Kiera Hudson & the Girl Who Travelled Backward

by Tim O'Rourke

  “Annora?” he mumbled, pain building in his head like someone was hammering home rusty nails into his temples. He felt the warm splatter of blood against his upper lip. He placed one had to the tip of his nose and felt hot, tacky blood there. Feeling as if his knees had been kicked away from beneath him, Karl dropped to the floor. He rolled over onto his back. Blood ran from his nose and into his throat. He coughed and sputtered. Fearing he might choke to death on his own blood, he rolled over onto his side. With his eyelids flickering rapidly, he peered at the face staring out of the darkness beneath the sofa at him. Karl fought the urge to scream. It was Annora’s face he could see. It was like she was trapped beneath the sofa.

  “Annora,” Karl groaned, blood spraying from his lips and speckling the chrome floor.

  He reached for her, his fingers curled into claws. He pawed the darkness beneath the sofa hoping to reach her—free her from where she lay trapped beneath the patrol vehicle.

  The flashing strobes of light came again. They were blinding. Karl screwed his eyes shut against them. He could see dancing white dots on the inside of his eyelids. They pulsed like heartbeats as they faded in and out. He waited for them to disappear before opening his eyes again. And when he did, Annora had disappeared, too.

  Chapter Five

  The present day…

  The old man shuffled down a narrow and dimly lit hallway. Using his stick and the banister at the foot of the stairs for support, he turned around to face Annora. The house smelt musty and old. When Annora glanced up, she could see cobwebs hanging like drapes above the staircase and around a nearby doorway, which she guessed led into the living room. Again, she felt the urge to turn right around and leave the house, go in search of some better accommodation. But she knew she had little chance of finding another room to rent so close to Christmas.

  As if able to read the look of concern in her eyes, Mr. Parker spoke in his reedy voice and said, “I know the house could do with a lick of paint and perhaps a good airing, but it’s snug and warm. It’s a roof over my head.”

  Annora wasn’t so sure that the house was snug and warm, as she could feel a chill blowing along the hallway. But she had little choice other than to put up with the bleak accommodation for another week or so, until the New Year, when she could go in search of some other place to stay.

  Smiling at the old gentleman, she said, “I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”

  “Good, good,” the old man said with a slow nod of his head.

  An uncomfortable silence fell between them. All Annora could hear was the gentle whine of wind blowing against the front door, sneaking beneath the gap around it and along the hallway.

  “Where is my room?” she asked, breaking the deafening silence.

  “At the top of the stairs,” he said. “First door on the right. Go on up, and make yourself comfortable—make yourself at home.” The old man smiled.

  “Thank you,” she said, heading up the staircase. And as Annora went, she got the distinct feeling that he was watching her as she climbed the stairs. She suddenly felt glad she’d worn jeans and not a skirt.

  At the top of the staircase, Annora turned to her right and pushed open the first door she came across. She went into the room and closed the door. To her surprise, the bedroom didn’t appear to be as shabby and neglected as the rest of the house. Although the bed, dressing table, and wardrobe looked like something she might see on the Antiques Roadshow, it looked clean and free of dust. That much, she was grateful for. Annora crossed the room, setting her rucksack down onto the bed. There was a door leading off the room. She pushed it open, poking her head around the doorframe. Annora looked into a small bathroom. There wasn’t a bath, just a toilet and shower. A sink was attached to the wall, and above this there was a mirror. It wasn’t ideal, but enough for now. She pulled the curtains wide at the window to let in as much of the fading wintry light as possible. It did little to brighten the room.

  Somewhat reluctantly, Annora unpacked her clothes and the few possessions she had brought with her. She hung her clothes in the wardrobe and placed her toiletries in the poky bathroom. Annora then put her make-up and hairbrush before the dressing table mirror. As she unpacked, she grew increasingly hungry. Annora doubted very much if Mr. Parker was going to cook her dinner, so she would have to head back into town and find a suitable place to eat.

  Annora left her room and headed back downstairs. Halfway down, she stopped midstride. She was surprised to see Mr. Parker still standing at the foot of the stairs where she’d left him more than half an hour ago. Had he remained there the whole time? It seemed a little odd to her if he had. He watched Annora as she made her way downstairs, and if she was being honest, he was beginning to creep her out. It wasn’t that he appeared lecherous like some old perv, but there was an oddness about him and about the house that made Annora feel a little uncomfortable. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt uneasy all the same.

  As she reached the foot of the stairs, Mr. Parker said, “Going out, are you?”

  “Yes,” Annora said. “I thought I’d head into town and see if I could find a place to have dinner.”

  “Oh, dear,” the old man said, scratching his chin with his pinched fingers.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  “No, not really,” he said, peering at her over the top of his spectacles. “It’s just that most of the cafés will be closing up for the day by now, what, with it being so close to Christmas and all.”

  “Is there a place you could recommend? A restaurant, perhaps?” Annora said, her stomach now somersaulting with hunger. She wasn’t particularly fussed where she ate; a bag of chips would do.

  Mr. Parker stood and pondered for a moment or two. Then, jabbing one crooked finger into the air, he said, “Ah yes, I can think of the perfect place.”

  “What’s it called?” she asked.

  “The Night Diner,” he said, watching her through his smeared and grubby glasses.

  “It sounds great,” Annora said. “Could you tell me where I could find it?”

  “You might have seen it on your way into town,” he said. “It’s one of those roadside diners, all silvery and bright. Looks like a giant silver bullet.”

  Annora knew exactly the place he was referring to. “That’s miles out of town. I don’t have a car.”

  “You can use mine,” he said, brushing past her as he made his way down the hallway toward the front door. He reached up and took two keys from a hook. Leaning against his walking stick, he turned to face her.

  “You have a car?” she asked in surprise.

  “I don’t use it much these days,” the old man said. “I’ve nowhere to go—no one to see. So you’re more than welcome to use it if you want to. It’s just sitting outside in the road going rusty.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” she said. “But I really couldn’t…”

  “Of course you could,” Mr. Parker said with a crooked grin. He waved the keys before her. The movement of the keys swinging slowly back and forward in front of her eyes was almost hypnotic.

  “Okay,” she sighed, “if you’re sure?”

  “Positive,” he said, handing her the keys. “One will start the car and the other is for the front door to this house.”

  Annora stepped past him and pulled open the front door. She stood in the open doorway and looked at the cars parked at the curb. “Which one is yours?”

  Mr. Parker shuffled along the hallway behind her. Reaching out with one gnarled finger, he pointed over her shoulder. “That’s my car.”

  Annora looked in the direction he was pointing. Her heart sank in her chest at once. Mr. Parker’s car was an old 1970s Ford Capri. It was yellow, but much of the paintwork was now coloured orange with rust. The side panels of the car, and bumpers, were battered and dented. The car looked as old as he did.

  As if able to see the look of disappointment in her eyes, Mr. Parker said, “She don’t look like much, I know, but she still runs like a
dream. She’ll get you out to the Night Diner and back, no problem.”

  Looking at the old rust bucket parked at the curb, Annora would have been surprised if the car got her to the end of the street without falling apart.

  Not wanting to seem ungrateful by refusing the old man’s kind offer, and with her stomach still knotting with hunger, Annora said, “Thank you, I’m sure the car will get me there just fine.”

  She headed down the front path, but before she’d taken more than a couple of steps, Mr. Parker called after her. “There was something else I needed to mention.”

  Annora stopped and turned to face him, as he stood stooped in the open doorway. “What’s that?”

  “The electricity in the house runs on a meter,” he started to explain. “If the lights should ever go out, you’ll need to drop a token into the box fixed to the wall under the stairs.”

  “And where will I find a token?” She was quick to ask him, dreading the thought of being alone in the dark with Mr. Parker inside that house.

  Reaching into his trouser pocket, he fished out what looked like a gold coin. He held out his hand toward her. Annora retraced her steps up the path to the front door. She looked down at the coin that now lay in his open hand. It was slightly bigger than a fifty pence piece. The number one was printed on it, with the word ‘token’ engraved underneath.

  “Take it,” Mr. Parker said. “You might need it.”

  Annora took the gold token, and as she did, her fingertips brushed the withered flesh that covered the palm of his hand. His skin felt unnaturally cold. Annora fought the urge to cringe away. Closing her fingers around the token, she placed it into her coat pocket. “Thank you,” she said.

  Without saying another word, Annora headed down the path and out onto the street.

  Chapter Six

  The year 2067…

  How long Karl lay on the floor of his apartment, he did not know. But once the pain at his temples had lessened, he pulled himself up. He loosened his fist about the photograph that he still held of Annora. He folded it in half and placed it into his jacket pocket before heading back to the bathroom where he doused his face in cold water. Using a towel, he wiped the blood from his upper lip and chin.

  With his hands resting on each side of the sink, he looked at himself in the mirror attached to the wall.

  “What the fuck is happening to me?” he whispered.

  Perhaps he had further to go until he made a full recovery. Perhaps Sally O’Neil had been right and the best thing for him to do was leave the city for a while, to go and patrol somewhere remote and quieter. And maybe the Medical Bots had been right, too, and the fleeting and flashing images that were plaguing him were nothing more than his mind trying to come to terms with the accident he had been involved in. Maybe that was why the memories of Annora and the crash were coming back to him in fleeting flashes, because to remember it all at once would be just too painful and traumatic.

  Staring back at himself, Karl wondered whether his brain wasn’t trying to protect him in some way. Had it built a wall around his memories of the accident and Annora? Was his mind removing the wall brick by brick and in manageable chunks? Not revealing too much all at once—not until he was mentally, physically, and emotionally ready to relive and remember what had truly happened that night.

  Whatever the reason for the flashing images, headaches, and nosebleeds, however reluctantly, Karl was coming to the same opinion as Sergeant O’Neil that perhaps a less strenuous posting was what he needed right now. So leaving his rented apartment behind, Karl set off in his antique but reconditioned Volkswagen Beetle and headed out of London City and in the direction of the remote Outpost 71. As he reached the edge of the city walls and towers, he slowed the car so it hovered high above the city outskirts. Turning in his seat, he looked back over his shoulder. The night sky blazed brightly with the holographic billboards that filled the airspace above the city. He watched the headlights of hover cars and floating rickshaws that snaked back and forth through the night sky. He couldn’t help wonder when he might see the city again.

  Six months, Sergeant Sally O’Neil had assured him.

  But as he faced front, climbed higher into the sky and drove his car away from the city and into the night, Karl felt a nagging disquiet. He wasn’t sure why he felt so suddenly anxious. Feelings of anxiety were new to him. They were feelings he had not felt before—before the night of the crash that had almost left him for dead. It seemed that a lot had changed since his waking from the coma. Not only had he been left feeling disorientated and confused about what had happened that night, and about his feelings for his partner Officer Annora Snow, but he now faced heading to an entirely new posting which he knew nothing about and knew no one there.

  A hundred or so miles out from London City, his antiquated and reconditioned car began to sputter and lurch. The rusty frame rattled all about him as if he had hit a pocket of severe turbulence. The lights that illuminated the dashboard began to flash red in warning. Taking one hand from the joystick, Karl punched the vertical thruster display as it winked on and off at him.

  “Don’t do this to me, you piece of shit,” he sighed.

  The car suddenly lurched forward, then began to race rapidly toward the ground below.

  “Straps,” Karl hissed through gritted teeth.

  As he gripped the joystick, a seatbelt snaked out from behind his seat, wrapping itself tight about his waist and shoulders.

  Now strapped tight against his seat, Karl stared through the windscreen as the barren ground that stretched flat before him raced up to meet the hood of his car. The headlights flickered on and off, as did the warning lights on the display before him. As the ground grew closer, Karl punched the vertical thruster display again.

  “C’mon,” he groaned, heart beginning to race faster now. He knew that he was too close to the ground to eject clear of the car. The chute would never open in time. Making a fist, he punched the vertical thruster display one last time. Again, the car shook all around him, the warning lights flashing red, alarms filling the vehicle with a deafening wail. The car made a sputtering sound and shuddered. It appeared to stall just a few feet above the hard arid ground. Dust blew up into the air before raining down onto the windscreen like grains of sand. The ancient car groaned and rattled. The thrusters beneath the chasse wheezed, which was followed by a farting sound. Black smoke poured from the thrusters before retracting back into the undercarriage of the car. Four wheels slid down to replace them.

  Without warning, the car dropped the last few feet out of the air before thumping down onto the ground in a thick plume of grit and dust. Even though Karl was strapped tight in his seat, he shot up out of it, the top of his head smacking against the roof of the car.

  “Ow!” He grimaced in pain before dropping down into his seat again.

  The car continued to groan and rattle all about him before falling silent. The lights that illuminated the dashboard blinked off, leaving Karl in darkness.

  With a heavy sigh, Karl sat back in his seat. He was more pissed off with himself than the car. He knew he should have never bought such an old model. But reconditioned and tech-upgraded cars from the 20th Century were all the rage—collector’s items. But who was he trying to kid? He bought the car because it was cheap—well, not that cheap. He had spent most of his savings on upgrades. The unscrupulous dealer who did the work would be laughing his cock off if he could see Karl right now, stuck in the middle of nowhere. But if Karl were being honest with himself, he had only been drawn to the battered old car because his mother had driven something similar. She too had had a passion for old vintage cars. She had saved an ancient 1960s Mini from a junkyard and had the rusty old bodywork resprayed bright red. Then, much to his father’s bewilderment, she had paid to have the car tech upgraded.

  Karl glanced sideways out of the driver’s window and could only see a dark and featureless terrain for miles. He had come too far from the city to walk back, and his destination, Outpo
st 71, was still some one hundred and fifty miles away.

  Slowly, Karl closed his fist about the joystick that jutted from the display before him. With his eyes shut, and making a silent prayer, he pressed his index finger against the trigger button. The old car made a coughing sound from beneath its hood.

  “C’mon, sweetheart,” Karl whispered to the car as if it were a living and breathing thing that could understand him. “Don’t let me down now.”

  With his eyes still screwed shut, Karl took a deep breath before squeezing the start trigger again. The car shook and rattled violently all about him as the engine began to thrum into life.

  Karl urged the car. “Go on, old girl, you know you want to fire up.”

  He pulled back on the trigger again, and to his amazement and delight, the car rumbled back into life. The engine began to tick over like a giant purring cat. Karl snapped open his eyes, a grin spread wide across his lips.

  “That’s my girl,” he said, reaching forward and patting the display panel that was now illuminating his face with light once more. The thruster display was still out, but the car was driveable on its wheels. It was a start. It would get him to Outpost 71. The journey might take twice the time, but he would get there.

  Karl eased down cautiously on the joystick. The car rolled slowly forward, its tyres crunching over the hard-panned ground. The headlights flickered on, illuminating the featureless wasteland ahead. Karl pushed harder on the joystick and the car began to pick up speed. Reaching a steady 155 mph, Karl hoped he would reach Outpost 71 without further incident or delay.

  Chapter Seven

  The Present day…

  Mr. Parker had been true to his word. Despite the Capri looking like a piece of junk, the engine started first time as Annora twisted the key in the ignition. He must have left the radio on the last time he had used the car, because the song Heroes by David Bowie blasted through the speakers at an ear-bleeding level. Annora turned the radio off and listened to the engine as it rattled and clanked beneath the hood.