by carl ashmore
‘Anyway, although it’s invariably a pleasure to see you again, Percy, it’s your charges I’m keen to meet.’ The man’s eyes found Becky and Joe. ‘I’m Charles Butterby, President of the Global Institute for Time Travel. May I say what a true honour it is to finally meet you. I know all about your adventures with the Golden Fleece and Pandora’s Box, and may I say your courage astonishes me.’ He bowed. ‘Becky, Joe, I am, and forever will be, your most obedient servant…’
Becky didn’t know what to say. ‘Err, thanks, Mister Butterby. And I – well - we just wanted to say how much we appreciate the travelling community looking for our dad. It means the world to us, doesn’t it, Joe?’
‘Deffo,’ Joe nodded.
Butterby waggled his claw again. ‘Don’t be silly. John was one of us…’ His face creased with guilt. ‘I beg your pardon - John is one of us, and no traveller in this room will rest until he walks amongst us once more.’
Becky was about to thank him when she heard a deep, self-assured voice. ‘Damn straight, Butty.’
An enormous middle-aged man appeared on Butterby’s left; as big as a wardrobe, he had a freshly shaven head, a thick, bucket-sized neck and wore a World War Two British Naval uniform that clung snugly to his muscular frame.
‘Ah, Charlie,’ Uncle Percy said. ‘Good to see you, sir.’
‘Y’alright, Perce?’ the man said with a grin.
‘Becky, Joe,’ Uncle Percy announced. ‘This is a very old and very good friend of mine, Charlie Millport, head of GITT’s Tracker division.’
Becky recalled being told all about the ‘Trackers’ – a highly trained unit within GITT operations that specialized in rescuing time travellers in distress. ‘Hello, Mister Millport,’ she said.
‘Call me Charlie, Becky,’ Millport said warmly, offering his ham-sized hand for Becky to shake. Then he looked at Joe. ‘And, kid, what’s this ‘bout you offin’ a load of zombie pirates with a gun and a bow?’
Joe’s face flushed. ‘Err, it was nothing.’
‘Nothing, he says! I’m ex-military and don’t know many squaddies that could keep a steady hand with a zombie horde comin’ at ‘em. Good for you. I think we should get you signed up to a Tracker unit ASAP. It’s a solid job. The pay’s okay, no two days are the same, and every now and again you get to blow stuff up. What d’you think, Percy?’
‘I think he’s a tad young to be planning a career.’
‘I’m not,’ Joe said immediately. ‘I want to be a Tracker!’
Uncle Percy sighed. ‘And I hoped you might consider medicine.’
Joe looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. ‘Did you hear what he said? I’d get to blow stuff up!’
‘Isn’t that just a marvelous life goal?’ Uncle Percy muttered.
‘Anyhow, kids,’ Millport said. ‘I jus’ want to echo Butty’s words. Finding your old man is the Institute’s number one priority. We’re doing everythin’ we can and it’s just a matter of time before we make a breakthrough. I’m sure of that.’ He flashed them a reassuring smile.
There was something about the sincerity of Millport’s tone that made Becky believe every word he said. ‘Thank you so much,’ she replied.
‘No problem.’ The smile left Millport’s face, replaced by a powerful scowl. ‘And believe me, if I get hold of Emerson Drake then - well, let’s just say he won’t enjoy it very much.’ He looked soberly at Uncle Percy. ‘ ‘Ave you heard anythin’ from Will yet?’
‘No,’ Uncle Percy replied, glancing at Joe and trying to sound as positive as he could. ‘But I’m certain he’s okay.’
Millport nodded. ‘You just let me know if there’s anything I can do. I’ve got Denny, Tez, Sarah, Mick, Cheryl and Zeb kitted out and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Don’t get me wrong, I know there’s no tougher bloke than Will, but Drake’s so-called Associates are using guns and Will’s not trained for that.’
‘I’ll keep you in the loop,’ Uncle Percy replied. ‘Now, I do believe that this is a party so I suggest we try and have a good time.’
Butterby cleared his throat. ‘Which reminds me, I do believe it’s tradition I bore the room with a badly-composed speech. So, if you’ll all excuse me, I shall take my leave …’ He gave a little bow, walked up three steps and approached the ribbon microphone set in the centre of the stage.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, travellers and guests…’ A hush rippled through the crowd. ‘As Institute President, I’d like to take the opportunity to welcome you all to this year’s Christmas Party - The Enchantment Beneath the Sea Dance. And what a spectacle it is. With that in mind, can I ask you to put your hands together for Imogen Crawley, Kath Middleton, Hubert Marbleydale, and the rest of the Entertainments committee for their sterling work in constructing such an astonishing aquatic venue?’
His words were met by the crash of applause.
‘I’d also like to thank -’ Before he could finish, however, three blasts of a harsh buzzing sound stopped him in his tracks.
Seconds passed. The buzzer sounded again.
Becky scanned the room. At least half the guests were gaping openmouthed at each other. It was then she noticed a tiny black box, flashing emerald-green, a few feet from the front of the stage.
Joe looked over. ‘Is – is that a –’
‘ - A Hologramophone Receiver,’ Uncle Percy finished for him, confusion etched on his face.
Clearly baffled, Butterby leapt from the stage and approached the box. Looking down at it, his expression became difficult to interpret. ‘Percy Halifax … Would you join me for a second?’ His voice quivered in a way that was impossible to tell if he felt joy or fear. However, it was his next words that sent Becky’s head spiralling.
‘And Becky … Becky Mellor, if you would come too, please…’
Dumbfounded, Becky glanced at Uncle Percy, whose face had turned ashen grey. She felt his hand cradle hers, and together they stood and began to walk.
Within seconds, Becky reached Butterby, his head tilted downwards, fixed on the box. Tentatively, she looked down and read the following words.
Incoming Hologramophonic message:
Recipient: Becky Mellor
Sender: John Mellor
Location: Unknown
Chapter 7
This Time it’s Personal
Becky struggled to focus, the words dancing around the screen, barely staying still long enough for her to grasp their meaning.
Her dad was on the phone.
She felt eyes descend upon her from all sides, probing, searching for her response, but she didn’t care. She felt lighter than air, her body engulfed in waves of joy. Could it be true? She looked back to see a confused Joe and gestured for him to come over.
‘What is it, Becks?’ Joe asked quietly, moving to her left.
Wordlessly, Becky nodded at the Hologramophone receiver.
Joe gulped. ‘Dad?’
Becky’s fingers trembled as she crouched and pushed the button. At once, three lasers shot out of the box, slicing the air, coming together as one. As the beams touched, the outline of a man formed before their very eyes, growing sharper by the second.
In a heartbeat, Becky’s hopes were shattered.
Emerson Drake’s pallid face, split by a repulsive sneer, leered down at her. ‘Surprise!’ he laughed coldly. ‘No daddy, I’m afraid.’
Bile rose in Becky’s throat.
Gasps of horror filled the room.
Drake turned to the crowd. ‘Miss me?’ His face furrowed in mock sorrow. ‘It seems my invitation to your little soiree must’ve got lost in the post. Ah, well, I’m here now.’ He opened his arms wide. ‘Merry Christmas, one and all. It’s been an age since I’ve been amongst so many old friends and confrères.’
Uncle Percy stepped forward. ‘Emerson,’ he said coolly. ‘You’ll find no friends here...’
‘Really, Percy?’ Drake jeered. ‘Say it isn’t so.’ He shrugged. ‘Well, between you and me I’m hoping to make some tonight.’ He looke
d at Becky. ‘Perhaps I could start with you, Rebecca. I’m beginning to get the impression you’re a very special young lady indeed. ’ He cast Becky a very curious look.
Becky wanted to shout a retort, to tell him in no uncertain terms just how much she hated him, how she wanted revenge for all the monstrous things he’d done, but the words wedged in her throat.
Drake looked disappointed. ‘Ah, well … I suppose it’s possible our relationship will develop over time.’ His voice turned cold. ‘Let’s just see how tonight goes, shall we?’
Uncle Percy noted this change in tone. ‘What do you mean ‘tonight’?’
‘If you don’t mind, Percy,’ Drake replied. ‘I’m not here to talk to you.’ He turned to the crowd again, his voice rising. ‘Now a little bird has told me you’ve heard about my search for the five Eden relics. I also hear you’ve been sold over inflated stories about Percy Halifax and his extended family thwarting my plans thus far. Now, I assure you, whatever small triumphs they’ve had do not trouble me in the slightest. At most, they’re a minor inconvenience. But their successes may have given some of you the impression I can be stopped from realising my ambitions. If that’s so, you’re mistaken. I cannot and will not be stopped …’
His thin lips glistened with anticipation.
‘I am close to procuring the third Eden Relic, The Spear of Fate. A relic with a riveting history, and one quite in keeping ironically with our present locale…’ His gaze slanted upwards to the domed glass roof and the ocean beyond. ‘And to celebrate this, even though many of you have disappointed me by aiding Halifax in his search for John Mellor, I appear tonight to extend a forgiving hand and to present each of you with a Christmas gift.’
‘We don’t want anything from you, you monster!’ Butterby shouted.
Drake sniggered nastily. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Charles. You see, I’m offering the gift of life,’ His voice rose again. ‘Your lives, as a matter of fact.’
Colour bled from Uncle Percy’s face. ‘What have you done, Emerson?’
‘Let’s just say my recent accomplishments in the field of Cyrobotics are quite ground-breaking.’ He turned back to the crowd. ‘Anyway, all I ask in return for my generosity is that you leave this absurd party now, give me your unreserved allegiance, and you shall continue to live …’
A horrified stillness fell over the hall.
‘Now I understand some of you may wish to appear honorable, courageous even, in front of your peers. But I urge you to put such principles aside. Remember, I know who you are…’ His icy blue eyes met a kindly faced elderly woman in the front row. ‘Helen Kettering, do you still live in that charming four-bedroomed Edwardian house in Stafford? And how is that grandson of yours … Timothy, isn’t it?’ His eyes flicked over to a tall, bespectacled black man standing to the right of the stage. ‘Adolphus Wellington, do you still organize the pub quiz at the Jolly Pig on Tuesday nights? And does your adorable niece, Emma, still play the euphonium? Let’s be frank, I can get to any of you wherever or whenever I want.’
He smiled callously.
‘I hope I’ve made my point. Whatever Percy Halifax or Charles Butterby or Charlie Millport says - you cannot be protected.’ Drake’s eyes tapered into slits. ‘Not here … not now … not ever. So those that wish to accept my charity, leave at once…’
Chilled by Drake’s words, Becky scanned the room. Confusion and dread lined the mass of faces before her. As the seconds crawled by, however, she was astounded to see no one made any attempt to leave.
Drake clearly felt the same way. ‘No one?’ His eyes blazed with fury. ‘THEN YOU ARE ALL DOOMED…’ he roared.
His hologram vanished.
At the same time, an earsplitting scream filled the room.
Becky glanced over at a woman sitting at a far table, her face crimson with terror, an extended finger pointed at the window opposite.
Still in shock, Becky looked over to see a colossal shark glide past the window; about seventy foot in length, its powerful body glistened in the emerald green water, its massive jaws ajar, hinting at the huge triangular teeth within.
‘That shark’s enormous!’ Joe panted. ‘What type is it?’
‘It’s a Megalodon, Joe,’ Uncle Percy exhaled, ‘and it’s six million years out of its time…’ In a single bound, he jumped purposefully on the stage and seized the microphone. ‘ALL OF YOU… LEAVE NOW! GET TO YOUR TIME MACHINES. WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!’
Pandemonium broke out.
Through shrieks of desperation, upturned chairs and shattered glass, Becky watched the bedlam unfold. The doors were flung open and hysterical guests stampeded out in a mad, frantic dash for safety.
‘Becky. Joe. Get to Betty. I’ll be there shortly,’ Uncle Percy shouted over the howl of terrified screams, before turning to Charlie Millport. ‘Charlie, for God’s sake get The Beatles back to their own time and memorased! I’ll help get everyone out…’
Millport nodded and raced to rear of the stage.
Rooted to the spot in fear, Becky’s gaze flicked back to the Megalodon. Relief flooded her. It appeared to be leaving, loping into the blackness beyond like a train disappearing into a tunnel. But then, with one swish of its giant tail, it turned about and its plate-sized black eyes locked on the window.
Becky swallowed hard.
Like a missile, the Megalodon hurtled towards them, its giant snout aimed forward like a battering ram. Becky didn’t even have time to scream, when – BAMMMM – the shark pummelled its target. It was like an earthquake. The floor shook, the chandeliers above swung madly, shedding glittery beads below; microphones, guitars and drums toppled from the stage, bottles fell from tables, smashing on the hard floor.
Adrenaline pumping through her, Becky was astonished to see the window hadn’t shattered. She jumped, startled, as fingers gripped her arm.
‘Becks, we have to go!’ Joe pressed.
Becky watched horrified as the Megalodon turned about, returning to the depths, its huge tail powering left and right. From the other side of the doors, she heard the cracks of departing time machines. It was then she spied movement about twenty feet away. An elderly woman with a mop of bushy silver hair was squirming on the glass-strewn floor, her fingers reaching frantically beneath the stage for something Becky couldn’t quite see.
Becky pushed away Joe’s hand and sprinted over. Sinking to her knees, hearing the crunch of broken glass beneath her feet, she grabbed the woman’s shoulder. ‘Please, you need to get out of here.’
The woman tilted her face toward Becky.
Becky could see her cheeks were raw with tears.
‘N -no dear,’ the woman sobbed. ‘There isn’t time. You go!’
‘If you stay you’ll die,’ Becky pressed.
‘I don’t care … my locket,’ the woman replied frantically. ‘I’m not leaving without my locket.’ And she turned over and continued her forage.
‘Then let me help.’ Becky dropped on all fours and threw her head under the stage’s canopy. Groping in the darkness, she felt a small metallic object and drew it into the light. ‘Here,’ she said quickly, passing the locket over. ‘Now, please, you must leave.’
The woman flicked the locket open and looked at the photograph inside.
Becky could just make out the picture of a golden haired dog enclosed within the locket’s casing.
The woman trembled with gratitude. ‘Oh, thank you, my dear. Thank you.’
‘No sweat,’ Becky replied, when - BAMMM – the shark struck again. A spine-chilling crack echoed above. Looking up, she saw a thin fissure in the top left hand corner of the window. To her horror, it zigzagged downwards like a snake in motion.
‘Let’s go!’ Becky insisted, getting to her feet.
‘No,’ the woman said. ‘My leg….’
It was only then Becky noticed a deep, bloody gash above the woman’s shin; a shard of glass was poking out of it like an icicle.
Becky acted quickly. ‘JOE!’ she shoute
d. ‘HELP!’
Joe ran over.
‘We need to carry her,’ Becky said, and before the woman could protest she and Joe hoisted her onto their shoulders. They stood up and hobbled toward the exit.
‘Leave me,’ the woman pleaded. ‘Save yourselves. I deserve to die.’
‘Not a chance,’ Becky interrupted, looking over to the window. To her horror, she saw the crack was now the length of a family car.
Red-faced and breathless, Uncle Percy saw them and dashed over. He looked at the woman’s leg. ‘Looks nasty, Mary, but we’ll soon have that sorted out. I’ll take it from here, Becky, Joe.’ He scooped the woman up in his arms.
‘Really, Percy, you should leave me here,’ the woman said. ‘Take the children and go.’
‘We’re all going,’ Uncle Percy replied resolutely, and he started to run.
The hall was nearly empty now, save for four Trackers, each wearing snow-white dinner jackets at the far side of the room. ‘You gonna be okay, Perce?’ one of them yelled over.
‘Absolutely, Jeff,’ Uncle Percy shouted back. ‘Get your team out of here.’
The man gave a firm nod and gestured to the others; each man raised his left cuff to reveal a time-pad. A moment later, the Trackers were enveloped in brilliant white light, and, following a series of sharp cracks, they vanished.
Becky, Joe, Uncle Percy and the woman hurried into the arrivals hangar to see just two vehicles remained: Betty, the pink Cadillac, and a pepper-red Citroen 2CV car, which Becky presumed was the woman’s time machine. Wasting no time, Uncle Percy loaded the woman on to Betty’s back seat, as Becky and Joe clambered in, before leaping desperately on to the driver’s seat and inputting numbers on the time-pad.
‘Come on,’ Uncle Percy pleaded, drumming the steering wheel impatiently. Hazy blue and white light poured in thick streams from the dashboard.
Hearing the rumble from below as Betty readied herself for departure, Becky felt a rush of relief. They were safe. She was about to embrace Joe when, from behind, a tremendous explosion pounded her ears. She knew at once the window had shattered. Horrified, she glanced behind to see the door explode off its hinges as a vast swell of water rushed towards them.
