Simon Clark - The Fall

Under his breath Thomas breathed, ‘Oh, when the doctors have done all they can then it’s time for the poor bloody clergymen to hold their hands and tell them they’re going to a far, far better place.’ Sam sensed Thomas’s muscles knotting in a silent inner rage. ‘All right, Ben,’ Thomas called in a clear voice. ‘Thanks for telling me. You have your bicycle?’

‘Yes, parson.’

‘Best get back to the Middletons’ as quickly as you can. Tell them I’m on my way.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Thomas said to Sam and Ryan as he hurried away along the aisle between the bus seats. ‘I really have to dash now.’

Sam followed Thomas off the bus. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘There’s a boy in the town. A wee lad of five years. He’s dying by inches, poor fellow. It’s breaking his parents’ hearts.’ He picked up his bike from where it rested against a tree and turned it, ready for mounting. ‘Damn and blast!’ The barely concealed fury rose into the clergyman’s face, turning it red then white. ‘Blast! I hate this. Why can’t we do anything more for them? The parents are looking for a miracle to save the boy’s life and all I can do is try and comfort them and tell them he’ll be happy in heaven. What a miserable specimen that makes me feel, I can tell you.’

‘Wait… What’s wrong with the boy?’

Thomas scowled furiously at Sam, clearly thinking he was merely wasting his time with idle questions. Then Sam saw the young parson’s eyes move swiftly to the bus, then back again; this time there was the tiniest glimmer in those pale blue eyes. ‘He’s suffering from diphtheria. Why do you ask?’

‘Look, Thomas, wait here.’ The twin-jointed extra fingers that served as Sam’s thumbs began to tingle as he was gripped by an outrageous idea. ‘I won’t be a moment.’

‘But I’m expected at the Middletons’.’

‘Please, just a moment. I have to check on something.’

Sam ran hard. He bounded down the amphitheatre’s wooden steps three at a time. The sound of his thumping feet amplified to explosive crashes echoed around the acoustically-shaped hollow of rock.

‘Damn,’ he hissed as he reached the deserted stage area. ‘Damn, damn…’ Jud’s wife Dot was nowhere in sight. For all he knew she might have disappeared into the woods with the rest of the search party.

He raced down to the river banking where he looked left, then right. There was no-one in sight. Crap.

‘You appear in a hurry, old boy.’ Carswell’s lofty voice drifted down to him.

He looked up to see Carswell standing there on the deck of his launch with all the regal air of a king gazing down from his throne at a commoner.

‘Carswell. Have you seen Dot Campbell?’

‘You look as if the devil himself’s got a whiff of you.’

‘Carswell, I’m in a hurry. Have you seen her? Yes or no?’

‘My God, on one of your tedious life-or-death quests for the little people, Mr Baker? When will you learn that they—’

‘For Chrissakes just shut your stupid mouth. Mrs Campbell. Have you seen her?’

‘Try the bloody boat, old boy, and all the best to you.’ Carswell returned to his seat and picked up a drink.

Sam ran up onto the deck of the narrow boat. ‘Dot? Dot!’

‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Zita asked coming up on deck. ‘Have you found Nicole? Is she all right?’

‘No, she’s not been found yet. Not as far as I know, anyway. Is Dot down in the cabin?’

‘No, she went with the search party in case Nicole was hurt.’

‘Damn.’ Sam slammed his fist down against his leg. ‘I thought we could actually do some good.’

‘Why? What on Earth’s happened?’

Sam quickly told Zita about the sick child in Casterton. ‘The question is,’ he said, ‘is diphtheria treatable?’

‘Yes, I’m certain. We once made a video promo for a drug company. I even scripted the historical part that listed all the illnesses that killed people by the score in the past that are treatable by—’

‘Do you know if we’ve got the drugs here to treat it?’

‘We have antibiotics.’ She bit her lip as if suddenly uncertain of herself. ‘And I have been practising using a hypodermic on an orange. Dot thought it would be a good idea to teach me how to—’

‘Great, you’re our doctor, then. Grab whatever you need and meet me up at the car.’

‘Sam. I’ve never injected a human being before. Besides, I haven’t a clue what dosage—’

‘Zita, don’t worry; we’ll busk it.’

‘ Sam? ’

‘Please try, Zita. The boy will die anyway. At least give him one shot at kicking this bug.’

‘Okay. Give me two minutes.’ She hurried down below.

‘ Yee-ess! ’ Sam felt as if a fire was sweeping through him from head to toe. It was a fusion of exultation and triumph. Perhaps in the cosmic scheme of things to save a child’s life meant nothing, but perhaps just this once they could kick the grim reaper in the seat of his pants and send him packing.

By the time he returned to the car park Ryan was standing alone, feeding the rim of the bowler round and round in his hand. His eyes were large and worried-looking.

‘Where’s Thomas?’ Sam called.

‘He said he couldn’t wait. So he set off on the bike.’

‘Hell.’ Sam wasn’t going to let this slip through his fingers. The loss of Ruth in that air raid still stung him hard. He felt he was to blame.

‘Wait here,’ he called.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Tell Jud Campbell I’ve taken Zita into town. We’re going to try and fix that sick kid.’

He ran across to the Range Rover, thumbing the remote as he ran. With a flash of lights the alarm deactivated and the door-locks clicked.

Seconds later he spun the car round the car park to the top of the steps as Zita raced up them, her long legs, tightly clad in the tiger-skin leggings, carrying her athletically. Gripped tightly in her hands was a leather briefcase containing the precious antibiotics.

He opened the door for her. Once she was in the passenger seat he accelerated ferociously across the car park.

Seconds later, the Range Rover dropped from the 20 thCentury metalled roadway to the cinder track with a crunch.

‘Sorry about that,’ he called above the rumble of tyres.

‘Don’t worry about it, Sam. I guess we’re on a mission of mercy.’

‘You guess right. Ah, there he is.’

Toiling along the track on the heavy bicycle, his feet pumping the pedals, was the Reverend Thomas Hather.

Sam swung the car in front of him and braked hard, throwing up clouds of black dust.

‘Get in!’ Sam shouted to Thomas.

‘Get in?’ Thomas stared incredulously at the Range Rover.

Sam opened the back door to the passenger seat. ‘I’ll take you to where you want to go. Don’t worry about the bike. I’ll stick it on the roof rack.’

Thomas helped Sam lift the bike onto the roof rack where Sam lashed it in place with a piece of line.

‘But why are you doing this?’ Thomas asked, confused.

‘You’ll see.’

‘But—’

‘All you’ve got to do is give me directions to the Middletons’. Okay?’

‘Do what?’ Thomas asked dazed. Then he caught the groove of Sam’s enthusiasm and he nodded sharply. ‘Okay.’

Moments later they were on the move again. Thomas in the back looking round in wonder at the interior of the car; Zita hugging the precious cache of antibiotics to her chest; Sam driving hard.

Sam made the introductions as he drove along the dirt track, “This is Zita Prestwyck. Zita, this is the Reverend Thomas Hather.’

‘Great to meet you.’ It was a typical Zita greeting. Hearty, vigorous, with an almost knuckle-cracking handshake. Sam clocked Thomas’s look of surprise at the firm grip. He also noticed this 19 thCentury clergyman’s next expressions of surprise as he registered Zita’s sassy tiger-patterned leggings and bare arms, her T-shirt, and the studs and chains in her ears and nose.