I stop in mid-sentence. I can hear the Professor laughing.
“James, my boy! It’s okay. I was testing you. And you gave me all the right answers. But I have one more for you…why couldn’t you make the Jump the first time we thought you might. What was the reason I gave you?”
It’s not a hard question. I know the answer.
“Because you said I was too fat. I’d put on weight doing my new cushy job in advertising, and my mass had increased. Your calculations of when the Jump would happen next were all based on my old body weight from my real world.”
“Brilliant. Excellent. Completely right. Actually, just one more question, sorry… Where have you been since you last saw myself and Sarah on the underground?”
“Nowhere.” I reply. “I’ve been nowhere. I stepped through the door of the train, and the next moment I remember, I am waking up in a dark empty underground tunnel with no lighting. When I eventually find a way out, I’m arrested for vagrancy and breaking the curfew, and I’m told its 2021 and there’s a pandemic threatening to kill the planet. As far as I can work out, the last time I saw you was about fourteen hours ago, but the clocks here say it was over eight years ago!”
“Yes…well, it’s all most interesting, James, my boy. Most interesting indeed!”
“Professor, I have a question for you. And be honest. What world is this? Where am I?”
“The future, my boy. The future. But don’t worry, it’s the same world you left behind you. Something didn’t go quite as planned. Unfortunately you didn’t manage to cross through the portal back to your real world. Instead you stepped forward, eight years in time till now.”
“And what happens now?” I ask, finding it all a bit too much to grasp.
“Now?” The Professor asks. “Ah, now you have your lunch. And I’ll have a word with the Home Secretary again. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Just make sure you’re ready to leave your prison cell at a moment’s notice. As soon as I can arrange it all.”
“Arrange what?” I ask.
“Don’t you worry, my boy. And Bon Appetit! We’ll speak again shortly.”
And then he’s gone. I hear the pips as the line goes dead, and then it’s silent. The Professor is gone.
For a few moments, I sit there in peace and quiet. Wondering just what on earth will happen next?
Then I hear my stomach rumble, and I stand up and knock on my cell door.
“I’m hungry!” I shout.
As I hear footsteps come running, I can’t quite believe this is happening. It’s all too surreal.
However, five minutes later I am tucking into a decent meal, and instead of protesting, I make a mental decision to go with the flow.
For a mere tramp like me, things are definitely looking up.
Chapter Twelve
Whilst I eat, my mind wanders continually back to my mum. She’s dead.
Or so they say.
I find it strange.
I understand what the police officer said to me, but for some reason, it doesn’t register deeply within my being.
My mother has died, but yet, I don’t fully feel it. Or believe it.
I think it’s because I don’t yet feel part of everything that’s going on around me. To me, my mother lives only in one world. The world I left behind over a year ago. True, I met another version of her when I crossed over to this world, but to me that version of her is also still alive. I saw her just a few days ago. This time-travel stuff doesn’t make any sense. It’s confusing. If I can jump forward in time so easily, then surely I can jump back just as well? And if I can, my mother is still alive. Maybe not here, but definitely there. Wasn’t it Einstein who said that everything is relative?
The door to the room opens and the man with the most stripes on his uniform walks back in, followed by Sue.
“I really don’t know who you are, or what you’ve done, but the Home Secretary just called me personally again to tell me what I have to do with you. You’re going on a trip.” He says with a smile on his face. I get the impression that he was rather flattered the Home Secretary had spoken to him in person.
“Get your stuff together and follow Sue. She’ll take you there. And, courtesy of the Home Secretary, here’s a new set of clothes, police issue.”
“Where am I going?” I ask, reaching out and accepting the set of regulation police clothes. A blue shirt, a jumper, dark trousers, a nice dark blue jacket, and a box of police regulation face masks and gloves.
“Trafalgar Square. There’s a helicopter waiting for you.”
“A helicopter?” I reply, parrot fashion. “Where’s it taking me?”
“Scotland. To see the Professor.”
------------------------------------
Changed, spruced up again, and ready for whatever’s next, it’s a short walk from the police station to the iconic Trafalgar Square. As we go, I can’t help but feel that we are on the set of some sort of post-apocalyptic film. The streets are still completely empty, the city is silent. I look up and see, probably for the first time in my life, ever, a completely blue sky above London. There are no white vapour trails criss-crossing the sky. I recall that I read somewhere that after 9-11 in the US, no planes flew for three days - apart from those ferrying the Bin Laden family out of America - another conspiracy theory that was never explained fully – but the point was that the average temperature across America actually dipped as a result of there being fewer vapour trails in the sky to lock the heat into the atmosphere.
“How long have there been no planes for?” I ask Sue, as we walk.
“About thirty three months.”
“Thirty three months?” I whistle. “Does global warming even still exist?” I ask.
“We don’t know yet. When everyone stopped driving and flying, and industry went into the first of the lock-ins, the amount of carbon being spewed out into the atmosphere dropped by about forty percent. All the governments in the world began to hit their carbon targets. Most for the first time. Since then it’s been like a wake-up call to the world. The flying industry will never recover from this. After the first lock-in, most of the new car sales were electric. Now, no one buys petrol or diesel. To be quite honest, some people think the pandemic might just save the world, even if it does wipe out humanity.” She looks across at me. “Actually, that might not be such a bad thing after all. Humanity is the cancer that’s killing the planet. Without us, maybe it’ll go back to the Garden of Eden again.”
“Except without Adam or Eve, but still with a billion tons of plastic that will take a zillion years to decompose.” I add, without even thinking about what I’m saying.
“And not as many trees. Except hopefully the Amazon rain forest may perhaps one day grow back.”
“It’s gone?”
“Completely. Burnt down by their President to make room for cows. Which then all died in the cattle plague three years ago. Are you sure you can’t remember any of this?” she asks, seemingly beginning to wonder what it must be like being me.
“Nada. Last thing I can remember was about eight years ago.” I tell her truthfully, as I see it. “So, how many people has the pandemic killed so far?” I ask.
“One hundred and fifty million dead. Another estimated six hundred million who may die in the next ten years from the long-term effects.”
“What? So many?”
“Sadly. Yes. I lost my father and two of my uncles. And I’m sorry about your mother. And that I had to break the news so harshly to you.”
I stop walking for a second. I look back up at the sky and swallow. Hard. Then nod and carry on walking again. “It’s okay. Someone had to. And to tell you the truth, it probably hasn’t sunk in yet. None of this seems real to me. It’s all like waking up from a bad dream. No, correction, it’s like waking up INTO a bad dream!”
We’ve now arrived at the top edge of the Square. A big blue helicopter is sitting waiting in the middle between the fountains, its propellers slowly rotating. Six heavi
ly armed soldiers are standing point around it.
Sue walks me down the steps, and as we near the helicopter another soldier jumps down from the middle of the helicopter and hurries across to us.
“James Quinn?” he asks, nodding briefly at us both.
“That’s me,” I reply, rather stupidly, briefly lifting my mask so he can see my face, but immediately smoothing it back into place.
“Just one for the trip then, or are you coming too?” the soldier turns to Sue.
“Nope, this is as far I go. The Home Secretary made it very clear that Mr Quinn is to be treated as a free man. There’ll be no charges against him.”
Excellent! That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.
“PC Sue Alexander. Irises, not roses. Please.” Sue says, smiling.
I turn to look at her, noticing for the first time how pretty she is. I find it interesting that until now, I’ve only noticed her as a figure of authority. But now I’m free, I suddenly see her in quite a different light. In some ways, she reminds me of Sarah. Similar eyes. The ways she talks. The light in her eye. Her smile, perhaps.
“Thank you, Sue Alexander. Very much.”
I back away from her now towards the helicopter, the soldier holding my elbow and guiding me to duck slightly, just like they do in the films.
Like the one I’m in now.
------------------------------------
As the helicopter rises up high above Trafalgar Square, I see Sue wave, then turn and walk back to the station.
London begins to unfold all around me, soon looking like a model village I once visited as a kid.
This is the first time I’ve ever been in a helicopter, so I find it both exciting and nerve-wracking. The engines are surprisingly quiet, which I am informed, is because they are electric.
The sun is high in the sky. It’s a cloudless day, actually a beautiful day, which makes everything I see even more surreal. Empty streets, an empty Thames. Empty offices and shops.
“Where is everyone?” I can’t help but ask into my headset.
“At home. In lock-in. Only key workers and emergency services are allowed into the city,” the voice of the man who helped me into the helicopter replies.
“Sorry for the questions. I don’t know if they explained before you picked me up, but basically I’ve lost my memory. What’s happening to the economy?”
“There isn’t one. We’re in the worst recession since the depression of the 1930s. In fact, it’s probably far worse. No one’s working. Unemployment is at about fifteen million. And rising.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“Is it just the UK?”
“No. This is a global thing.”
“Where did the virus come from?”
“It’s not confirmed yet, but we think it came from an American laboratory. By accident. Unfortunately, they’re worst affected. It’s decimated them. One in a hundred of the population has been killed.”
“But that’s about three million.”
“Actually, it’s more.”
“And here?”
“About six hundred thousand, so far. We locked down sooner than the US did, relatively speaking. They refused to accept it was a thing. The virus had infected significant swathes of the population already before they took any action. By then it was too late.”
“Fuck.”
“Exactly.”
“Who’s the President there now?” I ask. I can see the officer who’s answering all my questions turn and stare at me.
“Clinton?” I ask, taking a wild guess.
“President Harris.”
“Who?”
“President Kamala Harris. The first female black president.”
“I’ve never heard of her.”
“She was the running mate of Clinton when she became the first female president. Then when Clinton stepped down, Harris stood for election and won.”
The man laughs for a second, and continues. “You probably can’t remember it either, but last election the TV host of the show ‘The Apprentice’ ran for President. He ended up getting the worst result ever for his party, but imagine what the world would be like today if a comedian like him was put in charge of the free world?”
“Thankfully, something like that would never happen.” I reply.
For a moment I consider it, but then discard the thought. Something like that would never happen. It’d just be too weird. Even for this world.
“What’s that?” I say, pointing to an incredibly tall, but very weird looking skyscraper towering above the rest of the buildings in the financial district of the City of London.
“Ah, you really must have banged your head quite badly. Everyone calls it The Penis. It looks disgusting, doesn’t it? I can’t believe it was ever granted approval.”
The building we are both looking at is about a third taller than all the rest. Essentially, it’s a very large round tapering tower, but at the top of it there is a slightly elongated sphere, more oval than spherical…
“Wow… look! People! Hundreds of people!” I shout, excitedly pointing at the ground near where, once upon a time, in my old world, the Canary Wharf complex had been built. Instead, in an area that must now cover many acres, I can see row after row of small buildings. Outside, surrounding the buildings are thousands of little ants. People. Even before the man beside me offers any form of explanation, I have already guessed what they are. I vividly remember my first day in this new world, when I arrived at Waterloo and then got a taxicab up to where my old work building should have been, only to discover that my skyscraper in Canary Wharf had not been built. In fact, in this world, the whole of Canary Wharf was then still a collection of old wharves, and run down dock buildings. It had never been developed. Apart from one area. The National Asylum Centre.
“They’re immigrants. There’re camps like those all over England. And Europe. Since 2005 it’s estimated that over twenty million refugees have travelled from Africa and the Middle East to Europe. A lot of them end up here. No one knows how to stop them. And now with ‘The ’18’, everyone’s worried that it’s only going to get worse.”
“But what about the pandemic? Are they well?”
“They’re dropping like flies in those camps. But no one knows what to do about the situation, and economically, if things don’t improve soon, the UK and Europe will be almost as poor as Africa and the other places they come from.”
“I remember, about eight years ago, I thought the UK had the immigration situation under control? What happened?”
“Global warming. Higher temperatures in Africa and across the Middle East meant the crops failed and less food was available. It stirred a lot of national unrest. There were many revolutions and governments were overturned in lots of different countries and the people took over. Unfortunately, those who took over didn’t really have an answer, and their societies broke down. People were, and still are, starving on the streets. Then a new wave of people started moving north and west. Millions and millions of people walking and in boats. The UK was forced by the EU to stop being so radical in the approach we’d previously adopted, and so in the end, we were forced to let people come. And come. And come. They’re all still here. But they’re not entitled to vote, or jobs, or financial support… so… the whole thing is a disaster.”
“They’re just concentration camps!” I shout.
“No, they’re death camps. Once ‘The ’18’ gets into a camp, they drop like flies. See that smoke?” he says, pointing to the left of the camp.
“Yes. What is it?”
“Crematoria.”
“Are you serious?”
The man just nodded.
“When the current lock-in is lifted, and people go back to work, it’s going to be to a very different world. Apart from unprecedented levels of unemployment, the immigration crisis is going to be the next biggest problem we have. What do we do with everyone? They’re all desperate. Before the lock-ins, crime was a massive proble
m and as soon as this lock-in is lifted, it’s only going to get worse. It won’t just be the immigrants who’re desperate. It will be everyone.”
I’m shaking my head, horrified by what I’m hearing.
“Which will just lead to extreme governments. Either extreme right governments, or extreme left.” I offer.
The man nods.
“By the way, I’m Dave. Sergeant Dave Porter.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“So, we’re heading up to Scotland. I hear you know the Professor. May I ask how?” Dave asks, not pushing, but in a friendly way.
“From University. He was one of my professors. We’ve stayed friends ever since.”
“That’s nice. But from what I hear, you’re going to be given a Blue Pass. Only really important people have Blue Passes. How did you qualify for that?”
I look at Dave again, wondering what to reply. I go with the obvious.
“What’s a Blue Pass?”
“Basically, an ‘access all areas’ pass. You can go anywhere, at any time. You’re exempt from curfew. And you can request assistance from the emergency services whenever you see or need them. Only the Leaders have them.”
“The Leaders?”
“Yes. Those delegated by the National Council as those people entitled and empowered to lead us out of this crisis.”
“The National Council?”
“The Cabinet of the Government of National Emergency. It’s a cross party government formed from the elected MPs across all the main parties. A glorified coalition government without party affiliation.”
“And how’s that working?” I wonder.
“Actually, very well. It was formed about two months after the pandemic began. Hopefully, once the pandemic’s over, it might continue. Like I said, nothing’s going to be the same once this is all over.”
Am I Dead? Page 7