We Float Upon a Painted Sea

Three hours later, McIntyre woke Bull. He said,

“I have brought you a straightjacket my friend. The Captain has asked me to ensure you put it on.” Bull sat up in his hammock, his eyes startled. McIntyre laughed and then said, “I’m only joking, it’s a survival suit. We’re drawing close to St Kilda. Don’t pull the inflation cord unless you have an accident and fall into the water.” Bull nodded laconically and replied,

“Ok, I understand.”

“To be honest you’re lucky I am onboard and have a big spare suit for you. McIntyre pointed to a pair of boots and said,

“I think these will fit you. Size sixteen if I’m not mistaken?”

“How did you know?”

“When you were sleeping, I lay down in front of you and placed my feet against yours? It was a beautiful moment.”

“For real?”

“No, not for real, but it’s good to know how gullible you are. You’re about the same height as me so I took a lucky guess.” Bull rose from his hammock and biting his top lip he said,

“The Captain said you saw the wave and it was a monster.”

“I saw one of them and the destruction it caused to the west facing sides of Hirta and Soay. It was the like I’ve never witnessed before. Not in this part of the world anyway. The military have been conducting operations in this area for years but nothing like this. They’re hiding something. Even the Coast Guard have been ordered to stay away and they declared an exclusion zone. I said to myself, to hell with them and took a cutter out to take a look for myself. When I got close to the caves on Soay, one of the MoDs took a shot at me.” McIntyre stopped. There was a confused look in his eyes. Finally, he continued, “They are twitchy bastards and will put a bullet in you quicker than you can eat a plate of sandwiches. Nico told me.”

“I was famished.”

“Look, the GM need to try and salvage their ship the Flower Child and find any survivors. They’ll record the destruction and use it as evidence. They will then return to the Mother Earth and get you and Andrew home. You need to get checked out at a hospital.”

“There’s a girl called Saffron. She was in the GM and I’m fearful she was on the Flower Child. I can’t be sure but I feel it in here.” Bull clutched his chest. McIntyre said,

“Was she your girlfriend?”

“It’s a long story which I can’t go into right now, but we split up.”

“You both wanted different things and began to drift, but there remains a fire still burning bright in your heart for her.” To Bull’s surprise McIntyre burst into a song, “Don’t cry young lovers, whatever you do. Don’t cry because I am alone. All of my memories are happy tonight. I have a love of my own.” Bull didn’t know where to look as McIntyre pirouetted around the cabin with the elegance of a dancing bear. Bull considered he might be having another hallucination and then McIntyre stopped.

“Sorry big man, you wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I am a big fan of musicals.”

“It’s ok. Someone once told me, never judge a book by its cover.”

“I’ll ask around the crew, maybe someone knew her.”

Bull looked at Malcolm’s leather satchel. The memories of his death awakened and the guilt of abandoning him flashed in his mind. He felt his heart thump in his chest and beads of sweat form on the nape of his neck. He said,

“There’s something else. There was a waiter on the life raft. He was seriously injured and didn’t make it. His satchel is over there. There’s items inside, I can’t help but feel is related to the incident the Captain was talking about in the bridge.” McIntyre picked up the satchel and examined its contents. He said,

“If it’s ok with you, I think the Captain will be interested in this.”

Later, McIntyre returned. He said,

“I am sorry big man but Ty Kurt said he knew your Saffron and the last time he heard she was on the Flower Child.” Bull was dressed in his survival suit. He said nothing but walked to the deck. McIntyre followed. Bull looked out to the sea and the approaching islands. He said,

“I take it you intend to set down on the island when we get there? Take one of the speedboats?”

“That is the plan, but only if there’s no military presence.”

“I want to go on shore with you? You can consider it my dropping off point. I’ll find my own way off the island. I’ll even swim there if I have to.” McIntyre wondered how many miles of sea he would swim for someone he loved. It depends how cold the sea was or what she was willing to do to reward my endeavours, he thought.

“Ok, anything to mend a broken heart,” he said, “But I need to clear it with the Captain first. He was interested in the contents of the bag.” McIntyre handed Bull back the leather satchel and left him standing alone to gather his thoughts.

Bull stood alone on the foredeck, feeling the bracing effects of the cold wind on his face. He spent the rest of the journey to St Kilda clutching the guardrail and staring out to the horizon. He reflected on the capsize of the Andrea Starlight, his fearful time on the sinking life raft, the cold, the dampness, the hunger, the death of Malcolm and his fight with Andrew. The islands of Boreray, Hirta, Stac an Armin and Stac Lee emerged from the mist. Together they made up the archipelago of St Kilda. The Mother Earth arrived to the sound of screaming gulls echoing back and forth against the sheer cliffs. Through the wisps of mist Andrew could see a ship lying capsized, the waves pounding against the hull. Andrew joined Bull on the foredeck and together they stared at the still intact graphene structure.

“Is that the Flower Child?” asked Andrew.

“McIntyre told me the Flower Child was a trimaran, a three hulled ship. It might be the Russian ship that followed them into British waters.”

The ship’s engine growled as it continued its way around the west coast of the island and into the mouth of Loch a Ghlinne. The crew waited in silence, anticipating the most terrible conclusion for their comrades on the Flower Child. Bull was distracted by the mechanical sound of a davit lowering McIntyre’s cutter onto the deck. Andrew turned to him and said,

“Feeling better or do you still think I am a figment of your imagination?” Bull frowned but didn’t look Andrew in the eye,

“No, you’re real all right. A real pain in the neck.” Andrew laughed.

“I can understand what you’re going through,” said Andrew more solemnly, “I had a little episode a few years back and not wanting to go into the details, my mind suffered an acute stress disorder. It’s what most people would refer to as a nervous breakdown. I started hearing things, voices in my head, of people I knew. During certain episodes the voices would escape, become audible, so to speak.”

“Like back on the raft?”

“Yes. I take medication to control my anxiety but my pills are at the bottom of the sea right now. I just thought I’d let you know you’re not the only one who is suffering.” Bull smiled sympathetically and patted Andrew on the back and said,

“I’m sorry I went off on one back there. I don’t know what came over me. Something seems amiss, not right, and even surreal.”

“We’ve been through a lot you and I.”

“McIntyre is asking the Captain if I can go on shore with the crew. I might not be coming back.”

“I hope you find what you are looking for.” Bull gave Andrew a playful punch on the shoulder.

Andrew offered a handshake and they parted company. Bull took his place with the crew, waiting to board the cutter. The Mother Earth held a slow but steady course towards the shore. Bull played with his beard and stared out to the black towering cliffs. The void in his heart and the surrounding melancholy threatened to engulf him. He cursed the slow progress of the ship but as they manoeuvred around a headland, the bay opened up and revealed the shoreline. Bull peered forward. In the distance, he could make out the triple hull of a trimaran marooned on the rocks. The ship crawled closer, revealing hundreds of washed up marine mammals lying strewn along the shoreline, their carcases picked over by skuas. Bull thought of Saffron trapped inside the wreckage. He felt his heart palpitate in the cavity of his chest and his stomach coiled into knots. He felt a sickness engulf him and the sensation of rising vomit from within.

He borrowed a pair of binoculars from one of the crew. Through the lenses he studied the bay. He focused on the strange sight of an old man sitting on a log by a fire. He was smoking a pipe and drinking from a cup. The Mother Earth came to a halt and dropped anchor. The shore party prepared in silence and when McIntyre arrived he looked at Bull sitting in the cutter. He said,

“You waste no time. The Captain said you can go, but I’m responsible for your safety. I’m a bit concerned to be honest. This side of the island is off limits to even the Coast Guard. I’ve seen it from the sea many times but never set foot on it. It’s probably because of the debris washed in by the wave, but I don’t recognise it.” McIntyre threw Bull a survival pack and a transceiver. He stashed it in a borrowed rucksack along with Malcolm’s old leather satchel. The cutter was lowered onto the sea.

A few minutes later they had reached the beach. At first Bull was overwhelmed by the sensation of putting his feet on dry land and then the smell of decomposing carcases overpowered his nasal senses. His eyes fixed on the old man, he walked across the debris strewn shore. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a multi-coloured woollen hat. He stopped and picked it up, wiping sand and seaweed from it. He held it to his nose and sniffed it. “He couldn’t be sure but he wondered if it was Saffron’s Peruvian hand knitted alpaca hat. The old man’s expression remained broodingly fixed on the fire as Bull approached. The old man ignored Bull’s extended hand. Crouching down Bull looked into his grey, wrinkled face and said,

“Are there any survivors? The old man stared at the hat Bull held in his hands. He said,

“I’ve just put some coffee on the fire, would you like some?” Bull’s mind was a torrent of despair and his eyes filled with tears. He heard a crunching sound of boots. McIntyre arrived, standing beside him with one hand resting on his shoulder. The old man puffed on his pipe and then acknowledged McIntyre with a nod of the head. The old man asked,

“Would you like some coffee my friend?”

“Your alright,” said McIntyre, But you could tell us what happened here.” The old man gazed over their shoulders at the other members of the crew who were documenting evidence of the wave. They collected the bodies of dead puffins, grey seals and dolphins and lined them up with the larger carcass of a pilot whale.

“The wave was massive,” replied the old man. “The ship had no chance. It came at them so fast. They had little time to get clear but most made it. The military have been swarming all over this part of the island. Terra-drones and Marine Corps. Arresting folk. They were here all week. I hid out the way and only returned today to see if my puffins survived.” The old man removed the billycan from the smouldering embers of the fire and poured coffee into a tin cup. He had a habit of loosening his false teeth and projecting the tar stained denture outwards on his tongue, then replacing them prior to speaking. This was accompanied by an irritating sucking and clicking noise. McIntyre said,

“English Pete? Are you the old fella who looks after the puffins?”

“What’s left of the puffins?” Bull said,

“Did you see anyone escape the feds?”

“There’s hundreds of old cleits on the island,” stated the old man, “Maybe when the military arrived, some went to hide in them.”

“What’s a cleit?” said Bull. McIntyre frowned,

“A storage hut made out of stone with a turf roof for drying peat.” McIntyre looked towards the Flower Child beached on the shore. He said,

“I’m going to check the ship out. I’ll return soon.” Bull took a seat on the log beside the old man.

“Am not too sure about that one,” said the old man pointing his pipe towards McIntyre. “He’s got shaking hands and shifty eyes.” Bull looked towards the distant walking figure of McIntyre.

“He’s just a bit twitchy after the military took a pot shot at him. He’s probably fine once you get to know him.”

“Oh, I know him alright. He doesn’t know me though. Look son, I did see someone running into a cleit when the feds arrived.”

“A woman?”

“Like my good looks, my eyesight isn’t what it used to be and it’s hard to tell unless you want to have a debate about the peculiar ways of women and how they run.” The old man smiled thinly but he recognised Bull’s anguish. “I don’t want to give you false hope son, but the figure could have been a woman.”

“Could you take me to the cleit?” The old man extended his dentures and clicked his tongue.

“There’s been a lot of strange stuff going on lately. It’s difficult knowing who to trust. The island had been abandoned for well over a hundred years until they started fracking for gas out at sea, and then the earthquakes started. And then the military moved back to Hirta and left again and all of a sudden we have tsunamis killing folk. Times are screwed up son. The Change they call it? Everything is changing and not for the better. Even in this wilderness. Lots of strangers about these days. You’re no from round here are you? What’s your name son?”

“I’m from Salford, England. My friends call me…” Bull paused and then continued, “Faerrleah O’Connell, my name is Faerrleah O’Connell.” The old man said,

“I’ve been to Salford. Do you know a brew shack called the Squealing Pig?” Bull was astonished and then sadness took him. Eventually he said,

“It’s gone. The Pig got washed away in a flood.”

“A pity, one of the last proper pubs that was.”

The old man stood up. He poured the rest of his coffee onto the shingle and started to walk the path from the shore uphill. He gestured for Bull to follow him and together they climbed. Looking back out to sea, Bull noticed a black dot on the horizon. He decided it was a sea stack.

McIntyre made his way to the bridge of the ship where he found the Captain of The Flower Child. He was still holding onto the wheel. The sound of gun shots rang out in the bay. McIntyre ducked for cover but on raising his head above the binnacle he could see Marine Corps on the shore rounding up crew members from the Mother Earth. He looked towards the grey smoking fire. Bull and English Pete had gone. McIntyre removed his rucksack and brought out a pair of binoculars. Out in the bay, one of the RV Mother Earth’s speedboats was in full throttle, trying to out manoeuvre a high speed military patrol boat. The Marines Corps opened fire from a mounted heavy machine gun and almost cut the boat in two. He watched in horror as an enfilade of gunfire peppered the hull of the Mother Earth above the water line. A member of the crew, who was filming the attack, ducked for cover in a hail of gunfire. The Mother Earth was boarded. Through his lenses he could make out Andrew and some other members of the crew being grouped together and handcuffed. They were escorted onto a patrol boat.

McIntyre turned his lens back to the shore and towards where he left his cutter. The GM rescue party were sitting on a large log, guarded by three black suited Marine Corps and a military terra-drone. He could now detect Bull and the old man. They were high up on the cliff scrambling towards the old man’s hideaway. Two Marines spotted them, and after making hand signals towards each other, they gave chase with the drone. All the time looking back to the bay, Bull assisted the old man through the path leading up the hill. From behind an outcrop came several figures wearing distinctive green combat suits. At first McIntyre believed them to be more Marines in pursuit of Bull and the old man. They beetled their way stealthily across the ground but at a slower pace. They took up position behind two small cleits. Elves, thought McIntyre. He watched in wonder as the terra-drone was disabled by an electromagnetic pulse grenade and the Marine Corps were surrounded and then led away at gunpoint. When he looked back to the bay he noticed the other crew members had been freed.

McIntyre climbed down from the bridge and left the ship. He ran, stopping only once to dart behind a boulder when he heard the sound of a drone from overhead. He headed up the steep path towards the hideaway. When he arrived, he took a moment to catch his breath. Bull was nowhere to be seen. He climbed an escarpment to get a clearer view of the bay, dropping to the ground and proceeding on his stomach. He slithered across the grass until the sea came back into view. From his binoculars he could see a warship moored alongside the Mother Earth. An aerial attack drone hovered over the bay searching for the Marine Corps who had failed to call in their positions. McIntyre edged back from the cliff face and back towards the path.

He continued climbing the hill through Gleann Mòr until he arrived at the military fence. The wire mesh was cut. He slid through the gap and continued to walk. He was on Mullach Sgar. He took out his binoculars and surveyed the island to the east. The observation post, his temporary home was gone. He could see the village. No signs of life. No smoke rising from Sheila’s cottage. The island looked like it had been abandoned and then he drew his focus to a large cleit the islanders called Tigh an t-sithiche – House of the Fairies. It was much larger than the other cleits and built into the hillside like the entrance to a cave. He could see movement. He started to walk. As he approached he heard voices emanating from within. When he entered the cleit Bull was squatting with two figures going through the contents of Malcolm’s leather satchel. The figure tried to point a gun at McIntyre, but he was too slow. McIntyre took two steps forward, shifting his centre of gravity as he went. He brought his fist down on the butt of the rifle, grabbed it and twisted it free from the figure’s grip. With one sweeping motion, McIntyre was holding the rifle and pointing at the hooded figure who immediately raised both arms in the air. The other hooded figure ignored McIntyre’s presence. He continued questioning Bull. He said,

“Where did you get this satchel from?” McIntyre interjected,

“I think everyone needs to calm the fuck down. It’s a bit dark in here.” Much to the hooded figure’s surprise, McIntyre handed back the rifle as he reached inside his rucksack and retrieved a lantern. He switched it on and a yellow light filled the inside of the cleit. He could see the two figures were dressed in combat uniform, but hoods concealed their faces. The figure offered him the rifle back. McIntyre said, “You keep it laddie, but I hope you like hospital food because you’ll be eating it for a month if you point that thing in my face again.” Bull said,

“The satchel belonged to a waiter from the life raft I was on. He was called Malcolm. He was badly injured. He didn’t make it.”

“He’s dead?” said the figure. Bull’s heart was now galloping with apprehension. He replied,

“Yes. There was a storm and the raft was damaged. We were sinking and we had to make a swim for it. I’m sorry, was he your friend?”

“No. Have you taken anything from it? I need you to be honest, much is at stake, much more than you could even imagine.” Bull swallowed hard. After stabbing a glance at McIntyre, he said,

“Only a photograph of a young girl. I know it sounds impossible but I think the photograph is of my ex-girlfriend...”

“Saffron? I believe you were acquainted with her?” Bull’s face contorted in painful confusion.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“We know everything about you. You’re a MoDs filter.” Bull looked up at McIntyre. He said,

“I was, but only because they threatened my family.”

“We are aware of your circumstances and how you turned against them. We would have shot you otherwise.”

“I still don’t understand how an old photograph of Saffron was in Malcolm’s satchel?”

The Elves searched the satchel for further items. A small plastic box was revealed. The seal was broken and a short emission of gas hissed from a pressure release valve. The hooded figure put down the rifle and produced a small gas canister. McIntyre said forcefully,

“What’s that?” The hooded figure sprayed the box and said,

“This type of box is used to store liquid pico-micro processing chips. Once you release the pressure valve, you activate the molecular self assembly and solar carbon picotubes are formed, but it can only be triggered by the person who designed it.” The other figure said,

“How is this possible if the Professor is dead, presumed missing?”

“It’s DNA activated and this bottle contains DNA from the daughter.” McIntyre said,

“What happened to English Pete?” Bull shrugged his shoulders. A digital image appeared.

“Is this the man you left?” said the hooded figure. Bull nodded his head. The figure continued, “So you left him but you didn’t forget to take his satchel?”

“I was already carrying his satchel when the lifeboat came by. It was riding up and the strap was cutting into his neck. Everything happened so quickly and before I knew it, I was in the sea.” The hooded figure ignored Bull’s lamenting tale.

“You couldn’t have saved him then?”

“Malcolm never regained conscious during the time I spent on the life raft. When it came to abandoning him, I couldn’t even save myself. If it hadn’t been for Andrew I probably would have died.” Bull stopped for a moment, contemplating the effort Andrew had made to save his life during the storm and how he had subsequently behaved towards him.

“His name wasn’t Malcolm, said the hooded figure.” His name was Professor Earl Burke. His daughter is Saffron Burke otherwise known as Saffron Wilton and known to us and hackers around the globe as the Praying Mantis. Do you understand now?” Bull was dumbstruck. He couldn’t see a family resemblance. The image disappeared and was replaced by blueprints and digitalised drawings. Bull remained frozen to the floor of the cleit. McIntyre’s voice cracked through the silence. He said,

“This might not be the best time to tell you this but a naval corvette has arrived in Loch a Ghlinne and it’s equipped with aerial attack and terra-drones. They destroyed a Russian research vessel with the first wave so they obviously don’t care who or what gets in their way. They will want no more witnesses. I’ve got a feeling what ever happened here, someone in the Government desperately wants to cover it up, and if anyone gets in their way, they’ll end up as part of the wave’s collateral damage.”

Bull tried to get up but his leg muscles felt weak and he was unable to force himself up. He pointed out of the cleit towards the cliff and finally he wailed, “There’s someone out there. The old man I think.” McIntyre was helping one of the figures decipher the contents of the leather satchel. He turned and leaning closer to Bull he said,

“Forget that old queer hawk.”

“But he knows where Saffron is hiding.” McIntyre said,

“Shite!” You better take a look.” McIntyre was now in full control of the computer, dragging and dropping virtual folders from the graphics display tablet to the wall of the cleit. He turned to Bull and said, “They’re looking for who may be carrying this satchel and more precisely this box of pico-micro processing chips.” Bull refused to leave his trance. Finally he said,

“I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. What are you saying? This is a fucking nightmare?” Bull began pinching himself as if to try and wake up from a bad dream. McIntyre’s face was etched with a seriousness Bull had not yet witnessed. McIntyre said,

“There’s no time to explain. We have the virus. We need to take it to the Elves.”

“This is some drug induced hallucination. I’m sure of it now.”

“What are you talking about laddie? The E.L.F. can use this to stop the next wave.”

“And after we find the elves, can we meet up with the dwarfs and drink ale at the House of Elrond?” One of the figures folded his hood back, turned to them and said,

“We are the Earth Liberation Front. We are the Elves. I am Erurainon and this is Inwë.”

“Where are the rest of your team,” said McIntyre.

“Freeing your crew from the MoDs. Look, we have little time before the Prophylaxis Trident satellites come back online and when they do, they will surely find all of us, so your co-operation would be most appreciated.” Erurainon looked at Bull and said,

“We have the satchel now so go and find the old man if it makes you happy, but try not to be seen.” Bull got to his feet and crawled out of the cleit. When McIntyre looked outside, Bull was running towards the cliff edge. Inwë said,

“Professor Burke was working on a programme called Silent Wave while in the employment of the MoDs. It involved creating a pulse by exploding an explosive device using a cyclone particle accelerator equipped with pulse propulsion and electro-magnetic guidance systems. They didn’t even need to drill it into the ocean bedrock as there was already lots of existing boreholes from the methane hydrate drill sites. A perfect smokescreen for them.”

“So St Kilda has been selected as a testing ground? That would explain a few things.” McIntyre read the ELF files regarding the MoDs attempts to extract a mole inside the Government who had made contact with Professor Burke, and provided him with the means to design a virus which could cripple the Defence Satellite Communication System. The malware had to be uploaded manually. When the eyes in the sky were back online, another shot would be taken. The wave would be much bigger than the last. He was overcome with horror. He said,

“They are literally going to wash all the evidence away. Over my dead body. They took the first shot knowing the island was inhabited. The fuckers don’t care. Your boat? Where is it?”

“We have two boats in Village Bay.”

“How many more passengers can it hold?”

“We have about room for four more passengers, six if we jettison some supplies.”

“I need to warn the islanders and evacuate as many of them as possible and then I need to find lover boy and get him and hopefully his true love, Saffron off the island.” Erurainon said,

“Itaridlë will know what to do, when she gets here. She’s our leader.”

McIntyre rested his arms on both the Elves shoulders and pointing to the digital image he said,

“The way I see it we have two clear choices: we could give ourselves up, but I don’t get the impression they want to sit down for a chat, or we can find a way to upload this virus and totally fuck their operation up. Regardless of what we decide, my guess is we have a few hours to play with, unless they plan on destroying their own warship anchored out in Loch a Ghlinne. Inwë nodded his head and said,

“This MoDs system cannot be hacked or remote accessed. It’s not on a network so how Professor Burke planned to access the command and control system manually is a mystery. Maybe he was planning on getting himself arrested and somehow delivering the virus to his contact, who must have security clearance or be in a position of authority. It stands to reason his contact must be on the Corvette.”

“We can’t use our communicators so we need to go and find Itaridlë.” With that, Inwë and Erurainon left. McIntyre put faith in his gut feeling the surveillance satellites were still down. He took a sheltered path to the village where he wouldn’t be spotted from the military vessel out in the Bay. He arrived at the backdoor of Sheila’s cottage and knocked. He told her of the MoDs plan and to spread the word the village had to evacuate and or make their way to the communications station at the top of Mullach Mór or what English Pete called the Big Hill Summit.