no need to be facetious."
"There's every need, you dumb prick. Look, either put the bloody pants on or leave them off. I don't give a fuck. But if you're not ready in thirty seconds I'm leaving without you!"
The amazing power of an ultimatum. In two minutes LaRoche was dressed and they were padding cautiously across the open area towards the edge of the clearing. As they approached a gap in the surrounding vegetation Mireille tensed to be ready for an ambush. LaRoche was looking back at the rocks, wishing he'd never left them.
There was no attack. No sign of life. The narrow track wound off into the countryside and what they could see of it was deserted. She gazed into the distance - sparse, low-lying scrub as far as the eye could see. Petrified, by the looks of it. "Welcome to the Deadlands, campers."
LaRoche stared vacantly. Dismally. "Why are you so chipper?"
"Chipper!" she jeered. "What kind of a word is that? You a dictionary in your former life, were you?" She laughed.
"I don't know what I was," he mumbled sulkily, "I only know I don't like surprises and this place seems to be full of them. I have to assume you don't share my opinion because you're obviously enjoying yourself."
She was, wasn't she? Like a devotee of the supernatural who'd just discovered there really was a twilight zone. Like she'd stepped into it and been immediately rejuvenated. "Bet your balls I am! Jesus, LaRoche, it's not that bad. Chill out. Go with the flow."
"Why? So that I can turn into a savage like you?"
What annoyed her more than his complaining was the fact that he was right. She couldn't believe she'd let her self-control slip that far. "I'm trying to stay alive, just like you." She turned back, wounded and resentful. "I seem to recall you weren't exactly the pacifist back there, so don't start lecturing me on morals. We're only doing what the old guy said. No rules, remember?"
LaRoche was gazing despondently. "Except those we make ourselves." He frowned, thought deeply for a moment, then shook his head.
"What?"
He blinked, looked vaguely at Mireille as if he expected to find the answers on her face. But there was only impatience and condescension. "You wouldn't understand."
She let out a defeated sigh. "I'm sorry I even tried. You're a lost cause, LaRoche. Do what you fucking like." She spun on her heel and began stomping off, hesitating after a few paces to look reproachfully over her shoulder. LaRoche was weird. He was turning on the spot, gazing about as if this was all totally new and he'd just arrived. Completing the 360, he saw her and it confused him. Mireille took it for embarrassment because she'd caught him behaving like a wally. She gave up on him and started walking again.
He was suddenly running after her. "Don't go! I've just had a...." He paused to frown. "I've seen something amazing!"
He seemed genuine, but how could she tell? Maybe he was simply trying to con his way back into favour again. "I'm listening. Make it good."
That stumped him. "I-I can't remember.... For a moment it was so clear, the reason for all this, for me...." He was suddenly filled with inexplicable wonder and was looking up into the sky, saying: "Yes! It's happening! I can feel it!"
Mireille wasn't the least impressed. "I'm really glad for you. Now, are you coming, or not?"
His eyes closed and he drank in the air slowly. Bliss. She thought maybe he'd died on his feet. He didn't move, wasn't breathing as far as she could tell. A hefty slap across the face was what he needed. Instead, she reached out and caught hold of his arm.
Then she was wishing she hadn't!
4
"I'm losing her again!" Holder couldn't believe how his patient's vital signs had taken a sudden dive. No warning. Nothing to indicate a complication. It was just as if she'd decided to slip away and die. No reason except maybe to be plain bloody-minded. Unless it was the drug abuse. She was a user, that was obvious. But they'd allowed for that. Hadn't they?
Too late to worry about cause now. He took the paddles from the nurse, waited for her to squirt gel on, then rubbed them together. Another second and he was stooping towards the still body on the cot. "Clear!"
5
Whump!! Sudden impact. And Mireille was flying backwards in time at incredible speed. Then she'd stopped and it was like a dream, because what she could see was alien - she was on a bed in a room with curtains for walls. And her head was thumping fit to burst. Bringing up a hand to cradle it, she felt a stab of pain from her wrist and looked. A clear tube extended from beneath a square of tape stuck to an arm that wasn't hers - a man's arm! A female voice was saying something, but before she could interpret the words, she was flying through the Void again.
More words, this time deeper - a man's voice. And a shadow looming above her, a silhouette against a pink light. The voice cursed her and she recognised it. "LaRoche?"
He stood over her, fuming. "You had to interfere, didn't you?"
"What happened?"
"You touched me, damn it! Just when I was about to receive it!" One fist was clenched in anger, the other gripping the hilt of the sabrette tightly. He turned on his heel, strutted a few paces, then stomped back. "I could kill you, Mireille. I honestly could."
She was utterly confused. "I don't understand."
LaRoche was bemoaning his fate to no-one in particular. "I felt it coming. I know it would have been wonderful. It was mine." He glared down at her. "And you took it away!" He kicked the dirt like a spoilt child. Then clenched his teeth and swung wildly with the sabrette, taking off the top of a stunted tree.
Mireille struggled to her feet, looked around for her own weapons. Not that she really expected to have to defend herself, but he seemed pretty close to his limit of being simply pissed off. A glint of polished metal caught her eye and she went for it. But as she stooped, LaRoche's boot appeared and trod the blade into the sand. "Leave it!"
She backed up a metre. "This is bullshit, LaRoche! I'm not your enemy. I didn't do anything to you. Whatever it is you think you lost, I haven't got it. Search me." She spread arms from her sides and waited.
The anger regressed to pained acceptance: he was the only sane man in an insane world. With a sad shake of the head, he turned and began walking off into the bush.
As she hunted in the scrub for her other sabrette, Mireille thought seriously about leaving LaRoche to his own devices, but she felt she ought to tag along. She told herself it was about looking out for him like she'd promised the old recorder, but that was an excuse. She needed to feel close to another human being and he was all she had. Like there was someone else once - a man, she thought, one she'd known intimately. But he'd gone and left a terrible emptiness. What really concerned her was that she couldn't remember anything about him. Or anything before just now.
She began trooping after LaRoche, giving him space. What had happened back there? He must have hit her. It was the only explanation that made sense. But why? According to him he was having an aberration and she'd interrupted it. Maybe next time he should hang up a sign.
He did. And she was so pre-occupied with her own thoughts that she almost missed it. LaRoche, however,
