Freefall

by Roderick Gordon

  Turning off Main Street, they marched past the old convent and very shortly came to Gladstone Street, where Dr. Burrows paused in front of a row of almshouses.

  “What are we doing here, Dad?” Will asked.

  “Checking the facts,” Dr. Burrows replied as he advanced toward a narrow alleyway between two of the small houses. He seemed to know exactly where he was going as he disappeared into the darkness. Will followed a few paces behind, anxious that he couldn’t see anything at all around him. He slowed for a second as his foot clipped an empty milk bottle, sending it rattling over the cobblestones.

  As he emerged into the light again, Will saw that the alley was bordered on both sides by garden walls, and that it was sealed off at the end by an old factory building with tall windows. There seemed to be no other way in or out of the alley except the way they’d entered. Will couldn’t for the life of him think why his father was interested in this place. Then Dr. Burrows went up to the wall on their right and peered over it.

  “Who lives here?” Will inquired, joining his father at the wall and looking at the unkempt garden. A plump cat padded over the patchy grass, carefully avoiding the numerous plastic bowls of filthy water that seemed to be everywhere. Then Will remembered what he’d read in his father’s journal, which he and Chester had found all those months ago. “This is where the luminescent orb was discovered, isn’t it?”

  “Yes — this is Mrs. Tantrumi’s house.”

  Will shrugged. “So what are we doing here?”

  “She was a friend of Oscar’s,” Dr. Burrows told him.

  “So, what, are you going to ask her what happened to him?”

  “Yes, that was my intention,” Dr. Burrows confirmed decisively. “And there was more than just the luminescent orb here.”

  Will looked searchingly at his father. “What do you mean?”

  “The orb was found in the basement just beyond those steps over there,” Dr. Burrows told him, glancing at the dark doorway. “There was also a wardrobe downstairs, stuffed full of Colonists’ coats.”

  “Colonists’ coats,” Will repeated, then realized what his father had said. “Dad, what are you thinking!” he burst out. “You must be going mad!” He was looking nervously around now. “This is probably a route down to the Colony — there could be Styx in that house.”

  “No, just a sweet old lady,” Dr. Burrows told him.

  “But, Dad,” Will whined, stamping his foot. He was so frustrated that his father wasn’t listening to him, he suddenly felt like he was a child of five years old again, not getting his way. He seized hold of Dr. Burrows by the arm as if he was about to drag him forcibly away from the wall. “This is just crazy. We’ve got to get away from here,” Will pleaded. “We have to!”

  Dr. Burrows turned to give him a stern look. “Unhand me, Will.”

  Will did as he was told and released his father’s arm. He recognized the resolve in his father’s voice as he spoke. “I’ve spent too much of my life hanging back from what I should’ve done. It’s all too easy to find an excuse to put things off until another day. Heaven knows, I should know. But right at this moment, I need to investigate what your sister …,” he faltered for a beat, “… that twin said. I have to find out if Oscar really was some sort of Styx agent. I have to check the facts for myself.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Dad,” Will agreed reluctantly.

  “Good,” Dr. Burrows said, straightaway hauling himself on top of the wall, then jumping down the other side. As he landed in the mud, his feet slid from under him and he sat right on top of one of the numerous bowls. The sharp crack of breaking plastic resounded around the garden, and in the ensuing silence Dr. Burrows swore and hauled himself to his feet, wiping the algae from his duffle coat. “Not again,” he muttered to himself.

  Full of misgiving, Will remained where he was, watching as his father went to the back door and knocked on it gently.

  “Mrs. Tantrumi,” Dr. Burrows called. “Are you there? It’s me … Roger Burrows.”

  The door opened a crack and an enormous ball of black-and-white fur bolted out. It flew straight between Dr. Burrows’s legs and into the garden. Startled, Dr. Burrows muttered “Cat?” as he tottered back a couple of steps.

  A wrinkled face peeped shortsightedly through the gap.

  “Hello? Who’s that?”

  “Mrs. Tantrumi, it’s all right. It’s only me, Roger Burrows.”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Burrows. I … um … dropped in to see you last year about the luminescent orb that Oscar Embers brought to me. Do you remember?”

  The door opened fully. The old lady had wispy white hair and was wearing an apron that wasn’t tied properly, so that large yellow and white flowers ran at rather an odd angle across her body. She also appeared to be very unsteady on her feet, and was hanging on to the doorjamb as if she needed it to support herself. She adjusted her glasses, clearly finding it a struggle to focus on Dr. Burrows. “Yes, of course I remember you,” she eventually answered. “You’re from the museum. You wrote me that lovely letter.”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Dr. Burrows said in a relieved voice.

  “How lovely that you’ve come to see me again,” she grinned, her lined face lighting up. “You must join me for a cup of tea.”

  “That would be very nice,” Dr. Burrows replied warmly as the old lady waddled back into the kitchen.

  Dr. Burrows remained by the open door, stooping to stroke an ancient and painfully thin ginger-colored cat. To his surprise, the cat hissed and lashed out at him.

  “Orlando! Mind your manners, you naughty boy! I’m so sorry, Dr. Burrows. He’s not used to strangers. I hope he didn’t scratch you.”

  “Not badly,” Dr. Burrows said, rubbing his finger where a claw had caught the skin. He narrowed his eyes angrily at the cat, which was still standing there with its scraggy ruff up, like a feline guard dog. “Mrs. Tantrumi, I actually came here to ask you about Oscar Embers. Is he all right?”

  Mrs. Tantrumi stood up from the sink, the tap running on full as she gripped the handle of the kettle so tightly Dr. Burrows could see her knuckles drain of blood.

  “No, he’s not. Poor soul tripped on the pavement and broke his arm.” She stared at the water swirling around and dwindling down the drain as she spoke. “Then he picked up a nasty infection in Highfield General Hospital, and was terribly ill. He did get better, but they said he couldn’t look after himself and packed him off to a nursing home, so I don’t see him anymore.”

  “Do you know which nursing home he went into?” Dr. Burrows inquired.

  “No, I don’t, and I can’t visit him, anyway, not with my hips the way they are,” she said mournfully. “I do miss him so. He was a good friend.”

  “I’m very sorry,” Dr. Burrows said, rather unconvincingly. “But you must have some idea which home he’s in.”

  “No, dear, I don’t,” Mrs. Tantrumi replied, finishing the task of filling the kettle, then swaying over to the stove with a series of “oohs” and “aahs,” as if each step was causing her considerable discomfort.

  “Poor old Oscar,” Dr. Burrows said distantly, turning to regard the doorway to the basement. “Would you mind if I took another look down there, where the luminescent orb was found?”

  “Ludicrous orb, dear? What’s that?” she asked, squinting at him.

  “The object you very kindly donated to the museum. Do you remember?”

  Mrs. Tantrumi thought for a second, her frail hands trembling. “Oh, of course, I know — the glass ball. Yes, please do have a look, if you want.” She took a large tin from the kitchen counter. “Would you like a biscuit first?” she offered, as she struggled to get the lid off.

  Clutching his Garibaldi biscuit, Dr. Burrows glanced at Will, whose head was just visible as he peered over the garden wall from the alleyway. Dr. Burrows raised his eyebrows at Will, then made his way down the mossy brick steps to the basement. Once there he went straight for the area that lay toward the
front of the house. All was silent in the darkened basement, except for the sound his feet were making in the dirt.

  As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw that the wardrobe wasn’t where it had been before. In fact, there was no sign of it anywhere. “What the blazes!” he muttered. “Somebody’s nicked it!”

  Still muttering to himself, he took a moment to give the old piano another quick inspection. Moldering against a damp wall, it appeared to be in an even worse state than the last time he’d seen it; one side had become detached and the instrument sat lopsidedly, as if it was at the point of collapsing altogether. Lifting the lid, Dr. Burrows found that many of the keys now didn’t make any sound at all when he played them.

  Stamping his feet on the ground by the base of the walls, he made a complete circuit of the basement, certain that somewhere he was going to find a trapdoor. But the ground felt solid enough, and he’d just decided to check the walls themselves when he heard a noise behind him.

  He wheeled around.

  Silhouetted in the light coming from the garden stairwell, a figure lurched at him. It was wielding something in its hand, something that glinted like polished steel.

  “YOU’VE MEDDLED ONCE TOO OFTEN!” the figure shrieked.

  “Mrs. Tantrumi!” Dr. Burrows cried as he recognized his assailant.

  The speed at which the old lady was moving took him completely by surprise. Her face set in a vicious snarl, she lunged at him with the knife, not showing any trace of the frailty she’d exhibited before.

  All of a sudden there was a resounding crash, and Garibaldi biscuits and custard cream cookies flew everywhere. Mrs. Tantrumi stopped dead in her tracks, the knife fell from her hand, and she keeled over.

  “Will!” Dr. Burrows gasped. His son stood over the crazed old lady.

  “I couldn’t decide whether to use this,” Will said, holding up the dented and now empty biscuit tin, “or a flowerpot to wallop her one.”

  Dr. Burrows’s face was a picture of confusion as he attempted to deal with what had just taken place. “She … she was going to stab me.” He looked gratefully at his son. “Thank you, Will.”

  “No problem.”

  They both peered down at Mrs. Tantrumi, who was lying on her side. Although she’d been stunned by the blow, she seemed to be recovering quickly. She rubbed her cranium with an aggrieved expression, then immediately tried to get the knife again.

  “What do we do now?” Dr. Burrows asked, as he watched the old lady’s hand snaking toward the weapon.

  “Stop her from killing us?” Will suggested. He took a step toward her and, without applying much pressure, placed a foot on her wrist to pin it to the ground.

  “Gerroff!” She seemed to have all her strength back now and, behaving like one of her feral cats, she proceeded to hiss and spit at Will and his father. “Your time is coming!” she ranted. “Nobody escapes the Colony!”

  “Just a sweet old lady, huh?” Will said.

  Shaking his head, Dr. Burrows watched the old woman with horrified fascination as she strained to free her hand from under Will’s foot. “I don’t believe it,” he murmured.

  “You’d better,” his son told him.

  “But —”

  “No, you listen to me, Dad: They have people all over. Granny Gruesome here is obviously one of their agents, so it follows that Oscar Embers was, too, just like the Rebecca twin said. The Styx even have people in the police and in the government, so we can’t trust anybody. From now on, we tread really carefully. Got that?”

  “DEAD! YOU ARE BOTH DEAD!” Mrs. Tantrumi screamed as Will stooped to pick up the knife, still not releasing her hand from under his foot.

  “I don’t think so,” Will sneered back at her. “And we’re going to put a stop to you and your foul friends if it’s the last thing we do.”

  “IT WILL BE!” she screeched. “THERE ARE TOO MANY OF US!”

  “Come on, Dad, let’s get away from this stinking old witch.” Curling his lip in disgust, Will slung the knife through the doorway behind him. There was a startled meow from outside in the garden.

  “Oops, think I got one,” Will said. Mrs. Tantrumi exploded into such language and at such volume that Dr. Burrows covered his ears.

  Will took his foot off Mrs. Tantrumi’s wrist and backed away quickly, closely followed by Dr. Burrows, who had no intention of being left alone with the frenzied woman. As they climbed the steps to the garden, squinting in the bright light, a figure leaped from the top of the wall and landed on the muddy lawn, deftly avoiding the many plastic bowls of stale water.

  “What happened in there?” it demanded in an urgent whisper.

  Will couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “Drake!” he exclaimed.

  “Drake?” Dr. Burrows repeated.

  “Tell me what just happened,” Drake demanded again, jerking his head at the basement. “Who’s in there?”

  “A Styx agent,” Will answered. “I can’t — I’ve got — you have to — the virus — how did you —?” he gabbled, everything he wanted to say to Drake coming out in an incoherent torrent.

  “Not now,” Drake cut him short. He whipped out a handgun and offered it to Will. “Take this. The safety’s off.”

  “It’s all right — I’ve got my own,” Will said, hooking his jacket aside to show Drake the Browning Hi-Power tucked into his waistband.

  Dr. Burrows clucked with disapproval at his son, but Drake flashed him a brief smile. “Cool. By the way, love the new look,” he said, as he took in Will’s short hair and combat fatigues. Then Drake was in action again, slipping past Dr. Burrows and cautiously descending the steps.

  “She’s an old woman, but she’s vicious,” Will tried to warn Drake, but he’d already disappeared into the gloom of the basement.

  “What’s he going to do? Put a bullet in her?” Dr. Burrows said.

  “I would if I could, but she’s bailed,” Drake rumbled, overhearing the remark as he stormed out of the basement. “So now the White Necks will know you’re back in circulation, and the heat will be on.”

  Will was astounded. “She’s gone? But she can’t have!”

  “There’s no way out of there,” Dr. Burrows added, giving Drake a skeptical look. “I checked it myself.” He made as if he was going to go back into the basement, but Drake grabbed his elbow and spun him around.

  “No, you don’t. It’s a waste of time—you’ll never find it,” Drake growled at him. “I heard there was a portal somewhere around here.” He shot a glance at Will. “Someone told me about it.”

  This wasn’t lost on Will, who looked at him questioningly.

  “We need to get away from here, and pronto,” Drake said to Dr. Burrows, then he stepped toward Will and his face crinkled into a grin. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you again, Will. In fact, I’d say it’s a miracle! So you did the impossible — you all made it out of the Pore?”

  “Yes … no, we —” Will began, but gasped as in the blink of an eye Drake had dropped to one knee and brought his handgun to bear on the kitchen door. Will also drew his Browning Hi-Power, although he was far less practiced than Drake and it took him a great deal longer. The door to the kitchen, which Mrs. Tantrumi had left ajar, moved the smallest fraction. Will was holding his breath as a mangy black cat stuck its head out and gave them an indifferent look before it ducked inside again.

  “Yes, you’ve got to watch out for her pussycats — they’re vicious brutes. One gave me a really nasty scratch,” Dr. Burrows declared drily as he surveyed both his son and Drake poised with their weapons.

  “Can’t be too careful. This place is riddled with Styx,” Drake said as he straightened up again. He regarded Dr. Burrows rather coldly before addressing Will. “I presume this is your father — the intrepid explorer?”

  Will nodded.

  “And you’ve come back to Highfield to see your mother,” Drake said.

  “My wife — yes, of course we have,” Dr. Burrows jumped in before Will coul
d answer.

  Drake put away his handgun. “Well, if you thought you’d find her in your old house, you’re wasting your time. She’s sold it.”

  “She did what!” Dr. Burrows said, aghast.

  Will’s mind was beginning to function after the shock of seeing Drake again, and something didn’t quite add up. “But, how did you know we’d come here? How did you know that I was even still alive?” he asked.

  “When you rang that number, your message was logged on a secure server in Wales.”

  “Number? Message?” Will said, then the realization hit him: It had to have been one of the calls he’d made on the old telephone in the fallout shelter. “So the line wasn’t dead! And that was your number all the time!” Will said, shaking his head. “I had no idea what it was for.”

  “You can only have got it from Elliott, so I assume she’s still alive, too. Is she OK?”

  Will nodded. “I hope so. We got separated after she set off a huge explosion.”

  “Typical,” Drake chuckled. “And what about Chester?”

  “He should be with Elliott, but Cal … something terrible —”

  “I know about Cal,” Drake interrupted softly. “I was there. I saw the whole thing.”

  “You were there?” Will sputtered. “At the Pore?”

  “Yes. With Sarah … for her last moments …”

  “No,” Will said. “She’s dead, then?”

  Drake glanced away from Will, as if he knew how painful what he was about to say would be for the boy. “Will, she threw herself off the edge, taking the twins with her. I reckon she did it because she’d messed things up so badly with you, and it was all that was left for her.”

  “Oh God,” Will gasped. He’d hung on to the hope that somehow she might have survived, but now that had been dashed by what Drake had told him. Will tried to speak, to ask more about what had happened, but his throat had tightened to such an extent that Drake couldn’t hear him.