Field Two, page 21
He chose a spot by one of the safety markers, directly opposite the huge, glazed facade and focussed the binoculars. The interior was still quite dimly lit, but he could clearly see the science station. The wall-mounted recharging bank was fully stocked with digital recording binoculars.
“Excellent,” he smiled to himself.
A new sound greeted his ears that was completely at odds with the scientific spectacle in front of him. Carried on the wind he could hear a slow, repetitive, rhythmic chant; perhaps some form of ritual. The rhythm ended and slowly he returned his mind to the task.
He knew he would need to get Kate’s attention as she ran through the Observation Deck on her way to the control room. The question was how. Assuming she spotted him at all, any movement he made to attract her attention would appear highly accelerated; his waving arms would appear just as invisible as a hummingbird’s wings.
Whether it was the rhythmic chant, or the need to think of something that would look odd outside the Node, his mind settled on the most primitive form of attracting attention. Like the groups of people outside the perimeter fence, he would need to build a very large fire.
CONVERGENCE
29th December 2013
“The fire’s out, but we’ve lost the radio room,” Cal gasped, out of breath from the run, “The Warren’s cut off.”
“At least we saved our air,” Woods replied, continuing to pack medical supplies outside AR2.
“Yeah but for how long?” Cal thought out loud.
Another deep tremor shuddered under their feet. The noise reverberated down the narrow rocky corridor, only to return a moment later as a clamour of urgent sounding voices.
“Woods?” said Cal, “What are you doing?”
“Packing,” he replied, closing up a box of yellowish test tubes and stuffing it into a small flight case.
“Why, you going somewhere?”
Woods stopped and looked at him with an expression approaching horror, then he grabbed him by the shoulders
“What do you mean, Cal? Didn’t the message get through to the lower tunnels?”
“What message, Woods? I don’t -”
“Shit!” he shook Cal again, “Comms must be out below the radio room. We’ve got to tell them!”
“Tell them what?” Cal yelled, shrugging himself free of the panicked grip.
“Monica called ‘Breakthrough’,” Woods shouted, “she’s doing it now!”
“But it’s too early! Why is she -”
A sudden and silent sideways force moved the entire space around them. Cal just managed to stay upright but Woods stumbled and gashed his head against the rough wall; the echo of his expletives was just fading when a low rumbling sound began.
“We’ve got to get them out!” Woods slammed another case closed.
From the Arrivals Lounge further down the corridor, a distant, metallic, high-pitched sound started to grow in volume. The two men cautiously walked a little closer along the cramped corridor until they could see through the doorway to the arrivals track and chute.
Five months ago, when Marcus had arrived with Nathan, the room had been bare, with the exception of an uncomfortable camp-bed. When the destructive attack on the cottage above had closed this entrance, the Arrivals Room had become an unofficial attic; now the room’s function was to store rarely used things. Dozens of packing cases had ended up here, along with rolls of electrical cable, sections of ducting and several wardrobe rails of clothing. There was broken furniture awaiting repair and even an artificial Christmas tree that had been hastily ejected from AR1 to make space for the emergency briefing a few days ago. The tree’s tinsel-covered branches appeared to shimmer.
Cal saw the tinsel twitch and ripple, then he felt the faintest sensation of air on his sweaty face. The tinsel started blowing towards them in the direction of the door as the air became a mild breeze. The high-pitched metallic sound was definitely getting louder, Cal thought, and it could only be coming from the chute.
The thin material of some of the hanging clothes had now begun to flap as the breeze became a constant wind. It was only then that Cal realised what was happening. The wind was actually air inside the long chute being forcibly displaced; the high-pitched metallic sound must be seawater, flooding down the chute and pushing the air out towards them.
With a sickening feeling he realised that the silent shake they’d experienced a moment ago must have been the tsunami striking the Dover coast.
“It’s here,” he could only whisper through his suddenly constricted throat.
The rushing hiss suddenly became much louder and then a torrent of seawater erupted through the mouth of the chute into the Arrivals Lounge. It enveloped the steel-work uprights on both sides of the track and sent stacks of packing cases flying before swallowing them as they returned to the floor. Cal dashed towards the room.
“Cal!” yelled Woods starting to back away.
Within three strides, Cal had passed the doorway and, skidding to a halt in the middle of the room, he turned towards Woods who was still in the corridor outside.
“I’ll slow it down!” he called, “Get everyone out!”
Without waiting for a reply, Cal lunged forward and swung the Arrivals Lounge door closed. The water behind him continued to gush in through the chute at the same rate but in the enclosed space it now appeared much louder than before.
Cal knew the act of closing the door was ultimately pointless; eventually the weight of water pressing against it would overwhelm it, and then there would be nothing to stop the inevitable drowning of the entire facility. In his mind he could almost see the moment of the door’s failure and the volume of water that would suddenly be unleashed down the corridor. If Monica had called ‘Breakthrough’ then there was still a chance to save everyone, he just needed to delay the water.
Given that the water’s path was inevitable, he realised that the actual problem to be solved was how to impede its exit speed. What had given him these rational thoughts during this stressful situation was more of a mystery to him.
Casting his eye over the room’s contents his attention fell on the stacks of heavy packing cases. Within a minute he had lashed several of them together using electrical cable, and pushed them in front of the door. Standing in seawater that was already several inches deep, he turned on the spot and repeated the process, beginning to build a dam of packing cases; held to each other and to the room’s steel-work by electrical cable.
A few minutes later the relentless flow of ice-cold water had filled the room up to his waist, making the construction of each layer harder than the last, and the simple act of breathing harder to achieve. The flow was showing no signs of slowing and Cal knew that soon he would run out of packing cases and the strength to lift and tie them; already his fingers were becoming numb and harder to control with any degree of dexterity.
He looked up at the point where the chute entered the room and could see that the water was no longer just entering through the metal tube, it was pouring in around the sides. In places the rock itself had been fractured away by the sheer pressure.
The room’s lighting flickered. He’d grown so accustomed to the permanent artificial light below ground that it had almost become invisible to him. If the lighting were to fail, then he would be able to see and do nothing. Desperately fighting his own fatigue and the icy seawater that lapped around his chest, he swam to the other end of the room where several of the empty packing cases were bobbing on the chaotic choppy surface of the water.
He grabbed at a handle, forcing his fingers to close around it, then using his other arm he began to paddle himself slowly back towards the packing case dam. Behind him a cracking sound preceded the chute wall collapsing and a fresh wave of freezing water burst into the room. He saw the lights go out and, stealing a last, shaky, lungful of air, he felt the weight of water drag him under.
•
Marcus stared out of the car window at the lights speeding by in the dark tunnel. Even at this speed it was doubtful they would make it back to the Warren in time; there had been too many delays.
He became aware that he was still gripping the steering wheel tightly and relaxed his grip. Monkey reflexes, he told himself, holding onto the thing that had last provided control. The thought surprised him a little; he never used to have this much internal dialogue. But largely he had now grown used to his sharper senses. Purposefully, he removed his hands from the steering wheel and opened the car door.
“Time for some air,” he exhaled.
He swung the door open, being careful not to hit the sides of the carriage walls, then stepped out onto the deck. He stretched his arms and arched his back, then instantly regretted it as a pulse of pain reminded him of his recent injuries.
“D’accord,” came his passenger’s voice from within the car.
Marcus looked down the length of the carriage at the other vehicles parked bumper-to-bumper within the Eurotunnel train carriage. Parallel fluorescent lights in the ceiling ran the full length of the carriage almost mirroring the tracks below the train. In the sickly glow of these lights, passengers had maps laid on the tops of their cars and were involved in heated debates over the best routes to take once they reached Britain. Marcus knew the discussions were futile, the approaching tsunami would make light work of the relatively shallow English Channel; in all likelihood the waves would wash over much of the south coast and run inland within a matter of minutes.
Marcus looked at his watch again and then stared out at the passing tunnel lights. Before leaving the Warren, Monica had told him that she’d arranged for this specific train to make an emergency stop, near Entrance One. Since the destruction of Samphire Cottage, the only way in or out of Monica’s facility had been via Entrance One; an anonymous looking, but secure door situated within a spur off the Channel Tunnel.
Barely a month ago he’d helped Monica to encode a message to her husband. The message was hidden in plain sight as individual words within a video recording. Marcus idly wondered if Benton had ever succeeded in delivering it to the Node, as they had not received word from him in a long time. Among other things, the video had relayed ‘House gone’ so that Douglas would know that the Arrivals Lounge and chute system were inactive. The portion of the message ‘Entrance One still intact’ had been true at the time, but now he began to question that statement; Marcus knew that the train really should have stopped by now.
If the train reached the Dover port, then they would be just as dead as everyone else in this carriage when the tsunami hit. He turned away from the window. He’d have to stop the train himself, but recent events had forced him to improvise; they were in the wrong part of the train and he could no longer rely on the exit door that Monica had arranged.
He pulled something from his pocket that had the appearance of a blue asthma inhaler. He knew he had limited doses left, but also knew the fact might become irrelevant if he didn’t act soon.
“Sabine?” he beckoned her out of the car, then inhaled a dose through his mouth.
She opened her door and walked around the car to join him, then she laid out a large map over the car’s roof, so that they would not look out of place. It was actually a map of Paris, but people were not looking that closely.
“Problème?” she murmured while drawing her finger randomly over the map’s roads, “Pourquoi le train ne s’arrête pas?”
Marcus could already begin to feel the effects of Woods’ prescription. The French environment over the last few weeks had allowed him to listen to a broad spectrum of conversations. If he focussed hard enough, he knew he would be able to converse with her again. He studied her speech and the dose did the rest.
“Qu’est-ce qui se passe si vous push on le bouton d’arrêt emergency?” she mimed pressing her finger against a button, “Sera stop the train, ou simplement set off an alarm?”
Marcus was more adept at translating the words he heard, than in speaking them, but he replied in her language to the best of his ability.
“Yes, the button will simply set off an alarm,” he nodded, “The train crew decide what to do after that. We have to get them to stop the train.”
She understood, “But how do we do that?”
Even if the train stopped, Marcus knew that the external doors would remain locked. He looked around the carriage for any weaknesses he could exploit. Any plan he devised would result in them exiting through the weakest point of the train, preferably undetected. With that in mind he began his planning at the end result and worked backwards. In his present mental state, he found visualisation trivial and the components of a plan seemed to arrive without effort.
Sabine watched as he swiftly returned to the car, pulled some jump leads from the glove compartment and hid them under his jacket.
“Seriously?” she said in amazement, as he swept past her, “We’re using that thing again?”
On the left and right sides, at the ends of each carriage, were narrow double doors with vertical slit windows. Once outside those doors, Marcus knew there was a small space before the identical looking doors to the next carriage. Use of these doors was not restricted, as they provided fire exits to other carriages.
Marcus punched the button to open the door and they both stepped into the slightly noisier and colder no man’s land between carriages. When the doors had hissed shut behind them he took off his jacket and covered the light immediately to his left, limiting the illumination to whatever was coming in through the narrow carriage door windows behind them.
Taking advantage of the heavy cylindrical piece of iron in the middle of the jump leads, he swung it into his jacket and the glazed light behind it. With a muffled crunch, the glass shattered, exposing the light. After quickly shaking out the pieces of glass, he put on his jacket again.
“Remove the bulb,” he told Sabine, then turned his attention to separating the jump leads. The black lead was merely folded, but the red lead was still wrapped in a tight helix around the iron, where he wanted it.
A few seconds later the tiny room descended into a gloom again as Sabine removed the light bulb. Beneath the light, Marcus located and removed its fuse and clipped the black jump lead grip onto one of the exposed electrical terminals. The red coloured grip he handed over to Sabine.
“When I say go,” he pointed to the other exposed terminal, “attach that here.”
He stood up and walked to the middle of the space between the carriages. He dropped into a squatting position with his feet either side of a completely featureless and slightly recessed floor panel. He carefully lowered the jump leads until the iron cylinder was positioned correctly, then looked up at Sabine.
“Go!”
She clipped the red jump lead onto the terminal. Immediately the improvised electromagnet in Marcus’ hands hummed loudly and snapped itself onto the metal floor panel. Marcus pulled at the cylinder and the floor panel began to lever up. The light coming in through the narrow windows dimmed momentarily as the carriage’s electrical system took up the new load, and the humming became louder.
Marcus adjusted his posture to account for the tilt of the floor plate as he continued to lever it open. He could feel the cable and the piece of iron heating up in his hands and was not sure which would give up first, his hands or the electrical system.
The floor panel opened another inch and cleared the surrounding recess. The noise from outside the train suddenly leaked into the cramped space and, as the difference in pressure equalised, they both felt their ears pop. Sabine scrambled over to the panel and thrust her fingers into the gap between the metal and the surrounding edge. The smell of warm plastic reached her at the same time as the hum became louder still. The lights dimmed again, but this time they stayed low.
Marcus knew the insulation on the jump leads would soon give way, the iron cylinder in his hand had heated up faster than he’d anticipated, but he knew that if he pulled up too fast then the electromagnet may slip. The plate would drop back into the recess after passing through Sabine’s fingers.
“Pull!” he yelled.
Sabine manoeuvred herself into a kneeling position and pulled up on the open edge, speeding up the process and filling the space with the metallic squeal of train wheels on steel. With one hand still on the cylinder, Marcus reached forwards to the edge of the panel and held it. Sabine readjusted her hands to push up the floor plate and, with a last thrust, it levered completely open, sending Marcus tumbling backwards as he lost his grip on the cylinder.
With a deafening squeal, the train suddenly slowed and they could both see occasional sparks fly past through the hole in the floor.
“You did it!” Sabine grinned.
Marcus looked confused for a second before responding.
“That wasn’t me,” he said, “Opening the floor wouldn’t stop the train. Someone else stopped it.”
As the track racing by underneath them continued to slow, the humming of the electromagnet became louder. With no fuse to sever the link, the electrical system continued to supply more power to the coiled jump lead. The insulation finally melted, sending up curls of toxic white smoke then, as the exposed wires were almost touching the metal plate, the electricity arced in a brilliant bluish white flare. The electrical event triggered the carriage’s master fuse and all the lights went out, leaving them in total darkness. The train lurched to a halt.
•
Standing at the highest point in the Warren, Monica knew that she was more than a hundred yards underground, but the tremors were getting worse. The lunar fragments had begun their assault and now the final one, Tranquillity, had set in motion a chain of tectonic shifts and tsunamis that were heading their way.
Before losing the external feeds from television stations, she had seen the scale of destruction already wracking the planet. The pictures had been relayed from Archive’s drone-cameras, seeded into the air well in advance of the impact events. Before passing into obscurity, Monica thought, mankind was to be given front row seats to the end of the world.
