Extracted Trilogy (Book 2): Executed

by R. R. Haywood

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Fuck, Harry,’ Ben says.

  ‘Ach, listen to Miri,’ Harry says, leaning over to steal an orange from Safa’s bowl. She offers the knife, which he takes to start peeling. ‘We’re not going to stop a government with a few rifles now, are we?’

  ‘Morning, morning.’ Doctor Watson bustles in, heading for the table while rubbing his hands together. ‘Coffee on, is it? Slept on the island last night, I did. Went for an after-dinner snooze in the hammock and woke up to see Bertie mapping the constellations. Portal was closed, so I stayed there. Where’s the coffee? Ah, over there, is it? Morning, Emily! So I went back to sleep, and this morning he wakes me up going on about something. Of course, I had just woken up, so didn’t have a clue what he was on about.’ He empties the last of the flask into a mug. ‘Turns out he has calculated the time period we are in on the island . . .’ He lifts the mug to sip, and gives a satisfied groan. ‘To the year, I might add. The clever sod has worked it out. No telescope. Nothing. Just the stars and geology, and what not. I came through just now and checked the date on the tablet. Blighter’s bloody right too.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Ben asks.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ the doctor says, sitting down.

  ‘Maybe he saw the date on the tablet,’ Emily says. ‘He’s been through enough times.’

  ‘Bertie wouldn’t think to look,’ the doctor says. ‘He’d say that’s, like, totally cheating. So that’s our genius at work, and that was all done while he works on the second time machine and tries to work out how to get radio signals through the displacement field.’

  ‘We could have one permanently open to the island then,’ Emily says. ‘And one we use for whatever.’

  ‘Did I miss anything last night?’ Doctor Watson asks, stealing an orange from Emily’s bowl as Harry hands the knife over.

  Ben smiles into his coffee mug. Emily suddenly looks up and away. Harry whistles softly.

  ‘Twats,’ Safa says. ‘Ria had sex with a boy from McDonald’s.’

  ‘Oh,’ Doctor Watson says, peeling the orange.

  ‘Didn’t something else happen?’ Emily asks innocently, widening her eyes, as though trying to think. ‘I’m sure there was something else . . .’

  ‘This bunker is too small,’ Ben mutters as Ria walks in looking somewhat sheepish. ‘Hey, morning. Hangover?’

  ‘Nope, feel fine,’ she says.

  ‘To be young,’ the doctor says with a tut.

  ‘Sit down,’ Ben says. ‘I’ll make a fresh flask.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Ria says.

  Life in the bunker rolls on. The morning after the night before in an enclosed environment, where small things stand out. Safa went to Ben’s room last night. Ria had sex with a boy from McDonald’s. Miri said they have to stop a government. Bertie worked out the year by looking at the stars as something to do in between building a second time machine.

  Miri walks in, brisk and business-like in her manner. She takes a mug and sits down as Ria strolls over to take a seat with a defensive look etched on her face. ‘This where you tell me off?’

  ‘No,’ Miri says simply.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Safa asks, looking round the table. ‘Are we having a breakfast meeting or something?’

  ‘Yes,’ Miri says.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘To talk.’

  ‘Talk about what?’

  ‘Last night and . . .’

  ‘What about last night?’ Safa asks, the glare hardening instantly. ‘It’s my business if I want to get in bed with Ben. Got fuck all to do with . . . What? Why are you groaning?’ she asks Ben as he covers his face in his hands. ‘It’s got nothing to do with anyone. We didn’t have sex, so . . .’

  ‘Oh my god,’ Ben groans.

  ‘What!’

  ‘I didn’t mean that, Miss Patel, but thank you for sharing.’

  Safa glowers, seethes, frowns, scowls, then shrugs and goes back to eating her orange. ‘Fair one.’

  ‘So moving on,’ Emily says, looking at Miri.

  ‘I wasn’t there all night anyway,’ Safa adds.

  ‘Great,’ Emily says, looking to Safa, then back to Miri. ‘So . . .’

  ‘Like, a few hours,’ Safa says.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’ Emily asks.

  ‘Do I fuck.’

  ‘Then stop talking about it.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Great. So what were you saying, Miri?’

  ‘Need to get bigger beds,’ Safa says to Ria as Ben bursts out laughing and Harry chuckles into his mug. ‘What?’

  ‘Safa!’ Emily says.

  ‘I’m just saying. No point pushing two beds together, cos I’ll fall down the gap in the middle.’

  ‘Oh my god,’ Emily says. ‘Done sharing?’

  ‘Piss off. Who stole my other orange? Oh, and a lamp for my side of the bed. On a little table or something. It was pitch black when I got up, couldn’t see a thing . . . I tripped over one of Ben’s boots. Maybe get him a chest like you got Emily. Stop laughing! I never had a boyfriend, so I don’t know how this stuff works. Twats.’

  Miri listens and watches. Showing patience where patience is needed. This is it. Her team has been built. It’s time for the endgame.

  ‘I need to talk about Cavendish Manor.’ Her tone eases the humour from the room. The smiles fade. The joviality abates. As she speaks, her voice becomes increasingly blunt, without any trace or inflection of emotion.

  They listen in rapt attention. Faces become focussed and hard. Surprise and shock show. Miri watches each closely. Reading reactions.

  She speaks for several minutes without interruption. From the start to the end. When she finishes, there is but silence. Heavy and charged.

  ‘No,’ Safa says, the first to speak out. Her voice strangely quiet, almost timid. ‘No way.’

  ‘It is the only way,’ Miri says. A master at work, with a deft touch of tone and inflection. She waits, expecting the next response from Safa.

  ‘Ben? Is she right?’

  Miri waits, expecting the next response from Ben.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘We’re not doing it unless you say it’s right,’ Safa tells him.

  ‘How do you stop a government?’ Ben says to himself, but his voice carries round the room to everyone else watching him. He looks at Miri. ‘I need to know what you know.’

  ‘Of course. But we’ll train and make ready nonetheless.’

  A buzz inside Miri. A tingling. This is the endgame. Win Ben. Win the team. Win the game.

  Thirty-Five

  They work to train and be ready to do a thing they will only do if Ben says it is right, because what Miri said made even Harry’s eyes go wide.

  ‘As of our time, nine countries had nuclear weapons. As of Ria and Bertie’s time, fifteen countries have nuclear weapons. NATO failed. The sanctions to prevent more countries enriching uranium failed. Where do the warheads point, Mr Ryder?’

  Days and weeks blur. There is only work. Sleep, eat, train. Repeat.

  ‘We are not here to stop the Brits gaining the device. We are not here to stop one country gaining it. We are here to stop them all.’

  ‘Can’t we just talk to them? We’ll open dialogue and say we’ve got it.’

  They work in monsoons with driving rain so thick they can’t see more than a metre in front of them. They work through howling winds that blot noise. Through energy-sapping humidity that dehydrates and causes headaches. Safa drives them on, heedless of the warnings given by the doctor, heedless of everything.

  ‘This is not about oil or money, but about power beyond anything any nation has ever possessed. This changes everything.’

  In the darkness. In the rain. In all elements at all times. Room clearance. Scenario training. Attacking the bunker. Attacking the shack on the island. Defending both. Hand-to-hand training. Weapons training. Sniper training. Ben grows sick of the Barrett. The power of it. The noise of it. The weight of it.

/>   ‘The US is allied to the UK. The French are allied to the US. Israel and Iran hate each other. India and Pakistan the same. North Korea is right there. Russia is allied to China. China is allied to North Korea, but all bets are off if the Brits have the device. Will China ally with the UK? If they do, does the US attack China? What happens then? What if Russia launches against the UK? Who retaliates for the British? The French? Does Israel take advantage of the chaos and unleash on Iran? Does China attack the US to prevent them gaining more power? Think, Mr Ryder. What we do now defines everything for the whole of the world.’

  Miri’s office slowly fills with stacks of newspapers and magazines, piles of encyclopaedias and tablet devices. A huge map of the world on one wall. Coloured pins denote the nuclear powers. Coloured string fastened between each to show the threats, political situations and warring factions.

  The pace is relentless. Miri works with them on attacking the house. Miri and Ben work in the evenings or when they can snatch time to study and learn. Miri trains with them when she can. Joining room-clearance drills to hone her skills and to learn how they each move.

  While Miri and Ben study, so Safa, Harry and Emily set the scenarios up, clean weapons, make adjustments to kit and run through tactical options. Harry’s training is brought up to modern standards, but likewise, his ability to draw on countless real combat missions helps the others.

  The sense of excitement in Miri becomes almost tangible. She’s never felt more alive. This is the biggest game of all. This is power beyond anything, and it’s just her against everyone. To pit her five against everyone else.

  The portal room gains another shimmering light. Red and blue next to each other. One with a handwritten sign above it saying LIVE and one above the red saying ISLAND.

  John Watson, an intelligent and highly experienced medical doctor, becomes an assistant to a young man with a shock of unruly black hair. The two go back and forth, testing radio and satellite signals, digital and analogue signatures and sound waves to try and push them through. It’s all just binary.

  Ria works too. Keeping clothes clean. Providing food. Hiding when she feels sick. Running the bunker. The Quartermaster, as Harry calls her. She takes coffee into Miri’s office and listens to Ben and Miri talking as they stand in front of the huge map. She spots the markers and tracks the ever-changing lengths of coloured string that propose the strike patterns of nuclear weapons.

  A few days later, she presents a hologram program of planet earth big enough to replicate the two-dimensional paper map on the wall, with different coloured lasers instead of the strands of material, and an ability to tap and bloom out information panels.

  She presents it coyly, thinking they will take it as a gimmick or a toy. The map on the wall was forgotten after that evening and the new holo used instead.

  After the night with Derek, Ria is given freedom of movement and access to the tablets that control both devices. There is an assumption she is now fixed. That she got the bad energy out of her system.

  She doesn’t tell anyone when her period fails to come. Nor does she say anything when she pisses on a plastic stick bought from the pharmacy in Walmart that turns blue, and she doesn’t notice that everything she does is seen by Miri.

  Ben has to reach the conclusion on his own. He has to know for himself because to know is to counter, and to counter is to win. If we do not win, everyone will die. The manipulation is steady and careful. Ben is smart. Miri respects that.

  Win Ben. Win the others. Win the game.

  ‘Bertie Cavendish was in the mainstream media for gaining triple Master’s degrees at a young age. He was quoted as saying he wants to invent time travel. The Brits launched a significant attack in Berlin, which we know was the centre of the search and full of agents from every country. Within an hour or two, the same agency launched an attack on Cavendish Manor. The rest of the world will follow the breadcrumb trail and that information alone is enough for every other agency to think the Brits have secured the device. It does not matter that the British will deny having it, because who in their right mind would admit such a thing?

  What does the world look like the day after Cavendish Manor? This situation now could cause the world to be destroyed by 2111, but we cannot go forward to look as it makes no difference. We fix this situation and then go forward, because the day after Cavendish Manor could be the day those warheads are unleashed. We know who will attack who. We’ve studied it. We have that information. We know where the warheads are pointing. We do not have a choice, Mr Ryder. Do you see now? I need you to see this.’

  She saw on the day she arrived the way Safa and Harry deferred to Ben’s intelligence. The way they both held back and waited while Ben asked the questions. They respect Ben. They trust his judgement. Emily is now the same.

  Manipulation to reach a conclusion Miri knew when the game first began. Everyone else just needed time to grow the bond and believe that what they are doing is righteous and proper.

  Win Ben. Win them. Win the game.

  ‘Miri’s right,’ Ben tells the rest that evening.

  The confirmation is received quietly with grim determination. To the last they accept it must be done and the thrill of the game grows only stronger.

  Thirty-Six

  ‘END EX, END EX.’

  That was the best one yet. Ria can sense it. The last few days have seen a marked change. Almost like the confirmation Ben gave cemented the belief in the need to achieve the goal.

  They had more hologram soldiers today too. Ria re-configured the program and moved the tablets about so they would pop up in different places.

  She makes her weapon safe and slings it to the rear, grimacing at the weight and the stench of the flash-bangs hanging in the air. One of the chemicals within them turns her stomach. She should say something. She should tell them. She doesn’t know why she is not saying anything, only that each time she tries, the words don’t come out. She feels stupid and immature. What they are doing is important and big. Bigger than anything. Hey, sorry, I know you’re all trying to save the world and everything, but I think I’m pregnant. No way. She can’t say it. Not now. The pressure in the bunker is immense. Crushing, heavy and growing worse every day. An energy building up ready to be vented and unleashed.

  She keeps telling herself she will tell them after, but what if she wants an abortion? Does she want an abortion? She could speak to the doctor and arrange a termination now, but again the mental block is there. John is working with Bertie every day anyway, in between nursing sore ankles and tutting over the bruises on Ben’s shoulder caused by the immense recoil of the Barrett.

  She pulls the hood down on the poncho, suddenly too hot, and feeling swamped and trapped by the waterproof cover. Rain lashes her face, wetting her hair against her scalp. It feels nice. Refreshing. She cannot bring a baby into this world. What is she thinking? Say something. Do something. She could attend a walk-in clinic. The UK has them. She wouldn’t even need to give her name. Just walk in, get it done and leave.

  ‘Ria? We’re heading back in.’ Safa’s hard voice coming through the radio under her poncho.

  ‘Okay,’ she shouts, jabbing at the button through the material.

  She heads back across the clearing that is now so familiar. She looks up to the tree line that is now so familiar. She walks closer to the bank and sees the top of the bunker that is now so familiar. This is home, but it doesn’t feel like it.

  Ria is not stupid. Not stupid at all. She just refuses to give voice to the idea that having a baby will give her something of her own. Bertie is a genius. He is the reason all of this is here. The others are all gifted in what they can do. Ria isn’t gifted in anything. She can’t do anything. She feels stupid around them. Fat and unfit, too slow, too dense. She wants the baby, but she doesn’t want the baby. She wants her mum.

  Their paths converge as she reaches the Blue at the same time as the others. Faces flushed. Brows sweaty despite the rain.

  ‘Went well?
’ Ria says.

  ‘Did,’ Ben says, grim-faced. He looks exhausted. ‘Look okay from your point of view?’

  She nods. ‘Really good, best yet.’

  ‘Soldiers were brilliant,’ Emily says to her. ‘Popping up all over the place.’

  ‘Too many?’ Ria asks.

  ‘Oh god, no, really good,’ Emily says.

  They go through into the portal room. Shedding kits, boots, weapons, ponchos and bags. Miri comes through after them with the doctor.

  Ben puts the Barrett down. He was hoping it would become an extension of his body or something that he would gain an intrinsic connection to, but it’s just a gun. A big, noisy, heavy gun, and he hopes never to touch the thing ever again. Harry works to strip the Browning. Emily checks her assault rifle. Safa drops to start pulling her boots off. Tension in the air. Tension that grows every day.

  ‘Grilled chicken tonight,’ Ria says, hanging her poncho.

  ‘And fish,’ the doctor adds, as though trying to lift the mood.

  ‘I didn’t get any fish,’ Ria says.

  ‘I got them,’ the doctor says.

  ‘Where from?’ Ria asks.

  ‘From the sea.’

  ‘We can’t do that,’ Ria replies instantly. ‘I mean, we said, didn’t we? No food from these times. No berries. No fruits. Nothing . . .’

  ‘Oh,’ the doctor says benignly.

  ‘That could be dangerous,’ Ben says. ‘The whole food-chain thing is way out, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, it’s probably fine,’ Doctor Watson says, waving a heavy hand about.

  ‘We’re not getting fucking food poisoning,’ Safa snaps.

  ‘Don’t eat the fish then,’ he replies.

  ‘Or you,’ Safa says. ‘You’re the medic. We need the medic to not be dead. They tend to work better.’

  ‘Ah, it’s probably fine,’ the doctor says again, heading for the door.

  Ben drops to a knee to start unlacing a boot. ‘How long?’ he asks after the doctor.

  ‘Oh, about a month now,’ John calls back. ‘Bertie and I do a spot of night fishing.’