1. Just One Damned Thing After Another (19 page)

Finally, it accepted the co-ordinates for no less than eleven days after that disastrous night. Eleven days! How could they survive that long? No one knew better than me how long eleven days could be in the Cretaceous period. And these were four men, possibly badly hurt, bleeding, and low on ammunition, no shelter, no food, and no clean water; not prepped in any way.

‘Stop that!’ said Mrs De Winter, accurately guessing what was going on in my head. ‘They’ll be fine. They’ll be tucked away, keeping themselves safe, ready for rescue, you’ll see. There might even be other survivors there. They may not be alone.’

I shook my head. ‘I doubt it. Eleven days. It will be a miracle if anyone’s left alive.’

‘It’s Guthrie, Farrell, Peterson, and the indestructible Markham. Do you want to put money on it? Now, in addition to essential beer supplies, there is bottled water, and some sandwiches for you. There are two torches with working batteries. Eight flares in that locker over there – fizzers I think you call them. As for weapons, there’s a wide-angle blaster, charged. There’s a Taser showing a small charge and a jumbo-sized pepper spray, half-f. There are matches, fire-lighters, and toilet paper. What else could you need?’

What else indeed?

I took a deep breath and looked at Mrs De Winter. She said, ‘I could come too,’ but I shook my head.

‘If I don’t come back, someone will need to tell the Boss where I’ve gone and why. Don’t let him waste anyone coming after me.’

‘You’ll be back. I know it.’

I had a sudden thought, just as she stepped out of the door. ‘What day is it today?’

‘Friday.’

Oh. Bugger.

She stepped outside and I closed the door behind her. Alone now, the familiar pod smell wrapped itself around me. Hot electrics, wet carpet, the head, the incinerator, a faint whiff of cabbage; awakening memories as painful as lemon juice in a paper cut. Eau de pod; the most evocative smell in the world.

I eased myself into the seat and checked the console. Everything seemed OK.

‘Initiate jump.’ And the world went white.

And stayed white. What? It was foggy. It was bloody foggy! God Almighty, does nothing ever go right? This meant the eight fizzers were useless. Ditto a fire – the smoke would be invisible in all this murk. Could the universe never cut me a break? I had a think and then started rummaging through the lockers. There was bound to be something somewhere. There was. I found four or five discs including
Sergeant Pepper
– an omen if ever I saw one. Now all I had to do was switch from internal to external speakers and even I could do that.

Five minutes later I was ready to rock and roll. Literally. I’d checked the proximity readings and nothing was moving anywhere. But I reckoned it was only just past dawn which gave me all day. At night, if the fog had cleared then I could use the fizzers. Or light a fire. Of course, all this sound and light would attract the attention of everything within a five-mile radius, but that was OK. So long as my guys knew I was here, we could work out how to dodge the wildlife later. The important thing was them knowing I was here. If they were still alive. Eleven days was a lifetime. I threw that thought out of my head and cautiously opened the door. I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. Everything was strangely silent. Well, I’d soon put a stop to that.

I de-activated the camouflage device because I wanted to be highly visible and muttering, ‘Balls to the wall, guys,’ flipped a switch and a second later The Beatles were asking a startled prehistoric world to picture themselves in a boat on a river. With tangerine trees and marmalade skies. I shut the door and fortified myself with some fruit drink.

There’s a protocol for this sort of thing. Certain information should be broadcast calmly and clearly, giving location, routes, warnings, number and disposition of rescuers – all that sort of thing. I’d done it scores of times in simulations and now, now that it really mattered, now that lives depended on it, I couldn’t remember a bloody word.

Worried that my voice would let me down as badly as my memory, I switched off the music and opened my mouth.

‘Gooooooood morning, St Mary’s! This is your early morning wake-up call.

‘Will all passengers returning to St Mary’s today please immediately make their way to approximately one hundred yards south of Ground Zero, just under the tree line.

‘Please have your boarding cards ready for inspection and your passports open at the photograph page.

‘Please be aware that anyone pissing off the pilot will not be allowed to board and since the pilot’s already both pissed and pissed off, there’s a very good chance some of you won’t make the cut.

‘All passengers for the red-eye to Rushford please make your way to the boarding gate immediately. Hands off cocks and on with socks, boys, you’re going home.’

I shut down the mike, glugged a little more slivovitz, and checked outside again. As the sun rose, the fog lifted. The good news was that I was almost exactly where I wanted to be. The bad news was that it was a scene of total devastation. Trees and branches were snapped off and strewn around at crazy angles. Tangled and twisted debris lay everywhere in piles. Presumably the result of the blast; or maybe stampeding dinosaurs. Across the badly churned up ground, not far away, I saw that old cliché, the smoking crater. This was the site of the big bang, obviously. A pall of greasy smoke still hung over everything, even after all this time. It had to have been one hell of an explosion. Worst of all, reptilian bones and body parts were everywhere. These were the remains of the animals (and maybe people) who hadn’t made it through that night. I’d try and have a closer look later on.

I picked up the big blaster and the heavy-duty pepper spray. Climbing up onto the roof, I fired off my first fizzer. It wobbled a bit but went screaming up into the bright sky where it hung, a big, red, fizzing ball and a beacon for miles around. I had enough for eight hours – one an hour. After that I’d have to light a fire. After that I’d stay until the food ran out. After that – I had no plans.

I laid the blaster on the roof beside me and hung the pepper spray on my belt, just in case. Pulling out binoculars I slowly scanned three hundred and sixty degrees; round and round and round, along the tree line, behind boulders, along the streambed, checking for any sort of movement, anywhere.

There was nothing, but give them time. If carnivores had been scavenging the site then they might have moved a mile or so away, looking for water and shelter and staying out of trouble. I launched another fizzer and continued rotating. Several times something big crashed in the forest but I saw nothing. Each fizzer produced another cacophony of sound but I reckoned this was good. Everything alive must know I was here. So if they didn’t come, they weren’t alive. I tried not to think about that, but it kept thudding away in my brain. I kept going. Round and round. Fire another fizzer. Round and round. Lives could depend on my vigilance.

Noon passed. I’d used half my supply of fizzers and still nothing and no one. I jumped down, took off my jacket, and used it to collect pine cones and small pieces of wood. I made sure some of it was damp. I would light a fire and use the smoke to mark my position when the flares ran out. Tying the jacket arms to hold it all together, I dropped the bundle by the door and went to get a drink. I hadn’t realised how thirsty I was. I had another swift slug of something slivovitzy with a glass of water and went back outside.

By mid-afternoon, I felt so weary. My chest hurt and breathing was difficult, but I had to stick with it. I would not let myself believe they were dead. If anyone could survive, it would be these guys.

I lit the fire and watched the smoke rise lazily. There was no wind.

Then, as the shadows lengthened, I caught a flash of movement, just at the edge of the forest, a couple of hundred yards away. And again. With a thumping heart and suddenly unsteady hands, I focused the binoculars and saw four men moving as a group, slowly, along the tree line. I counted again. Four. They were all there.

And at exactly the same moment, with the kind of dreadful inevitability that is so … dreadfully inevitable … a T-rex emerged from the other end of the clearing heading on an intercept course. It wasn’t huge, so maybe a male or young female. Unaware of our presence, it turned things over and investigated bones. Evidence, had I been in the mood, that T-rex was both a predator and a scavenger. But whichever it was, it would eventually finish between me and them. More balls, more walls!

It could have been worse. One big lizard is easier to deal with than a pack of smaller raptors. I remembered how they’d taken Sussman down.

I jumped down, staggered, and ran to a nearby rock outcrop, away from the pod and shouted, ‘Hey! Hey! Over here!’ Heads appeared from between the trees. I held up the blaster so they could see it and left it propped against the rocks for them and then took off, running like hell across the rough ground, away from the pod. Get it away from the pod. Give them a chance.

I never think things through. It gave an enthusiastic bellow and thundered after me. However, more by good luck than good judgment, I’d chosen really rough ground, strewn with debris and broken trees, which hampered it more than me. It shouldered its way through the smaller stuff, but its big tail dragged at it every time it had to swerve. I dodged and jinked around tree stumps, boulders and unknown detritus until I was too breathless to move. For a moment’s respite, I wedged myself in a crack in a rock and tried to get my breath back. This was a good place to be – it couldn’t get to me here.

Too bloody good. It sniffed around for a while and then, baulked of its prey, turned and saw the running figures heading towards the pod. As it took a few paces towards them I squeezed out of the crack and shouted again, waving my arms.

And then the bloody thing stopped, turned, lowered its huge head to my height, and looked at me. Its head was absolutely fucking enormous. It was only about twenty feet away – just one giant stride. It was the most frightening moment of my life. The world receded and all sound died away.

If you see a T-rex in a movie or a holo, they’re always so clean, with perfect dental work and nice markings. In the real world they’re not like that at all. This one’s lower legs and belly were thick with dried mud. Scarred and battered, it had a really gruesome gash down its left flank. Several teeth were missing and its entire snout was caked with dried blood and bits of rotting flesh. Its breath was the most fearsome thing in existence. Saucepan-lid sized nostrils flared in and out, assimilating my unfamiliar scent. The insides were a pale red. I could see its eyes. I don’t know why I’d ever thought it wasn’t fully grown. It was absolutely colossal. And it was looking at me. Instinct told it to attack. Experience told it to avoid humans. This indecision was saving my life, but not for much longer. Instinct would kick in soon enough.

Sound came back slowly. I could hear its massive breaths whistling in and out of its nostrils. I’d long since stopped breathing myself and slowly, very slowly, I eased the pepper spray from my belt. It lunged. I closed my eyes, held my breath, and squeezed the trigger. It bellowed, enveloping me in a blast of fetid air. I threw myself backwards off the rocks, landing on something hard and uneven. I rolled behind a rock and risked a look. It was shaking its head and shifting its weight from leg to leg, obviously in some discomfort, but not enough to slow it down. In fact, I’d just made it mad. Way to go, Maxwell!

I heard a shout from off to one side and the ground exploded about mid-way between it and me. Nice shot! They’d got the blaster. I waited no longer, turned, and ran as fast as I could for the pod. I could feel the ground shaking under me but dared not look back. Another warning shot. It wheeled away and then came at me again from another angle.

The pod was closer now, but my breath was failing. The legs were still pumping but I was going nowhere. Wreckage lay everywhere and I needed to watch where I was going. Falling now would be the last thing I ever did.

And then I saw something that stopped me dead. Just off to my left was a largish piece of metal, dark green with the letters RD T stencilled in yellow paint.

A voice bellowed, ‘Don’t bloody stop, you muppet!’ Another small explosion behind me. I started forward again, almost finished, and a long arm grabbed me and pulled.

‘I’ve got her. Shoot the bloody thing!’

Now there was a volley of fire. Earth and small rocks rained down upon me. I tried to shout not to kill it, but had no breath left. Another hand grabbed my other arm. One last, lung-bursting effort, we all fell through the door together and the mission ended in the traditional St Mary’s manner with a panic-stricken tangle of limbs on the floor and everyone yelling for the door.

Chapter Thirteen

For a long time I heard only the sound of panting and the occasional groan. Farrell said, ‘Max, are you all right?’

‘Of course she’s all right,’ said Peterson, crossly. ‘She fell on me.’ Someone rolled off me. I rolled off Peterson and we all got our breath back.

I took stock. The door was safely shut. Something huge and disappointed prowled outside, but I didn’t care any more. They were all here. They were safe. For the first time in months, the sun came out. Guthrie stowed their useless weapons. Markham sat against the wall with his elbows resting on his knees and his scorched hands held out in front of him. He had a coating of medical plastic on them, but after eleven days it was peeling away. I reached up and got the med kit. ‘Now then, young Markey. How’re you doing?’

‘I’m OK. It’s been a bit of a bugger keeping all these senior staff safe, but yeah, I’m fine. You?’

‘Oh, you know, struggling on.’

I turned and found myself face to face with Peterson. Stepping forward, I gave him a hug. He held me tightly.

‘Oh God, Max.’ He couldn’t say any more.

I was a bit choked myself. ‘Tim, my dear old friend.’ I kissed his cheek. He turned away. Ian Guthrie shook my hand in a grip of iron and in a rare show of affection, clapped me on the shoulder. Obviously an emotional moment for him. This left Leon Farrell.

We looked at each other. I felt awkward. It was Markham who solved the problem. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Chief, give the girl a kiss!’ So he did. A bone-crushing hug lifted me off my feet. I felt a butterfly-light kiss in my hair. He – they all – smelled absolutely awful; the cabbage-smelling masking spray, sweat, mud, and they’d all coated themselves liberally in dinosaur shit in an effort to mask their own smell. Having the four of them in such a small space was making the paint bubble.

I opened the chiller and pulled out a six-pack. I think it’s fair to say they were impressed.

‘Bloody hell!’ said Markham. ‘You truly are the perfect woman. Will you marry me?’

‘I’d love to,’ I said. ‘Sadly, at the moment I’m unemployed, so I need someone who can support my expensive chocolate habit.’

‘No, I’m sorry, absolutely out of the question,’ said Peterson. ‘There’s no way the two of you should ever be joined in matrimony. This world is not yet ready for your offspring.’

I pretended to be insulted, but actually I was quite happy to continue this conversation. I could see Peterson looking around. He would know this was no regular pod. I glanced at the Chief and then looked meaningfully at the seat where he should sit. He shook his head very slightly, so I took it for myself, placing my foot where I could give Peterson a discreet kick when he started asking awkward questions.

He looked me up and down. ‘You’re looking charmingly informal today. What happened to the dress code and what have you done to your hair?’

‘Get used to it. This is not just a hairstyle. This is a way of life.’

‘Why are you alone? Where’s your wingman?’

‘I told you, I’ve been sacked. I haven’t got a wingman. I’m here on my own.’

‘Are you saying Kalinda’s not involved in this?’

‘Kal’s no longer at St Mary’s. She resigned.’

‘What? But if she’s gone and we’re here then that means there’s no historians at St Mary’s!’

‘Correct. And Dieter’s gone too. That’s why I’m taking you to Rushford.’

‘Didn’t you contact Kal when she left?’

‘I didn’t know she’d gone. I’m forbidden by law to have any sort of contact with any St Mary’s personnel, in any timeline. So, if any of you guys grass me up then its fifteen years’ hard labour for me.’

‘So where did you get the pod from?’

‘I stole it,’ I said, not without some pride.

He looked around. ‘Yes, but …’ I pressed his foot. He looked at me, raised an eyebrow and drank his beer. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘As a newt,’ I said happily. ‘You think anyone would ever have done this sober?’

‘Good point.’

Guthrie was spraying Markham with plastic. Peterson was swilling his beer which left one other. I knew he would be happy to let others talk and then zero in on the detail which wasn’t always what I wanted!

He said quietly, ‘Why were you sacked?’

‘Oh, I got into it with Barclay and was invited to vacate the premises.’

‘Why?’

I played stupid. ‘Why what?’

‘You’ve lived reasonably peacefully with Miss Barclay for the last five years. Why now, suddenly do you fall out with her?’

I drank some water and looked down at my feet. I really hadn’t wanted to do this. But it was better they hear it now, from me, in private.

‘I couldn’t persuade her to send a rescue team for you.’

It didn’t go in for a moment and then Peterson said, ‘You mean no one’s been looking for us? We thought we just kept missing the search teams. That’s why we didn’t go far away. We thought …’

Silence. This was what I hadn’t wanted to tell them. Each of them had withdrawn into his own thoughts, but their expressions were the same. Each face, already grey-shadowed and haggard grew more so. We’re St Mary’s – we don’t leave our people behind. But they’d been left. If I hadn’t come, they would have died here and quite soon too. It was a miracle they’d lasted so long. They would have died waiting for a rescue that would never happen. It hurt me to look at their faces. Disregarding the pain from his hands, Markham crushed his can and tossed it into the bag. Peterson said softly, ‘I’m going to have a quiet word with our Miss Barclay.’

‘No, you’re not,’ I said. ‘She’s mine.’

No one argued.

It was the Chief who asked the question. Only he and I knew how important it was to him. ‘What about the Boss? I heard on the chatter he was wounded. If Barclay is in charge then presumably he didn’t make it?’

‘As far as I know,’ I replied, ‘he’s still recovering from his injuries. He’s not yet back at St Mary’s anyway.’ I took another chug of water. ‘So I’m not taking you back there.’

‘Oh? And where are we going back to?’

‘I’m taking you back to Rushford.’

‘Rushford? Why can’t we go back to St Mary’s?’ demanded Markham. ‘What’s at Rushford?’

‘Well, for a start, spicy lamb casserole followed by treacle tart and custard, hot showers, warm beds, more beer than you can handle, and probably a bottle of something potent. But of course, if you’re not interested then I’ll just release you back into the wild, shall I?’

Typically from Markham, ‘So, no women then?’

‘Tim,’ I said. ‘Open the door and throw him out, will you?’

I wanted to hear their stories, but it was important I got them back. I initiated the jump, the world went white, and we were back in Rushford in the dark. Immediately, the back door swung open and a long tongue of light flooded across the dark grass. I opened the door and helped them to their feet.

‘Head towards the light.’ Not a phrase I ever thought I would get to say. They filed out, heading towards the back door where Mrs De Winter waited for them.

I shut things down and made to follow when Leon stopped me, simply by pulling the back of my jacket. I turned and was in his arms again.

‘I knew you would come.’

I hugged him as hard as I could and we took a couple of moments just to be together.

‘You’d better go after them,’ I said, eventually, ‘Markham’s quite capable of getting into trouble between here and the back door!’ He gave a short laugh and left. I finished with the pod and followed him out, locking the door behind me.

The kitchen was full of light and warmth and noise. The first person I saw was the Boss. Of course, Mrs De Winter would have contacted him as soon as I left. I wondered how long I had been away. About four hours as far as I could see; long enough for fabulous smells to permeate the room. There was no messing about. These guys looked ready to eat the furniture.

We seated ourselves. The Boss stood up. ‘A toast, I think. Gentlemen, welcome back.’ We all drank to that.

Farrell stood up. ‘With your permission, sir. Max, on behalf of all of us, thank you.’

They all said, ‘Thank you,’ and raised their glasses. Markham winked at me.

I said, ‘An honour and a privilege, guys,’ and glowed inside.

A huge pot steamed in the middle of the table and we served ourselves with the best lamb stew I’ve ever eaten. I cut up Markham’s meat for him.

Beer flowed and the talk got louder. Obviously we were desperate to know what had happened to them and they needed no encouragement.

As I expected, things were fairly straightforward until the explosion. People were thrown around all over the place. Reptiles and tourists bounced off each other to the detriment of the tourists. Fighting their way through the smoke, dazed and disoriented, Guthrie and Farrell lost each other. Peterson, dispatched by Barclay to find them, got lost himself, fell over Markham, and nearly got himself shot. No one saw any glimpse of Barclay.

I mulled this over as they ate. There was something …

The four of them were hoovering up everything on the table, laughing with each other, making private jokes and winding each other up and then it happened. One minute I was chuckling at Markham and then all at once a wave of exhaustion swept over me as the events of the last months suddenly presented their bill. Things blurred. The large meal and alcohol hadn’t helped at all. I got to my feet.

‘If you’ll all excuse me,’ I said. ‘Suddenly I’m very tired and can’t keep my eyes open. I’ll see you all tomorrow.’

They surprised me. They all stood up. Guthrie opened the door for me and the Boss offered me his arm and walked me to the door. ‘Goodnight, Miss Maxwell, and thank you again.’

‘An honour and a privilege, sir.’

I meant to put my clothes out for washing as Mrs De Winter had requested, but only remembered after I’d climbed into bed and it was too much effort to get back out again. I also meant to take a few minutes and savour the luxury of a warm bed and clean sheets (indeed, any sheets at all) but I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

I woke later, vaguely aware of someone climbing in beside me. I hoped it was Leon but was too far gone to care. If this was one of
those
books, there would now be three pages of head-banging sex. The reality was that he pulled me close, whispered, ‘Mfhbnnntx,’ and I pulled his arm over me like a cover and muttered, ‘Trout,’ and that was pretty much it.

I woke reasonably early the next morning and slowly took stock. I could see a mop of dark hair on the pillow beside me. I lifted the sheet just to check I was in bed with the right man. Typical – our first night ever in a proper bed and both of us too knackered to do anything about it.

I listened carefully and could just faintly hear crockery being bashed about. Mrs De Winter was up and in the kitchen. I slipped out of bed, splashed water on my face, dressed, and padded downstairs.

Pushing open the kitchen door, I was astonished to see the Boss limping around, laying the table for breakfast. He looked up. ‘Good morning, Miss Maxwell. Would you like some tea? The kettle has just boiled.’

‘Um …’

‘I didn’t get a chance last night to say how pleasant it is to see you again. Please, come in and sit a moment.’

I didn’t work for him any more and for a brief, suicidal moment considered asserting my independence and remaining standing. Good sense and cowardice prevailed.

‘You left abruptly last night.’

‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘I was tired.’

‘Really?’

Time to put the record straight. ‘I’ve been dismissed, sir. I was chucked out. Hurled out, actually. On top of that, I’m guilty of stealing government property from a secure establishment, consorting with St Mary’s personnel after having been expressly forbidden to do so and contravening … Well, I’m always guilty of contravening something, so just fill in the blank space with the contravention of your choice.’

‘Miss Maxwell, you have been, still are, and always will be a member of St Mary’s. I regard you as one of the key members of my unit and it would cause me considerable concern (and surprise) if, at any point, you weren’t contravening something, somewhere.’

I couldn’t look at him. He watched me for a while and then said quietly, ‘I understand.’ I snatched a glance. He was Dr Bairstow and because he was Dr Bairstow he really did understand. He leaned forward. ‘Return to St Mary’s and I’ll give you what you want.’

‘And that would be?’

‘Isabella Barclay.’

I used the long pause to pull myself together. Then I nodded. He refilled my mug, poured out a second one for the Chief, and said, ‘Breakfast in one hour.’

I said, ‘Yes, sir,’ but also, because he was Dr Bairstow, he had to have the last word.

‘Miss Maxwell.’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Grow your hair.’

‘Already on it, sir!’ and whisked myself out of the door before he could say anything else. Normal service had been resumed.

Back in my room he was just pulling himself into a sitting position and thumping his pillows. I handed him his tea and said, ‘Hi, how are you feeling?’

‘I was a little worried it was a dream, but no, here you are and with tea. Do you have to work at being so perfect?’

‘No, it’s effortless.’

I got settled and looked at him. He still looked thin and exhausted, but the awful grey look had gone.

‘I like the beard.’

He rubbed his raspy chin. ‘Oh, that’s going as soon as I can lay my hands on a razor.’

I rubbed my spiky hair. ‘I know the feeling,’ and he laughed which was good to hear, but there was some awkwardness.

He said, ‘You don’t look so good.’

Now was the moment to say. Now was the moment to tell him. Say something. Now. I bottled out. ‘Chest infection, but all gone now,’ and sipped my tea.

To break the silence, he said, ‘I know what happened to me. What happened to you?’

I cuddled my tea. ‘Oh, you know … bitchfight with Barclay, chucked out, flat in Rushford, Mrs De Winter, found the remote, stole the pod, came to rescue my boys. Same old same old.’

He grinned at me from under his tousled hair. His eyes looked very bright. ‘I’ve got to know – tell me about the bitchfight. Were you wearing leather? Was there mud?’