CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

 

 

THE QUEEN ANNE moved at a sedate pace, but sitting on its cramped deck Rick felt safer than he had for some time. He’d moved Sally down into the rear cabin, out of sight of the shore, but could still hear her occasional soothing communications.

I love you.

We’ll be safe.

He hoped that she was right about the latter, and that it wasn’t just wishful thinking – dead wishful thinking.

Can you still hear me, lover?

Hear? Was that the right term to describe how he picked up her thoughts? He didn’t really hear her voice, just caught an echo of it in his mind, like a series of vibrations on the surface of his brain. Yet as their journey continued, that voice became increasingly real – more solid and meaningful than anything else going on around him.

“Do you believe in God?”

Rohmer’s question pulled him out of himself, dragging him back into the immediacy of their situation. “Sorry?”

“God,” said the old man, still facing forward, his eyes on the water. “Are you a believer?”

Tabby was in the main front galley, trying to find a broadcast on the portable television or the old transistor radio Rohmer kept onboard, so the two men were alone up there on deck. The sound of the diesel engine was now a gentle rumble, and the sound of the water lapping at the sides of the vessel was strangely soothing. Rick had never been on a canal barge until now, but he could certainly see the appeal. There was a strange beauty here, a sense of being apart from the crowd.

“I never used to believe in God,” he said, flexing his hand, trying to relax his fingers where they were stiff from clutching the gun for so long. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“I’ve been a believer for ten years, since my Anne died.” Rohmer still stared ahead. The darkness before them was lifting, making way for faint glimmers of early daylight. “Faith helped me through some dark times after her death. It got me off alcohol and made me start to engage with people again.”

There was a pause then, during which both men simply listened to the throbbing of the engine and watched the black and undulating surface of the canal.

“It’s like this whole thing has changed me in ways I never thought possible,” said Rick, glancing at the wooden floor and imagining Sally down there on a bunk, her bandaged head resting on a soft white cushion. “My wife and I drifted apart, but this thing brought us together. It’s made me realise that my entire worldview was naïve. I’ve come to appreciate that there must be something else to the world than what we can see and feel.”

Rohmer grunted and nodded his head. His ponytail swung like a pendulum.

Rick continued: “When I was in the army I saw a lot of men die. Some of them were my friends and the others were enemies that I killed.”

The lapping of the water against the boat. The soft fuzz of pre-dawn light spreading like a film across the canal.

“The first man I shot was a Taliban soldier in Afghanistan. I was in the Parachute Regiment, third battalion. It was during Operation Mountain Thrust, July 2006. I can remember it like it was yesterday. The Yanks were leading us into the hills to oust Taliban insurgents. We were ambushed. Snipers pinned us down. Eventually we got the upper hand, and I shot a man in the head. I cradled him in my arms as he died, and as I watched him something went out of his eyes – a light dimming, going out. Call it what you will: his soul, his life-force, his essence. I just call it his presence in the world. Once it had gone, there was nothing left of him. Just meat.”

Rohmer turned around then, and there were tears in his eyes. “What about these things? The dead. Are they just motorised meat, or is there something – that presence you mention – trapped inside them? Are they more like walking ghosts, with a sliver of their soul stuck inside their bodies, or is it a case of the soul being partially reactivated like a damaged computer hard drive?”

Rick glanced behind and over to his left, out over the water. Two people stood on the canal bank, waving and shouting as they jogged along the towpath, but they were too far away to hear. He raised his hand; shards of brightness were visible through the gaps between his fingers, but when he let the hand fall the light had all but vanished.

“There has to be something human left inside them, powering them.” Rohmer’s attention was focused elsewhere. He did not even notice the couple on the bank. “I mean, they look like us, move like us, were once exactly like us. Just because they’re dead it doesn’t mean they’re monsters.

The couple continued to wave, their movements frantic. They were running now, clearly in distress, trying to catch up with the barge.

“Why are there no dead animals running around attacking us?” said Rohmer. “It’s only humans who are coming back. That must mean something”

Rick stared at the couple. The woman was still waving, but the man was now bent over and rummaging inside a bag. Was she trying to summon help? Did she want them to guide the barge ashore so that they could come aboard? There wasn’t enough room on the boat for passengers, and Rick wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of exposing Sally to the scrutiny of yet more strangers.

“I think God is responsible. Perhaps he’s had enough of what we’ve become – violent, warlike, empty of everything but the hunger to accrue and amass more and more money and useless items. Maybe He wants to punish us, make us pay for forgetting about Him.”

The man on the canal bank stood upright and brought up his arms in a rigid yet amateurish shooting posture. Before Rick could move, the man had opened fire.

“Get down!” he yelled. “Shooter! Get down in the boat!”

But the sound of gunfire was distant and the handgun was too small a calibre for the bullets to reach them. Rick peered up from behind the faded wooden rail that ran around the craft, then when he was certain that he was in no danger, he raised his head into the open. The woman looked like she might be weeping; the man kept firing the empty gun, long after the ammunition was used up.

Rohmer resumed his station at the wheel. The couple retreated into the tree line, moving away from the canal and out of sight. The man had his arms around the woman, comforting her.

The barge kept moving, sticking to its own steady pace. Tabby popped up her head from below deck and asked if anyone else was hungry. Both men shook their heads, and she went back down into the galley to prepare herself something to sustain her until the next meal time.

Dawn broke slowly, as if the day were reluctant to emerge. Once again the sun was weak and the clouds were heavy. It grew colder as the light bled across the land and the water. Rick thought it might try again to snow, and the thought depressed him more than he could express.

Rohmer remained stoically behind the wheel of his vessel. He had not said much since mentioning God, and Rick thought that the man was sinking into his own inner landscape, searching for that very God to send him a sign. Perhaps he was even thinking about his wife, or his former lover – the man on the island. Now there, thought Rick, was a strange and tangled situation…

Then, as they approached a lock, Rohmer broke the silence: “I’m starting to think that it might not be such a bad thing to die. I mean, to die properly, not come back as one of those things. The world is dying, and what’s left behind will be unbearable.” He slowed the boat to a crawl, and then turned to face Rick. “You know what I’m saying, don’t you, son? What I’m asking.”

Rick swallowed. His throat felt constricted. “Don’t worry. If it comes to that, I have more than enough ammo to make sure the three of us don’t come back.”

Satisfied, Rohmer nodded once, and then returned his attention to the looming lock. “You stay on board and I’ll see to getting us through. You’re better with the gun, and I can turn one of these things quicker than you ever could.” He grinned, winked, and eased the boat towards the waiting gate, his hands firm on the wheel.

“Come on, grab the wheel.”

Rick went to the front and took up his position, one hand steering the barge and the other releasing the Glock from its holster. The gun felt more natural than the wheel.

Rohmer leaped from the barge and opened the lock gates, then walked quickly up the incline to the lock gear. Rick watched him closely, ready to start shooting at the slightest provocation.

The two stone walls encompassed the craft as it entered the tunnel, and Rick began to feel on edge. It was fine when they were in motion, but this close to dry land they could be asking for trouble.

Rohmer worked the rack and pinion and released the gears, allowing water to be forced into the area where the barge now sat. The vessel rose slowly, buoyed on the surging waters. It took five long minutes for the lock to be filled, and finally Rohmer released the top gate so that Rick could guide the barge to the upper level of the canal.

It all went smoothly until Rick saw the pike.

The fish was trapped in the lock, and had risen to the surface because of the water level being disturbed. It nudged the side of the barge, blindly looking for a way around the vessel. Rick watched it, slightly puzzled. He was anxious, but had nothing upon which to focus his bad feelings.

“Nearly done,” Rohmer shouted from above. The water level was almost right; Rick’s hands tensed on the wheel.

As if in a dream, a fat white hand broke the surface and grabbed the angry pike from below, pulling its long sleek form swiftly beneath the restless waters of the lock.

Rick aimed the pistol at the spot where the fish had been, trying to keep his breathing shallow. Concentric circles painted the surface. His hands shook with tension. Something clattered gently, gently, three times so gently, on the underside of the hull.

Rick tensed, watching and listening. The sound was not repeated.

“Guide her through!” Rohmer was oblivious to what had just happened.

Slowly, Rick returned his attention to the lock and eased the boat through the gate. The balance beam across the top of the metal gate clanked loudly, the sound dull and somehow even more frightening than what he’d just glimpsed in the water.

Rick watched closely as Rohmer closed the gates and made his way back to the barge. He saw nothing this time – certainly nothing that resembled white, pulpy flesh – emerging from the water inside the lock. Whatever was resting there, rested for now still and easy. But the incident had changed the entire complexion of the journey for Rick. Now he realised that he’d been foolish to drop his guard and relax, even for a moment.

Even when danger was out of sight, it remained a constant reminder of the fragility of human existence. One false move, a single moment of distraction from any one of them, might cost them all their lives.

He stepped back and allowed Rohmer to take control of the Queen Anne. Only when it was back in the middle of the canal did he begin to feel less anxious. The memory of the white hand claiming the pike felt like a brief warning of worse things to come.