Coldbrook

6

‘So what did you feel when you came through?’ Moira asked. The question surprised Holly. It was the first time that the other woman had spoken in ten minutes, and the silence between them had become heavy.

‘I. .’ Holly shook her head, glancing away from the laptop screen at last. Moira was watching her intently. Her, not the screen showing scenes of chaos and horror. For a while, Holly had believed that the silence was the result of a shock felt by both of them. Was she watching me all the time? ‘It was strange.’

‘I’m just wondering if it’s the breach that does that, or crossing the veils,’ Moira said.

‘What’s the difference?’

‘The veils are just. . there,’ Moira said. ‘Natural divisions. The multiverse has them because that’s the way it is, the way it developed. But the breach is unnatural. Man-made. You’ve messed with physics, assaulted the solidity of the veils and, by punching a hole in the multiverse, maybe you’ve caused injury.’

‘How can you even guess at that?’ Holly asked, interested and even a little offended. ‘You were born after everything went wrong. You weren’t part of the experiment.’

‘Everyone at our Coldbrook has learned about the science of the End. We’ve had to, so that we can continue living there. Kathryn Coldbrook’s books and diaries are still there, and there’s a whole library of memory casts from before.’

‘So you’re blaming us? Saying that we should have never done it?’

‘You can see the results,’ Moira said, nodding at the screen.

Holly looked again. It was a YouTube video clip from London, and it showed the South Bank ablaze, bodies swimming into each other as they were swept down the Thames, and smoke rising from some sort of firefight on Tower Bridge. The film had been taken from inside the Tower of London where, according to the voice-over, thousands of people had taken refuge. Holly had never been to London.

‘You don’t seem moved by this,’ Holly said. She hit another website, where a French reporter was filming herself standing at the head of a street somewhere in Toulouse. Smoke rose in the distance, and people streamed past her, their flight fuelled by terror.

‘I’ve seen it all before,’ Moira said.

‘This is my world,’ Holly said. She felt numb, bitter, scared.

‘Yes,’ Moira said, ‘and you see why we have to do something.’

‘Do what?’

‘Whatever we can.’ Moira closed the laptop cover gently, leaning in closer to Holly. The warm aroma of whisky hung on her breath.

‘I’m concerned only with survival,’ Holly said. ‘And with trying to stop this before it gets worse.’

‘There’s a bigger picture,’ Moira said. Anger simmered beneath her calm, gentle voice. ‘Much bigger.’

‘Really?’ Holly said. ‘Then God help us.’

Moira froze. ‘You dare mention Him?’

Holly stood and went to the back of Secondary, where she’d dropped two toolkits before checking over the computer systems. She picked one of them up. The Internet had drawn her in, compelled by the need to know, but now she felt was chilled by a fear of something closer. We don’t know these people at all, she thought.

‘Jonah’s already gone,’ Moira said.

‘What do you mean?’ Holly spun around to confront her. The woman was standing closer, frowning uncertainly as if she regretted what she’d said. She held both hands behind her back. Holly stared, but Moira gave nothing away.

‘What have you done?’ Holly asked, advancing on her. Moira backed up against the desk. The screens on the wall behind her showed a silent, unkempt Coldbrook, and Holly had a brief but startling thought: I wish nothing had changed. If they’d never succeeded with the breach the original team would still be down here together, working, debating, arguing. And Vic would still be here, his gentle flirting with Holly a constant thrill for both of them. Any flirting could become a match to touchpaper, and she had always lived in hope.

‘Holly, I need you to sit down.’ Moira nodded at one of the chairs, then brought her left hand around from behind her back. She held a rough-handled knife.

‘What?’ Holly asked. ‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Not a threat.’ The other woman brought her right hand around, holding a tight coil of thin, strong twine. ‘Sit down, Holly. Please. It’s only for a while, just to ensure you don’t try to-’

Holly snatched at the twine. Moira pulled it away, and while doing so she lifted the knife in her other hand, its gleaming point catching the light from the viewing screens.

‘Please don’t fight!’ Moira said, uncertainty in her voice for the first time.

Holly lowered the tool bag slightly, swinging it by the handle and bringing it around swiftly towards Moira’s head while stepping to the left and reaching for the twine again. Moira leaned back but the bag struck her across the left cheek with a metallic clunk, and she grunted. Holly felt something punch against her stomach.

She gasped and dropped the heavy bag. It struck her right foot, and for a moment that pain was dominant. Then she felt a warm flush across her hip, and the chill wash of real agony. And blood.