by RR Haywood
‘Jesus,’ Malcolm says. His protective instinct towards Ria is still strong and he moves out to intercept, to pull Ria back, to do the job her father should have done and protect the woman he sees as a daughter.
‘It’s fine,’ Ria says. She looks up at the head looming towards her and only then does she smile and that smile radiates through her face, bringing life and warmth where previously there was none. She stands her ground too, smiling up as the head swooshes down through the air on the end of that thick neck. Blasts of air come from the nose, pushing Ria’s hair out behind her. The young woman reaches up, laying a hand on the point of the nose and that simple touch gives instant scale to the staggering bulk and size. That it moves so gently makes the breath catch in Ben’s throat and he doesn’t notice that Safa, Emily and Harry are each holding pistols at their sides. Not that pistols would do a thing against something that big.
‘Go on, go eat,’ Ria says, patting the nose. The creature blasts air at her again, then pushes a tiny fraction, but with enough force to make Ria step back with a laugh. Then it’s off, swinging the head away to resume that slow walk past with the dull thud of the weak back leg and while the small bipedal pet slinks into the cave to claw at the tin and gobble the bugs held within.
‘I’ll show you the bunker,’ Ria says suddenly with an instant transformation back to the hard face and even harder tone. ‘Then you can go to Bertie . . .’
‘Can we talk?’ Ben asks.
‘No,’ Ria says, striding past them towards the cave. ‘Hey! Stop eating that, you greedy guts,’ she calls out, clapping her hands.
‘Where are you going?’ Ben asks. ‘The bunker’s up there, isn’t it?’ he adds, pointing up the hillside.
‘Takes a day to walk up,’ Ria says bluntly. ‘We’ll use the portal.’
‘Fuck me,’ Safa mutters. ‘This is seriously messed up . . .’
They follow her back into the cave to watch as she takes up a battered-looking tablet that she operates to bring the Blue back to life and it’s only then that Ben and Miri observe the poles of the device show dents and knocks from where they’ve been buckled then straightened. Even the speaker objects look scuffed and dented.
‘Hello,’ Harry says, grinning happily as he rubs the dinosaur’s head. Everyone else stays quiet and watchful, not knowing quite what to say or how to react.
Without a word, Ria turns the Blue on and steps through out of sight. The creature follows her instantly, not reacting in the slightest to the shimmering light but instead running after Ria.
‘Messed up,’ Safa mutters again, going ahead to follow Ria.
They traipse through in silence to take in the remains of what was once the bunker.
Some walls still stand in semi-isolation and even one tiny patch of ceiling remains in the corner of one set of unused rooms. Weeds and plants now grow through the broken concrete and the remains scattered here and there. Old solar panels smashed and broken. Furniture faded, busted and destroyed. They can still see the basic layout from where the rear door once was, which gave way to the first corridor. Miri’s office. Malcolm’s and Konrad’s rooms. The armoury section. The bigger main room, then off to the other rooms and any doubt of Ria’s claim that it’s been exposed to the elements for two years vanishes instantly.
Ria’s pet snuffles on, bounding into the remains with a confidence that speaks of them having been here many times before. It sniffs the ground, grunting noisily as it aims straight for the main room where the food was once held. A bug the size of a fist bursts out from under a chunk of concrete, making a dash for safety, but the dinosaur leaps and takes it underfoot with a crunch of bone and shell, then flicks it up to catch and chew noisily.
Everywhere they look they have the jarring sensation of coming back to a place many years after being here before. Like going to a childhood home as an adult, except they were here an hour ago, maybe less.
‘Ben,’ Emily says. He looks to see her pointing off towards the area where the shooting range once was and a grassed mound of earth bulging up. A basic wooden cross driven into the ground with the name Doctor John Watson scored into the wood.
‘Bloody hell,’ he says, taking it all in. Processing it all and what it means.
‘What’s that smell?’ Harry asks, sniffing the air.
‘Up there,’ Ria says, nodding up towards the plateau above their heads.
‘What is?’ Ben asks.
That she decides not to reply indicates the control she is exerting over this situation, either that or she has absolutely no care for what any of them think.
Ben sets off with deliberate steps to scale the bank he’s been up and down many times. Harry starts after him, then the others, all of them clambering to reach the top.
‘Fuck me,’ Ben says. ‘Any more surprises, Ria?’ he asks at last, earning a wan smile.
The bodies are everywhere and in varying states of decay. Bipedal dinosaurs, leathered and feathered, three metres tall with thick back legs and thick tails but that’s where the similarity ends to the appearance with Ria’s pet. He is a classic mini T-rex in shape and style. These are different, with oversized rows of teeth pushing out of mouths and stunted little arms like wings but with vicious claws at the end. Every one of them is either tied or fixed to a length of wood driven into the ground. A morbid, macabre graveyard of decaying corpses.
‘You do this?’ Miri asks.
‘Yes,’ Ria replies, the Barrett now brought round and held across her body. ‘They keep coming . . .’
Ben drops his head to scratch his jaw then his forehead. A wry smile of thought etched on his face. ‘That big one? She landed on the roof, right?’
‘Yep,’ Ria says, showing no reaction to Ben’s deductive ability.
‘What big one?’ Safa asks, looking round.
‘The big one that sniffed Ria. Her legs and sides were all scarred. It’d take something of that size to get through the roof . . . I’m guessing these chased her over the side and she went through the bunker.’
‘How the fuck did you work that out?’ Safa asks.
‘Obvious really,’ Emily says.
‘Obvious my arse. You didn’t work it out,’ Safa says. ‘Beardy? Did you work it out?’
‘Nope.’
‘Miri?’
‘Negative.’
‘No, I mean it’s obvious now Ben has explained it,’ Emily adds quickly.
‘How did it get down to the bottom?’ Ben asks Ria.
She takes her time in responding, as though thinking of what to say and the whole time her eyes never leave the tree line. ‘Slowly,’ she says at last.
‘Right,’ Ben says. ‘Makes sense I guess. Er . . . Ria? How long ago did Bertie come for you?’
‘Few weeks.’
‘A few weeks!’ Konrad exclaims. ‘A few bloody weeks? What is it with you lot leaving people dead . . .’
‘You,’ Ria says, still not looking away from the tree line, ‘are not my priority. I didn’t ask for this. My father . . . you . . . all of what you do . . . I had nothing to do with it.’ She speaks flat and hard with no undulation of emotion that gives her words even more impact. ‘You’ve seen it. The bunker’s ruined. Go to Bertie.’ She turns away.
‘Ria,’ Ben says, making her pause in step. ‘What about . . .’
She walks on, slinging the rifle as she drops down the bank to land deftly next to the portal, striding through without looking back.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Emily says. ‘What happened in Piccadilly? Why were you running?’
‘Someone nuked it,’ Safa says.
‘What?!’ Emily snaps as Harry, Malcolm and Konrad stop to gawp. ‘While you were there?’
‘No! You twat,’ Safa says.
‘Did you really just ask that?’ Ben asks.
‘Er, excuse me, had a long day thank you,’ Emily says primly.
‘Dropped a nuclear bomb on Piccadilly in nineteen forty-five,’ Safa says. ‘Wiped it out . . . That plaza we saw is where it went
bang.’
‘Killed nearly two hundred thousand people,’ Ben says. ‘Had a big statue thing in the middle with a plaque at the base . . . Miri, you took a picture.’
Miri pulls out her smartphone, keys the screen and shows it to the others, who crowd round to read the words inscribed on the plaque.
Upon this site on 12 February 1945, the first detonation of a nuclear weapon used in war took place.
The failing Nazi war machine, in the final throes of defeat, sought to kill as many innocent British people as possible.
We, the survivors, dedicate this monument and this space to the fallen men, women and children of London.
25,367 people died in the initial blast.
127,458 people died in the days, weeks and months that followed.
Lives lost in the stand against tyranny and evil.
We shall always prevail . . .
‘Oh my god,’ Emily whispers. ‘London?’
‘Who did that then?’ Malcolm asks.
‘One thing at a time,’ Miri says, pushing the camera back into her pocket. ‘Miss Cavendish. Your intentions, please?’
Ria stares at her, a mirror image of each for the lack of expression. She simply turns and walks back through the portal with her pet running behind her.
‘She’s not right, Kon,’ Malcolm says with a worried shake of his head.
‘You think?’ Konrad asks him. ‘What gave you that impression?’
‘Well, living in a cave and all those dead . . .’
‘I was being sarcastic, you bloody idiot,’ Konrad snaps. ‘Of course she’s not right. She’s been living here for two years on her own. I think anyone would go potty gaga after two years here . . .’
‘Ria cannot be left with a device,’ Miri says, cutting in.
‘I think we can come back to that rule a bit later, Miri,’ Ben says.
‘What rule?’ Safa asks.
‘The no-one-else-can-have-a-time-machine rule,’ Ben says.
‘Oh, that rule,’ Safa says. ‘So?’
‘Um, she’s not exactly bloody stable, is she,’ Ben whispers, glancing at the Blue to make sure Ria’s gone through.
‘She seems alright,’ Safa says.
‘Did you not just see the dead things tied to sticks?’ Ben asks.
‘So what? Fuck ’em. They’re obviously hunting her and she’s obviously kicking the shit out of them. Leave her to it.’
‘We are making too many assumptions,’ Miri says. ‘Deploy to Bertie and assess. We need to ensure he has a second device before we allow Ria to shut hers off.’
‘He does have a second device,’ Ben says. ‘Ria said he made another one and used it to come here.’
‘You clever sod,’ Safa says, staring at him.
‘You’re on fire today, Ben,’ Emily says.
‘Cheers,’ Ben mumbles. ‘Let’s go to Bertie.’
‘Nice chat?’ Ria asks Ben as he steps into the cave.
‘Can’t blame us, Ria,’ he replies.
‘I am staying here. Do not ask me to leave,’ she states as the rest file in behind Ben. ‘If I change my mind, I have that,’ she adds, nodding at the portal.
‘Miss Cavendish . . .’
‘I am staying here. I have work to do.’
‘What work?’ Ben asks.
‘Killing those crocodile bird things by the looks of it,’ Safa says. ‘Fair one,’ she says to Ria. ‘You got ammunition?’
‘I do,’ Ria says tightly.
‘Cleaning it?’ Safa asks, looking at the Barrett.
‘Every day. I saw Ben doing it . . . before,’ Ria replies.
‘Need food?’
‘No.’
‘Fine, sorted,’ Safa says. ‘Don’t leave the magazine in the assault rifle by that door for too long.’
‘I check it daily . . . Is that enough?’
‘Best to take it out. Leave it by the side and check the magazine is working properly. Want me to stay here and show you?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘Awesome,’ Safa says. ‘Well done you. We going then? I need a wee. I keep on needing a wee today. Maybe I’m pregnant. We should get a piss-test. Change the portal thingy then so we can see Bertie?’
‘Ria, come with us,’ Malcolm says, rushing in after Safa stops talking.
‘Sweetie,’ Konrad says softly.
‘Done,’ Ria says. The Blue blinks off then back on as she reaches out to stop her pet rushing towards it.
‘Ria,’ Malcolm says, clearly upset. ‘Come with us for a bit so we can talk . . .’
She doesn’t reply, but waits with her hand on the dinosaur’s head, rubbing lightly.
‘Can we come back and see you?’ Konrad asks gently.
‘I will come to you,’ Ria says.
‘But . . .’ Malcolm says.
‘Come on, Malc. We’ve got to respect what she wants. We’re back now, Ria. We’re here,’ he says.
She doesn’t reply, but watches as they go through the light until only Safa remains.
‘Pain is a mindset,’ Ria says quietly, earning a smile from Safa.
‘Yeah, something like that,’ Safa says. ‘You’ve done well.’
‘Thanks,’ Ria says.
‘Come get me if you need a hand killing evil-looking dinosaurs.’
‘I will.’
‘Laters.’
Ria stares for a second before swiping her thumb to end the Blue, which blinks out, and finally lets her breath go to sigh long and deep while rubbing her face with a shaky hand.
Nineteen
The Complex
It brings forth a sense of panic inside. Like a feeling you’ve done something very, very wrong, but if you don’t react then no one else will. A bad thing done. A most evil act perpetrated and Mother watches the footage on the screen recorded by a small camera carried by Bravo and calmly sips from her teacup.
The footage is shaky in places and filmed through a scratched window of a German heavy bomber while behind and below them the plutonium implosion nuclear bomb detonates. A bomb taken from a Californian nuclear research facility in the 1950s from a timeline that had already been changed by the Affa effect. A bomb taken back to 1945 and dropped on London, and now they watch as the mushroom cloud plumes up and the sheer bright light of the flash seems to turn day into night.
That mushroom cloud grows taller and wider and the spreading smoke at the base speaks of the destruction underway.
‘It’s a very similar device as was used on Nagasaki,’ Echo says into the near silence of the briefing room as the others watch the two-dimensional footage on a large screen. ‘But the difference between London and Nagasaki is vast. Nagasaki had a lot of wooden-framed buildings, whereas London has brick- and stone-constructed buildings, which means a greater amount will withstand the blast, or crumble and fall but still create pockets of places for survivors . . . which is pretty much the same with any massive aerial bombing campaign on a city.’ Echo stops talking to watch the footage for a second before continuing. ‘But it will still have the same firestorms as Nagasaki with temperatures nearing four thousand degrees Celsius and winds over six hundred miles an hour . . . Those not killed instantly within the hypo-centre of the blast will suffer flash burns with line-of-sight phenomena . . . Having said that, it’s winter, so people with thick coats or clothes may have greater protection . . .’ He trails off, caught in the replay and that sickening feeling inside they all feel. That their adherence to duty has taken them in a direction that is very, very wrong.
‘That’s enough,’ Mother says abruptly, coldly. ‘How many people did it kill?’
Everyone apart from Mother looks to Kate who clears her throat and swipes the screen of her tablet. ‘Er, 25,367 were killed in the initial blast and, er . . . 127, 458 are said to have perished later as a direct result and then of course there are the birth defects and all sorts of awful things that . . .’ she trails off as the shocked mutterings spreading through the room die off the second Mother clears her throat wh
ile still watching the footage on the screen as the camera moves to sweep round the inside of the aircraft, catching a glimpse of the stricken faces of the agents before going back to the window.
‘Good,’ Mother states. ‘Switch it off.’ She finally stands to address the rest of the room, withering in her contempt at their shock. ‘Do not let the concept of time travel confuse you. We are immune to changes in the timeline of the world. I could go back into the timeline and kill you all as children and you would still be here. Not that we exist in that timeline now, of course, nor does anyone you ever knew . . .’ She smiles coldly, letting her words sink in. ‘We are detached from the timeline. Is that clear? I said, is that clear?’ Murmurs sound out, heads nod, weak and wan, and she reads the fear in their faces. ‘Now we wait. At some point, Maggie Sanderson will react and we will be ready. Kate, you will continue to monitor and look for changes in the timeline . . . Do you have a problem?’ Mother snaps, fixing those cold grey eyes on the historian.
‘No, Mother,’ Kate says quickly. ‘I, er . . .’ She swallows and goes quiet.
‘What?’ Mother demands.
‘How do we reset that?’ Kate blurts. ‘I mean . . . How do you stop the agents dropping that bomb and . . . and stop them doing that thing in one-two-six AD? I’m so sorry.’ She rushes the words out, wringing her hands as she speaks. ‘I just got confused. I shouldn’t have asked . . . My apologies.’
Mother glares round the room. ‘That,’ she hisses, pointing at the screen to where the footage was showing a moment ago, ‘was necessary and proportionate to ensure our mission objectives. Does anyone have a problem with it? SPEAK UP?’ she shouts, making several people flinch. ‘Do your fucking jobs and do not ever question me again. Insubordination will not be tolerated.’
She storms out, slamming the door to stalk back to her office, rushing to the desk to activate the camera feed from the briefing room, smiling to herself at the heavy stunned silence and the sight of Kate wiping the tears from her eyes as those closest lean over to rub her arm and ask if she is okay while the agents share glances.
A rush inside. A thrill at sensing the game is underway and the pieces of the board are moving into place. Maggie fucking Sanderson thinks she is the hero of this game. The weary warrior defending the world from the evils of power and that is the advantage Mother will play.
