A Symphony of Echoes

by Jodi Taylor

  Kal spoke again, and her voice was firm and without fear. I never admired her more. ‘Can you understand me?’

  It dipped its chin.

  ‘Then listen closely. I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. Look around. You are imprisoned in a pod. You will never leave it again. None of us will leave this pod alive. Do you understand?’

  It dipped its chin.

  ‘You heard my colleague. She declared Code Blue. That means we are contaminated. This pod is no longer under our control. We cannot open the door. We cannot get out. You cannot get out. We will all die in here. Do you understand?’

  It hissed.

  I gestured to the screen. ‘Look.’

  It leaned forward and I took the opportunity to move half a step closer. Outside, all the techies had disappeared. They’d dimmed the lights to a blue glow. A double ring of hazmat-dressed security guards surrounded the pod. Front row kneeling; back row standing. They all had some very serious weaponry pointed directly at us.

  It dipped its chin.

  ‘They cannot get in,’ I lied. ‘This pod is impregnable. They have only one purpose. To shoot dead anything and everything that might try to leave. They have firepower the like of which you cannot imagine. If you do somehow manage to get out, they will shoot you dead. And me. And my colleague. Everything in this pod is doomed. Do you understand?’

  For the first time, it shook its head.

  ‘I think not.’

  Its voice was deep, thick and sibilant, with a slight accent. It had difficulty speaking. Its tongue was purple and far too big for its mouth. Yellow and brown saliva crusted the corners of its lips. The thought of them touching me was unbearable.

  It spoke again. ‘I think they will not be so happy to see such pretty girls … suffer. I think when you have both screamed for a day, then they will be willing to open the door. Especially when they hear you beg.’

  Kal shook her head. ‘That will not happen. That door will never open again. There is no food or water here. After a week, we will be dead, either by your hand, or by ours. The guards will not move. They will stay until they see we cannot possibly be alive. On that day, they will take this pod and bury it forever. It will be your tomb. I don’t know what you are, or if you can die or not, but I hope for your sake you can, because otherwise you will sit here in this tiny box, alone in the cold and the dark, until the end of time. You should not have followed us here. You have made a big mistake. Do you understand?’

  It dipped its chin. ‘I understand but I do not agree. I propose to put it to the test.’

  Suddenly it was in front of us. I never saw it move. I jerked up my stun gun but it was knocked from my hands before I could fire. The same blow knocked me sideways. I rolled as I heard Kal scream. Her gun went off. I saw its arm rise and fall, rise and fall, slashing and ripping. Kal screamed again. I grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall and jabbed it into the side of its face. Something gave, but it had no real effect. Kal swung her arm and I heard the bottle break.

  I reached behind my head and pulled out a long hairpin. I meant to shove it down its ear but it turned its head, and I sunk it into its eye instead. No credit to me, it did it to itself. It uttered a shrieking, wailing sort of cry and fell backwards, clawing with clumsy hands. I followed it up with a short blast of pepper spray, directly into its ruined eye.

  It wailed again and threw itself at me. I saw nothing, but suddenly my face was on fire. I thought it had thrown the kettle at me. I could feel hot liquid running down my face and thought I’d been scalded. Its breath was in my face, its tongue falling from its mouth. I thought I was finished when, from the floor, Kal said hoarsely, ‘Now,’ and wrapped her arms around its legs, just below the knees. I shoved hard. It crashed to the floor. Hard. The impact caused a locker door to swing open, and hazily, I saw the fire axe.

  I seized the extinguisher again and dropped it from waist height onto its face. It bellowed, its broken mouth opening and closing. Its arms flailed on Kal’s back, ripping through fabric and flesh, through to the bone. She was still screaming, but she never let go. She wrapped herself around it, hampering its movements as best she could. She was my friend and she never let go.

  I fumbled for the fire axe.

  It’s really not that easy to chop someone’s head off. I swung the axe wildly. I couldn’t see properly. I nearly took my own foot off twice. It took eleven strokes. I counted them. Every one. There was blood everywhere. Our blood. Kal’s and mine. Kal was soaked in it. I couldn’t make out the colour of her hair. I wasn’t even sure she was still alive. My whole front was red with fresh, wet blood. I had no idea where it was all coming from. I didn’t know half my face was hanging off.

  On the eleventh stroke, the mangled head slowly rolled away from the body. A small amount of a thick, brownish-fluid oozed sluggishly from the torso, wrinkled almost immediately, and began to congeal. The smell made me heave.

  Suddenly, there was silence.

  A soft moan from Kal brought me back. Without letting go of the axe, I pulled out a pillow and got her to curl up around it.

  ‘Press hard, Kal; try to stop the bleeding.’ She was deathly white, but nodded slightly. She was still with me.

  I stepped back, carefully avoiding that sticky pool of fluid. I leaned against the wall, chest heaving in that sodding corset and tried to get a grip. I had a vague idea of re-setting the co-ordinates to somewhere such as the Cretaceous, and just pitching it out of the pod. I really didn’t want to spend what little time I had left with that thing rotting nearby. However, I had no longer had any control over this pod. We were going to die in here. We couldn’t get out.

  I turned and looked at the screen. All the security team was still there – no one had moved. The Boss, Dieter, Peterson – they would all be watching this from the monitor room. I spared a thought for them. And Leon Farrell – what was he feeling at this moment? I couldn’t afford to think about that now. I turned back into the pod.

  And then, oh God, the worst moment of all.

  Even as I looked, the head, a good eighteen inches from the torso and with one of my hairpins still sticking out of its eye, rolled back on itself. Back towards the body. The remaining eye opened, found me, and faintly, the lips smiled.

  I’ve had some bad moments in my life and there were more to come, but this was one of the worst because I realised then that this was just part of the game. These were just the opening moves. I looked around at the blood-soaked pod, Kalinda, unconscious and possibly dying at my feet and then back again to this un-killable thing. This was it. This was hell. There was no escape. We were damned for all eternity. And this was just the first fifteen minutes.

  The gun! Somewhere in this abattoir was Kal’s gun. We had no hope of survival, but I could make our ending a great deal easier. I would shoot Kal and then myself. Then they could bury the pod, or drop it into the sea, and that would be the end of it.

  I scrabbled one-handed, clumsy because I wouldn’t take my eyes off whatever it was for more than a second, and I wasn’t going to let go of the axe, either. I found the gun kicked under my seat. Only one shot fired.

  I stood over Kal, emptied my head of all thoughts, and commended our souls to the god of historians.

  Something crackled and I imagined that a voice said, ‘Max, stand down. Put down the gun.’

  I tightened my grip and blinked away the tears. Don’t weaken now.

  The door opened. Four masked and suited guards were there, two standing, two kneeling, weapons raised and swinging back and forth, covering every inch of the pod.

  Major Guthrie said, ‘Max, it’s me, Ian. Put down the gun,’ and stepping carefully through the blood, crossed to the toilet and pulled open the door. Another guard immediately took his place. Together, they formed an impenetrable barrier across the door. Nothing could get out.

  He shouted, ‘Clear!’ and shouldering his weapon, bent over Kal, looking for a pulse. ‘OK, let’s get her out.’

  Two men entered,
picked up Kal, and carried her out.

  I said, ‘Make sure you don’t stand in its blood,’ but they told me afterwards it just came out as a series of meaningless sounds.

  He came to stand in front of me. ‘Max, it’s Ian. Let go of the gun and the axe.’

  I kept trying to look around him. I must not take my eyes off the head. I tried to tell him.

  Finally, he said, ‘What?’ and I tried to signal with my eyes.

  He turned round and said, ‘He’s very, very dead, Max. He’s never going to do anyone any harm ever again,’ and, then, thank God, just as he looked, the head moved again. Another small movement. Back towards the body.

  He stood frozen for a minute and then said in a very different voice, ‘Where’s that axe?’ He swung once, twice, three times, powerful blows with the full force of his body behind them. We both stared at the crushed, ruined head. Even then, I wasn’t convinced. Neither was he.

  ‘I’ll see to all this, Max. Let’s get you out. Leave all this to me.’

  I tried to say something about contamination, but he said, ‘Will you trust me to do this right?’

  I nodded.

  He carried me out of that stinking pod, through the plastic containment tunnel, into a small plastic treatment room and wonderful, glorious, fresh air.

  I couldn’t see Kal at all for the people bending over her. She was hooked up to all sorts of drips and stuff. They were calm but urgent. The bloody pillow lay on the floor with soiled dressings all around. They were cutting her clothes off her.

  Masked and suited figures appeared around me, cutting off my view. My turn.

  Someone said, ‘Close your eyes,’ and I felt cool liquid running across my face.

  Someone else said, ‘Keep irrigating. Don’t stop.’

  I recognised Nurse Hunter. Dr Foster must be with Kal.

  Hunter bent over me. ‘Hello, Max, what have you been up to now? Everything’s fine. We’re just going to have a look.’

  They started to cut off my clothes, as well. Mrs Enderby, our wardrobe mistress, was not going to be pleased with us at all. I tried to tell them to bag everything, but no one was listening, and after all, we were in an isolation tent. It wasn’t likely they would just carelessly toss it all away. Let them get on with it.

  I started to shiver.

  ‘OK, let’s have some heat pads here. Elevate the feet. Hang on, Max.’ Voices came and went, the way they do when you doze off in front of the television.

  ‘Cuts and abrasions on her forearms – probably defensive wounds, one is very deep indeed. Two deep gashes across her left ankle and some minor cuts to the abdomen. Nothing too serious, Max. You’ll live to be grateful to that corset. In fact, we’re ditching the Kevlar and replacing it with whalebone.’

  I don’t know why medical staff think they have a sense of humour. I went for a smear test last year and Helen swore there was an echo. How funny is that?

  Stripping off her gloves, Helen replaced Hunter. ‘She’s still with us, Max. We’re taking her upstairs now.’ I saw her eyes shift to Hunter, who shook her head slightly. ‘Don’t be alarmed. You have a couple of bad cuts on your face. We’re keeping them clean and Dr Bairstow wants you sent off to the big plastics unit at Wendover. Everything’s under control here. You concentrate on you.’

  Fog billowed and swirled like silk. A T-rex lowered its fearsome head, looked at me, decided it couldn’t be bothered and wandered off, to be replaced by Major Guthrie saying, ‘They’re on their way – ten minutes,’ and then my father said, ‘Hello, Madeleine.’ And I struggled to get away.

  Mrs Partridge stepped into my view. She wore a white robe and her dark hair was caught up in a silver clasp. Everything else was shadowed but I could see her very clearly. If Kleio, Muse of History was here, then things must be bad.

  I said, ‘Am I dead?’

  ‘Not this time. Stop fighting them. Let them do their job.’

  I relaxed and let my head fall back.

  Helen had gone.

  Someone said, ‘Give her two gowns and plenty of blankets. She feels the cold.’

  Something warm and soft covered me. If there were heat pads, I couldn’t feel them.

  ‘Another blanket here.’

  It made no difference. I was frozen, shivering violently and uncontrollably. Something pricked the back of my hand as I was hooked up to something else. Bright lights weaved and waved. Voices came and went. I could hear my teeth chattering.

  I heard a loud and prolonged grinding of metal on metal. They were opening the hangar doors.

  Someone said, ‘Keep her dry.’

  They wheeled me to the edge of the hangar and we all peered out. Wind, rain – it was a hell of a night out there. It had been a hell of a night in here, as well.

  Overhead suddenly, a rhythmical pounding cut through the sound of the storm. The outside lights blazed on. They hurt my eyes. Someone covered my face with a blanket. The rackety clatter got louder. People shouted.

  Someone said, ‘OK, here we go,’ and I was wheeled at speed out into the storm.

  ‘On three. One, two, three.’ I was tilted, turned, tilted again.

  Someone said, ‘Is she dead?’ and pulled the blanket down.

  ‘In we go.’

  I was tilted again and then bumped down. Someone’s hands were setting up the drips and disentangling the tubes. I was still shivering. The noise was tremendous. I was scared.

  Someone said, ‘Wait!’ and Leon, his face grimmer than I could ever remember seeing before, touched my hand gently, said something that was lost in the noise of the night and disappeared.

  A door slid and slammed, shutting out most of the noise. A figure in military flying gear leaned over me and said, ‘Don’t worry, pet, you’re on your way.’

  The engine note changed, the floor tilted, and we were away.

  Chapter Four

  I woke up stiff and sore. I was the only occupant in a four-bed room in a strange place. In the bad bed by the door. My forearms were heavily bandaged. My ankle throbbed. I had a clothes peg on one finger, attached to a chirping machine. Read-outs flashed blearily. Tubes dangled. I was piecing things together as best I could when a plump, smiling nurse came in.

  ‘Hello again, Dr Maxwell, It’s Tria.’

  ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘You’ve been in and out for a while, so you probably don’t remember me. How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m fine. Why am I sitting up?’

  My voice was hoarse and croaky but I felt no real pain. Thank God for major painkillers. My face felt stiff and strange, but my fingers touched only dressings.

  ‘It helps keep the swelling down. The doctor will be with you soon. He said you had beautiful lacerations, and it was a pleasure to patch you up. He was quite enthusiastic.’ She grinned. ‘He doesn’t get out much. Do you need anything?’

  ‘My friend. How is she?’

  ‘Would that be Kalinda Black?’

  I nodded, very carefully. She rummaged through her file and pulled out sheets of torn-off paper. ‘There have been a lot of telephone messages for you. Dr Foster …?’ She looked at me enquiringly, and I nodded again. Carefully. ‘Dr Foster says the surgery went well. If she can stay out of trouble long enough, she should make a full recovery. Apparently, you are to get well as soon as possible so she can tear you a new one. That doesn’t seem right.’

  I tried to smile. It seemed likely this bunch would nurse me back to health just in time for Helen to kill me.

  ‘Dr Bairstow sends his regards and best wishes. One from Tim Peterson, asking where you put the Perkin Warbeck file and telling you to do as you’re told. And a load from a Leon Farrell. One an hour in fact, asking how you are.’ She paused. ‘He sends his love.’

  She put the notes on the bedside table and said, ‘You can look through them later.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I tried to smile at her and fell asleep.

  Leon and Peterson turned up a few days later. I was busy.
/>   Tim exploded. ‘Bloody hell, Max, we drive day and night to visit you on your sick bed, and when we do get here you’re – what are you doing?’

  ‘Occupational therapy. I’m making a snake. If Dr Bairstow won’t take me back then I’m considering a career as an exotic dancer. Pandora Pudenda and Pythagoras Python. What do you think?’

  ‘You don’t want to know what I think.’ He looked from me to Farrell. ‘He wants to yell at you, so I’m off for a coffee. See you later.’

  He disappeared.

  A couch by the window overlooked a small garden. We sat. He looked tired, his bright blue-grey eyes shadowed and heavy with strain.

  The nurse, Tria, stuck her head in, glanced at him, said, ‘I’ll bring you some tea,’ and left, sliding the door closed behind her.

  He looked at me for a while.

  ‘It’s all right,’ I said, hastily. ‘You don’t have to worry. The doc says I won’t look like a gargoyle. It’ll be almost as if it never happened.’

  The storm broke. For a good ten minutes, I listened to a scathing denunciation of me, my life, my career, and my attitude. I just let him get on with it. He was due.

  He was really beginning to pick up steam when Tria came back with the tea. He stood and turned abruptly to look out of the window. She raised her eyebrows at me. I grinned. She winked and went out. Silence fell.

  ‘Come and sit down. Drink your tea and then you can start on Chapter Two – my beauty, my intelligence, and just how lucky you are to have me in your life.’