Desperation can play tricks on the mind. Pan knew that. It was an absurd thought, the worst kind of wishful thinking. But it wouldn’t go away. She tried to clear her head and think back to the moment when they jumped from the boat. What had she seen? A swirl of sea and sky, yes. But something else. Maybe.
Impossible.
The more Pan tried to replay the memory, the more hazy and insubstantial it became. But what did they have to lose? A hope born and then dashed? Was that better than no hope at all?
‘I think I might have seen something, Jen,’ she said. ‘When we jumped from the boat.’
‘What?’
‘I don’t know. A dot on the horizon. Maybe it was a bird, maybe it was a wisp of cloud.’
‘And maybe it was a boat.’ Jen swam closer. ‘Okay, Pandora. Just float there and put your hands together, lock your fingers like you’re going to give me a lift up, yeah?’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re going to give me a lift up.’
‘You won’t be able to see anything.’
‘Oh, jeez, Pandora. Give it over. At least we’d be doing something. Come on. When I get a foot in your hands we’ll do a one, two, three and then you push as hard as you can.’
The first time wasn’t very successful. Jen tilted to the side and didn’t get her head more than half a metre above sea level. The second and third attempts were better. Each time, Jen spun as far she could. They had lost all sense of direction, so she tried to cover as much of a three-sixty revolution as she could. After the sixth try, she bobbed and spat water from her mouth.
‘Okay, you were right, Pandora. I couldn’t see squat.’
‘I probably didn’t see anything.’
‘Maybe. And maybe there’s a boat chugging past right as we speak. Set off one of those flares.’
‘Shouldn’t we save them?’
‘What for? Thinking of having them gift-wrapped as my Christmas present, Pandora? Come on. You’ve got, what, ten or twenty? I reckon we can spare one.’
Pan pulled up the canvas bag from where it nestled against her chest and Jen unzipped it carefully, conscious that their only resources were contained in that small space and one slip of the fingers would lose them forever. Jen took the pack of mini-flares and removed one from the case. She frowned and gazed at the directions on the side of the slim casing. It was a thin tube, with a small projection, like a fin, jutting halfway down one side.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘So there’s only eight flares in the pack. Fires to a height of sixty metres, lasts for six seconds, throws off three thousand candela, whatever they are, and can be seen for five miles during the day. More at night, which it isn’t.’
‘Six seconds? That’s not long. Even if there is a boat out there, what are the chances someone will be looking in this direction to catch six seconds of flare?’
‘God, Pandora. I feel like slapping you. Shut up, okay, while I get this locked and loaded.’
Pan zipped up the bag and let it sink down to her chest while Jen twisted the tube. Something clicked. She pointed the projector towards the sky and pressed. It all happened quickly, but they didn’t have to wait long to know it had worked. High above them a red flare blossomed against the sky. It arced slowly and, for a moment, Pan felt a surge of hope. Surely, if there was anyone around, they would see that? But her hope died as soon as the flare winked, spluttered and expired. Far too short a time. It was hopeless. A short-lived spark against all that landscape? Might as well light a match in the middle of the Simpson Desert and expect a fire truck to rock up.
‘Doesn’t quite match New Year’s Eve on Sydney Harbour,’ said Jen. ‘Give me another.’
‘We should save them. They’re more visible at night.’
‘When we won’t have a clue if there is anything out there or not? Good thinking, Pandora. Come on, just one more. I’ll leave it a couple of minutes. If someone spotted the first, they might get other people looking in this direction.’
Pan unzipped the bag and took out another flare. She didn’t have the energy to argue. She was convinced she hadn’t seen anything – no dot on the horizon, no smear of darkness. Wishful thinking, that’s all it was. But another idea flittered across her mind. Maybe it wasn’t something she had seen. Perhaps it was something she had sensed. The gift, the remote sensing. Hadn’t she done that often enough under Dr Morgan’s supervision? She thrust the idea away. No. The reality was there was nothing out there. And they were wasting two flares trying to attract a phantom.
After a couple of minutes, Jen set off the second. It was as unimpressive as the first. Then the girls floated in the water, letting the sea take them, drifting alone with their thoughts.
When the boat arrived, half an hour later, they had difficulty believing it wasn’t an illusion.
There were three men in the boat, dressed in oilskins. One moment all Pan could see was the lapping of the waves, the next a small boat loomed above her. She hadn’t even heard the engine. One of the men leaned over the side and extended his hand. Jen was the closest. She reached up and locked her hand around the man’s forearm and he lifted her into the boat in one easy movement. Pan breaststroked the few metres to the boat and within moments she too was on board.
The man who had lifted them in smiled and said something in a foreign language. It was strange and guttural. Russian? Something Eastern European at any rate. Pan shrugged.
‘English?’ she said. Her voice sounded peculiar and distant, as if it belonged to someone else. Everything swam before her eyes and she had to close them for a few seconds to keep control. In those few seconds of darkness she had an overwhelming fear that when she opened them again, she would still be wallowing in a vast, inimical sea, that there would be no sign of Jen and that the future held only a long and delirious journey to death. She opened her eyes. The man’s smile became broader. He lifted his arms, palms spread, in the universal sign of incomprehension.
Another man shook out a couple of thermal blankets, their silver lining catching the light, and handed them to the girls. Pan wrapped herself as tight as she could. The third man started the engine and the boat swung round. Pan could see the dark bulk of a huge vessel – a tanker of some kind, surely, four or five hundred metres away. Jen laughed and then coughed. Pan just stared. Then she felt Jen’s fingers against her own. They held hands as the tanker grew, until it filled all their vision.
When Pan woke, it took her a few minutes to work out where she was. It was a curiously familiar feeling. It had happened on holidays with her mum and Danny – waking up in a hotel room, unable to get her bearings until memory supplied a solution. Then it clicked into place. The boat, the rescuers, the tanker, huge, dwarfing them as they approached.
What had happened then? Pan couldn’t remember anything after the boat ride. How had they been brought on board? Did anyone on board speak English? Where were they now? Nothing, until she woke up in a strange room, in a strange bed.
Her first thought was for Jen. She sat up and Jen was there, sitting on another bunk, legs crossed, head bowed and eyes closed.
‘Jen!’
Her friend’s eyes snapped open and blazed with fear. Then warmth spread into them as she recognised Pan.
‘Yo, Pandora. Sleeping Beauty. Feeling better?’
Pan tried to get to her feet, but the room swam and her legs turned rubbery. She sat on the edge of her bed and tried to stabilise herself. It didn’t seem to make any difference. She felt sick, as if her body could not be trusted to perform even the most basic of functions.
‘What happened?’ she said. ‘Where are we?’
‘You remember the boat coming for us?’
Pan nodded, but even that simple action brought to life a dull pain at the base of her skull.
‘We were being hoisted into the boat and . . . well, you lost it. Your eyes rolled around in your head – if they weren’t so bloodshot, I’d say all you could see was white, but anyway . . . The next thing I know you’re a dead weight. Gone. Out of it. Passed out.’ Jen unlocked her legs and stretched them in front of her. A grimace of pain passed across her face and she bit at her lower lip. ‘To be honest, I barely managed to stay conscious myself. All that adrenaline, I guess. Lack of sleep, dehydration, near-death experiences. It felt like my body was shutting down . . .’
‘Jen. Where are we?’
‘Hey, take it easy. I’m getting to that. As far as I can tell, we are on a Russian tanker. Well, I can’t swear to it being Russian, since no one here speaks English apparently. But there was all this squiggly writing everywhere . . .’
‘The Cyrillic alphabet.’
‘Whatever. I sure as hell couldn’t make any sense of it. And I’m trying to communicate with them – you know, sign language and stuff, but there’s nothing doin’. Whoever they are, though, they are friendly. Some dude – must be the medical guy – checked you over, gave you oxygen. Then he tries to give me an injection and I’m, like, “whoa, you can keep that to yourself”, so they bring you here on a stretcher and I came along. They wanted me to go somewhere else, but I wasn’t leaving you.’ Jen rubbed at her brow with both hands, ‘I think this must be the sick bay.’
‘But did you find out anything? Is the world still out there?’
Jen smiled. ‘Well, these guys are clearly still alive, but beyond that I honestly don’t know. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.’
‘Who dressed me?’ Pan realised she was wearing warm clothes. They were loose and not designed for a woman. The pants were lined with some kind of insulation and she had on a wool jumper underneath a thick jacket.
‘Chill, girl,’ said Jen. ‘They gave me clothes and I dressed both of us. In private. Come on, Pandora. Time to go to the bridge and get some answers. Can you walk?’
Pan got to her feet gingerly, taking her hands from the side of the bed with all the care of a tightrope artist. The sense of dizziness returned and then cleared. She tried a couple of steps and had to stop.
‘I don’t know what’s the matter with me,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to be Einstein to work it out,’ Jen replied. ‘After what we’ve been through it’s a miracle either of us can move. Here, take my arm. We can prop each other up, like a couple of pensioners.’
It did help. As soon as Pan linked her arm through Jen’s she felt a surge of confidence, and not just because the world felt more stable. I can lean on her in more ways than one, Pan thought. She remembered back to that time – it seemed ages ago – when she and Jen had gone under the wall at The School. They had had a conversation about trust and how it was almost impossible, under their circumstances, to earn it. Jen had earned it.
Jen opened a door and they stepped into a deserted corridor.
‘This way,’ said Jen, nodding to their left.
‘You remember how to get to the bridge?’ Pan held out her other arm to the wall to steady herself.
‘I did leave you once,’ Jen replied, ‘but only for ten minutes. I had to find the sea. It’s a container ship. I didn’t see any crew at all, but I did notice the bridge.’
‘What did you need to do?’
‘I got to thinking. A few hours ago we would’ve given anything for The School’s helicopter to find us, take us back. But that situation’s changed. I took the emergency beacon from the bag you were carrying and dumped it overboard. With luck, if anyone finds it, way back there in the middle of the ocean, they’ll think we’re drowned for sure.’
‘Good job, Jen.’ Pan wasn’t sure that if the situations had been reversed she would have thought things through so clearly.
Jen tapped the side of her head. ‘Up here for thinking,’ she said.
They came to the end of the corridor and Jen steered them to the right. Pan had to stop for a few moments to get her breath back and calm the resurgence of dizziness. A container ship. If the world had been decimated by a virus, how likely would it be that container ships were still operating? No. This felt like business as normal, transporting crates and containers around the world. Pan was convinced that her suspicions were about to be transformed into certainties. All we need is one person to talk to, she thought. A simple question and a simple answer. The thought spurred her on. She even managed to get up a small and rust-spotted staircase to the next level without stopping.
Eventually, Jen opened a metal door and fresh sea air caressed their faces. It tasted sweet and Pan stifled a smile. She hadn’t thought she would ever welcome sea air ever again. They stood for a moment, watching the ocean. Pan glanced along the length of the ship. To her left, she could see the prow and an enclosed area, which she guessed was the bridge. She could even see a couple of figures silhouetted against the glass and, beyond, the pale sky. To her right, the ship’s deck was loaded with various cranes, containers and equipment.
It took another five minutes to reach the bridge. There was a short flight of steps and Pan thought they might defeat her. She was so tired and her legs were cramping. But she made it. There were two men in the bridge and both turned as Jen opened the door. They smiled.
‘Hi,’ said Jen. ‘We need your help. Again.’
The men turned to each other and then the older one, who had a weather-lined face, short grey hair and bright brown eyes, took a step towards them and spoke a torrent of language that neither girl had any hope of understanding.
‘English?’ said Jen.
The men conducted a quick conversation and then shrugged apologetically. Pan’s legs began to buckle and she grabbed hold of Jen’s shoulder. Immediately the grey-haired man stepped over and helped Pan into a chair. It was dirty and worn, but Pan was grateful. The other man brought another chair for Jen. It wasn’t in any better shape. Then he went to a table at the other side of the bridge and took a couple of chipped mugs. He looked inside them, clucked and wiped out the interiors with his sleeve, before unscrewing a large thermos flask and filling both mugs with a dark and steaming liquid. He pressed one into Pan’s hand and the other into Jen’s, and made encouraging signs with his hands. Please drink.
It was tea, exceptionally strong and sweet. In the past, Pan would have poured it straight down the sink. Now she drank it gratefully. The man smiled and nodded. He said something, obviously a question.
‘Sorry,’ said Pan. ‘I don’t understand.’
The man put a hand up and then turned towards the window at the front of the bridge. There was a large console, filled with dials and lights. Technology, thought Pan. How could this boat have working technology if the world had ended? She turned to Jen, who raised her eyebrows, obviously thinking the same thing. The man took a handset from the console. It was attached by a coiled cable. A radio transmitter. The man made motions of pressing a button on the side and then nodded towards the girls.
‘I reckon he’s telling us he has already radioed the authorities,’ said Jen. Her voice was calm and matter-of-fact. ‘I was never any good at charades, but I can work that out.’
‘Which means . . .’
‘Which means there are authorities to be contacted. Which means . . .’
Jen didn’t finish the sentence. Pan glanced over at her friend and was astonished to see tears coursing down her face. Pan reached over and held her hand.
‘We still don’t know for certain,’ she said.
Jen gulped and wiped impatiently at her eyes. She took a deep breath and settled herself.
‘I’m not sure I ever truly believed you, Pandora,’ she said. ‘Not really. But if you’re right . . .’ She took a sip of the tea. Her hands were trembling.
‘What?’
‘Then someone – some people – will pay for what they’ve done to us.’ She met Pan’s gaze firmly, and it was as if the display of emotion had never been. ‘That is a promise, Pandora Jones.’
‘Okay.’ Pan stood. ‘It’s time to find out once and for all.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to phone home.’ She walked over to the console and pointed at the radio transmitter. The grey-haired man – he had to be the captain, Pan guessed – smiled and nodded.
‘Phone?’ said Pan. The captain’s smile faltered a little, but he continued nodding. Pan curled the middle fingers of her right hand into her palm and put her thumb to her right ear and her little finger to her mouth. The man’s smile broadened. He opened up a small case on one side of the bank of equipment, revealing what looked like a laptop. Nestled on the side of the machine was a handset. He picked it up and extended it towards Pan.
‘Please,’ he said and his smiled broadened, obviously happy he had dredged up one word of English.
‘A satellite phone,’ said Jen. She had stepped up to Pan’s shoulder. Pan took the handset with trembling fingers. Now the time had come, terror threatened to consume her. She looked blankly at the rows of numbers.
‘What’s the international code for Australia?’ she asked eventually.
‘Jeez, Pandora. No idea.’ Jen picked up the mug of tea that the captain had put down on the console. She dipped her index finger in the muddy dregs and drew a rough outline of Australia on the console’s surface. The captain leaned over her shoulder, his expression puzzled.
‘Australia,’ said Jen, pointing to the outline which was already breaking up. She enunciated the syllables carefully and then tapped the phone in Pan’s hand.
The captain’s face cleared. ‘Ah,’ he said. He rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a booklet, quickly scanned the index. ‘Please,’ he said again and took the phone from Pan’s fingers. He tapped a series of numbers on the keypad and then handed it back to Pan. He nodded.
For a moment, Pan couldn’t remember her home number and panic made her breath come in short gasps. Calm down, she said to herself. Think. And then the number was there, as familiar as a friend, but she couldn’t remember what to do when ringing from overseas. Didn’t she have to leave out the first number of the local area code? Get rid of that initial zero? Well, she’d soon find out.
Pan tapped in the numbers, put the phone to her ear and waited. There was a series of buzzes and clicks and then a ringtone. She stopped breathing and a rushing sound in her ears threatened to overwhelm her. She sat down in the chair before she fell. The ringing went on and on.
Then someone picked up.
‘Hello?’
It was her mother. Pan couldn’t mistake that voice.
Her mother was on the other end of the line.