Sam’s smashed ribs barely allowed him to breathe; even so, he ran faster.
Now he heard the explosions of detonating grenades.
He jumped over a stream.
A rainbow sheen on the water told him that more wood alcohol floated there.
A second later the blue flames rushed along that, too. Now it seemed as if the whole wood was ablaze.
A man ran towards him. Sam didn’t notice the face, only the wickedly curving knife. Sam fired point-blank into the chest. The man went down like a sack of potatoes, eyes bulging.
Just for a moment he glimpsed Ryan Keith. He was using the shotgun as a club and was trading blows with a massive man in an iron helmet.
Ryan’s forehead had been split open by a sword blow.
Blood streamed down his face, but still his two eyes blazed like twin silver balls. Sheer rage drove him on.
Sam turned, intending to help. But with another tremendous roar like thunder, a wall of fire ran between him and Ryan, obliterating the two men as they fought.
Now the flames seemed to be all around him. The heat was so intense that snow melted in seconds to reveal black earth. Sap bubbled from tree trunks. Then they, too, flashed into flame until the wood became a mass of pillars of fire.
He backtracked until the heat grew too intense, then he cut along a different path. Fires raged on either side. The blood that soaked his shoulder began to steam. His skin smarted; his eyes watered. Sparks landed on his clothes and hair.
Brushing them off with his one good hand, he ran again towards the mouth of the gorge.
Ahead was a mound about as high as his shoulder. He ran up it in order to get a better idea of the lie of the land.
From there he saw he was surrounded by a sea of fire.
He screwed his eyes against the incandescent flare. With difficulty, he could just see over the burning scrub to where the mouth of the gorge lay, perhaps a hundred paces away.
The heat had driven Casterton’s defenders back but they were still holding a steady line, preventing the Bluebeards’ escape.
And now Sam could see the Bluebeards. Rather than burn in the gorge or be gunned down by the soldiers they were running into the time-gate.
For a moment Sam watched them being funnelled from this world of 1865 back to God knew when.
So it really was over. The last of the surviving Bluebeards ran with their hands over their burning hair into the gate.
Sam held up a hand to protect his own face from the stinging heat as the flames crept closer to him.
In theory, once the fires had died down the Bluebeards would be able to return, but he knew that somehow Rolle would seal the gate shut for ever. Maybe the soldiers could…
But, no. That didn’t matter now. That was a problem for someone else to solve.
Now the flames were like a rising tide that encircled the mound. His cool island in a burning sea.
Sam realised he could stay put and slowly roast.
Or he could make one last dash through the burning bushes to the mouth of the gorge.
You never know, he told himself, I might make it. The miracles have been coming thick and fast today.
Strangely, he felt a grin come to his face as he took a deep breath.
So this was it. All the roads of his lifetime converged on this single moment. Maybe this was why he’d survived that lightning strike after all.
He pushed his face into the crook of his raised arm. And ran.
The flames enveloped him. He’d entered a world full of light…
There was no pain.
Epilogue:
Time and Tide…
Sam Baker opened his eyes to find himself in the amphitheatre.
Seated beside him on the wooden bench was Zita, dressed once more in tiger-skin leggings.
At the other side of him, Sue and Lee were back in their old Stan Laurel and Dracula costumes. Lee ran his fingers through his hair as if unable to bring himself to believe that not only was it still there, it wasn’t blazing like a Roman candle.
Nicole had vanished. Sam knew she was with the Liminals now and off the time-travel trail. Ryan Keith was gone, too. The last Sam had seen of him he’d been slugging it out with a big guy in an iron helmet. Clearly he hadn’t made it.
For a moment or two, the accidental time travellers sat dazed after the sudden time-jump.
Below them, at the bottom of the amphitheatre, Jud Campbell slipped the pin into his shirt collar, while his gold waistcoat looked as pristine as the first time Sam had set eyes on it.
Meanwhile, Sam was still a good few seconds away from actually being able to frame the question: which year is this now?
For the time being he was content to run his tongue over his restored complete set of teeth, and to feel that his bones were magically intact once more.
Despite the dizziness, he realised it had gone and done it all over again. Whatever process had hauled them back through the years had also restored perfectly the bodies and possessions of those who’d been alive before the time-jump.
Although their numbers were dwindling. He saw that there were perhaps only a dozen or so left out of the original 52 who had made the first time-leap that sunny afternoon in 1999.
After a while, he felt Zita’s hand on his forearm. She gave a small smile. Without a word she stood up, walked to the steps, then climbed to the top of the amphitheatre.
Sam followed. That woolly dreamlike sensation was leaving him now.
As his mind gradually focused itself he began to notice the changes. Big changes.
At the top of the steps he stood and looked around him.
Of course the car park appeared as it always had done: bathed in clear sunlight, the bus and the cars and the ice-cream van looked pristine. There was the visitors’ centre, and the church just inside the boundary.
Zita stood there, gazing at the new landscape. ‘Well, Sam,’ she said. ‘I guess this is the big one.’
Sam looked back at the river. It flowed along a different channel now. Jud’s narrow boat and Carswell’s launch floated on the still waters of a crescent-shaped pond, which was all that remained of the 20th Century river.
A moment later Jud came up the steps to join them. ‘I’ve just seen Carswell and he’s mad as hell. I think Rolle’s advice to him about travelling in time hasn’t worked as well as he hoped. Clearly Rolle pulled a fast one, to stop Carswell playing havoc with…’ Jud’s voice faded mid-sentence. He stood with his hands on his hips and surveyed the landscape in astonishment. ‘Good God… Whatever year this is, I think we’ve gone way, way back.’
‘Or forward,’ Sam said.
‘But look at the hills. They’re a different shape now. Instead of oak and chestnut they’re covered in pine. And can’t you just feel the difference in the air? The climate’s changed.’ Jud smiled. ‘You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say we’re going to end up being our own ancestors.’
Despite everything, Sam felt inwardly calm.
‘So you say we’ve gone back into the past, Jud?’
‘I do.’
‘What about you, Zita? What do you say?’
‘I’d have said the same. Until I noticed that building across there.’
Sam followed her gaze. On a hill in the distance stood a large white building. From here it was impossible to say whether it was a Roman villa built of limestone or something that belonged to a future where buildings were extruded from some fabulous synthetic material. All he could tell for sure was that it gleamed a pure white in the sun. And that there was something tantalising about it that seemed to invite closer inspection.
Jud spoke softly. ‘What do you say, Sam? Past or future?’