THE H-BOMB GIRL, Stephen Baxter [ereader for android txt] 📗

Laura passed him the diary. He read bits of it, quickly. Then he passed it back.

“I get to wear a uniform,” he said.

“Looks like it. Joel, will it really be like that?”

“Oh, yes. If the war comes it will be a catastrophe that they will talk about for a thousand years. The way we learn about the Black Death in school. This is what they don’t want you to know.”

“Then we can’t let this happen,” Laura said. She glanced at Agatha. She couldn’t let this happen to her daughter.

Joel laughed, hollow. “Good luck.”

Laura asked Agatha, “Are you part of this ‘Timeline Rectification Project’?”

“Yes. They sent me because they thought there would be a bond between us.”

“And you want my Key,” Laura said.

“Yes.”

“Why? To stop this awful war from happening?”

“Oh, no,” Agatha said. “Not that. Don’t you see? We have to fight it even harder. This time we have to win.”

Chapter 22

The next time Laura wrote in her own copy of the diary, she felt oddly self-conscious, as if a crowd of possible future Lauras might be watching her.

Friday 26th October. 7 a.m.

It’s only forty-eight hours until the Sunday War bombs are supposed to start falling.

Still in this hole in the ground.

We’ve all woken up thirsty and cold. Bern says she could eat a scabby donkey.

Mum has put herself in charge of keeping us fed. She used the little camping stove to make us breakfast, tinned rice and beans. And hot tea. We’ve got no milk and we drank it black. Mum is being a mum, this morning. Well, she is the only adult, if you don’t count Agatha.

Nick is in a bad state. He woke up in a panic because he couldn’t see again. Then he slumped back, out cold. There’s nothing we can do for him. If nuclear war wasn’t breaking out he’d be in a hospital for sure.

Bern is down too. She’s seen some of the diary. Well, that’s enough to get anybody down. Joel is fretting about her she lashes out at him for fun.

I’m worried about Bern. I’m worried about us all.

Joel and I have decided to go outside. Even though we’re risking being found by the Minuteman or Miss Wells or one of their squaddies. We need to know what’s going on.

I need to decide what to do with the Key. I haven’t decided whether to give it to Agatha. I still don’t know what she wants to do with it.

Or I could use it the way Dad told me, calling the authorities. After reading Agatha’s diary, I’m starting to think I shouldn’t do that. Everything’s very tense. I don’t want to disturb things.

Does that make sense? I mean, it is the key for a nuclear bomber. One bomb dropped could kick it all off.

I want to try to call Dad, though.

Mum asked me to fetch back some milk. Fresh bread, if there is any. She gave me a bit of money.

“Yes, Mum,” I said. She still doesn’t get it.

The streets were deserted. No traffic. A smell of burning rubber. They could hear shouting, off in the distance, a crash of glass, and a wail of police sirens. Smoke drifted across the sky.

It was about nine in the morning. Liverpool was waking up to a bad day.

They crept along the pavement, keeping to the shadows. They passed burned-out cars, and there was broken glass all over the road. And yet there were milk bottles set out on the pavement. People trying to continue normal lives.

They came to a parade of shops. The food shops were gutted. Certainly no bread or milk. “Not even any conny onny,” Joel said. Condensed milk.

A hardware store next door to a torched baker’s had been looted. Its big plate-glass window was smashed, and little price tags showed where vacuum cleaners and steam irons had been stolen. Joel rummaged around in the broken glass, but there were no radios.

“No news today.”

“I need to phone my dad,” Laura said.

There was a phone in the shop. It was disconnected.

In the street, they came to a row of three red phone kiosks. Only one was working. A recorded voice repeated, “This telephone is for essential public use only. Make your call brief. You will be cut off in one minute. Normal charge rates apply. Please have your coins ready. This phone is for essential public use only…”

Joel grinned as he fished coppers out of his pocket. “You’d think the Post Office would give us free calls in the circumstances. I think those scallies are getting closer. We’d better get a shift on.”

Laura called the last number Dad had given her. To her huge relief he picked up the phone immediately.

“Laura? Where the hell are you? I had somebody call at the house. You and Mum—”

“We’re in hiding. We both are.”

Dad snapped, “What? Hiding? Who from?”

“From a teacher at school. You remember Miss Wells?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Not ridiculous. Complicated. She’s working with Mort.”

He was silent.

“Dad, are you there?”

“What do they want?”

“The Key. Dad, you do believe me?”

“Of course I believe you.”

“I want you to come and get us.” She tried not to sound like a helpless kid. But she couldn’t think of where else to turn. “We’re in a cellar, under—”

Dad said sharply, “No. Don’t say it. If you’re right this phone call might be monitored. I’ll find you.”

“How?”

“Never mind that. And I’ll find out what Mort is really up to. I’ll try, Laura, I promise I’ll try. But use the Key, if you need to.”

But she was starting to think she couldn’t use the Key, no matter what.

She tried to be brave. “Maybe all this will still blow over.”

“Well, they’re arguing in the United Nations. The Russians still haven’t tried to crash through the Q-line, with their ships and their subs. But on the other hand they haven’t started dismantling their missiles on Cuba yet.

“And they’re panicking in Washington. They’re frightened Khrushchev might have been deposed by his generals. But Khrushchev might think the same about Kennedy.

“It’s all