Exodus Code (22 page)

He knew he needed more information and a different approach from the one he’d been taking, one that needed more than someone, him, who was emotional y connected to the key victim and being influenced just as strongly as she was by some psychic force. Jack wasn’t thinking about passing the buck, but spreading the responsibility would help.

Jack was a loner, but he was not anti-social.

With the Hub destroyed, Jack had only one place where he could go to find some of the answers, to have the equipment and the intel ectual power he needed if the worst of what he was thinking was true. So he sent a message.

Jack could feel in his bones that time was running out. He just didn’t know whose.

Behind him, the television newscasters were babbling about the cancel ed WHO press conference and how the lack of information coming from the government about this strange mental il ness was becoming as startling as the disease itself. Every news and social media outlet was circulating Dr Ormond’s press release.

Jack turned, aimed the remote at the television as if it were his Webley and silenced the news.

‘Hey! I was listening to that,’ said Rhys, sitting with his computer at the dining room table, lager in hand.

‘It’s not helpful,’ said Jack, slouching onto the couch, landing on a squeaky toy caught in the cushions. ‘Now every Tom and Dick is going to sedate their wives with whatever they can get their hands on as soon as she asks them to play with the kids instead of going round to the pub. There’s going to be a run on tranquil isers.’ He tossed the toy into the playpen on the other side of the room. ‘This whole thing is going to give a new meaning to domestic violence.’

Rhys sipped from his can. ‘You have a very dim view of your fel ow man.’

‘I’ve a very dim view of al kinds of creatures,’ said Jack.

‘At least some folks are trying to figure out what’s going on. You haven’t come up with any bril iant answers, Captain Jack. My Gwen’s been mad for a week and now she’s out there somewhere doing God knows what.’

Jack understood why Rhys was so upset, but he couldn’t tel him what he was working out. He owed it to Gwen not to drag Anwen’s only parent further into this.

‘I’m thinking about it. Ruminating over the situation. Gathering data.’

‘Oh, that’s what thinking looks like, is it?’ said Rhys.

‘No, this is.’ Jack put his foot up on the arm of the couch, posing like Rodin’s statue. Rhys laughed, snorting lager across the keyboard.

They were both stopped in their laughter when Anwen’s cries burst through the baby monitor.

‘I’l go up this time,’ said Jack. ‘You keep searching for something on that image.’

‘You know this would go a lot faster if we could run your Torchwood software.’

Jack stopped at the living room door. ‘I told you, Rhys. That’s not an option right now. We’re on our own.’

*

Later that night, Jack was stretched out on the couch, unable to sleep. He was stil dressed in his shirt and trousers. He had always been able to sleep in the tightest confines, believing the reasons he couldn’t sleep in the massive beds that everyone in this century owned – no matter how tiny their bedroom – was as much to do with being buried alive as it was that too much open space made him feel disconnected, like he was drifting from his moorings. It was a feeling he’d thought he’d overcome; however, in the aftermath of his recent experiences, Jack had once again found himself drawn to tight spaces.

Jack heard the front door closing quietly. Quickly tugging on his boots, he ran through the hal , into the kitchen. In the middle of the table was Gwen’s wedding ring and, propped against the sugar bowl, a handwritten note:
When she’s old enough, give this to Anwen.

Tell her I’m sorry and I love her.

G x
Jack charged through the door, pausing in the empty street. There wasn’t a sign of Gwen. Not even the distant echo of footsteps. But then, Jack had an idea. These last few days, his senses had been turned up to eleven. Why not use that to his advantage? He took a deep breath and held it, savouring it until he could just catch the tiniest, familiar smel of Gwen – expensive shampoo, old-fashioned soap, masked with a recent layer of hospital disinfectant and industrial laundry. Feeling a little like a bloodhound, Jack sprinted off on Gwen’s trail.

*

The pier had been closed for renovations. Renovations that kept being put back and put back, as though the council were waiting for the rusting Victorian structure to have the decency to give up and fal into the sea of its own free wil .

Jack trod across the boards, feeling them creak and shift more than he’d hoped. He made his way gently towards the figure at the end of the pier, silhouetted against the low moon. She must know he was there. He just prayed she wouldn’t jump now. Because that’s al people real y came to the pier to do these days – jump off it.

Jack crept forward, wondering when he dared cal out her name. If he startled her, maybe she’d turn and fight – which would win him time. But if she jumped into the sea… Jack started to calculate how long it would take him to reach the end of the pier, to dive in after her, to find her in the cold, choppy waters. He wanted to cal to her, try to reason with her, to let her know he was going to find out what was happening, that he was going to save her, but he didn’t dare risk it, not yet.

Jack edged forward, plank by plank, feeling them shift and buckle under his weight. Was it his imagination, or was the entire structure twisting slightly in the waves? Had the recent tremors done the ironwork damage? At each step, Jack caught his breath, to see if there was any reaction. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to reach out, to grab her, to stop her…

‘I know you’re there.’ Her voice was soft.

‘Gwen, stop! Please.’

She turned, recognising Jack’s voice but not yet seeing him. ‘Jack? Jack?’

It sounded like the old Gwen. Jack moved faster. ‘Gwen, let’s stop for a minute. I can help you. You know I can.’

‘Jack, please, leave me alone,’ she yel ed. ‘I can’t be near them – I’m so afraid I’l hurt them. At the moment, my head is clear. I know what to do.’

‘No, Gwen,’ Jack pleaded, ‘It’s not. You’re not thinking right – your brain chemistry’s been scrambled, you’ve been pumped so ful of drugs…’

Gwen smiled, and it was an odd smile that froze Jack to the spot. ‘Jack, I’m just doing what I can to protect them.’

She’s going to jump, thought Jack, edging another step closer.

‘I can protect them. I’m beginning to make progress in figuring out what’s happening to you. I think something’s been triggered in your DNA,’ he said, doing his best to keep her talking. ‘Remember Torchwood. We’ve solved worse. We can figure out what’s happening to you.’

‘There is no Torchwood!’ screamed Gwen, ‘Don’t you get it? It’s gone. Over.

They’re al gone. Tosh and Owen and Ianto and poor, poor Esther. You couldn’t save them, and you can’t save me. There’s only you, Jack. It’s always been only you.’

Jack froze, stung by her words. Gwen’s anger wasn’t the fury of a madwoman, but cold, rational rage. He felt like he’d lost his last friend in the world. ‘No, Gwen. That’s not true. It’s going to be you and me. Both of us. For a long time.’ He risked a pleading smile.

Gwen turned away from Jack and took a step towards the edge. Jack charged at her, badly misjudging how frail she had become in the past week.

He grabbed her waist and twisted backwards. Her fists smashed into his face as they rol ed onto the creaking planks, tumbling over and over…

And over.

It took Jack a few seconds to realise he and Gwen were fal ing.

JACK AND GWEN hit the water stil fighting. The force of the water ripped through Jack’s nostrils, bursting inside his head. Gwen’s legs tightened around Jack’s waist, and they plunged into the black sea.

Christ. It was cold. Jack knew that if they didn’t start kicking up, they’d both drown. He’d surface eventual y, gasping, gagging, but breathing again.

Gwen would not.

Gwen’s grip loosened. She knew she had to free herself from Jack’s embrace or he would save her, pul her back to the surface to the madness her life had become, to locked doors, straps on her bed, Rhys in a constant state of fear, and Anwen terrified of her own mum. It wasn’t right. She would not live that way. She would not let Jack save her. Not this time. Not ever again.

As they continued to sink, Gwen pummel ed Jack with her feet, kicking to free herself from his grip. Jack could feel that Gwen was in a rage again, battering his head, gulping water. Jack knew what she was thinking, and he knew his only chance to save Gwen was to save himself, to get them both to the surface. Now.

Forcing air out through his nose, releasing some of the pressure in his lungs, Jack dolphin-kicked. Hard. Gwen’s movements were working against him, keeping him under the crashing waves, trying to climb onto his back and hold him down.

Where was this strength coming from? Jack wrapped an arm under Gwen’s shoulder and for a fleeting moment, his Gwen stared back, the Gwen he loved, her eyes horrified, wide and panicked staring directly into Jack’s face.

He would not let this woman go. This wasn’t about keeping Torchwood alive.

It never was. This was about keeping alive the woman he loved more than a sister, a lover, a friend, more than his life now and for ever.

They final y broke through the surface. Jack struggled to breathe. Gwen was coughing and gagging and trying to force herself back under. The waves were pul ing them towards the jagged rocks of the beach, then dropping them back under, the current too strong for Jack to swim against and fight Gwen at the same time.

Jack lost his grip on Gwen. Immediately, she kicked away from him. Jack yanked her hair and pul ed her back, but Gwen’s rage was so powerful that Jack couldn’t tel now if she was trying to kil him, kil herself or trying to fight for her own life, al at the same time.

She went under a third time, lunging away from Jack’s grip.

Jack swam after her, locking his arms around her neck. Both of them treading hard beneath the surface, waves smacking hard against their heads.

Gwen was coughing and sobbing, her fingernails scratching at Jack’s neck.

Jack inhaled deeply, smel ing Gwen’s terror – iron and lilac.

They went under again. This time Jack swal owed too much water and he had to fight the urge to gag until they broke for air again. When they did, Gwen’s grip was even tighter on Jack’s throat. Her struggles were wearing them both down. Jack knew he couldn’t waste any more energy this way or they were both going to drown.

Jack let Gwen hold him under for the last time. Then with al his strength, he forced her head and shoulders above the surface.

‘Sorry, Gwen.’

He drew back his fist and punched her. Dazed, her legs loosened their grip and she slipped under the water. Jack grabbed her before the current could pul her away from him. She moaned. He flipped her into a lifesaving hold, keeping her head above the water, treading water until he was able to get their bearings and strike out towards the distant lights of the shore.

*

A frantic Rhys was waiting for them in the kitchen, running into the street when Jack, drenched and freezing, every muscle screaming, stumbled towards the house with Gwen cradled in his arms.

Later, the two men sat on either side of the bed, watching Gwen sleep, an ice-pack pressed across the bridge of her nose, the swel ing puffing out her cheeks.

‘How many families do you reckon are having a night like this one?’

‘Too many,’ said Jack, leaning forward in the chair, taking Gwen’s hand.

‘Christ, if al these women are going to start taking their own lives whenever they have a brief moment of sanity then the clock is ticking down faster than I thought.’

Rhys stared sadly at Jack, realising that in al the years he’d known him he’d aged only a little. Stil handsome, stil larger than life, stil with that same kil er smile and dimpled chin, but changed somehow nonetheless. Jack glanced over at Rhys. For a fleeting moment, Rhys saw such pain in Jack’s blue eyes that his breath caught in his throat. One thing Rhys was suddenly certain of, more than ever: whatever Jack wanted to do, his actions would be to protect Gwen and Anwen and, yes, him.

‘This situation can’t be left to right itself,’ said Jack, turning Gwen’s wrist over so he could look for the mil ionth time at the shape she had carved into her arm. ‘Al these women can’t just be left to heal themselves.’

‘Too bloody right,’ said Rhys. ‘So what are we going to do?’

Jack smiled, tracing his finger above the pink wound on Gwen’s arm. ‘This has to mean something. It seems so familiar to me, but I can’t get the memory of it to settle, to ful y form in my mind. And that is driving me nuts.’

‘Is it alien?’ Rhys asked.

‘Yes,’ said Jack. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. But I know I’ve seen it here… on Earth. Somewhere. I know this is going to sound weird, but every time I look at it I get this odd taste in my mouth.’

‘Have to say, Jack,’ smiled Rhys, ‘not the weirdest thing I’ve heard you say.’

Jack drew the shape in the air above Gwen’s arm, not wanting to touch the pink raw wound again. Closing his eyes, he traced and retraced the image, letting it seer itself into his brain. He kept drawing, over and over again. He did this for so long that Rhys thought he’d put himself into some kind of a trance.