NaNo'17-13

 – Dean –

‘We’ve got to stay out a while longer,’ the captain explained. The whole crew were gathered on the main deck.

‘Is it going to stay like this, captain?’ Dean wondered, fearful of the answer.

 ‘This wave’ll be coming back out before long, I should think. We’ve already been pushed about by it and we’re okay because we’re out of harbour. No walls to get crushed up against. No land to get beached on when the tide goes out.’

They had sailed away from where the shore used to be. Dean hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the damage until it was out forced out of sight. Once they had slipped over the horizon, Dean had immediately retreated below decks to coax some response from the radio, but there was still no answer. Reluctantly, because he didn’t need anybody else telling him how bad this morning had been, he switched back to the news.

All other programming had been cancelled; the only story was the wholesale devastation wrought upon the eastern United Kingdom. Increasingly desperate reports followed each other – waves sweeping inland for tens of miles, severe earthquake damage to buildings from Norfolk all the way up to Teesside, and a serious explosion at a fracking plant east of Hull. Dean soon felt numbed by the whole thing. This far out from the shore, his phone was useless, and unless he heard specific mention of his town, he wouldn’t know until they got back to port.

He didn’t much care for his town, and he didn’t enjoy any time spent in his family’s company, but he equally didn’t wish to see the whole lot swept away by the sea. But what if it had been? Even though he couldn’t know – not yet – he had to get the shape of all this horror clear in his head. He got out a chart and stared at the lines, listening for every new place name. When he found them, he put a little cross through them with the pencil he normally used to jot down the Shipping Forecast values. He soon had a trail of crosses all across East Anglia, from Cromar and Mundesley, all the way south to Norwich and Beccles, then on past Laxfield and Saxmundham. He marked up all the points in between, though he hesitated anywhere the contours got close, because he hoped anything on those hills might still be dry. They were just names to Dean; he had no concept what the places were like, or how many people called them home. He just knew that, now, they were beneath ten feet of ice cold North Sea water. He was just putting a little cross through the tiny village of Frampton, when the hatch swung open.

‘Nice to see you’re doing something useful with your time,’ Carson spat.

Dean dropped the pencil and span around. Carson was lowering himself into the cabin, and there wasn’t a great deal of space as it was. He can only come for two things, Dean thought; to say he was needed elsewhere – which wouldn’t have required him to descend the ladder – or to engage in a fresh round of torment.

Quite apart from all the other reasons why Dean hated being on this ship, and resented a system that said he had to do this rather than work towards something better, First Mate Carson made his life a living hell.

‘Tucked away in your hidey hole, that’s right. Keep out the way of us doing any real work, you slacking little shit bag.’

Dean knew he could not just stay silent. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of anyone on the radio –’ he began, but Carson laughed unpleasantly.

‘Don’t fucking sound like it, does it? Just sitting down here, having nice little relaxing time of it, listening to the shitty news. Well?’

‘I was radioing,’ Dean continued, a little more firmly. ‘But nobody’s answering, so I was trying to find out if the port’s been flooded.’ If he was wasting his time doing this, then the first mate definitely was. Maybe he’d mention it to the captain next time he went up top.

‘What, this rubbish?’ Carson demanded, pushing past Dean and staring at the map. ‘Bloody idiot,’ he snorted, and span on his heel, knocking Dean aside as he ascended the ladder. Dean sat back down, waiting for the footsteps to fade away, then turned the radio up a notch and listened to fresh reports.

The hatch swung open again. Full expecting Carson had come back with more unpleasant remarks, Dean did not look around, but he was surprised when a different voice intruded on the space.

‘Alright, Dean?’ It was Paul, the only person aboard the Blackwater Star that Dean considered decent, aside from the captain, of course. They didn’t speak much, usually just acknowledging each other whenever they passed, but Dean thought Paul might not be vehemently opposed to his presence.

‘Oh, hey Paul,’ Dean mumbled, but he looked round and they exchanged nods.

‘Captain’s put us all on break,’ he explained. ‘There’s nothing to do, really. We’ve just gotta sit it out until the sea decides it wants to get back where it belongs.’

‘Mmmm,’ Dean agreed, for want of something better to say.

‘If we’re out much longer, then the catch is as good as spoiled,’ Paul added, sitting himself on the bunk Dean normally occupied for the duration of each voyage. ‘And… well, I guess it’s not gonna get off on the trucks in time. I’ll bet there aren’t any bloody trucks running, if it’s as bad as it sounds,’ and he nodded towards the radio, still babbling in the corner.

Dean agreed. ‘Yeah, it does look bad…’

‘Dunno why the captain doesn’t just order the lot pitched overboard right now and be done with it. But, I reckon he’d rather hang tight on the hope that we might still make it back before then.’

Paul listened for a few minutes then shook his head at the end of a report where a journalist in a helicopter described the scene over a drowned Norwich. ‘I’ve been marking it all on the map,’ Dean announced, not sure why he was letting another person know, after what had just happened with the first mate.

‘Let’s see,’ Paul asked, sliding off the bunk and standing over the table. Dean felt very self-conscious, but he explained the crosses on the chart and how he had marked off every village and town name he had heard on the radio.

‘I haven’t heard all of them,’ Dean said hastily. ‘I mean, there’s hundreds, they wouldn’t mention all of them… I mean, I don’t think they could.’

‘Probably can’t even see some of them, now,’ Paul agreed. ‘You know, just farms and a few cottages… Still see some stuff, though. There were some big tower things I could see just before I went on break.’

Dean nodded, then turned back to the chart, pointing out where he had currently heard about. ‘It was heading south and west, I guess, and he picked up the pencil to add another cross. Paul looked to where the pencil had been resting and took a sharp intake of breath.

Dean looked round. ‘What?’

‘How far south did you say the water went?’ Paul asked again, though he had just heard the answer. Dean looked puzzled, then repeated it.

‘Snape,’ he said, pointing to the small village on the north bank of a wide river. But Paul’s eyes were not fixed on the village of Snape at all, but at a point on the coast, north east of the last cross.

‘No…’ Paul breathed. ‘No,’ and he turned for the hatch, clambering up two at a time.

‘What?’ Dean asked, following on. ‘What’s happened?’

But Paul was sprinting across the deck to the bridge now, with Dean hot on his heels.

The captain looked surprised to see the two youngest members of his crew tearing across the deck, and stepped out to meet them before they knocked each other over trying to fit through the door at the same time. ‘Lads? What’s this?’

‘Captain!’ Paul exclaimed, puffing hard after the run. Carson appeared from the bridge, too, initially curious, but his expression became dismissive at the sight of Dean bringing up the rear. ‘What’s our position, captain?’

‘Position?’ the captain echoed, puzzled by the commotion. ‘We’re well out to sea,’ he explained, beckoning the pair to follow him into the bridge. Carson stood aloof at the back, though Dean, stood in the doorway, did not make eye contact with him. ‘We’re a bit south of Lowestoft, now.’

‘How far south?’ Paul demanded. The captain and first mate looked shocked at his tone. ‘Can you get a GPS fix?’

Still looking confused, the captain returned to the controls and checked their position. Dean saw the captain’s brow crease, and a little of Paul’s fear seemed to infect him. He gripped the door frame rather tightly.

‘Quite a bit south of where I thought,’ the captain muttered, and he looked up. ‘What made you ask, Paul?’

‘Dean’s been marking off everywhere he’s heard on the radio that’s been affected by the wave,’ Paul said, still breathing fast. Carson’s unpleasant sniff of derision came from the gloomy corner of the bridge.

The captain ignored it, though, keeping his gaze fixed on the two young men. ‘What’s got you so worried?’

Paul raised his hand in response and pointed towards a handful of imposing brick and steel structures. In their midst, a great white dome was poking out above the waves. ‘What’s that?’

‘Hell’s teeth…’ the captain breathed. Smoke was starting to spiral from the complex. ‘It’s Sizewell…’

He took hold of the wheel and span it away, turning them back out to sea. ‘I don’t understand,’ Carson interjected. ‘Sizewell? We should be bloody miles away from there!’

‘We must have drifted,’ the captain retorted, now putting power to the engines. He sounded the alarm, and men appeared from below, looking bewildered at the unexpected summons.

‘What is that?’ Dean asked, turning to Paul. ‘What’s at Sizewell?’

‘A bloody nuclear power station!’ Paul explained, and Dean felt the blood leave his face.

‘How have we drifted this far south?’ Carson demanded again, but nobody answered him. ‘Current doesn’t even go this way!’ The captain seemed to be fighting with the controls, and kept staring at the dials in disbelief.

Dean turned back to the smoking spires of Sizewell, which did not seem to be getting further away. If anything, they were gradually sliding towards the north. ‘Captain?’ Dean asked, poking his head back into the bridge. ‘We’re going backwards?’

‘I’m aware of that, Dean,’ the captain said through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t put the power up much more, or we’ll burn the engines out.’ Carson stood beside the captain, and stared white-faced at the sea. ‘Paul, go and round up the lads,’ the captain instructed.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And pitch the catch overboard.’

‘Sir?’

‘We need to lose weight,’ the captain explained curtly, still fighting the wheel. The sea seemed to be flowing fast. ‘Quick about it,’ he added, glancing up from the controls to see Paul’s expression. ‘And give him a hand, Dean.’

‘Y-yes, sir,’ Dean agreed.

As he turned to leave, he heard the captain order Carson down to the engine room. ‘Give us everything she’s got.’

‘What the hell’s going on?’ Dean wondered. ‘Why can’t the captain get us out of here? Why are we sailing backwards?’

Paul shrugged and led the way towards the group of trawler men.