Coldbrook (Hammer) (23 page)

It’s the bites
, the man had said. Jayne pulled her shirt closed, grabbed the seat in front of her and stood, growling her agony between gritted teeth.

The whispers in her ears became startled voices, not her heartbeat at all, and though she heard no words she understood their fear well enough.

They were standing along the aisle, clumped together and staring at her across the heads of empty seats. Terrified.

‘I’m . . .’ she said, and then a man appeared beside her from the other direction, moving quickly and keeping low. There were grey flecks in his closely cropped hair and his eyes flashed wide and white against his brown skin.

In his hands was a squat pistol.

And he had been paying attention to the news, because it was aimed directly at her head.

The universe has as many different centres as there are living beings in it.

Alexander Solzhenitsyn

HOLLY STARED ABOUT
her in disbelief, the words ‘
Welcome to Coldbrook
’ echoing inside her head. She started to panic, her palms growing damp and her heart racing. Just as shock threatened to overwhelm her there was a brief sting on her neck that spread to burn through her entire being. And then, darkness.

When she woke her whole body felt as though it had been subjected to an intimate, thorough medical examination – she seemed to be naked and her limbs ached.

She was too scared to open her eyes, terrified of what she would see.

Her senses swam. She could smell musty wool and
stale bread, and the unmistakable scent of her own body odour. Her breathing seemed to reverberate, the whole space around her gasping in time with her exhalations. She clenched her fingers, rucking up a rough blanket, and then her arm came painfully to life with a thousand pins and needles. She gave a shuddering sob and tears dribbled into her hair.

At last Holly opened her eyes to see what they had done to her.

The cell was small, a cave more than a structure, with a floor hewn flat and the raised bed she lay on hacked from the wall. Layers of animal skins and holed blankets softened the bed, and she was swathed in a heavy quilt. She wiped at her tears and glanced beneath the covering. She was not naked after all: the dark green smock she wore resembled the clothing worn by her rescuers.

‘Rescuers,’ she croaked, and wondered how wrong she might be.

Holly sat up, coughing, wishing for a drink. Her eyes felt gritty, her mouth and throat dry, and there was a pressure in her bladder that she was doing her best to ignore. The room contained no toilet area, and the only other fixture was an oil lamp high on one wall. It threw out a surprising amount of light and heat but, when she stood to examine it closer, dizziness hit her.

‘Oh shit,’ she muttered, leaning back against the rock surface.

One wall of the cell had been built up rather than carved out, heavy concrete blocks cemented together in an even, pleasing pattern. And there was a light switch. She flicked it quickly, but nothing happened. Looking at the ceiling, she saw an empty bulb socket, green with rust.

Welcome to Coldbrook
, the tall man had said. But perhaps she’d misheard him, or placed words that she’d wanted to hear in his mouth.

The door was solid wood, its hinges hidden, no handle. There was a locked viewing slot.

Holly hugged herself beneath the quilt, breathing deeply as the nausea receded. Her arm had been pricked a dozen times, leaving small raised scabs. A scrape of skin had been taken from her shin – the edges of the excision were square and neatly cut.

What have they done?

The viewing slot in the door slid open but by the time she’d realised it was already closing again.

The lock clicked, tumblers turned, and Holly backed up to the head of the bed.

The door opened and the man who came in was a walking corpse. The silence was tainted by his soft hooting and he slashed at the air with his hands. The room filled with the stench of old things and forgotten rot. He lurched for her, but she had nowhere else to go. His face was wrinkled leather. His jaw hung down so
far that his chin touched his chest, and what teeth remained were black. But his eyes were the blackest.

Holly screamed, cowering against the wall.

The man flipped back, his head jarring forward over the wide metal band around his neck. He sat down heavily, and Holly heard bones crack. The man made no other sound.

Shadows filled the doorway, instructions were shouted, and the zombie was dragged out of the room. They had it restrained on a long collar and stick. Once in the hallway outside, one of the shadows kicked the wasted man over and brought something heavy down onto his head. The crunch was sickening, but in the silence that followed everything felt different.

What the fuck?

Holly slid down the wall to the floor, bringing her knees up to her chest. The tall man who had welcomed her stood at the cell door and provided an answer.

‘I apologise for that,’ he said. ‘We had to check, but you can come out now. The furies never sing to their own.’

‘You bastard! You could have just
asked
.’

‘You came from somewhere else,’ he said. He’d told her his name was Drake Slater, and Holly thought she knew him from somewhere. Stupid, but the idea persisted. He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t take the risk. We know how the furies work in this world, but in yours . . .’ He held out his hands and shrugged.

‘How long have I been asleep?’

‘Almost a full day.’

‘You drugged me.’

He held out his hands again, half answer, half apology. It seemed as though he couldn’t stop staring at her.

Holly closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. The food spread before them on the small plastic table in the room that Drake had led her to looked simple and smelled mouth-watering, but Holly had yet to eat. Her thoughts were in turmoil – the reality of her situation threatened to overcome her. And this Earth, this alien place: their food, their water, anything here could kill her.

‘We call them zombies,’ she said, looking at Drake again. He was dressed in simple clothing, his hair was long and unkempt, yet his eyes sparkled with intelligence. His caution during their conversation was proof of that.

‘We used to as well,’ he said, ‘before they became real.’

‘Before?’

He blinked and looked away, unwilling to divulge anything.

‘I’m not here to cause harm,’ Holly said.

‘I know that,’ Drake said. ‘Now, will you eat with me? You must be hungry.’

‘I am,’ Holly said. ‘What is it?’

‘Rabbit, sauté potatoes, mushrooms, spring carrots. Basic but good. In your honour.’

‘My honour?’ she asked. But she could not smile. She looked at the food. ‘Nothing I don’t know, I hope.’

Drake put some food on a plate for her and smiled at her hesitation. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, picking a shred of meat from the plate and eating it.

‘So you’re not trying to poison me. Thanks. But I have so many questions,’ Holly said.

‘Us too. Now eat. You need your energy, and you’ve come—’

‘A long way,’ she said. And then Holly realised why she thought she recognised this man. He could have been Jonah thirty years ago, thirty pounds lighter, and with a life of struggle already behind him.

Her mind was in a spin.

Holly ate, and the food was wonderful. There was a freshness to it that was usually found only in the best restaurants, or in home-grown food. But after the fifth mouthful she thought of Melinda and had to concentrate so she could swallow without vomiting.

‘You’ve been through something horrific,’ Drake said. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. She took a drink of water, then sat back.

‘You didn’t bring any equipment through with you,’ he said.

‘I came through in a rush,’ Holly said, realising that he knew all this anyway. They must have been
watching her from the moment she stepped through the breach.

Drake had guided her to a cave lined with wood panelling and light blue fabric. The ceiling was bare rock, but the furnishings were comfortable and functional. A fire burned in a pit in one corner, smoke rising to a hole in the ceiling. There were light switches here too – and power points, and a phone socket – but they all looked redundant. The basic arrangements seemed incongruous set among this evidence of technology.

There was a bed against one wall, and several curtains hung from wires against the opposite wall, forming what Holly took to be a storage area. She guessed that it was Drake’s room – many items were scattered around, some of which she could identify. There were also several pairs of leather shoes beneath the bed, along with a few smaller and more delicate footwear items.

‘Your Earth . . .’ Drake said. She could sense his eagerness to ask, but she doubted that it exceeded her own.

‘What did you do to me?’

Drake sat back again and averted his eyes. ‘Our doctor carried out some tests.’

‘What kind of tests?’

‘She’s a female doctor, very gentle,’ Drake said, not answering the question.

‘You say this is Coldbrook?’ Holly asked. ‘In the United States?’

‘That’s an old name for our country, but yes. And you’re from Coldbrook, too?’

Holly nodded. She looked at the patch on his jacket again, the three interlocking circles that was so similar to her own Coldbrook symbol.

‘We tried to guard the wound you made in the land,’ Drake said. ‘But one of them must have—’

‘One of your furies.’

‘They’re not
our
furies.’

‘So one of them must have what?’ Holly asked.

‘Gone through. I’m sorry.’ He stared at her for a moment, and then picked up some more meat.

‘I don’t know how bad my world is,’ Holly said. Drake would not look at her. ‘Do
you
know?’

‘No,’ he said. He stood and turned, and she knew that he was lying.

‘Drake?’

‘I need to make arrangements. I’ll be back,’ he said. ‘We can’t keep you locked up in here.’

‘Drake, what’s happening there? Tell me if you know.’

‘I don’t know,’ he said again, but still he would not look at her.

‘God help us,’ she whispered. And this time Drake did look, freezing where he stood by the heavy wooden doorway, his eyes wide.

‘You obviously haven’t met the Inquisitor yet, so I’ll allow you that.’

‘Allow me—?’

‘God,’ he whispered. Then he slammed and locked the door behind him. He hadn’t really answered any of her questions.

There was plenty of food left, but Holly was no longer hungry.

‘So what’s next?’ she asked the silence. ‘Bad cop?’

It was Drake who opened her door again half an hour later, and he had two women with him. One of them carried a tall glass of wine, another a bowl of berries, bearing them like gifts.

‘This is Moira,’ Drake said, and the short, muscled woman who’d accompanied her on the stretcher smiled a greeting.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ Moira said. It was strange hearing her voice after seeing her communicate with sign language and expressions.

‘And you,’ Holly said. ‘Thanks for helping me.’

Moira nodded but seemed tense, her eyes wide and expectant.

‘And I’m Paloma.’ The other woman was tall and severe-looking, her coffee skin speckled across her left cheek and neck with what might have been burn scars, or the remains of an old illness. She stepped forward in front of Moira and placed the bowl of berries on the table. ‘I hope you liked the rabbit. I caught and cooked it.’

‘It was delicious,’ Holly said.

Paloma stepped back and Moira came forward, her hand shaking as she placed the wine gently on the table. ‘And she’s
exactly
like us?’

‘As far as I can tell,’ Paloma said.

Moira nodded and backed away, and the moment grew ever more surreal.

‘You’re the doctor?’ Holly asked.

‘I do my best with what we have,’ Paloma said.

‘And Paloma is my wife,’ Drake said. He remained outside the room, letting the two women go through their routine.

‘So, you’ve established that I’m human,’ Holly said. Paloma nodded and Moira stared. ‘Why do I still feel like an exhibit?’

Moira laughed and turned away. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just that I’ve never seen someone from—’

‘We have something to show you,’ Drake cut in. Moira raised her eyebrows – annoyed rather than chastened by Drake’s interruption, Holly thought – and Paloma smiled for the first time.

‘So I’m not a prisoner any more?’

‘You never were.’

Holly stood, taking a sip of the wine and swallowing a handful of berries. They could be drugged, or poisonous, but the women could have harmed her in either way
without the subterfuge. So she accepted their gifts and sat back down.

Drake shifted uncomfortably, Moira looked back at him, and Paloma simply stared at Holly.

‘Tell me one thing before I come with you,’ she said.

‘Of course,’ Drake said, and there was a vulnerability in his voice she’d never detected before.

‘What’s beyond the hills?’ Holly asked. ‘What else is out there?’

‘The rest of our world,’ he said. ‘
Our
Earth.’

Holly nodded, her heart thudding as she remembered the way that zombie – that fury – had come through the breach. Staggering, slow, weathered away.

‘It ended,’ Paloma said. ‘Before I was born. The furies’ threat lessens as they age, but they left little behind.’

Holly felt sick. It was a truth that she had expected, but to hear it spoken was still a shock.

‘And you fight them with just bows and arrows?’

‘Silence is our best defence when we’re out in the open,’ Drake said. ‘That’s why we use . . .’ He signed, clicking his fingers, and smiled at whatever he had said. ‘And why we find it safer using bows and crossbows – anything louder would be foolish. Destroy what’s left of their brains and they become still. Properly dead. An arrow or a bolt usually does it. But decapitation makes sure.’