Noahs ark destination, p.1
Noah's Ark: Destination, page 1
part #1 of Noah's Ark 05 Series
Contents
Title
A Note To Readers
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Author's Note
Also By The Author
Copyright
Harry Dayle
Note To Readers:
This book is as British as its author. Readers used to American English may find some spellings and phrases differ slightly from those they are more familiar with.
One
STATEROOM NUMBER 847 on the Spirit of Arcadia had seen more drama than most cabins on the cruise ship. More action perhaps, than any room in the whole Pelagios Line fleet. It was a little known fact, for example, that more honeymooning couples had stayed in 847 than in any other room, including any of the bridal suites. An even lesser known fact was that 847, a distinctly average set of rooms, was the birthplace of more extramarital affairs than anywhere else aboard. Within its walls, the seeds of destruction of many a family had been sown.
For the past three months, 847 had been pressed into service as a medical ward. The deadly virus that had almost wiped out the remnants of humanity had begun right next door. 847 had hosted the dying.
Shortly after that crisis was over, emaciated Norwegian sailors — who had been imprisoned in their own ship — rebuilt their strength and regained their health in the chintz-wallpapered suite.
Now cabin 847 was occupied by a man. A teenager, really.
Seventeen-year-old Gan — surname unknown — had been lying comatose in its bed since being rescued from Yulin. He had been there for just over a week.
“Hello, Gan,” said Captain Jake Noah.
“Jake.” Gan croaked his response. He looked dreadful. His eyes were barely open, and he was so thin it was as if someone had sucked out his flesh and left loose skin draped over his skeleton.
“You were shot, Gan. Do you remember? On the side of the mountain in Yulin.”
The boy tried to nod, but his muscles were incapable of generating movement. He gave up the idea, and grunted instead. His eyes worked though, and they scanned the room slowly, taking in the people gathered around his hospital bed.
“I should introduce everyone,” Jake said, noting the young man’s apprehension. He looked to his right. “This is Captain Coote of the Royal Navy. He has a submarine that travels with us.”
“Morning, old boy!” Coote beamed. “Heard all about you. Welcome to our little fleet.”
“Next to Coote is Ella Rose,” Jake continued. “Then Amanda Jackson, and on the end there, Grace Garet. Grace is our head of security. Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble!” He gave a nervous laugh, unsure how much their guest was taking in. Turning on the spot, Jake looked to the line of people on his left. “Lucya Levin is our chief radio officer, and second in command of the ship.”
“Great to meet you at last, Gan,” Lucya said, her bright smile lighting up her face. “I can’t thank you enough for helping Jake and the others get free.”
Gan’s eyes fixed on her, his mouth twitched, but he remained silent.
“Next to Lucya,” Jake said, “is Doctor Grau Lister. He and his team have been looking after you. They’ve done a fabulous job. You’re in the best possible hands here. Next to Doctor Lister is Kimiko Matsuo. She speaks some Chinese.”
Miss Matsuo greeted Gan in his own language. He stared at her, a flicker of recognition crossing his face.
“And finally, Silvia Brook on the end there. She looks after accommodation, and assigning jobs, and… Listen to me, going on. You don’t need to know all of this now. There’ll be plenty of time for that—”
The door flew open, banging as it rebounded off the wall, and causing all heads to turn. A man strode in, muttering loudly.
“Never mind me. It’s not as if engineering need to know where we’re going. And it’s not as if I’m on the committee or anything. Except, oh, wait, I am!”
Jake drew a short breath. “And this is Martin Oakley, our chief engineer. Glad you got the message, Martin.”
“What message?”
Jake ignored him. “I know that’s a lot of people and a lot of names, Gan. I would have preferred to hang on until you’re up and about before introducing you to everyone, but this is too important to wait. We need to hear what you can tell us. We all need to hear. All of us, because we’re the ruling committee, and that means we decide where the ship— where the fleet goes next.”
Gan stared back at Jake for a long time, then his eyes swept the line of people crowded around the bed once more. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but managed only a dry, rasping sound.
“Carrie!” Grau called loudly. He hobbled forwards, clutching the rail on the side of the bed for support. “Can you bring our patient some water, please?”
“Thought you said he was ready to start talking,” Martin scoffed. He shook his head and found a chair at the back of the room, parked himself, and closed his eyes.
Jake regarded him with disdain. “He is ready. Give the guy a chance. He only woke up for the first time last night, and he was pretty dazed and disoriented. He’s looking a lot better now, believe me.”
“Jesus.” Martin kicked the carpet.
The nurse arrived and helped the young patient sip some water from a plastic beaker. Most of it dribbled down his chin, but the little that made it into his mouth apparently did some good.
Gan cleared his throat and tried again. “Gan on ship?”
“Yes, you’re on the ship, Gan. You’re safe here. Nobody’s trying to kill you.” Jake nodded enthusiastically.
“I might, if he doesn’t spit it out soon,” Martin said, still with his eyes closed. He had rested his left ankle on his right knee, and his foot jiggled about nervously.
Jake felt the others in the room tense up. The atmosphere had been edgy enough without the moody engineer adding to it. The man in the bed very possibly held the key to their future. Since the news had spread between the committee members that he was out of his coma, nobody had slept a wink. The sense of pessimism that had hung around since abandoning Yulin a week earlier had evaporated, to be replaced with a new hope. The anticipation was palpable, but it was plain to see that Gan was delicate and should be handled with care. Idle threats, no matter how tongue in cheek, were not helping.
“Don’t mind him,” Jake said. “He has a strange sense of humour.”
Gan fixed Jake with a stare, then quite unexpectedly his face broke into a grin. “Englishman,” he croaked. “Funny, Englishman. Gan like much funny Englishman.”
There was an audible sigh of relief from all corners of the room as the small crowd relaxed.
Jake took a step forward and rested his hands on the bars at the foot of the bed. “Gan, do you remember when you helped us get away from the men? The crazy men?”
“Crazy men, drink bad water.”
“Yes, those are the ones. The men who drank the poisoned water. When we were running away from them and we hid in their submarine, you told us about the Americans. Do you remember that too?”
“Americans dead. Gan slow. Gan try help, crazy men eat.”
“Right. But some of them got away, yes?”
“Three men, save. Tell Gan: Gan help Americans, Gan come with.”
“But you didn’t go with them.”
The young man scowled as best he could given his limited facial mobility. “Americans go. No take Gan.”
Jake drew a deep breath. Gan’s memory appeared to be intact, unharmed by the bullet he had taken, and the blood loss and coma that had followed. There was no point probing further into the established facts. He broached the subject they had all come to hear the answer to. “Gan, you told us that if we took you with us, we could all go to the promised land together. Do you remember that?”
“Promised land good. No crazy man. No bad water. Good land.”
The room was deathly silent. All eyes were on the gaunt patient. All ears strained to hear the faint words that escaped his lips. Heart rates rose, muscles tightened, breathing quickened.
Jake asked the question in barely more than a whisper, as if afraid to shatter the aura that encompassed them all. “Where is it? Where is the promised land?”
No reply.
He tried again. “The Americans told you about it, yes? About a place where there’s no ash. A place we can live safely. A place where we can grow food and build houses and schools, where we can bring up our children—”
“Jake,” Lucya whispered. She prodded him in the side with a finger.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply , pushing aside the utopian image that had taken hold in his mind. “The Americans told you where the promised land is?”
“Yes.”
The grouped members of the committee leaned in, willing the answer to come.
Gan squinted, and tried to open his eyes wider. If he was intimidated by the situation, he didn’t let it show. “Over the sea,” he croaked.
Jake glanced at Coote, whose smile faltered only for the briefest of moments. “Over the sea? What does that mean?”
“Promised land far. Cross many oceans.”
Martin groaned. Lucya took a step back and kicked his shin.
“Go on,” Jake said gently. “Which oceans must we cross?”
“Many oceans,” Gan repeated. His eyelids sunk low. His nostrils flared, and he burst into a fit of coughing.
Carrie was beside him in an instant and helped him to sit more upright. Lister pulled himself to the head of the bed, but he wasn’t yet stable enough on his legs to let go of the rail and assist.
Gan’s cough persisted. Spots of blood speckled the brilliant white sheets that covered him. The doctor and nurse team exchanged a worried look.
“Grace, fetch Vardy please,” Grau said. “The rest of you, I think you should leave now. Our patient needs rest. This is too soon.”
Grace scooted out of the door to find the Surgeon Lieutenant. The others hung around awkwardly until Carrie snapped at them. “You heard the doctor. Please leave!”
“What if he dies on us?” Martin said, standing and stretching. “We need to get more of an answer before he pops his clogs.”
“Martin!” Lucya gave him a shove and he stumbled towards the door.
Jake followed reluctantly. He took one last look at the man who had saved his life, and wondered if he really held the key to their future.
Two
“AND THEN WHAT happened?”
“I don’t know, Max. That’s when we all left. Grace came back with Vardy, who had been holding the fort next door in the main medical suite, and they closed the door. We were all left outside in the corridor.”
Max sighed. He pulled himself up in the bed, leaned over to the side unit and poured himself a good measure of single malt. “More?”
“It’s seven-thirty in the morning. We have to get up and get ready for work. How can you drink so early?”
He screwed the cap back on the bottle, stuck it in the top drawer, picked up his glass, and downed the dose in one. “Easy,” he said, and smacked his lips. “Just like that. Why didn’t you hang around outside, see what happened to the lad?”
“Because that wouldn’t be discreet. And it’s not like Grau was going to question him, is it? What are you going to do if Grace finds out you nicked that? It’s evidence.”
“Screw Grace. Screw her evidence. Her suspect’s dead anyway. So you don’t even know if this Gan character’s still alive?”
“I’m sure Jake would have let us know if he wasn’t.”
Max snorted. “I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Silvia pulled back the duvet and sat up. “I expect Gan will be feeling better this morning. A good night’s rest will have helped. When Grau thinks he’s ready, we’ll have another go. Might be better if it’s just Jake and the doctor next time. Poor lad. You should have seen him, Max. He looked like a frightened little rabbit.”
“He should be under armed guard. What do we know about him really? Apart from that he likes to carry a bloody great sword.”
“Don’t be silly. He saved the lives of the landing party. That should tell you all you need to know.” Silvia pushed herself out of bed and headed for the small bathroom. “I know you don’t like Jake, but I don’t understand why you’re so against finding out where these Americans went. If there’s somewhere safe, somewhere we can go—”
“There is somewhere safe. Faslane. And we’re already going there. We don’t need an imposter messing up our plans. We should never have left there in the first place. It’s been a catalogue of disasters since the day we sailed out of that loch. For all we know, the boy could be leading us into a trap.”
Silvia sighed. “You’ve been too long in the job. Can’t see the good in anyone. You’re always looking for an ulterior motive.”
Max shuffled back down the bed and pulled the cover up to his chin. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Silvia. “Back self-interest, Silv. It’s a philosophy that’s never let me down yet.”
• • •
After a quick kiss goodbye from Lucya and Erica as they headed off to deck two and a new day at school, Jake made his way to the bridge. He had slept fitfully, half expecting the telephone to ring at any time, and to hear Grau tell him that Gan had not survived the night. There had been a lot of blood, and when the coughing had eventually stopped, Gan had lost consciousness. But the phone had remained mute, and Jake’s partial state of alert had been for nothing.
“Morning, Jake,” McNair said brightly. He was perched in the captain’s chair, his wheelchair parked neatly beside him.
“Morning. Anything to report?”
“Another quiet night. Haven’t heard a peep from the Ambush boys. I’m guessing Gunson’s reactor fix is holding up better than they expected.”
“Is that the reason for your sunny disposition this morning?” Jake walked to the front windows and looked out to the horizon. The sky was mostly grey; just a few slashes of light broke through. The sea was calm, and there was little wind. A regular day. A dull day under any other circumstances. Only the tantalising prospect of another chat with Gan marked it out as different.
“That would probably be more to do with the fact it’s Monday. My coffee rations ran out on Friday. It’s been a tough weekend.”
Jake chuckled. “I thought the night shift got extras.”
“Not enough. Oh, Joseph called. Early. Six o’clock. Said to tell you he’d like a word, if you have a spare few minutes during the day.”
Down on the outer deck, Jake saw a young couple hurrying their child along. He knew they lived on deck three, just one deck away from the school room. But every weekday morning they took the stairs up a few flights, walked a full circuit of the ship, came back in and went down to drop their son off for class. It was a bizarre routine that should not have made any sense, but Jake understood perfectly well. The need for normality, a desire for the familiar, these were strong callings. He saw them manifest all over the ship, little echoes of past lives brought to this strange transient existence at sea. The unnecessary school run was one of a thousand rituals that the community had created. The couple rounded a corner and disappeared from view. Jake looked back out to sea. “No sign of Dave this morning?”
“You’re the first of the day shift.”
“Not like him to be late.”
McNair picked up a clipboard and glanced at some handwritten figures. “Let’s see. We picked up a little bit of speed after midnight. The wind dropped a fair amount, which probably explains that. The computer estimates we’ll be in Faslane in another twenty-two days.” He paused, and the smile slipped. “So, er, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it? You don’t sound convinced.”
McNair clambered out of the chair and — refusing any assistance — hobbled to his wheelchair. Jake leaned against the captain’s seat, waiting for him to get settled.
“No, it’s good,” McNair said without conviction. “More coffee. More food. Yeah, it’ll be good to get back there. Right, better get on. I’m going to find me a drink and then get some sleep.”
Dave turned up half an hour later, mumbling some excuse that Jake wasn’t really paying attention to. The rest of the bridge crew were already at their posts. Chuck Masters was on lookout, and Lucya had been on the communications and navigation console until Dave arrived. Their jobs did not require much oversight. Navigation was handled by HMS Ambush, sailing alongside the cruiser. Via the ingenious tethering system, the Royal Navy nuclear submarine not only provided power for the whole fleet, but also directed the ship’s computers.
Neither Lucya nor Dave resented this outsourcing of their skills to machines. On the contrary, it left them free to work on other projects. In Lucya’s case, that meant constantly scanning the airwaves for signs of life, as well as sending out their own signals to anyone who could be listening. Dave Whitehall’s projects were, as far as Jake could tell, to do with figuring out how the giant asteroid that had ended most life on Earth, had altered the oceanic currents. Dave seemed to think this was important, but to the other bridge officers it was just the strange hobby of a man with too much time on his hands. Sure, the changing currents had sometimes caused them to go faster or slower than expected, but the wind did that too, and besides, they were hardly on a timetable. Not anymore.
