by Drew Brown
Budd looked to the closed door that Juliette was recuperating behind. She had risked her life to save him. “You wanna get to the airfield we flew in to, yeah?”
“I do.”
“But won’t the EMP have messed up my bird?”
“As I said, William, TimeTech Solutions was established after the Second World War. At that time, the largest fear was a nuclear attack, and, as you are aware, EMP is a known result of a nuclear blast. As such, all of our essential systems are defended against it. The hangars have electromagnetic shielding worked into the walls and doors, and the computers are modified to rest inside pockets of ionized gas. Also, all of the spares you could possibly need in case of an emergency are located nearby. William, this project was put in place to give the world another chance. It was designed to be as robust as possible.”
Budd nodded his head. “And you say that the last stages of this infection are even worse, that they’ll be no chance of us surviving around here?”
“Truly, William, I’m amazed we’ve reached as far as we have.”
“Then, pal, you’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll take you and the others to Hope Island. What you do when you get there is your business.”
“Thank you.”
“Now,” Budd said with a glance at the closed cabin door, “if you think it’ll be okay, I’d like to stay with Juliette.”
Deacon smiled. “She will need her rest, William. You should sleep as well; it will be some hours before we reach our destination.”
Budd stood and walked to the door. He lowered the handle and stepped inside the small cabin. He turned back to face Deacon, who was still sitting behind the desk. “Charlie, you can call me Budd. I just have one question. If you’re really you from the future, why didn’t you revive your younger self?”
Deacon smiled sadly. “I did try, but by the time I discovered my body, too much time had elapsed. The cure did no good. I had Captain Brooks shoot me in the head before I awoke.”
Budd nodded and closed the door.
5
Budd opened his eyes to find himself staring up at the wooden panels above him. He was groggy from sleep, his mind almost blank, but the memories soon returned. He turned his head to the left; Juliette was lying next to him on her side, her knees brought up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them, the white bandage of her left hand stained with dried blood. Not wanting to disturb her, he watched as she breathed, intrigued by the way her bottom lip trembled with each inhalation.
The convulsions that had wracked her body were over and her skin was no longer covered in sweat. He had taken off her restraints as soon as he’d been alone with her and she had remained peaceful ever since. She’d also regained much of her color; her complexion now displayed the healthy, tanned shade that he was used to seeing. All in all, she had lost the appearance of someone fading away on a hospital bed, and now simply appeared to be sleeping soundly after a difficult and tiresome day.
Boy, had she had one of those…
Juliette’s eyes flickered beneath their lids. She let out a quiet moan that drifted into nothing. Budd realized she was dreaming; he gently stroked her face, carefully passing his fingers over her skin. After a few seconds her eyes opened, ever so slowly. He greeted her return to the waking world with the biggest smile he could muster. “Hey, sweetheart, how you feeling?”
Juliette’s eyes opened fully and her tongue slipped out between her lips, dampening them with moisture. “Monsieur Ashby? You are alive?”
“What sort of a jerk would I be to leave you alone in my nightmare?”
“But you fell, I saw you,” Juliette paused as she raised her left hand. Her eyes settled upon the bandages. “I was bitten. I remember.”
“Don’t worry ’bout it.”
“But…?”
“The man in the white shirt gave you an injection. His name is Charles Deacon. You’ll be fine.”
“What sort of injection? How long have we been here?” Juliette asked, her voice unable to mask her fear. Her eyes were also beginning to close, the long, dark eyelashes meeting in the middle and then flicking apart as she struggled to remain awake.
“It’s a long story.”
“Tell me,” she whispered and then her eyes closed.
Budd raised his head from the thin, uncomfortable white pillow and looked to the cabin’s single porthole. Wherever the boat was, it was still surrounded by the fog, and nothing more could be seen through the small pane of glass. The gray light seemed darker than previously, which caused him to wonder how much time had elapsed since his conversation with Deacon. He guessed it was early evening.
Leaving Juliette to sleep, Budd sat up and rose to his feet. He left his rucksack on the floor in the corner of the cabin, but tucked the Glock 17 that Deacon had given him into the waistband of his trousers.
With a long look at Juliette, he opened the door and stepped into the cabin with the desk. The room was empty and the light was off. There was no sign of Deacon or his briefcase and so Budd ventured into the corridor.
“How are you feeling, sir?” Patterson asked from Budd’s left.
The blond-haired soldier had his MP-5 hung from his shoulder and a white mug of steaming liquid in his hand. The tantalizing smell of coffee filled Budd’s nostrils.
“I’d be better with one of those.”
Patterson smiled. “Sure thing, sir.”
The soldier turned and walked through the remains of the door that Budd had smashed earlier, proceeding down into the galley. The room was empty now, but the electric lights were switched on, banishing the gloom.
Budd followed Patterson to the far end, heading for the small kitchen worktops where he’d first regained consciousness. Beside a large stainless steel urn, which bubbled away with steam rising from several vents on its top, were a dozen or so more of the white mugs. There was also a large tub of instant coffee with a teaspoon resting on its edge.
“How do you take it?” Patterson asked, his voice edged with humor. “Please keep in mind there’s no milk or sugar.”
Budd raised an eyebrow. “I guess I’ll have it black, then.”
“A man after my own heart,” Patterson said. “My name’s Steve,” he continued, offering his hand.
“William Ashby,” Budd replied, accepting the handshake. “But just call me Budd. You guys did great to get us this far.”
“You did pretty well yourself,” Patterson said as he poured the boiling water from the urn’s spout into a mug. He then spooned in a single load of coffee and gave the drink a vigorous stir. “You can handle yourself pretty well in a fight,” the soldier said as he gave Budd the mug.
“Only when there’s nowhere left to run.”
Or hide…
“No, you did well. And if you can fly half as well as you can fight, then the crazy scientist is right. You will get us away from this.”
“You mean Deacon. You believe him?”
“That he’s from the future?”
“Yeah,” Budd answered, blowing down on his coffee. It was still too hot to drink, but he savored the rich smell.
“I don’t have to believe him; I watched him arrive with my own eyes. Our team was on guard duty around the containment facility. I saw him appear from thin air in a flash of blue light, and then I remember falling backwards and choking. I was out cold. The next thing I know, Deacon was kneeling beside me and sticking a needle in my arm. I took him around the installation and he gave his injection to the rest of the squad. As soon as we’d fully recovered, he made us come looking for you.”
“Well, I owe you for that. Without you guys, we’d have never made it a hundred yards from that damned hotel.”
Budd heard footsteps on the other side of the room and turned to face them. Andy appeared with a mug of coffee in his hand and a weary smile on his face. “So, this is where you’ve been hiding. How are you feeling, Budd?”
“I’ve had better days. What ’bout you?”
“Much improved since they let us
onto t’deck; t’fresh air’s done me a world of good,” Andy answered as he sat down at a small table near the edge of the cabin. Budd saw the maintenance man shoot Patterson a discontented look.
Sam came through the doorway. “Dude, you’re up and about,” he exclaimed. Suddenly, the joy at seeing Budd slipped from his face and he ran his hand through his shoulder-length hair. “Did you, you know, find Juliette?”
“She’s resting, but she’s fine.”
“That’s awesome news,” the Californian said, beaming. “Did you know that you’re, like, gonna fly us to safety?”
Budd was about to answer that he did, but Patterson cleared his throat, drawing the room’s attention. “Of course he knows he’s flying us to safety. We’ve got a little while left on the boat, and then a short trip to the airfield. After that, Budd will take us over the channel to mainland Europe. Isn’t that right, Mister Ashby?”
Okay, see, I knew that Patterson was lying, but the look on his face made it clear that he wanted me to play along with his little tale; Deacon needed those soldiers on his side, and they had enough knowledge to make his story plausible. But for the others? Everyday folks who, like as not, had never even heard of TimeTech Solutions? A story about time-travelling space-mutants from the far side of the universe? Perhaps Deacon thought they’d have a difficult time believing it. I mean, wouldn’t you?
Maybe he was also a tiny bit worried ’bout how they’d react to finding out he was responsible for the entire mess, however noble his intentions had been. And we were on a boat, so there was certainly enough rope for a respectable lynch mob…
“Yeah, once we’re across the channel we’ll be home and dry, no problems,” Budd stuttered, his sentence gaining momentum.
“Back at t’hotel,” Andy said, biting his lower lip during each pause in his sentence, “even up on t’roof, we couldn’t pick up any radio signals, even t’satellite channels were down when we tried them early on. So how can Deacon know that Europe is safe?”
Patterson took a final swig of his coffee and then placed his mug on the draining board. “We were stationed at a scientific conference center a little way from you. We had access to lots of very powerful communications equipment, and we managed to pick up some exchanges between the Frogs and the Yanks. They said there was a large electrical disturbance centered on Britain, and that the whole country was silent. Whatever happened, the rest of Europe is clear.”
“That’s a comfort, anyway,” Andy said, the unmistakable hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“Once we knew that Europe was safe,” Patterson continued, “Deacon told us about Budd, who had the ability to get us there. That’s why we came to the hotel.”
“So, Budd, you an’ this Deacon fellow know each other?”
Budd shook his head. “Not really, I’m just the hired help. I was his chauffeur. Once. Anyway, I fancy some fresh air. Is it okay if I head up top?”
Patterson nodded his approval, but held up his hand when Andy and Sam made as if to follow. “You two can help me fix up another batch of coffee. I’m sure everyone topside could use another mug.”
Thankful for the soldier’s intervention, Budd breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he was out of the galley.
6
Budd stepped onto the deck, coming up the small flight of stairs and out the door under the deck canopy. He filled his lungs with the cool, refreshing air; he hadn’t realized how stuffy the lower deck was. Now that he was outside, with a breeze on his face and the noise of the river lapping against the boat’s hull, he felt far more relaxed. He walked over to the stern of the boat and leaned on the guardrail as he sipped the steaming remains of his coffee.
Content to be still, he looked over the gray, fog-covered river, watching the wake caused by the boat’s profile fade from sight. There was no sign of the bank on either side of the small boat; no sign of any land at all. At first he thought that the fog seemed thicker than it had before, but then he decided that it was more likely that the sun had now set, or was certainly about to, meaning there was less light available to penetrate the cloying shroud.
Approaching footsteps brought his attention out of the fog and back to the boat.
I didn’t like being torn between the two parts of the group. Deacon’s call to tell me everything but not to share it with the others had left me in a dangerous middle ground.
There was no mistaking the tension between Deacon’s soldiers and the others from the hotel—especially Andy—and I had no desire to be seen as being on one team more than the other. Deep down, I knew that all I really wanted was for Juliette to be back on her feet so that I could explain it all to her. Women gossip all the time, and are therefore much better at all this cloak and dagger stuff…
“It’s good to see you up and about again, my son,” Father McGee’s kindly Irish voice said as the footsteps halted.
Budd turned to face the old man. He’d come down a narrow walkway between the opening of the staircase and the guardrail, walking from the bow of the boat. “Yeah, you too.”
“Some of the others prayed with me earlier. Would you be interested?”
“Sorry, not my thing.”
A silence fell between the two men; they both looked out over the foggy waters.
“Have you been told what’s happened?” Father McGee asked eventually.
Budd nodded.
I couldn’t incriminate myself with a nod…
“What do you make of the story? Can Europe really be unaffected? Will you be able to fly us to safety?”
“No need to sweat it. I’ll fly anything with wings.”
“Why do you think we’ve survived, my son? So many have died. Why not us?”
“Like you people always say,” Budd answered, his face forming a large smile. “The Lord works in mysterious ways.”
“I guess you’re right. I just worry that there are no children among us, no innocents. It makes me fearful that it is not us who have survived, but us who have been condemned. I fear that perhaps we are in Hell.”
Well, isn’t that a cheerful thought…
Budd looked at the priest, whose eyes flittered across the water, not settling on anything in particular.
It was an expression that I’d seen on the faces of many repentant sinners over the years—one that I’d caught myself making once or twice. Father McGee was suffering from pangs of guilt and I wanted to ask why. Suddenly, I remembered Deacon saying that only those with high levels of adrenaline at the time the virus had spread could’ve survived it.
A priest? No, wait.
There’d been three priests back at the hotel. I almost didn’t wanna know. Almost…
Before Budd could say another word, a commotion on the stairs drew his attention.
Andy arrived with a tray of fresh coffees clutched in his steady hands. Behind him was Sam, holding a similar, less-full, tray. Patterson was at the back, obviously keeping an eye on the two of them.
Budd drained the last of his coffee in a large gulp, welcoming the warmth in his stomach, and then he placed the empty mug onto Andy’s tray. With a smile, he took two of the full mugs, carefully lifting them by their handles. “Excuse me, guys, but I need to go and check on Juliette. And then I think I’ll get some more rest; I’m sure we’ll all need it.”
“Good idea,” Patterson said. “Now, you two, get those coffees to the others before they get cold.”
Budd watched Andy and Sam shuffle off down the narrow gangway, heading towards the front of the boat. As the sound of their footsteps faded, he hurried down the staircase.
Even with the coffee, as I slunk back to Juliette’s cabin, I was feeling as tired as I had at any point since the damned ordeal had started. I didn’t like being the piggy in the middle; it didn’t suit me at all. As I’m sure you’ve realized, I prefer to be the guy on the outside, who isn’t involved and lets all the busybodies make the important decisions.
Being told one thing by Deacon but then having to lie about it to the others ma
de me feel very uneasy. But, there didn’t seem like much of an alternative at that point.
They’d find out the truth soon enough.
And so, with this on my mind, as well as my worries ’bout Juliette and the difficulty I had with Deacon’s whole time-travelling space-mutant thingy—if he really was Deacon, which was a doubt I couldn’t shake, regardless of his uncannily older appearance—I intended to hide away and get some sleep. Regardless of everything else, I hardly ever have a problem doing that…
“Actually, Mister Ashby,” Patterson said, leaning around the corner to look down the stairs. “If you could spare me a few minutes, I could use you in the saloon.”
So much for that…
At the bottom of the short staircase, Budd turned back to face the soldier. “Is that a request?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t have to be, sir,” Patterson said. He lowered his voice before he continued. “I need time to sort through some operational matters with Deacon. I’d rather not have the civvies involved, but I also don’t want them wandering around the boat unsupervised. I’d like it if you could watch them.”
Budd raised his eyebrows. “And for me not to go wandering around the boat unsupervised, right?”
