Red Fever Read online

  More chores to do. And all I want to do is sleep.

  He picked up a soggy dishcloth and mopped half-heartedly at the sticky rings from beakers of juice. His dad would be cross if the table wasn’t kept clean, as it was where he laid out his maps to plot their routes.

  Toby smiled at the colourful ribbons Sylvie had tied to the brass rod which had been fitted round the table’s edge to stop things sliding off it in a storm. When she felt well she was always making things out of the scraps of material Toby scrounged for her. He’d found the ribbons amongst some of his mum’s belongings, after the accident.

  Either side of the table were two bunk beds: one for his dad and one for Sylvie. Toby was thankful he didn’t have to share the cramped space with the two of them. He liked the privacy of his own den, tucked cosily in the stern of the boat. It was the one place he could get away from this world of horror and madness.

  “Hiya,” he whispered into the pile of duvets and bedspreads that were heaped on top of Sylvie’s bunk. A face appeared, with half-closed eyes wrinkling up at him.

  “Tobes?” uttered a tiny sleepy voice.

  “Who do you think it is? The Little Mermaid?” chuckled Toby.

  More of Sylvie appeared: a mop of tousled blonde hair and a skinny white arm.

  Too skinny, thought Toby. She’s wasting away in front of us.

  “I loved that film,” said Sylvie, pushing herself up in the bed.

  “The Little Mermaid?” asked Toby. “Yuk! That’s for babies!” He laughed, pulling a strand of sticky blonde hair from in front of her eyes.

  “Toby?” asked Sylvie. “Do you think we’ll ever see that film again?”

  “No, thank God!” replied Toby. “Now, if you want to watch a really good film, how about Transformers Two. That was brill!”

  “But will we ever see a film again?”

  Toby took Sylvie’s small pale hand in his gnarled brown one.

  “I honestly don’t know, Sylvie,” he said. “I just don’t know what’s going to happen. But don’t you worry — Dad and I are on to it.”

  “Toby, what have you done to your hand?” gasped Sylvie. Toby had been hiding his injured hand behind him but Sylvie had spotted the blood-soaked hankie wrapped around it.

  “It’s nothing.” Toby tried to shrug it off.

  “Let me look,” she asked.

  “No! Don’t make a fuss; it’ll be fine,” said Toby, pulling away his hand as she tried to inspect it.

  “You should clean it before Dad sees it. You know what he’s like about getting bugs and things.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Have you been asleep all morning?” he asked.

  “Yes, I must’ve been,” replied Sylvie, yawning. “Why are we moving so fast now?”

  “Oh, no reason. Dad’s in a hurry as usual, I suppose,” replied Toby.

  “Well, I’m still tired. I’m going to go back to sleep,” she said. “Wake me up if you need me.”

  “Yep, I’ll do that,” said Toby, knowing that he wouldn’t. There was nothing Sylvie could do any more to help him and his dad run the boat. She was weak as a kitten and spent most of the time sleeping.

  Sylvie had been ill since their mum died. At first they’d thought she just had an infection, and the antibiotics they had stored at home seemed to be helping. But they’d run out. And now Sylvie was showing symptoms that they recognised all too well: a raging temperature, and a prickly red rash — all signs of the deadly red fever. Neither Toby nor his father had dared to speak their fears out loud.

  Toby remembered Sylvie playing on the beach below the cottage at home. She liked to collect pebbles, especially the smooth white ones. She would caress them in her small grubby brown hands for hours, washing them in rock pools then drying them on a towel. Later she would carry them carefully, like treasure, up the rocky path to the back door. There, she would grade them into jam jars according to their size. Big ones in one jar. Little ones in another.

  Toby preferred shells; they were more interesting. There were lots of different shapes and sizes and each one had a different pattern on its back. He would collect them by the carrier bag full and take them home to his mum. She loved shells too and would decorate the stone steps in the garden with them. She liked the fact that they weren’t washed and still had sand and bits of sedge stuck to them. Toby remembered her smiling while she arranged the shells in patterns. He remembered that smile so well …

  Stop it! Toby told himself. That train of thought was bad. It led to a dark place, a place he didn’t want to go.

  Have to think of something else quick, he thought. Pirates, yes, the pirates! I’d better go and see what’s happening.

  With an effort, Toby pulled himself together and, after tucking Sylvie’s blankets and covers around her, left the cabin.

  3. Clever Pirates

  Toby pulled on his oilskins and returned to the wheelhouse. The wind was picking up and the boat was getting tossed around as the waves grew higher and rougher. The Lucky Lady’s engine throbbed and juddered noisily as she strained against the battering sea.

  Inside, it was quieter, except for the rhythmic dub, dub of the windscreen wipers as they cleared the spray that spattered over the front window. His dad stood staring stonily ahead, his hands still clenching the wheel.

  “Sylvie’s sleeping,” Toby told him.

  “Oh, good,” replied his dad. “Best not to alarm her. I’m taking us north, up towards Inverness. If the pirates have picked us up on their radar and are following us, we may be able to lose them before we try to head home. Don’t want to lead them straight back to Collieston.”

  “OK, Dad. But Sylvie’s not looking great and I think the longer this trip is, the worse she’ll get,” replied Toby.

  “Don’t you think I know that?” his dad retorted angrily. “I’m just thinking of our safety. If they follow us home they’ll find all our supplies. If we lose them, we’ll starve. They’re all we’ve got left.”

  Toby put his hand out to touch his dad’s arm. “We’ll find some more. We will. We just need to find medicine for Sylvie first and then we can go hunting for food again,” said Toby.

  His dad shrugged his hand away. “If only it was that easy,” he remarked. “Have you forgotten the dogs?”

  No, I haven’t forgotten the dogs, thought Toby. I was trying to be positive, like you always used to tell me to be. But positive thoughts don’t seem to be helping much these days.

  How could he have forgotten the dogs? What a stupid thing for his dad to say. Wasn’t it the dogs that had forced them to live their lives on this pathetic little fishing boat, trawling up and down the coast looking for food and fuel?

  They couldn’t travel freely on land any more. Pirates were a rare problem compared to the packs of wild dogs which now roamed the countryside, desperate for food. After their owners died, the dogs had soon grouped into packs in which only the biggest and strongest had survived. As time passed they were becoming more and more vicious and organised in their scavenging.

  No, he couldn’t forget the dogs. They were yet another nightmare to cope with in a world that had been turned upside down.

  As the wind gusted and blew the mist away, the rugged outline of the Buchan coast came into view in the distance.

  “I’m going to keep as close to the shoreline as possible. The Lucky Lady will be no match for a big ship in open waters. If the worst comes to the worst, we’ll try and hide her in an inlet and make for safety on foot.”

  “What about the dogs? You know they’ve started to track boats from the shore,” said Toby worriedly. “They might be there waiting for us.”

  “It’s a risk we’ve got to take. We’ll deal with that if and when it happens. At the moment my main worry is being followed by pirates,” replied his dad. “Here, hold the wheel. Keep her steady,” he said, motioning Toby to step up. His dad left the wheelhouse, picking up an old telescope on the way out. He was gone for what seemed like ages, then suddenly he burst back in.

  “H
ere!” he said, thrusting the telescope at Toby. “I had a feeling we were being followed. See for yourself.”

  Toby took the cold brass telescope in his shaking hands, and leapt down the steps to the deck. Gripping the handrail, he stumbled to the stern. Bracing his legs apart to hold himself steady, he lifted the instrument to his eye.

  At first he could see nothing but angry foaming waves stretching for miles, but then he caught sight of the spiky outline of the oil platform. He wiped his hand across his face as the sea spray dripped from his hair down into his eyes.

  I can’t see anything. Dad’s going mad! He’s seeing things now!

  He lifted the telescope once more to his eye, scrunching up his other eye to focus fully. There was the platform, slowly receding as the Lucky Lady ploughed gamely away from it.

  “Oh no!” Toby exclaimed. There, sitting on the horizon, just to the right of the platform, was a ship. It wasn’t a small fishing boat like theirs. It was a serious ship. Toby could see the ship’s graceful lines and blue-grey colour, which told him it was a warship. There was no navy left; it had to be pirates.

  Toby strained to keep the ship in vision, then suddenly a bright flash lit the side of the warship.

  Boom! The sound of the gun firing hit Toby’s ears seconds after the flash.

  “DAD!” he shrieked. “They’re firing at us!”

  Just then he became aware of a loud whistling as something flew through the air above the Lucky Lady. With a deafening roar the sea exploded in front of them as the shell hit the water. A towering plume cascaded over the decks, soaking Toby and throwing him to the floor.

  The Lucky Lady swerved violently as his dad slewed the boat around the foaming waves, and set off in a different direction. Toby pulled himself back into the wheelhouse.

  “Oh, Dad! That was near,” he stuttered, shaking with cold and shock.

  “That was just a warning shot — letting us know of their presence,” his father said through gritted teeth. “They could have blown us out of the water if they’d wanted to.”

  “Shouldn’t we stop and surrender?” gasped Toby.

  “No way! They’ll rob us and leave us with nothing. Perhaps we can lose them in this mist, if we just head for the coast. Take the wheel whilst I have a look at the map; I’m sure there’s an inlet near here somewhere. Keep zigzagging — that’ll stop them getting a bearing. Come on, get a move on.”

  Sometimes Toby wished his dad could just be a little nicer to him. He knew it was difficult for his dad, but things were difficult for them all. And it didn’t look like they were going to get any better.

  He shook his damp hair out of his eyes and took the wheel, trying to concentrate on holding the boat on its course. Maybe his dad’s plan would work — just to keep going as fast as they could and hope they lost the pirates in the mist, or maybe the pirates would lose interest in them. At that moment, neither of those seemed very likely. After all, they were pitting the poor old Lucky Lady against a warship.

  And as for losing interest — what else had the pirates to do with their time? It wasn’t as if there was a lot of traffic in these seas. Toby and his dad had only come across a couple of boats in the two years they’d been sailing along this coastline.

  The Lucky Lady bobbed choppily over the water as Toby concentrated on steering her right and then left, all the time heading for the thin dark line of the mainland glimpsed through the mist. The rough motion of the boat bouncing up and down on the waves no longer bothered Toby. When they had first taken trips away in the boat, in search of food and provisions, they had all been very sick. Even his dad had succumbed to seasickness, despite having been a weekend sailor all his life.

  Toby had never liked sailing. He had refused to get into his dad’s dinghy from a young age. Looking back now, he couldn’t think why he had made such a fuss about it. Maybe that was why his dad was mean to him.

  Toby didn’t think so. He knew the real reason. His dad blamed him for his mum’s death; he was sure of that now. It had been an accident, but there was nothing more he could do to convince his father that it wasn’t his fault. And, anyway, it hadn’t always been like it was now. He could remember his dad playing footie on the beach with him, laughing and shouting at his mum to join in. She would sit with her knitting, a beanie hat pulled over her fair hair, watching over baby Sylvie in her wicker Moses basket. Toby still had that beanie hat. It was tucked away with the rest of his treasures in a box in his cubbyhole under the stern.

  Toby yawned. He needed to sleep. His legs and arms felt leaden with exhaustion.

  His dad burst back in, shaking the water from his oilskin jacket. “Getting a bit rough out there,” he remarked. “I’ve checked the map: if we head due north by north-west, it shouldn’t take long to get to the caves near the Bullers of Buchan. I know that area; it shouldn’t be difficult to find a cave big enough to hide Lady in. We’ve got to try — it’s our only chance.”

  Toby nodded, his brain fuzzy with tiredness. He could let his dad take over — now he had a plan.

  “Can you get something for Sylvie to eat? She needs to keep her strength up,” said his dad gruffly. “Then come back; I need you here to help. We both have to stay alert, calm and focused, otherwise we’ll not get out of this alive.” He came over and took the wheel.

  “Yep, of course,” said Toby. “I’ll make Sylvie some noodles. She used to like those. We’ve still got a whole case of them left.”

  He tiredly made his way round to the deckhouse, trying not to look to the horizon. He didn’t want to see how close the pirates were. Better not to know. Then he could look at Sylvie without the terror of pursuit in his face. But it was difficult not to think about what they might do next. Would they fire on them again? Only next time it might not be a warning shot …

  4. Survival of the Fittest

  “Sylvie?” called Toby, entering the cosy warmth of the cabin. He’d brought in a couple of logs from the lobby and, carefully opening the door of the small pot-belly stove, popped them in. The stove was their only source of heat in the cabin, and it was his job to make sure it didn’t go out. From Sylvie’s hump of blankets, came a muffled sob.

  “Sylvie? You all right?” he asked, going over to the bunk.

  There was another little yelp.

  He pulled back the layers of duvets and blankets to reveal a wild-eyed Sylvie, creased and crumpled with sleep. She grabbed at his arm.

  “Toby! Oh, Toby!” she cried. “I was alone on the boat and I called for you and Dad and Mum but nobody came! And something else was here. I could hear it growling and snapping above deck. I could hear its claws scratching at the door of the cabin. And it forced the door open and then I could see it was a huge black dog. It was slobbering, Toby. It was going to eat me!”

  Toby took Sylvie into his arms and held her tight.

  “It’s all right, Sylvie, I’m here. It was just a nightmare,” he told her. “It’s OK, Dad and I are here. The dogs can’t get on to the boat; you know that. They can’t get us here.” He soothed her, stroking her matted blonde hair with his sore hand, the bloodstained hankie still tied around it.

  “Oh, Tobes! It was SO real! I opened my mouth to scream but I couldn’t. It was horrible. I was going to die!” she exclaimed.

  “It’s OK, Sylvie, you’re not going to die. Dad and I are here to protect you. Nothing bad is going to happen. D’you hear me?” he said, pushing her backwards so she could see his face. “Nothing is going to hurt you, d’you understand?”

  She stared with wide frightened eyes into his, clinging hard on to him.

  “Now, let’s calm down,” said Toby, trying to feel in control, but it was difficult, knowing the dangerous situation they were presently in. He wished he believed what he had told her — that everything was OK, that nothing was going to hurt her. But the truth was, he just didn’t know what was going to happen.

  “Hey, why don’t we get Henry out to play?” he suggested. “He always cheers you up, doesn’t he?”


  Sylvie rubbed her tear-stained face with the sleeve of her pyjamas, and tried hard to smile.

  “Yeah, let’s get him out. He’s not been out for ages,” she replied.

  Toby went into the utility area on the other side of the stove. There was a shower cubicle and toilet in a narrow corridor, and another door that led on deck. In the corner, by the shower, balanced on crates of bottled water, was a small plastic hutch where Henry lived. Toby opened the hutch door carefully and pulled out the furry bundle that was Henry. Cradling him in his arms, he took the rabbit through to Sylvie.

  “Here,” he said, “make a lap for him.” Toby gently lifted the rabbit from his arms and placed it into the folds of the blankets on Sylvie’s knees.

  The tawny brown rabbit wrinkled his small black nose at them and stared around. He looked comical with his large floppy ears drooping down each side of his head.

  “Hello, Henry,” said Sylvie, smiling broadly. “How are you today?”

  “Did you manage to get up and feed him earlier?” Toby asked.

  “Yes, I would never let Henry go hungry no matter how poorly I felt,” said Sylvie indignantly.

  “Good. I don’t suppose you felt well enough to muck him out, though?”

  “Oops, sorry, Tobes, I forgot,” replied Sylvie.

  Toby wearily went back out to the corridor and started to clean out the hutch. What could he say? Sylvie was sick and he was a lot older — six years to be precise. As such, he felt he had to help his dad shoulder some of the responsibilities. Cleaning out a rabbit hutch wasn’t such a big deal, was it? Compared to the pirates on their tail!

  Toby stopped to listen to the pulsating sound of the Lucky Lady’s engine, coming from down below in the engine room. She seemed to have developed a high-pitched whine along with all the usual engine noises.

  Oh great, that’s all we need to happen — engine failure! We’ll be like a sitting duck, as Dad says. Maybe I should go and tell him the engine’s not sounding too good?