And the Rest Is History(105)

Ellis was demanding to know when we could jump.

‘In a moment,’ said a deep voice. ‘Nurse…’

‘Got it,’ said someone quietly.

The bustle continued.

I plucked at Ellis’s leg. ‘What’s … happening? Why … aren’t we … jumping?’

He crouched at my side. ‘We’re stabilising them. In case of a rough landing. Don’t worry, this is a portable hospital, they’re being well taken care of. This is standard procedure. And they’re all still alive. They have to be. We’re not allowed to die in here. It leads to additional paperwork and it makes the med team grumpy. Well, grumpier. They were grumpy when they got here.’

‘Leon?’

‘They’re all still alive. We’re working hard to keep them that way.’

My entire body was just one mass of pain, radiating out from my heart.

‘Am I … having … a heart attack?’

‘No, it just seems that way.’

I tried to look around him. To see what was going on.

‘Keep still, Max,’ he said sharply, pulling the blanket up to my chin. ‘Don’t try to move at all. We don’t yet know the extent of your injuries.’

‘Tell me … about Ian.’

‘We were able to retrieve his leg. It’s been preserved and we’re taking it back, but I’m making no promises. And there’s some damage to his eyes as well.’

I heard someone say, ‘Team Three – ready.’

‘Team Two – ready.’

‘Team Four – ready.’

Silence.

‘Team One?’

‘Just a minute.’ Another long pause. Team One was Leon. ‘OK. Team One – ready.’

‘Commence jump procedures.’

The world flickered.

Still disappointing.



We didn’t disembark immediately. From floor level I watched other people’s boots moving backwards and forwards. I lay very still, trying to hear what was going on. The ramp was down and medical people moved in and out, wheeling equipment around.

Worryingly, they moved Leon first. I watched his wheels disappear from my narrow view. Then Markham. Then Van Owen.

Guthrie had a huge number of medical personnel around him, but eventually, he too was wheeled away.

That left me, still lying on the floor. I opened my eyes to find I was surrounded by a number of Time Police boots. You would have thought that would have brought me to my feet but, somehow, I just couldn’t bring myself to care. I could hear disjointed phrases. ‘Blow to her spine … rib contusions … intercostals … damage … fractures.’ None of that sounded too serious. A little less pain would be good, though. A figure crouched alongside, syringe in hand, and smiled in what she probably thought was a reassuring manner.

It seemed I was about to get my wish.





I lay in a Time Police bed, wearing a Time Police hospital gown, staring up at a Time Police ceiling. I was experiencing difficulty in breathing. And standing. And sitting. And lying. And living. My ribs ached. It hurt to move. And it hurt not to move. Massive painkillers made me woozy.

I should have been panicking. What was happening with Leon and the others? How much damage had I sustained? Would I ever walk again? But the medication took care of all that. Which was probably their plan.

A deep-voiced doctor swam into view again.

I croaked, ‘Leon?’

‘No, I’m a doctor. Just lie still, please.’

There’s only one thing worse than a doctor without a sense of humour and that’s one with.

‘Is he dead?’

‘No. And before you ask, you’re not going to die, either. You have a bruise the size of a kitchen table all over your back and your bottom looks as if you’ve sat in a plate of blackberries.’

I wasn’t sure how comfortable I was with the Time Police peering at my bottom.

‘Will I walk again?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Pretty sure, yes.’ He still hadn’t looked at me. ‘We don’t have any particular treatment for you. Not that we’re just going to let you lie here and do nothing, of course. We’ll let you drift off into merciful, pain-free oblivion and then we’ll wake you up and make you take some deep breaths. Which will hurt. Then we’ll make you cough. Which will be excruciating. We need to keep your lungs working and prevent infection. We’ll keep at it until you either die or get better. We’re the Time Police, you know – this isn’t some girlie St Mary’s where you wake up between clean sheets and look forward to a happy ending.’

He lifted his eyes from his medical gizmo to look at me, which was probably a cardinal sin in the Time Police doctor/patient etiquette rules. Never look at the patient. It only encourages them to think they matter.

‘Where is Leon?’

‘Safe.’

‘But where?’

‘Here.’

For God’s sake … I was instantly suspicious. What was he hiding from me?

‘Tell me the truth. Will he die?’

He said very quietly, ‘I’m honestly not sure yet. But he’s still with us so try not to worry too much.’