Chapter 86
Cook felt a searing pain in his scalp, his hair was being torn out at the roots. It cut through the numbing caused by the cold water, even cut through the desperate desire to open his mouth and gasp for air, even though he knew there was no air to be had.
But then he felt an arm under his shoulder. The tillerman, he assumed. The boat must have survived the blast.
‘He’s gone,’ he heard a voice say as he was dragged out of the water. More hands grabbed him and pulled him over the side.
It was a different boat. Similar smells of foul water and petrol, but a proper wooden deck. Cook rolled onto his stomach, and vomited what felt like ten pints of river water, again and again, until he was heaving with no result.
‘He’s tied up,’ someone said.
‘Untie him.’ Another voice. A voice of authority.
‘Looks like an execution.’
Cook felt his hands and feet being cut free and he rolled onto his back. Three fishermen looked down at him.
‘Were you on that boat just went up?’ one of them asked.
Cook tried to respond, but he couldn’t speak.
He tried to get up, but his legs failed him.
Instead, he lay on the wooden deck, looking up at the burning wreckage of the Addington Lass.
A column of filthy black smoke poured into the sky.
Two fireships already circled it, arcing jets of water into the flames.