“I’ll be going to America on the 15th,” the captain continued, “calling at Southampton on the way. Are you looking for passage?”
Unable to speak, Jason simply shook his head and quickly walked away.
He moved to stand outside of the ticket office to avoid bumping into the captain of ‘The Plenith’ again. What occurred on that ship would cease to exist very soon, he reminded himself. Still, he would never really relax until they were safely on their way. By the time the office opened he had begun to calm.
He had just enough money to buy passage for one adult and one child to England. The devaluation of the Mark had pushed prices higher than Jason had anticipated and he was relieved he got such a good price for his gold.
His purchases complete, he returned to the edge of town, where he waited half an hour before being recalled home. He was there one moment and the next he was gone. Back in the basement, he considered whether sightings of ghosts were really ghosts at all, or whether they were possibly time travellers returning home.
He wasn’t surprised to find Jessica waiting for him.
This time he’d sneaked out of bed during the night, when she was sleeping. He’d had enough gold to cover the cost of the tickets for the past couple of days. Unable to sleep, he’d risen, dressed into the old musty suit, programmed the teleporter and left.
Jessica had woken just before dawn. Immediately she’d guessed why Jason was missing. Donning a dressing gown, she’d made her way quickly to the basement, where the light was on and the suit was gone – all the evidence she needed. She had only been waiting a short while when the machine sprang to life and a couple of seconds later, Jason materialised.
“How many more times are you going to do this?” she asked later over breakfast.
“All being well, it should take only one more trip to Germany, but I will have to go to Morpeth in 1930 to arrange accommodation.”
“I’m not worried about Morpeth, but I’m not so keen on you returning to Germany.” She reached forward to grasp his hand.
He gently stroked her skin, then toyed with her wedding band. “You do know I’ve gone too far to stop now?”
“Yes, I do,” she said tensely. “But you’ll just be making sure they get on the train safely. Right?”
“Don’t worry,” he assured. “That’s it, on the train, then I’m back home.”
“Good.”
Chapter Eight
Sarah returned to the building, stacked the fire, then made her way to the toilets.
She entered the ladies and pushed the inner door open. Directly ahead a large mirror was positioned to create more light. Every day, as she entered the room, she’d watched the reflection deteriorate.
Her beautiful red hair was now matted and dull, her porcelain skin grey, and crystal blue eyes shadowed with despair. She tore herself away from the image or she knew she would start to cry.
Less than a week ago she looked younger than her 26 years, and now, well... she’d aged at least ten. The bright, bubbly person she’d once been was now gone and all that was left was the shell-shocked remains in the mirror each day.
She had stayed in Morpeth because she knew if anyone were to look for her, this would be the first place they’d check. The ‘anyone’ in particular, her fiancé Colin, was out of the country with the Navy.
She pulled long, slender fingers through the full length of her hair. She had considered cutting it yesterday, but it was just a good length to provide some extra warmth.
I doubt Colin would recognise me, she thought sadly.
She plugged the sink, then emptied the bucket into the basin and began to wash.
She was under no delusions that the river water was still safe. She had no doubt it was contaminated with radioactive dust. For a few days now she’d been using a crude, but hopefully effective, filtering system to clean it before use; the water in the building’s storage tanks was being saved for drinking. Eventually she knew she would have no choice but to use the river for everything; by then, though, she hoped it would have cleaned itself. In the meantime, she wanted to avoid it for anything other than washing.
She carefully patted her face dry, then looked back to the mirror. She’d been eating well, but still looked drawn. Her large eyes and high cheekbones, which at one time were considered beautiful, now worked against her to create the appearance of a half-starved terrified animal.
She returned to the director’s office and opened a tin of beans for breakfast. The staff canteen had been her only source of food so far, but the tins of soups and vegetables would eventually run out; she would soon have to find her supplies from elsewhere. With the power off, the freezers were a no-go area and she knew each day the decomposition inside would only accelerate. Any hope of gathering a meal there was long gone.
A change of clothes was also becoming an issue. She had avoided visiting the shops after discovering most of the high street windows had been destroyed in the shock wave. The issue was now pressing though as she would need something warm and clean for her journey the following day. Sarah braced herself; she would have to be more diligent in her search for uncontaminated attire. The camping shop at the top of the high street faced northwards, away from the direction of the blast; she decided to try there.
The wind had picked up after she’d returned from the river. Small eddies of dust had been swirling around outside ever since. It was gone midday before it eventually calmed enough for her to risk stepping out again.
An intense feeling of dread increased as she drew close to the shops. The short walk to the high street was spent in trepidation. Carefully, she checked corners and alleys before moving on to the next, but as she entered the main shopping centre, still a quarter of a mile from her destination, her fears were suddenly realised. Sarah froze when she heard gunshots and voices up ahead.
The first day after the bombing she had longed to find someone else still living in the town, but the mass evacuation had left the entire area seemingly void of human life. The streets had echoed hauntingly as she wandered around calling in the hope of a response. On the second day, though, she regretted her eagerness for companionship and became silent after stumbling across a grisly find.
She had thought at first, when she went down to the river, the woman was sleeping on the bank. She was lying partially curled with her shoulders slumped. Sarah called out, and when there came no response she moved around to see the woman’s face. It was ashen white and her eyes were slightly open. There was a knife buried to the handle in her chest. A dark stain had soaked through her clothes and blood had pooled beneath the body. She still looked like she was sleeping, Sarah thought sadly.
Sarah moved to the end of the alley, which joined the main street, and cautiously looked out.
Four young men, who had been to the gun shop, were in the middle of the road practising their shooting skills. Two bottles of spirits sat on the opposite path and they were taking turns to drink from them. They had originally been using the few windows which remained intact for target practice but, with all the glass now broken, they were shooting at food instead.
Hidden in the alley, Sarah watched as they lined up tins on the road, then, with a variety of guns and rifles, splattered their contents up the street.
The more time that passed, the more they drank and the more aggressive their antics became. With plenty of ammo at hand the only thing that silenced them briefly was when they suddenly realised they had run out of whiskey. They stopped and had just opened another couple of bottles when onto the road wandered a dog.
It must have been forgotten or abandoned in the rush out of town and had obviously been sleeping rough as mud clung to its fur in clumps. It was attracted by the food, now sprayed across the road. Cold and starving, it quickly found the remains of a tin of stew and began to clean up the contents as fast as it could.
At first the youths were too intent on their drinking to notice the dog, but after a short while one of them looked up and nudged his friends
to gain their attention. Lurching to his feet, he called out as he made his way unsteadily in the animal’s direction.
Traumatised, the dog, too terrified to trust anyone, growled, then ran a short way up the street, where it stopped and lingered to see if it was safe to return once more to the unfinished stew.
“Stupid mutt,” the young man slurred. Then retrieving his rifle, he turned to his friends. “How about a live target?” he sneered.
The dog had decided it wasn’t to be pursued and had moved slightly closer, where it stared at the man, trying to assess whether it was safe enough to return to the food.
“Leave the dog alone, Robert,” one of his comrades urged. “You’re too drunk, you couldn’t hit it in any case,” he goaded.
“You wanna bet?” Robert raised his rifle, then aimed at the dog.
Hit the dog he did, but the shot wasn’t fatal. As the bullet penetrated its left shoulder the dog screamed and collapsed to the ground. Whimpering in agony, it tried to drag itself away.
“What the hell did you do that for, you arsehole?” another of the four yelled. “Do something about it, don’t leave it like that.”
“You do something about it, if I’m such an arsehole,” Robert said as he stormed off in Sarah’s direction.
Sarah slipped deeper into the shadows, until the young man passed by.
A few moments later another shot was heard and the dog’s torment was ended.
The party over, the remaining men moved off, following their colleague back down the street towards the river.
It was some time before Sarah had the courage to peek out from the protection of the alley. From the road she could see the body of the dog and also, unfortunately, the river, the direction in which the men had headed.
As she stepped out onto the path she glanced nervously down the street before running, as quietly as possible, into a shop entrance, two doors up. She did this again and this time entered the ransacked shop.
The snow-covered road outside was sprayed with a colourful collage of food which, if left intact, could have been the difference between life and death in the months to come.
Inside the shop the shelves were almost bare. A few tins of meat, soup and some bottles and jars remained.
Sarah moved behind the till and retrieved a bundle of bags. As she began to fill them with food everything unexpectedly felt normal, as though the past four days had never happened. Caught off guard, she was suddenly overwhelmed with grief.
It burst forth as an agonising primeval howl. Quickly she covered her face with her sleeves to deaden the cries. She cried for her loss: her family, her friends, her home, her life, until her throat was sore and the tears exhausted. How much time had passed she couldn’t guess. The black despair could have engulfed her for hours. Emotionally drained, she slowly rose and shuffled into the street.
As she passed the dog’s body, she turned away. Sickened and angry, she couldn’t bring herself to look at the brutalised animal a moment more than necessary.
When the road swung left a short while later, she was relieved at long last to be out of sight of the river. A hundred yards further on she was delighted to find the camping shop intact.
Once inside, Sarah helped herself to more than just clothing and collected anything else she thought useful.
The shop was an Aladdin’s cave of survival equipment. In the clothing section, towards the front, she found a goose-down coat, several thermal tops, some heavy-duty trousers and a pair of good stout boots. Then she moved to the back where there were tents, hunting knives, navigational charts and more specialised equipment. Here, at the far rear, she came across her greatest find of all.
If she were asked last week if a book could ever thrill her in the same way as a new car or holiday, she would have laughed; yet here today, as she looked into the case, she was filled with more delight than either of those would have ever done in the past.
She opened the glass case and took out the survivalist’s manual. Essential reading under the circumstances, she thought.
She put the book into the bag with the tins whilst the remaining booty, the clothing and some camping equipment, was packed into a rucksack.
As Sarah stepped outside again she noticed for the first time a bridal shop across the street. In the shattered window stood a mannequin dressed in a wedding gown. She crossed the road, painfully drawn to the shop front. As she drew near she could see bolts which secured the dummy to the floor were the reason it remained upright.
A fine layer of dust covered the white satin dress and tiny shards of glass which clung to the fabric glistened like fairy dust in the late afternoon light.
It was exactly the sort of thing she had visualised for her wedding day.
A tight white satin bodice, trimmed with lace and embroidered with silk, tapered down to a billowing skirt which flowed like a fountain to the floor.
As her sadness once again swelled, Sarah quickly turned away. Her wedding wasn’t going to happen now.
That night she prepared for her trip and tried the hunting techniques found in the survival book. Snares and hooks would take some time to perfect, so the more she practised the better.
Time was all she had at the moment and plenty of it. Even the nights were long and empty. She had been unable to sleep properly since finding the woman’s body. Every creak and groan of the settling building snapped her awake. As she lay in the glow of the dying embers her imagination would run wild and she would usually drift into a fitful sleep only when exhausted.
As usual, Sarah was up before dawn the following morning. Despite her early start, she anticipated the thirty-mile round trip would take her two days. Traumatised and weakened, she knew taking it easy and preparing for a stopover was the sensible thing to do.
Inside the rucksack she packed enough food and water for the journey, whilst attached to the outside she secured a tent along with a stove and an all seasons sleeping bag. This also left her free to begin a search and stay longer if she found the town intact.
It was gone eight before the murky gloom of dawn lifted and she was happy it was light enough to see.
Her journey started well and she made better progress than she’d hoped.
Her choice of boots had been good and they gripped the ground firmly despite a covering of snow.
A sense of being ‘watched’ again haunted Sarah’s movements as she made her way out of Morpeth. This time, though, she knew, unlike the basement, it was likely to be true. The young men and the dead woman proved there were people still around in the town and, like her, they were probably staying hidden as much as possible for their own safety. The unsettling feeling stayed with her until she left the houses and estates behind. An hour after she arrived at the slip road leading to the motorway.
Grim determination and hope drove Sarah on as she pushed up the hill. By the time she arrived on level ground she was breathing heavily. She knew the weighty equipment would make a difference, but still she felt as though she could already feel her health deteriorating.
Three miles further on, at the Stannington turn-off, the road again began to climb. This time she knew the view from the top would give her an idea of what lay ahead.
The incline, at first, wasn’t too steep, but it steadily increased and her breathing grew to a harsh rasp as her pace began to slow. A feeling of foreboding gathered the nearer to the top she drew, but as she arrived on level ground once again, she was surprised to find a landscape seemingly unscathed.
The fields and roads were covered with dust-filled snow, but apart from that, for as far as she could see, the surrounding area looked normal.
Her hopes renewed, she pressed on, but they were only short-lived. A few miles later grim changes began to appear.
A field near the motorway was scattered with dead sheep. A little further on, two horses and some cows were the dead occupants of another.
Sarah forced herself on. As sadness sapped her energies the equipment started to become very heavy and
she had to consciously stop her feet dragging. She tried to visualise what she might find, to prepare for the worst, but her thoughts were stopped by a protective barrier which blocked any images before they could form. She looked away from the fields and focused on the road ahead.
As she reached another dip she knew she had arrived at the final leg of her journey. The way was obscured by yet another hill and once clear of that, she would know her family’s fate.
It seemed as though the road went upward forever, even though, this time, the incline was only slight.
The rucksack was becoming uncomfortable and she was aware she was weak with hunger, but the four days she’d waited for the air to clear had been unbearable and to stop, even to adjust the straps, was unacceptable.
Finally, as she reached the brow of the hill, she paused. As she looked at the landscape ahead, she knew immediately all hope was gone.
The town had not been vaporised, but it was certainly destroyed. Fire had raged unchecked as far as Wideopen three miles away and only the soot-covered shells of the buildings remained. The further south she looked the greater the devastation and the landscape no longer contained any recognisable features. The entire area had obviously ignited like touchpaper and was now a huge blackened pile of rubble. It was hard for her to gauge where Gosforth had ever been, as even the road disappeared after a short while. She knew, without protection, her family wouldn’t have stood a chance.
It was pointless going on and would be dangerous to move any closer than necessary to ground zero. Grief-stricken, she turned and made her way back down the hill so she didn’t have to take in the scene any longer.
It was mid-afternoon before she headed back to Morpeth. The return journey was much slower than she’d hoped and she was barely halfway back when the gathering gloom forced a stop for the night.
Time Split Page 5