Survival Read online

  It was an odd situation. Here were five people, all of whom knew that their destiny was very much in doubt and that their very lives were at serious risk, but who, at the same time, were having to cope with the immediate demands of life on a storm-tossed ship. In the event, it didn’t take too long for these immediate – and insistent – demands to take centre stage, and it started with an Elaine observation about the forthcoming meal.

  ‘Well, I bet soup’s off,’ she said. ‘Judging from the way the water in our loo’s moving about, I can’t believe that much more than a millimetre of it would make it to the table. And I bet the gravy boat’s given a miss as well.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ responded Roy. ‘You may not have noticed, but nobody seems to have told the waiters we’re in the middle of a storm. They just seem entirely oblivious of it.’

  And he was right. Each waiter was still operating on a team of six sea legs, and as the restaurant patrons swayed about in their chairs, their Filipino attendants went about their business as if the Sea Sprite were still docked in port. It was a truly remarkable sight, and one that prompted Roy to add an addendum to his original observation.

  ‘Mind, if we’re hit by one of those rogue super-waves, I suppose they might notice that. I mean, it’d be pretty difficult to serve the sea bream when the ship was upside down…’

  ‘Roy!’ exclaimed Elaine. ‘You shouldn’t say that. This is a well-built ship, quite capable of dealing with any sort of sea conditions, and the likelihood of it being tipped over is zero. It’s got stabilisers, remember. And while they can’t iron out the roughest of seas, I’m sure they can go a long way towards keeping us upright…’

  ‘If they’re deployed,’ responded Roy. ‘I mean, if the sea’s very rough, most captains will keep them retracted. To avoid them getting damaged…’

  ‘What?!’ exclaimed Elaine. ‘You can’t be…’

  Roy interrupted her, a generous, wicked grin now spreading across his face.

  ‘Yes, I am. I’m having you on. Sorry, Elaine, but the way this whole restaurant is moving, it is just about credible, isn’t it? Even stabilisers have their limits. And, to tell you the truth, I’m not so sure they’d be much use at all against a super-wave. But there again, super-waves are really very rare indeed. In fact, I once read that your chance of dying as a result of your vessel being hit by one of these freak waves is less than your chance of dying as a result of being hit by a falling piano. And that’s a pretty small chance…’

  The conversation carried on in this vein for some minutes, with rather more prosaic stories being told about rough ferry journeys and trips across the English Channel in bad weather aboard a hovercraft – in a time when hovercraft once plied this route. In fact, the round-table discussion, meandering through various topics, was maintained at a very light-hearted level for over an hour, and it wasn’t until coffee and brandy were being consumed that it took a turn for the serious.

  Shortly after these two beverages had somehow been successfully delivered to the table, Debbie made the mistake of wondering aloud what might be going on now in all those countries that had been denuded of their populations. Derek was first to provide his own thoughts on this matter, by proposing that in many urban centres there would now probably be fires. With no fire brigades around – or anybody around – there would be no way that small spontaneous fires wouldn’t have grown into widespread raging infernos. Even as they were sitting at this table, he suggested, New York or Paris might be burning out of control.

  This downbeat observation caused Alex to make one of his own, and this was similarly downbeat if a little less dramatic, and it concerned the fact that as electricity supplies failed for various reasons, so too would all the pumping of water that was essential to so much of modern infrastructure. If New York wasn’t ablaze then almost certainly its subway system would be flooded, as would the London Underground. This contribution hardly lifted anybody’s mood. But then Roy picked up on that mention of the failure of power supplies – because of the failure of power plants – by broaching the subject of one particular type of power plant, and how its failing – across the globe – could end up being rather more serious than any underground flooding. Yes, he was about to deliver a chilling monologue on the fate of deserted nuclear reactors, and he started by providing his audience with a headline…

  ‘Nuclear reactors,’ he pronounced slowly, ‘do not look after themselves.’

  And now that he had everybody’s attention, he provided them with his unedited copy.

  ‘I think there are about four hundred nuclear plants on this planet; some of them with multiple reactors. And by now many of these will no doubt have been abandoned. Well, they might run on autopilot for a while, but that autopilot will almost certainly cut off the plant’s connection to the grid. What happens then is that any number of diesel pumps kick in to keep water circulating around the core. But diesel pumps need diesel, and without their fuel being replenished they will probably stop working after just a few days. That’s a real problem. Because even if the fission in the core has been stopped, the uranium in the core will continue to decay and continue to generate heat. And certainly enough heat to pressurise the coolant water. Which will then be released by the opening of a relief valve until the pressure is eased, for the cycle to then start again – and again…’

  ‘Until…’ interrupted Derek.

  ‘Yes – until the valve decides to stick, or, more likely, the water is entirely depleted…’

  ‘…and then you have your classic Chernobyl,’ finished Derek. ‘The top of the reactor core becomes exposed and you have yourself a meltdown.’

  ‘And what does that do?’ asked Debbie.

  ‘Well,’ responded Roy, ‘that means that you’ll be spilling radioactivity into the air and into any nearby bodies of water. And whilst there wouldn’t be a nuclear explosion, you’d have masses of radioactive lava melding with the surrounding steel and concrete, and this would finally “cool” in temperature terms but it would remain radioactively hot almost indefinitely…’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it would,’ agreed Derek. ‘A congealed mass of danger, lethal to anything that approached it for bloody aeons, and of course something of a testament to human hubris…’

  ‘This radioactivity released into the atmosphere,’ interrupted Elaine. ‘Is that going to be a danger for us?’

  Roy shook his head.

  ‘Difficult to say,’ he started. ‘But the bulk of those reactors are in the northern hemisphere. You know, in places like the States, Russia, China and Europe. I don’t think there are any in Australia, and there’s only a handful in the whole of South America. So, we’d be pretty well placed in the south of Argentina. But, there again, I don’t claim to be an expert on the dispersal of radioactivity. And with four hundred reactors going into meltdown, I’m not sure anywhere on this planet will be entirely safe…’

  Here the conversation suffered a short hiatus. Maybe the other four at the table were absorbing the possibly dire implications of Roy’s brief presentation, or maybe, like Alex, they were instead trying to assimilate the fact that even a good outcome to their plight might mean a life spent in Tierra del Fuego. Indefinitely. It was no wonder, then, that the hiatus was drawn to a close by Debbie proposing that, instead of dwelling on the demise of all those faraway reactors, it might be better if the assembled five turned their attention to… gin. In particular, she wanted to know what they all knew about England’s ‘gin epidemic’ in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, and William of Orange’s role in initiating the widespread consumption of this tipple. As she briefly explained, she was interested in seeing what parallels could be drawn between that popularisation of this drink and the slightly different one that had overtaken England in recent years – without the involvement of William of Orange.

  Well, it was all a bit obvious. She clearly wanted the meal to end on a trivial high rather
than on a literally life-or-death low, but it was actually a very good move, and one that was immediately aided and abetted by Roy. Maybe he was keen to redress the fact that he had cast a nuclear pall over the proceedings, and, not surprisingly, he knew all and everything about England’s love affair with gin back in the days of Hogarth.

  So, it was another good end to the day, despite whatever might be in store and despite the fact that Neptune was still having a party. Even if not genuinely mountainous, the sea was still significantly hilly, and it took Alex and Debbie all their strength and all their balance to get themselves back to their cabin. When, safely inside, they decided that they might be in for a very rough night indeed. Even if the Sea Sprite didn’t actually tip over…

  twenty-one

  It was as Alex was rising from the breakfast table that he felt the movement. During the night there had been lots of movement, up and down and side to side. Then, as the morning had approached and the storm had started to abate, there had been just a noticeable but diminishing swell, and that had now disappeared. Almost entirely. It was, as Alex had thought, quite literally a case of the calm after the (very violent, Southern Ocean) storm. But this new movement was entirely different. It was the movement of the ship turning. Somebody up on the Sea Sprite’s bridge was taking the vessel through a fairly sharp turn – to the left. Alex quickly worked out that this meant that he was no longer on a ship sailing west, but on one embarking on a more southerly course. And he could not imagine why. Ushuaia, no doubt, was still where it had been since it was established, and travel in any other than a westward direction would not deliver the Sea Sprite to its harbour. All these thoughts were put into words as he addressed his wife.

  ‘Something’s up,’ he said. ‘We’re going south. And that wasn’t on the agenda. And it won’t get us to Ushuaia.’

  Debbie nodded in agreement, but she looked a little distracted. She seemed to be processing this unexpected event herself, and at the same time trying to take in the general reaction of all those still seated at the tables, which was a mix of apparent astonishment and concern. These were worrying enough times as it was. To have a surprise piled on top of the worry was clearly not very welcome.

  ‘Come on,’ continued Alex. ‘Let’s get back to our cabin. Maybe we can see what’s going on…’

  And so, filled with more trepidation than he’d budgeted for today, Alex eventually followed his wife into their cabin, and immediately went to its balcony window. There was nothing to see – other than a sea now at peace – and there was still nothing to see when he stepped out onto the balcony and slowly scanned the sea as carefully as he could. However, he could at least confirm in his mind that the Sea Sprite was heading south. A hazy sun, somewhere to the east, was now casting a shadow of the Sea Sprite onto the surface of the ocean directly below his feet. And that was a confirmation beyond doubt.

  Debbie had now joined him on the balcony, and she offered an opinion.

  ‘There has to be a reason,’ she observed. ‘Maybe there’s a ship in distress. Maybe we’re on our way to help.’

  ‘Well, it’d be nice to know,’ responded Alex. ‘Hell, it’s not as though…’

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’

  It was Jane on the tannoy. She was interrupting Alex remotely.

  ‘As I’m sure you’ll all have noticed, the captain has changed our course. And he has asked me to explain why. It’s very simple and it’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s just that he’s received a mayday call from a small vessel – a yacht – which has been knocked about by the storm. And we’re now on our way to provide whatever assistance we can. No doubt you’ll all be aware that maritime law requires us to do this. Although, of course, I’m quite sure that even if this wasn’t the case, we’d all want to go to the aid of this vessel. After all, it’s what we would want if we were the ones in trouble.

  ‘Anyway, the captain reckons we will be in sight of the vessel in about two hours’ time, and meanwhile I’d just like to remind you that at ten o’clock, Rosie, our team photographer, will be giving a presentation on her time in the RAF, during which, as you might remember, she was stationed in the Falklands for nearly two years. It’s a really good presentation. I can guarantee it. So, please come along. I’m sure Rosie will be delighted to see you.

  ‘Oh, and of course, I will let you know when we have any more information on our rescue mission. Although that won’t be for some time yet.’

  And that was it. The on-board oracle had spoken – first of the dramatic and then of the mundane – and Alex could now imagine that, in every corner of the ship, passengers and crew alike were trying to come to terms with this latest twist in what was already a very twisted trip. Nevertheless, this didn’t stop him indulging in a bit of light-hearted nonsense.

  ‘Blimey,’ he announced. ‘A lecture on Rosie’s time in the RAF! We can’t possibly miss that…’

  Debbie punched him in the ribs – gently – and then acknowledged her husband’s observation.

  ‘Sometimes I wonder…’

  ‘…how you ended up with such a cool, unflappable dude such as myself.’

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’ she responded. ‘But you know, sometimes you’d be better off if you were a bit more flappable. I mean, here we are, in the most perilous situation we’ve ever been in, and we now appear to be going off piste and maybe into even more bloody peril…’

  ‘That, my dear,’ responded Alex, ‘is to ignore both the laws of the sea and the laws of decency. Just as Jane said. And anyway, I can’t think how it can make our present perilous situation any more perilous. The yacht might even be carrying a team of microbiologists. They could be our salvation…’

  Debbie let out a small groan.

  ‘Oh, you’re impossible, Alex. But, irritatingly, also completely right. We have to go to their aid, don’t we?’

  ‘Yep,’ agreed Alex. ‘And though we don’t have to go to Rosie’s lecture, I think we probably should. I mean, better to stick with normality while we can…’

  This, Alex and Debbie and virtually all the Sea Sprite’s passengers did. And accordingly, Rosie had a full house – for what turned out to be an extremely entertaining presentation on her role as an RAF communications officer. It even contained photographic proof that she’d been able to climb to the top of a very tall radio mast.

  However, just minutes after her presentation ended, so too did the normality. By this time, Alex and Debbie were back in their cabin, and on hearing a brief tannoy announcement from Jane telling them that the Sea Sprite was now approaching the stricken yacht, they were soon out on their balcony. And there it was. Not a shiny, sleek, polished-to-the-gunnels yacht such as one sees in select South Coast marinas, but more a comprehensively roughed-up yacht, as in one with no mast, and a deck covered in yacht detritus and a good deal of splintered wood. And sitting in its stern were not a number of white-coated microbiologists, but instead just one young man and one young woman, both of whom radiated exhaustion and relief in equal measure. In due course, Alex and Debbie would learn that their names were Stuart and Gill.

  It didn’t take too long to get a zodiac into the water, and within only seconds it was off towards the ruined yacht, with Mike at the helm and Terry and John as his crew. It then took them very little time to reach the crippled vessel, and even less time to collect the two aboard it and bring them back to the ship. Alex and Debbie couldn’t see it from their vantage point, but the rescued pair were then obviously deposited at the back of the Sea Sprite. And when this had been done, Mike, Terry and John returned to the yacht to secure it with a line. Alex wasn’t entirely sure what they intended to do, but he’d later discover that the captain had decided to take the wrecked but still floating vessel in tow, and this was how one went about it – by first securing it with a line. He would also discover that the yacht had been completely disabled by the storm; losing not only its mast and much of its sup
erstructure, but its steering gear as well. It wasn’t so much a yacht now, but more an elegantly sculptured, untidy raft. It was indeed pretty well useless as a maritime vessel.

  Its sorry condition was discussed over lunch, together with every aspect of the middle-of-the-ocean rescue of its crew. So too were the implications of the Sea Sprite’s resumed westward – but slow – progress. Alex and Debbie were sharing a table with a sailing pair from Dorchester, who, as well as sounding authoritative on the subject of battered yachts, also had their own interpretation of the captain’s sluggish progress west.

  ‘He’s deciding what to do,’ the male of this pair pronounced.

  And then his female partner completed their reading of the situation.

  ‘Those two from the yacht must have brought some more news. And he’s weighing up what to do.’

  Well, as it turned out, they were spot on. But this would not become apparent until 3.30, when the entire passenger complement had been gathered in the lounge for an unscheduled but ‘urgent’ meeting, for which Jane had issued a three-line whip. At the end of her post-lunch tannoy announcement, she had said very emphatically that everyone – and I mean everyone – should attend. And she hadn’t even followed this up with a pleasant platitude or a reflex reference to biosecurity measures. She clearly hadn’t wanted to dilute the imperative nature of her message. Nor, as became apparent when the proceedings commenced, did the captain want to dilute the significance of his message. And he achieved this end by first introducing the rescued pair, and then by making it very clear that what one of them was about to say was not only of vital importance, but also that it had his full support. It would be, he said, as if he were speaking himself.

  That got everybody’s attention. And that was all the passengers and a good number of the crew, who had now stationed themselves at the back of the lounge. There was an even fuller house than there had been for Rosie…