Time Split - Briggs

by Patricia Smith

  “They have tiny printed circuitry, which replaced the large silicon motherboards and plug-in chips. How far has the space programme gone?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Space programme?”

  “Have they gone to the moon?”

  “No. They sent a man to the edge of space, just to see if they could do it, but no further.”

  “The Americans launched nine Apollo missions, six of which landed on the moon.”

  “Really!” Sarah’s eyes widened. “That’s amazing.”

  “Since then there has been a joint international effort to permanently occupy space through the Space Station?”

  She shook her head, bemused. “Space Station?”

  “First there was MIR, a Russian-built space station, then when MIR started to get old, the international communities clubbed together to build the ISS, which is a permanently manned facility orbiting about two hundred and fifty miles above the Earth.”

  Sarah stared at Jason, engrossed. “We have nothing like that.”

  “You said you have jets, but have you achieved supersonic air travel?”

  “The sound barrier was broken some time ago and the military jets can travel, I think, at Mach two.”

  “Is your supersonic flight limited to the military or do any of your commercial jets travel faster than sound?”

  “No,” Sarah said emphatically.

  “We had a commercial jet called Concorde which could fly as fast as your military jets and could complete a transatlantic crossing in about three and a half hours.”

  “Wow! A flight to New York usually takes about nine hours and if you travel on one of the propeller planes, it can take anything up to twelve.”

  “What about computers? How developed are your computers?”

  “Computers are used all the time in schools and in the workplace.”

  “Do you have touch screens?”

  “I’ve heard of them,” Sarah said cautiously, “but I think they are quite specialised. I noticed there was one on your time machine.”

  “Yes. In my timeline they’re common. There are touch screens on home computers, in cars and on mobile phones.”

  Sarah had started on a second tin of fish. She stopped. “Mobile phones? What, do you mean cordless phones?”

  “No.” Jason laughed. “Phones you can take out with you and can be used to make a call remotely.”

  “Your timeline sounds rather different from mine,” she said as they continued.

  “My timeline is just more advanced than yours because of the Second World War, which never happened in your timeline of course.”

  “Because you killed Hitler before the war began.”

  “Yes. There is always a technological push during times of war. It’s sad to think our best advancements take place when we are at our worst.”

  Sarah looked ahead. The pitch black on the road was all-encompassing except for the small circle of light emitting from the torch which brightened the way just enough to stop the pair from drifting into a ditch. “Based on your theory we should advance at least five hundred years after the devastation of this war, but I somehow don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “No, neither do I,” Jason said ominously, “in fact I think it will be quite the opposite.”

  Chapter Twelve

  On the Outskirts of Alnwick, Northumberland

  Briggs stepped out of the jeep and listened to the sound of gunfire coming from the ancient town ahead. It was hard to tell how many people were involved, but it was obviously a bit more than a fight between two small factions.

  The gunfire was extensive and seemed to be spread over several areas of the town, although the exact location was not easy to identify as the surrounding hills created a bounce-back effect which confused the senses.

  He had studied the layout of the town in detail and visited the library to investigate the location of all the windows, doors, fire exits and even vents, which could be used as entry points to prepare for his journey into the past. He was happy that he knew the town and particularly the library intimately – but he had not anticipated this.

  He moved to the back of the vehicle and popped open the cover protecting the boot, flung it onto the roof and pressed the switch to illuminate the small LED light still attached to the metal frame inside the trunk. To the left of the boot was a large, dark olive, canvas kit bag, secured to the interior wall with tape.

  Briggs pulled on the straps and the tiny hooks on the overlapping band, deeply imbedded into the fabric, made a distinct, unavoidable and rather loud hissing sound as they parted. This was not a problem under the circumstances and he released the first without incident, but as he pulled on the second strap, a break in the fighting made him look around nervously. It was apparent that the noise was obviously man-made and it may have travelled for some distance in the otherwise deathly silence of the post-apocalyptic world. He scanned the vicinity to check he was still alone before returning his attention to the task at hand.

  In the distance, an explosion briefly lit up a cluster of rooftops on the far side of the town. For a moment, screams could be heard before they were drowned out when the firing started again.

  Briggs lifted the bag from the trunk, placed it down on the road, opened the zip and started to remove some of the contents, placing them back into the boot so that he could see what he had.

  A bulletproof vest was propped up against the spare tyre, secured to a frame running along the back of the seats. Next, a utility belt, which had compartments for several guns, hand grenades and an assortment of knives, was spread out to await its implements. Then he started with the weapons.

  Two semi-automatics, one with a silencer attached, a handgun and two combat knives, one with a serrated blade and the other a double-edged dagger, were all placed into their housings before he slipped on the bulletproof vest and buckled up the belt. He returned to the bag, removed a pair of infrared goggles and slipped the strap over his head. Then finally, he retrieved the booklet lying on the back seat of the jeep and placed it into a pocket on the inside of the flack jacket.

  A copy he made of Jason’s report, in case the original was damaged, had been left in a pouch behind the driver’s seat. He thought better of it and moved it to the boot, before securing the jeep and joining the road on foot.

  The library was on the far side of town, so Briggs would have had to cross through the centre of Alnwick to reach the two-storey building. Ordinarily this would have been his chosen route, as it would have been the quickest way to reach the library, but the running battle taking place on the streets of Alnwick prompted a change of plan and he decided to adopt Jason’s route into the town instead.

  A brisk walk and ten minutes later he arrived at the edge of the forest. Once there he stopped. When he switched off the car headlights his eyes began adjusting to the surrounding darkness and by now the transition was complete. Although still gloomy, his eyes could amass enough light from the fields surrounding the forest to be able to safely negotiate the undulations and rabbit holes pitting the grasses and soils, but as he stood looking at the forest, a wall of black awaited him a few metres in.

  He slipped a red night vision torch off his belt and stepped into the trees.

  The forest floor was littered with debris. Leaves, slick with water, carpeted the ground several inches thick for as far as the beam allowed him to see. The effects of the nuclear blast, which destroyed the RAF base at Boulmer and damaged part of the town before setting it ablaze, was also apparent through the shattered bricks and tiles which were scattered in amongst the foliage.

  Slowly, Briggs picked his way through the forest, the way ahead lit with the red night vision torch.

  He was now glad he had explored every aspect of Jason’s journey. Entering the town any other way would have been impossible without the risk of getting caught up in the fighting. He had followed the scientist’s route and had passed through the forest a week ago and had recognised the path Jason had said he had
taken to enter Alnwick from the A1 slip road.

  It was mentioned in his report, he and Sarah had been passed by a lorry in the early hours of the morning as they made their way to Ponteland. Inside the lorry were a number of men, one of which was badly injured and as it passed by, Jason stated, he could see it was towing a trailer filled with guns and heavy artillery.

  Briggs suspected that the men in the lorry had something to do with the fighting and that they were battling to remove the killer, and his men, from power. He snorted. It was obvious his counterpart could not maintain sufficient control of the people and had not enforced his authority vigorously enough. Once he took command he would crush any rebellion fiercely and would leave no doubt as to who was in charge.

  He started down a bank. The way would have been slightly easier, as the foliage was spread further apart, but the covering of soot made the leaves and branches slick and the distance between the trees prevented him using them effectively to slow his descent. Despite this his thickly treaded army boots still provided some additional traction where leaves and mud were concerned and before long, Briggs arrived in the valley at the bottom of the hill without incident. Back on level ground, he picked up the pace.

  He could easily identify the location of the town; a brief lull in the gunfire allowed screams to be heard coming from the east and a glow could be seen in the distance, through a thinning in the trees.

  Briggs stayed deep in the forest. The library was in the northern region of Alnwick and he could remain in the trees right up to the road which practically led to the door.

  Suddenly, a loud hiss, sounding alarmingly close, signalled the launch of a missile. Briggs looked around, briefly panicked, then dived for cover just as an explosion shook the ground when the rocket detonated on the edge of the forest.

  A billowing cloud of burning fuel climbed high into the sky, like a mini atom bomb, when the petrol station exploded. Two more blasts followed in quick succession before the forest once again fell silent.

  Briggs climbed to his feet. “Stupid bastards,” he muttered, “there’s going to be nothing left to take over at this rate.” He dusted himself down and continued towards the library.

  The forest smelled differently to how it did when he visited it last week.

  It was at a similar time of year, the buds were just beginning to show on the tips of the branches even though spring had not officially arrived and it was still bitingly cold. It had rained the night before, scrubbing the air clean, leaving a freshness rarely encountered closer to the city. As he stepped into the trees, the aroma of rotting leaves and an earthy pungent smell joined the fresh crispness of the start of dawn to produce a heady scent which jolted the senses like the shock of an ice bath.

  In this world, in this time, the clean freshness was gone, replaced by the sickly smell of decay wafting over the forest and clinging to his clothes and skin like poisonous treacle.

  Briggs turned left when he found his way blocked by a barrier of thick shrubbery. He quickly made his way around and was pleased to see the way ahead was easier when the trees began to open out and thin. As the barriers diminished and grass replaced protruding roots and barbed branches, which snaked through the undergrowth to grab and snare, his pace increased.

  The more wide spread the trees, the more disgusting the smell, and Briggs had to keep pausing to spit when a build-up of stench seemed to coat his inner mouth. Then he saw a clearing up ahead and realised the cause.

  Jason had described, in the report, a grisly find in the forest on the outskirts of town.

  Briggs stepped beyond the trees, into the glen – and here it was. He moved around until he was upwind, as the smell was almost unbearable and made him want to retch. On the far side of the mound, he stopped and stared when the scent reduced to a bearable level.

  The pile of bodies was almost as tall as him and was easily four times wider. He stepped closer, studying the horror in more detail. It was hard to see whether they had died from physical injuries or from a lethal dose of radiation as there had been an attempt to burn the bodies. The fire must have been abandoned before it managed to take a good hold, though, as the flames had extinguished long before they had completed their task. Since then decomposition had ravaged what remained, although not enough to prevent some form of identification. A woman still wore her wedding ring, a man was in a fine winter coat, an old lady was dressed in a hospital gown and a child had their school satchel still draped over one shoulder.

  Suddenly, voices in the distance caught Briggs’ attention. Quickly, he returned to the shelter of the trees and waited to see if they were coming his way.

  There was an altercation taking place. He listened carefully and soon realised it was more one-sided than the other. Two men were having an exchange, one the aggressor and the other on the defence.

  He began to move cautiously in the direction of the voices. A short while later, just beyond a barrier of trees separating the glen from the road, which ran through the moors between Alnwick and Rothbury, he spotted the perpetrators next to an army vehicle which was parked in a muddy lay-by.

  Briggs drew closer, then lowered himself down near a rocky outcrop, which allowed a good view of the clearing up ahead whilst still keeping him well concealed.

  There were four men wearing army uniforms standing over two male civilians bound at the hands and feet, who were on their knees.

  This was the first opportunity for Briggs to see the style of uniform the soldiers were wearing in this timeline and he was delighted to see it was the same as the one he was wearing from the bunker. He smiled. Once he had identified the Briggs from this timeline and killed him, he would be able to take his place as commanding officer without the worry of not blending in.

  Three of the soldiers were holding standard-issue army rifles in a relaxed, but ready position and the fourth appeared to be unarmed. He was the source of the aggression. He towered over the man closest to Briggs’ position, snarling down at him.

  “I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said in a menacing tone, “where is the lorry with the weapons being hidden?” He turned away from the civilian and walked a few paces, before turning back to confront the man.

  Briggs froze when for a moment he saw the interrogator’s face. It was stranger than he thought, looking at his own features when it was not into a mirror. This was the man he was looking for, the Briggs from this timeline, and with a rush of delight he realised it was going to be easier to kill him than he had anticipated.

  Carefully, he reached around and popped open the catch keeping the semi-automatic with the silencer attached in place and pulled the gun free of its housing. He lowered himself back down and prepared to fire.

  Everyone in the clearing would have to be killed to get rid of any witnesses, but he would take out the soldiers first as the men on the ground were not going anywhere in a hurry.

  “I’m losing my patience,” the mercenary snarled.

  Briggs slipped on his infrared goggles and took aim; he had a good head shot. He squeezed the trigger, there was a noise like a balloon had deflated rapidly, then he nearly screamed out.

  At the last moment, when it was too late for the signal between his brain and finger to change, the mercenary had bent forward and grabbed the civilian on the ground by his lapels.

  The soldier standing to the left of the officer took the force of the bullet instead and he hit the ground, completely unaware that he was even dead.

  The mercenary stood, made a quick signal to the others; they spread out in three directions and seconds later they were gone, disappearing into the trees.

  Chapter Thirteen

  En-route to Ponteland

  “What time is it?” Sarah asked.

  Jason glanced at his watch. “Just after two.”

  She pulled her coat tighter in an attempt to close any gaps. “No wonder it’s so cold.”

  “It’ll be a while before the sun rises. We should arrive in Ponteland before then.”
<
br />   “How much further do we have to go?”

  “About another five miles.” Jason looked at her. “How are you holding up?”

  Sarah sighed. “Fine,” she said flatly.

  He studied her more intently. “It doesn’t sound like fine to me.”

  She pulled a pained face. “I’ve walked this route twice already. Once with you when we went to Ponteland and you sent me back to Germany, and the other time was to check on my family a few days after Newcastle was bombed. Every time I come this way...” she paused, her mouth tight for a moment, “it brings back the grief I felt when I realised any hope of my family still being alive was gone,” she choked.

  “Aah!” Jason nodded. “I’m not surprised. I thought you were getting more agitated the further we went.”

  “The memory’s still really raw.”

  “I can’t imagine it’ll ever be anything other than raw.” He returned his attention to the road. “You never really recover from anything like that,” he said softly, “especially when you’re fighting for what’s left of your life at the same time.”

  Suddenly, a loud shriek came from a field across the road.

  Sarah stopped abruptly. “What’s that?” she whispered.

  Jason stood staring hopelessly into the darkness, unable to see anything other than black. “It sounds like a fox to me,” he said confidently.

  “Oh.” She turned away from the field and carried on walking. “You’re probably right.”

  “It’s good to know other animals have survived.”

  “Yes, it is, as long as we don’t end up on the menu.”

  Jason laughed. “There’s something else I’ve noticed apart from the silence,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The air quality.”

  “Are you talking about the smell?”

  “Yes.”