Wreck Page 4

  The guy doesn’t ask for directions and it alarms me that he knows where my office is. Has he been there before? When we turn into the main drag I see Darryl’s car straight away. It stands out because there are no other cars parked in the street. I change my mind about running to the nearest house and decide to run inside instead. I bet Simon is there too. I need to warn them and I know Darryl will call the police.

  Darryl often works late, but I didn’t know he worked this late. The thought makes me reconsider my choices. Maybe he and Simon went to the pub when they finished and caught a cab home. I could be running into an empty office. Then I notice the lights inside are on. He must be there, and hope fills my chest with tight flutters. As soon as we pull up I jump out of the car and bolt for the door.

  ‘Darryl,’ I yell as I punch in the door code. The door springs open. The guy is right behind me as I enter. ‘Call the police, help m–’

  I stare at the horror before me and gasp as the sight travels to my brain and starts to sink in. My captor grabs me from behind and places a hand over my mouth. His interruption releases something inside me and I scream. He pushes me against his chest and muffles the noise. I want to push my way back outside and run as far away from here as I can, but this guy is holding me tight and won’t budge. Shutting my eyes doesn’t shut out the image. I still see it, as plain as day.

  He pulls me down to the ground so we are kneeling. ‘Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh,’ he whispers into my ear until my screams fade. ‘I have to make sure the building is clear. Stay quiet.’ He moves in front of me so our eyes meet. He nods. There is something gentle and sincere in his eyes. I nod back to say I’ll be quiet.

  I’m shaking so much I don’t think I can stand up, let alone run away. To think the person who did this might still be here in the building or nearby turns my insides to jelly.

  The guy lets me go and pulls out a gun. The air sucks out of me and I clap my hand over my mouth. I’ve never seen a real gun before and for the second time tonight I’m way too close to one. He stays low and makes his way down the hall. This is my chance to get away. I should run. I want to. I want to run outside, away from this office, away from the gun, but I stay rooted to the floor like a lump of concrete. My fear of running into whoever did that terrifies me more than the guy who seemed to want to protect me just now.

  I look at Simon, his lifeless eyes staring vacantly. A single, small black hole on his forehead marks where the bullet entered his skull. The dark stain beneath him tells me that the hole on the other side of his head is much larger.

  Beautiful, eloquent, gentle Simon.

  My thoughts go to Darryl. I wonder if he’s at home waiting for him – wondering why he hasn’t come back yet. I feel my whole face pinch and my tears splash down my cheeks and land on Simon’s arm. I lean over and touch his face. His skin is still warm, but different to someone alive. Slacker. I bring my fingers to my lips, kiss them and then place them onto Simon’s lips. Who could do this? I slowly drag my fingers down over his eyes, closing them. I think it would be better for Darryl to see him with his eyes closed. I stay quiet but I can’t stop crying.

  I look up and see the guy standing in the doorway, watching me. His gun is hanging limp by his side.

  ‘Who is it?’ he asks. His voice is at normal volume so I assume there is no one else in the building.

  ‘My colleague,’ I say. ‘My friend.’ The tears come again. ‘His name is Simon. He’s my boss’s partner, his soulmate …’ I wipe away my tears. ‘Who would do this? Why would they …?’

  ‘We’ve gotta go.’

  I shake my head. ‘No. No way. I’m calling triple zero.’

  ‘You can’t. It’s too dangerous. They can’t protect you.’

  I stare at him then shake my head again. I stand and walk to the phone.

  ‘What are you talking about? My friend is dead. I don’t know who you are or what you want but I’m calling the police.’

  I pick up the phone and dial.

  He goes for the phone in my hand. I jerk it away as I hear the miniature voice through the receiver.

  ‘Police, Fire or Ambulance?’

  ‘Police,’ I scream as I dive around a desk away from the guy.

  I can’t hear the person on the other end of the phone because I am running towards the door and the phone is nowhere near my ear, so I scream again. ‘I need the police!’

  Then he catches me and prises the phone from my fingers and hangs up.

  ‘They will beat the police back here. They have informants on the inside. We’ve gotta go, right now.’

  The urgency in his voice startles me. Maybe he isn’t one of them.

  ‘Think about it,’ he says. ‘Is there even a cop on duty in this town this late? Or are they home in bed, on call? We’ll be well and truly dead before the police arrive.’

  ‘Why? Who are these people? What is happening?’

  ‘I know you’re terrified and you don’t trust me. But please believe me when I say you are much safer with me right now,’ he implores.

  ‘Who are you? And why should I trust you?’

  ‘I’m Zel … And because they’re dead and you’re not.’ He indicates to Simon. ‘They’ll be here any minute.’

  I continue to stare at him because I can’t think of anything to say.

  ‘I’m outta here. Come with me, please.’

  Car brakes screech outside on the road.

  ‘That’s them,’ Zel says, eyes wide.

  ‘This way,’ I whisper.

  As Zel and I flee into the laneway I hear car doors slamming and heavy footsteps running. We jump a fence into another street, and with our hearts thumping and voices and lights behind us, we disappear into the darkness of the night.

  Mum leans out of the lifeboat, screaming after the others. Her desperation fills my chest with pain. I move beside her and scan the blackness, looking for the little red flashing lights of the life jackets that would tell me the others are floating on the surface. We tip on a swell and our lifeboat cartwheels. I grab a handle with one hand and Mum with the other. Somehow, we manage to stay in. Spray from the crest of the swell crashes into us and we’re pressed into the boat floor. Selena grabs Mum and pulls her up beside her while Portia frantically bails the water out. She yells to me to secure our cover to keep the rain out. Inch by inch, I fasten the velcro with shaking fingers, leaving just enough room for Portia to empty the pail. When she has finished, she seals the rest of the gap and we sit in the still air of our bubble, silent. I can’t help but feel like we’ve shut the others out to save ourselves.

  We tumble over the waves like we are on an endless, sickening ride.

  The sea hates us.

  The wind and the rain hate us.

  They throw and pound and blast us and we rock and swirl and slide up and down the swell of the ocean. I suddenly realise Portia’s seasickness tablets must be working because I’m not ill, just wet and cold. The cold starts on my skin, like it does when the sun goes down and you need to pull on a jumper. But I have no jumper so it moves deeper, through my muscle and then into my bones. We are all soaked through and I wonder if my shivering is from the cold or from the shock and fear of what has just happened.

  Dad, Uncle Oliver, Knox and Christian are gone. I imagine them in the cold water, swirling and being pounded by the wind and the rain, because that is better than picturing them with the boat on the bottom of the sea. Either way, I know they are cold.

  The pain I feel when I think of Christian giving Knox his life jacket is so strong it’s physical, squeezing hard in the centre of my chest. I can’t see anyone surviving this without flotation. Knox didn’t deserve Christian’s life jacket. It’s unbearable to think about. I try to distract myself with something else.

  I think of blackness. The ocean, the sky, the night …

  The wind and rain are relentless. We move up and down, spin, change direction, tip, smack the water, then up and down, spin, change direction … it goes on and on until my neck is stiff f
rom supporting the jerking weight of my head. Pain spreads down my spine into my shoulders and back. The muscles in my legs burn from clenching them for so long, pushing myself hard against the wall. I try to ease off the pressure and find I still stay against the wall.

  Everything that’s happened feels surreal. Like it’s more likely for me to wake up and find it’s all a dream than it is to be reality. I hope I wake up on the boat soon. Maybe the pills Christian gave me have caused this weird, vivid dream. Portia, Mum and Aunty Selena are too deep in their own thoughts to speak. The loss of the others hangs heavy in the air. It’s stifling, too suffocating to speak about.

  And then there is us. Out here in the dark, tipping and tumbling … I can’t help but wonder if this raft is just delaying our own death. Would we drown if we capsize and go into the sea? Would we die of cold, hypothermia? Then I think of sharks.

  I feel my face crumple as my tears come. They slide down my face and add to the salty water in the bottom of our raft. I don’t want to die out here. I don’t want to die at fifteen. I don’t want to die, period. For all of us to be wiped out in one night is too staggering to think about, too unbelievable. Especially for my family. We’re the Chisels. Supposedly one of the most powerful families in the country … Obviously not when we go up against Mother Nature. Out here, Chisel power and money have no value. They mean nothing in the end. It’s a shocking realisation.

  I think of how much I hated Knox tonight, wishing he would be killed by some freak event, and I wonder if I’m being punished by some higher being. A powerful force from the universe.

  But deep down, I don’t really want Knox to die … maybe I just want him to move far enough away so I only see him at Christmas and on family birthdays, and to never see him alone, especially after he’s been drinking.

  I close my eyes and roll my shoulders, trying to move some of the stiffness away. I check the time. It’s almost five, which means it will soon be light. I can’t estimate how long we have been drifting around for, how long it’s been since the Land and Sea rolled over and sank. The storm seems to have eased a little. It’s stuffy inside our raft now, almost too warm, and I want fresh air. Then I realise I’m hearing a different noise. Different to the howling wind and the pelting rain. It’s waves breaking. And if waves are breaking, they are breaking onto something. We’d been headed for calmer waters, for the islands – is it possible we were almost there? Is it possible we would be out of this boat and on solid ground soon? Is it possible we could survive this?

  ‘Listen,’ Portia whispers. She has noticed the sound too. ‘Can you hear that?’ The hope behind her words brings a burst of power and energy to me.

  I can definitely hear it. It sounds like the beach. I rip apart the velcro and relish the fresh breeze against my face. I stick my head out of our life-bubble and see silver lines in the black water. Waves roll towards the dark shape of an island and break as they approach a narrow strip of beach. I scan the horizon. It is lighter outside our lifeboat than it is inside. There is a definite line where the ocean meets the sky. Daylight is on its way.

  Mum moves in beside me.

  ‘Should I jump out and kick us towards the shore?’ I say.

  ‘No. We must be drifting in anyway. Save your energy.’

  ‘I’ll keep watch. If we start drifting out again, I’m jumping in.’ I sound brave but really I’m thinking of sharks. I hate the ocean. Everything about it is geared up to kill you – that’s the first thing I learned at Nippers. The undertow is designed to draw you in, then when it’s rolled you around for a while, it turfs you back out against the sand or the rocks. If you’re stranded on it, like we are, you can’t drink it. You are on water, yet still might die of dehydration. Then, if we get into the water, there are sharks waiting with their rows of teeth, jellyfish and stingrays with their barbs. I urge our boat to keep drifting into shore. The hope that expanded in my chest a few moments ago has shrunk back down into a ball of tension, twisting my gut at the thought of getting back into that water.

  Mum squeezes my hand. She kneels beside me, but I can tell her thoughts are far away. She must be thinking of the others. I know I should be too, but for now I can’t help but focus on this island. I know it doesn’t mean we will survive, but being stranded on land must give us better odds than being stranded on water.

  Then I think of a book I had to read at school called Lord of the Flies. A group of schoolboys were stranded on an island and turned into savages. I hope that doesn’t happen to us. Do all people have that savagery inside them, ready to come out if and when they are placed in the right environment? Knox would kill me if it meant his survival. I’m certain he would. And as for savagery, he’s definitely got that streak in him. I’ve experienced that firsthand for years.

  ‘I think we’re moving towards it,’ Mum says.

  I swallow. I wish the others had made it out.

  It feels like another hour before we are ebbing back and forth in the shallows. The cloud cover is too thick to allow the sun through, but by the time we are close enough to the shore the sky is glowing pale grey, casting enough light for us to see. We are coming into what looks like a small cove. Rocks go up about thirty metres, but they don’t look too steep to climb.

  I jump out, hold onto the boat and walk it in. The feeling of solid ground beneath my feet brings such relief that I want to run to shore and kiss it. The beach is narrow and I wonder if it disappears entirely when the tide comes in. I think we should climb upwards as soon as we can. Portia jumps out of the boat and helps me. Then Mum climbs down, leaving Aunty Selena inside. She hasn’t muttered a word since the Land and Sea disappeared. Tear streaks mark her face and her eyes are red and swollen. She sits still, making no attempt to get out.

  ‘Come on, sweetie.’ Mum stretches her hand towards Aunty Selena. Selena reluctantly edges forward. I move in to support her as she steps down. When Selena’s feet touch the sand she drops onto her knees, her head falls forward and her shoulders start to heave up and down. I look away.

  Mum stands beside Selena and lets her cry. A hard lump forms in my throat and I think of the others. Selena’s entire family are out there, lost, maybe dead. I fight against my emotions and tell myself that now isn’t the time to be crippled by grief and worry. I turn back to the raft and give myself a minute before I use the waves to help heave it out of the water. Once I’m so far up the beach I can no longer use the waves to move the craft, it stays put. It’s too heavy to drag. Everyone will need to help. It’s safe for now and the automatic distress beacon on the bottom of the boat is still in wet sand, so hopefully it keeps sending out a signal.

  I turn and look at the island. It’s not how I imagined it would be. I’ve been to Fiji, Hawaii and heaps of islands in Indonesia, so I naturally assumed all islands had palm trees. Instead of palm trees, however, this island has sharp and jagged rock formations. My eyes trace their way up the cliff face to the sky. Maybe the palm trees are up there? Portia is walking back and forth looking up as well. She’s working out which way to climb. She turns to me.

  ‘Shall we take a look?’ she asks.

  I nod. We start to climb. The air is cool against my skin, but I soon heat up with the exercise. I’m thirsty.

  ‘It’s been raining,’ Portia says. ‘Let’s hope we can find some water up here somewhere.’ She must be thirsty too.

  The climb is slow but eventually we make it to the top. The clifftop is dotted with tiny pockets of water in the eroded rock. Some I can’t get my hand into, so I go for the larger ones. Portia does the same. It’s a bit gritty, but the water is fresh. We sit there drinking thimble-sized sips for what feels like hours.

  ‘There’s got to be a better water supply than this,’ Portia says, finally.

  I hope she’s right. Neither of us has shoes on and the rocks hurt my feet. There are still no palm trees, just low scrubby bushes that scratch my ankles every time I take a step.

  We tread carefully. My feet are bleeding, getting shredded. Portia sto
ps.

  ‘This is no good,’ she says. She spins around.

  I do, too, hoping an idea comes to me. ‘Maybe it’s best to follow the rocky bit around and see if there’s a bigger cove. There could be a better beach, or a cave in the cliff face.’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ she says. We turn back and retrace our steps towards the edge of the cliff. I’m relieved when we finally get there. It still hurts underfoot. This island is so spiky.

  ‘I’m just going to stand here and rest for a minute.’ Blood oozes from Portia’s feet.

  ‘Okay, I’ll take a look and report back to you,’ I say.

  My feet are bleeding, too, but I keep going. I tiptoe about fifty metres and then creep my way towards the edge. Every step causes one more cut to the soles of my feet. I peek over the cliff and my heart skips a beat.

  Three figures are strewn on the sand below. One is sitting up looking out to sea. The other two are lying down like they were flung out of the ocean and stayed where they landed. They are all wearing life jackets.

  ‘Dad,’ I scream. ‘Up here.’ I wave my arms around but Dad doesn’t turn. Portia bounds towards me to see. When she peers over the cliff her shoulders drop.

  There are three men in bright yellow vests. One is missing. It is obvious who isn’t there.

  When we stop running, we walk in silence, catching our breath. It gives me time to think. Ever so slowly it dawns on me that back in the office, when I asked Zel why I should trust him, he said, ‘because they’re dead and you’re not.’

  Two of those words ring in my head.

  They’re dead …

  Zel was wrong about the police taking their time to turn up. We double back and a police car is there. Zel holds my arm and walks me to his car. My mind is screaming to fight and run and to alert the police, but my gut instinct is stronger. I keep seeing Simon lying on the floor and hearing Zel’s words, telling me that the police can’t protect me. So I get into the car.