Alex Scarrow - Time Riders

He heard the shrill sound of panic in the guards’ voices.

Liam prayed. It wasn’t something he often did. Rarely, in fact. Catholic faith, drummedinto his head since birth by his mother, father and every schoolteacher he’d ever had,had never managed to take hold of him. But he certainly was praying now, begging the VirginMother of Jesus to make sure that none of those soldiers outside had decided to stick his headin through the open door and finish him off.

He heard heavy jackboots slapping through the mud outside, running past the open door, theguards’ attention now on the approaching attackers. They began taking up defensivepositions as the noise of exchanged gunfire seemed to be reaching a new intensity.

It sounded like the fight was now within the camp itself.

A row of jagged holes suddenly stitched its way across the thin plywood walls of his hut,sending a shower of wood splinters on to the floor and leaving a line of pale sunbeams lancingthrough the air.

Another explosion, deafening this time, amid the mud and bodies right outside the hut, hurleda wet spray of soil inside through the open door.

The guards were screaming in German. Not the barked orders of professional soldiers, butcries of sheer terror.

‘ Der Eisenmann! Das ist der Eisenmann! ’

‘ Toten Sie ihn! Toten Sie ihn! ’

Liam heard the appalling sound of a protracted scream, suddenly ending with a fleshy rippingsound. Other cries. Across the compound, faintly, the sound of Americanvoices could be heard.

‘Kill the guards! You kill them all!’

Then the rattle of gunfire and feet splashing the bloodied ground outside. ‘You men!Get those guards… They’re running! Take them down! We’re not taking any ofthese scum prisoner, understand? Not a single one ofthem!’

Liam wanted to climb out from beneath the bunk, but fear kept him cowering in the dark. Therewere plenty of shots still echoing around the camp, snarling angry voices of men appalled atthe carnage in the compound.

‘Ahh man… ohh Jesus,’ he heard a man outside crying. ‘They massacredthem. Before we could rescue ’em, those scum shot ’em dead… ain’tnever… seen… Oh Jeeez.’

The distant pleading of a German voice… ‘ Nein! Nein!Ich… ich habe niemanden erschossen — ’… ended with the singlecrack of a gunshot echoing among the rows of huts. He heard another pleading German voicesilenced by a single bullet further away across the compound. And the distant rattle ofgunfire as the fight continued somewhere on the far side of the camp.

‘Is Liam O’Connor here?’

A deep and monotone voice without any sense of expression.

‘Is Liam O’Connor here?’

Louder, closer, like a foghorn — without any variation.

‘Is Liam O’Connor here?’

He heard the heavy splatter of boots in mud just outside the door and then the hut was throwninto darkness as a large body stepped into the doorway, blocking out all but the thinnestglimmer of light.

‘Is Liam O’Connor here?’ the voice bellowed deafeningly into the hut.

It was almost too much for him to react. Almost too much. He’d convinced himself thathe’d never see that big robotic ape again. The truth took a moment to sink in.

Bob hovered a second longer then stepped out of the doorway.

‘Bob!’ Liam cried out weakly, scrambling on all fours to pull himself out fromunder the bunk. ‘Bob! Wait! I’m here!’

A pair of broad shoulders and a small head crowned with a tuft of nut-brown hair leaned backinto the hut. ‘Liam O’Connor?’

Liam looked up. ‘Oh sweet Jay-zus-’n’-Mary-mother-of-mercy! It’s goodto see you again, Bob, so it is.’

The support unit stepped inside and then squatted down on his haunches, studying the frailform of Liam on the floor, his calm grey eyes quickly adapting to the darkness inside.

Liam could have sworn that in that moment of recognition, as Bob’s computer mindconfirmed Liam’s visual identity and verified the signature tone of his voice, he saw atear in those dull, expressionless grey eyes of his.

Then, of course, he went and ruined that sentimental moment of reunion bygrunting emotionlessly: ‘Target successfully acquired.’

‘Good to see you too, Bob,’ replied Liam weakly, choking back his own tears andgrinning as best he could.

2001, New York

‘It really smells bad back here,’ complained Sal. ‘Phew. Smellslike something’s gone off.’

Foster panned his torch around. They’d not been in the back room of the archway sincethe power had failed them several days ago. His torch flickered across the row of largeplastic birthing tubes along the back wall.

‘It’s them,’ he said, ‘the embryos inside have died.’

Sal stepped across the floor towards them. She stared in through the murky plastic at thedark forms inside — the foetus, the baby, the small boy, the teenage boy.

‘They’re all dead?’

Foster nodded. ‘Filtration system stopped running. Their own effluence must have backedup and poisoned the nourishment solution.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘They choked on their own poop,’ said Maddy helpfully as she poured a jerry canof diesel into the generator. ‘Hey, Foster, you sure this is the right kind of fuelI’m pouring into this thing? How do we know it runs on diesel and not, like,gasolene?’

He stepped over towards her. ‘It’s diesel. Although whether this is the rightkind we’ll know soon enough.’

‘My grandad used to have a generator in his basement,’ said Maddy, ‘and he was very particular about the kind of fuel you poured into it…two-stroke or whatever. He said you pour the wrong kind of fuel in and it eventually clogs upthe carburettor or something. Costs a bunch of money to fix.’

Foster shook his head. ‘Just as long as this generator keeps working long enough to getus out of this fix, then I’ll be happy. If it clogs it up and we need to replace it,then we’ll worry about that later, OK?’

Maddy shrugged. ‘OK.’

Foster finished emptying the last can and screwed the cap back on the generator’s tank.‘Right,’ he said, licking his lips, ‘right then… Fingerscrossed.’

He worked a manual lever on the side of the generator several times, grunting with the effortof pulling it down. With one last look at Maddy, he punched a red button on the front. Thegenerator coughed to life and turned reluctantly over several times before spluttering anddying.

‘Well, that didn’t sound too good,’ uttered Maddy.

‘She’s just clearing her throat, that’s all,’ he said with a lessthan convincing nod. He pumped the lever several times, his breath catching from the effort,before hitting the button once more. The generator thudded to life again, this time with farmore enthusiasm. After a few perilous seconds, it found a slow chugging rhythm, then began topick up the pace. The slow thudding, at first like a giant heartbeat, became a rapid stabbing,then a clattering purr that filled the back room with its deafening volume.

Foster stepped to the side of the vibrating machine and flipped some circuit breakers on afuse board. A cobweb-covered light bulb in the ceiling glowed to life, bathing the room with aflickering red light.

‘Yeah!’ yelped Maddy. ‘We did it!’

Foster nodded and grinned, clearly relieved. ‘So now we’ve gotpower again,’ he barked loudly, struggling to compete with the generator’s noisychug.

He turned to Sal, still staring at the dead bodies in the tubes. ‘Hey, Sal, cheer up!We’re well on the way to getting the others back!’

She turned round to look at him, eyes red-rimmed and wet. ‘But too late for them , though.’