‘I promise you, Romano, I was going to tell you.’
Romano shakes his head. ‘You killed Milja.’
Meirong flashes sharp canines. ‘You killed many, Romano, before you had a daughter.’ She spins towards us, lashes at the prisoners, ‘All of you are killers!’
We are a silent, dead weight beneath our dead, wet albatrosses.
The engines cut off. There is a movement at the back of the boat. Josiah picks his way from the engines towards the port side. His hairy knees brush my trousers. His thick fingers brush my cheek by accident. He falls over Samuel’s feet. Samuel draws them up beneath his buttocks.
‘Easy,’ Samuel warns him. ‘Where are you going, Josiah?’
Josiah snatches at the railing, hooks his hairy feet onto a rung.
‘Josiah!’ Samuel shouts.
Josiah’s buttocks are flat and shockingly furry. They clench together, prepare to leap. I lunge for him but Josiah kicks from the top, dives into the glittering sea.
Madame Sophie thrusts out her arm, commands me, ‘Throw the lifebelt!’
‘No!’ Vicki screams. ‘Leave him!’
We stand up, some of us, watch Josiah swimming freestyle with a funny, stylish flourish of his fingers. He is a beautiful swimmer. His arms cleave close to his ears, the water swills over his greasy head, runs off immediately. Oil and water don’t mix.
‘Save him, Malachi!’ Madame Sophie begs me.
Vicki argues, ‘No!’
‘Malachi!’ Madame Sophie shouts.
I shake my head, type on my Samsung, ‘It’s easier for him to drown than to carry on living.’
Madame Sophie clings to the rail, watches Josiah travel the vanishing moon path with his funny, extravagant flick. The lifeboat is silent for long, long minutes as we watch Josiah swim almost out of sight. Vicki picks her way to the edge, peers into the fading night. She climbs the railing as if Josiah’s freestyle is towing her towards the horizon.
‘NO!’ I try to shout. I scramble after her, gather her tangled hair in my fist. I haul her down like a caveman.
Vicki arches, strains against my grip. ‘Let go-o-o!’ she shrieks.
I throw an arm around her belly, drag her from the railing. I lock her wrists with one hand, snatch at my Samsung. ‘You deserve to live.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Your husband has forgiven you.’
I glance desperately at Eulalie. Help me.
‘I can’t forgive myself,’ Vicki shouts tearfully.
‘It is braver to live and face it.’
‘I want to die.’
‘No. I need you!’
Vicki searches my eyes frantically, left to right, reads the love letter written in them. Her body softens, her wrists go loose. She bows her head gracefully. I lead her to our bench. She weaves her cool, smooth fingers tightly between mine. I sit down next to her, kiss the fingertips I cut every day for a week.
God help me. I am in love with a suicidal mermaid.
* * *
A whirring sound rides on the sea breeze.
Lolie scrambles along the starboard side, squeezes behind the engines. We throw ourselves into the shallow water beneath our benches, spy a metal object flying through the grey dawn towards us. It looks like a flattened beetle with flaps and apertures, sucking in and spitting air at a shocking velocity. I hunt frantically for Vicki. Her hand snakes out, grabs on to my sneaker.
The thing looks like a US military tank in Syria – as small as a toy at Planet Kids. A lightning bolt shreds the water six metres from us. The second bolt strikes a railing above our heads.
The violence of electric air. A burning stink.
A laser drone. Flown out by Raizier.
A streak of fire rips into an engine. The shock kick starts a fresh panic in all of us.
‘Malachi!’ Lolie shouts. ‘Spin us! Spin!’ She jabs at the engines.
Even as I am moving, I see Lolie’s stitches are pulling loose in her abdomen. Red runs like perfect tears from each perforation. Flames spit from the engine that has been hit. It could blow up any second but I dive towards the other engine, punch every switch I can set my eyes on.
Where is Josiah? We need him!
The engine snarls savagely. I grab hold of the tiller I saw Josiah steering. Jam it hard to the left.
Help us, Josiah, please.
The boat churns in a tight circle. I shove my weight against the tiller, snatch at an orange bucket, scoop water from the floor and throw it at the burning engine. The flames suffocate to black smoke. Lolie crouches down, slots the rifle between the two machines. She tracks the drone, waiting for a cunning moment to release her bullets. The swirling stars, the spinning drone make me dizzy. I want to lie down next to Lolie, let the steel engines protect my heart, my intestines. But I hang on to the tiller. An infra red strike slices a bench near the engines. Oh, God, no. They are firing to kill. Sacrificing their organs.
Another streak of light sears what could be human tissue. A woman screams.
Vicki!
I jam the tiller in position, crawl towards the stink of burning flesh. I shove past Samuel, get caught against his bristly cheek. We breathe into each other’s nostrils, two animals close to death. I scrape past him.
Vicki. I know those bubble toes. I grab onto them, draw my torso over hers.
Her body still throbs with life. Was she hit?
No, but the yellow man lies loosely, like someone cut him from a cross. A blistering, black wound on his temple emits a thin red stream. I shut my eyes, lay my head precisely above Vicki’s so they must sear through my skull before they can hurt hers.
Yassir is dead. And the funny thing is, he looks just like Jesus Christ.
I breathe in my own tears, bury my head in Vicki’s hair to escape the smell of his death.
It is the scent of liquorice. Vicki smells like the wild fennel that grew at our village tap, feathery and green, but touch it and it pricks you like a knife. I bunch Vicki’s fingers, wrap them in my fists.
The scent of liquorice mixed with salt, a mermaid’s hair at night as lasers strike the
