The Anomaly

by Neil Carstairs

  Emily hesitated. That cold feeling of dread touched her again. The twins turned away, walking up the short driveway to the school playground. Emily watched them go. She sighed. Did the twins frighten her that much? From facing down demons to being scared of a couple of spiteful eleven-year-old girls in the space of a few days. She almost laughed.

  Almost, because the twins cast shadows around them that only Emily could see.

  ***

  Tim Munro tried his best to listen to the ten-year-old girl telling him all about her pet rabbit having six babies. Instead, he wanted to pay as much attention to Miss Davis, the new teaching assistant in Year Six as he could. Tim held a special place in the school as the only male member of staff. That stretched all the way down through the cleaners and all the way up through the School Governors. The kids saw him as the father figure. And for some of them who came from single-mother households he was their father. Tim took the role seriously. As Year Five’s teacher, he was taking the youngsters from primary to junior. They wouldn’t be teenagers for a few years. But changes were starting to become apparent as they went from being little kids to big kids.

  Of course, being a single man in a town like this limited his chances of meeting up with a single female. Some of the mothers made it obvious they’d welcome extra-curricular activities with the good-looking teacher. He resisted because the formidable headteacher, Mrs Bradley, told him in no uncertain terms that any impropriety would see him out of the door and out of work. Despite everything the government said about education being one of their key funding targets, teaching jobs were few and far between. Every year saw new graduates enter teacher training and newly-qualified teachers enter the profession. All this meant that competition for jobs increased year-on-year. Some of Tim’s friends who’d qualified with him were now working in call centres or supermarkets because they couldn’t get teaching jobs.

  Tim wanted to keep this position. But he also knew that Miss Davis, Hannah, would either make him or break him. He’d already managed to work his playground monitoring duties to coincide with Hannah’s, which was easy since the other teachers took one look at his face and arranged it between themselves. So here he was, within arm’s length of the prettiest TA he’d ever seen, and having to make small talk about baby bunnies.

  As the girl trotted off to tell her friends about the patter of tiny feet, Tim straightened up and saw Hannah watching him.

  “At least she didn’t ask where the babies came from,” she said.

  “Not a conversation I’d want at this time of the morning.”

  She smiled, her eyes scanning the milling children as she looked for tears or tantrums.

  Tim said, “How did your first day go?”

  “Not too bad. I might remember more than one name. The only one I know for sure is Emily and that’s because it was her first day as well.”

  “Do you know why Mrs Hardiman left so suddenly?”

  “No.” Hannah flashed him a quick frown. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just Friday she was here and Monday she was gone.”

  Hannah shrugged. “I only know I got a call over the weekend because my CV was on Mrs Bradley’s desk. Right place, right time.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “I know. It’s only for the rest of this term at the moment but just between you and me I’ve got my foot in the door and hope to keep it there.”

  “So do I,” Tim said and in the moment when he realised he’d put way too much feeling into the words he added. “Any questions about the kids, fire away, I had them all last year so can point you in the right direction.”

  “I’ll get their names straight first,” Hannah said. “Although the twins will be awkward. They are very identical, aren’t they?”

  “Oh, Elizabeth and Victoria,” Tim sighed, leant close and lowered his voice so none of the nearby kids could hear him. “The gruesome twosome.”

  “Pardon?” Hannah said in surprise. “Are you allowed to say that?”

  “Probably not but if there are tears or bruises in class, then those two won’t be far away. If we were a big enough school to have two year groups, then the twins would be split up and kept as far apart as possible. Bad enough on their own, but they’re worse together. Mrs Bradley has had their parents in more times than most of the other parents put together.”

  “So they’re naughty?”

  “Oh, it’s way more than that. If they were grown up, they’d either be in prison or enjoying the high-life as bondage dominatrices.”

  Hannah laughed. “Way too much detail there.”

  Tim liked her laugh and her smile. He hid a sigh by checking his watch and turning to a group of Year Three girls who hovered nearby, “Right,” he said. “Who wants to help ring the bell today?”

  Hannah stepped away from Tim as two of the girls swung the handbell as hard as possible. The sound brought children in from all corners of the playground. They gathered in close to neat lines in front of their respective Year Numbers that were painted on the ground. Hannah checked for Emily and saw her near the back, the twins behind her. That reminded Hannah about the first day and Emily and the twins at the bus stop. Something to keep an eye on. No doubt the two sisters were the school bullies. But she wasn’t so sure about Tim’s idea that they went way beyond that.

  “Off you go,” she said, and watched the children begin to file towards their classrooms.

  She took another look around the playground. One of the other teachers stood down at the entrance, letting in a late arrival before locking the double gates. The only way in now was a side gate that led along a fenced-off path to the school’s reception office. Hannah followed her year in, chivvying along a slow moving boy. Her second day, and if she wanted to be truthful, she’d quite enjoyed the first. Working with kids had never entered her thoughts. Having said that, working for the Secret Intelligence Service hadn’t entered her thoughts either. At least until two months before she graduated with a First in History. A news item about the government launching a website to recruit spies caught her attention. She visited the site to complete the application more out of curiosity than anything else. Three telephone interviews later she found herself in London for a personal interview and assessment.

  And now here she stood, personal protection to a girl with talents that until six months ago, Hannah would never have believed. But life has a way of changing perceptions. Hannah now knew that there was a world of supernatural and paranormal beings threatening the security of the state as much as any terrorist did. She closed the door to the Year Six classroom, the noise and bustle reminding her of her school days. As Mrs Lynch tried to calm the rabble to take registration, Hannah began preparing for the first part of the day, listening with half-an-ear to the rhythm of the names. Another day in the life of Year Six.

  ***

  Ben walked up the slope towards the scattered remnants of the engine house Reuben had told him about the previous day. The soldier Reuben called Macca was in a serious but stable condition in the Royal Cornwall Hospital in Truro. Ben had never met the guy but felt some sympathy for him. Coming face to face with a bunch of undead followed closely by a giant was enough to ruin any man’s day. And getting flung onto the roof of a stable did nothing extra to help.

  “So, you weren’t here?” Ben asked.

  “We stayed with Macca. The flight to Truro didn’t take long, but we had to let the medical team know what happened.”

  Ben stopped walking. “You told them?”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Reuben said. “We said he’d fallen from height.”

  “Sorry.” Ben wiped his face. “I just can’t get over what happened.”

  Reuben reached out to hold Ben’s arm, “We came back as soon as we could. Stanton was pussyfooting around again. He set a one-mile exclusion zone, only allowed drones to investigate and acted like a complete tosspot.”

  “Congrave needs to get rid of him,” Ben said.

  “Easier said than done.” Reuben glanced arou
nd even though they were alone in a grass field. “You know who Stanton is, don’t you?”

  “Reuben, I’m American. I’ve never been to this country before a few weeks ago.”

  “Yeah, I forgot.” Reuben gave him a sheepish smile. “Stanton is the brother of our Defence Minister. And our Defence Minister is the staunchest supporter the Prime Minister has in her Cabinet. Getting rid of our esteemed Lieutenant-Colonel will be tricky.”

  “Even for Congrave?”

  “Despite the way everything turned out at Darlford, Congrave was lucky to stay in his job after launching Operation Ghost in the States.”

  “It doesn’t show on him,” Ben said, turning back to the rubble strewn over the slope.

  “He’s on a final warning.”

  Ben nodded, only half listening as he started walking again. From his viewpoint, the engine house didn’t look like it had fallen over. If it had, then the stonework would be laid out in a more regular pattern, as if a child had pushed over a stack of bricks. Here, the stones from the engine had been flung in every direction. Only an explosion could do that. Getting closer, he stepped around man-sized lumps of stone. The grass now covered by a fine layer of dust and grit that caught beneath the soles of his shoes. Ben stopped next to the Land Rover.

  The battered vehicle lay on its side. Ben looked inside. When he straightened, he blamed a sudden gust of wind for the tears in his eyes. “Have they found any bodies yet?”

  “No,” Reuben sounded like Ben felt. “From the satellite feed, they were standing a lot closer than this. The debris knocked the Landy back down the slope. We think they’re buried under the bigger rubble that fell close to the engine house.”

  Ben didn’t move from beside the Land Rover. He didn’t want to go any closer and see something he would regret for the rest of his life, “So what happens next?”

  “Some heavy lifting gear is being brought in but the lanes around here are so narrow, it’s taking time to get it in place. Congrave wants the R.A.F. to bring in a Chinook and lift the equipment in. Stanton says that’ll be a waste. So we wait.”

  Ben kicked a stone away and watched it bounce and roll down towards the Cornish bank that bordered the field. He wanted to follow it and lose himself in the long grass. Just lie down and watch the clouds drift by. Maybe float with them until he was as far away from here as possible. He felt his phone vibrate in the back pocket, the ringtone muffled until he pulled it out.

  Unknown Number. Ben pressed ‘accept’.

  A male voice said, “Ben?”

  “Yes?” he frowned, half recognising the voice.

  “It’s John McGrath.”

  “Oh,” Ben turned to look out across the countryside. “Sorry, I didn’t know who was calling.”

  “You gave me your number in case anything else happened.”

  “And it has?” Ben asked with a sinking feeling.

  “Aye, Old Davey is back. He turned up just before midnight.”

  “Can you deal with him? There’s a situation down here I don’t want to leave.”

  “Not really,” McGrath said. “He’s sitting in my front room dripping on the carpet. My girlfriend’s not impressed with having a dead man in the house and the sea water’s going to stain the fabric of my sofa something bad.”

  “I can’t do much from down here,” Ben said.

  “So come up. I think you need to anyway.”

  “Why?” Ben saw Congrave and Stanton come into the field and walk up towards him.

  “He’s only spoken a few times. He wants to talk to ‘the messenger’. I think he means you.”

  “Yeah,” Ben said, heavily.

  “So when can you be here?”

  “I honestly don’t know. I don’t want to leave here.”

  McGrath said nothing for a moment. “Is it bad?”

  “Yes,” Ben said in surprise.

  “Then come up. I think Davey has news for you.”

  Ben ended the call in confusion. A dead man returns from the sea again on the night that Kramer dies. He put his phone away.

  “Ben?” Reuben spoke in a quiet voice. “Don’t let Stanton get to you.”

  Congrave seemed to be deferring to Stanton as the two men approached. Stanton talking away as the usually-in-control Congrave nodded and agreed like some office lackey.

  They stopped in front of Ben and Stanton said, “I was hoping not to see you around here again.”

  “Well, I’ll be gone soon,” Ben said and turned to Congrave. “The Scottish situation has reappeared, I need to go back.”

  “What Scottish situation?” Stanton asked.

  “Classified,” Congrave said, with a glint in his eyes.

  “I am cleared to the highest level.” Stanton half turned to face Congrave.

  “The situation in Scotland is not connected to this one,” Congrave said.

  Stanton seemed prepared to argue. Instead, he gave Ben a narrow-eyed glance and changed the subject. “I think what happened here prove my orders to stand off and observe before making any approaches to unknown situations. The gung-ho actions of an American that cost a high number of lives in the village of Darlford has led to not only her death but also that of a British soldier with a second man in hospital with life-threatening injuries. If both of you had listened to me, then this would never have happened.”

  Ben’s hand clenched into a fist as a surge of anger ripped through him.

  Reuben must have seen something because he took a half step forward and said, “Do you want me to get Ben back to Sheddlestone?”

  “Good idea,” Congrave said. “And this time I’ll get Daisy to see if she can rustle up a fast mover.”

  “Right-ho,” Reuben said in his best upper-class accent. He pulled Ben away from Stanton, scuffing up dust as they walked.

  “What an asshole,” Ben said when they were far enough away from Stanton.

  “Nicely summed up but if you’d thumped him, then even Congrave wouldn’t be able to protect you.”

  “I know.” Ben fell silent as they passed a couple of soldiers who stood at the entrance to the field. He followed Reuben to their car.

  “You know the soldier who was with Joanne,” Reuben said.

  “Do I?”

  “It was Delta Five. Remember him?”

  “The sniper?”

  “That’s the one. He was a nice guy. Shame.”

  Ben looked away. He didn’t see much. The high bank and hedgerow loomed close to the passenger window. The foliage was beginning to fade and die as autumn took hold in this part of the world At least it stopped him looking at the ruins of the engine house. As Reuben drove off, Ben said, “She’s not dead.”

  Reuben sighed. “I know how you feel about Joanne. But no-one could survive that explosion.”

  “Was it an explosion?” Ben turned in his seat to look at Reuben. “Did you see any scorch marks on the stones?”

  “No,” Reuben admitted. “But then again, I wasn’t looking too closely.”

  “So it wasn’t an explosion,” Ben said. “It was something else, and whatever it was Kramer and Delta Five survived.”

  “So where are they?” Reuben asked after a moment of silence.

  “I don’t know,” Ben said.

  “And if it wasn’t an explosion, what was it?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben repeated. “But I know she’s not dead.”

  Three hours later Ben found out what Congrave meant by a fast mover as Reuben took him through the security checkpoint at R.A.F. Brize Norton. They’d spoken a couple of times to Daisy as Reuben had driven north on the M5 and then east on the M4. She took Congrave at his word and with customary efficiency tracked down a Hawk T2 and a pilot in need of some flying hours. The calls Daisy made must have made people sit up and take notice. With Reuben heading back towards the A40 and Sheddlestone Hall, Ben found himself processed through the flight crew quarters, issued with a flight suit and helmet. His briefing took all of fifteen minutes and consisted of ‘don’t touch anythin
g. If you want to barf there are bags for it. If you need to eject, hands in, head back and let the pilot fire you’.

  They led Ben out onto the apron and up to a blue and white painted training jet. The ground crew got him settled in; the pilot chatted about the weather and Ben wondered how Congrave and Daisy were able to pull this out of the hat.

  “Off to Lossiemouth are we?” the pilot asked.

  “I guess.” Ben had no idea what or where Lossiemouth was.

  “We are, I just filed the flight plan,” the pilot chuckled.

  “So where is this Lossiemouth?”

  “North-east Scotland, on the Moray Firth.”

  “Is that near Dunocht?” Ben asked.

  “About thirty miles west. I understand there’s going to be a helicopter waiting to take you the rest of the way. You must be important.”

  “Oh, not so much,” Ben said.

  “You’ve got some heavy hitters behind you. Any chance I’ll find out why?”

  “Only if you’re unlucky,” Ben said. “How long will you be staying up there?”

  “Well now, that’s the interesting part because the young lady I spoke to wants me to hang around and bring you back. How long will you be?”

  “No more than an hour or two I hope.”

  “That’s good, time to refuel the jet and me.”

  Ben didn’t get a chance to reply as the pilot had a brief conversation with the control tower and got the Hawk moving towards the runway. He tried not to think about Old Davey, waiting up in Scotland, dripping on McGrath’s carpet, with a message for Ben. He closed his eyes and thought about Kramer. She wasn’t dead. At least that’s what he’d told Reuben, but as the pilot turned off the taxiway onto the runway and lined the Hawk up, Ben wondered how long he would last before he admitted the truth to himself. Then his thoughts were taken up by the Hawk as it raced down the runway and became airborne.

  Ben had never flown in anything as small as the jet trainer. He didn’t think he wanted to spend too much time in anything as small as this again. At least the pilot seemed aware of the urgency of their mission and didn’t hang around. Ben appreciated that but missed the space to stretch his legs and the attentions of helpful flight attendants. He watched England, and then Scotland, pass beneath the Hawk. At least he was getting to see more of the country; it made his time here seem more worthwhile. All he had seen before was the strip of land along motorways and villages that were haunted by the supernatural.