Dark Zero: The Chronicles of Lieutenant Novak Page 5

  *

  I must have fallen asleep soon after Alice, as I wake to a filtering light, peacefully and steadily exerting its dominance over the blackness of the night. I creep out of bed to look out the window onto the quiet street below. There are no lights on now in the houses across the road - sleep eventually calling even the most sensitive neighbours, the storm perhaps ironically lulling them back after the disruption of the tremor.

  It's five am - I plan to meet Johnny at seven o'clock for an early start to the valley. The journey's around ninety minutes north by train, with a twenty-minute connection wait. I tiptoe down the deep-carpeted stairs to make coffee - I'll bring a pot up ready in case I've woken Alice by my absence.

  She's awake, sitting upright in bed with a puzzled look on her face - her gaze following my movements as I place the tray on the pine chest of drawers.

  "I had strange dreams last night - that the earth was moving under me. Was it, Alex? Has it happened again?"

  My beautiful wife looks close to tears - I want to say, 'no, it was just a bad dream' but I've never lied to her and won't start now – I’ve omitted plenty, but never lied.

  "It was just small, it barely woke me," I say, wanting to believe it too.

  "I wish you didn't have to go. What if something happens? What if you get stuck somewhere? I'm worried, Alex."

  It's not like Alice to show concern like this.

  "Don't worry, darling. The trains are safer than ever and I'll be back by dinner. I must go. Harry would expect it - it's my duty."

  I go to her, embracing my sweet lady, the love of my life who never complains, who shows gratitude for every simple pleasure in life. She smiles, kissing me full on the lips, knowing I won't change my mind.

  "Tell Aveline I will call her in a couple of days. If she needs me, for any reason, I will do anything I can."

  Alice has only met Aveline once but it's in her nature to help wherever it's needed – another solid reason to adore this woman.

  "Thanks love, I'll tell her."

  I choose thick, grey wool trousers, a plain white shirt, and a heavy, slate-grey jacket. I want to be smart but not overly formal - it's a solemn visit but Aveline's also the wife of one of my closest friends.

  Once dressed, I pack a plain black rucksack - I only plan to be gone for the day but with the recent seismic activity, I'm taking no chances. In the main compartment, I put light, warm and waterproof inner and outer clothing, including a pair of Gore-Tex hikers. A multi-tool, torch and charcoal filters are just a few of the other essentials I include. It may sound paranoid and there's a lot of stuff but most of its contents are lightweight and won't be a burden.

  Removing Alice's last note to me, I transfer it from the holdall to a plastic pocket inside my sack - I know what's valuable.

  *

  The last thing I do before saying goodbye to Alice is check the boot of the BMW - making sure she has blankets, water, flashlight, and energy bars. If Alice has the essentials, it's one less thing for me to worry about. I turn to see her watching me from the front room window - she used to grin, sometimes shaking her head at my thoroughness - not any longer, it's another part of me that she just accepts.

  As I wait for the taxi to take me back into town, I spend several minutes in the arms of my wife, my perfect Alice, her cream cotton dress cool against my chin as I gently kiss her neck.

  "Be careful, darling. I know it is your duty but do not put yourself at risk. Promise me."

  "I promise, love," I reply, as her eyes shine with water. Touching her cheek gently with my thumb, I wipe away a solitary, falling tear. The earth-shifts and abnormal weather patterns have left us feeling more emotional, reinforcing what's important and real. We always knew and always will.

  As the taxi pulls up at the foot of our driveway, we kiss long and deep until we need to stop for air. My perfect kisser.

  "I love you, sweetheart," I say, smiling, but not wanting to leave now. "Stay safe for me."

  "I love you too, darling Alex. Au revoir.”

  Always au revoir, never goodbye.

  As the taxi pulls away, I turn in the front passenger seat to see Alice waving from the doorway. I wave back, until we turn the corner and she’s out of sight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The early morning half-light fails to improve as we board 'The Flying Legend', its front engine-mounted, silver coloured nameplate boldly promising an unforgettably fast journey - with no unscheduled stops, I hope.

  Claiming our reserved seats, we order coffee as the train sits idly, emitting a low whine as dynamos and generators calmly await the call to action. The carriages fill quickly on this popular commuter service - suited office workers, bankers and legals are negotiating space as collisions are skilfully avoided, protecting cases and laptops.

  As the last passengers settle into the train-turned-office, our departure is barely noticeable, the insulated, chunky Styrofoam coffee cups staying perfectly still as the speed builds effortlessly, on tracks designed for maximum efficiency for these latest gems from the CRG stable of powerhouses.

  "Anything interesting last night?" I ask Johnny, wanting to deflect thoughts of our journey's purpose. "Loads of barrack-room lawyer stuff. Who's going to claim what and from whom if their stuff's damaged from the quakes. Did you clock the one in the early hours?"

  "I did, it woke me but at the end of it."

  "It was a few seconds," Johnny says. "Quite a rumble this time - knocked my watch off the dresser."

  "You should get a sturdier watch," I joke, looking at the vintage stainless Omega on his wrist, barely visible under the sleeve of a plain, navy blue, wool blend blazer.

  Ignoring the watch quip, he changes the subject.

  "There was another topic they were keen on talking about too. Up past Alice's school, that old manor house has been renovated - a load of women moved in, and turned it into a convent!"

  "Alice mentioned it last night. Healers and environmentalists, apparently. She's been, they invited the school staff for tea and cakes, gave them a bit of a tour. Alice said they wear habits, like regular nuns but there's something else about them - a real sense of confidence and energy. It's good to see the old place in use again - must have cost a fortune to fix.”

  A noticeable change in the sky's colour shifts our attention from each other, to the window, where the usual vibrant green fields and sprawling cream and brown stone farmhouses are now part of a vast, moving picture of subdued tones, the dwindling light giving the landscape a vintage photographic tint of dull browns and greys.

  "Here we go," Johnny says, more to himself than me.

  I stare at the slowly darkening sky, as I fight its hypnotic effect, the change both subtle and marked as if I'm watching a sliding blue, grey, black colour scale, its slider never missing a stage on its journey to deep jet.

  *

  Within a few minutes, the ink black of yesterday afternoon is back. I notice I'm holding my breath as the automatic night lights illuminate the curse-filled carriage. I barely feel the train's decreasing speed, instead focussing on my reflection through the toughened glass, waiting for the battering rain to drive rushing silver strands across my face.

  As the train stops, I will its quick arrival so it can be over and we can continue our journey. Why we stop, I'm unsure - I can only guess CRG need to perform damage and visibility assessments on tracks and signalling.

  Even though I'm ready for the downpour, the first hit of rain makes me jump just a fraction as it smashes sideways into the carriage.

  "Scaredy-cat," Johnny says, grinning at me.

  I laugh, acknowledging the absurdity of even the smallest reaction to a rainstorm - some of the places we've been in, well, fear would be a huge understatement. The rain is consistently tough on the train, a roaring back wind hurling silver arrows through the pitch-black morning. The carriage doesn't even sway, its solid construction easily capable of dealing with a high-sided battering.

  It's been fifteen minutes at least n
ow but there's no let-up in the coal black storm. As I lift my coffee cup, I notice my hand shaking. I'm briefly embarrassed until I realise everything is moving, a deep rumble audible above the rain. The train's systems have been completely shut down as the quake is over within seconds. Ten seconds later, the rain pattern changes abruptly from slamming to non-existent as the colour slider moves rapidly the opposite way, revealing a lighter blue sky than even our dreary early morning start could offer.

  An announcement cuts through the inevitable post-storm chit chat as the wheels turn again, twenty-five minutes after we stopped.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, owing to the recent freak weather and ground shift, this service is running approximately thirty minutes behind schedule. There is no reported damage, therefore we will proceed as normal. Thank you for travelling with CRG."

  I tap my jacket pocket, by instinct more than necessity, making sure Harry's tags are still there. There'll be a twenty-minute wait for our connecting train to the valley, if it's waiting for us. I'm assuming all trains on the network would have stopped so the schedules should run as usual, if a little late.

  We'll take a taxi to Aveline's house - it's semi-rural with limited public transport. Johnny left his old Land Rover Defender at his house, further across the valley - there's no way to know when our missions end so he has it garaged, away from the rain and the eyes of any wannabe opportunists on the lookout for a joyride. Even in the countryside, idiots are idiots – there are just less of them.

  The steps are slick with excess water as we carefully disembark at our connecting station. I pray we're not here long, specifically that we're not stuck here overnight. I fell asleep once, travelling from the south, missing my stop at Eastsea and ending up here - it was the last train of the night. Spending almost six hours in the company of taxi drivers and insomniacs at an all-night cafe, I was grateful for the shelter and hot drinks but jaded from countless explanations of my predicament to the curious amongst them - all of them, especially the drivers, eager to charge me ridiculous fares to deliver me home.

  Our valley train is already in as we cross the ancient light blue, wrought iron footbridge, its intricate patterns of swirls and points a reminder of the brilliant art and engineering capabilities over one hundred and fifty years ago.

  We'll be on this train for an hour, a much older member of CRG's rolling stock, using tracks yet to be updated to handle the new classes of locomotives. I would usually enjoy this leg of the journey - the sweeping fields of yellow and green, often flanked by mature woodland is a fine contrast to the rugged coast I'm used to. I still prefer to be near the sea but this is awesome too – the only unfortunate similarity between the two places is the ugly human addition of drilling wells.

  Johnny would argue that we're both more used to the desert.

  As I store my sack in the overhead luggage rack, Johnny telephones Aveline's landline, leaving a short message to say we'll be there in around an hour and a half - he leaves his mobile number in case she needs or wants to change plans before we arrive. At almost full term pregnancy and with the news of Harry's death, it's near impossible to imagine how or what she's feeling.

  The short, four-carriage train pulls out of the station - this time we feel every bit of the experience as it jolts and sways its way to a reasonably higher speed, taking us closer to the valley and a grieving friend.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The twenty-year old Peugeot taxi delivers us to Aveline's house, a mock Tudor detached, along a narrow, winding country lane. We pass a stone-built village pub, the 'Cricketers Arms' and a large pond with several ducks but apart from that and the several other detached houses and converted barns, there's not a lot here for a town dweller. It's perfect. Or would be, in any other situation.

  Our best friend's wife, Aveline Browne, waits by the thick, dark oak front door, the black, solid, wrought iron hinges giving a look of confident strength.

  Mrs Aveline Browne doesn't have that look. Dressed in a dark blue maternity smock, her shoulders covered with a white knitted cardigan, she looks fragile, her straw-blonde hair tucked hastily behind her ears as her fingers constantly seek work. Aveline, usually tall and regal, is stooped with the weight of a soon to be born child and the knowledge she'll never again see her one true love.

  I look at her pale, slim face bearing not a single trace of makeup, her complexion still smooth despite the shock of bereavement, and wonder at her inner strength as she manages a genuine smile for the two of us. Kissing us lightly on the cheek, Aveline ushers us inside, the front room warm from a blazing wood stove.

  I offer to bring the tea through but she insists on doing it herself.

  "Keeps me occupied. Anything does, really."

  I nod, not trusting myself to say the right thing but Johnny says it for us, quietly and carefully - the right thing.

  "I'm so sorry, Aveline. We all are, ranks and officers alike. He was well liked, and respected."

  "Thank you, Johnny. I know, I was lucky, to have him for even a few short years. Even with all this...tragedy...and timing, I'm still grateful. Alex, thank you so much for coming, you didn't have to - Alice must be missing you."

  "It's the least I could do, Aveline. I have his tags - I felt you should have them."

  As I hand them to her, she accepts them silently, running the chain through her slim fingers like a rosary.

  Aveline looks at me, her eyes searching mine, holding the gaze as she speaks.

  "What happened, Alex? They told me he'd been lost in some action, swept away. Is that what happened?"

  I tell her the same story I told Major Williams and Colonel Brooke - the truth. As I finish, Aveline leans back and then suddenly forward as if in agony. I'm about to ask her if she needs help as she speaks with difficulty, her breaths coming too fast.

  "He could be alive? If nobody saw his body?" she asks, gasping for air.

  Johnny is already dialling for an ambulance - he looks at her for confirmation as she nods.

  "I'll be okay. I think the baby is coming. She's three weeks early but, you know, with the stress."

  Johnny replaces the receiver, turning to Aveline.

  "The ambulance is on its way. I'll take your car, if that's okay, follow you there. I'll stay with you, for anything you need."

  "Thank you, Johnny. Harry would be grateful, as I am."

  "Harry was our best friend," Johnny says, "and so are you. Both of you would have done the same for us."

  Aveline turns to me.

  "Will you come with me, Alex, in the ambulance? I'm scared."

  *

  In the ambulance, the paramedics make Aveline comfortable, concentrating on regulating her breathing. If she can hold on, all the better but they're well equipped and trained enough to deliver her baby while we're travelling. She grips my hand, her long, strong fingers digging into my flesh, her usually calm face now etched with lines of worry.

  Aveline is rushed straight into the maternity unit, to a side room already set up, a midwife and doctor waiting to deliver her baby.

  Johnny's just arrived after parking the car.

  "Five pounds to park - cheeky blighters!" he exclaims. I grin. Good old Johnny - always the righteous complainer. "What do I pay taxes for?"

  The sound of a baby's first cries stops Johnny's rant mid-flow as we smile widely, in unison. Peeking through the round glass window, I can see Aveline looking exhausted, but otherwise unharmed. As the doctor leaves the room, the midwife is weighing and measuring the tiny newborn.

  Aveline catches my eye, waving for us to go in. As the nurse hands the little girl back, mother and daughter snuggle up close together. It's a bittersweet moment but the joy of a new life shines through.

  "Mercy Anne Browne," Aveline proudly announces. "Harry and I had already decided."

  As Mercy rests, contentedly, her mother fights back tears, biting down on her lip.

  "We'll be fine, honestly," Aveline says to me. "I'm in good shape and Johnny will be around for a couple o
f days. Thank you, so much, for taking the trouble to come and see me. I hope you and Alice will visit, soon."

  She smiles at me, a genuine friend with an abundance of goodness.

  "And Alex? I'm glad you were there. With Harry."

  I just nod. I'm unable to speak. I wave, thanking the nurse on the way out - I'll call Johnny later, to see if everything's okay. I've no doubt it will be - my friend is a Special Forces soldier - a baby shouldn’t faze him.

  *

  As the taxi leaves the hospital grounds, the familiar low growl and rumble of the moving earth jolts my senses back from the wonder of a new birth, of Mercy's first day, and onto my wife, Alice. Last night we talked of a future with a child, or two - the first time we'd discussed it. Of other things, too - retraining as an instructor, having a normal family life. It's exciting - I can't wait to see her.

  The driver shrugs his shoulders as if the earth tremors are just another daily annoyance, like potholes or speed bumps. If they stay small, like this, then maybe they will be something we become used to but it won't work like that. The big drillers will need to stop right now - parts of the landscape look like Spindletop Hill in Texas - it's no wonder the earth started to say 'enough'.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On the train from the valley, I enjoy the rising hills, mentally blocking the wells from the flatter parts of the landscape as it glides past my window - there's hardly ever a chance to do this on the express services - everything flies by in a blurry rush.

  I check my watch - forty minutes since I left the valley.

  *

  I can't see.

  The tiniest of lights are on in the old carriage but I'm moving in odd directions. I hear screams but they sound distant. I'm conscious of a tightness in my gut like I'm being squeezed - I think it's the table crushing me but I can't be sure. I feel sick and I'm in pain, like the time I had appendicitis as a kid, but worse.