by Alex Scarrow
They looked like children playing dress-up, children who’d raided their mother’s wardrobe and each taken a single item they rather fancied.
The creatures trotted silently along the tarmac road, cautiously watching both ways for signs of an approaching vehicle, even up into the starry sky with wide fearful eyes. They padded several hundred yards up the road. Finally, after a small noise from the ‘child’ – some sort of instruction – the pack of creatures flitted quickly across both lanes and into the enormous field on the far side. The stalks here were shorter, with pommel-like heads of something fluffy that batted against her face as they lumbered through.
Running beside her, she caught a glimpse of another ‘ape’. Stretched over his shoulders, she saw the dark shape of Lincoln’s long limp body. His head bumped up and down lifelessly against the other creature’s bulging chest … and for a moment she was afraid the man was dead, that she was all alone with these freaks. But then Lincoln flinched at a bump and spat a curse at his ape. A big three-fingered fist smacked the back of his head to shut him up. Lincoln snarled indignantly, cursed and struggled with the creature, landing ineffectual punches with his fists on its enormous shoulder, a heaving powerful elliptical bulge of muscle tissue that flexed and wobbled beneath ghost-pale skin as it continued to lumber with all the grace of a rhino, oblivious to Lincoln’s pitiful and futile attempt to fight back.
Sal closed her eyes, relieved he was still alive. Relieved she wasn’t alone, and desperately hoping these creatures were leaving a trail that Bob and Liam were going to be able to follow.
CHAPTER 42
2001, New York
‘All right, then, young lady,’ said Devereau. He puffed out a foul-smelling cloud of cigarette smoke that Maddy subtly wafted away from her face with the gentle flap of her hand. The colonel didn’t seem to notice that. ‘You’ll have whatever help I can offer you. But I’ll wager we have nothing of your sort of technology in our bunkers.’
‘Thank you.’
He shrugged. ‘If these gadgets, contraptions and devices of yours do what you say they’ll do, then perhaps it should be us thanking you …’ He hesitated, frowned and then slapped a hand over his tired eyes and shook his head. ‘But yes … no! Arghh! The logic of this time travel is confusing.’ He sighed. ‘Of course, if you’re successful and change history back to your version of events, I would not know any different, would I? We would know nothing of … of what has been done?’
Maddy nodded.
‘Affirmative,’ said Becks.
‘Good God, this time-travelling nonsense plays the devil with your mind,’ he muttered. ‘I should think it must drive you to madness dwelling on such things all the time.’
‘It gives me a headache,’ Maddy conceded. ‘But I think I’m beginning to get the hang of it now.’
It was dark in the archway. The generator had been turned off to conserve what fuel was left in the tank and the glow of a candle flickered across Maddy’s messy desk, reflected in the dark screens of the computer monitors. Outside the archway she could hear Devereau’s men talking in whispers, could see the glow of their cigarettes in the night as they kept watch for the Southern sky navy.
‘So … this travelling through time, what is it for you, Miss Carter, a profession?’ He wheezed a smoker’s laugh. ‘A hobby, is it?’
Maddy looked down at the mess across her desk, caught in the dancing glow of the candle light.
‘More a duty, really,’ she replied. ‘Not one I chose exactly. It just sort of happened, ended up being me and a couple of other poor suckers who have to do it.’
‘And you, Miss Becks? What about you?’
Becks looked at Maddy questioningly.
‘Hell, why not?’ Maddy smiled casually. ‘Go on, you might as well tell him the truth about what you are. None of it’s going to make any difference when … if … we can fix this mess.’
Becks nodded slowly. ‘That is true, Madelaine.’
‘What you are?’ Devereau looked confused. ‘You said “what” just then, didn’t you? Not “who”!’
‘I am a support unit,’ said Becks. ‘That is to say, an artificially engineered life form. My organic frame has been genetically edited and designed for combat and reconnaissance roles by a military DNA-software contractor.’
‘She’s also a real barrel of laughs,’ added Maddy.
Becks frowned, disgruntled at that. ‘I have developed basic humour files.’
‘Genetic?’ said Devereau. ‘Is that the word you just used?’
Becks nodded. ‘Yes.’
Devereau stroked his beard. ‘The Anglo-Confederates have been experimenting with a similar-sounding invention. Eugenology I believe they call it, playing with the bricks and mortar of nature itself. Playing in God’s very own laboratory. Is this a similar thing to what you just said?’
‘Affirmative. The manipulation of genetic data. Altering the growth instruction code of stem cells to produce an organic life form that meets specified criteria. In my case, I have physical strength that is approximately four hundred per cent greater than a normal female of similar build. I also have a hyper-reactive immune system capable of repairing extreme body damage.’
‘Which means you can shoot her and she’ll pretty much just shrug it off like a bee sting.’ Maddy took her glasses off and rubbed tired eyes. ‘Although that doesn’t stop her kvetching about it.’
‘I can feel pain. That is necessary damage feedback data,’ said Becks. She looked at Maddy. ‘Kvetching? What does this word mean?’
She shook her head. ‘Moaning. Don’t worry about it … I was trying to be funny.’
Becks cocked her head momentarily and filed something. She turned back to Devereau. ‘It is possible to destroy this body,’ she continued. ‘It is possible for the reactive-immune system to be overwhelmed. If too much blood is lost, for instance, this body’s organs would systemically fail like those of a normal human body.’
Devereau seemed to draw back from her into his chair, putting a few inches more space between himself and Becks.
He eyed her warily. ‘The South has experimented with eugenic creatures on the battlefield before. They’ve been fooling around with that ungodly science for the last thirty years. Twenty-three years ago at the Battle of Preston Peak, when our boys were making a push along the Sheridan-Saint Germain section of the front line, they put on to the battlefield an experimental company of those devils.’ Devereau shook his head, recalling old headlines. ‘The press at the time called them “The Almost-Men”.’
He ran a hand through dark hair, threaded with silver-grey at the temples. ‘It was a massacre. The rumours of the time, the stories in the press, were truly horrendous. Three thousand men holding the town of Preston Peak, most of them recent draftees from the state of Ohio. Just boys, really … We lost every last one of them. When the North counter-attacked with a tank regiment and steam-walkers and retook the town, they found only parts of bodies.’
He tossed his Gitane on to the floor and crushed it with the heel of his boot. ‘They found a …’ He looked at Maddy. ‘This isn’t very nice, Miss Carter.’
‘Well … I guess you’ve started now,’ she replied uncertainly. ‘You might as well go on.’
‘As you wish. They found a body mounted on a wooden crossbar. A head, arms, torso, legs, all from different men. As if these creatures had been mocking man, parodying the Southern science, trying to make their very own creature. The soldiers entering the town found very few of the creatures alive … They’d turned on each other, you know? As if killing every human in the town hadn’t been enough. But before turning on each other they’d turned on the Southern officers who’d been assigned to lead them. Trust me, Miss Carter, you really wouldn’t want to hear what they did to them.’
Maddy looked at his face. ‘No, I guess you’re probably right.’
‘Since then, they’ve not experimented with military eugenic units. But we know they have eugenic workers. Hundreds – thousands –
of them working the plantations. They must have a better understanding these days of how to control them, how to design obedience into their minds.’
‘In my time, that’s basically the same technology as genetic engineering.’ Maddy looked out of the open shutter at the moonlit ruins of Brooklyn. ‘You know, when we arrived here, I didn’t think things looked that, you know, that advanced in this timeline.’
‘Scientific development is not necessarily symmetrical,’ replied Becks.
She nodded. Becks was right. War, in this case a permanent state of war, seemed to have had the effect of accelerating some sciences and retarding others. For example, those bombers, the South’s sky navy that Bill had mentioned, seemed to be using a lighter-than-air technology far more advanced than was available in the normal 2001. While, on the other hand, it seemed that there was no sign of any computer technology, or, if there was, it was rudimentary.
‘The Anglo-Confederates have invested much in these modern sciences,’ said Devereau. ‘The British seem to have access to the finest scientific minds, the laboratories and, of course, they certainly have the money.’
Maddy made a face. ‘Well, they’re not doing so great in our time.’
‘I find that difficult to believe.’ He laughed drily. ‘The British Empire encompasses half the world.’ Devereau fiddled with the frayed cuff of his uniform tunic. ‘Whereas our government –’ he lowered his voice – ‘useless self-serving politicians, the lot of them … rely on technology that is decades old. Tanks and steam-walkers that stall and fail in the middle of a battle. Rotor-flyers that drop out of the sky at the first touch of a bullet. But,’ he sighed, ‘so long as the Union High Command has an endless supply of men to throw into the meat-grinder, so long as this cursed eternal war remains a stalemate, there are businessmen, industrialists, weapons manufacturers who remain powerful, and very rich.’
Maddy noticed his voice had become almost a whisper. ‘You wouldn’t say those things in front of your men, would you?’
He shrugged. ‘I suspect they all feel the same cynicism as I do. But it would take only one of them to report my words to the High Command and I would be facing a firing squad. So –’ he offered her a fatalistic smile – ‘I keep my grumblings to myself and I do my job … and hold my part of the front line.’
His tone changed, his expression changed, a little more hopeful. ‘So tell me, then, what piece of mysterious machinery is it that you need to fix this time-travelling device of yours?’
CHAPTER 43
2001, somewhere in Virginia
‘What? Did he just say we lost them?’ Liam swung a leg over the back saddle of the huff and dropped down on to the ground. The creature – half buffalo, half horse – snorted irritably at his sudden ungainly dismount.
Captain McManus nodded. ‘Yes, it seems we have. Clever creatures, these ones. They split up and one group left a dead-end trail for us to follow.’
White Bear, on his haunches studying footprints in the hard soil, nodded. He looked up at them. ‘They very smart.’ He shook his head, disgusted with himself. ‘Trick me.’
McManus patted the Indian’s shoulder. ‘It’s OK, White Bear. We’ll pick their trail up again in the morning.’
Liam stepped forward. ‘You can’t stop now!’
‘Yes, we can … and we should. We’ve lost them. We’ll end up spending the night chasing shadows and have nothing to show for it come sunrise.’
‘But … they’re going to get away! Please! We have to –’
‘We’ll make camp here. First light –’ he tapped the earpiece in his helmet – ‘I’m calling in the regimental carrier. We’ll have some more hooves and boots on the ground. I assure you, we’re going to find them.’
‘Find them?’ Liam’s voice rose, angry, exasperated. ‘But you’ve just lost them!’
‘On the contrary, Mr O’Connor, I’m almost certain they’re headed that way,’ he said, pointing to the horizon. ‘I’d say it’s less than ten miles from here.’
‘What is?’
‘The Dead City, what used to be known as Baltimore. We’ve had genics go rogue on us before … that’s where they tend to head. They know we prefer to steer clear.’
‘Why?’
‘Surely you know?’ He shook his head. ‘Good God, where exactly have you spent your entire life, Mr O’Connor?’
‘I just … I …’ Liam shrugged, ‘a priory. Kirklees Priory.’
‘Ah, Catholic, are you?’
‘Aye, something like that.’ Liam nodded impatiently. ‘What’s wrong with this city?’
‘The North poisoned it with virals. Killed thousands of innocent civilians with Habsburg’s disease. I know it’s been nearly twenty years since then, but they say the rats and wild dogs carry the spores. You really wouldn’t want to go in there if you can help it. That’s why the feral genics use it as a refuge.’
‘I’ll go in! Me and Bob, we’ll go –’
McManus patted his shoulder reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. If that’s where they’ve gone, and I do suspect it is, I shall be taking a company in there to flush those vermin out. My boys are all inoculated against Habsburg. We’ll find them all right. Now, if you don’t mind, matters to attend to …’ McManus turned away from Liam and began issuing orders to his walrus-faced sergeant who barked them out again in a parade-ground voice. The platoon dismounted and began to make preparations to camp where they were for the night.
Bob joined Liam. ‘McManus is tactically correct with this decision, Liam.’
‘But –’ Liam balled his fists – ‘she’s out there. She needs us!’
‘Both of them are. It is our mission priority to retrieve them both.’ Bob was right, of course. They needed Lincoln to be alive too, if they had any hope of putting history back where it belonged.
Bob had a go at a reassuring wink. ‘I calculate a high degree of certainty that we will retrieve them unharmed.’
Liam looked up at the support unit and realized he was doing his best to be supportive. Even though his mind was little more than looping strings of computer code, somewhere inside his coconut computer head was a friend, reaching out and trying to help.
‘Yeah … maybe you’re right, you big ape.’
CHAPTER 44
2001, somewhere in Virginia
The tea was good. Strong and steaming. Liam gulped it down despite the heat scorching his throat. He hadn’t realized just how thirsty he was.
A brazier glowed in the middle of the field – a harvested field, rows of severed stalks flattened by army boots and the hoofs of two dozen one-ton huffalos, now tethered together in a surly huddle of muscle and hide, lowing and snorting.
Four soldiers stood guard, staring out into the darkness, the rest of the platoon wrapped in thick woollen ponchos. Most of them, used to the rigours of army life, were taking full advantage of the few hours of dark left and already fast asleep.
Captain McManus reached for the metal pot hanging from a metal frame over the glowing coals in the brazier. He topped up Liam’s enamel mug.
‘Thank you.’
‘My favourite time of the day,’ said McManus as he sipped his tea. ‘The few hours before dawn. There’s a wonderful tone to the sky just before sunrise. Especially such places like Asia Minor.’ He shrugged. ‘Afghanistan … very nice. The sky’s almost a vanilla colour before dawn.’
‘It’s almost always a grey dawn in Cork,’ said Liam.
‘Ahhh … now.’ McManus grinned and wagged a finger. ‘I knew there was a slice of Irish in your accent, Liam O’Connor. Just couldn’t quite place it.’
‘Well, some of it’s rubbed off. Recently, I’ve been living – sort of – with a girl from Boston.’ He shrugged. ‘And a girl from India.’
McManus looked at him, cocked his head curiously. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you really are quite the strangest fellow I’ve met in a good long time.’
Liam hunched his shoulders. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’
; ‘You seem, I don’t know – you may laugh at this – you seem to me like a Rip van Winkle. As if you’ve slept all your life. How is it that you seem to know so little of world affairs? Do you not read the papers?’
‘Like I said, me and Bob, we’ve been away in a priory. On our own. Me mother died recently so we came home to care for Sal. And, well, the three of us finally decided to … uh … to see some of the world together, you know?’
‘Well, you’ve not chosen the best place in the world to start your travels, Liam. The American War here may have ground to a halt in recent years, but …’ McManus looked cautiously around before continuing with a slightly lowered voice. ‘There are rumours flying about that that’s going to change.’
Liam perked up, his eyes off the smouldering coals. ‘What do you mean?’
McManus stroked his smooth chin. ‘It’s no big secret, Liam. This particular war is losing popular support back home. The British people are weary of it. War. It’s all anyone in Britain has known.’ McManus, warmed enough by the brazier, unbuttoned his tunic collar. ‘We have so many different wars going on at the moment, you understand? We’re fighting separatists in northern India, bandit militias in our African colonies, tribal war-bands in Afghanistan, Persia. I can’t tell you how many dusty little backwaters my lads and I have seen action in.’
He shook his head sadly, his eyes lost in the glowing embers. ‘And it’s always the same brutality, the same mindless cruelty. One tribe of savages hacking the next to bits. And always, always, it’s the women and children who die first. I … I’ve seen things, Liam, some quite horrible things.’
Liam regarded the young officer’s face, saw eyes that all of a sudden looked far older than they should. ‘You sound like you’ve seen more than enough fighting.’
