Tim Lebbon - Coldbrook

Sean was working his way along the aisle, and she could see moonlight sweeping across the seats as the aircraft continued its turn. We’re going back , she thought, and a chill went through her.

‘What’s happening?’ Sean asked. The curtain twitched and a face peered out. The woman looked past Sean to Jayne, and Jayne tried to smile. The woman’s face remained blank.

‘They’re turning us back,’ she said. ‘She still. .?’

‘She’s fine.’

‘We should put her in the hold!’ someone shouted from beyond the curtain.

‘She’s unwell,’ Sean said.

‘You said she was-’

‘It’s an old illness! Something genetic, something called churu.’

‘I’ve never heard of it.’

‘So she’s fragile, and she might freeze down there.’

‘And?’ The shouter appeared beside the woman, drawing the curtain back to face Sean. The marshal had paused halfway along the compartment, and there were still ten paces between them. But for a moment, Jayne was sure the man was about to charge.

‘She must be immune,’ Sean said. ‘Have any of you heard anything about people being bitten and treated in hospitals? Anyone else immune?’

The woman shook her head gently, looking past Sean again. ‘The President made a speech,’ she said. ‘He said they’re doing everything in their power to help, and they won’t rest until-’

‘Anything significant?’ Sean asked.

‘Immunity register,’ the woman said.

‘They’re saying no one’s immune!’ the man said, and then another woman pushed through, a stewardess who had served Jayne’s supper an hour after take-off. Her presence seemed to calm the man and woman, and they relaxed a little.

‘It’s spreading fast,’ the stewardess told Sean. ‘There’s martial law across five states. I’ve got a friend who works in the NYPD and they’re getting ready to isolate Manhattan. And, from everything I’ve seen on YouTube and the news channels, it infects you in minutes.’

‘Any cases of bites not turning anyone?’ Sean asked.

‘Hey,’ the stewardess said, her smile forced, ‘that’d be good news. You think the media would want any of that right now?’

Sean glanced back at Jayne, and she saw the man tense as if ready to make a grab for the gun. She opened her eyes wider, nodded past Sean, and he turned back quickly. The tension relaxed as quickly as it had built.

‘Why are we going back?’ Sean asked. The aircraft had completed its turn — the moonlight was shining through different windows now.

The stewardess seemed uncomfortable, and Jayne realised that none of the other passengers knew either.

‘So why?’ the man prompted.

‘They won’t let us land,’ she said. ‘UK air-traffic control says they’re scrambling the RAF to turn back any North American flights.’

‘And they threatened to shoot us down if we don’t comply?’ Sean said. The stewardess didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

Sean started backing along the aisle, but the stewardess stayed where she was, watching them go and giving Jayne a half-smile.

‘A deep bite?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ Jayne said, joining the conversation for the first time.

‘It drew blood?’

Jayne nodded.

‘And you’re sure the person who bit you was. .?’

‘I’m sure,’ Jayne said. ‘Then I shut myself in a car. She. . it looked in. Then left.’ More pain flared through her hips, and she pulled herself upright, groaning at the effort.

‘There’s food and drink back there,’ the stewasdess said. ‘Look in compartment six. Some nice salads.’

‘Thanks,’ Sean said. ‘Will you tell us when we’re close?’

‘About three hours.’ She glanced back over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. ‘I think some of them might come for her before then.’

Sean nodded his thanks, and he and Jayne watched the stewardess disappear behind the curtain again.

‘If they come?’ Jayne asked.

‘No one’s going to walk into a bullet,’ he said.

‘You’d really shoot them?’

She saw doubt and fear in what she’d previously thought were the eyes of a strong guy. She guessed Sean was around fifty, stocky and fit, and he had scars — two parallel wounds on his left cheek, pale against his dark skin. She might ask about them, given time.

‘’S long as they think I will, we’ll be okay.’

‘I might be immune,’ she said. ‘What if I am?’

‘How rare is that disease of yours?’

Jayne nodded slowly as understanding dawned, and Sean sat in the seat across from her, leaning out so that he could see along the aisle.

‘Fuck,’ he said softly.

Jonah knew that this was action for the sake of it. But sitting in Secondary in the dark with nothing to do would drive him mad, so coming back down to Control was at least something to occupy his mind. Nothing will have changed , he thought. He slid the gun into his waistband and pulled back the chairs he’d propped beneath the door’s handle. As he opened the door, something whispered behind him.

Jonah whirled around and shone his torch back along the corridor. The wall was smeared with dried blood, black in the artificial light. Nothing moved.

‘Is that you?’ he said. Nothing answered. ‘Bastard!’

He was talking to shadows.

He tugged the door open and stepped inside Control. It was cooler than the rest of Coldbrook. The air held a hint of something alien to this place — flowing water, soil, healthy plants. He breathed in and held his breath: the scents of another world were startling. Previously the containment field had kept the two worlds separate, but Holly had switched it off to go through. Holly is through there , he thought, staring at the breach. It glowed gently in the torchlight.

Moths fluttered in the light, creatures from elsewhere. Their presence took his breath away.

He’d thought seriously about going through, but not yet. He could not abandon his world while there still might be a chance for it. So he stood just inside the door and aimed the torch around the room, switching to wide beam so that shadows could not hide for too long. A few flies buzzed in the light. The moths spiralled in confusion, dusting the beam. The withered creature still lay where it had fallen.

And that was when the dark started talking at last.

‘It hurts when you pass through.’

Jonah gasped and pressed himself against the glass wall. He shone the torch this way and that, tracking its beam with the gun.

‘But pain purifies.’ The voice was low and wet. ‘It purges the old. Emphasises the new. The pain is necessary. There is so much more to come.’

Jonah swung left, and when he turned back the man stood in front of him, several paces away and different from before. He still held the pulsing red organ, its tendrils stirring as the light hit them, but his other hand had removed part of his mask to speak. His newly exposed lips were as pale as dead fish, the flesh around his mouth smooth and speckled with moisture. He pressed the mask back across his mouth and Jonah heard a pained inhalation. Steam hazed the air. Then the man removed it again to speak some more.

‘I am the Inquisitor, and you will be prepared and instructed.’ His teeth were rotted, black and cracked, and a faint mist seemed to issue from his throat.

Jonah raised the gun and aimed, but the man merely pressed his mask back against his mouth. He had yet to expose his eyes. Jonah flicked the torch this way and that, trying to get its light to penetrate the goggles. They glittered wet and dark.

Jonah lowered the gun, backed to the doorway and slipped through, never taking his gaze from the man. He followed.