J A Henderson
BUNKER 10
For Willie Schmidt
What if you went back in time and killed your grandmother before she gave birth to your mother? The problem is obvious: if you kill your grandmother then your mother would never have been born, and you would never have been born; if you were never born, you could never go back in time, and so you could not kill your grandmother. This conundrum, known as the Grandmother Paradox, is often thought sufficiently potent to rule out time travel to the past
19.59
The Christmas tree was taller than a military cadet and just as green. It had been decorated with old fashioned wooden ornaments, wrapped in thick tinsel strands and dotted with real candles in silver holders.
Seven teenagers sat on the dormitory floor in a ring, ignoring the thin line of smoke seeping under the door. Simon and May-Rose pulled crackers. Barn, Cruikshank and Diddy Dave swapped presents. Leslie and Jimmy Hicks had their arms round each other, paper hats upon their heads, pretending to be the King and Queen of Christmas.
“We’ve run out of Coca-Cola.” Barn thumped his chest. “I need more if I’m going to do the biggest burp in world history. And I totally am,” he added proudly.
“You’re gonnae throw up, ya big balloon.” Diddy Dave draped a clump of discarded ribbons over his friend’s head.
“I’ll get the drinks.” Simon pulled himself up, went to the door and opened it.
The corridor outside was filled with oily smoke, thickest where it rolled across the ceiling in black folds, a churning, suffocating beast. Two dead soldiers in British army uniform lay on the ground, staring sightlessly at each other. Simon put a handkerchief over his mouth, stepped over the bloody corpses and went to the canteen. He fetched a bottle of Coke from one of the tall grey fridges and returned to the party. Shutting the door behind him, he handed the bottle to Barn who took a huge swig and grinned at the others.
“Ready?”
Simon looked at his watch and shook his head.
“It’s eight o clock,” he said sadly.
Jimmy Hicks pulled Leslie close and held her tight. Barn began praying. May-Rose started to cry. Simon screwed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears.
A high pitched sound, louder than the whistle of a steam train, rose from below and vast white light, bright as the promise of life, enveloped the room and ripped it apart.
At twenty hundred hours on Friday, 24th of December 2019, Pinewood Military Installation exploded.
The blast ripped apart acres of forest and devastated the remote highland valley where the base was located. There were no survivors and no official cause was given for the incident.
Inside Pinewood were 185 male and female military personnel◦– a mixture of scientists and soldiers.
There were also seven teenagers.
This is the story of their last day.
-PART 1-
Pinewood Military Research Installation
December 24th 2019
18.00 hours◦– 13.00 hours
For Willie Schmidt
08.00
Jimmy Hicks wondered if the army would shoot a fifteen year old. After all, what he was intending amounted to treason.
Hicks sauntered through Pinewood’s complex of corridors, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, a satchel over one shoulder and a book in his hand. He was a tall slim boy, so he slouched to compensate and it made his wavy brown hair flop over his forehead. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was in a military facility, he would have looked like any ordinary pupil on his way to class. Even the colour of the passageways looked right, the same dull industrial beige that adorned so many school hallways.
Jimmy read as he walked. Or he pretended to read, but his eyes kept darting upwards, scanning the ceiling.
There were small security cameras set at regular intervals into the roof and they were just the ones he could see. That was good, though. It meant there were too many screens for the staff in the Operations Room to monitor properly. As long as the boy didn’t do anything obvious he wouldn’t attract attention.
He passed the living quarters and carried on down the corridor. An armed guard at the end of the passage gave a friendly nod and pointed to the book.
“It’s Christmas Eve, Jimmy. No lessons today.”
The guard had no doubt Jimmy Hicks knew this. After all, the boy was a genius.
“Just walking and pondering, Bill. That way I get physical exercise along with my mental simulation.”
“Oh. Right.” The guard glanced at the book cover. Cosmology in Gauge Field Theory and String Theory
“What on earth are you reading?”
“The physics lab was out of comic books,” Jimmy shrugged
“When I was your age I had my head stuck in a Beano,” Bill laughed. His smile faded as he realised how dumb that must sound. The teenager had a security clearance higher than his own.
“Yeah.” Jimmy stuffed the tome into his bag. “Maybe I should get out more.”
“One weekend furlong a month, son, same as me.”
“But I get escorted to Glen Isla Village at the weekend, where there’s nothing but a post office and a couple of farmhouses. You do what you want with your time off.”
“It’s Christmas Eve and I’m here aren’t I?” the guard retorted. “I’m in the army, Jimmy. I don’t have the luxury of doing what I want.”
Jimmy Hicks couldn’t argue with that. He pushed his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall.
“How come all Christmas leave is cancelled Bill?” he asked nonchalantly. “Nobody tells me anything in this place.”
The guard had a lumpy red face and a bulbous nose. Put a white beard on him, Jimmy thought, and he’d make a passable Saint Nicholas.
“Nice try, son.” Bill looked around at the empty passageway, then relaxed and let his shoulders sag. “All I know is that something big has come up and now we’re all stuck here. At this time of year we’re operating a skeleton crew as it is. There’s nobody spare to escort you and the other kids home.”
His jowls drooped a little more and he smacked his lips in disapproval.
“I’m sorry you can’t spend the holidays with your folks.”
“If you ever met my parents you wouldn’t say that.” Jimmy Hicks fished a bag of half melted toffees out of his pocket. “Like a sweetie?”
Crusted brown globs stuck to paper dark with wet stains. Bill wrinkled his nose and shook his head.
“I must have been standing too near a radiator.” Jimmy dropped the gooey mess into a stainless steel bin next to the door. It hit the bottom with a loud thunk, for the bin had been emptied half an hour earlier.
But Jimmy Hicks already knew that.
Inside the sweet bag, nestled among the sticky lumps of toffee, was a small transmitter, no larger than a finger.
He had now planted six transmitters between this point and the workstation in his dormitory, all hidden in waste receptacles. He had designed the devices himself to work as a relay booster system. Now, if he sent a wireless transmission from his computer in the dorm, each hidden device would amplify that signal before sending it on to the next. By the time his transmission reached the last tiny booster it would have enough power enough to pull a 747 out of the sky.