The Kirkfallen Stopwatch

by J. A. Henderson

  Everyone on Kirkfallen, even the children, had mastered carpentry. Everyone on the island knew how to build.

  Gene, Poppy and Millar were the oldest children on the island. On rare occasions they let Marcie Gold and Bob McCombie join them, but they were only thirteen and too immature to be a proper part of the gang.

  “What’s the matter?” Millar waved a hand in front of his friend’s face. “You’re off in a world of your own.”

  Millar Watt was a short, confident boy, permanently decked out in a felt trilby, oversized ex-army boots with a camouflaged jacket and matching combat trousers. Gene wasn’t sure if these were the only clothes his friend owned or if he had a dozen pairs of identical outfits. Millar refused to confirm or deny either theory.

  “I was thinking.”

  “Well please stop,” Poppy grumped. “It means I’m stuck talking to Millar.”

  “And I use too many big words for her to understand what I’m saying.”

  Poppy was a large girl, not fat, but broad shouldered and as sturdy as any man on the island – solidity only enhanced by her rugby top and baggy jeans. Add thick black eyebrows, square jaw and a bowl cut of black hair and Poppy looked less flowery than anyone Gene could imagine.

  “Want to tell us what’s eating you?” she said. “You look like you’ve swallowed a nettle.”

  Gene smiled awkwardly at his friends.

  “I was out on Pittenhall Ridge on Sunday…”

  “You’re not allowed there,” Poppy gasped, looking around – though nobody could possibly be listening.

  “I just went to sketch birds.”

  His friends understood. Drawing was Gene’s hobby and he was turning out to be a pretty good artist. Pittenhall’s reputation meant their friend was guaranteed to be undisturbed out there and birds were a lot easier to draw when they stayed on the ground.

  “I spotted the Orbisons while I was sketching. It must have been right before they died.”

  “Fantastic!” Millar said breathlessly. “Did you see them jump?”

  Poppy thumped the boy on the shoulder, almost knocking him across the room.

  “Don’t be so insensitive, you moron.” She turned consolingly to Gene. “Well? Did you?”

  “No I didn’t.” The boy chewed at his lip. “In fact, I saw the exact opposite.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I was lying in a patch of grass drawing a nesting tern when I spotted the Orbisons walking along Pittenhall Ridge. And they weren’t suicidal. They were talking and laughing.”

  “Did they see you?”

  “I didn’t want to be disturbed so I moved further down where I couldn’t see them and they couldn’t see me. I guess I must have dozed off and when I checked again they were gone.”

  He rubbed his temple awkwardly.

  “Point is, they seemed in a great mood. And they were heading away from the Ridge - back towards the village.”

  “Jesus, Gene. Why didn’t you tell anyone this?”

  “Are you kidding? I’d be grounded for months if my dad knew I was anywhere near the Fence.”

  “So, what are you getting at?” Poppy scratched her neck with a thick finger. “Are you saying they didn’t commit suicide?

  “From what I saw, it doesn’t seem likely.”

  “You think someone forced them over?”

  “I can’t come up with a good reason why two happy people heading away from a cliff top would suddenly turn around and jump off the edge.”

  Millar’s eyes were like saucers. “If you think they were murdered then you have to tell someone.”

  “Tell who? It would take more than one person to drag a healthy couple to the edge of a cliff top and throw them over. It might even take three or four.”

  “Maybe there was a boat and the sailors came ashore and ….” Millar petered out as he realised how dumb he sounded.

  “And they flew up a sheer cliff on jetpacks?”

  “There’s nobody on the island except the people in our village.” Poppy said incredulously. “Folk we’ve known for ever.”

  “Exactly. But I can’t get it out of my head that the Orbisons were murdered.” Gene shook his head sadly.

  “And, if they were, the killers have to be from our community.”

  7

  Kirkfallen Island 2000

  Gene, Poppy and Millar huddled in the hut, pondering their dilemma. Outside, wheeling gulls shrilled as they always did, and the wind that always seemed to blow angrily across the thatch. For the first time, the teenagers were acutely aware of their own isolation.

  “I think we should tell our parents,” Poppy volunteered. “We can’t just keep this to ourselves.”

  “I don’t.” Millar objected. Despite his casual manner and weird attire, he was a boy of fierce intellect. He had read almost every book in the island’s information hut, and that was a considerable amount. And he remembered almost all the data he had absorbed.

  “Why not?”

  “Look at us,” Millar held his hands out to his friends. “We trust each other, don’t we?”

  Poppy raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “You pinned a sign on my back saying I am a truck.”

  “That was two years ago!”

  “Of course we do.” Gene interrupted. “We’ve all grown up together.”

  “Same with the rest of Fallen.” Millar said. “We live together. Work together. We haven’t got anyone else.”

  It was true. The inhabitants of Kirkfallen were completely isolated. And though they came from all over the world, their diverse backgrounds and cultures seemed to have been forgotten. The adults never talked about where they had come from, even when the children asked. They were, by some unspoken agreement, people without a past.

  “It wouldn’t go down well if we start spreading rumours that there are murderers among us.” Gene agreed. “It could tear Fallen apart.”

  “Less of the we.” Millar snorted. “You’re the only one who saw the Orbisons.”

  “And you believe me, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “That’s what I mean. Everyone on this island trusts each other. We can’t mess that up unless we have some actual proof.”

  “So what do we do? Hold a séance?”

  “We find the proof ourselves.” Gene said decisively.

  “We figure out who did it.”

  8

  Edge of the Mohave Desert

  1980

  Dan and Louise rode in the back of an old pickup until they reached the spot where Highway 58 crossed Highway 14. After a few minutes standing at the flat, dusty crossroads, they caught another ride heading north towards El Paso. A few miles later they came to a sign that said

  Welcome to Rattray. Population 769.

  Please Drive Slowly

  Someone had scored out the R and V on the word drive so that it now read

  Please D i e Slowly

  “Yup. It’s that kinda place.” Louise tapped the driver on the shoulder. “This here is fine, thanks. We appreciate the ride.”

  Rattray was the definition of a one horse town. Two strips of sun bleached stores lined the main drag and, behind that, a handful of back streets curved up a steep sandy hill, before petering out when the gradient got too severe. Two of the stores had FOR SALE signs in the windows. There were no people around that they could see.

  Dan gave a low whistle.

  “What do you do for fun around here, Louise? Grow cactuses?”

  “The plural is cacti.” The woman unshouldered her rucksack and dropped it in the nearest trash can. Perspiration moulded the t-shirt to her ample curves. “And you’ll be getting one shoved up your butt if you sass me again.”

  The boy pulled at her arm.

  “Louise. Why are we the only two alive? Why aren’t we dead like everyone else on the base? And where did all the ants come from?”

  “I don’t know, Dan. Not even sure I want to.”

  She pointed to a row of modest one st
ory cabins half way up the hill.

  “That’s where my daughter and I live. Her name’s Emily.”

  “What about your husband?”

  “I said I was pregnant, honey. Didn’t say nothin about a husband.” Louise gave a wry grin. “Guess you were right. There ain’t much to do for fun around here.”

  Dan coughed politely and looked at the ground.

  “Don’t worry about it, son. I like kids more than I like attachments.”

  When the teenager looked back up, tears sparkled in his eyes.

  “What’s going to happen to me now?”

  Louise took a deep breath.

  “I’m betting we both seen too much for the army to let us walk away.” She patted her stomach protectively. “Me, Emily and the egg, we need to disappear.”

  “You’re not going to take me, are you?” Dan could hardly speak.

  “I can’t, honey. I know what you did.”

  “But I need to explain. I…”

  “No.” The woman put a finger to his lips. “I don’t want explanations. You’re a kid. All you need is forgiveness.”

  She pulled the teenager to the side of the street and parked him on a bench.

  “But I need to make it clear why I did what I did.”

  Dan hung his head again.

  “No. No. We look at each other for this.” She tilted his chin up. “I was hired at Sheridan Base ‘cause I’m a trained nurse and they were shorthanded. And when I saw what they were doing I went along with it anyway. I stood by and let them experiment on these prisoners. I did it for the money.”

  She stared into the teenager’s eyes.

  “Woman with a young child living in these parts? There ain’t a lot of work and this paid handsomely.”

  The boy nodded, which was hard to do because Louise was still holding tightly onto his jaw.

  “That was a mighty long speech for me, by the way.”

  “I understand,” Dan whispered. Louise let go of his chin and pointed up the hill, her voice hardening.

  “My ten year old daughter is up there. She’s my world and I can’t have anything happen to her. I saved you. I reckon that makes us even. I can’t do no more.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of notes.

  “I got about a hundred dollars here. There’s a greyhound bus you can flag down in half an hour, heading for El Paso. Then you’re on your own.”

  “I’m scared, Louise.”

  “Me too, son. But neither of us can go to the police. We’ve both done too much wrong.”

  She stuck out her hand and Dan gingerly took it.

  “Good luck, honey.”

  “Same to you, Louise.” The teenager choked back a sob.

  The woman turned and marched determinedly up the hill, her face red with shame, leaving Dan sitting alone on the deserted street.

  Naish slunk back into the living quarter, dark rings under her eyes. Dr Kelty had fallen asleep at the desk, breathing softly, his head lodged in his hands. The assistant watched him for a few moments. Then she reached out and pulled one elbow away. Kelty’s head shot down, his chin slamming onto the hard wood.

  “Eh? What? I wasn’t asleep!”

  “Course not, Sir,” Naish said agreeably. “But choppers just found a jeep on the edge of the desert, about fifty miles north. Two dead soldiers inside. Looks like they killed each other.”

  “Sure.” Kelty straightened up and placed two hands on his back, cracking it with a series of loud pops. “They escaped this carnage and drove fifty miles in the dark. Then they decided to kill each other.”

  “Maybe they fell out over who was gonna pay for the gas.”

  “Don’t be flippant Naish.” Kelty swung his head from side to side creating more crunching noises. The woman winced.

  “I’m betting there’s only one jeep missing from the compound.”

  “Correct.”

  “Then there were four people in it.” Kelty twisted a pen between his thin fingers, staring into space. “Odd that any fugitives would head north, though, don’t you think?”

  “There are far more towns to the west,” his assistant agreed. “It would be easier to disappear if they headed in that direction.”

  “Narrow the search Naish. Concentrate on any unidentified personnel who were bussed in from north of Sheridan Base. And when we find them I don’t want them killed anymore.”

  “That’s mighty big of you.”

  “The two who escaped can’t be a threat or we’d know all about it by now.” Kelty tapped the pen on his teeth. “My God. Those survivors might be the most important people on earth and they don’t even know it.”

  “Without wanting to burst your bubble sir. There’s a distinct possibility that we won’t locate them. They have quite a lead on us and it’s pretty certain our funding will be pulled when Top Brass realise your experiment wiped out an entire research facility.”

  “I certainly have some fast talking to do.” To Naish’s horror Kelty gave a broad smile. “But we’ll find them.”

  He took the clipboard from his assistant and snapped it shut.

  “Sooner or later. We will find them.”

  9

  Kirkfallen Island 2000

  “We need to pool our resources.” Millar Watt stroked his chin dramatically. “I’ll figure out who killed the Orbisons and Poppy can sit on them until help arrives.”

  Poppy was used to comments like this and didn’t even blink.

  “What’ll I do?” Gene said sarcastically. “Find you a pipe and deerstalker hat?”

  “Can’t look worse than the one he’s wearing.”

  “Nothing wrong with Sherlock Holmes, my dear Popson.” Millar removed the battered headgear and stroked it affectionately. “How often have I said to you that, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth?”

  “How about never?”

  “It’s a quote,” Millar sighed. “From The Sign of Four, by Arthur Conan Doyle.”

  “Is there a book in the information hut you haven’t read?”

  “There’s a history of the English Civil War I haven’t got around to yet. Poppy’s using it to block up a draught under her bedroom door.”

  Poppy shrugged. She wasn’t interested in reading. The information hut had a battered television with a VCR and, though the only films were old black and white movies, Poppy had watched them dozens of times. Her ambition was to get to America some day and be a movie star – a notion Millar ridiculed every time he got the chance. But no matter how much fun he made of her looks and size, Poppy was unshakeable in the belief that she would eventually be a star.

  “We should start with the facts we have.” Gene fished around in the large tea chest, where they kept their belongings and brought out a pad and paper.

  “You want to take notes Poppy?”

  “Do I look like a secretary?”

  “It’s easy,” Millar leered. “Just write with the sharp end of the pencil.”

  “I saw the Orbisons on Sunday at about one in the afternoon.” Gene cut off the budding slanging match. They must have died soon after that.”

  On the paper he wrote

  Time of death. Roughly 1.00 pm on Sunday

  “When were the bodies found?”

  “A couple of hours later. Fred Wolper came across them.”

  “What would he be doing at the bottom of Pittenhall rocks?” Poppy wondered.

  “Very good Watson,” Millar stroked his chin again. “Odd place for anyone to be.”

  “He was at the top, you idiots.” Gene interrupted. “He’d been moving sheep to a new pasture and was missing a couple. He looked over the edge to see if they’d fallen and spotted the bodies.”

  “Put him down as a suspect.”

  “Is that what Sherlock Homes would do?”

  Millar shrugged. “He’s the only suspect we’ve got.”

  Gene dutifully wrote his name down.

  Suspect 1. Fred Wol
per. Shepherd.

  “He couldn’t have forced them both over himself,” Poppy argued. “He’s too small.”

  “That’s right,” Millar agreed. “Where were you at eleven on Sunday?”

  “I was milking the cows.”

  “Excellent. So we can eliminate them as suspects.”

  “I remember seeing the McCombies walking past.” Poppy thought for a moment. “I talked to Marcie Gold and she was with her parents.”

  “It’s a start.” Millar rubbed his hands. “Gene, can you write a list of everyone on the island? Then we can cross off anyone with an alibi.”

  There must be fifty people on Fallen,” Gene moaned. But he set out writing them all down. In the end he counted 70, including the children.

  “So? Who else couldn’t have done it?”

  “My parents.” Poppy said with obvious relief. ‘They were in our croft.”

  “What about yours Millar?”

  “Having brunch with the Duke of Windsor, for all I know,” the teenager retorted. “They sure as hell weren’t killing anyone.”

  “I’ll cross off your mum and dad, Poppy.” Gene scored a pen though the Ainsworth’s name. “And all the kids. They’re too young to have done it.”

  “That still leaves 44 adults.” Millar screwed up his face. “Including my parents and Gene’s.”

  “Hey. We better get going.” Poppy parted a nailed up sheet and looked out the small slit that served for a window. “It’s pretty dark outside.”

  She picked up the kerosene lamp they used for illumination and the trio made their way back to Kirkfallen village. The ground had turned to ink but the teenagers knew their way so well they could have made it home with their eyes closed.

  “See you tomorrow, guys.” Millar broke off and headed towards his parents’ croft. “The chase is afoot!”

  “Well, you’re sure to creep up on it in your big stupid camouflaged pants.” Poppy moved off in the opposite direction. “Night Gene.”