Extinct Page 2

  ‘Um . . . dunno. We got a doctor anywhere?’ Safa asks.

  ‘The toilets are blocked, by the way,’ the doctor says, staring down. ‘That’s definitely a Nazi.’

  ‘Doc, check the IP,’ Miri orders.

  ‘IP?’ the doctor asks.

  ‘The Nazi,’ Ben whispers. ‘Check the Nazi.’

  ‘Oh, right, yes, yes of course . . . I was on the toilet.’ He lowers stiffly to a knee and pushes his fingertips into the man’s neck. ‘They’re blocked, by the way. Did I say that?’

  ‘You did,’ Ben says.

  ‘Stormtrooper,’ Harry says.

  ‘What is?’ Emily asks.

  ‘He is,’ Harry says, pointing his plunger at the body.

  ‘He was,’ the doctor says. ‘He’s a dead Stormtrooper now, I’m afraid. What does IP mean?’

  ‘Injured party,’ Ben says. ‘I thought doctors knew that.’

  ‘Of course I knew,’ the doctor says quickly. ‘Shock.’

  ‘Have a chocolate bar,’ Safa says. ‘That’s good for shock.’

  ‘That’s the worst thing for shock,’ the doctor fires back.

  ‘I was taking the piss.’

  ‘Harry, you know how to use this?’ Emily asks, looking at the pistol in her hand.

  ‘Aye,’ Harry says, swapping the plunger for the gun. ‘Luger, nice weapon in its day.’ He lowers down at the head of the body wearing a uniform once so familiar as that of the sworn enemy. A blond-haired, square-jawed master of the Aryan race. Broad shoulders, thick limbs and no doubt as brainwashed and fanatical as the rest. He grabs the dead man’s hand and slides the dagger free. Standard SS issue. Sleek and evil-looking with a hilt shaped like a reversed hour glass. Words etched on the blade: meine ehre heisst treue.

  ‘My honour is called loyalty,’ Emily says, resting a hand on Harry’s shoulder as she leans over to read the words.

  Harry grabs the dead soldier’s collar to pull him closer, inspecting the insignia as old habits kick in. He rips the tunic open with a hard yank to reach in and feel for the inside pocket, ignoring the blood smearing his fingers. A sheaf of papers neatly folded and what should be standard identification documents, but the layout of them is different and not a design he has seen before. A sepia picture of a pretty fräulein with blonde-ringlet hair and a stern expression. Harry instinctively looks for anything of note that could reveal positions, formations or orders. He doesn’t read German, but he recognises certain words and was taught the styles of papers and forms, and none of these matches what he has been trained to look for. Then he remembers his war is over and he’s in a bunker in the Cretaceous period and blinks while shaking his head. ‘Papers are different,’ he says gruffly. ‘Not like how they should be . . . Uniform is different too. The insignia on the lapels isn’t right.’

  ‘You think he’s a fake?’ Ben asks.

  ‘No. Just different,’ Harry says, pushing a hand through his beard. ‘The Luger and the dagger are right . . .’

  ‘So why have we got a dead Nazi in here?’ Safa asks.

  ‘Cos Emily shot him,’ Ben says.

  ‘Quiet,’ Miri orders, stepping away, her head cocked over.

  Harry and Emily rise quickly to their feet as Safa and Ben move out, all of them straining to listen.

  ‘What?’ Ben whispers.

  Miri lifts a hand, silencing him. She heard a noise. A low metallic sound. ‘Get armed,’ she orders quietly.

  Safa runs through the door towards the armoury as another clang rings out, this one louder and followed by a solid thump that seems to rattle and roll through the bunker from one end to the other.

  ‘Pipes,’ Harry says, feeling vibrations through his bare feet that send a thrumming sensation, increasing quickly, that rises to a crescendo then stops and ceases as though it was never there. Silence follows save for a sudden yell from Safa and a prolonged vent of foul words being shouted.

  They respond swiftly, running through the doors into the corridor leading to the rear door into an overwhelming stench of faeces and urine coming from the murky brown water pouring from an open doorway, and the sight of Safa pushing at the back door while gagging and swearing, her arms coated in filthy liquid that exploded from the toilet as she ran past the doorway of the bathroom into the armoury. She staggers outside to bend double and vomit as Ben and Harry rush into the closest set of rooms to see the bathroom dripping filth and the toilet purging water from the bowl.

  Emily gags. Miri coughs hard with tears in her eyes. Even the doctor, well-experienced in the smells of the human body, gags and covers his mouth and nose as he splashes through the sewage to the back door.

  ‘Ria,’ he says quickly as though remembering. He veers off to Ria’s room, quickly leaning in to see her room looks clean and untouched and the dark-haired girl still heavily sedated in the bed. He pulls the door closed and wades out to see the others coughing and gagging with Miri bracing herself against the outside wall.

  ‘We’re getting M and K back,’ she gasps.

  ‘Oh, now we’re getting them back?’ Safa asks.

  ‘Safa?’ Emily says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve got some shit on your face.’

  Two

  The Bunker, Monday afternoon

  ‘We only popped out for coffee,’ Konrad says. ‘What the hell did you do?’

  ‘Is he dead?’ Malcolm asks, leaning over to look down at the body in the main room.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Konrad says, slowly turning to take in the main room that ten minutes ago was austere, sterile and filled only with furniture of basic functionality but is now adorned with deep leather sofas, side tables bearing tiffany lamps, rugs on the floor, art on the walls, armchairs and a table big enough to seat a dozen people. ‘Malc, you seen all this?’

  ‘I have, Kon. It’s a dead Nazi.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘That is,’ Malcolm says as Konrad finally looks down at the body.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ Konrad mumbles. ‘We’ve been gone ten minutes . . .’

  ‘You just woke up from the ocean rescue,’ Malcolm says, looking from Safa to Harry and feeling very weirded out at them both grinning at him. Ben, too, standing there with a huge smile as though they haven’t seen each other for a while. The penny drops at that point and his eyes widen. ‘Now hold on a bloody minute! How long have we been dead?’

  ‘Few days,’ Ben mumbles.

  ‘Days?’ Konrad asks.

  ‘Maybe weeks?’ Ben suggests lightly.

  ‘Weeks?’

  ‘Months then, but . . . you know . . .’

  ‘Been busy,’ Harry booms.

  ‘Busy,’ Ben says.

  ‘Very busy,’ Harry adds.

  ‘Super busy,’ Ben says. ‘You know . . . saving the world and . . . But hey, here you are . . .’ he adds brightly.

  ‘Months?’ Konrad squawks, gathering himself up from Harry’s warm welcome. ‘Malc? He said months.’

  ‘You got Harry and Safa back in ten days . . .’ Malcolm says. ‘Ten days . . . Look at this room . . .’

  ‘I said, we’ve been really busy,’ Ben says again.

  ‘Busy?’ Konrad asks. ‘Busy? Too busy to pop out for five minutes? I got stabbed in the leg!’

  ‘Where?’ Ben asks, looking down in alarm at Konrad’s legs.

  ‘S’tiny but that’s not the point . . . No, I mean it was the point, but just the point . . .’

  ‘Not too busy to go shopping either,’ Malcolm says, looking round at the furniture.

  ‘Ria did that,’ Safa says as Ben and Harry wince.

  ‘What?’ Malcolm asks.

  ‘Ria?’ Konrad asks.

  ‘Roland’s Ria?’ Malcolm asks.

  ‘Ria Cavendish?’ Konrad asks.

  ‘Hi! I’m Emily,’ Emily says, offering her hand to Konrad, who gives it a weak shake. ‘Hi,’ Emily grins, stretching to shake Malcolm’s hand as well. ‘You kissed me a few hours ago after being chased by that dead guy.’

  ‘It was
definitely him then?’ Ben asks with a puzzled frown.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Emily says, staring at a wide-eyed Malcolm.

  ‘I didn’t kiss you!’ Malcolm sputters. ‘I didn’t . . . I never met you and I don’t know nothing about a Nazi chasing anyone . . .’

  ‘You did,’ she says, pressing a fingertip to her cheek. ‘Right there.’

  ‘I never did! I didn’t . . . Honestly . . . I was here an hour ago with Kon and Ben and . . . Kon, tell her, tell her I wasn’t kissing . . .’

  ‘Months?’ Konrad asks again. ‘Bloody months? Oh, that’s lovely, that is. Really lovely. Where’s Roland? Why did Ria . . . ?’

  ‘I didn’t kiss you.’

  ‘M and K?’ Miri says curtly. ‘R is dead. We need to debrief. Suggest redeploy to Bertie’s island for refs.’

  ‘What?’ Konrad asks.

  ‘What?’ Malcolm asks.

  ‘Takes a bit of getting used to,’ Ben says. ‘But, um, so . . . Miri, this is Malcolm and Konrad and, er . . . this is Miri.’

  ‘I know,’ Miri says.

  ‘Miri’s the OIC now,’ Ben says.

  ‘Oh, I see?’ Konrad asks.

  ‘Officer in charge,’ Ben says.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Konrad says with a sudden grin. ‘Get it? Oh, I see? No?’

  ‘Some tumbleweed just went past,’ Emily says.

  ‘I didn’t kiss you, miss.’

  ‘How are you still here?’ Ben asks Emily.

  ‘R?’ Konrad asks. ‘Is that Roland?’

  ‘Yes,’ Miri says.

  ‘Roland is dead?’ Konrad asks.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Konrad says.

  ‘Nice one,’ Emily laughs, then stops when no one else joins in. ‘Sorry, I thought he was doing the, er . . . joke thing . . . erm . . .’

  ‘When are we getting him back?’ Malcolm asks. ‘Few months? Few years? Maybe a decade? You know . . . busy with shopping and everything and what’s that awful bloody smell?’

  ‘I told you,’ Safa says. ‘The toilets exploded, there’s no hot water, the lights are flickering, there’s mould growing on the walls, half the shutters are jammed and the filter thing at the back door is making a weird noise.’

  ‘Right,’ Malcolm says.

  ‘Oh, I get it,’ Konrad says, looking at Emily. ‘You thought I said oh, I see as in OIC . . .’

  ‘Yes! I thought you were joking again.’

  ‘And that Nazi chased you through the portal, before you kissed Emily and legged it,’ Safa adds, pointing at the dead body still on the floor.

  ‘I did not kiss her! I didn’t . . . I really didn’t . . .’

  ‘Oh, and we got Bertie and Ria out from their house,’ Safa says, ‘and Roland too, but it went tits up so we went back to help us the first time and ended up killing the guys that we just killed in Berlin, but that was in the UK. Confuses the hell out of me. Anyway. Ria killed her mum and got shot in the belly but she was pregnant with Derek’s baby from America . . . He worked in McDonald’s but was joining the Marines and then Bertie made a red time machine thing. Er . . . then Miri killed Roland, but Ria and Bertie don’t know that, they just think he sodded off. I think Ria knows, but she hates him now. Bertie doesn’t seem bothered though. Er . . . that’s it really. Oh, yeah . . . we threatened just about every country that has nuclear weapons, but we haven’t checked if the world still blows up in twenty-one eleven. We were going to do that today, but the toilets exploded and Miri finally agreed we could come get you.’

  ‘Right,’ Malcolm says into the stunned silence that follows.

  ‘And we’re millionaires,’ Safa adds.

  ‘Right,’ Malcolm says again.

  ‘We stole loads of money from smurfs.’

  ‘Smurfs,’ Malcolm says.

  ‘Money launderers, not the little blue people.’

  ‘Right,’ Malcolm says. ‘I didn’t kiss you though,’ he adds with a look to Emily.

  ‘Been busy then,’ Konrad says.

  ‘I did say that,’ Ben says.

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Konrad says, smiling at Emily.

  ‘Yeah, not funny this time,’ she says politely.

  ‘Tough crowd. How did Roland die?’

  ‘Shot him,’ Miri says.

  ‘Who shot him?’ Konrad asks.

  ‘I shot him.’

  ‘You shot him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To kill him. We will redeploy and debrief.’

  ‘What about him?’ Ben asks, pointing at the body.

  ‘To be decided,’ Miri says simply, walking over to the portal set in the main room to save them having to keep venturing into the sewage-filled corridor. She pulls the tablet out from a pocket and starts thumbing the screen with practised hands that Malcolm and Konrad both spot. ‘Stay armed from now on,’ Miri adds as the Blue shuts down then comes back on.

  ‘I’m not lugging this bloody Barret about everywhere,’ Ben says.

  ‘Sidearms will suffice, Mr Ryder,’ she replies, before disappearing through the portal.

  ‘Did we just . . .’ Ben starts to speak, then tuts when he realises she won’t hear him. He goes through after her, wincing at the bright sunshine and the wall of heat from the instant transition in time and space. ‘I said did we just undo everything at Cavendish Manor?’ he asks again, shielding his eyes to look at Miri lighting a cigarette.

  ‘That is to be established,’ she says.

  ‘But Emily is still here,’ Ben says.

  ‘MIRI! BEN . . .’ Bertie shouts as he runs towards them, bare-chested and his hair dripping wet from swimming, with a huge smile that grows bigger as Harry, Safa and Emily come through to the island until he stops dead with the face of a child showing sheer delight. ‘Malc . . . Kon . . .’ he gasps before charging to hug both at the same time.

  ‘I think we just proved something significant,’ Ben says, resuming the quiet conversation while the attention is focussed on Bertie. ‘Except I don’t know what it is. Theoretically we just undid . . .’

  ‘They thought the world was flat,’ Miri cuts in. ‘That was a theory. Theories mean jack shit until proof is obtained. Emily is still here but Ria is still shot, Roland is still dead and one thing is sure as shit . . . time is definitely not fixed . . .’ She sucks air in as though just speaking has left her breathless.

  ‘Definitely not fixed?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Definitely not fixed,’ she repeats before inhaling deeply on the cigarette again. ‘I witnessed M and K being killed.’

  ‘Do what?’ Ben asks. Instant silence falls. Everyone staring at Miri and Ben and even Bertie stays quiet.

  ‘I saw it.’

  Ben’s head drops as that look crosses his features that still makes Safa cock her head to one side as she watches him closely. He rubs his jaw, scratches his forehead, then the tip of his nose before looking up. ‘It’s not possible. But it just happened . . . so it is possible . . .’ He trails off to stare at Bertie.

  ‘S’just binary,’ Bertie says with a shrug. They all look at him, knowing he’ll be able to understand the whole of it with ease, but also that what’s in his head does not translate to his mouth in a way anyone else can understand.

  ‘Miri, right, listen . . .’ Ben says, holding his hand out. ‘You were there. You saw Malc and Kon being killed, then blew the warehouse, then all that stuff happened at Cavendish Manor . . . but we just went back to that point and stopped Malc and Kon being killed.’ He points at Malcolm and Konrad as he speaks. ‘Time isn’t fixed then. It can be changed . . . which suggests our detachment from the timeline renders us immune to the changes within it.’ He looks at Bertie, who grins and nods eagerly.

  ‘You overthink it,’ Safa says. ‘We’re here. Malc and Kon are here. Now we go figure out why a dead Nazi chased Malc into the bunker.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Miri says.

  ‘First time for everything,’ Safa says in surprise.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Ben says, shaking his head to ri
d the confusing thoughts as another idea pops in his mind that prompts a new suspicious look at Miri. ‘Have you been forward?’

  ‘Negative,’ Miri says instantly. ‘I told you there was no point seeing what the world looked like until after we finished.’

  ‘That was two days ago. Plenty of time for you to take a little trip and go forward.’

  ‘Check the tablets. The usage is all recorded.’

  ‘Devices can be manipulated.’

  ‘We are in an entirely reactive position now,’ she says, shaking her head at him. ‘I would never give consent for M and K to be re-extracted, but we obviously did for M to appear . . .’ She drags on the smoke as Harry lights up a few feet away with Emily and Safa both chiding him for smoking.

  ‘Hmmm,’ Ben says. ‘Guess we’ve got some work to do then.’

  ‘We need to see twenty-one eleven,’ Miri says, grinding her cigarette out under her boot before pulling the ziplock baggie from her pocket and lowering slowly to a knee to retrieve the stubbed butt.

  ‘Miri, do you enjoy this?’ Ben asks, still watching her closely for reaction.

  She holds her eyes on his for a second and maybe, just maybe there is a twinkle and a fleeting flicker of a smile.

  ‘Bloody knew it,’ he says, arching an eyebrow at her.

  ‘We’ll debrief,’ she says, pushing up to her feet. ‘Then I’ – she pauses to give Ben a very faint smile – ‘will decide the next steps.’

  ‘You’re a tyrant,’ Ben says.

  ‘This is not a democracy, Mr Ryder . . .’

  Three

  London 2062, Monday morning

  The windows are mirrored so anyone glancing at the GCHQ building will not see them staring out across the River Thames to the twelve-foot-high holographic 3D image of Tango Two giving her finger to the heavens above.

  ‘Rather apt,’ Mother mutters.

  The man at her side stays silent, secretly agreeing with her and wishing she would just go.

  The assault on Cavendish Manor was only a year ago, but already the world is a vastly different place. Borders sealed. Alliances shattered. Trust gone. NATO in tatters. The UN a laughing stock. The EU on the brink of collapse. A new global cold war with walls going up on hard borders equipped with heavy weapons. Satellites hacked and spies turning up dead every week.