Now there was nobody. Scott knew where they had gone. Everyone was outside, desperately trying to catch a glimpse of land now that they were finally on the move again.

Erica had told him she would stay close by. She was with Andrea, and she’d assured him they wouldn’t go further than her friend’s cabin up the hall. He couldn’t be cross with her; he would have gone outside too. Except right now he couldn’t go anywhere, and that was the problem.

His feet had turned to lead, and he was losing the feeling in the lower half of his legs.

At first he had assumed it was pins and needles, just as his daughter had experienced the day before. He had tried shaking the life back into his limbs, but his efforts were futile. Standing was impossible; without feeling, he couldn’t balance. After half an hour of waiting it out he realised they probably weren’t going to get better by themselves, and that medical assistance would be a good idea. The budget cabin was not equipped with a telephone; he needed his daughter to fetch help.

“Erica, sweetie? Daddy’s not cross with you, I just want you to help me with something. Are you there?”

He made a decision. If she didn’t come back within the hour, he would have to try and drag himself to the medical centre. Quite literally.

• • •

Jake stared out of the wide opening. HMS Ambush’s conning tower seemed a long way away. The makeshift ramp that the engineering team had rigged up looked flimsy at the best of times, and now that both vessels were moving, it looked even more perilous. The connection had been made from a flexible telescopic walkway that was normally used by passengers getting on and off when docked in a port. On the Spirit of Arcadia side, the walkway was securely fixed with special bolts, just the way it was designed. The far end had been lashed to the submarine’s tower with a complex array of ropes, knots, chains, and who knew what else. Martin had told him it was done in such a way that it would detach easily should the two boats become separated. This had not filled Jake with confidence; he had no intention of taking a swim. It was all well and good the ramp being attached to the deck two exit, but that was still higher than he wished to fall should the thing fail.

They were not travelling particularly fast; the reactor in the navy vessel wasn’t designed to power and propel a cruise ship as well as perform its regular duty and they didn’t wish to stress it. Even so, when he stepped out onto the walkway the wind slapped and whipped at him with unexpected ferocity.

“Come on, old boy, we’ll be upon that signal before you get across!” Coote bellowed from behind him, laughing heartily as he did so.

“This is bad enough when we’re not moving. I feel like I’m about to walk the plank!” Jake gulped a huge breath of salty air and stepped forward with faux confidence. Once he got going it was easier to continue. He didn’t look down, or behind him, but kept his eyes fixed on the submariner guarding the hatch at the top of the giant fin. The man was a true professional; if he found Jake’s fear amusing, he didn’t let it show.

“Welcome aboard HMS Ambush, Captain,” he said, giving Jake a hand getting up over the lip of the tower.

“Thank you.” He hesitated, searching for the name, “Brian, isn’t it?”

“Yes sir, Brian, sir.”

The sound of footsteps thumping along the walkway caused both men to look up. Brian immediately stood to attention.

“At ease, Able Seaman Thomas,” Coote said, grinning from ear to ear. “I must say, Jake, I know you’re not a fan, but I think this arrangement is marvellous! Visiting your ship is like popping into town for a coffee and some shopping. So convenient. Just imagine, if we find more survivors out there, we could end up with a virtual floating village! Well don’t just stand there, old boy, let’s get inside and see where we’re headed.”

Jake smiled. Gibson Coote was an acquired taste, but universally liked and admired by his crew, and he could see why. He ran a tight ship based on mutual respect. With many of his sailors now taking what Coote jokingly called ‘shore leave’ on the cruise ship, Jake had initially wondered if that closeness and loyalty might be eroded, but nothing of the sort had happened. If anything, Coote’s crew appeared to be pulling together to form an even stronger team, bound by a desire to work for the good of the combined population.

The two captains descended the ladder into the labyrinthine hull of the submarine. Jake wasn’t a tall man, but on the few occasions he had been aboard he found himself automatically bowing his head as he walked through the narrow steel passageways, claustrophobic cabins, and working areas. Despite the abundance of lighting, it still took his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dim and shadowy conditions.

Everything about the Ambush was a stark contrast to the Spirit of Arcadia. Where the cruise ship was light, airy, and spacious, the submarine was dark, stuffy, and confined. There was no place for the plush carpeted and richly decorated communal areas of Jake’s ship. Instead, every square centimetre of space was used, often for multiple functions. Food was stored everywhere; under beds, between pipes, even—Jake was told, although he hadn’t been allowed to see for himself—in the torpedo tubes. The officers on the cruiser often complained that their cabins were pokey, but compared to conditions below the surface, they were positively palatial. Most of the Ambush’s crew, with the exception of Coote and some of the senior ratings, were expected to hot bunk, time-sharing accommodation with one submariner sleeping in a bed while the other was on shift, then switching over. And while those on board the ship enjoyed a choice of restaurants and a selection of bars and cafes, as well as a crew canteen, the Ambush had to make do with two tiny and starkly furnished messes, one for junior ratings, the other for the seniors. In this new world though, the Ambush had the upper hand. Used to living frugally, their menu had hardly changed. Everyone on board the Spirit of Arcadia, Jake included, was having to get used to rations, which meant meagre portions three times a day.

Coote led Jake through the maze of tunnel-like passages to the communications control room in the heart of the submarine.

“Hey, Jake, good to see you, man!”

“Hi, Ralf, you too. How’s the signal looking?”

“See for yourself.” Lieutenant Ralf Cormack shifted sideways, letting Jake get a good view of one of his monitors. He was Lucya’s opposite number on the submarine, an ace hacker and communications expert. “We’re about twenty minutes out. The signal is very weak. I agree with Officer Levin’s analysis. It’s most likely a lifeboat or raft.”

Jake smiled. He couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride at the mention of Lucya’s name. “How long before we can see it on that fancy photonics mast of yours?”

“Depends how big it is. Probably ten or fifteen minutes. Eagle-eyes is keeping a lookout.

Eagle-eyes was Communications Officer Jason Fletcher, renowned for his ability to make sense of even the grainiest and most out-of-focus images. He turned and grinned at Jake.

“They’ll see us first. This is a new experience for us; we’re more used to creeping up on people! Difficult to be discreet with a thirteen-deck cruise ship in tow.”

“Excellent. Well we have a little bit of time. Captain Noah, would you accompany me to my cabin? There’s a private matter we need to discuss.” Coote gestured for Jake to follow him, and he disappeared into a small room almost hidden between two banks of beige computers.

“Close the door behind you, would you? Thank you, old boy.” Coote sat down at a tiny desk. Jake took the only other chair, facing the captain.

“Is everything alright, Coote? You sound concerned?”