The Embers of Hope: A science-fiction thriller (Hibernation Series Book 2) Page 22

  Zitagi frowned, wondering if that were even possible. She thought of Reyland and shook her head; like him, the device had its own secrets. Did he know this could be done?

  Zitagi wasn’t sure - of anything. Not anymore.

  Chapter 62

  The last four years hadn’t existed for Jennifer Logan. They were a dream, detailed and rich, yet veiled in a way that separated them from reality. The memory of dying had been one of drifting away, of intense cold and then welcoming warmth. Whenever she awoke she had no comprehension of time, no sense of it passing or the years gone by. She simply was, and her mind played along by not asking difficult questions like ‘Where am I?’ or ‘How did I get here?’

  Instead, her distant mind accepted her surroundings. It had felt like this forever, not that she knew or cared how long that had been.

  She walked, the twin suns of a distant planet warming her skin. Creatures moved and flew around her and she admired them, their scaled skin, their glowing eyes. She pushed through dense foliage and out onto the edge of a cliff top. Now the vista was complete, purple mountains to the east, a pair of golden suns breaking the cloud in the west. She took a deep breath and smiled. The sound of water thundering nearby was exhilarating. She had followed the river here, to where it left this world and entered another, and it was beautiful.

  She waited. The waterfall continued to flow, thick swells of green liquid cascading past her and tumbling away. Above her a swarm of insect-like creatures hovered and descended. She moved her hand through them and smiled as they played along the lines of her naked flesh.

  Something had called her here, a sound or a feeling, she wasn’t sure. She had obeyed, believing it was nature telling her to become water, to join the river. She had done this before, been water, ice and rain, many times.

  Without fear she stepped to the edge, where the water was deep and fierce. She allowed herself to fall into the flow and felt its power take her and surround her as she slipped from this world into the next.

  And so it was, again and again.

  This time when she woke, it was familiar. She was sitting in a garden, which was overgrown with tall wild grass. It was one of many worlds she moved between, but here she sensed a strange belonging, a feeling of…

  There was a word on the tip of her tongue but it kept crawling back down her throat. She moved her mouth but no sound came, just the pressure and effort of words lost in the void of space. She looked down at her body. She was dressed in clothes and there was something very familiar about them. She felt as though she had a purpose, as though there was something she was supposed to do here.

  She frowned.

  There was movement ahead, a figure darting through the long grass.

  Was it him? The man she sometimes followed? The one who walked through doorways of no return? She ran and tried to call out but no words came. She ran but made no ground and time left her again.

  And so it was.

  Then the word that had been flickering in the distance, like a broken neon sign, illuminated before her.

  Home.

  The word hit her mind like a hammer through sheet glass.

  ‘Jen,’ a voice called out.

  Was that her name? Yes, perhaps one of them, given to her in a previous life. She walked in darkness towards the voice, which was kind and familiar.

  Then the questions began. Questions that had been sealed tight inside the vacuum of her mind.

  Where am I? she wondered, her feet skimming over air, eyes open but seeing nothing.

  The voice came again, guiding her, telling her everything was going to be okay. Blurred images appeared around her, a light in the darkness, and then a figure took her hand.

  Chapter 63

  The place was familiar and warm. Jen was young again, a nine-year-old girl, and this was one of her family’s many parties. The Logans were famous for them; large gatherings with homemade food, beers and wines. Her father had brewed and fermented alcohol for years and parties were the perfect excuse to share his considerable knowledge. As the years went on he perfected his art, and his beers in particular drew praise and guaranteed an impressive turnout.

  She looked up at her father, his large frame towering over her. ‘Jenny,’ he said. ‘I want to introduce you to a friend.’

  Next to him was a much shorter man and it was clear, just by looking at him, that his personality could seep into your bones. His smile caught her immediately, his eyes sparkling with a youthful excitement.

  Her father continued, ‘Honey, this is George Mohanty. He’s the man I work with, the one I was telling you about.’

  ‘Hello, Jennifer,’ George said politely. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’

  Jen nodded and then giggled a little. ‘No one calls me that, Mr Mohanty.’

  ‘Then what should I call you?’ George asked, overacting.

  ‘Jen,’ she said. Jenny was reserved for her daddy alone.

  ‘Then you must call me George. Mr Mohanty makes me sound like an old man.’

  Jen smiled and agreed it did a little. A burst of laughter erupted behind her and she turned to see her mother and a group of women in deep storytelling. The sun was low in the afternoon sky, a pollen-filled haze drifted over open fields. This was wonderful. This was home. She turned back to her daddy’s colleague to find him kneeling.

  ‘Such a pretty dress, Jen,’ George said. ‘I love the little birds.’

  Jen looked down and pulled at the hem, a little embarrassed. ‘Thank you. It’s my favourite.’ And it was. Dark blue, with light blue swallows darting happily over her body. Her mother had chosen it.

  She glanced at her father again and realised that he hadn’t moved. Something wasn’t right. She continued to watch him and it came to her. The moment wasn’t progressing. It was as though they were stuck in the groove of one of his old records, and even though the feeling was good they were stuck, clicking in time like a needle over and over again. She looked at George who stared back, eyebrows raised as if waiting for the answer to a question.

  ‘What’s happening Mr Mo –’ She shook her head. ‘I mean, George.’

  ‘We weren’t properly introduced, but you remember me, right?’

  ‘Yes, but –’

  George offered his hand, smiling warmly. ‘I’m here to help you, Jen.’

  She took her time deciding whether or not to shake his hand. There were a number of reasons why that decision was difficult. The three of them were positioned just outside the barn. Its doors were open at both ends and through the far end Jen could see an open field. Long grass swayed where her house should have been. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t correct. Her father was older than she remembered, too, and dressed in the clothes from a different day. She knew this detail because these were the clothes he had worn on the last day she saw him, a day burned into her mind. This memory was a little frayed around the edges; perfect in terms of emotional connection, but imperfect in the details. The devil is in those, she thought, he always is.

  The ground tilted slightly and Jen felt a fluttering wave of nausea swell up from her feet.

  ‘Jen, I need you to focus on me.’ George’s voice was firmer now and it scared her. ‘Look at me, Jen.’ His hands were still outstretched. ‘Reach for me.’

  Jen did and realised she was kneeling too, and her hands were that of a woman. The scene, the perfect memory of home, was growing dark around the edges as if she were watching it through the lens of a telescope. The feathered blackness began to close in around them. Thoughts arrived, followed by feelings that meant something, equalled something. Her opinion of George wasn’t clear, and that meant – to whichever version of Jen she was – that trust would need to be earned.

  ‘My Father died, George, and you disappeared,’ she said.

  George’s expression changed and she saw panic invading the creases in his face. It aged him, in the same way this strange moment had just aged her. The ground slipped away and there was only darkness and the two of them floatin
g in it. George stretched out his hand.

  ‘How do I know I can trust you?’ Jen asked. ‘That you are who you say you are?’

  ‘Please Jen, your father and I were friends. I’ve come back to save you because I loved Jacob. I didn’t leave him.’

  Stars began to prick the sky and Jen felt a familiar tug of energy below her. She drifted further from him, an inch at the most, but George called out in panic.

  ‘Please, Jen, take my hand,’ he begged. ‘I can’t lose you.’ His voice cracked to a whimper. ‘Not again.’

  Jen felt the echo of loss in that voice, felt it travel into her heart. She raised her hand, hesitated for a moment and then grabbed his arm. She looked down – because now there was a down – and saw red clouds, drifting against a canvas of endless black. They were forming into a huge mass, rotating like an angry whirlpool. The colours reminded her of something, a memory from another life, of glass as smooth as a lake, of a stone as cold as death.

  ‘Don’t let go,’ George pleaded, his face pulled tight. ‘Nathan’s waiting for you.’

  An image of a man appeared in the edge of her mind.

  Nathan.

  Did he love her?

  They were connected somehow. She slipped a little from his grip.

  ‘Please!’ George shouted.

  Jen felt a terrible sadness. This wasn’t real. Nathan wasn’t really waiting; all of this was a dream, a polluted dream that was twisting and becoming a nightmare. Nathan was a ghost, one who had left her and never returned. This was just pain, and she had a choice; she could choose not to feel it.

  Tendrils reached out from the mass below, wrapping around her legs and waist, and she wanted them to. This was the way it was supposed to be. The powerful force below swelled and growled and pulled.

  Her hand slipped from George’s arm down to his wrist. She felt sorry for him. Didn’t he realise none of this mattered? That if they fell they would just slip into the next world and start again?

  It’s okay, she told him without the need for speech. You can let go.

  George’s eyes were filled with tears. He was screaming, but she couldn’t hear him anymore. The ghostly tentacles won and she fell, silent and calm, towards the burning centre of the black hole.

  She felt her body collapse inward and explode into a million sparkling pieces, back to the stars that made her whole, where she could be at peace again.

  Chapter 64

  Nathan felt sweat break on his arms and back. It sent icy shivers through him. The splintering was getting worse and feeding his paranoia, but still, something wasn’t right. He didn’t need the pale-faced technician to tell him that something was very, very wrong.

  George had started with the confidence of a man in control, kneeling in front of the replication chamber like a monk in deep prayer. Now his face was drawn downward, his mouth contorted in pain. His skin had taken on a pale, dusty quality and he was slumped forward as though gravity were attempting to squash him flat. He groaned, lips flickering in silent speech, perspiration bursting on his forehead.

  The technician spoke quietly. ‘I don’t know how he managed it, but she showed some brain activity for a while.’ He shrugged and sighed. ‘It’s gone now. I’m sorry.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Nathan snapped at him. The kid didn’t answer, he just pointed at George.

  ‘I almost had her,’ George whispered, biting at his bottom lip. He was blinking rapidly, sucking air like a gasping fish. ‘I almost had her.’

  Nathan looked at him and then at Jen, her lifeless body cocooned in the chamber.

  This can’t all be for nothing.

  Nathan had, in some way at least, accepted that he was going to die today, not necessarily his body – that would probably go on fighting for weeks – but certainly his mind. However, one thing he refused to accept was that his last moments would be spent watching them carry Jen’s lifeless body from that thing.

  ‘One minute remaining,’ the tech said, and then added, ‘I’m sorry, man, I really am.’

  Mohanty looked up suddenly as if someone had shouted his name. He stood, grabbed Nathan’s shoulders and shook him. ‘She doesn’t trust me,’ he hissed. ‘She wants you.’ His body shuddered in time with his tears and then he said, ‘I can take you in, but you need to think of somewhere you both know, somewhere that matters.’

  Nathan looked at the clock, which read, 0.47, and then back at Jen.

  Somewhere that matters.

  ‘We need to do it now!’ Mohanty shouted.

  Nathan took a deep breath and reached for the Histeridae.

  Chapter 65

  Nathan heard George’s voice in the darkness and followed it. His hands were searching and when he felt bark, dry and cold against his skin, he knew where he was. Dark grey light with a hint of morning blue was just visible through the treeline.

  The wind howled into the vacuum of his memory and bought with it the distant thundering of water. He spotted George, leaning against a tree and panting heavily. Mohanty looked up as he approached. ‘Listen to me,’ he said, eyes like shiny marbles. ‘You need to keep her calm and hold her, don’t let go.’

  ‘Then what?’ Nathan asked, his body fighting the cold. ‘How do I bring her back?’

  ‘You focus on the desalination plant, the chamber, her body. You focus on reality. Try and drag her mind back there with you.’ He glanced away towards the sound of distant, shouting voices. ‘Quickly.’

  Nathan walked to the edge of the forest, and when he looked back George was gone. He was alone – as he had been for the last four years – and was back in the very place he had lost her. The decision to come here had been without thought. Russia was somewhere that mattered. They had planned to leave this place together.

  He made his way towards the river’s edge and the sound of the Zhiguli Dam. This was where he held her in his arms and kissed her; a connection that defied explanation, one that only the universe could understand. He found the spot where she had died and fought his desire to collapse and cry.

  Part of him wondered if he would see himself, running to meet her, but it wasn’t that way. The whole scene had a strange quality, as if it were a brilliant re-enactment of a famous scene from a classic play, one titled The Death of Jennifer Logan.

  He waited, cold and filled with memories of death, snowflakes falling slowly around him. Jennifer Logan arrived, crashing through the trees, just as she had all those years ago. He gasped, causing a plume of hot air to rise up and away. She looked at him but didn’t move, and for a moment he panicked. Perhaps she couldn’t see him? But then she raised a hand and was running towards him.

  She was radiant and smiling and when she launched herself into his arms he squeezed her tightly. When they pulled back and she spoke, her words were like balm to his tortured heart. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she said. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

  ‘I’ve missed you too,’ he managed, the jab of tears welling in his eyes and the conflicting tightness that joy and pain can bring squeezing his throat. He kissed her and felt the beautiful warmth of her mouth, and the pulse of her beating heart. She was alive.

  He pulled back gently and realised that she wasn’t injured. The gunshot wound that killed her hadn’t happened in this version of the play.

  ‘What is it?’ Jen asked.

  Nathan wiped tears from his eyes and focussed. ‘Listen to me. You need to come with me, we need to go.’

  Jen frowned and tilted her head. She reached under Nathan’s chin and fumbled for the object threaded around his neck.

  ‘That’s mine,’ she said softly. ‘How come you are…’ She trailed off, connections clearly being made.

  ‘Jen, listen, there’s –’

  ‘Am I dead?’ she asked, staring hard at him. ‘Please, tell me the truth.’

  He knew how important it was to get this right but could feel panic building. Distant voices were closing in and the sky flickered momentarily with a white anger; a storm was coming.

  �
�Tell me the truth,’ Jen repeated. ‘I died, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Nathan admitted. ‘But I’ve come to bring you back.’

  A bolt of lightning travelled overhead, a brilliant white flash that remained somehow, a jagged shape permanently cut into the sky.

  ‘Bring me back?’ Jen whispered. ‘From where?’

  Another flash of lightning came and then another, and with each powerful explosion of light Nathan felt his grip on the memory slipping. He looked down and saw a dark shape spreading in the snow. Blood.

  ‘What’s happening?’ He was struck with a strong sense of dejá vu. This was where he had held her, where she’d bled in the snow, and now she would die again. His mind slid and he felt the first wave of madness lapping at the shore of his sanity. The world hated him and all that was left was anger and pain.

  Jen placed her hands on his shoulders. ‘Are we inside the Histeridae?’ she shouted over the wind that was beginning to whip and tear at them.

  Nathan nodded.

  ‘Both of us?’

  ‘Yes,’ he screamed. ‘Jen, I’m sorry!’

  The wind seemed to respond to his fear and began to rotate around them, howling like it knew its destiny was to become a hurricane. It built in speed, bending the surrounding trees with its power. Nathan’s feet lifted momentarily from the ground.

  ‘No!’ Jen shouted over the howling wind. ‘Nathan, you need to stay calm.’ She held him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

  The treeline shimmered as his feet inched away from the ground. Blood poured from his nose and his head snapped back. Jen tucked her head into him as Russia momentarily became the desalination plant.