Extracted

by RR Haywood

  Through the next doors and Roland walking towards him with a conciliatory smile on his face. ‘Ah Ben, I am glad you’re up—’

  ‘You fucking prick,’ Ben snarls, closing the distance between them.

  ‘Ben, stop now,’ Roland says, firmly holding a hand out like a policeman, and that thought makes Ben think of Safa and no sooner does that hand come out than Roland is gripped, turned and pushed down with the wristlock that Ben was made to practise over and over. Roland tries to say something but Ben doesn’t give him a chance.

  ‘You fucking piece of shit.’

  Rage inside. Rage at everything, but this man here becomes the focus and that rage explodes out, but it’s refined now and targeted with a mind finally running clear and free.

  ‘You let them go back . . .’

  ‘I had no choice,’ Roland bleats.

  ‘You did. You bloody did. Harry follows orders . . . he would have done what you said . . .’

  ‘He wouldn’t, Ben,’ Roland gasps.

  ‘Ben!’ Malcolm comes into the corridor with the doctor and Konrad close behind him.

  ‘Harry’s a soldier,’ Ben growls. ‘He follows orders . . . why did you let them go back?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘WHY?’

  ‘Ben, stop that . . .’ Malcolm comes forward to grab his arm, his actions prompting Konrad and Doctor Watson to approach him too. The men usher him away from Roland, who rolls over groaning at the pain in his arm.

  ‘Why?’ Ben asks again as the other three men gently guide him back.

  ‘To save you,’ Roland gasps.

  ‘I was going back,’ Ben mutters.

  ‘We watched the footage,’ Malcolm says quickly. ‘Harry saw it. He changed his mind about you. Said he was going to try it his way . . .’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘We were desperate,’ Malcolm blurts. ‘We didn’t want to send you back . . . Safa suggested we watch the footage so we’d remember you at Holborn and not like . . . not like here . . .’

  Ben sags against the wall, groaning at the thought of it. ‘What have I done?’

  Roland gets to his feet, wincing audibly as he rubs his painful wrist. ‘Safa tried everything to snap you out of it,’ he says into the charged atmosphere of the room.

  ‘You shouldn’t have brought us back the way you did,’ Ben replies in a voice whispered but clear. ‘A sterile bunker.’ He looks round in disgust. ‘It . . . you . . .’ He falters and stops to bring his thoughts to order. ‘No. No, this is my fault . . . how long have we been here?’ Ben asks, looking round at the others.

  ‘How long?’ Malcolm asks, confused at the question.

  ‘Weeks? Months? How long?’ Ben asks, his memories of being here hopelessly blurred together.

  ‘You don’t know?’ Konrad whispers in shock.

  ‘Six months,’ Roland says, standing straight.

  ‘Six months?’ Ben reels back. ‘No . . . no way . . . that’s not possible . . .’

  ‘Six months, Ben,’ Malcolm says, his face showing the worry he feels.

  ‘Oh fuck . . . fuck no . . .’ Ben sags against the wall. It can’t have been six months. It’s not possible. He’s been here six months? Everything is a blur, like time is blurred and weird in his head.

  ‘I’ve said the same thing,’ Doctor Watson says, casting a look at Roland.

  ‘Huh?’ Ben asks, blinking at the doctor.

  ‘Bringing people back like that,’ the doctor says. ‘It induces shock and that, coupled with the medications and sedatives given to you, plus the adrenaline and chemical releases, would put anyone into an awful state of mind. It could have equally caused anxiety to the extent of psychosis just as much as severe clinical depression. The doctor, or rather I should have been first . . .’

  Roland stiffens at the repeated rebuke. His face showing the strain. ‘There is no precedent for this . . .’

  ‘There is,’ Doctor Watson says, not unkindly. ‘Not extraction for time travelling, but there is precedent for isolation from society. Prison? Solitary confinement? Persons trapped for long periods of time? Persons kidnapped? There is a great deal of precedent.’

  Ben listens. His brain no longer trying to work through a fug of confusion. He swallows and nods at the doctor in agreement of everything said.

  ‘Can you send me in?’ Ben asks as the others look at him in confusion. ‘To Safa and Harry. Can you send me there?’

  ‘Ben,’ Roland says gently. ‘They’re gone. It’s too late.’

  ‘I’m going back for them,’ he says with firmness building in his tone and a resolve hardening by the second.

  ‘You can’t . . .’ Malcolm says.

  ‘I am,’ Ben cuts him off with a firm nod as he stands up from the wall. ‘Send me back . . .’

  ‘Ben, please,’ Malcolm protests. ‘Please listen . . .’

  ‘I’m going back.’

  ‘Please listen,’ Malcolm asks. ‘It was bad . . .’

  ‘What was?’

  ‘We opened the window but we did it in the storm and the waves came through the window into the room . . .’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Tons of water,’ Malcolm gabbles, desperate to get the words out. ‘We were too low down and the doctor’s yacht came through . . .’

  ‘What the hell are you on about?’

  ‘Listen to him, Ben,’ Roland pleads. ‘Safa and Harry were attached to ropes. They had five minutes to find the doctor before we pulled them back but the doctor’s yacht crashed through the window, jamming everything. The water was everywhere . . . we couldn’t get it out the room fast enough . . . look at the walls.’

  Dark patches on every wall. The water stains solid from three feet down, giving an indication of the sheer volume of water coming into the bunker.

  Malcolm rushes on, taking advantage of the brief silence. ‘It’s too much out there. No one can get through that and survive.’

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘You can’t see through it,’ Roland says.

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘Ben, please,’ Malcolm whimpers.

  ‘Just bloody show me.’ Ben’s turn to plead.

  ‘Show him,’ Doctor Watson says. ‘Let him see for himself.’

  ‘Roland?’ Konrad asks, turning to Roland, who just nods and blows air out through his puffed-out cheeks.

  Malcolm unlocks the door with the red light over it to reveal a room that now stinks of seawater and seaweed. Holes and dents in the walls speak of things smashing into them. Deep gouge marks everywhere.

  ‘Ben.’ Ben turns to see the doctor standing a few feet away. ‘I was there. I saw how bad it was. You will not survive.’

  ‘You survived,’ Ben says bluntly, turning back to watch Malcolm and Konrad adjust the poles while Roland thumbs the tablet device to life.

  ‘Okay,’ Malcolm says as Ben hears the low thrumming sound coming from the speakers that show red lights flashing on. A second later and the blue light is there as beautiful and mesmerising as it was before.

  ‘Where’s the water then?’ Ben asks, looking round the room, then at Roland.

  ‘We’re not set to that point,’ Malcolm says. ‘We’re on the settings from the last time I used it.’

  ‘Get to the . . . where Safa and Harry are . . . make it go there.’

  ‘Ben,’ Malcolm says, swallowing with a nervous glance at the blue light. ‘Waves will come crashing through that window with a force that will take everyone off their feet. We barely escaped when the yacht came through.’

  ‘But you did survive,’ Ben points out. ‘Make it go to Safa and Harry.’

  ‘You are not listening,’ Roland says.

  ‘You brought them back once so we can do it again.’

  ‘Not from there,’ the doctor says urgently. ‘The waves were ten metres high at least.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ben looks round at the faces staring at him. ‘Everyone keeps telling me I am not listening. Safa kept saying it all the time. This time you are not listening, but
you will fucking listen and take this in. I am going to bring them back. You are going to make that window at the point it needs to be. I am going through it. I am no good here. You need Safa and Harry, not me. If you do not do this I will start hurting people.’ He pauses, making sure the words are going in. ‘But please . . . please do not make me do that. Help me. Work with me. Tell me what I need to do. Make this work.’

  Silence in the room, but a shift in energy tells him the cogs are slowly turning as Malcolm glances towards Roland.

  ‘Help me . . . please . . . you need Safa more than you need anyone else here . . . and that includes you.’ He points at Roland. ‘What use am I?’ Ben pushes on, desperate to make them understand. ‘Harry beat me because I was shit and wouldn’t listen or do what they said. I was going to be sent back and killed anyway, right?’ Ben asks them all. ‘Right?’ A few nods, reluctant but honestly given. ‘So fuck it . . . please let me try. Please . . .’

  ‘Roland?’ Malcolm asks, clearly showing that he wants to do it but giving way and allowing the final say to go to Roland, who rubs his wrist and stares at Ben.

  ‘Fine,’ he grunts. ‘It’s your death.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Ben says with real meaning. ‘What do I need to know?’

  ‘You should rest,’ Doctor Watson cuts in. ‘A few more days won’t make any—’

  ‘Now. We’re doing it right now. What do I need to know? Tell me. Big waves, you said,’ Ben says, looking at the doctor.

  ‘Ben,’ Doctor Watson says, his voice deep and gravelly. ‘You have just come out of a medically induced coma. If you go now you will pass out within a few minutes. That is fact. Do you understand? As strong as your will is, it cannot defy the capabilities of your body.’

  Ben swallows again. The urgency inside pushing him to do something now. To dive through and put right the wrongs. ‘What did you do last time?’

  ‘They went through in a RIB,’ Konrad says. ‘But something went wrong. We waited five minutes then started pulling them back on the ropes but the yacht came through and jammed the winder . . .’

  ‘Did they have air to breathe? I mean scuba tank things?’

  ‘Didn’t think of it,’ Malcolm says with an expression of grief and pain.

  ‘We’ll learn from that mistake . . . I’ll take three tanks of air . . . can you get small ones?’

  Malcolm nods, casting a look at Konrad. ‘We can use compressed air tanks . . . really small,’ he says, holding his hands apart a few inches.

  ‘Three of them . . . rope . . . and flotation devices like lifeguard rings or something they can grab . . .’ Konrad says.

  ‘I’ll need a bit of time,’ Malcolm says, looking back at Ben.

  ‘We don’t have time,’ Ben replies with a growing sense of urgency.

  ‘They’re dead, Ben,’ Malcolm says, swallowing and blinking hard. Ben goes to reply but his words strike deep.

  They’re dead.

  They died days ago.

  Ben reels back, suddenly unsteady on his feet. The world spins. Adrenaline spikes. Shock hits. His inert body slumps as Doctor Watson rushes to prevent the fall he could see was coming.

  Thirty-Five

  ‘M and K out,’ Echo says. Delta feeds it into the tablet, tapping on the screen.

  Malcolm and Konrad. Names learnt by eavesdropping on snatches of conversations over the last four days since the RIB was delivered. Sometimes Malc. Sometimes Kon. Once it was Malcolm and three times it was Konrad.

  Roland. They have not seen that person. Ben. They have not seen Ben. Safa and Harry. They have not seen them either. Safa and Harry both died.

  ‘. . . can’t believe they’re both dead . . .’

  That one sentence fragment heard, but since then they have learnt Ben is alive and Roland is alive from the way in which they are spoken about.

  ‘. . . Ben will be devastated . . .’

  ‘. . . Roland’s under so much pressure . . .’

  Present tense remarks.

  Someone new too. Doc Watson. Doctor Watson is caring for Ben. Harry beat Ben.

  ‘. . . Harry almost killed him . . .’

  Intelligence gained. A picture being built and fed back to Mother.

  They suspect the blue light is connected. The light comes on before K and M come out. If only K comes out the light may go off, but then it comes back on. The five have worked out the light operator doesn’t know when K is coming back as sometimes K waits for a few minutes and sometimes the light comes on just before he gets back. That means there is no communication between K and the light operator. The five also surmise that M operates the light because when both K and M go out the light stays on until they go back.

  ‘He must be mad,’ Malcolm says to Konrad, shaking his head, oblivious to the surveillance. ‘He only woke up two days ago . . .’

  Ben must be awake. Harry hurt Ben. Ben was unconscious.

  ‘Training hard though, so he’s determined,’ Konrad says.

  Ben is training for something.

  ‘When’s the swimming tank getting here?’ Malcolm asks as they walk down the street.

  Alpha nods to Charlie and Bravo, who move off towards the back door to thread down through the maze of alleys to the main road to begin the foot follow.

  ‘In an hour,’ Konrad says.

  Alpha listens through the headphones. Swimming tank. They said swimming tank, not swimming pool. A swimming tank is a single-person training device equipped with a current generator to allow a person to remain static and swim against a flow of water pushed from a machine. Ben is training. They are waiting for a swimming tank. Ben is training to swim for something.

  ‘He’s a different man,’ Malcolm says, the voice now fading as they walk down the road. ‘Like when he first got here . . .’

  Konrad replies but the words are lost to a static hiss.

  The intelligence picture grows. Pieces of a puzzle that are fed into the system and put together by experts under the ever-watchful eye of Mother. Harry and Safa went into a water environment using the RIB. They did not survive, but straight after that is when Doctor Watson was first mentioned. It is suspected Harry and Safa rescued the doctor but died in the process.

  Alpha, Delta and Echo wait. Bravo and Charlie foot follow. Malcolm and Konrad go to the café. They drink coffee. They come out and walk further into the city to a specialist diving store. They purchase small tanks of compressed air. Three of them. They purchase flotation devices, wetsuits, diving knives, rope, flippers, diving masks and all manner of equipment associated with scuba diving.

  ‘M and K back,’ Echo says, watching the end of the road.

  ‘. . . but it feels horrible without them,’ Malcolm says, grimacing at the weight of the bag on his shoulder. ‘Like empty . . . six months they were there . . . six months . . .’

  ‘Ben shouldn’t be doing it,’ Konrad says. ‘If he dies it’ll be me and you back to bloody extracting people again . . . either that or we go back to before Ben goes and tell him he’ll die and scrap it . . . but then if he never goes after them, then we’ll never know that he dies? Fuck me, this shit is confusing . . .’

  Alpha lifts his head and quickly types Mother a message.

  We have time, Alfie x

  It is confirmed. That conversation just confirmed that the device is within that warehouse. Ben is going to try to rescue Harry and Safa using the device.

  Well done. Mother x

  Thirty-Six

  Time gains a whole new perspective. It does not exist but it does exist. It is not linear except it is linear. He can go back in time. He can go forward in time. But the one thing he cannot do is make time pass faster. There are still sixty seconds in a minute, sixty minutes in an hour and each day is filled with twenty-four hours. Actually, he does recall that the Cretaceous period may have had longer or shorter days or something to do with the spinning of the world or something else? He frowns and tries to remember but dismisses the notion and goes back to thinking about time.

 
Ben woke from his medically induced coma four days ago. He got up, threatened Roland, told everyone he was going to rescue Harry and Safa then promptly passed out.

  Ben woke up again three days ago and realised that, despite a cast-iron will, he still has to rely on his physical body. Which is still very weak. Hence the time issue and the perplexing, frustrating paradox that he has to bloody wait until he gets better before he can go and rescue them. He did think, for one flawed second, that he could simply use the time machine to go forward one week but then it would be the weak him going through the device and the weak him coming out the other side in the future. So that wouldn’t work. He then thought that by using the device in such a way he would come face to face with himself. The weak him now and the not-so-weak future Ben. Which would make two Bens. He then considered perhaps he could give himself a hand to rescue Harry and Safa and then had a wild few seconds of wondering how many Bens he could get to help him.

  What he did learn was that six months of healthy eating and constant physical training are paying off. His body, it seems, is actually in great shape. His heart is strong. His lungs are good. His blood pressure is fine. There is nothing actually wrong with him other than he took a massive beating from a very big man which caused a great deal of shock to his system. Then being bedridden for several days meant he weakened. His energy levels lowered. His internal resources focused on healing and mending the damaged bits, which in turn left him tiring easily.