Extracted

by RR Haywood

  Ben clamps on, pulling her body into his while their eyes stay locked. With the water streaming past them she wriggles one hand free and pulls the bottle from her mouth. For a second Ben thinks she’ll pull it from the strap. Instead, she pulls him in and pushes her lips against his. Ben takes too long to respond. Her tongue pushes between his closed lips, forcing them open so she can expel the air from her to him and whether by mistake or design it’s a better shock than any defibrillator can ever give and he snaps back to his senses, breathing Safa Patel into his lungs. Taking the life she gives and once again doing what she tells him.

  She closes her eyes and pulls back to suck on the mouthpiece. She draws air into her lungs and exhales the stream of bubbles. She inhales again and holds the air while reaching out to guide him in. He goes willingly this time. Her hand on the back of his head. His hands on her cheeks. As their mouths meet her tongue comes out to tell him he can open his lips but they are already opening. She breathes out. He breathes in. The chaos of the moment. The chaos of the last six months. She left Ben severely injured in the bunker but now he is here, holding her, staring at her, and even through that water she can see the spark is back in his eyes. It is a crazy second. It is a second of life and death, of being pulled through the body of a huge rolling wave towards a time machine. His mouth is open. Hers too. She can exhale into him. He can inhale from her. It is confusing though. She knows that. The mischief in her eyes tells him she knows that. They might both die right now. Her tongue finds his. His tongue finds hers. Be heroes and do heroic things. Go through the ocean towards a time machine while kissing because later, if you survive, you can say it was an accident and you didn’t know what you were doing. It is brief. It is fleeting. It is over in a second. Did it even happen?

  The wave and the rope take them through the portal with the thick body of water losing hundreds of gallons a second to a window giving entry to a concrete bunker a hundred million years ago. They sail through water and air wrenched by a motor giving power to a reel and the action is so violent they are ripped apart.

  Ben spins and falls, swept along by water pummelling him into the hard wall and so great is that tide that he remains pinned in place, unable to stand or do anything. People scream out as someone lands on top of him, driving him harder into the corner of the room. He wriggles and fights to free himself of the tangled limbs and somehow grabs whoever it is and forces them upright to get their head out of the water. Still the water comes through. Wave after wave crashes into the room, filling it quickly and causing a jet to surge through the open door. With the mask still on, Ben gains a view of the motor on the reel still dragging Safa and Harry across the room, threatening to suck them in. He lurches away from the wall against the tide, wading and diving while scrabbling for the knife on his leg that is no longer there.

  He reaches Harry and pulls the knife from Harry’s sheath to slice down, severing the rope, which whips away into the reel with a greater speed. Harry instantly drops down under the water but with the bottle mouthpiece still clamped between his jaws.

  Ben turns looking for Safa as the next wave slams into him from behind, taking him from his feet and into the wall with bone-jarring speed and again he slumps down with the wind knocked from his lungs. He is thrown and dropped, lifted and slammed, but all the time he looks for Safa and he finally sees her at the reel with her arms locked out trying to prevent the thing pulling her in. Veins bulge from her neck. She screams out in exertion. The air tank hanging from the strap round her neck.

  Ben dives towards her, grinding his feet into the ground and wading through thigh-high turbulent water that forms whirlpools and eddies from the suction created by the open door.

  Harry surges up. The huge man appearing like Poseidon himself with water pouring from his beard. He loops one huge arm round her waist and heaves back. She screams as the motor on the winch grinds noisily. Ben fights through the water. Wading hard as another wave crashes through. Harry’s hand shoots out. Ben grabs it and uses it to lever himself closer and get in front of Safa to flail the blade of the knife at the rope. One touch from the sharp steel and the rope pings apart. They fall back into the water as the next wave batters into the room.

  Konrad fights to keep the tablet above the water as he slips and flails about. He tries again and again to jab at the screen but each time the waves come and he’s pulled off his feet by the suction of the eddy flowing through the door. As he goes down, Ben snatches the tablet from his hand and grabs his collar to heave him up. Konrad comes up gasping for air and spewing seawater and puke. The next wave comes in. The power of it sweeping them through the open door. Rip tides and counter-swirls. Waves bouncing from the walls. Voices screaming out. The water in the corridor is already at waist height with more coming in faster than it can empty into the other rooms.

  They fight together. Ben and Konrad doing everything they can to keep the tablet above the water. Malcolm flows past them. Screaming and flailing to try to stop himself. Roland already lost from view.

  ‘Hold it up.’ Konrad grunts the words out. He surges up as Ben holds the tablet and swipes at the screen. His fingers frantic and rushed, but the red ‘End’ button shows. He hits it hard, swiping and swiping as Ben screams for him to stop the water coming through.

  ‘DONE IT,’ Konrad roars in relief. An instant sensation of the power of the water ending. Konrad sinks. Ben retches saltwater from his guts. The water flows out, the level sinking down as the rooms absorb the flow. The end door opens. The water rushes past the doctor.

  ‘Where are they?’ Doctor Watson yells, which he doesn’t need to do as the noise is all gone now.

  ‘In there.’ Ben waves an arm behind him towards the door and manages to keep hold of a conscious mind for about another five seconds before he sinks down and finally lets the pain and exhaustion pull him to the wet ground.

  Thirty-Eight

  ‘Just rest for a few minutes,’ Doctor Watson says, standing up.

  ‘Thanks, doc,’ Harry grunts.

  ‘You seem fine. Nothing damaged.’

  ‘What was the thing you called it?’ Harry asks.

  ‘Acute respiratory distress syndrome. It’s caused when you take water into your lungs but there’s no signs . . . that’s why I kept you under for a couple of days. Safa will be waking up . . . you’ll be okay?’

  ‘Fine.’ Harry waves a hand.

  The miracles of modern science, the wonders of modern medications. Timed to perfection and Safa starts rising from the induced coma state as Doctor Watson stops next to her bed. Her eyes flutter. Motion in her limbs.

  ‘You’re okay,’ Doctor Watson says deeply, his voice giving reassurance as she comes back to the land of the living. ‘Safa . . . you’re okay . . . just wake slowly . . . everything is fine. I’m going to take your wrist for a minute,’ he says. Malcolm, Konrad and Roland have all told him how fast her reactions are and that she hates being touched. He lifts her wrist, detects the pulse and stares at his watch.

  ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘Good morning,’ he says with a smile.

  ‘I said who the fuck are you . . . ?’ Safa glares up at the craggy face then down to his hand holding her wrist.

  ‘Doctor Watson,’ Doctor Watson says. ‘No relation. Nothing to do with Sherlock Holmes . . .’

  ‘Who? What the . . . ?’

  ‘Never mind. Pulse is fine. I’m going to check your eyes and ears.’

  ‘You fucking—’

  ‘Oh shut up,’ he says with a huff, silencing her instantly. ‘Follow my fingers.’ He waves his hand past her eyes. ‘Good. Any blurred vision? No? Good. Ears.’ He shines a torch in and dares touch her face to move her head to see into the other one. ‘Good . . .’

  ‘Are you the doctor we saved?’

  ‘Good detective skills.’

  ‘I’m shit at investigating.’

  ‘Clearly.’

  ‘I prefer hitting people until they answer me.’

  ‘Really? Does th
at work for you?’

  ‘Dunno, want to find out?’

  He smiles and chuckles. ‘I am the doctor you saved. Thank you,’ he adds with sincerity.

  ‘Where’s Ben and Harry? Ben came and got us . . . so he’s alive then . . . is he okay now? Where’s Harry? HARRY? BEN?’

  ‘Good Lord, you are impulsive.’

  ‘Here,’ Harry calls out from the middle room. ‘Don’t beat the doctor up.’

  ‘Ben?’ she asks, sitting up.

  ‘You should rest,’ Doctor Watson says. Knowing she will ignore him the same way Ben ignored him and Harry ignored him.

  ‘BEN?’

  ‘He is fine,’ Doctor Watson says. ‘He wanted to be here but I made him wait in the dining room.’

  ‘Dining room? Have we got a dining room now?’ Safa asks, still glaring at him.

  ‘The room with the food.’

  ‘The main room.’

  ‘Or the dining room,’ Doctor Watson says. ‘Does it hurt when you breathe in? Which I’m assuming it doesn’t seeing as you are shouting perfectly well.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she says. ‘Thirsty though . . . can I have some water?’

  He passes the cup. ‘Just sip it . . . sip it . . . I said SIP IT . . . oh, for the love of God, you people are just impossible to treat.’

  ‘What?’ she asks, lowering the now empty cup. ‘I was thirsty.’

  ‘I did that and got told off too,’ Harry calls through.

  ‘You seen Ben yet?’ she calls out.

  ‘Wow,’ Doctor Watson mutters and waves a hand in front of Safa. ‘Can you see me? Do I exist? Am I ghost? Perhaps you have brain damage and need medicating again . . . I said Ben is in the dining room . . .’

  ‘Main room.’

  ‘Fine! Whatever,’ Doctor Watson says.

  ‘Can I get up?’ she asks. ‘I’m getting up,’ she tells him and gets up. She looks down at her bra and knickers then up at the doctor with a face like thunder before deciding that he is a doctor and therefore she should probably not kill him for undressing her. She dresses in joggers and a T-shirt then heads through into the communal room to see Harry sitting in one of the blue chairs.

  ‘Morning,’ he says.

  ‘Morning,’ she says, walking straight past him to Ben’s door that she opens. ‘Oh,’ she says dully. ‘Seen this?’

  ‘Seen what?’ Harry asks.

  ‘This,’ Safa says, nodding at Ben’s room.

  ‘No. What is it?’

  ‘Ben’s room.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘Get up and have a look you lazy shit.’

  Harry rubs his beard while contemplating this request. He comes to a decision. ‘No, just tell me,’ he says.

  ‘Bedside table . . . lamp . . . rug on the floor . . . got some shelves for his clothes,’ she says, looking round at the stark change inside. She sniffs the air a few times. ‘He’s using deodorant too.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Harry mutters.

  ‘Well,’ she says, turning back to Harry, realising the doctor must have left. ‘It worked then.’

  ‘Seems that way,’ Harry says.

  He pauses in the corridor at the metal-riveted door marked with the names Harry Madden, Ben Ryder and Safa Patel. A quick, deep breath and he heads inside.

  ‘Morning,’ Ben says, his voice catching from both nerves and anticipation.

  ‘Ben!’ Harry grins, getting to his feet. Safa looks round in surprise with a slow grin forming.

  ‘Stay there,’ Ben says, waving for him to sit back down.

  He gets up anyway and squashes Ben’s hand while shaking his head and smiling. ‘Aye, it’s good to see you, Ben. You okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Ben says, staggering to the side from the enormous pat on the shoulder. ‘How you feeling?’

  ‘Ach, fine.’ The big man beams all toothy and happy.

  ‘Safa? You okay?’ Ben asks as she steps away from his door.

  ‘Fine,’ she says with a broad smile. ‘Look at you being all sheepish and shy . . . your room looks better by the way. Where’s your beard? You shaved it off? I liked that beard. Are you wearing jeans? You look better. Doesn’t he look better, Harry?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘You do. Got colour in your face,’ she says, examining him closely while smiling and talking non-stop without any sense of shame. ‘Yeah, I did like that beard, but then it’s nice to see you shaved again. Your hair’s a mess though. Anyway, stop fucking yacking on and get the brews in.’

  ‘What the fuck?’ Ben says, shaking his head at the onslaught.

  ‘Shit, and I thought I was slow at investigating,’ she says, still beaming at him. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake . . . come here . . .’

  ‘Eh?’ Ben says as she flies at him.

  ‘I hate hugging people,’ she says, hugging him. ‘I would literally only ever hug you or Harry . . . like, no one else ever . . .’

  ‘Okay,’ Ben says, looking at Harry, who’s still smiling.

  ‘Well hug me back then, you fucking dick.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Ben says, bringing his arms round her body.

  ‘Get off now.’ She pulls back to stare at him then at Harry. ‘Sorted. Right,’ she says, nodding as though a little embarrassed at her show of affection. ‘You’re still a dick though.’

  ‘Probably,’ Ben says.

  ‘Stop yacking on. So? Was it Harry beating you up or did we die?’

  ‘Er . . .’ Ben says. He had wondered how to tell them they had died but then he remembered they were Harry and Safa and tiny things like death didn’t bother them. ‘Both . . . like . . .’

  ‘Ah now, about that,’ Harry says seriously, pushing a hand through his beard. ‘Didn’t expect you to keep getting back up.’

  ‘Had it coming,’ Ben says before he can continue.

  ‘Aye,’ Harry says.

  ‘Did the doc tell you what happened?’ Ben asks.

  ‘No . . . but you came back for us,’ she says. ‘On your own? Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah, but hang on,’ he says. ‘I’ve got something I want to show you. The doc said I wasn’t to get you excited but it’s only next door so . . .’

  ‘What is?’ Safa asks.

  ‘Come see. You both okay to walk? I could get wheelchairs and wheel you about if you want . . . ?’

  ‘Funny,’ Safa says, marching past him to the main door. ‘Which way? Left or right?’

  ‘Hang on,’ Ben yelps, rushing after her.

  ‘I’ll try left.’ She heads left as Harry smiles at Ben and makes his way over.

  ‘Nope,’ Safa says, looking into the room on the left. ‘Must be right then . . .’

  ‘Will you just slow down a bit,’ Ben says, as she strides past him to the other side.

  ‘Ah,’ she says, coming to a stop at the next door. ‘Ah yes, yes, that’s really nice. Did you do it?’

  ‘Um, well . . .’

  ‘Harry, come and look at this. Ben? Did you do it?’

  ‘I just—’

  ‘Isn’t that nice?’ Safa says, cutting across Ben as Harry joins her at the next door down.

  ‘Aye,’ Harry says, staring inside.

  ‘So who did it? Did you do it?’ she asks again.

  ‘Fuck me,’ Ben says, walking down to squeeze past them to get inside the room. ‘Yes, I did it . . .’

  The rooms are the same as theirs. Three bedrooms. One bathroom. One communal central room. But there the similarity ends. The three go inside to peer through the doors into the bedrooms. Big, deep rugs on the floors. Bedside tables. Armchairs, shelving units, paintings and pictures on the walls. Soft lighting and soft furnishings. The blue chairs in the communal section are replaced by armchairs, more rugs on the floor. The walls painted off-white with pictures and paintings hanging. Shelves fitted to the walls. The bare light overhead now covered by a shade. The bathroom is softened too. More fittings, more softening of the harsh concrete and stainless steel. The window shutters are up. Natural daylight streams in. The rooms look inv
iting, warm and homely.

  ‘There was precedent,’ Ben says as they look round. ‘Doctor Watson has torn Roland up for arse paper over the way he did things. Roland said there was no precedent, but he was only thinking of time travel and not the taking of someone from their environment. Prisons have been doing it for centuries. Same with accounts of people stranded on desert islands and the methods they used to survive the mental anguish. Kidnappings, solitary confinements, social deprivation experiments, even those reality television programmes like Big Brother provided some level of scientific study. This,’ Ben says, turning slowly to wave his hands at the rooms, ‘alleviates the initial shock. The doc also said the sedatives, coupled with the meds we were given to prevent harm from the environment and oxygen toxicity, can all contribute to severe mental decline. We were in high-stress situations of life and death. You two were both trained, so your mental state was already sort of prepared for those situations. Mine wasn’t, plus I’m just one of the percentage of the population susceptible to side effects from the drugs. The doc has already changed the meds to be used if we bring someone else back.’

  ‘Shit,’ Safa murmurs, blinking as she takes it all in.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ben says, lifting his hand. ‘You’ve both just come round . . .’

  ‘It’s fine,’ she says, shaking her head at him.

  ‘Roland seriously does not have a clue, and with it being his son that invented the device it means he’s off playing with—’

  ‘What?’ Safa says.

  ‘What?’ Ben asks her.

  ‘What did you just say?’

  ‘Which bit?’

  ‘Roland’s son? Seriously? It was his bloody kid?’

  ‘You are joking, right?’ Ben asks, looking at them both. ‘You didn’t know that? You didn’t know it was his son? Six months and you didn’t ask him?’ They both shake their heads. ‘Did you ask where he goes? Where the money comes from? Did you ask him anything?’