The Undertakers Gift (21 page)

Unless he did something.

Jack looked down at Ianto. He was unconscious, the alien insects chewing their way through his body with every passing second.

A choice between one life and millions.

No choice.

With a deep groan of anguish, Jack left Ianto and picked up the Webley. He straightened up and extended his arm. He narrowed one eye and lined up the V of the pistol’s rear sight with the blade on the tip of the barrel. He wasn’t going to miss this time. A .38 calibre bullet would shatter that brittle old skull like an antique vase from this range.

Carefully, deliberately, Jack gently squeezed the trigger.

And the gun clicked on empty.

LAST RITES

FORTY-SIX

For a long, disbelieving second Jack stood there, ramrod straight, gun still extended. Impotent. He realised then that the weight of the revolver was all wrong – too light for it to be loaded with anything but empty cartridges. In the excitement he had overlooked that simple fact.

Then the end of the world began.

The skull jerked and opened its jaws wide as a long, desperate shriek broke loose. The blackened tongue shrank back into the throat as Frank Morgan’s remains seemed to deflate, almost as if the final scream was all that was left inside him. The parchment skin covering his head stretched and tore open, shrivelling like paper in a fire. The stringy flesh inside withered and crumbled and the dark, bulging eyes drew back into their sockets like snails into their shells. In less than ten seconds all that remained of Frank was a wrinkled, shrunken nut of matter and the long echo of his final cries.

The ground started to shake. Dust and bricks clattered from the ceiling, exploding on the floor.

‘What’s happening?’ Gwen groaned, hanging on to Jack as the quake grew in intensity.

Tubes and wires snapped and lashed through the darkness like steel hawsers. ‘End of the world,’ Jack said. ‘Temporal fusion.’

Ianto groaned, still alive, and for that Jack was profoundly grateful. He didn’t want any of them to die down here. Not like this.

‘Help me!’ Jack bent down, slung one of Ianto’s arms over his shoulders and hoisted him up.

Limping badly, Gwen got herself under Ianto’s other arm and helped Jack manoeuvre him through the door. Bricks and mortar poured down behind them, creating a thick cloud of choking dust.

The ground was shaking so hard it was almost impossible to walk, especially supporting Ianto. They tumbled from side to side as they staggered through the passages, tripping over broken masonry and the bodies of fallen pallbearers. Gwen’s ankle couldn’t take the strain and she collapsed with an agonised, despairing yell.

‘Keep moving!’ roared Jack. He picked her up by the scruff of her jacket, grabbed her around the waist with his free arm and then carried on. He could barely walk carrying both Gwen and Ianto, but he had to get out. If he was going to face the end of the world he wanted to do it outside, where he could see it coming and meet it head on. Not trapped underground.

There was a deep, deafening noise filling the passages now, rising inexorably from what felt like the depths of the Earth. The quake grew more violent, and the brickwork over their heads began to split apart, as if struck by a giant axe from above. Bricks and soil dropped through the breach, almost burying them. With a strength lent to her by sheer terror, Gwen scrabbled through the debris and clawed her way towards the light above. Jack pushed her on, shouting at her to move, urging her upwards through the tumbling earth.

She broke free a second later, spitting soil and grit, climbing up through a river of shale. The slope levelled out and she turned, reaching back for Jack. He held Ianto up to her and she grabbed his hands, dragging him out of the chasm. Jack crawled up after them and heaved himself out onto the ground.

The earthquake rumbled on.

Jack knelt by Gwen and Ianto, his arms around them, holding them close enough to feel their hearts beating. His own heart thudded wildly against his chest as he took in their new surroundings.

‘It really is the end of the world,’ breathed Gwen. Her eyes were wide, terrified. Jack squeezed her tightly.

The church was crumbling, great chunks of brickwork collapsing as the building shook and sank into the quaking earth. The ground all around them was an uneven mass of paving flags and soil, as if the Black House had been transformed into a bomb site. Beyond that the railings and trees were twisted and broken; beyond those were the houses. Roofs buckled and collapsed, walls broke down, clouds of dust rose into the air along with screams and sobs of the people inside.

Police and ambulance sirens wailed a terrible lament as the destruction spread, accompanied by the slow, relentless rumble of the quake.

‘What have we done?’ moaned Gwen. ‘What have we done?’

‘I’ve failed,’ Jack said quietly. ‘Just like Hokrala said I would.’

FORTY-SEVEN

They crouched beneath a storm, lightning flaring and crackling with sudden fury. Jack put his arms around them and held them close as he looked up to heaven with tears in his eyes.

‘What have I done?’ he asked.

‘It was me,’ Gwen said miserably. ‘It’s all my fault. I couldn’t pull the trigger when it mattered. I let this happen.’

Jack looked down at her, squeezed her. ‘No,’ he insisted. ‘I should never have asked that of you. There was nothing you could have done – this was all started by the pallbearers, remember.’

Gwen let out a sob, although the enormity of it all prevented any tears. ‘Rhys. . . Oh, Rhys. . .’

The sky above them swirled with dark, clotted clouds. Lightning flashed.

Jack opened the cover on his leather wrist-strap to check the readings. Coloured lights flashed manically and he forced himself to concentrate, to understand what was happening. It was the only way he could cope.

‘It’s a temporal fissure,’ he reported. His lips felt numb as he talked, and he had to raise his voice to be heard over the storm. ‘The Rift is being forced open, wider, much wider. It’s disintegrating the planet from here outwards.’

‘How long have we got?’

‘Can’t say.’ Jack made some adjustments to the manipulator. ‘At the moment the destruction is localised – central Cardiff only. But it’s spreading every moment. It’ll gather momentum, destroying this city first, then the coastline. Then England, Europe. . . There will be tidal waves and seismic shockwaves so massive they will break the planet into pieces.’

‘Then this is it.’ Gwen grabbed Jack’s arm. ‘This really is the end.’

Tears streamed from Jack’s eyes and he cupped one hand around her face. ‘I’m sorry.’

Ianto was stirring. ‘I take it. . . things haven’t improved. . .’

‘Easy, Ianto.’ Jack rested a hand against his forehead. ‘Easy.’

Ianto’s body was covered in dust and grime, but the wounds on his chest were still starkly visible, still crawling with Xilobytes. Angrily, Gwen reached down and flicked one of the largest away.

‘Why is the sky green?’ Ianto asked.

They looked up. Dark clouds swirled like the eye of a storm, and a dull, angry green light shone from within.

‘Oh God,’ Gwen murmured.

Jack took another reading on his wrist device. ‘Time flux. Something’s breaking through the Rift. Something big. . .’

The sky suddenly warped and split, as if something massive had pressed against the fabric of the universe and forced it open. The green-black clouds broiled and raged, but a narrow strip of orange light had appeared in the centre. It widened, like an opening eye, and a fierce, flickering yellow light shone down.

‘What is it?’

‘I have no idea.’ Jack’s wrist strap bleeped and he checked it again. ‘Something’s wrong. . .’

‘Seriously?’ said Ianto.

‘I mean different,’ Jack said, frowning. ‘The fissure’s getting wider but this is something else.’

Slowly Jack got to his feet, looking directly up at the shimmering bulge in the sky. It was changing colour, swirling with deep blood red, then purple, green, pink, like oil spilled in water. Electric forces crackled around the edges, discharging to the crumbling earth below in bright, jagged flashes. A harsh wind blew Jack’s greatcoat and hair as he gazed up into the glowing eye of the storm. His eyes were shining with a sudden understanding.

‘I don’t want to die. . .’ Ianto said weakly.

Jack turned back to them. ‘You’re not going to,’ he said forcefully. ‘Not if I can help it.’

He started to move away, and Gwen jumped up, grabbing his arm. ‘Where are you going?’

‘There’s no time to explain!’ Jack had to shout above the sound of the quake, the sirens, and the fierce, galvanistic crackle of the lightning storm. His face was bathed in a golden glow from above, and Gwen could see that his eyes were suddenly full of purpose. ‘Stay here. Look after Ianto.’

‘But I don’t want you to go!’

‘I’ve got to! It’s our only chance!’ He pushed her away. ‘Stay with Ianto. I’ll be back!’

And with that he was gone, running, coat flying out behind him. Gwen watched him bound over the tumbledown rocks and earth and then there was a lightning strike and, when the flash had faded from her eyes, he was gone.

FORTY-EIGHT

Jack stumbled over the broken land until he reached the SUV. The car was shaking as the ground beneath it heaved with each successive quake, but it was still serviceable. He wrenched open the door and climbed inside, starting the engine with trembling fingers. A massive shockwave rocked the vehicle, and Jack caught his breath. There would be more quakes, each worse than the previous one, building to a crescendo as the surrounded landmass caved in to the temporal fissure. Huge cracks were opening up in the ground, filled with a deep, crimson glow.

But the SUV was built for conditions like this: rough terrain was no problem for the heavy, turbo-charged four-wheel drive. He hit the accelerator, and the car bounced across the buckling road surface, crashing over a fallen wall at the edge of the Black House.

The streets were alive with people and cars, panicking, looking for a way to escape. Horns blared and police cars whipped up and down, flickering blue lights picking out the piles of rubble and furniture that had once been flats and houses. People were shouting and crying, dogs howling, and all against the background wail of emergency sirens.

Jack had to ignore them all.

He tooled the SUV carefully through the busier areas, grinding his teeth with impatience as people drifted aimlessly across the road. Some of them held children and babies, and looked at Jack through the windscreen with a mixture of fear and resentment as he drove past.

Many roads were already unusable. Buildings had collapsed and thrown debris across them, trees had fallen, and one major carriageway into town was clogged with a giant vehicle pile-up. Cars and vans were lodged nose-to-tail, crumpled, useless, gouts of steam drifting up into the churning green sky. Inside the SUV, Jack was saved having to listen to the cries of the trapped and wounded, and he let the emergency services deal with it as best they could. Two ambulances were trying to nudge their way through the traffic, lights and sirens virtually useless. The situation had spiralled out of their control in a matter of minutes and he guessed most of the blues-and-twos were driving around randomly, as confused and panic-stricken as everybody else.

He slung the SUV onto Eastern Avenue, heading south towards the city centre and put his foot down. He had to swerve to avoid the bigger fissures that kept cracking open every few seconds. Whatever route he took, he was going to need help.

He took a spare earpiece out of the glove compartment, driving one-handed. He clipped it to his ear and then punched a speed-dial button on the dashboard. Within a few seconds he was connected to the central South Wales Police communications network. It was busy, but the Torchwood SUV carried an automatic override.

‘This is South Wales Police,’ said a recorded voice. ‘We are currently experiencing a very busy period. Your call is in a queue to be answered. Please hold or otherwise try again later.’

‘This is Captain Jack Harkness. Torchwood security clearance four slash seven-four three-one-seven. Put me through to Detective Kathy Swanson.’

The line crackled, and fifteen seconds later Kathy Swanson’s voice filled his ear. She sounded suitably stressed. ‘God help me, Harkness, but this had better be bloody good or the next time I see you, I’ll have your balls for breakfast.’

‘Promises, promises,’ said Jack, but his heart wasn’t in it.

‘Tell me this is Torchwood business,’ said Swanson, ‘because I really can’t believe we’ve just been hit by an earthquake. Not even Cardiff could be that unlucky.’

‘It’s kind of Torchwood business, yeah.’

‘Kind of?’

‘No time for details, Kathy. I need your help. I’m on Eastern Avenue. I’ve got to get back to Roald Dahl Plass and the roads are all screwed going into the city from the north east. If you’re still in contact with any patrol cars out there, then clear a route for me, will you?’

‘Are you
serious
?’ Swanson’s voice rose shrilly and he winced. ‘We are up to our eyes in emergency calls. The switchboard’s jammed. The army’s on standby. Cardiff Emergency Management Unit at City Hall is in full session as we speak. We don’t know whether to evacuate the city or not – and frankly, if the order came through for that then I don’t think we could actually do it. And
you
want a bloody
police escort
?’