by Jodi Taylor
‘He’s not with the others.’
Who had said that?
Matthew had said that. He had said, ‘He’s not with the others.’
I didn’t stop to question how he could know such a thing. I was prepared to seize any straw. He’d been right. Leon wasn’t with the others. I didn’t know or care how Matthew could possibly know or that he hadn’t also told me where Leon actually was. I had come to find Leon and that’s what I was going to do. To find Leon and bring him home.
I turned and stared in the direction diametrically opposed to where we’d found the others. The remains of a high wall – none too safe by the looks of it – would be a good starting point. From there I could work my way back towards the med teams, still frantically working.
I scrambled over rubble, feeling it shift under my feet, burning my hands a couple of times and wishing I’d thought to wear gloves. Close up, the wall looked even more precarious than it had from fifty feet away. If Leon was anywhere near it then we would both be in trouble.
Several black figures were making their way towards me.
‘What are you doing over here?’ asked Ellis.
I took a deep breath and told the truth. ‘Matthew said he wouldn’t be with the others.’
He looked at me for very long moment and then said, ‘Did he indeed? Well, I think that’s worth investigating, don’t you? See what you can find, guys.’ They consulted their tag readers, muttered to each other, and moved away.
We stood in silence and then he looked at his watch and said, ‘Max…’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘You must do what you need to do,’ and tried not to think about how I would feel as their pod blinked away and I was alone in all this destruction.
And then a voice spoke very quietly.
‘We’ve found him.’
I peered through the drifting smoke. About twenty yards away, an officer had raised his arm. Another crouched over something. The remaining medical team was scrambling towards them, but carefully. The remains of the high wall hung over them. Given the amount of stonework and timber, I wondered if this had been a church. It was certainly substantial enough to have brought a runaway pod to a halt, but whatever it was, having performed this useful function, had then collapsed, leaving just this one precarious-looking section still standing.
Ellis took my hand. ‘Come on, Max. Let’s go and see.’
And – now that the moment had come – I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. If I remained here then there was a chance Leon could still be alive, but if I went and looked then I would know for certain. I remembered Leon’s voice from long ago, telling me about Schrödinger’s Cat. Two possibilities. The cat is alive. The cat is dead. And only when you open the box to look do the realities collide and you know, one way or the other, whether the cat is alive or the cat is dead. But so long as I stood over here, there would always be the hope that Leon could be alive.
‘Max?’
‘I’m sorry. I was thinking about Schrödinger’s Cat.’
Staggeringly, he understood. ‘Well, let’s go and see, shall we?’
The only thing that stopped me falling apart completely was that Leon’s visor was down and I couldn’t see his face. I told myself it was some other man who lay at my feet.
We couldn’t get to him. He was buried under a criss-cross of burning timbers. I remember thinking it looked like that child’s game where you have to pick up a coloured stick without disturbing any of the others – I couldn’t remember what it was called.
We heaved and strained at the beams but it wasn’t easy. Every time we pulled at one, something moved somewhere else. It was a giant cat’s cradle of heavy wood.
In the end, Ellis stood back, directing operations, instructing us to lift this end, pull that bit free, hold that one up, slide this one out. It all took time. Too much time. Every now and then he tilted his head and I knew he was listening on his private link. I could guess what they were telling him.
I left them to get on with it, because I was less worried about the timbers under which Leon was pinned and more about the very, very unstable wall towering above us all. Captain Ellis followed my gaze. ‘Keep an eye on that for me, will you, Max. I’m concentrating on getting Chief Farrell free.’
I nodded gratefully, not for one moment taking my gaze from the wall, which gave me an excellent excuse for not seeing what they were doing to Leon. Because I couldn’t even think about it. That he would come so far, survive so much, only to die now, within sight of rescue. And there was nothing I could do. I stared at the wall as if, by sheer strength of will, I could stop it toppling on us all.
Their talk was all of the job in hand. Quiet instructions were issued and carried out without fuss. The medical team had set up drips and were still monitoring his readings – so he was still alive. I stared at the crumbling brickwork. Somewhere out there, a city was dying, but I have no memory of the shouts, the screams, the flames. I watched the wall. There’s an old smuggling saying:
Watch the wall my darling, as the gentlemen go by.
And I did. I watched that wall to within an inch of its life.
And then, suddenly, everything happened at once. The last few timbers were lifted and tossed aside. Whether, in some way, the timbers had been supporting the wall, or whether it was just its time to fall, I don’t know. The wall moved. It leaned. A stream of dust fell down upon us. Small stones rattled down; the precursors of the bigger stuff to come.
I opened my mouth to shout a warning but it was too late.
I had the briefest glimpse of Leon, visor up, white faced, among a throng of Time Police, and then the wall sagged.
Two men seized Leon by the straps on his armour and dragged him out of the way, bumping him over the rough ground. The medical team threw themselves sideways. Captain Ellis lost his balance and fell. Without even thinking – I have to stop doing that – I threw myself over his upper body.
I don’t know what hit me. I only know that it was heavy. Wood or stone – something struck me a massive blow between my shoulder blades, driving all the breath from my body.
I lay, face down over Matthew Ellis, completely unable to move. Frightened thoughts scampered through my brain. Was I paralysed? Had I sustained some dreadful injury to my spine?
A muffled voice said, ‘You just can’t stop saving my life, can you?
Someone shouted. The weight was lifted. Someone gently rolled me over. I remember I cried out in pain.
There was a babble of voices.
‘We need to get out of here now. The whole lot could come down at any moment.’
‘Stretcher. Bring up another stretcher.’
‘We only have four, sir.’
‘Well, we can’t leave her here and she can’t walk so think of something.’
At that moment, I couldn’t have cared less if they’d gone off and left me. I was in so much pain I could hardly think straight. I tried to tell myself this was a good thing. The pain showed that things were still working. Just a little less pain would have been good though. Everything hurt. My ribs, my back, my front, my inside, my outside. Everything. A thick, hot, never-ending pain radiated outwards, sitting heavily over my heart like a lump of red-hot lead. I had no idea about broken bones but I certainly had extensive soft-tissue trauma. My back felt as if it was on fire and I had pins and needles in my hands and feet. I wondered whether, if I hadn’t been wearing armour, I would be dead.
Someone said, ‘Can she stand?’
‘Not a chance.’
They were fitting me with a neck brace and, from what I could see at ground level, they were improvising a stretcher from a broken door. Everyone worked quickly and efficiently. I felt comforted.
We set off for the pod. I assumed the others had gone on ahead with Leon and I still didn’t know if he was alive or dead. Then there was Guthrie, with his terrible wounds, and Markham, covered in blood. And I hadn’t even seen Van Owen.
I lay on my side and tried to grip the edge of the door
, feeling it tip and tilt as they scrambled over the uneven surfaces, up and down steps, around corners. I lay still, lost in my own little pile of pain
I was pleased to see everyone else had proper stretchers – canvas between light tubular poles. The poor sods with my heavy wooden door had definitely drawn the short straw. I had a horrible feeling the officer on the front right-hand corner was the one whose thumb I’d dislocated last year. It was probably best not to mention that now.
The journey back seemed endless although they told me afterwards that our return trip was considerably quicker than our outgoing trip. Everyone just put their heads down and ran. The security teams ranged around us, shouting and waving their guns at anyone stupid enough to get close to us. Not many did. There was enough going on in Constantinople that day without taking on nausea-inducing black-clad strangers as well.
They did their best, but speed does not mean comfort. I think the others were unconscious, but I was wide awake for every bone-jolting moment of it. Ellis ran alongside, saying, ‘Sorry, Max. Just hang on,’ every now and then. They were all doing their best, so I stifled my groans, did as I was told, and hung on.
And then, just as I thought we’d made it – just when we were within sight of the pod, I heard a shout and my team ground to a halt.
One or two men appeared from a wrecked building. I could hear more men shouting and laughing. Someone inside was screaming. My group was at the rear of our column, moving slowly and awkwardly. The door was heavy and so was I. No one had an arm free. Even more men poured out of the door, swords in hand.
I was lying on my left side. I had a tiny sonic weapon clapped to the sticky patch on my leg, but the officer on the right-hand corner had a much bigger effort in a holster on his hip. I reached over, doing myself an enormous amount of hurt, pulled it free, aimed, and fired past him.
I heard nothing but something certainly happened.
The leaders stopped and staggered. One put his hands on his knees and began to vomit. Red wine by the looks of it. The others appeared to lose their balance and sat down suddenly. One turned and ran full tilt into the door jamb, hitting it so hard that he knocked himself unconscious and brought a hail of dust and small stones down on top of him.
‘Nice,’ said the Time Police officer appreciatively. ‘Tell me again about treating hostile contemporaries like fragile flowers.’
It hurt to speak, but in a low drone between short, shallow breaths, I told him to go forth and multiply.
We ditched my door outside the pod and thundered up the ramp which hissed shut behind us, shutting out the noise of a dying city. They lowered me gently and covered me with a blanket. I stretched out on the cold floor and tried to see what was going on.
There were only people’s boots. I could hear the medical teams, urgent but calm. Requests for drugs, instruments, readings. Bloody swabs fell to the floor like a colourful blizzard. The occasional instrument tinkled.
Ellis was demanding to know when we could jump.
‘In a moment,’ said a deep voice. ‘Nurse…’
‘Got it,’ said someone quietly.
The bustle continued.
I plucked at Ellis’s leg. ‘What’s … happening? Why … aren’t we … jumping?’
He crouched at my side. ‘We’re stabilising them. In case of a rough landing. Don’t worry, this is a portable hospital, they’re being well taken care of. This is standard procedure. And they’re all still alive. They have to be. We’re not allowed to die in here. It leads to additional paperwork and it makes the med team grumpy. Well, grumpier. They were grumpy when they got here.’
‘Leon?’
‘They’re all still alive. We’re working hard to keep them that way.’
My entire body was just one mass of pain, radiating out from my heart.
‘Am I … having … a heart attack?’
‘No, it just seems that way.’
I tried to look around him. To see what was going on.
‘Keep still, Max,’ he said sharply, pulling the blanket up to my chin. ‘Don’t try to move at all. We don’t yet know the extent of your injuries.’
‘Tell me … about Ian.’
‘We were able to retrieve his leg. It’s been preserved and we’re taking it back, but I’m making no promises. And there’s some damage to his eyes as well.’
I heard someone say, ‘Team Three – ready.’
‘Team Two – ready.’
‘Team Four – ready.’
Silence.
‘Team One?’
‘Just a minute.’ Another long pause. Team One was Leon. ‘OK. Team One – ready.’
‘Commence jump procedures.’
The world flickered.
Still disappointing.
We didn’t disembark immediately. From floor level I watched other people’s boots moving backwards and forwards. I lay very still, trying to hear what was going on. The ramp was down and medical people moved in and out, wheeling equipment around.
Worryingly, they moved Leon first. I watched his wheels disappear from my narrow view. Then Markham. Then Van Owen.
Guthrie had a huge number of medical personnel around him, but eventually, he too was wheeled away.
That left me, still lying on the floor. I opened my eyes to find I was surrounded by a number of Time Police boots. You would have thought that would have brought me to my feet but, somehow, I just couldn’t bring myself to care. I could hear disjointed phrases. ‘Blow to her spine … rib contusions … intercostals … damage … fractures.’ None of that sounded too serious. A little less pain would be good, though. A figure crouched alongside, syringe in hand, and smiled in what she probably thought was a reassuring manner.
It seemed I was about to get my wish.
I lay in a Time Police bed, wearing a Time Police hospital gown, staring up at a Time Police ceiling. I was experiencing difficulty in breathing. And standing. And sitting. And lying. And living. My ribs ached. It hurt to move. And it hurt not to move. Massive painkillers made me woozy.
I should have been panicking. What was happening with Leon and the others? How much damage had I sustained? Would I ever walk again? But the medication took care of all that. Which was probably their plan.
A deep-voiced doctor swam into view again.
I croaked, ‘Leon?’
‘No, I’m a doctor. Just lie still, please.’
There’s only one thing worse than a doctor without a sense of humour and that’s one with.
‘Is he dead?’
‘No. And before you ask, you’re not going to die, either. You have a bruise the size of a kitchen table all over your back and your bottom looks as if you’ve sat in a plate of blackberries.’
I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with the Time Police peering at my bottom.
‘Will I walk again?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Pretty sure, yes.’ He still hadn’t looked at me. ‘We don’t have any particular treatment for you. Not that we’re just going to let you lie here and do nothing, of course. We’ll let you drift off into merciful, pain-free oblivion and then we’ll wake you up and make you take some deep breaths. Which will hurt. Then we’ll make you cough. Which will be excruciating. We need to keep your lungs working and prevent infection. We’ll keep at it until you either die or get better. We’re the Time Police, you know – this isn’t some girlie St Mary’s where you wake up between clean sheets and look forward to a happy ending.’
He lifted his eyes from his medical gizmo to look at me, which was probably a cardinal sin in the Time Police doctor/patient etiquette rules. Never look at the patient. It only encourages them to think they matter.
‘Where is Leon?’
‘Safe.’
‘But where?’
‘Here.’
For God’s sake … I was instantly suspicious. What was he hiding from me?
‘Tell me the truth. Will he die?’
He said very quietly, ‘I
’m honestly not sure yet. But he’s still with us so try not to worry too much.’
‘Guthrie?’
He hesitated. ‘We have re-attached the lower part of his leg. Not sure yet how that’s going to turn out, but I’m reasonably optimistic. He has lost the sight of one eye.’
I closed my eyes. Ian, my friend…
‘And Van Owen?’
‘Pretty smashed up.’
‘That’s a medical term, is it?’
‘We tend to dumb things down for St Mary’s, but she’s stable. The other one, however…’
I panicked. ‘You mean Markham?’ I saw him again. Lying in the rubble. Broken, bloody … ‘What does “however” mean?’
‘Awake and talking.’
‘What?’
I forgot my ribs and tried to sit up and even the medication couldn’t cope with that.
‘For heaven’s sake,’ he said. ‘I know you’re from St Mary’s but do the words just lie still not mean anything to you?’
‘He’s awake?’
‘He is.’
‘He’s talking?’
‘Well, his mouth is opening and closing but he’s not actually making any sense at the moment.’
‘No, that’s quite normal.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. We’re not sure he’s much aware of what’s going on around him, which means he probably won’t know about the enormous sexual harassment suit coming his way from at least three of my nurses. One of whom is male.’
‘He can’t help himself,’ I said. ‘I recommend you put something in his tea to calm him down.’
‘We can do better than that. We’ve sent for a…’ He consulted his gizmo again. ‘… Nurse Hunter, who is, I believe, his significant other.’
Peterson would want me to ask. ‘Do you mean his wife?’
He started bashing his gizmo again. ‘Is he married?’
‘Don’t you know?’
‘Well, if you don’t know then how should I?’
Good point, I suppose.
‘Dr Bairstow will also be here sometime this afternoon, together with Dr Stone who will form his own assessment of the situation with a view to shipping you all back to St Mary’s and out of my medical centre as soon as possible.’
