Extracted Trilogy (Book 2): Executed

by R. R. Haywood

  ‘Ready?’ Ria asks Emily.

  ‘Ready,’ Emily says, clearly pleased.

  ‘Lights, please, Miri,’ Ria says. Miri flicks the lights off. The room drops to a darkness broken only by the glowing light of the tablet. Ria presses the screen and moves away swiftly before the hologram image of the old Warner Bros logo blooms out in the air above the screen. Music plays. Harry grins. Ben and Safa say something. Bertie laughs with delight. The Warner Bros logo fades to be replaced with a perfect 3D image of a night sky with a moon shining far in the distance and a large bird of prey perched on a road sign for Privet Drive.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Ben gasps. ‘No way.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ Emily says. ‘They converted it to 3D a few years ago. Cost them a fortune.’

  An old, bearded man comes into view. Harry sputters, leaning forward to glare. ‘Dumbledore!’ he roars. ‘That’s Dumbledore . . .’

  Emily settles back with a huge grin as Harry continues to watch in fascination at Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone playing out in the main room of the bunker.

  ‘Ria?’ Emily calls, on seeing the girl heading towards the door. ‘Come and sit down, have some popcorn.’

  ‘I’ve seen it, like, a hundred times,’ Ria says, feeling a jarring rush of emotions, being genuinely happy at Harry’s reaction, but not wanting to sit and join them. Like she doesn’t belong. An outsider, not a team member. They all have important roles. The only thing Ria can do is cook food, wash their clothes and buy supplies.

  ‘Ah, come on,’ Ben says.

  ‘Got some stuff to do. Enjoy,’ Ria says. She walks out of the room to see Miri in her office. She clears her throat, feeling that instant sense of discomfort at being in Miri’s presence. The older woman looks up to fix those cold eyes on her.

  ‘I’ll do the laundry.’

  Miri doesn’t say anything.

  ‘Er . . . so . . . is it okay if I hang out for a bit and come back later?’

  Miri looks at her, weighing up the question. ‘Hang out?’

  Ria shrugs. She’s in her twenties. She doesn’t need to ask permission. Miri makes her feel like a child. ‘Get a coffee while the washing’s on. You know, just, er . . . walk around, maybe get some things for the bunker . . .’ She trails off. Awkward and uncomfortable.

  ‘You are an adult, Miss Cavendish. You are free to hang out, but I have to impose a time restriction for the security of the device and the bunker. Three hours enough?’

  ‘Sure,’ Ria says.

  ‘Money,’ Miri says, walking across her office to a big chest in the corner. She lifts the lid, takes a wad of notes and carries them back to Ria. ‘Enough?’

  ‘There’s, like, five grand there, Miri,’ Ria says, looking at the wad.

  ‘Want more?’

  ‘No, no, that’s fine,’ Ria says, taking the money. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You know the rules, Miss Cavendish.’

  ‘I do,’ Ria says.

  ‘What are the rules, Miss Cavendish?’

  ‘No single large purchases without a backstory. Don’t draw attention. Make sure I am not followed, but if I am, then come straight back here or go to the local police station and wait for you.’

  ‘Good,’ Miri says, moving to the desk.

  Ria walks down to her rooms to change into jeans and a top. She checks herself in the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom, seeing the curves of her own hips and ample chest. She wonders what it would be like to be as lean as Safa and Emily. In the bathroom, she applies make-up. Simple foundation, mascara and eyeliner. She brushes her long black hair, checks her teeth, sprays perfume and goes to the portal room. She changes the setting from island to Milwaukee and watches as the blue light blinks off, then back on again. She checks her small bag for the money, picks up the waiting washbag and steps through. She steps back and crosses to Miri’s office to see her holding a set of keys in her hand.

  ‘Thanks,’ Ria says, stretching out to take them. ‘Forgot.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Ria was briefed, of course. She knows that in 2010, the year she is currently using, the population of Milwaukee stands at around half a million. She learnt other stuff too. She knows the city is on the shore of Lake Michigan, which once had a problem with algae. She did consider, while listening to Miri, if maybe they had brought something from the Cretaceous period into this time that caused the algae. That would be quite funny, she thought, or at least ironic, what with Miri lecturing her about changing the timeline.

  Ria knows the demographics, as of 2010, are approximately forty per cent white, forty per cent black and then everyone else. Miri did tell her the breakdown for Hispanic and other cultures, but Ria was still focussed on the whole algae-in-the-lake thing. In short. Lots of people live here, but Milwaukee is known for being shit towards African Americans because Miri said there is a disproportionate gap in sentences for crimes committed by white people and black people, and also in education standards. Ria had no idea why she was being told all that until Miri explained that by understanding local social issues, she can better judge incidents and situations.

  Miri also came with her the first few times.

  Ria waits in the van. Miri said they have to wait and make sure no one is looking, paying attention, staring, that sort of thing. The car park is enormous. Miri called it a parking lot and said a big old van parked at the end wouldn’t cause a problem for a while. At least a few weeks, and by then they’ll switch to another city and time period. The van is legally owned. Miri paid cash for it and added an extra few notes to make sure the previous owner didn’t update the records too quickly. It’s large enough for the portal in the back too.

  She goes through the heavy blackout curtains fixed to the van’s ceiling and makes sure the curtain behind is put back before going through the next set. At the front, she stares through the windscreen at modern life in the car park of an enormous American shopping centre, or mall, as Miri said. Cars everywhere. Hundreds of them. Rows and rows of cars, vans and pick-up trucks. People everywhere too. Loading vehicles. Getting out of vehicles. Parking vehicles. She waits for a bit to make sure no one is actively monitoring and unlocks the driver’s door before dropping down and inhaling the dirty air with a satisfied groan.

  She walks at the pace Miri taught her. Casual, but not lazy. Busy, but not rushed. Walk like you know where you are going and look like you know what you will do when you get there.

  She falls in behind a man and woman discussing whether they should eat out tonight or cook at home. The man wants to have home food and save money. The woman wants to eat out, as she is sick of cooking. Ria wonders what their lives are like. Are they happy, fulfilled, content, or just as miserable as everyone else? They have no clue that a woman from the future is walking behind them. A woman from the future who lives in the very distant past in a bunker with weird people who play outside a hologram house with pterodactyls flying about.

  The couple look round as Ria chuckles. She smiles and turns away.

  She wanted to fake an American accent, but Miri said no. Be natural. Be dull. Be boring. If anyone speaks to you, just be dull. They’ll soon get bored.

  The washbag is heavy. She adjusts it on her shoulder and heads for the launderette. A vast room filled with washing machines and dryers. She gets change and sets about filling the washing machines with the black training clothes they all wear. The towels go in another machine. Underwear and casual clothes in yet another. She idly thinks about bacteria and things from the Cretaceous period being on the clothes and getting into the water supply, and thinks again about the algae in the lake. She puts powder in and sets the cycles to start.

  If someone told her seven months ago that her dead father would come back, she wouldn’t have believed them. If someone then said he would bring back Malc and Kon from the dead and then fuck everything up by building a bunker and using a staging area in Berlin that was discovered by the British government, who killed Malc and Kon and . . . She blinks, losin
g the confusing train of thought. Whatever. It’s all just weird. She misses her mum so much. The pain inside is immense. Like, crushing. It’s not getting better either or going away. Just give it time, the doctor said. Time? How much time? It hurts so much. She can’t stop thinking of the look on her mum’s bleeding face as they tried to protect Bertie. The fear and confusion. The utter terror.

  ‘You coming back, honey?’ An American drawl, a friendly tone. Ria starts, and turns to see the withered old lady attendant staring at her.

  ‘Just going to the mall,’ Ria says.

  ‘Take your time,’ the old lady says. ‘You want them dried?’

  ‘I can do it.’

  ‘Nah,’ the old woman says, waving a wrinkly hand. ‘Be young, go do young things. Damn British, so polite. Wish my granddaughter was polite. Damn kids.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome, have a nice day,’ the old woman says, back on auto-pilot.

  Ria walks out and down the pavement, sidewalk, to the main entrance to the mall and joins the throng of people moving like zombies, and suddenly three hours of freedom seem too much. She doesn’t know anyone. She doesn’t belong here. She has no home.

  She spots the golden arches and heads that way. The smell of grease hangs in the air. She hates eating in front of Safa and Emily. Her own perception of being judged for eating when she isn’t in perfect physical shape. Whatever. She’s hungry. She’s fat already. Fat and ugly and lonely. She spots the good-looking man behind the counter. She’s seen him before, but he’s never served her. She watches him while she queues. He’s got lovely arms.

  ‘Help you?’ says the man behind the counter.

  She orders a large Big Mac meal and six nuggets.

  ‘You Australian?’

  ‘British.’

  ‘British, huh? What y’all doing here?’

  ‘Holiday.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Vacation.’

  ‘Vacation? To Milwaukee? That’s shit.’

  She smiles and takes the food to a plastic table, where she sits on a plastic chair in a plastic restaurant to eat and people-watch.

  She has been told about the American obesity crisis. She can see it. She looks round and feels thin. It gets worse too, in the future. Much worse. Britain and Europe aren’t far behind, but at least they pass laws to reduce sugar and fat content.

  Tastes nice though. She eats slowly, but only so she can people-watch and hear snatches of conversations. These people are probably all dead by the time she is born. Hang on, this is 2010. Ria was born in 2039, so that’s twenty-nine years from now. Okay, maybe they’re not all dead. Some. The rest are just old.

  Nihilism settles. A profound sense of what’s the fucking point? Why bother? She misses home and hanging out on sets. She was quite good at costumes and set design too. Not the actual sets, but the little things in the foreground or background that added realism. She thinks back to the day she stepped in when the set designer walked out in a huff. She designed a whole scene. Furniture. Background props. Everything. It was the main scene too. The part where the bad guy gets his comeuppance. That was the best day ever. She got a kiss on the cheek from the director, and even had her name in the credits. She was so thrilled. She posted it straight away and had the biggest reaction she ever had on social media. She misses drinking and sex. She misses being promiscuous and not giving a shit because she was wealthy and didn’t care; now she has access to millions of dollars and a time machine and couldn’t feel more empty inside. She finishes eating, but wants more. Food is comfort.

  ‘Help you?’

  ‘Six nuggets, please.’

  ‘Hey, British girl. Still hungry, huh? You wanna apple pie? Free. Call it a vacation gift.’

  ‘Won’t you get in trouble?’

  ‘Nah, I’m leaving in a week. Enlisted. Marine Corps.’

  ‘What, like a soldier?’

  ‘Yeah, but better – a US Marine, hooyah.’

  ‘Cool. Well, good luck.’

  ‘What’s your name, British girl?’

  ‘Maria.’

  ‘Hispanic?’

  ‘No, I said I’m British. Everyone calls me Ria.’

  ‘Ria. Nice. I like that.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She goes back to the plastic table to watch people, although now she is glancing over at the boy behind the counter. Not a boy. A man. Young. Black. Very handsome. Big arms. She likes big arms. His teeth are very clean too. She likes clean teeth. She dips a nugget in some ketchup and bites into it as he looks over and smiles. She smiles back, then covers her mouth because it’s rude to smile or speak when you are eating. He seems to find that funny and laughs.

  She’s full, but she wants to get more nuggets so she can talk to the nice boy. She thinks about getting another drink, but this is America and she can refill from the soda machine on her own.

  ‘Hey, Ria, British girl, more nuggets?’

  ‘Um, no, thanks. Do you have a napkin or a serviette, please? I spilled some Coca-Cola on my leg.’

  ‘Hey, sure thing. Let me get you a wet wipe.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So how’s the vacation in Milwaukee?’

  ‘Boring.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-two. You?’

  ‘Twenty-one. Last week.’

  ‘Happy birthday for last week.’

  ‘Thanks. Say, y’all gotta get back somewhere?’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I said, y’all gotta get back? Go home. You know, you on a curfew?’

  ‘Curfew? I’m twenty-two.’

  ‘Hey, just checking,’ he says, holding his hands up and smiling broadly. ‘Wanna go to a party?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘No, the girl behind you.’

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ Ria says, looking round.

  ‘Yes, you,’ he laughs. ‘Wanna go? Few beers, nothing serious, you know.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘Bar near here.’

  She knows she shouldn’t. Miri told her the rules. Fuck Miri. Fuck everyone. ‘Okay, what time?’

  ‘I finish in an hour. Wanna eat more nuggets and wait, or, like, come back?’

  ‘I can’t eat anymore nuggets. I only got those because you’re cute.’

  He laughs. ‘I thought British girls were, like, totally shy.’

  ‘I am,’ she says. ‘I’ll come back. One hour?’

  ‘Sure thing. One hour.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ Ria asks, hoping that’s it’s something totally cool and American, like Brad or Chuck.

  ‘Derek.’

  Never mind. He’s got nice arms and clean teeth.

  She walks slowly round the mall feeling like a fat bloater for eating a Big Mac, twelve nuggets, an apple pie and the largest cup of Coca-Cola she has ever seen. She burps softly, checking to make sure no one heard her. She shouldn’t be going to a party or drinking with anyone. Miri said to keep interactions to an absolute minimum. Ria can’t understand why though. Everything bad that happens takes place in 2061, which is the future from here, and even if someone else has a time machine, which she knows is a possibility Miri has not ruled out, it still means these other time travellers would have to know where they are. Whatever.

  She stops at a window display and immediately gets an idea for Emily’s room. Emily seems more mature and refined, so her room should reflect that. It should be serious and elegant. Ria stops herself from falling into a trap of decorating rooms to reflect perceptions of character, otherwise Harry’s would be a military cot with camouflage netting on the walls. What about the corridor at the end? That needs something. Painting definitely. That will really help get rid of that austere look. The gaps in the main room too. They need sorting.

  What happens after all this? What then? They’ll train to get ready and go back for the thing at her house – but then what? The end-of-the-world thing, she supposes. And after that? Will she just live in the bunker forever? She strolls through t
he store half seeing the displays while half lost in her own thoughts, then spots the white, shabby-chic low chest and instantly knows it’s perfect for Emily’s room. She lifts the lid to make sure a pair of assault boots can fit inside.

  ‘Hey, you came back,’ Derek says an hour later.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A shabby-chic chest.’

  ‘Damn,’ Derek says, staring at it on the low trolley.

  ‘Help me take it to my van?’

  ‘Sure thing. You buy furniture on vacation?’

  Shit. ‘For my aunt. She’s American.’

  ‘From Milwaukee?’

  ‘California.’

  ‘We’re in Milwaukee.’

  ‘She’s from California. She lives here now.’

  ‘Where she live?’

  ‘In Milwaukee. I like your arms. You work out?’

  ‘Every damn day, hooyah. I ran track in school. I was a quarterback too and had trials, but I wanna serve my country. I enlisted.’

  ‘Yes, you said.’

  ‘Marine Corps. Hooyah. Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Wow,’ Ria says, nodding at him as he pulls the trolley out the doors of the mall and into the car park.

  ‘Where’s the truck?’

  ‘Van. Over there, other side.’

  ‘Your aunt like furniture then?’

  ‘She likes guns. Where’s the bar?’

  ‘Over there.’

  ‘Do you live with your family?’

  ‘Nope, co-sharing. My buddies and me got a place. I’m moving out in a week though. Enlisted. Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Hooyah,’ Ria says, offering a smile that Derek returns slowly. ‘I mean, that’s great! Wow, I’m, like, so impressed and, like . . . totally impressed. So you ran track?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Hundred metres, relay . . . I can bench, like, two hundred and twenty pounds too.’

  ‘Wow,’ Ria says again. ‘Er, this is my van. We can just pop it in the side bit . . .’ She unlocks the sliding door and pulls it back along the runners.

  ‘Damn,’ Derek says, ‘you got curtains?’

  ‘Just to keep the light from the back when my aunt is sleeping. So wow, two hundred and twenty pounds is so much. You must be so strong.’