TimeStorm

by Steve Harrison

  Blaney laughed. Perhaps the Captain and I are in the same boat, after all, he thought. “I’m not certain, either, but I would like to have a plan in reserve, just in case we run into trouble. And you Tommy, are the key.”

  Tommy Travis puffed up with importance. “I shall do my utmost, sir.”

  “I believe,” said Blaney, “that we should not have come to this place and ultimately we must leave. If I am right our only hope may well be the Fortune.”

  “Do you think she survived, sir?”

  Blaney shrugged. “We did.” He leaned closer to the boy. “I have a job for you that will conflict with the Captain’s orders and I will think no less of you should you refuse.”

  Travis looked towards the Captain and then back. “What do you want me to do, sir?”

  “Good lad!” Blaney grinned, surprised how relieved he felt. “I do not believe we will reach the bridge, never mind the Governor. This is not the place the captain believes it to be. When we are confronted – as soon we must – I want you to get away and make for the heads at the harbour entrance. If the Fortune survived the storm, Captain Forrest is now on his way here. God alone knows how, but you must make contact with him and prevent the ship entering the harbour. Tell Forrest that Mr Kite and myself will endeavour to bring the men out.”

  “You may count on me, sir,” said Travis gravely. “I shall succeed or die in the attempt.”

  “I order you not to die,” said Blaney. “Do what you can in safety. You are no use to anyone dead. Now, come on, we’re falling behind.”

  They caught up with the men as they emerged from the trees on a slope leading down to a street. Below a stone staircase to their left was a covered wharf. A few people stood or sat on benches, but they either ignored or did not see the group of ragged men emerge from the bushes.

  As the men reached the bottom of the slope, a man came running round the corner into their midst. Blaney saw he wore a shirt with the sleeves cut away, tiny short trousers and a pair of unusual white boots. Kite grabbed the man by the arm instinctively. Stunned at first, the man soon recovered and swung a fist at Kite. He was immediately subdued by Bosun Briggs, who put him into a firm headlock. Blaney broke into a run to join them.

  “I can’t breathe!” gasped the man as Blaney arrived.

  “Loosen your grip, Mr Briggs,” advised the Captain. “What is your name, sir?” he asked.

  The man sniffed and a look of disgust appeared on his face. “Who the fuck are you!” he snapped, looking around desperately for help. He drew in a great breath, obviously intending to cry out, but Blaney was too quick. He slapped his hand hard over the man’s mouth, causing him to cough and choke.

  “Kindly place that man under arrest, Mr Briggs,” ordered Cross.

  “Aye, sir,” said Briggs, spinning the man easily into an arm lock.

  “You can’t do this to me!” spluttered the man, outraged.

  Cross, who had resumed the walk, stopped, irritated. “If he speaks again, Mr Briggs, you have my permission to cuff him unconscious.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” said Briggs gleefully.

  Blaney smiled when the man’s mouth snapped shut. He could see the order would be carried out without hesitation.

  “Now,” said Cross to the man, “we are headed for the great bridge and you, my dear fellow, will silently indicate the way.”

  GARDNER

  Strolling down Oxford Street to the club, Phil Gardner enjoyed the sun on his face. Sixteen years in Sydney had not dulled the luxury of wearing a short sleeved shirt early in the morning. If he had tried to do that back in England during summer, he would have frozen to death.

  Gardner had no regrets about moving here. The way of life suited him perfectly. And he’d met his beautiful wife, Lisa, in Sydney. Not only was she the most gorgeous woman he had ever known, she also had a brother who invited him to join his business. With his army background, Gardner was perfectly suited to running a gun club.

  Fumbling for his keys at the door, Gardner noticed two men were standing outside the flower shop three doors away. Both were dressed in rags and appeared filthy, causing Gardner to be thankful he was upwind of them. One of the men was huge, with carrot coloured hair and beard. Gardner shuddered to think what the hair was matted with. The other man was closer to Gardner’s own height, about five eight, probably in his forties.

  “Life on Oxford Street,” Gardner laughed to himself, entering the shop. Those two blokes had better shift themselves before Georgina from the flower shop cleared them off with her broom.

  Pushing open the door, Gardner ran across the shop and vaulted the counter, flicking off the alarm switch as he landed on the other side. With a five second delay mechanism he made it with time to spare. Brilliant! he decided.

  There was time for a coffee and a read of the newspaper before the ammunition delivery. The supplier had come through at short notice, but it meant Gardner had to come in almost three hours early. He didn’t mind too much. It meant he could knock off early and take Lisa to the beach.

  The door was still open, so he walked round the counter, pausing to glance at his newspaper. There was nothing about the harbour disaster everyone on the bus was talking about. He supposed the radio news would be full of it.

  He walked back to close the front door, but as he reached for the handle, Gardner was sent flying when the door sprang at him, the edge slamming into his forehead with tremendous force, breaking his nose. He lay stunned on the floor trying to focus unsuccessfully on the lights spinning impossibly above his head. There was no sensation of pain yet, though he could feel blood flowing heavily from his nose.

  His vision cleared slowly, revealing the huge man he had seen outside standing over him. He could see him with unusual clarity, the filthy red hair and beard foully matted and Gardner’s broken nose was no protection against the accompanying stench that made an open sewer smell like a rose garden.

  A hand descended slowly, big as a dinner plate, to clutch Gardner by the shirt front. The shopkeeper was lifted to his feet effortlessly and slammed against the counter. Blood poured down his shirt and over the man’s hand. Held fast and uncomprehending, Gardner saw the other man inspecting the guns mounted on the wall. “What does we do now, Rufus?” he asked. Gardner recognised the West Country accent, but decided it was not the time to reminisce about the old country.

  “Go tell Noah to bring the others,” said Rufus. His foul breath made Gardner gag. “But fer Christ’s sake bring ’em in a few at a time. Ain’t no sense gettin’ caught now.”

  Gardner’s brain worked feverishly, the pain of his face suddenly unimportant. The two men were English. And desperate. And there were more of them! Jesus Christ! What are they going to do?

  Rufus held Gardner in his iron grip and waited, silent. The shopkeeper’s eyes watered and the pain became more intense. His nostrils were clogged with drying blood. The big man’s eyes were only inches away, darting over the racks of guns. The eyes of a killer, he imagined, horrified.

  Men begin to filter into the club foyer, one, two or three at a time, maybe fifty of them all up. Almost all of them appeared frightened and they gathered in ragged, shivering groups, filling the room. They seemed as frightened as Gardner, which made him even more nervous. The man Rufus ordered them into the storeroom behind the counter and even with a clogged nose, Gardner could not escape their awful smell. The last man to go past was small with an ugly, pointed face like a ferret. He gave Gardner such a vicious look it made Rufus’s expression almost benign. He felt like a mouse trapped by a cat.

  Rufus spoke, causing Gardner’s heart to flutter. “Stay there!”

  Gardner was in no condition to move. He knew he had to stay calm if he was to survive, but something about these men told him he shouldn’t let his hopes get too high.

  He watched Rufus join his initial companion and another, younger, man. They were apparently called Noah and Silas. All three of them proceeded to explore the club, inspecting hand guns and rifles, rummagin
g through ammunition drawers. Gardner heard Rufus on the other side of the counter directly behind him. Every muscle strained as he expected a crushing blow, but nothing happened. Rufus returned holding the loaded Schivelli pump-action shotgun kept hidden under the counter for protection. The weapon was illegal in Australia, but it had scared the shit out of three prospective robbers in the past year.

  Rufus played with it, evidently enjoying its feel. The gun looked like a toy in his massive hands. Gardner felt his hairs prickle as Rufus came closer. He wanted to scream, but his tongue was glued to the roof of his mouth. Rufus playfully pushed the barrel of the shotgun against Gardner’s throat, grinning happily.

  He silently pleaded for mercy. I’m only forty-five, for Christ’s sake! His legs gave way and he pissed himself. He slumped to the floor and waited for the shot that would blow his head off.

  But then Rufus spoke again. “Show me how to use this.”

  Gardner wept with relief.

  BLANEY

  The officers and men of the Marlin marched steadily up the road away from the harbour, their lines ragged, their senses assailed. There was something new and incredible to see with every step.

  Christopher Blaney studied everything, as if in a dream. The marvellous road surface was expertly built, unlike anything he’d ever seen, with a regular, hard top and a dotted line painted down the middle. Flanked by paved footpaths the road also had a simple drainage system. Most impressive, he thought.

  A gasp from ahead interrupted his thoughts. The group had turned a bend in the road to be greeted by a number of colourful metal wheeled boxes standing at the side of the road. Blaney approached the nearest one, which was a pleasing blue colour. Looking through the windows, he saw seats and a wheel in front of the right hand seat. “It’s some sort of carriage!” he announced to the men who gathered about. He supposed the horses were kept in stables behind the closely packed terraced houses.

  “Keep moving, men,” shouted Cross from ahead, and the group hurried after him.

  Blaney, however, lingered to take a closer look at the vehicle. It appeared so compact and neat. He grinned and patted the carriage on the roof. He was not prepared for the reaction.

  A high-pitched whining noise suddenly erupted from the vehicle and lights flashed from the corners. Blaney leapt back and before he knew it he was racing after his men, almost shocked out of his wits.

  The men saw him coming and also took fright, soon becoming an unruly mob charging up the hill. Blaney looked back and saw people emerging from houses, but they were not in pursuit and he began to relax. With Cross and Kite’s help he reined in the men and the ordered march was resumed.

  They paused at two side roads, but after consulting the captive runner, Cross wisely decided to stick to the wider main street. Some fifteen minutes had passed since they left the bushes and Blaney was becoming alarmed. The group had encountered a handful of people on the way and must have presented a bizarre sight, especially with the bosun dragging along the running man. It could only be a matter of time before someone came after them. Blaney did not have to wait long to have his fears confirmed.

  As they approached another intersection, Bannerman Street, every man froze. Ahead, from the top of the hill, came a white carriage hurtling towards them, a blue flashing light on its roof, making an infernal roaring noise. As it had no horses, Blaney assumed it was out of control. But just as he decided it would be wise to get out of the way, the vehicle screeched to a halt thirty yards away. The roaring continued for a moment and then died, though the lights continued to flash, the two occupants staring at the group from inside.

  The two men, wearing identical blue uniforms stepped out of the vehicle and tentatively approached. Blaney, and the others, could not help but notice they had small pistols attached to their belts.

  It was only when she spoke that Blaney realised one was a woman in man’s clothes. “Think this lot had anything to do with last night?” she asked, in a similar accent to the man in the boat the Marlin had passed in the harbour.

  “Nah!” answered the man, his laugh nervously forced. “They look more like rejects from a fancy dress party.”

  Blaney walked from the back of the group to join Kite and Cross. His movement made the couple nervous and they drew their weapons. Blaney raised his hands to reassure them, realising they were more nervous than he was. On closer inspection he saw the woman was in her twenties and quite attractive. Unfortunately, her hair was cut short like the man’s and was very unbecoming.

  “Who are you?” she asked curtly.

  Blaney frowned at the rude greeting, but turned to Cross, who stepped forward. “I am William Cross, Captain of His Majesty’s ship Marlin, destroyed this morning on the harbour. I would...”

  “Christ!” exclaimed the girl, shocking the men of the Marlin with the profanity. “They are from the ship! Radio for help. I’ll watch them.”

  The man was a little slow to move. “Do it!” she yelled, levelling her pistol at Cross’s head. Blaney saw she had a steady hand.

  The other man ran back to the carriage and Blaney felt embarrassed for him, being ordered about by a woman. The man reached through the window for a small object, which he put to his mouth. The action reminded Blaney how hungry he was, but the uniformed man merely spoke to the object.

  “All of you stay where you are,” the woman ordered, causing all the men to bristle at her tone. The gun was a strange weapon, but no one present was in any mood to test its effectiveness. Kite tensed beside Blaney, as though he was about to try something. The senior Lieutenant grabbed his wrist, then turned to glare at the men, fearing they would also move without orders. But the crew were staring fixedly at the woman with the gun. Perhaps they shared Blaney’s shock at hearing a woman give orders to a man. And seeing them obeyed!

  “Keep still, Mr Kite,” whispered Blaney. “I don’t want to lose you just yet.”

  The tension was building and Cross became angry. “What do you think you are doing, young lady? I demand to see the governor!”

  The woman was surprised by the request. “Just shut your mouth and stay there. You’re not seeing anyone until I say so.”

  It was difficult to show restraint after such a blatant challenge, though Blaney did his best to slow the simmering resentment pulsating through the group. He prayed that Cross would do as she said. He was determined there would be no further loss of life. But perhaps Cross was right; the natives here were certainly not friendly. The city may be beautiful on the outside, but the core was proving rotten.

  Blaney looked at the woman, who was growing nervous, and prayed her hand would remain steady.

  KINGSTON

  Mal Kingston pressed his face to the glass door of the gun club. The place looked a mess, but no one had answered his knocking. Bloody marvellous! he thought. They’d begged and pleaded for this delivery, but they didn’t have the decency to have someone in the club to receive the bloody thing. Kingston felt like using the ammunition to shoot out the windows.

  He looked at his watch. Bang on time. Where the hell was Gardner? He took out his phone and wandered a little up the street. There was no answer to his first call, so he keyed in another number.

  “Reg?” he barked into the phone. “Have you heard from Gardner?”

  “No.”

  “Shit! Look, I’ve just come from the club and there’s no one in. Have you got his mobile number?”

  “Yeah, hang on,” said Reg. Papers rustled and Kingston fumed. Reg gave him the number and hung up.

  He dialled the number. The phone rang for two minutes without answer. Kingston hung up and took a deep breath. Listen, he told himself, he’s probably been held up. Take it easy. Not much I can do. I’ll wait in the van and give him ten minutes.

  Feeling better, he strolled back to the club, deciding to knock again, just in case. He put his face to the window and raised his hand to knock, realising his mistake too late.

  Oh, shit!

  REDMOND

 
; Redmond saw the man pull up outside the club in a huge roarer and approach the door. He dragged Gardner into a storeroom and closed the door just before the man knocked. The room was full of convicts, milling around and bemoaning their lot.

  Mogley’s voice could be heard above all the others. “...more room on the ship. Should’ve stayed in the hold if you asks me!”

  “You miserable scurvy bastards!” said Redmond, silencing the room. “You escaped ’cause o’ me and I’ll get you all out fer good. You all knows what it’s like outside, so if you want to chance it by yerselves, I’ll not stand in yer way. But I’ll kill any man who stays and don’t do as ’ee’s told!”

  The convicts shuffled in silence under Redmond’s rage. “Good.” He paused. “Listen up. We’ll stay here ’til night. That’ll give Gardner here time to show how these guns work.” He waved his shotgun as he spoke. It was a finely balanced weapon with a sliding barrel. The pump-action, Gardner called it. And it could fire off two balls without unloading!

  Opening the door slightly to the shop, Redmond saw the man outside move away. He closed the door again and helped Hand and Lockwood distribute the guns among the men. The snivelling Gardner had already showed the three men how to work the rifles and pistols and Redmond had two of the latter tucked into his trousers. He ordered Gardner to teach the men how to shoot and pushed him roughly into the crowd. The shopkeeper was almost in tears.

  Suddenly, the lesson was interrupted by a shrill ringing noise from the shop. Redmond looked through the door, but no one was about. “What’s that” he demanded.

  “It...it’s the phone,” said Gardner.

  “The what?”

  “The phone...the telephone. Someone wants to speak to me.”

  The stupid man made no sense to Redmond. He threw open the door and entered the shop. The source of the noise was an ugly contraption at the far end of the counter. He’d seen it earlier, but assumed it was an ornament or another unusual weapon. Whatever it was, it annoyed Redmond to the point of distraction. He picked it up just as the ringing stopped and hurled it against the wall. It shattered.