Several trees, the usual stinging nettles, ivy and all manner of other wild plants grew inside it. I would have had a wonderful time playing here if I had discovered it when I was a boy. I imagined my friends and I pretending to be cowboys and firing plastic guns at each other while, the fantasy a welcome diversion from reality.
While I was still daydreaming a sparkling vortex light appeared in front of me, signalling my return home to the late twenty-first century.
As I stepped through the time portal I noticed Vanessa, the shapely
vortex interface technician, working at the touch panel controls.
She looked up and gave the instruction, “Go straight to the Hub, there’s been a problem.” She didn’t flirt, smile or appear welcoming in any way, and after she’d spoken she simply lowered her head and continued working at the temporal vortex controls. I didn’t try to engage in conversation, but immediately followed her instruction.
The Hub was a whirlwind of activity, one technician after another reporting fatalities from all over the country.
“Five dead in Sheffield Sir,” a technician exclaimed.
Another added, “And two more in Derbyshire Sir.”
After about ten minutes of similar reports C turned to address my father, “Have we got the final fatality numbers?”
“Yes Commander, there have been five hundred and twelve as yet unexplained deaths.”
Everyone was stunned. I’d never seen C look so shaken.
The blood had drained from his face and for a moment he stared straight ahead, then regaining his composure said, “We have to find the cause of this. Is there a defect in the temporal transporter?”
“No Commander,” answered an engineer, “I’ve just run a diagnostic on all systems and they’re all working at one hundred per cent efficiency.”
C addressed my father “John, is it possible there could be a problem with the Jumpers? Genetic degeneration, for instance?”
Dad answered, “I’ll run checks on the bodies when we get them, but I think it highly unlikely.”
C had been pacing up and down the front of the room, deep in thought. He stood still for a moment and asked, “Is Steve Blakely back yet?”
I stood up, “Here Commander.”
“John, Steve … my office now.”
We followed C into his office where he addressed me. “Report on your vortex jump. Did you encounter anything that could cast light on this situation?”
I relayed all that had happened to me on the suspension bridge. C and my father could hardly believe what I was saying.
C spoke in a raised voice; he was clearly very angry. “To think that the threat comes from Jumpers. We give these people a new genetic make up—they have no illnesses, an extended lifespan and a ridiculously high intelligence—and some of them, we don’t know how many yet, decide humanity has had it’s chance and we should let the animal kingdom have a turn at running the planet.”
He was determined. “We will not be beaten. I’m calling a meeting with Section Directorship. There will be a shake up, and, I expect, some restructuring. John, monitor all police emergency frequencies and the media. Steve, check Carla’s website for anything you think could be helpful. There could be other witnesses to this carnage and some might post their testimonies on there. Have the necessary details at my disposal within two hours.”
C’s intercom sounded so he hit the speaker button.
A female voice said, “Commander, reports are hitting the television channels: dead bodies have appeared as if out of nowhere, including eight found on an undisclosed Premier League football pitch. Fourteen more were found washed up along the banks of the River Severn, several of which had been badly battered, two shot, and one decapitated. As yet there’s no explanation.”
“Blast! So now the press know about this!” exclaimed C, angrily cutting off the intercom. Looking back at us he continued, “Carry on with your investigations,” and gestured us to go with a flick of his hand. We both left without a word and went about our tasks.
Carla’s website reported many eyewitness testimonies to these crimes, several people describing seeing their friends shot down in cold blood.
A woman from New Zealand reported:
‘I was walking my dog through the park when I jumped forward in time, the park instantly becoming woodland. I was still holding the dog lead, but of course my dog remained in natural time. I remembered noticing two young men messing about near the pavilion—which had now deteriorated into a heap of rubble, grown over with brambles, nettles and trees—and was very surprised to see the two guys still there, standing only a few metres away from me. Both had very dark, short hair, were slim, tall, and had large, thin noses. I thought they were probably brothers. I kept really still, wondering whether I should hide or speak to them. The taller one noticed me and whispered something to the other.
He called out to me, “The Earth will sing.”
“What? Sorry, what do you mean?” I asked. I thought it a very strange thing to say. They looked at each other and drew handguns out of their jackets so I ran. I ran through the undergrowth keeping to the most overgrown parts where it would be hardest for them to see me and take a shot. I heard them chasing after me so I ran faster than I’d ever run before. I’m a fast runner; I used to win awards for cross-country running at the national level.
A couple of bullets whizzed past my head. I ducked down and pressed deeper through the undergrowth heading towards a lake I’d spotted through the trees.
I couldn’t see them but I knew the men weren’t too far behind. I ran up a steep bank and scrambled under a dense thicket. In the middle of the thicket, completely hidden by the greenery, were the remains of two walls set at right angles to each other. They were only about a metre high, but would offer some cover and protection. I hid there, lying on my side with my back against the wall, my legs tucked up tight into my chest. The men were nearby; I could hear them talking.
I froze in position, not wanting to make a sound that would give away my hiding place. The men decided they couldn’t find me so they let off a rally of bullets. A couple of them hit the wall next to me. It was all I could do not to scream.
They walked past laughing. They were so close I could see their trainers through the bushes. I held my breath. I could almost hear my heart pounding and hoped it wouldn’t give me away. I lay there for over an hour, too scared to leave the thicket in case the men were still somewhere in the woods and they spotted me.
After what seemed an eternity, I felt the dull ache in the back of my neck that signalled my return to natural time. It immediately became darker and I found myself huddled on the floor inside a boathouse. My thicket had gone. I tried the door but it was locked so I opened a window, climbed out and ran. I didn’t feel safe until I was back home where I found my dog waiting for me.’
A man reported that he made his way to the Bolton Wonderers Football Ground, as was his habit whenever he jumped.
He stated, ‘Several of us had gathered inside the crumbling enclosure and were sitting around chatting about our jumping experiences when a woman produced a machine gun and shot at everyone. I was the only survivor; I dived between the seats as soon as I saw the gun. I knew who our attacker was but she fled and was probably miles away by the end of the jump, natural time providing her with the perfect alibi; she was nowhere near the football ground and her family swore she’d been home with them the whole day—which from their perspective was probably true.’
I read many testimonials like these. It was clear that the threat from this faction was far greater than we had first thought.
Dad and I compared our notes and submitted a report for C to take to the Directorship meeting.
“There isn’t another jump authorised for anytime soon is there?” I asked Dad.
“No, there’s nothing for a while. I can’t see Section authorising anything until we’ve found out who’s behind the shootings. It’s imperative that we don’t loose any more Jumpers.”<
br />
I sat back down at the workstation and re-opened Carla’s website to check for updates. At once something caught my attention.
“Hey, Dad did you notice this link before?” I asked. Dad looked at the monitor and shook his head. The link took me to a page entitled ‘Earthsong’, which had clearly been written by the faction responsible for the shootings. I’d heard of a popular song from many years ago by the same name, but knew the singer wouldn’t want to be associated with this group. The faction had just borrowed the name.
The page read:
‘We will not stop until every Jumper is dead.
Before mankind polluted it the Earth was beautiful and full of nature’s abundance. Now animals have been hunted for pleasure—many brought to extinction—forests have been cut down, and sea life decimated. Many eco systems are gone forever, destroyed by mankind’s greed.
All this has happened within the last few hundred years. What would happen if humans were left here for another thousand years? It is clear that if left to humanity the Earth will die. She is our mother and the founder of all life. She and the universe live in harmony with only one exception: mankind.
This is why nature is fighting back with the super-virus. You must let nature restore the natural balance!
‘Earthsong’ is made up of a group of Jumpers who believe in the natural flow of nature. This message is for the rest of you: join us or die. We will live on the earth, either here or in the future, but we will not repopulate it.
One day mankind will be extinct and THE EARTH WILL SING!
I immediately copied and forwarded this page to C to take to the meeting.
__________
The next morning Dad, several of the senior staff, and I were summoned to a meeting in the main boardroom. Positioned near the centre of the complex, the circular room was completely private from the outside world with natural sunlight streaming through the large windows. In the centre of the room was a large, circular, polished table surrounded by ten black, high-back leather seats.
Everyone sat down and waited for the meeting to commence. I knew C would sit in one of the two vacant seats and was intrigued to find out who would sit at the other one. I didn’t have long to wait to find out; the door slid open and C entered the room with a solemn, middle-aged lady dressed in grey slacks, a matching jacket and an ivory coloured blouse. I recognised her as the lady I had seen trying to make conversation with David Senior when he stayed at Section. He had refused to speak to her and she had left appearing quite upset.
C said, “Thank you for being so prompt everyone,” and pulled out a seat for the lady to sit at the table. “This is Zee. She’s here to speak on behalf of Section Directorship, and is going to brief you on some of the decisions made in last night’s meeting.”
Zee studied us all for a moment, then spoke, “We don’t have time for pleasantries so I’ll start the report.” We listened intently knowing that whatever she said would affect us all in different ways. “It’s imperative that we find out which Jumpers belong to Earthsong and make sure that no one else joins this group. We are forming a team of Jumpers who will work together closely. Their mission: to identify the Earthsong members, bring reports back from the future, and protect the other Jumpers.”
Directing her next words to me Zee said, “Steve Blakely, you will be part of this team and will report directly to your Commander. Your working partner will be Gemma Sinclair, whom I believe you have known for some time.”
“Gemma?” I questioned.
C explained, “Miss Sinclair has been working for Section for a while and has been trained in basic survival, unarmed combat and weaponry. She’s presently working undercover.” I was amazed. Gemma had always been a tomboy and had taken karate classes when she was younger, but I didn’t expect to find her working for Section. I wondered why she hadn’t mentioned it to me. I hadn’t heard a word from her in months.
Zee continued, “All Jumpers are of considerable importance to Section and the future of humanity. We have to find out which ones belong to Earthsong so we can eradicate the problem. The Jumpers originally numbered just over forty thousand, but, as you are aware, we lost five hundred and twelve in yesterday’s temporal jump. We must not loose anyone else. The two brothers who shot at the young lady mentioned on Carla’s website have been identified and will not be jumping again.”
“What will happen to them?” I asked.
“Nothing yet,” said C. “We know they won’t try to kill any Jumper in natural time because they don’t know who the other Jumpers are. All we have to do is remove them from the programme. Any Jumper who does not jump will not survive very long.”
It was left my father to explain C’s last comment to the rest of us. None of us knew that leaving the programme would prove fatal.
“You’re all aware the Jumpers were genetically modified before implantation into their mother’s womb; they have a very high intelligence, are immune to all viruses and germs of earthly origin, and, barring accidents, will live exceptionally long lives.” He paused for a moment, as if deciding how to explain. “I’ll keep this simple. We built a ‘gap’ in the Jumpers’ genetic code that can only be satisfied by temporal jumping.
“Their first jump activates this gap. If any Jumper is taken off the programme, and therefore ceases jumping, his or her genetic code will soon become critical. They will age at a considerably accelerated rate, and an unpleasant death will soon follow. However, with regard to the rest of the Jumpers, the final, one-way jump into a far distant future will seal the genetic gap and stabilize their genetic structure.”
I was aghast at the implications of this new information.
“So this means that whether the vaccine works or not I’ll eventually be sent to live in the future … with no hope of returning to natural time?” I blurted out, not wanting to believe what must be the truth.
Zee answered my question, “Well, if the vaccine doesn’t work, young man, there will be no one to come back for. The rest of humanity will have died of the super-virus, and if you stay here so will you. Section has given you and the rest of the Jumpers the chance of life and a new start. Hopefully you will enjoy it along with our descendants.”
“What if you were to send us on the one-way temporal jump today?” I enquired.
Dad took up the thread, “You would all die; your bodies aren’t yet fully acclimatised to a jump of that size.”
I stared down at the table afraid of the answer to my next question, but I asked it anyway, because, regardless of the answer, I needed to know the truth.
“How far into the future are you planning on sending us?”
C answered, “The original projection indicated that the meteorite fragments would continue falling intermittently over the next five thousand years. The latest calculations show that this could go on for much longer. We have to send you to a time when the earth is free from the virus, so we’re going to locate you at least twenty thousand years into the future.
“It will be a different era. You may find a world of technological innovation—and we can only speculate what that would be like—or you could find a world where mankind has been absent for many thousands of years.” He paused, and then added, “A new Eden.”
Chapter 13
That evening, I took Dad out for a drive in my chrome bumper, MGB Sports car. I’d bought it from a farmer who had left it standing in a barn for years. Now classed as vintage, the car had been fully restored with a reconditioned engine and gearbox. A specialist garage had welded the floor in a number of places and replaced several body parts.
I hadn’t gotten around to having the car re-sprayed, so the result was a patchwork quilt of twentieth century engineering, which had been Anna’s first comment when I brought it home. Dad said it reminded him of Frankenstein’s Monster because it was made up of parts from many other MGBs: one brown door, one green door, a white tailgate, and bright yellow wings—both having come off another car ‘written off’ after a rear end collis
ion.
“Let’s see what it can do,” I said to Dad as I turned onto the motorway and gunned the accelerator pedal. The cars throaty engine immediately responded and we soon hit ninety-five miles per hour.
“Hey, slow down a bit!” Dad exclaimed. “Let’s not get pulled up by the police. Do you usually drive like this?”
“I’ll have to take the Fifth Amendment on that,” I answered, feeling exhilarated.
I drove for several miles, then pulled off the motorway and parked in a pub car park offering to buy Dad a pint. He deserved it after experiencing my driving.
We got out of the car and stood looking at it for a few moments.
Dad said, “It’s about time you got a new car Steve, this one looks like you brought it back from a jump.”
“Oh, thanks,” I said, a little disappointed that Dad didn’t share my enthusiasm for my project, but nevertheless noting the cheeky glint in his eye. “I like my car; these were reliable, that’s what counts.”
“I hope so.” Dad didn’t look convinced.
Whilst we sat in the beer garden sipping our cold drinks I took the opportunity to ask him about a few things that were bothering me.
“Dad, we’ve both seen the future: empty, decaying cities, wild animals and a world without mankind, so how can we hope the vaccine will work? If it does, surely I would jump into a populated future and not to a world of degeneration.”
He answered me, “I used to think that, but on each jump you only witness a possible future—a future with the starting point taken from the moment of the jump. For instance, you remember how you jumped at school and tipped soup into your teacher’s briefcase.” I grinned at the memory. “Well that was only one possible future. That part of your life has passed, and if you were to return to the same spot and jump again—to a point a few days into your future—you wouldn’t find the school, your classroom or Lucy Harris’ maths book, because the school has been demolished and that land now has a housing estate built on it.”
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