Contents
Title
A Note To Readers
Prologue
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
Epilogue
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.
Prologue
HE HEARD THE propeller spin up, its blades beating out a rhythm as they sliced through the water, faster with every turn. They were on the move once more. Lifting his head, he caught the glint in the eye of the other man. He knew that glint. It was a glimmer of hope, a hope they both shared, but a fading hope. Moving meant there was a chance, no matter how slim, that they would be found. He hung his head again, knowing the other man was doing the same.
They were all doing the same.
Most weren’t even conscious. There was only so long the human body could keep going when deprived of food and drink. Sure, he’d been given water, even a little rice, but it wasn’t enough. The only reason they were alive at all was because their bodies were hardly burning any calories. How could they? Tied up, chained to a bulkhead, any movement beyond turning the head was virtually impossible. He could actually feel his muscles beginning to atrophy. It was like someone had wrung the strength out of them. His eyes, denied daylight for so long, were watery and weak. He could see the other man just a metre or so away, but no further than that. The others were little more than vague shapes in the darkness.
His other senses had been dulled by his imprisonment too. This was a blessing. Having been left to fester in their own excrement, he had no doubt the stench in the confined space must have been powerful, but he was spared that particular horror as his nose had long since given up its regular duties.
Escape was impossible, of course. The ropes were strong; they were designed to hold down equipment on the deck of the ship. They were well tied, too. Proper knots, made by experienced sailors. And now, in his weakened and disoriented state, the bindings were as good as redundant. Even without them he knew he would struggle to make it as far as the door.
And then what? Where could he go? There was nowhere to run.
The propeller reached its operating speed and became a drone, fading into the background. The sound was soporific, and guided him gently back into a trance.
In his mind, he saw the asteroid. He often saw the asteroid; it wasn’t the sort of thing one forgot in a hurry. He would remember that day for the rest of his life.
He recalled how, standing on the back of the ship, he had watched its approach. They’d all seen the final broadcast, they knew what was coming. He was resigned to their fate, prepared to die, unlike some of the others. He could see them now as they leapt over the handrail, preferring to take their chances in the freezing waters of the Arctic Ocean rather than face certain death on the deck. And then there had come the moment he would never forget. That magical moment when the giant space-rock had begun to climb. For every metre of altitude it rose, he had gained an ounce of hope. They had watched in disbelief as it passed right overhead. By some kind of miracle, they had been saved.
Life hadn’t been easy since that day, but they had kept on surviving against all odds. They were possibly the only survivors remaining. They had pulled together, old arguments forgotten, determined to find a way to feed themselves, and to locate land untouched by the terrible toxic ash that had smothered the planet. Spirits had been high. He smiled as he remembered how at one point they had almost blown up the ship because of a silly accident, but they’d got through even that.
And then it had all gone terribly wrong. An unseen menace had stepped out of the shadows.
The hypnotic droning drilled deeper into his head, and his memories began to fade. A bottomless sleep was trying to claim him. He welcomed it. He had no desire to revisit the memories that came next. The memories of being tied up and hidden away in the bowels of the ship. The memories of being kept barely alive. He no longer cared if he ever woke up. Perhaps he had been cheating death since the asteroid had screamed overhead, and death had finally caught up with him. He hoped so, because if this was what living looked like now, he wanted no further part of it.
One
CHIEF RADIO OFFICER Lucya Levin looked back one last time at the pulverised ruins of Portsmouth. They had known there was very little chance the seaport would have survived the asteroid, but she couldn’t help feeling that another tiny ray of hope had died. It had been the same at the HMNB Devonport naval base in Plymouth. It was the same wherever they went.
Lucya was surprised at just how sad she felt for the loss of the place. In the four years she had worked for Pelagios Line, the town had become home — in as much as anywhere could be called home when spending so much of one’s life at sea. There had even been a time she had imagined settling down there with Jake, and perhaps starting a family. The fact Jake had a wife never dampened those hopes; she knew his wasn’t a happy marriage.
Now, ironically, she was with Jake. But the home of her daydreams was something they could never have. They did had a family though, of sorts. In a matter of mere weeks they had both developed a deep and loving bond with Erica, the girl they had informally adopted since her father had fallen victim to the virus that had swept the ship.
“No great loss, I say. Never liked the town. Too much of a mess, and too many military types,” said Dave Whitehall, navigation officer.
Lucya turned to find him looking over her shoulder, staring out of the rear-facing window.
“I lived in Cambridge once, for a while,” he continued. “That was nearly as bad. University town. All those bloody students everywhere you go, thinking they own the place. At least they were intelligent. Half of those military lot knocking around Portsmouth didn’t have two brain cells to rub together.”
“I wouldn’t let Coote hear you say that. Actually, I wouldn’t let anyone from the Ambush hear you say that. Not if you want to keep a full set of teeth.”
“Exactly my point. They think violence is the answer to everything.”
“I might remind you I was in the navy. And I might also remind you I am your superior officer.” Lucya smirked.
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t count. The Russians were more picky about who they let onto their boats. Anyway, what I’m saying is I’m not going to miss Portsmouth. The further south we can go the better. Bring on the sun.”