Time Split - Briggs

by Patricia Smith

  “That’s because of the bomb.”

  “Because of the dust kicked up by the explosion?”

  “No.”

  Jason looked at her, surprised. “But surely...”

  She shook her head emphatically. “No,” she snapped. “It is to some extent,” she added more calmly, “but it’s mostly because of the dead.”

  “What? Those who died from the radiation?” He glanced at the edge of the road where a grassy embankment lined the tarmac. “I saw one of those on my way to Morpeth. There was a young man sitting on the grass. He looked like he’d gotten too tired and had sat down and died. He had a rucksack and tent on his back like he was planning a long journey, but radiation sickness had obviously caught up with him quite early on.” An overwhelming urge made Jason look around when he suddenly felt like they were being watched. “Mind you, I suppose it depends where he started as to whether it was early on or not. It may well have happened over a few days.”

  “There’ll be plenty who have died since the blast,” Sarah said ominously. She dipped her head left. “I mean, you wouldn’t want to look too closely at those fields. At sun up you’ll see they’re full of dead animals. If that fox is after a meal there, it may be better off starving than eating radioactive meat. No, I don’t think the smell is caused by those who have died since the blast, but by those who died in the blast. I think the smell is caused by the millions of bodies, vaporised and blasted up where they became a part of the very air itself.”

  Jason grimaced. “What a horrible thought,” he said quietly.

  “It materialised immediately after the bomb was dropped. I thought at first it was caused by the fires, but they only raged for a couple of days. No, it must be the smell of death, not just here on the ground, but everywhere; all around us.”

  Jason stepped in front of her and stopped walking.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ve suddenly remembered about a problem up ahead.” He checked their location. “Now would be a good time to make a decision.” He stabbed his thumb up the road. “We’re nearing the Cramlington turn-off. We could leave the motorway now and take the road through Blagdon to get to Ponteland that way, or we can continue on this route and negotiate a scene that’ll give me nightmares for the rest of my life.”

  “What was it?” Sarah asked, her eyes wide and staring.

  “Not all the killing was as a result of the bomb. Someone must have decided to restrict the movement of people during a mass evacuation and they blocked the road with tanks. Some of the drivers must have tried to force their way through as there had been a shootout and there were a number of people, including soldiers, dead from gunshot wounds. At some point some of the cars must have crashed into the blockade and exploded. The heat from the fire must have been so intense it seemed to have melted the metal.” He turned to the south. “I’ve no doubt some of the stench we’re smelling is coming from there as all of the bodies were left where they died. The big question now is, does the Blagdon road even exist? I found out pretty quick not all of the roads in this timeline are the same as they are in mine.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “And it’ll take us to Ponteland?”

  “Yes.” She gave a slight shake, her body trembling. “I don’t wanna see the blockade, in case…” she seemed to hiccup as her words caught in her throat. She took a deep breath. “In case there is someone there I know.”

  Jason tightened his mouth. “I agree. I think it would be a very bad idea. Come on.” He continued walking. “We should reach the turn-off in the next five minutes. It would be a better route to take in any case as it should hopefully get us there faster.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the Outskirts of Alnwick, Northumberland

  Briggs stayed low, scanning for movement and heat signals in the surrounding forest. On his right there was a heat source spilling out from around a tree, but there were bushes and branches in the way and he could not guarantee getting a clean shot. He could not afford to only wound his victims as each shot had to count if he was to risk drawing attention to himself. Either way, he suspected this was the younger of the two surviving soldiers with the mercenary, as he could also hear movement from the same location, indicating a lack of experience in the field. He was fully aware of the man’s location, but at this stage could not do anything about it.

  ****

  Corporal John Rice tried to step around to look behind the tree. He stopped and physically cringed as the leaves crunched, yet again, beneath his boot. He lifted his foot and returned it to the base of the trunk, then cursed, muttering under his breath, when he caused another rustle.

  Slowly, he turned, embracing the tree to steady himself, then snaked around and peered towards the location of the shot. He froze and focused, trying to blend in with the forest, but found all he could see was varying shades of black.

  He tried to make out some form, anything that resembled a person, but could see nothing large enough to comprise a human being.

  He was surprised that a silencer had been used; they were very expensive, as all relatively new inventions were. They would not be available to your average soldier and would more likely be used by a specialised division like the Special Forces, or a sniper. He understood from Sergeant Andrews that the weapons stored beneath the moor were there for emergency use in case of an invasion. He took this to mean it would not contain any specialist equipment, so this was an anomaly.

  He moved back until he was again hidden by the tree. Well, hidden he hoped, as he did not have a clue as to where the gunman was.

  A wave of sadness came over him and he took a deep hiccupping breath as he struggled to stop the swell of emotion that seemed to suddenly come from nowhere.

  His family lived in Newcastle, just off the city centre. His dad had died two years ago in a road traffic accident and the moment he learned of the nuclear strike on the city, he accepted that the rest of his family were dead as well. His sister, two brothers and his mum would not have stood a chance.

  He had learned all about the effects of nuclear weapons during his training and knew there was no hope unless you were in a bunker and even then, if it was a ground blast, survival there was still dubious.

  He had accepted their deaths, but had not had the chance to mourn them. There had not been the time and even weeks later he knew he was still in shock. It was ongoing, there was no letting up. The nuclear attack, not just on the city, but on their army base at Otterburn, had resulted in the death of a number of friends who had stayed behind because they were not on the rota for the march out that day. The death of their captain soon after they moved into Alnwick, the dark changes in Sergeant Andrews’ behaviour, Briggs taking control, the brutal ravaging of the town and its people under the guise of support. How could he recover when it had all turned to hell?

  He attempted, too late, to suppress the emotions and the tears began to fall as all of his sorrow expanded, then brimmed over in a wave of uncontrollable grief. He lowered himself to the ground, sliding down the trunk, his face in his hand, and began to silently sob. No matter what happened here, if he survived, he had to get out of this place and away from the monster that was now running this unit, otherwise he knew he would be siding with the civilians before long, like some of his other colleagues did when the fighting started.

  ****

  Sergeant William Andrews slowly stood and wiped his hands down his thighs. He was searching for the gunman and had guessed why they had been so accurate when firing in the blackness of the forest at night. He needed his body to cool down so he could hide his heat from the thermal camera he suspected the shooter was wearing. He wiped the last of the mud on his hands over his face for good measure, then continued in the direction indicated by his commanding officer.

  Andrews always liked the mercenary even many years ago when they were in the same unit together. He was exciting and had a killer edge, which was obvious even in peace times. He was not surprised to find him standing
there with three dead men at his feet, when they met again on the streets of Alnwick, days after the nuclear attack plunged mankind back to the dark ages.

  Andrews was sure the mercenary was responsible for killing Captain Harrison, but no-one ever talked about it and he was not going to confront him on the subject, as it would be extremely dangerous. There were limits to their friendship. He had not tested the boundaries and never would, as he did not want to personally find out how sophisticated a killer this man truly was.

  Harrison was a good man and Andrews enjoyed working under his command, but these were different times requiring a different approach; a more ruthless type of leadership was needed otherwise none of them were going to survive. Given the choice he would have rather the two had worked together as Harrison would have added a compassionate side to the mercenary’s hard, calculating edge and he had no doubt the situation they were having to deal with on the streets of Alnwick now would have never happened. Either way, even if Harrison had not been killed, it would not have worked, he knew the mercenary’s sort and sharing the leadership was not his style.

  Andrews knew his place, at the mercenary’s right hand and no more. He did as he was told and that was that. At least that is what he could tell himself in the dark days of the nightmares, if they ever returned to normal civility.

  ****

  Briggs scanned the forest for any heat sources. He had good flexibility and although he could not quite see all around, he had enough of a view to feel comfortable that he would find all three of them soon.

  He could no longer see the young soldier, but knew where he was from the sound of his sobbing. It was obvious he was trying to stifle his grief, but had not succeeded enough to suppress all noise. It was very subtle, but intermittent gasps could be heard when there was a break in the gunfire. Still, he was not visible and did not offer himself up as a viable target.

  The other two he had lost entirely. He was not too worried about the other soldier, but the mercenary was a different matter. He would have been a lot happier if he had been able to keep a track on him. Even if he could not get a shot, Briggs would have felt more comfortable if he was aware of his location. Still, he was confident no-one was going anywhere without his say so; he was certain of that.

  He checked the younger soldier and found all he could see was his foot and the lower part of his calf, just above the line of his boot. It was not worth revealing his hiding place for a shot that would do nothing more than reduce his mobility. If necessary, he would take it to stop him running away, but only if he managed to kill the other two first.

  He looked left. There were heat sources passing along the forest floor, moving between the branches and leaves, and were more than likely scavengers living off the dead that had fallen because of the bomb.

  He shifted onto his elbow to get a better look around and an indistinct movement caught his attention. He stopped, completely rigid, and looked for a heat source.

  A faint glow, that was already fading, was hovering in the air. At first, Briggs was confused and could not identify the origin, until the warm orange orb, with a dark centre, moved and it dawned on him it was the barrel of a gun. The weapon had obviously recently been fired and the residual heat could still be detected by his thermal goggles.

  He was surprised he was not picking up any heat from the carrier of the weapon and it was only when they moved that he was alerted to their presence. He froze when suddenly they turned and looked at him.

  The camouflage covered every part of the man’s body except his eyes, which glowed an eerie red, as they could not be masked by any cooling effect.

  Slowly, Briggs lifted his gun and aimed. He did not want to have to shoot him, not at this stage at least. He would only fire if his life was in immediate danger.

  The man stood rigid, then slowly he swung his gun around and pointed it directly at Briggs.

  This was the move Briggs was primed for. He fingered the trigger and was just about to fire, when the man shifted his line of focus and lowered his weapon.

  Briggs kept his attention fixed on the soldier in case he became a threat again, but lowered his level of alert by moving his finger off the trigger. Suddenly, his eyes shot wider and his heart rate jumped when a barely detectable noise came from behind. Years of training came into play and in less than a second his muscles tightened in preparation to roll and fire – but it was already too late when a sharp sting, felt briefly at the base of his skull, was the only indication he had of the ambush that had been taking place in the forest behind.

  ****

  The mercenary pushed the blade upward, driving it deep beneath the man’s skull, then as his body went limp, moved it around to make sure he completed the kill.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Outskirts of Ponteland, Northumberland

  “Wow! Look at that.”

  Jason jumped. The pair had walked in silence for the past hour and he had almost forgotten Sarah was there. He had drifted into his own quiet world, as he often did when he was upset, where he brooded and festered on his problems until he either came up with a solution or dug himself into a deep pit of depression. The strain of this world was dragging him down and he had only been here just over three days. He could not imagine how bad it had been for Sarah, least of all how she kept going every day.

  Most of their journey had taken place through the night in darkness surrounded by shapes coloured in various shades of greys and blacks with very little definition to give them anything other than form, but now the sun had begun to rise and the blackness had started to lift. It was not above the horizon yet, as dawn had only just started, but the sky had already shifted from an inky black to a sapphire blue. It was enough to allow other colours to join the brightening of the ether and to bring the shadowy world of night back into the assorted colours of day.

  Jason looked around in the direction Sarah had indicated.

  They were passing the airport and could see the runway over the tops of the hedges, separating a grassy verge edging the road from the airfield’s grounds. In their line of sight should have been the control tower, normally looming behind the main airport building, but the circular pad was caught up in the shockwave from the blast and had severed from the supporting column, killing everyone inside when it plunged twelve metres onto the concrete below.

  Jason stopped and stared for a moment, taking in the sight.

  At ground zero, the heat from the bomb reached temperatures of millions of degrees centigrade, enough to vaporise everything within a mile of the impact site, but it quickly diminished. By the time it reached the airport it was only sufficient to produce first-degree burns on exposed skin and to ignite anything flammable.

  A jumbo jet, fully loaded with fuel, was hit by the shockwave as it taxied for take-off. The side impact had tumbled the plane onto the left wing, which cracked on impact with the ground, released fuel, stored in chambers within the appendage, and ignited on the burning grass. The resulting explosion ripped the plane into three pieces and the ensuing firestorm gutted the carcass and left a charred shell upended and buried in the soil on the far side of the hedge.

  “Do you think there was anyone inside?” Jason asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the carnage.

  “Probably.” Sarah turned away from the scene and dropped her head. “It all happened so fast, there was very little warning. Everyone was just going about their business as usual. We knew there were tensions brewing between Serboria and Bolonia, but nobody expected it to lead to global nuclear war.” She started walking again. “I don’t know whether anything happened in the city, but we never heard any air raid sirens out in Morpeth.”

  Jason stood a moment longer before he followed Sarah, trailing slightly behind.

  Half an hour later they arrived on the main high street running through the centre of Ponteland.

  “That’s incredible,” Jason gasped.

  Sarah looked around and after a few seconds, gave up trying to see the ‘incredible�
� Jason was talking about. “What?”

  “That sunrise.”

  She looked ahead at the fiery oranges merging into rose and crimson and the wispy clouds edged with mauve greeting the rising sun. “You get used to it,” she said flatly. “It’s caused by the nuclear fallout; you know, like after a volcano erupts.” She looked at him and wrinkled her nose, her cheeks rising to chubby mounds beneath her eyes. “Sort of spoils it a bit, doesn’t it?”

  Jason glanced at her uncomfortably. “Yes, it does.”

  “I’m just running on adrenaline now,” she warned. “I’m not sure I dare sit down.” Her mouth twitched into a smile. “I’m sure I’d fall asleep.”

  “Well, you’ll be glad to know we haven’t got much further to go.” He looked over his shoulder to check they were not being followed.

  Sarah looked at him sideways. “What’s the matter? You seem edgy.”

  “I can’t get used to the streets being so empty. It was strange in Morpeth and along the motorway, but here, because it’s my home, you know,” Jason shrugged his shoulders, “somewhere you’re supposed to feel safe, it’s just so creepy. I can appreciate what they mean by ghost town.”

  Sarah tipped her head back, flexing her neck. “I’m having trouble remembering that we haven’t done this before.” She returned her attention to Jason. “You should be glad; the last time we were here together we were shot at several times.”

  Jason laughed nervously. “Suppose I should. Not too keen on that.” He pointed to a road ahead. “We need to go down that street.”

  Sarah scanned the rows of houses, looking for any sign of life.

  There were very few windows with their curtains closed, as the attack happened in the late afternoon when the majority of people were still at work. This allowed a glimpse of the empty rooms beyond, still pristine enough to offer a false sense of normality.

  “What’s your house number?” she asked.