Simon Clark - The Fall

‘You can’t be serious.’

‘Oh, but I am, Carswell. The car has killed more than 20 million people since it was invented. Twenty million. That’s more than the combined populations of Australia and New Zealand.’

‘My God, how do you suggest using them as weapons?’

‘Form a line, side by side, where the pass is narrowest. When the Bluebeards reach the bottleneck between the rock face and the river we drive straight forward into them. They’ll be hit by a sold wall of steel travelling at 40 miles an hour.’

Carswell rubbed his jaw, considering. ‘Well… I wish you Godspeed.’ With that he turned and walked smartly back to the visitors’ centre.

Well, if that’s the way he wants to play it… Sam turned to the rest of the people and told them what they needed to do.

After they had returned to the vehicles Sam checked his watch again. Two minutes and counting.

On impulse Sam went into the visitors’ centre.

Carswell had returned to his desk. In his waspish way he was briskly gathering papers and neatly slotting them into a briefcase.

‘Mr Baker. I thought you’d be directing your troops,’ Carswell said without looking up.

‘You’re going to sit out the battle here?’

‘I intend to leave, Mr Baker.’

‘You’re not interested in the outcome?’

‘I’ve fulfilled my obligations.’

‘Your contractual obligations? Those you entered into with Rolle?’

‘Yes. The poor man was so desperate to save all you innocents he offered me a… a handsome fee, for want of a better phrase, to come here and give you the means of saving your necks.’ He gave one of his cold smiles. ‘I think I’ve played my part to the letter, don’t you?’

‘The battle’s not over yet.’

‘No, but my role here is finished.’

‘What did Rolle offer you?’

‘Ah, that would be telling.’

‘It must be more than money?’

‘That’s very astute of you, Mr Baker.’

‘He’s taught you how to use the time-gates, hasn’t he?’

‘See, you are brighter than I thought. You constantly surprise me, Mr Baker.’

‘So you’re going home? Back to 1999?’

‘Now you’re disappointing me again. The ability to travel in time is an exploitable commodity. Like discovering gold at the bottom of one’s garden.’

‘You’re going to exploit time travel?’

‘Why not? Think of the potential.’

‘I can think of the potential disaster.’

‘Mr Baker, Rolle exploited time travel for humanitarian purposes. He took 20 thCentury drugs back to his rabble in the 13 thCentury with their disgusting diseases. I haven’t a humanitarian bone in my body, Mr Baker. I’m a businessman.’

‘So you’re running out on us?’

‘I thought I’d been sacked, deposed, compulsorily retired – call it what you will.’

‘We still need you, Carswell.’

‘No, you don’t.’

‘You know we do.’

‘Now, if you will excuse me, I’ve got to be moving on… or back as the case may be…’

‘Carswell.’ Sam caught him by the arm as he walked past. Again Sam felt the muscles taut as guitar strings beneath the sleeve of his jacket.

Carswell looked down at the hand on his arm, then back at Sam. His face was tight, holding back all that repressed rage. The look was clear enough: Take your damn hands off me.

‘Carswell, wait a moment. Months ago you told Jud and me a story. You told us that when you were a little kid your father used to get drunk every weekend, get into fights, come home in a mess and your mother covered up for him, telling you that it was his job to stop a huge serpent from eating up London. Is that right?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with your memory, unlike your manners.’ He glanced down at Sam’s hand gripping his forearm. ‘Now, if you will—’

‘And you were told that you’d inherit the duty of fighting the snake… that huge snake that used to come out of the River Thames every Friday night. Remember?’

Carswell’s eyes burned into Sam’s. ‘Mr Baker. Your own foe approaches. Don’t forget them, will you?’

‘Listen, Carswell. Remember when I told you I fought one of these Bluebeards? The man with the snakes growing from his head? Well, there are plenty more monsters like him on their way here. They’re going to destroy the town and everyone in it. Can’t you interpret what your mother told you as some kind of omen?’

‘That snake came out of my mother’s troubled brain, not the Thames. Now if—’

‘Carswell, humour me then. Pretend the serpent is sliding out of the river. Come kill it with me.’

The man pulled a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and held it up in front of Sam’s face by the chain. ‘Tick-tick-tick, Mr Baker. Time’s running out.’

‘Carswell, please, we need you.’

‘Go launch your attack on the Bluebeards or it will be too late. Far too late.’

‘Carswell, we need you because you are a mean son of a bitch.’

‘Flatterer.’

‘You know what I mean. I need someone as ruthless as you to take charge of the bus… the fighting machine you created.’

‘What, Mr Baker? Me as captain of the good ship Thunder Child ?’

‘Yes. What do you say?’

‘Tick-tick-tick… ding, ding, ding. Ooops, there goes your wake-up call. It’s time to smell the coffee, or rather the sweat and the bloodlust of your enemy. Now, you can almost taste it on your lips, can’t you, Mr Baker?’ Carswell smiled icily, his eyes never leaving Sam’s face.

Sam sighed. Without another glance at Carswell he left the visitors’ centre and ran across the car park to where the Range Rover sat, engine idling, with two infantrymen armed with rifles in the back seat. This time he assigned Jud to the bus.

Sam sounded the horn twice, then accelerated to the head of the vehicle column.

Ahead the cavalry and the foot soldiers had already set off for the pass, making as much speed as they could in the snow. Ahead lay the river, worming its way black as ink between the white banks. More flakes of snow spiralled from the sky.

As he pulled away from the car park Sam heard the sound of the bus horn.

He braked.

For some reason the bus had stopped. It sat there looking lopsided in the snow with just one ‘wing’ remaining.

Sam frowned. There could be no hold-ups now. They had to hit the Bluebeards at the narrowest part of the pass. Any other place would be too wide and the barbarians would flood past at either side of the 40-yard-wide battering ram of vehicles.

He looked back at the bus. There was no obvious reason for the hold-up. He could see Lee’s eyes behind the slot of the boxed-in driver’s compartment.

He looked back along the line of vehicles.

Then he saw Carswell walking briskly towards the front passenger door. He jumped lightly onto the first step. Then, holding onto the edge of the door with one hand, he leaned out and gave Sam a relaxed-looking salute.

Sam nodded to himself. Thunder Child now had her captain.

As Sam engaged the gear and pulled slowly away, big tyres crunching through the snow, he suddenly recalled where he’d seen the name Thunder Child before. Years earlier he’d read H G Wells’ The War of the Worlds . When the Martian fighting machines had been laying waste the countryside with their death rays, the human armies could do nothing to stop them. But humanity did claim one small victory. As a Martian fighting machine walked out into the sea, sinking ships, there was one warship, the ironclad HMS Thunder Child , that had steamed out of the smoke and wreckage to charge at the seemingly indestructible alien invader. Thunder Child rammed the fighting machine’s legs, toppling it into the sea and destroying it.