Freefall

by Roderick Gordon

  “Genius!” Dr. Burrows yelled, studying the arrangement intently, but then his shoulders sagged again. “So now I’ve got the sequence, but it doesn’t really make any difference. I still need the Burrows Stone to decipher the engraved script. And we also don’t yet know where the route starts from.”

  Will held up his hands. “I’ve got something else for you! Wait here!” he exclaimed, tearing over to his bunk, where he’d left his rucksack.

  “I’m not exactly going anywhere,” Dr. Burrows said bemusedly.

  Will ran back to his father with something in his hand. But before he showed his father what it was, he drew his attention to the stone tablet that came first in his new arrangement. “Look at this, Dad. See the sign … right here?” He pointed at the three-pronged symbol carved minutely into the very top left-hand corner of the tablet.

  “Sure,” Dr. Burrows shrugged, as if it was nothing exceptional. “I found quite a few incidences of that symbol in the Deeps,” he added as his son shuffled through the pack of photographs Rebecca One had given him.

  “These belonged to a sailor on the sub. Just look at the last of them.” Will slapped the photograph down in front of his father. “The same symbol,” he announced. “The sailor must have taken that photo somewhere near the sub, near enough that he managed to get back there without being picked off by the Brights.”

  “No!” Dr. Burrows shouted. “So without knowing it, I could have been in the right place all along!”

  “Then … then we’ve got to go there, now!” Will cried, matching his father’s enthusiasm.

  But Dr. Burrows just shook his head. “No, Will, we can’t.”

  “Why not?” Will asked.

  “Because it’s important we establish a way back to the surface that we can use. Because I don’t want us to become cut off from civilization again, in case there’s any sort of emergency. If we can navigate to the top of the river, then it’s going to be a cinch to get down here again. We can just let the river carry us.” He was about to say something else, but instead rubbed his forehead. When he finally spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. “And I have to see if your mother is all right. She must be worried sick by now — after all, it’s not just me that’s gone missing — there’s you and Rebecca, too. She’s all alone up there.”

  Dr. Burrows wouldn’t meet Will’s eyes, which made him instantly suspicious. His father had never seemed overly concerned about his mother before, and Will wondered why he should start now.

  “Besides,” Dr. Burrows blurted, as if it had only just occurred to him, “I thought you had to get that virus to someone on the surface. You said it was vital that you did?”

  “S’pose so,” Will said, feeling as if he’d just been dragged back to reality. He had been so carried away by the prospect of new adventures with his father that he’d pushed the Styx plot to the back of his mind. His father saw the turmoil on his face.

  “What’s the matter?” Dr. Burrows asked. “Only that it might not actually be the Dominion virus,” Will replied. “It might all be a waste of time.” “Why do you say that?”

  Will frowned even more deeply. “Because just about everything else the Rebecca twins have done or said has been either a trick or a lie, and I still think it’s weird that Rebecca One gave the phials to me. It’s even weirder that Rebecca Two knew she had — remember she asked me for it at the submarine?”

  Dr. Burrows thought for a second. “That aside, it seemed important to them to get it back, so maybe it is the real McCoy? And if you really believe it’s so pandemically dangerous, you have to give it to the authorities and let them take care of it.”

  Will nodded in resignation. His father was absolutely right. As long as there was a chance, however slim, that the Dominion virus was in the phial, it was his responsibility to make sure it was put in the right hands so the Styx plot could be neutralized. “OK … but once we’re Topsoil and I’ve dealt with the phials, I will be coming back with you, won’t I? I want to help you see this through, Dad,” he asked, his voice wavering slightly.

  “Of course, of course,” Dr. Burrows replied, still avoiding Will’s gaze as he stooped to retrieve a black file by his feet. “But, right now, I’ve got something else for you to do.”

  Will took the folder and studied the plastic cover of the file, which was cracked where it hinged. The front was plain except for some letters and numbers, so he flipped it open. He was greeted by an exploded schematic of a piece of machinery. “What’s this?” he asked, and then, as he thumbed back to the first page, he read, “Outboard Motor Operation Manual? Are you expecting me to read this or something?”

  “You know I’m useless when it comes to anything mechanical. Perhaps you could bone up on it while I get the boat ready. If it’s the wrong manual for the outboard we found, there are others in a bookcase in cubicle twenty-three, along with a whole load of novels by Alistair MacLean … and some weapons manuals.”

  Will’s ears perked up at the mention of the weapons manuals. “I’m your man,” he said.

  Will spent the next forty-eight hours reading about how to prime and operate the outboard motor, occasionally nipping out to the quayside where he and his father had dragged it. Unbeknownst to Dr. Burrows, Will also sneaked into the armory to help himself to a selection of the guns, which he taught himself to fieldstrip on a blanket laid on the floor of one of the side rooms in the fallout shelter.

  At the same time, Dr. Burrows was doing his bit. He’d used a rusting trailer to haul the fiberglass launch to the quayside and then put it on the water. Making sure it was tied securely to the pier, he proceeded to load it with provisions. He was just returning to the stores when he bumped into Will at the main blast door.

  “Hot water’s on,” Will announced. His hair was slicked back and his face — for the first time in a long time — was clean from the shower he’d just taken. He was also wearing a fresh change of clothes: an olive-green shirt and matching cargoes.

  Dr. Burrows stared at him, openmouthed.

  “You want cubicle thirty-one for the quartermaster’s stores and the clothes, and cubicle twenty-seven for the showers. I’ve left some shampoo and soap in there for you,” Will merely said, continuing on his way outside. As Dr. Burrows watched him go, he spotted the Browning Hi-Power tucked down the back of his son’s pants.

  “Will! I told you not to —”

  “It’s not loaded,” Will replied without missing a step. He grinned to himself as, once out of his father’s sight, he threw the carton of rounds into the air and caught it. He knew that Dr. Burrows was unlikely to hear the gunshots from inside the fallout shelter. “Practice makes perfect,” he said to himself.

  The next day they lugged the outboard motor over to the launch and Will managed to bolt it in place. Getting it started was more problematic. The engine would catch and run for several seconds, then splutter out. Will tried to start it with the handle-pull so many times that he didn’t have any strength left in his arms and Dr. Burrows had to take over. Sweating and coated in grease and grime, they eventually succeeded, the engine pouring out black smoke for several minutes as it ran unevenly. Then it stopped misfiring and settled into a regular throb. His father gave him the thumbs-up, his laughter lost in the noise of the engine. Will tilted the outboard so the screw just touched the water, then he revved it. A torrent sprayed out behind the launch.

  “Job done,” Will concluded as he cut the engine and the last reports of its deafening roar resounded in the cavern.

  “Excellent!” Dr. Burrows congratulated him. “Remind me to stow some extra fuel on board before we set off.” After they had climbed out of the boat and onto the pier, he looked at his son. “Teamwork,” he said, patting him once gently on the shoulder, then together they walked back to the dormitory area.

  After a good sleep and some breakfast, they both made their way out of the shelter and along to the pier where the launch was tethered.

  “Cool coat, Dad,” Will said as he admired the
old duffle coat Dr. Burrows had found. With a hood and toggles up the front, it was made of a very heavy-duty, fawn-colored fabric, so stiff it looked as if it could stand up by itself.

  “It’s a classic Montgomery, made out of Fearnought blanket material. My father had one just like this, which he bought at an army surplus shop. I remember him wearing it when I was young,” Dr. Burrows said affectionately. After he’d finished admiring his new coat, he looked up and noticed the two bulky khaki-colored holdalls his son was carrying. “Got enough in those?”

  “I picked us out a couple of sleeping bags and some other gear that might come in handy,” Will replied immediately, trying his best not to let his father see how heavy the holdalls were.

  “I suppose it’s a good idea to have a bit of ballast in the bottom of the launch — in case the going gets rough,” Dr. Burrows said.

  Will glanced down at the breast pocket of the combat jacket he’d requisitioned. “The only thing I’m really worried about is the Dominion phials. We can’t lose them. Not at any cost.”

  They walked a little farther down the quayside, then Will spoke again.

  “Dad, you do know the phials are the only reason I’m coming with you? Otherwise I’d have gone straight back to Chester and Elliott. And I will be going back for them once I’ve handed the virus over to someone.”

  Dr. Burrows came to a sudden halt. “Will, you’ve made that perfectly clear to me. And you don’t really think I’ve finished down here, either, do you? I’ve only just scratched the surface.” He shook his head. “No, I’m definitely coming back to see through what I’ve begun.”

  As they walked the remaining distance to the launch, his father muttered under his breath, “If we make it home.”

  They stowed all the equipment in the launch, then Dr. Burrows turned to him.

  “I nearly forgot.” He tugged a pair of black woolly hats from his duffle-coat pocket, and they both put them on. “Help to keep the chill out.”

  “Good idea, Dad,” Will said, grinning wryly at his father. With his hat pulled down low over his head and his straggly growth of beard, Dr. Burrows really looked like some gnarled old sea captain.

  “Onward and upward!” Dr. Burrows proclaimed as Will started the outboard motor. They took the launch for a few laps around the harbor. Once Will had got the hang of how it handled, he did what his father had suggested and built up speed before he steered under the arch and out into the river channel. Dr. Burrows’s suggestion was right on the money — and Will found he had to open the throttle even further in order to make any headway at all against the oncoming water.

  As they left the illuminated section of river channel behind them, Dr. Burrows was positioned at the bow with the lamp so he could light the way. He acted as the pilot, shouting to Will if there were outcrops of rock to avoid or sharp turns in the channel. The ride was rougher than Will had expected. As the launch bounced along, both he and his father were very soon soaked to the skin by the spray from the icy-cold river and the occasional sheet of water that broke over the bows. Will was grateful for the woolly hat and the extra layers of clothing he’d donned for the journey.

  The river seemed to go on forever, snaking up through the guts of the earth for mile after mile. The only sign that man had ever been there before came in the form of large white circles daubed on the rough walls — these were markers to show which direction to go when the river forked, as it did many times. So as Dr. Burrows kept an eye out for them, Will steered the launch upward, always upward, to the source of the river.

  When Will was so tired he was finding it hard to control the outboard, his father swapped places with him at the helm. Although Will could have done with some sleep, this was impossible: Someone needed to be at the bow with the lamp, or else they would be sailing blind in all the confusion of the spray. While it wasn’t any warmer there, at least it gave Will an opportunity to rest his aching arms.

  They carried on without stopping because there was nowhere they could stop that would give them protection from the continuous onrush of water. It must have been almost a day later, in which time Dr. Burrows had repeatedly managed to refuel the outboard engine as it still ran, when Will spotted a different type of sign — a white circle, but this time with a black square within it. He gestured to his father to steer toward it. As they followed more of these signs around a bend, they found that the channel widened out considerably, so that it was at least a half mile wide.

  In these less turbulent waters, they noticed something pale in the distance and Dr. Burrows steered the boat toward it. It turned out to be a metal pontoon, which must once have been painted white, although it was now largely discolored by rust. Just beyond it, they spotted a pier jutting out into the water and a small, man-made quay. Dr. Burrows cut the engine and they drifted into the side.

  “Got it!” Will shouted as he caught hold of a metal railing, and brought the launch to a stop. After he’d tied up the bow rope, they clambered out.

  “Good to be back on dry land again,” Dr. Burrows said as he stamped his feet, taking pleasure in the solid ground beneath them. He pulled off his woolly hat and wrung it out while Will took a quick look around. The quay was a fraction of the size of the one they’d departed from, and he was back within a few minutes.

  “Nothing much here, Dad. Just some fuel tanks and a small building that’s completely empty except for a telephone.”

  “Thought as much,” Dr. Burrows said. “This is probably a refueling stop — a kind of way station, where the barge and the boats could take on more gas. Good thing, too, as we’ve already gone through a couple of the spare cans. I was beginning to wonder if we’d have enough to make it to the top.”

  “Better check if there’s any fuel in the tanks, then,” Will said, and began to go off when he stopped and turned. “Dad, are we nearly there?”

  Dr. Burrows chuckled, ramming a finger into his ear to try to get out the water. “You’d ask me that in the car when we used to go on our fossil-hunting trips. You couldn’t wait to get there. Remember?”

  Will smiled. “Well, are we nearly there?”

  “Difficult to say, but I’d estimate we haven’t gone a third of the distance yet,” Dr. Burrows said. “Maybe less.” He flapped his arms several times, then jumped up and down.

  “Why are you doing that?” Will asked, intrigued.

  “Notice how when you move it feels sort of sluggish?” He took hold of the kit bag he’d brought with him from the launch, then slowly lifted it up. “Even this feels heavier. By the time we reach the surface, we’re going to feel as if we’re made of lead.”

  “Yes, back to full gravity again. I hadn’t thought of that,” Will said, then sighed. “We’re not going to have our superpowers anymore.”

  They set up camp in the building, lighting an oil stove in the doorway to warm themselves and dry their sopping clothing and boots. With some hot food in them, they crawled into their sleeping bags and were sound asleep within minutes.

  Will was woken by his father passing a mess tin of steaming hot fluid in front of his nose.

  “Yuck! Not more of your tea,” Will said, then groaned. “Can’t I have another hour’s kip? I’m wrecked.”

  “Stir yourself, lazy bones. Let’s get this journey whipped,” Dr. Burrows said, sitting back on his haunches.

  Despite Will’s protests, he got up and they soon set off in the launch again, coming upon several more refueling stations before, finally, a day and a half later, they pulled into a place that was far more substantial.

  “I think we might be there,” Dr. Burrows yelled from the helm.

  23

  ON THE OUTSKIRTS of Cardiff, a man unlocked his front door to let himself in. The house was in complete darkness, but he left the lights off as he put his umbrella on the hall table and made his way into the kitchen. Still without any illumination, he went over to the electric kettle and, checking it was full, flicked on the switch. He seemed to stare at the red light at the base of the k
ettle as the water heated up and made bumping sounds, until he reached over to a kitchen cabinet to get a mug.

  “Sam,” Drake said from the darkness.

  The man gasped in surprise, dropping the mug, which fell to the floor and shattered.

  “For the love of … Drake! Is that you, Drake?”

  “Hi, Sam,” Drake said. “Sorry to give you a fright like that, but if you leave the lights off …”

  “I thought you were dead,” the man said, barely taking a breath before his voice turned to anger. “What are you doing here? You shouldn’t come anywhere near me. They might be watching.”

  “No, I made sure it was safe.”

  “It’s never safe,” Sam snapped.

  “You always were a little jittery,” Drake said, shaking his head. “How’s the family, by the way?”

  “I don’t know — you tell me. I can’t see them anymore — I had to walk out on them so they wouldn’t be at risk.” Sam moved toward the sink, his feet crunching on the broken mug. “I just hope you weren’t spotted coming here,” he said, still clearly very nervous. “You know they took the network apart, don’t you? And that most of the old teams are dead, or buried so deep they might as well be dead?”

  “Yep,” Drake answered casually, which seemed to infuriate the man even more.

  “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize this was a social call. I’d offer you some coffee, but I just broke my only mug.”

  “I need some help,” Drake said.

  “How do I know they haven’t got to you?” Sam demanded. “You’ve been gone … what is it? Four years? They might have sent you here. How do I know I can trust you?”

  “I could ask you the same thing. How do I know if I can trust you?” Drake shot back.

  “You don’t need to — my days of skulking around are over. I’m not that person anymore, and you’re on your own, pal,” Sam said, then sighed deeply. “I don’t know how we ever thought we could win. They’re just too cold-blooded, too shrewd, and too well established. It’s an impossible contest.”