“Ah. Mr Oakley. Hope you don’t mind,” Sanderson began. “Took the liberty of coming down to lend a hand. Didn’t want the lack of electricity to delay the lunch service, you see.”
“Mr Sanderson. How nice to see you.” Martin spoke through gritted teeth. He hated it when Tom poked his nose in, but he was so tired he didn’t really care anymore. In fact, if it meant he could sit down and let someone else do the work, he was quite pleased. “Please, be my guest. I’ll just be over…” He waved a hand in the direction of a desk, and a very inviting chair.
Sanderson nodded and turned back to the others. “So that’s primed, and now we can begin the start-up sequence.”
• • •
There was no answer from Miss Linders, but there were voices. They sounded strange, unfamiliar.
They did not sound like the voices of children.
The beam of light moved frantically, too fast for Lucya to follow. She heard the sound of tables and chairs being dragged around, their sturdy metal legs scraping against the tiled floor. A bang close by made her think something had just struck the door.
Lucya rattled the handle again, then rammed the door with her shoulder. Her instinct told her something was wrong, and that it was important to get in there one way or another.
Then, another noise. A deep, low rumbling. A familiar vibration felt through the soles of her feet. She’d lived with that vibration for years. It had only stopped when they had found the Ambush, and connected to her for power. It was the unmistakable feeling and sound of the Arcadia’s diesel electric generators starting up. One of them, at least.
As the vibration settled down, lights began to flicker into life. The ship’s systems were designed to power up in sequence so as not to draw too big a load from the generators. The first lights to come back on were those far away, down the passage near the cinema. One by one, more sections of illumination were roused, getting closer and closer to Lucya. Then the lights right over her head powered up.
She stopped pushing at the door and tried again to look through the window. With the room beyond still in darkness, all she saw was her own reflection, her eyes wide with fear, although she still didn’t know what she was afraid of.
The noises inside had stopped. She heard a child whimper, then an adult voice shout something she didn’t understand.
After what felt like hours, but was only seconds, the fluorescent ceiling lights in the classroom finally began to awaken. They flickered and flashed, illuminating the room for microseconds at a time like tiny bolts of lightning. Lucya caught the shortest glimpse of the children; a snapshot, a hundredth of a second. Her brain processed the image: they were all seated on the floor, and she thought they had their hands on their heads.
Another flicker as the tubes warmed up. Another glimpse.
There were other people in the room. They were standing around the children.
Another flash, a tenth of a second longer than the last. The lights were almost on. Lucya thought she saw Miss Linders. It looked like Miss Linders. But she was on the floor, lying on her front. Something dark surrounded her head. Was it…blood?
Lucya banged on the door with both fists. “Open up! Open this door.” Tears rolled down her face. Her heart pounded in her ears, her hands burned with pain, and still she rammed them into the wood.
At last, with a final flicker, the lights came on, and stayed on.
Sixteen men in uniform surrounded the children. One man stood before the door, barricaded by classroom furniture. He stared at Lucya, his face devoid of emotion yet still somehow menacing, like a malevolent robot. In front of him, a child. He held her fast with his left arm. In his right hand, a gun. It was pressed into the child’s neck.
It was, Lucya saw with a mixture of horror and terror the likes of which she had never experienced in her life, pressed into Erica’s neck.
Twenty-Two
JAKE MET DAVE, the navigation officer, on his way back to the bridge. He had been on his way to start his shift when the explosion had occurred.
“A torpedo?” The navigator looked incredulous. “Are you sure?”
“That’s what the Ambush reported, before they disappeared.”
The two men were crossing deck ten, pushing the trolley from medical in front of them. It made barely a sound on the plush carpet.
“But who…where…why?” Dave struggled to get to grips with the idea. The questions in his mind competed for supremacy, none of them making it to his lips fully formed.
“I’m as clueless as you. I have a sneaking suspicion that the folks from the Lance might be able to shed some light on the situation though.” Jake stopped walking and hesitated. “Actually, you can do me a favour. Get this trolley to the bridge and help Vardy with McNair. I’m going to find those men we rescued.”
“Do you think we’re in danger? Someone tried to blow us out of the water. Will they try again?”
“That’s what I intend to find out. I’m just hoping it was the submarine they were after, and not us. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wishing any harm on those boys. Let’s face it though, they’re equipped and trained for this sort of thing.”
Dave nodded. He patted Jake on the back. “Good luck.”
As the men parted ways, lights began to pop into life, accompanied by cheering from parties unseen.
• • •
The darkness in Max Mooting’s gloomy office was not, for once, self-imposed. The head of security was getting impatient with the situation. He had been able to contact a handful of his team by radio — those who were within range without using repeater stations. His real concern was for Bembridge, or rather for the prisoners he was guarding in the makeshift brig. He saw no rational reason to be worried, but experience told him that bad things often happened when the lights went out.
He was contemplating a trip down to deck two to check on things, when he felt the unmistakable vibration of the diesel engines starting up. Up on deck six the vibration was barely perceptible, but after travelling for so long on borrowed silent nuclear electricity, even the tiniest change could be felt. Max sat back down and put his feet up on the desk, waiting for the power to come back on.
He didn’t have to wait long. In the corridor outside, a light came on, illuminating his office blind from behind, creating a halo effect. He grabbed his radio and punched in the code for the young man he had stationed down below.
“Bembridge.” A tiny beep indicated the transmission was over. The voice sounded apprehensive.
“This is Max. I need a status report.” He scratched his knee, then pushed his index finger up his nose and began to pick.
“They’re…they’re gone. The prisoners are gone.”
Max sat upright, slowly. He liberated his finger and wiped it on his trouser leg. “What do you mean, gone? Explain yourself!”
“The door…opened. When the power went. They got out.”
Max was on his feet, bellowing at the radio. “Why didn’t you stop them? No, never mind that. Where the fuck are they now?”
“I…I don’t know. I was knocked out. I don’t know where they went.”
Max swore repeatedly. He punched in a new code then spoke loudly and clearly into the radio. “All units, be on the lookout for escaped prisoners. Seventeen men, probably Korean, wearing military uniforms. They could be anywhere on the ship. Do not approach them, they’re dangerous. Call in immediately. Confirm you have received and understood this message.” He proceeded to call a rota of his entire team, addressing each name in turn and waiting for the officer to report back. All did, except one.