Time Split - Briggs

by Patricia Smith

  “Sixty-three.” Jason thought a moment, then, “Except it’s not my house any more.”

  She looked at him, puzzled. “It must be your house; the machine is there.”

  “Well, no. The machine is protected from the effects of time, otherwise it would not be there when I needed to come back. There are probably parts on that machine which don’t exist in this timeline. Materials that haven’t been invented yet like nano-carbon technology, which was groundbreaking in my timeline, but when you’re twenty or thirty years behind, there’s no way it would be available here. It has to protect itself from the effects of time, otherwise it could cease to function or possibly even exist. Besides, I know it’s not my house because the decor and furniture were completely different. The machine was about the only consistent thing there. Outside of the basement the layout of the house was the same, but everything else was wrong.”

  “Was the house empty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think the owners were out?”

  “No, it was five in the morning and judging by the water, leaf litter and gathering mould at the front door, I don’t think it had been occupied for some time. Also, upstairs there were clothes scattered and drawers left open as though someone had packed in a hurry.”

  “There was a lot of panic, as you can imagine, immediately after we were attacked. I never saw what happened closer to the city, but I would have thought it was far worse than what happened at Morpeth. People just wanted to get as far away from the bomb as possible. Within a few hours it felt like the whole of Morpeth had emptied.”

  “It must have been terrible.”

  Sarah simply nodded.

  Jason nudged his head. “It’s the next house up.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  On the Outskirts of Alnwick, Northumberland

  Andrews trotted up as the mercenary pulled the knife clear of the man’s skull. A thick flow of blood oozed from the cavity along with the extracted blade, soaked the hair at the base of his scalp, then trickled down his neck to pool on the ground beneath the body.

  “I’d just found him,” Andrews informed his commander breathlessly. “I could barely see him. I only spotted him because of the undergrowth. It suddenly looked particularly dense in the middle, then I saw a flash of flesh when he moved his hand. I would’ve taken him down, but I saw you coming up behind.”

  Andrews had recently noticed he had been getting breathless very easily and swore he could feel the damage the radiation was doing to his lungs. This was confirmed by a doctor, on a visit to the local hospital, who simply nodded when directly asked by the officer if this was the case.

  A handful of nurses and two doctors were trying to keep a service going in the small community hospital against the odds. The population of Alnwick had tripled over the last few weeks once word got around that the army had set up a food distribution programme and a number of those coming into the town were already ill from the fallout. They required specialised treatment, which would usually involve them being transferred to a major hospital closer to Newcastle, but a small group, who had travelled on a reconnaissance to gather medical supplies, reported back only one of those hospitals still remained standing and had been abandoned due to its proximity to the city.

  Briggs bent forward and examined the body at his feet. “I knew roughly where he was from the angle of the shot and from the direction that Mendeck’s body fell. It was unlikely he was going anywhere, so we just had to be quick.” Briggs wiped the blade clean on the shooter’s jacket and returned it to its housing before he retrieved a torch and shone it down on his victim’s body. “He’s pretty well equipped for a townsperson.” He looked at Andrews. “Maybe we’ve got something different here.”

  Andrews shrugged, the corners of his mouth turning down. “It could be equipment they found in the Town Moor bunker.”

  Suddenly, an explosion that lit up the edge of the forest caused Briggs to snap upright. He looked towards the town. As the rumble died screams could be heard, followed by voices calling out for an immediate surrender.

  He returned his attention to the body, lowered himself down onto his haunches and fingered the strap, keeping the night vision goggles in place. “It’s unlikely these were found in the bunker,” he said distantly, “they’re too specialised. There would have been a store of food and weapons, but night vision goggles are relatively new technology.” He moved his thumb beneath the strap and shifted it up and over the man’s head, then grabbed the shooter’s left shoulder. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” He turned the body over onto its back in a single movement, then stood upright, shocked.

  “What the hell?” Andrews squawked. He reached down, pulled the goggles completely free of the head and laughed nervously. “He looks exactly like you.”

  Briggs stared into the gaping eyes of the cadaver, still wide in the alarm that was felt seconds before the point of death, when the shooter realised he had not been the hunter after all, but was in fact the prey. “I think if this man had been running around the town, we would have most certainly noticed him.”

  Andrews snorted. “Yeah.”

  “He must be from outside.”

  Andrews’ face furrowed, he shook his head. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

  “Check him for ID.”

  The sergeant dropped to his knees and rummaged through the shooter’s pockets.

  Briggs waited. A short while later Andrews had collected a small bundle of items.

  Briggs passed him the torch then examined the pile. “A key.” He looked at the fob. “Army jeep. KBF TA,” he said curiously.

  “Kenton Bank Foot Territorial Army,” Andrews prompted.

  “Oh, yeah. A...” he paused, his face furrowed. “I don’t know what this is...” He handed the microchip embedded in the small circuit board back to the officer.

  He examined it from all angles. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he confessed.

  “Put it somewhere safe, just in case.” The final item was opened out until it was spread wide, “And a wallet.” He searched through the contents. “Some money. Do you recognise this?”

  Andrews looked at the coins. “It’s British, but we have pound notes, not coins,” he said curiously.

  “A credit card.” Briggs slipped the small card out from the clear plastic internal pocket and held it under the torch. He examined the name. “I R Briggs,” he said slowly. The two men looked at each other.

  “This is getting way too creepy,” Andrews said, his face ashen in the spread of the beam. “That’s your name, Ian Robert Briggs.”

  Briggs looked at the keys. “If we find that vehicle, and it must be close by, I’ll bet we’ll get a better idea of where this little bastard came from. In the meantime,” he bent forward and removed the gun from his double’s dead hand, “I’ll have this.” He smiled. “A silencer is always useful.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ponteland, Northumberland

  Jason turned to enter the gate leading to his house and immediately stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked.

  He turned his head so he could speak to her more quietly. “The front door was open and now it’s closed.”

  “Could it have blown shut?”

  “Unlikely, there was a lot of debris jamming it open.”

  He gently depressed the catch and slowly pushed the gate open to avoid making a noise. He stepped onto the path and cautiously made his way to the door.

  Sarah followed, quietly closing the gate behind.

  He stopped at the door and gave it a firm push. “Did this happen before?” he asked, when it refused to budge.

  “No, but we are now running on a later timescale,” she replied, hushed.

  He looked at her curiously. “What do you mean?”

  Sarah’s face furrowed. “What day are we on?” She shook her head. “I’m losing track. Either way, the two days you took to get back to the bunker at Kenton Bank Foot was the entire time period you spen
t in this timeline last time. At this point, we’ve added at least twenty-four hours onto that timeline already with our journey to and from Morpeth.”

  “Oh, yes, I see,” Jason said, when she finished. He stepped up to a front window and cupped his hands against the glass. “So this might have happened, but when you did this before you arrived at the house the equivalent of yesterday.”

  “Yes.”

  The room was shrouded in gloom despite the morning light.

  “I can’t see anyone,” Jason reported, “but there could be someone lying on the couch. It’s just out of sight. All I can see is an arm rest.”

  “Could we get in through the back?”

  “It’s worth a shot.” He moved away from the window and followed Sarah to the side gate, then around to the garden at the rear of the house. He stepped up to the door and tried the handle, but was again disappointed to discover it was locked.

  Sarah moved up to the kitchen window and looked in. “I can see a key lying on the bench.” She stepped away from the sill and crossed to some bedding plants in a border nearby.

  Most of the flora in the garden was bare, an apparent testament to the grip winter still held on the Northern Hemisphere. However, the evergreens told a more sinister story, reflecting the real events now shaping the world. Withered leaves were not curled as though desiccated, but unfurled, brown and blackened where they had been burnt around the edges. Not quickly, as they would have been if they had been caught up in the fireball, but slowly over a number of weeks. Even the hardy conifers had not survived. Toxic dust washed out of the air by snow settled on the branches and poisoned the foliage and soil at the base of the trees.

  Sarah stooped and picked up an ornamental rock below a shrivelled rose bush on the edge of the grass. She turned and, before Jason could stop her, hurled it through the glass embedded in the back door.

  The scientist turned on her furiously. “What did you do that for? Why the hell are we trying to be quiet if you’re going to do something stupid like that?”

  Sarah ignored him, stepped up to the door and reached in through the broken glass. “You wanted to know if anyone was in the house.” She grabbed the key off the bench and inserted it into the lock. “Well, that’ll certainly bring them running.” She smiled at Jason when there was a distinct click, opened the door and stepped into the kitchen. “We do not have the time to mess around,” she said firmly as the scientist followed her behind. “Until we take control of the other machine we are completely at the mercy of Briggs. He could choose to go back to the bunker and destroy it at any point. We would then be left trying to get a hold of a generator so that we could get this machine working instead.”

  “Yes, of course. You’re absolutely right,” Jason said, more subdued, “sorry.” He walked past Sarah and started through the kitchen and into the hall.

  “And as nobody has come running,” she pointed out, “it looks like the house is empty and the front door just happened to close on its own.”

  The pair stopped abruptly when a male voice said, “Wrong on both accounts.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Alnwick, Northumberland

  Briggs looked around the trees, trying to get his bearings. “Right,” he said, “where did we leave those guys? They’re going to tell me what they’ve done with the weapons.”

  The two officers went rigid and looked sharply right when the sound of running through the undergrowth interrupted the silence that had returned to the forest since the fighting had stopped.

  Corporal John Rice watched Briggs kill the shooter and realised how close he had come to being killed himself, as he was well within the man’s line of vision. If he had not been hidden by the tree, he realised, he would now be dead. This, he decided, was too much and a sign he had to get away from this place. Nothing else mattered. He would never be able to rebuild a life with these people. He had to go. He watched and waited until the two officers were distracted, then decided to run. At first, the fighting covered his escape, but an unexpected cessation in hostilities allowed his heavy-footed dash to be heard for some distance around.

  Briggs picked up the night vision goggles from beside the body at his feet and slipped them on. He looked towards the sound and quickly found a heat source hurrying through the trees. “It’s Corporal Rice,” he said. He raised the gun with the silencer attached and prepared to fire.

  Andrews reached out and touched the hand holding the weapon. “No. Let him go.”

  Briggs looked at the sergeant, the cooling effect of the mud still masking his body heat so only his eyes glowed red within the scopes. “You’re not getting soft on me, are you?” he said, his scowl hidden behind the binocular-style goggles.

  “No. I’m sick of having to tell him everything at least twice. He can’t follow a command without me having to remind him about what I told him to do a few minutes earlier and even then he sometimes has to be told again. It’s classic battle fatigue. He’s washed out. He’s no longer good for duty. I just don’t see the need to kill him.”

  Briggs lowered the gun. “OK. I just better not see him around here ever again,” he yelled, towards the sound of the man running, “or I’ll not be so compassionate next time and he’ll definitely wind up dead.” He slipped off the night vision goggles. “Come on,” he said to Andrews, “let’s finish our interrogation.”

  The two men were several yards apart by the time the officers returned to the clearing. Neither one of them were where they had been left. Both had been trying to crawl on their knees, their hands still tied behind their backs, their feet still bound at the ankles, in an attempt to escape.

  Briggs strode up to the nearest. He grabbed the man by his hair and pulled his head back, causing him to grimace in pain.

  “Where are the weapons?” he snarled in his face.

  “I don’t know,” the man howled.

  “I don’t believe you. You were sent to gather food from the bunker beneath the Town Moor and came back with weapons, and you are now telling me that you don’t know who has them.” He stood and shot the man’s colleague, who was cowering on his knees a short distance away.

  For a few seconds the man jerked violently on the ground until Briggs pumped another bullet into the body.

  He returned his attention to the man at his feet. “Now, one more time. Where are the weapons?”

  “Fuck yo...”

  Briggs killed him before he finished his curse, shoved the body away when it landed across his foot, then sighed. “Well, it has gone quiet.” He looked through the trees. “Let’s hope the men have found the stash of weapons and taken back the town.”

  A short while later the captain strode into the library with Andrews following close behind. “Well done,” he said to the small group of soldiers in the room. “Where are the rebels being held?” he asked.

  “In the basement,” Corporal Richard Aston replied. He was nursing a bullet wound to his right arm. It was wrapped in a makeshift bandage, prepared from a small towel, cut into strips. It had already bled through and did not appear to be stopping as the crimson circle continued to expand.

  “How many are there?” Briggs asked.

  “Ten.”

  “And have you retrieved the weapons?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent.” The mercenary flashed a rare smile. “I want those involved executed.” He started to turn away then stopped when for a moment the corporal looked shocked. Briggs’ face darkened, the smile forgotten. “Do you have a problem with that?” he challenged.

  Richard flushed, he shook his head. “No! It’s just I thought if we took back the weapons,” he flustered, “and punished them by reducing their food rations for a month, that could be enough.”

  Briggs moved up to the solider until they were almost touching. “Enough for what? Enough to make them just fall into line. Enough to stop them launching an attack in the middle of the night when you’re sleeping.” He stepped back and spoke to the rest of the platoon. “I want y
ou to go door to door. Everyone is to be told they are to gather in the town square tomorrow at eight to witness the executions and I want them told that if there are any more uprisings, it won’t just be them, but two of their family members that will die alongside them next time. Move!” He turned to Andrews. “In the meantime we’ll start a search for that army vehicle.”

  “Sir. Are you looking for an army vehicle that doesn’t belong to us?”

  Briggs stopped and looked at the Private. “Yes, do you know anything? Have you seen a strange vehicle in or around the town?”

  “Yes, sir. When we were circling around the rebels we came across a jeep just off Willowburn Avenue. We thought it might have been commandeered by the rebels as none of us recognised the plates. We refrained from breaking in as there was nothing spectacular about it and we thought it would just be an unnecessary waste of time.”

  “OK. You go with the rest of the platoon and Sergeant Andrews and I will check it out.”

  Briggs floored the accelerator and sped through the town of Alnwick. He knew they should be walking as fuel was almost as valuable as food these days and it would not be long before they would have to move further afield if they wanted to keep their vehicles moving. Come the spring, when it would be essential to sow crops, fuel for tractors would become a priority, unless they wanted to go back to using a horse and plough. Still, despite this he had a really bad feeling about this man and wanted to examine the jeep as fast as possible.

  Evidence of the fighting could be seen all throughout the town. Bullet holes peppered the ancient town walls and a large crater in the road, surrounded by debris, forced Briggs to slow and negotiate a safe route around. A number of civilians were being treated for their injuries at the side of the road and a couple of men were lying, unmoving, face down a short way from the town gates. A smell of gunpowder lingered in the air as they drove past several empty shells, but the scent quickly dissipated as they moved into streets unaffected by the battle.