Apocalypse Now Now (33 page)

‘Wow, thanks,’ I say.

He sighs. ‘You know David Copperfield, the illusionist, right? He did this one trick where he walked through the Great Wall of China. They made a huge thing of it, attached heart rate monitors to him, in case he got “stuck” inside the stone. He walked through and the wall went all stretchy, but the whole time you know it’s all crap, it’s just an illusion that you want to believe is real.’

At this stage I have no idea where Ronin is going with this but I decide just to go with it. I nod.

‘Well, that’s what becoming an adult is like,’ Ronin continues. ‘You think there’s this great dividing line between child and adult, you’re brought up believing that you’re gonna do this trick, right, walk through the wall between the two, become an adult. But you get to the other side and you realise it’s just an illusion; there was no wall, just some smoke and mirrors. There is no line between old and young, the only things that mark your passing are the things that go wrong – the car accidents, cancers and heart attacks.’

That’s Ronin’s idea of a motivational speech and strangely, in a way, it works. After all, if I’m going to die, it’s good to know that most of what I’m going to be missing out on is mortgages, waiting
in traffic and misunderstanding my wife. Sure, hopefully there’d also be threesomes in hot tubs, hoverboards and the Singularity, but weighed against the absolute certainty of the mundane nature of real life it all somehow looks less attractive.

Plus it stops me from worrying about death and starts me thinking about the practicalities of finding a supernaturally guarded, mutant-infested ship.

I slide into sleep again and when I wake up we’re passing through the streets of a small seaside town. The roads are deserted as we coast down the high street and toward the beachfront. Ronin steers the van down a narrow road. There’s a lopsided circus tent sprawled on the dry grass that borders the beach. ‘Magical delites: You won’t beleef your eyes’ a sign says.

We park next to the tent, the dwarves pulling their bikes in next to us. Ronin nods toward a shifty-looking tavern. A blinking neon light on its roof shows a picture of a large manta ray. ‘Stay here,’ Ronin says and then climbs out and strides off toward the tavern.

The rest of the Spider are still sleeping but Rafe is wide awake. I don’t think he slept during the whole drive. He looks at me and gives me a grin. Then he opens the van’s sliding door and jogs off after Ronin.

‘What the hell is he doing?’ Tone hisses.

‘Being an idiot,’ I say. ‘I’ll go get him. He won’t listen to anybody else.’ I doubt he’ll listen to me either but I don’t tell the sangoma that.

I climb out of the VW and sprint after Rafe. He saunters through the doors of the tavern like the sheriff in a cheesy Western and I follow. A pall of smoke hangs in the tavern’s interior like smog. The place smells like salt and sweat. Small groups of circus people and sailors cluster around jugs of beer and stare up at a TV that flickers in the corner.

Rafe is sitting next to Ronin at the bar.

‘Sorry,’ I say as I reach them.

Ronin shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. ‘Too late now,’ he says in a low voice. ‘Sailor at four o’clock has a gun under the table.’

I turn to look and Ronin clamps a hand on my shoulder. ‘That doesn’t mean look at him, Professor Subtle. I just want you to know the situation we’re in.’

‘This person you’re meeting. It’s a friend, right?’ I say.

‘Not exactly,’ he says. ‘It’s an ex-girlfriend.’

‘Not –’ I start to say, and Ronin nods.

‘You’ve brought us here to meet a woman you left standing at the altar? Are you insane?’

‘C’mon, she must have forgiven me by now,’ he says. He turns on his bar stool to face the rest of the punters. ‘We’re looking for captain Sue Severance,’ he announces in a loud voice.

‘Good for you,’ a clown mumbles into his drink.

‘Never heard of her,’ an old sailor says. ‘No Captain of that name here.’

‘Well, maybe one of you can help us with something else then,’ Ronin says. ‘We’re looking for a ship.’

‘Try the marina,’ the old sailor says.

‘No, this is a military ship,’ Ronin says. ‘A destroyer, painted all black.’

The sailors laugh and turn back to their drinks. ‘That ship doesn’t exist,’ says a tall, dark-haired sailor in a tight black T-shirt with a broken heart on it. His forearms are criss-crossed with scars and he has a gold tooth that shines dully.

‘That’s not what we’ve heard,’ Ronin says.

‘Well, then, you heard wrong,’ he says. ‘So why don’t you take your little friends and get out of our pub?’

‘No need to get aggressive, friend,’ Ronin says. ‘We were just asking.’ The sailor stands up and downs his ale. ‘Perhaps you didn’t hear me,’ he says, approaching us.

‘What you gonna do, Popeye?’ Ronin says with a contemptuous snort.

What the sailor does is swing a wild haymaker that could crush rock. Ronin ducks the punch, grabs the bar stool, turns it and shoves the legs into the sailor’s crotch. The sailor grunts and doubles over and Ronin follows up with a vicious knee to his face. He crumples to the floor, blood streaming from a severely broken nose.

Ronin pulls Warchild from under his coat and shoves it into the sailor’s neck. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘for the slow and hard of hearing I repeat: we’re looking for Sue Severance.’

‘A bit heavily armed for tourists,’ a husky voice says.

I turn to see a woman standing at the centre of a group of sailors armed with Uzis. I recognise the woman from the photograph. She’s wearing a fedora perched on her dreadlocks and a lacy pirate’s shirt which is unbuttoned to reveal the anchor tattoo on her chest. My eyes are drawn to it and to the breasts, which are visible through the thin lace of the shirt.

‘What you looking at, boy?’ she rasps. She cups a breast in each hand and jiggles them up and down. ‘This one’s called Port and this one’s called Starboard, where would you like to unload your cargo first?’

I avert my eyes and mumble something incoherent.

She snorts. ‘That’s the problem with men, all talk and no action.’ She turns to her crew.

‘Put your guns down, boys,’ she says. ‘I know these pieces of dickcheese.’ She looks at Ronin menacingly. ‘Well, one of them at least.’ She waves us over into the back room.

Captain Severance sits down at a poker table with a skeletal old sailor. His few curvy strands of grey hair hang down the sides of his head like seaweed and he slurps at a huge tankard of beer. ‘Jackson Ronin,’ Severance says, shaking her head. ‘The last time I saw you, you were declaring your undying love for me.’

Ronin smiles. ‘Well, I’m not dead, am I?’

Severance returns the smile. ‘Not yet.’

‘You’re looking good,’ Ronin says.

‘Well, you look like shit,’ Severance says.

‘Yeah, we’ve had a little trouble,’ Ronin says.

She laughs. ‘Knowing you, that’s an understatement. Who are your little friends?’

‘Baxter Zevcenko,’ I say. ‘This is my brother Rafe.’

‘Kids the only ones that will hang out with you these days?’ she says.

‘We need your help,’ I say.

‘That much I know. If it wasn’t the case then Ronin wouldn’t be here. In fact, I’d wager you desperately need my help.’

‘They’ve got Pat,’ Ronin says.

‘Jesus,’ Severance says and takes a gulp of her ale. ‘Who’s got her?’

‘Mirth.’

‘A monster with a ponytail,’ Severance says. ‘I was hoping I would never hear that name again.’

‘I need you, Sue,’ Ronin says.

She leans back and puts her boots up on the table. ‘And I needed you once, Jackson. Remind me what happened there.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ronin says. ‘Truly sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.’

‘Just like you,’ Severance says with a shake of her head. ‘Quitting at the first sign of resistance. I didn’t say I wouldn’t help you. I like Pat but I’m not willing to risk my ship for her. The milk of human kindness does not flow from my teats.’

‘What do you want?’ I say.

Severance reaches beneath the table and pulls two long-barrelled silver pistols from beneath it and places them on the table.

‘Jesus and Judas,’ Ronin says.

Severance smiles. ‘My salvation and my downfall,’ she says breathily. Great, that’s all we need, another psycho with a weapons fetish.

‘Beautiful pieces,’ Ronin says.

‘But an incomplete set,’ Severance replies. ‘They have a larger brother that I would love to get my hands on.’

Ronin grimaces as if the very thought he’s having is giving him physical pain. ‘Forget it,’ he says. ‘Baresh gave you Jesus and Judas and he gave Warchild to me.’

She shrugs. ‘Your choice.’

‘Ronin,’ I say, ‘you’re seriously going to leave Pat to rot for a gun?’

Ronin clasps his hands together like he’s praying. He holds them there for a couple of seconds and then nods. ‘She’s yours,’ he says. ‘After I’ve used her to rescue Pat.’

‘And anything else we find on that ship,’ Severance says.

‘Fine,’ Ronin says. ‘I’m not going to stop you.’

Severance spits on her hand and holds it out. Ronin spits on his and takes it. Looks like we’ve got a ride.

The sailors grudgingly help us to pile our gear into Severance’s boat, a solid-looking fishing trawler called the
Salt Dragon
. Once inside it becomes apparent that the vessel is no fisherman’s skiv. Gun turrets are hidden beneath fishing nets on the deck, the hold is reinforced with steel and there are several secret compartments for storing contraband.

With our equipment stashed I return to shore.

‘You’re going to be OK, right?’ Kyle says.

I nod. ‘You?’

‘Bus leaves at twelve,’ he says. I can tell he desperately wants
to come with me, that he’s on the brink of insisting. I divert him instead. I look around. ‘Where’s Rafe?’

‘Probably back in the van. Don’t think he wanted to say goodbye.’

‘Typical,’ I mutter.

Kyle grabs me in a hug. ‘Don’t get killed,’ he says. I smile and pat him on the back. ‘We’ve got to rebuild a whole empire,’ I say. ‘Getting killed wouldn’t be good business.’

I say my last goodbyes to Kyle, Zikhona and the Kid and then climb up onto the deck and Ronin and I make our way up to the bridge. The command centre of the boat is decked out with sophisticated radar and tracking equipment, perfect for a smuggler like Sue.

She’s lounging against the wheel wearing a white captain’s hat with a playing card, the ace of Hearts, shoved into the brim, and sucking heavily on a cigar. ‘She’s near the Maelstrom,’ Severance says. ‘Whatever your boy Mirth is into, it’s something big. That whirlpool is huge and dangerous. Couple of fishing vessels have been lost and it’s a no-go zone now.’

The
Salt Dragon
gains speed and I make my way down to the deck. I stand with my elbows on the bow, watching as the boat cuts through the dark water. ‘Nervous?’ Katinka asks. She leans down next to me and pushes me playfully with her shoulder.

‘After this week I don’t think anything can make me nervous,’ I say.

‘Sorry to hear about your girlfriend, sugar,’ she says. ‘I’ve had my heart broken too. First time for you?’

‘I was stupid to care for her. I should have stuck to my plan: no commitments.’

‘Sounds like a one-way ticket to depression town, sweetheart,’ she says. ‘You got to care for somebody sometime.’

‘Turns out this time wasn’t the time, then,’ I say.

‘Listen,’ she says, ‘I’m not going to give you a “dance like
nobody’s watching” speech, but the fact that someone made you feel like that means you’re no robot, sugar. And that’s cause for celebration.’

‘Hooray,’ I say.

She chuckles. ‘If we get out of this alive, I’ll make you a mix-tape for broken hearts. It’ll sort you right out.’

‘If we get out of this I may even listen to it,’ I say.

Later I’m staring at the ceiling of one of the cabins thinking about Esmé when I hear the sound of feet running on the deck above.

‘Incoming,’ Severance calls from the bridge.

‘Get the Molotovs,’ Ronin shouts. ‘Quickly!’

We scramble below and frantically haul the bags full of Molotovs to the deck. Ronin hastily straps on the flame-thrower.

Back on deck the sailors have cleared the nets from the deck guns and are watching the skies nervously. I clutch a Molotov in one hand and a short, heavy handgun in the other.

Heavy machine-gun fire breaks the tense silence. A dark shape wheels in the air and heads toward us; behind it other dark shapes become visible, silhouetted against the night sky. The heavy deck guns strafe the air.

There’s a whoosh as a Crow swoops over us and Katinka leaps from the deck to chase it, an Uzi in one hand and a Molotov in the other, her white wings spread like a falcon’s as she dives after the bird, outpacing it and bringing it down in a flaming heap with a well-timed throw.

Another Crow lands on top of the bridge. The sailors swing the guns and empty dozens of rounds into it, knocking it from its perch onto the deck. I lob my Molotov and it hits the huge bird dead on, smashing and dousing it in flammable liquid. It’s only then that I realise I forgot to light it. I swear and search my pockets for a lighter as the bird claws itself back to its feet.