October Song by Ru Pringle

Author:Ru Pringle [Pringle, Ru]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-19T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 34

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RPG

ALISTAIR BLOWS OUT a great huff of air. As he does, he seems to transform subtly. Something inside him hardens. He looks up the mast at the Windex. Then at the wind-speed, boat speed and depth indicators, and the compass. He looks around with slow deliberation, as though committing his surroundings to memory.

‘This,’ he says, ‘will be interesting.’

Something’s blocking Coira’s throat. It feels like her heart’s trying to emerge from it. ‘Pirates?’ she manages.

‘Something like that. Pay out the jib sheet a few centimetres, please.’

She does. She watches Alistair look at the GPS speed indicator. It’s reading a little over seven knots. He seems satisfied. ‘Who d’you suppose they are?’

‘People who came here on boats? Separatists? Islanders who got desperate?’ He shrugs. ‘Doesn’t really matter. This is an ambush. When they saw we’d got spooked, they were straight to their boats with weapons. I don’t think they’ll be asking us ashore for tea.’

‘So what can we do?’ Coira’s all too aware how shrill she sounds. ‘In their speedboats they can probably go, what? Thirty knots?’

‘I’m working on it.’

His mouth is a tight line. For a few seconds he seems to freeze once more, like a robot that’s run out of power.

Then he growls: ‘Take the tiller. Aim directly for those islands off the south end of Iona.’

Having checked she’s seen where he’s pointing, he vaults in one fluid movement through the cabin hatch.

Coira lunges for the tiller, just in time to stop the boat pirouetting. Clutching it tighter than necessary, she slides onto the uphill bench, feet braced against the bench opposite. Already she can hear the roar of outboard engines.

She resists the urge to look.

A lot of thumping and clattering is going on below decks. Alistair’s head and torso reappear. He jabs an oil-blackened finger against a button near the hatch, producing a muffled, coughing clank and sounds of water squirting from the rear of the boat. The deck trembles and a puff of fumes and smoke eddies around the cockpit. Somewhere beneath her bum she hears a twin-piston engine rumbling unevenly to life.

‘Should give us an extra knot or two.’ Alistair springs back into the cockpit as though the hatch was a piece of gymnastic equipment. His brow is sheened with sweat.

‘I thought …’

‘We’ve enough juice for a few kilometres. Personally I’d class this as an emergency.’ He motions for the binoculars. As he puts them to his eyes, she risks a peek astern.

The boats have already reduced their distance by at least a quarter. There’s no point pretending their target is anything but Otter’s Pocket.

‘Kalashnikovs,’ Alistair murmurs, sucking his teeth.

‘How many?’ She’s not sure why she asks the question. Possibly because if she doesn’t feel involved in some way she will simply freeze up.

‘Enough.’ As if realising this isn’t entirely helpful, he adds, ‘I see two rifles per boat. That’s what they’re showing us. I’ve no idea what they have down on the decks.’

‘That’s … not very reassuring!’

Coira doesn’t think she’s been this scared before. Not at Craobh Haven.

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