What Could Possibly Go Wrong (The Chronicles of St Mary's Book 6)

by Jodi Taylor

  I instructed Atherton to split the screen and all of us were staring as if our lives depended upon it. The confusion made it difficult to pick out any individuals. About the only good thing we could say was that there was no sign of the Time Police. I had to place all my reliance on Peterson to keep them both safe. They’d keep their heads down and work their way quietly back to the pod.

  ‘There they are,’ said North, suddenly, pointing at the screen and my heart lurched. Something had gone horribly wrong.

  I thought at first that Peterson was supporting Randall. Then I thought it was the other way around. Then I saw that they were holding each other up, staggering unsteadily as they were buffeted this way and that by the crowd. Both their blankets were covered in blood, although whether theirs or someone else’s was impossible to say. Even as we looked, Randall dropped to his knees, dragging Peterson down with him. The crowd closed around them. They would be trampled in the riot.

  Before I could say a word, Atherton and Hoyle were heading for the door. I drew breath to stop them, but they were outside before I could speak.

  ‘Break out the medkits,’ I said to the other two. ‘Be prepared for emergency extraction.’

  Atherton and Hoyle were ruthless, shoving people aside without hesitation and fighting their way to the spot where we’d last seen them. They heaved Peterson and Randall to their feet and dragged them back towards the pod. I stood by the door, waiting, ready to go to their aid.

  Both of them were dead weights. North came to assist and even then, it was a struggle to get them in through the door. With one last heave, we got them inside. Sykes slapped the door control and shut out the riot outside.

  ‘Get them on the floor,’ I said. ‘Quick. Where are those medkits?’

  None of it was good news.

  The blood was Peterson’s. He had a huge wound to his upper arm. I could see bone.

  Randall was worse. He lay white-faced, eyes rolling around in his head. A trickle of blood ran from one ear. His breathing was all over the place. Occasionally, he twitched.

  I was quite calm. I don’t remember feeling sick or frightened or panicky. I don’t remember feeling anything. I could see clearly what had to be done. I issued a torrent of instructions and while they were scurrying about opening medkits and fetching water, I retrieved the gun from the folds of Randall’s blanket and kicked it under the console.

  The first thing was to stabilise the pair of them before getting them back to St Mary’s. There was no point in taking back a couple of corpses.

  ‘We need to stop Peterson’s bleeding. Atherton, make a fist and apply pressure to the brachial artery. Press down as hard as you can. North, get those medkits open. I want sterile dressings. All of them. And clotting agent. As much as you can find. Quick.’

  She scrambled to comply.

  ‘Sykes. You take Randall. Clear his airways. Find out if any of this blood is his. Hoyle. Check his skull. He’s had a bad knock to the head.’

  They bent over Randall.

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Hoyle, in horror, his voice sliding up the scale in panic. ‘Max, the damage is … huge. I can feel the bone moving under my hands. It’s … squishy. How is he still alive?’

  ‘Never mind that now. He is still alive. Keep him that way.’

  I cut off Peterson’s sleeve, sprayed the clotting agent, and started packing sterile dressings. The blood soaked through within seconds. I sprayed each dressing before I applied it. It was useless. He was dying under my hands.

  ‘Atherton, can you apply any further pressure?’

  He looked up at me. I remember his uniform was wet with Peterson’s blood. ‘I’m using my whole weight.’

  ‘Do not stop. Even for one second.’

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘Apart from the head wound, is there any other damage, Miss Sykes?’

  ‘Not that I can find. But he’s all tangled up in this blanket. Difficult to see.’

  ‘Don’t try to move him. I’m calling for emergency extraction. Brace your patient and yourselves.’

  ‘Ready,’ they said.

  ‘Computer. Emergency extraction. Now.’

  Nothing happened. Nothing bloody happened. Shit. Now what?

  There are several reasons why a jump can fail. The first is mechanical failure – a fault with the pod itself. Not likely in this case. Leon is ruthless in his quest for pod perfection and anyway, the computer itself would tell us if the pod was at fault.

  Secondly, and worryingly, the safety protocols would engage if our destination no longer existed and therefore the jump could not be made. Hugely unlikely, but this was St Mary’s after all. Home of the unscheduled explosion. Disaster capital of the western world. It was always possible that something cataclysmic had occurred there and we had no St Mary’s to go back to.

  Thirdly, and most likely, we’d picked something up. Quite inadvertently. It could be a natural object such as a fir cone (that had happened before), something manufactured, even something alive – a mouse, a moth. Anything. In which case we had to locate and eject it as quickly as possible.

  They were all panicking, their voices shrill and jerky. ‘Why aren’t we jumping? What’s gone wrong? Is the pod broken? Why didn’t we jump?’

  I swallowed down my own fears, fighting to keep my voice calm. ‘Quiet please, everyone. Computer, state cause of jump failure.’

  ‘Foreign object detected.’

  ‘Mr Hoyle. You will find this foreign object. Search everyone. Begin with Randall.’

  He was staring helplessly at Randall, his eyes wide with shock. I spoke sharply to galvanise him into action. ‘Now, Mr Hoyle.’

  I didn’t dare take my eyes off Peterson or stop work even for a second, but I felt Hoyle crouch over Randall, patting, searching through his clothing. It could be anything. I had no idea what to tell him to look for.

  North was still ripping open sterile packs. Her hands shook. There weren’t that many packs left. Peterson’s arm was just a blood-soaked mess. His breathing was very fast and shallow as opposed to Randall’s which was noisy and irregular.

  ‘Mr Hoyle, have you found anything yet?’

  ‘No. Atherton, give me your knife.’

  I heard the sound of tearing material as Hoyle desperately cut through Randall’s clothing.

  His voice was cracking with panic. ‘I can’t find it. I can’t find anything. There’s nothing here. I can’t see why we’re not jumping. He’s dying and I can’t find it.’

  I kept my voice quiet. ‘Keep calm. Begin at his feet and work your way up.’

  ‘Wait. Wait. I’ve got it. I’ve got it. Oh shit.’

  There it was. Embedded in his ribs. A rough home-made blade with a bone handle.

  ‘What do I do?’ Panic in his voice. ‘What do I do?’

  And then, for me, everything stopped. The world receded. Sound died. Movement ceased. My hands stopped working.

  Because I knew what we should do.

  What I should do.

  What I had to do.

  As long as that knife was in this pod, we couldn’t jump. I needed to get it out of the pod and if I pulled it out, Randall would die. If I didn’t pull it out then they would both die. And it would have to be me. I couldn’t ask anyone else to do it. Nor should I.

  They were all looking at me. I remember the silence as they all looked at me.

  I pushed all thought away.

  ‘Miss North, take over here.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Pull it out.’

  ‘But you can’t. It will kill him.’

  ‘Step aside, Mr Hoyle.’

  ‘You can’t do this.’

  ‘I must.’

  I knelt beside Randall. His skin was paper white. I never knew he had freckles.

  I did not think of all the years I’d known him. All the missions we’d been on together. All the dangers overcome together. Quiet, steady, dependable Randall. His eyes were open, struggling to focus. I had no idea if
he could see me.

  I leaned over him, saying gently, ‘I’m so sorry, Will.’

  I had no idea if he could actually hear me.

  His eyes were rolling everywhere. Blood had collected in his ears. His hand jerked around, trying to grasp at my sleeve. More blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

  I must do this. I must do it now. If I delayed then Peterson would die too.

  He was trying to speak.

  ‘Trynunstan.’

  Bollocks to everything. I took a moment just for him. He was about to die. He deserved a moment. Gently, very gently, I smoothed back his hair.

  ‘It’s all right, Will. Just close your eyes. It’s time to go to sleep now.’

  My voice was shaking. Someone was crying. It might have been me. It might have been all of us.

  ‘Mustrynunstan.’

  His eyes closed. Heavy breaths rasped his throat.

  ‘I’m here, Will. Everything is fine. I’m going to make everything better, I promise you. Sleep now.’

  I took a deep breath and grasped the blade. ‘St Mary’s thanks you for your service.’

  I pulled.

  It came out surprisingly easily.

  One huge surge of hot blood over my hand.

  And then, silence. Randall had stopped breathing.

  ‘No,’ screamed Sykes. ‘You are not allowed to die.’

  She and Hoyle started CPR. I could hear them counting.

  ‘Four, five, six …’

  I turned back to Peterson and said to North, ‘How is he?’

  She dragged her eyes from Randall. ‘Still breathing.’

  ‘Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Breathe. And again.’

  ‘One, two, three …’

  They never stopped. It was useless but they wouldn’t stop.

  Atherton was still being a human tourniquet. North had used the last of the dressings and was lashing everything into place with triangular bandages.

  ‘I’ll take over here, Miss North. Get rid of this blade, please. And for God’s sake don’t let anyone in.’

  She stared at me. Eyes wide with shock and fear, tears on her cheeks, trembling on the verge of panic.

  I kept my voice very calm and quiet.

  ‘Do it now, please, Miss North.’

  She picked up the knife, holding it at arm’s length. I could hear her sobbing with shock. I don’t think she knew she was doing it. She crossed to the door and opened it. The sights, sounds, and smell of today came as something of a jolt. I had forgotten all about what was happening on the other side of the door.

  I heard the door close again and silence fell.

  ‘Right. Brace yourselves everyone.’

  I leaned across Peterson, holding him steady.

  ‘Computer, emergency extraction. Now.’

  The world went black.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I’ve had some awful emergency landings but this one wasn’t too bad. We managed to stay on the plinth this time. We were home but we weren’t out of the woods yet.

  ‘Miss North. Initiate decon procedures. You know what to do.’

  The blue lamp came on.

  I heard her declare a medical emergency. Her voice was high with stress, but they were all holding it together.

  I was reduced to ripping up towels. Still packing Peterson’s wound. Still trying to staunch the flow of blood. Don’t die, Tim. Don’t die. His face was so white as to be transparent. I could see the blue veins under the skin. He was shaking uncontrollably. His breathing was very fast and very shallow.

  And Randall wasn’t breathing at all.

  ‘Ten, eleven, twelve …’

  I felt as if everything had stopped. That the world was divided into the time when they had been whole and alive and the time when they weren’t. Where were the bloody medics? I spared a glance at the screen just in time to see Helen and her team flying down the hangar. Seconds later, the door opened.

  I hadn’t given a thought to her possible reaction when she saw Peterson lying in his own blood. They’d been together in their own peculiar fashion for as long as I could remember.

  She stopped dead in the doorway and her team all cannoned into the back of her.

  I told myself I was too busy to look at her face.

  ‘Report.’ Her voice was perfectly calm.

  I replied, ‘Randall. Massive head trauma. Puncture wound to his left ribs. Stopped breathing on his own about two minutes ago. Peterson – laceration on his upper left arm. Major blood loss. Atherton’s applying pressure to the brachial artery and I’ve packed the wound. We’ve all decontaminated.’

  ‘Any other wounds?’

  ‘None found.’

  ‘Get your people out. Report to Sick Bay. Wait there until someone comes to you.’

  Hunter pushed past her to get to Randall.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said softly to Hoyle and Sykes. ‘I’ve got him now.’ They climbed stiffly to their feet, red patches of Peterson’s blood on their knees. They stood blindly, unsure what to do next.

  Leon and his team stood at the doorway.

  He stretched out his hand to them one at a time. ‘Come along, Miss Sykes.’

  Slowly, she put her bloodstained hand in his. He handed her to Dieter and put out his hand for Hoyle.

  I eased back from Peterson, my legs not completely under control. Pretending to stretch my arms, I reached under the console and palmed the clip. Atherton helped me up. North was already outside.

  I looked back into the pod. There was a huge pool of dark red blood on the floor. Peterson was soaked in it.

  Randall lay unmoving. Hunter was working on him but I could tell by her face. They closed the door.

  The hangar was completely silent. I made a huge effort because I had trainees to deal with.

  I caught Leon’s eye and nodded to tell him I was fine. He nodded back.

  Guthrie appeared, crossed to the pod, and went in. And came back out again, his face unreadable.

  I took a deep, ragged breath that hurt my chest. ‘Right, everyone up to Sick Bay.’

  We set off. Every trainee had an escort. Someone talking gently to them. Sykes was sobbing. With anger, I guessed. And helplessness. Dieter put a gentle hand on her back. I swallowed a lump in my throat and concentrated on what had to be done.

  Sick Bay was silent and deserted. There were no medics in sight. Everyone was either with Randall or with Peterson.

  Sykes suddenly grabbed a chair and sat down hard. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I told her. ‘It’s perfectly acceptable to fall apart afterwards so long as you keep it together when you have to.’

  We made some tea and finally a junior nurse appeared. Nurse Fortunata.

  We were despatched for a shower and remanded for the statutory twelve hours’ observation. Just for once, it was justified. They’d not had a good day. They’d seen Joan of Arc die. I still wasn’t sure whether they were aware of Randall’s possible role in her death. I hoped to God not.

  They’d watched their leader lie through her teeth to the Time Police.

  Then they’d had to deal with the catastrophic injuries to Randall and Peterson. And then Randall had died. We all knew he was dead. They’d fought for him, they’d done everything they could, but he was dead. He’d used his last minutes to get Peterson back to the pod. He’d done his job and it had killed him.

  Guthrie appeared in front of me, grim-faced. ‘Everyone else all right?’

  I nodded.

  ‘What happened? You weren’t supposed to go outside. That’s why I only sent one guard. How did he and Peterson get injured?’

  I’d had time to think of an answer.

  ‘Peterson wanted a better angle than we could get in our corner. We were rather hemmed in by people. And then there was some sort of riot we didn’t know anything about and they were both injured. I’m sorry, Ian. Truly, truly sorry. I’ve known Randall a long time. He’s a good man.’

  He shook his head. ‘They should n
ever have gone outside.’

  No, they shouldn’t. I should have stopped him. I was mission controller and I should have stopped him. Joan would have died anyway. The only difference was that she’d died a little sooner than she should have. A little less agony to endure. But we’re not supposed to interfere. History doesn’t like it. History will do anything to prevent that happening. I remembered the riot. The one not in the History books. The one in which they were both injured. Because today we had interfered with History and there’s always a price to pay. Today it had been Randall. And it might still be Peterson as well.

  Snapshots of the aftermath of that dreadful day are seared into my memory.

  The trainees – my trainees – staring into their empty mugs.

  Atherton, very pale and quiet.

  Hoyle, hard to read as always. He was pale and quiet to begin with.

  North, shocked and shaking, but determined not to show it.

  Sykes, angry at what she saw as her failure to save Randall.

  The sudden crash of doors and raised voices as they brought up Peterson and Randall.

  Helen issuing instructions.

  Doors opening and closing.

  Machines beeping.

  Standing in line with half of St Mary’s, all of whom wanted to give blood. Peterson was universally liked.

  Snatching a moment’s respite with Leon before he went off with Guthrie.

  Talking quietly to Dr Bairstow who, unlike everyone else, got the full story. He listened without speaking, hands crossed on his stick.

  Finally, he drew a long breath and lifted his head.

  ‘Sir, I need to speak to the History Department. They’ll want to know what’s happening.’

  ‘I’ll see to that, Max. Please concentrate on our trainees. They need you.’

  I nodded.

  Would any of them leave because of today? I could happily do without North who wound me up just by being in the same room as me. Almost immediately, I felt ashamed of the thought. When the chips were down she’d been what she always was – bloody perfect.

  He nodded over my shoulder. ‘What do they think happened?’