X-Isle (40 page)

Preacher John leaned forward, bringing his horrible face so close that Baz could smell the sourness on his breath.

“And I believe you.” The words were filtered through a beard as coarse as Shredded Wheat. “But I’m not talking about ‘they’. I’m talking about you. And now I’m telling you for the last time. Get... on... that...
boat
!”

Preacher John’s breath blasted forth like the hot stink of salvage itself, and Baz reeled backwards.

There was no choice, and no escape. Baz stumbled to the edge of the jetty, and began to pick his way down the slope towards the gangplank. He’d made this same journey just a few hours ago – a journey of hope then. Now it was one of despair. He crossed the gangplank and jumped clumsily down into the boat, his stomach lurching so badly he thought he would throw up. Amos and Isaac were already on deck, sorting out their gear. Amos glanced at him in mild surprise, but said nothing. Isaac ignored him completely.

Baz leaned against the gunwale for support, and looked up towards the top of the jetty. The other boys stared down at him, their expressions anguished, helpless. Preacher John was a little to one side, saying something to Hutchinson, jabbing his finger in the direction of the school building. But his voice made no sound. Baz’s ears were filled with a hollow buzzing noise.

The boys shifted their gaze from Baz, and their eyes grew wider still. Baz turned to look. The wooden dinghy was rounding the end of the jetty in a plume of blue exhaust smoke. Luke sat at the tiller of the buzzing outboard, expertly guiding the boat around in a tight circle...

Baz looked at the little craft in disbelief. What was going on?

The engine noise shut down, and Luke brought the dinghy right up close, so that it disappeared from Baz’s view beyond the transom of the 
Cormorant
.

Amos was ready and waiting. He tossed a rope over the transom and shouted down to Luke, “Tie her up then!”

Baz still didn’t understand what was happening.

Preacher John lumbered across the gangplank. “Don’t forget what I said!” he shouted to Hutchinson. “You find those girls by tonight, and that other kid as well, or you’re both on the next trip out!”

There was a deep thudding sound, a shudder in the bowels of the boat as the diesel motor kicked into life. Then Luke appeared on the bank, jumped across the gangplank and shouted, “Cast off!”

A cloud of black smoke arose from beyond the transom of the 
Cormorant
. The engine speed increased and the jetty began to slip away.

Baz was still gripping the gunwale. He felt a twitch of movement through his fingertips, a slight jerk of resistance. The wooden dinghy appeared through the haze of diesel smoke, rocking from side to side in the churning wake of the main vessel. It was being towed away from the island. There was no chance of escape now for those who remained.

CHAPTER
 
TWENTY-FIVE

“
Get out o’ soddin’ way.”

Amos brushed past him, carrying an air tank. Baz dumbly moved towards the stern of the boat and collapsed onto the bench seat. He stared back at the island, X-Isle, visible now in its entirety. The boys had already vanished from the jetty.

A shadow passed over Baz’s head, and the twisted frame of the hammer-head crane appeared to his right, rusting iron stanchions rising from the murky water. Then came the stonework of the church tower, lichen grey, sliding past the gunwale, close enough to touch as it had been before. Baz was aware of these things only at the corners of his vision, saw but didn’t see, his blank gaze still fixed on the dark mass of land. Shrinking now. A blur of shapes and colors, the details gradually fading.

He watched the little dinghy bobbing along in the wake of the 
Cormorant
. The little dinghy...

The ‘little ’un’. And now he understood what the divers had been talking about – the conversation he and Ray had overheard. 
Tie her up... rope her to the transom
. They meant the dinghy, nothing more. God, this was such a mess.

Amos and Luke were in their wetsuits now, or at least half in and half out. They hadn’t pulled the tops on yet, the air being already hot and humid. Consequently they moved around the deck with their bare torsos exposed, hard and muscular men – another reminder to Baz of how small and feeble he was. After checking over their gear, the two divers disappeared into the wheelhouse. But Preacher John climbed up onto the foredeck and stood there, one hand resting on the roof of the cabin as he faced the horizon.

Baz sat on the transom bench and turned again to gaze at the receding island. It looked as in substantial as a lump of driftwood now. Nothing there to cling to. He was lost in a fog of helplessness, his thoughts too jagged and jangled to fall into any proper order. Everything had failed, everything had come apart. He knew that much. The threads of how and why, and what it meant, were beyond his grasp.

When the true horror of his position finally struck him, it was in such a crushing wave that it took the breath from his lungs. He was on the boat, and the bomb was there with him. Death was just meters away, hiding in a locker in the wheelhouse. The bomb might go off, or someone might open the locker and find it first, but either way it would be the end of him.

The bomb would go off, and he would die. Or it would be discovered, and he would die...

Baz could see no other possibilities.

What if he could choose between the two? Which would it be? If he had the choice...

Here was a beginning, perhaps. A way of starting to think.

Baz looked at the scaffolding tripod, where last night Gene had knelt with his pliers and cabling, fiddling with the winch motor. One quick tug on the starter handle, and that could be the end of everything. But surely the winch wouldn’t be needed until the divers were underwater and had netted their haul? They might not find anything for ages yet, so he had a little time to try and figure out his options.

Jump overboard right now, while nobody was looking – that was one thing he could do. But Baz knew that he had no hope of getting back to the island from here. He wasn’t a good swimmer. Going overboard meant drowning.

He could try and cut the cabling, and disable the bomb. The penknife that he had stolen from the storeroom was in his pocket. He kept it on him always now, tied to the belt loop of his shorts by a length of green garden twine. It was a puny little object, but reassuring nevertheless. He could just walk over to the winch motor, rip the lead up from the planking, and cut through it...

But even though that might save him from an explosion, it wouldn’t save his life. The bomb would be found and Preacher John would kill him.

What if he simply confessed to everything and threw himself at their mercy? No. There would be no mercy.

So there was nothing he could do, after all. He had no choices.

Baz crouched back in his corner, numb with misery. An hour went by, maybe more. He wondered what they would be doing back on the island. Gene and Jubo, Robbie and Amit. Dyson. Nadine and Steffie. That was the last he would ever see of them, he knew that. And Ray... he would never see Ray again...

Resentment burned through him. Why had he been picked for this trip? Isaac would have chosen Gene – the mechanic – which at least made some kind of sense. But Preacher John had definitely wanted him, not Gene. Why?

Baz stared down at the passing waves. They said that it didn’t hurt. Not if you relaxed, it didn’t. You just let go... closed your eyes... allowed yourself to sink peacefully into the blue-green world below...

Blue-green. The water had changed color. It was clear, translucent, no longer murky grey. The thick soup that had been familiar to him for so long had given way to something different, something long forgotten. Sea water. When had that happened?

The engine note altered, slowing down to an uneven chug, and Baz sat up straight. He was alert again, trying to get his bearings. The mainland coast was visible now, far off to his right, a low line of hills. So they must have been travelling west. Baz gazed back over the transom, searching the horizon, but could see nothing. The island had long disappeared.

There was activity. The two divers came out of the wheelhouse, zipping up their wetsuits. Preacher John shouted something from the foredeck, where he had been standing for the entire journey. Baz could see the back of his head and shoulders, a raised arm signaling directions. The boat swung round and part of a large plastic sign came into view – tilting to the right, the top corner protruding from the choppy waves. BP in green letters. Petrol.

It looked as though Preacher John had got lucky. Wherever there was a petrol station there was likely to be a store. Perhaps even a supermarket.

Baz felt his bladder tighten, a sense of panic and fear rising within him. Something was about to happen, something was coming. And still he could do nothing but sit and wait for it.

The engine cut out, and Isaac appeared from the wheelhouse. He walked around the winch tripod, glancing behind him before joining his brothers. Preacher John was still up on the foredeck, alone, looking out to sea.

Luke and Amos hoisted aqualungs onto their shoulders as Isaac spoke to them. He kept his voice to a low mutter. “We’ll just have to see how this goes. If we’d brought the mechanic kid we could have sent him out to have a scout round in the tender. Covered a lot more ground and saved ourselves some time. But the old man had to bring that idiot Cookie instead. There’s no way I’m letting 
him
 loose in a dinghy, so all we can use it for now is a bit of extra loading space.” Isaac glanced over to where Baz was sitting. “God knows what the old fool was thinking of. He’s ruddy lost it.” He spat over the side of the boat. “But then he lost it a long time ago.”

The two divers began adjusting their masks.

“Where’s he got to, anyway?” said Luke, his voice already muffled as he maneuvered his breathing gear into position. Baz looked up towards the foredeck. Preacher John was no longer visible.

“Must be there somewhere.” Luke pulled at one of his cuffs. “Look after him, Isaac. Try and keep him out of mischief.”

“Oh, I’ll look after him all right.”

Isaac stepped back towards the winch motor. He reached up and tugged on a thin wire that was attached to the crossbeam. 
Ting!
 The single note of a small bell, very clear and bright in the surrounding silence. It seemed ominous somehow, a marker of time, or the signal for some ceremony to begin. The skipper then crouched down beside the motor to adjust some part of it, and Baz felt his stomach begin to churn. He shrank back against the transom, his head turned away, eyes narrowed...

But Isaac stood up again, wiped his hands on his greasy sweatshirt and made his way down to the stern. “Hop it,” he said. “Get in the wheelhouse, out of my way.”

Baz found that his knees would barely support him as he rose from the bench. The very last place on earth he wanted to be right now was in that wheelhouse.

“Can’t I stay out here?”

“Wheelhouse, I said. Go.”

Baz kept one hand on the gunwale as he walked towards the darkened doorway of the little cabin. But the two divers were blocking his path, standing together between the winch and the side of the boat, doing something with a bundle of netting. Baz waited. One of them turned to look down upon him, an unearthly being in his suit and mask, the reflected glare of light on glass making him unidentifiable. They were like invaders from another planet, aliens or warrior gods, clad in rubber and glass and metal. Webbed feet. Strange tubular breathing apparatus, heavy weighted belts around their waists. The air tanks on their backs could have been rocket packs. They might have lifted off from the deck there and then, and roared away into the heavens.

But instead, they moved to one side and sat on the gunwale. Then, simultaneously, without apparent signal or warning, they toppled backwards into the water. In another moment the alien figures had disappeared, not up into the skies, but down into another world far below. A fading string of bubbles accompanied their departure – that and a high-pitched whirring sound. Baz looked round. It was the winch. A thin steel hawser was spooling from a revolving drum. It passed through a series of pulleys, up and along the cross-member, and over the side of the boat. The divers were taking the hawser down with them, along with the loading net. They were obviously confident of finding something to bring back up.

Baz saw that Isaac was scowling at him, so he started again towards the wheelhouse.

At the doorway he hesitated for a moment. Bright beams of light flooded in through the main window ahead of him, but this threw the rest of the interior into confused shadow. Baz automatically looked to his left, where the locker stood – and felt his heart jump. Preacher John was there. Kneeling in front of the locker.

The bomb had been found! That was Baz’s first thought. But then he saw that Preacher John’s elbows were resting on top of the big wooden box. He hadn’t opened it, and he wasn’t trying to. Hands clasped in front of him, head bowed, voice muttering low... The preacher was at prayer.

“And for bringing this clear blue water, we thank you, Lord. We thank you for leading us to such a place, where we might find and receive all that you hold in store for us. We see that we are your chosen people, and that you look favorably upon our prayers and sacrifices. And to thee our first fruits shall be given. Therefore, in accordance with your will, I bring a gift... aye, as Abraham did bring a gift...”

Baz stood stock-still in the doorway, unable to breathe.

“... a lamb, returned to your fold. Here I make my covenant, then. As thou givest to me, O Lord, so I shall give in return. Amen.”

Preacher John remained where he was, kneeling in front of the locker as though it were an altar, the light from the porthole falling on his wild red hair. Baz saw that there was a gun – Isaac’s shotgun – propped upright in the corner between the locker and the cabin wall. It was a strange and frightening scene.

“I said ‘Amen’. Do you not know how to pray, boy?” Preacher John hadn’t turned round, but he was clearly aware of Baz’s presence – and perhaps had been all along.