Tim Lebbon - Coldbrook

‘Well, that’s good!’ Holly said. ‘Surely wiping out the furies is best for everyone?’

‘They’re not exterminating furies,’ Moira said.

‘Oh.’

‘This way,’ Drake said, nodding towards a door set in the lobby’s far wall. There were more oil lamps here, and the ceiling had collapsed in one corner, letting in a landslide of heavy rock and soil.

‘So you never made a breach?’ Holly asked. And if that were true — and they had never found their way into the multiverse — then the Fury plague must have originated in this world somewhere. Another thought that led to a thousand more questions.

‘We did,’ Drake said. ‘But not like you. And that’s what I have to show you. It’ll answer so much more, but it won’t be pleasant.’

Paloma produced a small cloth pouch from her pocket and waved it towards Holly. ‘I have this if it all becomes too much.’

‘What is that?’

‘It’ll calm you.’

‘No, thank you,’ Holly said. She had no idea what they were going to show her but Paloma’s offer of some herbal drug troubled her.

‘I’ll take her from here,’ Drake said.

Paloma nodded and turned away, but Moira shifted from foot to foot.

‘Can I not stay? I took down the fury that nearly killed her. And she’s special .’

Drake seemed uncertain, but Holly nodded.

‘I don’t mind,’ she said. She hoped that Moira might be a little more open, if she had the chance to talk with her alone. The source of the plague was a mystery still, and the Inquisitor that Drake had mentioned, and. .

And a million other things , she thought. Jonah should have been here, not me . She knew that he and Drake would have had so much to talk about.

‘One thing,’ Holly asked. ‘Are you the lead scientist in Coldbrook?’

‘I’m the one they look up to.’

‘They?’

‘There are about forty of us here, adults and a few children. Let me show you what I’m taking you to and then after that we can talk some more. But it will clear up questions that I really don’t feel qualified to answer.’

‘Your accent,’ she said.

‘My father came from Wales.’

She gasped. ‘Jonah Jones?’

Drake stared at her. ‘His name was Richard Slater. His middle name was Jonah.’

Holly frowned, trying to make sense of what this might mean, if anything. Drake’s similarity to Jonah had unnerved her. But perhaps it meant nothing.

‘There’s too much to understand,’ he said softly, squeezing her arm. She realised it was the first time he’d touched her, and she suddenly felt safer than she had before, more protected. There were still so many unknowns. This. .’ He opened the door and indicated the short corridor beyond, a stairwell at its end. ‘This will help you begin to understand.’

Drake went first and Holly followed, with Moira behind her. They descended the staircase and passed through a series of doors. The bland interiors reminded her of a gloomy version of the Coldbrook she had known for so long. That thought brought no comfort. As Drake opened a door set in a smooth concrete-walled corridor, she saw what he wanted her to see.

But it was only as the mass of zombies came at her that real understanding began.

He follows Charlotte through downtown Boston, and from the beginning he knows that this dream is different. His troubled, dead sister arrives at their parents’ house and knocks at the door, and Vic senses the change as the door swings open. His mother is there with the family heirloom grasped in her grey hands, one of her eyes missing, and a swathe of her scalp ripped off. Charlotte thanks her, and their mother closes the door on her own blank expression.

The dream progresses. Vic tries to shout out to these dead fools who give gifts that will guarantee the death of his sister. But, as ever, he has no voice.

He can only follow.

Vic knows what is coming, and that just makes it more terrible. At last she reaches the large house. The toys in the garden are rusted now, the flower beds overgrown.

Charlotte rings the bell.

Lucy answers the door. ‘Charlotte! You’re looking well. Death becomes-’

And Charlotte goes at her, dead fingers clasping, ragged teeth biting, and as Lucy giggles at the mess of her own face Vic hears his daughter’s singing from inside the house.

Vic woke up with a gasp and everything came back to him at once. Lucy was staring at him, her head pressed into the pillow. There was a tear nestled on the bridge of her nose, and as he watched it ran down across her face.

‘She’s dreaming,’ Lucy said, and Vic heard his daughter mumbling to herself. He could not discern the words, but Olivia’s voice was unhappy. She was not crying but pleading.

‘She’ll be okay,’ Vic said. Such a hollow platitude.

‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘Didn’t want to wake you.’ Vic looked at his watch and rubbed his hands across his face. ‘Four hours. I only wanted to crash out for an hour.’

‘What happened with Marc?’

‘We spoke to Jonah.’

‘He’s okay?’

Vic frowned. ‘I think so. Alive, at least. But. .’

‘He’s an old man.’

‘Only in years.’ Vic smiled.

‘And no news from Holly?’

Holly , Vic thought, and blinked at a sudden intense memory of loving her in the shower. ‘Nothing yet,’ he said.

‘Hey.’ Lucy touched his cheek and turned him to face her. ‘We’re here, and we’re all okay together. That’s good enough for now.’

He kissed her and held her against his body.

‘You should go back to Marc,’ she said. ‘Lots to do.’ She sat up and ran her fingers through her hair. Olivia had settled, breathing softly in the cot at the foot of their own bed. The room was barely big enough for the three of them.

‘What’re you going to do?’ he asked, and Lucy nodded at the laptop on the table beside the bed.

‘Catch up. Try and call my folks. Email them, IM, Facebook.’ Her voice was filled with dread, and Vic thought he should stay. But seeing the disaster together could not lessen its impact.

‘Okay. Not as if there’s far to look if you want me.’

Lucy smiled up at him as he dressed, and he bent down to kiss her again. Her breath was stale and her shoulders tense.

‘Be back soon,’ she said, and Vic nodded.

Marc was in his communications room, talking with another tall man. The room was small, square, and each wall was lined with benching. There were laptops and telephones, and on one wall a blank screen promised much. There were also radios and satellite communication equipment. It was as basic as Vic had already come to expect of the bunker — the walls were bare, the furniture functional — but the equipment was top drawer. Cigarette smoke hazed the air.

‘Vic,’ Marc said as soon as he entered. ‘I was going to wake you. There’s bad news, and fucking terrible news. Which do you want first?’

Vic shook his head. How could he answer that?

‘Well, we’ve lost touch with Jonah.’

‘No,’ Vic said. He glanced from Marc to the other man, and felt his stomach drop. ‘Nothing at all?’

‘Email’s out, satphone gets nothing. He’s no longer online.’

‘Could be a power fault in Coldbrook,’ Vic said.

‘With luck that’s all it is,’ Marc agreed. The alternative was too grim to voice.

‘So if that has happened, what’re his chances?’ the other man said. Vic stared at him, then glanced at Marc.

‘Vic, meet my partner Gary Volk.’

‘You’re English?’ Vic asked.

‘Only until they ask me to pay my taxes,’ Gary said.

‘Jonah will be cut off down there,’ Vic said. ‘If the main power’s gone, backup should kick in. But there’s no saying what damage has been done to Coldbrook. He’ll have plenty of air and supplies, and there are torch stocks in every room. But without power he won’t be able to get out. Ever.’