Time Split – Chapter Four
“There, that’s done.” Sarah Taylor wiped her hands on her trousers, then immediately regretted the unconscious action.
She looked down. “Damn!” She closed her eyes, shook her head in annoyance, then sighed. The dusty marks weren’t a tragedy; it was nearly time to leave in any case.
She had been filing all afternoon and was relieved the task was complete. The Town Hall basement gave her the creeps at the best of times, but late on a Friday, when the building was virtually empty, the feeling of being ‘watched’ intensified.
She checked the time. There were a few more things she needed to do before going home. If she hurried, she could still beat the traffic out of Morpeth.
She moved towards the stairs, but had only closed half the gap before suddenly the basement was plunged into darkness.
Sarah stopped, the pitch black was complete. She scanned for a glimmer, but found there was none. Not even a slither escaped the door leading to the foyer above.
Afraid to move, she visualised the position of the stairs before slowly making her way in the perceived direction. Inch by inch she shuffled until, a short while later, she found a supporting spindle. Groping further she quickly reached the banister, but her relief was short-lived when suddenly the whole building shuddered as if hit by an immense force.
She fumbled for the bottom step, her panic rising, when there came screams from above. An assumption that the building was ablaze drove her on until, at the top of the stairs, she stopped to check the door. Still cool to the touch, she opened it and emerged into the foyer to find it illuminated only by the moon.
A wash of frightened faces, made more ghastly in the blue-grey light, swept towards the exit in an atmosphere of suppressed hysteria.
The floor and reception area glistened, as if sprinkled with star dust. As Sarah stepped out into the foyer, and it crunched underfoot, she realised it was broken glass. Looking up she saw all the windows on the south side of the building were smashed in, with not even a shard remaining in the frames.
She joined the evacuees. Her arms pulled in, she blended with the crowd which pushed towards the exit.
Moonbeams, briefly illuminating people like a spotlight on a stage, allowed her to see there were some in the foyer injured. Blood, blackened in the moonlight, covered faces and hands from indistinct wounds.
Suddenly, from behind, she heard her name. Looking back she saw her friend, Jenny Parker, pushing through the crowd towards her. As the two women drew close they grasped each other to quell the fear.
“What happened?” Sarah asked, her voice husky with shock.
“There’s been a massive explosion south of Morpeth,” Jenny replied breathlessly.
“What do you mean? The whole building shook, it couldn’t have been that far away.” Sarah stumbled, caught her balance, then looked back.
A middle-aged woman had fallen in the rush. As the crowd surged around her she struggled to get up. Sarah stopped, turned, then carried on when she saw a young man pause long enough to help.
“What sort of explosion?”
“I think it could have been a bomb.” Jenny began to cry. “I think it was an atom bomb.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “That’s not funny, Jenny,” she snapped. “Why would you say that?”
“I opened the door to the payroll office, then suddenly there was a really bright light. I panicked and shut the door again, just as the power went off. A few seconds later the whole building shook. When I opened the door again I found Christine…” Jenny stopped, as a wave of distress overwhelmed her. Great heaving sobs suddenly leapt forth. “I found Christine…”
Sarah wrapped a comforting arm around her friend.
“She was dead…” Jenny blurted between howls of despair. “Flying glass…”
Sarah struggled to hear what Jenny was saying, but the next section came through horrifically clear.
“I looked to the window and the skyline was lit by fire. It covered the horizon, as far as you could see. Great rolling clouds of fire.”
“No, you must be mistaken,” Sarah said desperately.
Jenny shook her head. “It was like the very air was ablaze.”
“You’re hurt,” Sarah gasped. She’d suddenly noticed the front of Jenny’s blouse was drenched in blood.
“No, it was John Greggs. He was in the corridor with a neck injury. I tried to help, but I couldn’t stop the bleeding.” She held out her hands.
Sarah gagged at the sight of her friend’s blood-soaked skin. She looked away and saw something more terrible than just fear in the faces, glowing in the moonlight, nearby. As they drew near to the door she felt the bottom fall from her world. Jenny must be wrong, or there was nothing left.
They emerged outside into the freezing January air. No one around was dressed for the cold.
Branches were strewn across the car park and a nearby wall had collapsed in the onslaught.
Some were sobbing, but most just stood, too stunned to think.
“What should we do now?” Sarah asked.
“I’m going home, to check my parents.”
Sarah thought of her own family. “We live three miles from the city,” she said, her voice quiet and her face shadowed with fear. “God knows what I’ll find when I go home.” She turned back to the building.
Jenny grabbed her arm. “Where you going?”
“For my coat.”
“We have to get out of here.” She waved a hand towards the city. “There’ll be radiation on the way.”
Sarah shook her head. “I have to know what’s happened to my family.”
“Please, come with me,” Jenny begged.
“I can’t. I need to know.”
Jenny embraced her friend. “Take care,” she whispered.
Sarah nodded, then they parted.
As the panic-stricken residents headed north out of Morpeth to distance themselves from the city, Sarah turned south in a desperate attempt to return home. She passed many people on the way, but none travelling in her direction. Still, it wasn’t long before she found herself alone and the road became quiet, to an eerie degree. There were no lights, except the unearthly redness in the sky. The surrounding darkness added to the overwhelming emptiness she felt as she thought of her family.
A few miles down the road she left the town behind and a short time later she joined a slip road leading to the motorway. As she reached the top of the incline she realised, for the time at least, her journey was over.
A wall of thick black foul-smelling smoke moving in her direction formed an impenetrable barrier across the road.
Reluctantly, Sarah returned to Morpeth vowing to try again when the way was clear.
Four days later she had survived by forcing herself into a routine. Daily trips to gather water from the river and wood for the fireplace she’d found in the director’s office in the Town Hall had helped to maintain a hold on her sanity. It also gave her the opportunity to assess the damage caused to the surrounding environment.
Footprints in the snow proved there were animals still alive. If they could survive, then so could she.
A winter wonderland this was not as this snow was dirty, grey and gruesome. Dust and dirt thrown up from the ground, by the nuclear blast, mingled with freezing particles to produce snow.
For two days the gloom never lifted and as Sarah looked out the window, she’d felt fear like she’d never felt before. Could this be the start of a nuclear winter? Life was hard enough as it was and there was no doubt it would get worse. The return of spring would at least bring hope; hope for a future; hope for new growth. The onset of a nuclear ice age would end all that. If the cycle of the seasons broke down, the repercussions would be devastating. She didn’t have to be an expert to know this.
When she rose on the morning of the fourth day, Sarah gave thanks. The snow had stopped and the sun, although still shrouded behind a dense blanket of clouds, was at least trying to break through.
She stepped outside the moment it was light, as she had every day since her return. She’d become accustomed to the foul, sooty smell that hung in the air like a thick fog, but this morning, she was delighted to find it was different. The air had cleared, scrubbed clean by the snow, and it was then she knew the fires were out.
This was the moment she’d been waiting for. She would attempt her journey home again tomorrow. She knew, in her heart, there was little chance of her family being alive; still, she had to know for sure. Today would be busier than previously anticipated.
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