and take a few steps forward, back out into the rain. Something’s wrong.
“Sophie?” Rob says. “For God’s sake, are you even listening to me?”
“Sure,” I reply, “just… Hold on a moment.”
Making my way past a couple of the trailers, I head to the spot where some of the rescue workers are hurriedly hauling their equipment onto their backs.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
They’re all too busy to tell me.
“What is it?” I continue, tapping one of them on the shoulder.
“Possible survivor,” she replies. “We might have someone in the water, just along the coast in the next bay.”
“Sophie, talk to me,” Rob continues over the phone. “Jesus Christ, this is important. What train are you -”
“Later,” I tell him, cutting the call. After slipping the phone into my pocket, I start to make my way along the rough, muddy coastal path, following the workers who have already set off ahead of me. As I catch up, I realize they’re talking about a figure having been spotted drifting in Carswell Bay, which is about five hundred meters to the east of our current position. The idea sounds insane, but the whole night has been insane, so I figure it’s worth checking out.
“Come on, let’s move!” one of the team-members shouts, waving at people back at the makeshift base. “Sighting confirmed! Everyone this way!”
“What else do you know?” I ask, as their radios start to crackle.
“Just that there’s been a sighting,” replies one of the women as she hurries along next to me. “Watch your step.”
With rain still falling, the coastal path has become a muddy slog, with several deep puddles that seem to almost want to suck my boots down. The wind is strong up here, too, and whereas the rescue workers are all in their protective gear, I’m woefully under-prepared in just a t-shirt, trousers and boots. Still, I manage to keep up with them, and with the gaggle of journalists who are further up on the gravel road that runs parallel to the edge of the cliff. Their cameras are flashing already as they try to get the money shot of someone being pulled from the water.
Goddamn jackals.
“It’s a miracle if anyone’s out there,” says another of the workers. “In these conditions, you’d be lucky to survive even in a lifeboat.”
Looking out at the sea, I have to agree with him. The waves are still high, crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff as heavy rain drives down. With the morning sun still having not quite cleared the horizon, conditions for finding and helping someone are far from ideal, but from the constant radio chatter and the snippets of conversation I’m overhearing, it’s clear that someone has been spotted out there. It’s probably just a body, but while there’s still a chance of finding survivors, we have to act. Besides, even a body might help us work out where those people came from.
“Do we know if this person’s alive?” I ask, as we reach a crest on the muddy path and start making our way carefully down toward Carswell Bay.
No-one replies. They’re all too focused on getting to the site as quickly as possible.
Spread out before us, Carswell Bay is a large, dulled cove with a pebbly beach that stretches a couple of hundred feet to the east, with rocks at both the near and far ends. Waves are crashing against the shore, sending water across the beach almost to the foot of the cliff, and as we make our way down the narrow path it’s hard to believe that anyone could possibly be alive out there in such rough weather. Nevertheless, as we reach a turning point in the path, I stop for a moment as I spot a shape in the water, being tossed about by the waves. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pull out my phone and activate the camera app, before zooming in and trying to focus on the shape, which isn’t easy since whatever it is, it’s being buffeted by the waves. Finally, however, I see that the rescuers were right.
There’s a human figure out
“Sophie?” Rob says. “For God’s sake, are you even listening to me?”
“Sure,” I reply, “just… Hold on a moment.”
Making my way past a couple of the trailers, I head to the spot where some of the rescue workers are hurriedly hauling their equipment onto their backs.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
They’re all too busy to tell me.
“What is it?” I continue, tapping one of them on the shoulder.
“Possible survivor,” she replies. “We might have someone in the water, just along the coast in the next bay.”
“Sophie, talk to me,” Rob continues over the phone. “Jesus Christ, this is important. What train are you -”
“Later,” I tell him, cutting the call. After slipping the phone into my pocket, I start to make my way along the rough, muddy coastal path, following the workers who have already set off ahead of me. As I catch up, I realize they’re talking about a figure having been spotted drifting in Carswell Bay, which is about five hundred meters to the east of our current position. The idea sounds insane, but the whole night has been insane, so I figure it’s worth checking out.
“Come on, let’s move!” one of the team-members shouts, waving at people back at the makeshift base. “Sighting confirmed! Everyone this way!”
“What else do you know?” I ask, as their radios start to crackle.
“Just that there’s been a sighting,” replies one of the women as she hurries along next to me. “Watch your step.”
With rain still falling, the coastal path has become a muddy slog, with several deep puddles that seem to almost want to suck my boots down. The wind is strong up here, too, and whereas the rescue workers are all in their protective gear, I’m woefully under-prepared in just a t-shirt, trousers and boots. Still, I manage to keep up with them, and with the gaggle of journalists who are further up on the gravel road that runs parallel to the edge of the cliff. Their cameras are flashing already as they try to get the money shot of someone being pulled from the water.
Goddamn jackals.
“It’s a miracle if anyone’s out there,” says another of the workers. “In these conditions, you’d be lucky to survive even in a lifeboat.”
Looking out at the sea, I have to agree with him. The waves are still high, crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliff as heavy rain drives down. With the morning sun still having not quite cleared the horizon, conditions for finding and helping someone are far from ideal, but from the constant radio chatter and the snippets of conversation I’m overhearing, it’s clear that someone has been spotted out there. It’s probably just a body, but while there’s still a chance of finding survivors, we have to act. Besides, even a body might help us work out where those people came from.
“Do we know if this person’s alive?” I ask, as we reach a crest on the muddy path and start making our way carefully down toward Carswell Bay.
No-one replies. They’re all too focused on getting to the site as quickly as possible.
Spread out before us, Carswell Bay is a large, dulled cove with a pebbly beach that stretches a couple of hundred feet to the east, with rocks at both the near and far ends. Waves are crashing against the shore, sending water across the beach almost to the foot of the cliff, and as we make our way down the narrow path it’s hard to believe that anyone could possibly be alive out there in such rough weather. Nevertheless, as we reach a turning point in the path, I stop for a moment as I spot a shape in the water, being tossed about by the waves. Reaching into my jacket pocket, I pull out my phone and activate the camera app, before zooming in and trying to focus on the shape, which isn’t easy since whatever it is, it’s being buffeted by the waves. Finally, however, I see that the rescuers were right.
There’s a human figure out
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