Extinct

by RR Haywood

  Until the last second that is and to Rodney’s eyes the two agents seem to blur in motion as they sidestep and lash out with blades that scythe across the throats of the soldiers causing two arcs of blood to spurt in the air as the soldiers drop with barely a gargle.

  ‘AMBUSH, AMBUSH,’ the officer screams, pulling his sword free as his men quickly scramble to bring shields round to the front.

  Delta moves in from one side, Charlie the other, Echo from the rear, Alpha and Bravo from the front. Five agents armed with modern, high-tensile, surgically sharp combat knives against a dozen battle-hardened Roman soldiers.

  They don’t stand a chance. The agents move too fast and have two thousand years of collective skills behind them. They are well fed, healthy, physically fitter, stronger and trained to a far, far higher standard too, and Rodney watches with his stomach dropping and twisting as the agents slaughter the men with brutal ease and the snow on the ground becomes crimson with blood.

  ‘Alpha . . .’ Echo says, his voice calm and controlled. ‘Last one,’ he adds, backing away from the single surviving soldier hiding behind his shield.

  Delta and Charlie move away too as Bravo crouches to wipe his blade on the cloak of the fallen officer.

  ‘Go,’ Alpha says, waving his hand at the surviving man. ‘Go on . . .’ His words are not understood but his meaning is clear and it’s all the soldier needs to turn and flee. His feet crunching as he pounds down the track back towards the last checkpoint.

  ‘Nice,’ Bravo says, rising to his feet holding the officer’s short sword. ‘Good balance. Rodney? Do you want a memento?’ he calls out, turning to look down the bank at Rodney gasping for air with the contents of his stomach now at his feet after bending double to puke at witnessing the casual killing of a dozen men.

  ‘Think he’s a bit busy,’ Echo chuckles.

  ‘Take it for him for later,’ Delta says to Bravo.

  Rodney heaves and wants to tell them he doesn’t want the sword. He doesn’t want anything from here and he doesn’t even want to see Hadrian’s Wall either.

  ‘Ah, sweetcorn,’ Charlie says, placing a hand under Rodney’s arm to help move him on. ‘Always sweetcorn in vomit.’

  ‘And carrots,’ Echo says, taking the other arm.

  ‘We did warn you, old chap,’ Bravo says from behind. ‘Oh, there he goes again . . . Go on, get it all out . . . That’s it. Heave ho . . . I got you a present, by the way . . . Nice sword . . . Bit of blood on it, mind. Oh, there he goes again.’

  ‘All well?’ Mother asks, watching the five agents come back through the portal and barely showing any reaction to the ashen-faced young historian held between Charlie and Echo.

  ‘Mission complete,’ Alpha reports. ‘One survivor as agreed.’

  ‘Good,’ Mother says. ‘Get cleaned up. I’ll tell Kate to check . . . Someone get Rodney to the medical bay.’

  ‘Ah, he’s alright,’ Gunjeep booms, pulling Rodney upright. ‘MAN UP, SON.’

  ‘S’blood,’ Rodney says, his face contorting with a precursor to another round of vomiting.

  ‘Let me see that gladius,’ Mother says, holding her hand out towards Bravo, who passes the Roman short sword over. ‘Very nice,’ she says, rotating her wrist to feel the weight and balance. She heads off through the bunker, carrying the sword and glaring at passing workers showing puzzlement at the weapon in her hand. She pushes through the door to the history department. ‘Done. Go with Alpha and check it . . .’

  Mother strides off as Kate grabs a heavy book from the shelf and rushes down the corridor to the portal room, slowing on sight of Alpha and the other agents dressed in tunics still chuckling round Rodney.

  ‘All set for you,’ Gunjeep tells her, nodding at the portal. ‘Alpha?’

  ‘One minute,’ Alpha says. He strips off unselfconsciously, shedding his Roman clothes to tug on simple modern clothing. A secure holster on the back of his belt covered by shirt tails. ‘I’m with you,’ he says, looking at Kate staring open-mouthed at having just seen him in his boxers.

  ‘Great,’ she says too loudly. ‘I like your underwear . . .’ She squeezes her eyes closed at hearing the words tumble from her mouth, wincing as the agents laugh.

  ‘Back in five,’ Alpha announces, ushering the woman through the portal into the darkened interior of an office at night-time made to look a weird shade of green by the shimmering portal.

  Kate balks, blinking rapidly while looking round. ‘Oh my god,’ she whispers.

  ‘What?’ Alpha asks quickly, his hand reaching round to grip the pistol butt.

  ‘It’s different.’

  ‘Different?’

  ‘The layout, the windows . . . the desks . . . like . . . like the same but different . . . Shit . . . Oh my god. One thing. We changed one thing.’

  ‘Do you still need to check?’ Alpha asks.

  ‘Oh god, yes,’ she whispers urgently. ‘I worked here for years . . . it’s like a second home and . . . and it feels the same. The air . . . it feels the same, the ambience, the smell too, but the layout is all changed. The windows were square-framed before. Now they’re rounded . . .’ She trails off, turning this way and that while staring in awe.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ Alpha asks with a calm manner despite the mass murder he led a few minutes ago and while his hand rests behind his back gripping the stock of the pistol.

  ‘Bookshelf . . . It was right here,’ Kate says, pointing at an area given over to desks.

  ‘Behind you?’

  ‘Pardon? Oh shit. Haha! Right behind me. Bit embarrassing. Right so . . . erm . . . Oh my god, the covers are all different . . . the authors too . . . I’ve never seen this one before . . . or this . . . One thing. We changed one thing.’

  Alpha stays quiet, listening and looking round, then stepping over to join the woman and catching the scent of her perfume. He inhales, realising it’s his favourite, and watches as she lowers the book she brought through to a desktop, then fumbles to open one taken from the shelf. Alpha helps, smiling politely at her mutterings and nervous small talk. ‘Timeline of Roman Britain: A Concise Evaluation,’ Alpha says, reading the spine of the new book.

  ‘I’ve got the same thing here,’ Kate says, holding the first book out. ‘So we can compare . . . Just give me a minute to . . . Got to work through the decades and . . . timelines . . . Ah, so . . . okay, see this? So both show the same dates . . . see here? Caratacus is captured in AD fifty-one . . . Same details really, same events go on from that all the way up until— Oh my god . . . look at that! Right here. It’s right here. One-two-six AD. The mini revolt! They’ve got a name for it. The mini revolt. “The mini revolt started when a patrolling Roman unit were believed to have been slaughtered by oppressed locals. This act has been credited as leading to the civil uprising and is the start of the term ‘Affa’ being adopted into international language with multiple meanings, namely ‘in defiance of’, ‘in anger of’, ‘in reaction to’ or, more commonly in the latter parts of the twentieth century in the UK, as a general term of endearment.” Jesus! Did you hear that. Affa . . . the one you left alive must have heard them calling you Alpha . . . OH MY FUCKING GOD, THAT IS SO COOL . . . Oh, sorry, did I shout? I am so excited right now.’ She clamps an enthusiastic hand on his arm while she reads. ‘Oh wow, it says they had to bring in extra garrisons and units . . . Full-on warfare by the looks of it, and, see here, the timeline after is warped. Some of the same things happen but the dates are wrong. Talk about throw a pebble . . .’

  ‘Great. Take the book back . . .’

  ‘What? Are you nuts? We’d cross-contaminate our own history. God no. No, no, no . . . Shit, sorry, Mr Alpha. I didn’t mean to say no to you . . . Please don’t kill me . . .’

  ‘I’m not going to kill you. We need to go back.’

  ‘Right, but you’ve seen this, yes? So we can vouch to Mother.’

  ‘Confirmed,’ Alpha says.

  ‘Wow, that’s like proper agent talk,’ Kate says in a quiet awe-
filled voice.

  ‘Are we done here?’ Alpha asks.

  ‘Confirmed, Mr Alpha, sir. Er, can I ask a stupid question?’ she asks, staring up at him.

  ‘Go on,’ he says.

  ‘So, like . . . how do we know Maggie won’t take her team to one-two-six AD and walk through our portal while you’re out there being all heroic and dashing . . . ? I mean, we don’t have any guards or anything so they could just walk in . . . S’very scary,’ she says with raw innocence.

  ‘Because it’s a memory,’ Alpha says. ‘We need them now, as they are now, and they need us as we are now. We could have gone back to Cavendish Manor or Berlin and killed them, but it’s just the memory of them. We could even get through their portal, but it’s not them now. It’s clear from what we know that Maggie Sanderson has a very firm understanding of this, so there’s no point in either side attacking a memory . . . and this test proves what you said.’

  ‘What I said?’ she asks, seemingly mesmerised by the lead agent.

  ‘Changes to the timeline don’t affect us. I don’t remember anything from history about Affa. Do you?’

  ‘Wow,’ she says softly, watching him speak. ‘You’re really smart . . .’

  ‘Thanks,’ he says, smiling almost coyly. ‘We should get back.’

  They head through back into the complex and up to Mother’s office where Alpha grips and weighs the gladius while Kate reports.

  ‘And, like, after one-two-six AD it was all warped and different,’ Kate explains, bent slightly forward, tapping the history book open on Mother’s desk, while Alpha and Gunjeep try not to look at her backside. ‘Even the office was different. The layout, the windows were different . . . Books I hadn’t seen before.’

  ‘Good,’ Mother says.

  ‘Good? It’s, oh my god, so amazing and it totally confirms it,’ Kate says, standing up to look from Mother to Gunjeep to Alpha. ‘We’re immune to changes.’

  ‘Didn’t we already know that?’ Gunjeep asks.

  ‘Confirmed affirmative,’ Kate says promptly, making Alpha pause while testing the sword’s weight distribution.

  ‘It’s just affirmative,’ he says, ‘or just say yes.’

  ‘Gunjeep, Kate, you can both go,’ Mother says.

  ‘Affirmative,’ Kate says with a quick grin to Alpha while rushing for the door.

  ‘Want this?’ he asks, offering the pommel to her.

  ‘Are you shitting me?’ Kate blurts. ‘I’d love it . . . Thank you so much.’ She goes out behind Gunjeep swishing and slicing the air.

  Alpha watches her go, smiling to himself before turning back to see Mother glaring at him. ‘Sorry,’ he says smartly, the smile fading as he stands a bit straighter.

  ‘Now we wait,’ Mother says quietly. ‘Maggie will see the change and react . . .’

  ‘Understood,’ Alpha says.

  ‘Good,’ Mother says, watching him closely and seeing the tiny nuance in his eyes. ‘Speak freely, Alpha.’

  ‘Sorry, I just need to be clear on this . . . We’re waiting for Maggie to see the changes we made to the timeline?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Roger. But you don’t want surveillance on that area?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Roger,’ Alpha says, his face an impassive mask. ‘How do we catch them then?’

  ‘Maggie Sanderson will be expecting surveillance.’

  ‘Understood. We are luring them into a false state of confidence whereby they think we’re not thorough enough to place surveillance and eventually they make a mistake we can exploit. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, Alpha.’

  ‘Understood. Orders in the meantime?’

  ‘Do you need a list of things to do, Alpha?’ she snaps icily with a flash of the woman Alpha knows only too well. She turns away to the glowing tablet screens on her desk, instantly losing interest. ‘I don’t care what you do. Now fuck off.’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ He about-turns and marches smartly towards the door, pausing with his hand on the handle at the muttered tones coming from behind.

  ‘I won’t be fucking beaten . . . fucking cunts . . .’

  He goes out quietly, closing the door behind him to widen his eyes and think for a second, then snorts a laugh at the voices sailing down the corridor.

  ‘Careful, Kate! You almost had my eye out . . .’

  ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you . . . Look, it’s a gladius . . . Alpha gave it to me.’

  Twelve

  The Bunker, Wednesday evening

  ‘I’m worried about him. He’s so quiet,’ Emily says, perching on Safa’s bed.

  ‘He’s Harry. He’s always quiet,’ Safa replies, pulling a top from her clothing rail and holding it out towards Emily. ‘This one?’

  ‘No. Try wearing something other than a black vest for once,’ Emily says. ‘Does he ever mention Edith to you?’

  ‘He never mentions anything. Not, like, from his life . . . I mean, he’ll say when he had a scrap in a pub or a mission he went on, or, like, the food he likes, but . . .’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ Emily says quietly, moving to the clothes rail to flick through the garments. ‘Rio’s hot, isn’t it?’

  ‘Very. Maybe he just needs sex,’ Safa says with a chuckle. ‘He’s been here for months.’

  ‘Harry?’ Emily asks, blinking at Safa in shock at the thought that Harry would even have a sex drive.

  ‘Why not?’

  Emily tries to think why not and finds the concept both alien and weird. Harry is Harry. He’s superhuman so therefore the normal human traits everyone else has don’t apply to him. ‘No,’ she says quickly, shaking her head. ‘No . . . Harry?’

  ‘What’s that?’ Safa asks, turning to look at the garment held out by Emily. ‘Am I fuck wearing that . . .’

  They gather in the main room. Malcolm and Konrad grinning and laughing with the others at the stern telling-off from Miri when they got back from Hyde Park.

  ‘Then she said it was enterprising and she likes ingenuity, but if we ever do it again she’s nailing our balls to the floor,’ Konrad says.

  ‘Bertie’s got the engine now,’ Malcolm explains. ‘Should have seen his face. It was like all his birthdays at once.’

  ‘Orders,’ Miri says bluntly, striding into the room.

  ‘It’s a night off,’ Safa states, looking down at her glittery clothes. ‘I look like a disco ball.’

  ‘You look lovely,’ Emily tells her.

  ‘We still have orders,’ Miri says. ‘The Blue will be in the same position as your previous trip to Rio. We are one day after that trip. The size of Rio and the dense population during carnival time means it is highly unlikely you will see the same people. We work for an oil company undertaking consultation investigative security at ground level, which explains why we will be reluctant to discuss our work with anyone else. I have a small sidearm on an ankle holster. Doctor Watson is staying here with Ria. Bertie is staying on the island. Ria is sedated. Understood? Good. Then we can deploy. I have the money too.’ She looks up as the Blue comes on, then nods to Safa. ‘After you . . .’

  ‘About bloody time,’ Safa says, walking through the Blue to the same alley from so many months ago filled with sound and light reflected off the walls from the dancing and crowds at the end. Instant noise, loud and solid, like a real tangible thing that can be touched. The smells of cooking wafting in the humid air and not the damp, sewage stench of the bunker.

  ‘THIS IS SO GOOD,’ Emily shouts at Harry.

  Samba beats in the air. Fast and furious. Rhythmic music pulsing, some of it distorted from speakers, but that only adds to the instant ambience of the place they are in. A different sound to the last time too with a military-style drum beat within the music.

  ‘HOW DO I LOOK?’ Safa shouts in Ben’s ear. She watches him look down then back up with a big smile. ‘It’s a jumpsuit . . . see? It looks like a dress but it’s shorts . . . Emily said I can still run and fight in it without anyone seeing my knickers but t
hat it looks feminine. I said she was a twat . . .’

  ‘You look amazing,’ he mouths, blinking at the raw brutal honesty that is Safa Patel, and the night off begins. The down time they need so badly. To decompress. To drink and dance. To absorb in a place of noise and light full of thousands of smiling human beings clad in outrageous outfits.

  They killed. They took life. They slept, ate and breathed that mission and although something obviously happens, what with Malcolm being chased by a Nazi and all that, tonight they can relax and push those things aside.

  With her trailing hand holding Ben’s, Safa breaches the end of the alley, pushing through the dense crowds with the others stretched out in a line behind her. She grins at the noise now so loud, at the beats in the air and the flashing lights of all colours and shades. She sways a little to the music, spearheading a path in the general direction of the bar they used last time. The beat is so good. She remembers being at police training college and the drill they undertook that used a military-style drum to help the cadets learn to march in time. Left, right. Left, right. Dum, dum, dum. She adjusts her feet to fall in with the beat, laughing at her own actions and guessing Harry, Emily and Miri will be doing the same. It’s impossible for anyone trained in marching not to fall in time to that music.

  The building line on her left drops back and away. This is where they stopped last time, but it’s busier now and the crowds are too dense, so she keeps going and doesn’t notice that the awning over the bar that was white-and-red stripes before is now blue. She doesn’t notice the change to the front of the building either and the fact the bar is now open to the street thanks to the concertina-style window that wasn’t there the last time. She doesn’t look inside and see the shape of the bar is different.

  Instead, she goes on past packed bars to seek a gap somewhere and finally spots a thinning of the crowd and a perfect position to watch the procession, and as she turns to signal the others, so the crowd starts chanting with voices in unison calling out at the procession going past.

  ‘AFFFFA. AFFFFA.’