by Tim Lebbon
Jonah should be shouting but he’s not there, or if he is he’s waiting for me with his mouth open, his eyes empty.
‘Jonah?’ she said. She made her way back through to the plant room.
Jonah was not waiting there.
Outside, the corridor lights were on again, and she heard that low background hum of Coldbrook that until now she hadn’t realised had been absent. The hum of life, she thought, and she had never welcomed the thudding of her heart so much.
If she became a fury, would it cease?
Next to the plant room was a small closet-type door, and behind it she found stacks of cleaning equipment and products. The bleach was in a large industrial bottle, unbranded and strong, and Holly poured it over her hands, rubbing them together and crying as the fumes got into her eyes. She gagged, pouring more bleach because maybe the first splash hadn’t got right down into her nails, or into those wounds she could not see. It burned. It hurt.
When arms closed around her from behind she almost screamed, but then she smelled Jonah’s familiar breath and allowed herself to collapse against him.
‘Hey, hey,’ he said, taking the screwdriver from her hand. She hadn’t even realised that she’d drawn it from her pocket.
‘Jonah,’ she gasped.
‘You did it.’
‘There was one of those . . . one of them . . .’
‘Come on,’ he said, and he was as strong as ever. ‘Hurry.’
‘What?’
‘I think your friends are coming to find you.’
‘Drake?’
‘I’m a little disappointed, truth be told. It means I don’t get to go through and find him.’
With Coldbrook lit up and alive around them once more, Jonah led her towards Control.
As they reached the window, Holly saw Drake and the people he had brought through the breach with him. Most of them were gathered by the doorway. They were all heavily armed, and several of them patrolled the room, stabbing fallen furies through the head.
Drake and Jonah gazed at each other, and Holly knew that this was the true meeting of worlds.
Wednesday
1
FROM THE MOMENT they left Baltimore, Vic knew without asking that the helicopter was overburdened. Gary concentrated on flying, and for the next hour Vic saw the pilot glancing nervously at readings on the display panel that Vic could not see, and probably would not have understood if he had seen them. It would do no good mentioning it to anyone else. Things were bad enough already, and Lucy had always been a nervous flyer.
There was plenty of air traffic. Most of it was military – Chinooks, heavy transports, and fast jets that screamed across the sky. But there were also private flights, mostly helicopters. Once they saw a distant speck in the sky spinning earthward, and watched as it struck the ground and bloomed into flame.
‘Marc, I just want to check out the map,’ Vic said. He opened Marc’s laptop and casually angled it away from Olivia and Lucy.
Marc paused for only a moment before he realised what Vic meant. ‘Click on US-map-red,’ he said, without turning around.
‘Right.’
‘For the world map, it’s world-map-red.’
Vic opened the map of North America first. The clock in the screen’s corner refreshed and started skipping forward from zero. In seconds it had passed Day One, and the spread of red dots merged and flowed like spilled paint. He tried to keep his face neutral, tried to keep the screen turned away from Olivia and Lucy’s line of vision. But his wife leaned over their daughter’s head and tilted the screen her way.
As the counter hit Day Four and clicked over a few more hours, the spread was extensive. The entire eastern seaboard was solid red, and to the west there were concentrations of colour, mainly centred around cities and the coastal regions. Looking at the screen chilled him, and when Lucy turned away without even acknowledging him he grew colder still.
‘What about France?’ Sean asked, leaning across and tapping Vic’s knee. He had realised what Vic was looking at. Beside him Jayne stirred, also waiting for the reply.
Vic closed the window and opened the world-map-red file. It took longer for this program to load, and with the timer starting from zero again the spread of red was slower, and less detailed. The spots spread across the map like measles. North America had the greatest concentration, South America was speckled more heavily to the north, and Alaska and Russia were also infected. Europe sprouted its first spots in Britain and Spain, and they spread quickly to the south and east, appearing all across northern Europe before heading towards the Middle East. Africa developed its own blemishes. The old Eastern Bloc countries succumbed. It looked as though a child had flicked its paintbrush at the screen before taking a breath and then concentrating on colouring in certain areas more fully.
Sean clicked off his safety belt and leaned over the open screen, looking at the mass of red slowly filling out France and Britain. He remained motionless for a few seconds, then quietly sat back down and refastened his belt.
Jayne whispered something in his ear and he nodded, unable to look at her. ‘And England?’ Vic heard her say. Sean’s hard expression did not change. Vic saw their sadness and grief, and he closed the laptop and switched it off, unable to look any more.
His heart was racing and he felt sick, and even though he heard Marc’s voice hissing from the headphones around his neck, and the man was turned around in his seat, Vic could not move his hands to slip them on again. Marc saw his expression and stopped talking, and Vic was glad he did not have a mirror. His face, he knew, told it all.
Panic gripped him, and he considered what the fall would feel like. He could open the door and fall out sideways, sure that Sean would leap across and close the door before anyone else was endangered.
But his family were here.
Just before he thought he might go mad and start screaming, Lucy took his hand. He could not bear to look at her, in case that uncertainty was still in her eyes. But he took comfort from the contact, and allowed himself to calm down.
They flew on, the silence between them heavier than before, weighted with knowledge and consequence.
Half an hour later Olivia started prodding him and said that his pocket was beeping. Vic pulled out the satphone. There was a message waiting, and the name on the screen was the last he’d expected to see.
‘What?’ Lucy asked.
‘Jonah.’ He read the message. It was from just before they’d lost contact with the Welshman. He must have sent it but it had failed to transmit, and now for some reason it had come through late. Vic sighed, because it could mean nothing. Perhaps he was about to read the old man’s final message.
And look after that family of yours, you bastard, the message read. Vic smiled and showed it to Lucy. She pointed at the phone.
‘What?’
‘Next to Jonah’s name.’
And Vic slapped his forehead because he had been so stupid. The small green square meant that Jonah was available, the line between them live, and that must mean something good.
‘Marc!’ Vic said, slinging on his headset. ‘I think I might be in touch with Jonah.’ He called Jonah’s speed-dial and held the phone to his ear. Somewhere in Coldbrook a satphone might be ringing, and Vic could not help imagining what might be hearing that noise, the things passing it by.
And he could not help thinking of Jonah as one of them. Much as he and the old man had never really been friends, the idea of such an ignominious end for Jonah broke Vic’s heart.
The phone was answered.
‘Vic?’
‘Holly?’ he gasped, feeling a surge of emotion. ‘Jesus, Holly!’
‘Vic! You’re okay, you and Olivia and Lucy?’
‘We’re fine, all fine. We’re flying from Baltimore back to—’
‘What are you doing there?’
‘Long story. But you! Jonah said you went through. Did you? What happened? And where is he?’
‘Right here with me,’ Holly sa
id. She sounded close enough to touch, and an unbidden image flashed across Vic’s mind – Holly naked in his small room down in Coldbrook, smiling contentedly, skin flushed and hair awry. He blinked hard and looked at Lucy, mouthing Jonah’s okay. She nodded and smiled.
‘I haven’t been able to reach him,’ he said. ‘I thought he was—’
‘What’s it like out there, Vic?’ Holly asked. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Wasn’t sure he wanted to.
‘It’s bad,’ he said. Across from him, Jayne averted her eyes and Sean looked out of the helicopter window. Dawn had smeared itself across the landscape, and the sun was trying to break through clouds of smoke heavy in the air. Somewhere to the south of them, a city burned. ‘And it’s spreading.’
‘How far?’
‘Everywhere,’ he said.
‘Washington? New York? What about south, how far south?’
‘Everywhere, Holly. South America. Europe. It’s . . .’ He heard her repeating this information, and even below the helicopter’s thudding rotors he heard Jonah’s voice.
‘Pass it over,’ Jonah said in the background, then he was on the line. ‘Vic. It’s good to hear you. But Europe?’
‘We think so.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘We’re airborne from Baltimore back to Cincinnati.’
‘Is Baltimore okay? What the hell were you doing there?’
‘No, it’s fucked,’ Vic said. Marc was leaning back over the seats with his hand held out, gesturing with his fingers: Pass the phone. ‘Jonah, Marc wants to talk,’ Vic said. ‘But you’re okay down there?’
‘Yes,’ Jonah said, but everything about the tone of his voice said No! ‘Sitting here right now with my other.’
‘Your what?’ Vic said, confused.
‘From over there. My opposite, from through the breach. It’s seriously fucked there, too.’
‘Oh, Jesus.’ Vic stared at Jayne where she leaned against Sean. Her eyes were drooping, and her skin looked incredibly pale. It wasn’t just the early-morning light. ‘Jonah, we went to Baltimore to get someone who’s immune.’
‘Immune?’ Jonah said. Behind his voice Vic heard others, a babble of excitement. One was Holly’s; he didn’t recognise anyone else’s.
‘Here. Marc.’ Vic passed him the phone and sat back down.
‘Are we going to see Uncle Jonah?’ Olivia asked, and Vic shook his head, stroking her chin when she pouted in disappointment.
Marc talked briefly into the phone, then snapped it shut.
‘That was quick,’ Lucy said.
‘Yeah.’
‘So who was that?’ Sean asked.
‘Friends of ours,’ Vic said. He didn’t think explaining would be for the best. We made a hole into another reality and the zombie plague came through and I let it out and now it’s spread everywhere and . . .
‘Glad they’re safe,’ Sean said.
‘Me too.’
Marc was talking to Gary, headphones pulled back so they could communicate directly. Gary was shaking his head slowly, tapping a couple of dials on the control display before him. Marc became more animated, glancing back into the cabin. He was looking at where Jayne and Sean sat with their backs to him, and Vic knew what was being discussed even before Marc addressed them.
‘Change of plan,’ Marc said.
‘We’re going to Coldbrook,’ Vic said. ‘Good idea.’
‘Hope so.’ Marc gave him a piercing glare, then turned around again.
‘Why are we going back there?’ Lucy asked. ‘I don’t want to go back. I don’t want to see.’
‘Not Danton Rock,’ Vic said. ‘Straight to Coldbrook.’ He didn’t want to see what had become of their home town either.
He realised that Marc had kept his satphone, but he couldn’t really blame him.
Gary turned the helicopter and the angle of sunlight across the cabin changed. Back to Coldbrook. Scene of the crime.
Lucy leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder, and Vic found himself looking at Sean. They exchanged a smile. It did nothing to fill Vic’s hollow heart.
2
We’re the different sides of the same coin, Jonah thought, but even that idea felt wrong. As he watched Drake sitting upright at Coldbrook’s library table, nervous and proud, gaze constantly flickering to the wall of books that gave the room depth and warmth, the truth was much more miraculous. They were more than like-minded.
‘It’s not the best,’ Jonah said. ‘I smashed my last bottle of Irish. This is a nasty blended make. Cheap. Harsh. But we’ll just have to make do.’ He poured two fingers into each of the four glasses, and felt everyone’s stare upon him.
‘Jameson’s was my father’s favourite,’ Drake said. ‘But I’ve never tried it. Someone from our Coldbrook once found a bottle of Knob Creek.’ He took the glass that Jonah offered him, smiling his thanks. ‘For days after I couldn’t see straight.’
‘That’s some rough stuff,’ Jonah agreed, lifting his own glass. Holly took her drink, still shaken. She was sitting very close to Jonah, and he could feel the fear coming off her in waves. Beside Drake was a woman who’d introduced herself as Moira. A lovely Welsh name, Jonah had said, but the woman had not reacted.
‘We should drink a toast,’ Jonah said. Drake and Moira startled him by standing, and he and Holly followed suit.
Drake stared unflinchingly at Jonah. There was an ease between them that was almost friendship. It felt good, but Jonah could not yet bring himself to trust it, not after what Holly had told him. Everything was so strange.
‘Five days ago I drank to success,’ Jonah said.
‘Huh. Well, then, how about to survival?’ Holly raised her glass to Drake. ‘You’ve managed it for forty years. We’ve only just begun.’ Before anyone else could echo her toast she drank the whisky, grimacing slightly as she sat down and placed the glass on the table.
‘Survival,’ Jonah said, and Drake and Moira agreed. They drank, Jonah refilled everyone’s glass, and they made themselves comfortable again.
Fourteen other people had shot their way through the breach with Drake. They had not lost one person to the furies. Two of them had collapsed in Control, and one was still unconscious. The effect of the breach, Drake had said, and Jonah had noted Holly nodding in understanding. I’ll feel that soon, he’d thought. Because there was one thing he was determined to do, furies or no furies, Inquisitor or no Inquisitor. And that was to see Earth as it was in another universe. He’d spent so much of his life seeking it, and despite everything he could not deny himself that experience.
Holly had yet to make a full inventory of the damage done to their control room, but Jonah didn’t want any buttons pushed in case processes started or ended accidentally. The breach itself was stable, linked directly through the core, but there were a hundred other accidents waiting to happen.
Three other Gaians were in the library with them, delightedly perusing the walls of books. Jonah had already realised that their ragged appearance belied their intelligence.
‘I’m sorry about the man I hit,’ Holly said. ‘And the breach guards . . .’
Jonah noted Moira’s expression hardening, but Drake nodded. ‘And we apologise for Mannan,’ he said.
Holly waved a hand, dismissing something she had yet to tell Jonah about. She poured more whisky and sipped, sighing and sinking into her chair.
‘So, welcome to our Earth,’ Jonah said.
‘Take me to your leader,’ Drake said.
‘If only I could.’ Jonah’s smile became heavy. ‘After Coldbrook’s power went down, I lost track of what was happening up above. But Holly’s filled me in. She said you’re able to see through the eyes of the furies?’
‘Our casting technology, yes.’
‘You built a window, we made a door,’ Holly said.
‘You’re still one step ahead of me,’ said Jonah. ‘I’m the only person in the room who’s still a one-world horse.’
‘We must change that,’ Drake sai
d.
‘This casting . . . how do you do it? Is there temporal dislocation? How does the targeting work?’
‘I can tell you,’ Drake said. ‘But I’m sure you’d rather see for yourself, wouldn’t you?’
‘Probably not,’ Holly said. ‘It was . . . horrible.’
‘We’ve come from a dead world to see your world dying,’ Drake said.
Jonah felt a spark of anger. ‘We’re not finished yet. There’s hope.’
‘Hope?’ Moira mocked.
‘Holly tells me that you have someone immune to the disease. I assume you’ve been studying him?’
‘For a long time,’ Drake said.
‘And they test him,’ Holly said. ‘They let him get bitten again and again. Chunks have been taken out of him.’
Drake and Moira shifted uncomfortably, but Drake recovered quickly. ‘You can’t judge us. I won’t allow it.’
‘Allow?’ Holly scoffed. ‘He tried to—’
‘And I apologised for that,’ Drake said.
‘That was a mistake, Holly,’ Moira said. ‘You’re precious to us. We’d have suggested that more subtly.’
‘Suggested what?’ Jonah asked.
‘They try to reproduce Mannan’s immunity,’ Holly said. ‘And when I found him, he thought I was there to . . .’ She pressed her lips tightly together. ‘To be impregnated.’
‘He was still curled in a ball last time I saw him,’ Moira said, her eyes sparkling. ‘You certainly know how to look after yourself.’
Drake leaned forward suddenly and grasped Holly’s hand.
‘I was born into a place you can’t understand. Everything I know of my Earth before the End is from books, or recordings, or knowledge and stories handed down from my father. It’s not even a memory for me. And though some of us are resigned, I’ve never been able to let go of hope. Mannan is an oddity that none of us has ever been able to figure out, and that’s a frustration and a complication.’
‘Where did he come from?’ Jonah asked.
‘Forty years ago, in the midst of our epidemic, my father heard about him,’ Drake said. ‘Mannan was barely a teenager at the time. He was bitten in Illinois, survived, and my father did everything he could to get him to Coldbrook. There’s quite a legend built around it. Many died in their efforts to save Mannan, and for a time – well, my father remembered it as a time of hope . . .’ Drake trailed off, not needing to say what had happened afterwards. No cure, no inoculation.