JUST ONE DAMNED THING AFTER ANOTHER

by Jodi Taylor

  ‘No, please Max, just let me say something. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. I don’t know what happened. Well, I do, obviously, but I don’t know why. If it’s any help, I’m as horrified as you are and deeply ashamed. I’m begging you, please don’t end this mission now. We’ve come so far. There’s only sixteen days left and all we’re scheduled for now is data gathering. I see you’ve put a lock on your pod. That’s fine, I understand, but let’s finish the assignment. Please Max, I …’

  I cut across him. ‘I’ve already decided. This mission will continue. But there will be different rules. Unless instructed otherwise, you will remain in your pod. You will eat and sleep there. You will keep a reasonable distance at all times. You will not touch me. Any and all conversation is to be of a professional nature only. If you do not agree to this then this mission is terminated now with all the subsequent unpleasantness that will entail.’

  He swallowed and nodded.

  ‘Right, the northern end of the valley. We’ve not been there yet. We’ll do another contour map. Note any new species of dinosaur we might come across, but today I mostly want to get to grips with flora, which is your area. Is your weapon charged?’

  He nodded again, looking paler than ever. ‘May I speak? I only want to suggest we concentrate on equipment today and do the northern end tomorrow, when we feel more …’

  ‘No. Today.’

  He looked unhappy but I didn’t care.

  I shouldered my pack. ‘Let’s get started.’

  We set off down the path.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ he said. ‘This next bit’s not good.’ He remembered, swallowed and said formally, ‘Perhaps you would like to go first. If you take off your pack then I can throw it across to you and then do the same for mine. If you agree, that is.’

  God help me, I took all this meekness at face value. I slipped off my pack and started across the narrow bit.

  ‘Watch your feet,’ he said.

  They warned us over and over at St Mary’s, but until it actually happens to you, you can have no idea of the speed and silence of a raptor attack. I saw and heard nothing. The first I knew was when something solid caught me cross my back and shoulders. I staggered heavily, the path gave way and I lost my balance and went over the edge.

  I rolled, fell and bounced for what felt like a lifetime. Other things hit me; hard things, rocks, boulders, branches. I had a mouth full of shale. It went up my nose. I had no idea which way was up. I tried grabbing at things to slow my fall, but everything was falling with me. I hit something solid and stopped. I could feel debris piling up around me. I tried to bring my arms up to protect my face and give myself a little breathing space. And then, I think, I passed out.

  I only became aware of things very slowly. It was raining and the moisture felt pleasant on my face. I lay under a great weight. Turning my head carefully, I could see I was partly wedged under a fallen tree trunk and partly buried by what felt like half a mountain. I spat gravel and took stock. My back hurt, but I suspected that came from the initial attack. My helmet and vest had done a good job of protecting me on the way down, but every exposed piece of skin burned with Cretaceous road rash. My first instinct was to try and wriggle free, but second thoughts told me to stay put. I had no idea how long I’d been out, seconds or hours. There might still be raptors around and if they heard or saw me moving they’d be down here in a flash. And I was in a very precarious position here. This tree trunk was the only thing keeping me from falling any further and I would like it to continue doing so. It looked a long way down.

  It was a bloody long way up, too. Not only that, but the ground looked treacherous and unstable. If I did manage to get free then I would have to have to work my way over to the left, to solid bedrock and try to get up that way. Some dinosaur deity somewhere was smiling on me though, because the rain felt soft and warm and refreshing. If it turned into a typical Cretaceous downpour I’d either be washed away or maybe drown. How can you possibly drown half way up a mountain? Maybe I should be looking at office jobs again.

  Activating my com, I whispered, ‘Sussman, can you hear me? Davey, are you there? Report.’

  No reply. Nothing but static. Trapped as I was, I dared not try again.

  I decided to go at this slowly. I was lying more or less the right way up and on my back, so I gently wriggled my left foot. It came free. Good start. My other leg was wedged under the tree so I left it for a while and tried my left arm. Inch by painful inch, I got that free. But as soon as I tried my right arm, the shale started moving again. I rolled over onto my side as best I could and gently began to ease my arm free. The problem was my leg. I couldn’t afford to dislodge the tree trunk which was the only thing preventing me from tumbling down the lower skirts of the volcano into the dinosaur’s feeding ground below. Finally, my brain started to work and I hit on the idea of digging under my leg and easing it out that way. Many, many ruined fingernails later, I struggled free.

  Free, but not safe. I can’t say how long it took me to work my way across the scree; one step across, two steps down. But once there, the actually climb up was quite easy. I took my time getting over the top, lifting a careful eye above the edge and scanning the area. I waited perhaps ten minutes until my arms started to tremble, hoisted myself over, rolled to my feet, got my bearings and set off for Eight.

  Activating my com again, I said quietly, ‘Sussman, are you there? Sussman, answer me.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Sussman, report.’

  Nothing.

  Shaking like a leaf now, I inched my way cautiously along that bloody path and then I saw why he wasn’t answering. Pools of black, sticky blood lay all around. Away, off to one side, I saw a boot. His foot was still in it. Something brittle snapped inside me. I grabbed it, ran as fast as I could on trembling legs, shouted, ‘Door,’ crashed headlong into Eight and lay gasping and shaking on the floor.

  I gave myself twenty minutes. No more, otherwise I’d never get up. I double bagged the foot and went to put it in the chiller. I saw a bottle in there and was sorely tempted. I made tea instead and moving like a robot, showered carefully, cleaned my wounds, plaited my hair and exhausted, pulled out my sleeping module and closed my eyes.

  And climbed back out again and found my photo. Getting back into bed I hugged it tightly and curled myself around it. I missed him. I could go back, feel the comfort of his arms around me. No one would blame me.

  I would blame me.

  After another minute, I gave up the idea of sleep completely and let my mind do what it wanted, which was to think of Sussman being Sussman; alternately loved and loathed. I remembered his kindnesses, especially to me. I found it so hard to believe that this time yesterday he’d been snoring away beside me. And now he was dead. I wished to God I could have this day again and do things differently. Do them better. Suppose he’d tried to get back to my pod. I’d put a lock on it. He wouldn’t have been able to get back in. Common sense told me that was rubbish. Once the raptors closed in he wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere.

  We’d been together for four years, bickering, laughing, competing, always trying to get the edge, but not any more. Never again. This was my mission. How could I have let this happen? I couldn’t believe I’d never see him again. And so on and so on, all that long night, recrimination, grief and regret surging around inside until, finally, I fell into an exhausted sleep just before dawn.

  The next day I dressed stiffly, stuffed some food in another backpack, took what I needed, hefted my blaster and stood by the door. I took two or three deep breaths. I’d checked all the proximity alerts. Nothing lurked nearby. Get back on the horse, Maxwell.

  I opened the door. I don’t know why I was surprised to see everything exactly as it had been. I set off, but not for the northern end of the valley. That was too far on my own, but I could do useful work further along towards the lake, on the eastern side.

  I found a crack in the cliff face where I could safely wedge myself and started work.
I filmed, measured and noted the vegetation. Conifers on the high slopes – pinus and metasequoia and broad-leaved trees lower down. All trees were here from oaks to palms.

  Around mid-afternoon, I trudged back; keeping a careful watch, weapon ready, but all was quiet. I’d worried the raptors might return, looking for more of the unusually flavoured mammals, but I guess they’d moved on. I checked all our equipment, collected the used disks and replaced them with new ones. I’d left it all out overnight and none of it seemed to have suffered at all, so I decided to leave it in situ. It was heavy and I didn’t want to break anything by trying to lug it around by myself.

  It was difficult going into Three. Sussman’s stuff lay all over the place. I tidied it all carefully away, concentrating only on what I was doing and not allowing my mind to wander. I watched my hands fold his clothes and stow his kit neatly. I took the readings, turned off the lights and left without looking back.

  Approaching my pod from a different route, I found myself looking down on the clearing and path. The stains were still there. I didn’t want to attract predators so I went down, kicked dust and gravel over the blood and picked up what I could find of our packs.

  I climbed on to the pod roof, checked the scanner alignments, changed the disks and climbed down again. Inside, I showered, ate, wrote careful logs for that day and the day before and did my data entry. I filed the disks and still slightly surprised at this calm, efficient me, went to bed.

  And that was pretty well the pattern for the next fifteen days. It was hard work alone, but I needed it. I drew strength from my photo, now set up on the console where I could see it. I felt sad and shocked and lonely and for the first time in my life I missed someone, but this work had to be done and only I could do it. Each day I went out, did what had to be done and came back. I talked to the photo. I talked to myself. I think I even chatted briefly once with a rock. Whether all the drama had been used up on that awful day, I don’t know, but everything remained relatively trauma-free. On the other hand, I had sprayed so much cabbage spray all over me and my kit that everything probably thought I was a walking bush. My wounds seemed to be healing without infection and I told myself the worst was over.

  I spent the last two days heaving all the kit back to Three. That bloke who said, ‘Give me a lever and a place to stand and I can move the world,’ obviously never stood up to his knees in a Cretaceous swamp, trying to manoeuvre a refrigerator-sized packing crate uphill. I spent half a day in Three, prepping for the jump and setting the countdown. I shut the door and watched it go, then stared for a while at the flattened area where it had been – no idea why I did that – before making my way back to my own pod, carefully, because I didn’t want to get into trouble now.

  I sorted my pod, dictated my final notes, updated the logs and checked all the disks were present and correct. I looked at the small mountain of boxes in the corner. Data. Unique, priceless, hard-won data. I got the sky scanners off the roof and packed them away. There really was nothing left to do.

  I made a cup of tea and sat in the doorway. This had been my home for three months. Sussman had died here. I felt reluctant to leave. I watched the activity around the lake. A solitary Torosaurus trundled down to drink alongside a pair of Parasaurolophus with their banana-shaped crests and still no clues as to their purpose. Resonating chamber? Sexual display? Enhanced sense of smell? Someone else would study the data and decide. My favourite, Andrew Ankylosaurus, shuffled around with his great tail. And the bastard raptors, doing what raptors do. Who could blame them? And the infamous velociraptors. They were smaller than I had expected, but clever. I hoped someone would pursue the link between meat-eating and intelligence. And a group of Proceratops; we had some great shots of their nests with their eggs laid in those fascinating spiral patterns.

  I had a huge affection for these creatures; old friends now, all of them. And dead. All dead. Long dead.

  Oh, for God’s sake. I threw away the remainder of my tea, did the FOD plod, the POD plod and had no reason to stay any longer. I let the computer initiate the jump – and it was done.

  Chapter Nine

  Finally, I was home. The blue decon light flickered and I felt the hairs on my arms stir. I took a breath and savoured the moment. I was home. Craning my neck slightly, I could see Number Three down at the other end of the hangar. Techies swarmed around it, doing techie things. I sighed. Suddenly, I felt very tired.

  Someone tapped at the door. I had to open it. He would have seen that Three was empty and come straight across to Eight, expecting us both to be here. I was going to have to open the door and let the world in. I hit manual. He stood on the threshold and took in the lack of Sussman.

  His face said everything. He didn’t ask what happened, which was just as well, because for a moment, I couldn’t speak.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  I nodded. It was enough simply to hear his voice after all this time.

  ‘Take your time.’

  I took him at his word, leaned back and closed my eyes. I heard the door close and when I looked, he stood just inside. He said, ‘Come here.’

  I stood shakily, took a step towards him and put my arms around his solid warmth. He held me tightly. He really was the best of men. He said nothing, rubbing my back gently. I went to pull away but he tightened his grip and said, ‘No,’ very softly, so I laid my head on his chest and listened to his strong, steady heartbeat.

  Time rolled on and if I stood any longer, I would be there for ever. I started to pull my bag towards me but he stopped me. ‘I’ll take it. Come on, let’s get you to Sick Bay. Can you manage?’

  Nodding, I opened the door. A small orange crowd waited outside. Someone said, ‘Welcome home.’ I could see them looking over my shoulder for Sussman. Behind me, I guessed the Chief was making signals because they all moved back. I looked up to Kal and Peterson on the gantry and shook my head.

  We took the lift to Sick Bay. After three months in the Cretaceous I couldn’t remember what stairs were for. Helen and her crew waited as the doors opened.

  Farrell handed over my bag and said, ‘We’ll make a start with the tapes and upload to you as soon as possible. Dr Bairstow will be along later, I expect. Get some rest.’ He walked away and I felt disappointed and alone.

  Helen treated me quickly and gently. I was scanned and had my wounds dressed. There was no infection. I crawled into bed and slept.

  Next morning I showered and found my blues in the wardrobe. Helen came in. ‘Yes, you can go,’ she said, sarcastically.

  Nurse Hunter came in with a printout which they both scanned. ‘It all seems fine. Battered and bruised, Max, but nothing permanent. Report here tomorrow morning for a final check-up. Now, let’s go and get some breakfast in you.’

  I walked into the dining room to a round of applause. Not wild applause, because of Sussman, but congratulations were in order nonetheless. Mrs Mack beamed and handed me eggs, bacon and hash browns. And fruit to follow. Helen nodded. ‘At least two pieces of fruit a day, Max, that’s an order. You’ve been on rations for three months. You’ll be like a log jam on the St Lawrence.’

  We sat with Kal and Peterson, both of whom were quieter than usual. Just as I finished, the Chief turned up. He looked serious and didn’t smile. Dr Bairstow wanted me. Of course he did.

  Dr Bairstow was surprisingly brisk. I thought out of respect for Sussman he might tone it down a bit, but he got straight to it. ‘We were surprised, Miss Maxwell, to find a lock on Number Eight. Apparently only you had access to that pod.’

  Shit, shit, shit, I’d forgotten to take the lock off. Sometimes I think I’m too stupid to live. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining this at all, but I didn’t have to. He said into his com, ‘Mrs Partridge, would you come in now, please?’

  Normally she sat beside or just behind the Boss, but today the Chief put a chair for her next to me. She wore Paris. I’d never noticed before.

  The Chief activated the screen. For five seconds or so, it
remained dark. Shockingly suddenly, Sussman’s face appeared, close up, slightly distorted, fiddling with the controls. Apparently having adjusted the camera to his satisfaction, he stepped back and I could see what it was pointing at. Me, asleep in an untidy heap in my sleeping module. I lay on my back, a light sheet over me with one leg stuck out the side.

  The Boss said, ‘We’ll go and organise some tea,’ and to my astonishment, he and the Chief left. I stared at the door and then at Mrs Partridge and she gestured back towards the screen. On it, Sussman knelt beside me. He reached out and, oh so very gently, began to lift the sheet off me. I wore T-shirt and shorts and even as I watched, he began, an inch at a time, to lift my T-shirt. He turned to the camera and grinned.

  I felt physically sick. With a nasty heave of my stomach, I remembered all the times I’d woken with the sheet on the floor.

  Back on the screen he’d got my T shirt nearly to my breasts and the other hand was bashing the bishop as fast as he could go. And any second now … Yep, there I was. One minute dead to the world and the next minute I’ve got my feet on his chest and pushed him backwards. And here I was with the pepper spray. He got a mouthful. And I sprayed his penis as well, on the grounds that if he hadn’t had it out and been waving it around then it wouldn’t have come to any harm. Watching myself on the screen, I stopped feeling sick and began to feel a little better. There’s nothing like good, healthy anger. Mrs Partridge turned to me. ‘Good move with the spray.’

  ‘Thank you.’ My voice came out more wobbly and hoarse than I was happy with.

  Back on the screen, I’m giving Sussman the bollocking of a lifetime. He’s scrabbling round the pod, grabbing his clothes and whatever of his stuff he can carry. I grab the blaster and he makes a bolt for the door.

  Mrs Partridge blanked the screen. ‘The tape runs out about thirty minutes later, just after you put the lock on,’ she said calmly. She paused. ‘We found three more tapes. In them he is not so – bold, but there is no doubt he was escalating.’ The sick came back. And the anger.