Exodus Code (11 page)

Strange. Gwen’s curiosity trumped anything else she had been feeling. She opened another program on the computer and sent the same message she’d been sending for the past three days, since she’d felt her life caving in on her.

Gwen heard Anwen cough, paused, listened for a beat, then she opened a number of windows and scrol ed through screens, until she had access to the local CCTV cameras outside the hospital in Swansea. When she recognised the medics unloading the gurney with the madwoman strapped to it, Gwen zoomed in on the image. They must have sedated her, Gwen thought. The woman was unnatural y stil , her eyes wide open, and a bandaged taped to the right side of her face.

Gwen noted the time stamp on the recording, closed out al but one of her screens and in a few minutes had hacked into the patient admission records.

Before she could investigate further, she heard a car door slam through the monitor. Shit. Rhys was home. He’d kil her if he discovered she had hidden al of this equipment, never mind that she’d left Anwen.

‘Come on, come on,’ she said, scrol ing through screens until she found the admission files for the day’s patients.

From the baby monitor, she could hear Rhys’s footsteps on the stairs, and, of course, Anwen decided at that moment to stir. Gwen listened as her whimpers began.

She found the database. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, her adrenalin spiking. God, she missed this rush.

Anwen burst into ful -scale crying.

From the monitor, Gwen heard the bedroom door creak open. Anwen’s crib rattled, her screams increasing. Gwen heard the footsteps on the floor. She heard Anwen’s blankets rustle.

Gwen stopped typing, her hands frozen in mid-air. What if it wasn’t Rhys?

‘WHERE’S YOUR MUM then, luv?’

Gwen exhaled, not knowing what she would have done if the voice in the monitor hadn’t belonged to Rhys.

Three patients’ records popped on the screen one after another, two women and one man. She clicked on the man and scanned the A & E

admission notes. Drunk and disorderly, he’d cracked his head open outside a pub.

Anwen’s cries settled back to whimpers. Gwen could hear Rhys picking her up from her crib. ‘Is your mum asleep, pet?’

She heard the nursery door open and footsteps going down the hal .

Gwen clicked on the other two admission charts, scanned their notes too.

‘What are the chances of that?’ said Gwen. Frantical y, she emailed the charts to her phone.

‘Gwen Cooper!’

Gwen jumped. ‘Shit.’ The static on the baby monitor crackled loudly, the anger in Rhys’s voice palpable. ‘Get back here. How could you leave Anwen by her bloody self?’

Gwen grabbed the monitor and was about to answer that she was in contact every second, but then remembered it wasn’t a radio, a realisation that reinforced how much she missed her old life. How much she missed Torchwood.

She listened to Rhys’s footsteps as he bounded down the stairs. She could not have him come outside and find her here. He’d take away the only things she had left that made her feel needed. Although, real y, what could he do? He could lock her up in the attic like some wayward wife. He could take away her daughter. He wouldn’t dare. Gwen’s anger knotted in her gut.

‘Gwen! Where are you?’

She was about to shut off the computer, when the screen fil ed with static.

What the hel ? Staring at the static, she ran her fingertips across the tracking pad, but the static remained. She tried to shut down the computer. The static remained. And then as if she’d stepped inside the noise, Gwen could see nothing but grey noise and static around her.

Yet a part of her knew she was staring at a computer screen inside a shel of an SUV in Wales. It was as if she was watching herself watching herself.

She shivered.

Somewhere ahead of her, Gwen could hear a low hum. Wait. Not a hum, a growl.

Gwen tore her eyes away from the static on the screen. She felt sick. She could hear the growling getting louder. What was it? Leaving the static screaming on the screen, Gwen crawled to the side of the SUV and stared out at the darkness. The windows in the SUV had been broken out ages ago.

This time she heard the low growl behind her.

Inside the SUV.

She whipped round, ready to attack, and found herself facing the most beautiful animal she’d ever seen. Its skin was crushed velvet, its eyes like polished stones – so black they shimmered blue. The puma went down on its front paws, holding Gwen’s gaze.

Gwen could see herself in the puma’s eyes, then it was no longer her face but the computer screen displaying a faint outline of an image, a geometric design of some sort. She stretched her hand out towards the puma; the air around its head felt dry and hot. It opened its mouth wide and took Gwen’s hand inside.

‘Bloody hel , Gwen. Where are you?’

Gwen’s eyes flew open. She was alone in the SUV. When was the last time I ate or slept, she wondered. She looked down at her hand. It was wet and sticky and there were tiny tears of blood on her knuckles.

Behind her an image throbbed against the static on the computer screen.

She tried not to stare at it again. In a panic, she sent a screen shot to her phone.

The rock in Gwen’s gut shifted, pressing down on her chest. Her lips felt cracked and dry. Licking them, Gwen tasted peaches. She hated peaches.

Soft and slithery in her mouth. Rhys loved peaches. Gwen hated Rhys.

She slammed the computer closed, hid it underneath the compartment in the floor again, brought down the antennae, and crawled from the SUV. Pul ing the camouflage tarp back over it, Gwen slammed the garage door and sprinted down the street.

THE ONLY PERSON making any noise at Gwen and Rhys’s breakfast table the next morning was Anwen, who was enjoying the chance to practice her latest farmyard noises. Her squeals of delight were bouncing off the wal s as wel as the stiff cold shoulders of her parents.

‘I don’t know what’s got into you, Gwen,’ said Rhys, spooning oatmeal into Anwen’s mouth whenever she paused long enough from her babbling to take a breath. ‘It’s not like you to leave Anwen alone.’

He handed the spoon to Anwen, reminding her how to hold it, laughing as she plunged it into the oatmeal, scooping an upside-down spoonful to her mouth, leaving most of it on her bib.

‘I’m sorry, Rhys. I’m real y sorry,’ said Gwen, buttering a slice of toast. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. ‘I just had to get out. I’ve been feeling so cooped up here lately.’ She paused and offered the buttered toast to Rhys, who arched his eyebrows but accepted it. ‘Friends?’

He tore the toast in half, handing the other half back to her. ‘Friends. But don’t ever bloody wel do that again.’

‘For what it’s worth,’ Gwen said, ‘I had the monitor with me and I could hear her the whole time. If anything had happened, I would have been back here in a flash.’

‘Al gone!’ exclaimed Anwen with her hands in the air.

‘That’s not the point,’ said Rhys, taking the tray off the high chair and lifting Anwen out. ‘You heard me come into the house, but I could’ve been anyone.

Could’ve taken her before you even knew she was gone.’

‘I know. I know. You’re right,’ Gwen said, taking Anwen from Rhys’s arms and setting her on the floor next to a pile of colourful plastic blocks. She refil ed her mug from the coffee pot.

Rhys was right. Of course, he was right. But did he have to keep reminding her? She had said she was sorry. Many times. She had apologised last night when she had come rushing inside, her head thumping. She’d lied about where she’d been, blurting that she’d taken a walk to clear a headache, and this morning she had apologised at least ten more times before they’d even come downstairs for breakfast.

How many times did it take for him to get it into his thick skul ? Real y. How many?

Gwen noticed her hands were shaking. Too much caffeine. She emptied her coffee mug and put it in the sink. The clang sounded loud, like the noise her dad’s welding gun made when he was in his workshop. Her dad. She missed him so much. He’d never had a chance to spend much time with his only granddaughter.

Anwen had waddled her way across the floor to the pots and pans cupboard and was in the process of emptying it.

‘From now on, if you feel like getting away again, you need to tel me,’ said Rhys, handing Anwen a wooden spoon from the drawer next to the cooker.

Anwen banged the spoon against the pots, squealing with delight at the racket.

‘God knows I would’ve stayed home if you’d told me,’ added Rhys, shouting above Anwen’s squeals and the radio news. ‘And if you need a break during the day from being home with Anwen, just say so. You know your mum wil help when she gets back, and mine would be round here in a flash.’

Gwen whirled round. ‘Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Rhys Wil iams! You’d like it if my mum or your mum had to take over because I’m doing such a bad job as far as you’re al concerned.’

‘No!’ said Rhys, pushing away from the table. ‘That’s not what I meant at al .

’

‘Oh, isn’t it? And I suppose I’m too stupid now to know what you mean?

Poor Gwen, al cooped up in her own little world and making everyone so unhappy!’

Anwen was suddenly quiet. Rhys was stunned at Gwen’s outburst.

‘Don’t you two look at me like I’m some kind of mental patient.’

Anwen whimpered. Gwen stepped next to Rhys, jabbing her finger in his chest. ‘It’s al right for you off al day at work, being treated like an adult, having real conversations with people who can use the toilet and chew their own food.’

Rhys couldn’t help it, he laughed. This was his Gwen, his family-loving, alien-kil ing, arse-kicking Gwen, and her behaviour these past few days was beyond absurd.

Gwen shoved him against the refrigerator. ‘Don’t you dare laugh at me! I’m sick of being stuck home here with her. I want my old life back. I want Torchwood back.’

At that moment, Anwen cal ed out, ‘Mummy sad.’

Gwen slapped her hand to her mouth and fled from the kitchen.

Anwen threw the spoon across the floor and burst into tears. ‘Mummee!

Want Mummee.’

Rhys was in shock at how quickly this conversation, and his wife if he were being honest, had deteriorated. This was worse even than last night’s confrontation. Rhys lifted Anwen into his arms.

‘Want Mummee! Mummee!’ She was flailing in his arms, her tiny fists punching his shoulder, her anger rising.

Rhys carried Anwen into the sitting room and set her down. He gathered up some of her toys and books and placed them next to her.

Anwen picked up a book and lobbed it. ‘No book!’ Then she slammed herself onto her back and went into ful tantrum mode.

Rhys crouched next to her, reaching out and stroking her forehead, holding out her favourite bear towards her. ‘I know. I know. You want Mummy. I’l go find her. I’l go get Mummy.’

‘Mummeee!’ she cried, hugging her bear.

‘What is going on with the girls in this house?’ Rhys blew Anwen a kiss as he backed out into the hal way, closed the door on his sobbing child.

He could hear Gwen’s sobs coming from the downstairs toilet. Shoving open the bathroom door, Rhys stared in, horrified by what he saw.

Gwen was leaning in front of the basin, her head bowed, her hands gripping its edges. Drops of blood were splashed across the mirror and dripping into the basin.

‘Jesus, Gwen, what’ve you done?’

Rhys stepped slowly into the bathroom, edging behind her. But before he could reach over, calm her, help her, anything, Gwen raised herself up on her toes, whipped her head back, and smashed Rhys in his nose.

He toppled to the ground, slamming his wrist on the edge of the toilet. Gwen crunched her boot into his other hand as she fled from the bathroom.

For a beat, Rhys couldn’t focus. He slouched against the stone floor, the pain worse than anything he’d felt. She’d broken his bloody nose. He lifted his hand to touch it, and worked out that his nose probably wasn’t broken but his wrist might wel be. He yelped in pain, cradling his arm against his chest. He could hear Gwen pounding up the stairs and al he could think of was something had possessed her. Had to be. An alien. A ghost. Something.

Because this woman was not his wife.

From the sitting room, Anwen’s screams were growing fiercer by the minute.

Ignoring Gwen’s blood splattered in the sink, Rhys yanked open the medicine cabinet with his left hand, tearing through half-empty cough syrups, boxes of plasters and handful of hair scrunchies until he found a rol of bandage. After wrapping his wrist as best as he could with one hand, he made to bolt from the toilet, only to step into a pool of Gwen’s blood, crashing his head against the basin this time.

Dazed, he lay with his cheek on the cold porcelain for a beat, and when he could final y see straight, he pul ed himself up and careful y stepped out into the hal way. Anwen’s screams had died to a whimper.

At least she was safe.

Rhys fol owed Gwen’s blood trail to the bottom of the stairs where he stopped and listened. Gwen was moving around in the room upstairs. A wardrobe door banged shut, drawers opened and slammed closed.

What the hel was she doing?

Rhys’s pulse was rising, his breathing shal ow, and his wrist throbbing.