The Fall

29

The controllers of this time machine were sitting at arm’s length.

Sam told himself this as he drove into town through the gathering dusk. Perhaps if he behaved in a way they found intriguing enough it might lure them out and make them show themselves.

For one near-insane moment he entertained the notion that they might actually be inside the stone slab in the amphitheatre. That somehow they were sitting hunched there like astronauts inside their tiny time capsule, pulling levers, turning dials, keying in new coordinates. Again he thought of them as foetus-like creatures: tiny, wasted legs, their bodies no bigger than a baby’s, yet topped with huge bulging heads; the tiny pinprick eyes and nearly nonexistent jaw and mouth.

And yes, God damn it, couldn’t you just see that big pulse beating away there in their big bald heads?

Right at that moment he was ready to seize a hammer and bludgeon his way into the stone slab.

But no, they must be more sophisticated than that. Surely this must be a remote operation. They would be sitting in a control centre, directing the project from there, every so often deciding to turn that dial and send him, Jud, Zita, Nicole and the rest rolling back through time to another year.

Of course it was purely imagination. He had no real way of knowing the truth, but, nevertheless, he pictured those time-shifters sitting in something like a TV director’s control room, just as he himself had done hundreds of times before, mixing live TV transmissions and directing his camera operators to zoom in on one particular player or to cut to a long-shot of the spectators.

But how to coax them out of that control room; how to trick them into revealing themselves? That was the real problem.

The road was deserted in front of him. He pushed the car faster until the needle touched 70.

Above him barrage balloons hung in the air, looking like huge silver whales dozing in the depths of the sea.

He drove, knowing that he must do something to save that innocent family. But how? That was the question.

Nicole found herself staring into the wood once more.

By now it was almost dark. A moon like a silver fingernail-clipping shone high in the sky.

Someone in there was watching her. She was sure of it.

With her left hand holding her right elbow, she paced slowly backwards and forwards along the edge of the car park, hoping that the watcher would show himself.

Himself?

Yes, she was certain. It must be the blond-haired man dressed in medieval clothes. The man with the pair of eyes in his stomach. She remembered how he’d stood guard over the dying birdman, saying, ‘He’s one of us now.’

One of us?

That suggested that there were more of them. What unusual physical attributes did they have?

‘Nicole… Nicole.’ Startled she turned

Jud was hurrying towards her. In his hand he carried a book. Breathlessly he said, ‘I’m not trying to alarm people but I thought everyone should be forewarned.’

‘Forewarned about what?’

‘I’ve been checking this.’ He showed her a paperback book entitled Casterton: A Pictorial History. ‘I remembered Casterton was bombed half a dozen times in the Second World War and… well, tonight’s the night of one of the worst attacks.’

Nicole felt her eyes go wide. ‘Do you know where the bombs fell?’

‘The Nazi bombers were aiming for the airbase just outside town; however, a number of bombs fell wide. Some of the town buildings were hit.’

‘What about here? Are we safe?’

‘I think so, but I’m asking everyone to stay inside the amphitheatre. I’m pretty sure that wasn’t touched.’

‘Do you need any help in telling people?’

‘No, that’s everyone now. Oh, with the exception of Sam Baker. Have you seen him?’

‘Yes, but he drove out of here about ten minutes ago. I assumed he was heading into town.’

‘Oh, damn.’ Jud took a deep breath. ‘Oh, damn and blast.’ In the pause after Jud had spoken, a sound like a ghostly wail came rolling across the fields.

‘Well, that’s the air-raid warning,’ Jud said, heavily. ‘Let’s just pray he keeps his head down.’

A couple of miles outside town Sam braked hard.

There, in the headlights, was a figure. It was hurrying towards him along the centre of the road. Every so often, it would turn and clamp its hands to the top of its head as if anticipating that disaster would strike the town at any moment.

There was no mistaking the figure – tall, orange overalls, fuzz of ginger hair.

Sam rolled the window down while edging the car forward.

The moment he opened the window the sound came in at him. It was the unmistakable rising and falling wail of the air-raid siren.

On the edge of town a beam of light sprang from the ground to play slowly in the sky, as if it was a single brilliant eye looking for danger. Soon it was joined by more and more until a dozen or so searchlights probed the dark sky.

Sam flashed the headlights. ‘Rolle… Rolle?’

The man wheeled round, staggered for a moment as if dizzy, or drunk, then fixed his eyes on Sam’s face.

‘Baker? Baker, Baker, Baker man! Bake me a cake as quick as – no, no!’ He chewed his finger and shook his head as if determined not to permit his mind to career away. He pointed a dirty finger with all the emphasis of the profoundly drunk. ‘Sam Baker. Yes. I remember you, from tomorrow.’ He ran his hand distractedly through his hair. ‘Tomorrow.’

‘Rolle? Are you going out to the amphitheatre?’

‘Yes… You’ll drive me there?’

‘No, I can’t, there’s something I’ve got to do in town’

‘Pity, pity…’

‘But Jud’s out there at the amphitheatre. You remember Jud Campbell?’

‘Yes, I remember, I remember.’ He rubbed his jaw, his face the picture of troubled anxiety. ‘Grave news, Baker man. Grave news. There’s a bad storm coming. There’s—’

‘You mean an air raid? That’s what the sirens are warning, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes, indeed, sir. But it’s far worse than that. The integrity of the time stream is in jeopardy. Already the Liminals are escaping into the here and now; like water leaking from a ruptured pipe.’ He threw out his arms and made a whee-eesh sound.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. Look, Rolle, we can talk later, but I’ve got to get into town. Do you know anything about a family who were – Rolle… Rolle?’

But Rolle had already run on, rubbing both hands through that ginger mop of hair.

Sam struck the steering wheel.

Damn. Where was the Rookery, for God’s sake?

He glanced at his watch. Almost ten. Already he might be too late. The family could be lying there butchered. What then? He’d stumble on the aftermath. Be spotted by the reporter. Then the blame would be pinned neatly on him?

He looked sideways through the window. A man in a white helmet was running towards him. Sam was going to ask him directions but at that moment the man blew a whistle. ‘Hey! Put those ruddy lights out. What are you playing at?’ He came forward, puffing heavily. ‘Fer heaven’s sake, man, Hitler himself’ll be able to see them flaming headlights from his bedroom window.’

Sam killed his lights. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

‘You’ll have the Jerry bombers dumping everything they’ve got on our flaming heads; don’t you… Hey, what kind of car is this, anyway?’ The man’s eyes bulged wide in astonishment as he approached the Range Rover. ‘Where’s the car headlight covers? Surely you know wartime regulations stipulate lights have to be masked?’

‘I’m trying to find a place called the Rookery.’ Sam sensed the seconds ticking away. ‘Can you give me directions, please?’

‘The Rookery…’ the man repeated distantly, taking more interest in the car than the question. His wide eyes took in the lines of the car, reading it like it was a piece of text. ‘What model is this? Those number plates don’t look right to me. Is it foreign?’

Of course it is, I’m the advance guard of the German invasion, you idiot! The words flashed through Sam’s head; it was all he could do to stop them slipping from his mouth.

The ARP warden backed away a little now. He looked suspiciously at Sam.

‘Now, now,’ the man said in a low voice. ‘There’s something funny going on here. How’d you come by a car like this? Where are—’

Sam didn’t hang around any longer. He floored the accelerator and the car surged powerfully away.

He glanced at his watch again. It was almost ten.

He didn’t have much time left. He could feel it in his bones