The Swiss Family RobinZOM (Book 2) (4 page)

Ernest sat in the clearing with a long oblong box before him.

“This is just a prototype,” Ernest said. “I’m not very good with woodwork.”

“Looks like you did a fine job to me,” Bill said. “How does it work?”

“I saw a documentary once on TV about humane ways of killing animals,” Ernest said. “They had a similar kind of trap. You have this long box. You put the food at the far end that the animal can smell. He comes along and walks down the tunnel toward the food. He gets halfway, steps on the switch, the door slams shut and he’s trapped inside.”

Ernest pressed the switch with a length of wood. The door slammed shut, snapping the stick in half.

“Excellent,” Bill said. “Learn a few lessons?”

“Oh yes,” Ernest said. “A lot. The next one, I can make faster and better.”

“Let’s get this one set up,” Bill said. “I’m sure we’ll be eating delicious meat in no time.”

Bill made his way past the treehouse, down the steep incline through the jungle, and crossed the beach toward the wreckage on the southeast coast, which was frothy and white like the frilly lace around the sleeve of a nineteenth century dress shirt. Fritz and Ernest stood waiting for him.

“Are we ready?” Bill said.

“Yeah,” Fritz said, drawing a pattern in the wet sand with a stick. “Are you sure you don’t want me to join you today?”

“Yes,” Bill said. “I think I’ll be all right. You stay here and help your brothers. Where’s Jack?”

“He’s helping Mum today,” Fritz said.

Bill waded into the water. He dragged a net made of interlinked vines behind him. He kept it at a distance, dragging it behind himself like a squid with injured legs. He held a deep breath and submerged beneath the surface. He opened his eyes and peered around at the bands of blue that surrounded him in every direction, from the shade of the sky to the dark navy of the ocean. He returned to the surface and let out a deep breath.

He pushed himself through the water, swimming arm over arm toward The Red Flag. He put his hand to its stern, the wooden fibres damp and soft beneath his fingers. He edged his way around the stern and found the hole in the ship’s deck. He ducked inside and walked down the steps into the galley.

Fritz turned and walked up the beach.

“Where are you going?” Ernest said.

“I can’t watch Father killing himself,” Fritz said. “There’s plenty of other things to do.”

“Like what?” Ernest said.

“We can check on the traps,” Fritz said.

“But that means going into the jungle by ourselves,” Ernest said. “You know what Father said about us going into the jungle alone. Fritz?”

But Fritz didn’t stop.

“Father told us not to wander around anywhere alone,” Ernest said, casting furtive glances at the jungle.

“We’re not alone,” Fritz said. “We’re with each other.”

“You know what I mean,” Ernest said.

“We’re castaways on an island,” Fritz said. “We have a million and one things we need to do.”

“I doubt getting attacked by wild animals is one of them,” Ernest said.

“We won’t be,” Fritz said. “We’re just going to check up on the traps we set up.”

Ernest cast a look back at the sunken ship, and then turned and followed Fritz into the jungle.

Fritz crouched down and picked through the chewed fragments of wood. The gnaw marks of the animal’s teeth were white and raw.

“They chewed their way out?” Ernest said.

“Looks that way,” Fritz said.

“All my hard work, wasted,” Ernest said.

Fritz dropped the pieces, letting them clatter to the stony ground. He kicked the remains.

“Damn!” he said. “I was looking forward to a nice squirrel steak.”

“We could build new cages,” Ernest said, “with the nooses over the entrance so the animal will die inside.”

“It’s no good,” Fritz said. “Other animals will come and chew them out and eat them like they did before. The animals will always be able to eat through anything we make from the island. We don’t have the time to keep making new cages every day. We need to get our hands on something tougher, something they can’t chew through.”

“Like what?” Ernest said.

“Metal,” Fritz said. “We need cages of metal. We’ll need to forage.”

“Forage for metal?” Ernest said. “We’ll never be able to harvest metal ore. We don’t have the right equipment.”

“I’m not suggesting we dig it up,” Fritz said.

Ernest searched Fritz’s expression and didn’t like what he saw there.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No way.”

“I’ll go,” Fritz said. “We don’t both need to go.”

“What do you think Father’s going to say when he finds out you’ve been in The Red Flag? And when are you supposed to go in there, exactly? Father’s in there.”

“Father doesn’t need to know,” Fritz said. “We can find time when he’s not there. If we can lighten his load, we should. It’s our duty as his sons.”

“It’s too dangerous,” Ernest said.

“Surviving here without food,
that’s
dangerous,” Fritz said. “I’m going to do this whether you help me or not. But I sure wish you had my back.”

He offered his hand to Ernest, who looked at it, and then up into his brother’s face.

“Okay,” he said, shaking his hand. “But just for the record, I’m not going into the wreckage. I’ll help in any other way, but I’m not going inside.”

“Fair enough,” Fritz said. “Instead, you can build the cages. How about that?”

“Fine,” Ernest said, peering at the jungle. “But let’s get out of here. This place gives me the chills.”

Every surface was covered in a slimy green substance. Slivers of water ran down the walls, the short flight of stairs, pooled on the floor, and filtered between the warped wooden boards into the cargo hold below.

They were already running out of time.

Bill turned a corner and entered a room he hadn’t explored yet. Shells and bones snapped underfoot. Limpets and shells clung to the inside of the ship like implacable ulcers. Dead crabs and squid floated in stranded stagnant pools. Half a dozen stacked crates leaned against one wall. Bill pried open a crate and peered inside. There were bolts of cloth of various types, colour and size. Most of it was rotten with damp. He sorted amongst it and withdrew a few good samples. Bill added it to his net.

The air was fusty with age, the sunlight failing to filter through the portholes located on the sides of the ship. He took the torch out of his pocket and waved it around at the darkness. Lights danced off the peeling walls.

Bill pushed a heavy door with ‘Wheelhouse’ etched on it. The only porthole that allowed light was in the top left-hand corner, but even that was dark with grime.

A shadow stretched across the wall from one corner that stuck out like it been half pried off. Bill moved over to it. Some kind of underwater centipede crawled out of it, and then worked its way back in. Bill slid his fingers in through the hole and peered behind it.

The walls had been covered with wood panelling, attached directly to the original wood of the ship. Bill’s heart raced like a child waking up on Christmas Day. He peered at the panels, at the pegs holding them in place. They were short stubs affixed with bolts. They would not be difficult to remove.

Bill returned to the outer corridor and turned into a large room where the tables had been thrust against the wall. He climbed over the long counter at the front and entered a backroom. All the kitchen utensils were piled up in the large cupboard space.

Bill set to filling the net he carried, loading first the pots and pans, then the cutlery, plates and bowls. He dragged the net toward the door, careful not to overstuff it. There were still plenty of cups and other items, but it was unlikely the Robinsons would be playing host to guests for a while.

Bill took out his torch, expelling the shadows. The ship shuddered. Bill gripped the doorway. His swag began to slide across the floor. Bill hooked his foot through a hole in the netting and waited for the shuddering to stop.

The net slid into a hole in the wall that Bill hadn’t noticed was there. Bill gripped it with both hands, but the contents of the net was too heavy. He braced the weight with his legs and yanked hard to pull it back up. Once, twice, three times… There was a loud creak and the snap of wooden fibres, and the corridor wall gave way beneath his feet.

He fell for two seconds… three… four… Then his upper back hit the water’s surface. He held his breath, and immediately smacked into something hard and flat, forcing the air out of his lungs. He wheezed like an old smoker on fifty a day.

He got to his knees, and, about to get to his feet, paused, remembering his medical training. If he ran for help he would collapse long before reaching Fritz and Ernest on the surface.

He put his hands on his head to expand his lungs to their full size and closed his eyes, concentrating on sipping air into his lungs. He broke out into a cold sweat. As he breathed he felt his lung capacity expand, like a great weight was being lifted from him. He relaxed, letting himself breathe normally.

He got to his feet and brushed himself off. He was wet up to the shins, soaked through with stagnant water. He took the torch out of his pocket and aimed it up in the direction he’d fallen from.

The hole was higher than he expected. He couldn’t reach it by jumping or climbing. He turned and found a large staircase that wound up.

Bill’s foot connected with something that skimmed across the water’s surface and collided with something in the middle of the room with a dull metallic
Ting!

He turned his torch on it. The bulb flickered. Bill smacked it against his palm. The light came back on. Bill’s eyes widened at what it illuminated.

“Oh my God,” he said.

Bill dumped a handful of yellow coins, a goblet and a set of shiny plates on the table.

“The coins are gold,” Bill said. “The goblet and plates are silver. There are mounds and mounds of treasure in the cargo hold of The Red Flag. No wonder it’s sinking with all that inside it!”

“Gold?” Liz said, picking up a gold coin.

“And a person, well, a skeleton now,” Bill said.

“What do you mean?” Liz said.

“Someone was lying amongst the treasure,” Bill said. “Wearing old clothes, from the seventeenth or eighteenth century, though I’m no expert. I left the gold. I don’t see how it’ll be of much use to us now. I just took these.”

The plates were solid silver with intricate floral designs around the edges. The goblet had large jewel stones around the lip.

“Thought we could use them for special occasions or something,” Bill said.

Liz fingered the skull etched into the goblet’s base.

“A bit morbid, isn’t it?” she said.

“I think it’s pretty cool,” Bill said.

Liz fingered the bright sparkling jewels.

“Are these real?” she said.

“I think so,” Bill said. “With all that gold why would you have fake ones?”

“Who was he?” Liz said. “The man in the hold?”

“I have no idea,” Bill said. “I’m not even sure if it was a man. But this stuff isn’t much use to them now. And I found something else too.”

He took a seat at the table and poured himself a cup of water. He took a long pull.

“I’m going to unbolt the panelling in the wheelhouse,” he said. “I’ve got the tools now. I can pry the wall panels free and bring them to shore. It’ll remove the need to build a whole new interior out of wood for the treehouse. I’ll be able to bring it here and reassemble it into a room. It means we won’t have to build everything from scratch. We’ll have a permanent structure over our heads.

“Funny, how the value of things changes depending on your circumstances. If this was the old world we would be able to pay people to come here and build us a mansion. We could pay
kings
to come build our house here. Why is it we never get the things we need when we need them?”

“Because then life would be easy,” Liz said.

“Sounds good to me,” Bill said.

“How’s the salvaging going?” Liz said.

“Slow,” Bill said, putting his feet on the table.

“It would go faster if you let the boys help,” Liz said.

Bill waved his hand, dismissing the idea.

“When do you think we’ll have the treehouse built?” Liz said.

“Depends how fast I can get the panels off the ship and transported here,” Bill said.

He stood up.

“It’s not going to get done any faster with me sitting here gabbing with you though, is it?” Bill said.

He left. Liz frowned and bit her lip.