Sentinel (2 page)

“I know, but at least Sam knows–” She stopped mid-thought, not daring to finish it here, where anybody could overhear them.

“Why don’t you get a bit of shuteye? We’ve a good hour ahead of us.” Max offered her a knowing smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave the train without you.”

Anita returned the smile, though hers didn’t seem to fit right. She sank into the chair; too nervy to think clearly, too tired to sleep. She sat listening to the
click-a-clack
of the train.

She had known this day was approaching, but she hadn’t ever expected it to arrive. The shock upon receiving the letter had been unpleasant, and for the first time in a long time she had felt scared.

What if they took Nicholas away from them? From her? What if they considered her unfit to handle him? Bad things always seemed to come at the best of times, like weeds corrupting a bed of flowers. He was just a kid and she didn’t want him to be a part of any of this.

Anita had been fighting her entire life. Never the smartest girl at school, she stayed up studying into the smallest hours of the night to keep up with her peers. And now, after so many years of peace and quiet, something had come to set her nerves on edge once more. That old, familiar anxiety returned in a suffocating flood. As the weeks, months and years slipped by, she had almost forgotten that their lives were different. They were nearly (dare she even think it?)
normal
. The letter was the rude awakening she hoped would never come.

It would come eventually, of course. How could it not?

“Sorry, but I don’t suppose you saw what that last station was?”

The voice tugged Anita out of her morose thoughts.

The priest was peering at her over the rims of his spectacles.

“Uh,” She hadn’t been paying attention to the little stations as they periodically whooshed past in the dark. “Newmarket, possibly?”

“Much obliged.” The priest’s voice was kindly despite his bloodless features.

“Nervous traveller,” he explained. “Always worried I’ll miss my stop.” He held her gaze for a second longer. “Going far?”

“Not really. Just an hour or so.”

“I never liked trains,” the priest commented. “Even as a boy. Of course they were all steam then, entirely different creatures. My father loved them, but they were too big and loud for me.”

Anita nodded politely. The elderly gentleman seemed to detect the worry in her face. “You’re leaving somebody behind?” he asked.

Anita looked at him in surprise, and she nodded unsurely.

“Yes.”

“Somebody you love dearly,” the priest observed. “One of the most difficult things to do in this world; bid farewell to those we hold dear. It happens far too frequently now, I fear.”

Anita nodded again, pursing her lips. She could feel the colour rising in her cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” the priest said hastily. “I didn’t mean to upset you. You’ll see him again soon enough, don’t you worry.”

“How did you know?”

“A mother’s love for her son is a powerful thing. One of the most powerful forces in existence, perhaps. That love and ache is written in you plain as day.”

Anita frowned, unsettled by the ease with which the priest had read her. Max lowered his newspaper, sharing a look with her across the table.

Harvester
.

The thought leapt to her in a burst of panic. No, she told herself. He’s just a friendly old priest. No way he could be one of them; unless they were getting very good at what they did.

Calm. Stay calm.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” she asked.

“I don’t believe so. Why, I–”

Whatever the priest had been about to say never left his mouth, because at that moment the train gave a jolt that caused Max to drop his paper.

“What was that?” Anita demanded.

“I don’t know,” Max said, casting a look down the carriage. It shuddered for a second time and Anita bolted upright.

The windows made a clattering complaint.

A raucous squealing shattered the still night.

“That doesn’t sound good,” the priest muttered.

“It’s the brakes,” Anita yelled over the noise. “Someone’s thrown on the brakes!”

“Why would they do that?” Max shouted back.

Anita pressed her forehead against the glass, cupping her hands either side of her face. “We’re over water,” she said. “Why would the driver brake on a bridge?”

Her insides knotted themselves up as she watched orange sparks spew out from beneath the train. They showered down over the side of the bridge and hissed on the river far below.

No, no, no
.

Instantly, Anita thought the worst. She attempted to shrink away from the dread that was nipping at her mind, but it was almost impossible.

Next to Max, the priest crossed himself quickly and raised his eyes to the ceiling, whispering what could only have been a solemn prayer.

Other passengers strained to peer out of the windows.

Panicked murmurs rippled through the train.

“A car!” somebody hollered. “There’s a car on the track!”

Another voice took up the cry: “He’ll never brake in time!”

Anita shot her husband a fearful look.

“Max?”

She watched her husband struggle to answer. He looked paler than she’d seen him in a long time, and despair speared her gut.
Was this it?
They had struggled for so long to be happy; their lives seemed almost perfect. Perfect, at least, in comparison to what they had grown up with. She couldn’t let it end here. She wouldn’t let
them
destroy that.

Even as determination kindled inside her, Anita watched her husband’s jaw clench. She understood in an instant.

“They’ve found us, haven’t they?”

Before Max could reply there came a sudden crunching smash and Anita was thrown against the table.

It was as if somebody had stamped on her chest. She choked, gasping for breath.

Screams and wails littered the carriage. Above them, the lights sputtered and died.

They were plummeted into darkness.

“Lord have mercy on our souls,” an elderly voice breathed in the dark.

“Somebody help us!” another voice howled, and there was a frantic surge of movement. People stumbled from their seats, spilling into the aisle.

Anita’s eyes began to adjust to the moonlit environment just as a hand grabbed hers from across the table.

“Come on,” Max said firmly. “Move.” He clambered over the table to join her.

“They’re here, aren’t they?” Anita said.

They’re here for us
.
Everybody on this train is going to die because of us.

“Go!” Max shouted.

Together they staggered into the aisle, grabbing a hold of each other.

The pandemonium closed in around them.

Anita squeezed Max’s hand tight as he forged a course through the carriage. Other passengers pushed and pulled their way in different directions, elbows and knees jabbing sharply as they fought to find a way off the train.

Then the train gave another jolt, moving under their feet.

“What’s going on?” Max yelled, but his voice was lost amid the shrieks.

Anita attempted to swallow the panic rising up from her gut. She was rusty. Though this was by far the worst situation she’d ever been in, she’d have been far more clear-headed in the past. All she could think about was Nicholas. She had to survive this for him. There was no alternative.

“The exit!” she shouted. “I see the exit!”

They pushed urgently on and Anita forced herself not to look down at where fallen people lay bleeding and unconscious. Trampled. Somewhere, a passenger managed to break a window.

Finally, Max and Anita found themselves at the train door.

Peopled jostled about them like caged animals, frantic for an escape yet too panicked to make any sense of their surroundings.

Max shouldered his way up to the double doors, making sure that Anita was close behind him. He jabbed the button marked ‘OPEN’ with empty optimism, knowing that it would fail to function.

“The door,” Anita wheezed, standing her ground as limbs stabbed her painfully and feet crushed her own. “We have to get it open.”

Max cast about the exit swiftly, then gripped at the fissure at the centre of the doors. He strained against them, attempting to drag them apart. They quivered a bit, stubbornly resisting his efforts. Anita moved to help, heaving at the door with all her strength.

Another man who seemed to understand their intentions grabbed at the door. Together they all laboured, and with a submissive sigh the doors finally skated open.

Suffocating summer air rushed keenly inside.

Anita tried to push herself backwards as the wind snatched at her clothes and hair, but the wall of people prevented her from doing so.

She clung at the edge of the doorway, peering down in horror.

The carriage teetered on the edge of the bridge, the world falling away mere inches from her feet.

Below, the river’s dark waters swelled hungrily in the moonlight.

“How did this happen?” a tall man asked.

“A car,” Anita breathed. “Somebody said something about a car.”

Gripping onto the other side of the doorway, Max eased himself out and peered down the length of the train. When he drew back inside, he was shaking.

“Well?” the tall man asked.

“The whole thing’s going to go,” Max told Anita quietly. “We have to get off on the other side.”

At that moment, the train shifted under their feet and Anita was flung into Max’s arms.

She buried her face in his chest.

“Nicholas,” she whispered.

And then they were falling through the night.

*

The world came crashing down.

As Sam Wilkins observed the shadowy grimace on Nicholas Hallow’s face, he knew that everything had changed for the fifteen year old forever. The boy’s eyes were fixed on a spot on the lounge floor, unmoving, still absorbing the enormity of what he had been told.

“I’m… sorry, Nicholas,” Sam said.

Attired in a scratchy grey suit, the old man’s wardrobe was outdated and functional. White hair was thinning at the crown and his face was etched with the cares of seventy-one years of living. Despite this, the elderly man was in remarkable shape – he didn’t slouch like so many other pensioners, as if the years were pressing down on his shoulders, nor did he have a catalogue of ailments and prescriptions to contend with. Sam Wilkins had embraced the world all those years ago and he had no intention of letting it go just yet.

Sitting in a sturdy armchair, he struggled to conceal his anguish. He loathed that he was the one to saddle Nicholas with such terrible news – news that the lad should never have to deal with. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“There was an accident on the railway. A car somehow found its way onto the track and caused a collision.”

He spoke slowly so as not to trip over the difficult words. He didn’t believe in patronising the younger generations, never had. Bare facts, while sometimes difficult to stomach, were always the best policy in his opinion. Sam knew better than anyone how terrible a creature the imagination could be if only fleeting details of such an awful event were given.

No, he had no intention of burdening Nicholas’s subconscious any more than he had to.

“The crash…” he began, and somehow the truth now seemed far worse than anything Nicholas could imagine. “The crash would have lasted mere moments.”

Nicholas gave little reaction. His quiet was unnerving. Not for the first time, Sam noted the resemblance the boy bore to his mother. He was sullen-looking, having inherited both her soulful eyes and her dark, tousled hair. There was no doubt that the quick temper was his father’s. His face held an almost ghostly pallor that not even the soft lamplight could warm.

“They’re both…”

Nicholas’s voice made Sam’s chest tighten.

“Yes, lad,” the old man conceded softly. “I’m afraid so.”

He trudged over to where Nicholas was sitting on the sofa. With great care, he moved to kneel down beside him, his knees popping with the strain.

Nicholas barely moved, barely seemed to notice he was there.

“Nicholas,” Sam said. “I know this is a lot to take in, lad, but I am here for you.”

He reached out a hand and touched Nicholas’s arm.

It was as if he had been struck with a bolt of electricity.

Even as the old man touched him, Nicholas shrank back in sudden anger.

“You’re lying!” he yelled. He jumped away from the sofa. “You’re lying! They’re not dead!”

His voice rose to the ceiling and the returning echoes mocked his despair.