Day of the Predator - Alex Scarrow [118]
> We are running on auxiliary power. Resume density probing?
Maddy turned in her chair, back towards the monitors. ‘How much more probing have you got to do?’
> Information: 177,931 candidate density soundings made.
She made a face – less than half the total number that Bob had calculated they needed to make.
‘Are there any good suspects?’
> There are 706 soundings so far in which a density fluctuation occurred.
‘Can you narrow that down any?’
> Affirmative: I can analyse the interruption signatures returned and identify those that demonstrate a repeat or an artificial rhythm.
‘Uh … lemme think.’ She bit a ragged edge around her fingernail. ‘But you’re only, like, halfway through doing the probes?’
> Less than halfway.
‘And if you stop now we might miss them,’ she thought out loud.
> Affirmative.
‘But now we’re on generator power, have you got enough power to do all those probes, and open a window too if we find them?’
> I do not have enough data to answer that question, Maddy.
‘Can you guess?’
> I do not have enough data to answer that question, Maddy.
She cursed. ‘All right … so you’re saying it’s possible we’ll run out of juice if you carry on doing the probes, right?’
> Affirmative.
The rattling of the cranking shutter door coming from across the archway suddenly ceased.
‘OK, Bob,’ she sighed, burying her face in her hands with weary frustration. ‘OK … OK. All right, then. Stop with what you’re doing and analyse what we’ve got already. See if we’ve got a hit.’
> Affirmative.
‘What the –!’ That was Forby.
‘JESUS!’ That was Cartwright.
Maddy spun round in her chair and saw the pair of them standing in the middle of the opened shutter doorway, staring out at a canvas of emerald-green jungle.
She sighed. Oh no, not again.
Last time a time wave had arrived like this one, large enough to sever the feed of power into their field office, it had left New York a post-apocalyptic wilderness of tumbledown ruins under a poisoned rust-red sky. She and Sal hurried over towards the open entrance.
‘Jahulla!’ gasped Sal as they joined the other two.
And Maddy nodded. Jahulla indeed.
This time New York was gone, not just shattered ruins, but gone as in never existed. She looked down at her feet. Their cold and pitted concrete floor simply ended in a straight line where their invisible force field’s effect terminated. The ground beyond was a rich brown soil, carpeted in a mat of tall grass and lush clusters of low-growing ferns and other unidentifiable foliage.
She looked up and saw no Williamsburg Bridge, no horizon of Manhattan skyscrapers, just a broad, sedate river delta of lush rainforest.
‘Uh … how … how did we end up in the middle of a jungle, sir?’ asked Forby.
A slow, understanding smile spread across Cartwright’s face. Finally he nodded. ‘Incredible,’ he whispered, his eyes wide like a child’s, full of wonder. A solitary tear rolled down one of his craggy cheeks. ‘This is quite … incredible.’
‘Sir?’ Forby turned to him. His calm, professional demeanour had vanished and been replaced with barely contained panic. ‘Sir, where the hell are we?’
‘We haven’t moved anywhere,’ the old man replied. He turned to look at Maddy. ‘Or anywhen? Have we? We’re exactly when and where we were.’
‘That’s right,’ she replied. ‘But an alternate history has just caught up with us.’
Cartwright’s ragged features seemed to look ten years younger. The face of a child catching a glimpse of the tooth fairy, or a glint of Santa’s sleigh disappearing into a distant moonlit cloud bank.
‘Sir? The other men? Where are they?’
‘Gone, Forby,’ he replied in a distracted whisper. ‘Gone.’
‘They’re dead?’
‘Nope. They were just never born,’ said Sal.
‘I want to see more,’ uttered Cartwright, stepping off the concrete on to the soft ground beyond. He grinned. ‘My God! This is real? Isn’t it?’
Maddy shrugged. ‘It’s another reality. How New York might have ended up if … if …’
‘If what?’ asked Forby.
‘That’s just it,’ she replied. ‘We don’t know yet. My guess is it’s some change caused by our colleague