Pan and Jen lay on the deck for what seemed like hours and waited for the remnants of the storm to pass. They were so drained of energy, they didn’t even talk.
The world was still noisy, but it was quietening with every passing minute. The rain slowed to a persistent hiss, the wind dropped and they had heard no crack of lightning for a considerable time. The boat beneath their backs rolled and pitched, but its wildness was slowly tamed. At first all they could see of the sky was a grey blanket streaked with rain, like a television set not yet tuned in. But gradually, clouds resolved and shafts of sunlight seeped through them. The girls continued to wait, their fingers interlocked.
‘Ready to see just how deep in the shit we really are, Pandora?’
‘I’m scared to look.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’
Slowly, they got to their feet. Pan felt sick and for a moment the world lurched. Then she steadied herself and forced her eyes to focus.
At first glance, the boat appeared to be in reasonable shape. Both masts were intact, which was little short of a miracle. The stresses the small craft had endured must have been colossal, yet it seemed to be holding together. It was only when they checked the cabin that Pan realised her optimism might be ill-founded. Water lapped almost to the edge of the deck and the galley was completely underwater. Maybe some of the tinned food had survived, thought Pan, but even if it had, they had no way of cooking it. But cold food was better than no food at all. The water supply was another matter. Somewhere underneath that seawater was the container, and she could only hope that the screw top was secure. They could live for days without food, but no fresh water would be catastrophic. A few items floated on the grey, frothy surface, though Pan noted that her boots were not among them. But if they got out of this alive, lack of footwear was not a disaster.
‘It’s a mess,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said Jen. ‘But the big question is whether this water is just what the sea dumped on us or whether, in all that battering, we have a leak.’
Pan moved over to the side of the boat and checked their position in the water. There was no doubt they were wallowing deeper than before the storm. The sea appeared much closer. Could the weight of the water in the cabin result in such displacement? It was difficult to tell. She returned to Jen’s side.
‘Only one way to find out,’ she said. ‘We’d better start bailing.’
‘I’ll see if I can find a bucket, or a couple of pans,’ said Jen, feeling with one leg for a surface beneath the water level of the cabin. She took a deep breath and then ducked her head beneath the water. She was gone for only a few seconds before she reappeared clutching a deep saucepan. She passed it to Pan and then ducked again. This time she found a shallow frypan.
‘There’s not much room here,’ she said. ‘We’ll get in each other’s way if we both try to bail. You stay there and I’ll pass the pans to you. No point chucking the water over the side. Dump it on the deck and I reckon gravity will do the rest. But check that it doesn’t flow back.’
It was slow work at first, until they found a rhythm. Jen would fill a pot and then slide it along the deck to Pan who’d dump it as close to the side of the boat as she could. In the meantime, she slid the other container to Jen. After ten minutes or so, they established a routine, though the water level in the cabin didn’t seem to be dropping much, if at all.
‘Is it working?’ called Pan.
‘If it is, it’s damn slow,’ said Jen. ‘I guess we’ll know in an hour or so.’
After that, they didn’t speak at all, just kept the pots alternating between them. Jen took a moment to gouge a scar into the frame of the cabin with her knife at the existing water level. It would provide a reference to check whether they were making any progress.
Finally, Jen dropped a pot onto the deck. ‘Take a break, Pandora,’ she said. ‘I don’t know about you, but my arms are aching.’
‘Any progress?’
Jen twisted her mouth. ‘Some,’ she said. ‘The water level is maybe five centimetres down. I suggest we rest and see if it comes up any.’
Pan scanned the horizon. The storm had largely cleared, but it was still difficult to see far – the sea mist was closing in around them.
‘Did you find the water container? I could do with a drink.’
‘Nah. But I’ll look again.’ Jen immersed herself in the cabin and Pan could see the dim shape of her body thrashing in the water. Then she came up and hauled herself clear. ‘Sorry, Pandora,’ she said. ‘Nothing. It must have got washed overboard.’
Pan’s legs folded beneath her and she put her head into her hands.
‘Are you sure?’ she said.
‘Yeah. I searched everywhere.’
‘That’s it, then,’ said Pan. ‘Game over. We can’t survive without water. You know that. We’re dead, Jen.’ She laughed and it sounded shrill and unpleasant even to her own ears. ‘Here we are, bailing out the sea with a couple of tiny pots and for what? So we don’t drown before we die of thirst. That’s funny, Jen. That’s really funny.’
When Jen grabbed her arm the pain was so intense it almost took her breath away. She looked down and saw her wrist, pale and anaemic under the pressure. Tears sprang to her eyes.
‘You’re hurting me, Jen,’ she said.
‘Good. Listen to me. We are not dead yet. You understand? We are not dead yet. And while there’s any breath in my body I’m going to keep fighting.’
Pan bit her lip. Jen shook her arm.
‘You hear me, Pandora?’
Pan nodded.
‘Okay.’ Jen let go of her arm. ‘First thing, activate that emergency beacon. I guess we don’t have much to lose. If it’s only The School monitoring the frequency, then I’d sooner go back there than die out here. Assuming they can find us, of course. And maybe, just maybe, there’s someone else out there who will find us first.’
Pan had forgotten all about the beacon. She reflexively reached an arm across her chest to check the canvas bag was still there. It was. She shrugged the bag over her head and unzipped it. The interior was soaking. The beacon was designed to activate automatically in water. Maybe it had already done so. Just to be on the safe side, she found the manual switch and turned it to the on position. Almost immediately she felt calmer. They were still in serious trouble, but any kind of action was better than nothing. She looked at the squat orange container and hoped it was doing what it was designed to do. Somewhere high above she hoped a satellite was picking up their signal and relaying it to whoever monitored the emergency frequency. Something had been initiated. Time would tell if their distress call fell on dead ears. For now, she felt better.
Pan zipped the bag up and slung it back over her head.
‘Done,’ she said.
‘We survive, right?’ Jen’s tone was light. ‘Just like you wouldn’t let me die, I’m not going to let us. We are the future, Pandora, and nothing will stand in our way. Not the sea, not the lack of drinking water. And certainly not The School. Okay?’
Pan smiled. ‘Okay.’
‘Good,’ said Jen. ‘I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up. It makes it easier for me to share a bit of bad news.’ She pointed towards the cabin. The line she had gouged was still visible, but it rested a few millimetres below the surface.
The boat was sinking.
Jen paced the deck for about half an hour, a deck that was now stable – the storm had passed and the sea swayed gently as if nothing had taken place.
Pan scanned the horizon in a full three-sixty circle, but saw only water. So much water. Land, a solid surface beneath her feet, seemed a distant memory. It was hard to believe the world contained anything other than a vast, limitless ocean.
Jen stood and looked down at Pan, sitting with her back against the main mast, her legs spread out in front. ‘What are you smiling at?’
‘I’m not smiling.’
‘Your lips were twitching. It looked like a smile.’
Pan did smile then. ‘I was thinking about that old movie. One of the Pirates of the Caribbean series. You know, with Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow.’
‘And?’
‘And there was this one scene where his boat was sinking and he was standing on that crossbeam at the top of the mast. And the audience sees him coming into dock, just as the last part of the boat sinks beneath the water. Jack Sparrow’s completely unconcerned and he steps off the mast and onto the dock. It’s seamless. He doesn’t break stride. That was so cool.’
‘Yeah, I remember it. You’re hoping for the same, Pandora?’
‘No. I just remembered it because it was so cool.’ Pan got to her feet. ‘Any idea how long before we’re swimming?’
Jen glanced out towards the horizon.
‘I reckon we’ve got an hour, tops. The water is up to the deck now. Thing is, I’ve got this feeling that there’s a tipping point, you know? That when the boat reaches a certain level it will sink fast. So it might be an hour, but it might be a few minutes.’
‘Anything we should do in preparation?’
Jen resumed her pacing, throwing the words over her shoulder as she walked.
‘We’ve got life jackets, you’ve got that bag. Make sure it’s secure, all right? I don’t think there’s anything else we can do.’
Pan scanned the horizon also. ‘How long do you think we can survive in the water?’ she asked.
‘Hell, I don’t know, Pandora. Like I keep telling you, I’m no expert on this shit. Worry about it later. We’re still breathing. That’ll do for now.’
The girls stood at each end of the sinking boat and didn’t speak.
The emergency beacon had been operational for an hour at least, assuming the batteries were still functional. How long did it take for rescue services to be alerted and to act?
Maybe a helicopter, even if it was the helicopter, would hover just above the waterline and the girls would step into it off the deck just as their boat plunged into the ocean depths. Maybe they’d do a Captain Jack Sparrow. Or maybe the boat would sink and they would spend days in the water, waiting for a rescue that would never come. Treading water, trying to keep up their spirits though they’d know it was hopeless. Possibly watching while fins broke the surface around them. Pan had seen a film where that happened. Which one of them would die first? How could the other cope? If it came to that, would she have the courage to take off her life jacket and just sink?
Would she die without knowing any of the answers to the questions that brought them here in the first place? It was a terrifying thought.
‘I think it’s time, Pandora.’
Jen’s voice was low and there was no trace of panic in it. For a moment, Pan dared to hope that Jen had spied a ship on the horizon, or a plane breaking through the cloud cover. That the time was the time for rescue. But she knew it wasn’t. Jen’s head was lowered and Pan followed her line of sight.
The deck was awash, maybe two or three centimetres below the surface of the ocean. Pan might have noticed herself if her feet hadn’t been so cold and incapable of feeling. Then the whole boat shuddered and tilted and one part of the decking completely disappeared.
‘We go now,’ said Jen. ‘When this thing gets sucked down, we don’t want to get caught, like ants drawn down a plughole.’ She splashed over to join Pan, her feet slipping on the boards. At one stage she fell to her knees, but quickly regained her footing. She took Pan by one hand. ‘Swim that way, as fast as you can,’ she said, nodding in the direction they were facing. ‘I won’t lose you. Not now.’
It was time to leave, and Pan felt the enormity of what was happening. The boat had been home to them for . . . how long? Time had lost all meaning. But the boat had been a sanctuary. It was solid. Leaving it was like abandoning hope. She couldn’t let herself think this way or she’d cling to whatever object she could find, be drawn down with the boat into terrifying darkness.
Pan shook her head, bent both knees and the girls jumped together. The water closed over her face for only a fraction of a second before the life jacket popped her to the surface. Even then, the swell which seemed almost benign from the safety of the boat was rough enough to cover her face immediately, causing her to take a breath that was one part air and two parts salt water. She coughed and spluttered. It was difficult to see any distance – the waves blotted out everything beyond a radius of a few metres. There was no sign of Jen. Pan wasn’t even aware of when she had lost the grip on her hand. A dark panic filled her.
‘Swim, Pandora.’ The voice came from her right and when she turned, Jen was there. ‘I told you. I’m staying close.’
Pan’s breaststroke was hampered by the life jacket and she felt clumsy and helpless. She gritted her teeth and kicked her legs.
They must have been in the water for only a couple of minutes before Pan saw the boat finally give up its grip on the surface. There was a swell, a sense of something sucking at her heels. And then the pressure eased. The boat had been erased, making its long, slow way to the bottom of the sea. The Adventurer. Pan remembered the name inscribed on the side in proud gothic script. On its last adventure.
Pan stopped swimming and trod water. Within seconds, Jen appeared at her side.
‘How ya doin’, Pandora?’ said Jen.
‘Still breathing,’ Pan replied.
‘That’s the way. Just keep doing it, okay?’ Jen’s voice was so calm Pan had to strain to hear her.
Pan turned full circle in the water. There was nothing to see.
‘And what do we do now?’ she said.
‘We wait,’ said Jen.