In The End Box Set , Stevens, GJ [motivational novels .txt] 📗

the engine rose and out from the door below the cabin, Cassie stepped out, barely acknowledging our presence on the towpath.

The water around the white hull came alive, teeming with creatures just below the surface, their effort making it appear as if the water were boiling.

Rushing the few steps to climb aboard, I was last in the line and watched as her hand went to the throttle and for the first time I knew I’d lost her; she was not the Cassie I had grown close to.

But then, as if she changed her mind, her hand hovered over the control, turning her head just enough to see my foot land on the deck and we were off. Thompson grabbed me by the scruff of my coat before the sudden speed could send me backwards into the teeming water.

Crowding the small deck with the two rucksacks at our feet, I tried to ignore the sound of what brushed past the hull as we cut through the water. Still with the shotgun in my hand, Alex and Jess ducked under the wheel deck, heading through the door and into the cabin.

Sherlock stood on the other side of the deck with his palm on his holstered pistol and brow furrowed, glaring in my direction. To his side, Thompson leaned out from the hull whilst looking ahead with one hand shielding his eyes from the winter sun and the other gripping a handrail.

Sherlock dropped his stare, stepping beside Thompson, leaning in to talk low to his ear.

I looked away, not interested in what he said, instead turning to Gibson standing the other side of the boat and following his look to the figures just underneath the water, caught by the slow current and drifting the same way as us.

As Gibson looked up, I moved at the same time, peering out to the horizon and realised we were on a canal with a river a stone’s throw over a short bank. If it weren’t for the horizon lined with the tall columns of smoke of varying shades of darkness and the hint of stench mixed with the smell of the water, we could have been on a leisurely trip.

The weight of the shotgun turned me away from the fantasy as I stared to the bloody boot-prints on the deck, then to the shaven fur on Shadow’s side, and then Cassie’s cold, expressionless face.

No. We were definitely not on a pleasure cruise.

Thompson’s raised voice dispelled the last of my thoughts, instead watching him with his face right up to Sherlock’s as he tried to keep his voice low. Turning away when Gibson did the same, I knew Sherlock would argue about Jess and how they could travel with someone like her. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was Thompson’s orders or Jess saving his life that stopped him from throwing her overboard when she stepped from the cabin.

“Do that again and I’ll take you down,” Thompson said, unable to keep his volume low as he stepped away from Sherlock, instead staring at me before looking to the shotgun whilst walking my way. “Have you handled one of these before?”

Shaking my head as he held out his hand, I hesitated at the offer. But stepping forward, I didn’t resist as he took the long gun with both hands and clicked the small safety switch into place. Nodding when he looked me in the eye to make sure I’d seen, he snapped the gun in the centre and an empty cartridge ejected from the barrel, flying out over the side and into the river with a splash.

A single brass-ended cylinder remained. “Did you find any more cartridges?”

Shaking my head, he snapped the gun closed, cradling it in the crook of his arm with the barrel pointing upward. I nodded to show I’d understood, and he handed it back so I could mirror the hold. Satisfied, he turned away, climbing the short steps to stand at Cassie’s side.

All the time, Sherlock had been looking my way, glaring back when our eyes met.

A gust of wind washed across my face, the effluent stench drawing away my concern that any moment Sherlock might push me into the water. With heads angled skyward and peering across the view, I could tell the others smelt it too.

Seeing the sign on the left bank, I caught Gibson nodding in its direction as the others turned their heads to read the words and put themselves at ease. Each soon looked to the plumes of smoke rising above the trees which hid all but the tallest utilitarian buildings of the sewerage treatment plant nestled on an island bisecting the river and the canal.

The ring of green did nothing to hide the stench pushed high by the fires.

As we passed, I covered my mouth, trying to hold back the pervasive odour, and as it eventually faded, my attention went to a tall bridge across our path. Despite the distance, I saw the roofs of stationary cars and vans end to end across its length, forming the same scene we’d seen so many times before, but on a much bigger scale. Eventually I turned away, grateful the eight blocked lanes of motorway weren’t in our way.

With the low drone of the boat’s engine the only sound, no voices cutting over, I couldn’t help but question if the others were thinking about the moment the cars ground to a halt. Like me, were they asking themselves what could have made the people leave their cars and walk away in the freezing cold? Or perhaps run for their lives?

Movement in my peripheral vision caught my eye, and I turned to the left, peering across the width of the river to settle on an animal at the far bank. Squinting for detail, I tried to figure if it was a dog or cat with its head down over