Empty Planet

by Lynette Sloane

  Gemma looked around and continued, “You can’t tell we’re in Blackpool. This is all that remains of the golden mile.”

  I looked away from the sea to the wooded, and thickly overgrown land. At first glance it showed no evidence that mankind had ever inhabited the area. The houses and shops were gone and the roadway bordering the coast had long since disappeared under the inevitable soil, shrubs and large trees. Seagulls still squawked overhead, but now had to rely on their own hunting skills rather than scavenging from bins behind the many fish and chip shops that once fronted the beach.

  Another famous landmark was missing too. Like the Eiffel Tower, Blackpool tower would have fallen to the ravages of time a few hundred years previously, and the sea had made easy work of the three piers, having completely washed all evidence of the same out to sea.

  Blackpool front had been re-sculpted around sixty years before natural time, using thousands of tonnes of concrete, protecting the town from winter storms and giving the area a modern appearance. A dozen or so steps ran the length of the golden mile, giving easy access to the beach, the large open spaces creating a safe haven for children to play, and plenty of room for benches and candyfloss machines. The project had taken several years and thousands of man-hours to complete, but nature had destroyed it in less than five hundred years.

  We were near a vast area of crumbling concrete. In places the weather and battering of the sea had exposed the steel strengthening rods, which had rusted and disintegrated. The porous concrete had allowed moisture to sink down to the rods, which, as they corroded, had swelled to three times their original size, pushing the concrete apart and hastening its demise by further exposing it to the elements.

  Gemma and I decided against hiking inland at this point, considering the undergrowth too dense. Instead, we followed the coastline heading south. After about half an hour we came across a large piece of upturned concrete. Since there was no easy way around it we climbed up the rough, crumbling protrusion and dropped down onto the sand. The tide had retreated a little way down the beach so we ventured around a small headland, stopping in our tracks when we saw the sight ahead of us. Previously hidden from our view, a large ship lay on a sandbank around seventy metres out to sea, every part of the vessel storm battered and rusted beyond use, its masts broken and missing.

  “Dare you to swim out to it,” said Gemma, picking up the small rucksack carrying her water samples and swinging it onto her back.

  “You never change.” I said playfully.

  “Only my socks.”

  Oh Why not? I thought, catching up with her as she strolled down the sandy beach towards the sea. Our orders were to investigate the areas in which we found ourselves, so we were just following orders. Good excuse.

  “Better not leave our boots here,” I said when we got to the waters edge. “We might need them if we manage to board the ship, and Section frowns upon anyone leaving equipment in the future.” We took off our walking boots, tied the laces together and hung them around our necks leaving our arms free to swim.

  The sea was surprisingly warm and clear. This brought back many childhood memories of Blackpool Beach in which the sea was so dirty that I was unable to see my hand if held it only thirty centimetres under the water. We waded out until it was deep enough to swim, then Gemma dived under a wave and started swimming towards the vessel.

  Being the stronger swimmer I soon overtook her and within a few minutes was swimming close enough to touch the rusty ship—which had corroded much more than was evident from the shoreline. All that remained was the shell lodged securely in the sand, slightly leaning towards its starboard side.

  We peered through a gaping hole looking right into the interior, then climbed inside, half crawling and half walking, and gazed around in wonder. Speechless, we slipped on our wet boots in case we cut our feet on any rusty metal. The inside of the ship was cavernous and half full of sand. Shafts of light shone through the decking overhead creating large spotlights on the wet, sandy floor, contrasting with an ominous, dark area at the far end of the hold. Part of the floor near our entrance was under water while the action of the tides had caused the sand to build up higher at the back of the ship creating a large sandbank. We climbed up the bank and nearly jumped out of our respective skins when we saw someone hiding in the shadows at the back of the hold.

  It was a young lad of about fifteen, probably one of our youngest Jumpers.

  “It’s ok,” I called to him. “You’re one of us, we won’t hurt you.”

  “How do I know that?” he demanded, “Those others have been killing people like me.”

  “Gemma spoke to him, “It’s ok, the people who did that have all been caught and can’t hurt anyone else. Have you met anyone like yourself before, anyone who jumps into the future like you do?”

  “I had a friend, Cath, but some men shot and killed her. Cath and I used to meet up each time everyone disappeared. She was the same age as me.”

  I let Gemma continue the conversation. The lad was responding better to her.

  “What’s your name? Mine’s Gemma and this is Steve,” she said, gesturing towards me.

  “Tim Hall.” Tim walked over to Gemma and sat on the wet sandbank with his knees hunched up to his chest. “I thought I was the only one mad enough swim out here and climb inside a wreck.”

  “No, there’s at least three of us,” I told him, smiling. Tim shook his dark, curly, shoulder length hair and swept it away from his eyes with his left hand.

  “What happens now?” he asked. I checked the time on my waterproof, shockproof and just about everything-else-proof watch. We had been in the future for fifty-three minutes, so I knew the return vortex would appear in another eight minutes. Tim would be drawn back to natural time very soon so I spoke to him with urgency.

  “Tim, we haven’t got long so listen up.” The lad nodded, giving me his full attention. “When you get that ache in the back of your neck you know you’re being drawn back into natural time. Right?”

  “Yea I noticed that, I get migraines too.”

  “We all do. If you can, take a headache tablet and have a nap when you get back and you’ll feel much better. It’s the effects of travelling back through time. Your body has to adjust. Have you got an email address?”

  “Yes,” he replied, then told me the address.

  “Good, check your email later this evening. A friend of ours, Carla, will send you a link to her website, it’s only for people like us so you can’t let anyone else see it, or tell anyone about it unless they are one of us. We’re called Jumpers and there are thousands of us worldwide. The website will help you understand what’s going on and link you to everyone else so you don’t feel so alone.” Tim looked as if a huge weight had been taken off his shoulders; I could tell he was fighting back tears of relief. “Right now you’d better get back to shore ’cause we jumped in the middle of winter. Remember it’s December back there and probably snowing!”

  “Are you sure about this?” asked Gemma, “He’s only got about five minutes to swim to shore, dry off and get dressed. He’ll never make it in time. He could freeze to death.”

  “Well what other choice does he have? We can’t stop the return jump.”

  “Maybe we can,” she said. “Tim, do you trust me?”

  Tim was looking worried but said, “Yea.”

  Gemma looked to me and continued, “I have an idea. When Tim feels the ache in his neck we’ll hold onto him, like a kind of group hug. The technicians will notice a power drain on his settings, investigate and find our unique Jumper signatures written over his, and will cancel his return jump. We’ll take him back through the vortex.”

  I asked the frightened lad, “You ok with that Tim?”

  “Yes, life couldn’t get any stranger anyway,” he said standing back up.

  As we waited I said, “This is going to surprise Section, I hope they understand.”

  “We’re saving a life,” Gemma said, “They told us to protect the o
ther Jumpers. That’s one of the key functions of the Primary Jumpers team.”

  “It’s starting,” said Tim, his eyes wide open in panic. He reached to rub the back of his neck. In one movement Gemma and I stepped forward, Gemma at Tim’s front and me at his back, and threw our arms around him.

  “Tim said, “It’s getting worse … my neck!”

  Gemma and I continued holding on to him, suddenly finding we had to support his weight as his legs buckled beneath him—but he didn’t disappear.

  We let him sit on the sand and knelt beside him.

  “Are you ok?” asked Gemma.

  “I just feel a bit weak. I’ll be able to come back with you won’t I?”

  I answered, “Yea don’t worry; the vortex will be here any minute. It’s a kind of doorway through time.”

  As I was speaking the hold lit up as the vortex lights appeared next to us.

  Gemma led a shaky Tim through and I followed, stepping into the vortex room where a very surprised Vanessa was still operating the vortex technology. Gemma gave me an unexpected hug.

  “You just did your good deed for the day,” she said, smiling, and then looking mischievous, whispered, “Vanessa looked at me daggers when I hugged you.”

  I could hear Vanessa calling C on the intercom, “Commander there’s something you should see. Steve and Gemma have brought one of the Jumpers back with them.”

  Within minutes Dad and C joined us for debriefing.

  “I hope you have a very good explanation for this,” said C angrily, as he entered the vortex room. However, his anger subsided when he heard how Gemma and I had found Tim and how he would have frozen to death without our intervention.

  “You two have put me in a very awkward position,” he said to Gemma and I, and then speaking to Tim added, “Have you ever told anyone about your future jumping experiences?”

  Tim shook his head, “No Sir.”

  “So you know how to keep a secret then. Were you with anyone when you jumped into the future this time?”

  “No, I was walking in the snow. My parents won’t miss me for a few hours, they’re both at work and no one’s home.”

  “I have to decide what to do with you. It would be best to send you home if I can trust you to speak of this to no one.”

  Tim looked relieved to hear this and said, “You can.”

  C took Gemma, Dad and me into another room, leaving Vanessa with the instructions: find the boy some clothes and open a vortex leading directly into his house.

  C brought his attention back to Gemma and me. “Who’s idea was this?” he demanded.

  Gemma answered, “Mine Commander.”

  “It wasn’t all her fault,” I added, hoping to make things better for her. “I agreed to it and played my part.”

  C ignored my comment and continued speaking to Gemma. “How did you know masking the boys signature would stop the return jump?”

  “I knew the technicians wouldn’t take any risks. They would read our jumping signatures and would cancel the jump until they were certain what was happening Commander.”

  “Well you’ve proved you and Steve can use your initiatives and work very well together. Bringing Tim back here was unavoidable and you saved his life, which, you will remember, is one of the key functions of the Primary Jumper team. Well done.”

  __________

  Dad and I took a vortex home arriving just before the others returned from their shopping trip.

  The rest of the holiday went without incident. Dad and Charlie travelled home during the second week of January. Spring came and went, and all Section personnel received their Frumscyld-Ábitan vaccinations displaying no side effects. The rest of the Jumpers and I went on a few uneventful jumps, but here too there was nothing to report.

  However, the race was now underway to produce enough of the anti-virus serum to inoculate as many of the world’s population as possible. I managed to get Anna a vaccination but Charlie refused to have one.

  The rebel Jumpers were quiet, seemingly satisfied to jump to separate locations well away from the rest of the Jumpers. As a safety precaution, the rebels were scanned at the commencement and conclusion of each jump to make sure they didn’t take anything with them or bring anything back that could contaminate the time line. I thought this wise; I didn’t trust any of them, especially their leader, Graham Turner.

  By early August the first anti-virus batch was ready for distribution amongst the public, so the government called for all people under the age of twenty-five, including small children, to come forward for their vaccinations. Just short of twenty-five thousand shots were given nationwide during the first day.

  I was relaxing at home, relieved that I wouldn’t have to live the rest of my life on an empty planet, when I received a disquieting phone call.

  It was Gemma. “Turn the news on,” was all she said before hanging up. I heard the urgency in her voice so I ran into the living room and turned on the television.

  Reports were being broadcast of panic and car crashes occurring all over the country in unrelated incidents. Men and women were racing home to see if their loved ones were all right, some of them shouting frantically into mobile phones whilst they drove. The report ended and the scene cut to a female reporter standing outside Western Park Hospital in Sheffield. She was shaken and just managing to hold it together.

  “This is where the twins and ninety-seven other people were rushed this morning,” she said. “Thirty-nine of these died within the hour and the rest aren’t expected to pull though, and it’s the same story all over the country.”

  The scene cut again to a room inside the hospital where the father of the twins, a thickset, balding man in his mid thirties, was waiting to speak to the cameras. He was also fighting back his emotions.

  “This morning I had two little girls and a young wife,” he said. “I wanted to protect them from this virus so I took them to have their jabs at the health centre just before lunch. Now my girls lie in a morgue and my wife is paralysed and on a life support machine.” He broke down and started to sob uncontrollably so the scene cut to another reporter speaking from a different hospital where there had been even more fatalities.

  “One hundred and seventy two young people were admitted to Manchester Royal Infirmary this morning after receiving the anti-virus. All but two of these are now dead. We have to ask what has gone wrong. Extensive tests were carried out on the anti-virus before it was distributed, so what happened? Why are our young people dying? I was going to have my immunization today as part this cover story, but at the last moment another work colleague stepped in. She now lies in a hospital bed, paralysed and helpless on a life support machine.”

  Every last person who had received the shots was desperately ill and many of the younger children had died within hours of the vaccinations.

  Anna walked into the living room. It’s all over the internet,” she said looking pale, “everyone who had the vaccination today is either dead or dying. There’s a public outcry. One group is claiming it was never properly developed and tested and no one should have had it. Loads of people are writing blogs and adding comments, saying they will never have it—even if the government claim they have corrected the problem. Others are saying we were tricked into getting our children and young people inoculated, and it’s a type of germ warfare.”

  “But we both had it several months ago and we’re ok,” I told her.

  “Yes but what if it damaged us inside and we don’t know about it yet. Steve I have something to tell you. I was going to tell you after dinner but …” she paused, biting her bottom lip, and looking for the right words. “Steve I’m pregnant. What if it damages the baby?”

  “Oh Anna.” I walked over to her and held her in my arms. “You and the baby will be fine. I’ll get one of Section’s doctors to check you over if you like. They would be the best people to see.”

  Anna nodded. The house phone rang so I led her to the sofa to sit down before answering the call. It was D
ad.

  I listened to what he had to say and told him about the baby. He was really excited about becoming a grandfather.

  “You know that your batch was fine so there’s nothing to worry about,” he said.

  “Yes I know, but could someone please take a look at Anna to put her mind at rest?”

  “I’ll check with C but I think that would be in order. I was going to ask you to come in anyway. Standby, I’m sending a vortex.”

  I placed the phone back on the receiver and said, “Dad’s checking if you can see one of his team. He’ll send a vortex in a few minutes.”

  We quickly made our way to the spare bedroom and waited. Within a minute the vortex opened and I made out Dad’s faint outline.

  As my view became clearer I heard him say, “Bring Anna with you.” We both stepped into the vortex room and Dad gave Anna a gentle hug.

  “Well done love,” he said smiling, don’t worry, everything will be ok.” He looked to me and added, “and well done you, you had a small part to play in this as well I believe.”

  Dad showed us to a waiting area where all non-section personnel were asked to wait, well away from the more classified areas such as the Hub and Vortex Technology Centre. Within a few minutes a white haired, slim man with a trimmed beard, arrived.

  “Hello Anna,” he smiled, “My name is Toren. I am the closest Section has to a doctor on site.” He spoke in a thick Israeli accent. “I suppose you could call me a specialist. I specialise in the Frumscyld-Ábitan virus and I am working on the development and production of the anti-virus, so am therefore much more qualified to help you than your local G.P.” He smiled reassuringly. “I only have a few minutes but that should be enough time to put your mind at rest.”

  Toren asked Anna to lie on the sofa. When she was comfortably positioned he passed a portable hand held scanner over her head and chest taking some readings from each site.

  “Your vital signs are fine,” he said, “you are very healthy and show no signs of infection.”