by Tim Heath
“A bed bath you mean? Why, of course.” She smiled at him, a little sparkle in her eye, but only briefly.
“I didn't quite mean that, nor to put you to any trouble.”
“It's no trouble, and it's something that needs to happen, I just wanted to make sure you were well enough. I'll get it sorted for later tonight before you go to sleep. Change the bedding as well, while we are onto that.”
“Thanks. Look, Lorna, I do appreciate all that you are doing for me. Not just the routine stuff, but the talking, the book, everything. You might just be the one friend I've got left.”
“Look,” she said, choking back the emotion in her throat. “Don't you get all soppy on me now. It's me that reads that stuff remember, you're the thriller reader. And besides, its who I am. I get to do a job that allows me to be myself.”
That wasn't of course entirely true for her in this latest role, however. It cut right across a lot of who she was and what she felt was right, but she buried that thought, not allowing it the air to breathe for fear that it would take root in her head and make her start to ask the difficult questions she knew were there.
“You continue reading,” she said, and John obediently picked up the book once again. “And I'll go and start preparing everything I need for later to get you cleaned up a little bit more. Do call me if you need me, but I'll see you again shortly.”
Twenty Six Days Ago
It was the start of John's fourth day with his crew of guys from the paper. They'd each settled into their own working patterns. Time in the van meant that, because of the space shortage, at any one moment one guy was resting, usually smoking a cigarette. The café, which offered much more space, had become the venue of choice, though the frequency of going outside for a smoke had not altered one bit. The café gave them a little more comfort, though not much more, and the owner loved the increased trade and the impression it gave that business was good.
John had been getting on with the guys well. His A-team, as he liked to call them, Alan, Aaron and Andrew, were keen workers, and it didn't help that their other colleague, the butt of many jokes was called Bradley; he became the sole member of the B-team once the phrase got coined. In truth, mostly it was healthy banter, at least from the A's. However, Bradley was a less than forgiving man. He'd been overlooked for promotion several times and was one of the longest standing employees of the newspaper. Only Alan from that team had been working longer, and Aaron had been with the paper for just a little over a year, yet all were now in the same position, and on the same salary, he imagined. Bradley dreamed of something more, of moving up to the major leagues, not sitting with juniors as he was currently, with boys half his age so green out of university that it made him sick. Like the rest, Bradley too had picked up on what was unfolding, aware that there was more to this latest story than met the eye. He'd been around the industry long enough to pick these things up, to sense them, to know when something wasn't what it seemed. They'd tracked royalty with fewer security problems than this army base were showing. There was a story here, possibly the biggest one he'd ever worked on, and he had an inside track. Maybe after all these years, this could be his big break. Maybe he'd be able to beat the rest of them to the story, to go and define his career by selling the story to a rival paper: his story. The thought made him feel alive inside, but he needed to stay controlled, to stay focused, to run with it all until he had enough information. He was so distracted in his own mind, dreaming about what could be, that he had not noticed the others calling him until John shouted the loudest:
“I said do you want another drink?” he repeated, angrily and showing it.
“Oh, yes please,” Bradley said.
John turned away and went to place the order, the word “Prat!” said loudly enough for all to hear, including Bradley. There was a grin on everyone’s face, a laugh somewhere, which only made Bradley more determined to outdo them all. He would take their laughter for now, the butt of their jokes. What he was planning would take the smile off every face. Bradley would lose his job, that was obvious. But in a cutthroat industry such as news media, it could also be the start of a blossoming new career somewhere else.
John was at the counter ordering the drinks while the owner of the cheap but tasteful café was making small talk, trying to understand a little of what was going on, and why the sudden invasion, welcome as it was, into his café:
“I guess you are not monitoring the weather,” he'd said. John hadn't liked the suggestion.
“Who said we were monitoring anything?” he shot back.
“No, don't get me wrong,” he said, his right hand coming up and waving around as he talked. “I wasn't saying anything, and I just meant it looks interesting, that's all. Anything juicy I should know about?”
John could see the guy was harmless and just looking for some gossip, and instantly changed his tone, which noticeably relaxed the owner, his hands less animated, less defensive, as he placed the last hot drink on the counter and gave John the change from the note he'd dropped down to pay.
“You can read about it soon enough, like everyone else,” John said, this time with a smile. The smile was returned, as the owner moved out the back once again. John placed the drinks onto a tray and brought them over carefully to the waiting men. He passed them around, with care, though he banged Bradley's down with enough of a thump to keep him on edge. Bradley's hand came up to grab the cup and there was no word of a thanks from him. John let it drop for now. He'd keep his eye on the rogue member, the one guy that didn't fit. John liked his A-team, even the fact that they fitted the title, because they were great. Had there been another guy; an Albert, or Anthony or even an Abigail, he'd drop the loner and get them in. He thought he would let Bradley see out the week, but after that, he'd look to replace him. Of course, John wasn't going to let that be known, and what Bradley lacked in personality and team dynamics, he made up for in attention to detail and the ability to read between the lines. So at that moment, he was a necessary hardship, and as the butt of most jokes, it also kept team morale up, for the rest of them at least.
It was just after lunch that they made their first big breakthrough. Having ploughed through data for days, the speech and conversations often in code, they had picked up a framework, without knowing what it meant. Their detailed system of tracking and recording meant that everything was there, accessible for all, a shared document making collaboration easy. It would also form a background on what they had pieced together and, when key clues were uncovered, they could look back and fill in some of the missing pieces. It was a tried and tested system. For the old-timers like Alan and Bradley, they'd first started using written notes, boxes and boxes often, and when later on, an essential reference point was understood, someone would have to work through hundreds of sheets of paper looking to make sense of it. The age of the computer, and with it the Internet, had changed all that. Though the information was just as plentiful, even more so maybe, their ability to search and cross-reference was made much more straightforward, smooth with the brilliance of something like Google, where they could all view and update the same reference source in real time.
What they had already picked up was a reference to a specific date and critical time, though there were three additional possibilities. It was assumed it was a press release or information update. They had speculated on a wide range of ideas, and none were near the mark. But on that day, as Alan was scanning through a chat message between two office staff, he'd picked up the word launches referred to, and it started a wild look through the information to see if it fitted with what they knew. And it did. The slip, which went unnoticed on the base, though was itself against protocol, meant John's team were able to start filling in the gaps, looking back over many of the coded messages, and now understanding they were talking about a launch of something. It started making a whole different level of sense. It was not yet clear if the four options were for four possible launch sites, or for four launch events. But they'd made their fi
rst breakthrough. They'd got wind of something so secretive, which as far as they were aware, no one else outside the base knew anything of it. It gave them a sense of power. As six o'clock approached, the usual finishing time for the crew, no one was moving anywhere; only at half-past did any of them look at the clock above the counter. More drinks were ordered as the early evening crowd started to come into the café and take the remaining available tables. Business was good for the owner, who opened until eight and wasn't about to ask his now permanent guests to leave anytime soon. They were good for business, and quite a few of the other customers, usually through whispered questions, were picking up on the sense of a developing story in their neighbourhood. How little they all knew at that moment.
11
Present Day
It was in the early hours of what would have been the weekend, though days came and went, each like the one before it and sure to be like the one following. Lorna checked once again on her patient, who was sedated and due for another vision soon. She'd not been able to sleep herself, her mind too active though her body was too tired. She'd contemplated taking some sleeping pills later if needed. But right now sleep was far from her mind.
Today would have been her wedding anniversary. And she was well aware of that fact as she went about the early morning routine. It wasn't that she felt sad, just empty. Emotionally she was spent. She felt like nothing was in the tank, neither joy nor despair. She hadn't been able to cry for days and had spent a few minutes in front of the mirror the night before trying to make herself cry. To have just one tear run down her face was all she was hoping. To emotionally come alive because, with the way she was dealing with things, she wondered if she could ever feel anything again. Her one slight change in the last week had been her conversation with John the previous day, where she'd let go a bit and the hint of feeling, feeling human, appeared on her soul's horizon, though was short lived. Later that day, when John was sound asleep, she'd had a briefing session with the unit monitoring the progress so far. The doctor who'd spoken with John about his memory situation was already there. The tone had been sombre. Lorna wondered what she had done wrong, but it wasn't anything like that. The conversation had focused on the risks involved in memory recovery. Anything that would make the patient more unstable was deemed too risky. They knew there was no danger of his immediate memory being restored, as that was being subdued by the drugs he was being kept on. So the debate had been proceeding as Lorna sat quietly, wondering why she was being involved in all this, though as she was apparently the closest person to the patient, on that level alone, it made perfect sense.
When asked her opinion on individual elements, she'd shared what she felt. Notes got taken, and for all Lorna knew the meeting was being recorded. It wasn't, in fact, this time. Finally, they came to what she felt was probably their agenda all along and talked with her, but didn't lecture her, about her sharing her personal history with the patient, though on that point opinion was divided as to whether in fact it would be positive for the patient and should happen more. After everything was said and done, it did nothing to change her mood, just the reminder, that even a simple conversation with a patient was not something that happened only between two people in a room, but was being listened in on. That anything she poured out from her heart was also being poured out onto a group of strangers sitting in some room somewhere. People that she might never meet, yet knowing things she hadn't told her parents. It seemed wrong.
As the morning wore on, it was her family she most missed at that point. Her brother, a few years older than her, had become a great older brother once the last few years of childhood had passed. He had his own family now, with three lively little children. She'd loved being an auntie even if she hadn't yet been able to be a mum. And at that moment the thoughts came back that now, widowed, maybe she never would be. Perhaps she would only live a few more weeks or months anyway. That was what most people faced unless things could be stopped. And so she came full circle. It all rested with her and her patient. As crazy as it sounded, as unlikely a solution as it seemed, this really might be their best shot at ending this disaster once and for all. Walking back into the room, John, her patient, lay in his bed that he'd been strapped to for many days now. Peaceful and sedated but far from free. His physical wounds were starting to heal, though once some of the swellings had gone down, the odd cut or two might well need some further work, and certainly a few stitches. Soon he was about to see another vision, a routine one, further confirming, encouraging his mindset, showing him what would need to be done, talking him through the need to sacrifice, to give himself to save everyone else.
For Lorna personally, she'd made a conscious effort not to think about the ethics of what she was now involved. She had only come into the program late, fresh on the loss of the first two patients and the errors and mistakes had been the basis for her training. No one had raised the higher issues with her. She knew not to go there herself but was just following the natural course of things. She felt she was living in a nightmare, so might as well go along with the stuff until their logical conclusion. Then she could just wake up. They all could. Then it would all be changed again. Not undone, far from that, but there might be hope still. The calm after the storm. The chance to get the help she needed, that everyone needed. Support that would finally make a difference.
She touched John's head, stroking his forehead gently. He seemed at peace, though there was an unguarded roughness to him. She wondered who he was really, and what type of man he'd once been. Now he seemed very accepting of this imposed situation. He was caught up in it like a child playing a video game. For him, this was real. He could become the hero; he was the hero. But there was no extra life as if after it all he could carry on. Game over for John was game over, but for her and the rest of the world still alive, it was game on. That glimmer of hope was knocking at the door, crouching and waiting to be let in. She could sense it but knew it was not the time to open that door. Not yet. There was still too far to go. But she knew, even at that moment, snatched from her husband, a widow before her time, on her anniversary and yet away from family, she knew: when the time came, that door was going to be flung open. If there was hope for anyone, she was grabbing her fair share. She would wallow in it, embrace it, swim in it. She would allow it to engulf her. She needed to believe that better days were just around the corner. That things would not always remain as they were currently. But for now, that door had to stay closed, those thoughts kept at bay, for fear that it would never happen and everyone’s final hope would be lost.
John came to not long after that, as Lorna was still standing next to him but no longer stroking his forehead. He'd once again seen destruction, death and the despair of so much suffering. Once again John had seen the shut-off button, the sense that this was the way out. Once again he'd been faced with the question of whether he would do it, could do it. Once again he'd been told to talk with the nurse. He'd grown in his sense of destiny in the vision, of purpose. Waking up and finding Lorna just standing there, so gentle, but in profound sadness, with a distance showing in her eyes, he turned his head to face her and softly spoke the words:
“I have a lot to tell you.” She pulled up a chair, and he began.
Three Weeks Ago
Felix had finished the program the previous night and had been testing it throughout the dark early hours of Tuesday morning. In days gone past, he was an early to bed, early to rise fit and healthy young man. Often Felix was up before dawn, and his five o'clock runs a well-established habit as he had been going out for years. Felix loved the stillness of the world at that time of day. Regardless of the events happening around him, or the busyness of the day, or the troubles on the news, at that time of day, when it was just him and nature, the roads still quiet, the world seemed utterly peaceful. It was people who took that peace away. It was a precious time for him, and those memories came back now for Felix, as he stood, looking wearily out the window as the first signs of dawn appeared. He wa
s no longer the fit and healthy man he once was and that old self certainly felt a lifetime ago even though it was only a few days. He doubted if he could run half the distance now that just days ago would have been no problem. He could feel the effects of radiation already taking hold of his body. He knew he had a matter of days left if he was lucky.
The coffee had run out the previous night. He was in no position to complain, and no one was there to listen anyway. He'd always been around people, had needed some attention and company in life, and didn't enjoy too much space, and yet, now, that suited him. But the thought that he'd die alone, without seeing another person, did bother him. Still, he'd put himself into the program that he'd adapted, so his image and legacy might live on beyond him.
On his messy workstation sat a photo of much happier times. There was a group of young people, all in their early twenties, with Felix himself in the centre, looking young and free, as indeed he had felt at that moment. The photo was taken in Spain, a group holiday he had gone on with twelve friends, six guys and six girls and they'd all had a great time together. He looked at the photo and allowed his mind to wander, just for a moment. He remembered the warm sun and the carefree days, walking around the coastal villages or just lying on the beach. He'd also had a thing for one of the girls they travelled with and a relationship had started to blossom in the sunshine. It went on to fade out when back home, back to reality, but it had created some great memories. The thought occupied his mind thoroughly for a few moments until reality set back in, and the seriousness and permanence of his situation came back to the very front of his mind. The moment was gone, the happy, carefree memories put away, maybe never to be revisited. Now, there was nothing like that to look forward to. In the end, life hadn't been what those early days had promised. No one could have foreseen what had happened. Life itself was hanging over the edge. It made what he was doing all the more critical. If the primary reactors blew in the facility, then it was all over. No one could live through it. No one in the northern hemisphere, anyway. The world would be a very different place. The reactor had to be shut down and for that to happen someone would have to be the one to go in there. That itself presented a lot of issues. The radiation and exposure, the closer you got, was enough to stop even the most energetic man. No radiation suit could protect someone from the lethal levels being released all over the base. But they'd have to find someone. Felix knew there was just a matter of weeks before the whole place would be obliterated. He hoped they'd find a way of making his program become the life saver. It was to be his legacy. Now he needed to get word out to others that it was finished. He would test it later in the morning, but he was now desperate for sleep. Since the incident, he'd only managed rest in four-hour blocks. So he lay down on the sofa, a paper plate falling to the floor, but he was too tired to notice, his body spent, his energy gone. Sleep was needed to get him through the rest of the morning, to do what needed to be done. Just moments after lying down, he was sound asleep.