the matted dirty hair we’d had for ages had looked good too.
‘Attention!’ shouted Soldier John, gathering people in. ‘To your positions!’
There were four people on board the boat now, with the rest of us scattered along the edge of the creature. Two men cautiously lowered the raft over the side of the boat. Stinky followed, climbing tentatively on top. He had a plastic-bag rope attached round his waist, and he tugged on it several times, checking its strength. ‘All good,’ he said, giving a double thumbs-up sign and a nervous smile.
‘Lie down, Stinky,’ said Soldier John. Already the shorter tentacles were swarming around the bottom of the raft. ‘Drop the body.’
The largest of the dead bodies was lowered on top of Stinky. He evened it up over himself, ensuring that its arms covered his arms, and its legs were on his legs. He turned his face to one side so that he wasn’t looking the corpse in the empty eye sockets, but even still, some of the corpse’s hair was spilling on to his face.
‘When you’re ready, Stinky,’ said Soldier John. ‘Good luck, man!’
‘Good luck, everybody,’ called Stinky, though it was muffled, because of the corpse.
‘’old the rope,’ Soldier John said, more quietly.
At least ten people were holding the rope, which was probably unnecessary, but they all tensed, tightened their grip, and fixed their eyes on Stinky.
‘Go!’
Stinky kicked away from the side of the boat. The raft started moving slowly out, over the seething, searching tentacles. The little feelers wriggled beneath the corpses on each side, touching them over and over again, searching and fondling that dry, yellow, dead skin. And the raft kept moving. Outwards and away from us it spun round, with the tentacles bubbling beneath. They started to clear. A pathway opened in front, a way through to the shore.
Then the larger tentacle slipped up and into the air. It was pinkly wet, and the sea water fell off it reluctantly, in thick globules of mucus. My stomach clenched as it reached down and gently stroked the corpse lying on top of Stinky. It slowly caressed the body, feeling up and down the full length of the legs, the torso, the arms, the face. It seemed to pause momentarily on the hair, hovering and pulsating in mid-air above, but then it slid back into the water again.
The raft kept moving outwards. It was through the shorter tentacles now. Nobody spoke. We were all focused on Stinky and the raft. Soldier John signalled for more rope to be released. It eased out. Inch by inch. Carefully, breathlessly, through trembling fingers.
The raft spun again, nothing touching it now, and that little ripple of tentacles behind it started to wave, as though urging it towards the shore. But it came in a sort of groan first, a shift in the mesoglea beneath us, maybe. It felt as though there was a vibration, a gentle buzzing; a stirring, surging, sighing under our feet. Nothing important; nothing to worry about.
And then the larger tentacle rose back up again.
‘Get ready,’ said Soldier John.
It floundered for a second, as though . . . perhaps not? But then the tentacle muscles tensed.
‘Pull him back,’ shouted Soldier John. ‘Now.’
The team pulled sharply, heaving Stinky back just before the tentacle made impact with the raft.
‘Pull!’
There was a mighty smash as the tentacle splintered the raft. The corpse collapsed under the weight, dividing and separating into parts.
White mucus started leaking out from the edge of the Jellyfish, seeping towards the raft, and the corpses.
‘Pull! Everybody! Pull!’
We ran to help, heaving Stinky in. His face was desperate with fear as the mesoglea reformed itself around him.
‘Quick. Pull! Pull!’
We pulled him through the mass of viscous liquid which hauled at him, battling against the creature.
It sucked at him, dragging at his body and arms.
But the rope held, and he emerged, gasping and pale, on to the surface next to us.