A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's)

by Jodi Taylor

  Around me, The Forces of Darkness had stopped rounding up personnel and were looking around in puzzlement. I saw one raise a com device. ‘I think it’s flour. No, no idea, sir. Yes, copy that.’ He motioned his men forward. There were a good number of them in the Hall now. They were all looking around, watching the flour fall.

  I edged slowly backwards.

  Because Mrs Partridge stood motionless at the top of the stairs. She was dirty and smoke-streaked. Her arms were bloody to the elbows and her hair was falling down. I thought suddenly of The Furies, those remorseless, merciless goddesses of retribution, who pursue their victims to the grave and beyond. She stood under the glass lantern, holding something cylindrical. Not a scroll, this time. She was holding a fizzer.

  Around the Hall, everything stopped. Half a hundred Time Police stared in disbelief and then the penny dropped for everyone.

  Beside me, Colonel Albay raised his gun. I grabbed for his arm, pulled it down with all my might, and shouted at her. ‘Do it. Do it now.’

  She pulled the tag.

  Time does slow down when you’re about to die. I saw the flash as it ignited. I watched her draw back her arm and hurl it high into the air. It rose in a graceful arc, turning end over end and then, at the height of its trajectory, exploding into a brilliant red ball of flame, just as it was designed to do.

  I pushed the colonel away and dropped. Around me, those of St Mary’s who weren’t already on the ground were hurling themselves there and covering their heads. I ignored my complaining ribs and curled into a tight ball that I hoped would expose as little of me as possible and waited for flour power.

  Nothing happened for long enough for me to worry it hadn’t worked.

  A long second passed. The building seemed to inhale and then exhale.

  And then it was the end of the world.

  I thought I’d gone blind. My eyes hurt. Even to blink was painful. And I couldn’t see. Just an after-image of dirty swirls. No – I could see. I wasn’t blind after all. The dirty swirls were thick clouds of heavy dust hanging around. Through them, high above my head, I could see a tiny patch of beautiful blue sky. Clever Mrs Partridge. The Hall, with its thick walls and glass lantern, was built like a fireworks factory and the main force of the blast had obviously gone straight up, taking the lantern with it. I could see the remains of the metal framework silhouetted against the sky.

  Lifting my head one painful inch, I found I was covered in dust, dirt, and shards of broken glass. Lumps of rubble and debris were still settling around me. Everything smelled of toast. And singed hair. Mine.

  Everyone was down – Time Police, St Mary’s, everyone. Bodies were scattered everywhere. The only thing still moving was the dirty smoke rising lazily out through the hole in the roof.

  I don’t know for how long I lay there. Time ceased to have any meaning. I would have been quite happy to stay there for ever, but a little voice at the back of my mind was screaming at me to get up. Because the first people on their feet would have won and it had to be St Mary’s. Mrs Partridge had bought us another chance, but at what cost to herself? If I could just get up…

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  All right, if I could just move an arm … Start with that and work up …

  No. Still not going to happen.

  Get up, Maxwell. For God’s sake, you have to get up.

  I turned my head. Colonel Albay lay on his side, facing me, bleeding badly from a deep gash across his cheekbone. He focused on me and smiled. I blinked to clear my eyes of the stinging dust, but he definitely smiled. I saw him make the effort to move. He began to pull himself towards me. Old memories came flooding back. When something bad was about to happen … and I was paralysed. Unable even to close my eyes. When something evil crushed me with its weight and I couldn’t move even a muscle to prevent it and there was no one to help. There was never anyone to help.

  Using his forearms, he dragged himself towards me. There was no escape. I could barely move my eyes, let alone anything else. Unable to move, I watched him crawl over rubble and glass, leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

  I never realised what large hands he had.

  He placed one hand carefully over my mouth, as if to prevent me calling for help, although I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to. I had no voice. And who would have heard me?

  Slowly, gently almost, he adjusted the position of his hand until it seemed he had it positioned to his complete satisfaction.

  He was still smiling.

  Then, using his thumb and forefinger, he pinched my nostrils closed.

  Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. At all.

  I tried to twist my head from side to side. To dislodge his grip. To suck in some desperately needed air. I could hear my own pulse throbbing inside my head. I tried to get a hand free. I tried to drum my heels. It hurt. Everything hurt. My chest was exploding in pain. My lips were smashed against my teeth. Even my poor nose hurt.

  And all the time – he smiled.

  Something moved. From the corner of my eye, I caught a movement. And so, it seemed, did Colonel Albay.

  Dark shadows moved in the swirling dust. I could see a little red dot jumping and jerking its way across the hall. Then another and another, then a whole bunch of them. Ruler straight lines of red light cut through the murk, others bloomed in the swirling dust.

  Bloody hell, no wonder he was smiling. Reinforcements. Even more of them this time. These people had endless resources and we had nothing left. We’d given our all and, finally, we were finished. I was too tired to feel despair. Silly little thoughts danced through my mind on their way to oblivion. That the red lights in the swirling dust clouds were really rather pretty. That in all the worlds out there, somewhere, surely there was one where Leon and I managed to be both alive and together. That, somewhere, we had a future.

  Albay looked down at me. I was the last thing he ever saw. He was still smiling when he died.

  I heard a sound. Above me, I felt him convulse. Blood trickled from his mouth onto my face. His lips moved, although his eyes were unfocused. The pressure eased. His hand slipped away – thank God – and I heaved in great lungfuls of air.

  He fell slowly to one side. His limbs twitched uncontrollably. I smelled the sharp tang of urine. And then he died.

  Behind him, a helmetless officer with a brutal haircut, barely able to support himself on one elbow, his face creased in pain, let his gun fall, closed his eyes, and fell back on the rubble.

  The red beams continued to track their way across the Hall. There was no one to stop them. They fanned out, searching. One found me. I could see the little red dot bouncing on my chest. Something armoured followed along behind it and stood, looking down at me.

  He turned his head and called, ‘Here!’

  No. I wasn’t going quietly. I found my last strength from somewhere and heaved myself upwards. I was aiming for his throat but sadly got only as far as his knee. I clamped myself around his lower leg and bit him.

  He was wearing armour. I’m really not bright.

  I waited for the bullet that would end my life, or for my head to be clubbed in, because unless he was prepared to spend the rest of his life with an historian clinging to his leg, it would be the only way to get rid of me.

  My hearing must be coming back, because I thought I heard a faint voice.

  ‘Sir, this one’s trying to bite my leg.’

  And even more faintly, ‘Does she have red hair?’

  They’d found me.

  Things blurred and became unimportant.

  Nothing mattered any longer.

  I became aware of people around me and panicked, flailing around like a maniac. I couldn’t see very well, but I know I hit someone because a voice said, ‘Bloody hell, that hurt.’

  Another voice said, ‘Well, at least she’s not biting you,’ and I slid away again.

  When I finally woke properly, I was in the female ward. A strange man in medical scrubs stared at me
. I stared back, swallowed, and found a tiny croak.

  ‘Friend or foe?’

  ‘Friend,’ he said hastily. ‘For God’s sake don’t bite anyone else.’

  I stared suspiciously, formulating plans to throttle him with a bed sheet.

  ‘How are you feeling, Dr Maxwell?’

  ‘Who are you? Why are you here?’

  ‘We’re from the future. We’re the people who came through the door yesterday. After the explosion. Remember? The red lights? The laser sights?’

  I saw again the ruin of St Mary’s. The blood. All the broken people …

  I could summon up only a hoarse whisper, but it would do. ‘You couldn’t have intervened an hour earlier? Half an hour even? What did you do? Wait outside until you knew it was safe to come in? After we’d done all the hard work for you? We sort out your problem and you can’t even be bothered to turn up on time!’ I tried to bat his arm away. ‘Don’t touch me. Where’s Dr Foster? I want a proper doctor!’

  ‘Dr Foster is injured. You can see her later today.’

  ‘What’s happening? Where are the Time Police? Where’s Dr Bairstow’

  ‘St Mary’s has regained control of the unit. That’s all you need to know for the moment.’

  ‘No, it’s not. What happened? Tell me’

  He sighed. ‘I’ll bring someone to talk to you. Just wait a moment.’

  He disappeared.

  I looked around again. I was in the female ward and it was packed. Machines beeped faintly. Mrs Partridge was directly opposite me. One arm and the side of her face were badly burned and covered in medical plastic. Fizzers are not meant to be hand held.

  Mrs Mack lay in the corner bed, one arm in a sling and a large dressing on her face. Prentiss, Polly Perkins, and Van Owen were on mattresses on the floor. We were going to need a bigger Sick Bay.

  When I opened my eyes again, Helen was sitting on my bed – something that would mean instant annihilation for anyone else. I looked at her. She looked at me.

  ‘Who are these people – good or bad? Do you want me to get out of bed and deal with them?’

  ‘Can’t you behave, just for once? You’re frightening our rescuers.’

  ‘We have rescuers?’

  ‘Don’t you remember what happened?’

  Memories came crashing back.

  ‘Dr Bairstow? I had to leave him. Did he survive?’

  ‘Yes. He’s on his feet.’

  ‘Peterson? Guthrie? Dieter?’

  ‘At the moment, if you added them all together you wouldn’t have enough for a working human being.’

  ‘So no change there, then.’

  ‘Nothing that won’t scab over. They’re all next door. I think Dr Bairstow wants a word with you.’

  ‘Familiar words. Can you find me a dressing gown?’

  ‘Idiot. He’s coming to you.’

  There was a tap on the open door. ‘Ladies, may I come in?’

  He wore unfamiliar sports sweats and looked very pale. For the first time ever, I thought he looked his age. He was moving with some difficulty and he limped badly. On the other hand, of course, he was limping when I first met him.

  While Helen helped me sit up, he went to talk to Mrs Mack. I heard him say, ‘Theresa my dear, how are you?’

  I looked away.

  After a few words, he went over to Mrs Partridge. He sat on her bed and took her unburned hand. They talked quietly for a while.

  I stared out of the window.

  Everyone else was asleep, so I was next on the list. Helen put a chair for him. He briefly placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She nodded and walked away.

  We stared at each other for a while. Someone should say something.

  ‘Never thought I’d see the day when you had more hair than me, sir.’

  Was there a very faint sound from the bed opposite?

  He countered.

  ‘Dr Maxwell, I hear you brought the house down.’

  I looked over at Mrs Partridge who was a picture of smug innocence. ‘You give me too much credit, sir. I merely cushioned its fall.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘I need you again, Max. It is important to me that we remain on good terms with these people, who are our rescuers, after all. Their commander is anxious for a word with you. I would take it as a personal favour if you could at least be civil.’

  ‘Sir …’

  ‘I know, Max, but nevertheless, they did their best and at the end of the day, they were here just when we needed them. Remember that when you meet him.’

  He was right. We’d blown up the Time Police, but we’d blown ourselves up too. When they recovered, they would have walked around and shot us like fish in a barrel. If the future St Mary’s hadn’t walked through the door at that moment, we’d all be dead, and if they’d come any sooner they’d have been caught in the blast too. I should give credit where it was due.

  I felt suddenly tired. I just wanted to sleep. ‘You’re right, sir,’ and we both blinked a little at my actually having uttered those words. ‘I can let it go.’

  He smiled gently and I felt a lump in my throat. ‘You never let me down, Max.’

  There was a long pause while we both geared ourselves up for what was coming next.

  He sighed.

  ‘Normally, this duty falls to the Director. I do not, at present, occupy that position, but it takes the weight off other shoulders and I thought you should hear it from me.’

  I grew very cold. I knew what I was going to hear. Had to hear. Didn’t want to hear.

  ‘Tell me, sir. Who didn’t make it?’

  With a great effort, he said, ‘Miss Fields.’

  Gentle Jenny Fields. Gentle and brave. She’d volunteered to stay and now she would never leave. I looked past him to Mrs Mack. She turned her head away.

  ‘She was caught in the crossfire outside the library.’

  I took a moment to remember her, unusually pugnacious, telling everyone she’d never shot anyone before, but she wanted to stay.

  I knew there was more.

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Weller and Ritter. From the Security section. Ritter fell and Weller went back for him.’

  Of course he did. The three of them, Ritter, Weller, and Evans had been together for as long as I could remember. And now, only Evans was left. How did he feel today?

  ‘Esterhazy from IT. She died outside Hawking. Caught in the blast.’

  I hadn’t known her, but I grieved all the same.

  ‘Four Time Police officers also lost their lives. Eight dead, altogether.’

  ‘And what of the wounded, sir?’

  He said with some difficulty, ‘Mr Markham was caught by a blaster and appears to be blind.’

  ‘Permanently?’

  ‘It is, as yet, too soon to say. Mr Sands was crushed by falling masonry. He has lost the lower part of his left leg, thus giving rise to an immortal exchange of words between him and Mr Roberts. Upon Mr Sands exclaiming that he appeared to have lost his foot, Mr Roberts attempted to reassure him with the words, “No you haven’t. It’s over here!”’

  I choked, but with what emotion, even I couldn’t have told you.

  ‘And Mr Stone, sir?’ I saw again his faded medal ribbons.

  ‘He will recover. A broken arm and shoulder. He is already conscious. And it’s not just Mr Stone. All the kitchen staff … And Mrs Enderby, apparently, led a valiant effort to defend the upper stairs. She has a concussion and is, at the moment, quite unaware of what is happening around her.’

  He saw me looking around the ward.

  ‘She is lodged in one of the treatment rooms. Dr Foster has utilised every facility. We have people sleeping on the floor, in treatment rooms, along the corridor … The main part of the building is quite uninhabitable at present.’

  ‘What on earth are we telling people about this?’

  ‘A World War II re-enactment, coupled with an unfortunate gas explosion.’

  ‘Do we even have gas out here in the countr
y?’

  ‘The bottled variety is, I believe, sufficiently volatile to add realism to our story. Apparently, the word in the village is that those mad bastards at St Mary’s have finally managed to blow themselves sky-high.’

  I could feel my eyelids droop.

  ‘What next, sir?’

  ‘What next, Max, is a punitive visit from our friends at SPOHB – the Society for the Protection of Historical Buildings. I fear they will find much to deplore. However, we have a week or so before that horror confronts us.’

  I had more to ask, but I must have dropped off in front of him because I don’t remember him leaving. In fact, I slept most of the day. I opened my eyes to find the other doctor adjusting the machines and staring at me.

  I said, ‘What? No chair and whip?’

  He patted his pocket. ‘Pepper spray.’

  ‘You won’t need it. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s understandable. How do you feel?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  ‘I’m a doctor. I know everything.’

  ‘So how am I?’

  ‘Well, you’ve broken your hand, cracked some ribs, been involved in an explosion, and the lantern fell in on you. I was going to make a clever joke about the glass ceiling but I’m now so intimidated that I’ve forgotten it. Have you eaten anything?’

  ‘I’ve only been awake for two minutes, for God’s sake. When would I get the chance?’

  ‘Difficult and uncooperative patient,’ he said slowly, writing on the chart. ‘When did you last open your bowels?’

  ‘February. What happened to the Forces of Darkness? Are they still here?

  He put the chart down. ‘No, they’ve all been removed. Dead, living, wounded, the lot.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Where they belong.’

  Did I want any more details? I decided not.

  ‘Dr Bairstow is on the sick list, so St Mary’s has a temporary caretaker director. He’d like a word, if you feel up to it. And if you promise to behave yourself.’

  I said hopefully, ‘Surely I’m too ill to see anyone.’

  He snorted.

  He wore the convict orange of the Technical section. He looked desperately tired and there was more silver in his hair than I remembered, but his blue eyes were as bright as ever.