by RR Haywood
‘Got it. Dive through,’ Ben says, casting a worried glance at the doctor, still muttering to himself. ‘Can I look now?’ he asks Malcolm.
‘Of course,’ Malcolm says. ‘Just be careful in case a wave comes through.’
Ben sticks his face through and screams at the huge wall of water inches from his face. He gets one step back before it hits. A surge of violent, seething water that pummels him back off his feet into the wall.
‘Shit,’ Ben says and starts fumbling to put the mouthpiece of the air bottle into his mouth.
‘Ben,’ Malcolm says from the doorway with everyone else having run from the room. ‘Maybe this isn’t a good idea . . .’
With grim determination, Ben walks back to the portal and sticks his head out to a sea raging with waves like mountains and a sky torn apart from bolts of lightning and thunder booming overhead. White foam whips up high into the wind at the crests of the waves.
‘I can’t see the other blue light,’ Ben says, stretching his back.
‘We’ve had to move position because of the yacht and getting Doctor Watson through,’ Roland calls out from the corridor.
‘Do what?’
‘Time travel, Ben,’ Roland huffs. ‘The other blue window is a link from this place weeks ago . . . we have to let Safa and Harry get the doctor through the first window otherwise he wouldn’t be here now.’
‘Ah right, got it . . . yeah, that makes sense . . . so I can’t get them if they’ve still got the doctor with them?’
‘God, no.’ Malcolm blanches at the mere suggestion.
‘What would happen if I brought all three back here?’
Malcolm shrugs, stunned at the question. ‘We’d have two Doctor Watsons.’
‘I thought two people couldn’t occupy the same . . . same something?’
‘That was a movie.’
‘So . . . okay . . .’ Ben nods, looks ahead, then looks back at Malcolm. ‘And that’s a bad thing?’
‘Two of the same person?’ Malcolm asks, staring flat at Ben.
‘Oh, oh yeah, of course, totally a bad thing,’ Ben says quickly. ‘So let them get the doctor through then get them . . . right?’ Ben says.
‘Right,’ Malcolm says with an expression that doesn’t convey the same level of confidence.
‘Got it.’ Ben sticks his head back through and stares round at the nightmare view for any sign of them. ‘What’s the distance from this window to the other one?’ he asks, pulling back into the room.
‘The first window should be two hundred metres in front of you,’ Malcolm says.
Ben leans through and stares with the rain pelting his face and the wind whipping the tears from his eyes. The sky strobes with bolts of lightning and thunder rolls heavy and deep. Motion everywhere. A seething mass of mountains rolling with deep valleys and sky-high tops. There. There it is. A square of blue light two hundred metres ahead, which doesn’t sound far but in this mess it looks miles.
His heart slams into overdrive at the sight of the RIB powering up the wall of a wave ahead of the first portal and the second he sees it so the noise of the engine reaches his ears. Harry and Safa are alive in that boat and just the sight of them sends a thrill through his body. The crazy bastards attempting something as dangerous as this with just two of them. Jesus, that’s bravery right there. Proper heroes doing proper heroic acts.
‘Got it . . . I can see them,’ Ben says into the howling wind, then realises and ducks back into the room. ‘I can see them,’ he tells the others. ‘They’re in the boat going up a wave.’
‘They haven’t got me yet,’ Doctor Watson shouts from the corridor. ‘You have to wait for them to get me through the other window . . .’
‘Yep.’ Ben paces back from the light and gets ready to run.
‘How long do you want?’ Konrad asks, standing ready at the big reel of rope.
‘What for?’ Ben asks.
‘Before we pull you back?’
‘Fuck knows.’ Ben shrugs. ‘How long did they have?’
‘Five minutes,’ he says.
‘Right, so they’ve had maybe one minute of that . . . and you’re pulling them back when they’ve got the doc . . . so, fucking hell, I don’t know!’
‘Ten minutes?’ Malcolm asks.
‘How long does the air in these bottles last?’
‘I don’t know,’ Konrad says.
‘Fuck me, this is a shower of shit. Fine, right, give me ten minutes then.’
‘Ten minutes is a long time out there,’ the doctor says.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake . . . right . . . eight minutes then,’ Ben says to Konrad. ‘Eight minutes, then get pulling.’
‘Got it.’
‘And keep pulling until Safa and Harry get through.’
‘Got it.’
‘And if the other doctor comes through by mistake, then just throw him back out.’
‘What?’ Doctor Watson says.
‘Eight minutes . . .’ Ben nods, sticks the mouthpiece in his mouth, nods again and runs for the window with big steps to avoid tripping over the half-size flippers on his feet. He dives forward with his arms outstretched and through once again into another world in another time and place.
‘Crazy bastard,’ Malcolm says once he’s gone.
Life is crazy and nuts and bizarre but fucking hell be like Harry and get on with it. Lock it down. Let it go. Be here in the now and dive through a time machine into a wild storm of an ocean and he would scream except his mouth is full.
He plummets and bellyflops into the valley of two waves and sinks beneath the surface with his stomach churning and his heart hammering. The buoyancy aid does its job. He surges back up, feeling an immense sense of relief. Then he remembers he is breathing from a tank so he doesn’t need to hold his breath.
Everything looks different now. He was just a bit higher a minute ago but that height made the world of difference. Now he’s at the bottom staring up in awe at the wave rolling towards him and he has to force himself to stay calm and get his bearings.
He twists and paddles for a second until he finds his square of light below and behind him, still in the trough of the waves. With the position of that light in mind, he starts swimming directly away from it, breathing fast and ragged through the mouthpiece.
The sessions in the tank pay off. The ability to withstand the current and not feel as if he is in a totally alien environment. He goes for what feels like a few minutes and glances back to see the square of light still seems to be in the same place so he swims harder and remembers to make use of the flippers properly.
A huge rolling wave starts to lift him with a sensation he can feel and with that height gained he searches ahead. He catches a glimpse of the other square of blue light and a white yacht bobbing along towards it. Harry and Safa are there too, working to rescue the doctor and having no idea that within a few minutes they’ll be dead. That thought drives him on harder with a fresh burst of energy. He thinks of Harry and everything he knows about him, of his exploits and the daring missions he did, and now Ben knows him he can’t translate the movies and television programmes he has seen to the real man. Harry is real and absurdly easy-going and relaxed, but with a simmering, boiling temper just waiting to be released. The way he took that first drink of water to Safa, going so low and trying to appear less of a threat. If they ever make a list of the top human beings ever to have lived, Harry Madden will be on it.
Ben swims and swims, fighting against the wave trying to lift him up and the current sucking him back. Progress is made but too slow, and so he searches for energy to drive him on and make him faster before they drown. He has to reach them. He has to get the ropes and flotation devices into their hands and the breathing tubes into their mouths. Malcolm and Konrad can do the rest. No matter what happens, Safa and Harry must survive and get back. Doctor Watson told him how hard it would be, but never did he imagine it would be anything like this. The rise and fall of the waves. The wind screaming past him. The rain pel
ting down. The flashes of lightning. The boom of the thunder. The current is so much stronger than he factored and for a few seconds he realises the hopelessness of it.
Then he remembers that Safa didn’t give up on him, not for six months, and never has he felt so sorry for something in his life. He failed. He fucked up and let everyone down and they died because of that, but he will not let it happen again. So he swims. He refuses the pain starting to burn in his already exhausted limbs and he swims harder and faster while sucking air through a rubberised mouthpiece and all the time he stares at the spot where the blue light appears.
The yacht is closer now, see-sawing and spinning as it clashes with the currents, waves and wind. Thrown about, and for a few seconds it looks like the yacht will be lifted by the wave, but it drops down into the trough and starts what can only be the final run before it crashes through.
He can see he is still too far away. Swim, damn you, and for once do something properly. Thank God he listened to the doctor and didn’t attempt this when he first woke up. He’d be dead already. Even now, with ten days of healing, he is struggling. Pure rage hits at his own failure. That drives him on through that seething, constantly moving water. He stretches out with powerful strokes. The flotation devices hamper his motion. The water drags and throws him about. He breathes hard and worries about using too much of the air. He should have used a boat, used a rescue service, used the bloody navy or tried anything other than this stupid idea. If he dies then they all die and there is no one left to come and rescue them. It gets desperate. The lack of progress and the constant sensations of rising and falling, then he sees a flash of orange and three heads bobbing on the surface close together, but a split second later everything moves and the view is lost.
The sight of them gives him what he needs and he powers through that water with his eyes unblinking while his mind blots out the pain blooming through his body. He will not fail. He will not give in. Failure is not an option. The life of one for the lives of many. He understands that now.
He sees them again. Harry holding Safa, who holds the doctor, and all three of them going slowly down the wave towards the light, but even he can see they won’t make it. They’re too slow. He has to get to them so he uses the wave to take him up that sheer wall so he can gain height.
Safa stops and pushes away, waving at Harry to keep going with the doctor. Harry shouts back through the maelstrom. Ben hears his voice but watches as Safa sinks down and although Harry hesitates, Ben knows he will keep going because the mission has to come first. Harry does. Harry roars and kicks and gains speed while dragging the doctor towards the blue shimmering light as Safa comes back to the surface but she’s not moving. Ben lets the next wave take him up and spots Harry doing the same thing and using the lift of a wave to rise so he can fall back down and get through the light. Except Ben knows he won’t get through. Harry will get the doctor through then go back for Safa.
That means Safa is the priority. Ben starts working to descend. He twists and rolls to help gravity take over and pull him down more than the wave is lifting him up and the energy he expends in doing so drains him to the core. All he can do is roll and force his body to fall down that wave as he plummets towards her sinking beneath the surface. She doesn’t swim or thrash now but is inert and lifeless as though already a corpse.
Closer but not close enough. Ben drives forwards with legs thrashing and arms going wild while biting down on the mouthpiece. He almost reaches her but the water pulls him away at the last second. He tries again and kicks, swims and fights against the world and all it has to get to that woman, looking strangely serene with her eyes closed as though not even death can taint her.
He reaches again, stretching with wild desperation. His fingertips brush against her buoyancy vest so he thrashes and flails until suddenly she’s in his grip. A violent wrench brings her through the water into his arms. He taps the side of her face, willing her eyes to open while he gags and spits the rubber from his mouth.
‘SAFA,’ he screams out while trying to get one of the bottles from his wrist. ‘You’re okay now . . . you’re okay, Safa . . . you’ll live . . .’ He keeps speaking with gasping, ragged lungs and gets the strap over her face. ‘Open your mouth, Safa . . . it’s Ben . . . open your mouth . . .’ She does. Her mouth opens and he feels a surge of hope that somewhere inside she can hear him. ‘You’re okay . . . bite down now . . . bite down . . . BITE DOWN, SAFA.’
She bites hard, clamping her teeth on the rubber bit. Safa will live. She will not die. He draws her closer and feels her arms reaching up round his neck but her eyes stay closed.
Working to hold her steady he takes a breath and drops beneath the surface to find the rope still attached to her vest. Everything takes so long, fumbling with the knife and finding a way to hold the rope so he can cut it, but eventually he does it and goes back up to suck air in as her face presses close against his.
‘Got to get Harry . . . got to get Harry . . .’ He blurts the words, the wind whipping his voice away. The rain driving down. The waves lifting them together in a sickening motion. He gets the flotation device and pushes it into her hands. ‘Hold this . . . grip it . . . grip it Safa.’ She holds on to his neck, gripping him closer. ‘Not me . . . fuck it.’ He struggles to get the rope from the flotation device round her body and tie it off. ‘You bite down . . . you hear me?’ He shouts the words, willing his words to be heard. ‘They’ll pull you back . . . just hold on and bite down . . .’
He forces her arms from his neck and feels a sudden urge to keep hold until she’s safe. She can breathe. She is tied on. He has to let go. He grabs his mouthpiece and before he can push it into his mouth he pulls her close and gently kisses her forehead. Then he is away, turning and swimming like a crazy man.
Harry is nowhere to be seen. Just a surface of immense water rippling and moving with the tide and wind. Ben dives down, heavier now from having got rid of one flotation device. Nothing. He goes deeper, working down into the depths that seem so dark, but still nothing. He turns and searches in every direction but still nothing. Where is he? Ben pushes on, looking and staring and hoping he will see a flash of movement or a shadow. Something. Anything. Please. Please, I have to find him.
The tug comes. The rope on his vest plucking that tells him they will start pulling soon. He hasn’t found Harry yet. The rope tugs again, harder and drawing him through the water a few feet while he searches and looks for a shadow or a flicker of light or something.
Then it hits him. He is looking down. He should be looking up. Safa was floating from the buoyancy vest and Harry must have been wearing the same thing. He twists to face up and spots him instantly. A dark mass of a shape metres ahead. Ben fights on but he has nothing left to give. His limbs are so heavy. His head pounds. He feels sick, weak and dizzy, but the man he is trying to save is Mad Harry Madden so he must work. He must work and train and do what Safa tells him. He must not be selfish. Don’t be selfish, Ben. Be Ben Ryder. I am Ben Ryder. He claws energy from deep within. Ben gets closer. So close now and like Safa, Harry is lifeless and still in the violence of the water.
Ben swims into the big man’s legs then up his body and just about grabs his vest as Harry’s rope goes taut and away they go. Cutting through the water again with that almighty pull drawing them both down into the depths as they are dragged through the body of the wave to the other square of light, where the old Malcolm and Konrad are operating the winch.
Ben’s rope goes taut as the Malcolm and Konrad from now operate the winch from the other portal. Two ropes. One to the past. One to the now. Both pulling. The violence they inflict is staggering. Wrenching the two grown men down through the thick bodies of waves. Harry’s rope has to be cut. Harry needs to breathe. Which one first? Get the mouthpiece in or cut the rope? Ben tugs the knife from the sheath on his thigh and feels for the taut rope. He goes to cut then checks again to find it’s his own rope. He flails again. Still pulled, still battered, still knowing Harry cannot brea
the. He finds the other rope and slices the sharp blade through the rope that pings apart. A sudden variance in direction. Ben’s rope takes the strain, heaving them both through the water.
He lets go of the knife and works to force the mouthpiece into Harry’s mouth. Hammering his clenched fist into the end to force it in. Finally it goes. Finally Harry opens enough to get the thing in. He has to tie Harry on. He has to secure Harry to the rope but he is fading fast. He can feel it. His mind is not far from closing down and falling into blackness but if that happens he will let go of Harry, who will be left here to die.
Ben can’t grip him anymore. He cannot hold on. Ben wants to hold on. More than anything he wants to hold Harry, but the strength is going from him so fast he is blacking out. Ben gets the flotation device between them while the water surges past their heads and bodies. He pushes the soldier’s hands on to the grab handle and wraps his fingers over his, telling him to hold on. Harry does. He grips sudden and hard with a tension in his hands that Ben feels. He looks to Harry to see bubbles streaming up from the mouthpiece. Harry is breathing. He is holding on. Ben did not fail. Not this time.
A few seconds later Ben blinks his eyes open. He is not being pulled any more. He is floating in an almost pitch-black sea watching Harry stream away towards a faraway blue iridescent light.
It’s calm and quiet. No noises now. Just his breathing through the mouthpiece, which sends bubbles surging to the surface above or below him. He does not know. He is spent, exhausted and dying and he blacks out. Seconds? Minutes? Could be hours or days, but he opens his eyes and he is still there in the water feeling his body go limp and the air coming from the bottle has a weird taste to it now so it must be running out.
No matter. Safa and Harry will get back and they’ll save the world while cracking jokes and firing guns. Ah, at least he met them, and that on its own is an honour. Just to have known them for those few months is enough and as he blacks out he feels regret that he was such a dick.
He is hit hard by something slamming into him with such force that the now empty bottle is ripped from his mouth. Hands round his waist hold him tight and he looks through his mask into the open eyes of Safa staring at him with that blazing look of utter capability and refusal to be beaten by anything or anyone.