Hurst by Robin Crumby (i read books .TXT) 📕

Jack was lingering over the superstructure of the Chester anchored a couple of miles away in the main channel. In characteristic pose, he had his glasses pushed high on his forehead. When Zed closed his eyes, this was his residual mental image of the man. Jack sensed Zed’s presence to his right and flicked his eyes in his direction.

“How’s the arm? Feeling better? Or are you planning on staying the rest of the week in bed?” said Jack tersely.

Zed’s eyes narrowed. He was on the verge of venting about everything he had done for Hurst, before remembering that Jack was just winding him up, as usual. He took a deep breath, joined him at the rail, looking out to sea. “I’ve slept enough, thanks. Liz says I’m as good as new.” He nudged Jack in the ribs. “How’s the shoulder, old man?”

“Sore. Stitches will come out in a few weeks. Hey, Zed,” said Jack, changing the subject, “I need someone to take Adele to the hospital at St Mary’s. There’s a professor there who wants to run some more tests. He’s got a lab set up and a team ready to start work. You up for a trip?”

“Sure, no problem. Sounds right up my street. I’d like to meet the professor. Ask him some questions,” he said to a puzzled Jack. Zed swallowed and recovered. “You know me. I can’t stand being cooped up. Getting cabin fever already. Would be good to get back out there. Can you spare Riley as well?”

“I don’t see why not. Take the Nipper. Sam will go with you to helm the boat. That is, if you don’t mind listening to the Bee Gees all the way.”

There was a moment of silence between them as both stared out east, lost in their separate thoughts. Dark clouds had gathered in the distance to the south heading towards the island, but it looked as if they would escape the worst of the weather at Hurst.

Beyond the Chester lay the Maersk Charlotte, just visible towards Southampton, her bulk unmistakeable against the shoreline and the inlet to the Beaulieu River. Zed wondered how Anders had taken Victor’s treachery. Jack said he never trusted that guy. His eyes were just a little bit too close together. Suspicious eyebrows that met in the middle, Zed knew the type too well. A gun for hire, loyalty for sale to the highest bidder.

He spotted something in the distance and asked Jack to pass him the binoculars. It took a moment to find it again, but there it was, a grey patrol vessel powering towards them, hammering into the waves and eastward-flowing tide. He passed the binoculars back to Jack who identified the ship as an Archer class patrol vessel, though it was relatively uncommon in these waters. On the flying bridge, he picked out two figures bracing themselves as spray shot high into the air as they ploughed into the crest of a new wave. At the back of the ship was a white ensign. It was Royal Navy.

There was some static and the crackle of a voice hailing them over the radio. Jack unclipped the walkie-talkie from his belt and turned up the volume.

“Hurst Castle, Hurst Castle, this is Royal Navy patrol vessel HMS Marker, come in, over?”

“HMS Marker, this is Hurst Castle. Go ahead.”

“Good morning, Hurst, this is Captain Armstrong. Do we have permission to come ashore?”

“Absolutely. I’ll get the kitchen to put the kettle on.”

“Copy that. ETA ten minutes at current course and speed. We have Captain Anders with us too. He tells me he’s rather partial to Highland shortbread if you have any.”

Jack grinned at Zed, who was shaking his head. “We’ll take a look. No promises, mind. Hurst, out.” He tucked the radio back on his belt clip. “Bloody navy types. Always inviting themselves over for tea and biscuits.”

“Shouldn’t they be protecting the island or something?” said Zed sarcastically.

“No need, I expect. With the USS Chester moored up off the island, no one’s going to be stupid enough to attack. They have enough firepower to keep us safe, for now.”

“How do you figure that out? What use is a destroyer against a virus and a bunch of terrorists hell-bent on disrupting relief operations?” scoffed Zed.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. The Americans have already made a difference, maybe even turned the tide. Think back even a few days and we were just a bunch of dysfunctional survivor groups, struggling to get by. Now, there’s a very real sense of hope. With their leadership, they’ll rally others to the cause. Camp Wight is a fresh start. A chance to rebuild.”

Zed didn’t respond, lost in his thoughts and fears, refusing to believe that salvation was at hand, just because the Americans had showed up. Typical of Jack. His over optimism was his weakness, always seeing the best in a situation. His refusal to accept that the world had changed, that people had changed troubled Zed. He leaned over the parapet and watched the game of baseball going on below.

Everything seemed normal again, children playing and laughing. It was like the last few months had been forgotten. With the navy patrolling the seas, keeping them safe, Zed had every right to feel secure. And yet, he felt anything but safe. What Jack had told him about King, about his plans to use the virus as a weapon and a vaccine as leverage, made him fear for the future. He knew only too well the power that would command. The occupants of Hurst Castle could not allow themselves to relax any time soon, to let down their guard. They did that once and got attacked. Many people died for that mistake. Jack’s pride and naivety had been exposed. It made Zed question Jack’s leadership. It was up to Zed to stay sharp, to keep others on their toes, to stay alert. Keep Jack focused and grounded. That was how they would survive all this.

Jack’s voice interrupted Zed’s internal monologue. “Make yourself useful, will you?”

“Sure, Jack. What do you need?”

“Why don’t you dust off that old flag Greta found and put on a bit of a show for our navy friends?”

Zed chuckled at the thought. He wasn’t the slightest bit patriotic but it seemed right in the circumstances. They had found a dusty old Union Jack in a locked cupboard that had waited for just such an occasion. He retrieved the flag from the shelf downstairs and unfurled it, making sure it was the right way up. He crossed the courtyard, climbed the stairs and untied the halyard, securing the flag top and bottom before hoisting it high over the castle battlements.

Zed stepped back, admiring his handiwork, the Union Jack fluttering proudly in the strengthening wind. Jack watched the flag’s ascent, ignoring its faded colours and torn leading edge, momentarily overcome by a sense of pride and patriotism, of everything they had achieved thus far. It felt appropriate to honour the moment and Jack saluted the flag, as he had been taught so many years ago.

“Sentimental old sod,” muttered Zed under his breath, spotting Jack with his arm raised in salute.