Annora Snow (The Girl Who Travelled Backward) (Kiera Hudson Series Four Book 1)

by Tim O'Rourke

  Karl smiled to himself as he remembered his parents. They had always been squabbling about one thing or another, but he knew they’d shared an unbreakable bond. Despite their many arguments, they lived and worked together. They had been inseparable and Karl knew, without doubt, that despite his father’s teasing and bombastic manner, he had been as devoted to Kiera as she had been to him.

  Sliding his gun into the holster beneath his jacket, Karl left his room. As he walked along the dimly lit passageway, passing bedroom doors to his left and right, he was struck by how quiet the Night Diner was. There was no longer the dull thud-thud of music, nor the raucous cries of drunks. The bar seemed like a completely different place during the day. It seemed dead.

  Reaching the foot of the stairs, he looked across the empty dance floor in the direction of the bar area for any sign of the bartender he had seen the night before. A metal shutter had been pulled down over the front of the bar. There didn’t appear to be anyone about. The Night Diner was deserted. Realising that there was no chance of getting any breakfast, Karl glanced in the direction of the vending machines. They were filled with the same tired-looking sandwiches he had seen the night before. Tucking his hand into his jacket pocket, he remembered the pack of cookies and bottle of milk he had bought.

  They would have to substitute for breakfast until he reached the centre of the outpost where he would be able to buy something more edible than the cardboard-looking sandwiches from the vending machine. As he stepped away in the direction of the exit, he heard footsteps behind him. Hoping that the bartender was up and about and he might be able to get something to eat, Karl turned around. The same Bot he had invited up to his room the night before stepped out of the shadows at the foot of the stairs. It walked slowly toward him. The Bot studied Karl with its large, circular black eyes.

  “What is your pleasure?” the Bot asked, voice soft, yet monotone.

  “Give me a break.” Karl sighed before turning around and heading toward the exit.

  “Be careful,” the Bot said.

  Stopping midstride, Karl glanced back. “What did you say?”

  “Be careful,” the Bot repeated itself, smooth chrome face blank, dark eyes wide.

  Karl frowned. “Be careful of what, exactly?”

  The Bot’s eyes began to shine suddenly bright, creating the illusion of looking like Annora Snow once more. “Be careful of the Night Diners, Karl Potter,” the Bot said, as if Annora were sending him a warning from a different time and place.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The year 1973…

  “What are the layers?” Annora asked Parker as she sat back at the table. She kept the umbrella close by and curled her fingers around the whiskey glass that was still a quarter full.

  “The world is not as you see it… not as you believe it to be,” Parker said, lacing his hands together on the table.

  “You can say that again,” Annora said, raising the whiskey glass to her lips.

  Parker reached across the table and placed his hand over the top of the glass. “I said, go easy on that stuff. You need to have a clear head. I need you to think clearly if you’re going to understand just a fraction of what I’m about to tell you.”

  “Okay, sorry,” Annora said, setting the glass down. “But before you tell me about these layers, who are you? How do I know that I can trust you? What is your name? I can’t keep calling you Mr. Parker.”

  “My name is Noah,” he said, reaching for the bottle of black stuff again.

  “Shouldn’t you go easy on that stuff, too?” Annora said.

  “It’s not alcohol,” Noah said, pushing the bottle out of reach as if heeding her warning. “It’s something like a painkiller.”

  Annora looked surprised. “Are you in pain?”

  “I’m always in pain,” Noah said, “but that’s not what we’re here to talk about.”

  “Are you a time traveller, too?” Annora blurted out, despite how ridiculous she thought her question sounded.

  But Noah didn’t appear to be amused by what she had said. He looked at her with deadly seriousness. “Kind of,” he said. “People like me don’t call it time travelling. We call it pushing. I push through the layers into the different wheres and whens.”

  “What are wheres and whens?” Annora asked, feeling more confused than ever and fighting the temptation to reach for the whiskey again.

  Noah shrugged his shoulders. “Different times and places. A bit like here and now—1973. But there are many different versions of the here and now—the year 1973. There are different versions of every year. These different versions are called layers. And in each of these layers there are different versions of you—each one leading a similar, yet different life.”

  “And are there different versions of you in these different layers?” Annora asked, desperate to make sense of what Noah was telling her. He had been right about one thing; she really didn’t need her mind clouded by alcohol if she stood any chance of understanding him.

  “No, there isn’t another like me,” Noah said with a slow shake of his head. “I am just one of many.”

  Annora frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense. How can you be one of many if there is only one of you?”

  “You’ll come to understand in time,” Noah said with a wry smile. “But first things first. Where were we?”

  “The layers,” Annora reminded him.

  “Ah, yes, the layers,” Noah said, pushing back his chair. He began to pace back and forth like a lecturer about to address his students. He stroked his chin with his forefinger as he started to talk. “You were unhappy with your life. You bitched and whined about it, am I right?” He cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Right,” she said, cringing in her seat.

  “There’s no need to be ashamed of that,” Noah said. “Everyone I’ve ever known has been dissatisfied with their lot, or I would have never met them. The layers wouldn’t have pushed them. See, the layers have the habit of finding people who want more—know that they can achieve more—become greater than what they are. Don’t misunderstand me, the layers don’t choose everyone who bitches and whines about their life. You have to have the desire—the ambition and drive—to want to change what is wrong with your life. You have to have the courage to step out of the restraints that you believe confine you. We can all sit and moan and groan about the hand that life has dealt us, but you have to have the desire—the guts—to get up off your arse and go looking for something new—some new adventure, however scary that might seem.” Then, fixing Annora with a stare, he added, “Despite your constant whining about your life, you had the courage to break free of it. To set out on your own. You turned your back on the comfortable life that your parents had provided for you. And you’re exactly the type of person the layers choose. Someone who isn’t afraid to make some mistakes. Just like the mistake you’ve made by travelling backward and not forward.”

  “How was I meant to know whether I was to go backward or forward?” Annora complained. “When I met you back in 2018, you didn’t explain any of this to me. You just gave me the keys to your crappy old car and a token, which I put in a jukebox…”

  “And that was my mistake,” Noah said with a sigh. He sat down at the table once more. “I won’t be using that jukebox to push anyone again. But I couldn’t use the train…”

  “Train?” Annora frowned, each passing moment growing evermore surreal. “What train?”

  “I’m forgetting that you still have a lot to learn,” Noah said. “I usually push people through the layers on a train called the Scorpion Steam. But they don’t have trains in the year 2067—not ones that run on tracks.”

  Now it was Annora who shot to her feet. “2067?!” She gasped. “I was meant to travel into the future?!”

  Noah nodded his head, but said nothing.

  “Why?”

  “Why not?” Noah said with a wry smile. “It’s as good a year as any.”

  “You know what,” Annora seethed, plac
ing her hands on her hips, “I’ve had just about enough of your riddles and nonsense, and if I don’t start getting some straight answers I’m going—”

  Noah began to chuckle. He rubbed his hands together with glee.

  Annora scowled. “What’s so funny?”

  “I can see why the layers chose you, Annora Snow,” he said. “Admittedly, I had my doubts, but you’re really rather feisty. Karl Potter is going to fall head over heels in love with you. He really has met his match.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The year 2067…

  Karl Potter watched as the lights radiating from the Bot’s eyes flickered out, revealing once more its chrome and featureless face. Feeling unnerved, not only by the sudden appearance of Annora Snow’s face again, but by what the Bot had said in warning about the Night Diners.

  “What the fuck does that mean?” Karl asked.

  But instead of answering his question, the Bot turned on the spot and headed slowly away, back toward the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. Sensing that he was wasting his time, and not wanting to see the Bot recreate Annora’s face again, Karl headed across the bar to the exit. There was a part of him that wished he hadn’t taken the Sexbot to his room last night and shown it the photograph of Annora. He now feared that every time he was approached by the artificial human-like robot, it would eerily reveal Annora Snow’s face to him. And every time that Bot recreated her face, it felt like Annora was somehow haunting him from beyond the grave.

  As he yanked open the door and stepped out into the grey day, the Bot’s warning about the Night Diners continued to ring in his ears. Turning up the collar of his jacket against the rain, Karl headed toward the vehicle port outside the front of the bar and to his battered old car. Why had the Bot tried to warn him about the Night Diners? Had he misheard it, and in fact the Bot had been trying to warn him about the bar? If so, he didn’t need to be warned; he could see for himself that it was a complete shithole. But Karl also knew that Night Diners had been the name given to vampires and werewolves. As far as he was aware, such supernatural creatures no longer existed. The Frozen Ones and the Turn Skins, as they were also once called, had all been obliterated in the rain of fire the humans had showered down on them at the end of the Third War. Karl could only suspect that the Bot, just like it had stored Annora’s image into its memory banks, had also captured memories of the war between the vampires and werewolves. Like everything else in Outpost 71, much of the tech appeared to be broken, rundown, and hadn’t been maintained. In fact, the Bot that he had taken to his room was the only humanoid machine he had seen since arriving in Outpost 71.

  Karl pulled open the car door, climbed inside, and pressed the trigger on the joystick. He knew he had more pressing concerns to occupy his mind than a faulty Bot’s memory bank. His main concern now was that his car was refusing to start.

  “Oh, come on, don’t do this to me.” Karl sighed.

  He pulled his forefinger down on the trigger once more. The car remained motionless. It seemed that not only had the vertical thrusters broken, but the engine had given up, too. After climbing from the car, he slammed the door shut with such force, the old Beetle rattled and clanked before him. Glancing up at the overcast sky, rain splashed his upturned face. The thought of walking all the way into the centre of Outpost 71 in the pouring rain didn’t inspire him. But what other option did he have? He wanted to know for sure whether there had been any blood left at the scene of Lucy May’s murder. He still didn’t believe that her death had been the result of a drug overdose.

  Thrusting his hands into his jacket pocket, head bent low, Karl set off in the direction of Outpost 71. Although the day was dull and grey, he could see the surrounding area more clearly than he had been able to the previous night. He passed through districts that looked like they had been bombed. What little remained of the houses and buildings were scorched black. Giant metal girders, masonry, and bricks lay strewn everywhere. The well-worn path he walked meandered and twisted through the decay. A chill wind moaned as it cut across the barren landscape that surrounded him on all fronts. Dust and grit blew up, and at times he had to shield his eyes so as not to be blinded by it. And just as the Night Diner had been deserted on his waking, so was the rundown districts he passed through on his way to Outpost 71.

  But was that so strange? he wondered to himself. There wasn’t one building or outhouse that looked intact, so who would want to live in such a featureless place?

  As he neared the outpost, he saw the first signs of life. People huddled beneath the rain on street corners, and cars crawled slowly past. Retracing the route he had taken out of the outpost with Officer Lisa Scott, he headed in the direction of the giant shipping crates that doubled as apartment blocks in this part of the world. As Karl made his way along the litter-strewn streets, he was shocked by how impoverished the people of Outpost 71 appeared to be. It wasn’t just the people, but the buildings, too, which towered high on either side of the streets. They were old, dirty, and dark. It was like a vast shadow loomed over the entire outpost, which was in stark contrast to London City, where Karl had lived and worked as a Temporal Officer. There were no bright lights, glitzy cars, or fancy buildings. The airspace wasn’t filled with giant holographic billboards. Outpost 71 seemed like it came from another age; another time. Outpost 71 and its people looked like they had been forgotten by those living in the cities.

  Karl continued to cut his way through the throngs of people who made their way along the streets, heads down as if scared to make eye contact with him and each other. Some of the people gathered in small groups around stalls where strips of bloody meat were being cooked with noodles and rice in giant steel vats.

  Up ahead, Karl could see the tower block of shipping crates looming against the murky sky. He made his way toward them. At the entrance to the rickety elevator, Karl looked for any sign of the old man who had reported Lucy May’s death to him the night before. Seeing no sign of him, Karl stepped into the lift, pulled the metal grate shut behind him, and hit the switch. The elevator shook and rattled as it made its way slowly up the side of the crates to the top floor. At the highest level, the elevator came to a bone-rattling stop. Karl yanked open the door, and stepped out onto the unstable gangway that was supported by little more than rusty lengths of scaffolding. Tentatively holding the rails with one hand, Karl made his way along the gangway in the direction of Lucy May’s so-called apartment. And as he went, he glanced over the rails and down at the outpost way below. The constant stream of slow-moving traffic and people looked like little more than worker ants. Up at such a height, the rain and wind lashed into Karl. The walkway swayed precariously beneath his feet and he gripped the handrail tighter still. With rain streaming down his face like tears, Karl reached the doorway to the shipping container where Lucy May had made a home.

  He pulled aside the sheet of corrugated metal that covered the doorway and stepped inside. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his mobile comlink. He turned on the torch, casting the beam of light over the floor where he’d discovered Lucy May’s maggot-infested corpse. And just as he suspected, he couldn’t see any signs of blood. No blood splatter patterns, as his mother would have called them. But perhaps when Sergeant Shaw and officers Lisa Scott and Selina Riley had removed the body, they had also cleaned away the blood.

  With the light from his comlink illuminating the floor, Karl hunkered down to make a close inspection. As he did so, he heard a shuffling sound to his right. Someone or something seemed to be moving in the shadows that shrouded the furthest reaches of the container.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The year 1973…

  “Who in the hell is Karl Potter?” Annora demanded to know, tapping the toe of her boot on the kitchen floor.

  “Well, if you had travelled forward instead of backward, you would have found out,” Noah said, reaching for the cobweb-infested bottle again.

  Annora snatched the bottle from him, setting it down out of reach. “That
doesn’t answer my question. Who is Karl Potter?”

  “He was… is… meant to be… your lover,” Noah said, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. “But now I just don’t know what to think. Now that you have travelled backward and not forward, who’s to say what has happened in 2067.”

  “Hang on, hang on!” Annora said, raising her hands. “I thought I was lost before, but now you’ve completely thrown me for a loop. You say that I had a lover in 2067 called Karl Potter. What I want to know is, was he hot?”

  “Jeez, give me a break,” Noah groaned, getting up from the table. “You’ve just discovered you’ve time travelled—been pushed—and all you want to know is whether your future lover is good in the sack? Un-bloody-believable. And I thought Sammy Carter was cock-obsessed. She’s got nothing on you.”

  “I’m not obsessed with cock,” Annora said indignantly. “If I’m going to time travel—get pushed—to the year 2067, I just want to know that the guy waiting there for me is worth the journey, that’s all. Do you have a photo…?”

  “No, I don’t have a bloody photo!” Noah glared at her. “Don’t you see? Karl Potter isn’t waiting there for you! You didn’t go there—you came here!”

  “So what happens now?”

  “How should I know?” he snapped at her. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I’m not known for screwing up. Things usually go to plan—kind of.”

  “What’s kind of supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Noah said, running his fingers through his hair. “Just let me think for a moment. As far as Karl Potter is concerned, you were part of his life in 2067. But now you’re back here, so you can’t be there. So if you’re not there but here, then perhaps as far as Potter junior is concerned you died—got snuffed out somehow. He will slowly start to forget you. Your very existence in the year 2067 will get rubbed out—erased by the layers as they fill in the crack you left behind. Eventually, it will be like you were never there.”