World's End

by D. B. Green

  Frick!

  His footsteps crunch on the concrete.

  One… Two… Three…

  They stop. Silence.

  Fearing the inevitable, I position myself in front of Amber, shielding her — but the footsteps move away. Then, a loud slam of a door closing follows.

  I slowly peak back around the alcove wall. The MP isn’t there. He must have gone back inside the café.

  “That was close,” I say. “Come on. This is our chance.” We step back out into the alley, just as a loud scream echoes between the walls.

  “Was that Sophie?” I whisper, pulling Amber back into the alcove. “I can’t tell which direction it came from.”

  We wait, expecting another MP to rush out of the café fire escape any second. But no one comes.

  Leaving the safety of the alcove, we head up the alley towards the multi-story car park. A junction blocks our way. The road goes straight up to the High Street; three empty black trucks block the view.

  I hold onto Amber’s hand. “Wait.”

  Another scream. Then a loud crack, like a firework.

  Gunfire.

  I keep focused on the trucks as we cross the road. Just in case they’re not empty.

  There’s another loading bay alcove for the next block of shops in front of us. We duck inside.

  Amber taps out a message on her tablet.

  “Who was that man in the hoodie?”

  “He was an Enchanter, posing as the BCL,” I say. “I think he was there to stir up the crowd. He was the one that started all the trouble.”

  “But why do that?”

  “I don’t know. But nothing in this alternate world surprises me anymore.”

  I peek back into the alley. It’s still clear. The multi-story car park is just across the next junction. There’s no loading bay alcove on the next block of shops, just a row of fire escape doors.

  We head past the first door… Then the second… And the third. The multi-story car park is just across one more junction.

  I glance up at the High Street. There’s a large crowd of people gathered with their eyes fixed on the events unfolding back down the street. They’re treating it like a football match. No sign of horror on their faces, just mild amusement.

  I push open the yellow access door to the multi-story car park. It’s dark inside. Metal shutters cover the windows and a flickering light struggles to illuminate the small entrance area. The sound of dripping water in the distance amplifies the increasing sense of unease.

  I rush to the lifts, but Amber pulls my hand back from the control panel. She holds up her tablet.

  “Remember how bad the lift was yesterday? We don’t want it breaking down on us.”

  I put the bomb bag down “This is too heavy for the stairs.”

  “Luther told you to lose the briefcase.”

  My phone rings. “This will be him calling to say I told you so.”

  “Are you safe now?” Luther asks.

  “I think so.” Amber opens the stair’s door and ushers me through. “The café server said FMG wasn’t behind the attack.”

  “I didn’t believe the news statement anyway,” Luther says. “I’m grateful she was there to help you.”

  “Me too. Something else weird happened.”

  “You mean the Enchanter masquerading as BCL. Are you sure it was the same man that started the trouble?”

  “Yup.” I say, peering out of the tiny windows set in the staircase wall. “How’s Kathy doing?”

  “She copied the ID card, but there’s an issue… Dean’s awake.”

  “Shit!” I swap the phone to my other ear “What do you mean, he’s awake?”

  “And he remembers our timeline.”

  “Jesus Christ. What did Kathy do?”

  “She coped… coped well. Everything is still good to go,” Luther says. “Just make sure you get the package delivered on time.”

  Amber holds up her tablet. I bat it away with my hand.

  “What happened?”

  “Okay, just keep me updated, Luther.” I drag the phone away from my ear as Amber types a new message.

  “Well?”

  “It’s Dean. He’s awake. And he remembers our timeline.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Is Kathy okay?”

  “Luther says she’s… coping,” I say. “We need to do our part and deliver the package.”

  I peer back out of the stairwell’s slit-like windows. We’re high up now; I can just make out the bandstand on the High Street.

  “Jesus Christ, it looks like an army training ground,” I say. “There was no chatter about any Enchanter demonstrations on social media or the police bands this morning. This came out of nowhere.”

  Amber waits by the door to the long-stay floor. She pulls it open and a damp breeze blows into the stairwell. The smell drags out buried memories. Images of our old garage spring into my mind. Mum taking out the bulb… Locking the door…

  Shuddering, I drag the bomb bag up the last couple of steps and into the cool darkness of the long-stay floor. My eyes slowly accustom to the low light coming from the open slits along the walls. Thankfully, the Transit van is where we left it last night, parked against the far wall. The light bar on top casts a green shadow on the ceiling.

  I hope nobody noticed that; it does look a little out of place on a plain white van. I drag the bomb bag over to the van. “This fricking thing is getting heavier by the minute.” I open the side door and lift the bag inside. “Start dressing the van while I change,” I say, passing Amber a pile of Medical Express decal stickers.

  I climb inside the van and slip into a pair of green overalls. “This had better fricking work,” I whisper to myself as I clip on my alias name badge.

  I stare at the fake ID.

  Jenny Rippon

  Medical Express

  Sweet Jenny.

  Amber bangs the side of the van, snapping my mind away from painful memories. Reaching under a pile of dust sheets, I pull out the hidden organ transplant container. I click open the locking clamps and lift the lid. Unlocking the briefcase, I take out the fake bomb. The clock counter illuminates the back of the van in a soft red glow. I check my watch and then lower the bomb into the transplant container.

  “The package is ready,” I say.

  Amber nods at the van as I climb out. She’s already finished the decals. Large green crosses on the sides turn the Transit into a Medical Express delivery van.

  I open the passenger door for her. She climbs in and pulls the seat belt over her shoulder. She taps at her tablet. “You’ll have to use the Text to Voice App while I’m driving,” I say as I fasten my seat belt.

  “Okay,” Amber’s TVA says, in its weird electronic voice.

  “I wish you’d brought your Electro-Larynx. That TVA sounds like a female Cyberman.”

  I check the time. Eleven twenty. We’ve got a few minutes to catch our breath. “Are you okay?” I ask, turning to Amber. “I’m sorry, I should have left you with Luther… It was intense back at the café.”

  “I’m-fine.”

  “This is all wrong, Amber. You should be at home, listening to music, experimenting with makeup, stressing over clothes and boys. Normal, teenage girl things. Not risking your life in a stupid rescue plan.”

  Amber looks out of the window. Her hand rises to her locket. She grips it tight.

  “What happened, Amber?” I ask. “Where did my bubbly step-niece go?”

  Ignoring my question, she opens the locket. “I-don’t-want-to-leave-her.”

  “She’s not your real stepmum,” I say, as Amber stares at the picture. “She doesn’t remember you. She won’t remember you.”

  “You-weren’t-my-real-aunt-either.” She holds out the locket, showing me the picture of the three of us. “But-you-remembered.”

  “We tried the picture. It didn’t work,” I say. “She’s a Fall casualty. Nothing can bring her back.”

  “Things-w
ould-be-different-if-she-remembered-me.”

  I turn to Amber. “We would still be trapped in this timeline You don’t see it, but having two sets of memories gives me perspective. Everywhere I look, I see how wrong this place is. It’s all dressed up to look perfect.”

  I pause as the young girl dragged into the MP’s truck flashes in my mind. “Scratch away the sugar and you will find a rancid pill underneath.”

  Amber shakes her head as I talk.

  “Innocent people are dead — murdered, right in front of us,” I say. “This timeline isn’t the perfect place you think it is, Amber.”

  “It-could-be.” With a snap, she closes the locket.

  When did she get so narrow minded?

  “We’d better get going,” I say.

  I start up the engine and drive slowly down the exit ramp. I slide the parking slip through the slot at the barrier. There’s a metal clunk as it reads the barcode and then the yellow, rusty barrier rises. I drive out onto Church Way; it runs parallel to the High Street and the alley we escaped into.

  I slow to the first junction and glance to the right. The gathered crowd has scattered. Only a few remain to watch the MPs mop up what’s left of the Enchanters on the High Street.

  Several loud cracks, like thunder, echo between the buildings.

  “Was-that-a-gun?”

  I speed up. “I’m not sure, Amber. But it sounds like it came from the High Street.”

  An MP steps into the road at the next junction. “Amber, get into the back of the van.” She quickly scrambles between the seats. “Pass me the organ container and then hide under the dust sheets,” I say, keeping my eyes on the MP.

  I flick on the siren and lights. The road illuminates with green flashes as we approach the junction. The MP doesn’t move. He holds out his hand for me to stop.

  I slam on the brakes and wind down the window. “What the hell are you doing?!” I shout. “I’ve got an emergency transplant organ for Rutland Hospital.”

  The MP looks past me. His eyes fall on the transplant container. “Documents,” he says, his expression blank.

  I hand him a clipboard full of fake paperwork. He glances at the paperwork, then hands it back.

  “Please leave the vehicle, Miss. I need to confirm your identity.” He holds up a Bio-Scanner.

  Frick!

  “Look, man, I’m on a deadline.” I place my hand on the lid of the transplant container. “Do you want me to tell the Senator that his granddaughter’s new heart died before the transplant operation? Because—” I check the MP’s name tag. “—because, Officer Wilson delayed the delivery?”

  Wilson raises the Bio-Scanner. “I’m sorry, miss, but I still need to check—”

  A sudden scream makes him turn. It’s a woman. Close. A shout of anger follows.

  Sophie from the café sprints down the road on the right. She’s holding an iron bar; her apron is stained red. An MP limps after her; a jagged crack runs down the left side of his riot helmet. Blood stains his exposed cheek. “Get her,” he shouts. “She’s a Chanter.”

  Wilson pockets the Bio-Scanner and then bangs on the van door. “Get out of here.” He raises his MP5 and chases after Sophie.

  I speed away from the junction. The siren does little to hide the sound of gunshots behind us.

  Luther, meet me on the bridge. I don’t want Amber walking back to the hospital car park on her own. Not after all this.

  “I’ll drop you off on the bridge,” I say, turning to Amber. “Luther will meet us there.”

  “My-head-still-hurts.”

  “Yup. Mine still hurts too.”

  Amber’s hands tremble while she stares out of the window. She’s young, innocent, and scared, just like the girl the MPs hauled into the truck. No one deserves this kind of persecution.

  I must make sure she stays safe, Luther. If they discover that Amber is an unregistered Enchanter, I don’t know what I will do.

  I turn off Church Way and drive towards the hospital. There’s people, cars, and more importantly, no MPs. Everyone is going about their business like normal. Chatting on the street — fricking laughing! The carnage a few streets away might as well be in another country. No one cares. People carted off in trucks for just being different. Three streets away and no one fricking cares.

  I bang the steering wheel. “Frick. Frick. Frick!”

  Wye Bank Bridge comes into view. Luther waits, leaning against the wall, reading the journal.

  I stop the van. “I’ll not be long,” I say as Amber opens the door.

  “Good-luck.”

  Luther keeps quiet. Just a quick nod as he closes the door.

  I drive over the bridge, then turn left and towards the main entrance of the hospital, watching Luther and Amber in the rear-view mirror until they disappear behind some trees. As I drive through the open hospital gates, I pick them up again, through a gap in the trees. I can just make out Amber climbing into the back of my camper van.

  She’s safe.

  There’s an ambulance drop-off bay under a large canopy, just before the main doors. I park up and then exit the van with the organ container.

  My hand wanders to the back of my neck and I run my finger over the plaster-covered, fake biometric implant. The Bio-Arch in the entrance foyer only operates on a wide beam, but after what happened in the High Street, there’s nothing to stop them tightening security and using a hand scanner too. The hospital does have them.

  If this goes tits up, Luther, take Amber and go.

  The glass doors swoosh open — sounding like classic Star Trek doors.

  Jenny

  Distant memories flash across my mind. Lying on my bed with Jenny. Laughing and replicating the Star Trek door noise… Her soft skin — the smell of strawberries — butterflies in my stomach. The intense fear of—

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  My mind snaps back.

  “Yup. I’ve got an urgent transplant delivery.”

  Harry, the security officer, leans through the open doors. Taking a deep breath, he checks out the van. “Medical Express. Must be urgent,” he says, rubbing his chin. “Follow me.”

  He indicates to the security arch just inside the entrance. I stand underneath it.

  Jenny… I should have told you… told you that I loved you.

  “You’re done, Jenny,” Harry says, snapping my mind back into focus.

  He scrutinizes my name badge for a second, then he smiles and points at the reception desk.

  I carry the transplant container over. The receptionist’s face is smooth, plastered with tons of makeup. It’s like she’s been airbrushed in real-life. She reminds me of those perfume sellers in Boots that always jump out of nowhere, ambushing you into trying a new scent. It’s clear to see she’s been crying. Her eyes are puffy and swollen. She’s tried to hide it with more makeup, but you can never hide that. I know all too well.

  I lift the container onto the desk. “Delivery for…” I place the delivery tablet on the desk and scroll to the signing screen. “For a Janice Ripley.”

  “I can sign for it,” the receptionist says.

  I check out her name badge.

  Becky.

  “Thank you, Becky,” I say, as she signs the screen with her shaky finger.

  I walk back to the doors. Harry runs out from behind the desk, stopping me mid-stride. Frick! My heart stops beating for a second.

  “Hey, take one of these Fall Ribbons,” he says. “Show your support for the Fallen.”

  “Yup. Okay. Thanks.” He watches me as I pin the blue ribbon to my overalls. Then he smiles and indicates to the exit. “Have a nice day, Jenny.”

  I nod as the automatic doors open. My heart starts beating again.

  Done.

  Right, Luther. It’s your turn now. I’ll ditch the delivery van and join you asap.

  11:05 GMT

  LUTHER STONE

  RUTLAND HOSPITAL | NEW BAKEWELL

  Lifting the binoculars, I watch Nicci drive the Me
dical Express van out of the hospital main gates. She did well, really well… No turning back now.

  Amber sits at the table, tapping away on her tablet, staring at the screen with her usual frown. Nicci’s talk with her resolved nothing. In fact, her behavior took a worrying turn. Why does she want to stay in this timeline after everything she’s witnessed? She straightens her locket and gently rubs her fingers around the edge… Like I do with Libby’s.

  Her actions suddenly become clear. She’s just a scared girl wanting her mother.

  “When I restore the timeline, I will make sure you and Nicci get all the help you need to find your mom.”

  Amber looks up. She taps a message on her tablet. “How-can-you-know-we-won’t-remember-any-of-this.” The electronic voice cuts through me.

  “I will know, and I promise you will get your mom back.” I reach for the journal. “Your real mom.” I fold back the cover and turn to Kathy’s page.

  11:06 GMT

  KATHY MEADOWS

  RUTLAND HOSPITAL | NEW BAKEWELL

  Yes. The copied ID card works. I close the dispensary door and check the time.

  Nicci should have delivered the bomb. My heart races.

  I check both my watches on my left wrist. The synched countdowns show fifty-three minutes and twelve seconds. “Time to make the call.”

  Amber lifts a purple laptop onto the table. “I’ll-put-the-call-on-speaker-when-I-get-through-all-the-automated-menu-options.”

  “Use your Electro-Larynx Choker,” I say, holding out the purple choker necklace.

  Amber glares at it, like it’s a medieval torture device.

  “You used to love having a voice.”

  She snatches the choker and fixes it around her neck, making sure the silver disk speaker sits against the center of her throat. “Yes, but it isn’t my voice,” she says through the ELC. The soft voice is angelic, nothing like the cold electronic voice from her tablet. Her ELC is soothing, almost hypnotic.