by RR Haywood
‘Miss,’ Harry said without turning to look.
She opened her mouth slightly, tucked her bottom lip between her teeth and waited for him to look at her.
‘The bolt broke on my door,’ she said when he didn’t turn.
Harry tutted as though mildly irritated. He took a drag on his cigarette and plumed the smoke to curl up into the sky. ‘Didn’t go through it then.’
She moved into his peripheral vision. ‘No . . .’ She trailed off and waited while her hair became slick against her scalp and the top clung to her frame. Still he didn’t look. Still he didn’t react. ‘Should I?’
A pause. A second in time passing as he lifted the cigarette to his lips. ‘Not for me to say now, is it?’
She blinked and felt the confusion tugging at the back of her mind again. The confusion that comes each time she thinks she knows what to do. ‘Do you miss home, Harry?’
He finally turned to look at her with a glance down and a sadness showing in his eyes. ‘Got a job to do.’
‘What job?’ she asked. She moved closer, arching her back a bit more, showing the vulnerability, biting her bottom lip, but seeing only calmness and decency coming back. A sudden feeling of guilt surged through her. A feeling of being dirty and cheap. Crimson bloomed in her cheeks.
‘You’re getting wet, miss.’
She tried to brave it out for another few seconds. Her nipples were hard and straining through the top. Her neck was slender and shapely. Her eyes large, but tears pricked and fell down her cheeks with the rivers of rain. She folded her arms quickly and lowered her head to stoop with shame. ‘I’m so sorry . . .’
‘Ach,’ he moved next to her, sheltering her with the umbrella as a huge arm went over her shoulders, drawing her in as the sobs threatened to break from her chest.
‘They’ll kill me.’ She drew a quavering breath. Not acting now. No pretence either. Just raw confusion and emotions pouring out. ‘If I go back . . . they’ll kill me . . .’
‘But you’re here. Not there.’
‘I can’t stay here, Harry. I’m an agent. I don’t know what to do . . .’
‘What’s your name?’
She snorted a humourless laugh at someone finally asking who she is. ‘Emily. Emily Rose.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Nice name.’
‘I’ve never done that before,’ she said suddenly, searching his eyes. ‘Thank you.’
‘No bother.’ He smiled down as she closed her eyes and felt the weight of his arm resting on her shoulders. His calmness spread through her. His aura soothing her frantic mind.
‘I bet Safa thinks my name is fake.’
‘Aye, probably.’
Twenty
Miri walks from the portal room to her office and places the brown paper bag on the table, then slides the smartphone from her back pocket, connects the wire and pushes the earpiece into her ear.
It’s been twenty-five days since Cavendish Manor. Twenty-five days for Ben to become increasingly frustrated at not knowing what Miri is doing. Twenty-five days for everyone to heal from their injuries.
Miri switches the phone off, winds the cable round the middle, picks up the tablet and the large brown paper bag and heads down the corridor to the back door and out into the inky blackness of a Cretaceous night.
‘Ah, Miri,’ Doctor Watson says, sitting up in his chair. ‘All well?’
‘Doctor.’
She moves to the wooden table used to strip the weapons and places the bag and tablet down. ‘Eaten?’ she asks no one in particular.
‘We had a lovely meal,’ Doctor Watson says, ‘and heard an incredible story of a stolen frigate ramming a German battleship.’
Miri roots in the bag. The atmosphere is friendly and relaxed. She looks round to see Harry at the end closest to the corner. Ben next to him. Emily, then Safa and the doctor at the other end. Good positioning. She takes in the stretched-out legs from Harry and Ben that tell her they are both relaxed in the company they keep. Same with the doctor, who did sit up straighter, but now eases back down. Safa and Emily are more upright, but that is due to their natural manner rather than any show of being guarded or pensive. All of them barefooted, relaxed and conversing with warmth and humour.
The thrill is there. The thrill at taking the next step in the game.
‘Strawberries,’ Miri says, pulling the first punnet out. ‘Got a few,’ she adds, placing more down. ‘And chocolate.’ Big bars of milk chocolate come out of the bag.
‘Seriously?’ Safa asks, rising from the chair to walk over.
‘You said you wanted strawberries and chocolate,’ Miri says, as though confused, but using that second to take in the ever-so-slight blanch on Tango Two’s face that confirms more than the agent will ever know or realise.
‘No, it’s great,’ Safa says. ‘Fuck me, we’ve got strawberries and chocolate,’ she adds with a grin at Emily. ‘Bet you’re glad you didn’t escape now, eh? Ah shit, you said you were allergic . . . Never mind, more for me.’
‘Allergic?’ Ben asks, looking at Emily.
‘Um?’ Emily says, holding a mock-questioning look.
‘Oh,’ Ben chuckles, ‘I thought you actually were then. Thanks for this, Miri.’
‘Enjoy,’ Miri says, turning to walk back. ‘Oh, I have a problem.’ She holds the tablet up. ‘I loaded this with some data and footage, but I can’t make it work now. The tech is from your era,’ Miri says, looking at Emily.
‘Would you like me to try?’ Emily says as Safa starts handing out the punnets. Harry takes his with a smile as Ben holds his thoughtful gaze on Miri for a second.
‘Thanks,’ Miri says, handing the tablet to Emily. ‘Can switch it on, but the operating system is unfamiliar.’
‘How did you load the data then?’ Ben asks, immediately regretting asking such a stupid question when Miri is clearly playing a hand.
‘Asked a kid in a café,’ Miri says in that flat American drawl.
Emily swipes the screen to see familiar icons glowing within the square, then looks up at Miri. ‘It’s working – what was it you wanted?’
‘Loaded images. Can’t find them.’
‘In the images folder, which is through here . . .’
‘Can you make them 3D?’ Miri asks.
‘Er, sure.’
‘Put it on the table,’ Miri says, as though to watch and learn.
‘This icon here accesses the images folder and . . .’ Emily trails off with her fingers hovering over the screen when she sees one of the images in question.
‘That one,’ Miri says, pointing to another icon. ‘How do I play that footage and make it 3D?’
‘Er, right, of course, like this: tap the image and two smaller icons appear. This one is conventional, and this is for 3D.’
‘The kid said it will come out,’ Miri says. ‘How do I do that?’
‘Like I said: 3D.’
‘Show me, Tango Two. Make it play now.’
Emily double-taps the screen, then selects the 3D option. An image immediately blooms out from the device to fill the air above. A static shot, just a grey blur that is instantly recognised by Ben, Safa and Harry, who all shift position to watch intently. ‘So to play it, you just swipe left, then to pause you swipe right. Really simple.’
Emily swipes the holographic image. Sound immediately comes. A slight hiss, then the sound of rotor blades. She moves back to her seat, conscious of the earnest looks of the others now staring at the footage.
Ben frowns at Miri. Questions in his eyes. She doesn’t show any reaction, but moves back, as though to watch the footage herself.
The footage blurs with the distinctive motion of a camera lens trying to focus. The noise of the rotor blades increases in pitch as the camera is given lift and rises smoothly into the air a few feet.
The footage of the world in 2111. The footage Ben, Harry and Safa saw in Roland’s office. The end of the world.
Emily watches the grey rubble, confused and not understanding what i
t is she is seeing. As the drone moves, she spots the charred remains of a child’s doll, and frowns deeper.
The other three have seen the footage before, but not like this. Not in 3D in perfect, pin-sharp, high-definition quality bloomed out in the air.
More rubble. A ruined building. Debris strewn everywhere. Window frames of buildings, bathtubs and household content, charred, broken, filthy, old and lying everywhere. More buildings come into view. A whole street that shows the same thing. Roads buckled and broken. Tree stumps dead and withered. A lack of life. A feeling of an empty, sterile place.
Emily watches as more streets come into view. She spots cars and vehicles, then railway lines. Bigger buildings. A city. They all show reaction at the first capsule from the London Eye. Then more of them littering the ground. The drone goes over the Thames. Putrid brown water filled with jagged shards and shapes hidden by the flowing tide. Westminster Bridge broken and slumped in the river. The Houses of Parliament destroyed. The clock face from Big Ben lying amongst the squalor.
Miri swipes right. The footage cuts off. Silence behind her.
‘What did I just watch?’ Emily breaks that silence.
‘The end of the world, my dear,’ Doctor Watson replies heavily.
‘Good, at least I know how to make that work,’ Miri says, as though to herself. ‘Now, I have another image. I click it? Is that correct? Tango Two?’
‘Her name is Emily,’ Safa says.
‘Huh? What? I mean, yes, just, er . . .’
‘Got it.’ Another image blooms out from the tablet. The atmosphere now thick and charged. Miri carries on, as though ignorant to the change. ‘How do I make it bigger?’
‘You, er, you need to swipe the edges to rotate it and, er, to enlarge it, you take both sides and pull out . . .’
‘That’s Roland’s house,’ Safa says. ‘Cavendish Manor.’
Again, Miri stands back in assessment of the image in front of her. The same 3D, pin-sharp, high-definition quality now showing Cavendish Manor. Seconds pass. Plant seeds. Water them. Let nature do the rest.
Silence broken only by Harry and the doctor eating strawberries. Ben watches Miri closely and takes a strawberry from his punnet. Everything Miri does is for a reason.
‘Can I touch the image without moving it?’ Miri asks.
‘Er, you, er . . .’ Emily clears her throat and blinks rapidly several times before rising to walk over to the tablet. ‘Press this and it locks the image in place.’
‘Thank you,’ Miri says. She stands back, staring at the image and eating a strawberry. ‘We’ll start planning the secondary attack tomorrow,’ Miri says, as though reaching a decision. She takes the tablet from the table and a punnet of strawberries, and starts heading back towards the bunker with the glowing hologram hovering in front of her. ‘Good night.’
‘Night, Sun Tzu,’ Ben says quietly. Miri pauses, a twitch at the corner of her mouth.
‘Night,’ Safa calls out.
‘Ma’am,’ Harry says as she passes him.
Emily takes her first strawberry and bites into the soft flesh. It tastes divine. Perfect even. Juicy and full of flavour. Her mind runs frantic and fast with a pressure applied and exerted by a master at work.
‘Warm,’ Ben says conversationally.
‘Is,’ Harry says in reply, stretching his legs out.
‘Balmy,’ Doctor Watson says.
‘Balmy,’ Ben says, holding a strawberry up in acknowledgement. ‘Good word.’
‘Was,’ Harry says in reply.
‘Want some chocolate?’ Safa heads over to the table to pick a few bars up to carry back, throwing one to Ben and Harry as she passes.
The heavy machine gun. The sniper shots. Barrett. The joke that Ben didn’t know the difference between a Barrett and a Browning. The gunships being fired on from the ground. Ben called them bazookas. The bunker. The isolation from the world. Smurfs. Maurice. Money. Supplies. The empty rooms. Malcolm and Konrad got everything for us. Realisation finally sinks in. This is all they have. It’s just them. Three heroes from history. The end of the world. Emily leans forward as everything slots into place one after the other. Her heart hammering. Her head spinning.
Ben watches the connections form on her face. The more he knows her, the more he struggles to understand how an agent, such as she appears to be, is so slow at working everything out.
‘So nice,’ Safa says, munching contentedly.
Emily shuffles on the seat and looks up to a night sky filled with millions of stars shining down. She doesn’t know where she is in the world, and wonders if they are the same stars in the same places from her time. Why did Mother tell them to kill her? Alpha ordered the gunships to open fire, and she didn’t want to die in the room of a house for a thing she did not understand.
Ben rolls his eyes and bites his bottom lip with frustration. She’s had over three weeks to work it out.
‘Emily Rose is clearly a shit spy name anyway . . .’
She turns to smile as Safa grins back with her white teeth showing stark against the darkness of her features.
‘Emily Rose?’ Safa laughs. ‘That’s so made up.’
‘No! It’s my real name,’ Emily says with an instant grin.
‘It’s a lovely name,’ Doctor Watson says.
‘Is,’ Harry says.
‘You worked it all out yet?’ Ben asks.
‘I don’t know,’ she admits honestly.
‘It’s just us,’ Ben says. ‘To stop what Miri showed you.’
Emily doesn’t reply, but stares, silent and thoughtful.
‘Anyway,’ Safa announces. ‘What’s your real proper name?’
‘That is my real proper name!’ Emily laughs again.
‘Whatever. Eat your strawberries, or I’ll steal them.’
Miri sits at her desk, staring at the hologram image, with the smartphone on the desk and the wire stretching up to her ear. Ben is good. He’s smart. Miri likes that.
She ponders as the doctor wanders in, says goodnight and retires to wage war on the whale. The others stay outside. Chatting. Laughing. Genial voices. The seeds she planted have formed roots. The roots are strengthening, but are they strong enough yet? It took ages to loosen the rivet enough for it to appear to be a natural breakage.
‘Night, ma’am,’ Harry says, passing by when they start filing back in.
‘Night, Miri,’ Ben says, lifting a hand as he passes.
‘Still up?’ Safa asks.
‘Safa, word please. Tango Two, you also,’ Miri says.
‘What’s up?’ Safa asks, walking into the office with Emily behind her. ‘And her name is Emily . . .’
Are the roots strong enough yet? Miri pauses, listening for the door in the corridor to close, which signals Ben and Harry have both moved on. ‘I have a mission.’
‘Okay,’ Safa says slowly with a glance at Emily.
‘There is a woman,’ Miri says, watching them both closely. ‘She is very attractive. Flirtatious. I need information from her. Do you think Ben will be suitable to extract what . . .’
‘Over my fucking dead body,’ Safa blurts. ‘Ben’s not going anywhere near some rancid, diseased whore.’
Emily stares at her in surprise at the vehemence in her voice. Miri stays expressionless, but calculating every reaction.
‘Fuck off,’ Safa tells them both. ‘Not a chance he’s doing anything like that. He’s a decent man. Who is she? I’ll get the information.’
‘My concern is that the information will be within a device she has . . .’
‘No worries,’ Safa says. ‘I’ll get it from her. Where is she? What do you need Emily for?’
‘If you let me speak, Miss Patel . . .’
‘Okay,’ Safa says, either ignoring or ignorant of the rebuke.
‘I do not know if it is appropriate to take the phone from her, or if it should be examined in situ. The technology is from Tango Two’s era . . .’
‘You want Emily to go on a mission?’
>
‘Me?’ Emily asks.
‘Not with Ben though. I’ll do it,’ Safa says. ‘You up for it?’ she asks Emily.
‘Are you serious?’ Emily asks, turning from Safa to Miri.
‘Do you now know why we are here?’ Miri asks her.
‘The footage,’ Emily says. ‘Ben just said . . .’
‘What year is she in?’ Safa asks. ‘This attractive woman that isn’t going anywhere near Ben, I mean.’
‘2061.’
‘That’s . . .’ Emily says.
‘Your time,’ Miri says, finishing her sentence when Emily trails off.
‘Let me get this right,’ Emily says. ‘You are suggesting taking me outside of this place to my own time? I am an agent. It was my side trying to stop you . . . You do not know me well enough to . . .’
‘Your side,’ Safa scoffs. ‘What, the same people that tried to kill you, yeah? And you walked right past the portal the other night and went outside with Harry instead . . .’
‘Do you know why they were trying to kill me?’ Emily asks, looking from Safa to Miri. ‘I keep going over and over it, but . . . I didn’t do anything wrong. I had Bertie. I had him . . .’
‘Dunno,’ Safa says.
‘Safa and I will be with you, and after seeing what she did to Maurice, I have no doubt she will be able to deal with you.’
‘The world ends?’ Emily asks. ‘How? What happens?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Safa says. ‘Bertie filmed that footage, then he went back and got his dad.’
‘Roland?’ Emily asks. ‘You said before that Roland tried killing himself.’
‘So where’s this whore then?’
‘Tango Two?’ Miri asks.
‘Emily,’ Safa says.
‘Tango Two,’ Miri says, ignoring Safa.
‘Emily,’ Safa says, ignoring being ignored.
‘Do I have your word you will not try and escape or alert your people?’ Miri asks.
‘Say yes,’ Safa says.
Emily blinks and goes to speak to voice the hundred or more questions whizzing through her head that suddenly drop away to leave an empty void. ‘Sure, why not,’ she says, amazed at herself for saying it. ‘I give you my word.’
Twenty-One
