The Way of the Warrior - Chris Bradford [11]
‘Why wasn’t there a call from the watch?’ his father demanded.
‘There is no watch, Father. They’re all dead!’
John was briefly halted in his tracks. He spun round in disbelief, but one look at Jack’s ashen face convinced him otherwise. He removed the knife from his belt and handed it to Jack along with the key to the room.
‘You are not to leave this cabin. Do you hear? Whatever happens, do not leave,’ commanded his father.
Jack nodded obediently, too stunned by the unfolding of events to argue. He had never seen his father so serious. Together they had survived full-on enemy attacks from Portuguese warships while navigating South America and its infamous Magellan’s Pass. But never had Jack been told to stay in the cabin. He had always fought side-by-side with his father, helping to reload his pistols.
‘Lock it – and wait for my return,’ ordered his father, closing the door behind him.
Jack heard him disappear down the corridor, gathering the men.
‘ALL HANDS ON DECK! MAN THE GUNS! PREPARE TO REPEL BOARDERS!’
Jack locked the cabin door.
Not knowing what else to do, he sat on the bunk, still holding his father’s knife. He could hear the pounding of feet as the men rallied to his father’s call. There were shouts and cries as they flooded up the companionway and on to the deck.
Then there was silence.
Jack listened intently. All he could hear was the creak of the boards as the men cautiously moved about. There appeared to be some confusion.
‘Where’s the enemy?’ called one of the crew.
‘There ain’t any attack…’ said another.
‘Quiet, men!’ ordered his father and the men were hushed.
The utter silence was unnerving.
‘Over here.’ It was Ginsel’s voice. ‘Piper’s dead.’
Suddenly it sounded as if all hell had broken loose. There was the crack of a pistol, followed by more shots. Men screamed.
‘THEY’RE IN THE RIGGING!’ came a cry.
‘My arm! My arm! My –’ screamed someone until his anguished cries were ominously cut short.
Swords clashed. Feet thundered across the decks. Jack could hear the grunts and oaths of hand-to-hand fighting. He didn’t know what to do. He was caught between two fears – fighting or hiding.
The sounds of battle were joined by the groans of the dying, but Jack could still hear his father rallying the men to the quarterdeck. At least his father was alive!
Then something crashed against the cabin door. Jack jumped up from the bed, startled. The handle was frantically jerked back and forth, but the lock held.
‘Help me! Please help! Let me in!’ came a thin desperate voice from the other side. It was Christiaan, his hands hammering on the locked door.
‘No! No! I beg you –’ There was a frantic scrabbling. A soft fleshy thump followed by a pitiful moan.
Jack ran to the door. Fumbling with the key, he dropped it before he could get it in the lock. Panicking, he picked it up again, turned it and flung open the door, his father’s knife in his hand, ready to defend himself.
Christiaan fell into the room, a small throwing knife sticking out of his stomach. Blood gushed on to the floorboards and Jack felt it run warm and sticky beneath his feet.
Christiaan’s eyes stared right up at him, terrified and pleading.
Jack dragged his friend into the cabin, ripping bedsheets from his father’s bunk to stem the bleeding. He then heard his father cry out in pain. Forced to leave Christiaan where he lay, Jack stepped out to confront the shadows in the darkness.
6
FEVER
Jack screamed in agony.
It was still night, but a glaring white light broke the darkness.
Strange voices encircled him, alien and confusing.
Jack could make out a man’s face hovering over him. One side was pitted and horribly scarred as though melted away. Curiously, the man’s eyes showed great concern.
The man reached out to him.
Jack’s whole arm suddenly flared white-hot and beads of sweat broke from his fevered brow. Gasping and writhing, he tried to pull away from the excruciating pain, but felt himself slipping away, weightless as if floating on a bed of soft straw…
He drifted in and out of consciousness… and dark