The Ferry (3 page)

“I’m out of shape,” I tell him, desperately trying to think of an excuse. “I haven’t kept up with the latest techniques, I’m out of practice, I don’t -”

“Sophie -”

“I’m a teacher now. The last time I was even
on
a boat -”

“Sophie -”

“I’d be a liability,” I add, staring at the screen. “I’d be dangerous out there, I’d be…” I pause, watching the video of the storm. “I’m a teacher now. I teach English at the local comp.”

“I know,” he says firmly, “all those things are true, but you’re
still
better at this kind of rescue operation than anyone else I’ve got down here. And you know this ferry, or at least you know it as well as anyone can. You know its history. Please, Sophie, there are lives at stake, lots of lives and -” He stops suddenly, and for a moment I hear him talking to someone else. “I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you,” he continues finally. “Sophie, I need you to get down here to Cornwall right now! You always said you’d come back if this happened. I can try to do it alone, but I really need you with me.”

“But -”

Sitting in my dressing gown in the dark kitchen, watching the laptop’s screen as it displays images of the storm-lashed ferry, I feel as if I’m looking at a window to another world. It’s as if the Sophie Carpenter who worked for the coastguard five years ago was someone else entirely, and I honestly don’t think I can step back into those shoes. When I promised to go back if the ferry ever showed up again, I never really thought it would happen.

“Mark,” I start to say, “I really don’t -”

“I know you can do this,” he continues, with a sense of real urgency in his voice. “Please, Sophie, I’m telling you, it’s the same ferry. Don’t you want to finally get the damn thing?”

“I -”

For a moment, I sit in silence as I realize I’ve run out of excuses. I either agree to go, or I admit I’m a coward.

“I could get the first train,” I say finally, “but it’d take me five hours to get down there, and by then -”

“No train,” he replies. “I’ve already got a helicopter coming to pick you up from the roof of your apartment building.”

“You’re kidding, right? You -”

Before I can finish, I spot flashing lights in the sky outside the window, and I turn just in time to see a helicopter heading this way. A moment later, I hear movement over my shoulder, and I realize that Rob has come through to see what’s taking me so long. Looking back at the laptop screen, I watch as another huge wave crashes into the side of the stricken ferry, tilting it so far that it almost overturns.

“So are you in?” Mark asks, with the sound of people shouting in the background. “Sophie? We made a deal five years ago, you said you’d come back if the ferry returned. So can I count on you?”

Chapter Two

“It’s going to be a bumpy ride!” the pilot shouts as the helicopter rises up from the roof. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll get you there in one piece! Flying time should be about ninety minutes!”

“Okay!” I shout back, fumbling to get myself strapped into the seat. To be honest, the past fifteen minutes have rushed past so fast, I’ve barely had time to even register what’s happening. I threw some clothes into a bag, but I’ve got no idea what I actually brought apart from the old work boots I never threw away, and as the helicopter swings out over the side of the building and races out across the dark city, I realize that I’m starting to feel nauseous.

A moment later, I feel my phone buzzing in my pocket. Pulling it out, I see that Rob is calling, and when I look back over my shoulder I realize I can still just about see him standing on the roof.

“Hey,” I say as I answer, “what -”

“I don’t think we’d finished talking,” he says firmly, sounding angry. “Sophie, what the hell are you doing?”

“I -” As I lose sight of him in the stormy night, I turn and look ahead, staring at the lights of the helicopter’s control console. “I’m going to help out.”

“You’re insane!” he hisses. “Seriously? After everything you ever told me about your old life, you’re suddenly rushing off in the middle of the night?”

“They need me,” I reply, although the words sound weak and hollow. Rob’s right: what
am
I doing? I should get the pilot to turn back, I should call Mark and tell him I can’t do this…

“You can’t do this!” Rob continues, as if he’s been reading my mind. “You’re not a coastguard, Sophie! Not anymore. You’re a goddamn teacher. You left this life behind, you said you were
glad
you left it behind, you said it almost killed you!”

“They need me,” I say again. “They -”

“They don’t
need
you!” he shouts. “Jesus Christ, Sophie, what are you talking about? I’ve seen the news reports, they’ve got all the people they need down there already! There’s no reason for you to go flying off in the middle of the goddamn night! As good as I’m sure you were at your job, I seriously doubt they’re depending on you going back to help.” He pauses. “What’s this really about, Sophie?”

“They called,” I stammer. “Mark called. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t think I could help.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true!”

“You sound really out of your mind right now,” he continues. “You know that, right? You sound desperate, like you’re clinging to some insane idea that you can go rushing back into the action like no time has passed. You’re a thirty-year-old English teacher, Sophie, you have a whole new life now. This Mark guy’s obviously crazy too, calling you up like this.”

“I know, but…” I stop myself before I can say anything else. The truth is, I
know
I should have turned Mark down, but at the same time there’s some part of me that refuses to back away.

“Is it about that family?” Rob asks.

“What family?” Dumb question. I already know the answer.

“The family who died five years ago,” he continues. “I know you still think about them, I know you think about how you could have saved them. Every time you wake up sweating from a nightmare, every time you tell me it’s nothing and that I should go to sleep and that you just need a glass of water… I know you’ve seen them again in your dreams.” He pauses again, as the line briefly fills with static. “Rushing back like this,” he adds, with a hint of distortion to his voice, “isn’t going to change the past. It’s not going to bring that family back.”

“It’s not about them,” I lie.

“So what
is
it about?”

“I can’t hear you very well,” I tell him, as more static fills the line. “Sorry, I’m losing you.”

I hear a swirl of distortion as he replies, but I can’t make out any of the words. A moment later, the line goes dead and I realize the bad weather must be too strong.

I’ll be home soon
, I type quickly, before sending the message to him.

“You okay back there?” the pilot calls out.

“I’m fine,” I tell him as I slip my phone away. For a moment, I sit in silence, staring straight ahead as we fly through the night sky. This whole experience feels completely insane, and I actually start pinching my arm after a few seconds, determined to see if I’m dreaming. As the pain builds, however, I realize it’s all real. I lean back, taking a series of deep breaths as I listen to the sound of the helicopter’s rotors spinning above, and finally I feel a kind of strength starting to creep into my chest.

I can do this.

I’ve missed the adrenalin.

I grab my bag and unzip the top, before pulling out my laptop and balancing it on my knees. Opening the lid, I plug in the USB tether and wait for the browser to load up, and then I immediately start checking meteorological data about the storm that’s building in the English Channel. Using a few modeling tools, I’m able to work out how the storm is likely to affect the stricken ferry.

This is what I do best.

A moment later, I feel my phone vibrating. Pulling it from my pocket, I’m relieved to see that it’s not Rob trying to get in touch again, it’s Mark.

“Hey,” I say as soon as I answer. “I’ve been looking at the data maps, and I’ve already got a few ideas about how we can deal with this thing.”

***

The journey down to Cornwall takes a little over an hour, and I spend most of that time on the phone to Mark, helping him work out how best to deal with the situation. With my laptop showing live video of the storm, and with headphones offering me direct access to the coastguard radio system, I start to feel less like an outsider and more like my old self. By the time the lights of the rescue operation come into view up ahead, it’s almost as if I’ve never been away.

“We got here just in time!” the helicopter pilot calls back to me, as rain batters the windows all around us. “Another half hour, and I reckon the storm would’ve been too strong for us to fly!”

“Is it safe to land?” I shout back at him, as the helicopter rocks a little from side to side.

“Don’t worry about that. I saw worse conditions in the military.”

After slipping my laptop back into the bag, I unfasten the buckle around my waist and lean forward, resting my elbows on the headrest of the empty passenger seat at the front of the helicopter. Looking ahead, I see a blaze of white lights along the shoreline, which I guess means that the rescue operation is in full swing, while a few more lights can be seen bobbing about violently on the furious waves, which seem so far to be repelling all efforts to head out to the stricken ferry.

Feeling my phone vibrate again, I realize that Mark is trying to get in touch.

“I see you!” he shouts as soon as I answer. “Tell John to get you on the ground as fast as possible!”

“Do you have boats out there yet?” I ask.

“The conditions are too rough!” he shouts. “We can’t even get anything in the air right now!”

“Hang on!” I turn to the pilot. “The ferry’s about three or four miles out. Is there any chance we could get there and take a look?”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“If we’re gonna do it,” he replies, “we need to do it fast. There’s worse weather closing in from the south-west.”

“But we can do it?”

“We can do it.”

“We’re going to go straight out there!” I tell Mark, raising my voice so he can hear me over the patchy connection. “We’re not going to land first!”

“No!” he shouts back. “We’ve had an official order not to let any helicopters take off in this weather!”

“Who said anything about taking off?” I point out. “We’re already up here!”

“No!” Mark says again. “Tell John to set you down to the north of our relief camp. I need you here!”

I turn to the pilot again. “Are you
sure
you can get us out there to the ferry?” I ask. “Mark’s telling me it’s not possible.”

“I can get us there,” he replies. “The only thing I
can’t
do is wait around while you guys debate the matter endlessly. If we’re going, we have to do it now, before conditions worsen.”

“I’m ordering you to land!” Mark shouts over the phone. “Put John on the line!”

I pause for a moment. “Sorry!” I shout back to him. “I can’t hear a word you’re saying, but I think you just said you want us to go out and take a look at the ferry!”

“No!” Mark shouts. “That’s the exact opposite of what I said!”

“The pilot says he can handle it!” I tell him. “Seriously, we’ll be fine! Come on, Mark, you know this makes sense.”

Cutting the call, I toss my phone onto the seat.

“What are the coordinates?” the pilot asks.

Checking the data on my phone, I hold the screen up for him to see. “I don’t think the ferry has any lights,” I tell him. “It’s drifting without power, so it might be difficult to spot.”

Reaching down, he opens a panel near the control unit and pulls a lever, and a moment later a bright light blazes out from the helicopter’s undercarriage.

“Think that might help?” he asks with a smile, as we’re buffeted by another strong blast of wind.

Looking out the side window, I watch as we fly over huge, crashing waves that have turned the sea off the Cornish coast into a violent maelstrom. Mark was right earlier: this must be one of the strongest storms to hit the UK since the late 1980s, and it’s hard to believe that any kind of vessel would have tried to navigate these waters in such terrible conditions. As I watch the sea flashing past beneath us, I see a huge wave rising up, coming within a few meters of hitting our landing skids.

“Sorry!” the pilot calls out, “this thing was built for bad weather. I just need to keep low to avoid the worst of the storm!”

“It’s fine!” I tell him, turning to look out through the cockpit window again. For a moment, I stare down at the sea and tell myself there’s no need to be scared, although I can’t help thinking back to the night I almost drowned. Still, I have to fight that fear, so I turn to the pilot. “How much further?”

“We’re almost at the scene,” he replies. “With these conditions, though, the ferry could’ve moved a fair way.”

“Just keep your eyes peeled,” I tell him, making my way to the side window and looking out. In the distance, a few miles behind us, I can just about make out the lights of the shoreline camp. I know they’re doing their best back there, but a bunch of equipment on dry land is no substitute for actually getting to the scene and checking out the ferry. We need to -

“There it is!” the pilot shouts suddenly.

Turning, I look out through the cockpit window, but all I see is the rough water below.

“Over there!” he adds, pointing to the right.

It takes a moment, but finally I see a dark shape being tossed against a huge wave, almost toppling over as it’s sent crashing back down. A few seconds later, the helicopter’s spotlight swings around and picks out the ferry, and my heart seems to twist in my chest when I see the state of the damn thing: I’d been expecting something reasonably modern, but instead it looks like something from fifty or sixty years ago, just a creaking old metal vessel that’d probably have trouble navigating a canal on a clear day, let alone a full storm in the English Channel. Even worse, it’s tilting to the starboard side, as if it has already started taking on water. Frankly, it’s a miracle it’s still afloat.

“What the hell is something like that doing out here?” the pilot asks, clearly thinking the same thing. “Looks like it should be in a junkyard.”

“Mark said they haven’t been able to identify it so far,” I tell him, grabbing a set of binoculars from a pouch behind the seat and training them on the ferry. “There are no identifying signals at all, no markers, no nothing. They haven’t even been able to establish contact.”

“You think it’s a ghost ship?” he replies. “Maybe somehow it got cut loose from a scrapyard and now it’s just floating out here.”

“Let’s hope so,” I mutter, focusing the binoculars on the ferry. “I hope to God there’s no-one on-board We’ve never been able to get a response from it before.”

“Before?” He turns to me. “This isn’t the first time you guys have seen it?”

“Long story,” I whisper, adjusting the binoculars.

It takes a moment, but I’m finally able to get a proper look at the ferry as we fly closer. In the past, we only ever saw brief glimpses, and this is the first time I’ve managed to really see it clearly. The whole thing looks like it’s being held together by string and spit, and it’s clearly an old boat, perhaps something from half a century back or more. There are no lights showing through any of the windows, and even the bridge looks to be in complete darkness. Using the binoculars to look across the ferry’s deck, I realize with relief that there’s no sign of anyone at all. Maybe the ghost ship idea was right after all. It’s just a hulk, spending its final moments being dashed by the storm.

Hearing a blast of static nearby, I turn and see that the helicopter’s pilot is turning various dials on the radio.

“This is EA71,” he says, speaking into his headset’s microphone. “If anyone can hear me on this frequency, please respond.” He turns to me. “Gotta be worth a try, right?”