Tim Lebbon - Coldbrook

‘Oh shit,’ she muttered, leaning back against the rock surface.

One wall of the cell had been built up rather than carved out, heavy concrete blocks cemented together in an even, pleasing pattern. And there was a light switch. She flicked it quickly, but nothing happened. Looking at the ceiling, she saw an empty bulb socket, green with rust.

Welcome to Coldbrook , the tall man had said. But perhaps she’d misheard him, or placed words that she’d wanted to hear in his mouth.

The door was solid wood, its hinges hidden, no handle. There was a locked viewing slot.

Holly hugged herself beneath the quilt, breathing deeply as the nausea receded. Her arm had been pricked a dozen times, leaving small raised scabs. A scrape of skin had been taken from her shin — the edges of the excision were square and neatly cut.

What have they done?

The viewing slot in the door slid open but by the time she’d realised it was already closing again.

The lock clicked, tumblers turned, and Holly backed up to the head of the bed.

The door opened and the man who came in was a walking corpse. The silence was tainted by his soft hooting and he slashed at the air with his hands. The room filled with the stench of old things and forgotten rot. He lurched for her, but she had nowhere else to go. His face was wrinkled leather. His jaw hung down so far that his chin touched his chest, and what teeth remained were black. But his eyes were the blackest.

Holly screamed, cowering against the wall.

The man flipped back, his head jarring forward over the wide metal band around his neck. He sat down heavily, and Holly heard bones crack. The man made no other sound.

Shadows filled the doorway, instructions were shouted, and the zombie was dragged out of the room. They had it restrained on a long collar and stick. Once in the hallway outside, one of the shadows kicked the wasted man over and brought something heavy down onto his head. The crunch was sickening, but in the silence that followed everything felt different.

What the fuck?

Holly slid down the wall to the floor, bringing her knees up to her chest. The tall man who had welcomed her stood at the cell door and provided an answer.

‘I apologise for that,’ he said. ‘We had to check, but you can come out now. The furies never sing to their own.’

‘You bastard! You could have just asked .’

‘You came from somewhere else,’ he said. He’d told her his name was Drake Slater, and Holly thought she knew him from somewhere. Stupid, but the idea persisted. He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t take the risk. We know how the furies work in this world, but in yours. .’ He held out his hands and shrugged.

‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘Almost a full day.’

‘You drugged me.’

He held out his hands again, half answer, half apology. It seemed as though he couldn’t stop staring at her.

Holly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The food spread before them on the small plastic table in the room that Drake had led her to looked simple and smelled mouth-watering, but Holly had yet to eat. Her thoughts were in turmoil — the reality of her situation threatened to overcome her. And this Earth, this alien place: their food, their water, anything here could kill her.

‘We call them zombies,’ she said, looking at Drake again. He was dressed in simple clothing, his hair was long and unkempt, yet his eyes sparkled with intelligence. His caution during their conversation was proof of that.

‘We used to as well,’ he said, ‘before they became real.’

‘Before?’

He blinked and looked away, unwilling to divulge anything.

‘I’m not here to cause harm,’ Holly said.

‘I know that,’ Drake said. ‘Now, will you eat with me? You must be hungry.’

‘I am,’ Holly said. ‘What is it?’

‘Rabbit, saute potatoes, mushrooms, spring carrots. Basic but good. In your honour.’

‘My honour?’ she asked. But she could not smile. She looked at the food. ‘Nothing I don’t know, I hope.’

Drake put some food on a plate for her and smiled at her hesitation. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, picking a shred of meat from the plate and eating it.

‘So you’re not trying to poison me. Thanks. But I have so many questions,’ Holly said.

‘Us too. Now eat. You need your energy, and you’ve come-’

‘A long way,’ she said. And then Holly realised why she thought she recognised this man. He could have been Jonah thirty years ago, thirty pounds lighter, and with a life of struggle already behind him.

Her mind was in a spin.

Holly ate, and the food was wonderful. There was a freshness to it that was usually found only in the best restaurants, or in home-grown food. But after the fifth mouthful she thought of Melinda and had to concentrate so she could swallow without vomiting.

‘You’ve been through something horrific,’ Drake said. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. She took a drink of water, then sat back.

‘You didn’t bring any equipment through with you,’ he said.

‘I came through in a rush,’ Holly said, realising that he knew all this anyway. They must have been watching her from the moment she stepped through the breach.

Drake had guided her to a cave lined with wood panelling and light blue fabric. The ceiling was bare rock, but the furnishings were comfortable and functional. A fire burned in a pit in one corner, smoke rising to a hole in the ceiling. There were light switches here too — and power points, and a phone socket — but they all looked redundant. The basic arrangements seemed incongruous set among this evidence of technology.

There was a bed against one wall, and several curtains hung from wires against the opposite wall, forming what Holly took to be a storage area. She guessed that it was Drake’s room — many items were scattered around, some of which she could identify. There were also several pairs of leather shoes beneath the bed, along with a few smaller and more delicate footwear items.

‘Your Earth. .’ Drake said. She could sense his eagerness to ask, but she doubted that it exceeded her own.

‘What did you do to me?’

Drake sat back again and averted his eyes. ‘Our doctor carried out some tests.’

‘What kind of tests?’

‘She’s a female doctor, very gentle,’ Drake said, not answering the question.

‘You say this is Coldbrook?’ Holly asked. ‘In the United States?’

‘That’s an old name for our country, but yes. And you’re from Coldbrook, too?’

Holly nodded. She looked at the patch on his jacket again, the three interlocking circles that was so similar to her own Coldbrook symbol.

‘We tried to guard the wound you made in the land,’ Drake said. ‘But one of them must have-’

‘One of your furies.’

‘They’re not our furies.’

‘So one of them must have what?’ Holly asked.

‘Gone through. I’m sorry.’ He stared at her for a moment, and then picked up some more meat.

‘I don’t know how bad my world is,’ Holly said. Drake would not look at her. ‘Do you know?’

‘No,’ he said. He stood and turned, and she knew that he was lying.

‘Drake?’

‘I need to make arrangements. I’ll be back,’ he said. ‘We can’t keep you locked up in here.’

‘Drake, what’s happening there? Tell me if you know.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said again, but still he would not look at her.

‘God help us,’ she whispered. And this time Drake did look, freezing where he stood by the heavy wooden doorway, his eyes wide.

‘You obviously haven’t met the Inquisitor yet, so I’ll allow you that.’