Separation

Looking up, the entrance to the redoubt could be quite plainly seen and once more it crossed Mildred’s mind to wonder why the predark base had been left so completely undisturbed over the past century.

Rounding the hill, the companions found that they were immediately ascending once more, the land on the reverse of the hill narrowing to a band of rock that formed a sharp slope that led upward to form a bridge between the hill and the mainland. The tides around the coast had to have eaten away at the rocks over centuries, chipping away the land until it formed little more that a narrow causeway. The topsoil that covered the hill became more sparse, slabs of rock showing through and coloring the landscape a slate gray.

“I’ve got a feeling I know why the redoubt has been left alone,” Mildred said as they climbed, the incline becoming steeper with each footfall.

It was a rhetorical statement. They could all quite clearly see what had happened. The centuries of tide had worn the rock to a narrow bridge, the shift in the landscape fashioned by the post-nukecaust nuclear winter rendering a causeway at its narrowest point. Jagged shards of rock fell abruptly away to the razor-sharp granite below, which was consistently being lashed by the current as the tides forced water into the narrow channel. Across the divide, which seemed to be about ten yards in length, the causeway reappeared with the same jagged disruption in the pattern of the dark rock face. It was as though the tide and the earth movement beneath had caused a great chunk of the natural bridge to be ripped wholesale from the causeway and just tossed away, isolating the hill completely from the mainland. Beyond the divide, the causeway widened to join the rest of the coastline, where the greenery was lush and the land looked fertile and verdant.

“Fireblast,” Ryan whispered softly. He knew that if there was some way to bridge the divide, they would reach a landscape that offered the promise of good living and perhaps a friendly ville. To their back lay only an island and the barren hill, with the possibility of a quick mat-trans jump to another place—always assuming their constitutions could take another jump so quickly. Knowing how Doc and Jak were always affected, and from the way in which Dean had suffered with this particular jump, it didn’t seem a viable option this soon.

Jak joined the one-eyed man at the head of the divide and looked down onto the razor-sharp rocks. The albino looked across toward the far side of the gap, screwing up his red eyes to get a better view in the wind that whipped through the hole left by the missing rock.

“If bit shorter, would say try climb down, mebbe get across, then make rope across.”

Ryan nodded briefly. “String some across, then hand-over-hand. Half, mebbe three-quarters, of the distance and we could all make it. But this is a bit much for Doc, mebbe for Mildred and Dean, as well. Anyway, who could get down this side, across and then up the other?”

Jak shrugged. “Mebbe me, if water not run strong down there.”

Ryan cast his eye down to the cross-tide as it crashed on the razored rocks. He grimaced. “Yeah, try to get across those rocks with no tide and you could probably just about make it. But if one of those waves catches you, you’re fucked.”

Jak nodded once. “Cut you up like the sharpest knife.”

“Nothing to do except go back, then,” Ryan stated.

The other companions moved to the edge of the rock for a better view of the channel. Looking along the coastline that lay behind the hill and peninsula, they could see that the drop from the top of the land to the sea below was sheer for as far as the eye could see. Small strips of sand here and there ended in a sheet of rock that would impede any progress, even assuming they had a craft on which to sail around the hill and the causeway. The rock bridge, so violently severed, was their only practical hope of reaching the mainland.

“I fear this may turn out to be something of an anticlimax,” Doc said woefully.

“Mebbe not,” J.B. told them. “We’ve got two choices—go back to the redoubt and get the hell out…”

“Or?” Dean asked.

“Or we try to get to that island, see what it’s like there. Mebbe there’s some life of some kind, or mebbe just a place we could rest up for some time.”

“Life?” Mildred questioned. “John, how the hell could anyone live on there, cut off from anywhere else?”

The Armorer gave her a rare grin. “I only said mebbe, Millie,” he countered.

They turned and walked back down the incline of the road to the base of the hill.

“What do you think, Dad?” Dean asked. “Reckon we could get out to the island?”

“Not keen on making another jump so soon?” Ryan queried.

Dean tried to keep the darkness out of his voice, but couldn’t stop it crossing his brow as he spoke. “I can’t say as I’d be too happy about having to do that,” he said simply.

“That is something on which I think many, if not all, of us would agree,” Doc muttered.

“Rather chance water than go back to mat-trans so soon,” Jak added.

“I figured you’d mebbe all feel that way,” the one-eyed man said as they hit the road base and rounded the circumference of the hill. They came to the thin strip of beach that petered out into nothing at the bend of the land.

Ryan looked toward the island, judging not so much the distance or the terrain as the state of the water that lay between. For about half a mile or so the water was quite calm. It also seemed to be calm as it neared the shore of the island. However, there was about a mile of rough sea between these two points, the white water pointing to a boiling rage of current beneath the almost-calm surface.

“Do you think we can make it across that, especially with no raft of any kind—and nothing that I can see around here to build one?” J.B. asked.

Ryan shook his head. “It’s a hard call,” he mused. “I figure we’re all strong enough to make the distance. The only problem is just how much of a bastard that current in the middle is going to be.” He continued, pointing to the white water that speckled the surface, “And how deep is this channel? Are there rocks under the current like the ones we’ve just seen, waiting to rip us to shreds if we get pushed onto them?”

“That’s an awful lot of maybes,” Mildred mused before a grin creased her features. “I’ll tell you something, though. We should go back to the redoubt and have a look around. There may just be something we can use in there.”

“I doubt that,” Ryan said with a resigned tone. “I can’t remember ever seeing anything like a raft or boat in any redoubt we’ve ever been in.”

“Yeah, but when was the last time we landed up in a redoubt so close to the ocean?” Mildred countered.

Ryan paused and thought about that. “Not any time I can recall,” he said finally.

“Exactly,” Mildred said. “The way I see it, there’s a chance that whoever used that redoubt before skydark might have had something, even if only for their off-duty hours.”

Ryan’s face broke into a grin. “Now that’s something that I hadn’t thought of.”

The group turned and made its way back up the shale-and-gravel road that led to the sec door. They moved freely and quickly, knowing that they were safe from attack, and with a sense of purpose engendered by the search for a craft of some kind to take them across the channel to the island.

As they reached the crest of the hill and the small recess where the sec door lay, Mildred paused to look over her shoulder and across to the island. For just a second she felt a cold shiver run up and down her spine, rippling the muscles and causing a pool of cold sweat to gather in the small of her back. She frowned, wondering why she should have such a portent.

“That’s usually Krysty’s department,” she muttered.

“Did you say something, Mildred?” the red-haired woman asked, moving back to where Mildred was staring across the channel.

“Oh, nothing…” Mildred replied, turning from the sea to walk through the now-open sec door and into the redoubt tunnel with Krysty. They walked in silence, Krysty puzzled as to what Mildred had really meant, and Mildred pondering why she had suddenly felt as if something of significance was about to happen.

By the time Krysty and Mildred had caught up with the rest of the companions, they were already in the elevator.

“Hurry up,” Dean said urgently. “We need to scour the dorms and the storage areas.”

“Why hurry?” Krysty questioned. “The island’s not exactly going anywhere, is it?”

Dean shrugged. “I know, but I just don’t like being stuck on a lump of rock in the middle of nowhere.”

“Fair enough. I guess I know what you mean.”

The elevator doors closed and they descended to the lower level of the redoubt, where the living quarters of the long-since-deceased-and-deserted inhabitants had been situated. It was here they were to begin their search.

It was thorough and systematic. Grouping into pairs—Ryan and Krysty, J.B. and Mildred, Dean and Doc, with Jak operating on his own—they searched the storage and dorm areas looking for a boat or for something that they might be able to use to construct a raft.

It was Jak who hit paydirt. Joining him in response to his shout, the companions found the albino teen in a storage room that contained a lot of sports equipment, as well as three inflatable rafts, two canoes and some paddles. It was obvious from their design that they weren’t of military origin, and had more than likely been used by long-gone soldiers for recreational trips onto the sea during off-duty hours.

“What you reckon?” the albino asked, smiling as he dragged the two canoes from under a mass of equipment and separated the rafts from a tennis net and two basketball nets.

“I reckon those are a no-go,” Dean said, pointing to the canoes. “You can only get two of us in each, and there’s no way we could keep any of the supplies balanced.”

Ryan agreed. “Those, on the other hand,” he added, indicating the rafts, “could probably take three or four apiece when they’re inflated, as well as being able to ballast the supplies.”

“Only thing we have to do is find something to inflate them with,” J.B. commented.

Mildred shrugged. “If they were used here, then the odds are there are some gas canisters somewhere. Guess we just need to look.”

Jak rooted around, and located canisters of gas that had been used to inflate the rafts in predark days.

“Hope there’s enough in there to still do it,” he commented as he dragged the canisters from beneath some boxes.

“Only one way to find out,” Ryan said. “Let’s get these bastard things down to the channel and try to inflate them.”

Chapter Two

They carried the rafts and canisters to the strip of beach, not knowing if the containers held enough gas to inflate the rafts. What they would do if the inflatable craft remained uninflated was a problem. They had the two canoes, which they had left in the redoubt, and Dean wondered if it would be possible for them to travel in relays across to the island. As the canoes took two people, two would set off, then one would return to pick up another person. With two canoes and only seven companions, it would take a couple of journeys.

Ryan, however, was unsure about the relays. However it was organized, one person on each canoe would have to make the trip twice. Looking out at the choppy sea where the white-water currents ran, with who knew what lying beneath the surface, he thought it would be too much to ask of any of them—even himself or J.B.—to make the trip for a second time in rapid succession.

“Then what do we do if these rafts stay this flat?” Mildred asked, taking the yellow plastic of a raft in one hand and holding it, noting how fragile the material was for the task it was about to face.

“We think of something else,” Ryan replied. “But it looks good so far.”

J.B. linked the canisters to the valves on the sides of each raft and released the tap that allowed the pressurized gas to pass into the raft.

The yellow plastic gradually began to unfold and to spread out across the sand as the hollows within ingested the light gas. The rafts began to increase in size and strength, the tubular sides becoming harder to the touch.

Ryan and J.B. stood back to let the craft inflate. Jak, Krysty and Doc joined them.

“It would seem that there may well be enough of the mixture within to give us some hope,” Doc commented.

“Looks like,” Krysty added. “It’d be worse to see the rafts half inflated and then the gas run out. More of a disappointment.”

“An understatement if ever there was one,” Doc murmured wryly.

However, there was little cause for such disappointment as, both rafts now fully inflated, Ryan and J.B. moved forward to disconnect the canisters from the valves.

J.B. cursed as he wrestled with the aged valve, creaking and stiff from lack of use. “Dark night, if this all leaks out while I try to seal it…” The canister came away easily but he could hear the gas escaping through the valve opening. Closing the valve with a minimum of delay, the Armorer tested the tubular sides of the raft to see if they had lost any of their tautness. The plastic was still hard to the touch, almost like a solid block of wood.

Ryan, having similar trouble, swore to himself as he secured the valve on his raft. As had the Armorer, he found the valve to be stiff from age and lack of use, but, thankfully, the gas had leaked at such a low rate the raft was still solid to the touch.

“Okay, people,” he said, standing back, “guess we’re ready to go for this. J.B., you take that raft with Jak, Doc and Dean. I’ll take this one with Krysty and Mildred. We’ll divide the baggage so that we get slightly more in this one,’ he continued, prodding the raft with the toe of his combat boot.

“Sounds about right,” the Armorer replied, casting an eye over the assembled companions before polishing his spectacles in readiness for the journey ahead.

The division of personnel and supplies was based on the size and weight of the individuals concerned. With seven people and two rafts, one would have to take four and one three. The problem was how to divide the personnel so that the weights would be roughly equal in each craft. Given that Ryan would pilot one craft and J.B. the other, it made sense to put the three lighter people in with the Armorer—who was himself wiry rather than muscular like Ryan—and to take the two heavier individuals with himself. Krysty and Mildred were both muscular for women, whereas Jak and Doc were very light for men. Dean was still—in this sense—a child. This arrangement would leave the weight distribution a little uneven, with the emphasis on the Armorer having the heavier boat. But by taking more of the supplies on with Mildred and Krysty, the one-eyed man would be able to balance the weights more successfully.

The two parties divided and loaded the rafts before carrying them to where the waves gently lapped at the shore.

“Take it out some way before launching,” Ryan yelled to J.B.

The Armorer agreed. “Figure that this tide is deceptive—could push us back easier than we think. Go up to the waist?”

“Yeah, that’ll make getting aboard real easy,” Mildred said to Ryan.

The one-eyed man grimaced. “I know, I know. You figure how we can get past the wave limit, and I’ll go along with it.”

Mildred chuckled. “Yeah, okay, boss. I know we don’t have a choice, I was just moaning some.”

Krysty raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that? Yeah, I think you’re speaking for me, as well.”

The good-natured banter helped take their minds off the fact that the seawater was icy cold on their legs as they moved deeper into the tide. The current tugged at the sodden clothing around their limbs, flooding the boots on their feet. It had been a conscious decision to not shed these, in case they became separated at some point from the rafts and thus lost their invaluable footwear. It was just that right now it felt as though that very same footwear was weighing them down as the waves washed over them, trying to tug the raft into shore as they pushed out.

J.B.’s estimate had proved correct. By the time the water washed around the waist of even the tallest of them, they had passed the point where the gathering waves tried to take the raft back to shore. Now they could mount the crafts to begin the short journey in earnest.

As the raft bobbed on the water, Ryan held it steady as Krysty and Mildred climbed in. They found it hard to get purchase on the slippery plastic, which gave too easily beneath them, allowing seawater to pour into the shallow basin. Both cursed heavily but managed to balance the raft as Ryan heaved himself over the lip and into the main body.

“Fireblast, I hope this island is worth it,” he breathed heavily. “You wouldn’t reckon on something this simple being so damn hard.”

“Gets harder, lover. You take first pull at the oars,” Krysty said slyly, handing him the paddles and pointing in the direction of the island. “Shouldn’t take too long.”

Ryan took the oars from her without comment and began to pull toward the island.

Meanwhile the other raft had proved to be less problematic for Dean and Jak, who were light enough to mount the raft without much trouble. But Doc had more of a problem, slipping in the water as he tried to thrust himself over the lip, nearly turning it over. It was only J.B.’s hand at his back, pushing him up, that stopped him from slipping back into the water.

“My apologies,” Doc gasped as he settled himself and lay back to help balance the raft for J.B.’s entry. “I fear that the sea is an environment I find all too alien.”

“Not the only one,” Jak commented, barely suppressing a shiver as the icy cold of the water still chilled his bones.

J.B. took the oars and began to row, with some distance to make up on Ryan. His muscles knotted as the sea gave hard resistance to his strokes, making the tendons stand out as he gritted his teeth and gave more effort.

Both Ryan and the Armorer discovered that, despite the seemingly calm exterior, the tidal currents beneath the surface were strong and pulled in different directions, countering each other and attempting to shift the rafts first one way and then the other. Progress toward the island wasn’t as swift as they would have liked, every stroke forward also taking two from side to side. If the sea was to prove this difficult when it appeared calm, how would it be when they hit the white water, the area where the turmoil beneath the waves was actually visible on the surface?

“Here it comes—better hold on tight,” Ryan warned as he looked over his shoulder to see the first rearing horses of white water approach.

In the other raft, it was Jak who sounded the alarm. “Real bad sea coming….”

If anyone had had the time to reflect, it might have been obvious that the patch of choppy sea was caused by a tidal stream that ran through the middle of the channel. A tidal stream with a current so strong that it cut through other crosscurrents as they pulled the direction of the water every which way—This tidal stream was stronger than any force that any of the companions could exert on the oars.

“Bastard!” Ryan yelled suddenly, his voice whipped away on the wind that now blew hard and harsh across the channel.

As the raft reached the white water, the first blow of the erratic and dangerous tide took him by surprise. He had been ready for something, but not this. The water moved beneath the raft like a solid floor, suddenly shifting direction and lifting it onto the crest, pulling the oars from the water and tugging them almost out of the one-eyed man’s grip. It took all Ryan’s strength to hold on to the oars, although they were next to useless as they paddled thin air. The raft was thrown up by the white water and spun in a semicircle before hitting the sea again with bone-jarring force. It was all that he, Krysty and Mildred could do to hold on to the ropes ringed around the tubular structure, curling them around their wrists as much as possible to gain a better purchase.

No sooner had the raft hit the water than it was pitched sideways by another conflicting current. It spun across the surface, almost hitting the raft piloted by the Armorer.

Not that J.B. was having any better luck in his attempt to control his craft. The first patch of choppy water had pitched the raft from underneath, upsetting the balance of the raft and almost overturning it. Water washed over the sides and filled the bottom, making it difficult for J.B. to pull on the oars. Dean and Jak immediately started to bail, but were stopped by the next buffet that lifted them up and propelled them forward. At least it was in the right direction. It did, however, bring them into direct collision with the other raft.

“Dark night! If I ever get off this crappy sea I’m never getting wet again,” J.B. muttered as the water forced the two crafts together, the hard, inflated plastic tubes crunching together and forcing his craft into a strange angle from which it was all the occupants could do to keep hold. For the briefest of moments the Armorer caught a glimpse of Mildred, their eyes meeting across the spray of water that washed into the bottom of each raft. He could see primal fear—the fear of buying the farm—in hers, and he was damned sure that she could see the same in his.

And then they were apart again.

“Fuck it! There’s more than just water underneath us!” Ryan exclaimed as the bottom of the raft hit the sea once more and bulged in a shape that was gone before they could even attempt to identify it. The shape appeared again at the side of the raft, where it slammed into the side and sent it spinning once more.

“Oh my Lord, what’s that?” Mildred whispered as a lithe, black shape moved out of the water and reared up before falling once more into the waves with an impact that sent a huge wall of water washing into the raft. The water hit them in the face like a rock, forcing its way up nostrils and into mouths, making it hard for any of them to breathe.

“Hold tight. If it hits us, we’re over,” Ryan gasped, securing his wrists to the ropes along the sides of the craft, any thought of saving the oars long gone.

No sooner had he spoken than the creature reared up in front of them. Whatever it was, it was obviously annoyed they had crossed its path and impeded its progress, and it was now going to make them pay for it.

Whether by accident or design, the creature faced the raft, its black, empty eyes staring. It was blue-black, the sea glistening off its skin and scales to give it a smooth look. The eyes were like black marbles. There was no glimmer of any anger, pain, desire. Unlike any predatory animals they might have encountered on land, this creature of the sea showed nothing of whatever it felt inside…even if this was anything other than merely the mildest irritation.

“Oh, shit, this is going to be bad,” Mildred whispered to herself.

Ryan gritted his teeth and tensed his muscles, expectant of an imminent impact.

Krysty pushed back into the side of the raft, her arms entwined with the ropes in the same way her hair entwined her neck, the sentient red tresses coiled close to her scalp and around her neck, reflecting the severity of the danger they all faced.

The creature seemed to hang in the air for an eternity, surveying them with an almost dispassionate and detached air of calm. It seemed as though the sea was suddenly as calm, the tides slipping away. There was no sound, no spray, no movement of any kind. It was one second stretching out forever. The moment of anticipation. The moment for which they were prepared, but which they hoped would never come.

And then it did. Even though their consciousness had slowed to let them absorb and prepare for the situation, there was still nothing they could do.

With a screech that may have come from the creature itself, or may just have been a trick of the winds and their imaginations, the creature rose, pulled back and then crashed down on the raft.