Noah’s Ark: Destination: Noah's Ark, #5

By Harry Dayle

Time has run out for the embattled community aboard the cruise ship Spirit of Arcadia. Their options for survival have dwindled, leaving only one viable course of action. With their outlook bleak, civil unrest threatens to destroy everything they've worked for. Yet all hope is not lost. One among them could hold the secret to a brighter future.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, or so the saying goes. Having lurched from one calamity to another, Captain Jake Noah and his end-of-the-world companions should be tough enough to face anything. But the community has been beaten down by its constant battles against death, and is in danger of imploding.

A last glimmer of hope lies with a young man from a land far away. Does he hold the secret to the future of the fleet? Jake thinks so, but the choices he makes now will spark the most frightening challenges of his life, as forces both inside and outside the ship conspire to try and defeat him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harry Dayle
• Release date: Jan 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224714384

Book preview

ONE

Stateroom number 847 on the Spirit of Arcadia had seen more drama than most cabins on the cruise ship. More action perhaps, than any room in the whole Pelagios Line fleet. It was a little known fact, for example, that more honeymooning couples had stayed in 847 than in any other room, including any of the bridal suites. An even lesser known fact was that 847, a distinctly average set of rooms, was the birthplace of more extramarital affairs than anywhere else aboard. Within its walls, the seeds of destruction of many a family had been sown.

For the past three months, 847 had been pressed into service as a medical ward. The deadly virus that had almost wiped out the remnants of humanity had begun right next door. 847 had hosted the dying.

Shortly after that crisis was over, emaciated Norwegian sailors — who had been imprisoned in their own ship — rebuilt their strength and regained their health in the chintz-wallpapered suite.

Now cabin 847 was occupied by a man. A teenager, really.

Seventeen-year-old Gan — surname unknown — had been lying comatose in its bed since being rescued from Yulin. He had been there for just over a week.

Hello, Gan, said Captain Jake Noah.

Jake. Gan croaked his response. He looked dreadful. His eyes were barely open, and he was so thin it was as if someone had sucked out his flesh and left loose skin draped over his skeleton.

You were shot, Gan. Do you remember? On the side of the mountain in Yulin.

The boy tried to nod, but his muscles were incapable of generating movement. He gave up the idea, and grunted instead. His eyes worked though, and they scanned the room slowly, taking in the people gathered around his hospital bed.

I should introduce everyone, Jake said, noting the young man’s apprehension. He looked to his right. This is Captain Coote of the Royal Navy. He has a submarine that travels with us.

Morning, old boy! Coote beamed. Heard all about you. Welcome to our little fleet.

Next to Coote is Ella Rose, Jake continued. Then Amanda Jackson, and on the end there, Grace Garet. Grace is our head of security. Don’t worry, you’re not in any trouble! He gave a nervous laugh, unsure how much their guest was taking in. Turning on the spot, Jake looked to the line of people on his left. Lucya Levin is our chief radio officer, and second in command of the ship.

Great to meet you at last, Gan, Lucya said, her bright smile lighting up her face. I can’t thank you enough for helping Jake and the others get free.

Gan’s eyes fixed on her, his mouth twitched, but he remained silent.

Next to Lucya, Jake said, is Doctor Grau Lister. He and his team have been looking after you. They’ve done a fabulous job. You’re in the best possible hands here. Next to Doctor Lister is Kimiko Matsuo. She speaks some Chinese.

Miss Matsuo greeted Gan in his own language. He stared at her, a flicker of recognition crossing his face.

And finally, Silvia Brook on the end there. She looks after accommodation, and assigning jobs, and… Listen to me, going on. You don’t need to know all of this now. There’ll be plenty of time for that—

The door flew open, banging as it rebounded off the wall, and causing all heads to turn. A man strode in, muttering loudly.

Never mind me. It’s not as if engineering need to know where we’re going. And it’s not as if I’m on the committee or anything. Except, oh, wait, I am!

Jake drew a short breath. And this is Martin Oakley, our chief engineer. Glad you got the message, Martin.

What message?

Jake ignored him. I know that’s a lot of people and a lot of names, Gan. I would have preferred to hang on until you’re up and about before introducing you to everyone, but this is too important to wait. We need to hear what you can tell us. We all need to hear. All of us, because we’re the ruling committee, and that means we decide where the ship— where the fleet goes next.

Gan stared back at Jake for a long time, then his eyes swept the line of people crowded around the bed once more. He opened his mouth and tried to speak, but managed only a dry, rasping sound.

Carrie! Grau called loudly. He hobbled forwards, clutching the rail on the side of the bed for support. Can you bring our patient some water, please?

Thought you said he was ready to start talking, Martin scoffed. He shook his head and found a chair at the back of the room, parked himself, and closed his eyes.

Jake regarded him with disdain. He is ready. Give the guy a chance. He only woke up for the first time last night, and he was pretty dazed and disoriented. He’s looking a lot better now, believe me.

Jesus. Martin kicked the carpet.

The nurse arrived and helped the young patient sip some water from a plastic beaker. Most of it dribbled down his chin, but the little that made it into his mouth apparently did some good.

Gan cleared his throat and tried again. Gan on ship?

Yes, you’re on the ship, Gan. You’re safe here. Nobody’s trying to kill you. Jake nodded enthusiastically.

I might, if he doesn’t spit it out soon, Martin said, still with his eyes closed. He had rested his left ankle on his right knee, and his foot jiggled about nervously.

Jake felt the others in the room tense up. The atmosphere had been edgy enough without the moody engineer adding to it. The man in the bed very possibly held the key to their future. Since the news had spread between the committee members that he was out of his coma, nobody had slept a wink. The sense of pessimism that had hung around since abandoning Yulin a week earlier had evaporated, to be replaced with a new hope. The anticipation was palpable, but it was plain to see that Gan was delicate and should be handled with care. Idle threats, no matter how tongue in cheek, were not helping.

Don’t mind him, Jake said. He has a strange sense of humour.

Gan fixed Jake with a stare, then quite unexpectedly his face broke into a grin. Englishman, he croaked. Funny, Englishman. Gan like much funny Englishman.

There was an audible sigh of relief from all corners of the room as the small crowd relaxed.

Jake took a step forward and rested his hands on the bars at the foot of the bed. Gan, do you remember when you helped us get away from the men? The crazy men?

Crazy men, drink bad water.

Yes, those are the ones. The men who drank the poisoned water. When we were running away from them and we hid in their submarine, you told us about the Americans. Do you remember that too?

Americans dead. Gan slow. Gan try help, crazy men eat.

Right. But some of them got away, yes?

Three men, save. Tell Gan: Gan help Americans, Gan come with.

But you didn’t go with them.

The young man scowled as best he could given his limited facial mobility. Americans go. No take Gan.

Jake drew a deep breath. Gan’s memory appeared to be intact, unharmed by the bullet he had taken, and the blood loss and coma that had followed. There was no point probing further into the established facts. He broached the subject they had all come to hear the answer to. Gan, you told us that if we took you with us, we could all go to the promised land together. Do you remember that?

Promised land good. No crazy man. No bad water. Good land.

The room was deathly silent. All eyes were on the gaunt patient. All ears strained to hear the faint words that escaped his lips. Heart rates rose, muscles tightened, breathing quickened.

Jake asked the question in barely more than a whisper, as if afraid to shatter the aura that encompassed them all. Where is it? Where is the promised land?

No reply.

He tried again. The Americans told you about it, yes? About a place where there’s no ash. A place we can live safely. A place where we can grow food and build houses and schools, where we can bring up our children—

Jake, Lucya whispered. She prodded him in the side with a finger.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, pushing aside the utopian image that had taken hold in his mind. The Americans told you where the promised land is?

Yes.

The grouped members of the committee leaned in, willing the answer to come.

Gan squinted, and tried to open his eyes wider. If he was intimidated by the situation, he didn’t let it show. Over the sea, he croaked.

Jake glanced at Coote, whose smile faltered only for the briefest of moments. Over the sea? What does that mean?

Promised land far. Cross many oceans.

Martin groaned. Lucya took a step back and kicked his shin.

Go on, Jake said gently. Which oceans must we cross?

Many oceans, Gan repeated. His eyelids sunk low. His nostrils flared, and he burst into a fit of coughing.

Carrie was beside him in an instant and helped him to sit more upright. Lister pulled himself to the head of the bed, but he wasn’t yet stable enough on his legs to let go of the rail and assist.

Gan’s cough persisted. Spots of blood speckled the brilliant white sheets that covered him. The doctor and nurse team exchanged a worried look.

Grace, fetch Vardy please, Grau said. The rest of you, I think you should leave now. Our patient needs rest. This is too soon.

Grace scooted out of the door to find the Surgeon Lieutenant. The others hung around awkwardly until Carrie snapped at them. You heard the doctor. Please leave!

What if he dies on us? Martin said, standing and stretching. We need to get more of an answer before he pops his clogs.

Martin! Lucya gave him a shove and he stumbled towards the door.

Jake followed reluctantly. He took one last look at the man who had saved his life, and wondered if he really held the key to their future.

TWO

And then what happened?

I don’t know, Max. That’s when we all left. Grace came back with Vardy, who had been holding the fort next door in the main medical suite, and they closed the door. We were all left outside in the corridor.

Max sighed. He pulled himself up in the bed, leaned over to the side unit and poured himself a good measure of single malt. More?

It’s seven-thirty in the morning. We have to get up and get ready for work. How can you drink so early?

He screwed the cap back on the bottle, stuck it in the top drawer, picked up his glass, and downed the dose in one. Easy, he said, and smacked his lips. Just like that. Why didn’t you hang around outside, see what happened to the lad?

Because that wouldn’t be discreet. And it’s not like Grau was going to question him, is it? What are you going to do if Grace finds out you nicked that? It’s evidence.

Screw Grace. Screw her evidence. Her suspect’s dead anyway. So you don’t even know if this Gan character’s still alive?

I’m sure Jake would have let us know if he wasn’t.

Max snorted. I wouldn’t be so sure.

Silvia pulled back the duvet and sat up. I expect Gan will be feeling better this morning. A good night’s rest will have helped. When Grau thinks he’s ready, we’ll have another go. Might be better if it’s just Jake and the doctor next time. Poor lad. You should have seen him, Max. He looked like a frightened little rabbit.

He should be under armed guard. What do we know about him really? Apart from that he likes to carry a bloody great sword.

Don’t be silly. He saved the lives of the landing party. That should tell you all you need to know. Silvia pushed herself out of bed and headed for the small bathroom. I know you don’t like Jake, but I don’t understand why you’re so against finding out where these Americans went. If there’s somewhere safe, somewhere we can go—

There is somewhere safe. Faslane. And we’re already going there. We don’t need an imposter messing up our plans. We should never have left there in the first place. It’s been a catalogue of disasters since the day we sailed out of that loch. For all we know, the boy could be leading us into a trap.

Silvia sighed. You’ve been too long in the job. Can’t see the good in anyone. You’re always looking for an ulterior motive.

Max shuffled back down the bed and pulled the cover up to his chin. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Silvia. Back self-interest, Silv. It’s a philosophy that’s never let me down yet.

After a quick kiss goodbye from Lucya and Erica as they headed off to deck two and a new day at school, Jake made his way to the bridge. He had slept fitfully, half expecting the telephone to ring at any time, and to hear Grau tell him that Gan had not survived the night. There had been a lot of blood, and when the coughing had eventually stopped, Gan had lost consciousness. But the phone had remained mute, and Jake’s partial state of alert had been for nothing.

Morning, Jake, McNair said brightly. He was perched in the captain’s chair, his wheelchair parked neatly beside him.

Morning. Anything to report?

"Another quiet night. Haven’t heard a peep from the Ambush boys. I’m guessing Gunson’s reactor fix is holding up better than they expected."

Is that the reason for your sunny disposition this morning? Jake walked to the front windows and looked out to the horizon. The sky was mostly grey; just a few slashes of light broke through. The sea was calm, and there was little wind. A regular day. A dull day under any other circumstances. Only the tantalising prospect of another chat with Gan marked it out as different.

That would probably be more to do with the fact it’s Monday. My coffee rations ran out on Friday. It’s been a tough weekend.

Jake chuckled. I thought the night shift got extras.

Not enough. Oh, Joseph called. Early. Six o’clock. Said to tell you he’d like a word, if you have a spare few minutes during the day.

Down on the outer deck, Jake saw a young couple hurrying their child along. He knew they lived on deck three, just one deck away from the school room. But every weekday morning they took the stairs up a few flights, walked a full circuit of the ship, came back in and went down to drop their son off for class. It was a bizarre routine that should not have made any sense, but Jake understood perfectly well. The need for normality, a desire for the familiar, these were strong callings. He saw them manifest all over the ship, little echoes of past lives brought to this strange transient existence at sea. The unnecessary school run was one of a thousand rituals that the community had created. The couple rounded a corner and disappeared from view. Jake looked back out to sea. No sign of Dave this morning?

You’re the first of the day shift.

Not like him to be late.

McNair picked up a clipboard and glanced at some handwritten figures. Let’s see. We picked up a little bit of speed after midnight. The wind dropped a fair amount, which probably explains that. The computer estimates we’ll be in Faslane in another twenty-two days. He paused, and the smile slipped. So, er, that’s good, isn’t it?

Isn’t it? You don’t sound convinced.

McNair clambered out of the chair and — refusing any assistance — hobbled to his wheelchair. Jake leaned against the captain’s seat, waiting for him to get settled.

No, it’s good, McNair said without conviction. More coffee. More food. Yeah, it’ll be good to get back there. Right, better get on. I’m going to find me a drink and then get some sleep.

Dave turned up half an hour later, mumbling some excuse that Jake wasn’t really paying attention to. The rest of the bridge crew were already at their posts. Chuck Masters was on lookout, and Lucya had been on the communications and navigation console until Dave arrived. Their jobs did not require much oversight. Navigation was handled by HMS Ambush, sailing alongside the cruiser. Via the ingenious tethering system, the Royal Navy nuclear submarine not only provided power for the whole fleet, but also directed the ship’s computers.

Neither Lucya nor Dave resented this outsourcing of their skills to machines. On the contrary, it left them free to work on other projects. In Lucya’s case, that meant constantly scanning the airwaves for signs of life, as well as sending out their own signals to anyone who could be listening. Dave Whitehall’s projects were, as far as Jake could tell, to do with figuring out how the giant asteroid that had ended most life on Earth, had altered the oceanic currents. Dave seemed to think this was important, but to the other bridge officers it was just the strange hobby of a man with too much time on his hands. Sure, the changing currents had sometimes caused them to go faster or slower than expected, but the wind did that too, and besides, they were hardly on a timetable. Not anymore.

With Dave around to keep an eye on the radios, Jake felt more comfortable about leaving the bridge. It meant Lucya would be in the captain’s chair.

No problem, she said, when he asked her if she would mind doing a stint. Going off to see your bit on the side?

He smiled, but the slight still hurt. His name might have been cleared, and their relationship was undoubtedly stronger than ever, but Jake didn’t like to be reminded of recent events. Their temporary separation had been more upsetting to him than being imprisoned by cannibals. Joseph wanted a chat. As it’s quiet up here, and there’s still no word from medical, I thought I’d pop down to the plaza.

Say hi from me.

I will.

Farm Plaza remained one of Jake’s favourite places on the ship. When he stepped through the double doors into the outside space he couldn’t help himself; a broad grin painted itself across his face. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, but the air always seemed to smell fresher in the little farm.

The place was a contradiction in every way. An oasis of greenery floating in a grey sea. A haven of calm despite the busy labourers who scurried between the lush beds. Surrounded as it was by the towering decks of the cruiser, hundreds of expensive balconies overlooking it, the plaza made Jake think of New York’s Central Park, shrunk down to a miniature scale. It really was a world away from anywhere else on the ship.

Joseph was on the other side of the farm showing a couple of girls exactly how he wanted a new bed planted up with seeds scavenged from kitchen waste.

Jake strolled casually through the narrow paths that crossed the space, enjoying the sight of a verdant potato crop that was evidently enjoying the sporadic bouts of sunshine that were, if not common, at least more frequent. Morning, Joseph. No, don’t let me stop you.

The farmer nodded politely, and finished instructing his young recruits. He heaved himself up to his feet and took a few steps back down the path. Jake followed, silently. Joseph was a man of few words, but they were usually important ones and well worth listening to.

Farm looks incredible, Joseph. I know I always say that, but honestly, it never ceases to amaze me what you’ve achieved with so few resources.

The two men stopped in the middle of a salad patch, and shook hands. We’ve got people, Captain Noah. They’re the most important resource.

Some people are more important than others.

Joseph turned a brighter shade of red.

McNair said you wanted to see me?

Mm. Word is, we’re going back to Faslane. That right?

Yes. It’s hardly a secret. We had a town hall meeting about it. Didn’t you come?

The older man pulled a face. He turned to look at his flourishing lettuces.

We don’t really have much choice, Jake continued. Yulin was our best hope for a permanent settlement. Now that’s no longer an option, well, we can maybe try America. But realistically… There’s a pattern emerging. The further south we’ve gone, the closer to the equator, the worse the destruction has been. Faslane only survived because it’s deep underground. The chances of finding another base like it are remote. We’re better off going back to where we know. And we have to face facts; remarkable though the plaza is, it’s not going to feed almost three thousand people. There’s food in Faslane.

And when that runs out?

That’s the point of the pilot community. They’re setting up their own farm right now.

Joseph shook his head. Scotland. You know what they grow in Scotland, Captain? Sheep, that’s what. A few grain crops. Some potatoes. It’s not arable land.

You think we’re making a mistake?

The farmer knelt down and started brushing some errant soil from a couple of the plants. I think I’m more worried that my efforts here, he frowned, our efforts, are in vain. And if I’m honest, the prospect of seeing out my days living underground does not fill me with joy.

Jake knew what he meant. Joseph wasn’t the only one saying it. There had almost been a riot when the meeting had been held to divulge to the community what they had discovered at Yulin. So much hope had been invested in the Chinese base. To have it taken away at a stroke was too much. Everyone had seen the sandy beaches of Sanya Bay. Everyone had seen the green slopes of the mountain, miraculously cleared of toxic ash by immense rainfall. And everyone, Jake included, had imagined the community that could be built on the sheltered tip of Hainan Island. Life in an underground bunker in the cold, wet wilds of Scotland could never compete with what had been dangled in front of the people’s eyes, only to be cruelly yanked away at the last moment.

"It’s only temporary, Joseph. We’ll restock the ship with food supplies. Perhaps diesel, too, if the group there have done everything they were hoping to do. And then we can plan our next expedition. One or two in the committee have floated the idea of exploring the North American coast in the Lance. A small group could survive three months."

And what do you think they’ll find? Joseph stood again, his rough hands pushing against his knees as he fought gravity. Another Faslane? Should we be excited by the prospect that we might, in the best case, swap one tomb for another?

Jake desperately wanted to tell him that there was another hope, that the man they had brought back from China possibly held the key to paradise. The committee had been unanimous on that point, though. Gan’s presence on the ship was not a secret. The notion that he knew of a place cleansed of ash, was. We’re lucky to be alive, he said. "Anything more than that is, well, a bonus. And it’s not like you’ll never see daylight. Even if the Arcadia never leaves Gare Loch again, we’ll still need this farm. Every last square centimetre of it. If you want to stay living on the ship, then of course you can. Nothing has to change."

But everything will change, Mr Noah. These crops, he surveyed the greenery before them both, they need sunlight, warmth. Mrs Mitchell’s aquaponics system is the same. I fear it will not thrive so far north.

I promise I’ll relay your concerns to the committee. Beyond that, I am but one man with limited power. Jake glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. Just…don’t give up hope. Not yet. The world can change in a heartbeat. We’re a testament to that.

Jake didn’t feel like going straight back to the bridge. Instead, he stopped off at deck eight and went in search of anyone who could update him on Gan’s condition. He was met by an unusually upbeat Russell Vardy.

Jake! They found you then?

Who?

Whoever went looking for you.

Why was anyone looking for me?

I called the bridge. They said they’d send someone after you. Doesn’t matter, you’re here now. He’s awake again. Speaking better, too. Getting that blood out of his lungs helped.

Really? He made it through the night?

Vardy laughed out loud. Of course! There was never any doubt. If you’re ready? Miss Matsuo’s already with him, but under strict instructions to keep away from the subject of the you-know-what until a representative from the committee gets here. That would be you.

Jake, who had been flagging after two virtually sleepless nights, felt suddenly alert. Lead the way.

They snuck into cabin 847 quietly, expecting Gan to be resting. They were astonished to find him speaking loudly with Kimiko Matsuo. His face was animated and the words were brisk. He gushed in his native Mandarin.

Miss Matsuo looked like she was having some trouble keeping up, but she smiled sweetly, nodded in what were apparently the right places, and uttered a few encouraging words any time Gan drew breath.

Jake sat on the chair Martin had occupied the previous morning, and waited patiently for the conversation to come to an end. Vardy looked on with what Jake took to be pride in a job well done. Against the odds, Gan had made a remarkable recovery.

When the discussion finally came to a close, Jake stood to greet Gan properly. Good morning, my friend. How are you feeling today? You seem better.

Yes. Gan good. Pain. But Gan speak well.

Yeah, I noticed. Jake winked at Matsuo. Anything interesting? A private conversation, perhaps? Sorry, I probably shouldn’t really ask.

No, that is fine, Captain Noah. Gan was telling me about his kitchens in Yulin, and some of the friends he had in the base. I think. My Mandarin is a little rusty.

Sounded pretty good to me. Could you ask him if he’d prefer that we continue in his own language?

Matsuo nodded and related Jake’s question.

Gan looked at the captain and replied in his stilted English. Gan speak good English!

That told you! Vardy said with a chuckle.

Jake double-checked that the door was closed, and returned to the bedside. Gan, you were telling us about the promised land yesterday. You said that the Americans told you they had to cross many oceans to find it. Do you know which oceans?

Gan tensed. His eyes wandered, eventually fixing on a point somewhere just above Jake’s head. Not all oceans. Promised land in big ocean.

Jake, sensing an opportunity, changed tack. Is the promised land an island, Gan? You understand island? Surrounded by water, like Hainan. He glanced across at Matsuo, who closed her eyes for a second, then uttered a couple of words.

Gan’s face lit up. Yes, island! Promised land island.

Jake’s heart was pounding. He felt like a detective, trying to prise information from a key witness. You don’t know the name of this promised land though? You don’t know what it’s called?

No name. Americans no say name.

Do you know how to find it?

Promised land in big ocean.

Vardy sighed. He doesn’t know, Jake. You’re going round in circles.

Jake ignored the navy man. Is it in the Pacific ocean?

Gan looked at him quizzically.

Pacific? Miss Matsuo…

She translated, and Gan shook his head gently. He mumbled some words, and looked pleadingly at his translator.

He says he does not know the names of the oceans, only the South China Sea. I think he’s embarrassed. He was in the navy, but working in the kitchens on land.

Jake could see that the lad was certainly uncomfortable with his lack of geographical knowledge. Still, he felt sure that he knew more, that there were other clues he could prise out of him. Do you know if the Americans went east or west?

Matsuo translated again without prompting. Near to America, he says. The promised land is near America.

So you’re saying, Gan, that the Americans told you that there was a place — this promised land — that has no toxic ash, and that it is an island near America?

Yes! Gan nodded a bit too enthusiastically, causing himself to cough and splutter.

Vardy jumped into action and helped him through the uncomfortable moment. There was blood, but less than the previous morning. When he asked Gan if he wanted to be left alone, he was waved away.

Jake waited until he was given the all clear to proceed. How did the Americans know about this promised land?

The question received a blank look.

When did the Americans come to Yulin? Do you know why they were there? If they knew there was an island that was safe, why did they come into your base?

Long time. Many nights.

A long time after the asteroid? The rock in the sky. Jake sighed, frustrated. Miss Matsuo?

Another gabbled exchange.

He says he does not know how long ago, but it was probably many weeks before Jake and his friends came to Yulin.

But we’re sure it was after the asteroid?

Of course it was, Vardy said, butting in. We saw the uniforms. We saw the bodies.

That doesn’t prove anything.

You think they were eating American sailors before the world ended? Vardy glanced at Matsuo and, seeing the shocked look on her face, made no further comment. Much of what had happened in Yulin had only been publicly recounted in the most superficial terms.

Matsuo cleared her throat. Gan says that yes it was after the asteroid. Some weeks after.

Gan talked some more, his eyes flitting between the three of them. Matuso nodded and waited patiently as he got out everything he felt he needed to convey.

He says it was a couple of weeks after the asteroid that the Americans came. The other men in the base were not so crazy then, but the food had already run out and there was already much violence. The men and the officers fighting for any food scraps. Gan says he stayed out of the fights, hiding in the tunnels. He does not know why the Americans came to Yulin. He thinks perhaps to see if there were survivors they could help. The men locked them up, and Gan helped some escape. He says they promised to take him with them, and talked of a promised land, and he believed them because why else would they leave if there was nowhere to go? They could have hidden in the tunnels with Gan. He knew where more food was hidden. He thought the other men would all end up killing each other, and then he and the Americans would be safe in the base, alone.

Jake rubbed his forehead. He knew the young man was trying to help, but it wasn’t enough. Gan, is there anything else you can tell us? Anything that can give us a clue where your promised land might be? East coast of America? West coast? North? South?

Near America, he said quietly. His face fell.

Thank you, Gan. You’ve been very helpful, Jake lied kindly.

THREE

Dave Whitehall couldn’t wait to get away from the bridge at the end of his shift. The mood had been sour for most of the day. Nobody was saying exactly what was going on, not openly, but he had a pretty good idea. One of the advantages of being the quiet guy, getting on with his work unobtrusively in the background, was that people often forgot he was even there. So it was perhaps unsurprising that when Jake had returned around lunchtime, in a miserable mood, he had begun talking to Lucya about his meeting with Gan.

Dave had already heard a few snatched morsels of conversation on this subject. Sometimes when Coote had come up to the bridge, sometimes on the intercom when Jake talked to Ralf. That Gan knew of a possible destination for the fleet was a poorly kept secret.

To be fair to Jake, it had been Lucya who had broached the subject. In hushed tones she had asked him how it had gone in the medical suite. Dave couldn’t hear every word that passed between them, but he didn’t need to. The meaning was clear enough. Either Gan wasn’t saying, or he didn’t know what they all thought he knew.

One snippet of the captain’s chat had piqued Dave’s interest though. Something about an island off the coast of America. He would have loved to have asked for more information, but he was a lowly bridge officer, not a committee member. He was in no way bitter about being out of the loop. If the committee wanted its secrets, there was probably a very good reason.

Dave made his escape from the bridge the minute the clock ticked over to the end of the shift. He took the stairs instead of the lift, always eager to get what little exercise was available.

He stopped at the Rosebud Café overlooking Farm Plaza, ordered two coffees, and was politely reminded of the new rules. Rations were to be collected in person, not by a third party.

That’s fine, Dave said cheerfully. Take them both off my ration card. He pulled the printed slip of paper from his pocket and pushed it across the counter.

Eliza looked at him with arched eyebrows. Are you sure, Dave? Just because you’re feeling flush ’cause it’s Monday—

Sure’s sure. One of these is for a special lady.

Well, well, well. I never thought you had it in you. It’s true what they say, it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for. Eliza took the slip of paper and crossed out two squares, repeating the action on her own list behind the counter. Here you go then. Good luck! She served up two cups of instant coffee and gave him a big grin, holding up crossed fingers on both hands.

It’s not like that, he began.

Yeah, yeah. The quiet ones! You sneaky devil.

He collected up the drinks and walked away before his brightening face could give away his embarrassment. He knew that Eliza would misinterpret it, which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. He didn’t want her to know just how much he looked forward to passing by the little cafe, how precious those few moments spent ordering drinks were to him. He would sooner throw himself overboard than have her realise just how much of his time he spent thinking about the next time she would smile at him and wish him a pleasant evening.

Taking the stairs again, Dave descended three more decks, glad of the chance to come back down to earth before reaching his ultimate destination. Pushing the door open with his back, his hands still encumbered by the coffee cups, he exited