Rob Ewing - The Last of Us

Mr MacNeil’s boat is in the bay, at the furthest end of the pier, roped at the outside of three others.

Duncan is there, shouting at us to come on, come on, shouting so his voice screams and cracks.

‘Remember his green ladder, look!’ Calum Ian says.

‘He bloody got back safe!’ Duncan shouts back at him. ‘We just have to find where he went!’

The boat’s been here a while. We can tell. It’s all dried up in mud. I feel let down – maybe Elizabeth does too – but we don’t say anything because that would spoil their time of getting to be excited.

‘Dad,’ Calum Ian says, his voice gone flatter.

The boat’s made of wood, metal. There’s a small house, which Calum Ian calls the cabin, with windows like a lighthouse, plus a metal frame at the back which he calls the winch. Then on the side, between lines of blue paint, a name, written in wavy black letters: Mary Anne .

The wires from the winches of the other boats are tangled up. With the tide out there’s maybe ten feet to fall onto sand and stone. Even so, Calum Ian wants us all to climb across: all except Mairi, who keeps her own distance this time, waiting for us on a bump of grass beside the pier wall, chin on her knees.

Alex comes as well. He has to stretch hard to reach from one boat to the other. The furthest boat is Mr MacNeil’s. It stinks of mould and dried-out seaweed. At the back of it are lots of slippery green nets, piled in tangles.

In the middle of the boat there’s an open cardboard box, with lots of smaller boxes in cellophane inside.

The smaller boxes have gone damp – especially near the edges where there was no shelter from the cabin.

‘So he did bring back supplies,’ Calum Ian says. ‘He did his job; he did it right. He was a hero! Then all he had to do – it wasn’t a big deal – all he had to do was come and find us. Rescue us.’

He frees one of the small boxes. The paper of it flakes into powder. It only takes a rub with his fingers and the whole side of the box crumbles away.

‘Medicines.’

We knew, already. It’s the same medicine we’ve seen when New Shopping in people’s houses; same as beside the Last Adult. The medicine that Mum delivered.

Boxes and boxes of it.

‘No one got any,’ I say.

‘They argued before he left,’ Calum Ian says. ‘Mum and Dad, all night. Dad said he was going on a mercy trip. Mum said, “Whose mercy? We can keep the fish you get for us.” But see, it wasn’t only fish. It was more important than that. He was trying to save the whole people, not just us.’

We scrape open some more of the boxes, but they’re all the same kind. After this, we search the cabin. Nothing: apart from a dream-catcher hanging from a radio with a curly cord, and one of Duncan’s old drawings, of a man on a motorbike jumping through a ring of fire. Duncan says it was his dad’s favourite.

Calum Ian clicks the radio switch, but it’s not working. After this he puts his hands softly on the boat’s steering wheel.

‘The view he had.’

In the cupboards we find tea, sugar and a cup which says WORLD’S GREATEST CATCH. There’s a pair of blue overalls, very oily, then an orange waterproof suit, which reeks of sea-mould.

Calum Ian starts to look through all the cupboards again: and for a dumb second I think they’re actually looking for their dad inside the cupboards – but then Elizabeth says: ‘I might know where he went.’

Which makes me realise that they’re only opening cupboard doors because they don’t want to start looking properly.

It’s not hard to work out where all the people in this village ended up. Around the Community Centre there’s too many cars. They’re parked in a jam, just like the roadblock we found back on the coast road.

The door of the centre is taped shut with criss-crossed BIOHAZARD tape. At the top of the jam of cars there’s an ambulance, with its back doors open, so that the inside of it got filthy with bird shit and leaves and sand.

Mairi follows us again, but now doesn’t want to come anywhere near the Community Centre. She waits just outside the gates – curled up, but still watching, not looking away for one second.

Calum Ian looks at Mairi, then at me and Elizabeth.

‘You decide to keep her?’

I see that Elizabeth doesn’t want to talk about it – or doesn’t want to tell what she decided. And for once, Calum Ian doesn’t turn it into an argument.

Duncan is sitting on the steps leading to the Centre door. As I get close I hear him whisper, ‘Why didn’t you come for us, Dad?’

Calum Ian goes to stand beside him. He takes out our bottle of red sterilised and drinks, afterwards wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

‘Anyway,’ he offers Duncan some, ‘Dad should’ve kept to his side of the bargain. And now, what: do we have to find him because he didn’t come and find us?’

He stares at the taped-up door. Some birds fly over. We watch them as if there was nothing else to watch.

‘I’ll go inside,’ Elizabeth says.

Calum Ian just keeps on looking up at the birds.

She adds, ‘Mainly because you did it for me. Not because I think you’ve been a good friend, because you haven’t always. But because you did it for me.’

Calum Ian swirls the water until there’s a whirlpool.

‘I’m not going to ask you to do it.’

But Elizabeth doesn’t answer: instead, she just starts to get ready.

She opens up her rucksack, takes out her perfume-hanky, sprays it twice. Then she puts spare plastic bags on her feet and on her hands.

After this Calum Ian stands in front of her, to put his goggles over her head. He sprays her perfume-hanky on the outside – five times for luck – while Elizabeth holds it firmly over her mouth.

‘Did I leave any gaps? I could tape it around twice? Do I look stupid? Or scared?’

‘Never scared.’

Mairi, still on the road, now seems to realise what we’re doing. She waves her hands crazily, but doesn’t try and come any closer than she is.

Me and Alex and Duncan say we’re going to try and calm her down, so we begin to walk back. For me it’s really a trick to get further away. I feel mean to be doing it, but I don’t want to stay near that door.

Elizabeth cuts the tape with her big scissors. Then she gives the thumbs-up, and opens it.

We look the other way when the flies start to come.

She’s inside for six minutes. When she comes back out again she kicks the plastic bags off her feet, pulls down her perfume-hanky. She crouches by the door. I think she’s going be sick, then I see that she’s crying.

Calum Ian tries to encourage her. But it isn’t easy because Elizabeth is bent down too much, so in the end he kneels beside her, puts a hand on her neck.

We creep nearer. Elizabeth has stopped crying. I didn’t like the sound of it and I’m glad she’s stopped.

She hands over a yellow bag. Calum Ian rips open the top of it. Inside – his dad’s wallet, keys, phone. There’s also a note, which Elizabeth says was pinned to the outside of a bag which contained his jacket and shoes.

We gather in close to read:

Roderick MacNeil 23/05/70 – 9/12. Wife Mary Anne MacNeil 3/08/72. Deps: Calum Ian, Duncan, Flora. Children? at crisis accom. Mother deceased 5/12, school mort. NOK?

We read the note, then read it again, until the words lose their sense, turn strange.

After this Duncan just goes back to sitting on the step. Calum Ian folds the letter up, smaller and smaller until he can’t fold it any more.