The Ferry by Amy Cross Read Free Book Online

The deck is wet and slippery, and I almost lose my grip before managing to hold myself steady. Five years ago, I would’ve had no trouble with something like this, but I’m out of condition and I can feel muscles aching all over my body. Still, I’m so close, and as I pull myself to the edge of the hatch, I brace myself for the sight within.
    Finally, I see them.
    Even though the boat is being constantly rocked by the waves, and despite the pouring rain that continues to drive down, the figures in the cargo hold are all standing calmly, staring up at me from about ten feet below. I swear to God, it’s almost as if they were expecting me to arrive. I open my mouth to call out to them, but now that I’m closer, I can see their faces more clearly and there’s something extremely uncanny about their expressionless eyes, and about the way they’re watching me. They all seem so thin and ragged, as if their skin is clinging tight to their faces, and in the bad light I could swear that the skin has worn through in places, exposing sections of their skulls. There’s no panic, no sense that they’re even worried about their fate, it’s almost as if they don’t mind the storm at all. They’re all dressed in rags, too, and it’s clear that wherever they’re from, they must have been on the boat for a while now.
    Refugees. They’re definitely refugees from somewhere.
    “Hey!” I shout. “Are there any children on-board?”
    I wait for a reply, but they continue to just stare up at me with dark, heavily-shadowed eyes. They’re all so thin and pale, and it’s hard not to feel a little unnerved by the way they’re watching me so calmly.
    “Children!” I shout. “I’m going to get you off this ferry, but I need to take the children first! Ninos! Les enfants! Watoto!”
    When they fail to reply, I pull myself a little further forward and look down into the cargo hold. It’s a large space, and there are more figures in the shadows, but so far they all seem to be adults.
    “Do you speak English?” I ask. “Does anyone here speak English?”
    No reply.
    “Damn it,” I mutter, figuring that I need to dust down my other languages. All two and a half of them. “Habla, uh… Ingles?”
    Again, no reply.
    “Hadlin… Ingiriisiga?” I continue, racking my brain for any other languages I can use. I used to be better than this, back in the old days. “Snakke du Engelsk?”
    I wait, but they don’t even seem to have noticed that I’m speaking to them.
    “Fine,” I mutter, reaching a hand down and waiting for one of them to accept my help. “Come on! We don’t have time to -”
    “Watch out!” Mark shouts over the radio.
    “What?” I ask. “What’s -”
    Before I can finish, the entire boat shudders as another huge wave hits, sending a torrent of water crashing over me and into the cargo hold. I manage to hold onto the edge, despite the massive forces that are trying to pull me away, and for a moment the sheer force of the impact is so strong, I feel as if my arms are going to be torn out of the sockets. When the worst of the wave is gone and I look back into the hold, I see that the figures down there have barely even reacted, despite the water pooling around their legs. A moment later, I hear an ominous creaking sound coming from somewhere deeper in the boat, and it’s clear that the hull is at risk of breaking apart. We’re running out of time here.
    “You need to get out of there!” Mark shouts.
    “Wait!” I tell him, still looking down at the figures. “Something’s wrong. They’re not panicking at all!”
    “One more big wave,” Mark replies, “and that whole boat is going to split in two!”
    “Hang on,” I mutter, dragging myself closer to the edge. “I have to go inside. I have to find out what’s wrong with them. Maybe there are fumes, or -”
    “There’s another wave headed your way,” Mark says suddenly. “I’m pulling you out!”
    “Not yet!”
    “Sophie -”
    “Not yet!”