Shift #2

by Jeff Povey

  ‘Get up.’

  It’s taunting me now. It’s offering me hope and salvation but only so it can snatch it away.

  What a rotten cruel world.

  Mother Nature is a Mean Girl.

  A hand reaches for me through the snowstorm. A dry warm hand.

  Yeah right, I think. You want me to take that hand because you know it’ll drag me under.

  ‘Rev.’

  ‘Go away.’

  ‘I only just got here.’

  ‘Go,’ I tell the hand.

  ‘Rev.’

  ‘I know what you’re trying to do to me.’

  ‘You think?’ he asks. And then he grabs me and hoicks me to my feet. ‘C’mon.’ He drags me forward and I stumble through the snow.

  ‘Don’t,’ I tell the apparition. Because that’s what this is. An apparition, a mirage, a deadly trick of the mind.

  ‘I don’t do don’t,’ he says and yanks me as hard as he can.

  And a moment later Johnson stands before me.

  ‘Hardly the weather for a stroll.’

  ‘Johnson?’

  Johnson grins. ‘You remembered me. That’s a start.’ Then he takes my hand and pulls me towards him. ‘C’mon.’

  Johnson drags me away from the snowstorm.

  I can feel tarmac under my sodden feet and snowflakes are already melting around me, creating a puddle. I’m standing in a perfectly dry and warm summer night.

  Which means I’m dead. I have to be.

  ‘No you’re not.’

  Johnson stands in front of a motorbike, a large one like I’ve seen Hells Angels driving around on. Not in person, but in films. I think it’s a Harley-Davidson and it gleams in the moonlight.

  ‘Climb on.’

  His lips aren’t moving but his voice is inside my head.

  It’s not Johnson.

  It’s Other-Johnson.

  But that’s not possible.

  He grins. ‘Believe it.’

  Other-Johnson helps me move my frozen inflexible body onto the back of the motorbike. He slides on in front of me and kick-starts the engine. ‘Hold on tight.’

  ‘I-I-I can’t,’ I shudder.

  He reaches behind him and pulls my arms tight round his waist. He sees my skinless palms in the moonlight. ‘I’ll find you something for that,’ he says, speaking out loud at last.

  Other-Johnson kicks the bike off its stand and revs the engine. ‘Bend with me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Lean with me. You’ll feel like you want to bend the other way but you can’t do that. Not on a motorbike. We’ll be taking corners fast, so when I lean into one, come along with me. OK?’

  I nod vaguely, not knowing what on earth is happening.

  ‘You were dead and now I am too. Right? This is how we get to heaven. On a motorbike.’

  ‘Heaven,’ he grins, ‘that’s us.’

  He pulls the clutch in and flicks the bike into first gear.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask him.

  ‘Just hold on tight.’

  He twists the accelerator and we quicken into the moonlit night. There is no snow, there is no freezing wind and when I look back the winter storm has come to an abrupt stop on the edge of town.

  Which is clearly impossible.

  Other-Johnson obviously knows what I’m thinking because he yells over the roar of the speeding bike. ‘I’m glad I’m not the only one who thinks that.’

  I instinctively hold on tighter to him, leaning my face into his shoulder. The warm night air whips my plastered-wet pink hair around my face and I lean closer into Other-Johnson’s back to try and avoid the stings.

  I have a thousand questions for him.

  ‘I know you have,’ he tells me. ‘But I don’t have a thousand answers.’

  He reaches down and pats my arms, which wrap tightly round his skinny midriff.

  ‘You were dead,’ I tell him.

  Last time I saw him he was lying in the town square with grey skin, drained of every shred of life by Rev Two’s existence-sucking power.

  ‘I fall, I bounce.’ He is grinning in my mind. ‘Corner coming up.’

  He leans into the corner and he’s right – I do want to lean the opposite way. He knows this.

  ‘Trust me,’ he says and against all of my better instincts I lean with him. But I grip him tighter just in case.

  The large Harley takes the corner and for a second I think I’m going to slide off, but Other-Johnson’s command of motorbike physics is spot on and as we come out of the corner the bike straightens to the vertical and I straighten with it.

  ‘Get you,’ he says proudly. ‘A natural biker. We could go miles together.’

  ‘This isn’t going to be easy to get your head around.’ Other-Johnson’s voice comes into my head again. It seems that he’s heading to the school, heading to the classroom where it all began. ‘So it’s better showing than telling.’

  Even though the freak storm continues to hover around the town centre it is becoming pretty clear that everywhere else is still experiencing late summer. The roads are slippery and clogged with deep snow but that doesn’t stop Other-Johnson coaxing the powerful motorbike up the hill that leads to the school.

  I stood at the top of the same hill about seven hours earlier and swear I saw the winter stretching in every direction.

  ‘You saw what you were meant to see.’ I can’t hide a single thought from Other-Johnson. ‘Don’t know how or why but someone’s been playing games with you.’

  ‘Someone came back with us,’ I transmit to him. ‘Any idea who can make it snow like this?’

  ‘Wish I did. Power like that is on a whole new scale. It’s not one I’ve ever heard about. Even in my world.’

  The motorbike struggles, despite its power, and we slip, gain some grip and then slip again. At one point I think we’re going to skid all the way back down the hill but Other-Johnson knows how to get the best out of the bike and he cajoles it forward with flicks of his boot and seamless twists of his wrist. Even when the rear wheel threatens to go from under us he shifts his weight easily and takes command of the huge bike again.

  We park in the small staff car park that sits in front of a sports field. He kicks the stand down and within seconds we are heading into school.

  ‘Prepare yourself,’ Johnson whispers.

  The climb to the top floor where the classroom sits exhausts me but only because I am near to the point of physical collapse. At least the hike upwards gets my blood pumping. Other-Johnson is aware of my fatigue and takes my hand and pulls me up the last flight.

  He holds my hand all the way along the hallway to the classroom door. Which is shut now.

  Other-Johnson stops outside the door. ‘You won’t see any tents in here,’ he tells me.

  ‘Tents?’

  Other-Johnson enters my head and rifles through it, plucking images and snatches of conversation from my memory. He’s like a computer operator sifting through webpages until he finds the right one. He shows me the Moth telling me how they camped out in the classroom for a month or so.

  He then turns the door handle only to find that the door is locked. Which surprises both of us. He tries it again but the door won’t open.

  ‘Someone’s locked it,’ he says, even though I can see that for myself.

  He tries it again, then backs up a few paces and kicks the door as hard as he can with the flat of his boot. It doesn’t budge an inch. He kicks it again but the door remains closed.

  ‘OK,’ he says. ‘What are we dealing with here?’ He keeps kicking it, but there is no getting through that door.

  ‘Why are we here anyway?’ I ask.

  Other-Johnson isn’t happy about the door but lets it go for now. ‘No one camped in there. Total lie,’ Other-Johnson tells me, not bothering to finesse or ease the way. ‘Never happened.’

  ‘Why would the Moth lie?’

  ‘The Moth didn’t know he was lying. He believed it.’

  I take a moment
as Other-Johnson kicks the door again as hard as he can. It just won’t open. Which is not good. His black desert boots leave scuff marks on it.

  Other-Johnson’s eyes meet mine. ‘You ready for this?’

  I nod, but don’t know why.

  ‘You haven’t been gone five months. It was only an hour or so, just like you thought it was.’

  I have seen and heard the most incredible things these past few days but this might be the most astonishing one of all.

  ‘Say that again.’ The words flop in slow motion from my lips.

  ‘It was an hour in both worlds.’

  I look to the floor as if there’s going to be answers down there. I know I’m frowning and that my mouth is hanging open but I’m not sure I know much more than that. ‘That can’t be.’

  ‘Like winter can’t be winter? It’s still summer, Rev.’

  I feel like I’ve just been slapped in the face.

  ‘An hour? Are you sure? But the others said . . .’ I trail off, my thoughts scattering and reforming like someone’s just turned a leaf blower on them. ‘They said . . . Johnson, Billie, the Moth, they all believe they’ve been here for months.’

  ‘I think someone’s playing with their heads.’ Other-Johnson kicks the door as hard as he can again but it still refuses to yield.

  The world spins for a moment before settling. ‘I need to tell them.’

  ‘There’s one other thing you should see first.’

  ‘There’s more?’ I’m not sure I’m in any fit state to take anything else on board.

  ‘There’s always more.’

  We spend another few minutes trying to get into the classroom but it’s firmly sealed shut.

  ‘This is not good,’ Other-Johnson tells me.

  ‘Look on the bright side – if we can’t get in, then people won’t be able to get out either,’ I tell him, dredging up what I think is a smart observation.

  Other-Johnson frowns though. ‘Rev, the door being jammed isn’t an accident. Someone doesn’t want us to leave. They’re keeping us from escaping.’

  ‘Who would do that?’

  ‘If I knew I’d tell you.’

  The moonlight streams in through the window at the far end of the corridor. It casts a pale glow over Other-Johnson’s face. It makes him look gaunt and tense.

  ‘I have no idea, Rev.’

  Other-Johnson heads down the hallway. ‘C’mon.’

  I hurry to catch up with him. ‘There were footsteps in the snow,’ I tell him. ‘We think someone came from your world with us. Can you sense them?’

  Other-Johnson heads down the stairs.

  ‘Do a scan,’ I tell him. ‘Do that mind thing you do.’

  Other-Johnson takes a moment and I imagine he is doing his mind thing, but if he is it doesn’t provide any answers. ‘There’s nothing, Rev. At least no one I can find.’

  Which scares me more than anything.

  It means we have no way of knowing who’s out there, or what they want with us.

  The motorbike approaches a roundabout which offers four destinations: the way we just came, left into a more industrial area, straight ahead to the edge of town and the railway station or right towards the posh tree-lined avenues of desirable living.

  The snow hasn’t reached this far out of town, which comes as a great relief to my shivering soul.

  We take the sweeping right, Other-Johnson leaning the bike impossibly low, less than forty-five degrees to the horizontal as he takes the roundabout.

  ‘Really thought I’d never you see again,’ he beams into my mind as we head away from the roundabout. ‘I wasn’t even scanning the waves for you.’

  Other-Johnson’s mind thing meant he could talk to me from miles away, over a secret telepathic link.

  ‘You don’t get rid of me that easy,’ I quip, but I’m kind of low on killer lines.

  ‘I must have sensed you were in danger, because you were suddenly in my head again.’

  Which could mean we’re eternally bonded now.

  ‘You aren’t lying, are you? About the five months? How did you even know?’

  ‘It’s still summer for one thing. And I saw what was in your head. Sorry about Johnson and Billie.’

  There’s a sense of sorrow in his tone, but if I could see his face I bet he’d be smiling right now.

  He kicks through the gears as we start to climb another of the extremely steep hills that populate this town.

  Other-Johnson surfs through more of my memories. He winces at the lynch mob in the town square of his world. ‘Sorry about that.’

  All of this feels so typical of the way our up-and-down luck has been running. Get shifted out of this world by the light: tick. End up in the world full of evil aliens, instead of ours: cross. Escape unharmed from the alien world: tick. Bring something awful with us: big red cross. And whatever the something awful is, it looks like it has the power to create winter in a matter of minutes and cram five fictional months into the heads of three people. Huge, enormous red cross.

  ‘I need to get back to the others.’

  ‘Hold that thought.’ He slows at a junction and takes another right.

  ‘They could be in danger, or awake and looking for me.’

  ‘They’re not,’ he says with conviction. He must be able to see them in his head. ‘They’re sleeping like babies.’

  Other-Johnson accelerates, taking me further and further away from the others.

  ‘This thing that came back with us . . .’ I tell him. ‘If we want to go home, we’ll have to fight it, won’t we?’ Meaning kill it. ‘It’s going to come down to that, right? It’s not someone playing for fun.’

  But he doesn’t answer as the bike roars deeper into the night. I guess he doesn’t know. Or worse, he can’t bring himself to tell me.

  I never knew there was a private hospital. I’ve lived in an exact copy of this town my whole life and didn’t know it existed. It’s hidden behind a mass of trees and the entrance is easy to miss because of the foliage growing around it. It’s not an area of town I frequent. It’s the posh part, the tree-lined, doctor-dwelling area. I have no friends up here.

  ‘If the Ape’s still roaming around he’ll have heard the bike,’ Other-Johnson whispers. ‘So we might not have long.’

  He cuts the engine and the motorbike drifts in silence.

  ‘Billie healed me here,’ his voice says in my mind. Even that is a whisper, as if he’s afraid to disturb the silence.

  The Harley glides to a stop. The building is surprisingly modern, with a small tarmac car park and automatic doors at the entrance. It looks clean and antiseptic. The security lights are on, lighting most of the frontage. The car park wraps around the small hospital and I can see the edge of a grassy field beyond it.

  Johnson is on edge, wary. ‘Not a sound.’

  I’m still freezing cold but a thought has just lit a small fire in me. Johnson and Billie are together, but in a way they’re not, because what they think they’re feeling isn’t real! Other-Johnson takes my absolute delight at this well.

  ‘Whoever it is, knows where to stick the knives,’ he tells me quietly. ‘Which means they may know you, or know my Rev.’ And then he adds for good measure: ‘And hate her.’

  He kicks the stand down and turns to help me off the bike.

  His arms are sinewy and taut as he slips them round me and pulls me to him. He doesn’t care that my clothes are still damp from my snow expedition and when we pull apart he has a wet stain spreading all over his T-shirt. It clings to his tight torso. He moves my plastered hair away from my forehead and there’s enough light pooling in the car park to pick out the brilliant blue of his eyes.

  He’s in Johnson’s body but behind the eyes he’s entirely Other-Johnson. I can tell from the brazen way he looks at me.

  The automatic doors slide open in silence and we step into the small hospital. The reception area is all polished floor and shining wood veneer. The lights are on but set to a low night-time glow.


  Again, Other-Johnson slips his hand into mine. It surprises me but makes me feel braver somehow.

  ‘Stay close.’ He squeezes my hand and then lets go.

  We move down the empty silent corridor, passing doors to offices with nameplates on them. Doctors and surgeons would usually hold consultations behind them but in this world no one is around to be ill. Or in need of a tummy tuck.

  Other-Johnson doesn’t say a word. His quiet breathing is all I can hear as we round a corridor that leads to a stairway. Again it is clean and sterile, but as we pass a window that looks out onto the field beyond the hospital I get the first tingle in my shoulders.

  ‘Wait,’ I whisper.

  Other-Johnson stops, sees my concern. ‘Don’t stop, you have to see this.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘Others?’

  ‘They’re here, aren’t they? Your Billie and Rev.’

  ‘Don’t worry about them.’

  ‘They’re in this hospital, aren’t they?’

  Other-Johnson keeps heading quietly up the stairs. ‘Forget them.’

  ‘I’m not taking another step,’ I tell him.

  But I do take another step. Which I don’t understand. Then I take another. I’m walking but it’s not me who’s walking.

  Other-Johnson glances back down at me. ‘We don’t have much time.’

  He’s in my head. He’s taken control of me. There’s nothing I can do but follow him. I want to shout at him but he won’t even allow me to do that. The barely lit stairwell rises above me and Other-Johnson has already faded into the shadows.

  I feel myself propelled forward, damp feet in squelchy boots, and GG’s sodden jacket feeling twice as heavy as when I first put it on. I’m almost glad we’re going to a hospital because my hands are throbbing and I really need to put something on them. Johnson treated my burns with special creams after I almost went up in flames so he’ll know what to do when I show him my red raw hands.

  I hate to admit it but I can’t stop feeling relieved that Johnson and Billie aren’t really together. It means I can go back to sitting on the fence about which Johnson I really like. Strangely enough my crippling indecision almost brings a comfort.

  A door opens on the third floor.

  Other-Johnson waits for me.