Blood Memory: The Complete Season One (Books 1-5) (49 page)

“No, sir.”

“You’re positive?” Major Harris took a moment. “Then perhaps you could be kind enough to help me understand something. There was one door in and out of the room, correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Jordan sensed Memory Jordan’s apprehension.

“You checked the body and found him dead.”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Then the Iranians came in.”

“
Yes, sir.”

Major Harris fixed Memory Jordan in place with his eyes.
“Then how exactly did they manage to get hold of the body of the man you care so much about from behind you, and use it as a shield?”

M
emory Jordan was silent.

Major Harris didn
’t stop glaring at him.

“
I must have, uh…”

T
he major held up his hand, silencing him. “Bring me the medal in my cabinet, please.”

Memory Jordan blinked. “Sir?”

Major Harris nodded to the case behind him. “The medal.”

Memory Jordan went to the small glass-fronted cabinet. It
was empty save for one plain campaign medal. He took it out. It was nothing special. All soldiers received one after completing a tour.

“Read the inscription, if you would,”
Major Harris said.

“
For outstanding bravery.”

The
major took the medal and held it delicately between thumb and forefinger – an act almost comical given the size of the man.

“Do you know why of all the medals I have this is the one I chose to display? Because it’s the only one I believe I justly earned. The personal cost I paid for this one medal is more than all the others combined. My team was on a recon mission in South America. We were ambushed and our team was captured. Our extraction was imminent and we had been trained – as you have – to sacrifice all things for the mission objective. But training and reality are not often compatible. I found I had to make the decision when it should have already been made by my training. But I ignored that training and made a decis
ion with my heart, not my head.

“
They called it bravery to go in, guns blazing, to rescue the man behind, but really I was a coward. We were all lucky to get out alive. If I made the decision today, would I make the same decision? I don’t know. It taught me that in war, we must all of us be monsters.”

He took a moment, shaking his head to dispel the memories. He p
ut a hand on Jordan’s shoulder.

“If Flaherty had been alive, and
he’d been successfully extracted, you’d have gotten one of these,” he held up the medal, “instead of a P45. I know there’s something you’re not telling me, soldier. Furthermore, it makes no difference to my decision. I’m going to have to let you go, Jordan. I’m sorry to lose you. You’re a good man. A damn fine soldier. But I can’t reinstate you.”

Major Harris sank his ample frame into his chair.
“But I’m not going to dishonourably discharge you either. I know you’ve only got a few months of this tour left, and I don’t intend for you to lose any pension you’re owed. You also have a whole lot of holiday. I suggest you use it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Jordan stopped at the door. “Where will I be posted?”

“RAF Burgh Castle in Norfolk. Do you know it?”

“Yes, sir. My father was posted there when I was young. Did my own training there too. In what capacity will I be operating?”

“There are a variety of options. How are you at cooking?”

Jordan was back in the room with Rachel.

Rachel asked, “Where’s Mia? Can you make sure she’s ready- Ahhh!” Rachel screamed, and in the same moment, leapt onto a chair.

“What is it?”

“There,” Rachel said, pointing a shaky finger, “under the bed!”

Memory Jordan dropped to his hands and knees and peered under the bed. He saw what had caused her reaction, and then turned to her with a smile. “A mouse? Seriously?”

“Be careful! It might bite!”

“Mouse bites have been known to be fatal.” The mouse disappeared into a tiny hole in the corner.

“Is it gone?”

“Yes. Danger averted.”

“Are you sure?”

“No. It’s still there. It’s putting on its ninja costume. Yes, it’s gone.”

“My hero,” she said, climbing down from the stool. “Good to see all that combat training hasn’t gone to waste.”

“Unlike yours.”

“How am I supposed to sleep here tonight with an animal infestation?”

“I wouldn’t consider one mouse an infestation.”

“Where there’s one there’ll be hundreds.” She looked at herself appraisingly in the mirror, and caught a glimpse outside. “Jordan, come here a minute.”

“What is it this time? A killer caterpillar?”

“There’s a man outside. See? Standing on the hill.”

She was right. He stood on an outcrop, head cocked to one side in a comical fashion, as if thinking deeply on a particular problem.

“You should go help him. He might be lost.”

Jordan felt Memory Jordan’s insides twist. “Get Mia and stay upstairs.”

“Why? It’s just a man.”

“Just do it, please.”

Memory Jordan rushed down the stairs. In his haste he accidentally knocked over the umbrella stand, sending the living room lamp to the floor, light bulb smashing.

“Bugger,” he said.

As he walked across the beach he dialled the emergency services on his phone. It was engaged. He tried again, but met the same hollow ringtone. Memory Jordan stopped and looked
back up at the house – at the bedroom window where he knew Rachel would be watching. Jordan noticed the bay window was still empty.

Memory Jordan drew up close to the man. He hadn’t moved. His back was to him. He wore a grey hoodie and baggy blue jeans. He appeared to be staring intently at something
on the other side of the mound.

“Excuse me
,” Jordan said. “Can I help you?”

As the man turned in a slow, awkward movement, Memory Jordan realised the man did indeed need help, but not the sort he could give.

Anne stood on the wind-blown bluff of hill. The beach and sea was visible for miles. The surf roared like a tempest. She looked over her shoulder for Jessie, but found no sign of her. Jordan reached out for something she couldn’t see.

The man’s neck had almost been severed, a thin flap of skin and flesh holding the head in place. His cheek rested on his shoulder, drool oozing from his missing lower jaw. His eyes stared with blood-red intensity.

Jordan felt Memory Jordan’s emotions – his fear was many times more powerful than his own. It was a colossal dark mountain of terror, and the memory river diverted sharply, flowing so fast Jordan could hardly keep track.

Memory Jordan was frozen, mesmerised by the man standing before him. The man’s tongue flapped, splattering sticky saliva. He shambled toward Jordan in a laggard old man shuffle.

Great head-sized objects streamed down the memory river now, dark and solid, threatening to dam it, to burst its banks. Hesitating only once, Jordan reached for one of the chunks with both hands. To his surprise, it was as weightless as the others. He peered into it…

Pain!

It seared from his right thigh to his lower back. He’d been shot. Every movement brought a flare of heat and black spots in his vision, but he couldn’t stop, not yet. He limped from room to room until he found what he was looking for.

Flaherty lay on a table, all manner of torture equipment left behind in haste. But there was no blood and little damage – save for a few needle puncture marks in the crook of his arm. Memory Jordan checked his friend’s pulse but found none. Memory Jordan hugged his friend close.

Patrick’s dead eyes were looking up at a round white stain on the roof. To desperate eyes it might have resembled a moon. Memory Jordan was about to close his friend’s eyes before thinking better of it.

Booming foreign shouts echoed from somewhere down the corridor. Memory Jordan headed for the door. Before he got there he heard a faint dragging sound behind him. He turned, shocked to see Patrick getting unsteadily to his feet.

“Patrick?” Memory Jordan said. “Patrick, are you all right? I thought you were dead!”

Patrick looked up. His eyes were dark and empty.

“Patrick?”

The mountain of terror rose inside Memory Jordan then, blotting out the sky, the land, the moon, everything… everything except those eyes. Dead, but somehow still piercing. Memory Jordan raised his gun and fired.

And so it was now, the same fear that drove Memory Jordan to run, his heart thumping in Jordan’s ears.

More Lurchers ran along the base of the cliff, sprinting towa
rd the house with limping gaits.

Anne did her best to keep up with Jordan, but he was so fast!

Memory Jordan skidded to a stop. He shouted warnings to Rachel and Mia, but between his fierce gasps for air and the stitch stabbing behind his ribs, he made little sound. He looked over his shoulder. The lurching man was far behind, struggling down the incline.

From i
nside the house came the sound of thudding feet and the crash of furniture as the Lurchers tore the house apart.

Memory Jordan ran into the house. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen and killed the Lurchers with ease. He grabbed Rachel and Mia and they ran away to safety, never to set eyes upon another Lurcher again. At least, that’s what Memory Jordan wished had happened. In reality, he didn’t move a muscle, frozen to the spot by fear.

“Run into the house!” Jordan shouted. He clenched his fists, willing his memory self to move. “Come on! They’re your family! They’re
my
family! Fight for them! Please!” But the fear was still there, as immovable as the ocean. “Why won’t you move? Go!”

Two figures appeared in the semi-circle bay window. Rachel and Mia beat on the glass, expressions full of fear. Mia pressed her hand to the glass, looking down at her father
below. Utter terror was painted on her face. “Daddy!”

“Jordy!” Rachel screamed. “Jordy, don’t go! Jordy!”

But Jordan could already feel Memory Jordan’s body turning.

Attracted by the sound of the pummelling, the Lurchers ran up the stairs, screeching. Rachel and Mia disappeared inside the house, Lurchers hot on their heels.

His own personal Lurcher was almost on him now, he of the missing jaw.

Memory Jordan
ran.

He ran until his legs ached with acid, his lungs torn to shreds. He never once looked behind himself, always looking forward.

He came to the edge of a cliff. He didn’t know how long he’d been running. His lips were cracked and his breaths came in deep gulps that shook his body.

At his feet was a sheer drop of two hundred feet. The blue smashed jagged rocks, blossoming white. He looked back at the house, now a speck in the distance, then to the moon looming large in the night sky, its twin rippling on the deep.

Tears streamed down his face. Jordan sensed his self-loathing and shock at what he’d done.

“I’m sorry,” he said to the house, to the moon, to no one.
He edged forward. A few tiny pebbles drifted over the edge and plummeted down below. He stood up straight and raised his foot to take the final step he would ever take.

Jordan was vaguely aware of someone shouting his name, distant a
nd far.

“Jordan! No!” Anne screamed as she threw herself at him, knocking him to the side, to safety.

He slid, almost over the edge.

The sea slammed into the cliff face far below, roaring in agitation at the loss of an unclaimed soul. Anne had barely made it to him in time, running as fast as her legs could carry her. Her throat was sore, her voice hoarse.

“Don’t you dare jump! Don’t you dare! We need you!”

They were both puffing and panting, gasping for oxygen.

“I remember,” he said, breaths shallow. “I remember everything.” He had tears in his eyes. “I killed them, Anne. I killed my wife and daughter.”

“You didn’t kill them, Jordan. I saw you. There were no gunshots, no acts of violence.”

“I didn’t rescue them. They needed me and I ran.” He buried his head in his hands and cried. “I’m a coward. My wife and child were in a house with Lurchers and I ran. What kind of man does that? You should have let me jump.”

He moved to get to his feet but found them weak with exhaustion.

“If you jump, you’ll die. You were lucky to survive the
first time.” She took his head in her hands. “Listen to me, Jordan. You’re not the same man you were. You’ve changed. We all have.”