The Voyage

Nikki rode the swells. Seven days at sea. Seven days of perpetual starlit darkness. It was like sailing through space.

She had barely slept. Snatched moments of rest. She worried she would fall asleep at the tiller and quickly freeze.

The boat was frosted with ice. Fierce cold. Gentle waves. The weather had begun to turn. The brilliant dusting of stars was slowly eclipsed by cloud. Turbulence chasing her from the north, gaining fast. The boat was designed to survive a storm. As soon as bad weather hit, she could lower the sails and seal herself below deck. She would bob like a cork as the boat rode mountainous waves and troughs. If the bolts and welds held fast, she would survive.

She stood in the cockpit and ate dry cereal from the packet, washed down with sips of water. The rudder was locked in position with nylon cord.

A cold, blue haze began to lighten the southern sky. Somewhere, far over the horizon, it was daytime. Navigation was easy. No need for a compass. All she had to do was head for the light.

Nikki wore three fleece jackets and a foil blanket. Two weeks at sea. She stank. She couldn't wash herself or her clothes.

She rode the swells. Later, if the weather stayed calm, she would seal herself below and snatch an hour of sleep. The steel and aluminium hull of the boat had been lagged with polystyrene packing blocks to trap heat.

Grinding, growling plates of ice.

'Nikki? Nikki, can you hear me?' Jane's voice.

The radio was hung in a canvas bag beneath the hatch. Nikki spoke into a handset like a Bakelite telephone.

'How's it going, Jane?'

'The crew transferred to Hyperion. I'm alone on the refinery.'

'Nobody cares about your little gestures. Get over there and have a good time.'

'Got a name for it yet?'

'The boat? It's a pile of nuts and bolts. Things are what they are.'

'A boat has to have a name.'

'I don't want to find the poetry in my soul. I don't want to rediscover my lost humanity. I'm trying hard to keep things real, which is probably why I'm part way home and you're still trapped in that steel tomb.'

'What will you do when you reach land? Have you thought about it?

'Survival. The sovereign state of me. It'll be bliss.'

'How's the weather?'

'Calm enough. The wind cuts like a knife. Seem to be making good time. Hard to judge speed, but the current is strong.'

'Position?'

'By my reckoning I'm north-west of Murmansk. The current should funnel me past Norway the next few days. I'll be out of radio contact long before then.'

'Keep well. Keep lucky. Ill speak to you tomorrow.'

Nikki slept in her bunk. The hull was packed with supplies. Boxes of food, bags of clothes. She had shoved them aside to create a tight coffin space in which she could stretch out in a sleeping bag. The aluminium roof of the hull was directly above her head. She lay in the dark and listened to her breath, loud and harsh in the confined space.

An impact. A metallic scrape against the side of the boat. A second impact. An iceberg? A whale?

She flipped open the hatch. There were strange shapes in the water, clustered boulders like drifting chunks of ice. She switched on her flashlight and scanned the surface of the ocean. The sea was full of floating cars. White Nissan Navaras. An undulating vista of gloss metal reflecting the moonlight. Some of the utility vehicles were upside down. Water washed over galvanised chassis and alloy wheels. A cargo ship must have spilled its load. Freight containers washed from the deck, smashed open as they hit the sea. The cars held enough trapped air to keep themselves afloat.

Each time the vehicles nudged the boat Nikki heard the shriek of abrading metal. She worried the repeated impact of the cars might rupture the hull. She spent an hour climbing back and forth along the length of the boat. Her boots slipped on slick metal. She strained to push cars away with her feet. She was tied to the mast by a short leash to make sure she could quickly get back on board if she fell into the sea.

Once she was free of the car-slick she sat with her back to the mast and caught her breath.

Survival.

Once it was all stripped away, her job, personal loyalties, her name and history, what was left? Just the fact that she was alive and aware, adrift on a vast ocean.

She tuned the radio.

'Hello? Hello? Hailing all vessels. Can anyone hear me?'

She heard a man's voice, a calm and measured murmur. She couldn't make out words. It was some kind of looped broadcast. It had faded in and out for days.

She looked to the horizon. The azure tint of distant daylight was mottled with heavy cloud. A storm heading her way.

Nikki stretched and composed herself, got ready to confront her next opponent like a boxer waiting for the round-one bell.