by Jodi Taylor
‘What happened to you? You fall over your own feet?’
I swear he blushed. ‘Go on,’ said Murdoch. ‘Tell her.’ Weasel shook his head. ‘He was hit by a flying body part. A bloody leg flew through the air and caught him right between the eyes.’
I know I opened my mouth to make some sarky comment and I know I never got to say it. A white-hot flash seared my vision, leaving purple and green after-shadows. The ground heaved beneath my feet. I swear the pod bounced and a shock wave knocked me backwards. I fell heavily on my injured shoulder. Everything flickered wildly. Fractionally later, I heard the massive boom. It seemed to go on for a very long time. The pod trembled. Shakily, I got up on to my knees and groped for my gun because the door was still open. Beside me, Murdoch, also on his knees, shook his head.
I said, ‘What was that?’ and my voice seemed miles away. I crawled to the console to check the systems. Maybe one of the volcanoes had erupted. I wasn’t steady on my feet and my ears rang. The screen broke up, showed nothing but static and then cleared again.
I said to Murdoch, ‘Any ideas?’ My voice sounded strange inside my own head.
He shook his head, carefully. ‘At a guess I’d say a fuel dump, given the heat and ferocity of the explosion. Bloody hell.’ He shook his head again.
I scanned the outside. Fires had broken out everywhere. There were a lot of figures on the ground. Huge shapes were swooping on the few still desperately trying to get away. I looked back into my pod. Evans and Weasel had managed to cover everything in blood. The place looked like a slaughter house. I was uneasy at having the door open, but had no choice. The two or three seconds it took to open could be the difference between living and dying a particularly unpleasant death. We heard a bellowing roar close by. Murdoch picked up his gun. ‘I’ve got it.’ he said. ‘Can you see to Whissell?’
I mopped up the still gushing Whissell. ‘I’m OK,’ he said wonkily, determined to be the tough man, so I switched the coms to speaker, to listen to the chatter and find out what was happening.
It wasn’t good. I could hear Kalinda’s voice raised over the racket in her pod. From what I could gather they had taken heavy casualties and the Boss was down. Her team was all present. I heard her ordered to return.
I said, ‘Wait …’ But she had already gone. Faintly I heard Barclay say, ‘Maxwell, return to St Mary’s at once.’
I said, ‘Izzie …’ but she said, ‘At once, Maxwell. That’s an order.’
‘She must have Markham,’ said Murdoch. ‘Silly pillock.’ Not quite sure who he was referring to there.
I closed the door on the snarling and screaming. Sudden silence fell; no sound but Whissell’s bubbly breathing. I took one last look at the screen just in case Markham could be seen somewhere and we jumped.
I had the decon light on even before we got back. Helen waited with medical teams at the ready. I got my people sorted and away and then pushed my way towards Kal, shouting for Markham as I went. No one had seen him. Kal and Helen were bent over the Boss. His front was soaked with blood and his face looked very white. I couldn’t see if he was conscious.
Kal gripped my arm. ‘I’ll go with the Boss and see what’s happening upstairs. You get this lot sorted.’ I nodded and moved away, bumping into Perkins.
‘Come on, Polly; let’s get them all back behind the line.’
Shoving, persuading, cursing, we got everyone out of harm’s way and behind the safety line. I stood on a crate.
‘Markham? Has anyone seen Markham?’ People shook their heads and looked around.
Someone said, ‘He’ll have gone back to the wrong pod. You know what he’s like. Barclay will be bollocking him rigid at this very minute.’
I sent up a prayer to any deity who might be taking a temporary interest in St Mary’s and at that moment, Number Three turned up. There was an audible sigh of relief and a minor surge forward.
‘Stay back, all of you,’ I shouted and went forward. As I got there, the door opened and Barclay stepped out. She looked awful; so bad that I visually checked her for injuries. She leaned forward and put her hands on her knees, gasping for breath. I rubbed her back gently. She was IT and not on the active list. It was her first mission. She had the right to a wobbly moment. I stepped past her into the pod. I don’t know what I expected. Worst case scenario: dead and dying men, blood, pain, trauma, the works.
The pod was empty.
I couldn’t grasp it. I kept looking round and round. It just didn’t go in. I stepped back outside. ‘Where are they?’
‘They’re dead. All of them. All four of them. Oh, God.’ She threw up on her own boots. I ignored my sympathetically heaving insides and stepped back into the pod again. Still no Farrell, Guthrie, Markham or Peterson, no weapons, no trace, not even a blood stain. I felt my own head spin. I took two or three very deep breaths and closed my eyes for a moment. Then I stepped back out of the pod and ran my eyes over those left.
‘Murdoch, Ritter – to me.’
She straightened up, wiping her mouth. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Rescue mission. You two; get your weapons charged up and back here to me.’
‘No.’
‘What?’
‘They’re dead. I told you.’
I said very gently, ‘Be that as it may, Izzie, we still go back for the bodies. You get yourself upstairs and I’ll see to this.’
‘No, I told you, they’re dead. There’s no point.’
I was hanging on by my fingertips here. I wished to God she’d stop saying, ‘They’re dead.’
‘We don’t leave our people behind, Izzie, you know that. Don’t worry, no one’s expecting you to go back; you’ve more than done your bit tonight. I’ll go. Are you ready, guys?’
‘Stand down, you men. Back in line.’ They looked at me, which pissed her off no end, but she had the seniority, so I kept my face neutral. They slowly backed off, not looking happy at all.
I tried again. ‘Look, Izzie, we have to go back for them. We can’t …’
‘For fuck’s sake, Maxwell!’
Her voice rose to a scream. She never swore. I was startled into silence. ‘I know you never listen to anyone else, but do you ever stop to listen to yourself? How many more people do you want to kill tonight? This whole cluster-fuck is your fault. You’re a disaster. Everything you touch, everywhere you go, people die. You brought Dieter back in pieces. You didn’t bring Sussman back at all. The Boss is down. Half the unit is injured. Farrell, Guthrie, Peterson, Markham – dead. All thanks to you. There will be no rescue mission. No more lives will be risked over this. Now get your report written up and see me in the morning so I can decide what to do with you.’
‘Fine, yes, whatever. But for God’s sake, you’ve got to send someone. If not me, then –’
‘Jesus fucking Christ, Maxwell, what do I have to do to get through to you?’ She really was screaming now. I could hear people breathing in the silence.
I struggled for the calm I wasn’t feeling. ‘Izzie, I know you don’t understand how important this is, but …’ I could not have said anything worse but I was hurt, frightened and fighting rising panic.
‘No, Maxwell, what is important is the safety of every person in this unit, not your own over-inflated ego. You will – where are you going?’ I had stepped into the pod.
‘I told you. Rescue mission. I’ll go alone. No risk to anyone.’
‘Murdoch, Ritter, get her out of there.’
I’ve never known the unit so quiet. There was nothing, no sound, no background noises, just the total absence of any sound at all except for the blood thudding in my head. I tried again.
‘Izzie, I’ll go alone if that’s what’s concerning you. Just let me get a weapon.’
‘No!’ She was verging on the hysterical.
‘Then I’ll go without one.’
‘You will not go at all.’
She turned and began to walk away. I reached out, grabbed her arm and yanked her back, harder than I inten
ded. ‘Izzie …’ and realised what I had done. Everything went very still. She looked down at my hand. I let go and stepped back. Her eyes glittered and she looked half mad.
‘Maxwell, with immediate effect you are dismissed from this unit.’ She turned to Murdoch. ‘She is to be gone within one hour. She may take personal items only. She turned back to me. ‘No books, no printed material of any kind. No electronics. Your computer will be sterilised and returned to you after a security check. You will not now or ever discus anything pertaining to this unit with anyone. You will not contact any member of this unit. Ever. For you, St Mary’s no longer exists. Now get out. If you are still here in one hour, I will have you arrested. Murdoch, she is to speak to no one and no one is to speak to her. Is that clear?’ She raised her head and glared around the hangar.
No response. They were in shock. I was in shock. She nodded to Murdoch. ‘Get her out of this building. Everyone else remain here for one hour.’
I couldn’t have moved to save my life. Murdoch, who looked pretty distressed himself, took my arm, probably more gently than she would have liked and we began the long walk back to my room. Ritter fell in behind.
As we passed the kitchen, I saw Mrs Mack directing operations. She came out. ‘Where is everyone?’
I waited for Murdoch to speak but he said nothing. Neither did Ritter. I remembered I wasn’t the only person who’d lost someone tonight.
Mrs Mack said, ‘Max?’ and looked at each of us in turn.
Finally, in a tiny, dead voice I found from somewhere, I said, ‘They’re … confined to Hawking for an hour. They’ll be gagging for a drink … Can you get that lot on trolleys and take it down to them, please?’
She nodded and looked in puzzlement at Murdoch and Ritter who were looking at the floor. Neither of them looked happy at all and for a moment I wondered … but Guthrie trained his people well. They would follow their orders.
I stumbled up the stairs to my room. My home for the last five years. But not any longer. I stood blankly by the bed and it was Murdoch who reached my sports bag down off the wardrobe. He unzipped it, checked it was empty and put it on the bed.
‘Come on, Max. Time’s passing.’
As if anyone knew that better than me.
What I wanted to do was curl up in a corner, turn my face to the wall and just let go. What I had to do was pull myself together, pack what I needed, abandon the rest and find somewhere to go,
And not think. Don’t think. Don’t think about anything. I’d been trained to deal with catastrophe. First rule. Deal with the now. Deal with everything else later. It’s not as if any of it was important. Nothing was important any more. Nothing mattered.
I picked up the Chief’s photo and pushed it into an outside pocket. Murdoch pulled it back out again. ‘No, Max. Sorry.
‘It’s a personal possession.’
‘It’s a picture of a member of this unit.’
My voice wobbled. ‘Not any more it’s not.’
‘Can’t allow it. Sorry.’ And his voice wasn’t steady either.
I wouldn’t let go. He tried to pry my fingers away.
‘Max, please don’t make me hurt you.’
I remembered this was Big Dave Murdoch and no matter how many times he’d fallen over for me in Self Defence classes, at the end of the day, he could hurt me badly. He wouldn’t want to, but he would.
He wouldn’t let me take the Trojan Horse, either.
‘Dave,’ I pleaded and my voice cracked. He shook his head, not looking at me.
Nor my little book about Agincourt, the only thing left from my childhood; nor any of my other books; nor any of my artwork. Just underwear, a set of sweats, jeans, a couple of hoodies and some tees. I had to leave behind my beautiful, golden dress with the beautiful, golden memories. I wore my boots and riding mac. I took toiletries from the bathroom and a towel. And that was it. Five years of my life and I was leaving with even less than I started.
Mrs Partridge arrived with some paperwork to sign. While she was laying it out on the table I covered the Horse and photo with the towel, meaning to pick the whole lot up together and just casually drop in my bag. Murdoch and Ritter waited outside while I re-signed all the secure paperwork again. She handed me a month’s pay. When I looked across, the towel was neatly folded and the Horse and photo were gone. It seemed so unnecessarily cruel. Shock and disbelief were wearing off and the full awfulness finally dawning on me. Where would I go? What would I do? I opened my wallet and slowly handed over my ID card.
I looked outside. It was dark. It was raining. It was half past ten at night. I didn’t even know what day of the week it was. Who was Prime Minister? What was happening in the world? Too late now to remember the Boss’s advice about maintaining a grip on the here and now. Mrs Partridge collected her papers, regarded me expressionlessly for a moment and then swept out. There was no reason to stay. I was no longer a member of the unit.
Flanked by Murdoch and Ritter, I walked slowly down the stairs. No one spoke. The building was completely silent. No one was around. I thought Kal might manage a small appearance somehow, but there was no sign of her or anyone. No one came to say goodbye. I was officially a non-person. I never thought I would leave like this. I turned up my collar, huddled into my clothes and crept across the Hall like the ghost I already was.
A troubled-looking Mr Strong unbolted the front doors and I passed through them for the last time. No one spoke. Bending my head against the rain, I trudged down the drive. The gates opened silently in front of me and closed as silently behind me.
There I was, just gone eleven at night in the pouring rain with the gates of St Mary’s locked behind me and no idea what to do next or where to go. I turned and looked back one last time. Lights blazed everywhere. Sick Bay was lit up like a Christmas tree. Peterson would never stand underneath the windows again, waiting for his love to shower him with dog ends. A door opened somewhere and light streamed out briefly, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. Somewhere in there, Kal was grieving for Peterson. The Boss was fighting for his life. Murdoch would be mourning Guthrie …
And the man I loved had been dead for sixty-seven million years. I dropped my bag onto the wet road, leaned forward and put my hands on my knees. Huge, thick, rasping sobs tore at my throat. I fell to my knees, curled into a ball and wrapped my arms around my head. The rain drummed on my back. Wet soaked through my clothes.
I’d always said my life began the day I walked through the gates of St Mary’s and now I’d walked back out again and it was ended.
I have no memory of how I got to Rushford, or why, but having got there, I lacked the strength or the will to go any further. Every time I tried to get to grips with things, my mind just slithered away.
The bit in my head that had kept me safe through childhood found me a two room flat in an old building somewhere at the back of St Stephen’s Street. It was cold, damp and dirty and I could barely afford it. I applied for jobs but rarely received even an acknowledgment. With no employment history, no previous employers and no references, I had no chance.
It was an alien world. I’d been nearly five years at St Mary’s and everything had moved on and left me behind. It would have been a difficult readjustment if I’d left the unit normally, but this sudden displacement left me bewildered and lost. I had no place here. I was more at home in the Cretaceous period than in modern day Rushford. Grief and shock kicked down my defences and left me vulnerable and exposed in a world I couldn’t comprehend.
I had one small electric cooking ring and lived off baked beans and packet soup but even so, my meagre savings melted away like ice in the sun.
The cold didn’t help. There were days when I barely moved, let alone went out. I was filled with a dreadful lethargy that could not be shaken off. I cut my hair. I couldn’t keep it clean and drying it was impossible in my damp, mildewy rooms. Besides, I didn’t need it any more. It stuck out in spikes everywhere. It scared me – God knows what it did to everyone else.
One day passed so much like another that I was shocked to find three months had passed. Small signs of spring began to appear. Then I began to cough.
I ignored it to begin with. I’ve been injured a lot; some of it friendly fire, but I’m rarely ill and waited for it to go away. It didn’t. I drank copious amounts of water and sweated it all back out again half an hour later. My temperature was so high I wondered if I could hook myself up to the broken water heater. My chest grew tight and hurt. Then my back hurt. Breathing in was one pain and breathing out was another.
And then, one morning, I had a different pain.
Fortunately, I lived in St Stephen’s Street with the Free Clinic just around the corner. I got myself there somehow, expecting antibiotics and maybe painkillers if their budget was reasonably healthy. I sat in a cubicle and tried to explain. I saw people’s lips move, but fortunately, none of this was anything to do with me, so I curled into a ball, closed my eyes and let someone else sort it all out.
Chapter Twelve
Knowing you are pregnant for only 20 minutes is not the same as being pregnant for only 20 minutes. I wish it was.
I stared up at the ceiling above me and tried not to think about anything. In my head, Izzie Barclay said, ‘Everything you touch, everywhere you go, people die,’ over and over again, relentless and unstoppable. She was right. How many more lives would be lost because of me? How much more damage could I do? The last piece of Leon Farrell had gone. Now he really was dead. Now I really was alone.
They chucked me out after four days.
I stood outside in the sleety rain and tried to think. Even my bones were cold and that had nothing to do with the temperature. A passing van splashed me with cold water and I realised I’d been standing there for over half an hour.
My future looked bleak and consisted of a cold, damp, mould-filled flat and very little money. There was nothing left for me. I’d lost the man I loved and I’d lost his child too. Suddenly I was so tired, tired of everything, tired of trying to get by, tired of struggling with love and loss. I felt as if the strings of my life had been cut with a pair of scissors. This was the end for me. I’d had enough.
