Infinity Cage (25 page)

‘Well, maybe you’ll get a chance to find out? You know, if Waldstein lets us go on our merry way.’

‘I suspect he will not.’

‘You still think Liam might be right, don’t you? Do you think he’s baiting us?’

She heard Rashim as he adjusted position. ‘It is a possibility
we must take seriously. He may be luring us to him to dispose of. To tidy up his loose ends.’

‘You really think we shouldn’t be doing this, don’t you? You think this is another stupid –’

‘No. I do accept this is our best chance to seek answers from him. I wonder whether he knows anything at all about the transmitters.’

‘He must do, surely?’

Maddy heard Rashim sigh irritably, then rustle in his sleeping bag once again, trying to find a more tolerable spot on the hard ground.

‘I wonder if Liam and Bob have found the other one in Jerusalem yet?’ he said.

‘If it’s there, they’ll find it. Liam and Bob make a pretty resourceful team together.’

‘Yes, they do.’

‘I can’t wait to get back actually,’ said Maddy. ‘To compare notes with him. To find out what he’s found out.’

‘If we can get back, that is.’

‘We’ll get back. Waldstein has a machine. He sent those support units back after all.’

‘Yes, he did.’ Rashim mulled over that point for a second. ‘So that means at some point he had a machine. But when was that? How long ago was that? Ten years ago? Fifteen years? And now … given everyone’s dead and the world lies in ruins, has he even got a power supply? A back-up generator?’

‘Of course he must. I mean, he figured out we needed one, for emergencies, in Brooklyn. I’m pretty sure he’d have a back-up too.’

‘Yes. You’re right.’

‘And he knew K-N was coming, right? So I think it’s safe to presume he’s been preparing for this.’

‘We are making a lot of assumptions here, Maddy. We may
not find him. He may not have survived the virus. He may not have a functioning machine still. He may not have a power supply for the machine now … and, even if none of those things are a problem, he may not agree to send us back home. Like I say, a lot of assumptions.’

‘Yeah … yeah. I know. Situation normal, huh?’

The young man, Linus, led them back through another smaller entrance in the wall of Hezekiah into the rat runs and narrow alleyways of the upper city. He kept a small home above a carpenter’s workshop. Two small bare rooms, separated by a curtain. He ushered his elderly parents out of one of the rooms.

‘This is yours. You can stay in here. Do not go out. I will return later with some food.’

They sat in the room and waited. Through a small opening in the wall, the sun shone in; a square patch of weakening daylight climbed the stone wall opposite as it began to set.

‘Do you hear that, Bob?’

He nodded. It was the distant sound of raised voices, the clatter of shields, the occasional ring of a blade. Rioting in the upper city.

‘We caused that one as well.’ Liam sighed. ‘So much for discretion.’

Linus returned an hour later with a basket of bread and a flask of olive oil, and the man with the thick dark beard.

‘This is Isaac.’ The two men sat down with them and Linus handed the food out.

‘The people are rioting in several other places,’ grinned Isaac. ‘Your arrival in Jerusalem has finally encouraged them to rise
up and be heard.’ He looked at Bob. ‘This “man” … what is his name?’

‘Bob.’

‘
Bob?
’ Isaac and Linus looked at each other. They both tried out the name again. ‘Bob?’ Isaac shrugged. ‘A strange name.’ He turned to Liam. ‘Bob … he is not a mortal man, is he?’

‘No.’

Both men gasped. ‘Then … he must be an angel? A creation of God?’

Liam shook his head. Both men watched curiously as Liam whispered to himself, seemed to listen for an answer, then finally spoke. ‘Linus … Isaac, you must understand, there’s been a lot of confusion today. I am not who you think I am.’

Linus stared intensely at him. ‘You are the one we have heard much about. The healer, the performer of miracles. The one who is God’s son.’

‘There is such a man, but it’s not me.’ Liam shook his head. ‘I’m just a normal person. The one you want is called Jesus, and he’s out there somewhere in this city.’

‘No!’ Isaac shook his head. ‘I was there! I saw
you
in the temple grounds this morning. You and this giant, turning the moneylenders’ tables over. Challenging the priests …’

Liam shook his head. ‘No. That other man wasn’t me.’

‘I saw you and him … and the others who joined you break through the Romans like they were frightened old women. I saw you escape from the temple grounds.’

‘Yes … yes, that bit was me. But –’

Again Isaac looked at Bob. ‘This one took an arrow through his neck … and yet he is alive still. You have healed him. Or he is blessed –’

Linus cut in. ‘And we both witnessed you create a pillar of light out of darkness.’

Both men stared at Liam intensely.

‘Why are you denying these miracles?’ asked Linus. ‘Do you not trust us?’

Liam wondered how best to explain himself. He could have a stab at the truth, but explaining time travel, the far future, what exactly Bob was … how a simple torch worked, all of that would be impossible to describe to them without it sounding other-worldly and supernatural. He might as well just say they were angels sent by God. Far more importantly, he needed to steer things back in the right direction. Today’s big mess may already have thrown history right off the rails. The people of Jerusalem were now busy chattering about a giant and a small pale guy, and not about a certain carpenter’s son called Jesus.

He needed to point these two men in the right direction.

‘There is a real prophet in the city right now. He’s the one with all the words coming directly from God. Me? This giant? We’re just … travellers from afar.’

‘You are more than just travellers,’ said Isaac.

‘No. Think of us … as witnesses.’ Liam looked at their disbelieving faces.

They want to hear something more impressive than that.

‘Think of us as
heavenly assistants
. We came to make sure that God’s messenger is heard by everyone.’

Linus’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

‘The man you were talking about, Linus?’ continued Liam. ‘The speaker, the healer from Nazareth? That’s not me. Trust me, there is another man. He was at the temple this morning. He was the one who first turned a table over. But there was a confusion … where there shouldn’t have been. Confusion … and in that confusion –’ Liam looked at Isaac – ‘you have simply mistaken me for him.’

‘But … you. And your friend –’

‘We should have been watching. From a distance. That’s all.’ Liam shrugged. ‘But even
angels
can make mistakes.’

‘Who is this man, then?’

‘His name is Jesus,’ Liam said again. ‘You have to listen to him … not to me. He is the one with the answers. He’s the one with a very, very important message from God.’

Linus leaned forward. ‘Do you know … do you know what his message is?’

Liam shook his head. ‘Only … that what he says will change everything. Everything you have been told by your leaders … it’s all wrong. It’s all lies. Jesus is the one with the answers.’

Both men’s eyes widened.

‘And only this one man can tell you.’

‘Where … where is this man, this
Jesus
?’

‘I don’t know. In Jerusalem somewhere. I think he’s safe. He had some men with him. Some followers. But tomorrow I think you’ll find him …’ Liam looked to Bob to help him out.

‘On the Mount of Olives,’ he whispered hoarsely.

‘That’s right. The Mount of Olives,’ said Liam. ‘In the morning. He’ll be out there …’

I hope.
He wondered if they’d already altered history too much. Perhaps the riot in the temple might have changed Jesus’s plans.

‘He will be talking to the small group of followers who came with him. But … you have to spread the word. His message has to be heard before it’s too late.’ Liam almost blurted out that Jesus only had a few days left before he was destined to be betrayed by a disciple, arrested and crucified. ‘Tonight … tell as many people as you can that Jesus from Nazareth will be out there tomorrow and ready to reveal the important message he’s brought from God. He’s going to tell everyone.’

‘And what of you and the giant?’

‘We must be there too. To watch over him. But … this time, we’ll watch from a distance. That’s our job.’

Linus nodded slowly. ‘That is your work, as … as commanded by God?’

Liam glanced at Bob. ‘Yes. As commanded by God.’

Maddy awoke, starving. Last night’s stodgy soy-flake stew had sated her hunger enough for her to finally drift off to sleep. But during the night her stomach had clearly made quick work of it and was now grumbling for breakfast.

The fire had gone out. The sky was overcast: a muddy brown that threatened drizzle. Heywood was awake; Rashim was still out for the count and snoring. He’d rolled over in his sleep and now one cheek was flat against the ground. The white dust of the viral residue was plastered like flour across his forehead and cheeks.

She nudged him with her foot and he stirred. ‘Wake up, sleepy.’

Rashim yawned, rubbed his eyes and opened them. ‘We have about eight miles to cover today.’

Heywood peeled off his sleeping bag. ‘We’ll get there today if we make an early start.’

Maddy nodded. ‘Breakfast, then.’ She looked at the trailer. ‘Anyone fancy that soyo-broth again?’

‘You really wanna fuss with makin’ another fire and boilin’ up some water?’ Heywood made a face. ‘That’ll take us at least an hour.’ He got up with an old man’s grunt and wandered with stiff legs over to the trailer. ‘Why don’t we take our pick an’ see what’s in these ol’ cans?’ He pulled out a penknife. ‘It may be cold … but it’s still food.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’

Rashim rubbed the dust from his face. ‘This residue is disgusting.’

The silent forest now echoed with the
tak-tak-tak
of Heywood banging holes into the lid of one of the tins. He wedged the blade of his knife into one of the holes and see-sawed the serrated side until he’d created a jagged edge he could bend back. ‘Reckon this one looks like it’s got green beans in here. Anyone want greens for breakfast?’

Rashim curled his lip. So did Maddy.

‘Hey! Organic?’ he called out to Becks. The support unit turned to look at him. ‘You able to eat beans?’

‘That is acceptable,’ she replied.

He passed her the opened tin and set to work on opening another.

Rashim was on his knees now and shaking white dust off his sleeping bag. ‘You sleep OK, Maddy?’

‘Slept like the dead last night. I’m exhausted. My legs are killing me, though. How about you?’

‘Not too bad.’ He shrugged. ‘I think I was dreaming about ships.’

She smiled. ‘Pirate ships?’

He stroked his dark beard and flashed a grin her way. ‘Indeed.’

‘Aw, man!’ Heywood suddenly whooped.

They both turned to look. Maddy sat up groggily. ‘What’s up?’

‘Got a label on this one!’ His eyes were round and wide. He held up a large dented can in one hand as if it was a nugget of gold sifted from a babbling mountain creek. ‘Only got us a
guddamn
chocolate-fudge sponge here!! Anyone want to share that with me?’

Maddy shook her head. ‘I’ll take anything that looks like
canned fruit.’ She got up and wandered over to the trailer. ‘Or, actually, baked beans maybe. I could go with cold baked beans.’

Heywood tossed his penknife to her. ‘There ya go. You can play lucky dip for yourself.’

‘I will share that chocolate pudding with you,’ said Rashim.

‘Uh … OK.’ Heywood shrugged. ‘There was me hopin’ I got this all to myself.’ He came over and sat down beside Rashim. ‘You gonna excuse fingers?’

‘I suppose we have little choice but to eat like cavemen.’

Maddy leaned over the side of the trailer and began picking through identical-looking tin cans.

Heywood grinned as he dug a finger into one side of the sponge. ‘I ain’t eaten a real chocolate puddin’ since I was a little kid.’

Rashim did likewise, sinking the tips of his fingers in and gouging out a chunk of it. ‘It looks good.’

Both men pulled a moist hunk of the sponge out, chocolate goo in the middle dangling in a thick gelatinous drip. After looking at each other for a moment, grinning like kids in a sweet shop, they tucked what they’d scooped out with their fingers into their mouths.

They both chewed silently for a moment. It was Heywood who pulled a face first. ‘This taste right to you?’

Rashim wrinkled his nose and shook his head. ‘No. It tastes odd. Not right. Savoury, not sweet.’ He ran his tongue round his mouth. ‘Like … yeast …’

His eyes met the old man’s and he spat it out on to the ground.

Rashim snatched the can from Heywood and then turned it round to inspect the sides. He pulled at the faded label; it was damp and loose and came away like soggy tissue paper. There
was a dent beneath the label, and a small jagged hole. ‘Did you just make this hole with your knife?’

Heywood shook his head. His cheeks still bulged with food; he wasn’t sure whether to swallow or spit out. ‘I was stabbin’ at the top.’

Maddy looked round from the trailer. ‘What’s up?’

‘Don’t touch them! Don’t touch the tins!’ Rashim dropped the one he was holding on to the ground. It landed with a thud on its side and the top crust of the sponge spilled out, revealing the soft gooey centre. The goo was mottled in colour. Mostly dark brown, but in some places there were small pale bacilli-like strings.

Heywood spat out what he had in his mouth. ‘
Guddamn it!
Got that virus crap in it!’

Maddy and Becks hurried over and looked at the spilled chocolate pudding on the ground. The thin strands of pearly, mucus-like liquid began to fan out and spread like the speeded-up time-lapse footage of a culture growing in a Petri dish.

‘My God! It got into the tin!’ whispered Rashim. ‘The can was punctured … it got inside!’

‘But … but the virus is all dead now, isn’t it?’ said Maddy. ‘If it got in … wouldn’t it have already turned the whole pudding to –?’

‘No air inside!’ Rashim stared up at her with growing panic in his eyes. ‘No oxygen! Maybe that … maybe that slowed the process down?’

They watched fine pallid strands extending, spreading, fanning out and rapidly breaking down the sponge. Now it had air – or perhaps it was the light – the virus was working frighteningly quickly. An ingredient, a protein within the pudding, was signalling the virus to wake up; that there was yet work to be done.

Maddy’s face blanched. ‘Oh Jesus!’

Rashim looked at her. ‘It’s in me! My God, Maddy … it’s inside me!’

‘Stay calm, Rashim …’ she whispered uselessly. ‘Just … just stay calm! Let me think –’

He shook his head slowly. ‘I’m … already infected …’

‘No. Hang on. Not necessarily –’

Becks came over from the trailer. ‘Caution, Maddy.’

Heywood reached for some water and took a slug, swilling it around his mouth and spitting what he had out on to the ashes of their fire.

‘Forget it,’ said Rashim. ‘It’s too late for that.’

‘Maddy, you should step away from them!’ Becks pulled insistently at Maddy’s arm. She staggered hesitantly backwards.

‘Becks is right, Maddy!’ Rashim waved at her to step back further. ‘You should get back. Quickly! Get away from here. The virus is fast.’

‘Hang on!’ She shook her head. ‘You might not be infected!’

‘There is no way I’m not! Contaminated food touched my tongue. We both tasted it. We’re dead, Maddy! We’re dead! Get out of here!’

‘I’m not leaving you!’

‘Do it!’ he said. ‘
Now!
’ Even though it was cold enough for their breath to be clouds of flickering vapour, his skin was damp and glistening with beads of sweat. ‘I’m feeling wrong already!’

‘Maddy,’ said Becks, ‘Rashim is correct! You should do as he says!’

‘Christ.’ Heywood dropped to his knees. ‘I think I’m gonna be sick,’ he grunted. Then he heaved, ejecting pink-stained bile on to the ground between his legs. It spattered like offal tipped from a butcher’s barrel. He cursed under his breath, wheezing groggily. ‘The hell is that?’ He stared at the mess at
his feet like an early-hours drunkard. ‘That my guddamn stomach linin’?’

‘Rashim! OhMyGod, no!’ cried Maddy.

He shook his head. ‘It’s too late … you have to leave now!’

Becks grasped Maddy’s arm and pulled her a few steps further back.

‘Rashim!’ Maddy cried. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m sorry! This is all my fault.’

He dropped down to his hands and knees and spat bile on to the ground. ‘Go! Just go! Before … before this thing … gets you …’

Maddy, still held by Becks, twisted and squirmed in her grasp. She began to sob uncontrollably. The support unit put an arm round her and turned her away from the dying men. She looked back over her shoulder. ‘I will take her from here.’

Rashim looked up at Becks, licked his lips and nodded. ‘Good. G-get … get her out of here …’

Maddy wriggled in Becks’s firm grasp, then turned round. ‘Rashim, I’m so sorry …’

‘It’s OK … nothing needs to be said, Maddy … Just go! Now!’

Becks dragged her away across the dusty ground, past the trailer and towards the nearest of the dead trees.

‘NO!’ Rashim called out after them. His rasping voice echoed round the creaking, lifeless forest. They stopped. Maddy turned to look back at him. ‘Wrong … way …’ He jabbed a finger towards a looming, snow-tipped mountain peak. ‘S-south-west!’ he gasped. ‘It’s … it’s … just … Head towards that … OK?’

Rashim saw Maddy nod. They changed direction and he watched them until the last flash of an orange anorak was lost to the black-and-white world. Then they were gone. His friend, his colleague …

Goodbye, Maddy
.

He turned to his right and looked at Heywood lying curled up on the ground, shivering and groaning.

‘Heywood?’

The old man’s eyes opened. The whites of his eyes had haemorrhaged and were a dark red; he was leaking tears of blood on to his pale cheeks. ‘Jesus Christ! Death … d-death by … g-guddamn chocolate p-puddin’ …’ He pulled a death-mask grin. His gums were beginning to break down and bleed; the roots of his brown teeth were becoming exposed, looking long, almost like canine fangs. ‘… by chocolate … p-puddin’ … ain’t that a … guddamn stupid k-kick in the ass …?’

Rashim responded with the snort of a dry laugh. He felt moisture trickling from his nostrils, soaking into the bristles of his moustache, and tasted blood on his lips. He lowered himself gently to the ground. His arms were trembling; already he was feeling feverish and light-headed. He eased himself down and lay on his back, looking up at the sky: a rolling carpet of low sulphur-yellow clouds.

He closed his eyes and saw instead a clear deep blue sky above him and a stout oak mast reaching up to meet it. He could hear the taut strum of hemp-rope rigging, the clank and rattle of loose tackle blocks, the rustle and snap of sailcloth feeling for a breath of wind. The creak of ship’s timbers and the slosh of a lazy sea slapping against her hull.

All just a pleasing illusion. He knew that … his dying mind was firing off memories like a sinking vessel firing distress flares.

This … here … now …
He smiled.
There are many worse ways to die than this
, he decided. Fading away on a rather pleasing memory plucked from a life he was never meant to have lived in the first place.

There could be worse ways than this.
He could feel his senses
failing him. His mind failing him. His breathing ragged and shallow, heartbeat faltering; the cascading domino effect of his body shutting down organ by organ. Falling into a deep sleep. Melting away to an organic soup that in turn would dry in a few days and become a harmless white powder.

His dying mind conjured one last, reassuring thought.

In the end, don’t we all come from dust anyway? We come from dust … and we end as dust.

The oh-so-short passage in between is the bit we call ‘life’.

Everything ends eventually.

Everything.