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Another one of those things built to last, like the bunker, before red tape and a lack of common sense came in to play.
But given this jetty was wood and rusted bolts, I kinda wished common sense played a little bit harder. It was short and it did look robust. The pylons were as round as telegraph poles, which was probably exactly what they once were.
But it was still standing.
Kinda.
I lassoed a pylon and gave the rope to Jeremiah. “Pull us in,” I said, going back to the wheel. He clearly hadn’t expected me to get him to do that, bein’ all wide-eyed and nervous, but like everything he did, he did it well.
I really loved how he just got in and had a go. Never saidoh, I can’t do thator panicked or whined about it. He just used that big ol’ brain of his to figure shit out and he did what needed doing.
I manoeuvred us in and cut the engine as he pulled the rope, and I tied it off.
“Be careful of the boards on the jetty,” I said. “Actually, let me go first.”
But it was too late. He threw the gangplank over and was already standing on the jetty by the time I’d finished speaking.
So impatient.
“Good heavens,” he said, inspecting the wood. “Apparently they built this jetty when they brought the radar in by barge about twenty years ago.” He looked at it, horrified. “How is this still even standing?”
“I’m surprised it wasn’t washed away long ago.” I walked across to meet him, and he held his hand out for me.
So sweet.
“Perhaps we should walk along the edge where the bolts are,” he said. Then he grimaced. “Wheresomebolts still are.”
“Yeah, how about we don’t jinx it,” I suggested. “Let’s go and check out the weather station and see if there’s anywhere to camp tonight. Or if we’re sleeping on the boat.”
With a nod, he led the way off the jetty and onto the wharf. It was a rocky platform, clearly man-made like Jeremiah had said, when they built the weather station and needed to offload gear. Further down was a small beach, dotted with large protruding boulders and rocks. There were a few palm trees, though it was mostly shrubs, and it was hard to tell if the cyclone had mown over them or if it always looked such a mess.
I was thinkin’ it could be the latter.
But there, a few metres back into a clearing, with its own two-metre-tall fence built right around it, was the most prominent and probably only feature. There was a small, square, cinder-block building with a flat roof that appeared to be welded on. It reminded me of something from one of those worst-prisons-in-the-world episodes.
“Sweet mother of god,” Jeremiah mumbled. He stood there, his arms by his side, his mouth open, and stared at the building. He shook his head, dismayed. “What even is this place?”
“I was just thinking it looked like a cell block, or maybe an outhouse at one of the world’s worst prisons. Except for the mess of antennas and radars on top of it.”
“Yes, well,” he said as he opened the padlock on the gate. “This one is even older than my office.”
Jesus.
Did he have any equipment that wasn’t older than him?
I knew it made Jeremiah frustrated and disappointed, but it made me really fucking angry.
“If they don’t upgrade you with all the newest and bestest of everything, Imma pay a little visit to the dipshits at the national head office.”
He held the gate for me. “And who said chivalry was dead.”
“Not me.” I gave him my biggest grin. “I’m the most chivalrous man in all the lands.”
“I’m certain cracking skulls and name-calling falls somewhat short of the chivalrous qualifiers.” Then he smiled at me. “Though the sentiment is heartwarming.”
I preened and he rolled his eyes before walking toward the building.
“Jeez,” he said, now looking at something else in the corner of the yard. “Look at that.”
