The Bridge

by Simon Winstanley

  On every floor they’d found many expensive and precious items, but the greater treasure had been something else: discarded by former occupants of the exclusive hotel rooms, abandoned food and water had kept her and Terry alive.

  As usual, there were still resources on their current level but they’d always adopted the practice of leaving a few supplies behind; preparation for the day when they would descend through the building again and head out into the uncertain new world.

  Moving toward the hotel suite’s front door, she shook the can of spray paint.

  “All set?” she checked.

  “Yep.”

  Terry left some water and biscuits on the table, then swung his small rucksack over his shoulder. Leaving resources behind had another advantage: they could travel light.

  As they walked out of the apartment and onto the stairwell, Megan pulled the cap off the spray paint. Moving her arm in a wide arc, she sprayed a large red circle onto the wall. Before the circle could complete, she stopped and placed a red dot in the gap.

  “Exordi Nova,” she muttered, suppressing a slight shudder.

  “New Beginning,” Terry replied in his usual matter-of-fact tone, then led the way to the foot of the next flight of stairs.

  Although she hated placing the symbol, she fully understood why they were doing it.

  Before the collapse, the symbol had been feared far and wide. Seeing anything marked with the broken circle was a warning: members of the Exordi Nova were either nearby or they directly controlled the immediate territory.

  She put the cap back on the can and followed Terry.

  As usual, she felt an uneasy gratitude that the symbol had done its job, scaring away potentially desperate scavengers during the night. But the more chilling alternative continued to wear away at her: it was possible there were simply no survivors out there. They may never see another living soul again.

  In a few minutes they would reach the staircase summit. She knew there were higher floors to the building but, without electricity, the access elevator was as dead as everything else.

  When they’d first begun their climb, the lower floors had featured inspirational images of the tower at night. Ironically, many of these framed pictures had already fallen from the walls and smashed. As they’d proceeded up through the building, the staircase had gradually narrowed and the walls displayed only grey paint with a red line to lead them onward and upwards.

  “Here we go,” she waited for Terry to catch up, then they both took the last step.

  A quick inspection of the floor revealed what they’d been hoping for: a telescope to inspect London’s new layout. But it soon became apparent that it required coins to make it work. Coins that neither of them possessed. Together they began a more thorough check of their surroundings.

  In its day, this elite venue had given people an aerial view of the city while drinking fine wines and sampling haute cuisine. Those times were long gone, but Megan could see that the observation deck still contained potentially useful remnants.

  A glass-fronted vending machine stood at one side of the room. Although it was empty, the decor implied that it had once dispensed small, plastic bottles of wine. For those individuals who could afford better, it seemed there had been a counter that served drinks by the glass.

  “Champagne?” Terry stood up from behind a rubbish bin, holding a heavy but empty green bottle.

  “Ideal,” she said and took it from him.

  She walked back to the vending machine and placed the narrow neck end in contact with the glass, “Can you hold this here?”

  “What?” Terry held it in place, “Ain’t you just gonna welly it with the thick end?”

  “It’s safety glass,” she pointed out, “I need something to scale up the force per square inch.”

  She covered the bottle’s base with her left hand, then palm-punched it hard with her right. The bottle rammed forward and the machine’s glazed front became a mass of loosely-joined glass pieces. Using the intact bottle, she worked the hole larger.

  “Where’d you learn that?” he said.

  “Science class,” she scraped the remainder of the glass away, “I think it had something to do with an elephant’s foot and a stiletto heel. Now, how the hell are we supposed to get into the -”

  “Let me have a go,” he interrupted.

  As she stood aside, he pushed his arm through the hole and reached further inside.

  “It’s been… a while…” his shoulder wriggled and his eyes appeared to focus on different points in thin air, “but… if I can…”

  There was a metallic click and the front panel opened.

  “And where’d you learn that from?”

  “A bench at King’s Cross station,” he smiled and pulled his arm out.

  He opened a small drawer inside the machine, exposing hundreds of coins.

  “This stuff,” he picked up a large handful, “used to run the world.”

  “Lucky for us,” she took one of the coins, “some things still depend on it.”

  Carrying the drawer full of coins between them, they began walking back from the far side of the observation deck.

  Terry took up position in front of the telescope. Despite having older eyes than hers, he’d lived here all his life. When it came to deciding on a new direction, she knew she could trust him completely.

  She slid the coin into the slot and Terry began to pan over the horizon.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Gimme a minute, eh?”

  While she waited, she took in the surroundings. Sunlight rippled over vast pools of water. Grey clouds slowly drifted through the bleached sky. It seemed that, without a human race to interfere, the world was just carrying on. She had to wonder if the planet itself was already feeling better off without a load of jumped-up monkeys in charge.

  “What a total bloody mess,” she muttered to herself.

  “What’s done is done,” Terry continued to focus on the distant landscape.

  “Sorry. I gotta stop dumping on you,” she sighed and pointed at the flooded view directly below, “I guess it’s all water over the bridge now.”

  At her side, Terry began to wheeze and he stepped away from the telescope. In alarm, she turned to see that his chest was caught in a minor spasm. He was chuckling.

  “What?” she laughed in relief.

  “The awful puns,” he smiled, “You ain’t done that in a while… Nice to hear, that’s all.”

  With each new coin that went into the telescope, a little more of their surroundings began to emerge. According to Terry’s local knowledge, the area he’d seen to the north was their best shot. Apparently, its high elevation had once allowed it to be used for the world’s first regular TV broadcasts.

  After taking notes of the new landscape they began their descent. The discussion soon turned to the practicalities of reaching their destination and the difficulties of moving beyond the building itself. Emerging onto a lower floor, Megan crossed to a window and looked north. From the lower perspective, the distances seemed somehow magnified.

  Again she found herself recalling the moment that the flock of birds had filled the sky, fleeing from the danger. She had watched in petrified awe as the wall of water had burst through each of the distant buildings as though they were made of nothing more than matchsticks.

  “It’s so far,” she sighed at the resulting view.

  “A few miles,” Terry arrived at her side.

  “I know, but look at it.”

  “Nothing’s changed since yesterday,” he pointed out, “except us. We still need to go.”

  “I know,” she knew he was right, but here they’d had a semblance of normal life. They hadn’t needed to scavenge for food every hour, something that would change once they’d left.

  “We have to know for sure if…” he broke off.

  “If we’re the only ones left?” she completed.

  Although she didn’t look away from the view, she could tell he was
quietly nodding. She heard him draw a deep breath.

  “You know, my mum always used to say that the meek would inherit the Earth… Never believed her… ’specially after I lost the lot… but now look at me,” he opened his arms wide, “Lord of all I survey. The Homeless King.”

  Although his tone bordered on the sarcastic, she knew it was only to disguise an inner pain. Something he’d no doubt been doing for more years than her. For his sake, she adopted the same conversational tone.

  “In that case,” she forced a posh English accent and bowed before him, “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty.”

  She stood to face him again, just in time to see the smile draining from his face. She saw his eyes suddenly widen, then a noise came from behind her.

  LONDON

  After allowing his eyes to adjust to the sunlight, the first thing that Tristan had noticed was the smell. Although the salty sea had claimed London, the air was tinged with something else: the odour of decaying organic matter.

  The Iseult had moored at the foot of The Shard building but, with no ready-made dock in place, they were having to improvise their way to the jagged shore. He walked back along the outer hull to where Marcus was busy making last-minute preparations.

  “How’s the luggage looking?”

  “OK,” Marcus continued to tap at his laptop, “I’ll do a quick system check, but it should be alright.”

  “Izzy?” he tapped his radio headset, “You ready?”

  “Just wrapping it up now,” she replied, “Be up there in a sec.”

  “Great,” he turned to face away from the building.

  Most of London Bridge had fallen into the Thames, but it was difficult to identify the exact position of the river itself; so much of it had spread sideways to engulf the city.

  “Gimme a hand?” Marcus called him.

  Tristan saw that he needed help with the bulky case and moved to pick up the other end. Together they carried it to the side of the sub’s deck and set it down.

  “Mind if I ask you somethin’?” said Marcus.

  “Sure.”

  For a moment, Marcus seemed unsure how to phrase things but then appeared to find a way to approach the subject.

  “You’re one of the smartest blokes I ever met,” he gestured at the deck beneath their feet, “You design subs and airlocks, invent navigation systems that use seabed pattern recognition…”

  Tristan felt slightly embarrassed at the list that was being cited and attempted to deflect the compliment.

  “Isn’t that what all of us apes do?” he shrugged, “Spot the difference in patterns?”

  “You’ve got such a scientific mind,” Marcus became hesitant again, “but you followed circle symbols… like you were being guided by some sorta… godlike force.”

  “I know how it looks,” he admitted, “Can you see why I didn’t say anything to you and Izzy for so long?”

  “Totally, mate,” Marcus began opening the clasps on the case, “but…”

  “But, why did I do it?”

  Marcus just nodded and waited.

  “It feels like years ago that the Sea-Bass ran into that ice anomaly. But it was real. The circle shadow on the sonar overlay led us to it. If I hadn’t been seeing the same circle pattern all day, we would have missed it. We wouldn’t have met, or got out of the USV.”

  “Trust me, I’m glad to see the back of that place,” Marcus stood in front of the case, “But doesn’t the whole guidance thing mean you ain’t in control of anything you do?”

  Tristan laughed; he’d been pondering that same question for a while.

  “We ignored the Iseult’s compass,” said Tristan, “We chose to come here instead. Maybe it was the wrong decision, maybe it was the right one, but there’s no way of knowing, is there?”

  He saw Marcus smirk.

  “Unless you start seeing more signs, huh?”

  “I’m not saying that I understand it all. Far from it. Maybe it’s some sort of evolutionary thing…” he gave a shrug, “We’re wired to look out for patterns. Historically, if we don’t spot patterns and adapt, then we die out.”

  “Adapt or die,” Marcus seemed to identify with the words, but then his expression hardened as he looked past Tristan, “Some people don’t deserve to be given the choice.”

  Tristan turned to see Bradley Pittman standing motionless at the far end of the deck.

  The man was now a picture of uncertainty; his normally confident manner had been lost and he repeatedly checked around himself and his surroundings. Tristan realised this was probably the first time that Bradley had been forced to face the world without the filter of Archive’s protection.

  “Anyway, we’re all set,” said Marcus and flicked a switch.

  The mechanism unfolded itself; extending beyond the confines of the case’s edge and spinning up its rotor blades.

  Using the laptop’s control interface, Marcus raised the drone a few feet into the air and experimented turning it to the left and right. He flew it along the length of the sub then turned it sharply on the spot, so that it faced Bradley.

  “Flight looks good,” said Marcus, “Just the comms check to go.”

  Tristan saw Bradley take a frightened step back as the drone suddenly lowered its electrical stinger rod.

  “How does it feel, Pittman?” Marcus spoke into the laptop’s microphone; the amplified words blasting from the drone’s speaker.

  “Marcus!” Izzy called out, emerging from the airlock, “We need him!”

  Marcus backed the drone away and turned off the speaker.

  “The baton’s not even had time to charge,” Marcus’ eyes appeared to well up, “I’m not stupid. I know if I wanna see Sabine and the others, then he’s our access pass… I just wanted the bastard to know what it was like for Geraldine and Woods.”

  Tristan knew that their executions had been horrific, but he also knew that Marcus could never take a life; he’d been acting out of grief.

  “Marcus,” he spoke quietly, “Pittman is vindictive. It might seem like we have the upper hand, but he has the ability to make things difficult for us later on. We have to tread carefully out here.”

  Clearing his eyes and regaining his composure, Marcus nodded and piloted the drone to land on its case again.

  After a few minutes, Izzy had finished tying a small package to the drone’s lower rod. Far from being an instrument of punishment, the rod would now serve a greater role. Should the drone encounter any survivors, the attached ration packs would extend a hand of friendship to those in need. As Izzy had put it, the former Archive drone was ‘beating swords into ploughshares’.

  On the laptop’s screen they watched the feed from the drone’s camera as it rose above the Iseult.

  “You’re sure it can take the extra weight?” Izzy asked Marcus.

  “Yep,” he didn’t take his eyes off the screen, “Pretty damn sure.”

  With each passing second, Tristan saw the view become wider. As the drone continued to rise, the full extent of London’s decimation became horribly apparent. There was no River Thames, just a vast brown lake that extended to the misty horizon. From the drone’s high perspective, the rooftops of the submerged buildings looked like mere pieces of paper floating on the surface of a puddle.

  Tristan didn’t know the geography of the area very well, but he’d half expected to see Big Ben or Nelson’s column protruding from the rippling water. The fact was that none of the iconic landmarks had survived. With the exception of a few scattered and disintegrating tower blocks, the view was almost featureless.

  A distant sound reached them, but it was also duplicated on the laptop speakers: shattering glass.

  “What the hell?” Marcus began turning the drone.

  Tristan looked in the direction of the sound and saw a cloud of falling glass sparkling in the air. Looking directly above it, he saw that one of the windows had been broken.

  “There!” he pointed, “Get the drone over there!”r />
  “I see it!” Marcus glanced between the laptop screen and the real world, trying to get his bearings, “Just gimme a sec.”

  The remote camera view swung around and slowly rose past several floors, reflecting the drone itself in the bright glazing. Suddenly the reflection disappeared as the drone arrived at a place with no glass.

  Framed against the building’s exposed, darker interior was a man who was waving his hands. Although his clothes were coated with several months of dirt, Tristan could see they would once have been black. From the looks of the high-spec machine-gun hanging from a strap around his neck, the man was probably military. Or at least he had been before London had fallen.

  “Can we talk to him?” Izzy pointed between the laptop and the building.

  “Yeah,” Marcus accessed several controls, “Just gonna stabilise and lock it off.”

  The picture became more steady, automatically framing the man within the black rectangular space behind him.

  “OK, you’re good,” he turned the laptop over to her, “Push here.”

  Izzy held down the spacebar.

  “Hi,” she said, “Can you hear me?”

  On the screen, Tristan saw a smile of relief pass over the man’s face.

  “I hear you!” his voice came through the laptop speakers, and he pointed at the drone, “Nice X-oh-dee. I’d almost given up on you guys!”

  Marcus lifted Izzy’s hand from the spacebar, muting their audio feed, “Did he just say Exordi?”

  A laugh came from behind them.

  “X.O.D.” Bradley corrected them, “Exchangeable Ordinance Drone. It’s what Archive used to call ’em.”

  “He thinks he knows us,” Izzy frowned at the screen.

  “Lemme speak to him,” Bradley offered, “If he’s Archive, I’ll know it.”

  Tristan exchanged a concerned glance with Izzy.

  “Where’s the chopper?” the man continued, “I didn’t hear it coming in.”

  Marcus now bent to scrutinise the darker areas of the image, using his hand to reduce the daylight that was reflecting off the screen.

  “Come on,” Bradley shrugged, “The sooner we know who this guy is, the quicker we get to the ARC, right? He’s got a damn machine-gun. If he’s gonna be a threat, ain’t it better to know now?”