by John Patrick
The beeping noises grew louder until they dragged Elvis back into consciousness once more. He tried to pull the covers over his head to shut them out but his hands and arms seemed to be tied to something. There was a mask over his mouth and nose. He opened an eye. He was surrounded by machines with dancing green lines and changing numbers, all pinging away merrily. He was hooked up to drips and monitors and probes.
'Elvie! You're awake!' squealed Monica. She jumped up to hug him but then looked at all of the wires and tubes and thought better of it. 'Oh thank heavens!'
'Where's this? How did I get here?' Elvis began coughing.
'Elvis, I'm so sorry I wasn't there when you got sick. But it won't happen again, I promise. Things are going to change. '
'Did I have a seizure?'
'No sweetie, not a seizure. You've had a nasty chest infection that gave you blood poisoning. We're waiting for more test results. I'd gone out but Morris found you. He called for the ambulance.'
'I remember shouting. You were fighting. I heard a slap.'
'I know,' said Monica meekly 'I've said sorry to Morris. I've promised I'll never hit him again. Anyway, what's important now is getting you better. You need to rest.'
'No I can't. The hall, the church hall. I can't stay here. I've got to get back home.'
'No Elvis, you don't know what you're saying. You have to rest now, sweetie. You just lie where you are. I'll call for the doctor.'
Elvis decided he'd get up, remove all of the tubes and wires and make his own way home. But his head felt heavy, his eyelids sagged and refused to stay parted. He plunged back into a heavy sleep.
In the church hall Elizabeth and the innkeeper had been getting organised. They'd made beds from the blankets and had rearranged tables and chairs. They found some food in the kitchen and Samuel had discovered how to work the taps. They had sifted through the selection of clothes on the tables with floods of laughter. The strange styles and patterns, the T-shirts printed with pictures and strange slogans; how could people wear these things and keep a straight face? It was odd not having a chimney in the building but they'd deduced that modern people mustn’t mind a bit of smoke, so they built a small fire in one corner of the hall and opened a window above. They found the frozen hot dogs and burgers in the amazing ice chest and threw them on the fire. They took turns at standing on the piles of chairs and spying out of the high windows and watching the modern world outside. They also kept a keen eye out for anybody else appearing at Number 28. A couple of times a night, Samuel, and anyone he could persuade to go with him, would sneak across the road and check for new arrivals. Samuel loved it. And what was fascinating through the window by day, became exhilarating up close at night. The bright street lights, the shop signs down the road, the strange carriages with blinding lights on the front and little red fires on the back. And best of all, if he was lucky, he'd see a carriage come screaming past with flashing blue lights on top, wailing like a banshee. Each time they made the trip, they found a few more lost souls and retrieved them back to the hall. As a result, the church hall was getting full. But they were also getting sicker. Rather than improving, the sores seemed to be getting worse, the fevers returning and they were getting weaker. The place was beginning to feel like the carriage house all over again. And where was the boy, Elvis? He'd promised to come back for them. If he wasn't back soon, they'd have to head out into this frightening new world and seek medicine for themselves.
Night returned and Samuel talked the innkeeper into going back across the road to look for more arrivals. Maybe this time he'd find his father. Mary lay on the floor on a bed of blankets and stared up at the stars. How had they all come to reappear like this, so many years later? Why weren't the streets filled with more people like them? Thousands and thousands of people had died of plague in London so what made them special? She recalled the last few weeks before she'd become sick. She remembered how fond she'd been of Nick from next door and how she was going to try and smuggle him into the house. She also recalled how he'd deceived her, how he'd sat in the carriage house when he must have known he was sick and then had given her a kiss on the cheek. What a Judas! How could she have fallen for his lies? It was a good job he wasn't here now because she'd let him know exactly what she thought. She'd slap him across the face in front of everyone and when they asked why she'd tell them. Everyone would know how he had brought plague into the carriage house and into Number 28. It was all down to Nick. And to think she'd brought him the stupid potion. She'd gone out of her way to give him his own supply of the useless medicine! She laughed to herself. How could they all have fallen for such a stupid old story? How could they really believe that a stone could stop them getting sick? But then a realisation hit her. She sat upright and looked at the people sharing the hall. That was it! That was what made them different. That was why the streets of modern day London weren't flooded with refugees from 1665. Everyone in this room had taken the potion. It was obvious. Her mother, Alice, Samuel, the innkeeper, Le Clerc, Thomas and everyone here had drunk the potion. It might not have kept them alive back then, but for some reason it was bringing them back now. That meant there would be more people to come. Lot's more people. That meant Nick could be on his way. Her pulse quickened. She'd have the chance to say those things that she'd been planning. And her father, he should be coming too. Her mother had sent potion to him with Brock. Mary heard distant voices approaching, brisk footsteps on the flag-stoned path. Perhaps this was Nick, and maybe her father. She wrapped the blanket around herself and climbed onto a chair to peek through the window. The voices were getting louder and sounded agitated.
'Och noo, Ah still dinna understand whit ye sayin'.'
'Shh!' replied the innkeeper 'You're makin' too much racket. Someone's gonna 'ear us and chuck us out. Wait until we get inside.'
The doors to the hall opened and Madadh McDonald marched inside in all of his kilted tartan glory, followed by Samuel and the innkeeper.
'Where's Cormag. Is he here?' asked Madadh.
Le Clerc jumped to his feet. 'Mister MacDonald! My friend, how good to see you again! Hey, what d'you think? Big new world, eh? Lots of opportunity!'
Madadh ignored him. 'Hey, is there a nay a wee bit o' scran to be had here?' He walked past Le Clerc to inspect the pan sat on dying embers. 'An where's tha' Cormag?' he asked again, shoving food into his mouth.
Elizabeth slipped her arm from under Alice's sleeping body and quietly pulled Samuel to one side. 'Did you see your father, Samuel?' she whispered 'Was he there?'
Samuel shook his head. 'But Mum, every time we go there's more people. I'll go back in a few minutes and check. I'll hide in the bushes and wait!'
'Mum, it's the stone!' hissed Mary.
'What's the stone?'
'The stone! That's what everyone has got in common! Everyone here has drunk potion made from the stone!'
Elizabeth looked around the room. Mary was right. That was the common thread. It was obvious now.
'Did Dad drink it?'
'Yes, I think so,' replied Elizabeth 'I sent him some with Mister Brock.'
'Did you see him? Did you see him drink it?' demanded Samuel.
'Well, no, not me. But Mister Brock said he did, so, I'm sure that'll be right. Is Mister Brock here?'
'No, not yet. I'll go and have another look.'
'No, Samuel, wait!'
But Samuel was already disappearing out of the door.
'Mary, darling, please would you go and keep an eye on him?'
Mary ran across the churchyard after her brother, following him across the deserted street. It was now 3 am and much to Samuel's disappointment, only the very occasional vehicle sped by. Mary and Samuel circled the garage but found nobody. They hid in the gap between the garage and fence and waited.
Forty minutes went by and nobody appeared. They were getting cold.
'Why don't we wait inside this little house?' suggested Samuel 'It's got to be warmer in there.'
They went to the front of the garage and
tried to open it. It was locked. Samuel rattled the wooden doors but they weren't going to open. He found a small trowel on the ground and tried prising the doors apart. After five minutes, it was clear that the lock was too strong.
'Leave it Sammy.' said Mary 'It ain't gonna budge and someone's gonna 'ear ya an' come lookin'.'
'No. I can do it! You watch!' grunted Samuel, hanging off the trowel. 'It's comin'...any minute.'
'You're wasting your time Sammy. Someone's gonna see us.'
Flashing blue lights entered the street. Samuel loved these, he knew they belonged to those really fast vehicles that fly past making that scary wailing sound. 'Hey Mary, quick! Come see 'ow these things go!' He threw down the trowel, grabbed his sister's arm and they dashed to the front hedge to watch. They knelt down and pushed their heads through the bushes. The lights raced up the street on top of a white police car. The car screeched to a halt right in front of them. The doors opened and two uniformed officers climbed out.
'I'm tellin' ya I had a flush an' that beats four of anythin'. Even four aces.' said one of them.
'Nah, bullshit mate. Four aces is best you can get. If he 'ad four aces then you should 'ave give 'im the money.'
'When did you last play poker? Bet it was in bloody primary school. You need...'
The radio crackled to life. 'Tango Charlie three. Advise your current location. Over.'
'Just a minute Dave. Roger, this is Tango Charlie Three. We've arrived at 28 Monnington Street. It looks all quiet. We're going to have a closer look. Over. ...An' any'ow. I was only playin' 'gainst Eric. I wouldn't care what I 'ad, I'd still take his bloody money.'
'Yeh, fair point. But you're still a cheat.'
Mary grabbed Samuel's arm and pulled him away from the hedge. She didn't understand why these people were here but she sensed that they weren't going to be friendly. She led Samuel quickly around the back of the garage. Samuel stepped on a shovel that had been left on the path. It flicked into the air before clattering back down onto the concrete.
'I'm no cheat Dave, I'm tellin' ya...Hey, did you 'ere that?' They both switched on their torches and directed the beams over the hedge.
The radio crackled again. 'Tango Charlie Three. Is your location clear? Over.'
'This is Tango Charlie Three. Negative. Looks like intruders at the premises. We're investigating now. Over'. He clipped his radio back into place and nodded towards the garage. The two policemen followed their torch beams into the garden of Number 28.
Mary and Samuel hid behind a couple of large plastic wheelie bins at the rear of the garage. As they crouched, Samuel spotted a lost-looking figure stood a few yards away by the fence. He tugged Mary's arm and pointed. It was Brock. Mary dashed over, grabbed his arm and tried to pull him into hiding with her.
Brock pulled back. 'Hey what you playin' at? Is that... Mary? Is that you Mary?'
'Shh!' ordered Mary then dragged him down behind the bins.
'What are we doing?' asked Brock crouching alongside her.
'Please be quiet. They'll hear us.' whispered Mary.
'Who'll hear us?'
The torch beams scoured the back garden, lighting up the panelled fence and darting between overgrown bushes and shrubs.
'OK we can see you clearly. Come out now.' ordered Dave. 'Come on, out! Right now! You don't want us to have to come over there, I'm tellin' ya!'
Mary and Samuel crouched lower.
'Come on. There's no point hidin'. We can see ya clear as day.'
Mary knew she was beaten. She tapped Samuel on the shoulder and they stood up behind the bins. Brock copied.
But the policemen had their torches focussed on a bush ten yards away. Through the patchy foliage, the torches had lit up blue, green and red tartan. Dave turned his torch towards the back of the garage.
'Shit, there's more of 'em, look!'
Cormag charged out of the bush and dashed for freedom. The nearest policeman dived and tackled him to the ground.
Spotting their chance, Mary and Samuel decided to run for it too. They dashed out from behind the bins and sprinted for the road. But Brock remained motionless, staring vacantly ahead. Dave ran at Brock fumbling for his handcuffs, but before he could reach him his mate called out.
'For God's sake Dave. Give me a bloody hand!' He was struggling to overpower Cormag and was now just hanging on to an ankle.
'You stay right where you bloody are!' Dave bawled at Brock before running and diving on top of Cormag.
Mary ran back, grabbed Brock's arm and dragged him up the drive. 'Come on, we've got to get out of 'ere!'
'Why? What's going on?'
'I'll explain after. Come on!'
But as Brock and Mary approached the front gate another car screamed up the road, siren wailing, lights flashing. Samuel stood and watched in admiration.
'Oh shit Sam! Quick, back 'ere.' She tugged her brother back and looked for somewhere else to hide. The only place left was behind a large flowering bush at the front of the house. She dragged Samuel and Brock into the space between the shrub and the wall. They squeezed in together, but it provided only scant cover.
'They're gonna find us Sam!' whispered Mary.
'Who's gonna find us?' asked Brock.
Two more policeman charged down the drive and dropped on top of Cormag. This time he was beaten. They rolled him onto his face and cuffed him.
'What is this, bloody Halloween? What's he dressed like that for?'
'Dunno but he stinks! And look at those sores! Yuck!'
'Hey, you're lucky, you didn't have to wrestle with the bastard; it's true what they say about what's under their kilts!' He shuddered and then tapped Cormag with the toe of a shiny black boot. 'What the hell are you doin' 'ere anyhow?'
'Ah dinnee ken whit ye bletherin 'boot ye wee pudgetie sassenach bastart!'
'What is 'e on about?'
'Dunno, he's probably pissed. But lookin' at them sores I reckon you'd best take 'im up the 'ospital to get him checked Dave. Make sure it's nothin' we can catch. We'll 'ave a look around an' see what else we can find. Did you say there were more of 'em?'
Samuel shuffled along the wall further behind the bush. Under his feet and through a carpet of old fallen leaves he felt the rungs of a large, rusty iron grid. He scraped at the decaying debris with his foot. The grid was a good two and a half feet across.
''Ere, Mary, look at this?'
He bent down and tried to lift the cover but it was firmly stuck into place. The torch beams were now flitting around the garden again, jumping between shadowy corners and under bushes and trees.
'If we can open it we can 'ide down there!'
Brock barged Samuel out of the way.
'Let me try.' He pushed his fingers between the metal bars and with a grunt he hoisted the metal grill up from the hole.
'Quick!' hissed Mary, 'Jump in.'
Samuel jumped down and landed on soft squelchy ground. Beneath the narrow grid the space opened up, it was around five feet deep, dark, dank and musty. The ground was covered in years of fallen leaves and the walls were composed of crumbly old brick. Brock sat on the edge of the hole and slipped his legs inside. Samuel pressed himself against the wall to make room, but as Brock tried to slide his bulky body through the hole he became wedged at the waist, his legs left dangling a couple of feet in the air. Torch lights were getting closer. Mary pressed down on his shoulders but he was tightly stuck.
In the house Monica slept on; but Morris had heard the commotion. He pulled on his old woollen dressing gown and slippers. He parted the curtains and was met by the sight of two police cars parked outside his house and torches flashing around his garden. He tied his dressing gown belt into a bow and headed downstairs.
Dave and his mate were trying to push Cormag into the police car but Cormag wasn't keen. What was this strange thing with flashing lights and a talking box inside? Cormag wriggled and tried to wrestle free from the grip of the two policemen but all he managed to do was fall onto the pavement. Dave
and his mate were losing patience. They grabbed Cormag's cuffed arms, lifted him up and threw him like a sack into the back of the car.
'What's going on officer?' Morris asked the policeman searching near his back door.
'Oh hello Sir. Sorry to disturb you. You got some intruders hangin' around. We had a call. I think they might have been trying to break into your garage. Have you got something valuable in there?'
'Well, yes. A classic car. An Austin Allegro, thirteen hundred.’ explained Morris. 'Did you catch anyone?'
'Oh just some drunken old smelly Scottish bloke, dressed in a kilt, would you believe?'
'In a kilt? Where? Where is he?'
'They're just about to take him away. He's in the patrol car there Sir.'
Morris dashed along the drive being careful not to lose his slippers in his haste. As he got to the gate the car was just pulling away. On the back seat he could see Cormag's contorted face, shouting and writhing.
Behind the bush Brock was still stuck. Mary's pushing hadn't worked. She leant against the wall and stood on his shoulders but still he didn't budge. Inside the drain Samuel was feeling his way around. There was an opening leading away from the house. He crawled into it. At least he was away from Brock's swinging legs. Mary meantime was now jumping on Brock's shoulders trying to squeeze him through the gap. The torch lights darted across the front of the house and around the bush. Mary jumped with all her might, Brock wriggled and writhed and finally he dropped through the hole. Mary fell after him and landed on his head.
'Shit that hurt!' moaned Brock.
'Quiet' hissed Mary. 'Quick, pull the cover back over.'
Brock stood up and poked his head out of the drain. He found the iron cover and dragged it back into place.
The noise had been heard by Morris and the two remaining policemen.
'You go back inside Sir. We'll check this out.'
'No' replied Morris calmly 'this is my house and I want to see what's going on.'
'Sir, I'm instructing you to please go back in doors. For your own safety.'
'This is my garden, my house, my Austin Allegro. I'll get my torch and come look with you.'
The policeman looked at each other and sighed. They shone their lights in the direction of the noise. It seemed to have come from around the bush at the front of the house. Morris reappeared with a large red plastic torch. They all converged around the bush and shone their torches through the leaves and branches.
'Hey, look at this.' said one of the officers shining his torch at the large grid. He pushed his way behind the bush and shone his light down the hole. 'It's a bloody big drain. Someone could 'ide down there!'
He knelt down and placed his torch against the iron bars. All that was visible was dirt and old leaves.
'That's just a grid mate. Come on. I reckon they've legged it by now.' He tapped his friend on the elbow. 'Hey, let's have a look at his 'classic' Austin Allegro!' he added with a snigger.
Samuel led Mary and Brock deeper into the dark, smelly drain. Ahead he could see a soft yellow glow and perhaps a way out. It was tight squeeze for Brock and he had to wriggle along on his belly at times to get through. Eventually they reached the source of the light, a small hole in the roof of the tunnel. Samuel stood on tip toe and peeked through the opening. He was looking out on the road from a kerbside grid, no more than a foot wide and offering no escape route. They kept going. Eventually they came to a dead end. It was pitch black. They felt around and worked out they were in a small chamber about six feet wide. The walls were crumbly brick and mortar with thick roots dangling from above. There seemed to be no way out. They didn't dare go back for fear of being found by the police. They decided to stay where they were for the night see what morning might bring.
Chapter 9