by Dan Abnett
Hemple sat up. He was breathing hard. He let go of Jenny’s hand, and she slowly heaved herself into a sitting position.
“Oh my God,” she murmured, and shook her head.
“My thoughts exactly,” Hemple said.
“That was ridiculously close,” she added. “I’ve had some close calls, some properly close calls, several times since I met Nick Cutter, but that... that was...”
“Tell me about it,” Hemple agreed.
Something moved nearby. Hemple snatched up his weapon.
It was Garney.
“Only me, chief,” he said. “You two all right?”
“Yeah,” Hemple said.
“Thank you for asking,” Jenny said.
“Where are the others?” Hemple asked.
“We all kind of scattered when that thing showed up, chief,” Garney said.
“Round everyone up, can you?” Hemple ordered. He got up and helped Jenny to her feet.
“Damn,” he said suddenly.
“What?”
“I bet she’s gone.”
“Helen?” Jenny asked.
“She was always going to ditch us, first chance she got. She wanted an escape,” Hemple said. “This was the moment, I guess.”
“Which leaves us where exactly?” she responded, trying to stop herself shaking.
“Up a well-known creek, minus the recommended equipment,” Hemple replied.
Garney returned with Mason and Murdoch.
“Make sure Jenkins is okay,” Hemple told them. He turned back to Jenny. “I can’t believe we let that woman give us the slip,” he said.
“Good thing you’ve got me to cover for you then, isn’t it, chief?” Redfern said. He walked into the clearing with Helen Cutter in front of his MP53. She looked as unimpressed as usual.
“She’s got some legs on her,” Redfern said. “But I’ve got a Heckler and Koch, and a commanding voice.”
“That thing,” Hemple asked Helen, “was it a Tyrannosaurus?”
“My, my, Hemple,” she replied. “How clever. Did you have a Ladybird book of dinosaurs when you were a little boy?”
“Answer the question, please,” Hemple said patiently.
Helen nodded.
“Yes. It was a Tyrannosaurus. Quite magnificently scary, aren’t they, especially that close up?”
She looked at Jenny, who was still a little pale.
“Just so you know, judging from its limb-length and stride, that was a young adult. Not a really big, mature creature. The females tend to be the biggest. And the most dangerous.”
“No change there, then,” Hemple said, straight at her.
Helen sniffed.
“It was just unfortunate that the Pachycephalosaurus tried to escape in our direction,” she said. “It rather brought disaster down on top of us.”
“That was the creature it killed?” Jenny asked.
“Yes. A herbivore. Fantastically bony skull, domed and spiked. For years, it was thought the Pachycephalosaurus used their heads for butting, like rutting stags, a mating thing. But it turns out it’s just display. They’re very famous, though. That amazing skull. Kids love them. There was probably a Pachycephalosaurus in your Ladybird book as well, Hemple.”
He ignored her. Garney had reappeared, and he looked anxious.
“What is it?” Hemple asked him.
“Jenkins has gone,” he replied.
They’d only left him alone for the two or three minutes when the Tyrannosaurus appeared and they had scattered, but Tim Jenkins had vanished. There was a little trace of blood, and some torn shreds of field dressing.
“Maybe he woke up?” Mason said, hopefully.
“Come on,” Hemple said.
“If the fever broke, and he woke up, and he didn’t know where we were...” Murdoch offered.
“He couldn’t walk!” Hemple exclaimed.
“He might have crawled,” Redfern said. “He might be close by, in the thickets, in the undergrowth.”
“Spread out. Find him,” Hemple ordered.
They drew out their flashlights and began to section the area, probing the wild shadows of the undergrowth with their powerful torch beams. They called his name several times, but only the ticks and hoots and calls of the forest answered them.
They’d been searching for twenty minutes when Hemple sensed movement and small sounds in the nearby thickets, and pushed in with his torch and gun ready. Helen and Redfern were close behind him, with Jenny at their heels.
“Here’s something!” he called. “Tim? Tim Jenkins?”
Chittering, yapping voices answered him. His torch beam illuminated six small, bipedal dinosaurs. They were slender and avian, with long, whip tails. As the torch found them, they hunched warily, and looked into the light with alert, golden eyes that were fringed by feather eyebrows.
One of them barked at Hemple. A second twitched and cocked its head. A third took another peck at their kill.
“Troodons,” Helen said. She stamped forward and clapped her hands to drive them off. The small creatures scurried backwards, hopping and twitching, reluctant to leave. They barked some more, and stared at the humans, defiantly wishing to keep hold of their feast.
Hemple pushed past Helen and fired a burst with his MP53. The noise was deafening, and the muzzle flash bright hot. The Troodons bolted immediately, skittering and chirring as they dashed away into the woods.
Helen looked down at the bloody remains.
“They carried him here to feed,” she said. “They’re smart. They pretty much ate him alive. I wonder how much he knew about it?”
Jenny looked away.
“Bury him,” Hemple said to his men.
“There’s no point,” Helen said. “They’ll simply dig him up again and finish the job. Like I said, they’re smart.”
“Bury him,” Hemple repeated.
Helen shrugged, and walked away. Redfern followed her.
With a sick feeling, Hemple realised she had been right after all. Jenkins had gone to a far more unpleasant death than the compassionate one Hemple had been in a position to offer, and he wished he hadn’t thrown away the chance to afford his friend some dignity at the end of his life.
She had been right. He hated her for it. She had been right about both things.
He was damn well sure she wouldn’t be right about anything else.
Especially the idea that in trying to save Jenkins, he had signed a death notice for them all.
FORTY-FOUR
The first light of dawn was appearing by the time Cutter and his group returned to the site of the anomaly. He followed the trail of blue dye marks he’d left the previous evening, and easily relocated the colossal patch of burned and seared earth, but there was still no sign of the glittering portal.
“What do we do now?” Bulov asked.
“We wait to see if our luck’ll change,” Cutter said.
They waited on the edge of the woods overlooking the impact site. The sunrise was spectacular. It was warm, and the air was crystal clear. The sky was flamingo pink chased through with brilliantly white clouds. The morning trembled with a dawn chorus that sounded both familiar and fundamentally alien to them.
Huge dragonflies like glass ornaments zipped through the dawn air, and darting flocks of birds flitted in silhouette against the pink sky. From the deeper woods, they could hear Hadrosaurs sounding and blowing.
They’d been there an hour when Cutter noticed the first distortions.
Small shivers of light, like fragments of the characteristic anomaly pattern, began to appear above the impact site and in the area of woodland around them. It was as if twinkling Christmas decorations were being switched on and off repeatedly amongst the trees.
“What is that?” Suvova asked.
Abby looked up.
“Is this the anomaly coming back?”
“I think so,” Cutter said, watching the intensifying lightshow. “It’s definitely anomaly activity of some sort. Maybe it’s gather
ing power, preparing to reopen. These could be the first few ripples.”
They watched and waited. The glittering lights grew bright for several minutes, as if the anomaly was about to swirl open, and then, frustratingly, died down again. Then the pattern repeated.
Abby went and sat on the ground with her back against a tree trunk. Bulov and Suvova came and sat near her.
Cutter paced.
The two soldiers wandered around, pointing and laughing as the lights came and went. Koshkin kept watch on the forest.
Abby was exhausted. She leant her head back against the trunk for a moment and closed her eyes.
A hand touched her arm. She opened her eyes.
A face was very near. She saw a fingertip pressed against lips.
“Shhhh!”
Ten metres away through the trees, Koshkin could see the rest of the group at the edge of the impact site. He wondered where his two men had gone.
What are those idiots doing?
Then he froze. Some sixth sense — a potent blend of extreme training discipline and honed gut instinct that had seen him safely through many hazardous circumstances over the years — was telling him something was wrong.
He turned, his AK in his hands, fully expecting to see some kind of prehistoric threat within striking distance. He certainly wasn’t expecting to find himself looking down the barrel of a special ops soldier’s gun.
The British soldier kept his aim steady.
“Toss the gun, comrade,” he said.
Koshkin lowered the AK-74 and threw it to one side.
“You are very good,” he said with a nod. “I did not hear you until it was too late for me.”
“Less chat.” The man gestured with his weapon. “Let’s join the others. Hands nice and high.”
Koshkin turned, his hands half-raised. Somehow, he managed to transform the passive, obedient turn of his body into a savage sideways kick, which smacked his captor’s aim up and back, on its way to connecting with his left hip.
The man grunted, tried to bring his weapon back true, and simultaneously locked his left arm around the ankle of the kicking foot to twist Koshkin off his feet.
Koshkin rolled backwards instead, clawing at the strap and muzzle of his opponent’s MP53 as he went. The British soldier sailed right over the top of the Russian, and landed on his shoulders. Koshkin flexed his hips and arms violently, and bounced back onto his feet.
The man scissor-kicked Koshkin’s legs out from under him, rolled in, and pinned him in the hardest, tightest straight-arm lock he could manage.
Koshkin’s scarred lips peeled back in pain as the British soldier tugged a little tighter.
“Have you quite finished?” he hissed.
Koshkin coughed out a chuckle. In the course of the very quick, very savage bout, he’d drawn a little survival knife from a concealed sheath. With his free hand he was pressing the sawtooth blade of the knife against the side of his neck.
“Bravo, Hemple. You must both be feeling very macho,” Helen Cutter said. She was standing over them, aiming Koshkin’s AK-74 at them both.
“Hello, Nick,” Helen said.
She walked into the clearing at the edge of the impact site and stood facing him, looking him up and down.
“What, no hello back?” she asked.
They were all on their feet. Garney and Redfern had the two Russian soldiers covered. They stood with their hands on their heads, looking sheepish and confused. Murdoch was watching Bulov and Suvova, and Mason had his MP53 pointing at the glowering Koshkin.
Helen had surrendered the AK to Hemple, once he had let Koshkin up and the knife had been disposed of.
“Good to see you,” Cutter said to Hemple, ignoring Helen. Hemple nodded back.
“And you,” Cutter said to Jenny, who had just finished giving Abby a big hug. Jenny smiled broadly at him.
“I’ve got to ask though,” Cutter added, “what exactly are you doing here?”
Jenny looked offended.
“We’ve come to rescue you,” she declared. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Well, that sounds pretty crazy,” Cutter replied. “You must have come the long way round.”
“If that means through the anomalies, then yes,” Jenny said, “that’s exactly how we got here.”
“Did she show you the way?” Cutter asked. He gestured at Helen.
“Yes, ‘she’ showed them the way,” Helen said. “You can address me directly if you like, Nick.”
Cutter stared at her.
“You know what? Right now, as far as I know, there are only fourteen human beings on Planet Earth, and I still don’t have much desire to talk to you, Helen.”
She stiffened. It was the first time since they’d set off that Jenny had seen anything really get to the famous Helen Cutter.
“Is that the lovely Helen?” Suvova asked, stepping forward. “Helen, my dear?”
“You remember Professor Suvova?” Cutter asked.
“Of course I do.” Helen smiled and embraced Rina Suvova as if they were in the midst of a polite social gathering.
“What are you doing here?” Suvova asked her.
“I came looking for Nick,” Helen told her. “He may not want to talk to me, but I really want to talk to him.”
“What happened to you two?” Suvova frowned. “You were such a lovely couple, but now I can feel the resentment between the pair of you.”
“Unfortunately, relationships change over time,” Helen said.
“Isn’t that the truth.” Cutter said.
“Well, I didn’t travel sixty-five million years to watch a marital dispute,” Jenny said, “so could we get going? It’s a long way back.”
“You’ve got a route out?” Cutter asked Hemple.
“Would we have come in without one?” Hemple replied.
“I don’t know. Your mission plan hasn’t shown much trace of common sense so far,” Cutter said.
“Oh, there’s gratitude!” Jenny exclaimed.
Hemple grinned.
“Extraction’s the way we came in,” he said. He looked at Helen. “I’m presuming it is, anyway,” he said.
She nodded.
“Yes, it is. Not withstanding the Dimetrodon problem, it’s still the most direct route out of here.”
“Well, I’d like to get moving,” Hemple said. “It’s quite a march.”
“I’m not entirely sure I’m going anywhere,” Cutter replied. He looked at Jenny. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not only grateful, I’m touch-ed that you’d all take so many risks trying to get us back, but there’s something going on here, something that makes everything else seem pretty unimportant.”
He turned to face Helen.
“I think you know a good deal about it, too,” he said.
She nodded.
“You wanted to talk?” he said. “You’ve got five minutes.”
FORTY-FIVE
“How long have you known?” Cutter asked.
“Only a few weeks,” Helen replied. They’d walked about thirty metres away from the others. She leaned against a boulder. He stood and studied the glittering lights as they came and went, rather than look at her.
“A few weeks?”
“I began to notice a change in the way the anomalies were behaving,” Helen said. “There was an increasing lack of stability, and a good deal of electromagnetic variance.”
“We noticed it, too,” Cutter admitted. “Connor did, anyway. He called it eccentricity.”
“That’s an accurate term.”
“He also called it ‘well-strange’, so don’t let’s give him the Nobel yet.”
She smiled. “What did you think was causing it?”
He shrugged. “We had no idea, but we knew it was affecting the whole network. It’s this, isn’t it? It’s what’s happening here?”
“Yes,” Helen said. “The causal relationships are difficult to explain, because depending on your viewpoint, it will seem as though time paradoxes are involved, but —
”
“Just give me the short version, Helen.”
She stood up. “The fault line running between Tunguska in our era and this place, right now, is particularly weak and particularly volatile. It’s the San Andreas Fault of time anomalies.”
“I know it’s much, much bigger than any I’ve ever seen,” Cutter said.
“Or me,” she agreed, “and much less stable. It’s periodic, too.”
“It’s going to open again?” he asked, gesturing towards the will-o’-the-wisp lights flashing in the woodland canopy.
“Oh yes,” Helen said. “Definitely. Maybe another hour or so, and you’ll be able to go back through. It’s so unstable and so big, it’s spreading symptoms of... what was it? Eccentricity?”
“That’s Connor’s word.”
“It’s spreading symptoms of eccentricity throughout the anomaly network. Worldwide, all time periods, the effects are showing up.”
“Why is it so bad here?” Cutter asked.
“That’s a chicken versus egg question,” Helen said. “Despite my meanderings through time, I am still a linear being, Nick. So are you. Neither of us is capable of perceiving true cause-and-effect in time’s fabric. The rift may have been critically damaged and enlarged by repeated meteor impacts. Alternatively, the electromagnetic vortex of an enlarged rift may have caused repeated meteor impacts.”
Cutter shook his head.
“Coincidence alone would seem to support the latter. This precise spot has been hit several times that we know of. That’s a wild improbability, except that we know that the Earth’s magnetic field has an effect on the behaviour and trajectory of collision objects. You put a massive magnetic anomaly here, it’s like painting a bull’s-eye on the planet.”
“Except that’s linear thinking,” she said. “The K-T event is so huge, so catastrophic, it will send shockwaves up and down the time stream from the point of impact. This anomaly may have been damaged and enlarged, not because of what’s happened here, but because of what’s going to happen here.”
Cutter looked up at the sky. The sunlight was glaring and it was, for the moment, impossible to detect the sinister smudge of light.
“Okay,” he said after a thoughtful pause, “the bottom line is that there is an enlarged anomaly here, linking the last days of the Cretaceous with the twenty-first century, and it’s likely to be wide open when the Chicxulub impactor reaches Earth. The collateral devastation could be enormous. It could wipe out life on Earth in two entirely separate eras. At the very least — in the very best-case scenario — it’s going to be a bad day for mankind. We could lose vast areas of Russia and continental Europe.”
