The Kirkfallen Stopwatch

by J. A. Henderson

  “Maybe he did.”

  “He’d already been there,” Emily shook her head vehemently. “In all the confusion it didn’t even register what I was looking at. The rifle and handgun D.B. was using belonged to my mother. She never let them out of the cabin.”

  “What if she gave the guns to Dan… I mean dad?”

  “No. She would have been by his side, using them herself. She was a much better shot than your father. Apathy, he used my mom’s own gun to kill her. Police forensics proved it.”

  Emily looked at her watch again.

  “We have to go to bed, baby. I’m falling apart.” Her shoulders sagged. “I can’t begin to guess what you feel.”

  “I feel like I do want a cigarette.”

  “Doesn’t help.”

  “Do I remind you of my father?” Apathy wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer. She was suddenly acutely aware that she was the daughter of a mass murderer.

  “At times like these, I’m painfully reminded. Then again, I loved him with all my heart.”

  “You must have, giving me this dumb name just because he made a joke about it.”

  “Caused quite a few laughs at the registry office, I can tell you.”

  “You thought he might remember what he’d said, didn’t you? Start looking for a kid with that name.”

  “It was a pretty long shot. He couldn’t have had a clue where we’d gone. But I was sure he’d find us and he’d be able to explain. He never broke a promise.”

  Emily gave a quick smile

  “I was that naïve. Then, as the years passed, I realised it was just wishful thinking.”

  She bowed her head and teardrops splashed into the ashtray.

  “I hate to admit it, Apathy, but your father was a delusional psychopath. Now I hope to God he never catches up with us.”

  “That’s why you’ve never settled in one place.” Apathy watched the spreading tears turn the ash to ink. “Couldn’t we just have changed our names again?”

  “All our lives we’ve been changing towns, changing jobs, changing schools.” Emily wiped the tears angrily away. “But my mother gave me this name and I’m keeping it.”

  “It’s been a long time,” Apathy said hopefully. “Maybe there’s nobody after you anymore.”

  “I’d like to think so. But mom told me the guy in charge of Sheridan Base was the type who never gives up.”

  Emily put the lid back on her shoebox, defeated.

  “His name was Dr Markus Kelty.”

  21

  MacLellan Research Facility, Kirkfallen Island

  1996

  Dr Kelty sat in front of his computer staring at the screen. On the desk in front of him were two newspaper clippings dated a month earlier. Both were taken from the Adirondack Mountain Times.

  The first read

  Trailer Park Massacre in New York State

  13 bodies found

  The second was the next week’s edition

  Fingerprints point to teenage murderer D. B. Salty as the Diamondback Killer

  “Told you we’d find you some day,” Kelty muttered. “Just didn’t expect it to take more than a decade.”

  On the computer screen a red warning rectangle was flashing.

  ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DELETE?

  Kelty’s finger hovered over the keyboard.

  “If only things were that simple.”

  The door opened and Dr McMurphy, the head technician, entered. With him was Captain Hammill, head of base security. Both stood respectfully in front of Kelty’s desk until the doctor finally acknowledged them.

  “You’ve tested the subjects again?”

  “This is the third time, Sir.” McMurphy answered, though he knew Kelty was well aware of that fact. He placed a manila folder on the desk.

  “Top brass won’t stand for another hold-up in our report,” Hammill added. “They’re calling for results almost daily. Don’t know why they’re suddenly so insistent.”

  Kelty knew. He glanced at the newspaper clippings again.

  “And I was going to cure cancer this afternoon.” He picked up the folder and leafed through it, feigning interest. He had delayed sending his findings for weeks now. What McMurphy and Hammill didn’t know, was that he had been falsifying the reports for the last two months.

  “Very well, Captain. I want you to assemble everyone in the canteen. Your men and McMurphy’s team too.” Kelty shut the folder. “I’m going to address the whole base personally.”

  “Right now?”

  “Why? You got a facial booked?”

  “As you wish, Colonel.” Hammill saluted and strode out of the room. Kelty went back to staring at the screen.

  “Can I speak frankly?” McMurphy asked.

  “As far as I’m aware that’s the only method you know.” Kelty sighed. He missed Naish, but she had her own posting now, back in the states. He hadn’t heard from her in years.

  “I don’t see why we’re being so cagey about what we’ve found. The evidence that we’re back on track is compelling.” McMurphy clasped his hands together excitedly. “These are very positive results.”

  “Depends on how you look at it,” the doctor said sourly. “To the Nazis, for instance, the genocide of an entire race was a positive result.”

  He withdrew his hand from the drawer. In his fist was a small pistol with a silencer attached. Kelty raised the gun and shot McMurphy between the eyes.

  As the head technician crumpled to the floor, the doctor glanced at the wall clock. It would take about fifteen minutes for Hammill to fill the mess hall. Five minutes after that, the incendiary devices Kelty had hidden in the roof panels would go off.

  He looked at the flashing screen one last time. It was filled with complex formulas that only he understood.

  ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DELETE?

  “No I’m damned well not. But If I don’t do it now I never will.”

  And he hit the button.

  Kelty fetched an automatic rifle from his arms cupboard. He now had ten minutes to complete his task before the bombs went off. He switched off the computer and headed for the exit.

  By the time the incendiary devices exploded Kelty had killed the guards on the door and trudged up to a hillock overlooking the entrance to the complex. He lay down in the snow and put the rifle to his shoulder as the interior of MacLellan Base was enveloped by flames.

  Most of the facility was underground and few of the base personnel made it out of the burning complex. As the survivors ran in panic from the building, Kelty picked them off one by one.

  Scurrying through the melting snow, they looked just like ants.

  Kelty made his way down Pittenhall Ridge to a launch. He waded through the surf, climbed in and started the motor.

  As the boat plunged into the swells, lurching over each cresting wave, the Doctor glanced back at Kirkfallen. Smoke spread out across the top of Jackson Ridge and there was an orange tinge to the darkening sky.

  Kelty raised a hand to his eyes.

  A hulking figure, black against the fiery glow, stood watching the boat from the cliff top at Jackson Head.

  The Kidnapping

  The scientist James Lovelock has predicted a looming human catastrophe, with wars over fuel, water and land - and a population crash that could leave just 500m survivors of the current population of 6.6 billion.

  22

  Edinburgh 2000

  Apathy packed her rucksack and left the flat for school. She was worn out from the late night and emotionally drained by the revelations she had heard. And, as expected, there hadn’t been any birthday cards on the mat when she went to check.

  She didn’t notice the figure lurking one flight up. As soon as the teenager was out of sight, it hurried down the stairs and sidled over to her front door. The figure expertly picked the lock and, with a few practised twists of the wrist, clicked it open and slunk into the flat.

  Apathy walked to school alone. No other pupils spoke to her. Nobody said hello or
engaged in conversation, for Apathy wasn’t popular. In fact, she had never been well-liked at any school and it left her angry and bitter. She tried her best to be friendly, whenever she and her mother moved to a new area, but it never seemed to work. Sometimes Apathy acted confident. Sometimes she acted shy. It didn’t make any difference – she just seemed to bring out the worst in people. She’d lost count of the number of fights she’d gotten into without even grasping what had caused it.

  Apathy walked along Merchiston Avenue, a tree lined suburban street filled with houses much grander than her mother would ever be able to afford. Deep in thought, she didn’t notice the white van cruising behind her. On the side, in large black letters, was written.

  G.B. Paranormal.

  Psychic Investigators

  Apathy didn’t hear the vehicle’s side panel slide open. Didn’t see the short man leap out.

  Then, suddenly, there were arms around her waist and she was being dragged backwards into the rear of the van. Before she had time to scream, a wad of cloth was clamped over her mouth, soaked with a liquid that made her head swim. Seconds later she was unconscious.

  The door slid shut, and the vehicle moved off. The driver glanced over his shoulder.

  “She OK, Mr Gacy?”

  “She’s out cold, Mr Bundy.” The man in the back checked the girl’s pulse. “Now I suggest we get to the motorway and drive like the demons of hell are after us.”

  The driver shifted gear and picked up speed

  “I wouldn’t find that hard to believe,” he said morosely.

  23

  Kirkfallen Island 2000

  “Today’s lecture will be by Millar Watt. All round fancy pants and genius in residence.” Millar took a small bow and waved Gene and Poppy towards two empty chairs. The morning lessons were over and the children were alone in the information hut.

  “Today’s topic will be Kirkfallen Island.”

  “Nice to see you’re taking this seriously.”

  “I wasn’t to start with.” Millar straddled his own chair. “But you asked me to think about Fallen and I said I would.”

  He opened a notebook on the table in front of him.

  “Much as it pains me to admit it, you’re right. A lot of things about this place don’t add up when you look at them closely enough.”

  He leaned over his notes. Poppy and Gene exchanged puzzled glances.

  “Point one. We get a mass of supplies dropped off twice a year by the guys at the US Naval base in the Hebrides. Plus a doctor lands, who gives everyone a health check. We’re given books, batteries, fuel, cigarettes… the works.”

  He waggled bushy black eyebrows.

  “How do we pay for it?”

  “That’s easy.” Poppy broke in. “We get a government grant.”

  “No we don’t,” Gene countered. “My dad says the funding was stopped years ago.”

  “Then we trade.” Poppy wasn’t put off. “Vegetables and crafts and things like that.”

  “Unless there’s a gold mine hidden on the island somewhere, that just won’t wash.” Millar shook his finger like a condescending schoolmaster. “How many turnips do you think it would take to trade for a land buggy?”

  “We couldn’t possibly produce enough things of value to barter for what we get, is what you’re saying.”

  “Not a chance. And why would we be trading with a US Naval base rather than boats from the mainland? It doesn’t make sense.”

  The children pondered this. Even Poppy was stuck for an answer.

  “Which brings me neatly to point two.” Millar was obviously enjoying the attention paid to his genius. “Have we ever had a ship moor on this island that you can remember? A pleasure boat or even a fishing trawler.”

  “That’s easy. We’re using experimental crops and fertilizers. We can’t risk outside contamination.”

  “And what about the twice yearly inspection from the naval base? They don’t come here wearing protective suits, do they? So why are those visits acceptable?”

  “I don’t know. But I bet you have some crazy theory or else you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

  “Jackson Head,” Millar shot back without hesitation. “Nobody knows what’s up there. Nobody’s allowed to go there. What if it’s still owned by the US Navy?”

  “So what?”

  “If Jackson Head is still military property, then why not the whole island? What if Fallen is off limits to everyone except the armed forces.”

  “That’s pretty farfetched.”

  “Is it?” Millar spread his hands. “Why didn’t any police come to investigate the Orbison’s deaths? Why was it an US army helicopter that took away the bodies?”

  “Then why are we allowed to live here?” Gene protested.

  “I don’t have the answer to everything.” Millar consulted his notes again. “But I think I have a clue.” He gave a shrug. “Only I don’t know what it means.”

  “It probably means you aren’t as darned smart as you think.”

  “The clue is in what you just said.” Millar replied enigmatically. “Point three. I refer you to Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and George Orwell.”

  He pointed to a shelf filled with classic novels.

  “There are also books by Scott Fitzgerald, Raymond Chandler and John Grissom. You see what I’m getting at?”

  “Not in any way, shape or form,”

  “And you know I haven’t read any of them,” Poppy added proudly.

  “Our parents told us they came from all over the place to form a community, haven’t they?”

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  “If you’d bothered to read these books you’d notice a big discrepancy in the way they’re written.” Millar picked his words carefully, leading his companions through his thought process. “The first three writers I mentioned are British. The second three are American.”

  “Losing us again.”

  “British writers say things like rubbish, football and bloody. Americans say garbage, soccer and darned.”

  “I say darned all the time…” Poppy stopped in mid-sentence.

  “Exactly.” Millar raised his eyebrows. “Everyone on this island speaks English, which is understandable – Fallen wouldn’t be able to function otherwise. But they all use American lingo. They may have different accents but how would you recognise a real Chinese or German accent if you heard one?”

  “We got a VCR.”

  “And a few dozen old films. All of which are American.”

  “King Kong has foreigners in it!”

  “All they do is grunt, Poppy.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Gene rubbed his hands anxiously. He hadn’t expected his friend to put this much thought into the investigation, but the results were certainly intriguing.

  “I can believe that there’s no television signal reaching this island.” Millar lowered his voice. “But there aren’t any radios on Fallen. How can there be no radios?”

  “To stop us finding out what’s going on in the world?”

  “No. I think it’s to stop us realising what’s staring us in the face. That our parents’ don’t come from all over the place at all.”

  Millar shut his notebook.

  “Here’s my theory. This island is owned by the United States, supplied and funded by its armed forces and everyone on it is an American citizen. African Americans, Chinese Americans, Asian Americans. But all American, nevertheless.”

  He tucked the notebook into his pocket.

  “So why is that? And why are our parents lying about it?”

  24

  Kirkfallen Island 2000

  Gene Stapleton and his father sat opposite each other at the table, eating dinner. Annie was out delivering eggs to the families of Kirkfallen.

  “Well?” Edward Stapleton asked amiably. “Where’s this mealtime’s awkward question?”

  Gene stirred his soup, saying nothing, while his father buttered toast.

  “Shame.” Edward bit hu
ngrily into a golden square. “It’s the highlight of my day.”

  “Why aren’t we allowed to go near Pittenhall Ridge?”

  “That’s easy. It’s dangerous.”

  “No it isn’t. Jackson Head is dangerous. But you can’t get to it from Pittenhall. Not with that damned fence in the way.”

  “Watch your language son.”

  Gene stayed quiet, stirring his soup. Edward leaned back, mouth working silently. Watching. Waiting.

  “Dad,” his son said urgently. “What’s wrong with Kirkfallen Island?”

  Edward Stapleton was still staring. Gene held the look for as long as he could but, eventually, his gaze dropped to the table.

  “Remind me,” Edward put down his toast. “When is your sixteenth birthday?”

  “In a week.”

  “Fallen isn’t like the rest of the world.” Edward got up and carried his coffee to the window. “It’s a place of secrets and, though I hate to admit it, they’re secrets we’ve kept from you and the other kids.”

  The teenager was genuinely astonished. It was the last thing he expected his father to say - but the response only fuelled his own doubts.

  “Dad? Did the Orbisons die because they went to Pittenhall?”

  He wondered if he had crossed some unspoken line, but his father didn’t seem angry. The man peered through the window, one burly forearm leaning against the cool glass.

  “Your mother and I wanted you to have a happy life, Gene. That meant keeping quiet about certain… things.”

  “I don’t like the way you used ‘happy’ in the past tense.”

  “You’re a smart cookie, for sure.” Edward wiped condensation from the pane and peered outside. “But your mother has the final say on what I tell you and I won’t go against her.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Don’t whine.” His father drained his coffee. “Here she comes now. So don’t be bothering her with these kinds of questions. Not until I’ve spoken with her, all right?” His gaze fastened on his son again and there was a steely glint in his eyes.