Jason carried on, no wiser to the cause of death. It would take him most of the remaining day to reach Morpeth, which was about ten miles from his present position. With the right clothing he could substantially reduce his travelling time, but his feet were cold and his shoes, more suited to the city, offered little grip.
He completed more than half of the journey before stopping to eat. His first resting point was interrupted as he was about to start heating some soup.
A putrid scent, which gradually grew stronger, soon became impossible to ignore. As he searched for the cause he noticed a tent pitched, inside a field, just a few feet off the verge. Returning to his equipment, he picked up the heater and pan, then, giving the tent and its occupants a wide berth, moved further down the road until the smell was left behind.
It was early evening before Jason finally arrived on the outskirts of Morpeth. Prior to reaching the old town he had passed through a number of new housing estates which stretched at least a mile beyond the border. It was only his familiarity with the road system which offered assurance he was still on the right track.
Morpeth, for some reason, was a great deal larger in this time line. The fields and forests south of the ancient town were now replaced by houses and new road systems which stretched away from the main street.
The journey took slightly longer than he anticipated and the day was drawing to an end as he arrived in the town centre.
A soft fog-like haze hung in the air. It was barely noticeable until the sun, low in the sky, neared the horizon. As the mist was illuminated, blue merged into orange which slipped into blood red, with the seamless ease that only an artist of light could achieve.
Jason became increasingly uncomfortable as the eerie rouge lengthened shadows, until finally, when the last rays of sun disappeared from sight, all the darkness pooled into one. He submitted frequently to the urge to look around when the noise of his shoes, echoing back, created the impression he was being followed. Greys blended into blacks and his eyes, of little use, picked up virtually nothing.
His urgency grew with the arrival of night. Even in familiar streets it would be difficult to find his way around in the dark. His journey through the outskirts of Morpeth had proved there were changes to road systems and estates; therefore, any hope of finding the centre unaltered was becoming increasingly unlikely.
He broke into a trot. The library on the far side of town was his destination, but when he turned into Bridge Street and saw the building, his heart sank, for in its place he found the Town Hall.
Hungry, exhausted and bitterly disappointed, Jason decided he could do nothing more tonight. He would have to concentrate on finding somewhere warm and dry to sleep. He would continue with his search for the library in the morning.
An 11th century Norman church on his right, he thought, would be a good place to spend the night. It would give him time, he decided, to apologise for his tinkering and hopefully make his peace with God. As he turned to make his way towards the church, Jason stopped when he noticed a soft flickering glow coming from a first floor window of the Town Hall.
Curiosity had given way to desperation hours ago. Desperation to find anyone alive, but now when it looked like he may have actually found someone, Jason was held back by fear.
This was not his world and he couldn’t guess what kind of a world it had become. The massacre of the traffic jam and the prisoner in the cell. What kind of people could a world like this produce? Investigating the room, he knew, was a must, but he would have to do so with extreme caution.
Jason retrieved his gun and flicked open the barrel to check the bullets. He was shocked to find an empty cartridge. His breath held, he stood rigid, his mind racing to search for when it happened.
He was sure he’d only heard one shot, so when had the bullet been used? Could this one bullet have changed time so dramatically? And if so, who or what had it hit?
As shock slowed his brain, Jason’s thoughts seemed to struggle through mud. Again, he retraced the last moments of his visit to Germany.
He knew the guard had fired, his injury proved that. The empty cartridge seemed to point to his own gun discharging also, presumably when he hit the ground.
A sharp pain, signalling the start of a mammoth headache, made him wish he’d searched for painkillers when gathering supplies.
As he reran the moments before the shooting again through his mind, he decided he couldn’t have hit anyone because of the angle of the gun. And even if he had, could the shooting of a guard be the cause of all this?
Jason closed the barrel and looked once more to the window. If he couldn’t find all the answers tonight, then, at least, he might be able to find a few.
Chapter Twelve
Jason walked to the Town Hall and climbed the stairs to the entrance. Tentatively he tried the handle and was surprised to find it open. If there were someone inside, they were either unable to lock the building or didn’t feel the need. Carefully, controlling the weight of the door, he pushed against it until it was wide enough to peer inside.
His view from the entrance was limited, but gradually, as he grew more confident that the ground floor level was empty, he allowed more of his body to pass through, until eventually he stepped inside.
The foyer consisted of a large marbled open hall with a high, elaborately decorated ceiling. To the left of the door was a reception area.
Papers strewn across the desk and surrounding floor, and a fax machine which still retained a copy of the last signal received, all added to the notion it had been left in a hurry.
He moved to the machine and checked the contents of the fax. The document was incomplete. It seemed to have stopped mid-sentence. The time and date in the top left corner stated, January 28th, 16.47. The fax felt damp to the touch and broken glass was scattered on and around the desk. When he looked up the reason became clear. All the windows, directly above and off to his right, were broken.
Jason slipped off his rucksack and retrieved the torch from a zipped panel at the side. It was too important, now that it was his only source of light in the dark, to be carried around in his pocket. He switched on the beam and swung it across the floor.
It seemed the windows had been hit with great force as shards of glass had been sprayed for some distance into the foyer. A fine scattering of dark grey dust, which in places had pooled into mud where the rain had leaked in, appeared to envelop everything. Jason stopped when his beam crossed a dead bird on the floor in the middle of the hall. He moved closer to look at the creature.
The patchy feathers and half-starved frame gave little clue to its origin, only the bright orange beak identified it as a black bird.
He realised the first bird he’d seen, since his return, was a dead one. It hadn’t dawned, until now, how quiet the skies had been. The lack of air traffic established this wasn’t just a local problem. And the lack of birds indicated it was not just a human problem also.
He returned his attention to the hall. There were stairs at both sides. As the window with the light had been to the left of the main doors, he decided the left-hand staircase was the best place to start.
A sense of unease grew with each step Jason climbed. Halfway to the next level he stopped. Some glass embedded in the base of his shoe was squeaking with every turn. He had managed to suppress his disquiet enough to continue by the time he’d dislodged the irritant.
At the upper level he found a corridor ahead. It was engulfed in darkness save a tiny slither of light escaping the bottom of a door at the far end. Cautiously he made his way along the passage, his pace slowing as he approached the room. As he reached the door, he stopped.
The light beneath the base cast a soft flickering amber glow over the carpet, but apart from that nothing else escaped the wood – no sounds came from the room beyond.
Jason stepped back, took a slow jagged breath, then firmly grasped the handle and, quietly turning it, entered the room.
Off to his left, a mahogany surround a
dorned the fireplace on the far wall. The flames burning within, now the obvious source of light he had seen from the corridor and street.
The room was quite elegantly furnished: a chandelier hung from the ceiling, paintings and photographs of past and present mayors decorated the plush wallpaper, two leather couches flanked the large open fireplace and as he stepped away from the door, the carpet moved luxuriously beneath his feet.
He could see the appeal of spending the night here, which was obviously the thinking of the person who’d stacked the fire.
Slowly, as his courage grew he moved further away from the door, inching towards the centre. There he had a good view of every corner. When he could still see nothing, Jason decided the room must be empty. Perhaps the fire had been lit to warm the place for the occupant’s return. He decided to wait and see.
As he sat he suddenly realised how tired he’d become. His legs and back ached from the heavy load he’d carried all day and the pain from the wound on his forehead now throbbed rhythmically with the beating of his heart.
He removed the backpack, then groaned in relief as he released the weight onto the couch. Rubbing his shoulders, he stood and walked to the window. As he passed behind the sofa, a sudden movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.
Surprised, Jason spun around in time to see a woman trying to sneak from the room.
When she realised she’d been spotted she bolted for the door, lunging for the handle.
“Wait!” he called. “I need to talk to you.”
His words did nothing to slow her pace as she flung open the door and flew into the passage.
Jason followed, but struggled to keep up.
She was at the top of the stairs by the time he’d left the room and on her way down as he arrived at the landing.
He stopped his pursuit to plead with her once more. “Please wait! I just want to talk to you!”
This time the woman stopped; but as Jason hurried to the steps she spun to face him with a gun in her hand.
“Stay away from me!” she yelled.
Jason froze. Here was the scenario he had feared since the police station. “I just want to talk to you,” he said, careful to keep his voice calm.
“Stay away from me!” she screamed. “Just leave me alone!”
As she turned to start down the stairs, though, she suddenly slipped. For vital seconds she hung in the air. Waving her free hand, she desperately tried to regain her balance, but to no avail. As gravity took a firm hold, she began to fall backwards. Slowly at first, then gathering momentum, she cracked and thumped her way down the stairs like a tumbling rag doll. Every excruciating impact was emphasised in the hollowness of the hall, before finally she came to a halt on the hard floor below.
The gun, which had slipped from her fingers, clattered harmlessly by her side.
She had landed awkwardly: her left arm trapped beneath her back, her face turned away.
Jason paused at the top of the stairs, waiting for her to move. He would be an easy target as he descended the steps. There’d be no cover and he was afraid he might get shot. When she still hadn’t come round a short while later he hurried to her side.
He retrieved the gun, then stooped to check if she was still alive. Pleased to be rewarded with a strong pulse he then checked for head injuries.
She had a large bump above her right temple and slight bruising around her eye, but those were the only outward signs he could find.
The marbled floor beneath her body was freezing to the touch and although she was dressed warmly, Jason decided he would have to risk moving her.
He lifted the woman, who was surprisingly light, and carried her back up the stairs to the room with the fire. Once there, he gently placed her down by the hearth.
The flames had begun to grow low. A quick scan for more wood revealed a bucket with kindling, concealed by the shadows, near the couch. He placed some of the contents onto the dying embers, then turned his attention back to the woman.
As the fire took hold he could see her face more clearly. She was terribly thin. This he could tell even through the multiple layers she was wearing. Her skin was pale and drawn, which gave her features an unnatural sharpness. Her hair had a dark reddish tone. It was matted in places and didn’t look like it had been washed or brushed in weeks. Still, despite this, Jason could see she was obviously a beautiful woman, probably in her early twenties.
A few strands of auburn hair had fallen across her cheek. As he gently brushed them aside she groaned and began to stir. Slowly her eyes blinked open and, as she remembered the pursuit and fall, immediately filled with terror.
She lifted her hands and pushed them against his chest, but there was no strength behind them. She struggled briefly to be free, but shock had sapped her energy.
“Please don’t hurt me!” she begged. “Let me go.”
“I won’t hurt you,” Jason said. “I’m trying to help.” He released her, then moved a short distance away. He held out a hand to shake. “My name’s Jason. What’s yours?”
“Sarah,” she replied coldly. She looked at him suspiciously and never extended a hand.
“I’m so pleased I’ve met you,” Jason said, his relief impossible to hide. “Please tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you mean? What’s going on?” She looked confused by the question.
“You’re the first living person I’ve met all day. Why are so many people dead? And why is the road from the city blocked?”
“Where on earth have you been? Another planet,” she snorted. She looked away, her eyes and head seemingly heavy. “You must’ve been to have missed this.”
“I’ve been out the country.” Jason laughed. He tried to make it sound natural, but instead it came out more strained than he’d hoped.
She didn’t seem to notice. She stared full-on. “Surely everyone knows about the war.”
“War! What war?” He tried to remain calm, but his throat was contracting.
“You don’t know about the war.” Her eyes widened. “So was only England bombed?”
Jason sat silent, frightened to contribute. He hadn’t a clue what they were talking about.
As her scenario formed, her excitement grew. “It must have been an accident.” Her joy reached elation, without a response. “Colin might still be alive.” Immediately some of the stress lifted from her face and she smiled. She hovered there in a state of ecstasy for a few moments before suddenly realising Jason wasn’t answering. Then slowly as her euphoria deflated she began to question his knowledge of the situation. “Surely even abroad you must’ve heard about England being bombed. It must have made world news.” She watched his face intensely as though scrutinising his thoughts.
Jason’s mind raced to fabricate a story. He was annoyed with himself for not planning something earlier. “I was sailing in the North Sea. I came home because I couldn’t contact the mainland.”
She dropped her gaze to stare at the carpet instead. “I thought there would’ve been a rescue mission.” Her voice, which lowered with her mood, could only just be heard over the gentle popping of the fire. “I expected the Red Cross or UN to suddenly appear.” She looked back to Jason, her expression pleading. “Do you think it was an accident? Or do you think everybody was involved?”
“Well... I think as you’ve just said...” He shook his head, his body saying what his mouth would not. “There would have been some sort of aid…” he stopped as Sarah’s face flushed. A glistening tear trailed the length of her cheek as she turned away.
He had many questions, but now was not the time, they would have to wait. He stood and crossed to his rucksack. “You hungry?” He opened the zipper, retrieved two tins of stew and held them up for her to see. “I’m starving. You must be. Want some?”
As she lifted her face and looked at the food her saddened eyes, in a flash, were filled with ravenous longing.
It had been some time since Sarah had seen decent food. She had to travel further
each week to gather supplies and she hadn’t seen any meat based, tinned products for almost a month now. The hunting had not gone well and she gave up trying after her first kill. The rabbit, which had stumbled into the trap only because it was alarmed by her approach, died quickly with a blow to the head. But its death made her realise she now considered every survivor of the war precious and she was unable to eat the animal. Sickened by what she’d done she’d left the carcass exposed, so it would be taken by another carnivore, so the rabbit’s life would not have ended in vain.
“Yes, please,” she replied huskily.
Jason dug for the camping pan, then placed it in the fire when he found a suitable place for it to sit. As he turned his attention back to Sarah he couldn’t resist a smile.
Unprepared to wait, she’d managed to prise the lid off one of the tins, enough to gain access, and was wolfing back the contents as fast as she could.
“Hungry?” He steadied his voice, so as not to laugh.
She nodded and grunted, flicked her eyes in his direction, before again focusing solely on the stew.
Jason dug for another tin in the rucksack. He wasn’t too worried about supplies. He was carrying enough food for a week and, all being well, he’d have this time split fixed tomorrow.
Sarah was running a finger carefully around the inside of the can, mopping up every scrap she could reach, by the time he had filled the pan and was warming the contents on the fire. Reluctantly, she agreed to wait until he’d heated the food before starting on her second helping of stew.
“It’s only been six weeks, but it’s amazing how quickly you get used to cold food.”
Jason waved a warning hand as she lifted a steaming spoon, filled with gravy-soaked meat, to her lips. “Careful, it’s hot.”
She smiled uncomfortably, suddenly conscious of her tatty appearance. Pausing, she blew on the contents of the spoon. She would not have had the strength to wait if she hadn’t already eaten the cold food and knew she would have risked scalding herself instead.
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