Life Goes On by Tayell, Frank (large ebook reader txt) 📗

“Yes, but will they land there, or when beyond radar range, will they change course again?” Adams said. “There are many islands in the Caribbean Sea. Many tax havens. Many runways and many private planes.”

“So that could be where they came from,” Tess said. “But where were they going? They didn’t respond to a radio call?”

“It’s the Adventure all over again,” Adams said. “At present, all we can be sure of is that there is at least one working runway, with a fuel supply, somewhere in the Caribbean.”

6th April

Chapter 40 - A Ship, a Plan, a Canal: Panama?

The Panama Canal

“I wish they’d stop telling us what the radiation levels are,” Zach said.

“You and me both, mate,” Clyde said. “Have you got a spare mag for your sidearm?”

“I mean, I wish they’d just say whether a bomb had been dropped nearby or not.”

Tess found herself looking south, watching the helicopter disappear. Aboard were the two scientists, and Hawker, Oakes, and Commander Tusitala. As far as Tess understood it, while the radiation readings had increased, that was to be expected here, ten kilometres north of Panama, where the Caribbean Sea reached a dead end.

A quite literal dead end. The surface was littered with unidentifiable flotsam, a floating carpet of wood and plastic which had grown increasingly dense as they neared the isthmus. But that wasn’t why the captain had brought the ship to a halt. Ahead floated a luxury ghost-yacht, dead in the water, its sails furled.

About fifty metres in length with a white hull, low bridge, aft sundeck, and small pool. Forward of the bridge was enough deck-space to land a helicopter if the mast hadn’t been in the way. A second mast rose from inside the cockpit. According to the hull, the vessel was the Fortunate Son, and it wasn’t on the list they’d found in Dégrad des Cannes. Though the vessel had engines as well as sails, they were three and a half thousand kilometres from French Guiana, and those sails would have allowed it to travel from anywhere.

The sails were furled, rather than left to be ripped ragged by the storms, but the only things alive on the ship were the quartet of gulls perched atop the giant masts.

“Leave the carbine, Zach,” Clyde said. “It’s a small ship with very narrow corridors. Take an extra bag instead.”

“What for?”

“Booty,” Clyde said. “This is the Caribbean, mate. Time for you to learn how to be a pirate.”

Aboard the yacht, as Clyde went below, Tess headed up to the cockpit.

“Clear,” she said, holstering her sidearm. “Come on in, Zach.”

“Three captain’s chairs,” Zach said. “That’s cool. They’ve got more screens than the warship.”

“Look around for a journal or ship’s log,” Tess said.

“Bet it’s on the computer,” Zach said. “I could try turning them back on.”

“Rule-eleven,” Tess said. “Never turn something on unless you’re certain you can turn it off. Otherwise we could go shooting off towards Mexico before we find the brake.”

“Nah, there’s no books here,” Zach said. “Can we go below?”

She drew a crowbar. “Keep your gun holstered. The interior walls will be thin. Accidentally shooting Clyde would be a seriously bad way to end the day.”

The spiral staircase led down into a space the same size as the bridge, but with a single flat screen dominating the aft wall. Four armchairs were bolted to the deck, but with additional seating provided by the cushioned bench ringing two walls.

“Four armchairs down here,” she said. “Not a sofa. But there’s only three chairs on the bridge.”

“They swivel!” Zach said, falling into one, and giving it a spin. “Cool. But weird.”

“The ship must be custom built,” Tess said, crossing to the aft doors. “Four seats, I’d say that means a family of four.”

“Or four kids,” Zach said. “Or one guy who had three friends.”

“Fair point,” Tess said. “Galley and toilets through here. Have you got your bag?”

“Yeah, hang on, wait. There’s a book wedged down here. It’s a journal.”

“Chuck me the bag while you take a read,” Tess said.

The galley cupboards were half stocked with a mix of the ultra-expensive and solidly sugar. Bright pink marshmallows shared a shelf with jars of stuffed lychees. Caviar kept company with peanut butter. Goji berries neighboured jellybeans. All together, it was almost enough to fill the bag.

“Anything in that diary?” she asked.

“Yeah, they came from Louisiana. That’s in the U.S., isn’t it?”

“Yep. In the south. On the Gulf of Mexico.”

“They found the boat after the outbreak. It wasn’t theirs. They claimed it.”

“Pause the reading for a moment,” she said. “Take this bag onto the deck, and tell the ship we’re cool.”

A clunk marked the sound of the room’s other door opening.

“She’s empty,” Clyde said. “The engine’s been partially dismantled.”

“I guess they didn’t know how to use the sails,” Tess said.

“Let me see if they wrote about that,” Zach said, flipping through the book.

“No, take the bag onto the deck, and get Mr Dickenson to come aboard to check the engines,” Tess said. “Then come help me loot. I’ve grabbed everything from the snack-galley, but from the amount of food in there, there must be more below.”

There was, but it was all the same odd mix of adult-luxury and kid-marketed junk foods.

While the engineer inspected the engine, Tess carried the loot back to the deck, where Zach was working his way through marshmallows and the book.

“Share and share alike,” she said, taking the candy from him. “What’ve you found?”

“A girl wrote this,” he said.

“Does she have a name?”

“Not yet, but the handwriting is readable, plus she dots her I’s with hearts. Bet it’s a girl. Like fourteen, fifteen years old, I think, because she mentions how all her high-school friends