by Jodi Taylor
‘Quick,’ he said. ‘Bed-check.’
I scrambled back into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Jones melted away into the shadows. I saw the torch flash and closed my eyes. There I was, a good little mental patient, fast asleep in her bed. I don’t know if it was my imagination, but I had the impression whoever was on the other side of the door was being more than normally thorough. I watched through my eyelashes as the beam jerked around the room. Finally, it disappeared and we were back in the dark.
‘What about you?’ I whispered, sitting up. ‘What about your bed-check?’
‘I’m on the other side. It’ll take them a minute or two to get to me. This is up to you, Cage. What do you want to do?’
I heard my father’s voice again. ‘We don’t know what you can do, pet. Or why you can do it, but maybe you’ll find out one day. One day perhaps, everything will become clear.’
I looked at the poor, burned creature in front of me. Suppose I was here to help people. People just like this. People with no voice, who couldn’t make themselves heard, who couldn’t speak for themselves, and needed someone like me. Once I would have quailed, but tonight – tonight I had help. I looked at Jones, a massive shadow in the darkness. ‘I’m game if you are.’
He nodded. ‘Where is … she?’
I switched on the torch. ‘Still here. She hasn’t moved.’
‘All right then.’
She lifted herself up on bony forearms so frail and so thin that I was almost expecting them to snap under the strain, and prepared to drag herself towards us, inch by painful inch.
‘No,’ I said, full of last minute doubts. ‘Wait a moment.’ I turned to Jones. ‘Are you sure about this?’
‘Just hang on to me, Cage.’
‘You’re not scared, are you?’
‘I’m bloody terrified, but I don’t want you disappearing off somewhere without me and then me having to explain to Sorensen where you’ve gone and what I was doing in your bedroom at the time.’
‘Somehow I think that might be the least of your problems.’
‘Can we just do this, please?’
I took a deep breath. ‘All right.’
Chapter Ten
I was, literally, stepping into the unknown. Whatever was lying in front of me had no colour for me to read. I had no idea whether she meant us harm or not. Suppose she was lying? I kept remembering Mr Johnson, walking slowly out of the room, dragging his death behind him. Were we about to do the same thing? Was I taking Michael Jones to his death?
‘What’s the problem?’ said Jones, as I stood stock-still. ‘Second thoughts?’
‘I was thinking it’s all right for me to do something stupid, but I’m worried about you.’
His voice came out of the dark. ‘Live or die, Cage – it makes very little difference to me.’ He wasn’t joking.
‘If you’re sure …’
He took my hand. ‘Yes, I’m sure. Let’s do it.’
I turned back to her. ‘We’re ready.’
She began to inch herself forwards.
‘No,’ I said, certain that every movement gave her pain. ‘You stay there. We’ll come to you.’
Jones stepped back. ‘What?’
‘It’s still not too late to stay behind.’
He said nothing, in that way that men do.
Still holding on tightly to Jones, I crouched and reached out to her. ‘Here.’
She hesitated for a moment and then, slowly she took my hand.
I felt nothing. Her clasp was feather-light. Nothing happened to me – but everything changed. Suddenly there was light – lots of it – shouting, explosions, sirens, screaming and the sound of engines. The sharp tang of smoke seared my nostrils and made me cough. Cold night air bit through my thin clothing. Before I had time to take in any more, Jones had his arm around my waist in a grip of iron. ‘What the f …?’
An enormous explosion nearby made us both flinch.
‘For God’s sake, Cage. Where are we?’
‘I don’t know.’ I said, panicking and looking wildly around. ‘How should I know?’
My first thought was that we could be anywhere, but as Jones flashed his torch about, I could see we hadn’t moved at all. We were still in my room. Or rather, my room before it was my room. There were differences. My bed was gone, to be replaced by two plain hospital beds separated by an old wooden cupboard. A tall narrow wardrobe, chipped and scratched, stood against one wall. One of the windows had been blown out and thick black curtains flapped in the draught. Blackout curtains. Avoiding the broken glass, I cautiously peered outside. The view was almost the same as I remembered, except that now the smooth lawns had been cut up into allotments. I could see neat rows of vegetables. Beans growing up canes. Small sheds were scattered around. A huge moon hung brightly in the sky, throwing a silver light over everything.
I could hear an ancient siren, rising and falling, but not masking the drone of engines overhead.
‘A bomber’s moon,’ said Jones, beside me, pulling me away from the window.
‘What?’
‘A bomber’s moon. That’s what they called it.’
‘That’s what who called it?’
‘Fighter pilots in the Second World War.’
That made sense. Blackout curtains. Droning aircraft engines. What sounded to me like an air raid siren. Second World War.
He was still talking. ‘They must be heading for the old aircraft factory in Rushford. They’re following the river. It’s reflecting the moonlight. Better than a signpost.’
‘But they’re bombing a hospital. Why would they do that?’
He shrugged. ‘Accident? Engine failure perhaps? He’d want to dump his bombs and get home as quickly as possible.’
‘But …’
There was high-pitched whistle, getting louder all the time, then silence for a very nasty moment or two. I opened my mouth to speak and Jones pushed me to the floor. ‘Roll under the bed.’
There was a sound best described as a ‘crump’ and the whole building shook. Plaster fell from the ceiling onto the wooden floor. More glass tinkled from the broken windows.
‘I need to get you out of here,’ he said. ‘There must be shelters somewhere. Come on.’
‘But what about …?’
‘You can’t do anything if you’re dead. Priorities, Cage.’
He seized my hand. Through the shattered window, I caught a glimpse of people fleeing the building. Old fashioned ambulances and fire engines were racing through the neat vegetable patches, scattering plants and tearing up the soil, their headlights cutting through the night. I wondered briefly about the blackout, but there seemed little point now.
Another explosion rocked the building. The shouting intensified.
‘We need to get out of here,’ said Jones, and just for once I agreed with him.
He eased open the door and we emerged into a smoke-filled corridor.
‘Hold on to my jacket,’ he said. ‘Do not let go. If you can’t breathe then drop to the floor and crawl. Where is she now?’
I looked down. Nothing. I stared around. No one.
‘Not here. She’s gone.’
‘Bloody brilliant. So she has brought us here to die after all. Bloody marvellous. We’re going to be talking about this later, Cage.’
Our corridor was deserted, all the doors standing open. If they were evacuating the building, then this upper part had already been cleared. Downstairs, however, was a different matter.
Gone was the gracious furniture, the expensive carpets, all the artwork. The hall was jam packed with people. It was chaos, but controlled chaos. Some patients were being wheeled out in their beds. Some were being helped by the nursing staff. Those who could walk on their own were helping those who couldn’t. There was shouting, lots of shouting, but no panic. The hall was clear of smoke and I couldn’t see any flames yet. It was an orderly evacuation. I remembered Jones saying there had been few casualties this night.
I turned back and said qui
etly, ‘Something’s wrong.’
‘In what way?’
‘I don’t know.’ I looked over the bannisters again. ‘I don’t think she’s there.’
‘No offence, Cage, but how do you know what she looks like?’
‘Well, you said she was a nursing sister. They wore blue, didn’t they, and there’s no blue nurses down there.’
He took my arm. ‘Cage, I’m having strong second thoughts about this.’
I didn’t blame him in the slightest. What had I got us into here? ‘Off you go then.’
‘What?’
‘Go home.’
‘How?’
‘Exactly.’
‘You’re a witch, aren’t you?’ At least, I think he said ‘witch’.
‘If she’s not here,’ I said, leaning over the bannisters and scanning the crowd again. ‘Where would she be?’
He pulled me back against the wall just as a man dressed as a fireman appeared on the other side of the stairs shouting, ‘All clear.’ The cry was echoed somewhere else.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘we know where she’s not. All these upper rooms have been cleared. There’s no problem with the ground floor, which leaves …’
‘The basement,’ I said with a sinking heart. I really didn’t want to go down there. I’d had bad feelings about that place right from my very first visit. Was this why? Was there something awful waiting for me down there?
He looked down at me. ‘Problem?’
‘No,’ I said stoutly. ‘Do you know the way?’
‘’Course I do.’ He nudged me back the way we’d come. ‘Do not let go of my jacket.’
‘Your concern for my safety is touching.’
‘Of course it is.’
‘And you might not be able to get back without me.’
‘And that. This way.’
There was an unobtrusive door at the end of the corridor. He ran his hands over it like a blind man.
‘It’s not hot. We should be OK.’
The door was unlocked. A flight of wooden stairs ran both up and down.
‘Down,’ he said, flashing his torch and setting off. I hung on to his jacket and followed him down. He was directing the beam downwards so we could see. I told him he’d make a wonderful usherette.
There was no smoke here, but occasionally, in the distance, we would feel the vibrations of something heavy falling. Once, in the far distance, I heard voices shouting a warning and then something shattered.
‘They’ve been bombed,’ he said. ‘I can’t hear any more explosions, so perhaps the enemy planes have cleared off, and now all we have to worry about is fire, smoke and the building collapsing on top of us.’
‘If the planes have gone then why aren’t they sounding the all-clear?’
‘Bombing raids come in waves. The second wave will be here soon. They’ll see the flames, assume this was a legitimate target and perhaps drop a few more.’
I shivered. ‘Should we be here?’
‘Absolutely not.’ He stopped dead and I bounced off him. ‘Actually, that’s a good question.’
‘Is it?’
‘Well, yes. Think about it. We know that most of the building is still standing in our time. The only bit that was destroyed was what is now the kitchen block at the back. That’s where she’ll be.’
‘Why would a nurse be in the kitchens?’
‘Well obviously they weren’t kitchens then. Perhaps they were wards.’
‘Or operating theatres,’ I said slowly, thinking about oxygen tanks and explosions and wishing I’d kept my mouth shut about all of this and could just go home. All I’d ever wanted to do was live quietly at home with Ted.
Jones was irritatingly calm about everything. I remembered his comment, ‘Live or die, Cage – it’s all the same to me.’
There was a similar door at the bottom of the stairs, opening into a long, empty corridor. At the end, an orange glow flickered.
‘Oh good,’ he said cheerfully. ‘We’ve found the fire. I think the kitchens would be more or less above us now so the chances are that our nursing friend is around here somewhere. Stay behind me, Cage.’
I was very happy to do so.
These were all the working bits of the hospital. Big fat pipes ran along the walls. Some were lagged, some were not. Some had large valves attached with ‘Do not turn off’ labels attached. Piles and piles of files and folders were packed along the walls. Some were in boxes but most were loose, their contents spilling across the corridor. Wooden chairs and trestle tables were stacked all along one section and beyond them, for some reason which escaped me, old mattresses were piled nearly to the ceiling. I know it was wartime and no one ever threw anything away, but this was ridiculous. All of it was horribly inflammable. I began to see how easily this place would burn. With us in it.
We inched our way along, Jones opening doors and flashing his torch around empty storerooms. I mean that they were packed with what I assumed were medical supplies, but empty of people. I think we were both hoping that somehow, she was in one of them, injured, but unburned and we could just scoop her up and gallop away. We were both wrong.
At the end of the corridor was an open area, with two doors leading off. One was marked Theatre One, the other, Theatre Two. The door to Theatre One was open and the room was ablaze. Flames roared around the door. If she was in there then she was already dead. Jones hesitated for a moment, then ripped off his jacket, wrapped it around his arm, jumped forward, kicked away the wedge holding the door open, and pulled it closed. The sound of roaring flames died away.
‘That’s bought us a little time,’ he said.
I looked down at the floor. Brown lino, polished to a high shine. There were layers of polish on that floor. Generations, even. The walls were the sickly green always considered so appropriate for hospitals. Everything here was liable to go up at any moment. We really should get out of here while we still could. We should retrace our steps and get out and at that moment, with an enormous crash, part of the ceiling came down at the other end of the passage, and a great tangled mass of burning timbers, plaster and furniture blocked our way back. I jumped a mile, grabbing hold of Jones. I could feel the heat from here. Now we had no choice but to go forwards.
The door to Theatre Two was closed but unlocked.
‘This door’s hot,’ he said. ‘Careful.’
I had no intention of being anything else.
He inched it open. This theatre was on fire as well and the heat was immense. I could feel sweat running down my back. Flames ran along the floor, licked the walls and ran across the ceiling. Part of the ceiling had already come down. I could see up into the floor above. The rest of the floor hung at a sharp angle and would surely come down at any moment.
She had been a theatre sister. That’s why she was here. She was dressed in a theatre gown, although her head was bare. Whether she had been prepping for surgery or clearing up afterwards, we would never know.
She lay at the far end of the room, flat on her back, her legs buried under a tangle of beams and wires and broken equipment. Her face was black with smoke and contorted with fear and pain. She was much, much younger than I had thought she would be, and her tears had tracked through her dirty face. Even from here I could see both her legs were broken and shattered. There was a lot of blood. The upper half of her body had been protected by the twisted remains of some sort of medical trolley, but this was also pinning her down. Beneath it, she was half sitting, half lying, and struggling to free herself. As we looked, a large piece of burning plaster dropped down on top of her and she screamed, frantically trying to brush it off and beat out the flames with her bare hands. At the same time, she was shouting, ‘Help me. Don’t let me burn. For God’s sake, please don’t let me burn.’
Another burning timber fell through the ceiling and crashed to the floor nearby, sending a shower of sparks all over her.
She screamed again. ‘Help me. Please help me. I’m burning.’
Jones pushed me b
ack against the wall. ‘Stay there.’
I ignored him. He would need help.
He rolled his jacket around his hands again.
Another shower of burning plaster fell. She screamed again. I could smell scorched clothing and burning meat. We didn’t have very long.
Jones was a strong man. He grunted and heaved at one end of a timber and the whole mass of stuff lifted slightly, sending more sparks flying. ‘Can you pull her out, Cage?’
I tried. I really tried. Jones would have made a much better job of it, but only I could do this. I wasn’t anywhere near strong enough to lift those timbers. But she was so heavy. Much heavier than I thought she would be, and her legs were broken. She couldn’t help me and I couldn’t move her. I was hurting her for nothing. I stifled a frightened sob and tried again.
‘Grab her collar and yank.’
I did as I was told and she moved fractionally, screaming with pain.
‘Again,’ yelled Jones.
I did it again and she moved. Jerking was the answer. It hurt her, I know, but she was burning. We had no time.
‘Just get her clear,’ he shouted. ‘I can do the rest.’
The smoke was making my head swim and the heat was intense. I didn’t dare think about oxygen tanks. The smell was awful. Burning wood. Burning clothes. Burning people. We struggled on, Jones straining to hold the tangled burning mess clear of her legs, and me, sweat pouring down my face and back, labouring to pull her away.
‘Keep going,’ he said, teeth clenched. ‘I think we’re nearly there.’ And at that moment, the rest of the ceiling came down.
Something pushed me clear. I sprawled on the hot floor.
He shouted, ‘Get the door.’ I struggled to my feet and raced to open the door. He was heaving burning debris clear like a madman and the next moment, he had scooped her up in his arms. I heard her scream with pain, but she was clear.
I remembered to close the door behind us and then we were retracing our steps back down the corridor. The blocked corridor.
‘Never mind trying to get back to the stairs,’ he yelled. ‘We can’t get back that way. Look for an outside door. There’s got to be one somewhere. For deliveries.’
There was, but we would never have found it in time. The corridor was filling with smoke and I couldn’t see where I was going. I could hear flames roaring everywhere. I was coughing and choking. We were never going to get out. We would die here. We’d come to save her and we would die with her. I had a sudden mad vision of three burned and twisted bodies dragging themselves down the long corridors of the Sorensen Clinic … until the end of time …
