Time Split

by Patricia Smith

  “It must’ve been terrifying,” Jason said, fishing for information.

  “Yes, it was.” Too hungry for good manners, she ate and spoke at the same time.

  “How did it start?”

  “You have been away a long time,” she said sceptically. “Where did you say? The moon?”

  Jason laughed nervously.

  She dropped her cynical gaze. “Surely you heard the war between Bolonia and Serboria escalated and the UN got involved?”

  Jason twitched violently, then held himself rigid. It was important he did not react. Things were far worse than he had even imagined. He now knew something devastating had happened in ‘time’. “Of course,” he lied, resisting the urge to ask exactly where in the world these countries lay.

  “A couple of days before all this happened.” She waved a hand casually at the window. “Bolonia’s capital was destroyed in a massive airstrike. They threatened to use nuclear weapons in retaliation. The UN went in as peacekeepers and the next I knew we were bombed.”

  Jason’s eyes grew at the mention of the words ‘nuclear’ and ‘retaliation’. “There’s been a nuclear war,” he gasped, as the severity of the situation suddenly became clear.

  “What do you think I’ve been talking about?” Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  In his worst nightmares Jason could not have guessed the extent of the damage his interference had caused. As he looked at Sarah with new eyes he could now see she had radiation poisoning. Without tests he couldn’t tell how severe, but it was most certainly there. He felt stupid and could not believe he had misread the signs that were everywhere. “Thank God I didn’t go to the city,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  He didn’t think she would hear. “The city,” he said, embarrassed. “I started to go to the city.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t want to go there.” She turned away and looked towards the fire. “I tried to go home soon after it happened.” A short soulless laugh escaped her throat. “I was the only idiot heading south, everyone else was going north.” Her words slowed, sounding very tired. “Never got near Gosforth. Nothing left but rubble, even four miles from Newcastle. I don’t know why we were attacked, as far as I know we weren’t involved...” Her voice trailed off and she suddenly became silent.

  “Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you go north with everyone else?”

  She looked at Jason, her eyes glassy with tears. “I was hoping Colin, my fiancé – he’s in the Navy – would get home. I work,” she stopped, “‘worked’ here and thought it was an obvious place for him to look for me.” Then her voice became hushed. “More recently, though, I’ve become frightened to move because of the troops.”

  “Troops! What troops?” Jason asked sharply.

  “I saw them in a nearby village,” she said. Her eyes widened as she relived the fear. “They’re gathering survivors. I heard one of the soldiers telling the men if they wanted to eat, they had to work.”

  “British troops?”

  “Yes. I hid in some bushes when I heard voices. I looked around and saw the soldiers. They were watching some civilians dig a mass grave in the nearby field. There was a pile of burnt bodies on the edge of the pit. When one of the civilians started coughing up blood, a soldier told him to continue working or he’d get no food. Later another told the same man he wasn’t working fast enough and shot him in the head. I stayed hidden until it was dark. Scared to move in case I was seen.”

  “I came from Ponteland. Do you know if the troops are there?” Jason asked, fearing for the safety of his machine.

  “Don’t know. I never saw any when I tried to go to Gosforth. I got no further than Wideopen, so I’m not sure beyond that.” Suddenly she yawned deeply. “Do you mind if I go to sleep now?”

  “No, of course not.”

  She unrolled a sleeping bag onto one of the couches. “That’s the first decent meal I’ve had in weeks. I’m now really, really tired.”

  Jason stood and crossed to the window. Complete blackness greeted him; the moon was shrouded behind a veil of thick clouds. “I need to find some information tomorrow.” He turned and looked at Sarah when she didn’t respond.

  The food and heat from the freshly stacked fire had taken their toll and she was already deeply asleep.

  Despite his own weariness, sleep was the last thing on Jason’s mind. His head was buzzing with thoughts he did not want to think.

  Where was his precious Jessica? What had become of her in this nightmare world? How many deaths was he responsible for? Millions? Billions? And counted amongst them, possibly his lovely wife.

  As grief suddenly overwhelmed him Jason lowered his head into his hands and began to silently weep.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jason only managed a few hours’ sleep before he was woken by the morning sun streaming through the frost-covered windows. Condensation, gathered on the inside of the glass, had frozen into miniature icy webs to make the view of the world beyond disjointed and hazy.

  He looked at Sarah. Despite the cold, she was still in a deep sleep.

  Most of his night had been spent tossing and turning, haunted by the faces of those who were lost. Until five in the morning his head had ached with thoughts of those he loved, knew and passed his daily life with, their probable location when the bomb detonated over the city, and how far away they would’ve had to have been to turn an instant death into a living, torturous, skinless hell, whose only relief was the end.

  Clinging to life, he always thought, was the most important thing, but even those who had escaped the searing heat he now felt had still died. They continued to exist but had no life. He wouldn’t want this for himself and most certainly not for Jessica. It sickened him to think it, but he hoped his wife was dead. That he could cope with, but not beaten, raped or worse.

  He unzipped his sleeping bag and swung his legs stiffly off the couch. He couldn’t afford to dwell on morbid things and needed to just concentrate on fixing the time split.

  The room was freezing. He found it hard to focus on anything except the cold. He looked towards the fire, reluctant to uncurl from the position he had rolled into to retain some heat on his abdomen. As precious seconds ticked by, Jason thought of the time wasted, prompting him to move. Bracing himself, he stood and, confronting the cold, crossed to the hearth.

  The embers had died long ago, but still, to his surprise, within a few minutes he’d managed to start it again and the cold began to subside. He gave the flames enough time to take a good hold, and for the worst of the chill to leave the room, before giving Sarah a shake.

  A lack of motivation was something he certainly didn’t want from her. Sarah’s help might be more than just desirable – she knew this area and this timeline in a way he never could – it may well be absolutely essential.

  “Come on, it’s light. We need to be going.”

  She squinted, sleepily, in the brightness of the room. “Go where?”

  “I need to find some information very quickly. I haven’t the time to mess about or get lost.” He started to re-pack his rucksack. “You’ll have to come with me.”

  She sat up, suddenly wide awake. “I’m not going anywhere,” she said firmly. “I’m still waiting for Colin.”

  Jason stopped packing and turned to face her. He paused a moment to envisage her reaction to him revealing his origins. He had no doubt under normal circumstances she might be open to, what would be considered, slightly ‘wild’ ideas, but he quickly concluded it wouldn’t be so at the moment. Half-starved, terrified and clinging to the only hope in her decimated life, she was teetering on the brink in any case. Still, if the only thing holding her back was Colin, then, cruel as it was, he would have to take that one glimmer away in the hope it would prompt her to help him fix this thing quickly. His face hardened as he forced himself on with the pain he was about to inflict.

  “I don’t know if there are any survivors outside of England. For all I know, Colin may be dead,” he
said bluntly.

  Her face flushed and he thought she was about to start crying again. She paused, then took a deep breath. “Maybe there were countries that weren’t attacked. There’s a good chance he’s still alive.”

  “How long have you been waiting?” Jason was careful to control his voice, as anger and desperation jostled for prime place. “How much longer will you wait? Another month, maybe two?” He continued packing as he laid out the facts before her. “Rescue workers and troops may be staying out the country until the radiation levels drop. That could take months, maybe even longer. How long will the food last in this area? And how long do you think it’ll take the local monsters to realise there’s someone living here?” He finished packing, securing the neck of the rucksack tightly, then turned to face her.

  She was looking down, avoiding his gaze.

  “What if the soldiers want more workers. Or worse, they could have other plans for the women?” He stood silent, allowing the horror of a possible future to sink in. When she refused to respond he tossed the gun onto the couch. “Here’s your gun back.”

  She stared blankly into space. “It’s empty,” she said, her voice hushed.

  Jason blinked, confused. “What?”

  “It’s empty. There are no bullets in it.”

  “What’s the point of an empty gun?”

  She looked up, her eyes hollow. “It was just to frighten you. I couldn’t kill anyone.”

  “Please, Sarah,” Jason begged. “You must come with me. I can’t tell you how important it is.”

  She shook her head. Standing, she walked to the window, her back to the room.

  When she remained unyielding, Jason heaved the rucksack onto his back and headed for the door.

  As he turned the handle, she called.

  He stopped; hopeful she’d had a change of mind.

  “What are you looking for? What information?”

  He turned to face her. “I need to find the nearest large library.”

  “You’ll have to go to Alnwick. If you follow the motorway, you’ll avoid Pegswood. That’s where I saw the troops. You should get to Alnwick by midday.”

  “Please come with me, Sarah,” Jason appealed again. “You know the area better than me. I can’t afford to waste time. Especially when I’m only walking.”

  “What’s your hurry?” she snapped. “You haven’t got a job to get back to and, if you’re like me, no family either.” The hard shell crumbled and she began to cry.

  Jason turned, opened the door, said, “Thanks for the directions anyway,” then left the room.

  The day was bright and very cold outside. As he stepped onto the pavement, his breath condensing into a fine mist in the freezing air, he pulled his coat tight around himself, trapping pockets of warmth with the waist buckle on the rucksack. A frosty residue clung to everything like a dusting of icing sugar, causing the road and trees to glisten in the morning sun as he made his way to the motorway.

  A brisk pace and grim determination, to get out of this world as quickly as possible, soon found him on the northward carriage of the A1.

  By mid-morning Jason had covered about half of the distance to Alnwick. He hadn’t had breakfast and by now was very hungry. Still, he was reluctant to stop. The journey was an undesirable necessity which would no doubt lead to another day spent in the altered time zone. He didn’t want to risk another after that, because of delays.

  The undulation of the road grew the closer to the Cheviots Jason travelled. As he topped another apex and the tarmac stretched out like a giant ski jump before him, he saw the foothills, covering the horizon like sleeping giants, in the distance. Peaked with snow and outlined against a crisp blue sky, they would usually fill him with awe, but today he was left with nothing more than a deep feeling of dread.

  As he returned his eyes to the near distance, he noticed two figures approaching as they left a dip in the road ahead. They were still too far away for him to tell if they were male or female. When one of them pointed in his direction, though, he was left with no doubt that his own presence had been acknowledged.

  The pair, seemingly unperturbed by Jason’s appearance, continued to meander in his direction.

  Jason, on the other hand, remembering Sarah’s stories, was feeling edgy at the prospect of meeting these further survivors. It was too late to make a hasty retreat from the road so, no matter what, a confrontation was coming, be it a friendly greeting or otherwise, whether he liked it or not.

  By the time the pair were no more than a 100 yards away, Jason could see they were actually two young men: one about his height and the other a good deal shorter. They continued to draw nearer until they were about 20 feet away, when they suddenly stopped.

  Unnerved, Jason came to a halt also. At this distance he could see they showed signs of radiation exposure. Their skin was red, their mouths cracked at the corners and they had ulcerous sores on their hands and face.

  Jason smiled. “Hello! Have you travelled far?”

  Neither answered, instead, they put their heads together and discussed something quietly. When they returned their attention to the scientist, the taller of the two spoke.

  “Where you headed?”

  “Alnwick.”

  “Ha! Wish you luck.”

  In the meantime his shorter colleague, who had moved a little closer, was looking Jason up and down. “You been in a shelter or something?” he asked.

  “What?”

  He repeated very slowly, as though he thought Jason was stupid. “A shelter. Have you been in a shelter since we were bombed?”

  “No!” Jason replied sharply, annoyed by the tone.

  “You’re the healthiest walking dead I’ve seen this month.”

  “What’s in your backpack?” the other asked. He joined his comrade, just a short distance away.

  “Supplies.”

  “Tinned food? Uncontaminated water?”

  “Maybe.” Jason decided now would be a good time to end the discussion. The desire to get away from the pair was becoming overwhelming.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the smaller of the two asked in a threatening manner when the scientist moved to pass by.

  “I told you, Alnwick,” Jason challenged.

  “I don’t think so.” The man raised his hand and reached over his shoulder to grab a double-barrelled sawn-off shotgun, discreetly slung in a holster across his back. He pulled the gun from its housing, holding it casually against his hip. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Jason released the waist buckle, and was about to lower the rucksack to the ground when suddenly gunfire was heard coming from the woods nearby.

  A look of panic swept across the faces of the two men as they glanced in the direction of the sound. Then suddenly they began to run, their armed mugging completely forgotten. Clearing a fence in a single bound they pounded across a field, towards the cover of trees, away from the shots.

  Taking their cue, Jason threw himself into a ditch at the side of the road, and had just concealed himself in the long grass when a man burst from the woods opposite.

  Pausing, he looked around frantically before starting to run south, up the carriageway. He had barely travelled 20 yards when out of the trees ran two soldiers – one immediately after the other.

  The man at the rear cradled a bleeding cut on his face. “Shoot the bastard!” he screamed.

  The first to reach the road took aim, then fired.

  The bullet connected with the escapee mid-flight. He stumbled, hit the ground at speed, then scraped the tarmac before coming to a stop a short distance away. Despite the wound, he scrambled to his feet to continue running, but the bullet had passed through his body via the left kidney. Blood, which had soaked through his jeans and top, was pouring down his leg to leave a trail on the road every time he moved. Bleeding profusely and in obvious pain, he could barely lurch forward, never mind run.

  The soldier again lifted his rifle, took aim and this time caught the man squa
rely in the back of the head.

  A cherry spray, mottled with crimson where body matter was mixed in with blood, decorated the snow up ahead.

  As the man’s body crumpled to the ground like a sack of old rags Jason resisted the urge to retch. He turned his head away from the grisly scene and buried his face in the grass.

  Moments later the sound of more footsteps joined the others on the road.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Jason lifted his head enough to peer over the soil to watch the heated scene.

  A soldier with ginger hair was waving his arms and pacing in an agitated manner. “We’ve got enough men. You can’t keep killing people.” He charged up to the young man with the gun, his fists clenched as though ready for a fight, then stopped just short of a physical clash. “We’re supposed to be helping these people,” he screamed, outraged, “not killing them because they don’t do what you want.”

  The youth with the gun never flickered. “Who’ll stop me?” he challenged, unperturbed by his peer’s aggression. “You?” Then raising his rifle again he pointed the barrel at his colleague’s head.

  “Pack it in, Turner!” another soldier yelled, as he joined the three on the road.

  Turner lowered his rifle before bursting into laughter, bordering on hysteria. “You should have seen your face, Porter. You were crapping yourself.” Then, as the laughter died, he added a warning for only Porter’s ears. “If Sergeant Andrews hadn’t arrived, you wouldn’t have got away with ordering me around.” He shoved the visibly shaken squaddie, deliberately clashing shoulders as he passed by. “Next time you might not be so lucky.”

  “Back to work!” the sergeant snapped at the trio. Then, beckoning in the direction of the woods, he yelled, “Come on.”

  Soon after, five men all dressed in civilian clothing joined the soldiers on the road.

  “Throw that body in the ditch,” Andrews said, indicating to two of the men.

  The pair ran up to the corpse and lifted it off the ground. Then, struggling in Jason’s direction, they gave a half-hearted swing and threw the dead man into the long grass at the side of the road.