A Trail Through Time (The Chronicles of St Mary's) (9 page)

If you ever see him again
, said the nasty little voice that always surfaces in the middle of a sleepless night. I pushed it away. If I let myself believe, even for one minute, that I’d never see Leon again, then I might as well give up now. He would be here. He would rip time apart to get to me. If he had to get out and push the bloody pod – he would come for me.

Right on cue, just as his watch beeped to tell me that I should be gone by now, the mountain blew. With a colossal roar, like a giant ripping the sky apart, the top opened right up, hurling huge amounts of smoke and volcanic material high into the air, darkening the sky. Vast clouds of smoke bubbled and boiled like giant black cauliflowers.

I found an archway under one of the external staircases on the south side of the amphitheatre and crouched with the shuddering wall at my back, telling myself this would shield me from the oncoming storm.

Walls cracked and toppled. All over the city, I could hear objects shattering. Now there was panic. People screamed. Even out here in the street, I could hear people wailing inside the buildings. Dogs barked hysterically, yanking on their chains, frantic to get away. Children cried.

The smoke streamed towards the stricken city like a huge black hand. The noise was ear bleeding. I felt the pressure change. The sun disappeared. Night came early to Pompeii. They’d had their last day.

Even worse was to come.

What goes up must come down. Now, not only were the inhabitants being bombarded with volcanic ash, but the stones, pulverised rock, and pumice that had been hurled into the heavens by the blast now started to fall back to earth.

I tied my blanket around my head as best I could. It was time to check for Leon again.

Leaving the comparative safety of my archway, I skirted the amphitheatre and caught my first glimpse of the angry mountain in the distance. Black smoke billowed, eerily lit from within by flames and lightning.

Things were not looking good.

At last, the inhabitants of Pompeii agreed with me because the streets were boiling with people desperate to escape. Most were heading down through the town towards the harbour, hoping to escape by boat.

They’d left it much too late. Both the River Sarno and the harbour would be completely clogged with banks of floating pumice. Nothing could get in and certainly, nothing could get out. Many of them would die down there.

The streets were blocked solid. All organisation had disappeared. The orderly one-way system was abandoned. As they always are in a crisis, people were unwilling to abandon their possessions. Men and women ran through the streets clutching as much as they could carry. Cursing drivers struggled with overloaded carts. At a major intersection, a panicking driver had failed to line up his wagon properly and the wheels were locked solidly against the stepping-stones. The pressure behind him prevented him reversing up and no one could get past him. He’d lost control of his horse and any minute now the whole lot was going to go over, spilling cherished but useless household goods across the street.

There was panic. There was confusion. There was hysteria. Families were separated. Terrified children screamed for their parents. Elderly people were knocked to the ground. People invoked their gods – with the usual amount of success.

And all the time, the ash fell, clogging everything – the streets, rooftops, people’s lungs. It lay a good six inches deep now. I could feel it crunching underfoot. Everyone was coated in it. We were all turning grey.

I was so thirsty.

And Leon still wasn’t here.

I uttered a curse at least as sulphuric as anything the mountain was dropping down on us and withdrew into a doorway while I considered what to do next.

Smoking rocks, fire, pumice, ash – it all rained down. The mountain rumbled and roared, the ground shook continually, buildings fell, walls cracked, and fires were breaking out all over the city. To be outside now was suicide and that applied to the Time Police as well. Volcanic debris was just as likely to fall on them as on me. They were just as likely to be trampled by the panicking citizens. Like me, they couldn’t take refuge in any conveniently empty buildings, because soon the weight of ash on the roofs would cause the buildings to collapse. And, unless they had special breathing apparatus, they wouldn’t be able to get around in this choking ash, either. So this part of my brilliant plan was working well.

The part where I survived the Mount Vesuvius eruption of AD79 was looking less good. I really should find somewhere safe – safe being a relative term – and wait for Leon. I decided to get back to the amphitheatre. I could hide under the arches, and then when the ash became too deep, retreat up the staircase, trusting to my innovative headgear to protect me from concussion. What could go wrong?

Well, for a start, I never got there.

The Time Police didn’t find me. I found them. One of them, anyway.

Two of the temporary wooden stalls had been overturned in the panic. I didn’t take a lot of notice, but, as I passed, even over all the racket going on around me, I heard a faint cry. Peering through the murk, I could just make out a dark shape, stretched out in the ash. An officer. He was pinned underneath one of the stalls. Even as I looked, he raised an arm at me.

Cursing myself for a complete idiot, I braced myself for whatever he was about to shoot me with, but I was wrong. It was a cry for help.

Very hesitantly, and poised at any moment to run for it, I drew closer. I could smell it even through the ash and sulphur. He was burning.

A brazier had come down, spilling smouldering charcoal on his leg, burning through armour, cloth, and skin. He must have been in agony. I kicked the brazier aside, wound my blanket around my hands, scraped off the smouldering coals as best I could, and jumped back so he couldn’t make a grab for me. I should leave him. No doubt he was in contact with his comrades who would – should – be on their way to pick him up. They could be here any minute now.

All the time, volcanic debris continued to fall around us. Large lumps of rock thudded into the ash, making little crater patterns. Smaller pieces of pumice and lava zinged past us, burning holes in our clothing. The backs of my hands were pitted with tiny, stinging red burns. But mostly, the ash fell, silent and deadly. He was pinned face down. At the moment, he was holding himself up on one arm, but that wouldn’t save him for long. His hood had fallen back. He was very, very young.

I’m a sucker for young men. It started when I was on assignment to the Somme. Young men are so achingly vulnerable. They launch themselves into the world, thinking they’re the dog’s bollocks and, sometimes, the world just chews them up and spits them out. They should be spending their days messing around with cars or motor bikes. Or playing football. Or staring at girls and trying to pretend they’re not terrified. They should not be hanging off barbed wire. Not lying in water-filled craters with their legs blown off. Not struggling for every agonising breath after a mustard gas attack. Not lying in front of me, crushed, burned, and fighting to keep their faces out of the suffocating ash.

There’s never really any choice, is there?

The stall wasn’t that heavy. People moved them all the time, trying to stay one step ahead of the authorities. He’d fallen with one arm pinned beneath him and been unable to pull himself free. I got my hands under one of the shafts and heaved. Something shifted. It might have been something important in my lower back.

I planted my feet and got a good grip. Back straight, knees bent, lift with your legs, Maxwell. I heaved again.

This time, it lifted slightly. I closed my eyes, locked my joints, and clenched my teeth against the pain. I was an invalid. I should not be doing this.

Defying the laws of physics, the stall got heavier with each passing second. My legs began to tremble. My shoulders were being pulled from their sockets. My chest was NOT HAPPY.

He grasped my ankle with his free hand and used it to pull against. I could feel him moving beneath the stall. Now he had his other arm free. He used his forearms to pull himself out.

I shouted a warning. The shaft was slipping through my fingers. We had seconds …

He rolled away just as it thudded down, raising another localised dust cloud.

I leaned forward to ease my aching back, put my hands on my knees, and got my breath back. If he reached for his gun now, there would be nothing I could do to save myself. I couldn’t even run.

He looked at me. I looked at him.

He nodded. I nodded.

I pushed off while I still could.

When I looked back, he was still there, trying – and failing – to crawl through the ash.

Bloody bollocking hell!

Where were his people? Why weren’t they combing the streets for him? What sort of organisation was this?

I should go. I should be at the rendezvous point. I shouldn’t be wasting time here.

I ran back and helped him to his feet.

His leg was the problem. He could barely walk.

I got his arm around my shoulders and we limped along. Of course, just when I could have done with a glimpse of them, there was no sign of the Time Police anywhere. I was so fed up with these bloody people.

We staggered into the shelter of an archway. He went to sit down but I wouldn’t let him. I’d never have the strength to get him back up again.

I had to cough and spit to clear my throat.

‘Where are your people?’

‘What?’

I raised my voice. ‘Where are you parked?’

‘That big open place by the big building with the pillar things.’

Obviously a potential member of the Security section.

‘The Forum?’

‘What?’

We were shouting to make ourselves heard.

‘Do your people know where you are?’

‘I tried to tell them …’

He broke off and shifted his weight, trying to ease the pain in his leg.’

‘Are they coming?’

‘Don’t know.’

I had to get him out of here. Never mind getting him back to his people, Leon would be turning up any minute now – if he wasn’t here already – and it would ruin everything if any member of the Time Police caught sight of him picking me up. It was vital everyone thought I’d died here. Looking on the bright side, that could still happen.

I decided to compromise. I’d get him away, leave him at some mid-point where he could easily be found, and leg it back here as fast as I could.

‘Can you contact them?’

‘Not really. The eruption is affecting our equipment.’ He looked at me. ‘We can’t find you at all.’

That settled it. I hoisted him more securely. ‘Come on,’

He could be lying,
said my three o’clock in the morning voice. I told it to shut up and keep its eyes peeled.

I dragged him along as best I could. We tripped on things concealed under layers of ash and pumice. Initially, I thought it would be a good idea to keep to the walls as much as possible, for guidance and shelter, but after the third roof tile had just missed us, we moved out into the middle of the road. I could hear people in their houses and shops, barricading their windows and doorways. They would all move upstairs, thinking they’d be safer there, and so they would be until all the roofs and upper stories caved in under the weight.

I coughed and coughed. I’d been out in this stuff for hours now. My chest was on fire.

He said, ‘Wait,’ leaned against a wall and pulled out a knife.

Told you
, said my nasty little voice.

He cut and ripped at his cloak and handed me a square of material. ‘Put that over your face.’

It made very little difference, but the thought was there.

We struggled on. The heat was unbearable. I had a while to go before the pyroclastic flows killed everyone who wasn’t already dead, but the heat trapped among the buildings was intense. Sweat was pouring off me, mingling with the ash. If it hardened to a crust, I’d be a statue.

I had no idea what to do with him. I couldn’t march up to them and say, ‘Hey, is this one of yours?’ I couldn’t just abandon him. It had to be somewhere they could find him. We paused at a corner while I tried to think.

He solved my problem for me.

‘Leave me here.’

‘Are you sure?’

He nodded and pulled a gun from his pocket.

A voice in my head demanded to know why I never listened.

‘It’s a flare. We’re close enough for them to see.’ He hesitated. ‘You should go.’

I was under no illusions about the magnitude of the favour he was doing me. I know I’d saved his life, but even so … ‘Thank you.’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Officer Ellis.’

‘No, your real name. What does your mum call you?’

‘A pain in the arse. Go.’

I took two steps back and he was practically invisible. As best I could, I ran back up the street and paused on the next corner to look back. I could see a red glow, lighting the ash around and silhouetting a black figure. I hesitated, but I couldn’t do any more for him. Sending up a quick request to the god of historians, I left him.

I was nearly blind. My eyes were stinging. Tears ran down my cheeks, mingling with the dust. I was burned, exhausted, dehydrated, and desperate. If Leon wasn’t there, then I was finished. I’d left it far too late to leave the city. No one could go more than a few yards in this. If I wasn’t buried alive then I’d be crushed by falling buildings and if I survived that then I’d be a very spectacular human torch for one, maybe two seconds and then that would be it. I struggled past the wine shop, now almost completely obscured under a drift of ash and rubble, and turned the corner.

The pod was there.

There are no words to describe the relief … the sheer, blessed relief. I vowed never to have another brilliant idea again.

He hadn’t been there long – there was only a very slight covering of ash and stuff on the roof.

I staggered dramatically across the street, all ready to give him a piece of my mind.

The door opened. Someone swept me off my feet, said, ‘Door,’ and a second later, the door closed, shutting out the noise and the ash and the smell and there was silence.