Time Split

by Patricia Smith

  One of the pursuers, the fitter of the two, moved away from his colleague, rapidly gaining on the thief.

  A glance behind alerted the young man to his predicament. Realising he needed more speed, he flung the box aside to free his body for movement – but it was too late.

  The man, having closed the gap enough for his swing to be effective, caught the youth a vicious blow to the back of the head.

  Thrown off balance, the thief fell forward and hit the ground spread-eagled, where his momentum kept him going for a few seconds more.

  Instantly his pursuer was upon him. Any attempt at defence was futile. Blood-chilling cracks and screams echoed around the streets as arms and shins were shattered in the assault. By the time the second pursuer arrived, to dish out his own retribution on the thief, a blow to the head had produced silence.

  Only when their anger was spent did the men finally leave the bloodied corpse. They retrieved the stolen box, then returned to the injured woman who was now sitting up recovering at the kerbside.

  Jason watched as the group slowly moved away. He waited until they were well out of sight before venturing from the alley.

  From the road he could see the young man’s body more clearly, a halo of blood staining the stone around his head. He was dressed warmly, in good hard-wearing clothes. Despite this, it was instantly apparent life had been tough. His grubby garments didn’t seem to have been washed for some time and the soles of his shoes were badly worn. It was unlikely he was a resident in the area and must have walked some distance in search of a settlement. Safe food and water were obviously becoming scarce, the incidents on the motorway proved that, and for some individuals survival was growing less likely by the day.

  Jason turned away from the body and crossed to the post. The plaques provided local information and he was delighted to discover one contained directions to the library. The tourist trail, unfortunately, passed directly through the town and by the time he arrived at his destination he was relieved to have successfully avoided any more encounters with the populace.

  A high wall surrounded the building and tall iron gates blocked the entrance. As he drew near he could see the catch wasn’t quite in place and the gentle ting of metal on metal could be heard as he approached the main drive. The frozen iron was painful to touch. When he pushed against the lock and opened a gap the hinges gave a low groan. He passed through into the library grounds. As he turned to make his way up the drive Jason caught sight of the car park, previously concealed by the stone wall.

  Quickly, he dived behind some bushes before peering out at a number of army vehicles parked in nearby bays.

  A terror rose as he scanned the grounds. His talk with Sarah and his encounter on the road left him extremely wary of the army – the very idea of which was unthinkable two days ago. His only other option, at this stage, would be to travel to Berwick, more than thirty miles further north. It would take him another day to reach, leading to a two-day journey back. Once there, he might find that library occupied by the army. Jason suppressed his anxieties. Ignoring his fears and pressing on were quickly becoming the norm.

  The cars seemed to be unattended; he could see no guards. The only visible danger was a small window on the upper floor. The blinds were closed, so he decided it was minimum.

  He paused to gather his courage before making a dash for the side of the building. Flattened against the stone, he stopped to check for entrances. It was then he realised there were voices coming from a window up ahead. Moving closer, he stood by the frame to eavesdrop on the conversation in the room.

  There were three men having a heated exchange. Double-glazing muffled the voices so Jason only picked up the occasional word. He leaned closer to the window to try to hear more. It seemed one of them was being interrogated.

  Suddenly someone touched his back.

  Choking a scream, he turned sharply and was surprised to find Sarah standing behind him. She signalled for him to be quiet, then indicated he should follow.

  Shaking with adrenaline, Jason stooped low, then quickly made his way past the window, after Sarah.

  She pointed to a fire exit which stood slightly open. “The main library’s upstairs,” she whispered.

  He quietly opened the door, checked no one was around, then entered the building, with Sarah close behind.

  The stairs were nearby, in a corridor sectioned off from the rest of the building by heavy swing doors.

  They moved to the upper level.

  Jason looked back. “In here?” He pointed to a set of double doors directly ahead at the top of the stairs.

  Sarah nodded.

  There were two further doors down a short passage on their right. As he looked around he realised they led to the toilets.

  “Wait.”

  Sarah stopped, looked puzzled.

  He showed her his hand.

  She winced. After all she’d witnessed over the past six weeks, she was surprised at how sensitive she still was.

  “You go inside. I won’t be a minute.”

  He heard the doors to the library gently swing shut as he made his way down the passage. He paused before entering the toilets.

  They were male voices he’d heard downstairs. He looked at the entrance to the men’s, reluctant to go inside. If someone were to enter, it would be hard for him to hide. Turning right he entered the ladies instead.

  It was slightly gloomy inside, lit only by a small window opposite the door. Still, they were clean and their upkeep suspiciously recent. The soap was moist, not wet as though it had been used in the last hour, but obviously used today. He couldn’t afford to linger.

  The water ran cool from the taps, he wasn’t surprised; it was uncomfortably cold, so it reminded him to be quick. He washed his face and hands, and carefully cleaned the wound before drying himself on some paper towels found on the windowsill.

  As he patted his skin dry he checked his face in the mirror. He wasn’t sure how long radiation poisoning took to show itself. He ran his fingers through his hair, pulling slightly at the roots to see if any was loose. Sarah’s hair was intact, but she hadn’t been as near to the city as he had. As close as Wideopen she’d said.

  He thought about Jessica and her long blonde hair. Hours were spent every week caring for it – and it showed. When the sun caught her curls they glowed like a river of rippling gold. She looked like an angel. He never thought he could kill, but the terrible things he’d seen today made him realise he could. He could now say, without a shadow of doubt, he would kill to protect his wife.

  He took a deep breath; the quicker this was sorted the quicker he could go home. He threw the towel into the bin and left the toilets.

  Sarah was standing with her back to the door as he stepped into the library. She spun around sharply, her eyes large, her body tight.

  Jason waved, “It’s okay, it’s me.”

  She came to stand beside him. “It’s so calm and normal here, I’d stupidly relaxed.”

  He went to say there was nothing stupid about relaxing, then remembered she was right. There was no room for carelessness in this world.

  She moved to the entrance for a clear view of the passage. “I’ll keep watch.”

  Jason walked through the shelving until he found the section which contained information on history. “What made you decide to follow me?” he asked, as he scanned the spines.

  “I was so lonely after you left. You’re right, Colin’s not coming back.”

  It pained Jason to hear those words. To know that all hope was gone was a terrible thing. He’d been desperate for help, but still, it was distressing to think he’d been a part of something that brought about such desolation.

  “I’m sure if he could, he would, but he’s halfway across a shattered world. You said some upsetting things, but I have to say, you’re the first decent human being I’ve encountered since we were bombed.”

  Jason stopped searching the shelves and turned to look at Sarah. Her unwashed, half-starved a
ppearance did nothing to hide her obvious beauty, but what shone through the most was an amazing strength. When he left her this morning she was a terrified, cowering animal. Yet here she was, putting all her fears and hopes aside, to travel across country to help him with his task.

  “And I have to admit,” she continued sheepishly, “I felt really bad for refusing to come with you.” She looked into the room and caught Jason staring. Flushing she returned her attention to the stairs. “Besides, I’m sick of being afraid. Frightened to move in case I’m seen, frightened to breathe in case I’m heard. So you’d better make this worth my while and break out some more of that stew later.”

  “I’ll make it more than worth your while, Sarah. I might even get you your life back.” He returned to his task.

  As silence descended on the room, Sarah shrank away from the meshed glass.

  An agonising scream had drifted up the stairs, when the discussion on the lower floor moved to a new level.

  Jason collected a number of books covering the historical dates he required, then moved to a small table at the side of the room.

  “You’d better be quick,” she warned.

  He never looked up. “I’ll be as fast as I can.”

  He spread the books out on the counter to decide where to start.

  ‘World History’ seemed an obvious choice. A timeline in the opening chapter allowed him to see at a glance the evolution of key events from the Egyptians to modern times. He scanned the pages for the early twentieth century. From there, he read in more detail. It was soon apparent something was wrong. He thought at first the book was incomplete, but the chapters inside were the same. He tried another to validate the information, then another, and found the omission identical.

  The Second World War had not occurred. In fact Germany, after the First World War, had not gone to war again.

  This had also affected Japan’s decision to declare war. Manchuria was occupied, but their armies had gone no further.

  As the Second World War had brought about the birth and eventual use of the atom bomb, Jason searched through the history books for the new dates of its creation. He knew war pushed technology along much faster than normal, so he concentrated his research on the 1950s and 60s. He soon discovered the first nuclear tests had been carried out on 14th July 1967 by the Americans. Further tests took place on a number of occasions after this date, but there was nothing to indicate the atom bomb had ever been used in a war situation – until now.

  He sat back, stunned. He hadn’t expected the change to be so glaringly evident. He could only hope he was also as lucky with the cause. It must’ve had something to do with the incident with the guard, that at least was obvious. General information would now no longer suffice, he needed more precise facts.

  He stood and made his way to an office behind the reception desk. Inside, there were three filing cabinets; each contained four alphabetised drawers. He was looking for something in particular but, in an age of the internet, was unsure whether they would still be used. He started at the Ms and was soon delighted to find what he was searching for.

  As he returned to the main library, with a large collection of folders containing microfiche, Jason suddenly felt something was amiss.

  Pausing in the doorway he slowly scanned the room. His muscles tense, he looked for the cause of his apprehension. As his eyes flicked past the main entrance, he realised what was wrong; Sarah was gone.

  “Sarah,” he hissed. When there came no reply, he dared a little louder. “Sarah!”

  When the room remained silent Jason moved away from the door and cautiously crossed to the shelves. Constantly watchful, he checked every row, peering through the books as he approached each new section in turn. When he reached the far wall he knew she was definitely not in the library.

  His mouth dry and his chest tight, he returned to the main doors and peered through the glass. All was quiet outside, but there was still no sign of Sarah.

  The shouting and screaming downstairs had also finally stopped.

  He looked into the corridor on the left and saw the door to the ladies stood slightly open. Smiling, he returned to his research.

  He quickly found the microfiche reader, but without any power it was useless. It took some time to rig up a system with the back off the unit and his torch inside. There was barely enough light to read the information and he worked quickly for fear the batteries would die.

  The news of the period was more radically different than he expected. The move into Austria by Germany had not taken place and there was no mention of a struggle in Europe at all. News of a worldwide depression made the headlines instead.

  In Germany, President Hindenburg was called to resign and in September 1933 the Nazi party was forced out of parliament.

  He still couldn’t see the date that the change had taken place and it now dawned on Jason that the crucial point might not have actually made major news. In fact, he realised to his horror, it may not have even made news at all.

  16th March 1930, he searched every story in the paper; 17th March 1930, he did the same. Then suddenly there it was.

  On page 12, a small article reported the death in Germany of the head of the National Socialist German Workers’ Party – Adolf Hitler.

  ‘The leader of the National Socialist Workers’ Party, Adolf Hitler, was fatally wounded after a scuffle broke out between a demonstrator and an SS guard on Saturday evening. He was rushed to hospital where his condition was deemed to be critical. He died in the early hours of Sunday morning. He’d been attending a rally at Havelberg to gain support for his party. The unknown attacker ran off before he could be detained. The SS guard, who was also shot in the attack, died at the scene.’

  Jason’s heart raced and his skin chilled as he retraced the last seconds of his time in Havelberg. Unconsciously he raised his hand and touched the wound on his forehead.

  The guard had fired as he’d tripped – the reason he’d been injured instead of killed – this was the only fact Jason knew. It was now safe to speculate the impact of his fall had caused his own gun to go off. He looked back at the article. He hadn’t seen Hitler at the scene, so the guards must have been shielding him.

  He switched off the torch and began to clear away the microfiche. He now had the information he needed and getting back to the teleporter as soon as possible was crucial.

  As he re-attached the back onto the reader, he heard the doors to the library clatter. Turning, he expected to see Sarah, but instead was shocked to see two men entering the room.

  Quickly, he grabbed the microfiche along with his belongings and slipped into the office behind the main desk. Standing rigid on one side of the door, Jason listened for signs of his discovery.

  “What do you think she was doing?” one of the men asked.

  “Well it wasn’t a bed for the night. Lying bitch,” the other spat.

  “Do you think she could’ve been looking for the food store?”

  “I haven’t a clue, but whoever finds that bunker owns this entire area. I definitely think we should have another talk with our little miss.”

  When he heard the door thump Jason slowly relaxed. Moving away from the wall he peered into the room to check both men had left before venturing into the library.

  He was now torn between his desire to help Sarah and the urgency of his task. He returned his torch to the bag, retrieved the gun, then hurried towards the door.

  He was acutely aware that the stored charge in the teleporter had a finite life. This could be days or even as much as a week, but definitely no longer. Still, the ultimate time period was irrelevant as there had to be a certain level of charge before he could teleport. Any less and there wouldn’t be enough power for him to get back and undo the damage he’d caused to the timeline.

  As he hurried down the stairs Jason’s logical mind forced him to admit the best way to save Sarah was to correct the split. To waste time in a rescue, which could lead to serious injury or even death, was ir
responsible.

  He discovered the fire door still open on the lower floor, but as he stepped outside he froze when the screams of a young woman rose up from the basement.

  He could risk his own life, but not Sarah’s and now knew he couldn’t leave her. No matter how foolish or risky, he had to attempt a rescue.

  Returning to the building, he readied his gun, then stealthily approached the basement door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jason, his legs so weak they could buckle, stood near the basement door listening to the conversations within.

  There were at least three voices inside – Sarah’s amongst them.

  “Why were you in the library?” a man yelled. “What were you searching for?”

  “Nothing,” she sobbed. “I needed somewhere to sleep.”

  “Were you alone?”

  “Yes!” she shrieked. “I’ve already said I was.”

  Jason looked over his shoulder to check the fire exit remained open. If he needed a quick escape, he could still get outside. He grasped the handle – his muscles so tight he could clear the distance to the exit in one bound – then cracked the door open enough to see what went on beyond.

  A plain wooden staircase led down to a large, open room. A single candle hanging from the ceiling from a metal cradle barely brightened the surroundings. The whitewashed, breeze block walls helped to raise the illumination, but that was all. Their sterile starkness combined with a concrete floor to create the cold, cell-like look of the basement.

  Sarah was sitting, tied by the wrists and blindfolded, on the only piece of furniture adorning the room – a chair positioned near the base of the stairs. Fresh bruising that coloured her cheek and jaw, and blood crimsoned lips, proved she’d been given a beating.

  Jason’s limited view from the door prevented him from seeing how many others, apart from the interrogator, were in the room.

  “Lying bitch!” the man spat. He stepped forward and struck Sarah hard across the face with the back of his hand. There was a sharp crack and her head snapped to the right with the force of the blow.