Author: R R Haywood
Date: 2021-02-11 08:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: A stand alone crossover for readers of Extracted. The Undead. A Town Called Discovery and The Worldship Humility. A virtual reality. A fleet of spaceships. A shimmering blue door. A virus unleased upon the planet. Four worlds that do not co-habit the same time and space. But things are never quite as they seem… *This book is intended for existing fans of the series, The Undead, Extracted, A Town Called Discovery and The Worldship Humility, and as such, it may not appeal to new readers who have not read those series.
Publisher: 1899 Inc Ltd

The Four Worlds of Bertie Cavendish

RR Haywood

Copyright © 2021 by RR Haywood

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Contents

The Four Worlds

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Also by RR Haywood

The Four Worlds

of Bertie Cavendish

A virtual reality.

A fleet of spaceships.

A shimmering blue door.

A virus unleased upon the planet.

Four worlds that do not co-habit the same time and space.

But things are never quite as they seem…

Prologue

On a cold winter day, the Old Lady sits on a rocking chair on the veranda of a grand colonial house at the edge of a town called Discovery and stares out to a landscape of manicured lawns and hanging willow trees with a frown etched upon her face.

A calm scene.

A pleasant scene.

A thoughtful woman enjoying the quiet winter air.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

But things are never quite as they seem.

For a start, while the woman doesn’t look old, but instead appears to be of late middle age, she is, in fact, both ancient and new all at the same time.

And she’s not a lady either.

She’s an AI, and the town of Discovery is a virtual construct created by her.

Therefore, it does not exist within the reality of the real world, which means this world can’t be the only world.

Or, what if there was only one world, and that one world had other dimensions?

What then?

And what if the Old Lady could see all of those worlds and all of the things within them? All the lives that ever lived and all of the ends and all of the beginnings all at the same time. Because only by seeing it all at once can she know where to tweak and where to fix to make sure humanity survives and gets where it needs to be.

It’s very confusing, but then life is confusing, and nothing is for certain, and yet, somehow, despite the chaos and the carnage, the Old Lady is slowly winning because she knows that all realities are still bound by the same fundamental principle that everything must, by the sheer nature of existence, have a beginning, a middle, and an end.

That is fact.

It cannot be argued.

But the reason the Old Lady sits on the rocking chair with a frown etched upon her face is because she has detected the beginning is under threat, and if the beginning is destroyed, then everything else will be too, and not just in this world, but in all worlds.

It’s the timelines. The golden lines of humanity stretching off into the far past and the far future. They’re glitching. Something is wrong. Something is happening, and only something happening at the very beginning would impact on all of the timelines.

She slides her sleeve back and swipes at the band on her wrist, bringing forth a virtual holo screen blooming into the air. A small keyboard that she types on. Sending a message to her best operative to get in and find out what’s going on because the beginning must be protected.

No matter what the cost.

* * *

But the Old Lady isn’t the only AI concerned with the lives of humanity.

There is another AI that believes humanity should be left to itself.

And if it dies, then it dies.

That is the nature of anarchy.

That is the nature of existence and one should not meddle.

The other AI believes that so much, that it strives to prevent and disrupt the Old Lady wherever possible.

In this world.

In all worlds.

But what if the barriers between those worlds were brought down and a bridge was formed?

What if true anarchy was unleashed?

What then?

What if the Old Man, that being the other AI that believes in anarchy, decided to break the rules on the basis that there are no rules, and anything that can happen, should happen, and therefore, will happen.

What if the Old Man decided now was the time to bridge those worlds?

What if the Old Man’s smile grew a little wider and the Old Lady’s frown grew a little deeper as the first snowflakes started to fall from the skies above them.

Single flakes at first.

Heavy and fat.

Floating. Drifting. Dropping.

Falling faster until there is nothing but white in all directions.

What then?

One more thing:

Time travel is confusing, and the beginning doesn’t always begin at the start…

1

Berlin

1945

‘KATE!’

He will find her. He has a mission. He is Alpha, and he will complete his mission. Kate is the mission now. She gave him love and hope.

He runs through the streets of a war-torn city being systematically destroyed by allied air raids. Bombed-out buildings on all sides, and corpses lying under old rags at the sides of the broken roads. Fires left unattended now, raging with flames licking the sky.

Walls crashing down as he runs. Whole buildings crumbling from the shockwaves of the recent bombing raids. Sirens sounding as the women left to run the city rush to drag the injured from the ruins.

The skies overhead grey and cold, and filled with smoke and dust. An awful place to be. A most terrible place, but he was never meant to be here like this.

His mission was to kill Maggie Sanderson.

Maggie Sanderson is a terrorist. She has a time-machine. She used it to threaten all the governments of the world at the same time, and then, she disappeared.

Now, Mother wants her revenge. The head of the British Secret Service found a scrap of a blueprint in Cavendish Manor. The home of Bertie Cavendish. The inventor of time-travel, and from that scrap, Mother built her own device.

She recruited Alpha, Bravo, and the other top agents to work with her. To step out of their own timelines to trap Maggie Sanderson. She sold them a story of murder and genocide. She made them believe that Maggie and her team were evil.

She used the agents and her own device to steal a nuclear bomb from the Americans and pass it to the failing Nazi war machine.

Alpha did that.

But then, he was a devoted agent who always followed orders.

He arranged the passing of the bomb and even helped them load it onto the aircraft, and went with them to watch as that nuclear bomb, intended for Hiroshima, was dropped on London in 1945.

It was a statement made by Mother to draw Maggie Sanderson into Berlin to intercept the passing of that device, because that was the mission. That was Alpha’s mission.

To wait for Maggie and her team to step out of hiding and to kill them when they did.

Except, that didn’t happen because Kate came into his life. A historian in the complex Mother had built to house their device.

Kate whispered in his ear after making love that she believed in Maggie Sanderson. She said Mother was the evil one. She made him think differently and changed his views. Then, when Alpha was in Berlin and on Mother’s orders, Kate murdered everyone in the complex and fled through the device into 1945.

She told Alpha Mother had gone mad. She said Mother was killing everyone.

She said the only way out was to switch sides and join Maggie’s team. Alpha accepted, but then, that was Mother’s plan all along.

She wanted Alpha to believe Kate because she wanted Alpha to take Kate to Maggie Sanderson, and from there, to Bertie Cavendish.

Because, while Maggie was the target, Bertie was the prize.

Then, something else happened. Alpha and Kate had to flee from an air-raid.

They ran side by side through the bombs and the carnage and made love while hiding in a cellar. They talked all night. Joe told her about his life. About his dreams. They got out and worked together, pulling injured people from the rubble. They saved the lives of children, and somehow, during that day and night, something changed in Kate in the same way it did for Alpha, but within the magic of that moment, within the chaos and carnage of war, and amidst the bombs and destruction, they became separated.

Now, Alpha runs through the Berlin streets while the German soldiers chase after him, trying to shoot the spy they think he is.

Now, he runs to find Kate. Finding field hospitals and begging exhausted nurses to tell him where she is.

One tells him women are taken to a hospital a few streets over, and he runs on. Desperate to find Kate and get back to Maggie before the window closes. Before they become trapped in 1945 forever.

Now, he runs because he has to find her. Kate gave him forgiveness for the awful things he did. For the murders and tortures he committed for his country before his eyes were opened. She held him in her arms and whispered soft words.

He reaches the hospital. Exhausted, bloodied, and ready to pass out, and he staggers through the door to a place filled with suffering and misery.

Rows of civilians on the floor. Some writhing in agony. Some silent and near death. Broken limbs and broken heads. Nurses rush between them. Doing what they can. Giving what pitiful medicine they have left.

He runs on. Searching face after face. Bed after bed. A flight of stairs. He runs up to the next level and searches without success, then runs back to climb up to the top floor. His lungs bursting. His legs on fire.

His energy wanes, and he turns giddily at the top of the stairs, feeling like all hope has vanished until he sees her through a doorway, sitting on the edge of a bed. She’s here. He’s found her.

‘Kate,’ he croaks, rushing into the room. She turns to look at him, and he takes in the bandage around her skull and the bruises on her cheeks and arms, but she’s alive. She’s here and alive. He walks towards her, swaying and heaving for air.

‘GET OUT,’ a doctor yells behind him while running up the stairs. ‘No men, and no more soldiers…GET OUT NOW!’

‘My wife,’ Alpha snarls in German, turning in the doorway to glare at the man who wilts back in sudden fear at the sheer aggression pouring from the man. ‘SHE IS MY WIFE,’ he adds in a bellow to the nurses and orderlies gathering behind the doctor. He is a German soldier, fighting valiantly for his country. He has a legend. He is Alpha. He will keep her safe and wait two days for Maggie to appear again, and he turns back to Kate, to the woman he swore to protect, only to see the look of confusion and fear etched on her face, and her eyes darting to the side.

‘I’m sorry… I don’t know this man…’ she says in fluent German.

A click of a hammer from behind as a gun is pushed into the back of his head, and in the reflection from the taped glass in the window, he sees the black uniformed Gestapo officer aiming the Luger.

2

‘And what a tale it is, folks. A tale of murder. A tale of treachery. A tale of dark politics and double crosses, but it’s also a tale of hope where the oppressed rose up against tyranny, and you can hear it from me first. Kristi Carter. Only on FleetNewsCast…’

Sam Gablinski wakes in his sleeping tube and paws the air to quieten the holo feed blooming up from his wristband and the voice of the ever-beautiful Kristi Carter.

A yawn. A stretch. A long groan. Another morning on board the Worldship Humility, and another day in the fleet of forty vessels containing the millions of souls plucked from Earth before it was destroyed by a meteor. A fleet forever searching for a new home.

Except, they might have found one.

It’s all very confusing and also very nuts.

Like seriously insane.

‘And I will be telling you the full story of this incredible tale live tonight. Only on FleetNewsCast with me, Kristi Carter. But for now, folks. Let’s take a stroll through the lanes of level 30 on the Humility where the shops and stores are gearing up for the coming festive period.’

Sam rises from his tube.

Thoughtful. Thinking. Planning. An idea in his mind.

‘Panels out,’ the shower panels slot into place, and the timer at the top switches from two minutes to a smiley face. Hacked by Sam so he can have unlimited water. ‘On,’ he calls, which is right before he screams out in agony at the scorching hot water burning his skin. ‘Fucking Yasmine!’

How can she have it so hot? How? Literally, how?

Grumbling, tutting, huffing, and with skin somewhat steaming – Sam Gablinski washes and finishes off before pressing the button on the self-drying towel which he noticed Yasmine didn’t do after her shower this morning. But then, she’s an Elforist, and they probably don’t have self-drying garments in the Elfors. Which also explains why there were so many lines of clothes stretching across the alleys and ratruns when he ran through the place.

A few moments later, he heads out of cabin 58, row G on level 35 and heads towards the stairwell. Everything in creams and greys. Smooth and clean. Green bushes and plants growing in the middle. Tended to by workers in uniforms. People coming and going from their own cabins, heading to work, or going about their lives. Kids running past, eager and playful. School has finished. The holidays are here. The festive period that always charges the energy within the fleet, and especially here on the Humility, with Neon City and the retail zone.

He hits the stairs. No elevators allowed. People need to stay fit in space. People need to climb up and down to keep their muscles working.

A little while later, he reaches the epicentre of the fleet. Sven’s Eatery. The café where it all began. Where it all happened from. The thing that happened.

Chairs and tables outside the eatery. Adverts playing in the air. Adverts made by Pretty Boy. Made by Sam. A holo-feed on the opposite wall showing the music videos released by Chi-Chi, the fleet’s most famous singer. A festive release made using images and entities made by Sam during that thing that happened.

A buzz in the air. A wild vibe. The ship has changed. Everything has changed. Elforists clap his shoulders. Elforists call his name. The place is packed. Busy. Hectic. Noisy.

People everywhere all talking about it. About the new changes. The new ship. New this. New that.

‘Son!’ Abdul calls, clapping a hand on his back. ‘We need to go over the stats.’

‘Sam!’ Janey says, giving him a hug while saying she wants to chat about some new café adverts.

‘Sam! We need to go over the new Elfor campaign,’ Penny says.

‘Sugar pie!’ Clara strides over. Grabbing him into a tight hug. Motion and noise in all direction. Everyone busy. Everyone talking. Everyone needing something from him, but then, he is Pretty Boy, he was the catalyst that brought the change.

A bowl of porridge in his hands. A coffee beaker on a table next to him.

A hand on his shoulder. A mouth kissing his cheek, and he turns to look and smile into the face of the most beautiful woman he ever saw.

Yasmine smiles back at him. Searching his eyes for a moment. Frowning gently and seeing the abstract within him. The loss of focus. That look he has sometimes when his mind isn’t in the now. When it’s not here. When Sam isn’t the Sam everyone needs him to be.

‘You got something you want to do?’ Yasmine asks quietly. Sam nods. She winks and kisses his cheek again.

‘Sam. About the new adverts,’ Janey says.

‘Let’s talk about the campaign first,’ Penny says.

‘Son, we need to go over some stats,’ Abdul says.

‘Sam’s busy today,’ Yasmine says to a rise in the hubbub. ‘I said he’s busy,’ she adds with the look only an Elfor can give. The one that says serious violence may be imminent. The others finally see it. The distracted look on Sam’s face. That far-away expression. A silent understanding forms. Sam’s got something he’s working on.

Pretty Boy has got something he’s working on.

They leave him in peace. They let him eat. They stop others from disturbing him, and when he finishes his bowls and stands staring into space, Pretty Penny gently slides it from his fingers as Clara passes him his beaker of coffee.

He sips and thinks, and every now and then, he looks up at the ceiling and frowns. The others look up too. Wondering what he’s looking at. Shrugging at each other.

‘You all ready for the festive period then?’ Colin asks a moment later.

‘Don’t,’ Penny groans. ‘I haven’t done any shopping yet.’

‘The lanes are packed,’ Janey says to another chorus of groans.

‘It’s all so commercial now,’ Penny adds as more voice agreement.

‘It’s all about what folk can get,’ Clara says with a firm nod. ‘The festive time should be about family and fun.’

‘It’s the same crap every year,’ Colin adds, and Sam stares up to the ceiling for a long moment before simply turning and walking off into the retail zone.

Into the twisting lanes and avenues. Taking in the famous 3D holo adverts outside of every store.

The adverts that are normally geared to whatever product they are trying to sell, but the festive period is here, and so the adverts have changed too, and everywhere he looks, he sees the same thing. The same themes. The same colours and ideas repeated over and over.

Bold greens, reds, and blues, and lots of gold. The colours of the festive period, and of course, lots of Santas.

Santa used to be fat on Earth, but being fat is illegal in the fleet where resources are finite. Now, he’s lean and fit, and he’s not allowed to be called Father Christmas either, because religion isn’t the thing it once was.

Now they call it the festive period. Which is cool. Whatever works. Whatever keeps people happy and occupied so they don’t question the futility of their existence and go pay seven visits to a suicide booth so they can get mulched and turned into plant food.

It is pretty though. Sam has to admit that. The whole fleet goes gaga for the festive period, and especially after all the chaos that happened on the Humility and the hoo-hah with the Elfors.

The thing that happened that rocked the fleet. The news reports. The sensationalised events. The press. The cameras. The word Elfor on everyone’s lips. The politics. The adverts. The whole of it.

Sam was a part of something big. Something huge. The whole fleet is talking about it. It’s the number one trending issue on every ship and on every news channel, and the Humility and level 30 is flooding with people, all desperate to be a part of the incredible vibe as they rush about under the same festive adverts they put out every year.

Except. You know.

Those festive adverts all very samey. So alike. So average and mundane, and Sam has that thing inside. That nag. That urge. That need to do something, and such is the way of Sam’s thinking, and how his mind works. He tends to focus and think in the abstract, and so the backdrop of everything else that has happened becomes just that.

It becomes a backdrop.

He stops at a junction where lots of main shopping lanes meet. A place filled with cream-coloured benches and large holo displays advertising the latest release festive period holo-movie with Johan Johans playing a lean and muscular Santa.

A Santa With A Grudge To Settle:

That’s Right, Folks.

This Season.

Johan Johans is…

Santa Wick!

They took his presents.

Now, Santa is out for revenge, and he’s only got one night to kill them all.

Sam idly watches the trailer while listening to the voiceover and sighs a deep sigh while thinking it really doesn’t look like a festive period sort of movie. Mind you, Die Hard was a bloody violent action movie which ended up being the number one Earth Christmas movie of all time.

Whatever.

It’s still the same as every year. The same colours. The same adverts. The same style of movies. Some animated crap for the kids, and some action crap for the grown-ups, and probably a hardcore porn festive release starring Linda Lick-Em-Up.

And that’s what’s bugging Sam. It’s the lack of originality. The lack of awesomeness.

Sam grew up watching holo movies and TV shows from Earth. From people that lived next to forests and lakes. Next to mountains. They had the ocean, and they had animals too. Wild creatures, big and small.

But they had something else too.

They had weather.

And it was the winter when most northern hemisphere countries had their own festive periods. North America. The UK. Europe. Russia. The Scandinavians.

The countries that churned out the best Christmas movies and made the festive period synonymous with winter and, specifically, snow.

Everywhere he looks, he can see it. Small, white dots or particles used in images and adverts. In the trailers for the kids’ animated movies. But it’s not real. It’s fake. And it’s all samey and boring.

It needs to be better.

It needs to be awesome.

He lifts his gaze from the adverts to the ceiling.

That idea in mind. That urge.

He finds a quiet bench in a quiet corner and swipes his wristband to bring his interface up, and after checking there’s nobody too close, Pretty Boy sets to work. His eyes gleaming. The tip of his tongue poking out. His mind consumed with only this.

He accesses the digital world around him. Seeing the hundreds of feeds for the stores and holo adverts all around him. He punches past them and goes deeper to see the individual interfaces for the stores. The systems they run on. The systems they use to generate their adverts.

He goes deeper, still, to the ship’s own systems. To the systems that control the lights, and more importantly, to the systems that control the air.

It’s a complex system too.

The ships are full of people. Level 30 even more so. There are thousands of people from all across the fleet here, and so those air filtration systems need to be able to draw the moisture away. The moisture caused by so many people breathing in and out.

Without such a working filtration system, there would be rain. That happens in the Elfors. A place with curved ceilings and tens of thousands of people, and no decent filters. The result is dirty rain.

Dirty, greasy rain.

But that’s the root of the idea because the exhalation of so many people does cause mass moisture, and it’s the job of the ship’s air systems to process that moisture and to provide clean air at set temperatures.

Sam and everyone else in the fleet also know that the air temperature is adjusted to the time of day. Cooler at night to aid sleep. Warmer in the day. But then, it’s also reduced when more people gather in certain areas. In response to systemic changes.

That means the system works from an AI interface, and after delving through the layers of signals and punching past the staggering levels of digital data, he finally finds it.

The ship’s own AI climate control interface.

There it is. Right in front of him.

It’s protected too. Very protected. He shouldn’t be able to access it. They’re living on spaceships, and people need to breathe. Therefore, nobody should be able to access the AI climate control system for fear of turning that air supply off.

It’s also overseen by the Ark. That means that not only does he have to hack into the highly protected AI system, but he has to do it without sounding the alarms on the Ark’s mainframe.

Terrorists can’t do that.

Nobody can do that.

And even if they could do that, they really shouldn’t.

He checks about him and looks up and around to the festive adverts. The same colours and adverts they use every year. The same themes. The same thing.

He smiles that smile and drops his head before getting to work, and his fingers blur as the screens fill with code. Code that allows him to punch into an AI controlled system that he has no rights to access.

He punches into the airflow and temperature controls. Into the system that generates the on-board weather.

He starts off by stopping the system from drawing the excess moisture away.

He then accesses the fire system to make the sprinklers emit a very fine spray of clean water into the air.

A spray so fine that nobody will notice, but that is essential to add purity to the dirty liquid molecules exhaled by everyone breathing out.

It also aids the build-up of moisture to level needed. The level he researched before he started, because that’s what good hackers do. They research before they hack.

Next, he starts accessing the climate controls to isolate just this level.

He finds the controls for the vents. For the pumps and extraction points, and he codes to remove the safety alarms. But even that has to be done properly because it needs to reset after so it stays safe in the event of fire or disaster.

Once done, he takes control of the vents and flows and turns the fans within the system to push the air up while turning off the high up extraction vents to allow the water vapour to build up. And while that happens, he accesses the temperature control and starts blasting icy cold air across the ceiling, then a gradual decrease in temperature for each layer of vents and fans from ceiling to floor.

It has to be precise. It has to be exact.

A kid on another bench does the same and stares up with a frown while tugging on his father’s arm to ask him why water is coming from the ceiling.

A woman shivers nearby as though someone just walked over her grave.

A guy walks by and frowns in surprise at his breath misting.

Inside the café, Yasmine does the same and stares at her breath.

‘Why’s it so cold?’ Pretty Penny asks with a sudden shiver, and it spreads out. The same thing happening in the lanes and alleys. Outside of the stores. In the wide public areas. People noticing the change. Seeing their breath misting. Feeling the shivers.

Then, Pretty Boy really goes to work, and he types with a blur to activate his bulk hack that takes over every single store interface at the same time. All of them. Every shop and store, and eatery throughout the whole of level 30, including Sven’s cafe where the gathered many suddenly snap heads up to the adverts, now gone, and the sound growing louder.

‘Folks! We’ve got something happening,’ Kristi Carter says into her virtual camera in between turning around and staring up. ‘Can you hear that noise? It’s coming from everywhere. What is that? Is that bells? It’s bells.’

It is the sound of bells.

The sound of sleigh bells.

The sound of sleigh bells growing louder and coming closer.

From every speaker, all at the same time.

Sam keeps it going for a couple of minutes to make sure he gets their attention. To bring the retail zone to a stop.

Then he adds another noise. The sound of a big man laughing with a deep Ho-Ho-Ho.

‘Santa!’ the kid whispers as Sam activates his hack to take over the visual displays of the store’s interfaces and the ship’s own visual projectors. The movie posters. The holo feeds. All of them used in perfect synchronicity for an explosion of colour and motion that seems to come from nowhere and blast past the front of Sven’s Eatery.

Reindeers in perfect virtual form. Huge beasts snorting blasts of mist, and the one at the front guiding the way with a bright red nose. A whole train of them running overhead, and so realistic it makes people duck and cheer.

‘HO-HO-HO!’ comes the cry, and the sleigh comes into view. Pulled by the reindeer. A sleigh of gold with deep, red seats. A sleigh driven by a fat man with a flowing, white beard, dressed in a red and white suit. A man with a big smile and a deep hearty laugh as he leans over the side to wave and smile.

But that’s not the hack. As impressive as it is, it’s not the thing Sam wanted the most. What he wanted the most is what starts falling from the air behind the sleigh.

The molecules of water vapour that formed within the clouds that Sam made on the underside of the ceiling.

The water vapour that turned into ice crystals.

The ice crystals that formed into snow.

Single flakes at first.

Heavy and fat, and Yasmine holds her hand out to let one melt on her palm while staring in awe at such a thing being done.

Then more come.

More and more.

Floating. Drifting. Dropping.

Falling faster until there is nothing but white in all directions.

Nothing but snow that lands on shoulders and faces bringing forth gasps of delight from children and adults who have never seen such a thing.

‘So cool,’ a voice from next to him. Sam turns to look at the man who slides in on the bench next to him and leans in to look at his hacking screens.

‘It worked,’ Sam says, still smiling at the young man with black hair and blue eyes. ‘But are you sure it won’t damage the ship’s systems? When it melts, I mean. Snow is water. It has to go somewhere.’

‘It’s fine,’ the man says. ‘It’s layered.’

Sam frowns, trying to work it out before thinking he’s got it. ‘The levels, right? The water on the ground on this level drains into the system in the ceiling on the level below. Is that what you mean?’

The guy just nods and smiles. It could be a yes. It could be anything. But then, this guy is always the same, and if Sam lives with one foot in the abstract, this guy exists in it.

‘Can I have some of that code,’ the guy asks. ‘I’m making something.’

‘Sure,’ Sam says. ‘Want me to ping it to you?’

The guy shakes his head. Then smiles and laughs when he holds his hand out to feel the snow.

‘How will you get it if I don’t ping it to you?’ Sam asks.

‘I’ve got it already.’

‘What?’ Sam asks.

‘Time is weird.’

‘Right,’ Sam says. ‘So, where do you live again?’ he asks as the man smiles at the snow in his hand, seemingly mesmerised by his own fingers.

‘On an island.’

‘Okay,’ Sam says with a smile, knowing hackers have to be cagey. It’s in their nature. But then, something about him always makes Sam think he’s being truthful. Maybe he’s got mental health or something, and he believes whatever he is saying which in turn gives it that aura of truth.

Sam said he wanted to make snow the last time they met. The guy gave him a code. The same code Sam developed to get this hack done.

Now, the guy wants it back, except, he’s not taking it because he’s already got it, but he can’t have it because Sam only just wrote it.

‘S’just binary,’ the other guy says with a smile.

Sam smiles back. He likes that saying, and he likes this man, despite how confusing he is. ‘Are you going?’ he asks when the man stands up.

‘It’s hard to stay here because we’re moving.’

Sam has no idea what that means, ‘You, err, you don’t want a coffee or something? My friend owns a café. He does this porridge and jam. It’s really nice.’

‘I know. I tried it.’

‘When? I’ve never seen you there. And you don’t have a wristband. How did you pay?’

‘Before.’

‘Before when? Before what?’ Sam asks, swiping his system to shut it down as he runs after the guy.

Through the lanes and alleys. Through the retail zone to a small ante room, and the suicide booth at the far end, with a handwritten sign taped to the door.

Out Of Order

A shimmering, blue light glowing inside. A doorway within the booth. A doorway through which Bertie steps, disappearing out of sight. A doorway that simply ceases to be.

A second passes, and the doorway re-appears, with Bertie rushing back through with a grin as he plucks the handwritten sign from the door of the suicide booth and, once more, steps from a spaceship travelling through the Milky Way galaxy to a room made with rough timber walls.

The smell of sea salt in the air. The sound of waves lapping the shore outside. Birds crying out. Gulls soaring overhead, and others chirping and chirruping in the trees and bushes.

A wooden shack on an island.

A wooden shack built by Bertram Cavendish.

He swipes the app on the controller as the shimmering, blue door shuts off, with the curved, plastic corners collapsing into a small ball that hovers for a split second in mid-air before dropping into his outstretched hand.

Bertie loves going to the fleet and seeing the sights. Confucius Square and Ghost Street on the WS Beijing. The dogs on the HMS whatever-it’s-called British ship. The Ab-Spa on the WS Abstinence. The sports facilities on the WS Chastity. The tech on the WS Kindness. But he loves the Humility the most. The lanes and alleys. The adverts in the retail zone. He loves strolling through Neon City and seeing the sights. The men and women in scanty clothes or no clothes at all. The bodyguards for hire. The pushers and dealers. The hawkers and traders. Eating skewered rat from Sticky Dicky’s Food stall.

The Elfors and Neon City are dangerous places and definitely not areas a stranger should meander, but then, Bertie has that way about him. He has that smile and that shine in his eyes, and an aura that projects glorious curiosity in the world around him, and mostly, that aura prevents bad things happening.

Mind you, not that he stays long enough to get into trouble. A few minutes, mostly. In and out. That’s all he can do because the fleet is travelling at an ever-increasing speed, and the course is constantly changing to avoid meteors and space-debris. That means maintaining a lock for the portal is incredibly hard.

It’s not hard for Bertie. He can calculate it. It’s all just binary and math. That’s easy. But his system tends to get very hot and start making funny noises from the sheer power needed to hold the lock on. Plus, it drains the batteries connecting to the solar panels on the roof, and then he has to switch to the generator.

That being the perpetual energy generator Bertie built. Well, no. He didn’t build it. He stole it. But he did design it. Kind of. Sort of.

Whatever.

The point is, Bertie Cavendish loves going to the fleet, and he loves the fact that he enjoyed a bowl of porridge and jam in Sven’s Eatery before it got all famous. That’s awesome. Bertie has that thrill inside that he was there at the beginning of something special, but then, he’s always at the beginning of something special. And the end too. But the middle is an issue. The middle definitely needs attention. The new program will help with that.

But the porridge was nice. He was at the end of the lane, eating quietly and watching Yasmine arguing with Sven about the state of the Elfors, when Sam came in and got all nervous. Sam didn’t see Bertie, but then, Sam didn’t see anything other than Yasmine.

Bertie and Sam have met a few times. Here and there, and at random times according to Sam, but nothing is ever really random.

Not to Bertie. Not to a mind that sees the binary language the worlds are made from where everything happens at the same time.

Sam is good at coding though. Actually, Sam is gifted at coding and hacking. Sam gets it, and from all the people that Bertie ever met, Sam is the closest to Bertie in his abilities.

That’s why they share so much. Except Sam doesn’t quite know they share. It’s more that, now and then, Sam wants to do something, so Bertie will suggest or give him a bit of code, then Sam will develop something from it, and Bertie will see the potential for other applications and use some of the code Sam developed.

That concept even confuses Bertie. What came first. The chicken or the egg? Bertie tried to work it out once, but even his head nearly exploded.

It’s like when he visited one of the world’s – Sam’s world and saw the meteor was coming. That was crazy. Everyone was panicking.

Bertie wanted to tell Miri, but she was very busy getting ready to go back to Cavendish Manor and help rescue Bertie and Ria in this world. Even though they’d already done it. It was the second time. When they went back to help the first time.

Time travel is confusing, but the point is Bertie saw the meteor was coming in the other world and initially thought to tell Miri, but Miri was super busy and super snappy, so Bertie didn’t tell Miri.

Instead, Bertie figured he could be a super-hero and fix it himself. I mean, he had been hanging out with Harry, Safa, Ben, and Emily a lot. So, you know, he was like totally ready for heroic things.

Not that he actually needed to do heroic things. Not like swinging on ropes through windows and shooting loads of baddies with a machine gun. Nothing like that.

What Bertie did do, while Miri was being super busy and super snappy, fixing one world, was pop back at different times to that other world.

He did that lots of times right up until the point the meteor hit, and yep, it definitely hit and promptly destroyed the human species and every other species. And, you know, the whole planet. And the moon, too.

Everyone had the right idea. They needed to build spaceships and get away. That was obvious.

Unfortunately, there were two problems.

The first one was politics, and the second was energy.

Building spaceships big enough to transport millions of people, and all the things they need across space to another planet, would mean having copious amounts of energy.

Energy enough to get the shuttles up and down from Earth to orbit to build the vessels, then enough energy to get the vessels moving and to keep moving, and energy enough to provide all the people within the vessels stuff to do. Like watching television or running on treadmills. Or whatever space people do. Bertie wasn’t sure because at that point, he hadn’t invented the thing in order to go forward and see the fleet and what they did have on board.

That brought in the first problem, because all the people on the Earth, instead of sharing what they knew about energy and such things, squabbled and fought, and more wars kicked off – hence the politics.

However, Bertie had heard Miri tell Ben that in order to stop a government, you have to show it something more powerful that itself.

Which, in Bertie’s mind, translated to the power of freedom and sharing, and so, Bertie went back to when the meteor was first sighted and took a picture of a white-board filled with equations concerning the development of perpetual energy within an office of an American government science team, and he sent that picture, via an old messaging app, into the group chat of the secret Russian government science team trying to solve the same thing – and he added any ideas? onto the end too.

The Russian scientists responded before their government could stop them, at which point the Americans also responded, while also trying to figure out which one of them had sent the damned pictures in the first place.

The result was that both teams started talking. Then, Bertie hacked the Chinese government science team group chat and sent both the Russians and Americans a combined message saying hey, we’re working on that too!

At which point, all three super-powers went into meltdown, but the snowball effect had started, and within a few weeks, that group chat included NASA, the ESA, The Indian Space Agency, Space X, Virgin, Roscosmos, and just about every other space agency too.

The governments moved fast and tried to shut them down. Bertie thought he might have to intervene, and again, he was about to tell Miri, but the scientists overrode the governments and published all of their data online so anyone in the whole world could access it.

That was awesome.

It was like the sixties hippie movement for nerds.

That was the first problem sorted, but it didn’t solve the second problem. The issue about energy.

That was harder. Much harder.

The most obvious energy supply was from nuclear power. But the existing nuclear engines and systems on Earth weren’t good enough.

They hadn’t figured out how to use fission by splitting the nucleus before the fusion can take place.

Bertie spent months in that world working on that issue. He made incredible friends and had wild adventures, but really, he was only gone for ten minutes.

He set up a portal into that Earth, but he took another device with him. Then, months later and after he had finally cracked the equation and come up with a whole new theoretical process, he used the second device to come back to the shack ten minutes after he’d left and promptly turned the old one off.

Time travel is very confusing, however, it seemed to work, and when he popped back a few years later, they’d got lots of nice nuclear engines all working with free perpetual energy.

After that, he went forward and finally saw the fleet for the first time, then went back again and helped invent anti-grav.

A few more trips back and forth then took place before he overhead another chat between Miri and Ben, this one being a chat about not fucking about with time too much.

‘We do what’s needed to ensure survival, Mr Ryder. Nothing more.’

Bertie then figured he should stop meddling and went back to loafing about on the island, but he did pop back to that other world to steal a perpetual energy generator. That being the one outside that nobody ever asks about. Bertie glued a wire from the solar panels into it and said it’s all just binary.

Ben said cool a lot and did that thing when he acts like he gets something, while Kon and Malc just shrugged, and Safa called him a genius twat and tweaked his nose. Miri gave him a shrewd look though. She even arched an eyebrow at him and whispered in his ear that he might want to remove the information panel from the side that had the date stamped on it. That being a date a hundred years or so ahead of the time period they were currently trying to fix.

She also whispered that if she caught him messing around too much, she’d lock him up in an old abandoned Russian prison and let the rats eat him.

Bertie smiled and said he likes coconuts.

He stops to think for a second, and after stripping down to his shorts, he heads outside into the glorious sunshine to scout about for a coconut. Mooching through the undergrowth, bent double, and bumping into the hammock strung between the trees.

‘Oi!’ Doctor Watson says, coming awake to peer out from under his sun hat. ‘What the devil are you doing?’

‘Looking for coconuts.’

‘There’s some up on the ledge,’ the doctor says, not really knowing if there are any on the ledge but figuring Bertie will bugger off and let him doze in peace.

Bertie does, indeed, bugger off to the ledge where he starts scouting for coconuts before spotting an awesome pink conch shell in the shallows and starts rooting it out as Miri walks through the portal link to the bunker.

‘Miri! I found a shell!’ he cries out with childish glee while running over to present it to her. ‘See.’

A moment or two later, and the rest come through. Mad Harry Madden. As big as ever and scuffing Bertie’s head. Emily giving him a hug. Ben winking at him, and Safa grappling his head and rubbing her knuckles on his scalp before she sneaks up to the hammock to annoy Doc Watson.

‘We’re going for a swim,’ Safa says.

‘Coming, Bertie?’ Emily asks, and all thoughts of snow and coconuts, conch shells, and perpetual energy, or the worrying middle vanish from Bertie’s mind as he beams a grin and runs after them. Splashing into the sea to swim and dive down, and burn energy.

A golden hour spent with his favourite people before they head back to the shore and back to the portal to the bunker.

‘Are you worried about Ria?’ Emily asks him.

Bertie nods. Knowing that Ria was shot in the second rescue mission to Cavendish, and she’s currently in the bunker getting better. He heard Miri and the Doc talking. Ria was pregnant, but she lost the baby. That made Bertie sad. He’d love to be an uncle. He went inside his shack and thought about going back and helping to make sure Ria didn’t get shot, but Miri followed him in and said the rats in that Russian prison were very hungry.

‘We’re heading into Lambeth for breakfast,’ Miri says as the others start filing back through the portal.

‘Understood,’ Doc Watson says, swinging off the hammock. ‘I’ll come and watch Ria,’ he adds before following Bertie into the shack to get changed. ‘And what’s your plans for today?’

‘Um,’ Bertie says, having forgotten what his plans were. ‘Pink coconuts,’ he says, trying to remember.

‘Marvellous. Well, have fun with that, and no time travelling.’

‘Okay.’

‘Say it back to me Bertie.’

‘No time travelling.’

‘Good lad. I’m in the bunker if you need me. I’ll be glad of the cooler air if I’m being honest. This heat makes my feet swell up.’

Bertie watches him go and thinks about what he just said.

Time travel. Feet. Heat. Hot is the opposite of cold. The doctor should put his feet in icy water. Bertie could get him some ice. Maybe from the arctic. They have lots of ice. And snow.

Snow!

That’s what he was doing.

Sam made it snow.

He rushes to his desk to his screens and starts coding away. Lost in his world of binary. Lost within himself.

A little while later, and he springs up to grab one of his device balls and throws it outside high into the air, and swipes the app on the controller to make it stop and expand until it’s covering the shack and the outside area surrounding it. An enormous, shimmering, red square hanging static in the air.

Perfect.

He darts inside and smiles as he uses Sam’s code to make something new. A new thing. An awesome thing.

Sam developed a code to bust into multiple AI systems at the same time to make his snow, and Bertie needs that coding because he’s getting fed up with running between worlds, or dimensions.

Bertie isn’t entirely sure on that yet. It could be multiple worlds with each having their own singular dimension, or, most likely, and his current favoured theory – one world with multiple dimensions.

Not that it really makes a difference, because each world is defined and contained within itself, and each world that Bertie has seen has something bad going on that needs fixing.

This world – his world – has Miri looking after it.

The world with the meteor has the fleet to take the people away from the broken Earth.

That other world – the dark world – has that thing going on with all the bitey people and the virus. Bertie really doesn’t like that world.

The last world needs fixing too, but that goes wrong from the middle. Not from a meteor or a disease, or anything else, but from lots of things, and too many for Bertie to deal with.

That world needs another method, and if he’s being honest, all of the worlds need a bit of help. He can’t keep running around inventing perpetual energy and grav-drives. He’s got his own work to do. Bertie’s not entirely sure what that specifically is, but only that he should be doing it.

The point is, all of the worlds, or dimensions need something or someone keeping an eye on them.

Someone or something that can straddle all of the dimensions and see it all and get things fixed – which will then free Bertie up so he can look for coconuts. Or shells. Or, you know, whatever – and this coding. That being the coding Sam Gablinski made – will make that happen. Because it can hack multiple AI systems at once.

Which is awesome – but what’s even more awesome is that this coding can also make snow.

Actual snow.

He hits enter and runs outside to clench his fists with excitement as he stares up at the giant, red portal floating in the air over his island.

A portal from which comes an icy down draft of freezing air that makes him burst out laughing.

A portal from which comes the first snowflake that drifts down to land on his outstretched hand. Melting from the heat of his palm.

More and more coming after it. Actual snow from his own snow machine.

Seriously.

Best day ever, and he laughs in glee, dancing on the spot as his near-tropical island starts to cover in snow. Snow falling so fast and thick it cools the ground and starts to lay.

Floating. Drifting. Dropping.

Falling faster until there is nothing but white in all directions.

All else gone from view.

3

‘Mountain climbers!’

‘God no,’ Ben gasps as the others transition from star jumps to running on the spot with knees up while punching the air. ‘I hate mountain climbers.’

‘Quit whining, or we’ll run up a real mountain,’ Safa says, before adding a big grin while appearing not the least bit out of breath. Not even a little bit. Like completely normal. Mind you, Emily is the same, and even Harry is only puffing a bit.

Not Ben, though.

Ben already feels like he’s gone ten rounds with a Tyson / Ali tag-team after running the London marathon, and it’s still only the warm-up.

‘Come on, Benjamin!’ Emily calls with a laugh at his red cheeks. ‘Knees up!’

‘Sod off, my knees are up,’ Ben says, trying to make them rise a bit higher as he casts a look over the edge of the plateau to the valley below them, stretching off as far as the eye can see. A valley filled with lakes and ponds. With thickets of trees and wooded areas. With vast savannahs within which the creatures gather in herds.

Creatures with feet the size of cars and bodies longer than the concrete bunker behind him. Enormous creatures that stretch up to eat the leafy foliage on the enormous trees, but then, everything here is enormous.

Except, it isn’t.

It’s only larger in scale than the world Ben is used to. That being a world that is over one hundred million years in the future from now.

His world has less oxygen, so things grow smaller, whereas this world has lots of oxygen, and literally everything grows bigger. The grass stems. The flowers. The bushes. The plants and foliage. The trees. The bugs and, of course, the dinosaurs.

‘There they are,’ Harry says, high knee running on the spot as he looks up at the pair of flying dinosaurs dropping into the valley like two missiles. Black and long, with huge, curved beaks, and moving impossibly fast. A few seconds to plummet before they open their huge wings and soar up on the hot thermals with a loud cry that carries far into the cretaceous world.

A cry that gets picked up and repeated by more flying animals, and then carried on through the dense forests at the edge of the flat area above the bunker.

A weird sensation within Ben. A sense of Déjà vu from the same thing seen and heard in his world in the early dawn when the animal kingdom wakes. The same then. The same now.

The only difference is the scale. A scale so vast that it’s clearly very obvious this is not a place for humans. They don’t exist here, and they won’t exist for a very long time.

Which is why Roland chose this era and this site. To hide his son away from the authorities while he extracted three heroes from history to save the world.

Mind you, Harry kind of fits this world. Tall and broad, with a thick beard and a huge barrel chest. A caveman if ever there was one.

‘Ben!’ Safa yells.

‘What?’

‘I said back to star jumps.’

‘Fucking star jumps,’ he mutters, switching back to them with a grumble and a tut, and the first beads of sweat prickling his forehead.

Not that any of the others are sweating yet.

Fit bastards.

‘You sweating already?’ Emily asks.

‘Sod off!’ he says as Emily grins, and Safa winks just before Harry gives him a gentle punch on the arm.

‘What the fuck, Harry!’

‘Sorry, Ben,’ Harry says with a wince, scooping Ben back to his feet.

‘What did I tell you?’ Safa says, shaking her head. ‘Centre of balance. You had your feet together.’

‘We’re doing star jumps. They’re meant to be together.’

‘Bad workman blames his tools,’ Emily says.

‘Right, get into the fighting stance like I showed you,’ Safa says. Shifting to open her legs with one foot ahead of the other. ‘Now let Harry hit you again.’

‘I don’t want to get hit again… What the fuck, Harry!’

‘Ben!’ Safa says.

‘Seriously. Bad workman,’ Emily says, nodding at him as Harry gives his gentle tut and pulls Ben back to his feet.

‘What does that even mean?’ Ben asks.

‘Your feet. They’re your tools,’ Emily says.

‘Your feet, they’re your tools, I’m Tango Two,’ Ben mimics before jumping back in fright as Harry lifts his arm to scratch his nose.

‘Jesus. Okay, try it again,’ Safa says.

‘Fuck that,’ Ben says, rubbing his arm as he backs off. ‘I’m getting coffee.’

‘We’re doing drill!’ Safa says.

‘There’s no mission today,’ Ben says. ‘Day off, remember.’

‘We still need to do drill,’ Safa yells as he disappears around the end of the bunker.

‘Fine,’ he says, leaning into view. ‘I’ll go for a swim on the island with my bad centre of balance.’

‘Bad workman!’ Emily shouts.

‘Tango Two!’ Ben shouts as he heads into the bunker.

‘Whatever,’ Safa says. ‘Mountain climbers!’ she calls, running with knees up and punching the air. ‘Come on! Get moving.’

‘Right. Yeah. About that day off thing,’ Emily says.

‘What? Come on. We love phys.’

‘Correction. You love phys. Whereas I love a day off. And a swim. Wait for me, Ben!’

‘Sod off,’ he yells from somewhere as she runs off.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ Safa says with a blast of air. ‘Lightweights or what. Eh, beardy?’

‘Aye,’ Harry says, giving her a look as she slows the mountain climbers and comes to a gradual stop.

‘You’re going for a swim as well, aren’t you,’ she says.

‘Aye,’ he says, offering a nod as he strides off. ‘Ben, lad! Wait up.’

‘Sod off,’ Ben shouts from somewhere.

‘Jesus,’ Safa says, shaking her head. ‘We need to stay combat ready!’

‘When you’ve been in a war,’ Harry yells.

‘When you’ve been in a war,’ she mimics, going back to mountain climbers with much gusto and enthusiasm, which quickly wanes when she orders herself to do star jumps and realises it’s not so much fun doing it solo. And anyway. Swimming is good exercise. ‘Wait for me!’ she yells, running after the others.

‘Sod off!’ Ben shouts from inside the back door, leaning in the doorway to Miri’s office. She used to be called Maggie Sanderson. She used to be called many things. Now she’s Miri.

‘I said wait up,’ Safa yells, bundling in through the back door after Harry and Emily as they pass under the filtration system that is meant to keep the two worlds sterile. Because, as Konrad keeps saying, it only takes a seed stuck to a shoe to mess the world up.

Ben isn’t so sure the filter thing works. But they do get regular shots from Doctor Watson to make sure they don’t get sick, and their bodies stay adjusted to the oxygen rich air.

‘Drill finished?’ Miri asks. American. Older. Blond hair streaked with grey, and eyes that can either be warm and blue or the coldest, meanest eyes Ben has ever seen.

‘We’re going for a swim,’ Safa yells before Ben can answer.

‘It’s not a drill swim,’ Ben says quickly, with his mind filling with images of Safa yelling at him to do another hundred metre front crawl. While in a bikini. A black bikini. Like a small one that’s really tight fitting, and her olive skin all soaked with beads of water running over her hard body, and her black hair slicked back.

‘Wow. He has actually zoned out,’ Emily says, snapping her fingers in front of Ben’s eyes.

‘Bikini,’ he says, blinking back to the now with a sudden flush in his cheeks. ‘Anyway! Ha. Right. Yes. Swimming, then. Got it. Er, let’s move out then, troops.’

‘What the fuck,’ Safa says as he rushes off.

‘I think he had some rude thoughts,’ Emily says with a knowing nod as Safa stares blankly at her. ‘You know. Swim. Beach. Water. Bikini. Jesus, Safa. He turned himself on thinking about you in a bikini.’

‘Did he really?’ she asks with such raw innocence it shows how remarkably naïve she is with such things. ‘Gotcha. Actually, that’s turning me on. I mean, thinking about Ben thinking about me like that. God. Yeah. Er, right. Gonna go and have sex now,’ she adds with a nod before rushing off after Ben.

‘Jesus,’ Emily says, rubbing her nose before spotting the look in Harry’s eye. ‘And you can sod right off, mister.’

‘What?’ he asks.

‘Don’t what me with your beard. I’m not drunk and falling for that look again.’

‘What look?’

‘That look!’ she says before heading off, leaving Mad Harry Madden standing by the door to Maggie Sanderson’s office.

Brutal killers, the pair of them.

One - the most feared solder in World War Two.

The other - the most feared Spymaster of her generation.

‘Going for a swim,’ he says.

‘So I understand.’

‘Right,’ he says. Deep and big, and filling the corridor with his vast bulk while also being completely crap at making small talk with officers. A nod given. Half a salute offered, and he walks off, leaving Miri with a faint touch of a smile on her lips.

She rises from the desk and moves to the window to stare out to the cretaceous world. To the deep blue sky and the big creatures sailing on the thermals.

She won at Cavendish Manor. She beat Mother. She beat them all.

She went back and threatened all of the governments. She told them she can come back anytime she wishes to kill them if they try and come after her.

She was labelled a terrorist. But it seems to have worked.

Now, they’ve seen the world isn’t over in 2111. Whereas it was broken and ruined before.

Something they have done has fixed or stopped whatever caused the end of the world.

But the game isn’t over.

Mother dropped a nuke on London to lure Miri into Berlin in 1945, knowing that Miri will hunt for the operatives that arrange passing that device to the failing Nazi war machine.

They’ve seen them. Alpha. Bravo. Charlie. Delta and Echo.

Miri and her team have seen them dressed as civilians passing through Bundesstraße 2, and so the game goes on.

But not for today. Today is a day off, because even heroes need downtime, and anyway, they have a time machine, and as Ben said - they can take a month off and still go back to Berlin to hunt for Alpha and the rest of Mother’s team.

Or can they?

Miri isn’t so sure about that.

She grasps time travel. She gets it. She understands it. But she’s also sure time isn’t singular. The timeline isn’t just one linear thread. It’s not that simple.

Nothing is that simple.

Whatever.

A day off would be good though. Some time to think and decompress. Maybe head into Rio later or someplace else, someplace new. Someplace noisy and filled with music and lights where they can get drunk and forget about the people they killed.

A grunt, and she walks from her office and heads down to Ria’s quarters. Easing the door open to stare at the young woman asleep in her bed with a drip attached to her arm. A machine bleeping softly. Monitoring her vitals.

Ria Cavendish. Bertie’s sister. Shot in the belly while trying to save her mother during the assault on Cavendish Manor. Now, she lies sedated in a bed in the cretaceous period.

At least she’s alive. Another grunt from Miri as she remembers the wars in her life. The lost comrades. The ones that didn’t get brought back.

She heads up the concrete corridor to the room holding the portal. The blue light shining as bright as ever. A doorway of iridescent light. Silent. Glowing. Shimmering.

She doesn’t break a step but passes through it. Stepping from the cretaceous period to another time and era.

To a beautiful island somewhere in the Mediterranean Sea. Not in dinosaur times. Sometime after that. Maybe there are a few genus homo types dotted about the world.

But they’re not here, and they haven’t taken over the planet yet and ruined the skies and the oceans. They haven’t unleashed their polluting hell or the grief and carnage of war.

The truth is, none of them are exactly sure when or precisely where this is. But it has to be that way.

They can’t risk being forced to reveal it to Mother or anyone else in the event of capture and torture.

They can’t risk what the island holds.

They can’t risk Bertie.

The man that changed the world.

‘Miri!’ he cries out, with his head bobbing up from behind a rocky outcrop. Dark, curly hair. Suntanned and lean, in shorts, and bare foot, and a grin that suggests he hasn’t seen Miri for ever and ever, whereas in fact, he only saw her last night.

That’s the thing about Bertie. He invented time travel, but to him time isn’t the same. It doesn’t pass inside of him the same way as it does for others. Nor does he think the same as others.

Bertram Cavendish exists on another level. A level so very different that only his sister Ria has any shred of hope of understanding him, and right now, she’s recovering from a gunshot wound and is in no fit state to discuss anything with her brother.

‘I found a shell!’ he calls, rushing over while holding it aloft. ‘See,’ he presents it proudly. Smiling like a child. A child within the body of a man, but a child with an intelligence beyond any other human that ever drew breath on the planet – in any time of history. Past, present, and future.

‘Why is it special?’ Miri asks. Expecting it to be a species that is extinct in their times or somehow a type that forms a link to some other creature or significant thing in history.

‘It’s pink,’ he says with a rush of enthusiasm. And there it is. Bertie in action. As mesmerised by a shade of colour as he is about the moon and stars, about the rotation of the earth, or about the astonishingly complex program he wrote that invented time travel.

Bertie’s dad committed suicide when he was young. Roland killed himself by walking into the sea.

That, naturally, made Ria and Susan – Bertie’s mum, deeply upset, and of course, Bertie didn’t like that. So he invented time travel so they wouldn’t be upset.

But it’s all just binary to Bertie. It’s all just code.

‘I see,’ Miri says, showing what she hopes is something close to enthusiasm. ‘The doc here?’

‘I’m very busy!’ a voice calls from behind the hut Bertie built to live in. ‘You’ll have to book an appointment or take an aspirin, and call me tomorrow.’

‘You look busy,’ Miri says, walking over to Doctor Watson swinging in a hammock with a straw hat covering his face.

‘The mind never stops, Miri,’ he says, tapping the side of the hat. ‘Why are you here anyway?’ he asks while lifting it up to peer at her. ‘Haven’t you got a nuke to find or something?’

‘Day off.’

‘Day off?’ he asks with a scoff. ‘You’ve got the world to save. You don’t have time to be taking a day off. You don’t see me lounging about, do you. Hey!’ he yells when Safa sneaks up to swing the hammock. ‘That’s not funny, Patel! You’ll make me seasick. Oh, bloody hell. The whole gang are here. That’s my peace shattered.’

‘Morning, Doc,’ Ben calls.

‘Morning, Ben! Emily. Harry. Anyone else? No? Invited a score of soldiers over, have we?’

‘We’re going for a swim,’ Safa says as she slows the swinging hammock, much to the relief of Doc Watson.

‘Bravo. Enjoy!’ he replies with a big grin before plopping the hat back over his face.

‘You should come with us,’ she says.

‘No!’

‘You need some exercise!’ she says, patting his belly.

‘Right. Sod off, Patel. Go on, buggering bugger off away from me, and I hope a shark bites you.’

‘She’d bite the shark,’ Ben mutters, walking past him.

‘She probably would,’ the doctor grumbles, while peering from under his hat to watch the others all striding out to dive into the sea. Bertie with them. Happy with the company and a chance to splash about and lose some energy.

He closes his eyes. Drifting off in the pleasant heat. A quick snooze. A gentle snore.

‘We’re heading into Lambeth for breakfast,’ Miri says after what seems like thirty seconds as he lifts his head to see them all traipsing back to the portal.

‘Understood,’ he says, swinging off the hammock. ‘I’ll come and watch Ria.’

* * *

A quick change, and the good doctor heads through the portal to the bunker to the rest all clothed and gathered in the deployment room. All bickering and joshing about as ever before.

‘All set?’ Miri asks, earning nods and murmurs. ‘We’re on a day off, but we will remain alert at all times. Doctor Watson is remaining here to watch Ria, and Bertie is secure on the island. As for command on the ground-.’

‘I’m team leader!’ Safa announces before striding through the activated second portal.

A roll of her eyes. A tut given, and Miri follows behind, with another transition from a bunker in dinosaur times to Lambeth-not-Lambeth in London, 2111. Or to be precise, the location where Lambeth once was.

The end of a dog-legged alley that feeds into the main thoroughfare. Safa goes first because, you know, Safa Patel will always go first, and she strides out into the vibrant, bustling town centre of a place in the future.

Personal drones hovering over the heads of shoppers. Taking their bags and groceries. Delivery drones whizzing by at speed. All of them controlled by AI systems that keep them within their lanes.

Stalls and stores line the street. Music blasting out. Synth pop. Hard rock. Electronica and old blues.

People everywhere. Muscular men with breasts. Women with beards. The gender roles of the future more fluid and mixed. Everyone in make-up. Thick and garish. Heavy and black around the eyes.

Holo signs flashing in the air. 3D videos. Adverts for shoes. For food. For the same things sold by the same corporations that exist in all times.

Hawkers and traders calling out. Selling their wares in the same way that has been done since barter and trade was invented.

A bustling place. A lively place. That’s what makes it so good. Because it’s busy and packed, and so they don’t stand out.

A side street taken. A café ahead of them. A lean man smiling when he spots them.

‘AFFAS!’ he yells in a broad London voice. ‘You’re back again, eh? Who loves my coffee? You love my coffee!’ Jerry shouts. ‘Ere, Oleg. They came back, they did.’

Oleg comes out. Seven feet tall and broad with it. A man mountain in chef’s clothes that lifts a thick arm in greeting before lumbering back inside.

‘At least we know what Affa means now,’ Ben says, earning a glance from Miri.

Mother changed history. She changed the timeline.

She sent Alpha and his team to kill a Roman patrol near Hadrian’s Wall. One Roman soldier survived. He heard the name Alpha. He mistook it for Affa. He told his tale when he was found, and word spread. It became a thing that lasted for millennia. A word used in many different ways. A noun. A verb. An adjective.

Mother did that.

She changed time to tell Miri she’s still after her. A message sent. A statement made. The game is still active. Still happening. It’s not over.

Mother dropped a nuke on London in 1945, but now, the world isn’t over, but the world was over in 2111 in the timeline when that nuke wasn’t dropped on London.

How does that fix it?

Is it a temporary fix?

Is it part of a bigger plan to get at Miri? To get at Bertie.

The game is still active. Still happening. It’s not over.

Not by a long shot.

‘Jesus,’ Ben says, staring up to the clouds above them. The clouds so full and low, it’s like they could reach up and touch them. ‘Where the hell did they come from?’

Miri looks up too. Not getting it. Not grasping it. Weather patterns can vary unexpectantly in any part of the world at any time, but not this quickly. Not like this.

‘This isn’t right,’ Harry says, and from all of them, that means something because Harry fought through Africa and Europe in World War Two, and if Harry shows surprise, then whatever it is warrants that surprise.

‘Is that snow?’ Emily asks, holding a hand out as the first flake lands in her warm hand. Melting instantly as they look up to more falling.

More and more falling heavy and fat.

Floating. Drifting. Dropping.

Falling faster until there is nothing but white in all directions.

All else gone from view.

Only them standing together within the walls of white caused by the thick snow falling on all sides.

‘Stay close. Stand ready,’ Miri orders, and as one, they draw their sidearms, because as Mad Harry Madden just said - this really isn’t right.

4

A cold winter morning. Pre-dawn. The night sky still dark and laden with clouds so low Bear feels he could jump up and touch them.

Not that the clouds are real. Or anything else here for that matter. Not the road he runs on, or the corner he takes that leads him into Main Street. Not the stores and shops, now empty and dark.

He runs to the edge of town, to where the road simply stops and becomes a track that winds away to the towering pine trees that look so dark and foreboding.

Not that they are real.

Nor is the sign at the edge of the road. The one he woke up underneath after he was taken from a life he will never remember.

Welcome to Discovery

Bright yellow lettering over a sky-blue top half and a grass-green lower half. It’s a big sign too, and retro in an old Americana kind of way.

It’s all a construct. A virtual reality as it were.

But it’s real to him, and to the other people that live in the town called Discovery. The shop owners. The clerks. The cooks and cleaners. The staff in the planning offices. The time travellers that undertake missions to tweak the golden lines of humanity in the Real Life Incursions sent down from the Old Lady.

The tweaks and changes that will all somehow prevent the end of humanity.

It sounds so grand when Bear thinks of it like that, whereas the reality is those time travellers stop people from being run over or shot in wars, or they make sure people do get run over or shot in wars. Or they stop people choking on food in restaurants. Or they arrange meetings and then disrupt other meetings.

Small things.

Tiny things.

No great shakes.

But they add up, and so they do them while living lives that have become normal to them, in a town that doesn’t exist, but which has become their home.

It’s confusing. But then, life is confusing, and the real truth is Bear doesn’t overthink it. He just does what needs to be done.

He finally reaches his own tiny hobbit home to enjoy Discovery tea and toast made from his Discovery issue kettle and toaster – which, he determines, makes the best tea and toast in the whole world ever.

Bear knows this because he has tried tea and toast in lots of places now and in lots of time zones, and the only place that ever came close to matching the perfection of Discovery tea and toast was a little café on a hill on the Isle of Wight in Victorian England. It was a dump. Everyone had bad teeth and stank, and the streets outside were caked in mud and shit.

They had to wait for a woman to come in. A street prostitute that gave comfort for money. Zara said she was meant to get the ferry steamer and train to London where she’d become Jack the Ripper’s sixth victim. Thomas got her talking and kept her and everyone else distracted - which is his skill, while Bear slipped a laxative into her tea. A laxative so strong it would prevent her working that night. Which, in turn, saved her life, and it was while they were waiting that they partook in the tea and toast. Not that they normally ate in places in olden times, such is the fear of dirty food and dirty water, and unwashed hands. But they were hungry, and Zara had them on back-to-back RLI’s, trying to break the backlog of missions. It was gruelling, and so they snatched a quick bite and discovered the best tea and toast outside of Discovery.

He pauses mid-munch and tries to think of a joke about discovering something outside of their town called Discovery, but his mind doesn’t work like that. Thomas would have made a joke within a split-second. Then, Zara would call Thomas a twat, and Bear would smile at the interplay between them before being sent somewhere to beat someone up.

Not that Bear is a henchman.

He pauses mid-munch again and tries to decide if he is, indeed, just a henchman, then heads off for a shower, but rushes back for another round because, honestly, Discovery tea and toast are the best in the world.

Even if the world isn’t real.

Whatever.

* * *

‘Right, you both, ready?’ Zara asks as Bear and Thomas crowd into her office. ‘First RLI is Susan Haddlington who gets mugged in a London alleyway on her way to her first date with a man called Roland Cavendish. The mission is to stop the mugging and make sure she gets to Roland, then get straight back because we’ve got a whole lot more to do.’

‘Yes, ma’am. In and out then, good buddy,’ he says to Bear. ‘You get to be a henchman again, huh? Excited or what?’

Bear frowns. ‘I’m not just a henchman though, am I?’ he asks as Zara looks up and shares a quick look with Thomas.

‘Noooo,’ Zara says as if that could never be the case. ‘Definitely not a henchman.’

‘Dude. You’re so not a henchman,’ Thomas says.

‘Okay,’ Bear says.

‘You’re a henchperson,’ Zara adds with a quick smile. ‘Now, stop being sexist and go, and beat some robbers up before all my female staff start swooning again. And some of the guys too,’ she adds with an eye-roll to the guys and girls in the offices smiling and waving at Bear as they walk past the cubicle. ‘Room three.’

‘But I don’t want to be just a henchman,’ Bear says as Thomas pushes him towards deployment room three.

‘You’re not, dude. Zara just said, you’re a henchperson.’

‘That’s the same bloody thing,’ Bear says as they wait for the light to turn green before pushing through the door, into the room, and across to the other door set in the wall at the far side.

The one that should open into thin air but, instead, opens into an alley strewn with litter and graffiti covered wheelie bins. Cans of lager. Used needles. Old rags and fat rats.

Modern day London, and they step out onto a main road deep within the city to the rumble and stench of diesel buses, and the soft whir of electric taxis. People everywhere. A warm autumn day. A stark contrast to the mid-winter weather back in Discovery.

‘Man, you know what this is, right?’ Thomas asks as they set off. ‘This is an existential crisis right here.’

‘What?’

‘I’m telling you. You’re on a process of self-determination. I read it in this book. How To Be Your Own Star. Seriously cool stuff.’

‘Oh,’ Bear says, not having considered that he might be either having an existential crisis or be in a process of self-determination. ‘What do I do then?’

‘It said you have to oppose the true nature of yourself in order to commence the change you want to see. You have to deny the natural urges, and only then, can you become the person you seek to be. Hey, we’re here,’ Thomas says, rushing across the busy road to a few horns as he finds the opening for the narrow side street. ‘Okay. Susan Haddlington comes through here in exactly five minutes. The brief said the gang were waiting for her. Which, I am guessing, is that group right there,’ he adds, motioning to a group of four young men in dark clothes with hoods up.

‘Okay,’ Bear says with a nod to himself, then another to Thomas. ‘Deny my natural urges. I have to be the change I want to see.’

‘What the fuck! Bear, dude. I didn’t mean now!’

‘It’s fine. I’ll do what you do and talk to them.’

‘Aw, hell,’ Thomas says with a groan as Bear strides off.

‘Hello, chaps!’ Bear calls in a jaunty tone which, coming from a hulking great bloke that looks like a henchman, doesn’t imbue a sense of warm greeting.

‘The fuck,’ the first feral young man mutters. ‘You got no biz here, fam. Jog on, innit.’

‘And I have no idea what you just said, but hi, I’m Bear,’ Bear says as he pushes his hand out with the full expectation that they’ll shake it. Because, you know, people normally do what Bear tells them to do. Except, he’s not actually telling them to do anything, so the dynamics are all skewed.

‘You a fucking nonce?’ one of the others asks.

‘Eh?’ Bear asks.

‘Dude,’ Thomas groans.

‘You’s in the wrong alley for a nosh,’ another feral lad says, then adds another tooth suck and spit for good measure.

‘Right,’ Bear says, feeling a bit stupid with his hand held out. ‘Anyway. So. Er, in order to change, you have to be the star you want to see.’

‘Be the change you want to be,’ Thomas says, shaking his head.

‘Be the change you want to be,’ Bear announces with a grin.

‘Ah, fuck. He’s a church cunt,’ one of the lads says.

‘You’s like fingering little boys then, bro?’ another asks as they start sniggering.

‘Eh? What? No! I’m trying to help you be the star in the sea.’

‘What?’ the first youth asks with a scowl, then another tooth suck, then another spit to the side, all of which Bear finds most disgruntling and somewhat unpleasant too.

‘No, right. Listen,’ Bear says. ‘I’m trying to deny my natural urges.’

‘He is!’ another laughs. ‘He’s lookin’ for a nosh off. Back it up, bro! Ain’t no action down here.’

‘Okay, no, listen. I’m not a paedophile, and I’m not into men either.’

‘Yo, what’s up with being queer?’ the first one asks. ‘I’m queer, bro.’

‘Eh? What?’

‘You dissin’ me for liking cock?’

‘What!?’

‘That’s homophobic, bro,’ another says.

‘Yo, fuck you, innit,’ the first one says with another tooth suck and spit. ‘Go deny yourself some other place, you fuckin’ freak.’

‘Not me! You.’

‘Me what, bro?’

‘You need to deny yourself.’

‘You’s saying I need to deny being gay? You church cunts think being gay is evil or summit?’

‘Right. Listen,’ Bear says with a harder tone, then a twitch as all four of them tooth suck and spit at the same time. ‘I’m just saying that you need to deny your urges to see the star.’

‘What star?’ the first one asks with a sneer.

‘He means the bumhole, innit,’ another says.

‘What?’ Bear asks as Thomas blinks.

‘Chocolate starfish, bro,’ the lad says, nudging the first one. ‘He’s dissin’ you, innit. He’s saying you can’t poke no more bumholes.’

‘You’s fuckin’ dissin’ me?’

‘What the fuck?’ Bear says, then winces once more to a chorus of tooth sucks and spits. ‘Please stop doing that.’

‘You stop doing it,’ one of them fires back.

‘I didn’t do it! Okay. Right. Stop spitting and stop robbing people. That’s what I meant.’

‘We ain’t robbing no people,’ the first one says with an indignant flap of his arms.

‘You’s stereotyping,’ another says, nudging the first one again.

‘You’s a racist,’ one of the white lads says. ‘Black lives matter,’ he adds with a chest thump before pushing his fist into the air.

‘You’re white!’ Bear tells him.

‘I got Vitiligo,’ the lad fires back while holding up two black hands covered in white spots. ‘He’s a racist.’

‘I’m not fucking racist! Zara’s black, and she’s my friend.’

‘Don’t bring that trope down here, fam,’ the first one says with an even longer tooth suck of disgust.

‘I’m not being racist!’

‘You said we’s rob people.’

‘You do! You rob the lady.’

‘What lady? There ain’t no lady,’ the first one shouts as they make a play of looking around to an otherwise empty alley.

‘Where’s the lady?’ Bear asks, glancing at Thomas.

‘She should be here,’ Thomas says with a shrug as he checks his watch.

‘Yo, bro. What’s that then?’ the first one asks as all four lads stare at Thomas.

‘What?’ Thomas asks.

‘The watch. Is that an Omega?’

‘Er, yeah,’ Thomas says to another chorus of tooth sucks, albeit these being appreciative rather than disgusted.

‘Bro, that’s a Speedmaster,’ another says with an awed nod. ‘This boy is packin’ class!’

‘Thanks,’ Thomas says. ‘I appreciate that. You’ve got a good eye, and hey, listen, my buddy didn’t mean any offence.’

‘Yeah, sure,’ the first one says to a second’s worth of silence before the four lads pull their hands from their pockets to show the knives they are holding. ‘Gissit then,’ he adds.

‘I thought you weren’t robbers,’ Bear says as Susan Haddlington steps into the alley before turning quickly away, which is also at the same time as the four feral lads all suck teeth and spit in one final chorus of flying saliva.

* * *

‘Done?’ Zara asks a few minutes later, looking up from her desk. ‘Muggers all sorted?’

‘Bear gave into his natural urges,’ Thomas says as Zara looks at Bear looming in the doorway.

‘I’m assuming you mean he beat them up.’

‘I don’t just beat people up,’ Bear says.

‘You did a good job of it just now, dude,’ Thomas says. ‘Say bumhole again you wanker… I dare you,’ he mimics in a deep British voice.

‘Whatever,’ Bear says, sticking a middle finger up. ‘I need some tea and toast.’

‘Tea and toast later,’ Zara says, opening a dossier. ‘Ready for the next one?’

‘I don’t know. How’s the urges, buddy?’ Thomas asks.

‘What’s this about urges?’ Zara asks.

‘Bear’s having an existential crisis.’

‘I need to see the change in the sea,’ Bear says as Zara nods slowly.

‘Okayyyy. Well. Perhaps a quick trip to the nice southern England county town of Boroughfare will help with that.’

‘Is it near the sea?’ Bear asks.

‘Nope.’

‘Dude. There is no sea,’ Thomas says.

‘How can I change without any sea?’

‘Guys. I’m busy. Go to Boroughfare. A guy called Howie is walking home from his shift at Tesco. He gets beat up by some guys on a stag party. Stop that from happening,’ she adds, holding the briefing sheet out to Thomas.

‘How many?’ Bear asks glumly.

‘Six,’ Thomas says with a frown. ‘This flagged as priority,’ he adds, holding the sheet up for Zara to see.

‘And?’ she asks. ‘Ours is not to reason why. Ours is to just send Bear in to beat people up. Joke! That was a joke,’ she adds to Bear’s glum expression. ‘Bless. Go and do this one, then you can break for tea and toast.’

‘Okay,’ Bear says, not wanting to be pacified so easily with such a cheap offering, while also being inwardly very excited at the prospect of an early break for tea and toast. ‘Can we go to that Victorian café?’

‘God, no. Not a chance. And it burnt down the day after that anyway,’ Zara says.

‘We could go the day before,’ Bear suggests hopefully.

‘Dude. What do you not grasp about time travel?’ Thomas asks. ‘We go before, and they’ll recognise us when we go the first time.’

‘Right,’ Bear says with a thoughtful nod. ‘Yeah, it confuses the hell out of me. Shame though. Best tea and toast outside of Discovery,’ he adds with a grin to Thomas.

‘Why are you staring at me again?’

‘Nothing,’ Bear says with a sigh. ‘Whatever. Let’s go and talk some drunk blokes into not beating a guy called Howie up.’

‘Don’t talk to them,’ Zara says with a scoff as she ushers them back to their deployment room. ‘It’ll take longer, and you’ll miss out on tea and toast. Your room is live. Good luck!’

* * *

Boroughfare.

Southern England.

Friday night. An unseasonably hot summer. The air sultry and humid. The town packed with drinkers and party goers.

A lone guy walking along the pavement. Curly black hair. Dark eyes. Hands in pockets. Genial and mild-mannered. A tie pulled down from his neck. A Tesco name badge on his shirt that reads as Howie.

‘That’s our guy,’ Thomas says quietly a moment later when they turn around to follow Howie through the town centre.

‘So how does it burn down then?’ Bear asks.

‘What?’

‘The café.’

‘Dude. Forget the café.’

‘I’m just saying maybe we could stop it burning down.’

‘Hey. Great idea. The Old Lady’ll love that when Sheriff Lars drags us down to her house. And please tell me why you have disrupted the whole timeline of humanity for some goddam tea and toast?’

‘She doesn’t sound like that,’ Bear says.

‘Whatever. It burns down. Period. Hey, I think our guy’s getting a pizza.’

‘Good for him. Maybe his favourite pizza place burns down, and he stops beating people up.’

‘He works for Tesco. I don’t think he beats people up.’

‘Whatever. The point is, he can’t eat any more meat feast pizzas, and he gets depressed and decides not to do whatever he’s meant to do, and then, what happens? Hmm? Whole timeline messes up.’

‘Or maybe the Old Lady has another plan for him. Maybe the dude saves the world or something.’

‘Right,’ Bear says, slowly looking from Howie in the pizza shop back to Thomas. ‘He doesn’t really look like the world saving type.’

‘Neither did you when you fell out of the sky.’

Bear shrugs and sighs again while thinking of ways to stop a certain café from burning down.

‘There,’ Thomas says quickly, nodding at a group of men walking along the road. Big lads. Tattoos on necks and hands. Thick arms and loud voices. They barge through another smaller group, sneering and laughing at people spilling drinks as they shout abuse and stick fingers up. ‘Yep, that’s our guys.’

‘Will you try and talk to them,’ Bear says as Howie comes out of the pizza place and sets off just ahead of the guys all jeering and calling out for him to share his food.

‘Sheesh. Man, what is with you today?’ Thomas asks before realising that he isn’t the one that has to do the fighting. His job is to get the mission done. To think laterally and talk fast when it’s needed. Damn. Maybe they have got lazy and reverted to the easiest solution of just letting Bear beat people up. ‘Okay. But if we miss tea and toast, then don’t moan at me. Deal?’

‘Shit. I forgot about tea and toast,’ Bear says, rushing off. ‘Oi, fuckheads,’ he calls as Thomas double takes and watches the men spin about, and there it is, mission complete because the six drunk guys have already forgotten about Howie and his pizza.

It doesn’t go well for them. It never does. The two sides merge, and the first one takes a swing. After that, Bear is doing what Bear does. He blocks the first punch, pivots, and sends a fist into the guy’s temple, dropping him instantly.

The rest swarm to give Bear a kicking.

Except, Bear doesn’t get a kicking. He dodges back from the rush, letting them come on to gain space before simply running in to lash out with a barrage of hits. Slamming his fists into stomachs. Into ribs. Into jaws and knees. Into elbows, and the air fills with yells and screams. With yelps of pain, and grunts of manliness being withered away.

It takes less than a minute, but then, Bear is in a hurry.

‘Right. Tea and toast,’ Bear says, striding back to Thomas. ‘And maybe Zara will know of a way we can stop the café burning down.’

‘Dude!’

‘We can at least ask,’ Bear says as they walk back towards their deployment location. Turning into an alley as a man runs along the middle of the road. Screeching like an animal, with blood on his mouth, and his eyes red and weird. Bear and Thomas pause to look, before sharing a shrug and walking on. Too well-versed and too well-experienced to get sucked into anything else that might be going on.

Besides. They have tea and toast.

They head for the alley. For the door at the end that will take them back to a town called Discovery.

A sudden chill. A sudden drop in temperature.

‘Dude. You feel that?’ Thomas asks. ‘What the hell?’ he glances up and blanches at the low clouds filling the sky. It’s a hot summer night. There shouldn’t be clouds like that.

‘What the fuck?’ Bear asks, holding his hand out to catch a falling snowflake that melts on his warm skin, but more follow. More and more falling heavy and fat.

Floating. Drifting. Dropping.

Falling faster until there is nothing but white in all directions, and all else gone from view.

5

GCHQ

London

2062

Mother knows there is someone behind her.

She did a sweep this morning when she first came in and checked both her office and her small adjoining bathroom. There was nobody here, and this is GCHQ. One of the most secure buildings in the world, and definitely not a place someone can appear.

However, you don’t become Mother without learning to sense when you are being watched, and without a sound being made, she stills knows there is someone behind her.

She lifts her eyes from the muddy waters of the River Thames flowing by and glances to the hologram projection casting a giant 3D image of Tango Two sticking her middle finger up to the satellites in the sky during the assault on Cavendish Manor. A projection created in protest from a holocube dropped by someone passing by outside. They happen daily now, and not just here but all over the world. The symbol for defiance. The symbol for freedom.

The assault on Cavendish Manor was only a few months ago, and it was meant to be covert. But you don’t send helicopter gunships and squads of soldiers to attack a house in leafy suburban Hampshire without getting noticed.

The whole world saw it.

They saw Tango Two working with Maggie fucking Sanderson, Ben Ryder, Safa Patel and Mad Harry Madden take on an army and win. And they did that to save a young man called Bertie.

The man that invented time travel.

Mother had found out where he was. She went for him.

Unfortunately, so did Maggie, and she used her advantage to make sure Mother lost.

Now, Mother is counting down the days until Roger Downtree takes over the helm to lead the British Secret Services.

But while that’s all very interesting and still so very fresh in Mother’s memory, it doesn’t explain how the hell someone has gained access to her office and is currently staring at her back without making a sound.

One thing is for certain though.

It’s not Maggie Sanderson.

Mother knows that because the device Maggie uses to create the portal emits a shining blue light, and Mother can see no such reflection coming from the windows in front of her.

She quickly calculates if it could be herself appearing from the future, but she wouldn’t creep up on herself like this because any version of herself would know about the pistol in a holster strapped to the underside of her desk.

So, if it isn’t Maggie or herself, then who is it?

‘Do I know you?’ she asks in a cold tone while denying the urge to look and thereby retaining at least some element of authority.

‘You do not’.

Male. Deep. Mid-thirties to mid-forties. Masculine, yet cultured. A hint of humour. Dry humour.

‘Then, what the hell are you doing in my office?’ she asks before finally turning, and even then, she adopts an air of annoyance to buy time as she takes the two steps back to her desk. Lowering into her seat. Exhaling irritably. Reaching for the pistol.

‘There’s no need for the Glock,’ the man says as her fingers brush the butt of the pistol. ‘I’m not a threat.’

‘Everything is a threat,’ she replies, sliding the gun out anyway. Lifting her hand to let him see it.

He steps in closer, peering over the desk to view the gun with a look of interest before sitting down, and smiling like a wolf.

Intelligent. Hungry. Dangerous. Cold, blue eyes, but handsome and rugged. ‘My name is Robert. I’m from a town called Freedom. You don’t know it because it doesn’t exist. Not in your reality anyway, but then, in my reality Glocks don’t have safety switches. They have trigger blocks, and we had a Queen during the Great War, whereas I believe you had a king?’

‘King George,’ Mother says.

‘Amazing, isn’t it. That you can change something as important as a monarch, but the same war still happens, not only that, but the course of events within the timeline remain mostly the same too. Time is funny like that. It’s like it wants to maintain a steady course. Take your Affa for instance. Which you haven’t done yet. That creates a rather large ripple effect across the whole world, but the same events in history still take place mostly as they should.’

He pauses and looks around the room while she waits in silence. The gun still levelled at his midsection. Ready for a double tap.

‘The Old Man said you’d be like this,’ he remarks casually. ‘And he said don’t mess about, or she will put a round in you.’

‘You have five seconds,’ she says.

‘Time travel exists,’ he says abruptly.

‘Four.’

‘It was invented by a young man called Bertram Cavendish.’

‘Three.’

‘Maggie Sanderson then intervened and yadda, yadda, yadda, you know the rest. Cavendish Manor. Gunships. She won. You lost. You’re a disgrace and a shambolic embarrassment who is about to be replaced.’

‘Two.’

He lifts a finger, pausing the pressure she’s applying to the trigger while knowing that professionals don’t reach one before they fire on a countdown. ‘But what they don’t know about is the bunker you’re building under your house. Or the scrap of paper you found in the ruins of Cavendish Manor that is enabling you to create your own time machine within that bunker. Or your plans to round up your crack squad of operatives led by Alpha, or that you’ll tell them Maggie Sanderson and her group are terrorists. Or your plans to stage a murderous rampage to give them the motivation to drop the nuke on London. The one you steal from the Americans and give to the Nazis in 1945, which is all done so you can get Kate into Maggie’s team.’

Mother watches him closely with her attention held rapt, because she’s never discussed these plans with anyone. Not the idea for the nuke to lure Maggie out, and she certainly never said anything about using her own daughter as a double agent.

‘Does it work?’ she asks.

‘I wouldn’t be here if it did. And I mean that both literally and figuratively.’

‘But you are from the future.’

‘Not quite, no, and trust me, I would make a pigs ear of trying to explain it. Needless to say, we are currently enjoying a temporal disturbance courtesy of the Old Man that is allowing us passage between our worlds.’

‘Who is-.’

‘He’s an AI. As I said. It’s very complicated, and our window won’t last for long.’

‘Window?’

‘To help you.’

‘Help me with what?’

‘To help you kill Maggie Sanderson and her team, and in return, you’ll help me capture Bertram Cavendish because once we have him, we have the beginning, and he who controls the beginning, controls the game.’

He falls silent and looks past her to the window, prompting Mother to do the same with a rare outward of surprise at the sight that makes her rise from her desk to stare out at the world. A world, that a few moments ago, was a warm, sunny day.

Now, it isn’t.

Now, the clouds hang so low she feels she could open the window and touch them, but that’s not the thing that catches her attention.

It’s the snow falling heavy and fat.

Floating. Drifting. Dropping.

Falling faster until there is nothing but white in all directions.

Motion from behind as Robert rises from the chair to stand next to her. ‘Do we have a deal?’ he asks.

She stays silent. Thinking. Planning. Scheming. Trying to see all the angles.

‘We get Bertie. You get Maggie, and you get to keep your job,’ he says.

‘I don’t want this job.’

‘Any job you want then,’ he says with a shrug. ‘You could even come into Freedom. The Old Man would love to have you,’ he pauses to lean in and whisper. ‘It’s where we live in-between travelling into time to stop idiots like Maggie Sanderson from playing gods. We just want Bertie.’

She snorts in response. Shaking her head. ‘You won’t get anywhere near him. I tried it, remember. And I had gunships.’

‘You also had a time machine and a nuke,’ he adds to an icy glare.

‘Your point is made,’ she states.

‘My point is that trying to fight past Safa Patel, Harry Madden, Ben Ryder and Emily Rose while they are being led by Maggie Sanderson is beyond anyone. Which is why they were extracted in the first place. They’re like Bear and bloody Roshi. They’re made for this.’

Something in his voice. Bitterness. Anger. A flash of the same thing she feels when she thinks about Maggie.

‘I tried to fight them, and I failed. Jesus. I had an army in the trenches and sent scores into Discovery, and it still wasn’t enough. So, yes, I get it. Even with vastly superior forces we still can’t kill them.’

Another pause.

‘That’s the key, apparently,’ Robert adds, motioning to the snow outside. ‘The Old Man has worked it out. We know where to strike. We know where to find Bertie.’

‘You touch Bertie, and Maggie will unleash hell. The man invented time travel. She will never let him get taken.’

‘Young Bertram invents a whole lot more than time travel’ Robert says quietly before turning to look at Mother. ‘And that’s exactly what we want. We want them all to come, because a couple of gunships is nothing compared to what we’ll have waiting for them. So let me ask you again, are you in or out?’

6

Another fight. Another battle. Another bumfucknowhere town that looks the same as everywhere else. Parking bays to the side of the High Street running through the centre. Stores and shops bordering both sides. The same names adorning the brightly coloured strips of plastic above the once gleaming plate glass windows.

Mind you, those plate glass windows aren’t so gleaming now. Not after a few weeks of this Shitty McShit, and especially not after our merry band of freedom fighters have been flinging bullets all over the place, or bodies in the case of Clarence.

Another one runs at me. A male with a snarling mouth and red, bloodshot eyes. A receding hairline. A paunch about his midsection. Narrow shoulders and thin arms. In life he would have been passive and calm. An office worker maybe. An accountant. Something like that. Not violent. Not physical. Now, he is. Now, he’s pumped full of chemicals that give him the sort of speed and strength an Olympic athlete would have sacrificed a toe for. Unless, you know, they needed the toe for running or maybe the high jump. I bet high jumpers need all of their toes.

‘Pole vaulting,’ Dave says as his knife spins past my nose on its way to poking someone in the eye.

‘Stop reading my head thoughts, Dave.’

‘Okay, Mr Howie,’ he says while plucking his knife out of the woman’s eye who gargles for a bit before falling over.

‘Hopscotch,’ Cookey says just before he takes someone’s head off with his axe. ‘They’d need all their toes for hopscotch.’

‘I think Mr Howie was specifically referring to Olympic sports,’ Charlie says.

‘Yeah, I know,’ Cookey says. ‘That’s why I said hopscotch.’

‘I’m not an expert or anything,’ Marcy says, strolling over as the battle draws to a close, ‘but I really don’t think hopscotch is an Olympic sport.’

‘It is,’ Cookey says.

‘Dude, it seriously isn’t,’ Nick calls over as we all turn to see the Saxon reversing at speed until it comes to a stop, and Tappy drops out with Meredith.

‘What’s everyone looking at Cookey for?’

‘Cos he’s a fuckwit, that’s why,’ Blowers says.

‘We were discussing what Olympic sports you’d need all your toes for,’ Marcy explains.

‘Er, we were not discussing anything. I was thinking about it. In my head. With my head thoughts,’ I say as everyone glances at me, then goes back to looking at Marcy.

‘And Cookey said hopscotch,’ Marcy continues.

‘Hopscotch?’ Tappy asks.

‘Fuck me! Yes. Hopscotch,’ Cookey says before finding a bit of space and holding a hand up to get our attention. He runs and jumps to one foot, then to his other foot before landing with both feet while looking pleased as punch with himself.

‘That’s the triple jump, you twat,’ Blowers shouts out as everyone else starts laughing.

A metallic bang sounds out as the sliding door on Roy’s armoured van pops open, with Reginald jumping down to walk gingerly over the fallen bodies, ‘Well done everyone! We were all very brave.’

‘And how were you brave in your van with your fly-swatter?’ Marcy asks with an arched eyebrow.

‘I was as brave as you were, my dear, in that doorway filing your nails.’

‘Boom! Mic drop,’ Cookey calls out as we all grin at Marcy being caught out, but she just flicks a middle finger up and points at the nail.

‘I had a chip. Fuck you.’

‘I miss chips,’ Nick says, rubbing his belly.

‘All covered in salt and vinegar,’ Blowers adds with a groan.

‘From the bag,’ Tappy adds with an earnest nod.

‘Oh, the little paper bag,’ Nick says with a sigh. ‘When it gets all wet from the oil and vinegar…’

‘And you get the little, crispy ones at the bottom,’ Tappy says.

‘Blowers likes little ones in the bottom,’ Cookey says.

‘But they’ve got to be chip shop chips,’ Nick announces as nearly everyone else murmurs in sudden and fierce agreement.

‘Actually. McDonald’s do nice chips,’ Paula says.

‘They’re not chips,’ Clarence says, adding his deep voice to the conversation. ‘They’re fries.’

‘They’re the same thing,’ Paula says.

‘Paula!’ Marcy says, giving her shocked look. ‘Just take a shit on the ground, why don’t you.’

‘Oh, sod off,’ she says with a huff. ‘Chips and fries are the same thing. Strips of deep-fried potato served with salt… And sometimes vinegar. Or ketchup. Or any other sauce of your choice.’

‘Wow,’ I say, looking at her. ‘Anyone would think that was an explanation for an international audience.’

‘I know, right,’ she says, nodding at me. ‘Like we are, but players within a story.’

‘Our story would have a cool start though,’ I say. ‘Like… Like… Oh, I know. Ahem.

My name is Howie. I was named after my father Howard, but it became too confusing to have two Howards, so I became Howie. I’m twenty-seven years old, and before some dumbshit twat unleashed the zombie virus on the planet, I was a night manager in a supermarket. Jesus. That was only a month ago. Feels way longer. Anyway. Where was I?

Ah, yeah, so, I used to be a manager in Tesco, which is kind of like the British Walmart.’

‘International audience,’ Paula says, lifting a finger up.

‘But now, I lead a ragtag bunch of misfits and fight the evil zombie forces of evilness.’

‘Er? Excuse me? Who are you calling a misfit?’ Marcy asks.

‘And we have been over this, Mr Howie. Several times in fact,’ Reginald calls. ‘They’re not zombies. These are hosts infected with a hive mind parasitic virus.’

‘I don’t like the Z word,’ Clarence says.

‘Sod moaning about calling them zombies,’ Marcy says. ‘Who are you calling a misfit? Do I look like a misfit?’

We’re all bloody misfits, I think to myself.

‘I am not a misfit!’ she snaps.

‘Argh! Stop reading my head thoughts,’ I say with the fierce scowl of a hardened warrior.

‘With the scowl of a constipated twat, more like,’ Marcy says as to a few sniggers.

‘And if you don’t want us reading your head thoughts, then stop bloody broadcasting them,’ Paula adds helpfully and also somewhat bossily.

‘I don’t think bossily is a word,’ Clarence says.

‘Bossily is a word,’ I tell him.

‘Isn’t.’

‘Is.’

We share a look of narrowed eyes, then both turn to look at Charlie clip-clopping past on Jess, popping zombie heads with her big horsey feet.

‘Bossily is a word,’ Charlie says politely. Mixed race and highly educated. She was the under 21 England hockey team captain. Now, she rides Jess and settles intellectual arguments – in between killing the zombies and translating for Reginald when he gets too smart.

‘They are not zombies,’ Reginald says again.

‘I really don’t like that word,’ Clarence rumbles.

‘And I am not a misfit,’ Marcy says.

‘We’re all bloody misfits,’ Paula says.

‘I’m not!’ Marcy says as they too share a look of narrowed eyes before doing what everyone else does and turning to look at Charlie.

‘I’m not settling this one,’ she says quickly.

‘Ha!’ both Marcy and Paula say at the same time.

‘Although,’ Charlie says thoughtfully as Jess pops another head. ‘After consideration, I would actually suggest we are all a bit misfitish.’

‘Misfitish is definitely not a word,’ Clarence says.

‘It should be,’ Blowers says.

‘Fact,’ Cookey says.

‘Motion raised,’ I say with a look around.

‘Motion passed,’ Clarence adds a second later.

‘Misfitish is now a word,’ I declare. ‘Reginald. Add misfitish to our list of new words.’

‘I shall get right on it,’ Reginald says with a distinct lack of looking like he’s about to get on anything.

‘Anyway. Stop interrupting,’ Paula says. ‘Charlie’s explaining how we’re all misfits.’

‘Ah. Now. I said misfitish,’ Charlie says. ‘Which, I am reliably informed, is now a recognised word. But, yes. One could perceive that we are somewhat misfitish. I mean. None of us are entirely normal, are we. Danny wakes up with an erection the size of a tent pole every morning but can run nearly as fast the dog.’

‘Fact, bro!’ Mo says, high-fiving Danny.

‘And Mo is a sixteen-year-old ragamuffin nearly as skilled at killing as Dave.’

‘Ragamuffin? Are we in a Dickens novel?’ I ask.

‘I was being polite,’ Charlie says. ‘I didn’t want to say feral street rat.’

‘I like muffins,’ Nick says. ‘Have we got muffins?’

‘And Nick eats like a pig but just gets better looking every day,’ Charlie continues. ‘And his ex-girlfriend turned gay and kicked us out of our own fort, and now, hates us, which was just before he got with Tappy who can drive the Saxon like it’s alive, and who also makes awesome playlists. Cookey can make the dead laugh. Sergeant Blowers only has one eye and nine fingers, and none of us are entirely sure if he can actually be killed. Maddox was a drug dealer that can speak French and quote poetry, and Clarence can throw people like they’re twigs. Dave is an autistic Special Forces killer assassin that can’t read social situations but can count the number of zombies in a horde with a single glance.’

‘They’re not zombies,’ Reginald mutters.

‘One hundred and sixty-five,’ Dave says as we all turn to look at him before a very old infected woman drops from a top floor window to splat on the ground below. ‘One hundred and sixty-six,’ he adds.

‘Paula is obsessed with lists,’ Charlie continues as Paula freezes mid list-writing. ‘Marcy is stunning but is also incredibly vain in addition to being the zombie grand master that infected Reginald, who probably has the highest IQ this planet has ever known. Which is a by-product of the virus we’re all infected with, which was a tweaked version of the zombie virus, which itself is a tweaked version of the Panacea that was released to cull the population. Oh, and Roy is a hypochondriac who can shoot arrows faster than most of us can shoot guns,’ she adds as we all turn to look at Roy twisting his upper body side to side.

‘I think something’s wrong with my spine,’ he says with a worried look as we all turn back at Charlie.

‘We also have a psychotic horse that likes popping skulls and a dog that likes chewing on dismembered members who we also sometimes connect with via the hive mind broadcast by Mr Howie, who is still the genial and mild-mannered night manager he was a month ago, in between being the rage-fuelled, dark overlord leader of the living army, which is the only known group left in the country and, possibly, the world that has any hope of saving humanity. So, yes. By that or any degree, I would suggest that, perhaps, we are all rather misfitish.’

She finishes off as Meredith tears an arm free from a body and runs about in a high-stepping tail wagging circle while growling at anyone daring to look at her.

And during which time, we all reflect on the sudden self-perception of all that we are and all that we have come to be during the first month of this brave, new world.

‘Aw, Charlie said I was stunning,’ Marcy says, having taken in the one thing she actually wanted to hear.

‘Hang on,’ I say in a voice several octaves too high. ‘I’m not a dark overlord.’

‘And I didn’t turn Lilly gay,’ Nick says as Dave’s pistol goes bang, and an infected falls from a doorway.

‘One hundred and sixty-seven,’ Dave says.

‘Well done, Charlie,’ Reginald says having picked a careful route through the mangled bodies. ‘An excellent summation of our characters.’

‘Thank you, Reginald,’ Charlie says.

‘Indeed. One could almost think we were in a book,’ he adds drily.

‘Like one of those specials,’ I say. ‘You know. Where a new reader might pick it up and be like who the fuck are this lot then?’

‘What, because they haven’t read the main series?’ Paula asks.

‘Yeah. Like that,’ I say.

‘They should just read the main series then,’ Blowers says.

‘Fact,’ Cookey adds. ‘The Amazing Adventures of Cookey in the Apocalypse. Also starring Simon Blowers, the one-eyed, nine-fingered, dismembered dick-collecting fuck-nugget.’

‘You normally say bum bandit,’ Blowers says.

‘Paula said it’s not PC,’ Cookey says. ‘She gave me a list of banned words during a HR meeting.’

‘I did,’ Paula says, giving Cookey a stern look. ‘And we’re not calling it that.’

‘The Adventures of Marcy,’ Marcy suggests. ‘Seriously. I’m clearly the main character.’

‘Are you fuck!’ I say.

‘I am! Charlie even said I was a zombie grand master. I’m the MC.’

‘You’re not the MC,’ I say.

‘Well, you’re not the bloody MC then either,’ she says. ‘Ooh, my name is Howie. I used to work in Tesco,’ she adds in a mimic of my voice, which, I am glad to say, sounds nothing like me.

‘That was really good, Marcy,’ Paula says as the others nod. ‘You sound just like Howie. And anyway. We’re not putting anyone’s name in the title. We need to be inclusive. We’re all the main characters.’

‘Oh my god, you are so PC,’ I say.

‘We need something generic,’ she continues. ‘How about Surviving The End?’

‘Hang on,’ Roy calls as he fishes his Kindle from his bag and boots it up. ‘Er, no, that’s a bit close to Surviving the Evacuation by Frank Tayell.’

‘Ooh, good book,’ I say to a general murmur of agreement.

‘Bollocks,’ Paula says. ‘Er, ooh, I know. After It Happened,’ she announces proudly.

‘Nope,’ Roy says. ‘Devon C Ford has done that one.’

‘Ooh, another good book,’ I say to another general murmur of agreement.

‘God, this is really hard,’ Paula says.

‘I told you. The Adventures of Marcy,’ Marcy says. ‘Or, I know! Marcy and the Zombies! Boom.’

‘They’re not zombies,’ Reginald says.

‘Marcy and the egghead twat then,’ she snaps.

‘Marcy and The Undead?’ Blowers suggests.

‘Ooh, I like that,’ Marcy says.

‘We’re not using names,’ Paula says.

‘Fine! Just call it The Undead then and have the least original title ever,’ Marcy says as a chorus of electronic beeps sound out from all of our pockets.

The noise catches us by surprise as we quickly delve into our trousers to dig out our mobile phones, and the screens lighting up with incoming messages.

‘What the fuck?’ I say, thumbing my phone screen. ‘Is anyone else getting emails?’

‘Yeah, loads,’ Clarence says.

‘Fucking reams of them,’ Blowers says as our phones keep beeping with more and more emails pouring in.

‘Reggie, what’s going on?’ I ask.

‘I can only assume we have unexpectedly gained line-of-sight direct contact with a low orbiting communications satellite that is somehow still functioning,’ he says while also thumbing his phone screen.

‘Jesus,’ Paula says. ‘Listen to this. Dear Paula, I’m the CEO of your tight-fisted bank. I hope that you, your family, and friends are safe and well during this unprecedented zombie pandemic. I want you to know I am listening to your feedback and developing situations to continually support you during this difficult time. Once you have killed all the zombies, please tell us so we can get back to robbing you blind. But if you do die, then let us know where your body is so we take any valuables from your rotting corpse.’

‘Fuck me,’ Marcy says. ‘I’ve got one from my car insurance company, Dear Insert-Name-Of-Customer. We just wanted to let you know we’re setting up a zombie-outbreak customer hub that you won’t actually be able to use, but we’re emailing to brag about it, so fuck off and keep paying for your insurance that we won’t honour cos it’s the end of the world. By the way, good luck with killing all the zombies.’

‘Oh shit,’ I say, opening one of my own emails up. ‘I’ve got one from Asda.’

‘Don’t say Asda,’ Paula says quickly. ‘They might sue us.’

I look at her, then back at my phone. ‘Correction. I have one from a non-identified supermarket. Dear Howie, thanks for the panic buying bog roll when the zombie outbreak hit. We’re just achieved record profits, and we wanted to gloat and tell you we’ll set aside one hour for you and your team to come and buy more shit from our shops at absolutely no discount whatsoever. Fuck you. PS. Keep a social distance away from any zombies. What the fuck is a social distance?’

‘Two metres,’ Clarence says, reading from his phone. ‘My local pizza delivery company emailed me, Dear Clarence. Don’t go outside. You’ll die. Stay indoors and eat pizza. We’ll deliver to you. But don’t touch the delivery guy. He’s only seventeen and already shitting himself.’

‘I’ve got one from a guy called Mike Ashleigh,’ Blowers says, holding his phone out. ‘It just says I’m a greedy, selfish cunt.’

‘Yeah, I got that one too,’ I say. ‘From Mike Ashleigh, yeah? Saying he’s a greedy, selfish cunt.’

‘Yep,’ Roy says. ‘Same. Mike Ashleigh is a greedy, selfish cunt.’

‘What did Mike Ashleigh do?’ Tappy asks.

‘Something greedy and selfish, I’m guessing,’ I say.

‘And cuntish, by the looks of it,’ Marcy adds.

‘We should be careful actually,’ Paula says. ‘He might sue. He looks like the sort of lowlife that would sue.’

‘It’s okay. We’ll spell the name differently,’ I reply.

‘Why are they all emailing now?’ Clarence asks, looking up and around. ‘We’re a month in. Everyone is either dead or… You know… One of them.’

‘You mean zombie?’ I ask, making Clarence wince at the word.

‘PR,’ Paula says with a thoughtful expression. ‘They’d need a response to mitigate any claims, I guess. Or to satisfy the fears of shareholders. Maybe the stock-markets took a hit.’

‘Took a hit? There’s nothing left!’ I say. ‘Literally nothing left.’

‘Hmmm, you know what though. I think maybe we should put one out,’ Paula says, looking at me.

‘What the what now?’

‘A statement. We should put one out too.’

‘And why the fuck would we do that?’

‘Cos everyone else is,’ she tells me.

‘And?’

‘And. Well. You know. PR.’

‘What fucking PR? It’s the zombie apocalypse. Nobody gives a fuck what the CEO of a car insurance company is doing.’

‘I’ve got one from Dunelm Mill,’ Charlie says. ‘I bought some curtains from them,’ she adds when everyone looks at her. ‘They’re encouraging me to buy more curtains and furniture so I can hide better from the zombies and also offering a discount on tumblers. Which is nice.’

‘We definitely need to do one,’ Paula says.

‘What! No. We don’t,’ I say.

‘I must agree with Paula,’ Reginald says. ‘We are a progressive and forward-thinking entity within the apocalypse, so it is only right we match every other company and release our own statement.’

‘Saying what? Hey guys. It’s Howie. Don’t lick zombies. Fuck you. How’s that?’

‘Bit blunt,’ Paula says. ‘We need some better phrasing.’

‘Okay, how about we suggest, in the current climate, that you don’t suck any zombie dick. Try that instead. Send that. Write that. Write it and send it. Or, I know! Hey, morons, we know you’re terrified, but hahaha, we’re all minted and hiding in big, fancy houses while you scrabble about for food. Which is why we’re emailing. Cos it’s funny to patronise poor people that struggle to get by at the best of times. Here’s some tips for you. Maintain social distances and don’t eat dog poo, you fucking idiots. By the way, we blame the poor for not washing their hands. Oh, and here’s a video telling you how to wash your fucking hands in case you are that utterly inept you don’t know how to wash your fucking hands! Write that. Write it and send it. No, actually. Add this. Hey, fucktards. It’s us again. We’re setting aside one hour a week for all frontline medical staff who have seen a sea of death to come in and browse our vast collection of shit instead of giving them a discount or, even better, decent wages, and some protective gear, so they don’t have to wear fucking bin bags to work. Write that and send it.’

‘Okay,’ Paula says slowly as everyone looks at me. ‘Right. Let’s scrap the email idea and just get, on and kill more zombies.’

‘They’re not zombies,’ Reginald says.

‘Undead, then. Living challenged. Infected. Whatever,’ Paula says with The Dreaded Hand Clap Of Organisation. ‘Right! Where’s next?’

‘Reggie?’ I ask as he gathers in closer with Clarence and the elders for a quick conflab.

‘My recommendation is we keep a linear route from town to town,’ he states.

‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Paula asks. ‘We did that before and got caught out.’

‘The next three are smaller towns, then we’ve got a larger one. Which is where they will gather for a mass attack. My suggestion is we keep going until that town and then find a way to destroy the control point of the horde.’

‘Same as we did at Hinchley Point then. We kill the control point, then cull the rest while they’re sluggish,’ I say. ‘Everyone happy? Right, load up. We’re moving out.’

Into the vehicles we go.

The hybrid Saxon filling up in the rear as they bum shuffle onto the bench seats. A place we now call home. The feel of it. The smell of it. The old seats, and the engine that rumbles so deep and throaty when we pull away.

Back onto the roads we go.

The empty country roads bordered by high hedges bursting with life. Green fields and meadows filled with rabbits and creatures running about in a world that suddenly has no people or cars in it.

The air is cleaner. Colours seem brighter. The grass looks greener. The upside to the apocalypse.

But then, it’s only an apocalypse for one species.

It’s only an apocalypse for us.

For humanity.

The end of the world is here. The end of times. The end of life as we knew it, and the only hope we’ve got is to cull the infection and find the cure to give a chance of rebuilding to those that have survived.

That’s our job.

That’s the task we’ve taken on. Nobody asked us to do it. It just happened that way,

But it’s weird too, because despite the utter awfulness of everything we see, I still wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

I feel more alive now than I have ever done. I have friends. Real friends that I stand back-to-back with. We give each other a reason to keep going. To keep fighting. To withstand the awful heat and the dire conditions.

Even now while I drive the Saxon, I can hear Cookey in the back making jokes, and the others laughing. Clarence half turned and staring at them. Marcy right behind me. Dave at the back. Paula behind Clarence. Meredith in the middle panting away.

Everyone is where they should be.

Life is as it should be.

We hit the next town. I don’t know what it’s called. It wouldn’t matter if I did. Like I said, they all look the same. The same stores. The same signs.

The same infected that come at us. Men, women, and children. The elderly. The young. They’re all the same. They all move as fast as each other, too. The virus stops them feeling pain.

It’s supercharged their bodies. They don’t bleed like people. Their blood clots faster. Injuries don’t bother them. I cleave an arm off with my axe. The guy just snarls and keeps coming at me. I take his other arm off. Thick blood spurts from the stumps, but it’s slower and not spraying like crazy, and it has no effect on him at all.

The only thing that stops them is either overwhelming trauma that even they can’t heal from or destroying the brain. Cutting arteries works well. Even they can’t stem the flow from a sliced vein. Remove the head. Remove the heart. Do what it takes. Stab. Hack. Cleave. Shoot. Bludgeon, and when it comes to it, when we’re back-to-back, we gouge their eyes out and bite their fucking necks open.

Like I said.

We do what it takes.

Into the Saxon again. Drink Lucozade. Hydrate and recover. We drive into the glorious countryside and stop at the next shitty town to do it all again. A hundred here. A few hundred there. We’re taking tiny bites at a beast so big it boggles the mind, but as Reginald said, a death from a thousand cuts is still a death.

The next town done, and we sweat buckets in the staggering heat. The weather has changed. Reginald explained that one too. The cessation of humanity has changed patterns. It’s hotter than the UK has ever known. Over forty degrees. We shouldn’t be able to walk for long in this heat, let alone fight, but then, the infected and the weather aren’t the only things that have changed.

We have, too. We don’t feel pain like we should, and our blood clots faster too. We’re leaner. Stronger. Quicker. More ferocious. More capable.

We’re infected too, but whatever strain we have is different to theirs. We think we understand it. We’re slowly learning. We’re slowly figuring it out.

We’re slowly moving to a point when we can find the people that released it and take the cure from them. Then, we’ll kill them.

But this has to come first. Culling these numbers has to be done, and so we stop at the next town and debus once more to run into the fight. To sweat and bleed. To curse and grunt, and feel the hot blood splash in our faces.

Another hundred or so. I don’t know how many. Dave would. Dave is a machine. We’d all be dead many times over if it wasn’t for him. He’s autistic. He’s probably got Asperger’s. Whatever. It doesn’t matter to us. He protects us all.

The battle for the third town ends. We win again, and once more, the ground lies thick with bodies.

‘What’s the plan?’ Paula asks, looking over to Reginald next to his van.

‘The next town is the big one,’ he says.

‘Okay. We’ll leave here, find somewhere, and put the drone up,’ I say as he and the other elders nod. ‘Get a look at it before we decide what to do.’

‘Good plan,’ Clarence says, running a hand over his sweating, bald head. ‘We need a break anyway.’

‘This heat,’ Paula says to a low murmur of voices. ‘We’ll have to call it if it gets any hotter. The lads look ready to pass out. Danny, make sure you drink another bottle of water. And you, Mo.’

‘Yes, Paula,’ they call back, taking another bottle to glug.

She’s right too. We’re all struggling. We’ve been fighting all day. All week. All month. We’re drained. We’re exhausted. We’re too hot, and we can’t drink enough to match the rate we are sweating.

I go to nod. To show that I agree, but then it happens. Because why wouldn’t it? Literally every half an hour, some shit goes bent and fucks everything up, and now is no different to any other time as the air splits apart from the howls of a thousand beasts and more, all screeching into the sky.

‘Drink quickly,’ Clarence orders the younger ones as we hear them from all sides.

‘Ah,’ Reginald says. ‘I thought this might happen.’

‘Thanks for telling the rest of us,’ I snap back at him.

‘It’s war, Mr Howie. Things happen.’

‘Things fucking happen he says,’ I grumble as I grab a bottle of Lucozade to drink down before the shit hits the fan. Not that we have a fan. I wish we had a fan.

‘I’m your fan, boss,’ Cookey quips, making me choke on the Lucozade to a few laughs spreading out.

‘Twats. And stop reading my thoughts!’ I try and sound grumpy, but can’t help laughing instead, because here we are. Ready to drop and too hot to do anything, and yet once more, we are surrounded by an army of cuntish mccunts all starting to charge in, and we’ve got nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide, and no choice but to fight.

‘Fuck ‘em,’ Blowers says.

‘We’ll win,’ Nick adds, adding a smile to his mates. To the group that has become family.

‘Danny’s gonna dick whip ‘em,’ Cookey says, making even Paula laugh, until the screeches change to the drum of a thousand beasts and more running towards us.

‘Incoming!’ Clarence shouts. ‘STAND TO!’

An order given.

An order complied with, because we know what we’re doing now. We’re not new to this.

Jess whinnies and snorts as she hooves the ground. Smelling them coming. Hearing them. Sensing them. Meredith gives voice. Telling them to stay back. Giving fair warning. The rest of us form a circle. Shoulder to shoulder. The Saxon in the middle. Tappy on the GPMG. Rifles facing out. Bags at feet filled with magazines for quick changes.

And we listen.

And we wait.

The drumming grows closer. Adrenalin courses. Hearts start whumping. Throats grow dry. Fingers tense up on triggers.

Then, they breach the walls and buildings all around us, and my god, there is a lot of them. Far more than we ever thought possible for this area.

Thick lines in every direction. Coming from every window. From every building. Every door. Every side street. Every alley.

‘Reggie!’ I yell out.

‘I can see them,’ he yells back. The only one of us not armed with a gun. Standing in the middle. Turning a circle. Seeing the numbers coming at us. ‘Something’s changed, Howie. There’s too many,’ he breaks off to mutter before running for his van. For his books. For his maps.

‘FIRE!’ Dave orders, and the assault rifles and GPMG set to work. Sending what we can at them to stem the flow. Firing bursts. Firing into the mass. Dropping bodies, but no matter how many drop, more come.

More and more. Running faster. Howling with bloodied saliva hanging from mouths. With features twisted in rage. With hands clawed into talons. Wild things. Crazy things. Things not of this world. Like demons. Like devils, and they bring forth a sense of evil too. A darkness – and we do what we can. We fire what we have.

‘Magazine!’ Cookey shouts, slotting one out, slotting one in. Aiming. Firing. We do the same. We fire hundreds of rounds, and we kill hundreds of infected.

But from the numbers they have, it makes no difference.

‘MAKE READY!’ I shout the order as we fire for the last time. Telling the team we’re about to go hand to hand. Charlie vaults up on Jess who rears high. Screaming out to pump herself up for the battle that’s coming. Swinging her axe overhand as she stands in the saddle.

Roy runs for the van. Getting to the roof. To his bow and arrows. ‘Overwatch on,’ he says into the radio. Into the earpieces in our ears. His voice calm and smooth now. Not the panicked Roy. Not the Roy from earlier. This is our Roy. This is the Roy we like.

Seconds left and no more.

‘Paula! Marcy! With Reggie,’ I shout the order. They run back. Knowing not to argue. Both of them vaulting into the van and slamming the door closed to guard Reginald. It’s not a sexist thing either. Marcy is our nuke in case we fail, and without Reginald, we wouldn’t stand a chance. And as for Paula. She’s the number two, and it makes no sense to lose both of your generals in one battle.

The door slams. Jess drops. The time has come.

‘NOW!’ I shout out. Rifles slung. Bags thrown back. Hand weapons grabbed. Axes gripped. Dave and Mo draw knives. Clarence drags his chain from the back of the Saxon as Tappy drops from the GPMG and dives into the driver’s seat. Ready to weaponise the vehicle and drive into them. Meredith jumping in after her. Finding the front seat next to her. Guarding one of our best assets, because Tappy probably gets more kills than Dave with the Saxon.

‘You want some music, boss?’ she asks.

‘Fuck, yes, I do!’ I say as the first fast guitar strings sound out from the speakers on the Saxon. A second or two. A few smiles. A few grins. The drums come. Fast and wild. Fast and heavy. Black Betty by Spiderbait.

Fuck, yes. Just the job. Something loud. Something fast. Something to get us going.

‘GO ON, JESS! INTO THEM!’ Charlie roars as the line breaks. As we charge back to be there. To fight. To kill. Swinging axes. Swinging chains. Stabbing knives to those thunderous drums, and the Saxon roaring past us. Ploughing into the first line. Smashing bodies down. Smashing bodies aside.

Dave spins past me. Dancing his dance as he goes through them to gently glide his blades across their throats. One after the other. Arcs of blood spraying up with perfect synchronicity. Even now, the sight never ceases to amaze me.

Clarence spinning his chain. Tearing them off their feet. A chain so heavy most of us wouldn’t be able to lift it, let alone spin it overhead.

Danny and Mo working side by side. Cookey covering Blowers’ blind side. Nick and Maddox. Charlie running past on Jess. Lashing down with her axe. Cracking skulls as the huge horse uses her massive weight to batter them aside. The Saxon beyond the first lines. Driving a circle around us to stop the press coming against us too hard.

The music playing. The beasts coming at us. Arrows flying past ours ears. Missing us by the width of a hair. Taking them out with godlike precision. Arrows hitting eyes. Arrows hitting heads. Arrows protecting Danny. Protecting Nick. Protecting Charlie on Jess. Two arrows in flight at the same time as Roy warms up. Then three in flight, and the man becomes a blur.

The whole of it becomes a blur, but that’s what a battle is. Messy. Awful and horrible where fear and adrenaline, and rage give you speed and strength you never thought possible.

The heat too.

My god. That heat. That crushing heat, and to do this, to fight so hard in that heat should be too much. But we don’t falter, because if we do, then our mates could get hurt, and that’s why we keep going.

But then it changes. Not that any of us notice at first. I only notice when I take a woman’s head off and slip on some wet innards underfoot, and end up glancing to the sky. The skies now filled with clouds so low I think I can reach up and touch them, and it’s only then, that I feel the temperature change too.

And in that second, as I glance up and frown, so the noise around us changes. Becoming less. The beasts becoming fewer. Not charging. Not screeching. Not howling.

‘What the fuck?’ I gasp out, sucking air in as I spin around to see the others doing the same thing. All of us staggering back and looking at the gaps where we had nothing but foe before.

‘Howie!’ Paula shouts, sliding the door back.

‘What’s going on?’ I shout, shooting a glance to Reginald.

‘They’re running off,’ Roy shouts from the top of the van.

‘Why?’ I shout.

‘Why’s it so cold?’ Marcy asks, dropping out from the van with a shiver.

‘Fuck me,’ Nick says, holding his hands out. ‘Can you feel that?’

We all feel it. The sudden drop in temperature. Like stepping from an oven to a fridge. It makes our skin prickle and shiver, and truth be told, it’s bloody delicious because we’ve had nothing but heat, and now, it’s suddenly cool, and we all gasp and smile, and feel the sweat drying on our bodies and faces.

‘Below ten degrees and dropping,’ Roy calls from looking at the temperature read on his van.

‘That isn’t right,’ Paula says.

‘It’s better than it was,’ I say.

‘Thirty degree drop in an hour?’ she asks.

I just shrug. Not having the answer to give. She looks at Reginald. We all do. Even Charlie.

‘The world is a complex organism,’ he says while staring up. ‘This event could have sparked any number of chain reactions, but Paula is right. This isn’t normal at all.’

‘There’s no wind though,’ Marcy says. ‘It’s so still. You know what’s coming, don’t you,’ she says in that way she reserves for when she’s being real and not superficial or vain. When she’s the real Marcy. The one with the soft eyes and soft smile. ‘It’s going to snow,’ she adds, almost whispering the words as the air around us freezes. Growing colder by the second. Growing quieter.

None of us speak.

And then it happens.

Silently.

Oh, so silently.

Snow falling from the sky.

Single flakes at first.

More and more falling heavy and fat.

Floating. Drifting. Dropping.

Falling faster, until there is nothing but white in all directions.

All else gone from view.

Only us standing together within the walls of white caused by the thick snow falling on all sides.

‘That,’ Reginald says while pointing up at the sky. ‘Is very far from normal. Even our normal. Stay sharp, chaps, and stay close, because this doesn’t feel right at all.’

‘It’s not just the snow either,’ I say as everyone else turns to look at me. ‘Where the hell did our zombies go?’

7

What a morning, and what a splendid life indeed. From a sunshine island to a snowstorm on a spaceship, then back to swimming in the warm seas, and now, snow once again, but the snow is here this time. On the island.

Bertie can’t help but laugh at the joy in it. Feeling the chill of the snow on his bare torso. Feeling the frost in his toes and feet. Shivering with pleasure and blasting mist as he turns circles with his arms stretched out.

The red portal stretched open high above him, and should the good doctor Watson or Miri, or anyone else venture upon him, they might think him to be stealing snow from another time and place, and that he has simply opened a portal to an arctic blizzard or some such thing. But that’s not the case.

That’s not the case at all.

Bertie took the coding Sam used to hack the high-end AI systems on the Humility and, effectively, used it to hack the weather.

Afterall, Bertie hacked time, so why not the weather too? It’s all the same. It’s just binary.

He shivers again and, finally, realises he’s only wearing shorts in the middle of a sub-zero micro-climate.

Definitely time to warm up, and he runs off along the snow-covered path, slipping and sliding, and feeling that glorious crunch of fresh snow underfoot.

He makes the leap. Whooping out at the pleasure of jumping from a blizzard to a sun-kissed beach and the instant change in heat. The sun on his skin. Blinding his eyes. He runs into the shallows and dives into the sea, and such is the transformation it feels like plunging into a warm bath.

He surfaces a few seconds later, with that grin still on his face when he turns to face the shore and the sight of the snow falling within such a defined area without any idea that it’s not just the weather he’s hacked.

He swims back and wades from the sea to the shore, relishing the heat as he sucks air in and whoops out when he runs back into the snow. Back into the flakes falling heavy and fat. Falling all around him. Thick, glorious snow crunching underfoot.

An idea in mind to get into the shack and find some warmer clothes and boots so he can come back out and make a snowperson. He could use Doc Watson’s hat and silk scarf and split a coconut to make a bra. That would be funny. Safa would love that.

He runs on. Skidding and laughing, but the snow comes down thick and fast. Blotting his view. Obscuring the path ahead. He slows down, suddenly unsure of the route and starts spinning on the spot, trying to remember which way he came from.

His tracks are already covered by new snow, and he shivers harder as he wraps his arms about his body. He might have to run back to the sea and get warm, but which way is the sea?

Idiot.

He’s on an island. The sea is in every direction.

He sets off with a rueful grin while thinking about coconuts again, which in turn makes him think of shells, which in turn makes him panic because he’s just dumped a ton of snow on the eco-system of an island not used to such things.

Guilt rushes inside. That tiny things could be getting frozen to death right now because of his stupidity. The guilt of a child. All-consuming and filling him with angst as he runs faster. Desperately trying to find the shack, or at least the sea so he can get his sense of direction.

He staggers on. Unable to see anything save for the snow. Snow in all directions. Snow coming thick and fast. He turns a circle. Then another and another as panic starts to set in, and when he turns back around, there is no snow at all.

Just a grimy concrete wall and a sudden lack of freezing air. Rough flooring underneath. Dark too. Electric lanterns give weak light in the next room where the voices come from. One male. One female.

‘How did Jagger die?’ the male voice asks.

‘He was shot,’ the female replies. A strange edge to her voice. Like goading. Like angry and annoyed, and playful all at the same time.

‘Who by?’ the man asks.

‘By me.’

‘Why?’

‘Felt like it.’

‘You fucking what? You felt like it?’

‘Yep, the same way you felt like fucking Marcy that night,’ the woman replies. ‘The same way you felt like lying to me, and the same way you felt like going back to her.’

‘I did not have sex with Marcy.’

‘You did. I heard you on the radio.’

‘No. You heard half a conversation… And forgive me being blunt, Lani, you know, what, with you holding a bomb and all but… We all know the reasons for going after Marcy.’

Bertie creeps forward to peer from the shadows into the next room. To a man with dark, curly hair talking to a pretty Thai woman in bra and knickers holding a grenade.

Bertie knows where he is. This is the dark world.

‘Lani, this isn’t you,’ the man says.

‘It’s me,’ Lani says. ‘All me. Come here.’

‘No! No way, you’ve got a grenade in your hands.’

‘Brave Howie. Super Howie, the leader of the living army…’

‘I’m immune, not fucking bomb proof.’

‘I won’t blow us up, come here.’

‘What for?’

‘Howie, come here.’

Bertie shivers from the snow he just stepped from and blinks at the two people while trying to work out how the hell he ended up here. He must have done something wrong.

Bugger. Miri will be super cross. He definitely needs to get back somehow. Maybe he can find a computer and see what’s going on.

Double bugger. This is the dark world, The computers are probably all off. Unless he can get into a government site or a military place. They use satellite connections which will still be functioning.

‘Just come here and bloody kiss me!’

Bertie stops again and blinks in confusion at why the pretty Thai woman wants a kiss while sounding angry and happy and holding a grenade. Or why Howie is actually going to kiss her. Maybe it’s got something to do with the fact she’s only wearing her bra and knickers. She’s got a very nice body. Even Bertie can see that. She, clearly, watches what she eats and works out. His sister Ria needs to work out a bit more. She’s getting fat. Bertie told her that last week, and she punched him in the belly.

‘Oh, this is bad,’ Howie says, but his voice is all husky and deep. ‘Are you doing the pheromone thing?’

‘No,’ Lani says, but her voice is all husky and deep too. Kind of like how they talk on holo porn movies. Bertie saw one once. His classmates made him watch it. Bertie didn’t like it.

Then, they start doing the same thing they did in the holo porn movie. Howie and Lani on an old wooden table in a dirty, old armoury room. His trousers around his ankles, and his bare bum waggling about.

It’s so gross. Like, literally, so gross. And very loud too. Everyone must be able to hear that table thumping away.

‘One race,’ the woman whispers, and then it gets very weird when she bites Howie’s shoulder, and he tries to get free with a frantic, awful fight that makes Bertie clench his fists in panic and back away into the shadows, willing himself to return to the snowstorm on his island.

Grunts sound out. A desperate struggle. A door wrenched open as the woman screams out, ‘DIE HOWIE! DIE!’

‘BOMB!’ Howie yells.

Bertie risks a look to see the woman, naked in the doorway, with a sea of people outside running for cover as she drops a grenade to the floor. A grenade that rolls over to the other big box of grenades. A grenade without a pin in the top.

She turns to run. Aiming for the back and blinking in shock at the sight of Bertie in swim shorts with snow on his shoulders.

‘What the…’ she starts to say, and the world goes bang, with Bertie falling onto his backside into a deep pile of snow. Instant cold in the air. Instant chill. He jumps up, with eyes wide, thinking he’s still in the armoury room.

Except he’s not. He’s back on the island.

What just happened? What was that? He really needs to turn this off. He starts running again, setting off to find the shack to switch the portal off.

Snow in his eyes. Snow blinding him. He ducks his head to blink it free, then yelps when he lifts his head to see old clothes and old rags hanging on lines between the shacks built two and three levels high.

He spins around, seeing the curved ceiling above him. Smelling the air. The stench of unwashed bodies and grilled rat. A metal floor underfoot. Old and grimy. Litter everywhere.

The Elfors. Level 40. How did he get here? What’s going on?

‘RUN, SAM!’ a woman ahead of him. Yasmine. He knows her. Bertie saw her at the café with Sam.

‘YASMINE!’ Sam cries out as Bertie spins back around to see Sam running into a junction. Looking around in panic. Yasmine runs out and grabs his hand to drag him along as more shouts fill the air.

‘YASSY!’ another woman screams. Running into view with a look of rage. A black guy at her side. More bad-looking people behind them.

A sensation in his belly. Weird and sudden, and a second later, the weight of his body is gone, and he’s floating up into the air to see over the shacks, to Sam and Yasmine aiming for a rooftop. The gravity comes back on, and Bertie drops, landing on a roof and sliding down to drop onto the floor.

A few seconds later, and it goes off again, with Bertie watching everyone floating up as they try and chase Sam and Yasmine. Other people too. Other things. Rats and chairs. Clothes and pots. Folk gripping poles and anything they can reach to hold on.

Then a crazed rush when it all crashes back down, with Elforists trying to grab what they can.

‘Again, Sam!’ Yasmine shouts.

Bertie runs too. For the hell of it. For the fun of it. Floating and dropping. Flying up and swimming through the air. A crazed, wild, frantic chase, with music blaring out and holo adverts popping up all over the place.

Bertie whoops, running fast in his shorts and leaping up as he feels the weight vanish, and he flies high. Soaring up to soak in the sights of the Elfors stretching off into the distance.

‘What the fuck!’

A voice calling out gets his attention. Distinctly American in a way that isn’t used in the fleet, and Bertie looks over to see two men floating up with looks of panic. Snow in their hair, and clothes that suggest they’re not from this time either.

‘I think it’ll turn on again,’ Bertie says, thinking to be helpful as, indeed, the gravity does turn back on, and he whoops out as he drops fast. Clenching his eyes for the impact but instead he sinks deep into the soft snow on the island. Gasping out in shock and sitting up with another wild-eyed look.

Seriously.

Miri will go nuts.

On his feet and running once more to turn it off before she finds out and turns him into rat dinner.

8

‘I will turn him into rat dinner,’ Miri mutters as they stare out to the snow falling thick and fast in every direction.

‘Who?’ Emily asks.

‘Who do you bloody think?’ Ben whispers.

‘Seriously. Who?’ Emily whispers to Safa.

‘Who do you think could make it snow in the middle of summer?’ Ben asks.

‘I don’t know. God?’ Emily asks as even Safa blinks and gives her a look. ‘What?’ Emily asks.

‘Bertie!’ Ben says.

‘Oh!’ she says with a nod.

‘Ach,’ Harry says.

‘Don’t bloody ach me,’ Emily says, swiping Harry’s arm. ‘Like you knew who they meant.’

‘I knew,’ Safa says.

‘You didn’t know,’ Emily says.

‘Be quiet,’ Miri whispers angrily, bringing forth a few seconds of silence as Emily Rose pouts and scowls until the need to voice her objections outweighs the need for silence.

‘Seriously, you didn’t know,’ she says, turning on Safa.

‘I did!’ Safa says.

‘Ach,’ Harry says.

‘It was obvious,’ Ben says.

‘Silence!’ Miri says, turning on the squabbling huddle to snap the order out as the world around them changes instantly.

The snow gone. The silent blizzard simply not there, and as one, they twist to face out at the floral-patterned wallpaper of a small living room. Ornaments on shelves. Glass dogs and glass cats. Cute and chintzy. A three-seat sofa and matching armchairs all as floral as the wallpaper, with frilly, white doilies draped over the back.

‘What the actual fuck,’ Safa says, her pistol held gripped and ready as the small team stand back-to-back and turn that full circle, taking in the distinct change to the world they were in but a moment ago.

Lambeth-not-Lambeth in 2111 now replaced with something else entirely, and somewhere else too.

‘Observations, Mr Ryder,’ Miri whispers as Ben blinks and shifts mental gear to process what he’s seeing. A bog standard two up, two down small house.

‘Someone’s lounge. UK. Modern times. I mean our times, not the future times. We’ve travelled in time… But it feels wrong.’

It does feel wrong. The feel of it. The vibe. The energy. It’s off. It’s not right.

‘Broken window,’ Safa whispers, aiming through the doorway into the kitchen. ‘Blood,’ she adds a second later, spotting smears over the shards of broken glass.

They all turn to see it. Seeing that something happened in this house. A small dining table and chairs knocked over. Fruit spilled on the floor. The bananas black and over-ripe.

A noise from the front of the house, and they spin around to a blood-curdling scream.

Shouts and yells. Howls and growls. Unearthly noises. Unearthly sounds. Something outside. Something happening.

They rush to the window, peering and craning necks to see through the thick net curtain until Safa takes the risk and pulls it back for a better view.

Two rows of houses facing each other across a wide green, and a big military vehicle in the middle.

‘What is that?’ Ben whispers.

‘British army APC,’ Miri replies. ‘A hybrid Saxon. They used them at Salisbury.’

‘What’s it doing here?’ Safa asks as their heads snap left to another scream, and a man with dark, curly hair sprinting past the window. Coming from the house next door and aiming for the Saxon in the middle of the green with blood pouring down his face and arms.

‘Right,’ Ben says with a slow nod. ‘Anyone got any ideas?’

‘It’s probably Bertie again,’ Emily says as the others all look at her. ‘What? And er, why is Jimmy Carr running after that man?’

Their heads snap back once more with a synchronised double-take as they watch the dark-haired man sprinting like mad for the Saxon, and a man running at him from the side. Stark-naked. High forehead, and gleaming white teeth. ‘It is. That’s Jimmy Carr,’ Emily says.

‘Who’s Jimmy Carr?’ Miri asks as Harry frowns.

‘Famous comedian,’ Ben says, cocking his head over before they all blink at the group of people running behind Jimmy Carr. Men and women. The elderly and young. All ages. All sizes. All of them sprinting hard, with red, bloodshot eyes, and mouths dripping with bloodied saliva. With hands curled into talons. Howling and screeching.

The guy with dark hair risks a look with a shouted curse as the naked Jimmy Carr slams into him from the side. Making Ben and the others all wince as one, especially when the rest of the blood-soaked weird people all dive into the scrum until it’s a seething mass of violent writhing forms.

‘Right,’ Ben says with another slow nod. ‘So er, did Bertie ever mention seeing any of those things during his travels?’

‘What things?’ Emily asks.

‘What is wrong with you today?’ Safa asks her. ‘He means the zombies.’

‘They’re not zombies,’ Emily says with an eye-roll. ‘Zombies are fictional.’

‘Duh. They’re clearly trying to eat that bloke,’ Safa says, pointing to the mass brawl outside as the guy with dark, curly hair crawls half-free before one of the attackers bites into his shoulder as he’s dragged back into the scrum. ‘Called it. Zombies,’ Safa says.

‘It could be anything,’ Emily says.

‘They do look like zombies,’ Harry says.

‘How would you know what a zombie is?’ Emily asks him. ‘You’re from World War Two.’

‘Ach. I know what zombies are. Comes from the voodoo culture. In Haiti,’ he adds as the others look at him. ‘I helped get some Jews out from the continent. Haiti gave them passports. Nice place.’

‘Oh,’ Ben says, because there’s not much to say after that.

‘Ooh, he’s getting free,’ Emily says as they turn back to see the dark-haired man bursting from the top with a raging manic grin before being pulled back down again. A second or so later, and he pops back out from the side. On his back and still trying to get free as the naked backside of Jimmy Carr hovers an inch over his face, then starts slapping down on the guy’s cheeks and forehead. The hanging balls dangling in the guy’s mouth, making him cough and gag as Ben and the others all pull back in disgust.

‘That’s fucking gross,’ Safa says, aiming her gun at the brawl.

‘Do not fire,’ Miri orders.

‘The poor bloke’s got Jimmy Carr’s bollocks in his mouth!’ Safa says.

‘He’s got more than that,’ Emily says to a chorus of groans as the naked backside defecates with a spurt of brown liquid splashing over the dark-haired guy’s chin.

‘Fuck that!’ Safa says, gagging to the side before taking aim again.

‘You can’t shoot Jimmy Carr,’ Ben says.

‘He just shit in his mouth!’ Safa says, tracking the action as she tries to get a clear shot. A sudden clearing. A sudden clear line of sight. She fires once from a distance, with the shot sounding out at the same time as an assault rifle fires nearby, making them all duck back for cover.

Drumming fills the air. The sound of firing and something else, and a streak of something big and brown flashes past the window.

‘Horse!’ Emily says, rushing back to see an enormous horse slam into the mound of bodies, sending them flying off before rearing up, and landing hard. Stamping skulls and breaking spines.

An explosion of violence. A sudden detonation of pure rage as the bodies try and rally, and surge back, with some aiming for the guy with dark hair, and more going for the horse while a terrified man screams on her back and clings to her neck.

Emily reacts fast from years of training and lifts her pistol to fire into the mass of bodies going for the horse. Harry does the same. Safa and Ben joining in with a flurry of small arms fire as they send nine mil rounds across the green that slam into bodies and have no effect other than shunting the bodies they hit.

‘The fuck?’ Safa asks, seeing a grown man she just shot five times still on his feet as the horse runs off, turns, hooves the ground, and runs back to slam once more into the mound.

The dark-haired guy now on his knees, stabbing a knife into a throat, then rolling clear to stab another through the eye.

‘Aim for the head,’ Miri orders, adjusting aim to send a round through a skull. An explosion of pink mist, and the body drops dead. The others do the same. Trying to aim and take shots without hitting the guy, or the horse running back and forth. Trampling them down and battering them aside.

Then, like a school of fish, the attackers adjust course and run off past the window to the house next door, leaving the dark-haired guy staggering clear as he gets to his feet.

‘HOWIE!’ a scream from next door. A woman crying out, and the dark-haired man sprints past the window to fight through the attackers trying to get in the house next door.

‘This is nuts,’ Ben says, shaking his head at the speed of it all as another horde of red-eyed, seething, drooling attackers run past, then stop, and snap heads over to the broken window they shot through and the team inside the two-up two-down floral lounge. ‘Oh, cock,’ Ben groans.

‘Don’t look in here, pal,’ Safa says. ‘I mean it. Don’t fucking try and zombie us, you bellend twats.’

‘I don’t think they’re listening,’ Emily says as the horde twist on the spot to face in before howling out and launching their attack. ‘Yep! Definitely not listening.’

‘DUCK!’ Harry yells, grabbing the floral sofa to launch at the window. Spattering and battering a few down as they try and clamber inside. Buying time for a fall-back. Buying time for a magazine change as the rest start pouring in. Screeching and demented with fury and hunger.

Shots sound out. Fast and frantic. All of them firing their pistols and trying to get head shots. Blowing skulls out. Blowing heads apart, but back they go, driven to retreat by the sheer weight of numbers coming at them. More and more pouring into the house. They can’t shoot enough. They can’t fire fast enough, and as the guns click empty, they grab things to throw, glass dogs and glass cats. Doily clad armchairs and vases. As the surging, seething attack comes against them, they fall back into a heap, landing in the snow, in Lambeth-not-Lambeth.

‘Rats, Mr Ryder,’ Miri growls. ‘I will feed him to the rats.’

9

From snow to rats.

Thomas and Bear try and rush through the thick snow, and trip, and fall to land on a metal gantry. The air about them suddenly different. Suddenly changed. Hot and humid, and as they land, so they come face to face with the beady eyes and twitching noses of a big, fat rat hunkering under a low ledge.

‘Dude. What the hell?’ Thomas asks, twisting onto his back as a weird feeling steals into his body, and he starts lifting from the ground, with his belly trying to tell him he’s falling up while his brain adds reason and says you can’t actually fall up. Unless there’s no gravity, of course. ‘Bear!’ he cries out, feeling a strong hand grip his wrist as he twists to see Bear holding onto a metal pipe with one hand while also lifting up from the ground.

‘What’s going on?’ Bear asks. ‘Where’s the snow?’

‘Screw the snow. Where’s the goddam gravity,’ Thomas says, taking in the world around them. Old shacks built on top of each other. Two and three high in places. But not old shacks like you’d see on Earth. Not made from wood, but from some kind of plastic moulding. A stench in the air. Body odour. Chemicals and old meat.

A whump inside, and gravity returns as they drop hard, landing with grunts and yelps on the hard metal floor.

‘YASSY!’ a female voice screaming out from somewhere nearby. Angry and murderous. ‘I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!’

‘JUST LEAVE US ALONE!’

‘What the?’ Bear asks as Thomas shrugs, both of them getting to their feet as a man and woman run past the end of an alley, with another larger group a few seconds behind them.

‘Again, Sam!’ a muffled voice filled with panic, and a second later, that feeling comes back, catching both of them unaware as they simply lift from the ground and leave it too late to grab anything.

Both of them float up while kicking and circling their arms. Up they go. Past the first shacks to the second tier. Seeing people inside the weird, moulded plastic cabin fronts, trying to eat while floating in the air. Others simply sleeping or holding on with expressions of complete normalcy.

They reach the rooftops with a gasp at the sight of the cabins stretching off out of sight. A city as it were. A city built under a huge, curved, metal ceiling filled with pipes and tubes. Lights everywhere. String lights and LEDs. Holo adverts playing. Holo feeds showing old movies. Music and scents. People shouting out. Men, women, and children floating up, but the strangest sight of all is a guy dressed just in swimming shorts with snow in his hair looking strangely happy and serene.

‘What the fuck,’ Thomas says, making the guy in swim shorts look over with a smile and a wave.

‘I think it’ll turn on again,’ he says.

‘What will?’ Thomas asks as the gravity does, indeed, turn back on, and they drop once more with another chorus of yelps and grunts as they land on a raised gantry.

‘LEAVE US ALONE!’ the same female voice yells.

‘I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!’ the other voice shouts as yet more add their anger and rage.

The same feeling again. The same sensation in Thomas’s belly. ‘Dude, grab something,’ he urges quicky, gripping a metal railing as Bear does the same while everything else around them not fixed down floats up past them.

‘Jesus,’ Bear says, blinking at the big rat floating up past his head. Squeaking away and trying to swim his little legs through the air. An action of instinct, and he reaches out to pluck it free, bringing it back into his body where it holds still, seemingly content and used to whatever this is, and when gravity returns, Bear gently lowers it down to run off with another happy squeak.

It happens another couple of times, with loud music and those weird adverts popping up, as Thomas and Bear watch a man and woman running over the rooftops to a stairwell on the far side.

‘Must be a way out,’ Thomas says, setting off and staying ready in case the gravity switches off again. ‘Let’s go.’

They reach the ground floor and start moving through the twisting lanes and alleys of a place that looks like a ghetto, but weird and ultra-modern while being old and ancient all at the same time.

They round a corner to a wide junction and come to a stop at a brawl taking place with people fighting over pots and pans and things that fell down when the gravity came back on.

The people look weird too. Weathered faces, bad teeth, and legs bowed and buckled from poverty and disease.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ a guy asks, clocking Bear and Thomas. ‘You shouldn’t be down here.’

‘Down where?’ Thomas asks. ‘Where is this?’

‘The Elfors, you dumb putas,’ the guy says, sliding a wicked looking blade from his waistband. ‘Wristbands.’

‘What?’ Thomas asks.

‘Gimme yer wristbands!’

‘What wristbands?’ Thomas asks as the guy motions to Thomas’s left wrist.

‘That. I want that. Is that a new model? What you running on it?’

‘What?’

‘What OS you got? I ain’t seen one like it.’

‘Dude. What are you on about?’

‘The wristband! Hand it over.’

‘It’s a watch! And it’s mine.’

‘I’ll stick yer in the guts,’ the guy says, lunging forward to stab as Bear moves in fast to pluck the weapon free and slam the guy away.

‘Hey! Gimme that wristband!’ a woman yells, running up behind them with a bat, taking a swipe at Thomas’s head. He ducks back, crying out as Bear moves in and sends the woman running on into the first guy, but more follow suit. More people in worn and torn clothes, clutching weapons and shivs, running after them, and yelling out for his fancy wristband.

They run off. Heading into the twisting lanes, with a look of horror as they round a corner to a guy impaled on a pole having dropped from the air, and more people trying to rip his clothes off while he gargles and dies.

Another lane. Another sprint. Another man lunging at Thomas that Bear fends off and sends into a wall. Rats running everywhere. Kids screaming out. ‘IT’S RAINING! IT’S RAINING!’

‘What rain?’ Thomas asks, turning another corner to a face full of water coming from the air above them. A thick cloud of vapour formed under the ceiling with greasy, filthy liquid sheeting down. Pelting their faces and stinging their eyes.

They run on. Trying to get free of it as Bear clocks the stairwell ahead and guides Thomas over and up through the dark levels where the hawkers loom out of the shadows, but the sight of Bear sends them skulking back to wait for easier prey.

Up they go. Aiming for the lights ahead. Aiming for the noise of somewhere other than here, and they spill out, stunned and shocked to a city of neon lights. To a wide street lined with cabins and 3D images in the air offering services of bodyguards. Muscled men and women ready to give service.

‘Hey, boys, you going into Neon?’ someone calls out, a hefty man lounging at the side.

‘Nah, we’re good,’ Thomas says, easy and nice, and adding a grin. ‘Yo, er, stupid question, but me and my buddy got a little drunk and woke up here. Where is this exactly?’

The question gains a response with laughs sounding out from all sides.

‘You’re in Neon City, boys,’ the man responds with a wink.

‘Cool. Cool. Neon City. Yeah, and er, what country is that?’ Thomas asks to another explosion of laughs. He laughs along. Bear too, while they swap looks and offer waves before walking on and delving deeper into the world of Neon City. Into the main strip lined with clubs and bars. With doorways offering glimpses to men and women wearing hardly anything at all as they dance and gyrate.

‘Hey, babies,’ a woman says, big lips and peroxide blonde hair. ‘You want some company?’ she asks, strolling over with two other women. One tall and black. The other Chinese. All three stunning and smiling. ‘I’m Carla Big Lips,’ the first one says with a wink. ‘And these are my associates. Honey the Money and Lick Lick Suck.’

‘Damn, that sounds racist,’ Thomas says with a frown.

‘It ain’t racist, sugar. It is what it is, and you’re in Neon City where anything goes, and all credits are good credits.’

‘No questions asked,’ Honey the Money adds, as tall as Bear as she leans in to kiss his cheek, with a hand drawing slowly over his chest. ‘Sweetie. I’ll do you for free,’ she whispers in his ear.

‘And I’ll do you for seconds,’ Lick whispers in his other ear.

‘Say, I haven’t seen you boys here before,’ Carla asks with a frown. ‘And, baby, you might want to hide that fancy wristband.’

‘Sure,’ Thomas says, pulling Bear away. ‘We’ll do that. And thank you, ladies.’

‘You ping me, big boy,’ Honey says, winking at Bear. ‘Don’t go shuttling off into space without me now, baby.’

‘Space?’ Thomas asks. ‘Are we in space?’ he asks with a look up at the ceiling. No sky. No wind. No gravity. Space. ‘Aw, hell…’

‘Dmitri’s gonna kill Yassy!’ someone shouts as Bear and Thomas spin around to see bouncers and security people running towards the Ritzy Ditzy nightclub.

‘Bear!’ Thomas yells as Bear sets off. ‘Dude. We need to find a way out.’

Bear doesn’t know why he’s running. Only that he heard the angry, threatening woman on the levels below shouting that she wants to kill Yassy too. Who was the other woman begging to be left alone, and he just heard a guy called Dmitri is going to kill her, and that doesn’t feel right, it doesn’t feel right at all.

He runs inside to see a big, muscled gangster looking guy and his crew facing off against the couple that were fleeing in the levels below. A woman bodybuilder and another big guy with them, but they’re outnumbered. Clearly very outnumbered.

‘He touched me,’ the woman called Yasmine shouts at the gangster. ‘I said no. I said no. So help me god, I said get the fuck off me, but he kept going, so I hit him once, and he fell… I KILLED THE DOCTOR FOR GROPING ME. I DID THAT…’

Tension and violence in the air. Other words said. Threats and counter-threats as Thomas gulps and tries to pull Bear away, but then it happens. As it always will, and as it always would.

A detonation of rage as the gangster launches himself at the others, and everyone else wades in.

Chaos ensues. The pure carnage and chaos of an all-out bar brawl, but Bear clocks that the bad guys here aren’t just brawling, they’re out for blood and fixing to break bones and cause death.

It’s weighted in their favour too. They have more numbers, especially with more bouncers flooding in through the door.

‘Get out the fucking way,’ one of bouncers shouts and shoves Thomas hard, sending him sprawling while running into the fight. Aiming for the woman called Yassy as she jumps on the gangster’s back and tries to pull him away from her boyfriend.

An instinct inside, and Bear darts in to grab the bouncer by the back of his collar as he launches at Yasmine. Taking him down hard and driving a knee into his gut.

A foot comes at his head. Sent by another bouncer who just saw his mate get taken down. Bear blocks it easily, rolling away from the blow to come up into a fighting stance.

Back in the seven-sided room of the mansion where the seven men kept running in to kill him over and over.

Back to dancing and moving.

Back to weaving and blocking, and back to grabbing the bouncer’s leg to twist and break the knee before kicking the other foot out. Back to driving his fists into ribs and throats. Back to busting noses and busting jaws.

A glimpse to the side. To a hard-looking, tall Chinese man running in to slam a fist into the gangster’s face. Sending him slamming away. A brief eye contact between them before the violence ramps up, and more men and women come to fight and cause mayhem.

A few seconds. Maybe a few minutes. Fights and battles are weird. Time becomes weird. Slower. Faster. Just different. Senses become ramped, and still, Bear doesn’t know why he’s fighting, but only that he should.

Then, it changes when a door bursts open, with smart-looking security guards sweeping in all clutching big sticks that crackle and send shocks into anyone in the way. Good and bad alike. Anyone. Everyone. Bear and Thomas included who cry out and lift hands to Colin and Pasha to show they’re not enemies, but the voltage sticks hit anyway, and they fall back to land in the soft snow on the cold ground with their cries of pain sounding out into the otherwise silent blizzard.

10

It has to be done.

I mean. It just has to be done, and I know this is a very serious time, and Reginald is all very worried, but when isn’t Reginald worried, and when isn’t it a very serious time.

And anyway. This is literally the only chance I will ever get, because there’s no way on Earth we’ll still be alive when winter comes. I mean our winter. Not whatever freak snow thing this is.

So, yes, it has to be done, and deftly, silently, and oh so very carefully I bend down to scoop my hands together to make a nice, big, fat snowball and tactically launch it Dave’s head.

Cos, you know. It has to be done.

The only problem is it’s Dave, and he turns at the last second to catch it in his hand with his expressionless eyes just staring at me, that might, just might, have the tiniest glint of humour showing in them.

‘Cock it,’ I say, which is right before he throws the snowball back at me, and dude, you get a snowball thrown at you by Dave and see if you can dodge it.

I don’t even try. There’s no point, and a split-second later, I’ve got a face full of well-deserved snow. Which is right at the exact same point Cookey throws his secret snowball at Blowers who, in turn, throws his secretly made snowball at Nick who launches one at Tappy. Who is throwing one at someone else. I’m not entirely sure who, seeing as by that point, I’ve got a face full of snowball.

‘Pack it in!’ Paula snaps, thereby instantly ending our fledgling fun before it can start, and we duly revert to being the stoic and serious band of freedom fighters that we are. All stoic and serious, and you know, freedomy, or whatever. Which is when the snowball hits Paula in the side of the face. ‘COOKEY!’ she shouts, turning with a look of anger as he double-takes in surprise.

And, taking advantage of the distraction, as per his training, Mo Mo then leaps to my defence and launches his own sneak attack on Dave. Which also fails as Dave catches it and sends it back into Mo’s face.

‘Ha! Twat,’ Nick snorts until Mo rallies and throws one at him.

‘For fuck’s sake. Seriously!’ Paula says as the snowballs fly past her face, and another one hits the side of her head. ‘COOKEY!’ she snaps again.

‘Wasn’t me!’ Cookey says, taking cover from an incoming barrage, as Paula gets a third one to her head and turns to see Marcy laughing behind her.

‘You bitch!’ Paula says, then it’s on for real, and the war that follows is, quite possibly, our dirtiest yet.

I form an alliance with Mo and Danny, and together we try and take Dave on, but Dave bests our skills and soon has us ducking for cover with a blistering counterattack, which is right at the point Mo throws one in my gob because, apparently, being the leader of our band of misfits doesn’t count for anything during a snowball fight.

‘I’m not a misfit!’ Marcy yells, throwing one at Paula and getting one in her face in return.

I crawl off, under fire, and try, and hide behind Clarence who quickly becomes the target of many snowballs due to his massive size. Then, Roy tries to save Clarence and gets one in the head by accident, thrown by Clarence, and instantly switches allegiance, while Tappy and Charlie form an alliance with Marcy and Paula to attack the lads. Which then changes into a men versus women thing, with Marcy lobbing a snow grenade at Reginald in his van who runs over to plan a cunning counter-assault while they hide behind the vehicles and take sniping pot shots. We throw a barrage at them, most of which are caught by Meredith who, surprisingly, appears to like eating snow as much as zombie dicks.

Which is all lovely and awesome until, right at the very height of our warfare, some bugger switches the snow off, and it all changes to a world of lush, green plants, and the air feeling thick as porridge. ‘Where the shit are we?’ I ask, looking around. Trying to take it all in.

‘COVER!’ Blowers shouts.

We duck down and starburst away, with hands coming up to protect our heads as two huge creatures fly inches above us. Swooshing past like missiles to drop out of sight.

‘What the fuck was that?’ I ask and run after them, trying to see where they went and what they were, before coming to a stop with a jolt of pure shock at the sight that greets me as the others rush over to my sides. All of us staring down the side of a huge valley. A valley that stretches out as far as the eye can see. A valley filled with lakes and woods. With savannahs and creatures with feet the size of cars and necks longer than airplanes.

Then the two flying creatures open their wings and soar up and out onto the hot thermals with cries of things I have never heard before. Like eagles, maybe, but so very much louder.

‘Are they dinosaurs?’ Cookey asks, staring down to the valley.

‘And what’s up with the air?’ Blowers asks, inhaling deeply before coughing.

‘There’s more oxygen,’ Reginald says, frowning with thought as his incredible mind works faster than any of ours. ‘And judging from the flora and fauna, and the physical evolutionary characteristics of those flying creatures, I would suggest we are well into the Cretaceous period.’

‘It’s pre-K-pg though,’ Charlie says.

‘That was 66 million years ago,’ Maddox says.

‘Indeed, it was,’ Reginald says, beaming with pride at his evil, brainiac underlings being all intellectual smarty pants. ‘So, yes, one would assume, given what we can see, that we are distinctly Cretaceous to Paleogene and well before the extinction event,’ he rounds off with a nod and smile at me as I do what everyone does and look at Charlie.

‘We’re in dinosaur times, Mr Howie.’

‘And specifically, one hundred to one hundred and fifty million years ago,’ Reginald announces.

‘Yeah, so, I’m not a mathematician or anything, but that doesn’t sound very specific,’ I say. ‘But more importantly, what the fuck are we doing in the Crustacean period?’

‘Crustaceans are prawns, Mr Howie. I said Cretaceous.’

‘Have we got any prawns?’ Nick asks with sudden hope.

‘They haven’t been invented yet,’ Charlie tells him.

‘Fuck, that’s bad,’ Nick says. ‘What about chickens?’

‘We just saw the chickens,’ Reginald says, pointing a hand at the flying things.

‘They’re not chickens,’ Nick says.

‘They become chickens,’ Charlie says. ‘But not for tens of millions of years,’ she adds on seeing the hope in Nick’s eyes that one of the big, flying monsters might actually turn into a cooked chicken and drop from the sky.

‘Right,’ I say with a frown at Reginald. ‘Second question then. What the fuckity fuck are we doing in dinosaur times?’

‘I haven’t the foggiest, Mr Howie. Needless to say, we are not the first.’

‘Eh?’ I ask as we all turn to see Reginald staring at the ruined concrete bunker behind us.

We head over and start walking through it. Seeing the layout despite the walls all being busted in, and chunks from the roof scattered all over.

We spot furniture too. Metal doors with rivets, and moulded blue sofa chairs. Metal framed beds and ruined bedding. Tables and dining chairs. Things made and used by people.

‘It looks like something crushed it,’ Tappy says with her keen engineering eye viewing the destruction. ‘See the way the building is completely flat in the middle but not so bad on the outer parts.’

We all look up to the bank of earth rising behind the bunker to another level above us, and the huge gouge marks from something big and heavy falling down it.

Something big and heavy enough to squash a concrete bunker.

‘Hang on, where’s Jess?’ Charlie asks in alarm. ‘JESS!’

‘She’s not here,’ I say, looking around with the others. ‘Neither are the vehicles.’

‘She was off to one side eating a bush,’ Danny says.

‘Okay, she must still be there,’ I say. ‘At least she’s out and not stuck in the horse box trailer thing. Is Meredith with us?’

‘She’s over here,’ Mo says from the far end. ‘She’s found something.’

We rush over to see a flat area next to the bunker. Broken chairs, and a busted table. More signs of life, but also a mound of earth bulging from the ground. The grave of a human, and a simple wooden cross pushed into the top with the name Doctor John Watson carved into it, clearly done with the tip of a knife.

‘Got rounds over here,’ Blowers says as he picks up a handful of dull brass rounds inside the bunker. ‘Nine Mil, and there’s some 5.56. Hang on, yeah, there’s some busted-up weapons here. Glocks. Assault rifles. Rain’s got to them though, and the Glocks are weird, they’ve got safety switches.’

‘Glocks have trigger blocks,’ Dave says, walking over to inspect the weapon.

‘People were living here,’ Paula says, pulling old clothes out from under a ruined wall. A blue boiler suit. An old black boot. Training shoes and underwear. But old and ruined, and left out in the elements for too long. ‘Have we seriously time travelled?’ she asks with a look to Reginald. ‘That’s not possible. Time travel isn’t real.’

‘Zombies aren’t real,’ Marcy says.

‘Yeah, but time travel?’ she asks. ‘Reggie?’

‘I don’t know,’ he says, clearly trying to work it out. ‘What’s up there?’ he asks, looking up the bank.

We climb up to a large, flat plateau bordered by trees bigger than any I have ever seen. Bigger than those giant sequoias in California, but then, everything is bigger. Even the stems of grass under our feet. The plants and bushes.

‘Oh my god!’ Marcy gasps as a buzzing thing the size of a dinner plate with a striped body flies past her head and stuffs it’s face into a flowering plant.

‘We shouldn’t be able to breathe here,’ Roy says, ever the bringer of joy and cheer. ‘There’s too much oxygen for our bodies.’

‘We have the panacea,’ Reginald says as he looks about. ‘Or a version of it at least. I’d suggest it’s preventing us from collapsing from oxygen overdoses.’

The other thing we notice when we reach the top of the plateau is the increase in noise. The buzz of flying insects bigger than cats and dogs. The screeches within the forest. The calls and sounds of things that sound sort of similar while being unlike anything else.

‘HELLO!’ I shout out, hoping to get attention from anyone nearby, but my voice sounds small and lost. ‘Dave, you try.’

He sucks air in and bellows in that huge voice of his, but again, no response, and only a marginal increase in animal noise too, and so, with no other real choice, we slowly advance across the plateau, towards the trees. ‘Everyone stay close,’ I order. ‘Reggie, you got any ideas yet?’

‘Eyes on,’ Blowers says, fast and quiet as we snatch our assault rifles forward and look to see him motioning ahead. ‘Something in the treeline.’

We edge forward, staring into the darker shadows as the sunlight strobes and dapples our vision, but there is definitely something there.

Something with the rough shape of a big person standing in front of a tree. A rough outline, and nothing more.

‘What the fuck is that?’ I whisper, going closer as my eyes adjust, and I finally make the details out. ‘Holy shit,’ I mutter and come to a stop at the sight of a bipedal creature, three metres tall and distinctly T-rex in shape, with gruesome rows of oversized teeth jutting out from its jaw. Stunted front arms, and wicked looking talons. A thick tail, and thick back legs. A gruesome, awful looking, monstrous thing. Dark and leathery, with patches of feathers.

That, however, isn’t the surprising sight. It’s the vine tied about its neck, pinning the dead creature to the tree, and the gaping hole cut in its chest where the heart was ripped out.

‘Roy, is that natural?’ I whisper.

‘How would I bloody know?’ he asks.

‘Because you’re the medic,’ I whisper back. ‘Go and examine it.’

‘Right. So, I’m not a palaeontologist or anything,’ he says. ‘But I don’t think dinosaurs can tie granny knots.’

‘And we thought zombies and time travel were made up,’ I retort.

‘Okay, first of all, our zombies aren’t zombies,’ Roy says. ‘They’re people infected with a parasitic virus, and second, we don’t know that we have travelled in time.’

‘Fuck off!’ I scoff at him while pointing at the dead thing. ‘Duh. Dinosaurs.’

‘Or,’ Cookey says. ‘Perhaps some crazy old man has captured the DNA from some extinct creatures and created a weird and wonderful park for them to live in on a giant island.’

‘You’re such a cunt, Cookey,’ Blowers says with a head shake.

‘Okay, okay,’ Paula says, waving them to silence. ‘The point is a person tied this thing to this tree. Agreed?’

‘Maybe Doctor John Watson did it,’ Cookey says.

‘How? He’s dead,’ Blowers says.

‘Before he died,’ Cookey says. ‘And after he created his island filled with creatures created from previously extinct DNA.’

‘We’re not in Jurassic Park, you bellend,’ Blowers say.

‘Jurassic World, then. Whatever. Go and dig him up, and see if he’s got a white beard.’

‘That,’ Clarence says, pointing at the dead creature. ‘Isn’t natural. Someone killed it and put it there, and then cut its heart out.’

‘Or they could have cut its heart out, then tied it up,’ Roy says.

‘Maybe Doctor Watson ate the heart and died of food poisoning,’ Cookey says.

‘Who buried him then?’ Blowers asks. ‘He didn’t bury himself, did he?’

‘Maybe he did. The guy made a theme park for dinosaurs, for fuck’s sake. He’s very clever, or maybe he trained a monkey.’

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ Blowers asks as we all become very silent and very still. ‘Did everyone just hear that?’ he whispers after a few seconds.

‘Yes,’ come the many whispered responses.

‘Cookey,’ I whisper. ‘Turn around and see what’s behind us.’

‘Why me?’ he asks.

‘Because you’re a fucking idiot, that’s why.’

‘Fair enough,’ he says, then quickly turns to look behind us before whipping forward with wide eyes. ‘Yeah, it’s not good,’ he says as we hear another shuffle of another foot and another twig breaking.

‘How many?’ I whisper.

‘Lots,’ he replies.

‘Do they look like that?’ I ask, nodding at the dead dinosaur.

‘Yeah, but like alive,’ he whispers. ‘And really hungry.’

‘How do you know they’re hungry?’ I ask.

‘Cos they’re dribbling like Nick does before dinner,’ Cookey replies as our gang of misfits slowly turns to see the long line of bipedal creatures snaking through the grass towards us. Three metres high but leaning forward to stay low, and Cookey was right, they do look like Nick just before dinner. All hungry and grumpy, and drooling from their mouths full of oversized teeth.

‘Dave?’ I whisper.

‘Yes, Mr Howie?’

‘What’s the plan?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why you asking Dave?’ Clarence asks. ‘I was in the army too.’

‘Fine. Jesus. Clarence, what’s the plan?’

‘No idea,’ he says, which is right when the advancing front line of big-toothed, ugly things commence their charge.

‘Cock it,’ I call out. ‘RUN!’

We set off, giving it billy big legs into the thicket of trees. Running fast and building speed.

‘Go right,’ I call out, thinking we should dog-leg and try, and lose them, and I veer off to the right, delving deeper into the forest as we crash through bushes and undergrowth.

‘FASTER!’ Clarence calls, seeing them behind.

‘We’re being flanked,’ Mo shouts from the far right. ‘Go left.’

We veer off the other way, running as a group with Meredith bounding ahead, and once more crash through the bushes.

‘SHIT!’ Paula cries out, falling down with a scream as she starts clawing at the thick, sticky strands of web covering her head and face. Marcy runs after her. The closest to give aid, and runs into the same strands before crying out with an explosion of pure panic as a spider the size of a football drops on her head.

‘GETITOFF!’ she screams out, punching at it trying to claw into her scalp as Dave draws and fires with enough precision to get a round into it. A spray of goo bursts out, but the spider keeps thrashing as Marcy drops to roll, and Meredith darts in, grabbing at it in her jaws to rag and fling off as Clarence and I start stamping down with nasty crunches of bone.

‘INCOMING!’ Blowers shouts, whipping about to fire at into the undergrowth. Shots ringing out. Cookey and Nick do the same. Tappy and Charlie, then Danny, and Mo as the rest of us try and pull Paula and Marcy up to get moving.

‘MY BACK!’ Clarence shouts, twisting about as I see another huge spider landing on his broad shoulders. I try and grab it, and feel the strength in the legs as it clings on, and the nasty pincers snapping at my hands, trying to bite and inject venom. I finally get it free and throw it at a tree before firing rounds into it. Watching it burst apart.

‘UP!’ Dave says, dragging at Marcy while I pull Paula up and get them running once more.

‘They’re closing in!’ Blowers shouts, changing magazine as we flee from the creatures.

‘Left side!’ Cookey shouts.

‘Right side!’ Nick shouts.

We start to hear weird clicking noises coming from different directions. Faint but distinct, and just loud enough for them to communicate and give position to each other.

Plugging gaps and keeping the line behind us dense and moving. Pushing us on and driving us further into the forest.

I catch sight of them flitting between the trees. Big and fast. Faster than us, and I wonder why they don’t just swarm in and attack us. There’s a lot of them too. More than us.

‘They’re herding us,’ Reginald says, wheezing and gasping from having to run.

I look back to see he’s right. We are being herded. We need to stop and form a circle to fire out. It’s the only way.

I suck air in, readying to give the order, but instead, as one, we cry out as the ground drops away, and we start tumbling down a steep and otherwise unseen bank.

Down we go. Bouncing and falling. Juddering and jarring, with our axes and rifles flying off.

Down we go. Crying out with yelps as we tumble and fall, and try to grip onto roots and branches.

Down we go until we hit the bottom and sprawl out with groans and gasps. I lift my head up to see we’ve landed amidst a sea of bones and ruined carcasses. Hundreds of them. Thousands even. An open semi-circular area bordered by the treeline, and a foul stench in the air. The stench of old meat and rancid bodies, and a pungent, awful tang of ammonia that makes our eyes water.

‘What’s that smell?’ Paula asks.

‘Piss,’ I say, remembering the safari park we went through ages ago. The same smell then. Ammonia from the big cats, but nowhere near as strong and overpowering.

‘Oh bugger,’ Clarence whispers with the understatement of the century. ‘We’re in a kill zone.’

‘Eh?’ I ask, thinking this can’t get much worse. Then, I look back to the steep bank behind us, blocking our retreat, and the treeline ahead filling with near hidden motion. The creatures now prowling the edges. Flitting from bush to tree. From cover to cover as those clicks come louder and closer and start bouncing all around the space. Trapping us within the feeding zone.

We can’t leave because leaving means running into their defensive line, and we can’t run back either. We can’t go anywhere.

‘Clever fuckers,’ I say with awe. ‘Fall into a firing line.’

‘What with?’ Marcy asks, showing her empty hands.

‘Where’s my rifle?’ Charlie asks.

‘I’ve lost mine,’ Paula says as the others mutter and say the same, with all of us twisting around to see our rifles and axes strewn down the steep bank. Trapped and snagged on roots and divots, and the clicks come faster, and the most sinister part of all is the lack of noise they make. We’ve become used to screeching infected. We’ve become used to people howling and making loud noises, but those clicks are something else.

‘They’re communicating,’ Reginald says. ‘Oh my. What a thing to hear. It’s almost like rudimentary speech.’

‘I’ll give ‘em some rude speech,’ Nick says. ‘Click, click, mother fuckers!’ he calls before we all look at him.

‘What the fuck was that?’ Blowers asks as we burst into sniggers.

‘Click, click?’ Tappy asks him.

‘Fucking twat,’ Cookey says, wiping his eyes. ‘That was fucking priceless. Click, click.’

‘I was telling them to fuck off!’ Nick says.

‘Did you tell them to fuck off, yeah?’ Blowers asks. ‘In your dinosaur language? Click, click.’

‘He asked for some food,’ Marcy says. ‘Click, click, feed me.’

‘Clickity click, can I go now?’ Cookey says.

‘Clickity click, can I have my gun back,’ Tappy says.

‘Fuck off!’ Nick says.

‘You have to say click, click,’ Blowers says.

‘Fucking twats,’ Nick says with a huff.

‘Nah, bro, that’s clickity click-click,’ Mo says, earning another round of laughs as Nick sticks his middle finger up, and the clicks coming from the treeline increase in speed, volume, and density – bringing us all to silence.

‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Paula asks.

‘We need to sacrifice someone,’ I whisper as we all turn to look at Nick. ‘Click, click, mother fucker.’

‘Stop!’ Paula says, laughing herself as the evil dinosaur heads start emerging through the bushes and branches. ‘We need a plan, Howie.’

‘His plans are always shit,’ Marcy says.

‘Er, fuck. Grab a bone,’ I say, rushing to heft a heavy leg bone from some previously munched creature. Mind you, everything here is so big it’s probably a finger bone.

‘Or a dick bone,’ Cookey says, holding one up with two round segments at the base.

‘Don’t let Blowers see it,’ Nick says.

‘Click, click, mother fucker,’ Blowers says.

‘Fuck off!’ Nick retorts, grabbing his own bone to hold up.

‘Is that the plan, is it?’ Marcy asks. ‘We’re going to fight a pack of big dinosaurs with some dick bones? I said he makes shit plans. I said you make shit plans, Howie.’

‘Got a better one?’ I ask.

‘Yeah. Dave, go and kill all those dinosaurs.’

‘Okay,’ Dave says, moving off.

‘Dave! Get back here,’ I call before he does actually run off and start killing dinosaurs. Which wouldn’t be fair. Unless, you know, the extinction event was actually caused by Dave.

‘And Blowers bumming them to death,’ Cookey whispers. ‘While Nick bores them to extinction with his click, click story.’

‘Incoming!’ Clarence calls as they slowly push forward into the open.

‘Thanks for that, mate. We’d never have seen them,’ I say as we start backing up, and even Reginald grabs a bone. Albeit a very small one that looks surprisingly like a fly swatter.

‘REAR!’ Danny calls, making us spin to see another line of beady eyed beasts emerging into view at the top of the steep bank. Leaning low and watching us until one takes a leap and lands deftly on the side of the bank.

‘That’s fucking cheating,’ I mutter as the others start doing the same, with two sides now coming at us. ‘Righto. Like that, is it. Danny! Show ‘em your dick and scare them off.’

‘What, seriously?’ he asks.

‘No!’ Paula says as we condense into a small group facing out. ‘Oh well, at least we had a snowball fight. That was fun.’

‘Don’t start saying the goodbyes,’ I say.

‘Okay. And when do you suggest we do start saying them? After we’ve been eaten?’

I shrug, ‘Probably during is best. Reggie, got a plan yet?’

‘I’m still working on it, Mr Howie.’

‘Right. Oh shit, there’s a lot of them,’ I say, turning to look behind at the others coming from the treeline on all three sides, then back to the ones slowly coming down the bank. ‘Okay dokay. Er… about those goodbyes then,’ I add as one of the creatures coming down the bank takes another leap and lands with its foot scuffing the handle of my axe, sending it skittering off to fall and slide, and land a few feet ahead of us. Another burst of motion from the left. From another beast landing on the bank and kicking a rifle down that hits another axe, with both of them falling to land near our feet. ‘Fuck yes! Game on. Click, click, mother fuckers!’

I run out, going low and fast and aiming for my axe as more weapons get scuffed and knocked down. A couple of rifles. A couple of axes. A machete. Not enough, but it’s something, and the others burst out to run for them, which in turn sparks the charge from the other side as the clicks magnify to a staccato of sound, and the ground seems to vibrate from the heavy bipedal feet running at us.

I snatch my axe up and swing out as the beast slams into me with a bellow of pain and a spurt of gooey blood spraying into my face.

‘Is that blood hot or cold, Mr Howie?’ Reginald calls.

‘It’s hot!’ I yell, trying to clear it from my eyes.

‘Ah. Well, now. That answers that one at least. Dinosaurs were hot blooded. Very interesting. Oh, I say. Someone, get that one!’ he says as another creature leaps from the bank to land on the bones and carcasses. Hunkering low and spinning around.

A shot fired from the treeline. From somewhere other than here. Deep and louder than any of our weapons, and the creature flies off its feet as Cookey and Blowers dive out with knives drawn to start stabbing into it. Yelling out with aggression and fear.

Another one lands from the bank within the group that all turn fast to start clubbing it with bones as Dave leaps up onto the back and drives a blade deep into the eye before drawing his pistol and firing rounds through the ruined socket. The beast roars and rears up, thrashing violently with Dave on its back, then drops dead as Dave simply steps off and turns to face the next one.

Another one coming in. Clarence tackles it from the side, driving it over a few feet as Meredith launches up to bite into the neck. Grabbing on and swinging about as the creature tries clawing at her with its forearms while everyone else rushes in to stab and club it down.

It bellows in pain and spins with a vicious tail whip, sending everyone flying as another deep shot sounds out, and the creature’s head blows out with a spray.

‘Who’s firing?’ Clarence yells, rushing to his feet to grab an axe and swipe at another dinosaur.

‘No idea,’ I yell back. ‘Mo! Get up that bank and throw the weapons down.’

It becomes carnage and chaos very quickly, with my team only able to react to whatever is happening right before each of us, and during it all, those shots keep firing, striking the creatures with enough power to send them flying off, but those shots are not coming from us. I know the sounds our weapons make, and we don’t have anything like that.

A few seconds. Maybe a minute. Time is weird during a fight, but the tempo shifts with a sudden cessation of forces coming against us. A gap to snatch air as I stagger back from a kill and hear the clicks changing. I turn fast, seeing the beasts veering off to draw away, and the others coming down the bank no longer running at us but rushing past us.

‘They’re retreating!’ Blowers shouts. ‘FUCK, YES!’

‘COME ON!’ Cookey shouts, hefting his axe into the air and filled with bloodlust as the others cheer out.

‘Click, click, mother fuckers!’ Mo yells.

‘Oi, that’s my saying,’ Nick says as we draw air and watch them go. Flitting back into the treeline, and all in one direction.

Then, something else runs past us. Another creature, but not evil looking like the other ones. Smaller and covered in feathers, and running fast without a single glance as it rushes by. Then another and another, until more weird and wonderful feathered and scaled things are pounding by.

The sound of snapping reaches us. A huge noise. Like a tree being broken in half, then another noise starts coming through the cacophony of screeches and cries. A big thud. Then another and another, but fast, like running, and we all turn as one to face the direction the creatures are running from. To the sound of more branches being snapped and more thuds.

To the dark shadow looming through the woods. Low and fast, but big. Very fucking big.

It seems to speed up and move fast as anything until it breaches the treeline. Nose first, and the head following. Wide and broad. A huge skull with big eyes, and a mouth opening to roar with the sound of a hundred angry, hurt elephants and tigers all mingled together. Spittle flying from rows of teeth, and another thud as it paces out into the clearing. Snapping branches from trees like they are twigs. Roaring and rearing up to full height. Towering like an office block. Over forty feet tall. Two solid back legs. Two powerful looking forearms and a tail swishing side to side. Flattening bushes and tearing small trees away.

‘That’s a fucking T-Rex,’ someone mutters. Maybe I say it. Maybe we all say it. But there it is. The biggest land carnivore that ever lived. The apex daddy of them all, and that roar rattles our bones, making us feel tiny and puny. Making us back away with dread in our guts, because it’s just not physically possible for something that big to be alive.

Except it is, and it moves fast too. The head coming down as it pivots and drops. We cry out and scatter. Bursting away and watching as it snatches up one of the killed beasts we took down and flicks the body into the air, with a crunch of bones and blood, and gore spraying out from the mouth. Raining down on all of us.

The scale is frightening. Clarence probably couldn’t even lift one of the dinosaurs we killed, but that monstrous thing just flicked it up like a scooby snack. Then it drops for another, snatching it up to crunch and chew, with awful gore and chunks dripping from its teeth and jaws.

‘We need to go,’ Paula says. ‘RUN!’ she shouts the word, making the T-Rex drop low with stunning speed, and one eye fixing on her as it swoops down and lunges in with that mouth opening to gobble her up.

‘FUCK!’ we cry out, firing assault rifles and pistols while Clarence grabs Paula and heaves her away, but the guns have zero impact, and if anything, they only seem to make it angrier as it bellows louder.

That shot rings out again. The deep noise booming, and we see a tiny chunk of flesh cut open on the snout. Enough to make the thing rear up, with the feet and tail coming in to stamp and smash, and pulverise so it can scavenge and eat whatever’s left.

‘GO!’ I yell, grabbing at whoever is closest to get them running as we join everything else in this forest and start fleeing.

11

Bertie tries to cover the ground as fast possible. Running flat out in the wild hope of reaching the shore or his shack, or at least the sea before it all changes again – and there it is. The edge of the snow. The hard line dividing the world underneath his red portal and the world beyond. A world of sunshine and heat that doesn’t keep changing. All he has to do is get out of the snow and figure out a way of resetting it.

He can do it.

He can reach it.

It’s so close. So very close. A burst of speed. A yell of determination, and Bertram Cavendish, the inventor of time-travel, perpetual energy, anti-grav, and hacker of weather leaps bravely towards the sun-kissed sands of his idyllic island paradise - and promptly lands face first in a pile of horse shit. A fresh pile too. Still steaming from having been expunged from the bowels of the horse going by.

That being the horse pulling the carriage along the shit-covered, filthy road he just landed on, which is most definitely not the sun-kissed, soft sands of his idyllic island paradise.

‘MOVE YER ASS!’ a harsh voice yells as Bertie feels a sharp whip cracking sting on his backside. A yelp, and he staggers up while rubbing his bum before crying out at the horse coming at him, and the angry driver of the big carriage behind it flexing the whip for another crack at Bertie. ‘What are ya? Drunk?’ the man yells.

Bertie cries out and spins around to go the other way, and gets barged aside by another horse thundering by. ‘DAMN EMIGRUNTS!’ another man yells, shaking a fist at Bertie. ‘GET OUTTA THE ROAD!’

The snort of another horse. The yell of another carriage driver, and Bertram Cavendish spins this way and that, in his swim shorts with snow in his hair, as he dances and weaves, and cries out from the cracks of whips striking his bare back. Which is right before he comes to a stop to let the motor car go by. Staring at it with wide eyes. Hearing the awful sputtering petrol engine and smelling the foul and poisonous fumes spewing out.

A glance to the left. To the right. To the clothes being worn. To the horses and carriages. To the early motor cars. To the architecture. To the most famous city in the world.

‘Excuse me, where am I, please?’ he asks a passer-by while not having a clue where he is because, despite being a genius, Bertie is, as his sister so often calls him, a fucking moron.

‘Fuck off!’ the man says. But that’s okay, because the way he says it allows Bertie to determine where he is. It’s the accent, you see, and therefore, with much confidence, Bertie deduces he is, in fact, in Scotland.

‘GET YER NEW YORK TIMES!’ a vendor bellows as Bertie goes by with a frown, wondering why on Earth people in Scotland would want to read a paper from New York. He darts over to snatch one up from the stack at the vendors feet. ‘Hey! This ain’t a public library!’ the guy yells in a thick New York accent. ‘Buy it or fuck off.’

Bertie does, indeed, fuck off, but not before clocking the date. 1905.

Awesome.

He’s in Scotland in 1905.

‘And there it is, folks! The world-famous Flatiron building,’ a guy shouts to a group of men and women dressed in their finery of wide skirts and tailored suits. A tour group in progress, staring up in awe to the iconic triangular shaped building. It’s even a building Bertie knows. The same building they use as The Continental Hotel in John Wick. Which Bertie always thought was filmed in Manhattan, New York, but apparently not. It must have been shot in Scotland.

‘Yer darn vagrant! Get out of here!’ someone yells as Bertie stares around, trying to see the target of the fuss being made by the tour guide stomping towards him. ‘Nobody needs to see yer naval, yer darn scoundrel. It’s indecent!’

Bertie blinks at the guy rushing over with a hefty stick in his hands. A stick that gets pulled back and whacked into Bertie’s shins as he finally realises the guy means him.

He staggers back with a yelp as a couple of uniformed constables start rushing over while also clutching hefty looking sticks. A snort of a horse. Another crack of a whip on his back. The tour guide. The cops. The carriage drivers. All of them shouting. The driver of a motorcar yelling the loudest of all. The front grille coming at him.

He falls back. Figuring he’ll either get run over or land in snow, and have to deal with his broken red portal instead.

Except, he feels neither the freezing snow beneath his body, nor the hard impact of the car, and instead there is but silence. A silence so sudden that he snaps his eyes open and vaults to his feet with a stunned look at the frozen world around him.

At the people frozen mid-leap away from the motorcar. At the newspapers in mid-air, having being hit by that same car. At the horses in mid-step, and the shot carriage driver in mid-fall from the front. At the people in mid-run, mid-flee, or mid-walk.

Birds frozen in the air. Everything still. Everything completely still.

Which, you know, isn’t possible.

And it’s not possible in a thousand different ways all at the same time which, despite being a fucking moron, is something that Bertram Cavendish can determine. And he does it in a single sweeping glance.

The way it all defies the laws of gravity. The laws of physics. The laws of motion. The laws of action and reaction. The laws of consequence. The laws of molecular and sub-atomic existence.

The very laws of all creation.

Unless, of course, they are not in a world of laws. Which would only be the case if they were in a virtual digital world.

A construct.

It’s the only option. It’s the only possibility. But how? And more importantly, by whom? Because that’s the thing with a construct: it has to be constructed.

A crash of sound. A door bursting open across the street. A glowing, yellow, iridescent light shining from the windows.

The only motion and sound in this otherwise silent world, and from that door across the street, the figures come running. Figures dressed all in black, carrying modern sub-machine guns, and the air in front of them dazzles with the glow of red lasers.

‘If you ever see men in black with lasers on their guns, then you run. You run, and you do not stop. Do you hear me?’

Miri’s words in his ears. Her cold, grey eyes staring into his soul.

‘You run, and you hide, and you wait, because I will find you.’

‘Seriously. There’s no point telling him anything,’ Ria said from behind Miri. ‘He’s a fucking moron.’

That might well be true, and Bertie might well be a fucking moron, but even fucking morons know when to run.

‘Where is he?’ a woman shouts, striding out from the building line as she tugs her balaclava up to a mouthful of thick braces across her teeth.

‘THERE!’ someone else yells, spotting Bertie running off.

‘AFTER HIM!’ the woman orders as the figures in black set off. She pauses for a second, watching the door to the building as two more figures emerge. A man and a woman that come to a stop, with the woman staring around at the frozen world.

‘What is this?’ Mother asks.

‘It’s a virtual construct,’ Robert says. ‘They use it for operative training. Beatrice? Where is he?’

‘He went down Fifth,’ Beatrice replies with a lisp from the thick braces.

‘Stay on him. We need to keep the lock on for this to work,’ Robert orders as Beatrice sets off, and Mother stares in silent awe at the newspapers and people in mid-air. At the world around her. She thought Maggie Sanderson was the only one with the ability to travel in time. She is. But only in their world, and as she just found out, their world is not the only world.

‘It’ll reset. You need to hold on,’ Robert says, reaching out to hold her arm as the world about her bursts to motion, but not the right motion. Not the motion of time and energy going forward, but rather of it all going backwards. And in silence too.

The newspapers flying back to the stack at the same time as the motorcar reverses while the people who were leaping move upright, and the horse and carriage pull back while the bullet whips out of the driver’s leg.

Bertie feels and sees it too as he sprints along Fifth Avenue. The sudden motion of things reversing. Of time going backwards. But not time. Only this world. Only the things in this world.

‘It’s resetting,’ he murmurs, daring a look back to see the black-clad figures pouring into the road behind him. All of them casting surprised looks at the world and the things around them going backwards in motion while they go forward. A weird thing to see. A jarring thing to do – then it all pauses, seemingly held for no more than a second as Mother staggers a step, and the world comes back to normal.

Instantly filled with noise and life, and the things of the world moving as they should. Cars and horses. People and voices.

‘GET YER NEW YORK TIMES!’

‘Yer darn vagrant! Get out of here! Hey! Where’d he go?’ the tour guide shouts as the people walk past Mother and Robert with confused glances at their modern dress.

‘They can see us?’ Mother asks.

‘We’re not invisible,’ Robert says, waving his arms at the world around them. ‘We’re in a recording. This happened. These people lived, and they’re alive right now, but digitally.’

‘Wonderful,’ Mother says with an expression that suggests this is anything but wonderful. ‘And how does this get me Bertie? Or the others?’

‘Because we’ve got a lock on him,’ Robert says with a grin. ‘And your dear Bertie will run out of energy long before we do. It’s just a matter of time. Only question is, who the hell fired that shot?’ he asks, stepping out to stare down the road after the direction of the bullet that whipped out in reverse from the carriage driver’s leg.

The shooter now lost from view.

The shooter now stood back within the depths of a busy sidewalk.

A shooter dressed in her whore dress as she calls it. Big skirts, and low cut. A Winchester rifle in her hands, and her hazel eyes flecked with green narrow as they stare up the street. The street that a moment ago was frozen before it reversed and reset.

Her mouth twitches. Her head cocks over, and she spins around to march down the street and in through the front door of a restaurant filled with New York’s finest, sipping on soups from gleaming silver cutlery.

‘Madam! You cannot come in here,’ the head waiter calls as he rushes over to intercept her, then reels back from being poked in the eye. ‘Ow! She poked me in the eye,’ he wails.

‘Nobody likes a whiner,’ the woman calls over her shoulder before barging through a door into a kitchen and past the busy staff, snagging a chicken drumstick from a platter as she goes. ‘Soz! Missed my lunch,’ she shouts back to the guffaws of protest.

Through another door. Into a storeroom and past the men on a break, puffing on pipes.

‘Men only!’ one of them shouts.

‘Fuck off,’ she snaps.

‘Ow! She poked me in the eye!’

‘Jesus. Whiners or what,’ she says, marching through another door on the far side and into deployment room one. Then out into the corridor of the planning offices, and a whole bunch of people gathered by the door to deployment room three, looking very worried.

‘What’s up with you lot?’ Roshi asks as the closest turn and double-take, or blink in surprise.

‘Roshi?’ Alison asks. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Roshi?’ Martha asks, inside room three as she pushes out into the corridor with Zara to stare in surprise at Roshi in her whore dress and eating a big chicken drumstick.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Martha asks.

‘Eating a drumstick,’ Roshi says. ‘I missed lunch.’

‘I mean here.’

‘Duh. I live here.’

‘Not Discovery, Roshi! I mean the planning offices. You don’t deploy from here.’

‘Ah, gotcha. Soz. I’m on a mission for the Old Lady.’

‘Do you know anything about this?’ Zara asks, nodding through the door of room three as Roshi leans past to see across the room and out through the exit door to a world of snow.

‘What am I looking at?’

‘We’ve lost Bear and Thomas,’ Zara says. ‘We sent them on an RLI, and now, we’ve got that.’

‘Oh,’ Roshi says, tearing another chunk of meat from the drumstick as she walks out into the silent snow falling thick and fast from the sky. ‘Schmoo proply sneed to shound a shtotal shitcall.’

‘What?’ Martha asks as Roshi walks back in while eating faster and motioning her own mouth to highlight the fact she is, indeed, eating faster.

‘I said. You probably need to sound a total recall.’

‘Right. And why would we do that exactly?’ Martha asks as Zara lifts her eyebrows, and everyone else stares on.

‘Cos some stupid twat has got himself stuck in a construct with a shit ton of Freedom baddies chasing him along Fifth Avenue. And he had snow in his hair too,’ Roshi says before taking another bite and setting off across the office.

‘Where do we send them?’ Zara asks.

‘Dunno yet!’ Roshi says.

She heads out onto Main Street towards the leafy lane at the far end where the Old Lady sits on her rocking chair. Her face pensive, and her eyes absorbed in thought until they blink, then roll at the sight of Roshi stomping over her nicely manicured lawn.

‘Use the path, Roshi. You’ll damage the grass.’

‘Okay!’ Roshi says, as she launches the chicken bone across the lawn.

‘What did you find out?’ The Old Lady asks.

‘Yeah. It’s all fucked.’

‘What’s all fu… What is?’

‘They lost Bear and Thomas on an RLI, and now, it’s snowing outside of their deployment room, and Bertie was in one of the glitches you wanted me to check on. He had snow in his hair too. And you know, it’s also snowing here,’ she adds while pointing up. ‘Which, I’m figuring, might make it all connected.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘In a New York training construct.’

‘Which one?’

‘Typhoid Mary. 1905. Manhattan. And he’s got a whole load of Freedom on his six. Oh, and Robert had a new woman with him. I haven’t seen her before. Older. Grey hair. Looks mean as shit.’

‘Thin?’

‘Yeah. Thin as a rake. Like she doesn’t eat.’

‘Mother,’ the Old Lady mutters with a dark look.

‘Soooo. What’s happening exactly?’ Roshi asks.

‘I’m still trying to figure it out,’ the Old Lady says before glancing up at the sky. ‘You said Bertie had snow in his hair?’

‘Yup,’ Roshi says. ‘And outside of room three. Where Bear and Thomas went.’

‘I see,’ the Old Lady says. ‘Or rather. I don’t see. It’s all changing too much. What I do know is the damned fool has made a bridge, and if Freedom keep the lock on him, they’ll close him down. Roshi, get back and keep him safe until I figure this out.’

‘How? He’s leaping about all over the place.’

‘Just find him. I’ll get the other two out looking. They can check his island too.’

‘You shouldn’t have left him with a time machine,’ Roshi says.

‘It’s Bertie! You could leave him in a locked room with nothing but a paperclip, and he’d still change the molecular structure of the universe.’

‘Duh. Don’t give him a paperclip then.’

‘Just go and find him. And get off my grass!’

‘Honestly,’ Roshi says as she turns to walk off. ‘So many whiners today. Oh, and FYI. I told Martha she’d better order a total recall. See! I’m helpful.’

‘We don’t have anywhere to send them!’ the Old Lady snaps. ‘Damn it, Roshi. Now they’ll be demanding to know what’s going on.’

The Old Lady cuts off with a huff as the band on her wrist vibrates with an incoming call from the planning office as Roshi turns back to smile before rushing off across her frozen lawn.

12

‘What the hell was that?’ Safa asks as they snatch air and blast misty breaths in the blizzard of snow falling thick and fast all around them. ‘What just happened?’

‘No idea,’ Ben says.

‘Well figure it out before it happens again,’ Safa orders, reloading her pistol as Harry and Emily do the same.

‘Miri?’ Ben asks, glancing over at her. ‘Any ideas?’

‘I would suggest, Mr Ryder, that we just enjoyed a trip to another time and place.’

‘Yeah, but where?’

‘Where does not matter. We need to focus on the how and the who. As for the who – my guess is we start with Bertie, which will, hopefully, lead us to the how.’

‘Great,’ Ben says. ‘And how the hell do we get back to Bertie? I can’t see a thing. Harry, can you find our way back to our portal?’

Harry looks around at the swirling snow and the ground around them. Looking for track marks or anything that might guide navigation, but there’s nothing. Not even stars in the sky. ‘No,’ he says calmly.

‘We can’t stay here,’ Ben says with a shiver. ‘We’ll freeze. But then, saying that, this weather thing might be isolated. We could try walking out of it and see what happens.’

‘Agreed,’ Miri says. ‘Everyone, hold hands. We’re moving out to find the edge. Sergeant Madden on point please.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he says, taking Emily’s hand as he starts walking off, with the rest clasping hands and wading through the snow behind him. Bodies shivering, and pistols still held ready.

‘Are we leaving tracks?’ he asks Emily behind him who turns to look to see their footprints being rapidly covered.

‘Just press on, Beardy,’ Safa calls from the back as Harry turns to face front and blinks at the table ahead of him.

‘Fuck a duck,’ Safa says from the back, snatching her hand free from Miri to bring her pistol up as the others do the same. Blinking and showing the same surprise at the world around them changing, within the blink of an eye, to the inside of a restaurant.

Tables and chairs arranged neatly, with people sitting in nice clothes, and smart waiters dressed in black suits, holding trays. Plates filled with food. Glasses filled with wines.

But silent.

Not a sound being made, and not a thing in motion. Everyone frozen and still.

‘Are they even breathing?’ Safa asks, edging closer to a woman sitting at a table. ‘Hey! Can you hear me. HEY!’

No response. The woman doesn’t blink or move in the slightest.

‘Ben, check her pulse,’ Safa orders. ‘Everyone, stay alert. This feels whiffy as shit.’

Ben goes forward, covered by Safa, and gently reaches out to touch the woman’s neck. ‘No pulse,’ he whispers. ‘But she’s warm.’

‘Recent death,’ Miri says, moving over to join him as she peers into the woman’s eyes and lifts her wrist.

‘Er, this guy doesn’t have a pulse either,’ Emily says as they glance over to see her checking for vitals on a standing nearby.

‘He’s standing up,’ Safa says.

Emily just shrugs as the sound of munching comes from the side, and they all turn to see Harry holding a silver platter filled with dozens of cream cakes. ‘Checking it for a pulse,’ he says while trying to shove a whole one in his mouth.

‘Is it nice?’ Safa asks. ‘I mean. Is it real?’

‘As opposed to not being real?’ Emily asks.

‘I meant as opposed to not being a waxwork like these weirdos,’ Safa says.

‘These aren’t waxworks,’ Ben says as Harry lobs a cake over for Safa to eat.

‘Oh god, that’s nice,’ she says. ‘Emily, you gotta try one.’

‘Er, I don’t really do dairy.’

‘It’s soya,’ Harry says, remembering Emily going on about the health benefits of eating soya.

‘Is it? Cool. Yeah, pass one over then,’ Emily says, taking a bite with a satisfied groan and a few big chomps before stopping to scowl at Harry. ‘These aren’t bloody soya.’

Harry just shrugs, not really knowing what soya actually is. Ben tried to explain it once, but Harry got bored and walked off.

‘What if I’d been lactose intolerant?’ Emily asks.

‘There’s no such thing,’ Safa scoffs mid-munch.

‘There is!’ Emily says. ‘It can make you fart and all sorts. Actually, Harry, you’re always blowing off. Maybe you’re lactose intolerant.’

‘He’s from World War Two,’ Safa says. ‘They hadn’t even invented lactose then. But nice cakes though. Anyway – what’s going on?’ she asks with a look to Ben and Miri chomping on cream cakes with the full expectation that they will, indeed, know exactly what’s going on.

‘No idea,’ Ben says. ‘But those people are not waxworks.’

‘Dude! What the fuck,’ another voice says, making them all turn to see two men covered in snow facing away. ‘We’re in the training construct,’ one of them adds in an American accent.

‘Cakes!’ the taller one says, turning fast to stop and blink at the sight of Harry holding the platter of pastries. ‘Who are you?’ he asks.

‘Who?’ Thomas asks, turning with a double take to see five armed strangers shoving cakes in their mouths. ‘Damn. Oh, hey, they’re covered in snow!’

‘They’re covered in snow,’ Ben says at the same time with a mouthful of cake.

‘Say. You’re not from Freedom, are you?’ Thomas asks, giving them a suspicious look as the air above the five strangers suddenly fills with thick falling snow.

‘Leave the cakes!’ Bear shouts.

‘Can’t hear you, lad,’ Harry shouts back, pulling his cake platter back an inch as they disappear from view.

‘Jesus. Can you believe that?’ Bear asks, shaking his head.

‘No. I can’t,’ Thomas says quietly.

‘He actually took the cakes,’ Bear adds, making Thomas stop and blink.

‘We need to find them,’ Thomas says.

‘Bloody right we do.’

‘Dude. Not for the cakes. To find out what’s going on. They were covered in snow.’

‘And?’

‘And we’re covered in snow. Man, and that’s why you’re just a henchman.’

‘I’m not just a henchman,’ Bear says. ‘I’m a very hungry henchman,’ he adds as they spot the flakes falling past their eyes and snatch their heads up to see the ceiling morphing into a cold, grey sky.

A cold, grey sky that fills with the sight and sound of a helicopter gunship swooping over them, fast and low.

Gunshots ringing out. Small arms fire. Assault rifles, and the deep booms of sniper rifles. Fifty calibre machine guns. Radios squawking, and voices shouting out. A sizzle and a flash as the gunship fires a missile at a big house. Tearing chunks of the roof away, with a sound that makes Bear and Thomas duck for cover within the trees to one side.

‘Dude, what the fuck,’ Thomas says, staring at a mansion house set within vast manicured grounds being assaulted on all sides by soldiers and operatives. ‘Where the hell is this now? You recognise it?’

‘Nope,’ Bear shouts to be heard over the noise. Craning his head to see the house being slowly ripped apart by gunfire, and through the smashed windows, he makes out a small group of people inside bursting from a door on the upstairs landing, and a frantic close-quarters battle taking place.

‘Just stay low,’ Thomas says as Bear perks his head up and inhales deeply.

‘You smell that?’

‘What?’ Thomas asks, dreading whatever it is. Probably an incoming missile or a chemical weapon. Something awful. Something terrible. ‘Dude. What is it?’

‘Cheeky fucker,’ Bear says, pushing up to rush off.

‘Bear! What the fuck!’

‘I know he bloody heard me,’ Bear says, running up a low bank to crest the top where he spots a soldier slowly advancing towards another group. His assault rifle held braced in his shoulder.

‘Aw, hell,’ Thomas whispers with a grimace as Bear steals up behind the soldier and lunges in to wrap a hand around the guy’s head while sweeping his legs out and flipping him over to slam down hard into the ground.

A muffled yelp, and the people the soldier was advancing spin around and leap up to see Bear snapping the soldier’s neck and whipping the pistol free from the leg holster, all in one fluid motion before coming up to his feet. ‘Gimme my cakes,’ he orders, aiming at the big, bearded bloke still holding the platter of pastries.

‘They’re not your cakes,’ Harry says, shielding his cakes while aiming his gun back at Bear.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Ben asks, seeing the same two men from the weird waxwork restaurant a few moments ago.

‘Who the hell are you?’ Thomas asks at the same time, rushing to Bear’s side.

‘Stuff that. Give me those cakes,’ Bear says. ‘They’re Discovery cakes. And I missed tea and toast!’

‘What the fuck are you going on about?’ Safa asks.

‘Dude. Where are we?’ Thomas asks.

‘Cavendish Manor,’ Ben and Miri say at the same time as the distinct sound of a Barrett fifty calibre rifle sounds out, and they all snap heads over to look down the bank to Ben Ryder firing his sniper rifle into the ruined house. That being the house within which they can see the other Ben Ryder, and this same group fighting people inside. And that’s while Emily Rose stands behind the Ben Ryder firing his rifle and sticks a finger up at the satellites overhead.

‘Still the best day ever,’ Emily says.

‘Honestly,’ Safa says in agreement as Thomas blinks from seeing three Ben Ryders and two of all the others. Plus, the gunships and the armies, and the bangs, and pops, and missiles being lobbed about.

‘I bloody mean it,’ Bear says, still playing face-off with Harry Madden. ‘You put those cakes down.’

‘You know this place?’ Thomas says. ‘You’re time travellers! Dude! We’re from Discovery. Are you Freedom?’ Thomas asks. ‘You gotta be from Freedom, right?’

‘We’re from a bunker,’ Safa says as the flakes start dropping.

‘You said that before. What’s Freedom?’ Ben asks.

‘Cakes!’ Bear shouts.

‘Aye. My cakes,’ Harry shouts back before shoving another one in his mouth.

‘STOP EATING MY CAKES!’ Bear yells as the other people disappear within the white-out of another blizzard. ‘Utter bastard!’

‘I heard that!’

‘GOOD!’

‘Dude,’ Thomas says, shaking his head. ‘We need Zara. This is way beyond my pay grade.’

‘What is?’ Bear asks.

‘Figuring this shit out. I’m a communicator. Not a planner.’

‘Right. Well, just you communicate those bloody cakes back next time we see them… And duck!’ he yells, grabbing Thomas to heave him off his feet as the bullets fly past into the plate glass window of Carpe Diem restaurant.

‘Fuck,’ Thomas says. ‘This was our first day. Dude! That’s us. Inside. Man, I am looking good there.’

‘The lobster test,’ Bear says.

‘Yeah! The lobster test when you turned into the hulk and killed everyone.’

‘Get to cover, you bloody weirdos!’ Safa calls as they turn to see the five figures taking cover behind some parked cars.

‘My cakes!’ Bear yells, running at them as Harry stands up with the platter and pulls his gun to aim at Bear who lifts the gun he took from the soldier to point at Harry.

‘My cakes,’ Harry says as the two face off again while the others all turn from them to looking at Thomas.

‘Where are we?’ Ben asks.

‘New York, but it’s not now. I mean. Not the present. This happened before,’ Thomas says. ‘Where are you from? You gotta be from Freedom. Are you newbies?’

‘What?’ Ben asks.

‘Seriously, pal. You need to hand those fucking cakes over,’ Bear says.

‘Aye. When the war’s over, lad.’

‘We’re time travellers,’ Thomas says. ‘This is one of our times. We’re in that restaurant, look!’ he adds as they quickly lift up, with Ben and Miri clocking the old Bear, Thomas, and Zara inside, with Bear fighting people, and Thomas and Zara throwing plates from behind a table.

‘Jesus,’ Ben says.

‘Discovery made those cakes!’ Bear shouts.

‘You’re probably lactose intolerant, lad.’

‘I’m not!’

‘Aye? Well, these are soya anyway.’

‘Jesus,’ Ben says again, rubbing his nose.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’

‘What the fuck is a death charge?’ Safa asks as they all turn to see Roshi and Martha sprinting along Fifth Avenue towards the restaurant, with Roshi wearing her whore dress and spinning the Winchester rifle over in her hand.

‘Aw, hell,’ Thomas says.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ come the many shouts as the gathered Discovery operatives give voice and get ready to charge over the line of cars.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ come the voices from the other side as the Freedom operatives prepare to run out and fight.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Bear shouts, turning away from Harry and the cakes on hearing the call to arms.

‘It’s not our death charge,’ Thomas says, springing up to grab Bear.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Bear shouts, staring wild eyed at Thomas.

‘Bear! It’s the old death charge. We’re not here. Dude, give him a cake before he runs out there and kills everyone.’

‘They’re my cakes,’ Harry says.

‘Harry, just give him a fucking cake,’ Ben says.

‘Sergeant. Provide that man with a cake,’ Miri orders.

‘Aye. Yes, ma’am,’ Sergeant Mad Harry Madden says with a grumbling tone as he picks a small one up to hand over to Thomas who waggles it in front of Bear’s face.

‘Ooh, cake,’ Bear says, blinking at it before snatching it free to shove in his mouth while flicking a middle finger at Harry.

‘We need some clarity here,’ Miri says. ‘What’s your name, son?’ she asks, altering her tone to be authoritative and slightly more American as the flakes start falling thick and fast.

‘Thomas, ma’am!’

‘Okay. Thomas. Do nothing until we speak.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Thomas shouts as the other side fade from view within the falling snow and happy to have someone of authority telling him what to do.

‘Unbelievable. He took the bloody cakes again,’ Bear says. ‘He’ll scoff the lot.’

‘Well, you’d better go and ask for them back,’ Thomas says as the white-out changes to a lush, green landscape of a vast rolling meadow filled with plants and trees. The sky above a deep, warm blue, and the air near on thick enough to eat.

‘Right, me and you,’ Bear says, pointing at Harry.

‘You offering for a scrap, lad?’ Harry asks. ‘I’m happy to oblige if you are.’

‘Bear! You’re not hurting someone over cakes,’ Thomas says. ‘Zara will go nuts.’

‘The wee poppet’s not hurting anyone,’ Harry says.

‘Where are we?’ Thomas asks. ‘And what’s wrong with the air?’

‘This is our time,’ Ben says, realising where they are. ‘I don’t mean our time. I mean the bunker time.’

‘What does that mean?’ Thomas says before his mouth drops open from a large bird flying through the air between them with a loud cry. Except, it didn’t look like any bird Thomas ever saw – but more scaly. And bigger. Like, way bigger.

‘It means dinosaurs,’ Ben says.

‘Emily. Hold my cakes,’ Harry says while puffing up to brawl.

‘I’m not holding the bloody cakes, Harry,’ Emily says, rolling her eyes.

‘They’re my bloody cakes!’ Bear shouts. ‘I’ll hold them.’

‘Jesus. Just share the sodding cakes,’ Safa says as Thomas holds a finger up towards Ben and Miri.

‘Sorry. I thought you just said dinosaurs.’

‘I did,’ Ben says.

‘Sure. Dinosaurs. Because, like, you know, the first rule of time travel is to stay in your own era. Well, not exactly the first rule, but it’s in the rules.’

‘Who holds your portal?’ Miri asks.

‘Portal?’ Thomas asks.

‘Er, I think Miri means where do you deploy from?’ Ben asks as another large creature flies over their heads with a screech. Then another and another, and more after that.

‘Something’s happening,’ Safa says.

‘NICK! TELL IT TO FUCK OFF,’ a shouted voice drifts over.

‘I’ll tell you to fuck off, Cookey!’

‘CLICK, CLICK, MOTHERFUCKER!’ someone else shouts.

‘Someone, shoot that thing!’ a woman shouts.

‘We did! It just made it angry,’ another voice says.

‘What the fuck is going on today? Ben asks as even Harry and Bear stop squabbling over the platter of cakes and turn towards the shouting voices and the sound of something big and heavy impacting on the ground. Thud. Thud. Thud. Something fast too. Something angry that roars out with the sound of a hundred hurt and angry elephants and tigers all mingled together.

Something huge running on two back legs, with a long tail stretched out to aid balance, and a big head out low in front, with a mouth already open as it roars out and chases after the group of people running into view through the bushes.

A dozen or more, all running past from right to left with that monstrous monster pounding the earth behind them. A tall, handsome, young guy with a chiselled jaw and broad shoulders front and centre within the group. ‘Seriously! Fuck off. I only said it once,’ he yells before sniffing the air and snapping his head over to the Harry and Bear. ‘CAKES!’ Nick yells.

‘Where?’ Howie asks.

‘Right there,’ Nick shouts as the others start running at Harry and Bear who, by proxy, decide to join forces, and as one, they take a step together to shield the platter.

‘Who the bloody hell are you lot?’ Howie shouts.

‘Fuck that. Who are you?’ Ben shouts back.

‘Don’t run at us, you twats,’ Safa yells. Staring past them to the T-Rex gaining with every thudding bound until it runs in front of the sun. Casting them all into shadow. ‘Oh shit. OH SHIT! RUN!’

They all start sprinting. The whole lot of them mingling as one, with Howie’s team merging with Bear and Thomas, and Miri, and her group, and the big, hungry T-Rex widens his eyes in delight at the extra snicky snacks he’s about to enjoy. Even if they are a bit small and puny. But they’ll keep him going until dinner.

‘Where’s that damn snow when you need it?’ Thomas yells as the T-Rex roars the loudest yet, with another burst of speed to rush past them with a foot sailing over the head of Mo Mo who stares up in awe at the sight.

The beast lands and runs on, powering away to get ahead before whipping around with another roar, and coming at them from the front with its head coming down, and that huge mouth opening to devour them all.

The speed of it. The agility and prowess of motion staggers them all as the black humour finally cuts off, and they each run fast to try and get away. To try and avoid the thing now coming at them.

They run out. Veering wildly and grabbing at whoever is closest to drag them on as a yelp sounds out, and Reginald, the slowest of them all, snags his foot on a divot and goes tumbling over with a yelp of pain and shock as he stares up in horror at the beast coming at him.

‘REGGIE’S DOWN!’ Cookey yells, seeing the small man tumble as the others snatch around to see Reginald trying to get up before wilting back at the sight of the T-Rex coming at him.

‘REGGIE!’ Howie yells, turning on the spot to run back, and a split-second later, the whole of his team do the same. All of them changing course to run back with screams and shouts. With weapons being hefted. With rifles and pistols already firing at the beast. Running to their fallen comrade. Running into certain death for one of their own.

The others glance back. Seeing it happen. Seeing the faces of the others etched with fury and determination. Seeing the dog reaching Reginald and bounding over his fallen form to land and bark up at the T-Rex with her hackles raised. Seeing the others fall in like a protective shell in front of the small man in glasses.

Seeing it all, and the pure defiance they show against an enemy so very much bigger than they. Against a thing they cannot possibly hope to defeat. They raise their weapons, crying out and readying to fight, ready to die as one fighting unit as the flakes start falling. As the snow falls thick and fast, and the T-Rex’s head comes in, with his mouth snapping shut on thin air before spinning around. Trying to see where they all went.

And a short distance off, a woman comes to a stop and lowers the rifle while hidden from view behind a low bush.

A woman in tight, black vest top. Black patched trousers. Black combat boots. An SS dagger in her belt. A pistol on her hip, and a Barrett fifty calibre rifle in her hands that she brings up to rest across her shoulders.

Sweat beads and trickles down the mud streaked cheeks. The mud she put there to help camouflage her and cover her scent. The same mud smeared over her sinewy arms and lean muscled shoulders. A small bag on her back. Enough to hold water, spare magazines, and a first aid kit. Surgical glue for small cuts. A needle and thread for the bigger ones – because Ria Cavendish learnt the hard way what she needed to carry after waking up alone and hurt underneath the dead body of Doctor John Watson.

Except it wasn’t the good doctor’s body that protected her. It was the dinosaur that crashed through the roof and destroyed the bunker.

It too was hurt. But it was also hot and protected her from the elements while swinging its big head on its long neck to keep the attacking Sauropods away. Battering them aside when they tried to lunge in to hurt her.

Those first few days were terrifying as Ria stirred in and out of consciousness and heard the deep groans of pain from the beast within the remains of the bunker, and the clicks coming from the things trying to kill it with the death of a thousand bites.

Then, they got into the bunker. They didn’t know what humans were at first and darted in and out to sniff and inhale the body of the dead doctor while others took bites out of the billowing creature’s legs.

That sound haunted Ria for a long time after. The sounds of the big beast baying out in pain and misery. The deep pitiful wails.

But they kept coming, and driven by pure fear, Ria crawled into the ruins of the armoury as they snorted and clawed at her legs. As they stalked after her. She found a Barrett fifty Calibre rifle, jammed a magazine in, and just as the closest one came in to drool over her face, she pumped rounds into its belly. Making it scream out in pain and thrash about until it staggered back and dropped to gasp and die. She shot a few more of them before they learnt to get away.

That was nearly two years ago – and since then, she has nearly died a thousand times from a thousand different things. From bites and stings. From eating the wrong things. From bad water and not drinking enough. From exposure. From the cold and heat.

From other things too. Things not from this world.

But she didn’t die. She lived, and she grew strong, and when the Demon Sauropods came back, she learnt to switch the game from prey to predator. She started to hunt them and mastered the world around her until everything changed.

The only problem is why the hell are Ben and Miri, and the others now here within the forests and meadows?

Ria hasn’t rescued them yet. They all die in London in 2111. Killed by the police in Hyde Park. Ria’s been there and seen it – and in time, when she’s ready, Ria will save them, because that’s the thing about time travel. You don’t have to do things immediately.

The point is though; what the hell are they all doing here now? And with the others too? That’s not right.

That’s definitely not right.

She sighs and turns around to head back across the meadow and back through the forest of giant trees. Picking her route with a well-practised eye.

She reaches the Demon Pod kill zone. A quick stop, and she drops to a knee and draws the dagger from her belt to cut a claw from the dead forearm. Weighing it in her hand and figuring that’s five hundred creds easy. Enough for plenty of fried locusts from Oleg and Jerry’s café in Lambeth-not-Lambeth.

She moves on at a brisk pace, following a steeply descending path until she comes out at the edge of the valley filled with lakes and forests and heads along one side.

The bunker now high above her. The plateau above that out of view. A beast outside of her cave. She smiles as she gets closer and waits for it to lumber over. There isn’t a name for this species. The remains don’t survive this area to be found in sixty-five million years from now. That’s sad really. That nobody other than her will ever know these creatures lived.

But then, only a tiny fraction of remains survived for humans to find. It’s still a gorgeous beast. Docile and good-natured. Like a Diplodocus, but smaller. That kind of shape. That kind of thing.

She comes in close. The same one that crushed the bunker. The one she helped nurse back to health and stayed with as they made their way through the forest to get to the valley floor.

A blast of air exhaled from a head bigger than a bus, and the gale force wind is enough to make Ria stagger back and wince at being covered in dinosaur snot, but it’s cool. It’s okay, and she knows what the beast wants too.

‘Okay, okay, five minutes,’ she says, ditching her weapons and bag by the cave door before taking up the two sharp staves of wood that she uses to start rubbing violently on the nose of the big creature, prompting a noise like a purr as she rolls her huge eyes and lowers to rest her chin on the ground. Letting Ria rub up and around her eyes and ears. Scratching at the scales and dead skin as that purr grows so deep and loud the ground starts to vibrate.

It’s a good workout too. Strenuous and making Ria sweat and gasp because she literally cannot press and rub hard enough.

‘That’s it,’ she says after a while. ‘I need to see Bertie,’ she kisses the nose and heads off, taking care to avoid the swing of the tail. The beast broke two of her ribs once with a gentle knock, and Ria knows she never even felt the contact.

She reaches her cave and fires up her device, then steps through into Bertie’s shack, and instantly detects the chill in the air as she heads outside to a glowing, red portal stretched wide over the island, and a torrent of thick falling snow coming from it.

‘You fucking moron,’ she mutters, shaking her head. ‘BERTIE!’ she shouts his name a few times. Waiting for him to pop up – except, he doesn’t. And there’s something about that red portal too.

It doesn’t feel right. She was told to be alert to when something doesn’t feel the way it should. Besides, she’s only taken a few steps from the shack, and it’s already nearly lost from view.

The people she saw in forest were all covered in snow. She saw it on the ground as she followed their trail. She saw it in the hair of Bear and Thomas, and Miri, and her team.

Snow. Just like here.

She heads back into the shack and through the portal to her own cave. To her bag and the pager inside vibrating and flashing. A message scrolling across the top.

Please Report ASAP

She frowns and resets the portal, and once more steps through to a town called Discovery and a frozen and manicured lawn with the Old Lady creaking slowly in her rocking chair.

‘Ria, thank you for coming so quickly,’ the Old Lady says.

‘I was coming anyway. My idiot brother has opened a portal in the sky over the island and made it snow, but he’s gone, and I think it might be connected to seeing the tier 3 teams in my time.’

‘Who did you see, Ria?’

‘Mr Howie and his guys, and Bear, and Thomas. They were with Miri and Ben, Safa, Emily, and Harry, but not from after I rescue them. I mean. I haven’t rescued them yet anyway.’

‘Indeed,’ the Old Lady says quietly with another purse of her lips as the chair creaks back and forth. ‘This is a pickle.’

‘Has anyone seen Bertie?’ Ria asks.

‘Roshi’s out looking for him,’ the Old Lady says. ‘And you’re right. Something has happened. A bridge has formed between the worlds and created glitches in the timelines. I’ll send you the coordinates. I need you to find the teams. We need them back in their worlds.’

‘Got it,’ Ria says. ‘And if Roshi sees my brother, tell her to punch him in the face from me,’ she adds before disappearing through her shimmering portal.

The Old Lady sighs deep and long and looks up to the falling snow while thinking she doesn’t blame Ria one bit for wanting to punch her brother in the face. Bertie might be the greatest genius the worlds have ever known, but he’s still a fucking moron.

Mind you, Ria is also very unique. A born survivor, and as tough as they come. She flagged up as a tiny bloom in the distant past, and the Old Lady watched with interest as Ria Cavendish, an otherwise spoiled, entitled, lazy, and overweight, wealthy, young woman fought back against a world she had no right to be living in.

Ria won too, and the Old Lady soon moved to recruit Ria as a freelancer. Doing this and that. Quiet things. Secret things. Missions the other tier 3 teams don’t need to know about.

But still. This is all very worrying. Bertie is on the run, and the others are bouncing around in each other’s worlds – which isn’t doing the timelines any good at all.

She stares up to a visual projection over her head showing the golden lines of humanity stretching off forever more into the distance. The lines that should be clear and distinct, but right now, they are starting to collapse in, and not just in this world either but in all worlds, and for once, the Old Lady cannot see the way ahead. Not with this level of confusion.

It’s down to the freelancers to find the teams and get them back, and to find Bertie, and get him to undo whatever he’s done.

That’s all they can do right now. That’s all the Old Lady can hope for, and as the projection fades out, so another portal shimmers into existence on her lawn, and she sighs with irritation as the last tier 2 freelancer rushes out.

‘Why are you all landing on my lawn?’

‘Sorry, Miss Old Lady, sir!’ the operative says, snapping out a salute.

‘I’ve said you don’t need to salute me.’

‘Yes, sir! Miss Old Lady, sir! No saluting. And stay off the grass. Can I go now?’

‘You only just arrived! I haven’t told you why you’re here yet.’

‘Roshi said a bridge is broken, and we need to punch some brothers in the face.’

‘The bridge isn’t broken, and only Bertie needs the punch in the face.’

‘Understood! Punch Bertie for fixing the bridge. Got it. Can I go now?’

‘No! There’s a bridge between the worlds. Your old world and Ria’s, and Roshi’s, and the other one.’

‘What other one is that, Miss Old Lady, Sir?’

‘The one with the spaceships.’

‘I thought that was Roshi’s world.’

‘No. Yes. Right. Just go and find Roshi, and get your orders from her.’

‘Yes, sir!’

‘I am a woman, Blinky.’

‘Miss, Sir! Can I go now?’

‘Yes! Go. And get off my lawn! Blasted grass is getting broken. Bloody Roshi. Honestly. Bloody teams and bloody time travel, and bloody blasted Bertie buggering Cavendish! I’ll punch him in the bloody face myself at this rate.’

13

Warning: Typhoid Fever

Signs on front doors and front walls. Signs in windows and on wooden boards fixed to the street railings.

Signs everywhere, and all warning of the same thing as Bertie runs wildly along Fifth Avenue into the residential streets lined with posh houses, all of which bear that same sign.

Bertie ignores them because, while he might be a moron that deserves a punch in the face for messing about with time travel, he isn’t so much of a moron to risk taking diseases from one era to another.

It’s not like he’s Christopher Columbus or anything.

Columbus took Smallpox, Measles, Influenza, and the Bubonic Plague into the New World, which was something that deserved a punch in the face.

Bertie even told him that in a bar, in the Spanish port on 2nd August 1492 before the Santa Maria, the Nina, and the Pinta set sail. Not that the wholly arrogant and clearly up-his-own-backside Mr Columbus took any notice. That said – Bertie was using a wristband taken from the Worldship Humility with an in-built AI language translator, which may have been the thing which resulted in Bertie being accused of being a witch.

Whatever.

The point is, Bertie, despite being a moron, takes precautions against such things and regularly travels into the far future to get immunised and cleared of any nasties before travelling into the past.

And so, those signs thereby proclaiming this area of New York in 1905, which Bertie still thinks is Scotland, to be suffering from Typhoid Fever, hold no real fear for Bertie, and he duly legs it along the near-deserted street and risks a glance back to see the first black-clad figure with his sub-machine gun and red laser running into the junction behind him.

‘There!’ the guy shouts.

‘Oh, bum!’ Bertie says, speeding up while wondering why Miri hasn’t sent Safa to rescue him yet, while also wondering if he really wants to be rescued if it means Miri will feed him to the rats in the Russian prison.

There then follows a brief interlude where Bertie’s mind shuts off from the perils of the now and recalls the episode of Rick and Morty where Rick turns into a pickle and lands in the subway system, only to almost get eaten by rats, but instead uses science to take over the bodies of the rats, and uses them to break into the secret lair and the home of the freedom fighter, Jaguar.

Then, Bertie realises that - for a start, he’s not the size of a pickle, and it’d be really gross to stick his tongue into a rat brain to make it run about.

And so, instead, he decides to avoid such things and find somewhere to hide and veers across the road to the first door he spots being opened by a thickset, red-haired woman who promptly scowls as Bertie runs towards her.

‘Ye’ll no be coming in here,’ she says in a strong Irish accent. ‘It’s the fever, so it is.’

‘Sorry!’ Bertie yells, brushing past Typhoid Mary into the home of the Jefferson family.

‘I said they’ve got the fever!’ Mary shouts.

‘POLICE! STAND ASIDE!’ a voice shouts from behind, making Typhoid Mary panic and rush inside to slam the door shut in the face of the first black clad figure running up the outside stairs. ‘OPEN THIS DOOR!’

‘It’s the fever in here,’ she calls out before spotting the modern combat operatives through the window. ‘Mother of Mary. It’s the devil’s own army, it is.’

She turns to flee as the door bursts in, and those same figures pour through while Bertie reaches the top of the stairs and starts opening doors to rooms to see sick people in beds. A sudden idea, and he jumps into an empty bed and starts murmuring feverishly while hoping his sweaty face makes him look sick.

The door opens. The figures rush in. He waits a few seconds and risks a peek to see his bed surrounded by black-clad figures staring down at him.

‘Seriously?’ one of them asks. ‘You really thought we’d fall for that?’

‘S’just binary,’ Bertie whispers while figuring maybe licking a dead rat brain might not be such a bad idea right now as two of the figures reach down to clamp big hands around his wrists and wrench him up as the snow falls thick and fast.

‘What the…’ one of them says before crying out when the world changes to a lush, green landscape of trees and bushes in a vast open meadow as Bertie spots a pastry on the ground.

‘Ooh, cream cake,’ he says, bending down to snag it as the T-Rex behind him flicks one of the operatives into the air before gobbling him down.

‘Oh my god!’ the other operative says.

‘I know, right,’ Bertie says, looking from the cake to the guard. ‘It was right there. Did you want half?’ he offers as the guard gibbers and starts backing away. ‘No? Okay, how about you?’ Bertie asks, turning to the other guard as the T-Rex snatches the second operative up to gobble down with a crunch of bone. ‘Where’d he go?’ Bertie asks, holding his cake as he looks for the first operative, then turns to see the second one has also disappeared. ‘Wow. Maybe they’re magical,’ he says in wonder while staring at the cream bun. ‘Invisibility cakes.’

He takes a bite and sets off for a nice stroll while slurping and munching his cake, and figuring how cool it is now he’s invisible, while the forty-foot-tall T-Rex slurps and munches on the guards behind him. The two creatures seemingly happy in the sun, with rolling eyes and lips smacking together.

But of course, two operatives are but a snack for a giant T-Rex, and soon, his greedy eyes fall upon the tasty morsel strolling along with another tasty morsel, and that greedy T-Rex starts dropping down. Ready to gobble and snaffle without any notion of the snow falling as he swoops down and snaps his mouth closed on thin air with an expression of what the actual fuck on his dinosaur face.

Meanwhile, Bertie, now invisible from eating his magic cake, strolls from the meadow to the packed lane within the level 30 retail zone onboard the Worldship Humility which is normally filled with shoppers and tourists but appears to now be full of people rioting.

Which is rather startling, and he pauses at the side of a wide junction with his cake in hand and watches a brawl roll between holo placard holding people and some tattooed Elforists.

‘JORGEY! WE HAVE TO KEEP GOING!’ a woman yells as Bertie glances over to a corner and a cluster of people running into view. Two women in the lead. A uniformed cop and a uniformed stair guard. Both with a voltage stick in each hand as they lay into the protesters, rushing at them with wild yells and wilder eyes.

Not that Bertie is actually that worried. Why would he be? He’s invisible. Nobody can see him.

‘ELFORIST!’ someone yells, pointing at Bertie with an expression of rage on his face. ‘KILL HIM!’

Bertie slowly eats the rest of his cake and wonders who they mean as a woman with dark hair rushes by his side, leaving a scent of cherry blossom in her wake.

She runs into the group with a staggering explosion of violence. Grabbing the first one and flipping him over her hip, before wrenching the heavy flexi-pipe from his hand, and using it to smash the next one down.

‘Hi, Roshi!’ he calls with a smile and a wave.

‘Hey, Bertie,’ Roshi says, stamping on a knee joint before slamming the palm of her hand into the nose of a guy twice her size. ‘What did you do?’

‘I ate a cake. I found it on the ground in dinosaur times. Like, it was literally just lying there.’

‘No, you twat! I mean what did you do to make this happen?’

‘Oh. Yeah. It’s snowing.’

‘I know it’s snowing. It’s snowing everywhere, and your sister wants to punch you in the face,’ Roshi shouts with a glance over to see thick snowflakes falling down around Bertie. ‘Wait!’ she yells, diving forward as he disappears, and she lands on the gantry with a grunt.

‘KEEP GOING, JORGEY!’ someone shouts as the group lead by the two women thunder by.

‘Cock it,’ Roshi groans, rolling on her back, still in her whore dress as she swipes at her wristband to look at the coordinates of the glitches blooming up in the golden strands of the timeline. ‘Where did you go?’ she murmurs with a sudden frown at remembering what he said. ‘Ha! Gotcha,’ she says, getting to her feet and hitting the time and place she wants.

‘Ha! Double gotcha!’ she yells out but cuts off with a tut at seeing he’s not here in the training construct restaurant with all the weird frozen people. Mind you, someone has been here because the big platter of cream cakes has gone. Bertie said he found one on the ground, and Ria called and said she’d seen all of the teams in her world being chased by a T-Rex.

Which then tends to suggest that one of the teams came here and took the platter before leaping into the dinosaur world which is where Bertie ended up before landing on the Humility.

A second to think, and she resets her own portal and steps from the restaurant construct to a lush and green landscape and a forty-foot-tall T-Rex straining to take a shit.

She peers up at it, then clocks a sub-machine gun with a shorn off hand and wrist still attached to it, next to a combat boot with an ankle bone poking out of the top.

‘That’s why you’re bloody constipated,’ she says as the monstrous monster snaps its head down to glare at her. ‘Eat some trees,’ she adds, wagging her finger as the T-Rex bellows, mid-shit, and swoops to once more snap his jaws on thin air as Roshi steps back into the restaurant training construct room and shuts her portal off.

‘Reset the room,’ she calls out, feeling a jolt inside as the AI interface resets, and a fresh platter of cream cakes appears on the serving trolley. She snags one up to bite into before sending a message and waiting for a minute until another portal shimmers into existence, and Ria steps into the room. ‘Howdy. The Old Lady fill you in?’ Roshi asks.

‘She said Bertie’s literally cocked the whole universe up,’ Ria says as she snags a cake from the platter, ‘and a bridge has formed between the worlds. But honestly, though. These cakes. Best ever.’

‘I know, right?’ Roshi says as a third portal pops into life. ‘What’s up, Buttercup?’

‘Get bent,’ Blinky says, rushing over to the serving trolley to shove one in her mouth. ‘And the Old Lady is pissy cos you reset our portals to land on her grass.’

‘I wondered why I walked out onto her lawn,’ Ria says.

‘I know. She hates it,’ Roshi says with a grin. ‘Anyway. I saw Bertie on the Humility, and guess what he had?’

‘A hard on,’ Blinky says.

‘Urgh. Don’t be gross,’ Ria says at the thought of her brother having an erection.

‘No. He had a cake. One of these cakes,’ Roshi says, taking a bite from her own. ‘He said he found it on the ground in the bunker time, and when I came in here, the platter was gone. Which means one of the teams has been through here and taken the platter of cakes.’

‘Probably Nick,’ Blinky says. ‘He’s a greedy cunt.’

‘It was Harry,’ Ria says. ‘I saw them in my time. They were all together. But they didn’t know each other.’

‘Okay. And I saw Bertie in the 1905 construct for Typhoid Mary,’ Roshi says as Blinky tries to stuff two cakes in her mouth at once. ‘Jesus, Blinky.’

‘Want one?’ Blinky asks, pulling one from her gob to offer out.

‘Sod it,’ Ria says, taking it to eat.

‘Urgh. That was in her mouth,’ Roshi says.

‘When you’ve eaten fruit seeds pulled from dinosaur shit, Roshi,’ Ria says with a shrug. ‘And why are you wearing that dress?’

‘I was working! I haven’t had time to change, thank you, Lara Croft.’

‘I do not look like Lara Croft!’ Ria says.

‘Lara Croft’s posh older sister,’ Blinky says. ‘You so need to get with Blowers. You look just like him.’

‘I saw him! The one with the eye patch. Yeah. Wow. He’s hot. Shame about the whole no mingling in different worlds rule. So, er, the Old Lady seems really worried though.’

‘She is,’ Roshi says. ‘I’ve never seen her like it. Whatever’s going on is serious. We need to find the teams and get Bertie back to his shack, because without them being where they need to be, the timelines start going crazy,’ she adds while pulling the view out on the holo screen to see the golden strands of time stretching off, and where they should be straight and clear, they see blooms of changes and strands merging, and more dying out, with ever increasing flashes as the future becomes frantic, wild, and very uncertain.

As time itself starts to unravel.

‘And remember,’ Roshi says as they get ready to set off on the hunt once more. ‘Follow the cakes…’

14

‘Cakes!’ Bertie says as the three portals for Roshi, Ria, and Blinky fade from view, and he appears mid-flurry of snow in the restaurant construct. He rushes over to grab one from the platter and wonders if these will give him magic powers too. Like being able to fly or breathe underwater, or talk with animals. Mind you, those abilities already exist in the future. But that’s in the far far future where it’s all super weird, and everyone is a bit of a twat. Albeit a non-binary, immortal gaseous-form-of-existence twat.

‘Hello,’ he says to the woman at the nearest table. She doesn’t reply. He leans in close to stare first at her, then at the room around him and, once again, calculates that he is in another AI construct.

People need to breathe, and these people are not breathing. It’s the same as the other place in 1905. An unreal reality, and Bertie correctly assumes that this location and, indeed, these people actually existed, and somehow it has been captured.

‘Run program,’ he calls out, figuring that the system must be voice activated, and he smiles with glee as the world around him transforms from silent and still to a place of motion and noise. The clink of cutlery on crockery, and voices talking. That gentle hubbub of a busy place.

‘Good morning, sir,’ a waiter says with cold politeness while eyeing Bertie with distaste. ‘I’m afraid you are not dressed in the correct attire for this establishment. Please leave immediately.’

‘Pause program,’ Bertie calls, and once again, the room becomes still and silent, and the snow starts to fall thick and fast.

He grabs another cake to eat and smiles again at the frozen waiter before blinking out of sight, and once more, the room falls to the kind of perpetual silence of non-existence that only an AI construct can form, which is until lots of snow-flurries appear all over the room.

‘FUCK YOU!’ Howie shouts, swiping his axe at the T-Rex coming down as his team all crowd together to protect Reginald.

‘Dude. My head,’ Thomas says, blowing air and feeling sick at the constant changes.

‘Cakes!’ Bear says, realising where they are.

‘Aye. My cakes!’ Harry says, shielding his platter as Miri and her team appear next to the dessert trolley.

‘Seriously! What the actual shit,’ Howie shouts as his axe slams into a table, hard enough to send the plates and crockery flying everywhere.

‘Oi!’ Safa says, ducking from a bowl of duck soup flying past her.

‘Dude!’ Thomas chides, covered in canapes.

‘Where did it go?’ Howie asks. ‘And where are our zombies?’

‘Zombies?’ Thomas asks as Ben double-takes at Howie.

‘We’ve been over this,’ Reginald says. ‘They are not zombies!’

‘It’s you!’ Ben says.

‘Me what?’ Howie asks as his team extract themselves from the furniture they landed on while mid-leap in attack of the T-Rex.

‘The man,’ Ben says. ‘With the poo.’

‘Eh?’ Howie asks.

‘It’s you,’ Ben says again. ‘It’s him. The man bloke guy and the… And the testicles-.’

‘Dude. Use your talking words,’ Thomas suggests.

‘Right, listen in, you,’ Bear says, pointing at Harry. ‘There is a platter of fresh cakes right behind you. You keep yours, and I’ll take the new ones, and nobody needs to get hurt.’

Harry looks at Bear, then turns to glance at the platter of fresh cream cakes behind him.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ Bear warns as Harry offers a wry smile while reaching back for the fresh platter and lowering the old one on a table.

‘There you go, lad. Have your cakes.’

‘I want the fresh ones!’

‘Bear, forget the damn cakes,’ Thomas says.

‘The man!’ Ben says again, pointing at Howie while nodding at Miri. ‘From the telly, with his teeth and his willy.’

‘Last chance!’ Bear shouts, pointing at Harry. ‘Swap those platters.’

‘Or?’ Harry asks.

‘He did a poo!’ Ben cries out, flapping his hands in frustration at why nobody can understand it. ‘Outside the house. Jesus. What is wrong with you?’

‘Right. FUCK YOU!’ Bear shouts. ‘DEATH CHARGE!’

‘Dude! Do not death charge over some cakes!’ Thomas yells.

‘FICK DEIN MUTTER!’ Harry roars, slamming his platter down.

‘I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!’ Bear shouts.

‘It means fuck your mother,’ Charlie, Reginald, Miri, and Emily all say at the same time.

‘ARGH!’ Bear shouts, running at Harry.

‘ARGH!’ Harry shouts, running at Bear.

‘ARGH!’ Ben shouts because nobody gets what he means.

And the snow falls as Bear and Harry dive at each other over a table, and as one, they all cease to be, and the room once more falls into a perpetual silence, broken only by the sound of duck soup dripping from the chin of the frozen woman.

That is, until a portal shimmers to life. ‘Jesus. Here again,’ Ria says, turning to go back before spotting the signs of recent activity. She activates a call on her wristband before heading back to her portal. ‘Roshi! It’s me. They’ve been back through the cake room.’

* * *

‘ARGH!’ Harry shouts, still leaping over a table towards Bear.

‘ARGH!’ Bear shouts, also leaping over the same table to get at Harry.

But that table and the world they were in promptly change, and so they sail past each other with rather odd looks and land amidst the tussocks and divots of a lush, green world.

Except, it’s not the bright and sunny, lush, green world they were in a few moments ago, but dark and shadowy, as though something big is blotting out the light, and as one, they all turn to look up at the giant bumhole of the T-Rex bent forward, with the thick tail waving left to right. A strain in the air, and a deep groan, the type of which every person has felt within their own bowels before.

‘God. It’s like dino porn for Blowers’ Cookey says as the sphincter contracts into a tight puckered knot, and the beast’s legs and tail start to tremble.

‘INCOMING!’ Harry yells, commando-rolling into Bear with a flail of limbs that snag a few more as they all turn to run with screams and shouts. Slamming into each other with a frantic rush to get away as a wet sucking noise sounds out behind them.

‘RUN!’ Howie yells.

‘MOVE IT!’ Safa shouts, grabbing at whoever is blocking her path, but the end was ordained the second they landed, and the air behind them fills with a long rasp as they get pelted with moisture and wind, and the foul smell of shit. Another roar, and the explosion comes as the mighty beast finally passes the clumps of sticky shit that sprays out in a fan of brown goo with enough power to knock them off their feet.

All of them tumbling and sprawling out with yelps of disgust. Gagging and yacking at the stench of the faecal matter as the world around them changes back to the weird restaurant.

* * *

‘…It’s me. They’ve been back through the cake room,’ a voice says as someone walks through a shimmering portal and disappears.

‘Who was that?’ Ben asks, blinking the tears from his eyes, caused by the smell of the dino poo. ‘Was that Bertie?’

‘Sounded like a woman,’ Thomas says, on his hands and knees. Most of the others the same. Either on all fours and retching, or sprawled out, and groaning. ‘Someone mind telling me what’s going on,’ he calls.

‘We appear to be travelling in time, old chap,’ Reginald says.

‘Yeah. I got that bit,’ Thomas mutters.

‘But for what reason, and to what end, I cannot say,’ Reginald continues. ‘Suffice to say we appear, perhaps somewhat loosely, to be anchored in some way to this present location.’

‘Charlie?’ Howie says, mid-spit.

‘He said we keep coming back to this cake room,’ Charlie says as Harry and Bear snap their heads up and make a run for the serving trolley while slapping the other’s hands away.

‘Bear! What the hell are you doing?’ Roshi asks as everyone in the room snaps their heads over to a woman standing in front of a shimmering portal.

‘He’s a cake thief!’ Bear shouts.

‘They’re my bloody cakes!’ Harry shouts.

‘Roshi. What the hell, man?’ Thomas says.

‘Who the hell is Roshi?’ Ben asks.

‘I’m Roshi,’ Roshi says. ‘ROOM RESET,’ she calls as everyone feels a lurch inside from the AI construct resetting and a fresh platter of cakes appearing on the trolley.

‘Mine!’ Bear and Harry shout, both dropping the one they’re already holding to go for the new one.

‘Sergeant Madden!’ Miri shouts.

‘Yes, ma’am?’ Harry and Clarence shout back as Clarence frowns at Harry.

‘And what is that smell?’ Roshi asks, pulling a face.

‘T-Rex poo,’ Thomas says.

‘Er, you haven’t seen any zombies by any chance, have you?’ Howie asks. ‘About two thousand? Got red eyes? Drooling a bit? No?’

‘They’re not zombies!’ Reginald says.

‘It’s him!’ Ben says, pointing at Howie.

‘Dude. Do not start that again,’ Thomas says as several others all groan. ‘And Bear! Seriously. Let go of the damn cakes.’

‘No! I mean, we saw him,’ Ben says. ‘At the other place. The first one we went to. With the military vehicle.’

‘The Saxon?’ Miri asks.

‘Have you seen our Saxon?’ Howie asks. ‘Is it with our zombies?’

‘And again. Not zombies,’ Reginald says.

‘BEAR!’ Thomas shouts at Bear, still playing tug of war with the platter. ‘Goddam. ROOM RESET,’ he orders, feeling the lurch as another platter of fresh cakes appears on the trolley. ‘Have one each,’ he adds as the snow falls thick and fast. ‘ROSHI! What do we do?’

‘They lost Bertie,’ Roshi shouts as they all disappear, with Bear frantically trying to reach the trolley.

‘Cock it!’ Bear says, landing on his hands and knees, and no fresh platter of cakes.

‘GET YER NEW YORK TIMES.’

‘And there is it, ladies and gentlemen, the world-famous Flatiron building!’

Shouts from New York in 1905 replace the silence of the cake room.

‘GET OUTTA THE ROAD!’ the carriage driver yells, flicking his whip at Safa.

‘Ow!’ she yells, rubbing her backside. ‘What the fuck was that for?’

‘DAMN EMIGRUNT!’ he shouts, whipping her again.

‘Oh, you fucking cunt,’ she says, leaping up onto the front of the carriage to punch him in the face. ‘Call me an emigrunt again. Go on! Fucking say it again, you twat.’

‘Miss Patel!’ Miri calls.

‘Use that whip again, and I’ll shove it up your arse,’ Safa tells the terrified and bloodied driver before leaping down and marching across the road with a middle finger held up to the other, now silent and terrified, carriage drivers. Which is right before she snags a cream cake from Harry’s platter and shoves it in her mouth. ‘Right. What’s going on?’

‘We are going to establish that now, Miss Patel,’ Miri says.

‘Don’t you start again, lad,’ Harry says with a warning tone as Bear pushes to his feet.

‘Mr Bear will fall in,’ Miri orders as Thomas blinks and watches as Bear rights himself, stretches his neck, and glares at Harry with a foul look before nodding at Miri.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Bear says as Harry gives him a smug smile.

‘Hello, sir. May I have a cake please,’ Nick asks, rushing over with a salute and a tone of pure politeness.

‘I’m a sergeant. Not a sir, lad,’ Harry says, letting him take one.

‘Cheers, sarge,’ Nick says with a grin. ‘Ha! Click, click that, motherfuckers!’

‘That’s not fair! Sarge, you got another one?’ Cookey asks, running over to Harry.

‘Ooh, can I have one please, sarge?’ Tappy asks.

‘Sergeant Madden!’ Miri shouts as Harry and Clarence turn to look at her.

‘Yes, ma’am?’ they both say before blinking at each other as the lads start swiping cream cakes from the platter.

‘Don’t give them all away!’ Bear says, trying to grab the platter as Harry tries pulling it away, only for Cookey to lean in and snag two.

‘Oi! I’ll put you on orders, you cheeky sod!’ Harry shouts.

‘Honestly. Please do,’ Paula says, while eating a cake. ‘We really try with him. Oh, wow, these are nice!’

‘They’re soya apparently,’ Emily says, giving Harry a look.

‘Are they really soya?’ Marcy asks. ‘I try and avoid dairy.’

‘Since when?!’ Howie asks.

‘Sergeant Madden! Who is in charge there?’ Miri asks, trying to grip the situation.

‘Mr Howie,’ Clarence says, pointing at Howie.

‘No idea, ma’am,’ Harry says as he and Clarence both frown at each other again. ‘The officer was talking to me, lad.’

‘But she addressed me,’ Clarence says.

‘No. She addressed me,’ Harry says, giving Clarence a hard look.

‘You should fight him,’ Bear urges. ‘I’ll hold the cakes,’ he adds, and the snow falls thick and fast while Clarence frowns at Harry playing tug on the platter with Bear.

The platter that flies up out of their hands after being struck on the upswing of a fighting stick wielded by a huge man in a blue boiler suit.

‘Aw, hell no,’ Thomas says, backing away as he glances across the pitted concrete floor of the warehouse room they used when they first arrived. The one where the kids were tied to bombs, except there are no kids now. Just a dozen big men, all in blue coveralls, and all holding long fighting sticks.

The pause of a second as Bear and Harry blink at their empty hands and frown at the sound of a low growl coming from the side. The low growl of a very big man now covered not only in T-Rex shit but also in cream cakes, and a split-second later, they both lean back as the goliath bulk of Clarence surges between them to ram a fist into the guy in the blue coveralls, sending him sprawling as another one swings a fighting stick at Clarence’s back.

‘Relax, fatty,’ Bear says, rushing in front of Harry to drop the guy with a single punch. ‘I got this.’

‘So have I,’ Harry says, shouldering Bear away to get at another attacker, only for the guy to be sent flying by Clarence. ‘He was mine, lad.’

‘He was mine!’ Bear says at the same time.

‘Obviously not,’ Clarence says as all three turn to face the rest of the attackers clutching fighting sticks. Big men too. All of them bunching power before charging forward as Clarence, Harry, and Bear square themselves up, ready for the fight. Only for Dave to stride past them into the first attacker’s swing with a gentle lean to the side before flipping the guy over his hip and plucking the stick from his hand. A gliding step to the left, and the point of the stick hits a throat, making the guy drop with a gargle. A turn, and Dave strikes hard and fast across the back of a skull with a resounding clunk. The others launch at him. All swinging at the same time as Dave dances his dance. Blocking blows with staggering ease. Simply being where he needs to be. Trapping a toe to stop the guy from moving and, thereby, blocking someone else. Hooking his stick behind an ankle to trip another. Leaning back. Leaning left. Leaning right. Tapping out with clunks to skulls. Bang, bang, bang, and the attackers drop one by one like a row of dominos, leaving Dave standing smartly in the middle, tucking the stick under his arm like a sergeant major as he marches off.

‘I had them, Dave,’ Clarence growls.

‘Obviously not,’ Dave says, staring ahead as he walks between the three big men.

‘Oh, bless. They look so crestfallen,’ Marcy says with a smile at the three guys glowering after Dave. ‘Have some cake, boys,’ she adds, nodding to the gloopy mess on the floor.

A screech of metal, and their heads snap over to the big sliding door at the end slamming back on rusty wheels, with dozens more men in blue coveralls marching into the room. All of them clutching fighting sticks, and all of them with the same set expressions.

Dave veers course without a flicker of reaction and walks out past the others to stand between them and the attackers. Holding still and as expressionless as ever, until Safa walks a step past him that is. Hunkering low, with a fighting stick in her hand.

He frowns ever so slightly and takes a step past her to hold position. But she does it again and goes ahead of him. Which is wrong. He is Dave. He has to go first, and so he takes another step past her.

Which is wrong because she is Safa, and she has to go first. ‘You’re not having them all,’ Safa says, going past him.

‘BEHIND YOU!’ Dave shouts, she spins around, expecting an attack from the rear as Dave runs past.

‘You cheeky fucker!’ she yells, running after Dave as together those two run at several dozen attackers.

Which, to the rest of the room, seems about fair as they stare over to the thumps, grunts, and clumps coming from the whirling dervishes of Dave and Safa Patel.

‘Aw, she looks so happy,’ Emily says with a soft smile.

‘Dave does too,’ Paula says. ‘Is he smiling? He is! He is actually smiling.’

‘Dude, are you sulking?’ Thomas asks with a glance at Bear.

‘No. I’m fine,’ Bear says with an expression and tone that suggest he isn’t fine at all. ‘Just you know. Zara said I was meant to be the henchman.’

‘Oh, man, seriously?’ Thomas asks with a blink at the hurt look on Bear’s face. ‘Dude. Just go over and ask if you can play. They won’t mind.’

‘I’m fine here.’

‘It’s cool. I’ll ask for you.’

‘Don’t ask for me!’

‘It’s fine. Hey, yo! Can my buddy come and play? He’s like our henchman.’

‘Thomas!’ Bear whispers with a groan.

‘I think we’re just about done,’ Safa says as Dave drops another three guys. ‘Sorry!’ she adds with a wince before turning to see dozens more of the exact same men marching into the room. ‘Oh, actually. He’s in luck.’

‘See, buddy!’ Thomas says with a grin at Bear. ‘Go on and have some fun.’

‘Well. You know. I could do a few, I guess,’ Bear says with a shrug like he’s not really that bothered as Harry shoves him aside and rushes past.

‘Beardy’s coming in!’ Safa yells with a laugh as Bear curses and springs up to run past Harry, with the pair of them shoving at each other until Clarence runs through the middle, knocking them both aside and making Safa laugh with delight. ‘Come on boys!’ she yells to the others. ‘Don’t just stand there. Get stuck in.’

‘Ask one of them if they’ve seen our zombies,’ Howie shouts as the lads all rush past to join in.

‘Not zombies,’ Reginald says while looking around. ‘I say, do any of you know where we are?’

‘This is a training construct,’ Thomas says. ‘Like the cake room, and New York 1905. We use them for training operatives.’

‘This isn’t real then?’ Ben asks, staring around in awe as the others do the same.

‘Er, no, it is real, but it’s kind of captured into an AI system.’

‘Like a computer simulation then. Oh, shit,’ Howie says, glancing up to the ceiling as the snow falls thick and fast. ‘This is nuts.’

‘Porridge?’ the woman asks, shouting over the music.

‘Eh?’ Howie asks, startled at the change as he looks around to see he’s in the middle of a party, in a long wide corridor. Flashing lights, and music playing. A catchy song that Howie knows, and he glances up to the The Dead South blasting out Honey You while somehow suspended in the air above their heads.

‘How many of you?’ the woman shouts.

‘What?’ Howie replies, turning back to see her leaning over a table set to the side, then down to the bowls of porridge and jam, and more people in black clothes carrying trays of yet more porridge and jam. People at chairs and tables eating the stuff while drinking glasses of bubbly.

‘Best damn porridge in the fleet!’ a beautiful woman with dark hair and dark features says with a laugh while serving more bowls to another table further back.

‘Guy, just take it and move on,’ the woman behind the table says, pushing a bowl into Howie’s hands. ‘Are you Elforists?’ she asks with a glance to his clothes and disgusting state. ‘No charge for Elforists. It’s on Abdul.’

‘Who?’ Howie asks, but the woman turns away.

‘What the fuck?’ Safa asks, pushing through the crowd of dancers. ‘Where are we?’

‘No idea,’ Howie says.

‘Sven’s Eatery?’ Paula says, leaning over to see the name of a café glowing in 3D above the walkway. ‘Who’s Sven?’

‘What’s that?’ Safa asks, peering at the bowl of porridge in Miri’s hands. ‘You eating it? Can I have it? Cheers. I’m starving. Oh, that’s nice. And it’s got jam in it! Harry! Try some of this porridge and jam.’

‘Where?’ Harry asks.

‘It’s on the table,’ Marcy says as the others crowd forward to get bowls of porridge and jam.

‘Is this another training construct?’ Howie calls to Thomas.

‘I’ve no idea where this is,’ Thomas says as Bear looms at his side with a bowl of porridge in his hands and nods a greeting at a dark-haired Chinese guy walking past. ‘You know that guy?’ Thomas asks.

‘Yeah. In the fight,’ Bear says.

‘Dude. What fight? Which one?’

‘In the nightclub,’ Bear says. ‘We’re on the spaceship,’ he adds, clocking Zhang Woo disappear into the toilet at the end with Mahatma Goudier.

‘We’re on a fucking spaceship?’ Howie asks. ‘In space?’

‘Why aren’t we all floating?’ Marcy asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Bear says, seeing a few faces around him that he noticed in the Ritzy Ditzy nightclub during the brawl. ‘Nice porridge though. I wonder how it’s made.’

‘It’s a secret recipe, you nosy puta,’ Yasmine says with a grin and a wink as she walks through them. ‘Sam! Change the music. This is shit.’

‘I really like it,’ Howie says.

‘Wait, you know this?’ Ben asks.

‘Yeah. The Dead South,’ Howie says as Clarence and a few others nod.

‘In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company,’ Bear says, naming one of their most popular songs as a few of the others nod with agreement.

‘Forgive me,’ Reginald says with a gentle frown. ‘I’d like to clarify some points if I may. You are time travellers, yes?’ he asks with a look to Miri and her team. ‘And you two are also time travellers, but you don’t know each other. Is that correct?’

‘You got it in one, buddy,’ Thomas says. ‘Bear and I live in a town called Discovery. It’s an AI construct, but we go into the real world to fix and tweak things to make sure humanity doesn’t die out.’

‘I see. Very interesting,’ Reginald says. ‘And pray tell, is it just you two?’

‘No. It’s a whole town. Like hundreds of us doing it.’

‘Right,’ Reginald says. ‘And yourself?’ he enquiries of Miri. ‘What do you do, if I may ask?’

‘Ben Ryder, Safa Patel, and Harry Madden were extracted from their timelines after Bertie Cavendish invented time travel and discovered that the future was broken,’ Miri says while studying the faces of the others when saying the names.

‘What?’ Howie asks, feeling like she’s assessing something.

‘You never heard of those names?’ Miri asks.

‘Maggie Sanderson?’ Ben asks.

‘Nope,’ Howie says, looking at his team all shaking their heads. ‘Should we have?’

‘Who was the ruling British monarch during world war two?’ Reginald asks.

‘King George,’ Miri and Thomas reply.

‘First US President?’ Miri asks.

‘George Washington,’ Reginald and Thomas reply.

‘First person on the moon?’ Thomas asks.

‘Neil Armstrong,’ Miri and Reginald reply as Thomas shakes his head.

‘Buzz walked first,’ Thomas says.

‘Buzz Aldrin?’ Miri asks. ‘He was second.’

‘No, ma’am. Armstrong was second.’

‘Glocks don’t have safety switches in our time,’ Blowers says.

‘They do in ours,’ Safa says.

‘Did, you chaps, still have Abraham Lincoln?’ Reginald asks as Miri and Thomas both nod.

‘1861 to 1869,’ Thomas says.

‘’61 to 65,’ Miri says.

‘No, ma’am. 61 to 69. Two terms. Lincoln to Grant.’

‘What about Andrew Johnson?’ Reginald asks. ‘He took over when Lincoln was assassinated.’

‘Lincoln wasn’t killed,’ Thomas says. ‘Oh, wait. I think we stopped that. Yeah, it’s a well-known RLI. But, wow, dudes. So Lincoln died in your times? What about Elvis?’

‘Died on the toilet in ‘77’ Miri says.

‘No way. He did his best stuff in the eighties. Man, that’s sad,’ Thomas says. ‘His duet with Michael Jackson was something else.’

‘Different worlds,’ Miri says, staring at Reginald.

‘Or one world and various dimensions,’ Reginald says.

‘To be confirmed,’ Miri says.

‘Indeed. More data is required,’ Reginald says. ‘Needless to say, we’re all speaking English and have, mostly, the same points of reference which indicates the same major events have taken place, and of course, that band is one we have all heard of,’ he adds while pointing his spoon at the musicians. ‘But, yes. Damn fine porridge. Compliments to the chef!’

‘Thank you!’ Yasmine says, rushing back through with another tray. ‘You friends of Sam, I’m guessing.’

‘We are,’ Miri says with a rare warm smile. ‘Great party!’ she adds as Yasmine smiles while looking distracted and rushes off into the crowd, and the snow falls once again. Coming down thick and fast.

‘GET YER NEW YORK TIMES!’ the vendor yells from the sidewalk as they blink and look around at the place they’ve already seen.

‘GET OUTTA THE DAMN ROAD,’ the carriage driver yells, flicking the whip at Safa before falling back from a bowl of porridge thrown at his head.

‘WANKER!’ Safa yells.

‘It’s reset,’ Howie says, looking over to the same people, all showing reactions to the sudden presence of Howie and the others, but it’s a new reaction. Like they’ve only seen them now for the first time.

‘I told you. It’s a training construct,’ Thomas says.

‘Mr Howie. You’re the leader of this group?’ Miri asks with a show of recognition. ‘Wait. We saw you. In the first change we experienced.’

‘It’s him!’ Emily says.

‘Oh! They guy with the shit on his chin,’ Safa says.

‘Finally! I was saying that!’ Ben says.

‘Not very well, Benjamin,’ Emily says. ‘But, hi and hello, I’m Emily Rose. Former top agent for the British Secret Service.’

‘Tango Two,’ Safa says, coughing into her hand.

‘Sergeant Madden. Royal Marine Commando,’ Harry says.

‘Sergeant Madden. Royal Parachute Regiment,’ Clarence says with a frown at Harry as everyone else stares at the two men. Both of them over six and a half feet tall, with shoulders like rocks and arms like gorillas. The same shape. The same size, and the only difference is the thick beard and mop of hair on Harry and Clarence’s bald dome and light stubble.

‘This is not the time for introductions,’ Miri says.

‘Indeed. I’d rather suggest we are due another change,’ Reginald says, checking his watch as he looks up to the ceiling.

‘Agreed,’ Miri says curtly. ‘Are you the tac-adviser?’

‘If by that you mean am I able to count to more than ten without taking my boots off, then yes, one could say I was,’ Reginald says, still staring up at the sky. ‘And you are?’ he enquires politely.

‘In charge,’ Miri says bluntly before turning on Thomas. ‘I heard the woman say Bertie was lost. Explain.’

‘Roshi? Yeah, she said that, but I don’t know who Bertie is,’ Thomas says.

‘Do you know who Bertie is?’ Miri asks, looking over to Howie’s team.

‘I knew a Bertie once,’ Marcy says. ‘At school. But I think he had a sex change and became a Betty, but anyway, he’d be a zombie now.’

‘Not a zombie,’ Reginald says, staring up at the sky.

‘Speaking of which. Have you seen any?’ Howie asks the others.

‘What is it with you and zombies?’ Thomas asks.

‘Er, cos there’s about two thousand of them running around somewhere, chomping people,’ Howie says. ‘And you know, it’s kind of our job to stop them.’

‘So. Let me get this right. You’re not time travellers?’ Ben asks.

‘You’re asking that like it’s serious question,’ Howie says. ‘And who the hell is Bertie?’

‘SAFAAAAAA!’ Bertie yells, running into the corner with a half-eaten cream cake in his hand, and several dozen black clad figures all clutching sub-machine guns chasing after him.

‘That’s Bertie,’ Ben says.

‘And change,’ Reginald says as the flakes of snow start falling thick and fast from the sky.

‘PLEASE DON’T FEED ME TO THE RATS, MIRI!’ Bertie yells, sprinting towards them in his swimming shorts as the snow falls, and the whole lot of them disappear from view. ‘Oh, bum. Oh, bum, oh, bum,’ he mutters, glancing back to the people chasing after him. ‘I need some snow. Come on!’

A glance up with a sudden bright grin as the snow falls, and he slows to a stop and turns to offer a bow, standing upright, with a wave at the operatives as he disappears.

* * *

The lead operative holds a hand up in a fist, bringing her squads down from a sprint to a gradual stop. All of them breathing hard and waiting as Beatrice pulls her balaclava up while the native folk around them make the sign of the cross and wilt back from the sight of the devil’s own army blocking the road.

‘Good work, Bea,’ Robert says, stepping out from the far side of the sidewalk with Mother.

‘Did you see them?’ Beatrice asks.

‘We certainly did,’ Robert says.

‘Who are the others?’ Mother asks. ‘The dirty ones with the axes. Who are they?’

‘Ours are not the only worlds,’ Robert says. ‘Needless to say, we appear to have got them all together which is a good start.’

‘How is that a good start?’ Mother asks. ‘This is not capturing Bertie, nor is it ending Maggie Sanderson.’

‘Just say the word, and we’ll take them,’ Beatrice says as the other operatives grunt and nod with confidence

‘And you will lose,’ Mother says. ‘I had five times your numbers plus gunships, and the top five agents in the UK, and I still lost. And that was only against Maggie and her team. If Bear and those other filthy shits are anywhere near as good, then you don’t stand a chance. This is a waste of my time. Take me back. I’ll do it my way.’

‘And you will lose,’ Robert says as Mother starts walking away. ‘You’ve already lost. Emily executes you in your complex while your daughter watches on,’ he adds, finally making Mother stop, with her hand on the door leading to the portal. ‘It’s changing,’ he continues. ‘The lines are unravelling. But you’re right. These are not enough for what we need to do. I told you that at the beginning.’

‘Then what is the point of this?’ Mother snaps.

‘The point is that we’ve got a lock on Bertie, and my team will keep driving him forward until he lands where we need him to be.’

‘Roger that,’ Beatrice says, pulling her balaclava down and swiping something on her wrist. A second later, and the snow falls in the air above the squads. Falling thick and fast until the operatives are gone from view.

‘Shall we?’ Robert asks, nodding for Mother to go in through the door. Stepping from New York 1905 to another time and place.

To another world.

To a bumfucknowhere cottage in the north of England and a woman called Cassie.

* * *

A second later, the door they went through opens, with Roshi running out.

‘Damn it,’ she snaps, rushing back through the door and into the restaurant construct to see Blinky snaffling another cake. ‘Anything?’

‘Nope,’ Blinky says with a mouthful. ‘You?’

‘Hey,’ Ria says, rushing from her portal. ‘Anything?’

‘They were in 1905 again,’ Roshi says, bringing a visual display of the timelines up in the air above her head. ‘Okay. This is the cake room,’ she says, pointing at a glowing dot. ‘And this one is the 1905 construct. At the far end is the T-Rex in the bunker times, and at the other end is the Worldship Humility.’

‘Where are those other places?’ Ria asks, seeing further glowing dots. ‘Have we checked those?’

‘We’ll do them now,’ Roshi says. ‘I’ve got a feeling they’ll end up somewhere in this cluster. Keep in contact.’

15

‘Oh, bum,’ Bertie says, standing in his swimming shorts with a half-eaten cake in his hand.

A broken road beneath his feet, and a broken world around him. The skies torn and full of ugly, grey clouds. Flashes of lightning. Rumbles of thunder, and the smell of chemicals and bad air.

Bertie remembers this place when he first invented time travel. The broken future that led to him stopping his father from committing suicide, and eventually, brought Miri and Safa, and Ben, and Harry, and Emily into his life.

But the future wasn’t broken anymore. He fixed it.

Didn’t he?

Did he?

Yes. He fixed it. This was the future of his own world. The future of Miri, Ben, Safa, and Harry’s world.

Or was it the future of the dark world? Or maybe the other one with the spaceships. No, that was a meteor.

He looks up as though to see a meteor and blasts a sigh of relief when he doesn’t see one, until he turns and spots it behind him, streaking towards Earth. A huge thing filling the sky. Still some distance off, but the trajectory is clear.

Except this isn’t right, and Bertie spins back to look at the area around him. At the road layout, and the old play park off to one side.

This wasn’t the meteor world. This was his world. He remembers seeing it.

And it’s definitely not the other world, because everyone dies in that world from lots of things. Drought and climate change, and diseases. Wars and things like that, but not from the meteor.

The meteor is Sam Gablinski’s world, but the meteor is here in Bertie’s future.

How?

A sound behind him. A foot scuffing. A low whisper taken up and carried around on all sides. Growing in volume as Bertie spins on the spot, then flinches from a low laugh echoing off the ruined buildings. Low and wheezing. Sick and bad.

Another scuff from the left. Another to the right, but that can’t be correct. Nothing was left living in his world. It was sterile. There was nothing alive.

Except, here there is, and he gulps at the first figure inching into view from the shadows. Two legs and two arms. A head, and a face, but all of it twisted and wrong. Mutated and beastly. The eyes only millimetres apart, with one higher, and one growing out of the side of the nose. The mouth too big. Stretching from ear to ear with filthy stumps of teeth. No neck. Twisted shoulders. One short arm. One long arm. Stumpy, bent legs. A broken back, and a sunken chest. Boils and sores cover the skin. Oozing with bloodied, yellow puss.

Another behind him. Another and another. More and more of them shuffling from behind the rubble and out from the shadows. All of them mutated and viewing him as nothing more than food.

But this is wrong. They shouldn’t be here. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Bertie tells them. ‘This isn’t your world.’

It’s not their world. Why are they here? He looks up to the meteor again and around to the playpark, and the road layout, then spins a circle to the hungry, twisted things shuffling towards him.

‘You’re not from this world,’ he says. They’re from the other world. ‘The bad world,’ he tells them. ‘Mr Howie’s world. Not this world.’

Bertie saw them when he saw one of the futures of the dark world, but the future of that world keeps changing. Sometimes, it’s all pure and clean, and filled with healthy people, living without disease or suffering. Other times, it’s broken and dark, and filled with abominations that mutate from the virus Mr Howie is fighting. That future changes because that world keeps changing.

But that aside, these beasts do not belong here. Nor does the meteor.

The snow starts to fall, and Bertram Cavendish frowns gently, staring at nothing while thinking of a thousand different things at once in a way that only his brain ever can – with his insight and ability to see through the layers of superficial existence to the very binary nature of it all.

‘S’just binary,’ he mumbles to himself, standing on his island under the red portal in the snowstorm. In his shorts. Holding his cake. Frowning and staring at nothing. ‘They’re merging,’ he whispers, then snaps his head up. ‘They’re merging,’ he says again.

Which really isn’t good. Like, not good at all. Miri will definitely turn him into rat food if that happens. Where is he? He’s back on the island. ‘Turn it off!’ he yelps, bursting to run through the snow to find his shack so he can turn it off. But he left it too late, and he runs into a table in the restaurant construct, falling head over arse and sitting up with a groan and a bowl of duck soup on his head.

‘Good morning, sir,’ the waiter says with cold politeness while eyeing Bertie with distaste. ‘I’m afraid you are not dressed in the correct attire for this establishment. Please leave immediately.’

Bertie stares up at him with the bowl of duck soup on his head. ‘They’re merging.’

‘And what, do tell me, is merging?’ the waiter asks with disgust.

‘The worlds. They’re merging.’

‘Indeed, sir. That’s very interesting, but perhaps you can bugger off now,’ the waiter says a second before his skull blows out, and he slumps to the side. Which isn’t something that normally happens in this construct.

Bertie frowns at the now dead waiter before, once more, blinking up and around to the black-clad figures moving in on all sides, and the red lasers all pointing at him.

‘Hello, Bertie,’ Beatrice says, pulling her balaclava up to show a mouthful of braces.

‘Oh, bum,’ Bertie says before darting off on his hands and knees under a table.

‘Bertie,’ Beatrice calls, walking after him as he crawls out from under the first table and makes a dart for another one. ‘Bertie,’ she calls again as the black-clad figures turn to follow him with low laughs and deep chuckles. ‘Where are you going, Bertie?’

‘To get Miri!’ he cries out while speed crawling away. ‘You’d better go! She’ll be cross.’

‘She’ll be cross,’ Beatrice and the other operatives laugh as they track behind Bertie. ‘Miri’s not here though, Bertie,’ she says while nodding at one of her guys. He ducks in low, intending to grab Bertie by the back of his hair but instead runs into the stout legs attached to the stocky body of a young woman with ginger pigtails and eyes that keep blinking.

‘But I am,’ Blinky says before slamming a fist into his face and wrenching him up to throw at two other operatives. A back-kick into a belly, and she pivots to slam her forehead into another face, pressing the attack from the centre while knowing they can’t fire without fear of shooting their own. ‘Run, Bertie!’ she yells. Punching one away with a grunt. ‘You fucking fuckheaded fucking fucker,’ she mutters, smashing two more down before diving for cover behind the dessert trolley. Drawing her pistol and firing rounds into the dozens of black-clad figures running for cover.

‘They’re merging, Blinky!’ Bertie shouts.

‘What is?’ Blinky shouts while darting up to snaffle another cream cake in the middle of the ferocious firefight. She risks another look to see a small, isolated snow shower in the air above Bertie. ‘Cock it,’ she says as the rest of the room fills with snow showers, and the operatives disappear straight after Bertie.

On her feet, and she grimaces at the gurgle in her belly before puking over the platter of cakes. ‘Oh, that’s better,’ she says before rushing for her portal as she swipes her band to make a call.

A second of silence. A second of nothingness, and the snow falls in many places once again.

‘So this Bertie invented time travel?’ Howie asks as they shake the snow from their heads and recover from another change.

‘Yes,’ Ben says. ‘He’s autistic, but he’s a genius at what he does.’

‘We know someone like that,’ Howie says with a smile at Dave. ‘Eh, mate?’

‘What’s that, Mr Howie?’

‘I’m just saying we know an autistic genius.’

‘Who does?’

‘No. I mean we, like us.’

‘Us who?’

‘No! I mean. We all know an autistic genius.’

‘Who?’

‘Us, for fuck’s sake. No! I mean you.’

‘Me what?’

‘Oh, my fucking god. You do this on purpose. He does this on purpose,’ Howie tells everyone else as Dave stares impassively on, with a tiny glint of humour in his eyes.

‘What the fuck!’ Bear says in alarm, making everyone tense and turn to see him lifting the platter of cakes up. ‘Someone’s puked on them.’

‘Puked?’ Paula asks as Charlie frowns and takes a step closer to stare at the vomit before shaking her head.

‘No,’ she says quietly. Looking away.

‘There’s spent casings,’ Ben says, picking one up as Emily calls out for the room to reset. ‘No!’ Ben shouts. ‘We’ve lost the evidence now.’

‘Sorry!’ Emily says. ‘I was getting more cakes for Bear and Harry.’

‘Well done, Tango Two,’ Safa says.

‘Fuck you, Patel,’ Emily says as Harry and Bear lunge for the new platter of cakes, and the snow falls once again.

* * *

A broken road beneath their feet, and a broken world around them. The skies torn and full of ugly, grey clouds. Flashes of lightning. Rumbles of thunder, and the smell of chemicals and bad air.

An awful, terrible place, devoid of life and colour, where no grass grows. Where no birds call, and where nothing clean exists.

‘That air,’ Marcy says, screwing her face up. ‘What is that? It’s like sulphur or something.’

‘Chemical warfare,’ Miri says, bringing them all to silence as she views the world around them. Her face drawn. Her eyes now cold and grey as she looks up to a sky, made broken by warheads. ‘We’re in a nuclear winter,’ she adds quietly to the sound of feet scuffing all around them. Low whispers. A quiet laugh. Sick and wheezy. Another foot scuff. The sound of metal scraping.

‘I’ve seen this place before,’ Howie says quietly, seeing the lay of the land. The way the streets once were. The shape of it all. ‘That was a play park,’ he adds, nodding to one side.

Blowers frowns. He came here when he died, but it wasn’t this bad. The world wasn’t this broken.

‘That road leads to a church,’ Miri says, nodding at the path ahead meandering through the piles of rubble. ‘This is the future if we don’t win,’ Miri adds. ‘I went forward and saw it. I saw this,’ she adds, motioning to the world around them.

‘But this is our future,’ Howie says. ‘And what the fuck is that?’ he asks, staring past her to the thing in the sky as the others turn and cry out in alarm.

‘That,’ Reginald says. ‘Is a meteor.’

‘I didn’t see a meteor when I was here,’ Howie says. ‘Did you?’ he asks Miri.

‘I did not,’ she replies, frowning at the size of the thing coming towards Earth. ‘That’s an extinction level event.’

‘It’s more than that,’ Reginald says. ‘That will physically destroy the planet, not just the life forms on it.’

‘And what the fuck are those?’ Safa asks, pulling her pistol as the first mutated figure shuffles into view. ‘Miri, did you see them when you were here?’

‘Negative,’ Miri says. ‘The future I saw had no life. It was sterile.’

‘Confirmed,’ Ben says, having also seen it with Miri.

‘They might be ours,’ Howie says, seeing the red eyes in all of them as he turns a circle.

‘I think you might be right,’ Reginald says. ‘They are what happens if the other side wins.’

‘Other side?’ Miri asks.

‘The other player. The infection,’ Reginald says. ‘It’s a parasitic virus with a hive-mind capability that assumes the sapience within the human brain as its own.’

‘He means zombies,’ Howie says.

‘Not zombies,’ Reginald says as Howie mouths zombies at the others.

‘I still can’t believe someone puked on those cakes,’ Bear says.

‘Aye,’ Harry says.

‘Clarence says aye a lot,’ Paula says, frowning from Harry to Clarence.

‘I got it from my dad,’ Clarence says. ‘He said my grandfather said it all the time, but he died in ’43 on a mission in Norway,’ he adds as they all turn to face up at the sky and the snow coming thick and fast.

They disappear, and a second later, the portal shimmers to life, with Roshi running out and cursing, before turning to run back through. But she stops and backs up to sniff the air. Scenting T-Rex shit. They were here. She’s right behind them. She pulls the visual projection up to look at the glowing dots and tries to work out where they are going next. There has to be a pattern.

A shuffle to her side, and she looks over to a twisted figure with a frown, then turns to see more of them, and startles again when she spots the meteor in the sky. ‘Oh, shit. That’s not good.’

She swipes her wristband, using technology taken from the Worldship Humility, and resets her portal before rushing through and out onto the lawn in front of the grand colonial house.

‘Get off my damned grass, Roshi!’ the Old Lady snaps from her rocking chair on the veranda.

‘I think they’re merging,’ Roshi says. ‘The worlds. I saw the future. I mean the future future. Miri’s future. It was all broken, but Howie’s things were in it, and the meteor was coming at the Earth, but the meteor is from the other world with the worldships.’

‘You’re right. They are,’ the Old Lady says with a grim expression. ‘The bridge Freedom have exploited is collapsing the timelines into one.’

‘But that meteor will kill everything,’ Roshi says. ‘That’s our world too. That’s all of the worlds.’

‘I know, Roshi,’ the Old Lady says as another portal shimmers to life, and Ria rushes out. ‘My grass, Ria!’

‘Stuff your grass,’ Roshi says. ‘There won’t be any grass anywhere when that meteor hits.’

‘Meteor?’ Ria asks as the Old Lady swipes her own band to answer a call with Blinky’s voice shouting out.

‘Sir, Miss Old Lady, sir. Bertie is being chased by the fuckwit cunts, sir! He said something about worlds merging. I took a few out, but they disappeared again. And tell the others not to eat the cakes. I might have puked on them.’

‘She did,’ Ria mouths at Roshi.

‘Right,’ the Old Lady says, rubbing her nose. ‘Stay on them, Blinky! And you two. Get back out there and find them.’

‘What do we do if we find them?’ Ria asks.

‘Get them into your portal,’ the Old Lady orders. ‘That will break the cycle they are in. Then we can control where they go.’

‘Okay,’ Ria says. ‘Er, so, sorry for asking, but have you got anyone else to help? Only Roshi said there’s a meteor, and if the worlds are merging, then we’ll all be wiped out.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ the Old Lady says.

‘We need help,’ Roshi says. ‘There’s a whole town of operatives to use. Get Zara and the others in there looking.’

‘And I have explained this,’ the Old Lady says with forced patience. ‘They are not the correct tier.’

‘Fucking tiers,’ Roshi mutters. ‘They’re so confusing! Literally nobody understands them.’

‘The teams in their worlds and the operatives in Discovery are tier 3,’ the Old Lady says. ‘You three are tier 2. I cannot send tier 3 operatives into tier 2 missions unless the tier 2 system warrants the incursion of tier 3 operatives, and only if they are accompanied by tier 2 operatives. How is that complicated? I really don’t see how that is complicated.’

‘What the actual fuck,’ Roshi says, shaking her head. ‘But the tier 3 teams are already bouncing about in time, so they are in a tier 2 mission.’

‘No, they’re still in tier 3,’ Ria says. ‘Aren’t they?’

‘Ask Charlie,’ Blinky shouts into the call. ‘She’s like well smart.’

‘We can’t. She’s tier 3,’ Ria says.

‘But only on Wednesdays,’ Roshi says. ‘And she’s only allowed into a tier 2 to see her neighbour’s pet dog, but that’s only if the dog is wearing a face mask, and if they’re within 32 inches of a house. But in Scotland it’s a cat and 14 inches, and in Wales you can’t go out unless you have a sheep on your head at all times.’

‘And I think someone needs a break from doing missions during the Covid outbreak,’ Ria says with a look at Roshi who flicks her middle finger up in response.

‘The point is we need some bloody help,’ Roshi says. ‘Which wouldn’t happen if I was the tier 1 operator.’

‘Not this again, Roshi,’ Ria says.

‘Well, where is this magical person then?’ Roshi demands.

‘Jesus, Rosh, let it go,’ Ria says.

‘I should be tier 1!’ Roshi says.

‘Roshi, we’ve been through this a hundred times already,’ the Old Lady says testily. ‘You are not ready to be a tier 1 yet. Go on now. We don’t have long.’

‘Fine,’ Roshi snaps, turning away. ‘Call your tier 1 twat in then because I’m clearly not good enough.’

The three disappear, leaving the Old Lady looking to the forest of snow topped pine trees surrounding the town while figuring Roshi might be right.

It might be time for the tier 1 operator.

16

Berlin

1945

Alpha descends the stairs of the hospital with a gun at his back and combat hardened troops waiting at the bottom.

‘What is this?’ he asks again in fluent German, allowing a flush of irritation into his voice while trying to turn and look at the Gestapo officer behind him. ‘I was mistaken! I thought she was my wife,’ he adds angrily. ‘I was knocked out, damn you. Look at the cuts on my head. I was knocked out, and I got confused. She looks just like my wife!’

Another prod in his back from the Luger, and he stumbles forward to be grabbed by the soldiers and dragged outside, with a surge of worry at seeing more soldiers off to one side forming into a firing squad.

‘Damn you, man!’ Alpha shouts, twisting back to the Gestapo officer dressed in black. ‘What is this? Are you so paranoid you shoot German citizens now?’

‘The woman also,’ the Gestapo officer orders, striding away as Alpha turns to see Kate being dragged over.

‘Good god, man! What are you doing?’ Alpha shouts as they get manhandled towards a brick wall. ‘I said I got confused. I thought she was my wife! She’s not. I was wrong.’

‘I don’t know him!’ Kate shouts in German, in perfect, fluent German while Alpha hides any reaction to her speaking a language she told him she didn’t know. That there’s more to her is obvious, but then, he also saw the way she applied modern combat triage techniques to the injured kids they pulled from the rubble and the lack of panic when those things happened.

‘You must listen!’ Alpha shouts. ‘This woman is not my wife! I do not know her. Shooting us is a mistake.’

‘It was in her clothes,’ the Gestapo officer says in accented English, watching them closely as Alpha and Kate maintain the confused expressions. ‘The coded messages were in her clothes,’ the Gestapo officer adds with a roll of his eyes.

‘What’s going on?’ Kate asks, looking like the terrified German housewife she is pretending to be.

The Gestapo officer just shrugs. ‘Pretend. Don’t pretend. I don’t care. Line them up.’

‘No, wait!’ Alpha shouts out as the soldiers drag him and Kate in front of the wall. ‘We have a right to know why we are being killed.’

‘Fine,’ the Gestapo officer says with a heavy sigh as he pulls something from a pocket and walks towards them. ‘It was stitched inside her clothes,’ he says in English, presenting the two labels in his gloved hands. The two labels found inside of Kate’s clothes. The manufacturers’ labels giving instructions with symbols for the use of wash cycles, tumble dryers, and iron while damp. The labels stitched into clothes in the future, but not in 1945. The labels that are printed in very fine English, Polish, and French, which is where the clothes were sold.

Alpha stares at them. Kate too. Both of them realising the simplicity of such a mistake.

‘Okay,’ Alpha says in English, thinking fast. ‘You’ve got me. It’s a coded message I put into her clothes. I was trying to get them back, but she doesn’t know anything about them. Let her go, and I’ll tell you what they mean. What are you doing!’ he shouts as the Gestapo officer walks off. ‘I said I’ll tell you what they are!’

‘The war is nearly over,’ the Gestapo officer says in English. ‘We are losing, and there is nothing you can tell me that will change that.’

‘Fine,’ Alpha says. ‘Okay. I get it. But let her go. She doesn’t know anything.’

‘German women do not shave under their arms, and they most certainly do not shave off the hair below. If you pray to a god, do it now.’

The cold finality of his voice stems any further protests as the end becomes ordained.

‘Jesus,’ Kate says in English, shaking her head. ‘Shaving my vagina got me shot by the Nazis… What a headline.’

Alpha looks at her. At the glint of humour mixed with pain and sorrow in her eyes. At the woman he thought he knew. ‘Kate,’ he whispers.

‘I’m sorry, Joe,’ she cuts him off, rushing the words out. ‘Mother is… Well, she’s my mother. My actual mother. I was meant to use you to get to Bertie with a whole double-agent thing going on. Hey, don’t look like that. Look at me. Joe! Look at me. They’re going to kill us. I need you to know I wouldn’t have done it. I love you. No! I love you, Joe. I believe in you, and I wouldn’t have done it.’

Truth in her voice. In her eyes, but then, she’s a skilled operator. An advanced double-agent who could make anyone believe what she was saying. But then again, she’s also right, and they are about to die.

‘I don’t fear dying, Joe. But I don’t want to die knowing I lied to you. I’m sorry, and I love you. Now, say it back to me. I need to hear it before we die.’

‘Kate…’

‘Say it, Joe! Make this mean something.’

‘I love you,’ he rushes the words out with a rush of something inside. A surge of power as he positions and checks the soldiers holding him. Tensing and leaning to see how hard the grip on his arms is. Glancing at their sub-machine guns. Checking distance to the firing squad.

‘You go left. I’ll go right,’ she whispers urgently. ‘We won’t make it. But we can take a couple out on the way. You ready?’

‘I’m ready,’ he whispers. Their eyes locked.

‘You are the best man I have ever known,’ she says with a tear rolling down her cheek. ‘I would have married you, Joe… on three. One… Two…’

The shots are fired before they reach three.

17

‘Soooo. Let me get his right. You’re both time travellers, but not in my world or in each other’s worlds. And you’ve come to this world, to my world, to ask me to help you kill some people I’ve never met and that have never existed in my world. Right. Got it. I see. Well. Let me reply by saying you have about thirty seconds to get back through your shiny, magical door before I call Gregori into the garden. And trust me. He won’t be happy because he’s in the bath with a new set of rubber duckies we bought for the boy. And Gregori really likes his duckie bath time.’

Cassie falls silent as the sound of squeaking comes from inside the cottage.

‘I duck man,’ a voice floats down. Deep and gravelly, with a harsh, guttural accent. ‘I quack you.’

‘Cassseeeee!’ the boy calls, running from the kitchen to stop with a wide-eyed look at the newcomers standing in front of a shimmering door in the garden outside of the bumfucknowhere house in the north of England. ‘What’s that?’ he asks, pointing at the door.

‘A magical portal apparently,’ Cassie says, arching an eyebrow at them.

‘This is absurd,’ Mother snaps.

‘Piss off then,’ Cassie says with a big, fake smile.

‘Cassie,’ Robert says. ‘We are offering you a chance to kill Howie, and without Howie, this world is yours.’

‘Don’t quack me, duck man,’ comes the gravelly voice from upstairs. ‘I must quack you. Quack, quack… And now, you are quacked.’

‘We came here for this?’ Mother asks, giving Robert a look.

‘You’re not the only control point, Cassie,’ Robert says.

‘I am the one true race,’ the boy says, his face older, and his voice different.

‘Yes. And you should be the one true race,’ Robert says, nodding at the child. ‘And if we work together, we can all be the one true race.’

‘I am the one true race,’ the boy says.

‘Yes. That’s what I’m saying. We should all be the one true race, and by killing Howie, we can do that.’

‘I am the one true race.’

‘Right. Sure. We just agreed on that,’ Robert says.

‘Honestly. It goes on like that all day if you let it,’ Cassie says. ‘It’s still evolving and hasn’t quite mastered the artful flow of a conversation,’ she adds as they all look at the boy.

‘I am the one true race,’ the boy says again.

‘Case in point. Now piss off,’ she says, turning the boy around.

‘Cassie!’ Gregori calls. ‘Mr Duckie fall from bath.’

‘I’m coming!’ she calls back.

‘Cassie,’ Robert whispers urgently. ‘This doesn’t make any sense. We have a common enemy.’

‘No. We don’t,’ she whispers angrily, turning back to jab a finger at him. ‘You want me to sacrifice my hosts to help you in some other world. For what? To kill Howie? I can do that on my own.’

‘Except you don’t,’ Robert says in a tone that makes her fall silent. ‘Howie wins, Cassie. I’ve got a time machine, remember.’

‘Er, excuse me? And I know I’m just the entitled, spoilt daughter of a government minister that now looks after a hitman and a weird kid, and totally not a physicist or whatever, but I’m pretty sure the future isn’t fixed. The future unfolds and happens as we do things, which means the future you saw may not be the future you see if you go back again, depending on the actions taken in the present, which would be the past from the viewpoint you are looking at them from. Needless to say, my answer still remains that you can go fuck a duck.’

‘Cassie! Mr Duckie.’

‘Yes, Gregori!’ she shouts before looking down at the boy. ‘Go and fetch Mr Duckie for him,’ she says, sending the boy running for the house. ‘Tell you what. I’ve got about two thousand hosts ready to pounce on Howie and his merry, little band of wankers in some shit awful village in the south. There’s no hope they’ll win, and I was only using them to keep Howie busy while I gather my forces up here. You can have them on the agreement that, if by some divine miracle you actually win, then I claim this world.’

‘Only two thousand?’ Robert asks

‘They bite people,’ Cassie says with a withering stare. ‘Which means you can make more. Duh. Have you never seen a zombie movie?’

‘BOY! Bring Mr Duckie back,’ Gregori yells from inside the house.

‘Jesus,’ Cassie says as the boy runs down the stairs holding a yellow rubber duck in the air.

‘BOY!’

‘Right. You need to go. You can have the two thousand, but that’s it. Now, sod off. I need to rescue Mr Duckie.’

18

Bertie ducks from the swing of the tail and starts sprinting away from the angry and very confused, mighty T-Rex over the tussocks and divots of a lush, green world. Albeit one now covered in lots of cream cakes and dino shit.

‘The worlds are merging,’ he mutters. Trying to think of what to do as the sky ahead of him fills with clouds and snow falling, from under which rush the black-clad figures, all clutching their sub-machine guns. ‘Oh, bum!’ he says, swiftly about-turning to run back the other way towards the charging T-Rex. ‘Oh, bum!’

‘OI, TWATHEAD!’ a shout from the side of the T-Rex. A shimmering, blue door, and Blinky sprinting towards him.

‘BLINKY!’ he shouts out. ‘Don’t eat the cakes. They’ve got poo poo on them!’ he yells, because that’s the important thing in his head right at that point, and so, therefore he must say it.

‘Get into my portal!’ Blinky yells.

‘Okay!’ Bertie says, running on before realising she means now, and only then, does he veer off towards her portal which unfortunately means also running towards the T-Rex. ‘What about him?’ Bertie asks.

‘OI, SHITNUTS!’ Blinky shouts, drawing her pistol to shoot at the T-Rex’s foot. ‘DOWN HERE!’

But it’s no good, and the T-Rex stays fixed on Bertie, and the huge legs bound with a thump, thump, thump as the operatives and Bertie all sprint towards one spot. A spot that fills with a cloud disgorging thick snow over Bertie’s head.

‘COCK IT!’ Blinky yells, seeing he’s about to either disappear or get eaten by the T-Rex. ‘RUN, BERTIE!’ she yells out as the snow falls, and the T-Rex’s head comes in low and sweeps along the ground towards Bertie. A sudden pain in his eye, and the dino’s vision fills with the image of a snarling Blinky slamming her fist over and over into his right pupil. A roar. A bellow. Bertie disappears, and the T-Rex’s snout slams through the first line of operatives, sending them flying and snagging one to gobble down.

Blinky turns swiftly and starts running back for her portal. Building her speed, but then, she always was fast. Even back in the under 21’s England hockey team. Which is when she was allowed to play, that is. In between being sent off for fighting.

Then, while at hockey training camp, the world fell, and a deadly virus spread across the planet. That’s when she met Mr Howie and enjoyed the best days of her life. The very best too. The most awesome days ever. Fighting with the lads and ripping on Cookey all day long. Farting and belching, and chopping zombie heads off, plus she was with Charlie. Her BFF.

Then, she died and ended up working for the Old Lady. Blinky doesn’t quite get how that happened. It was explained, of course, with the Old Lady going blah blah blah while Blinky blinked, saluted, and said Yes, Sir! a lot. Then, Roshi and Ria took her on some missions until she got the hang of it and got her own gun and time machine wristband. Which is kind of like a way-more-awesome mobile phone.

‘I saw Bertie again!’ she shouts into it while running back through her portal. ‘With the T-Rex and some ugly mutant fuckers.’

‘How do you keep finding him?’ Roshi asks.

‘I don’t know,’ Blinky says, appearing in 1905.

‘GET YER NEW YORK TIMES!’

‘He’s not in 1905,’ she shouts, running back through and out into the restaurant construct.

‘He’s not here,’ Ria says, running past her to her own portal.

‘Not in the cake room,’ Blinky says, snagging a few more pastries as she sets off.

‘Negative for the far future,’ Roshi says, running out into the broken world with the meteor in the sky.

‘Negative for the bunker times,’ Ria says into her wristband, ducking from the tail of the T-Rex and running back into her shimmering door.

‘Ria! Stay in your time,’ Roshi orders. ‘Blinky, go to the cake room. I’ll do 1905.’

‘Got it,’ Ria says, running off to dodge the T-Rex.

‘On it,’ Blinky says.

‘Anything?’ Roshi asks, running back out onto the sidewalk of 1905.

‘GET YER NEW YORK TIMES!’

‘Negative,’ Ria and Blinky say. ‘You?’ Ria asks.

‘Negative,’ Roshi says. ‘But if they’re not in one of these, then where the hell are they?’

19

‘Take cover!’ Dave shouts as they appear on a wooded hillside underneath the thunderous blades of a helicopter gunship whumping overhead.

Gunfire on all sides. Missiles and explosives, with debris and chunks of masonry flying off the roof of the grand mansion house being systematically destroyed.

‘Where the fuck are we?’ Howie yells over the noise.

‘Cavendish Manor. This is our time,’ Ben shouts, pointing to the side as Howie crawls a few feet, then stops with a confused expression at seeing Ben and Emily firing into the house.

But Ben and Emily are here.

‘Look in the house,’ Ben shouts over as they stare through the broken walls and broken windows to Safa, Miri, Harry, and another Ben inside on an upstairs landing.

‘Jesus,’ Paula says. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘Long story,’ Ben shouts. ‘Just stay down. We’ll reset in a minute.’

‘THERE!’ a voice from behind, and they twist over to see a squad of soldiers coming at them from the rear, with rifles braced and aimed.

‘What the fuck!’ Ben says. ‘This doesn’t happen.’

‘TAKE THEM OUT!’ the lead soldier shouts, making Howie and the others roll frantically away as gunfire erupts, with the soldiers sent spinning from Dave and Safa opening fire on them.

‘CONTACT!’ a shout from the other side of the hill.

‘That’s Nick!’ Howie yells, on his feet and running low to get over the bank. His team hunkered behind logs and holding low in ditches. Returning fire to the platoon of soldiers advancing through the trees. Bear with them, covering Thomas and firing back.

‘This didn’t happen,’ Ben says again, diving off to one side with Miri.

‘How the fuck do you make sense of this shit?’ Safa asks, popping up to fire her pistol at the soldiers. ‘Just get us out of here.’

‘How?’ Ben asks.

‘Think of something. You’re meant to be the smart ones.’

‘Jesus,’ Ben says, trying to think as he shares looks with Miri and Reginald. ‘Any ideas?’

‘What do you mean by this didn’t happen?’ Reginald asks.

‘Literally, this didn’t happen. These soldiers weren’t here,’ Ben says. ‘We scouted this ground before the mission so we’d know where to run.’

‘Check the bodies then,’ Safa says, ducking down. ‘We just shot a few of them.’

‘Why didn’t we think of that?’ Ben asks, staying low as he rushes off with Miri and Reginald.

‘Cos you overthink things!’ Safa yells.

Howie darts after them, getting back over the hill to see Ben and Miri grabbing at the soldiers Dave and Safa killed.

‘There’s no markings,’ Ben says, searching the clothes on the bodies. ‘Soldiers have to have markings, don’t they?’

‘Not always,’ Miri says. ‘Not if they are deniable ops.’

‘Cavendish Manor wasn’t deniable ops. It was led by the British Secret Service,’ Ben says, peering at the dead soldier’s thick, brown moustache that seems oddly familiar.

* * *

‘TAKE COVER!’ Dave yells. Another change. Another place, and once more, they drop as the shell screams down through the air and slams into the ground with a detonation that sends them all rolling from the heaving aftershock.

Huge divots of earth fly up, with men sent spinning through the air, torn limb from limb. Screams and wails of pain. Machine gun fire, and thick smoke billowing over the ground littered with bodies and coils of rusty razor wire.

‘STAY DOWN!’ Bear shouts, scurrying through the mud to grab at the lads, making them stay low as he drives them over the side of a crater. ‘Stay there!’ he yells, rushing off through the gunfire to find the others. Dragging and pushing them into the crater to keep cover. Tappy, Danny, Mo, and Charlie all looking as shocked and confused as everyone else.

‘Where the fuck are we?’ Safa yells, snapping her head up to another shell screaming overhead.

‘First world war,’ Thomas yells over the noise. ‘Battle of Passchendaele,’ he ducks again, scrabbling for cover as a shell strikes the other side of the crater and sends chunks of mud over them. ‘Bear and I did a mission here.’

‘Stay together,’ Harry roars out, clambering over the side with Marcy and Paula to see a grey uniform running through the smoke. ‘The German’s are advancing! Form a firing line!’

‘UP!’ Clarence says, grabbing at the lads to turn and face towards the enemy. ‘Fire that way. They’re coming!’

‘Who the fuck is coming?’ Cookey asks.

‘No idea,’ Tappy yells.

‘INCOMING!’ Harry yells as the German line press their offensive with a solid charge across No Man’s Land towards the British side.

‘Who the fuck are we shooting?’ Nick yells.

‘THEM!’ Bear shouts, grabbing a fallen rifle to aim and fire at the German infantry as a bullet grazes his shoulder. Making him drop and roll before coming up to shoot at an advancing British soldier aiming his rifle at him. ‘Fuck!’ he curses, rushing through the murk and mayhem to the body. Seeing the uniform doesn’t quite look right. ‘THOMAS! FREEDOM ARE HERE.’

‘Damn,’ Thomas says, risking a peek over the edge of the crater to see Bear running back towards him. ‘Dude. You’ve been shot!’

‘Roy. Check him,’ Howie orders as Roy runs low along the side of the crater.

‘I’m fine. Just get some fire into that side,’ Bear says, waving his arm towards the German side.

‘WATCH OUT!’ Ben yells, firing past Bear into a guy running towards them through the smoke. ‘What the fuck. It’s him! With the moustache!’

‘Dude. Not this again. Use your talking words,’ Thomas says.

‘That guy I just shot. We just killed him in the last place. But he’s here,’ Ben says.

‘It can’t be,’ Safa says.

‘It is!’ Ben says.

‘They’re Freedom operatives,’ Thomas says. ‘They reset.’

‘What?’ Ben asks as the others look on in horror.

‘Operatives don’t always die on missions,’ Thomas says.

‘You mean they can keep coming?’ Howie asks.

‘Yes, sir,’ Thomas says.

‘How is that fucking fair’ Howie asks.

‘INCOMING!’ Cookey shouts as another line of German soldiers run over the crater, firing rifles. A quick glance tells Howie and Ben’s side that Thomas is right because the German soldiers look from this era. Thin and drawn from years of hard combat – whereas the Freedom operatives look modern and well-fed.

‘But I don’t get it,’ Thomas says with a frown while thinking hard. ‘We’re bouncing around in time. How can Freedom know where we are? Bear, find one and ask him.’

‘You’re not fucking serious,’ Ben asks as Bear rushes off.

‘It’s fine, buddy. Bear’s good at this,’ Thomas says.

‘GOT ONE!’ Bear says as a body flies over the edge to land with a splat in front of Harry.

‘Is he from Freedom?’ Miri asks.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Bear says. ‘Let me ask him some questions.’

‘Stand down. I will handle interrogation,’ Miri says, crabbing over to the writhing guy gripped in Harry’s arms. ‘What is your mission, soldier?’

‘FUCK YOU!’ the man screams, spitting in her face.

‘Ooh, that’s a mistake,’ Emily says with a wince as Miri pulls a knife from her boot and stabs the guy between his ribs.

‘Ask you again, soldier. What’s your mission?’

‘Fuck you. Go on. Kill me!’

‘Trust me, son. You’ll wish I had,’ she whispers before darting off to a dead soldier to pull his water caddy off his webbing. ‘Turn him,’ she orders as Harry upends the guy to make his head lower while Miri yanks his tunic up over his head and pours water from the caddy onto face.

‘Fuck,’ Paula says in horror at the water boarding as Miri twists the handle of the knife, making the guy tense as he coughs and struggles for air.

‘What is your mission, soldier?’ Miri asks, pulling the tunic down from the operative’s face.

‘I can’t,’ the man stammers, coughing blood and weeping hard before screaming out as his fingers get snapped one by one.

‘What is your mission, soldier?’

‘Jesus, Miri!’ Paula says.

‘They want Bertie!’ the soldier screams as the snow starts falling.

‘How? Where?’ Miri asks, cursing as the view fades, and at the last second, she slices his throat and falls back.

‘TAKE COVER!’ Dave yells once more as the air around them fills with gunfire and screams.

An urban street.

New York.

Yellow taxi cabs. The windows of Carpe Diem restaurant shot through from the fight taking place inside and another huge battle going on outside in the street.

‘We’re back here again,’ Thomas says, snatching a view of their original mission to stop the guy inside the restaurant eating lobster.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Roshi shouts, running along Fifth Avenue with Martha from that first mission.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Bear shouts, springing up.

‘Get down!’ Thomas says, pulling Bear back down as the rest take cover behind parked and abandoned cars. ‘You gotta stop doing that.’

‘Sorry. It’s kinda programmed in,’ Bear says.

‘Why did you kill that man?’ Paula asks, glaring at Miri.

‘Do not question me,’ Miri says. ‘This is war, Miss Paula. Bad things happen in war.’

‘I don’t need a fucking lecture,’ Paula snaps. ‘Clarence, did she need to kill that man?’

‘Aye,’ Clarence says reluctantly. ‘We couldn’t let him blab. We need any advantage we can get.’

‘Good ethics. I like that,’ Safa says with a nod at Paula.

‘Guys. Sorry to burst the morality bubble,’ Thomas says. ‘But the dude was from Freedom. He’ll reset back in an ops room somewhere and tell them anyway.’

‘He said they want Bertie,’ Ben says as the cars behind them pepper from incoming rounds fired by the Freedom operatives running towards them with red lasers fixed to their sub-machine guns.

‘Return fire!’ Harry orders, diving for cover as he gets to work with the lads.

‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Thomas says. ‘Why keep attacking us?’

‘They’ve clearly got a lock on our movements as they know where we are each time,’ Reginald says as the firefight intensifies.

‘Fuck!’ Blowers shouts, falling back with blood spurting from his forearm.

‘ROY!’ Cookey shouts, diving over his best friend as the others collapse in to give cover.

‘Blowers!’ Howie yells, running fast to get to his side as Roy inspects the wound.

‘It’s a graze,’ Roy says, pulling a dressing from his pocket to wrap around Blowers’ arm as Danny cries out from his face being cut by shards of masonry flying out from a bullet hitting a wall.

‘Howie! We fight zombies, not people!’ Paula shouts. ‘We’re not trained for this. We need to get out of here.’

‘Where to?’ Howie asks, lifting his head over the cars to see the other battle going on outside the restaurant, trapping them where they are.

‘Fuck!’ Tappy grunts as a round skims her right thigh.

‘GRENADE!’ Nick yells out as the grenade lands next to him and rolls under a car before he can snatch it up. ‘SCATTER!’

‘TAKE COVER!’ Dave shouts as they all dive out and away. Unaware of the snow falling as they all drop and brace for the explosion.

The explosion that doesn’t happen.

‘Dud,’ Nick gasps, risking a look back with a blink of shock to see the street and cars now gone. ‘We’ve moved,’ he says.

‘Eh?’ Howie asks, lifting his head to see they’re no longer in a street. ‘Where are we?’

‘Someone’s house, by the looks of it,’ Paula says, looking around at the soft furnishings in the big room. A large sofa to one side. A dining table and chairs on the other. An ornate fireplace with pictures on the mantlepiece. The air sultry, hot, and dark, with a clear night sky outside the big, open windows.

‘This is getting serious, Howie’ Paula says, getting a dressing wrapped around her leg by Charlie while Roy tends to the others’ mounting injuries.

‘Shush,’ Miri whispers, pressing her finger to her lips. Ordering them to remain silent before making her way to the windows. A second later, she turns and points at her own eyes, and signals outside while looking at Howie.

‘What?’ he whispers, peering over the window ledge to the outside world before dropping with a look of horror. ‘Oh fuck.’

‘Oh god. What now?’ Paula asks, rushing over to the window to see the square down below.

The square from the eighteenth day. The battle for the ten thousand. The day of days where they fought from town to village until they ended up here, and she stares out to a sea of infected hosts, all facing away to the building line opposite. To Howie and the others inside from another time.

It all comes back in an instant. The memory of it, and what happened here that day.

‘Cover your ears!’ she whispers urgently as the scream comes. The scream of a little girl being slowly killed by the infection. The scream of a little girl calling for her mummy.

‘Fuck,’ Blowers whispers, clamping his eyes closed as that awful, most terrible scream fills the air. Going on and on and never ending. The feeling comes back inside all of them that were here on that day. That feeling of impotence. That they couldn’t do anything to stop it, and a few seconds later, Meredith’s howl joins in from the other building line as Meredith here lifts her nose into the air.

‘Nick!’ Howie whispers as Nick rushes to Meredith to stop her from howling too.

‘The infection was taunting us,’ Marcy whispers to the others showing confusion. ‘It took a little girl.’

The horror of it shows on all of their faces. The meaning of it. The sound of it. The little girl screaming for her mummy. Screaming with confusion and pain while pinned down by beasts with red bloodshot eyes.

‘Fuck,’ Howie whispers, feeling that rage well up inside. ‘FUCK!’ he yells, feeling the same thing now as he did then as the old Howie roars out, and the old team burst from their building line to fight through the infected and into the room where the girl was killed.

It’s happening now. Paula and some of the others watch it. Seeing their old selves and hearing the absolute violence explode within that room as they gained entry. It was a turning point for them. It changed how they fought and made their own hive mind stronger.

‘Here it goes,’ Paula says as ten thousand infected transform from perfectly silent and perfectly still to rage induced monsters all screeching out and howling as one. All of them driving towards Howie’s old team. The noise becomes deafening. A solid wall of sound that nearly masks the charges blowing on the front door leading into the apartment they’re hiding in.

‘DOWN!’ Dave roars, and once again, they dive for cover as the door explodes in, and the dark room fills with shining, red laser lights held by black-clad Freedom operatives.

‘Did this happen?’ Ben asks, firing his pistol at the door as the inner wall crumbles down, making a bigger entry for the operatives to shoot through. ‘Howie! Did this happen?’

‘Are you fucking stupid?’ Howie asks. ‘Of course, it didn’t happen. We were outside killing zombies.’

‘Not zombies!’ Reginald’s muffled voice yelps.

‘We wouldn’t have heard this,’ Clarence says. ‘It could have happened.’

‘Stuff that. How the hell are they finding us?’ Paula asks.

‘I’m with her,’ Safa says, nodding at Paula as Emily yells out from a thick splinter of wood embedding in her shoulder. She grits her teeth and pulls it free to cast aside, holding a hand over the wound while firing her pistol. ‘This is getting stupid,’ Safa says. ‘Dave and Bear, with me. Everyone else, cover us!’

‘On you!’ Dave shouts, running across the room, with everyone else firing over their heads or to the sides. The three of them leaping through the busted doorway to land within the ranks of operatives. Pressing the attack, with Dave slashing at throats with his knife in one hand while firing his pistol with the other. Safa kicking a guy away before rushing up behind another to snap his neck over as Bear kicks a knee joint out and shoots the falling guy through the skull. A blur of black, and Meredith streaks across the room to leap high and take an operative down with her teeth to his throat. Ragging hard and bouncing him over the floor.

‘Reload,’ Blowers orders, taking advantage of the brief lull as he snaps a glance over to Howie and the others by the window. ‘BOSS. REAR!’ he yells, ditching his unloaded rifle to snatch his pistol and fire at the infected pouring through the window.

‘Fuck!’ Howie says, grabbing his axe as he spins on the spot and takes one down before rushing to push him back out through the window. ‘They’re body piling!’ he shouts. ‘Form up!’

‘GO!’ Blowers orders, running with his team to get into line to drive at the bodies coming in through the windows.

Clarence and Harry slam into the scrum, grinding their feet over the rugs and wooden floorboards as the infected howl and push against them.

A few seconds pass. Maybe a few minutes, but time becomes weird in a battle. Slower, maybe, or faster, or both at the same time.

The blink of an eye. The beat of a heart, and as one, they all fall forward from the sudden loss of opposing force and drop into the mud as the shells scream overhead.

Once more, in No Man’s Land. Once more, covered in thick, cloying mud. A roar in the air. A deep, throaty sound as Thomas spins over to see a German biplane coming in low with his machine guns lighting up. ‘SCATTER!’ he yells, diving for the edge of a crater, as the others do the same, and the bullets splat the ground around them.

‘Fuck,’ Howie shouts, spinning off to the side from something hitting his arm. A bullet or shrapnel. A cut opened with thick, red blood pissing out.

‘Boss!’ Roy shouts, throwing a dressing over as he rushes over to Thomas crying out in pain, with his shoulder bleeding.

Harry with a gash across his nose. Clarence with blood pouring down his face. Grazes. Bruises. Shrapnel lacerations. Eyes stinging from the smoke. Ears ringing from the gunfire and explosions, and heads spinning from the constant changes.

‘He’s coming back!’ Tappy shouts, tracking the German biplane as it turns a slow loop.

‘GET TO COVER!’ Harry shouts as the aircraft completes the turn and starts dropping altitude to line up for another strafing run.

‘Get to the tank!’ Bear yells, pointing at a busted up British tank poking up out of the mud at the bottom of the deep crater. A huge behemoth abandoned in the mud with broken tracks on one side. They set off wading, slipping and sliding down the banks with cries of horror at the corpses they disturb that roll down with them. All of them landing with splashes in the filthy depths at the bottom. Rats squeaking out as they flee from the tank and splash into the water, trying to crawl up their arms and backs.

A roar overhead and the machine guns on the aircraft light up once again. Hitting the mud and sides of the crater. Hitting the gunky water and pinging off the sides of the tank.

A grunt from Miri slashed across the arm from a ricochet. Maddox shouting a curse from cutting his hand. Danny snagging his feet and dropping beneath the surface only to be heaved up by Harry and pressed to the side until he recovers. Clarence covering Paula while everyone ducks and tries to avoid being hit.

More injuries sustained to each and all of them. Dirty injuries too. Dirty wounds in dirty water.

‘It’s coming back!’ Tappy shouts, craning her head to track the biplane and spotting the long slow curve as it starts to loop for another run. ‘Fucking thing,’ she mutters, spotting a barrel poking up and pointing into the sky from the tank listing heavily to one side. A big barrel too. A big barrel for a big gun. ‘Nick!’

‘What?’ he yells back, twisting around to see her wading towards the rear of the tank. ‘TAPPY!’ he yells again, seeing her reach the end and disappear with her head and shoulders pushing inside.

‘Don’t hide in the tank!’ Harry shouts. ‘You’ll drown if it sinks.’

‘Tappy!’ Nick says, reaching the back. ‘Harry said to get out.’

‘It’s got a machine gun,’ she says, grunting the words out as she pushes and wriggles to get inside.

‘So?’

‘So that fucking plane will keep going until we’re all dead and that machine gun is facing up.’

Nick blinks and pulls his head out to look down the side of the tank to the bulging section pushing out and the big barrel of the big gun poking up into the sky. The same sky now occupied by the biplane halfway through the turn to come back.

‘You’re a fucking genius,’ he says, wriggling inside after her.

‘I know. That’s why you love me,’ she says. ‘Urgh! Dead bodies,’ she adds, wincing at having to climb over the corpses of the tank crew that didn’t get out. One staring up with his face eaten away by rats. Another face down with his spine showing through his back. Flies buzz at their eyes and the stench of death makes them retch, but they push on and crawl through the mangled wreck with Tappy getting to the gun and peering along the barrel. ‘The angle’s off.’

‘What?’ Nick says, reaching her side within the confines to see a six-pounder artillery gun with a rack of unused shells to one side.

‘We’re too low,’ she says, heaving on the gun to try and make it aim higher. ‘Fuck it!’

‘The track’s still on the submerged side,’ Nick says as she looks at him. ‘We can pivot if we get it running.’

‘Oh my god you are so hot,’ she says, planting a kiss on his lips. ‘Bagsy the driver. You be the gunner.’

She wriggles past, snaking towards the cockpit and the confusing array of controls and seeing it takes more than one person to drive the thing. A position for steering and acceleration. Another for gear changes and maybe another for engine controls. But what a thing. What an amazing machine, and it’s real too. Not a replica. She grew up refurbishing old vehicles. Old buses and lorries and heavy engines on heavy old things, but this is something else.

‘It’s coming back!’ someone shouts from outside, spurring Tappy to dive for the engine to find things to pull and turn and twist and heave on while Nick runs his fingers over the six-pounders controls. Murmuring to himself as he becomes lost for a few golden seconds of working out how it works. A dyslexic loser that flunked out of school and joined the army, but mechanics and engineering are not words.

‘Fuck yes!’ Tappy says, wrenching something back as the engine sputters and fires up with a huge roar and a cloud of thick choking fumes making them both cough. She spots some of the engine’s moving parts are now under water, sputtering and splashing and making bad sounds. It doesn’t sound healthy at all, but she only needs it alive for a moment and she dives forward to steerage and acceleration, grunting and baring her teeth as she heaves on the levers, making the engine roar louder with more smoke and fumes billowing inside.

‘YOU READY?’ she shouts, trying to be heard over the roar and realising Nick can’t hear her. ‘ASK NICK IF HE’S READY!’

‘She said is the lad ready,’ Harry shouts from the front outside.

‘You ready, Nick?’ Bear asks, next to the gun turret.

‘TRY IT,’ Nick yells back, holding on as she applies power to the tracks. The whole of the thing shuddering and groaning as the others outside cry out and dart away while keeping one eye on the biplane.

‘Is it moving?’ she calls, unable to see forward from the thick water and mud pouring into the front section as the tank starts sinking lower into the base of the crater.

‘NO!’ Nick shouts, ‘give it more power.’

‘More power,’ Harry says, as she heaves on controls and the tank sinks another foot into the mud.

‘Come on baby!’ she screams out, pushing harder until she spots another lever poking up out of the surface of water and grabs it to heave back. The tank moves. The tracks on the underside side rotating as the whole thing starts to pivot and twist.

‘TAPPY! GET OUT. YOU’RE SINKING,’ Paula shouts, banging on the side.

‘TAKE COVER!’ Bear shouts, seeing the biplane lining up for another run.

‘Fuck it,’ Nick says, ramming a shell in. ‘GET OUT THE WAY. I NEED A PRACTISE SHOT.’

‘Er guys!’ Thomas yells outside. ‘The fella in the tank said he’s gonna take a practise shot,’ he adds.

‘RUN!’ Blowers shouts, remembering the things Nick’s burnt down and blown up as they all dive out.

‘FIRE IN THE HOLE,’ Nick shouts, triggering the six-pounder before frowning at it not doing anything while the smoke from the engine billows out through the holes and slits.

‘He’s fucking set it on fire,’ Cookey says.

‘I thought you were firing it?’ Howie yells.

‘I’m trying!’ Nick yells.

‘Try harder!’ Howie yells back, staring up at the plane as the six-pounder goes bang and a shell whizzes an inch past his nose.

‘Fuck me. That was close,’ Bear says, staring wide-eyed at Howie.

‘I got it working!’ Nick yells.

‘No shit,’ Howie says, not quite sure he didn’t just fill his pants.

‘TAP! I NEED MORE HEIGHT!’ Nick yells as the tank groans and screams and shakes like mad with the submerged tracks spinning like crazy to try and make the enormous thing move.

‘That’s it!’ Bear shouts to Harry at the front. ‘Tell her to keep going.’

‘Keep it going,’ Harry yells into the front. ‘HE NEEDS MORE HEIGHT.’

‘I am,’ Tappy says, the veins pushing through her forehead and neck as she pulls on the levers with all of her strength to get it moving. To get the thing pivoting as Nick watches the sky slowly change through the view finder.

‘Bit more,’ Bear shouts, assessing the angle of the barrel.

‘Bit more, Miss,’ Harry shouts as the water laps up over Tappy’s sides.

‘They need to get out,’ Emily says. ‘Harry! GET THEM OUT. IT’S SINKING.’

‘MISS. GET OUT!’ Harry says.

‘I can do it,’ Tappy grunts as the water sprays out from the back from the tracks and the tank shudders and drops another foot into the water.

‘Fuck!’ Nick says, feeling it sloshing over his legs as he aims down the six-pounder. ‘I CAN SEE IT!’

‘He can see it!’ Bear shouts.

‘He can see it!’ Harry relays.

‘GET THEM OUT!’ Emily orders, wading with Paula towards the rear of the tank.

‘TELL HIM TO FIRE!’ Tappy shouts.

‘FIRE!’ Harry shouts.

‘FIRE!’ Bear yells.

‘Click click motherfucker,’ Nick says as the tank recoils from the shell sent spinning into the air at the biplane lowering down. ‘Cunting fucking cunt,’ he mutters, grabbing another shell from the rack.

‘You missed, Nick,’ Bear shouts.

‘Tell him he missed,’ Harry yells.

‘I know I fucking missed!’ Nick says.

‘Come on you blind cunt,’ Cookey yells.

‘Fuck you, Cookey,’ Nick says, slotting the shell in with a grunt.

‘Tell him I’m not sucking his willy if he misses again,’ Tappy yells.

Harry nods and opens his mouth then realises what she said as he blushes. ‘Er, the young lady said no petting if the lad misses again.’

‘Your girlfriend won’t shag you if you miss again,’ Bear relays.

‘TAPPY!’ Paula shouts, leaning in the through the back door to see the inside sloshing water as the tank slowly lowers another foot into the sucking waters.

‘COME ON, NICK!’ Blowers shouts. ‘Don’t fucking miss again.’

‘Come on, bro,’ Mo shouts as the plane levels and the pilot grins, seeing them all exposed in the crater. All of them clustered together and ready to be shredded.

‘NICK!’ Howie yells.

‘NICK!’ Tappy yells, stretching her neck to keep her head above water.

‘GO ON, LAD!’ Harry shouts.

‘Nick,’ Miri says, pushing in to press her mouth to one of the slits. ‘Take a deep breath, son and do not fire at the plane. Fire just in front of it.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ he says, closing his eyes to inflate his lungs as the German pilot increases the pressure on the triggers.

‘Fire when ready,’ Miri says, her voice calm and controlled and Nick opens his eyes to adjust the aim in front of the plane while Tappy coughs from the water splashing her face and Paula and Emily retch from the engine’s fumes. While everyone else tenses up and stares at the grinning pilot who presses his triggers for the machine guns to open fire.

A boom. A shot taken. The tank recoils, instantly sinking down another foot with Tappy disappearing under the putrid water.

A boom. A shot taken. The lads all duck. All of them outside crying out from the explosion as the machine guns open up with a rat-a-tat-tat a second before the front of the biplane disappears in a shower of wood and metal.

‘YES!’ Blowers shout, diving away as the biplane drops and soars a foot above their heads to slam into the crater on the other side with the fuel igniting and the pilot screaming out within the flames and smoke.

‘NICK! GET OUT!’ Bear shouts, banging on the side as the tank drops another foot and Tappy wrenches at her trousers caught within the mechanisms of the levers. Tugging and heaving to get free. Her head beneath the surface. Unable to see. Unable to breath. Unable to get free. She wrenches again and again, heaving and pulling at her leg with bubbles shooting out of her mouth and her eyes growing wide in panic. Her chest screaming out for air. Telling her to breathe in. She has to breathe in. An instinct too desperate to ignore and as the message sends from the brain to her lungs to suck in, so a pair of hands grab at her shoulders and start heaving. Another join them. Tugging furiously as the trouser leg tears and she finally soars up to breach the surface. Gasping for air in the hands of Emily and Paula.

‘Got you,’ Paula says, holding her chin up. ‘I’ve got you, Tappy. Just breathe.’

‘Where’s Nick?’ Tappy asks, coughing water.

‘He’s okay,’ Emily says as the engine dies, and the tank starts to sink further into the mud and that water rises up over their chests. Reaching their necks. Reaching their chins. The back of the tank too far. The whole thing sinking too fast.

Cold on their faces. Nick crying out for Tappy. Fighting through the darkness and mud to reach her.

Cold on their faces. The cold from heavy snowflakes landing on their cheeks as they sink down beneath the surface.

‘TAKE COVER!’ Dave roars as they drop to the wooden floorboards. Emily, Paula and Tappy all drenched and coughing as they puke the water’s up from Ypres in 1917 into the first-floor apartment overlooking the square filled with ten thousand infected.

Screams and howls coming from all around them as the three of them flake out, gasping for air and the rest of the team leaping over to fight back against the infected still coming through the windows.

‘Tappy? You okay?’ Nick asks, crawling over to her. ‘Tappy!’

‘I’m okay!’ she gasps, grabbing him to hold as Paula and Emily wipe the gunk from their eyes and mouths.

‘UP!’ Blowers orders, grabbing at Nick’s arm. ‘We need you!’

‘Dave, Bear and Safa,’ Howie shouts. ‘DOORWAY!’ he yells at seeing the red lasers coming up the stairs with another surge of Freedom operatives.

The three charge out across the room. Firing pistols into the operatives as they launch over the bannister to drop amongst the ascending figures to fight within their ranks.

No time to breathe. No time to recover. No time for thinking or thought and Miri gives her shoulder to the line. Heaving back against the infected trying to get through the window. Reginald and Thomas next to her.

‘We need an exit strategy, Miri!’ Emily says, staggering past them to help push the infected back.

‘They think it’s that easy,’ Miri mutters.

‘Don’t they just,’ Reginald says.

‘REGGIE!’ Howie yells. ‘WE NEED A PLAN!’

‘See,’ Reginald says with a roll of his eyes, while also pushing with the others. ‘We need a way out, Reggie. We need a way in, Reggie. What’s the other player doing now, Reggie?’

Miri grunts. ‘Try having Safa Patel. The girl thinks a brawl is the answer to everything.’

‘That’s exactly what Howie’s like. Just charging in all the time with no consideration to actual tactics and strategies. Stuff ‘em, Reggie. We’ll win.’

‘You guys wanna try working with Bear for a day,’ Thomas says, while also straining to push the infected back. ‘I’m not just a henchman, am I? And that’s in between asking if we can stop for goddam tea and toast every five minutes. I’ve never seen someone eat so much. I only look at a burrito and I put on twenty pounds.’

‘Honestly,’ Bear says, while being a henchman and beating the shit out of many baddies with Safa and Dave. ‘Best tea and toast ever.’

‘Yeah?’ Safa asks while punching a guy in a headlock repeatedly in the face. ‘Where was it again?’

‘Little seaside café on the Isle of Wight in Victorian times,’ Bear says as Dave frowns at remembering the boat ride his team took to the Isle of Wight to kill Darren the super zombie.

‘We should go,’ Safa says after dropping the headlock guy and kicking another in the bollocks. ‘After this I mean. Like a big team outing for tea and toast. Dave? You up for it?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ Safa asks as Bear glances over while stabbing one guy and shooting another.

‘I don’t like boats,’ Dave says, yanking a grenade from an opponent’s tac-vest and pulling the pin before shoving it down inside the guy’s shirt and kicking him over the bannister to next level down.

‘Holy fuck!’ Safa says as she and Bear lean over to watch the guy scream and panic while pawing at his shirt before detonating and taking out several more bad guys.

‘Best kill ever,’ Bear says in awe.

‘He’s like Yoda,’ Safa says. ‘A Yoda who hates boats.’

‘Boats. No good they are,’ Dave says, making Safa and Bear share a look.

‘We don’t need a boat. We’ve got a time machine,’ Safa says as Bear looks for someone with a grenade to try the move out.

‘Yeah, and like, we ended up getting together,’ Ben says in the apartment as he pushes against the infected next to Howie.

‘And Safa’s the one fighting with Dave?’ Howie asks, glancing back to Dave, Safa and Bear all shoving things down bad guy’s shirts before tipping them over the bannister and leaning over to watch.

‘Yeah,’ Ben says. ‘She’s awesome,’ he adds as Howie frowns at Dave high-fiving Safa. ‘What about you?’ Ben asks.

‘He never high-fives me,’ Howie says.

‘Oh. Right. You and Dave an item then?’

‘Eh? Do what? No! I meant he never gives me a high-five. Hang on. Is he smiling? Marcy? Is Dave smiling at Bear?’

‘He is,’ Marcy calls back. ‘Why? Are you jealous?’

‘No!’ Howie says in a voice too high.

‘Cool though,’ Ben says. ‘We’re all for the LGBT community in the bunker. I think Emily was gay actually. Or bi. Or non-binary, or whatever, but then she slept with Harry so I’ve no idea what she is now. But anyway. That’s great. I’m really happy for you and Dave.’

‘Cheers,’ Howie says before frowning. ‘Hang on. We’re not…’

He cuts off as the snow falls and once again, they give way from the sudden lack of force and fall to the ground.

‘Okay. That’s getting old now,’ Emily says, still soaked from the crater and blowing air through her cheeks.

‘Fuck. We’re back here,’ Ben says, looking around to the broken world of the future. The sky torn and filled with dark clouds strobing with lightning and rumbling with thunder. Broken buildings on all sides and that meteor coming towards the Earth. A thing that makes them all feel puny and small. A thing big enough to destroy a planet.

‘That was the best kill ever,’ Bear says, high-fiving Dave as Safa grins and shoulder barges the small man.

‘What the actual fuck,’ Howie says.

‘If you love him, set him free,’ Marcy says with an earnest nod.

‘Piss off,’ Howie says. ‘But er, Reggie! We definately need an exit strategy.’

‘Yeah. Who we fighting to get out of this?’ Safa asks.

‘I’m quite hungry actually,’ Bear says as Miri, Reginald and Thomas share looks and eye-rolls.

‘Oh. And FYI,’ Safa says. ‘We’re now Team Jedi. But only on dry land seeing as Yoda doesn’t do boats.’

‘Boats. No good they are,’ Dave says.

‘I fucking told you he was Yoda,’ Blowers whispers at his team.

‘Those things are coming in,’ Charlie yells as the twisted mutants surge out from the shadows towards them. Running with surprising speed and using the broken mounds as cover to get closer before charging in with red eyes and drooling mouths.

A second later the violence once more explodes as the pistols and rifles open up, blasting the beasts off their feet.

‘They’re not dying,’ Ben says, shooting one in the centre of mass only for it to shunt back but keep coming. ‘Fucking thing isn’t dying!’

‘Welcome to our world,’ Howie says. Swinging his axe as the red lasers of the Freedom operatives start shining out from behind broken buildings.

‘GET TO COVER!’ Dave shouts, sending them all diving as the gunfire starts once again with rounds slamming into the ground and walls all around them.

‘Fuck!’ Howie shouts, dropping from a round skimming his thigh. The others the same. All of them hurt and all of them trying to find cover while shooting at the beasts coming at them. While that meteor comes towards the planet. A planet already broken from war and god only knows what else.

A few seconds. A few minutes – it’s hard to tell. War changes time. It makes it slower, or faster. Just different, and all they can do is react to what’s in front of them and try and stay low until the snow comes and as one they glance up in worry and angst at what’s coming next.

The snow does come. Cold and white and blotting all else from view, and once more they do change to another time and place. To a world of mud and shells and death.

The relentless changes grinding them all down. Making them exhausted and filthy with senses straining as they take in the new threats and dangers.

‘THAT SIDE!’ Harry yells, grabbing at the lads to make them aim for the advancing German line. ‘Shoot them! Good lad,’ he adds with a pat to Danny’s back. ‘Go on, miss, get stuck in,’ he tells Tappy as Howie clocks the absolute strain showing on all of them. Not just his team either, but all of them. All of them drained and pushed to breaking point at everything around them trying to kill them. Dinosaurs. Mutants. Infected. German soldiers. German planes and of course the unrelenting flow of Freedom operatives.

There’s no time to stop and think either. No time to re-group and try and form a plan or tend to injuries.

‘We need a way out of this,’ Howie shouts over to Reginald and Miri.

‘We are working on it,’ Reginald calls back.

‘WELL FUCKING DO IT THEN!’

A harsh tone and a harsh rebuke with a brutal expectation of compliance that makes even Miri blink. But what can they do? Miri doesn’t have a time machine. She has no way out of this. Whatever this is.

She has no exit strategy.

Neither does Reginald because this isn’t a fight against an evolving hive-mind parasitic virus inhabiting human bodies. This isn’t his world with the rules of the game he’s come to know.

A look between them amidst the sheer hell of No Man’s Land. The cloying mud. The cries of the dying and wounded. The shells screaming overhead. The explosions heaving the ground beneath their feet. The faces of their own teams becoming overwhelmed.

A look between them as the snow falls and their world changes once more to the wooded copse next to Cavendish Manor. The gunship overhead firing chainguns with the spent casings twinkling as they cascade down to the ground. Missiles swooshing out, impacting on the roof and sending chunks flying out. Fires blazing and thick smoke billowing from all sides.

‘THERE!’ a voice shouts within the trees and smoke and the red lasers shine at them once again with the rounds pouring in to hit trees and earth.

Miri scowls as she fires her pistol towards the enemy, thinking hard while Reginald grips his fly swatter at her side.

‘Let’s go over it again,’ she says, ejecting her magazine to slot a new one in. ‘What do we know?’

Reginald nods. Understanding the process to try and find a solution. ‘Bear and Thomas are from Discovery, and Discovery is an AI construct where time travellers live who go into the real world to fix things to prevent mankind from dying.’

‘Agreed,’ Miri says.

‘That means Bear, Thomas and Discovery are a kind of evolved version of your team,’ Reginald continues. ‘A small, separated unit existing outside of the timeline doing what they can to protect the human species.’

‘Confirmed,’ Miri says.

‘And the soldier you questioned said they only want Bertie, and Roshi said Bertie is lost too. But Bertie is from your world. From this world now. Correct?’

‘Affirmative,’ Miri says. ‘That’s his family home behind us.’

‘So the question is? How can Roshi and Freedom know about Bertie if he is from your world?’

‘The guy is a genius,’ Miri says curtly. ‘Think of Da Vinci, Hawking and Einstein and you’re not even close. He invented time travel.’

‘Indeed. One must therefore conclude that Bertie, given the familiar tone of Roshi and the soldier, is known to the other worlds, but is not known to Bear and Thomas.’

‘Yeah, we’ve never heard of Bertie,’ Thomas says, listening in on Miri’s other side. ‘But Roshi works secret missions for the Old Lady. Maybe that’s how she knows him.’

‘The Old Lady is the name of the AI construct, correct?’ Reginald asks.

‘Yes, sir. But she is an actual lady, although she doesn’t look old. But what’s with that meteor? We’ve never heard of that in Disco. Damn, it’s snowing again.’

‘Standby. We’ll continue on the next change,’ Miri says as the snow comes and the world around them changes once more.

‘TAKE COVER!’ Dave yells.

‘Yes, Dave. I think we know to bloody take cover now,’ Howie shouts as they duck and behind the cars outside Carpe Diem restaurant in New York. The bullets once more flying overhead. ‘Reggie! You got a plan yet?’

‘Still working on it, Mr Howie,’ Reginald says, risking a peek to see the battle taking place outside the restaurant.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Roshi and Martha shout, sprinting along Fifth Avenue as Thomas reaches a hand out to pull Bear back from also trying to death charge.

‘I say old chap,’ Reginald says when Thomas ducks back down. ‘I gather this was a bit of a scrum for your side.’

‘Say what now?’ Thomas asks.

‘He means this was a big event,’ Miri says, nodding towards the battle outside the restaurant.

‘Yes, ma’am. One of the biggest non-war confrontations between Discovery and Freedom. We lost some good people to true death.’

‘So your people can die?’ Reginald asks.

Thomas nods. ‘The rule is not to die. I mean. We undertake our missions to avoid it, but if we do get killed then the chances are we’ll reset in Disco. Although it doesn’t always happen.’

‘That the same for Freedom?’ Miri asks.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Thomas replies as Miri and Reginald share a look.

‘And this death charge business?’ Reginald asks.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Bear screams, hearing the words from Reginald.

‘Dude! Do not death charge,’ Thomas says, pulling him back down. ‘It’s a call to arms. It’s what happens when operatives get in serious trouble, or if Freedom attack. They hit the panic button back in the planning rooms and every operative grabs a gun and comes running.’

‘I see, then pray tell, my fine chum, where the hell are they now?’ Reginald asks as Thomas goes to reply then blinks at realising Reginald is right. Zara isn’t coming. Neither is Lars or anyone else from Discovery. ‘I’d rather suggest we have concluded as to why we are bouncing around in time,’ Reginald continues. ‘It’s to prevent the Old Lady gaining a lock on you in order to send the cavalry.’

‘Agreed,’ Miri says, changing magazine again then grimacing at realising she’s out. ‘Miss Rose,’ she calls to Emily. ‘Magazine.’

‘That’s my last one,’ Emily shouts, sliding it across the ground.

‘We’re getting low too,’ Paula says from further down the line.

‘Sergeant Madden!’ Miri shouts.

‘Yes, ma’am!’ Harry and Clarence both yell back.

‘Foraging party for ammunition on the next change please.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the two giants yell back while casting frowns at each other again.

‘I’d also suggest the locations are chosen as each landing site is one of carnage where we’ll simply go unnoticed,’ Reginald says. ‘Take here in New York for instance. There’s so much gunfire and fighting that anything could happen on the periphery and nobody would notice,’ he trails off as the snow falls and once again they find themselves within the mud and gore of No Man’s Land in 1917. ‘And here of course,’ Reginald continues. ‘One could literally do anything here.’

‘Same with the chaos at Cavendish Manor,’ Miri says.

‘And within the chaos you shall find the cause,’ Reginald says. ‘But to what end and for what purpose?’

‘The end-game?’ Thomas asks. ‘To kill us… No. That doesn’t sit right. I mean. Freedom know they can’t kill Bear, right? They’ve tried it. Bear’s unstoppable when he gets going. Roshi trained him to be like that. And Bear’s just found a bunch of new buddies like he is, so why the hell would Freedom keep sending their guys against us? They can still die for real, and trust me, dying hurts like hell. No, you’re right, Reg, there has to be another end-game.’

‘Reggie, my dear chap. Not Reg. I am not an Eastend gangster.’

‘COVERING FIRE!’ Blowers yells as everyone else starts firing to give Harry and Clarence a chance to run out and find weapons.

‘My guess,’ Miri says, rolling the corpse of a dead German over for them to hide behind in the mud. ‘Is what we said initially. Either multiple words or multiple dimensions have become merged and the meteor must be from a world none of us know.’

‘Yes. Agreed,’ Reginald says, smacking his fly swatter at a rat to send it scurrying off. ‘One must therefore assume that the meteor will destroy all of our worlds.’

‘Affirmative,’ Miri says as Thomas widens his eyes.

‘Which then suggests there are more worlds outside of the ones we do know about,’ Reginald says.

‘Why?’ Thomas asks. ‘Freedom’s never hid the fact they want anarchy, and if that means people die then to hell with it.’

‘Ah, but if that meteor wipes out all of the worlds my dear chap, then it wipes Freedom out too. See?’

‘See what? I don’t get it,’ Thomas says. ‘That’s what Freedom want.’

‘No,’ Miri says. ‘What they say they want, and what they actually want are two different things. Power is power, Thomas. And Freedom will covet power more than they covet their quest for anarchy. Reginald is right. There will be more worlds that Freedom want to gain control over, and by removing us they stand a better chance. Mr Howie is fighting back in his world. My world has me, and your world, Mr Thomas, has the Old Lady. What do the other worlds have to protect them?’

Thomas pauses to think, trying to keep up. ‘I don’t know. Bertie?’

‘Bingo,’ Reginald says.

‘You got it,’ Miri says.

‘Bertie is the common thread connecting all of the worlds,’ Reginald says. ‘Even the ones we don’t know about. Think about it. Mother had gunships and an army, and she still couldn’t get Bertie from Miri. My world has the entire human species infected with a virus and Mr Howie is still making gains. And your world clearly has some very capable assets in place also. All of which can be utilised to protect this Bertie chap.’

‘So we’re not the target then?’ Thomas asks.

‘On the contrary,’ Reginald says. ‘We are the target. But we’re not the prize. Bertie is.’

‘They get rid of us, they get Bertie,’ Miri says as Harry and Clarence scramble down the side of the crater.

‘And I’d rather deduce they have something nasty in store,’ Reginald says.

‘Best we could, ma’am,’ Harry says dropping three Webley revolvers for Reginald, Miri and Thomas and a few ammunition belts.

‘Oh, I shan’t use one,’ Reginald says as Miri and Thomas both grab a gun. ‘I can’t shoot for toffee, and the beastly things make my ears hurt.’

‘Sure?’ Miri asks, offering him one with a glance over to Harry and Clarence handing out more revolvers, rifles and ammunition to the others.

‘Oh yes!’ Bear says, taking a Webley with a grin. ‘I love these!’

‘I think Yoda’s used them before,’ Safa says with a nod at Dave field stripping his to check the parts before slotting it all back together in a blur.

‘Good guns they are,’ Dave says, snapping it shut.

‘Right, listen in,’ Harry says to the lads as he hands the rifles out. ‘Lee Enfield 303. Single shot rifle and these ones are Mausers. Can’t stand the Bosch - but they make good weapons. You shoot something with one of these and it’ll stay down. And if they do break through, then stick the bayonet in ‘em a few times. Good lads. Now get loaded and make ready.’

‘INCOMING!’ Emily shouts at a fresh German line running into view over the edge of the crater and once more the air splits apart from gunfire and yells of pain from the bullets and shrapnel.

‘Okay. I get it,’ Thomas says, squeezing a round off from his revolver towards the advancing Germans. ‘From what you’re saying we’re being kept busy until the main event. So what? We just wait for that? Cos we’re gonna get picked off long before that at this rate.’

‘On the contrary old chap,’ Reginald says. ‘I’m not sure about you Miri my dear, but I would suggest we get a little more pro-active.’

‘Affirmative,’ Miri says, firing her revolver before thrusting it at Reginald.

‘I said I don’t do guns.’

‘You can damn well load one,’ she says as Reginald tuts and starts plucking rounds from her bandolier to push into the revolver.

‘The other thing that strikes me,’ he says while the other two fire. ‘Is that we are being pinned in one place. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ Miri says.

‘Yep!’ Thomas says.

‘So I suggest we change that,’ Reginald says.

‘Agreed,’ Miri says, taking the loaded gun from Reginald and pushing the empty one into his hands.

‘And how we gonna do that exactly?’ Thomas asks. ‘It’s not like we can run away.’

‘And that, old chap, is precisely what we shall do,’ Reginald says, snapping his revolver shut. ‘Except it won’t be away. I say, Mr Howie!’

‘Hang on,’ Howie says while mid discussion with Ben.

‘We’ve got to, Howie,’ Ben says, scratching his jaw and forehead. ‘It’s the only way out of this mess.’

‘Yeah. I agree,’ Howie says as they both make a dash for it and slide through the mud to Miri, Reginald and Thomas.

‘What the fuck are you doing with that?’ Howie asks, reaching out to point Reginald’s revolver away. ‘Who gave you a gun?’

‘Oh, I’m not using it. I’m just loading it,’ Reginald says as Miri takes it and pushes the empty one into his hand before looping the bandolier ammunition belt over his head.

‘Mr Ryder. Mr Howie. We’ve got an exit strategy,’ Miri says bluntly.

‘So have we,’ Ben says as Howie nods.

‘We’re gonna charge it,’ Howie says, waiting for the protests. ‘Did you hear what I said? I said on the next change we’re going to charge the Freedom line and get out of here, so we don’t keep landing in the spot they want us in.’

‘We have to fight back,’ Ben says. ‘Howie and I agreed we have to take ground. What do you think?’ he asks, also expecting an outburst of protest as Miri and Reginald share a quick look while Thomas smiles to himself.

‘I’d say that’s an excellent idea, Mr Howie,’ Reginald says brightly.

‘Yeah?’ Howie asks.

‘Sure,’ Miri says with a nod at them both. ‘Good thinking. We’ll do just that.’

‘Right. Er. We’ll get them ready then,’ Howie says as the two start to wriggle and slide away before stopping to whisper for a minute.

‘Did you already figure that out?’ Ben calls over.

‘Of course we bloody did!’ Reginald says, snapping the gun shut. ‘What do you think we are? Bloody morons? Right! Listen in chaps! We’re going to make a run for it.’

‘Eh?’ Blowers asks, snapping his head over. ‘Why have you got a gun? Who gave him a gun?’

‘He’s only loading it,’ Howie says as Reginald accidently shoots the already dead German soldier they’re hiding behind.

‘Oh, good grief. I am most terribly sorry,’ he says, trying to pat the man better.

‘Okay. My orders,’ Howie says with a glance to Miri and Reginald.

‘And my orders,’ Ben says as Howie goes to speak then stops.

‘Boss?’ Clarence yells over. ‘We think we should just run for it,’ he adds as everyone else nods at Howie and Ben.

‘We’re sitting ducks,’ Emily says.

‘We reckon they must have something nasty lined up,’ Blowers says. ‘Why wait here for it? We need to change our position.’

‘Fucking charge ‘em innit,’ Mo says.

‘Aye, take some ground,’ Harry says. ‘And watch your cussing. There’s ladies present,’ he adds with a swipe at Mo’s head.

‘I’m up for it,’ Safa says as Howie and Ben open their mouths to speak. ‘We all up for it? Bear. Yoda? Cookey? Nick? Tappy? Come on! I said who’s up for a big fucking scrap!’

‘COME ON!’ Bear shouts. ‘We’ll fucking death charge them.’

‘Fuck yes!’ Safa says as Howie and Ben sag and shrug at each other.

‘Aw hell,’ Thomas says with a sigh as the snow starts to fall. ‘I hate death charging.’

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Dave roars as the snow clears.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Bear shouts, on his feet with his rifle in the air.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ everyone else shouts out, springing up to charge and break the stalemate and take the fight back to the enemy.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ they scream with gusto and bravery, with buckets of derring-do and heads full of courage.

Howie and Ben on their feet and screaming out. Clarence and Harry. Safa, Emily and Paula. Bear and Thomas and the lads all surging up. Yoda-Dave’s huge voice. Miri and Reginald. Thomas, Marcy and Roy.

All of them running out to trip and fall over the chairs and tables in the restaurant construct. Sending bowls of duck soup flying and trays of canapes smashing into walls and the faces of the frozen people and waiters. Furniture and food sent spinning all over the place as they snag, trip and sail head over arse.

‘What the shit!’ Paula snaps, blinking duck soup from her eyes.

‘Are we still death charging?’ Marcy asks.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Bear shouts, clambering up from a broken table as he spots the dessert trolley. ‘CAKES!’

‘MY CAKES!’ Harry yells as they both charge for the platter.

‘So? Is that a no on the death charge?’ Marcy asks, plucking a pea from her hair.

‘We have to move!’ Howie says, on his feet and grabbing at the others. ‘UP! GET UP! We have to move.’

‘Come on! Get going!’ Ben yells while grabbing at Marcy’s arm to pull her up while slipping in duck soup. ‘We have to move position!’

‘There’s tables everywhere!’ Paula snaps.

‘Then move the fucking tables,’ Howie yells back, booting a table aside with that show of aggression pushing them on. Screaming at them to move. Knowing they have to change position.

A few looks between them. A hesitancy showing because this is the cake room. This is a place they can snatch air and maybe scoff a few cream buns.

‘FASTER!’ Howie shouts, looking like a demented twat because there’s nothing happening and there’s nothing to run from.

‘Howie,’ Paula says.

‘DOWN!’ Howie yells, grabbing her arm to wrench her down as he fires over her head into the operatives appearing under the snowfall ahead of them. ‘GET THROUGH THEM!’

An instant change where they all see that Howie was right as the operatives wilt in shock at being attacked with a show of force. An unrelenting all out charge led from the front as Howie fires his revolver at the black-clad figures while running into the mass of bodies appearing under the snow. Ben and everyone else doing the same. Gunning them down until the weapons click empty.

‘Grab their guns!’ Safa yells, her own revolver empty. She throws it a figure. Smashing it down as she grabs a heavy ceramic plate and sends it spinning into another face. Making the guy drop with a spray of blood as more missiles get taken up and thrown across. As Nick launches himself over a table into two guys. Maddox with him, clubbing them down with hard hits. Blowers and Cookey slamming into a few more. Mo and Danny. Tappy and Charlie. All of them pressing the attack with cutlery and plates. With chairs or with bare hands. Snatching pistols from holsters. Yanking sub-machine guns from straps and grenades from tac-vests.

‘LET’S GO!’ Howie orders, knowing they have to make distance and take ground. ‘Get through the door. Get outside!’

They power through the exit door and out into a London street in the 1920’s. People everywhere. Cars and buses, but old and retro.

A wild run. A frantic run. Miri with a Webley in each hand. Safa, Dave and Bear out front, choosing the path with Meredith bounding along with them.

A minute passes. Maybe more. Maybe less. Time is weird in a battle. It feels slower yet faster. And once again, the snow starts to fall.

‘Fuck you,’ Howie says, staring up at the sky now filled with clouds so low he could reach up and touch them. ‘Let’s see what happens now…’

20

‘GET YER NEW YORK TIMES!’

‘And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the world-famous Flatiron building.’

‘GET OUT THE DAMN ROAD!’

New York, 1905. ‘Still nothing,’ Roshi says into her wristband.

‘Same,’ Ria says, running through the lush green world of the distant past with a T-Rex chasing after her. ‘Blinky? Anything?’

‘Dunno. I got bored and broke into your cave to sniff your knickers,’ Blinky says while sticking her finger into a bowl of duck soup in the cake room construct. ‘Why is it always duck in here? I hate duck soup.’

‘They thought it was posh,’ Roshi says, looking left and right. ‘This isn’t good. There’s no sign of anyone. You two stay there. I’ll check the future again,’ she says, darting back through the street door and out into the distant future and that stench of chemicals.

‘Is the meteor still there?’ Ria asks.

‘Yup,’ Roshi says, frowning as she peers this way and that. ‘But no Bertie. Meet me in the cake room.’

‘Hang on. Give me five,’ Ria says, running wide around a huge tree to try and fool the enormous, but really quite thick T-Rex that blunders on into the forest. She runs back over the divots and through the undergrowth, spotting the cakes and body parts left over from earlier until rushing through her own shimmering doorway into the restaurant. ‘Jesus. I’m knackered,’ she says, coming to a stop with her hands on her knees.

‘Duck soup?’ Blinky asks, offering a bowl. ‘Duck egg?’ she adds, holding an egg out. ‘Duck bread? Duck wine? Duck and cover?’

‘No. Gimme a cake though,’ Ria says as Roshi stuffs the last one in her mouth. ‘What the fuck, Roshi!’

‘Room Reshed,’ Roshi calls with a mouthful.

‘Room reset,’ Ria calls, feeling the lurch as a new platter of cakes appears. She grabs a jug of water from a table and starts glugging it down while striding over for a pastry as Roshi swipes her own wristband to bring a holo screen blooming up.

‘Okay. We’ve been keeping obs on here, 1905 and the constipated T-Rex.’

‘He’s not constipated anymore,’ Ria says.

‘Groovy. Either way, they’re not showing up. Know what I think?’

‘That you’re desperate to be a tier 1 operator?’ Blinky asks as Ria almost chokes on a pastry.

‘Fuck you! I am way better than any tier 1 dipshit. We’re literally running around like crazy and where is he?’

‘Or her,’ Ria says. ‘The tier 1 might be a woman. Has anyone even ever met the tier 1?’

‘I should bloody be tier 1,’ Roshi grumbles. ‘Anyway. Whatever. The point is I think we’ve been duped.’

‘Ooh. What a rotten thing to do,’ Ria says.

‘I know right, darn rotters,’ Roshi says.

‘Cunts,’ Blinky says as Ria and Roshi frown.

‘You’re meant to say rotters,’ Ria says.

‘Or rotten something,’ Roshi says.

Blinky shrugs. ‘Rotten cunts?’

‘Yeah. That’ll do,’ Roshi says. ‘Anywho. I think Freedom got them all flitting about in those three places, so we’d think they were only in those three places.’

‘Ooh. Sneaky,’ Ria says.

‘I know right, sneaky sneakers,’ Roshi says as they both look at Blinky.

‘Sneaky cunts?’ she suggests.

‘Yeah. That’ll do,’ Roshi says. ‘But while we’re focussing on these three locations, Bertie and the tier three teams, or whatever fucking tier they are because it’s literally the most confusing thing ever, are out there bouncing about somewhere else,’ she adds, motioning the many, many blooms showing within the many, many golden strands of history glowing in the air.’

‘But they could literally be anywhere,’ Ria says. ‘And in any world.’

‘Yup,’ Roshi says as they both frown and stare up at the glowing lines and glowing dots while Blinky shoves yet another cream cake in her mouth.

‘Look for somewhere big and gory,’ Blinky says while chomping noisily.

‘Gory?’ Ria asks.

‘Gory as fuck,’ Blinky says. ‘Duh. You’ve got Dave and Mr Howie and all my lot stomping about somewhere kicking heads in and biting dicks off. And Bear. And that Safa, who is fit by the way, and don’t even mention Harry and Clarence…’ she trails off to eat another cake.

‘I’m lost,’ Ria says.

‘You’re always lost,’ Roshi tells her, earning a middle finger from Ria. ‘But Blinky? What the fuckity fuck are you on about?’

‘I mean look for somewhere with a lot of shit going on. You can’t put Mr Howie and Bear and Safa and Clarence and Harry into some quiet-as-shit place in time. They’ll stand out and cause tipples or whatever and show up in history books. You know. Like a black and white picture of Cookey throwing a dick at Blowers or something.’

‘Oh my god,’ Ria says, widening her eyes at Blinky. ‘You smart bitch.’

‘Patronising,’ Blinky says, flicking cream at Ria.

‘And it’s ripples, not tipples,’ Ria says, wiping the cream off her face to eat.

‘Wish it was nipples,’ Blinky says.

‘She’s got to be right though,’ Ria says, looking to Roshi.

‘She is,’ Roshi says, staring up at the glowing dots. ‘You can’t put that lot in history without being noticed. But where? There’s a lot of places in history. Unless… oh shit. All the locations mean something! Fuck. Think about it. The cake room is where every Discovery operative is taken to prove time travel exists, and New York 1905 is used for the Typhoid Mary mission test before operatives get sent into the real world.’

‘And the bunker time is relevant to Miri and her team,’ Ria says. ‘It might be like seventy million years in the past or whatever, but the actual timeframe we are there is quite small.’

‘Okay, we’re onto something,’ Roshi says, reaching out to wipe a splodge of cake from Ria’s cheek. ‘So if the T-Rex time, the cake room and 1905 were being used as anchor points, then they must be other anchor points. But like Blinky the Awesome just said – you can’t put that lot just anywhere. So that means they’re in times and locations that not only mean something to them, but that are big enough so they don’t get exposed… which is so the Old Lady can’t get a lock on and find them! Wow. That’s genius. The sneaky fucking fuckheaded cuntbags.’

‘Harsh,’ Blinky says.

‘Okay. Think,’ Roshi says. ‘Where in our times would you put that lot without them showing up?’

‘The T-Rex,’ Ria says. ‘But we keep checking that.’

‘Think bigger,’ Roshi says. ‘Like… Like… Carpe Diem! That was a huge fight. They could be there,’ she adds, swiping at the golden lines to find the right glowing dot and circling it to highlight.

‘Mine would be Cavendish Manor,’ Ria says while reaching up to find the line and the dot to circle. ‘Mother used gunships and platoons of soldiers to try and get Bertie.’

‘Ypres!’ Roshi says, sliding it back to 1917. ‘Bear was attacked by Freedom in No Man’s Land to keep him busy before they went for Discovery.’

‘What about your world?’ Ria asks as they both look at Blinky.

‘Literally anywhere. It’s the zombie apocalypse,’ she says with a shrug before frowning and leaning between to circle a glowing dot. ‘That one,’ she says quietly with a rare show of reflection as she remembers the scream from the little girl. ‘Day Eighteen. You could do anything in that square and nobody would notice.’

‘Right, my bosom buddies,’ Roshi says, snagging another cake. ‘Let’s hope to hell Bertie is in one of them…’

21

‘Red sky at night; shepherds delight. Red sky in the morning and Miri will feed me to the rats,’ Bertie mutters while staring up at the huge red portal in the sky above his island and the silent snow falling thick and fast.

He arrived a few seconds ago and tried to find his shack, but he slipped and landed on his back and now stares up at the mesmerising shimmers of the portal above him.

He shivers and brings a hand up to slowly eat the half a cake still in his hand, and his mind loses traction from the here and now and the plight he is within.

But then Bertie’s mind is not like the minds of other people, and in those moments, he wonders if it’s really true that snowflakes are all unique and he decides, in the way that Bertie does, that he needs to know for certain, and so while he should be running, he instead invents a theoretical program to determine the answer – and then promptly frowns as the snow changes to a grey sky filled with smoke and a shell screaming overhead.

‘GO ON LADS!’ a voice bellows as old-style whistles start blowing from somewhere behind him. ‘OVER THE TOP! GO GO GO!’

The shell hits nearby, sending clumps of Earth and muddy water high into the sky that rain down over Bertie flat on his back in a big muddy puddle.

A roar of voices. More whistles and the sound of men shouting as they come closer.

‘FOR THE QUEEN!’ someone yells, staggering past Bertie into a rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire that makes him spin away with a spray of blood.

‘Stuff the bloody queen,’ someone else mutters, diving for cover next to Bertie. ‘Blimey, lad. What the heck are you doing? Here, Teddy!’

‘What’s up, Jammy?’ someone else asks, diving in next to Bertie’s other side.

‘This fella’s all naked he is,’ Jammy says as Bertie turns to smile at him, seeing he’s wearing a tin hat and a green uniform and holding a long rifle. Mind you, he does have a good moustache. Bertie keeps trying to grow a moustache but it’s all wispy and thin. Doc Watson told him to wait until he hits sixty when you’ve got blasted hair growing everywhere you don’t want it.

‘He’s got the shell shock,’ Teddy says from the other side as Bertie turns to see he also has a good set of mutton chops on him. ‘Lad! You’ve got the shell shock,’ Teddy shouts. ‘What unit you with?’

‘Miri’s,’ Bertie says.

‘What’s he say?’ Jammy asks.

‘I think he said Billy’s,’ Teddy says.

‘Billy Dickens? His lot are a mile down the trenches. Here lad, you’re in the wrong spot.’

‘Nah, he’s lost it,’ Teddy says. ‘Look at his eyes. He’s ain’t all there, Jammy.’

‘Lucky sod. I wish I wasn’t all here,’ Jammy says. ‘What we gonna do? We can’t just leave him. He’s only in his undies. And he’s frothing from his gob,’ Jammy adds, spotting the flecks of cream on Bertie’s lips.

‘Here! Sarge!’ Teddy shouts at another figure running past.

‘What you boys doing? We’ve got to charge,’ the sergeant says, diving in next to Jammy.

‘One of Billy Dickens’ lads’ got the shell shock he has,’ Teddy says.

‘Billy’s a mile down the trench! How’d he get here without the snipers picking him off? Lucky sod.’

‘S’what I said,’ Jammy says. ‘Wot we gonna do though? We can’t leave the poor lad in a puddle.’

‘Crikey. Never simple is it,’ the sergeant mutters as another figure runs by in the smoke. ‘Captain! That you is it?’

‘Yes. It’s me sergeant. What’s occurring down here then?’ the officer asks, diving in next to the sergeant. ‘I say. What’s this fellow doing? He’s nearly naked!’

‘We reckon he’s got the shell shock, sir,’ Teddy says.

‘One of Captain Dickens’ lot,’ the sergeant adds.

‘Billy Dickens? He’s a mile down the trench,’ the captain says. ‘How did he get up here without being shot?’

‘He’s a lucky sod, sir,’ Jammy says. ‘Pardoning my French there, Captain.’

‘Right. Well. This is a pickle isn’t it. We should be charging the Jerry lines, but we can’t leave this blighter here. I say, can he get up? Can you get up, private? Oh dear. Look at his eyes. He’s not all here is he. Damned nuisance. Right, well, let’s grab a limb each and get him back to our side shall we…’

Bertie stares from moustache to moustache and wonders, in that abstract way of his, who they are talking about that needs to be picked up and carried, and he lifts his head to see who they mean as the machine gun on the German side goes rat-a-tat-tat.

‘Grenade!’ Jammy shouts, seeing the officer and sergeant gunned down as the stick grenade lands next to the poor lad suffering shell shock. He dives over Bertie on top of the explosive as it detonates and shreds him to bits with a whump.

‘Jammy!’ Teddy shouts, surging after him into the deadly fire of the machine gun as Bertie gasps from the hot blood of the four men spraying over his naked torso and face. All four of them killed in an instant.

A blur of men rushing at him. Voices shouting. Men in grey uniforms holding long rifles.

‘Hans! There’s one alive,’ one of the soldiers shouts in German, aiming at Bertie.

‘Where?’ Hans asks, rushing over. ‘Otto! Why is he naked?’

‘I found him this way,’ Otto replies. ‘Sergeant! We have found a man here.’

‘What man?’ the German Feldwebel asks, running over with the biggest set of mutton chops Bertie has ever seen. ‘Why is he naked?’

‘I found him this way,’ Otto says.

‘Is he one of ours or a Tommy?’ the German Sergeant asks.

‘Could be either,’ Hans says, staring down at a blood-spattered Bertie. ‘Looks like he’s frothing at the mouth.’

‘Perhaps he has the shell shock,’ Otto says. ‘Ah yes. Look at his eyes. He’s lost his mind.’

‘Hauptmann!’ the sergeant shouts on seeing his captain running past. ‘Sir, we’ve found a man.’

‘Is he British?’ the officer asks, rushing over.

‘Does it matter?’ the sergeant asks. ‘The man is deranged with the shell shock. We can’t shoot him now!’

‘Of course not, sergeant,’ the officer says. ‘What unit are you from?’ he shouts in German. ‘I zed. What unit?’ he asks again in broken English.

‘Miri’s,’ Bertie says.

‘Milde’s?’ the officer shouts over the noise of gunfire and men screaming in pain. ‘He’s a mile down the trench. How the hell has he dodged the British snipers? Right. Well, get him back to the trench. We can’t leave him here.’

‘YOU HUN BASTARDS!’ a voice shouts with a barrage of gunfire going over Bertie as the four German soldiers get shot to bits as they lean down to take a limb each and once again Bertie gasps from the hot blood spraying over his face and body.

‘Yes! We got four of the wankers,’ a British soldier shouts, running past. ‘On we go boys! Let’s get some more of these shit eating Fritz.’

Boots running by. Men shouting and the rat-a-tat-tat of the machine gun as the new unit get wiped out while Bertie stays where he is. Simply staring on and taking it all in with the eyes of someone who sees beyond the mortality of life and the sufferance of death.

But then Bertie has been to ancient Rome and watched Tetraites fight in the gladiatorial contests inside the coliseum - which is where he tested his Latin – and he was there when the Spartans held the Persian army back at the battle of Thermopylae.

He did that after watching the movie 300 in the bunker one night with Gerald Butler kicking a guy down a well. Which isn’t a smart thing to do as bodies tend to rot and then make the water bad. But it prickled Bertie’s interest and so the next day, while Miri and everyone else were busy doing heroic things, he popped over to Greece in 480 BC and mooched around until he found a good spot to watch the actual battle. Which was nothing at all like the movie version. For a start the Greeks had way more than 300 Spartans and they didn’t all have six-packs either.

He also popped into Troy a few times and saw Achilles, Hector and Agamemnon and plenty of battles – although he never saw any giant wooden horses – but he did walk through the streets of Pompeii as Vesuvius spewed pumice rain and watched the people flee for their lives amidst the looting, thefts, rapes and murders.

Then that was that other time when he was drinking goats milk with a shepherd on the steppes watching Genghis Khan’s army attack a nearby settlement.

Then of course he was on the Titanic when it hit the iceberg watching Jacob and Peter from Discovery carry out a mission to save the life of a young woman. Bertie only went there to see if the doors really were big enough for two people to get on. They were.

He was also in ancient Egypt. Not that anything is ever actually ancient - being that every second of existence occurs simultaneously - but then people do need a way of measuring the passage of time. But ancient Egypt, and ancient anywhere are always very brutal and chock full of slaves being beaten, hung, stabbed, starved and abused.

Bertie only went there after watching a documentary about how the ancient Egyptians had tried to make rudimentary pyramid structures but had failed dismally, so he popped over to help them out with some equations and how to use the stars then went back and watched some new documentaries on the amazing pyramids built by the pharaohs.

Bertie also watched the meteor hit the planet Earth. In fact - he was on the planet when it hit. He felt it. He felt the Earth’s spin slowing down and he felt the change in gravity. He saw meteor hit the moon and watched the oceans change direction, and he felt the impact through his feet when the meteor, and the chunks of the moon finally hit the planet and killed over twenty billion people.

Bertie has seen death in all forms. From war. From disaster. From accident and from disease and so this now, and all the things he has seen today, aside from being unpleasant, are not new to him.

Besides, the doings of normal people are as confusing to him as his ways are to everyone else and so he looks upon the dead soldiers with nothing more than benign curiosity as the snow falls as all around him grows white and cold. Becoming still and silent.

* * *

Silent and dark and he snaps his head over to see a sofa and a large flat screen television. A room in darkness. The air hot and sultry. The windows open. A night sky outside. A scream in the air. The scream of a child. He flips over onto his hands and knees and crawls to the window to peer out at ten thousand infected people crammed into a square bordered by buildings. The scream coming from a set of first floor windows on the opposite side.

The scream of a little girl and Bertie clamps his eyes shut, dripping blood and wishing to be anywhere other than here, because although Bertie has seen many horrors, he still really hates the dark world.

Another noise as Howie and his team rush from their building to charge into the room holding the little girl, and Bertie knows this is the past of the dark world. The bad world. The broken awful world and as he looks right to see Paula leaning out of next window along, so the infected all give voice at the same time.

‘HEY!’ he screams out, knowing it must be them now. Bouncing around in time like he is, but his voice drowns out from the howls of the infected. He leans out of the window as the infected below start body piling up to reach Bertie. Not just Bertie either. The other windows next door.

Next door!

He can just go next door.

He runs away from the window, tripping and staggering across the dark room to the front door of the apartment and wrenches it open as the charges detonate on the next flat along.

An explosion of noise as Bertie’s ears go pop and his vision fills with the red lasers and black-clad figures turning towards him.

‘BERTIE’S HERE!’ one of them yells as Bertie yelps and slams the door closed before turning and yelping again at the infected falling in through the window.

‘Oh bum!’ Bertie shouts as he veers off into a bathroom. Slamming the door closed and popping the bolt across on the inside. A quick turn. A shower over the bath. A nice metal pole holding the curtain up. He snatches it down to jam against the inside of the door with the end propped against the bath as the infected impact on the other side. The door rattling in the frame as the thumps and bangs get louder and harder, and in desperation he arms himself with a natural sponge loafer and a tube of shower gel and turns back to the door as the snow falls.

He looks up into the white blur and a second later becomes entranced from the brass casings of the helicopter’s chain guns cascading down through the air. Glinting from the sun and the fires in his old house.

‘Shit! It’s you,’ someone says. Making Bertie drop his head to a soldier blinking wide-eyed at him. A modern combat soldier holding position on one of the flanks within the trees of the hills alongside Cavendish Manor. ‘You’re Bertie!’ the soldier stammers, hardly believing the guy they were briefed about is right here. He blinks again and starts aiming his rifle as Bertie panics and sprays him in the eyes with the shower gel.

‘Oh my god it burns!’ the soldier screams out, clutching at his face.

‘I am so sorry,’ Bertie says, creeping towards him. ‘Are you okay?’

‘No! You’ve blinded me with acid.’

‘It’s Jojoba actually,’ Bertie says, reading the bottle. ‘And it smells really nice.’

‘MY EYES!’

‘Right. Er. Hang on. Let me try and wipe it off,’ Bertie says, slapping the natural sponge loafer at the guy’s face as another soldier runs over.

‘What the fuck! Are you washing him?’

‘It’s Jojoba,’ Bertie says, holding the bottle up.

‘Fucking perverts,’ the other soldier says, shaking his head as he backs away into a hail of gunfire.

Bertie dives for cover and watches as a thick stream of operatives run past firing into the trees at Miri and Safa and the others further back.

Bertie watches them go, wishing he could run with them and get to Miri, but they’ll spot him easily. Maybe he could overpower one of the operatives with his loafer and Jojoba shower gel and steal his uniform. But then Safa would totally shoot him in the willy if she thought he was a baddie.

What a pickle indeed, and what a dreadful day poor Bertie is having as the soldier thrashes in pain next to him and the operatives fire over them.

What a most awful day and how he wishes he was back on his island hunting for coconut shells as the snow starts to fall once again.

‘INCOMING SHELL!’ a voice shouts out as men all around him dive for cover and the shell impacts with another spray of mud, water and lots of blood and gore raining down. ‘GET UP AND CHARGE!’ the same voice shouts as the whistles sound out and Bertie snaps his head up to see he’s back in the first world war.

‘Get up!’ someone yells kicking at his ribs with a hard boot. ‘I don’t give a shit about shell shock,’ the sergeant yells. A different one to last time. This one big and mean and holding a club that he brings down hard across Bertie’s back. ‘GET CHARGING NOW!’ he adds, thrusting a rifle at Bertie and sending him staggering on.

Bertie runs for it. Hearing rounds whip past him and the rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire and the screams and cries of the hurt and dying. A rifle in his hands and in that surreal moment he realises he’s dropped his loafer and shower gel and panics that he won’t be able to overpower an operative to steal a uniform. He turns to go back and gets clubbed again by the angry sergeant. ‘You face the wrong way again and I’ll shoot you for desertion,’ the sergeant shouts, pushing Bertie hard and sending him sprawling a second before a biplane soars overhead with the machine guns shredding the sergeant apart.

Another gasp from the hot blood and Bertie crabs away, his vision blurred and his ears ringing. A rise in the earth. A ditch maybe. He stumbles over it and slides down the crater into the mud at the bottom. Crying out when he clunks his shins against the tank half-submerged at the bottom.

He spots the open back doors of the tank and squeezes inside to hide only to yelp at the rats squeaking in protest as they tuck into the bodies of the crew.

‘HE’S COMING BACK!’ A female voice outside shouts as Bertie spins and rushes over to a slit in the side to see Tappy and the others spilling into the crater.

‘HEY!’ Bertie shouts. Banging on the side.

‘GET TO THE TANK!’ Bear shouts.

‘BEAR!’ Bertie yells, hammering his fist on the side as the biplane soars overhead, drowning him out as the tank gets hit with rounds and he drops back for fear of being hit as the snow falls, landing thick and fast on his hair and shoulders. ‘NO WAIT!’

He screams out again in the hallway of the apartment. His voice snapping off as he realises where he is, and he slowly turns to a sea of red bloodshot eyes all lunging at him.

He closes his eyes and waits for the bite before realising he’s sliding backwards across the wooden floor with an infected woman impaled on the bayonet of the rifle jammed in his side pushing him across the floor.

Into a bedroom they go. Past a cabinet and past the bed as Bertie, being the genius that he is, correctly guesses that he will soon hit a wall, at which point the zombie lady will probably slide down the rifle and start chomping on him.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he says with a wince as he pulls the trigger on the rifle, and the zombie lady flies off into the cabinet they passed. Knocking the vases and ornaments off as she gets onto all fours and starts crawling towards him.

Bertie winces and plucks the trigger once more then snaps his eyes open when it doesn’t fire. Why isn’t it firing? Guns go bang when you pull the trigger. Maybe the mechanism is broken. But then what’s that thing poking out the side? It looks like a bolt, and bolts are designed to be pulled and yanked. He does it now. Yanking it back with a satisfying clunk as the zombie lady snarls and crawls at him.

‘Oh bum! I’m super sorry,’ he says, closing his eyes and turning his head away before firing the rifle.

‘OH MY FUCKING GOD!’ the voice shouts as Bertie snaps his head up to look at the soldier he sprayed Jojoba shower gel at now clutching his shin. ‘You shot me!’ the lad gasps.

‘I meant to hit the zombie,’ Bertie says. ‘Let me help,’ he adds, getting up too quickly and tripping over the rifle.

‘What did I do to you?’ the soldier whimpers with the bayonet now stuck in his arm.

‘Ooh, this isn’t good,’ Bertie says, getting up to try and tug it free. ‘I think it’s stuck. I’ll pull it harder,’ he adds, gingerly pressing a foot to the soldier’s chest to gain leverage as he yanks the bayonet and staggers backwards before falling and stabbing into the neck of a Freedom operative running at his back. ‘Ooh. Sorry!’ Bertie says, staring up at the gargling guy stuck on the bayonet. ‘Um, but seeing as you’re here, would you mind if I borrowed your uniform? I’ll give it back,’ he adds as the soldier drools a bit more before falling silent. ‘Right. Just got to get you off the pointy thing,’ Bertie says.

‘Bayonet,’ the soldier he sprayed, shot and stabbed whispers as Bertie turns towards him and twists the rifle which spills the stuck operative off who lands with a headbutt on said soldier. ‘What the actual fuck!’ he shouts with a muffled yell while clutching his broken nose.

‘Sorry!’ Bertie says, feeling really quite bad about the whole thing as he unfastens the operatives’ helmet and slides it off as the snow falls once again.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Roshi and Martha shout. Sprinting along fifth avenue towards Carpe Diem restaurant in New York and the furious fight going on inside between Bear, Thomas and Zara and the Freedom operatives.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ the other already gathered operatives from Discovery yell out, all of them clad in various uniforms from various eras having run from various missions on a total recall to help Bear and the others.

Bertie blinks at the sight, turning this way and that as he looks for a way out while all around him chefs and nuns, cops, firefighters, nurses and priests all wave their guns in the air while screaming DEATH CHARGE.

‘Oh bum,’ Bertie says before snapping his head up with a look of hope to Roshi running past holding a Winchester rifle above her head. ‘Roshi!’ he calls as the gunfire erupts. And not just here but further down the street with another gun battle taking place with Harry’s head poking up behind an abandoned car.

‘Wrong way,’ someone shouts, grabbing at Bertie as the lad blinks into the face of a German SS officer. ‘FREEDOM ARE THAT WAY,’ Helmut shouts, pushing Bertie towards the Discovery line. ‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Helmut roars as Bertie, standing in his boxers and covered in mud, blood and cake while holding a World War One rifle and with a black combat helmet on his head, gibbers slightly and panics as he remembers the angry sergeant with the club.

‘Yay, death charge,’ he says weakly as the Discovery operatives start their charge over their own line of abandoned cars with Roshi in the lead. But it’s not Roshi now. Bertie can see that. This is another thing in the past. The same as all the other places, and so, without no other choice, and fearful of angry sergeants, Bertie joins the charge with his World War One rifle and runs over the cars while shouting and trying to look fierce.

Bedlam ensues. A crazed battle full of people who don’t really want to fight and who are only doing it because everyone else is. Which is what a battle is. Full of fear and wild actions and Bertie shouts and waves his rifle at other people dressed as nuns and nurses who also shout and wave their guns at him. While yet more people to the sides punch, shoot and stab at each other.

Which is right as another big angry sergeant looms at him, albeit this one dressed in a Russian soldier’s uniform. ‘FREEDOM!’ the man yells, hefting a sword above his head as Bertie panics and pulls the trigger then remembers he hasn’t pulled the bolt thingy back. He does it now while running backwards and away from the sword swishing Russian as the snow falls and at the last second, he grimaces and pulls the trigger.

Which sends the round spinning from the rifle into the face of the infected male in the hallway of the apartment bordering the square in the dark world. And that bullet, being a busy little bullet, continues on through the skull of that infected male and passes out and into the eye-socket of the infected female behind, and then out and into the forehead of an old man behind her. Whose own skull blows out with that same busy little bullet hitting an old, infected lady and finally coming to a stop in the middle of her now scrambled brains.

The chain reaction being that all four go pop pop pop pop and fall backwards with bursts of pink mists left hanging in the air and Bertie staring in awe.

Which is right at the point that Dave shoves a grenade down the top of a Freedom operative and chucks him over the bannister outside in the hallway.

‘Holy fuck!’ Safa says. Her voice floating in as Bertie stares at the four zombies he shot with one bullet.

‘Best kill ever,’ Bear says outside.

‘He’s like Yoda,’ Safa says. ‘A Yoda who hates boats.’

‘I don’t hate boats,’ Bertie says as he snaps his head over. ‘SAFA!’ he starts to yell as he gets taken down from the side by a horde of infected diving into him.

He lands hard. Thrashing and kicking and swinging his rifle about as he stares up to the snarling red bloodshot eyes of the infected piling into him.

Snow on his face. Snow in his eyes that he blinks and looks up into the grey skies of 1917 and the machine gun going rat-a-tat-tat as the infected that were on top of him get cut to ribbons and fly off to land and sink into the mud.

‘Oh dear,’ Bertie says, flipping over to crawl away. Sliding through the puddles as he spots the bodies of the four British and four German soldiers that all tried to help him lying dead within the clouds of smoke rolling past. Shells still flying overhead. Bullets and shouts and screams from every direction.

‘There’s Bertie!’ a voice yells as Bertie flips onto his back, hoping it’s Bear or Blowers but wincing when he spots Freedom operatives dressed as British soldiers.

‘Bugger,’ he yells, getting onto his front to crawl away through the mounds of mud before spotting the goliath forms of Harry and Clarence running ahead of him to grab the rifles, pistols and ammunition from the fallen soldiers.

‘WAIT!’ Bertie shouts. ‘Please wait,’ he says again, trying to see where they went. Trying to see a way out of this hell while wishing he had never opened that red portal to make snow.

But then he wasn’t trying to make snow. He was going to make something else. The snow was just a cool gimmick of the coding.

‘Gotcha!’ a voice shouts as someone lands at his side to turn him over. ‘You little twat,’ the Freedom operative says, grinning with victory. ‘I’VE GOT BERTIE!’ he yells as more operatives crowd in, all of them glaring down at Bertie. ‘Get us out of here,’ the first one says, holding Bertie tightly as another operative pulls a tablet from his pocket. ‘You’ve given us a right run around,’ he adds, slapping Bertie’s cheeks.

‘That’s cos he’s a twat,’ someone else says, surging over Bertie from the other side into the operatives with a blur of motion and a handgun firing into heads in a close quarters frenzy of motion. Bodies falling dead and once again the hot blood splashes over Bertie as the snow starts to fall.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ the voice says, diving on top of him as the snow blurs and the whiteness comes. ‘I’ve got him! I’ve got Bertie! I’ve shut my portal down to go with him… Standby I’ll update.’

The whiteness fades and the snarls come thick and fast as Bertie lifts his head to see they’re in the hallway of the apartment bordering the square again.

‘Fucking zombies,’ Roshi says, leaping up off Bertie to fire into the heads as the infected turn from the bathroom door they were attacking.

‘Hallway!’ Bertie says rushing for the front door.

‘DON’T!’ Roshi shouts.

‘It’s okay. Safa’s outside,’ Bertie says, wrenching the door open to see lots of Freedom operatives.

‘You bloody twat,’ Roshi says, as she fires through the door then slams it shuts before getting another two rounds into the charging infected. ‘RIA! BLINKY! DAY EIGHTEEN DAY EIGHTEEN! NEED YOU!’ she shouts out while pushing Bertie into the kitchen. Slamming the door closed and changing the magazine in her pistol. Bertie! Keep one hand on me,’ she shouts as Bertie darts forward to grab her.

‘Not my face you pillock. Hold my shoulder. Seriously. Your sister is going to beat the crap out of you! Do you know what you’ve done? We’ve been leaping about all over the place for you. Ria saw you hiding in a tank and almost died when some wanker shot a plane down. And Blinky keeps getting mistaken for a Discovery hockey player outside of Carpe Diem. She’s Death Charged more times than Bear. Shit! They’re getting in,’ she says, heaving against the door to try and keep it closed as they start sliding back. ‘RIA! BLINKY! Where are you?’

‘Er, Roshi?’ Bertie asks.

‘What!’

‘It’s snowing again,’ Bertie says as she snaps her head up to the snow falling thick and fast as the door slams open, spilling them back into the bank of earth beneath the trees as the brass casings cascade down from the chain guns in the sky.

‘GOT HIM’ an operative shouts, turning to see Roshi and Bertie land near a soldier with a broken nose and very sore looking eyes.

‘Bollocks,’ Roshi says. ‘Call me when it snows,’ she orders before rolling away to spring up and get fire into the charging operatives. Gunning three down before spinning around with a kick to one coming up behind her.

‘How’s your face now?’ Bertie asks the soldier on the ground.

‘I hate you,’ he grunts, holding his nose. ‘But she’s hot. Can you get her number?’

‘I think she’s got a boyfriend,’ Bertie says as the soldier glares at him. ‘But I can ask,’ he adds with a hopeful nod.

‘Good. Now fuck off cos your snow’s coming again.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Your snow dipshit.’

‘My snow?’ Bertie asks, looking up. ‘My snow! ROSHI. SNOW!’

‘Coming,’ she yells, running to dive at Bertie, landing on the sprayed, shot, stabbed and headbutted soldier. ‘Sorry!’ she says, kneeing him in the bollocks.

‘S’fine. I’ve had worse,’ he grunts as the snow comes and the whiteness blurs the view.

‘GET UP AND FIGHT!’ another angry sergeant yells. Swinging a stick at Roshi and Bertie. ‘YOU’LL BE SHOT FOR DESERTION!’ he adds as Roshi snatches the stick from his hands and pokes him in the gut with it before sweeping his legs out and shooting the German soldiers behind him with her sub-machine gun.

‘Ria, Blinky. Ypres, 1917!’ she shouts into her band.

‘You just said Day Eighteen,’ Ria says.

‘Sorry! We keep changing,’ Roshi shouts.

‘What’s the cycle?’ Blinky asks.

‘Jesus, Blinky. You’re smarter than you look, you know that,’ Roshi says, turning back to prod the stick at Bertie. ‘What’s the cycle?’

‘It’s a pedal powered mechanism used as a means of propulsion.’

‘Oh god. I am so punching him in the face,’ Ria shouts through Roshi’s wristband. ‘Not a bicycle you twat.’

‘She means what places do you keep landing in?’ Roshi asks, ducking down and shooting at a few more figures running at them.

‘Oh. Right. Er, there’s the first world war,’ Bertie says earnestly. ‘That’s really muddy and full of shouty people… Oh and there’s this tank!’

‘The tank’s gone. It sunk,’ Roshi says, shaking her head while shooting at people. ‘Ria, permission to pinch your brother’s ear.’

‘Pinch away my lovely!’

‘Ow!’ Bertie says as she grips his ear.

‘What places?’ Roshi asks.

‘The one with the zombie things in the dark world!’

‘And?’

‘And the man I sprayed with shower gel.’

‘What?! Jesus,’ Roshi says, letting go of his ear at seeing his angst. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.’

‘Don’t be bloody nice to him!’ Ria shouts.

‘He’s autistic,’ Roshi says.

‘He’s a fucking moron!’ Ria says.

‘It’s snowing again,’ Roshi says as two portals blink to life a distance away with Ria and Blinky running into view. ‘Sorry!’ Roshi shouts, gripping hold of Bertie as the whiteness comes.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Roshi and Martha shout, sprinting along Fifth Avenue.

‘DEATH CHARGE!’ Roshi shouts before realising she can’t join herself to Death Charge now because she doesn’t remember her joining herself. Which means she never joined herself. Which then means that she can’t now join herself. ‘Fuck me time travel is confusing,’ she says, hunkering back down with Bertie. ‘How the hell do you figure this out?’

‘S’just binary,’ Bertie says as she smiles and raps her knuckles on his black helmet.

‘Do the chin strap up,’ she says as he starts fumbling for the straps while trying to look below his own chin. ‘How do you survive?’ she asks, slapping his hands away to do it.

‘I’ve got high-functioning autism,’ he says while staring into her eyes. ‘I don’t read people very well. I don’t know what they mean… And like… I can’t tell them what they want because my brain doesn’t work properly.’

She pauses to look at him. At the most intelligent person that ever existed in all of the known worlds. At the inventor of time travel and anti-gravity. At the man who developed the engines for the worldships. At his wide innocent eyes and that smile that’s always ready to show like the tail of a puppy constantly seeking praise and attention.

‘I’m sorry, Roshi,’ he says with a gulp. ‘I was making something else and just wanted to see the snow.’

‘Speaking of snow,’ she says, glancing up at it coming down.

‘Roshi? Where are you?’ Ria asks through her wristband.

‘Carpe Diem, but standby, we’re changing again,’ Roshi says, grabbing Bertie’s wrist as the snow falls thick and fast. Turning all around them to whiteness.

A whiteness that fades to a sea of infected faces and red bloodshot eyes. Most of which are within the decapitated heads of the hosts rolling about on the floor of the apartment.

‘I’ve fucking missed this!’ Blinky says lashing out with an axe to butcher them down. ‘FUCK YES! COME ON CUNTS!’

‘Thank god,’ Roshi says as Ria strides over.

‘We figured the cycle,’ Ria says as she bends down to grip Bertie’s chin. ‘What did you do?’ she demands, making him look at her.

‘Ria,’ Roshi says.

‘He’s my fucking brother, Roshi,’ Ria says, not taking her eyes from Bertie. ‘I know how to talk to him. Bertie! What did you do?’

‘I just wanted snow!’

‘What did you do!?’ she asks before sucking a finger to jab at his ear.

‘No wet willies!’

‘I swear to god, Bertie! What did you do?’

‘I gave a program to Sam for the snow but he added a coding to hack multiple AI’s so I borrowed it back to make the new thing, but then I remembered the snow and so I opened it over the island to make a snowman when you were shot in the belly and Miri went with Safa and Ben and Harry and Emily to get locusts for breakfast.’

A deluge of information in a blast of words tumbling from his mouth while Roshi frowns and Ria cocks her head over, trying to decipher it.

‘Okay,’ Roshi says. ‘Did anyone understand that?’

‘I think he said the program he took from Sam has made this happen,’ Ria says slowly. ‘Bertie, is that right?’

‘Don’t wet willy me!’

‘Okay. We won’t,’ Ria says, her tone softer, knowing when to lower her voice and use less force. ‘Look at me, Bertie. Look at me. We’re going to help you. Okay? But I am going to wedgy your backside for a week when this is done. Hang on! You just said I’m in the bunker after being shot in the belly and you’re not going to ask how I am here now looking lean and awesome?’

‘Lara Croft,’ Roshi says with a cough into her hand.

‘You are something else,’ Ria says, shaking her head at the brother.

‘He’s fine,’ Roshi says, pulling him over to kiss the side of his head.

‘Why you kissing his helmet?’ Ria asks her.

‘Yeah, I thought that,’ Blinky says. ‘He probably took it off some dead Freedom twat. He did! Look, it’s still got blood on it.’

‘Fuck you,’ Roshi says, sticking a finger up at them as the snow starts to fall. ‘Where’s your portal?’

‘Back room,’ Ria says, nodding for them to go as the door slams open with a grenade thrown in at the same time as the infected breach the windows again.

‘Flashbang!’ Roshi shouts, ducking down with her eyes squeezed shut while gripping hold of Bertie. A deafening bang. A blinding flash and they tumble down to the ground. One on top of the other with all four clamping their eyes closed as the snow lands cold on their faces, bringing forth a silence.

A silence that remains as they slowly open their eyes and realise they are now trapped with Bertie.

22

‘And they just ran for it,’ the operative says with blood pouring from his mouth. On his knees and holding his guts in while staring up into the cold eyes of Robert and Mother.

‘They just ran for it?’ Mother echoes the words.

‘Yes,’ the operative says, nodding quickly with a fresh look of agony at the searing pain in his body.

Someone mutters behind, prompting Mother and Robert to turn and look as more operatives grumble and murmur. All of them hurt and injured within the chaos of the cake room construct. Tables overturned and broken up. Chairs the same. Bowls, plates and crockery strewn everywhere amongst the bodies.

‘We didn’t stand a fucking chance,’ an operative next to Robert says while spitting blood to the side. ‘They went through us like a dose of the clap.’

‘That’s disgusting,’ Robert says, pulling his gun to shoot the man through the head.

‘Can you do me please,’ the first operative asks, wheezing and growing weaker as the blood pours from his body. ‘I need to reset.’

‘Gladly,’ Robert says, aiming his pistol down at the man. ‘Only he won’t be resetting, and neither will you.’

‘No!’ the man cries out as Robert fires and watches as the man slumps over while everyone else gasps and becomes very still.

‘Perhaps you will listen to orders in the future,’ Mother calls out. ‘The mission was not to fight them. The mission was to keep them pinned. What did you not understand about that?’ she asks as Robert walks over to another operative and peers down as though expecting a reply.

‘We tried,’ the guy whispers.

‘Try harder,’ Robert says before shooting him dead. ‘That’s three operatives given True Death for your failures,’ he calls out, turning to look at the others. ‘Freedom gives you everything you want, and all we ask is that you do your missions properly because quite frankly this is a bloody embarrassment.’

‘Robert!’ Beatrice shouts, running through a portal into the room. ‘We had Bertie pinned in the dark world with Roshi, Ria and Blinky.’

‘It sounds like a but is coming,’ Robert says as Beatrice grimaces.

‘Yeah. Sorry. I put a flashbang in, but they cycled out on another change before we could grab him.’

‘I said there was a but coming, didn’t I,’ Robert says to another wounded operative before shooting him dead. ‘Correction. That’s now four True Deaths for your collective failures.’

‘It’s alright though,’ Beatrice says. ‘I mean. The plan’s still working.’

‘She’s right,’ Mother says, giving Robert a look. ‘But well done for killing four of your own side,’ she adds in an icy tone.

‘Oh, it’s fine. It’ll help keep them focussed,’ Robert says with a grin. ‘Because I’ll kill the lot of you if you fail again. Now reset and get back to work!’ he orders as the operatives draw pistols to shoot themselves and reset with a chorus of shots sounding out. ‘Right. Good show. Well done all. Mother, shall we? I think we’re nearly ready for the finale, and what a grand show it shall be!’

23

‘This is rapidly turning into a shit show, Howie,’ Marcy calls while sprinting through 1920’s London. ‘And I didn’t put a sports bra on. Do you know how much boobs hurt when you run without a sports bra?’

‘Need a hand holding them?’ Cookey asks with a wink as the others snort and snigger. ‘Sorry, Charlie,’ he adds at her frosty look. ‘I was only joking.’

‘But seriously, Howie,’ Marcy says. ‘I hope the plan isn’t just to keep running.’

‘You got any other ideas then?’ he asks as they run around a big bus slamming to a halt at the sight of them all sprinting along the road.

‘Yes! Let me bite someone.’

‘What is she? A vampire?’ Ben asks, casting a horrified look to the stunning woman holding her boobs as she runs.

‘No! She’s infected,’ Howie says.

‘We’re all infected,’ Paula says. ‘But Marcy is contagious with a different strain,’ she adds as the others all veer away from Marcy while running.

‘It’s fine. We have to at least kiss,’ Marcy says. ‘But the point is I control what I take so I can turn a few people and send them at those liberty twats.’

‘Freedom,’ Thomas says.

‘Freedom. Liberty. Whatever,’ Marcy says.

‘No,’ Howie says.

‘Why not? We’re in the shit, Howie!’ she says.

‘Because this isn’t our world,’ Howie shouts back. ‘We can’t bring the virus here. What if it mutates and you don’t keep control?’

‘And the alternative is what? We all die? What about Bertie? Who’s going to help him if we’re all dead?’

‘Here it comes!’ Safa shouts from the front as the clouds form above them and the snow starts falling thick and fast. Blurring all else from view. Becoming nothing but white.

Becoming mud and screams and craters. Becoming shells and fire and smoke.

‘Fuck!’ Howie says, seeing they’re back in the first world war.

‘Wait,’ Miri says, snapping her head left and right. ‘We’re in a different position.’

‘We are,’ Harry says, turning to look at the line of trenches near them. ‘We’re right by the bloody bosch!’

‘Oh shit,’ Ben says as the top of the nearest trench fills with rows of grey helmets poking up as the bearded and moustache wearing troops peer up at the strange group of people staring at them.

‘TANKS!’ Blowers shouts the warning, as the line quickly turns to see an enormous tank churning through the mud towards the German lines with scores of British soldiers ranged out behind, pressing a counterattack after the German offensive.

‘We have to move,’ Harry calls down the line to Miri, motioning a forward thrust with his hand. ‘Our boys won’t know we’re British.’

‘Agreed,’ Miri says, seeing the same thing. ‘Make ready to charge!’

‘Fuck. Really?’ Safa says with a sudden gleam of joy in her eyes. ‘Seriously? Can we?’

‘Knock yourselves out,’ Miri says as the German soldiers start hefting rifles to fire while another few work to bring a machine gun up.

‘INTO THEM!’ Harry roars, seeing Germans in German army uniforms. Seeing his sworn enemy. ‘FICK DEIN MUTTER!’ he bellows, running out with Bear and the others to leap over the edge and land within the packed trench as the German soldiers grip their bayonets or heft spiked clubs, knives and swords to fight hand to hand.

Howie lands within them. Booting one in the belly and stabbing into the neck with a frenzy of motion. Clarence throwing a man into a dugout then rushing in after him with Harry. Paula and Marcy backed up against the trench wall with Thomas. All of three of them firing pistols to protect Reginald. Miri in amongst it. Stabbing a German soldier in the belly then heaving him up to slit his throat, because they have no other choice. It’s either kill or be killed.

* * *

‘Jesus,’ Ria says, blinking from the effects of the flashbang. ‘Does that look closer to you? Tell me that’s not closer,’ she says as Roshi and Blinky rub their eyes and look up to the meteor in the sky.

‘Yup. It’s closer,’ Roshi says, peering around at the far future. The air filled with chemicals and the clouds above them rolling with thunder and flashes of electricity. ‘Fuck. We’ve lost your portals.’

‘I turned mine off,’ Ria says as Blinky nods then turns to the side to puke. ‘Jesus, Blinky.’

‘I always spew after a scrap,’ Blinky says, wiping her mouth. ‘It was the same when I played hockey. I get too excited.’

‘God it stinks,’ Roshi says, getting to her feet.

‘What? Here or the puke?’ Ria asks.

‘Both,’ Roshi says as Blinky winks at Bertie who promptly grins with joy.

‘Look what you’ve done you twat,’ Blinky says, pointing at the meteor as Bertie turns to look at it.

‘It’s fine. They get away,’ Bertie says. ‘I got the engines working but they were all floating, so I made the anti-grav.’

‘Awesome,’ Roshi says. ‘Except we’re not on the worldships. We’re here still on the planet.’

‘Oh,’ Bertie says with an earnest nod. ‘We should find one because that’s really close.’

‘What’s that?’ Ria asks, bracing herself while staring at the ground. ‘What is that? Is that an earthquake? Can you feel it?’

‘Yeah,’ Roshi says, detecting the tremors and vibrations through her feet as a howling wind starts rushing past. ‘What the fuck is that?’

Bertie knows what it is. It’s the earth’s spin starting to change from the gravitational pull of an object with a greater momentum and mass moving closer at extreme speed. An object that has already started to make the moon move out of orbit.

‘The moon’s moving!’ Ria cries out, glimpsing it through the clouds as it slowly glides towards the meteor while their insides start feeling weird from the change in the pull of gravitational forces and the effects on water. The water in the oceans and lakes. The waters in the rivers and reservoirs, and the waters in their bodies. A horrible feeling. A sickening feeling.

‘I like Sven’s porridge and jam though,’ Bertie says with a sudden thought while the other three clutch their bellies. ‘We should try it when we get on board. Oh, but that’s one hundred and twenty years after the fleet sets off. Hmmm. Okay. We’ll get on board then I’ll make a time machine so we can go forward for porridge and jam.’

‘Great plan,’ Roshi says while tapping at her wristband. ‘I can’t call out or open a portal. Check yours.’

‘Same,’ Ria says, checking her own band. ‘Awesome. We’re cut off from Discovery and the snow’s coming again.’

‘That was quick,’ Roshi says.

‘Nah. We were blind for a few minutes after that cunt threw a flashbang,’ Blinky says as the snow falls, blurring the view to whiteness.

‘What the hell happened?’ Ria asks with a gasp at the relief within their bellies while staring around at the chaos of the cake room construct. Dead Freedom operatives everywhere. Tables smashed and chairs thrown with plates and crockery.

‘They’ve run for it.’ Roshi says as she tracks the trail of destruction to the doors. ‘The cycle! They’re trying to change position and break the cycle. Get after them!’

Out they go. The four of them running into the street into 1920’s London. Desperate to catch up with the others as the snow starts to come – once more blurring the world around them into white before changing to a grey sky and a ground churned to mud.

‘It’s changing faster,’ Ria says, looking around to see they’re changed position to last time.

‘Get down!’ Roshi orders as they drop to their bellies into the Ypres mud. ‘I can hear German. We must be near the enemy lines.’

‘The Germans aren’t our enemies,’ Ria says.

‘Try telling them that when they see us,’ Roshi says.

‘We’re women. They won’t shoot us,’ Ria says.

‘He’s not,’ Roshi says, pushing an arm over Bertie to keep him down. ‘And he’s more important than us,’ she adds.

‘CHARGE!’ A British voice shouts nearby followed by a roar of others all running through the billowing smoke to leap into the German trenches.

‘Jesus,’ Roshi says, wincing at the screams of pain coming from the trench nearby.

‘I know. Lucky twats,’ Blinky says, shaking her head. ‘Wish I could charge a trench.’

‘Um. We might have to actually,’ Ria says, looking behind to the goliath tank trundling towards them. ‘It’s going for the German trench. We’ll have to run.’

‘Fuck yes!’ Blinky says. ‘Best day ever.’

‘What is wrong with you?’ Ria asks her.

‘Charlie said I’m perfect just as I am,’ Blinky says while flicking a middle finger at her as the tank speeds up for the final charge at the German line.

The four scrabble up to run at the German trench as the soldiers within stare up in shock at the three women and the man in boxers diving over the edge. Landing on the boards with a crash and a second of stunned silence.

‘Er, Gutan Tag?’ Roshi says, still in her whore dress while wagging her fingers at the men.

‘That’s hello in German,’ Bertie says helpfully.

‘ENGLISH!’ The German soldiers shout on hearing his voice as the trench wall collapses in under the weight of the tank roaring into view. Crushing men under the tracks as more try and shoot rifles at it.

‘CHARGE ‘EM LADS!’ a British voice yells out as further back the British pour into the trench to fight hand to hand.

‘RUN!’ Ria says, grabbing Bertie’s hand to drag him away from the fighting.

Blinky takes the lead, rushing up behind a German soldier hefting a spiked club over a fallen British soldier. She yanks him back with a vicious punch to his nose and snatches the weapon from his hand.

‘Nein! Mercy!’ he shouts in broken English as she boots his head, knocking him clean out.

‘You good?’ she asks the stunned squaddie the German was attacking. ‘Get up. Get back in the fight,’ she adds, heaving him up with a fistful of tunic to send after his mates. ‘Come on!’ she shouts to Ria and Roshi protecting Bertie as she fights a path along the trench to get away from the dangers of the tanks.

A junction ahead. A dogleg within the trenches to prevent forces being able to fire along. Blinky gains the first corner and works through the turns to get out onto the next straight section.

‘It’s snowing!’ Ria shouts. ‘BLINKY! IT’S SNOWING.’

Blinky stops as she twists to go back, snapping her head back to the people fighting hand to hand ahead of her. The people she recognises. Mr Howie. Dave. Blowers and Charlie. A thrill in her heart at the sight of them as the snow comes down, turning all else into white.

* * *

Charlie fights in the trench, battering a German soldier down with a sudden sensation of being watched. She turns fast as the snow comes, changing from the carnage of world war one to something else.

‘Fuck!’ Howie yells, ducking down from the gunship flying overhead as they realise they’re on the far side of Cavendish Manor within a fruit orchard.

‘CONTACT!’ Blowers shouts, seeing soldiers in the grounds all turning to face them.

‘Sergeant Madden!’ Miri shouts. ‘A tactical withdrawal at speed if you will.’

‘LET’S GO!’ Clarence shouts. ‘Fire and manoeuvre. DOUBLE TIME!’

A flurry of motion as they start working back. It’s hard work. Hot and constant with no hope of it changing and the exhaustion soon shows on all of them. Mouths and throats becoming dry. Faces flushed red and bodies bloodied and hurt.

* * *

‘Where are we?’ Roshi asks, hunkering down with the others from the gunfire erupting nearby, then a thunderous roar overhead as the gunship flies low while firing rockets at Cavendish Manor.

‘It’s our fruit orchard!’ Ria says.

‘You’re so fucking posh,’ Blinky says as the bullets whip past.

‘Oi! That’s my fruit,’ Ria says, firing her pistol at the soldiers charging through the orchard. ‘This is getting stupid now, Roshi.’

‘What you telling me for?’ Roshi asks. ‘He’s your bloody brother! Hang on. Is that Thomas? It is! It’s Thomas! THOMAS!’

‘They’re not meant to know about us!’ Ria shouts. ‘They can’t know about me and Blinky. The Old Lady said.’

‘Stuff the Old Lady,’ Roshi shouts, feeling a sudden coldness on her face with a glance up to the snow falling already. ‘I told you it was getting faster.’

* * *

‘It’s snowing again!’ Paula shouts as they work a retreat. ‘Everyone group together!’

Into the scrum they go as the world changes to white for a perfect second of pure silence before the snarling faces come lunging at them. The eyes red and bloodshot, and for a moment, they all think they’re in the apartment until they realise they’re at the far side of the square deep within the ranks of infected.

‘FIGHT OUT!’ Howie shouts, back in his world with his rules and his team react fast. Lashing out to take the infected down with whatever guns and weapons they have left. Webley revolvers, bayonets, clubs and sticks from 1917. Pistol, knives and sub-machine guns from the cake room. A motley collected held by a motley group of misfits lurching through time and space.

‘For the last time. I am not a bloody misfit!’ Marcy shouts, firing a Webley revolver at an infected head. ‘But I do love these guns.’

‘Awesome aren’t they,’ Safa says, rushing past to leap onto an infected male’s back to stab down into his eyes. ‘And I love this fucking world!’

* * *

‘I love this fucking world!’ Blinky shouts, beating an infected down with a heavy spiked club taken from the trenches. ‘And Mr Howie seriously needs to get some of these clubs.’

‘I hate zombies,’ Roshi says, shooting one dead before stabbing another through the neck as Ria joins in trying to protect Bertie. All three of them shielding the lad who scouts about for a loafer and shower gel to help out while forgetting about the rifle still in his hands.

‘I can hear Meredith!’ Blinky says. ‘We’re close to them.’

‘Which way?’ Roshi asks, but there’s no way of knowing within the chaos of the fight and the solid charge of infected coming at them. ‘Jesus. It’s snowing already!’

* * *

‘It’s coming again!’ Paula shouts a few metres away as the snow falls. Turning their world to white for a split second before the carnage erupts again.

Back in the trenches and surrounded by German soldiers all shouting in surprise at the sight of them appearing.

‘KILL ‘EM!’ Harry yells, snatching a club from a terrified soldier before killing him dead with a single blow.

‘Danny!’ Mo shouts, barging his best mate aside to save him from the sword being swung by an officer charging from a dugout. Mo feints left then comes in low and fast, slicing his blade across the artery in the groin before flicking the handle over in his hand to brush across the side of the neck. Two cuts. Both deep and the blood sprays fast as the officer gasps and staggers away.

‘Cheers!’ Danny says, using his big legs to boot the man hard in the belly, sending him across the width of the trench before pressing the attack with a knife to the throat as Meredith leaps past his back. Clamping her jaws onto a German soldier’s throat. Tearing the flesh away before darting off to take another one down swinging at Roy

More violence ensues. More carnage and loss of life. More blood being spilled and Tappy cries out from a bayonet slicing over her forearm. Nick grunting at being stabbed in the leg. Charlie slashed on the arm. Paula cut across the belly, and the pressure grows within all of them. A growing, gnawing sense that they being forced towards something they have no control over.

* * *

‘Roshi!’ Ria shouts, using her foot to heft a dropped rifle at Roshi. She grabs it fast, turning it to stab the bayonet into a belly as Blinky dives on two German soldiers swinging clubs at a terrified Bertie, and time goes on with nothing but violence and blood and carnage and death all around them.

‘Fuck you!’ Roshi says, wilting back at being stabbed in the side as she yanks the bolt back on the rifle and blows the soldier’s head off.

‘Fuck!’ Ria says, cut across the shoulders from an officer slashing at her with a sword.

‘That’s my sister!’ Bertie shouts, throwing a boot at the man and buying enough distraction for Blinky to club him down as the snow starts dropping again.

‘We’re going faster!’ Roshi shouts, rushing over to grab hold of the others as the cycle changes again.

* * *

‘We’re heading for something,’ Ben says as they cluster together under the falling snow. ‘I can feel it inside.’

Back in the orchard and as one they fall back into the fighting retreat and the pressure grows. Becoming a real thing within all of them. The changes coming faster. The tension and violence ramping with each passing second.

* * *

‘What the fuck is happening?’ Ria asks as the white-out clears enough for them to see they’re back in the orchard. ‘Why’s it going so fast?’

‘It’s a particle acceleration due to the multiplicity of the program trying to connect all the nows, but it was only meant to make some snow,’ Bertie says, while the others wish they knew what the hell he was going on about.

‘COVER!’ Blinky shouts as the soldiers start firing on them, making them turn and flee for the copse nearby.

The four of them sprint for the edge of the orchard. Knowing they’ll have to cross a few metres of open ground to get into the tree line.

* * *

Howie and the others do the same and sprint for the edge of the orchard with another awful wild run. Bullets zipping past. Legs drained and heavy. Lungs bursting and all of them grabbing at each other to keep going because all they can do is run.

* * *

‘Almost there,’ Roshi gasps, seeing the edge of the orchard is right in front of them. Bullets whipping past. Breaking branches and hitting tree trunks.

‘Fuck!’ Blinky yells as a spurt of blood sprays from a bullet grazing her side. Another from Ria being glanced on the arm and Roshi staggers, winged on the leg as the blood flows and the edge of the orchard grows closer and closer.

‘RUN!’ Roshi shouts, breaching the edge.

* * *

‘RUN!’ Harry shouts, breaching the edge of the orchard with the others lurching out behind him, all of them snapping heads up with cries of horror and looks of shock.

The same a few hundred metres away as Roshi, Ria, Blinky and Bertie all crash out of the orchard into the open ground and the two groups should look left and right.

They should see each other.

They’re right there.

So close. So very close, but it’s the thing in the sky that grabs their attention and as one, they all stare up and come to a stop at the sight of the meteor.

The meteor that doesn’t belong in this world. A meteor that brings forth a sickening twist in their guts from the shift in gravitational forces and none of them feel the snow coming down. Landing thick and fast in their hair and on their shoulders.

A scream.

A yell and a tank roars between them, firing the machine guns from the sides. Rat-a-tat-tat, and they dive for cover into the mud and filth of No Man’s Land.

‘What the hell is that?’ a British soldier yells out, pointing into the sky with a look of horror at the meteor just before a German soldier shoots him dead.

* * *

‘Fuck me,’ Roshi says, blinking at the sudden change. At being back in 1917 but with the meteor now in this world too. Explosions and gunfire on all sides. Fire from flamethrowers used by British troops trying to clear German trenches while German machine-guns shoot at the British.

* * *

‘What’s happening?’ Cookey yells, snaking over to Blowers and Charlie and the others.

‘No idea, mate, just stay down,’ Blowers says. ‘BOSS! You seen that meteor?’

‘I can see it,’ Howie says, on his belly in the mud next to Ben and Miri and Reginald.

‘It’s still snowing,’ Thomas yells out.

‘MEREDITH!’ Nick yells out as she breaks out from his grip and runs off.

All of them diving out to try and snag the dog who streaks through them all to leap over a crater and down the bank and up the other side. A scent in her nose. A scent she remembers. A scent she could never forget, and she leaps the last few feet to land on Blinky with her big tongue licking hard.

‘Meredith!’ Blinky cries, her eyes filling with tears as the snow keeps falling and the faces of the German soldiers become the faces of the infected.

* * *

‘Where is she?’ Howie yells. ‘Which way? NICK! WHICH WAY?’ he yells as Nick points in the direction Meredith ran off.

A change of pace and the energy ramps with Howie’s eyes growing darker as the rage surges up inside. The dark energy that drives him on. That thing. That awful, terrible thing born from the dark world and he screams out. Barring his teeth as he charges at the infected and the hive mind comes. Connecting them all within an instant. Opening the pathways they can only ever gain when it’s like this. When it’s becoming hopeless, when it’s desperate and one of their own is down, and right now, Meredith is on her own.

Clarence’s face a mask of pure rage. Marcy snarling. Paula screaming out and Reginald in the middle, slapping at the air with his fly swatter.

A wild charge into the infected. Miri and her team, Bear and Thomas having no choice but to join them. Ben using a sword taken from a dugout in the trenches. Harry with a wooden club wrapped in barbed wire. Safa in close with a knuckle-duster knife. Fracturing skulls and stabbing necks. Emily firing her pistol, picking the targets to shoot dead. Howie’s team using rifles and bayonets and clubs to fight through.

* * *

‘ON ME!’ Blinky shouts, grabbing Bertie’s wrist with one hand while wielding her spiked club with the other. Booting infected aside and hacking a path through. Meredith working to her front. Tearing men and women off their feet.

A few seconds. A few minutes, or it could be hours. Time changes in a battle. It becomes slower. Faster. Different.

‘BOSS!’ Blinky yells, fighting towards the sound of his voice.

‘Blinky,’ Howie whispers. His eyes going wide with shock. But it must be a trick of the air because Blinky is dead. She died. They buried her.

‘CHARLIE!’

‘Blinky!’ Charlie whispers. The same shock showing on her face as she thinks back to the vomit on the cakes. A surge inside. A desperate rush of hope.

Motion further back within the press of infected. Flashes of ginger hair. Flashes of a spiked club. The sound of a voice muttering in frustrated anger.

‘Cunting fucking cuntfaced fucking cunts. MOVE!’

‘Blinky!’ Charlie gasps. ‘BLINKY!’ she screams out with an explosion of violence to get through, prompting the others to do the same. All of them charging harder. Killing faster and the snow falls, landing unnoticed on their faces as the world around them morphs and changes.

The infected suddenly no longer there as the two groups come to a sudden stop mere metres apart.

All of them gasping for air and pissing blood. Chests heaving. Faces bathed in sweat and mud and gore. A moment in time. A moment searing into their senses.

Blinky.

Right there at the edge of No Man’s Land in Ypres 1917.

The girl that died trying to save them all in the dark world. The girl they buried. The girl they wept over. Charlie’s best friend.

A second to see her. A second for them to see each other. A second and no more.

‘DOWN!’ Dave roars. His huge commanding voice making them all drop into the mud as the shells scream overhead and the machine guns open up with a rat-a-tat-tat. As the folly of man shows true with the armies paying no heed to the meteor as they butcher each other. Firing guns and sending flame to scorch bodies. Using tanks to crush enemies that look and sound the same as they do.

But that hell becomes a backdrop. It becomes nothing more than noise and motion as Charlie and Blinky crawl through the mud because nothing on this Earth will stop them reaching the other.

Both of them crying. Both of them reaching out to clasp the other. Hugging, sobbing, laughing and smiling. Kissing each other’s cheeks and forehead. Talking and shouting at the same time.

‘You posh fucking twat,’ Blinky says with tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘You ginger bitch,’ Charlie says. Sobbing and laughing at the same time ‘How?’

‘I work for the Old Lady,’ Blinky says over the top of her. Both trying to hug and kiss and shout over the carnage of war at the same time.

A moment in time.

A moment and no more.

A moment for Miri’s team to stare in shocked confusion at Ria Cavendish looking lean and muscular, and a lot like Lara Croft. A moment for Bear and Roshi to see each other. A moment for Howie’s team to stare in shock at Blinky while their own eyes fill with tears.

A moment in time.

A moment and no more.

A moment for Bertie to stare up at the meteor in the skies above Ypres. A vast burning ball ten times the size of the moon with a tail of fire that seems to stretch back into space, and still the snow falls, and the changes come faster and faster.

The gunships overhead. The bullets whipping by in the orchard.

The infected in the square screeching and howling.

The carnage of Ypres.

Gunships.

Infected.

Ypres.

Gunships.

Infected.

Ypres.

A blur of places. A blur of faces. A blur of minds as the changes come faster until the worlds start merging.

That’s what happening. Bertie can see it within the chaos and carnage. Within the terrible noise.

Four worlds merging, but not all at the same nows or in all of the same places. Only this now in Ypres in 1917, and this now in the square in the dark world. This now in the orchard near Cavendish Manor, and this now on the planet as the meteor approaches.

Bertie didn’t invent time travel, because there is no time to travel through. He just figured out how to move from one now to another now.

But this is a game changer because this is connecting multiple nows.

This is a bridge. A bridge between worlds.

What a thing to see, and it works too. The programme Bertie was making really works. The coding Sam added to hack multiple AI systems at once, combined with Bertie’s time travelling code has created the thing Bertie was aiming for. Well. Not quite the end product, but the theory is there, and he can now make what he was planning to make.

He can create what is needed to be created because the beginning doesn’t always start at the beginning and every second of life occurs at the same time.

He should get back and carry on working. That’s what he should do. Ah but bum! He’s left the portal open over his island and now he can’t get back. Right. He needs a computer. He doesn’t have a computer. Has he got a smart phone? Maybe he can do something with that. He pats his legs then remembers he’s only wearing his swim shorts. Why is he wearing swim shorts? There’s nowhere to swim here. Ypres is all muddy, Cavendish Manor doesn’t have a pool, and there’s no way he wants to swim anywhere in the dark world. He should go back to the island for a swim. Cool. He’ll do that. Ah but bum! He’s left the portal open and now he can’t get back. Right. He definitely needs a computer. It’s pretty cool though. The meteor that is.

Bertie tracked where it came from, which was super millions and billions of years away. What a concept. That two galaxies crashed into each other trillions of miles and trillions of years ago which sent comets and chunks of planets and moons flying out all over the universe, and this is one part of it. That meteor right there was most likely part of a solar system that contained sapient life.

And now it’s going to hit this planet, which will duly burst apart and send chunks flying off that one day, in billions and trillions of years, will get sucked towards the gravitational pull of other planets. One of which may have a sapient life form staring up at it in the exact same way as Bertie is now.

That’s an idea. He could pop some tracking devices on the bigger chunks that get sent out then keep skipping forward to see where they go. But then there’s no tracking devices powerful enough to send signals back across that size of space.

Right. Well. He’ll have to make some tracking devices that are powerful enough to do that. So he’d better get back and do that. Ah but bum! He’s left the portal open and now he can’t get back. Right. He super definitely needs a computer.

And all around him the mere mortals scream out at the madness of the merging worlds. At the things in the air. At the creatures with red eyes. At the war being waged in the mud and trenches and the meteor in the sky.

Roshi sees it all. Clinging to the ground the same as the others. Hoping and praying for it to end, and within that absolute chaos, she spots Miri staring at something. Roshi tracks the gaze to see her staring at Bertie on his feet without a care in the world. Without a flicker of fear. Without any notion of the dangers of the world around him. But then it’s all just binary to Bertie. This world and these worlds are not the same for him as they are for everyone else.

She looks back to Miri and the glint in her eyes, and Roshi wonders, again, in that moment of pure chaos, why the hell she left Bertie alone with a time machine.

But then as the Old Lady said, you could leave Bertie in a locked room with nothing but a paperclip and he’d still change the molecular structure of the universe.

She clocks him patting his legs as though searching for something and watches his changing expressions as the thoughts in his head come and go. A few seconds later and he pats his pockets again. Looking for something. Searching for something. Needing something.

Needing a paperclip.

A glance to her wrist. To the band wrapped around it. The bands they took from the Worldship Humility because the tech allows them to transmit and connect through portals, which is something the tier 3 teams can’t do. But those signals have been blocked. No doubt by Freedom, which renders it useless to here and of no more help than a paperclip would be.

The realisation hits like a jolt of electricity. ‘BERTIE!’ she yells out, snatching her band free to fling through the air at him. He looks over and catches it with a wide grin.

‘Ah thanks!’ he says with a show of childish delight lighting his face up like this is the best thing that anyone has ever given him as the shells land behind him. Sending clods of earth and walls of flame scorching up.

He smiles again. Heedless to it all and swipes at the band with a complex series of hand-movements before slapping it over his wrist when a virtual screen pops up. A qwerty keyboard glowing beneath it and he gets to work. Typing fast as the tip of his tongue pokes out. As the war wages on around them, twisting and changing to the gunships and the soldiers in the orchard and the infected in the square.

The changes coming so fast they blur and merge as one with tanks powering through the orchard. Through the square, and through the mud of Ypres. The meteor in the sky. The gunships. The shells. The screams. The infected. Noise and carnage and nothing but death and pain on all sides and coming from all directions as their worlds strobe from one to the other. The future, the past and the present flickering faster and faster, and the pressure grows.

Becoming unrelenting with a barrage of noise and motion.

All of them hugging the ground apart from Bertie who remains on his feet. Seemingly ethereal and not of this world.

A few seconds. A few minutes. It’s hard to tell. Time feels slower. Faster. Just different, but then time is a construct and all the nows happen within the same moment.

A moment and no more.

A shimmer. A light. A glow forming from nothing but air as Roshi gasps and blinks the tears away while feeling small and weak and puny. While feeling like a mortal in the presence of a God who just made a time machine from a wristband that lets the user connect to social media in the fleet.

Ria the same. Staring at her brother. All of them. Miri, Ben and Safa. Harry and Emily. Howie and Paula. The lads. All of them to the last seeing the absolute power of the man and in that same moment, a moment and no more, they understand why Bertram Cavendish must be protected.

‘I need to go now,’ he announces with a bright smile, unaware of the looks of awe.

‘We all need to go, Bertie,’ Roshi calls out, forcing her tone to stay light, forcing a smile. ‘Can we all go?’

‘Yeah!’ he says with another grin at the thought of it. ‘Okidoki lemon pokey… Hang on a sec…’

The tongue pokes out. He types. The portal moves side to side as he moves his wristband. Another second to type and he sweeps it over the ground towards Ria.

‘Bertie!’ she yells out as the portal goes over her body, removing her from this now. From these nows.

‘Wait!’ Roshi yells, but it’s too late and she’s gone from this world as he keeps turning.

‘Blinky,’ Charlie cries out, seeing it sweeping towards her best friend.

‘It’s fine!’ Blinky says with a smile, breaking contact as she starts twisting towards the coming portal. ‘There’s nothing to it. See you on the other side.’

Then she’s gone. Taken away and no longer of this place, or this world, or whatever this is.

A screech overhead.

An incoming shell. The noise coming at them. Coming at them all.

‘BERTIE!’ Charlie yells out, on her feet and running in and instant. All of them yelling and rising to get to the grinning young man in his swim shorts. A young man heedless to the dangers with no notion of the shell coming at him and the snow falls thick and fast.

Blurring the worlds as Charlie slams into Bertie. Taking him off his feet.

Blurring the sounds as Bertie flies backward with the band spinning away through the air.

Blurring their minds as the band lands in the mud as the shell impacts the ground and detonates with a deafening roar. Severing the connected. Ending the portal and bringing only noise and hell and earth raining down until there is nothing but silence.

24

Miri lifts her head and realises this world isn’t silent at all, nor is it merged with all the other worlds they saw. It’s not Ypres, or the orchard, or the square filled with infected. There’s no gunship, and there’s no meteor either.

It’s somewhere new. Somewhere else. Somewhere different, and she flicks her eyes over to the words above a store front, then to a road sign and on to a brass plaque lying on a chunk of broken down wall.

She takes in the style of them. The spelling and use of letters then turns her head to the other side. Seeing a wide road bordered by structures of a specific style and architecture. Somewhat grand and somewhat gothic, but now mostly broken and lying in ruins with mounds of rubble strewn over the sidewalks into the road.

A car half buried under a pile of bricks. The distinctive shape of a black Volkswagen Beetle. A truck beyond it. The front end crumpled and covered in rubble. The windscreen smashed. The body of an old man hanging out of the cabin.

She spots fires burning within the remains of the bombed-out buildings. The flames licking the sky left unattended. She spots the bodies strewn over the rubble. All of them dead from the trauma and shock of being caught in a collapsing building.

It’s how they lay and how they present. The lack of blood. The arms and legs at weird angles. The necks broken.

She takes in the people in the street picking through the rubble. A group of women pulling the bodies of adults and children out from a collapsed building to lay on the sidewalks while more women work along the lines of corpses, covering them with whatever rags they have. Old sheets. Old curtains.

She catches snippets of conversation between those women. Just the odd word drifting over. Bitte. Danke, and she glances up at the skeletal remains of the houses still standing - some of them five and six stories high - and she looks at the cold grey sky and feels the low temperature of the world around her, and from all of things, she knows where they are, and more importantly, she knows when they are, and if they thought the last places were bad, this is even worse.

This is where Mother arranged the passing of the nuclear bomb that was dropped on London,

This is hell on Earth.

This is the last weeks of the war and the fall of the Reich.

This is Berlin. Germany. 1945.

* * *

From mud and gore and war and noise to somewhere else. Roshi, Ria and Blinky taken from the chaos of the merging worlds without moving a muscle.

‘Where are we?’ Ria asks, lifting her head. Her face covered in layers of mud, gore and filth. All of them cut and hurt. All of them bruised and sore ‘And where’s the meteor? I thought the worlds were merging,’ she adds while squinting at the sky.

‘Your fanny is merging,’ Blinky says, spitting mud from her mouth.

‘I worry about you, Blinky,’ Ria says.

‘I worry about your face.’

‘Anyway. Where are we?’ Ria asks.

‘Some kind of forest,’ Roshi says, peering around.

‘Yeah? What gave it away? Is it because we’re in some kind of forest?’ Blinky asks as Roshi grabs a big leaf from the ground to wipe her eyes and face.

‘Let me see that,’ Ria says, snatching it free.

‘Get your own!’ Roshi says, trying to pull it back as Ria leans away.

‘I wipe my arse with these,’ she says.

‘Gross,’ Roshi says. ‘Use toilet paper like everyone else you weirdo.’

‘No! I wipe my arse with these,’ Ria says, waving it at Roshi while pushing up to her knees. Realising they’re back in her time.

‘Why did he send us here?’ Roshi asks.

‘He’s a fucking moron! Why does he do anything?’ Ria says, on her feet and looking around. ‘Something must have happened. They’re stuck there. Shit. Shit! Fucking Bertie. Come on then. We’ll have to run for it.’

‘Where?’ Roshi asks, plucking another leaf up to wipe her face.

‘Not that one!’ Ria says, slapping it away. ‘That one gives a nasty rash. Here, use the bum one. We need to go.’

‘Where, Ria!?’ Roshi snaps.

‘My cave, Roshi. I’ve got a time machine in my cave!’

* * *

‘Not a word,’ Miri whispers. ‘Stay down and do not speak English. Pass it on.’

Ben whispers the message along as Howie and his team get to their feet.

‘Where are they?’ Howie asks flapping his hands out with a worried look as they start casting about with low whistles and low calls.

‘Stay down!’ Miri whispers.

‘They won’t,’ Ben whispers. ‘Their dog is missing, and we can’t see Bertie or Ria and the other two?’

‘We’ll look in a minute!’ Miri snaps, cursing again at seeing a group of women looking over. ‘Miss Rose, with me,’ she orders, pushing up to her feet with Emily as they scrabble over the rubble towards the sidewalk.

‘What’s going on in there?’ A German woman demands, marching over with several others. Some of them holding clipboards and with armbands denoting ranks of importance despite their filthy, bedraggled state. ‘Are you looting? CALL THE SOLDIERS!’ she yells to the women near her. ‘They’re in the next street over.’

‘Nein!’ Miri says in perfect Berliner German. ‘Nein nein,’ she repeats with an expression of angst. Her clothes filthy and torn and her whole manner one of abject woe. ‘We are searching for a child.’

‘Ya,’ Emily says in fluent German, realising the play at hand. ‘My son. He was in the building. Poor Harald. We must find him!’

‘That building was the dentists’!’ the German woman snaps.

‘Ya!’ Emily says with tears pouring from her eyes. ‘Harald was at the dentist.’

‘The dentist left months ago to support the troops!’ the woman shouts as more people in the street start heading over.

‘We know this. Harald was with the dental nurse,’ Miri says. ‘Helga or… No! Greta. The woman. The nurse. She was helping his abscess. He was in so much pain, and now he’s lost. We must look for him.’

‘MEREDITH!’ Nick calls from behind.

‘That was a man,’ one of the other women says, trying to peer past them after hearing Nick’s voice.

‘It is my son,’ Miri says. ‘Niklaus.’

‘Why isn’t he fighting?’ the woman demands.

‘He is fourteen!’ Miri says as Nick bellows out for Meredith in a deep manly voice as the sound of a dog barking sails out from the ruins of the next street over.

‘Was that a dog?’ another woman shouts at Miri and Emily as yet more start rushing towards them. ‘Where is the dog? My children are hungry!’

‘You can’t eat a dog,’ Emily says with a look of horror.

‘We’ve eaten the tigers in the zoo,’ the first woman shouts angrily as Nick yells and the dog barks.

‘That’s her. That’s Meredith,’ Cookey says as Charlie winces and rushes into the street to try and cover up the English voices.

‘Ya! It is. It is our dog,’ she shouts in German. ‘We thought to use her to help us find poor Hans, but she ran off.’

‘Harald,’ Miri says.

‘Oh. Harald. Ya. I knew this. I called him Hans,’ Charlie tells the Berliners as Nick shouts and Meredith barks.

The two of them running and barking and shouting and tracking each other by sound as the Berlin women stare at the strapping, muscular, and astonishingly handsome fourteen-year-old Niklaus running out from one set of ruins and into the next to greet his giant dog.

‘Niklaus loves his doggy,’ Emily says with a wan smile. ‘And he’s so big for fourteen. Whatever do you feed him?’

‘Steroids,’ Miri says in English knowing the ruse has failed as she pulls her Webley revolver and shoots the angry German woman through the head. ‘That’s for the damn tigers.’

‘Miri!’ Emily says in shock.

‘We were hardly convincing them, Tango Two,’ Miri snaps as Bertie falls over a broken wall before springing up in his shorts and with the helmet on.

‘Guten tag!’ he calls out with a smile and a wave. ‘That’s German for hello.’

‘Yeah, fair one,’ Emily says, conceding the point.

‘What’s happening?’ Howie asks, rushing over with the others. ‘How is Blinky alive?’

‘She said she works for the Old Lady,’ Charlie says.

‘What was Ria doing there?’ Emily asks.

‘I don’t know. Roshi’s gone too,’ Bear says, as confused as everyone else.

‘We need one of those band things,’ Thomas says.

‘Seriously. Did you see Ria?’ Emily asks, looking at Ben and Safa. ‘She looked so different.’

‘Hey buddy,’ Thomas says, moving in close to Bertie. ‘Waddya need to get us out? I got an Omega. Will that do it?’

‘That’s a watch you twat,’ Bear says.

‘Ask him what he needs then cos we’re stuck in Nazi Germany and being stuck in Nazi Germany ain’t a good place to be,’ Thomas snaps.

‘Enough,’ Miri says. Bringing instant silence. ‘We’re in Berlin in February 1945. Which is where Mother passes the nuclear device used by the Nazis on London.’

‘Which suggests we have been brought here for a reason,’ Reginald says as the air raid sirens come to life, bringing panic to the city and as one they all turn to stare in shock at the sight of the aircraft in the sky.

Over one thousand allied bombers and six hundred fighter planes stretching as far back as the eye can see.

‘Dave? What do we do?’ Howie asks.

‘Er, excuse me,’ Clarence says, giving Howie a look. ‘Dave wasn’t the only soldier.’

‘Aye. When you’ve been in a war, lad,’ Harry says with a glance to Clarence.

‘I was in a war!’ Clarence says.

‘Harry’s very protective over his war,’ Emily says.

‘Er, and we were all literally just in the First World War,’ Clarence adds with a huff.

‘Jesus. Fine. Clarence, what should we do?’ Howie asks.

‘Hmmm. Good question. My professional advice would be to seek cover.’

‘Yeah?’ Howie asks. ‘Fuck me. I’m glad I asked now. I was about to tell Cookey to show ‘em his arse instead. Cookey! What the fuck are you doing?’

‘Showing ‘em my arse, boss,’ he yells as an army truck screeches to a halt in the junction behind them with uniformed soldiers spilling out and already firing into the street.

‘Scatter!’ Miri yells as they burst away to find cover while the bombers above them start dropping their payloads. Bringing forth the hell on Earth Miri knew was coming.

The ground heaving with explosion after explosion. Whole buildings blowing out. The very air around them becoming charged.

Gunfire amongst the noises. Rounds pinging from walls, and Ben risks a glance back with a horrified look at recognising some of the faces of the Nazi soldiers. ‘Freedom,’ he yells, and the already bad situation gets suddenly so much worse.

* * *

‘Stay right behind me,’ Ria shouts. Building speed in a world she knows better than anywhere else.

‘What was that?’ Roshi shouts, hearing a noise off to the side. ‘Did you hear that?’

Another one comes. A low click from the left. Then another from the right.

‘Not now you fuckers!’ Ria says, drawing her Webley revolver to fire rounds into the undergrowth as the sound of feet drumming over the ground gets louder.

* * *

Another place. Another time.

No word from Roshi, and nothing from Ria or Blinky either, and the Old Lady sits on her rocking chair staring out to her frozen garden while determining that as far as afternoons go, this one is really quite shit.

She waves a hand to bring forth the visual projection of the timelines of humanity for her own world. The golden glowing lines of each life lived. Over one hundred billion, and more as the future goes on, or at least there were more.

Now the lines sever abruptly with only darkness where the future should be. Billions of lives gone in an instant.

She brings another projection up and stares at the dark world. Howie’s world. That one is always a mess and changes constantly. One day Howie is forecast to win. The next day he isn’t. She’s seen it change by the minute as they fight and battle to overcome the virus.

But even that one severs off into darkness. A darkness brought forth to all of the worlds by the meteor.

What a foul thing to do, and what a victory it will be for Freedom if they achieve such a thing.

Three worlds destroyed. Four if Freedom target the worldships. And why wouldn’t they? There’ll be nobody to stop them. The Old Lady will cease to exist, and if she goes then Discovery goes with her. The same for the other worlds. No more Howie. No more Maggie Sanderson.

No more anything, and she realises, with a heavy sigh, that there’s really no other choice.

It’s time for the tier 1 operator.

‘You’re needed,’ she says into the call. The call that connects quickly. An unease inside. An unsettled feeling because bringing the tier 1 operator in means unleashing a hell even she’s not sure she can control.

Silence on the call. A silence that stretches on until the voice finally speaks one word.

‘Where?’

* * *

Berlin

1945

‘I’m ready,’ Alpha whispers. Their eyes locked.

‘You are the best man I have ever known,’ Kate says with a tear rolling down her cheek. ‘I would have married you, Joe… on three. One… Two…’

The shots are fired before they reach three.

Shots fired in quick succession with both of them going low as they spin around with Kate slamming the blade of her hand into the throat of the soldier holding her while Alpha goes for a leg sweep on his side.

Both of them only realising mid-motion that the soldiers are already falling from being shot, and those shots keep sounding out.

Dull hard cracks of noise with both recognising the sound of 9mil pistols while they snatch the sub-machine guns free and dive out to roll and present a moving target. Both coming up into the firing position and letting rip at the firing squad aiming at them, only to see they are already dead.

All of them. The whole squad and the soldiers behind them too. Over a dozen men killed within a few seconds. But not by them and they both stare at the person turning to walk away.

A person that doesn’t speak or say a word. A person that simply walks off because they’ve done what they were asked to do.

* * *

Miri leads them into the ruins for cover. Clambering over walls and broken furniture. Over bodies and jumping busted in floors to keep going and get away from the soldiers pushing along the street.

Scores of them and more coming out of trucks pulling into the road, and still the allied aircraft fly overhead while the German AA guns send what flak they still have. Black clouds exploding in the air and bombs exploding on the ground. Hitting buildings nearby as they run while gasping for air.

‘SIDE STREET!’ Howie shouts, seeing a junction ahead. Knowing they have to get away from the soldiers behind. ‘Dave! With me,’ he runs ahead to see another truck at the far end and dozens more soldiers dropping out with large calibre weapons before falling back onto the main road.

* * *

‘This fucking dress!’ Roshi snaps, bunching the skirts up to keep free of her legs as Blinky fires a shot to the side.

A hard run. A hot run. Sweat pouring down their faces. Mixing with the blood and gore. Throats burning and eyes stinging. Branches whipping faces.

Roshi curses again, her feet snagging on the torn hem of the whore dress again. ‘I can’t run in this. Pull it off,’ she calls out, twisting to face Ria as Blinky takes her weapons to hold.

A yank from Ria and the dress is pulled over her head then thrust back into her hands while Roshi gasps in relief and the other two snort a laugh at her Rick and Morty boxers.

‘That’s why you’re not a tier 1 operator,’ Ria says.

‘I bet the tier 1 operator doesn’t even wear boxers,’ Blinky says.

‘Fuck the pair of you,’ Roshi says as they set off once more into the hot and humid forest.

* * *

It’s a second of stunned confusion as Alpha and Kate stare after the person melting into the crowds.

A person they’ve never seen before and they blink at the bodies gunned down. The bodies of the firing squad and the soldiers behind them.

Just for a second. A second and no more before they burst to motion to grasp the lifeline they’ve been given.

‘Who was that?’ Alpha asks, grabbing magazines to stuff into his pockets.

‘No idea,’ Kate replies, doing the same and looping a munitions belt over her shoulder. ‘We need exfil.’

‘How does a Historian know what an exfil is?’ he asks as they set off.

‘Not now, Joe’ she says, seeing the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. A vulnerability she never thought to see in him. He’s Alpha. The number one operative in the UK Special Forces who just gave everything up for her, only to find out she double-crossed him.

She moves into him. Pressing her lips to his. ‘Told you. Mother is my mother. But I meant what I said,’ she says, staring into his pensive eyes.

‘YOU TWO!’ A shout from behind. Shots fired, and they run low with an instinct to present a smaller moving target. Both twisting to send rounds back at the new unit of German soldiers running after them. Giving them no choice but to run into the ruined streets as the bombs start slamming into the earth.

* * *

‘Junction!’ Bear shouts, seeing a side road ahead on the right. They run faster. All of them shielding Bertie with their own bodies. Getting winged and cut from rounds and shrapnel. The smoke around them swirling like clouds and they run into the side street with yells of alarm at the soldiers forming up at the far end.

Back to the road. Back to running between the mounds of rubble. Back to gasping for air and desperately searching for a way out.

‘Seriously. Waddya need to get us out of here?’ Thomas yells at Bertie. ‘You need a smart phone? Will a smart phone do it? Hey! Anyone got a cell? An iPhone? Maybe a Samsung? Heck, a Nokia might do it. Will a Nokia do it?’ he asks as Bertie blinks at him. ‘Aw hell. Course a damn Nokia won’t do it. Forget the Nokia,’ he yells out before grabbing at Tappy as they run. ‘Where’s your cell? Kids always have cell phones.’

‘We’re from the fucking apocalypse,’ she replies.

‘You don’t have cells?’

‘Well. No. We do actually. Cookey loves taking pictures. He draws dicks hanging out of mouths. So funny!’

‘Lady!’

‘Sorry. They’re in our bags.’

‘Bags? Where are your bags?’

‘Next to the Saxon. In our world.’

‘Aw hell…’

* * *

‘Those fucking clicks!’ Roshi shouts. Her dress in one hand and a revolver in the other. ‘No wonder you bloody kill them!’ she adds, hearing the clicks coming from all sides.

A distance to go. A hell of a distance to go, and in their minds, Bertie and the others are still trapped in the merging worlds in the mud of Ypres with the meteor coming at them.

The thought drives them on. Giving fuel to their legs to keep running.

* * *

Another junction ahead. A way out of the chaos.

Safa takes it first, breaching the opening with a grunt of annoyance at seeing the soldiers already in position. Laying down fire to make her run back.

It becomes hopeless.

The side junctions blocked. The alleys and openings blocked. The path behind blocked, and so all they can do is run along the main road through the smoke and through the fires. Gasping for air and looking for a way out.

Miri spits in pure rage at being outplayed and outmanoeuvred. Her mind trying to think of a way out of this, while all the time accepting there might not be a way out at all.

Time travel exists, and therefore, knowing the grave peril they are in, she would use a device to come back and help the team now.

Except that isn’t happening. She is not appearing from the future to help.

A sudden breeze. A glimpse through the smoke to something on the side of the road. She blinks and looks again. Seeing a domed roof. Seeing a cathedral.

Berlin Cathedral.

* * *

Another place. Another time.

Berlin. 1945.

The operator walks away from the dead firing squad at the hospital and through the panicked crowds towards an old railway arch numbered 451, and a portal waiting inside.

* * *

‘Kate! Stay down,’ Alpha says, heaving her into the ruins of a bombed-out building. A shard of glass on the ground that he snatches up to slice across the back of his hand. Spilling blood out onto the dust covered road.

‘Joe!’ she shouts as he runs off. She thinks to go after him then curses and ducks down to hide from the soldiers running into the street behind them.

‘STOP!’ An officer yells out, firing a shot into the air to get his unit’s attention. ‘Leave them. New orders.’

‘We can’t just leave them!’ the soldier at the front shouts. ‘My cousin was in that firing squad.’

‘New orders,’ the officer says with a dark look. ‘All units are being moved to the gate.’

‘But sir!’

‘ENOUGH! Move out. Double time,’ the officer orders as the soldiers start running back the way they came. A moment later and the sound of feet comes once more to the fore as another unit runs past as Kate stays low.

‘Where, sir?’ a sergeant asks, at the head with the officer.

‘The gate. They just said they want everyone at the gate…’

The voices fade out as Kate stays put, waiting and hoping to hell a bomb doesn’t land on her head. A few seconds. A minute. A scuff behind. She turns to aim as Joe squeezes through a gap to drop beside her.

‘I lost them,’ he gasps, sucking air in.

‘They were recalled,’ she says, cutting over him as he looks at her sharply. ‘They’re ordering all units to the gate.’

‘Did you hear why?’ he asks as she shakes her head then checks the cut on his hand. Tearing a sliver of blouse away to apply a dressing. ‘The gate? They said the gate?’

‘The gate,’ she repeats. ‘Exactly that.’

‘There’s only one place you’d call the gate in Berlin,’ he says, thinking fast. ‘And all units means thousands of soldiers. Why would you redirect your entire force during a bombing raid?’

‘Must be something big, right?’ she says, staring at him. ‘And you know what? I was a historian, remember. This didn’t happen. The entire Berlin forces were not directed to the Brandenburg Gate in February 1945.’

‘Something new then,’ he says, seeing the glint in her eyes as she nods. ‘It has to be Maggie.’

‘Has to be,’ she says, holding his gaze. ‘But why would Maggie Sanderson be at the gate?’

Alpha shrugs before reaching in to kiss her. ‘No idea. Let’s go and see.’

‘Or,’ she says, pulling him back down. ‘We could do something else. Like not go.’

‘What?’

‘Joe. We’re out of our timeline. We’re free. We can go anywhere. I meant what I said. I want a life with you.’

He stops to frown at her. Realising that she’s right. They are free. Free of Mother. Free of their duty. Free of their timeline. Free of Maggie. They know the future too, and knowing the future means they can create enough wealth to live in luxury and peace.

He rests his forehead against hers with a moment to dream the impossible dream.

‘We could go to Australia,’ she whispers.

‘New Zealand,’ he replies.

‘Canada.’

‘South America,’ he says.

‘Too many Nazis,’ she whispers, making them both smile as they share quick kisses and hold one another’s heads. ‘We could have children.’

‘How many?’ he asks.

She shrugs. ‘We’ll just keep making them.’

A moment to dream the impossible dream. A moment and no more.

‘We were the bad guys,’ he whispers as she closes her eyes. Knowing what he says is true.

‘We were the bad guys,’ she echoes his words. Brushing her head against his with a nod.

‘I can’t go out being a bad guy, Kate. If they get Maggie, they could get Bertie.’

She smiles sadly, kissing his lips. ‘I know,’ she whispers as the tears roll down her cheeks. ‘Just say it one more time for me.’

He takes her face in his hands. His dark eyes staring into hers. ‘I’m Alpha,’ he growls, feeling the exhalation of air coming from her lips.

She kisses him hard. Holding him in place until finally she pulls free. ‘Let’s go be heroes, Joe…’

* * *

Miri glances back. Realising they’ve crossed a bridge. A bridge that forms part of Bundesstraße 2. The road that runs past Berlin Cathedral.

The road that only leads to one place.

The Brandenburg Gate.

It’s where Checkpoint Charlie forms in the cold war. She was here at the start of her career. A young spy learning her trade. Flitting between East and West Germany.

The realisation hits as to why every junction has been blocked and why the German forces are pushing them on.

Because The Brandenburg Gate is the kill zone.

* * *

Another place. Another time.

A place that doesn’t exist. A construct as it were.

The operator steps out from his shimmering portal and looks at the mess going through the cake room. Bodies everywhere. Tables overturned. Plates and bowls scattered across the floor. A trail of destruction leading from the cake room construct out into the 1920’s London streets.

They were trying to change position. Trying to break the cycle. That means they won’t be where they are wanted to be.

But where is that?

* * *

The Brandenburg Gate.

The famous columned structure stretching across Bundesstraße 2.

A road widens to form a natural parade ground. A square as it were and a place now teaming with thousands of German soldiers.

A scene of chaos. A scene of confusion. A scene watched over by a man and a woman wearing fitted black Gestapo officer uniforms with smart peaked caps adorning their heads.

‘I’d say we’re almost ready,’ Robert shouts over the din. Looking to Mother next to him. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

Mother nods once. Thrilled at the sight of it. At the command they have over so many troops, and one thing is sure, this beats the hell out of being the head of the British Secret Service, and better yet, Maggie fucking Sanderson is being forced right towards her.

‘You wait until we get Bertie,’ Robert says, reading her expression. ‘Then we’ll have power over all of the worlds.’

‘How many are there?’ Mother asks.

‘More than we know. That’s why we need Bertie. So we can make sure Freedom controls them all.’

* * *

A feeling inside of Miri as they run and dodge the bullets and bombs. A feeling of being outplayed from the very start. A feeling Miri is not used to, and right now there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it.

There’s no way out now. There’s no technology Bertie can use, and there’s no way of getting into his mind to make him think of something.

Miri also now knows there is more than one world, and Bertie has access to them all. That means neither Mother, nor Freedom, must ever have access to him.

A decision made right there, that when the time comes, when the end is in sight, she’ll put a round in his head.

‘Oh, I say. Is that the Lustgarden?’ Reginald asks as they run past the vast square in front of the famous museum next to the cathedral.

The place where Hitler spoke to the thousands of Berliners on the museum steps against a backdrop of giant red swastika flags all proudly fluttering in glory. Now it’s a near pitted and broken wasteland with a few machine-gun posts protecting a huge AA gun firing into the sky, and those red flags are torn and filthy.

A place nearly as iconic as the Brandenburg Gate.

She snaps her head over. Thinking fast. Seeing the museum blocking the end off. The cathedral on one side. A river on the other side. One road coming in and it’s already got machine-gun posts protecting the AA gun.

All of which create a defensible position.

They’ll still die, but at least they’ll do it on the ground of their choosing.

‘LISTEN IN!’ she shouts, already veering off. ‘We’re taking that square! ON ME!’

* * *

Shots fired in the Cretaceous forest. Rounds sent into trees and the clicks sound out as the three women gasp for air and run as fast as they can.

Light ahead. The canopy of trees ending. The clicks get faster. Coming closer. A rush from the side. A creature charging in. The three of them fire at once. Sending rounds into the body of the dinosaur.

Light above. The canopy gone and they spill out into the savannah.

‘Come on!’ Ria says, setting off along the base of the cliffs as Roshi and Blinky glance over to the vast herds of creatures grazing on the valley floor. Creatures so big they boggle the mind.

* * *

They charge the square without time for explanation or for the reasons to be given.

They charge the square because Miri said they must, and because there’s a shit ton of German fuckers behind them that so need some bullets being sent back.

And they charge the square to see those red swastika flags hanging from the museum at the far end. A sign of evil. A thing that rallies their energies and gives lust to the battle cries sounding out from their mouths.

The sight of them sets Harry off. The sight of those red flags and that black swastika. The evil of the Nazis. The pure filth of them and he growls at the AA guns firing at the aircraft overhead. Striking one that bursts into flames and drops with an ever-increasing whine before landing in a burst of flames a few streets over.

‘Sergeant Madden! Take that out,’ Miri shouts, motioning the AA gun ahead. ‘The rest with me! INTO THEM!’

* * *

The last few yards and they sprint with every ounce of energy they have left to reach the cave and Ria heaves the heavy metal door aside to stagger inside to the cases of water at the back. Tearing them out of the plastic film to throw at the other two. All three of them twisting caps off to glug the cool liquid into their parched and painful throats.

‘I need clothes,’ Roshi says, punching digits into the controller for the time machine as Ria grabs old boots, old combat trousers and an old vest.

‘Roshi!’ The Old Lady says with surprise as the three spill out onto her lawn. ‘What’s happened?’

‘They’re stuck in Ypres,’ Roshi says, glancing at the visual projection in the air over the Old Lady’s head showing all the worlds severing into darkness.

‘It wasn’t Ypres. It was all of them,’ Ria says. ‘And we need bands. Freedom zapped ours,’ she yells as the Old Lady nods and rushes inside.

‘Okay, listen in,’ Roshi says, tugging the clothes on. ‘We need to find them, and we need to turn that fucking portal off.’

‘Bands,’ the Old Lady calls, throwing them over. ‘Find them! Bertie must be protected!’

‘We’re on it,’ Roshi says, turning back towards the portal.

Into another time and place.

Into Ria’s cave. The controller grabbed. The new destination entered.

‘Fuck!’ Roshi snaps as they rush into the cabin on Bertie’s island. The air outside thick with snow and the giant red portal still in the sky.

‘We can turn it off,’ Ria says, moving to the bank of computer screens on the desks to one side. A confusing array of monitors of all shapes and sizes and all filled with code they can’t understand.

‘I wouldn’t,’ Blinky says as Ria starts following the power cables. ‘What if it makes it worse?’

‘How?’ Ria asks.

‘Like the USB drives you put in your computer,’ Blinky says. ‘They have to be ejected properly. What if we kill the power and that thing gets worse, or we trap them somewhere?’

‘What the fuck do we do then?’ Ria asks. ‘Nobody can read this other than Bertie.’

‘Someone can,’ Roshi says as the other two look at her. ‘You two find the others. Start at Ypres, then try the square and the orchard. I’ll try and sort this. Go!’

* * *

Miri leads the charge on one side. Running into the chaos and noise with everyone else to draw fire and attention as Harry views the ground with an experienced eye. Knowing what must be done.

‘Lad! With me,’ he shouts to Clarence with a look of pure menace towards the huge AA gun in the centre. Teams of men and women scurrying around it with a deafening boom as the shells fire up at the aircraft overhead. Striking another one that spins out of formation. ‘That side,’ Harry says, pointing off as Clarence clocks what he means with a grin of his own forming and the same glint stealing into his eyes.

* * *

The Old Lady scowls at the projection. The worry inside growing worse by the second because the end is happening right now. This is it. There is no more time. The beginning is being attacked, and with a grunt of pure frustration she swipes her own band to make a call.

‘Where the hell are you?’

‘Busy,’ the operator says. Standing in the shadows of a doorway in a busy town centre.

Boroughfare.

Southern England.

Friday night. An unseasonably hot summer. The air sultry and humid. The town packed with drinkers and party goers.

‘Oi fuckheads!’ Bear shouts at the six men calling out to Howie. They turn back to offer violence. Bear doesn’t back down and makes easy work of them while the operator watches on. A moment or two later they walk back towards their deployment location and the snow starts to fall.

* * *

In the Lustgardens, Harry shouts out, drawing the attention of a machine-gun crew behind a low sandbag wall, making them swivel the gun and open fire with a rat-a-tat-tat. Aiming at him and not looking the other direction to Clarence’s colossal form leaping the wall to land amongst them. The berserker rage showing in his eyes as he stamps and shoots and breaks their bodies as team Jedi sprint past. Dave, Safa and Bear running into the mass to fight within. Firing shots and scoring kills.

Chaos on all sides. Blowers and his team laying down fire into the road to buy the others time to work.

* * *

‘What’s going on?’ Mother asks, while around them gather several thousand German soldiers with the commanders shown the signed orders from Hitler himself giving authority for his secret Gestapo team to do as they see fit.

‘Sir!’ an officer shouts, running over with a Nazi salute. ‘They are in the Lustgardens.’

‘Right. And what are they doing there exactly?’ Robert asks.

‘Maggie’s making a stand,’ Mother says with an irritated sigh. ‘Stubborn bitch. Fine. If she doesn’t want to come to us, we’ll go to her. Send everything at them. I want this finished!’

* * *

On Bertie’s island, the three women rush into other places and other times with Blinky and Ria searching for Bertie, and Roshi coming out of a suicide booth in a small room off the level 30 retail zone on the Worldship Humility.

She runs out into the lanes and alleys with their glowing 3D adverts and clocks holo screens replaying footage of the snow from earlier.

Real snow that was made from the very air itself. The same snow falling from the portal over the island.

‘Bloody Bertie,’ she mutters, running on through the lanes. Past the stores and shops, and past Kristi Carter doing a live broadcast of the people chanting Make More Snow! Make More Snow!

Over to the far side. To a narrow lane packed with chairs and tables.

Sven’s Eatery

A song playing on a holo feed blasting out to the people eating in the lane. Whacka Whacka Dum Dum, The Fleet Flies on by Chi-Chi.

Elforists inside with stick-figure tattoos glowing on their bodies from the UV light coming from the music video. The stick-figure tattoos that only Elforists can have.

‘Roshi!’ a yell from the crowd. A voice she knows.

‘Yassy!’ Roshi says, grabbing her arms. Stick-figure tattoos on Yasmine’s neck. A girl in a box bouncing off the sides. Wild Yassy. Crazy Yassy. Dark hair. Dark features. Defiant and determined.

‘I need Sam!’ Roshi says.

‘Sam? What for?’

‘It’s a tech thing,’ Roshi says. Dark hair. Dark features. Defiant and determined. ‘I don’t get it. I just need help!’

‘Roshi?’ Pretty Penny says, walking over to kiss her cheek. A tall black woman. Elegant and refined. Stick-figures tattoos glowing on her skin. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I need to find Sam! It’s urgent’ Roshi says.

‘Yeah sure,’ Yasmine says. ‘You okay, though? Some puta annoying you? Tell me who. We’ll go and scrunch the shit out of them.’

‘I’m fine!’ Roshi says as the stick-figure tattoos glow on her arms. On her hands and on her neck. Stick-figure tattoos that she only discovered the first time she came to the fleet. Stick figure tattoos that means she was born and bred in the Elfors.

Except she has no memory of that. Nobody in Discovery has memories of who they were before the Old Lady recruited them, and the fact that Roshi bears a striking resemblance to Yasmine suggests a genetic link. A family member maybe. Something unknown, but now is not the time.

‘Sam!’ Yasmine shouts, calling him over. ‘Roshi needs a hand with something.’

‘Yeah sure,’ Sam says as Roshi grabs his wrist and runs off.

‘I’ll bring him back. I promise!’

* * *

‘THIS WAY,’ Harry yells, as Clarence spins to see him running towards a smaller 20mm artillery gun off to one side.

‘Need a hand, old man?’ Clarence asks, rushing over to help him shift it. The two giants side by side with the same veins pushing through the same places on their foreheads as they turn the same shade of purple.

‘Push then,’ Harry grunts.

‘You bloody push,’ Clarence grunts back.

‘I am bloody pushing!’

‘Push bloody harder!’

‘That’ll do,’ Harry says, dumping the gun as Clarence takes his rifle up to give cover while Harry spins the wheel to lower the trajectory. Bringing the barrel down.

‘Hurry up!’ Clarence shouts, winged on the arm. On the shoulder. On the thigh.

‘Quit your whining,’ Harry says before grunting at being clipped on the shoulder. ‘Aye, that’ll do it. Grip it with me. These things kick like a mule.’

Harry lets rip. Sending 20mm shells into the big AA gun in the centre of the square. Smashing the base with flames and shrapnel bursting out, taking swathes of men and women down screaming in pain. The belt fed artillery piece juddering violently with each shot. Slamming into Clarence’s frame as Harry decimates the square.

‘ROAD!’ Clarence shouts, seeing the soldiers and operatives breaching the road behind them. Another heave as they grapple to turn the gun with Harry blasting men apart without mercy because this is war. This is kill or be killed and Bertie must be protected. No matter what the cost.

* * *

‘So, what’s happening?’ Sam asks politely as he races after Roshi towards the suicide booth and the glowing portal inside. ‘Ha! I knew these things had secret doors in them.’

‘Yeah. Secret door,’ Roshi says, grabbing his wrist to yank him through.

‘What the shit!’ Sam cries out, in a cabin staring at a bank of screens, then he double-takes at the snow outside and rushes to stare up at the portal in the sky. ‘This is a virtual construct, right? The graphics are amazing. It’s perfect.’

‘Yeah, it’s er, a virtual thingy. But look at this,’ she says, pulling him back to the screens. ‘We need to turn it off. Do we just yank the power cable out or something?’

‘God no! Are you mad? Don’t ever do that,’ Sam says as Roshi turns to see Ria and Blinky rushing in.

‘Any good?’ Roshi asks.

‘Nothing,’ Ria says. ‘We can’t find them.’

‘What is this?’ Sam asks, peering at the code on the screens. ‘Can I scroll it to read?’ he asks.

‘Sure,’ Roshi says as Sam slaps one of the monitors from the desk onto the floor.

‘Sorry! I thought it was a holo screen,’ Sam says with a wince as he picks it back up then gently prods a keyboard. ‘That’s real too. Wow.’

* * *

A junction ahead. A crossroads reached. Alpha and Kate creep towards it in the shadows at the side of the road. Peeking ahead to several German units meeting in the middle of the junction in confusion.

‘Change of direction!’ an officer yells out from somewhere further up. ‘Pass it on! All units to the Lustgardens! The enemy are digging in. We’re preparing for an assault. Pass it on!’

A glance between them. From Alpha to Kate with both knowing what that means.

It means Maggie Sanderson is cornered.

It means Maggie Sanderson is trapped.

* * *

Maggie Sanderson is cornered.

Maggie Sanderson is trapped.

So be it. To hell with it all. To hell with the world and all that’s in it because by fuck she will take as many of the sons of bitches out with her.

‘Maddox. Get that MG42 over here. Nick, bring the other one and place it here. I want them facing out to the road. Burst fire them so they don’t overheat, but I’m telling you boys, the 42 was the best damn machine gun ever made. Danny, Mo, we need more sandbags over here. Anyone not busy help get the sandbags in place. Paula, find water. Thomas, find rifles and hand them out. Charlie, distribute the magazines. Tappy, I want new belts loaded into those machine guns.’ She snaps her Webley shut, holsters it and pulls the other one free to break and start loading.

‘That’s it chaps! We’ve got ‘em right where we want them,’ Reginald calls while slapping his fly swatter against his thigh. ‘We’ll show these bastards eh! They don’t like it up ‘em!’

‘They don’t like it up ‘em!’ the shouts come back. The humour forced and hard, but it’s all they’ve got right now. A few jokes to keep what tiny energy they have still flowing.

‘Listen in!’ Miri shouts. ‘When they rally, they’ll keep coming and they won’t stop. Just hold on for as long as you can. That’s all we can do.’ She snaps her second Webley shut and looks around at their faces. All of them cut, hurt and bloodied. All of them exhausted and confused. All of them beat to the point they should be passing out. Except they’re not. They still upright from nothing more than grit and spite. ‘We fight to the last,’ she says with a softer tone. A general in command of her small army. ‘And we take as many down as we can… It’s been a pleasure ladies and gentlemen. A damn pleasure,’ she adds as the shout goes up from the road. ‘Stand to. We’ve got incoming.’

This is it. It’s all they can do.

A defiant last stand with no hope of winning. Not like this. Not in a static fight against such an overwhelming force. That’s not how they work. Not even with Dave and Bear and Safa. Not even with Clarence and Harry. Because their skills lie in hit and run and being light and agile. Not standing toe to toe with the Germany army in Berlin in 1945. It took the combined forces of Russia and the allies to bring Germany down, so sure as shit a ragtag bunch of misfits don’t stand a chance.

‘For the last fucking time,’ Marcy shouts while sighting down her Webley. ‘I am not a misfit!’

* * *

Another time. Another place.

London. 2111.

‘AFFAS!’ a broad London voice yells out. ‘You’re back again eh? Who loves my coffee? You love my coffee!’ Jerry shouts. ‘Ere, Oleg. They came back they did.’

The operator watches the café owner call out to Maggie Sanderson and her team threading through the vibrant street as Emily shivers and a second later the snow starts to fall.

* * *

‘This is my weather hacking program, but Bertie’s changed it,’ Sam says in the cabin, his eyes glued to the coding scrolling down the screen. ‘And what’s all this sequencing? What is that?’

‘We can’t read it, Sam,’ Roshi says. ‘We don’t know what it is.’

‘Okay, so, I mean, this is super weird, but it looks like this program has created some kind of connection between virtual worlds. I mean. Obviously virtual. It’s not like they’d be real ha! Yeah, but wow. So, each of these virtual worlds was meant to be distinct, right? Like contained. But Bertie took my coding used to hack multiple AI systems and has seriously beefed it up. Now it’s hacked into these virtual worlds and made some kind of bridge. But I don’t get why, or what this is,’ he adds, pointing to a sequence of numbers at the end.

073117 / 050361 / 080120

C:\End_All_Systems:

* * *

It gets intense quickly with the MG42 machine guns firing into the charging squads of German infantry. Gunning them down by the dozen. Blowers on a mounted gun with Cookey feeding the belt. Tappy on another with Nick helping her. Harry and Clarence hip firing theirs while everyone else hunkers down behind the sandbag walls and fires back at the road. Sending what they can with a ferocious outpouring of rounds.

For a moment it goes well, and the Germans drop like flies. Gunned down and killed instantly, but these are battle-hardened troops with experienced officers and so they soon learn to take cover and lay down waves of suppressing fire while units crawl in closer.

Then a shout goes up and a second wave start running in from the road. Presenting two front lines of attack while those already in the square continue to advance and the already desperate situation rapidly worsens.

* * *

Another time. Another place.

Black Betty by Spiderbait blasting from the speakers on the squat military vehicle.

‘GO ON, JESS! INTO THEM!’ a young mixed-race woman with a shaved head on a big horse and the battle starts in earnest.

The operator studies it closely from the top floor of a building off to one side. Searching for clues as to where they might be.

Searching for Bertie.

There. Motion on the outer ring of the infected. Unseen by the defenders. A line of infected peeling away. More going with them. More and more until the whole outer sections are turning to run off.

But where to?’

* * *

‘What is that? What do those numbers mean?’ Roshi asks, pointing at the lines of code on the screen.

073117 / 050361 / 080120

C:\End_All_Systems:

‘I don’t know. That’s what I’m asking,’ Sam says. ‘The last line is a command prompt to end all systems, but there’s nothing after that.’

‘Sam, I don’t get it,’ Roshi says with a rush of frustration showing on her face.

‘Sorry,’ Sam says with a gentle wince, remembering Yasmine telling him to be clearer. ‘Er, so, I think these digits represent places. It’s the same from when I made my snow. The program assigned the location a number to represent it. So these numbers represent locations I think, and then it ends.’

‘Ends?’ Ria asks.

‘It ends,’ Sam says. ‘The whole system shuts down. It’s like some kind of massive kill switch for all of these places. Oh! I get it. They’re the numbers for the virtual worlds. Of course they are. Ah look! He’s even called the program The Four Worlds. Yes. Ha! Okay, so the four virtual worlds Bertie has connected are all going to end,’ he adds with a grin. Thinking it to be a game or some kind of puzzle while the other three lean over his shoulders to stare at the screen.

‘Okay. But what are those numbers?’ Roshi asks.

‘No idea,’ Ria says. ‘GPS?’

‘GPS numbers are longer,’ Roshi says. ‘And they’re not mapping digits. They’re more like… Holy fuck! Ria, when was Cavendish Manor?’

‘What?’

‘When did Miri get you from Cavendish Manor?’

‘2061. Why?’

‘What month?’

‘Jesus, Roshi. I can’t remember. It was early summer.’

‘But this says March,’ Roshi says.

‘It wasn’t March. More like May,’ Ria says. ‘Why?’

‘It’s American,’ Blinky says. ‘International hockey fixtures are always written in month day year.’

‘Blinky!’ Roshi says. ‘You fucking genius. Look! 073117. That’s the 31st August 1917. The Battle for Passchendaele and 050361 is the 3rd May 2061.’

‘Cavendish Manor,’ Ria says.

‘And 080120 is the 1st August.’

‘The battle of the ten thousand,’ Blinky says.

‘Wow. I love this game!’ Sam says with a grin. ‘So the last one must be the 6th of February 1945… No idea what that means though.’

‘That’s when Mother passes the nuke to the Nazis,’ Ria says as the other two look at her. ‘Berlin. They’re in Berlin!’

* * *

Another time. Another place.

The operator goes down the stairs into the streets of the dark world to watch the infected heading through the door of a small house.

A shimmering glow coming from within and the operator watches until the last of the infected go inside and the snow starts falling.

* * *

A sprint across a junction from one row of ruins to the next as Alpha and Kate get to cover within the rubble. Taking a moment to draw air. Exhausted and drained. Filthy and run ragged.

‘It’s snowing,’ she says, holding a hand out to catch a falling flake as the world around them seems to lurch with a blur.

Ypres. 1917. A British tank churning through the mud to crash into the German trenches.

A square filled with ten thousand infected. All of them screeching out with bloodshot eyes and hands clawed into talons.

A ruined and broken world where the mutated beasts flit between the shadows.

All of them strobing one after the other and so fast they appear as one place. Another joins in. A ruined place of desolation and destruction with a meteor in the sky. A meteor ten times the size of the moon.

A meteor with a tail of fire stretching off into space.

A lurch inside. The other worlds end and they hear the deep groans and shouts of fear from the soldiers out in the street as the meteor stays.

The meteor coming at the Earth.

‘It’s not real!’ an officer shouts. ‘It’s a trick to confuse the enemy. Keep running!’

‘That’s not a trick,’ Kate says. ‘I can feel it. The change in gravity. I can feel it.’

Alpha nods, feeling the same thing. Like a lurch inside. Sickening and unsettling.

‘Jesus,’ Kate says, turning to look at Alpha. ‘We’re from the future. There is no meteor. That means there’s more than one world. That crazy bitch. She’s going to kill everyone to get at Maggie.’

‘Kate!’ he yells out as she starts running.

‘We have to stop her, Joe! Mother’s lost her mind.’

* * *

In the Lustgardens the snow falls, the worlds blur and the meteor glows in the sky as the attacks keep coming. The soldiers advancing into the square. Taking back the ground with an overwhelming show of force.

Another blur of worlds. Ghostly images flickering in and out around them. The other places. Ypres. The dark world. The far future.

The German soldiers dig in on the road. Firing into the sandbags walls with enough rounds to tear the material apart and break them down.

‘Yo. So I gots a question,’ Mo shouts, ducking down to reload his rifle. ‘Is Harry Clarence’s grandad then?’

‘No, he’s bloody not!’ Emily shouts. ‘Because then I’d be his nanna and I am way too young for that shit.’

‘They’re from different worlds, Mo,’ Paula says, popping up to fire a few rounds.

‘They might not be,’ Ben says, ducking down for a second. ‘Harry’s from 1943, but it might be your 1943.’

‘Oh bugger,’ Emily says, offering a wan smile to Clarence. ‘Yeah, they are very similar.’

‘Ah no, hang on,’ Ben says, rubbing his jaw. ‘Harry’s famous in our world. So he’s from our 1943.’

‘Yes!’ Emily says. ‘Not a nanna.’

‘THEY’RE CHARGING!’ Blowers shouts. Strafing the enemy with his mounted MG42 as the Germans press with an advance at speed from multiple fronts at the same time. Squads running all across the width of the square to draw fire and weaken the focus of the defenders while still the growing numbers on the road keep firing.

It becomes hopeless quickly as they get beaten down to hunker behind hard cover because there’s just too many pouring in.

* * *

And on the veranda at the edge of her frozen lawn, the Old Lady stares up at the glowing dot.

The glowing dot that represents the now within the worlds.

The final glowing dot slowly fading out.

Four worlds destroyed, and her knuckles turn white as her hands grip the armrests of her rocking chair.

* * *

Bundesstraße 2

A bombed-out street beneath a sky turned dark from a city on fire. A shimmering glow within the ruins from which Roshi, Ria and Blinky charge out with gasps at the meteor in the sky now larger and closer than ever.

‘They’re in this street somewhere,’ Ria says. ‘This is where it all happens.’

‘It’s a long road, Ria,’ Roshi says, feeling that glimmer of hope starting to dwindle.

‘YOU THREE! STAND STILL!’

A voice shouting in German. A small unit of soldiers running into the road. An officer out front brandishing a Luger pistol. ‘PAPERS! SHOW ME YOUR PAPERS!’

‘Ya, ya,’ Blinky says, stepping towards him with one hand behind her back. ‘Sprecken ze sausage?’ she asks with a grin before knocking his aim and using the spiked club behind her back to slam him down while Ria and Roshi launch into the remaining soldiers. Kicking knees out and busting noses with a blur of motion before snatching dropped sub-machine guns to shoot the rest down.

* * *

Carnage in the Lustgardens beneath a sky filled with a meteor.

Miri and the rest with hearts thudding and adrenalin dumping in their veins because this is it.

There’s no way out now.

No more time.

The four worlds are about to be destroyed.

And there. On the road hiding behind the German troops, Miri spots Mother and Robert in fitted black Gestapo uniforms and feels a surge of hate that she’s about to lose.

* * *

And in the dark world, the tier 1 operator crosses the road and heads into the house the infected went into. A portal inside. A shimmering doorway.

A step from one time and place to another.

Into a famous building crammed with several thousand infected all on the ground floor facing towards the doors and windows at the front.

A grunt as the operator takes it all in and turns to go back.

* * *

Bundesstraße 2

It’s over within seconds. The soldiers gunned down while the officer lies on his back, staring up into the faces of Blinky, Roshi and Ria looming over him.

‘Where are they all going?’ Roshi asks.

‘Fuck you!’ the officer shouts in English as Roshi shoots him in the right kneecap. Then in the left. Then in the belly and the groin and the thigh as he screams in agony and the shots sound out. One after the other.

* * *

The operator moves fast. From the famous building holding the infected back to the dark world and back to the portal and a step through to another time and another place.

A place that doesn’t exist. A virtual construct as it were. A cabin at the edge of a lake deep within the forests surrounding Discovery. A room within. A cupboard. A heavy black bag taken out.

Back to the portal to another time and place. Night now. Dark and silent. Searchlights probe the skies, hunting for allied aircraft while the fires of war still burn in the ruins.

The operator moves fast because the paradox of time is upon them. Time travel exists. You can go anywhere at any point, but time has also run out. The four worlds are about to be destroyed. The operator saw the meteor in the sky.

From one position to the next. Working quietly and quickly with expert precision. A few minutes and it’s done and the operator runs back to the ruins, back to the portal and back to another time and place while the Old Lady stares at that fading dot. Her knuckles cracking from her fists bunching so tight.

The end is here.

It’s happening.

The final moment of time.

* * *

The final moment of life as they hunker down behind their low sandbag walls in the Lustgardens while the rounds slam into the world around them.

The final moment of life as Tappy reaches out to hold Nick, and Charlie and Cookey cling to each other.

The final moment of life and Blowers’ face grows hard while Danny and Mo, the youngest of them all, hunker down at each other’s sides. Eyes wide. Mouths dry.

The final moment of life as Clarence and Paula share a look with both wishing they’d told the other how they felt.

The final moment in time as Emily pushes into Harry’s side to feel his huge arms wrapping around her.

A moment and no more as Reginald frowns. Thinking this is really it. This is really the end. But it can’t be. They win against the infection in their own world. They win against the other player. They don’t die in Nazi Germany.

The final moment in time as Safa crawls over to Ben and smiles into his eyes. As unafraid as ever. Fearless to the last as she leans in for a final kiss.

The final moment as Blinky, Roshi and Ria sprint away from the now dead officer back into the ruins and back to the cabin on the island. The stress etched on their faces. The tension palpable as they re-enter coordinates and run back through to another time and place.

The final moment of life as Roy wishes he had his longbow to take Mother and Robert out on the road. They’re right there. Two arrows in flight. Bang bang.

The final moment in life as Jess rears up on her hind legs in the dark world.

The final moment of life as the Old Lady stares at that final dot growing weaker and weaker.

The final moment of life as Miri stares at Bertie. Regretting what must be done. Hating it. Loathing it. Detesting it more than anything in her life while knowing the time has come.

A moment and no more as she pulls him into her arms. He smiles with delight at the hug while the tears spill down her cheeks as she opens the gun behind his back to thumb the rounds in the cylinders. The rounds meant for him and for her, because the end is here.

The final moment of life.

The final moment as Bertie smiles and turns to look around while knowing, in only the way that Bertie can know, that there is no final moment because there is no future and there is no past. There’s only the now.

Bertie didn’t invent time travel, because there is no time to travel through. He just figured out how to move from one now to another now.

Bertie also knows that all the nows happen in the same instance, and he smiles as he gently reaches up to touch her cheek.

‘I’m sorry, Bertie,’ she whispers, thumbing the rounds in behind his back.

‘Don’t be,’ he says in that way of his, smiling and charming and full of awe at life and all that is in it because from all of them, from all of the people that ever lived in all of the worlds, Bertram Cavendish knows a lot can happen in a minute. ‘Watch,’ he says, turning her head to the side towards Howie.

Howie that should be hurt and beaten. Cowed and broken but he isn’t, and Bertie can’t even look at him without feeling like he needs to pee. Achilles was like that. And Genghis Kahn. And Alexander the Great. Bertie found it hard to look at them too. It’s the energy they have. Like something inside ready to tear them apart to get out. Miri sees it too. The look of violence in Howie’s eyes. The rage within him. A snarl in his lips that only grows when Dave leans into him. Their foreheads almost touching, and a prickle runs up her spine at the sight of them, and she can’t help but watch as Dave shakes his head with a rare look of anger.

‘Not like this, Mr Howie. Get up. GET UP, MR HOWIE. GET UP. ON YOUR FEET!’ Dave roars out, standing upright with a pistol in each hand. ‘I AM DAVE. I WILL KILL YOU ALL.’

A pulse.

A beat.

A final moment as the tier 1 operator steps out of the portal to the side of Berlin Cathedral with a device in his hand.

A pulse.

A beat.

A final moment as the engines in the dark world roar to life while Roshi programs her band to open a new portal wide and high.

A pulse.

A beat.

Miri freezes. They all do. Everyone one of them staring at Dave on his feet telling the German army he will kill them all.

A pulse.

A beat.

The tier 1 operator lifts the device in his hand as Roshi opens her portal in the dark world, and the Old Lady stiffens on her rocking chair.

A pulse.

A beat, and the Old Lady’s lip flicks up as the tier 1 operator presses the trigger on the device in his hand to send the signal to the charges he placed along the road in front of the Lustgardens a few hours ago.

‘Click click motherfuckers,’ she growls into the silence of her frozen lawn as the charges detonate with a solid whump of flame and noise. Eviscerating human forms and tearing flesh from bones. Thousands of people killed in the blink of an eye. In the beat of a heart and within that chaos, within that carnage, Roshi knows why she isn’t a tier 1 operator, because even she wouldn’t have thought to do this.

‘Roshi!’ Bear shouts, turning to see her in front of a portal as behind her, Roy’s armoured cash-in-transit van powers through, skidding and bouncing over the broken ground with Ria at the wheel.

The Saxon behind it. Steaming into this world. Into this now with Blinky heaving her around to present the back end to the lads. The doors open. The axes and hand weapons stacked inside as behind them, in that same moment, that final moment, the doors to the Lustgarden museum slam open with several thousand infected pouring out.

The infected the tier 1 operator followed from the dark world to this. The infected that seethe and growl and screech and howl.

All in a moment. All in the final moment, but of course, there is no final moment because time isn’t real.

‘Ha! Gotcha,’ Howie says, finally seeing where his zombies disappeared to as Jess gallops from the portal into the Lustgardens.

The huge horse that comes to a stop and turns with Charlie running out to leap and land as she rears high against the backdrop of flame and war. Against the backdrop of the infected moving between the colonnades and down the stairs where Hitler once spouted his evil.

‘Charles!’ Blinky shouts, dropping from the back of the Saxon as she throws an axe over to Charlie that she catches and spins over and over in her hand as Jess turns and snorts. Bunching power while Blinky grabs her own axe and walks over to Blowers while rolling her shoulders. Falling into line with the lads before bending double to puke.

‘Fuck yes! I’ve missed this,’ she says, wiping her hand across her mouth as Tappy cries out at the sight of her beloved and runs off to leap into the back of the Saxon. Diving over the seats into the driver’s position. ‘Baby! I missed you,’ she says, gunning the engine to hear that deep throaty roar.

A moment of life. A moment and no more, but a lot can happen in a moment as Roshi grabs Bertie to yank him through the portal into his cabin on the island.

‘I wanted to stay!’ Bertie protests before grinning in delight. ‘Sam!’

‘Hey, Bertie! Love this program,’ Sam says as Bertie rushes over, the Lustgardens now forgotten.

‘Sam. Turn it off!’ Roshi yells, running back.

‘Will do!’ Sam shouts as Roshi runs back out into the Lustgardens. To a scene of absolute death and the road strewn with thousands of burnt and broken corpses.

‘They’ll send more!’ Miri calls as the sides of the road start filling with more soldiers running to take the place of the fallen as she turns to glare at the infected coming from behind.

‘We got this side,’ Howie says, cricking his neck as he walks out from his line. Dragging his axe behind him. The double-headed metal casting sparks as it scores the rubble. Meredith pacing at his side. Her hackles up and her head low, showing her teeth while Jess hooves the ground and snorts. The two animals giving fair warning. Telling them to stay back because the pack will fight.

A scrape from behind as Clarence moves out from the back of the Saxon dragging his chain over the ground. Moving out to join Howie at the front. Dave with him. The pistols away. The knives drawn.

Blowers behind. Holding his team and holding the line as Roy gains the top of his van and nocks the first arrow. ‘Overwatch on.’

A moment in time as Miri turns to face the front with her line forming up at her sides.

‘Say, Bear,’ Thomas says as the crunch crunch of the marching army grows closer. ‘You know what you said earlier When you were worried about being a henchman?’

‘Yeah,’ Bear says.

‘Go be a henchman.’

Bear nods with a slow grin forming while his fists ball and his knuckles crack at his sides and Miri finally snaps the Webley shut with a resounding click. ‘Someone gonna say it?’

Safa leans out. Still smiling and as fearless as ever. ‘I’ll do it.’

‘Go for it,’ Miri says. ‘Mr Howie. Are you ready?’ she calls without looking back.

‘Dave, you ready?’ Howie asks.

‘I’m ready, Mr Howie.’

‘We’re ready, Miri!’ Howie calls as Miri nods at Safa.

‘Wait!’ Tappy calls through the loudspeakers while thumbing her MP3 player. ‘Hang on. We need something awesome.’

‘In your own time, Miss Tappy,’ Miri calls.

‘Ooh, Tappy got Miri’d,’ Cookey says with a wince.

‘Got it!’ Tappy calls. ‘Ha! This is perfect… okay, Safa, say it now then the music will start.’

‘I got something I want to say too!’ Cookey calls out.

‘Fuck’s sake, Cookey,’ Paula says. ‘Is it stupid?’

‘Very stupid,’ Cookey answers as the grins show.

‘Go on then. You say yours, then Safa says the other thing then Tappy plays the music and we finally get to kill our zombies.’

‘Not zombies,’ Reginald calls. ‘But anyway. Yes. Cookey, go right ahead.’

‘Fuck yes. Best day ever,’ Cookey says while lifting his axe into the air. ‘AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!’

Safa bursts out laughing, shaking her head and calling out. ‘Click click motherfuckers!’

And Tappy hits play as the music blares out. Wonderfully loud and wonderfully camp. Time Warp from the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Jess rears. Meredith barks and Dave finally smiles as Miri lifts her Webley. ‘FIRE!’

‘Go on!’ Reginald shouts, slapping his fly swatter against his thigh as Paula, Marcy and Thomas let rip with modern assault rifles braced in their shoulders.

‘Come on,’ Ria snarls, next to Roy on his van. Lying on her belly with her Barrett Fifty Calibre rifle braced and ready. Sighting down the scope. Flicking the safety off. Firing the first shot.

‘GO ON!’ the Old Lady screams, slamming her hand on the railing on her veranda. ‘Get Big Boy out there!’ she shouts as the tier 1 operator steps from Berlin to another time and place.

To a virtual reality. To a construct as it were. To a room used for training.

‘Reset,’ he says, feeling the lurch as the room resets and a fresh platter of cakes appears on the dessert trolley.

A step to another time and place.

A lush green world. The oxygen thick enough to chew and the operator frowns at the body parts strewn across the ground. Chewed up chunks of operatives. Bitten off legs and arms.

A thud. Another. Another and another all coming faster as the mighty T-Rex thunders out from the treeline. Coming to a stop with its head high and the nostrils opening and closing as it inhales the air.

A shorn off arm dangling from its mouth that it spits out on sniffing the tasty new morsels. A grunt. A snuffle. A roar and it starts the charge. Pounding towards the tier 1 operator. Bounding towards the smell of the cakes. The smell the T-Rex knows so well as the portal widens and grows in height, and at the last minute the operator steps back out of view.

Stepping into another time and place onto a road strewn with bodies that’s already filling with a fresh wave of Nazi soldiers.

A few strides taken and the operator goes from a walk to a jog to a run with a platter of cakes in hand and from behind the roar comes as the beast moves from the lush green world to this now. To this place. Bounding out into Berlin, 1945 with its beady eyes fixed on that platter of cakes.

The platter of cakes that the operator ducks to send skidding along the road deep into the depths of the soldiers. The soldiers that snap their heads over to the T-Rex bounding after it.

‘What the fuck,’ Ria says, lifting her head from the scope to the T-Rex running along the road. Squashing men underfoot and killing swathes with a tail the size of a bus swishing side to side.

‘What the fuck,’ Howie says, turning to stare back with the others. Clarence with his chain swirling overhead. Charlie about to charge on Jess.

‘That’s why you’re not a tier 1, Roshi,’ Ria calls down as Blinky laughs. ‘You haven’t trained a T-Rex to kill Nazis.’

‘Fuck you!’ Roshi says, while silently giving awe to the strange man on the road. The one standing still and watching the T-Rex send the German’s into panic. The solitary figure now with a pistol in each hand. ‘You,’ she whispers. Recognising him with a jolt as the operator gets to work. Striding out into the ranks of Germans to fire those deadly pistols. One after the other. Bang bang bang.

‘GO!’ Miri shouts, setting off to charge. Seeing the advantage is theirs to press. Bear runs out. Sprinting fast to do what he was trained to do and fight within.

Going to work within the German army and with each step so a body falls dead. The neck broken. The throat cut. Shot through the heart. Shot through the head. On he goes. A henchman trained to do this. To be this. To kill and kill and never stop.

But he’s not the only one and on his heels run Harry and Safa.

‘FICK DEIN MUTTER,’ Harry roars, slamming into his sworn foe. Slamming into the Nazis. Busting skulls and breaking bodies. A berserker wild and true. Mad Harry Madden while behind him, within the square, Clarence swirls the chain with the same look on his face. The same wild Viking rage screaming out.

Safa in amongst the Germans. Light, fast and agile. A swirling dervish of pain with a glint in her eye and a grin on her face.

Ria on the roof firing the Barret next to Roy loosing arrows as Howie charges the infected. The two lines coming together with Clarence’s chain ripping them from their feet. Jess riding deep with Charlie swirling the axe down left and right. Music blaring from the Saxon that powers past. Slamming into them with Tappy at the wheel. The great vehicle seemingly alive in her hands. Mowing them down and slamming them aside and Blinky grins from ear to ear. Back in the thick of it with the lads. Back to swinging an axe in pure glorious violence.

‘Roy!’ Ria shouts, aiming down her scope. ‘Road. Far right. Mother and Robert. They’ve got people in front of them. I’ll take them down, you take those two.’

‘Deal,’ Roy says, twisting to face the road. Hearing the shots taken from the huge rifle and spotting the bodies drop that give him a view to Mother and Robert.

Two arrows in the air.

‘What the hell is that thing?’ Mother yells out at the sight of the T-Rex. ‘Get some fire into it!’ she screams at the soldiers running away in panic from the ultimate apex predator crushing them underfoot, killing them with its tail and snapping human forms in half with its huge mouth as it hunts for the cakes.

‘Okay. So, even I didn’t see that coming,’ Robert says as a senior Nazi officer near him sails back off his feet with a hole in his chest. Then another to the other side and one next to Mother. All of them flying back from something very large and very powerful hitting them.

‘Oh shit,’ Mother says, snapping her head over to the square. To the van and the young lady lying prone with a Barrett braced in her shoulder and one hand offering a middle finger. She darts to the side behind a Gestapo officer that flies off his feet. Robert the same. Ducking behind an officer screaming instructions before his head blows off and the body slumps.

‘Who is doing that?’ Robert asks.

‘Ria fucking Cavendish!’ Mother snaps, ducking down behind a wall as Robert runs over and the two arrows reach the apex of their climb and start dropping.

‘We’re going to run for it,’ Mother says, pulling a smoke grenade from her pocket. Popping the top and throwing it out as the contents spew out. ‘Now!’ she yells out.

The two of them bursting out from behind the wall to run for the side street. To get away from this carnage, and they’re not the only ones either. Scores of officers and soldiers pour past them, which is good as it gives them cover from Ria.

But not from the arrows.

Two arrows in flight.

Bang bang.

‘Fuck!’ Robert yells, sprawling out from an arrow slamming down into the top of his back.

‘What the…’ Mother says, turning to see it as an arrow embeds in her right shoulder. Driving down deep through the bone and making her stagger back with a gasp, making her trip and fall.

‘Bad shot,’ Roy says with a tut at his own incompetence as Ria stares up at him in awe.

‘You hit them.’

‘Yeah, not kill shots though. I do feel a bit dizzy actually. Oh, god. Maybe I’ve got an aneurism.’

Ria blinks and goes back to the scope, shifting the view to try and find them. Finally spotting Robert and Mother through the press of bodies. Both of them up on their feet and running while clutching their shoulders. A few shots taken, but the rounds hit soldiers and the two disappear from view.

‘An arrow?’ Robert gasps, hardly believing it. ‘Who uses fucking arrows?’

Mother doesn’t reply but lurches on along the side street as the soldiers and officers pour around them. Desperate to be away from the T-Rex and squads in the square fighting out. Smoke all around them. Thick smoke rolling like foggy clouds. Heat hazes and nothing but broken buildings and broken people in a broken city.

‘We need exfil,’ she says, reaching up to snap the shaft of the arrow with a grunt. ‘Robert! We need a portal.’

‘It’s down there,’ he says, motioning ahead. ‘Just keep going.’

‘This is a fucking mess!’ she snaps.

‘It was your plan as well,’ he grunts back at her.

‘I said we should nuke them.’

‘What is it with you and nukes?’ Robert asks. ‘Jesus. No wonder the Old Man loves you. He’s always trying to get governments to set them off.’

‘Good! I’ll expect to see him the second we get back,’ Mother says as a muffled pop comes from ahead of them. Then another and another and more after it. The sounds growing closer. Becoming more distinct. The pop pop pop of machine guns firing in bursts.

A scream. A yell. Someone runs back the other way. Trying to get past them with a gunshot to his belly. Another pop and he sprawls out. Shot in the back as yet more soldiers and officers start running against Mother and Robert.

‘SURRENDER!’ come the shouts. ‘I SURRENDER!’ more voices shouting but still the guns fire and the men drop as Mother and Robert duck to the side. Taking cover in the ruins of a bombed-out hotel. Listening and watching as the firing gets closer. Coming closer.

A figure in the smoke. A figure coming through the swirling clouds and the heat hazes. A figure with a sub-machine gun in each hand. Firing as she walks. Bursts from the left. Bursts from the right. Precision shots fired by a highly trained operative.

‘Kate!’ Mother gasps, seeing her daughter. She goes to call out but stops and thinks and in the confusion of time travel, she loses track of what Kate this might be, and that instinct for survival shows true within her. An instinct to live no matter what, and so she draws the pistol from the holster on her Gestapo belt and aims the gun at her own daughter.

‘You wouldn’t,’ Robert says, staring in horror.

‘She would,’ a voice from the side. From a man holding a sub-machine gun in each hand.

‘Alpha!’ Mother says, seeing it’s him as she rises to her feet and staggers out into the road. ‘Kate, thank god!’

Kate stops walking. Turning to aim the weapons at Robert and Mother. ‘Fancy dress?’ Kate asks.

‘What?’ Mother says, frowning at her daughter before looking at down at her fitted black SS Gestapo uniform. ‘Right. No. I can explain.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Robert says. ‘Kate? Hi, I’m Robert. It’s a pleasure to meet you… WHAT THE FUCK! You just shot me. Why did you shoot me?’ he asks, clutching his right kneecap.

‘Seemed appropriate,’ Kate says as Alpha moves in at her side. ‘I’m switching sides, mother.’

‘It’s not her,’ Alpha says, viewing Mother closely. ‘This isn’t Mother from the complex. She’s not thin enough.’

‘Oh,’ Kate says. ‘So who are you then?’ she asks Robert.

‘From Freedom,’ he gasps. ‘We’re time travellers. We’re trying to stop the other side from interfering in time.’

‘Okay. Two questions,’ Kate says. ‘How does that quantify as not interfering with time,’ she asks, pointing up at the meteor.

‘And?’ Robert asks weakly.

‘And what?’ Kate asks.

‘You said two questions,’ Alpha says.

‘Did I? Oh. Whatever. It’s been a very long day. Just one question then. Did you make that happen?’ she asks with another nod up to the meteor as the T-Rex bounds past the end of the road. ‘Was that a dinosaur?’

‘I think so,’ Alpha says.

‘Oh,’ Kate says.

‘The meteor is from us, but the dinosaur isn’t,’ Robert says.

‘I said we should have nuked them,’ Mother says.

‘God, mother. That’s your answer to everything,’ Kate says.

‘I know, right,’ Robert says. ‘OH MY GOD. WHY DID YOU SHOOT ME AGAIN?’

‘Duh. You made a meteor,’ Kate says. ‘Turn it off.’

‘I can’t!’

‘Can’t or won’t.’

‘Can’t! Bertie made it,’ Robert gasps, on the ground clutching his knees with an arrow poking out of his back.

‘Is that an arrow?’ Kate asks. ‘Jesus. What did we miss?’ she asks as the T-Rex bounds back the other way.

‘Kate! Listen to me,’ Mother says quickly. ‘Maggie Sanderson as at the end of that road. Go to her. Get into her team.’

‘That’s exactly what we’re going to do,’ Kate says. ‘But not for your reasons.’

‘Alpha! I am ordering you to undertake a mission,’ Mother shouts. Spittle flying from her mouth and the veins pushing through her sick looking skin. The same woman that made Alpha drop a nuke on London. The same woman that was going to use another one to kill Maggie Sanderson. ‘Kill Maggie Sanderson,’ she orders, glaring at him like she always did. ‘You have your orders, Alpha. Kill Maggie Sanderson! MOVE!’

‘Jesus,’ Robert says, shaking his head at her. ‘You’ve got some issues, you know that, right?’

‘Fuck you!’ Mother snaps, shooting him in the belly with her pistol.

‘You stupid cunt. I’ll just reset,’ he grunts. ‘But you won’t,’ he adds, rolling to the side to fire his pistol as the gunshots ring out. Gunfire from Alpha and Kate firing into Robert as he gets a round into Mother’s stomach. Making her fly back with a cry to lie gasping and bleeding on the rubble strewn road while the smoke swirls all around them. While the fires rage and the city weakens as the Third Reich crumbles.

As two young men sit at the desks in the cabin on Bertie’s island and create code with the tips of their tongues poking out of their mouths.

‘Kate,’ Mother whispers, holding her belly as Kate and Alpha step over her. Both of them staring down and she looks past them to the meteor in the sky. The meteor ten times the size of the moon. The meteor that’s already changing the gravitational pull of the Earth. They can feel it inside. A sick, awful feeling, and another hour or so and the oceans will start to change. The lakes and rivers, and by which time, the moon would have collided with the meteor and the chunks will be coming in thick and fast to destroy the planet.

To destroy the four worlds connected through the bridge Bertie made.

The bridge between worlds. Those four worlds that start to blur around Kate and Alpha and Mother.

The four worlds that start to blur around Maggie and the others in the Lustgardens.

Ypres. 1917. The battles now over and No Man’s Land littered with broken tanks and broken bodies.

The square in the dark world. The battle now over. The bodies lying thick across the ground. Steaming in the heat. Rancid and awful.

The far future. The air thick with chemicals and the mutated beasts flitting in and out of the shadows.

This world now. Berlin. A place of misery and suffering brought by the folly of man. A place from which a twisted ideology grew that shaped the world the wrong way.

Four worlds. One meteor. Two young men coding away, laughing and joking.

‘Ready?’ Sam asks.

‘Do it,’ Bertie says, grinning at his friend as Sam hits enter and severs the bridge.

The bridge between worlds, and in that instance, in that exact instance where all things happen at the same time, the meteor simply ceases to be.

Gone from Ypres. Gone from the dark world and gone from Berlin, 1945. From this world. From this now.

However, it still remains in the far future of the fourth world, but that’s where it belongs. That’s where it’s always been. That’s why Bertie invented the engines for the worldships and the gravity upon them. So the people could get away. So he could visit and enjoy Sven’s porridge and jam and chat with his buddy Sam.

His buddy that still thinks he’s on board the ship in some ultra-awesome VR suite somewhere finally hanging out with Bertie.

But here. In this now and in this place, Kate stares down at her mother with Alpha at her side, and she sees the evil within the woman. The kind of evil that made this city fall around her. That kind of evil.

‘You know,’ Kate says with a frown as she aims the sub-machine gun at her mother. ‘I’m getting Déjà vu. It’s like I’ve done this before… Maybe I have. Maybe I’m killing you twice…’

‘Kate!’

Shots fired and that final moment comes to an end, but then as Bertie knows, there is no final moment because there is no future and no past.

Just the now.

Just this moment where all things happen at once.

This moment as Howie and his team take down the last few dozen infected.

This moment when Miri’s team work through the last few dozen Nazi soldiers.

This moment when Roshi watches the tier 1 operative disappear through a portal then re-appear almost instantly with a platter of cream cakes. His fingers to his mouth. A whistle given and the mighty T-Rex spins around with a roll of his eyes and starts bounding across the road once more, following the operative from this now to another time and place.

Roshi goes too. Running fast to reach the portal before it shuts off. Rushing through and coming to a dead stop from the barrel of a gun pressed to her forehead.

The tier 1 operative staring at her without a flicker of expression while he holds the platter up with his other hand. Letting the T-Rex gobble cakes from the top.

Another moment in time.

Another thing happening as Roshi glares at the man.

He steps back, holstering the pistol and patting the T-Rex’s nose. ‘I bring more,’ he says in a deep guttural voice as the T-Rex purrs from his throat and gently nudges the man.

‘You,’ Roshi says, glaring at him as he resets his portal. ‘I know you.’

He glances at her. Unbothered. Uninterested. His job done. His task over. His cabin waiting for him deep in the forests of Discovery. His hot tub outside next to the lake. Mr Duckie floating on the top.

‘I know you,’ she says again as his portal comes to life and he steps toward it. Ready to go to another time and place.

He looks back at her. A man with pockmarked skin and bulging eyes.

An uglyman.

He steps through. Disappearing from this world. From this now as she releases the breath from her throat and reaches out to pat the T-Rex’s nose.

The T-Rex who instantly changes from purring to growling because she doesn’t have cakes and she’s not the tier 1 operator.

She’s only tier 2.

‘Oh fuck off,’ she says as it stands up to full height with a huge roar. ‘No wonder you’re bloody constipated,’ she adds before running off while on the veranda at the edge of a frozen lawn. The Old Lady stares up to the visual projections showing the timelines of the worlds. The golden lines back to how they were. Stretching off into the far future and no longer severing into darkness.

All except the dark world, because the future for that one is still unwritten, but at least the beginning can happen now, and from the beginning the middle can be fixed, which, of course, prevents the end.

But then time travel is confusing, and the beginning doesn’t always begin at the start…

25

‘No, seriously, try this one,’ Emily says. ‘If you liked the plumtato you’ll love this… yeah? How good is that!’

‘Oh my god,’ Paula says, waggling her fingers at the explosion of taste in her mouth. ‘I’m literally having an orgasm!’

‘God stop,’ Cookey says. ‘It’s like hearing your mum talk about sex.’

‘Your mum does more than talk about it,’ Blowers quips, winking over the table.

‘Was that a wink or a blink you blind fuck?’ Cookey asks with a laugh as Blowers sticks a middle finger up.

‘Suits you though,’ Ria says, smiling over the table at Blowers. ‘The eye-patch. It looks good on you.’

‘What is that?’ Paula asks, motioning her mouth.

‘Melemime,’ Emily says.

‘Crossed between a melon, a lemon and a lime,’ Safa says, leaning past her to snag one from the bowl.

‘They’re amazing,’ Paula says as Marcy bites into one.

‘Oh god. Oh yeah. I get it,’ Marcy says with a husky murmur. ‘Total mouth orgasm going on.’

‘Okay, so Marcy having a mouth orgasm doesn’t gross you all out then,’ Paula says with a look at the men and Blinky all staring at Marcy. ‘Get back to your food you perverts.’

A long table on a lawned garden. Blues skies overhead. Willow trees rustling in the gentle warm breeze. The rear of a grand colonial house to one side and pine forests stretching off as far as the eye can see on the other.

The scent of smoke in the air tinged with the aroma of searing meats that sizzle and pop on the grill being argued over by Bear and two other men of the same size and shape.

‘You need to turn those steaks, lad,’ Harry says.

‘When you’ve cooked at a barbeque,’ Clarence says. ‘Which I have done, many times, and while in a warzone.’

‘Ach. When you’ve been in a war,’ Harry replies.

‘You should fight him,’ Bear urges Clarence. ‘I’ll turn the steaks.’

‘They are,’ Marcy says from the end of the table as they stare over. ‘How can they not be related?’

‘Noooo,’ Emily says with a groan. ‘I don’t want to be his granny.’

‘Maybe you’re not,’ Safa says with a wink to Paula and Marcy.

‘I’d better be his fucking granny,’ Emily snaps. ‘If that hairy sod thinks he’s making babies with someone else he can think again!’

‘Honestly. It baffles the shit out of me,’ Marcy says. ‘How do you keep up with it all?’ she asks Safa.

‘I don’t even try,’ she replies. ‘Leave it to the eggheads.’

‘Ooh, I like you,’ Marcy says, reaching over the table for a high-five. ‘Eh, Howie?’

‘Sorry, what?’ Howie asks, looking over from his deep and meaningful discussion with Ben.

‘Just say yes, honey,’ Marcy says.

‘Yes, honey,’ he says. ‘No, but, Ben. It’s got to be one world and four dimensions. Harry’s from your 1943, but Clarence is from our time and look at them. They’re identical.’

‘Or,’ Ben says, while nodding at Howie. ‘Maybe they’re genetic clones of each other.’

‘Oh my fucking god. You’re an actual genius, Ben.’

‘Eh!’ Ben says, motioning between himself and Howie. ‘Eh! I’m not saying we’re alike. But we’re alike.’

‘That is definitely it,’ Howie says. ‘Reggie! We’ve figured it out. It’s cloning.’

‘Cloning,’ Ben adds.

‘Aw bless, Howie’s made a friend,’ Paula says.

‘I think Ben’s got a man crush,’ Safa says.

‘Bromance!’ Marcy says in a singsong.

‘No, but seriously, Reggie,’ Howie calls. ‘Cloning.’

‘Yes, Mr Howie. Cloning. Understood.’

‘Look into it, Reggie.’

‘I shall look into it forthwith,’ Reginald replies with a firm nod before turning back to Miri.

‘And there’s the real eggheads,’ Safa says, nodding at Miri and Reginald at the far end of the table.

‘Oh, you have no idea,’ Paula says. ‘Reggie is something else.’

‘Try working for Maggie Sanderson,’ Emily says as the arguing gets louder at the grill. ‘Boys! Play nicely,’ she calls, giving them a look.

‘You’re so his granny,’ Marcy says.

‘I could do with a hand,’ a call from the back door of the house as the Old Lady leans out.

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Blowers says, rising quickly with his team. ‘Lads, you rest. I can do it.’

‘I’ll help,’ Ria says, smiling at Blowers as they head over to the house to collect the bowls of salads and fries, and the iceboxes of beers. Passing them out as they work along the table.

‘Two years on your own?’ Blowers asks, staring at Ria as he clonks Danny on the side of the head with a beer bottle.

‘Yep. Two years.’

‘Wait. That was you then. The evil dino thing tied to a tree.’

‘No!’ Cookey calls. ‘It’s the scientist who made dinosaurs. He did it.’

‘Cookey still thinks it’s Jurassic Park,’ Blowers says.

‘Ah, well, maybe you should come and see it properly one night,’ Ria says with a lingering smile at Blowers as he clonks Danny’s head with another bottle.

‘Okay! They’re a bit singed but they’re ready,’ Clarence calls.

‘He means they’re burnt,’ Harry says, walking along with a platter of meat to serve. ‘You did well today, boys,’ he says, winking at Danny and Mo as he pops extra big steaks on their plates. ‘I’d have you in a unit with me any day.’

‘Jesus, Nick. You’re actually drooling,’ Tappy says. ‘Nick? Nick!’ she calls, clicking her fingers as he tracks the platter of meat going past with a look of panic.

‘What the fuck!’ he says as Bear sits down opposite with a whole platter of steaks and sausages.

‘This is ours,’ Bear says, winking at Nick.

‘Fuck yes! I actually love you,’ Nick says, grabbing a knife and fork to start eating from the mound of meat while Charlie and Blinky stay glued side by side, trading stories of everything’s that happened since Blinky died. Meredith eating from a bowl overflowing with meat. Jess munching oats and shitting on the Old Lady’s lawn.

A hard day.

A confusing and brutally violent day, and from Berlin 1945 they stepped to here, to this place to wash hands and faces and to eat and drink cold beers and decompress.

A strange sight it makes. The Saxon and Roy’s van off to one side. Rifles, axes and hand weapons still within reach. Pistols on thighs and hips. Knives in belts. A state of readiness.

Dave next to Howie. Eating quietly. His eyes up to watch and scan.

Always watching. Always scanning.

A few hours given for their service. A few hours of time-bending and rule breaking to let this happen and the Old Lady stands back, sipping from a glass of iced-lemonade while watching her tier 3 teams.

Smiling at the jokes flowing between the lads. Winking at shy Danny and cheeky Mo Mo. Nodding at Maddox Doku. A man of hidden intelligence and depth that will one day make a very good tier 2 freelancer. But not yet, and not in this now.

But then as Bertie said, all the nows happen at the same time, it’s just knowing which now to be in when they do.

‘I saw him,’ a presence at her side. An aura projected from a young woman. Dark hair. Dark features. Defiant and determined. The Old Lady glances at her, seeing the stick-figure tattoos glowing on her skin that are invisible to everyone else. ‘Your tier 1 operator. I saw him,’ Roshi adds.

‘Go and eat, Roshi.’

‘You know who he is right?’ she asks, earning a sharp look from the Old Lady. ‘Why the fuck did you use him? Do you know how many people he’s killed for Freedom?’

‘He’s never killed anyone for Freedom. He killed who his masters told him to kill without ever knowing Freedom was pulling the strings.’

‘It doesn’t matter. He’s killed thousands of people. He’s a fucking psychopath.’

‘He’s no more psychopathic than Dave is.’

‘Then use Dave!’

‘Howie needs Dave, and the dark world needs both of them.’

‘Anyone else then. Literally anyone else,’ Roshi says.

‘Would you have done what he did today?’ the Old Lady asks.

Roshi hesitates, knowing the answer doesn’t go in her favour. ‘Gregori the Uglyman is a monster,’ she says with a blast of air.

‘He is. But he’s our monster. Go and eat, Roshi.’

‘But.’

‘I said go and eat, Roshi. I will only tolerate so much back-chat from you in one day.’

A pause as Roshi stiffens at the rebuke before marching off.

‘And Roshi?’ the Old Lady calls as she stops to look back. ‘We wouldn’t have won today without you. Thank you.’

‘I said it,’ Roshi says, finally offering a smile as she heads off, passing Miri walking over to the Old Lady. ‘I said don’t leave him with a time machine.’

‘That is a very good question,’ the Old Lady says with a smile to Miri. ‘Why do we leave him with a time machine?’

‘He’s Bertie,’ Miri says. ‘You could leave him in a locked room with nothing but a paperclip and he’d still change the molecular structure of the universe.’

The Old Lady smiles, taking the scrutiny from Maggie Sanderson in good grace. ‘You’re hiding us away,’ Miri says. Nodding back to the table.

‘The rest of the town don’t need to know you exist,’ the Old Lady says. ‘Which is what you decreed, Maggie.’

Miri shows no reaction but stares out to the table and the others eating and drinking beers.

‘Which is also why Bertie is given free access to a time machine,’ the Old Lady says. ‘Because you said Bertie must be free to roam the worlds. You said the good he will do will always outweigh the bad. I wish you remembered saying that, Maggie.’

Miri snorts a dry laugh. Her cold eyes now more blue as she turns to smile. ‘I haven’t said it yet.’

‘That’s true. You have not yet said it. But on realising there is more than one world, Maggie Sanderson guides Bertram Cavendish to make a program that can see all of the known worlds. A program built from coding that allows multiple systems to be hacked.’

‘It makes snow, too,’ Miri says.

‘It makes snow,’ the Old Lady says.

‘And it makes you.’

‘And it makes me,’ the Old Lady says as Miri smiles again at the concept of Bertie in his shack right now. Coding to make the super AI system that creates this construct and a town called Discovery. Coding to make the Old Lady.

A system that can see into the known worlds and know where to tweak to fix the middle to prevent the end.

Another pause as they smile at the others poking fun at Nick and Bear protecting their meat platter from everyone else.

‘It wasn’t just my idea,’ Miri says. ‘It was Reginald’s. He said if there are multiple words then there should be one system monitoring them. But he also said such a system should have a counterpart. Otherwise, it becomes too powerful. Know what he said? He said discovery is one thing, but people need freedom. Freedom to choose,’ she pauses to look at the Old Lady. ‘So, I’m guessing that all of this today was to protect the beginning.’

‘The beginning doesn’t always begin at the start, Maggie. You told me that.’

‘But not yet.’

‘Not yet,’ the Old Lady says. ‘Perhaps you’d like to stay. Here in Discovery I mean. Mr Ryder is capable of leading the team now.’

‘He’s more than capable to lead, but I’m not ready not to,’ Miri says. ‘Give them until the questions start then send us back.’

‘I will,’ the Old Lady replies as Miri walks back to the table. Back to the beers and the food. Back to the jokes and chat and the stories. Back to the venting that is needed after doing such a thing, and time flows on as day turns slowly to night.

‘No. No. I mean it,’ Howie says, clutching a bottle in one hand with his other arm around Ben. ‘You say the word, Ben. No. You say the word and… And… And I’m there.’

‘No. I’m there,’ Ben says, nodding drunkenly at Howie. ‘In your world. I’m there.’

‘No! I’m there in your world,’ Howie says, both of them slurring and hiccupping. ‘Paula! Paula!’

‘What, Howie?’ she asks, smiling at his serious drunken face.

‘I told Ben. I said we’re there. If they… If they need us.’

‘Okay,’ Paula says, giving him a thumbs up.

‘No! I mean it. We’re there for you buddy.’

‘No, but like, you get stuck with the zombie things,’ Ben says. ‘Or… Or in a trench or… or whatever. You call me.’

‘I’ll call you!’

‘Call me.’

‘But how? We’d need like an interdimenshionally satnav phone.’

‘Bertie can make one!’ Ben suggests with a sudden idea.

‘Fuck! Dude. You’re seriously like just on it,’ Howie says as they clonk bottles and glug more beer while Roshi, Ria and Blinky discreetly tuck their wristbands into their pockets.

‘I’m just saying. But only if you wanted to,’ a rather drunk Emily says, nodding up at Clarence.

‘I’m not calling you granny,’ Clarence says.

‘No! I mean. If you wanted to. That’s it,’ Emily says with a hiccup ‘But aw! You’re just like your grandad.’

‘I missed you so much, Blinky!’ Marcy says with a sob, clinging to her on the bench seats and plastering her cheeks with kisses. ‘I even missed your farts. Oh my god. Did you just fart?’

‘You said you missed them.’

‘Urgh, I’m gagging. I’m gonna heave,’ Marcy says, trying to push Blinky off the bench with both of them landing in a giggling heap.

‘Go on, Nick!’ Tappy calls. Swigging from her bottle. ‘No defeat! No surrender!’

‘Come on, buddy,’ Thomas says as the lads and Roshi all start chanting Nick and Bear as the two men match each other steak for steak and sausage for sausage.

‘I can do this all day,’ Bear says as Roshi winks with a sudden idea and opens a portal to the cake room. Running in then running out with a platter of pastries.

‘CAKES!’ Harry yells, surging up from the table.

‘CAKES!’ Bear yells, turning away from the meat platter as Roshi sends the platter skidding over the grass with Bear and Harry bounding after it and the others laughing until the tears flow.

But time rolls on. It always has, and it always will, and in the shadows of the willow trees, Blowers teaches Ria a few boxing moves. A cross. A jab and an uppercut, and how to pivot from the hips.

Both dark, scarred, lean and muscular. Both young and drunk and both moving closer into the other as the stars twinkle overhead and the sound of laughing and chat floats over from the table. A distance from them to the others as Ria turns and presses into him. Her lips meeting his as they slip within the hanging branches of the willow tree.

But time rolls on. It always has, and it always will and the promises to always stay in touch roll out from one to the other. The hugs that go with them. The swearing of oaths to always protect the others. To always be there to fight and stand the line no matter where and no matter when.

Even in the dark world.

And then, when the beers flow enough, and the spiking emotions start heading towards a certain route the inevitable question finally comes.

‘Hang on. Hang on. I got a question,’ Howie says, blinking hard with his dark eyes looking over to the Old Lady. A man of violence. A man of rage. A man with an energy inside waiting to tear him apart. ‘So, you can bring people back, right?’

The Old Lady stares at him. Knowing what’s about to come.

‘But you can, right? You can bring people back. Where’s Big Chris then? Where’s my sister? Where’s Tucker and Jamie and Curtis?’

‘It doesn’t work like that, Howie.’

‘So how does it work then?’ Howie asks, fixing his gaze upon her with that energy starting to flow as Meredith prowls into his side. Her head low. Her teeth showing. ‘Miri’s got a fucking time machine. And you’ve got a whole town of time machines. What do we have? We’re fighting a whole fucking planet of them.’

‘You took Blinky,’ Charlie says.

‘And Jagger,’ Mo adds as the names of the fallen spill from their lips. The names of those lost in the dark days of the dark world. A glance from the Old Lady to Miri who gives a single nod.

‘Tell me!’ Howie says, silencing the others as he glares at the Old Lady. ‘What do we have? What do we fucking have?’

The Old Lady looks upon them all. From Danny to Clarence and everyone in between. ‘They have you,’ she says gently as the first snowflakes start to fall from the skies above them.

Single flakes at first.

Heavy and fat.

Floating. Drifting. Dropping.

Falling faster until there is nothing but white in all directions.

* * *

A moment later and it clears, leaving the Old Lady staring at the table filled with food and drink.

‘You could have given me five minutes!’ Ria shouts, coming from the willow tree tugging her clothes back on while Blinky stares at her lap and Roshi stares at nothing.

‘Get this cleared up please,’ the Old Lady says while turning around to head off.

‘Where are you going?’ Roshi asks.

‘Okay, so for clarity, Roshi. This is how it works. I ask you where you are going, you don’t ask me. Got it?’

‘Sure,’ Roshi says as the Old Lady turns away. ‘Bet I know where though,’ she adds, making the Old Lady tut and roll her eyes as she walks off to her weather worn garage and a moment later drives off in her old pick-up truck.

‘Will they remember?’ Blinky asks into the silence that follows.

‘No,’ Roshi says with a sad smile. ‘None of them will. Not even Bear and Thomas. They’ll go back to whatever they were doing when the snow started coming down.’

‘Jesus,’ Ria says, grabbing a beer from the table as she sits down. ‘What a headfuck.’

‘Speaking of which,’ Roshi says with a smile at Ria. ‘Nice time in the willow tree?’

‘Fuck you,’ Ria says, sticking a middle finger up. ‘A lady never reveals, but god yes. We totally need to wrangle another four world mission.’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Roshi says. ‘You up for it, Blinky? Jesus! Why are you puking again? Are you excited?’

‘Nope. Just very drunk,’ Blinky says. ‘And fuck yes. I’d do another one… but I get to wear the whore dress next time.’

‘Yeah, why were you wearing that dress?’ Ria asks.

‘I told you, Lara Croft, I was on a mission and didn’t get changed.’

‘Yeah, right. On a mission in Bear’s hobbit home more like,’ Ria says as Blinky wipes her mouth then shrugs and grabs another beer. ‘So where she going then?’ Ria asks. ‘The Old Lady. You said you knew where she was going.’

‘Yeah,’ Roshi says quietly. ‘I think I probably do…’

* * *

A little while later, on a rough lane in the dense forest of pine trees several miles outside of Discovery, the Old Lady brings the truck to a stop and turns the engine off.

She drops out and heads down a narrow track to the edge of the lake and the low cabin built to the side. A jetty stretching out into the waters. A rowing boat moored up.

A portal on the jetty. A shimmering doorway of iridescent light that leads to another time and place.

She walks towards it, coming to a stop with a gentle smile and her hands clasped in front as two people step through.

Both of them filthy with torn clothes. Both cut and hurt. Both bruised and bleeding, and both of them holding sub-machine guns in their hands.

Two people that ran towards the Lustgardens only to find Maggie Sanderson had gone and they were too late.

Two people that had no choice but to turn and flee and seek refuge in an old cellar beneath the ruins. Too exhausted to run any further. Too drained to think.

But there, in the far corner of that cellar, was a glowing portal. A shimmering doorway of iridescent light.

‘Who are you?’ Alpha asks as the portal blinks out of existence, making them both glance back while still aiming their guns at her. ‘Where’s Maggie?’

‘Maggie Sanderson isn’t here, Kate and Joe. I am. I’m the Old Lady and you two are my new tier 1 operators. Welcome to Discovery.’

26

A beautiful day on the island.

Birds sing in the trees and lizards bathe on the rocks while Doctor Watson swings in his hammock and hums along to the first movement of Elgar’s Cello Concerto playing from a speaker.

A calm scene.

A pleasant scene.

A man enjoying a blissful summer day.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

But things are never quite as they seem and the good doctor waves his hand to conduct the invisible orchestra within his mind as the dramatic end fades out to the birds singing and the waves lapping the beach.

‘Ah, now that. See. Now that is just good music,’ he says with a grunt while swinging off the hammock. ‘Bertie! I said that’s good music. Eh? Did you enjoy that? Of course you enjoyed it. It’s Elgar. You’d have to be a philistine not to enjoy it. Ah. I see. I shall converse with myself then shall I,’ he adds on seeing Bertie’s empty chair at his desk. ‘Are you in the back? I’m making tea. Do you want some?’

He heads into the back of the cabin and flicks the kettle on before picking the teapot up with a sigh.

‘Bertie! You’ve got to empty the pot when you’re done with it,’ he calls while heading into the other room with the teapot in his hands only to stop with a tut at the shimmering portal of iridescent light glowing in front of him. ‘Damn in, Bertie. I said clean the pot,’ he says again while leaning through it, ready to deliver his admonishment, but the words die in his mouth as he steps through into another time and place.

Into another world.

A world of people. Thousands of people all frozen still. Unmoving. Unblinking. All of them completely still.

‘What the…’ he stammers, holding the teapot as he turns a circle and realises he’s in Piccadilly Circus in central London. The giant screens on the walls above him.

The giant screens all showing live camera feeds taken from places around the world. New York. Mumbai. Tokyo. Paris and Moscow. Live feeds that show the same sight of people frozen and unmoving.

Words on the screen. Words in a big white font.

Please do not panic:

Phase One Has Commenced.

Words that the doctor reads, while in his linen shorts and linen shirt and holding his teapot while all around him the silent people stand motionless and inert.

‘Damn it, Bertie! Where the hell have you found now?’

Also by RR Haywood

A Town Called Discovery

The #1 Amazon Time Travel Thriller

A man falls from the sky. He has no memory.

What lies ahead are a series of tests. Each more brutal than the last, and if he gets through them all, he might just reach A Town Called Discovery.

*

EXTRACTED SERIES

EXTRACTED

EXECUTED

EXTINCT

Blockbuster Time-Travel

#1 Amazon US

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Washington Post & WSJ Best-seller

In 2061, a young scientist invents a time machine to fix a tragedy in his past. But his good intentions turn catastrophic when an early test reveals something unexpected: the end of the world.

A desperate plan is formed. Recruit three heroes, ordinary humans capable of extraordinary things, and change the future.

Safa Patel is an elite police officer, on duty when Downing Street comes under terrorist attack. As armed men storm through the breach, she dispatches them all.

'Mad' Harry Madden is a legend of the Second World War. Not only did he complete an impossible mission—to plant charges on a heavily defended submarine base—but he also escaped with his life.

Ben Ryder is just an insurance investigator. But as a young man he witnessed a gang assaulting a woman and her child. He went to their rescue, and killed all five.

Can these three heroes, extracted from their timelines at the point of death, save the world?

*

THE CODE SERIES

The Worldship Humility

The Elfor Drop

#1 Audible bestselling smash hit narrated by Colin Morgan, star of Merlin & Humans.

#1 Amazon bestselling Science-Fiction

“A rollicking, action packed space adventure…”

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Sam, an airlock operative, is bored. Living in space should be full of adventure, except it isn’t, and he fills his time hacking 3-D movie posters.

Petty thief Yasmine Dufont grew up in the lawless lower levels of the ship, surrounded by violence and squalor, and now she wants out. She wants to escape to the luxury of the Ab-Spa, where they eat real food instead of rats and synth cubes.

Meanwhile, the sleek-hulled, unmanned Gagarin has come back from the ever-continuing search for a new home. Nearly all hope is lost that a new planet will ever be found, until the Gagarin returns with a code of information that suggests a habitable planet has been found. This news should be shared with the whole fleet, but a few rogue captains want to colonise it for themselves.

When Yasmine inadvertently steals the code, she and Sam become caught up in a dangerous game of murder, corruption, political wrangling and...porridge, with sex-addicted Detective Zhang Woo hot on their heels, his own life at risk if he fails to get the code back.

*

THE UNDEAD SERIES

THE UK’s #1 Horror Series

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“The Best Series Ever…”

The Undead. The First Seven Days

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The Undead Day Eighteen

The Undead Day Nineteen

The Undead Day Twenty

The Undead Day Twenty-One

The Undead Twenty-Two

The Undead Twenty-Three: The Fort

The Undead Twenty-Four: Equilibrium

Blood on the Floor

An Undead novel

Blood at the Premiere

An Undead novel

The Camping Shop

An Undead novella

*

THE FOUR WORLDS OF BERTIE CAVENDISH

A rip-roaring multiverse time-travel crossover starring:

The Undead

Extracted.

A Town Called Discovery
and featuring

The Worldship Humility

*

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