His brain throbbed against his skull.
Ash rolled over, feeling parched and dehydrated as he tried to pry Ivy’s hands away from his body. He sat upright. Bad move. Queasiness hit him like a punch to the gut. He flopped back onto the bed, trying to fight through the nausea while his head relentlessly thumped.
Ivy moaned and rolled over. She reached an arm out, trying to find Ash, placing a hand on his body.
“Do you feel like shit?” she asked. “I feel like shit.”
Ash wanted a refreshing drink and a hot shower, but he barely had the energy to blink, let alone rise from the bed. He closed his eyes and tried to wait it out.
In time, the sickness subsided.
Ivy tried to embrace him. He allowed it.
“This is going to sound weird,” she began, dragging the words out, “But I could have sworn I heard you talk in your sleep last night.”
His eyes shot open. A hot shockwave tingled down his body, burning him up from the inside. He patted his clothes down, searching for his Skye-Scroll tablet. He found the device resting on the bedside table. He flicked it on and asked a question,
“What did I say?”
Ivy pulled a face, trying to consider her answer. His hands began to shake.
“Honestly, it sounded like babble to me,” she replied. “I heard you snoring, so I gave you a nudge. It sounded like you tried to say something back.”
Ash opened his mouth and tried to say something – still nothing. Although Ash desperately wanted his voice back, he didn’t want it to return until after handing over Ivy. If he started speaking now, it would be impossible to conceal his accent.
The smallest slip-up would give himself away.
However, for the sake of the development, Ash tried to be positive about it.
“Maybe my condition is improving.”
“One can only hope, Ash. It’ll be nice when I can finally hear your voice.”
She tried to nestle into his arms again, but then she jerked upright.
“By the way,” she began. “My memory is a bit sketchy, but did I say things about the war last night?”
Ash was positive he knew what she meant, but he played dumb.
“What do you mean?”
“In particular, did I talk about Operation Endurance?”
He carefully composed his reply.
“You mentioned something about the nuclear weapons. That was it.”
“I can’t remember everything I said, but it was probably confidential,” said Ivy, sheepishly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you – of course I do – but I still have a duty to uphold. Do me a favour and forget I said anything.”
“I’ve already forgotten.”
She seemed satisfied with his response and flopped back down in the bed. They tried to snooze for another hour, but then they were interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door.
“Hello?” called Magenta’s voice from outside. “Are you awake? Can I come in?”
“Yep,” Ivy called back.
Slowly, the door crept open. Magenta peered through the crack.
“It’s almost ten-thirty,” she said softly. “I just thought I’d check in on you.”
“Yeah, we’re on struggle street.”
Magenta raised an eyebrow. Ash clarified.
“We don’t feel very well.”
“Oh, you’re not hungover, are you?” asked Magenta. “It was only the one bottle...”
“We had two.”
“Oh...”
“It’s probably a combination of drinking full-strength alcohol for the first time ever, in conjunction with several near-death experiences,” said Ivy.
“Ah, yes, that’s probably it. But can I get you anything? Tea? Breakfast?”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” she replied. “We’ll be up in a minute.”
Magenta nodded, smiled, and closed the door shut once again. Ash managed to stand from the bed, but the sickness kicked in again. He pushed through it, and waited for Ivy to dress. Ash then linked arms with her as they staggered down the hallway and into the dining area.
Magenta had already set the table with plates, cutlery and the smell of fresh bread was beckoning as it baked in the oven. Ash and Ivy took their seats and poured themselves a cup of black tea. Aside from Magenta merrily humming to herself as she prepared a fruit platter, the house was eerily quiet and still. Ash found it a tad uncomfortable. As did Ivy.
“Can we switch on a radio or TV or something?” asked Ivy.
“Oh, I don’t have any of those things,” replied Magenta. “Sorry.”
Ivy scrunched up her nose.
“Are you serious? Why not? How else do you get war updates?”
“The war really isn’t any of my business. As I said before, I keep to myself. I don’t take any interest in watching humans annihilate each other.”
Ivy didn’t say anything, but her body language said it all – the resentment was there. Although Ash could understand Magenta’s decision, he also found it frustrating.
He too, wanted an update on the war.
Ash typed a message in his tablet.
“Do you get newspapers? Is there another way we can access information?”
Magenta shook her head.
“Nope, sorry,” she said. “After The Shutdown I made the decision to cut certain kinds of technology out of my life. It was an adjustment a first, but honestly? I feel freer. I always craved the simple life and now I have it.”
Ash nodded. At least now he understood her position a little better, and it explained how she’d be none-the-wiser about the British bomb raids.
He couldn’t live the way she did. After finishing two slices of toast and a fistful of blueberries, Ash made an announcement.
“Ivy and I will be leaving shortly. Thank you again for looking after us. We are very grateful.”
“Oh, you’re welcome. No problem,” replied Magenta. “But where are you going to go?”
“I don’t really have a plan.”
“You know, you and Ivy are welcome to stay here a bit longer. I mean, you can stay as long as you need, if you like.”
“I wouldn’t mind recuperating for a few days,” added Ivy.
“It’s fine with me.”
Ash wanted to say no, but admittedly it would give him time to plan his next move. More importantly, Ash needed to make contact with his army. He was still out of cellular range, but he would search for an appropriate spot to make communication.
He helped himself to a few strawberries and then cleared his plate. Putting food into his stomach had done wonders for his nausea. He then entered a few statements into his tablet.
“We will stay a little longer, but I am going for a walk now. I will be back soon.”
“Oh, can you take me with you?” asked Ivy.
Ash needed to do more than give her a simple no.
“You still look unwell, Ivy. I think you should rest for a while.”
“Nah, I’m fine now,” she said, standing. “I promise I won’t slow you down.”
Maybe it was the way he looked at Ivy, or maybe it was just coincidence, but Magenta interjected at exactly the right time.
“Actually, Ivy, I was going to make you an ointment for your facial scarring,” she said. “It’s my own natural remedy. I can whip it up in five minutes, but you’ll have to leave it on for about an hour.”
Ivy opened her mouth to dispute it, but Ash gave a swift reply long before she had the chance.
“Great idea. I’ll be back in an hour, and then I will take you for a walk through the town once I return.”
He then left, pulling his backpack over his shoulder and walking out the front door.
***
Ash strolled along the open plains.
He wandered, almost aimlessly, pointing his mobile to the sky.
Staring into the tiny monochrome screen, Ash waited for his phone to pick up a signal, but it seemed he was well out of range.
He had walked several kilometres from Silverton, but he’d had no luck. His black shoes had become coated in a thick layer of auburn dust, and apart from grass shrubs and scattered trees, there was nothing.
Soon, he would have no choice but to turn back, but the sight of a steep hill inspired Ash to give it one last shot from higher ground. Jogging towards the base, feeling each muscle flare up from the unwelcomed movement, Ash began to make the ascent. His legs quaked in protest, but he made it after a pained effort.
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Ash turned and looked out towards the horizon. The view was relatively bare, but spectacular nonetheless.
Ash then held out his mobile phone and checked the signal.
And then it happened; one bar appeared.
Hope swelling in his chest, he began to compose a text message. It was quite an effort and due to character limitations, Ash would have to send a series of messages.
Once he was finished, he read over the texts.
My name is Ashley Griffin. I am a Royal Marines Commando. After an aerial attack on my fleet, I was left to die in the Coral Sea battle last month, off the coast of Queensland. I survived. I have worked my way through enemy territory, posing as an Australian to learn more about Operation Endurance. I have learned of a possible location where the nuclear weapons might be hidden. I also have taken a prisoner in my travels. Her name is Ivy Adoni – the granddaughter of the late Prime Minister, Michael Adoni. I wish to hand her over, along with the information I know, in exchange for an honourable discharge. I await your reply.
Ash then scrolled through the available contacts. There was a new one listed at the very top – Lieutenant Colonel Nigel Durham. Ash selected his name and then pressed send. The messages struggled to go through at first, fighting against the weak reception, but at last it sent. It was only two minutes later when his mobile started ringing.
The phone buzzed in his hand. The caller ID belonged to Durham.
Nerves jittering, Ash pushed the answer button and put the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” echoed the voice, cracking slightly through the static. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Nigel Durham. I am responding to the text messages sent to me a short time ago – are you there?”
Ash did the only other thing he could do. He started pushing buttons. The beeps rang out in the open as he composed a reply.
“Hello?” asked Durham. “I can only hear beeping – are you there?”
Clearly, the Lieutenant Colonel hadn’t picked up on the fact Ash was using Morse to give a reply. He resorted to sending an SOS, and then repeated the rhythm. Finally, Durham worked it out.
“You’re using Morse code. Correct?”
Yes. I am.
“And who are you?”
He pushed the buttons, in perfect rhythm.
Ashley Griffin.
“No, a name won’t cut it,” said Durham. “I need your deployment number.”
Ash had to think for a moment, but then the digits came to him.
00751088.
There was a brief silence.
“One moment, please.”
Ash was left waiting longer than a moment. Several minutes passed before Durham gave another reply.
“I’ve just checked your file,” he began. “It says Ashley Griffin – the person you are claiming to be – was lost at sea when the HMS Clementine was sunk by enemy jets last November. There is also a death certificate here too.”
As he had feared, Ash was no more than a ghost to his army. It had been too long, and he had chosen to be silent up until now. He refused to face the consequences though. Ash would fight to prove his legitimacy.
I am not dead. I survived.
“We don’t warrant death certificates unless we’re absolutely certain the soldier or marine has perished, so you are not who you claim to be,” hissed Durham.
I am not lying.
“Yet you haven’t spoken a single word to me. You’re a coward, probably an enemy, hiding behind a façade.”
Ash felt his face burn. His thumbs began to shake as he tried to key in a reply.
I am not. I am Ashley Griffin. I cannot speak.
Durham mumbled something under his breath – it sounded like an insult – and after another minute he piped up again.
“I’m just scanning over Griffin’s file right now, and I can see he was diagnosed with PTSD and conversion aphonia about ten months ago – so you’ve done your homework, I’ll give you credit for that – but you are a fraud,” snarled Durham. “I can say this quite confidently too. For example, our intelligence tells us that while you indeed have Ashley Griffin’s deployment chip with you, it has been removed from his neck. We can only assume he was dead at the time of the extraction. Also, you are currently using a mobile phone that does not belong to you. It is linked to our database and our intelligence tells me that it belonged to another Lieutenant killed on HMS Clementine. We will be encrypting your phone before the end of the call. You will no longer have access to our database.”
His anger subsided, now sheer panic had taken its place.
No. Let me prove myself. Please.
“You’ve already wasted enough of my time.”
I have Ivy Adoni.
“Again, that is impossible. There were reports weeks ago that she had been killed in action. You have nothing to offer us.”
Too many assumptions. They were all wrong. Ash had no choice but to reveal his biggest victory. He had intended to keep it to himself for a while, but now on the verge of losing complete contact, he keyed it in.
I killed Brock M. Hoffman.
Silence. A few heavy breaths followed.
“What did you say?”
I killed the president. In Tullamore. He is dead.
“The ghost of a fallen commando managed to single-handedly track down our prime target and kill him? Unlikely. More lies,” chortled Durham. “Goodbye.”
The call ended. Just like that.
The line went dead and when Ash pulled the phone away from his face, his fears had been confirmed. The screen was frozen, displaying the words ‘Unauthorised Access.’ Ash could not open messages or search for contacts. All had been lost.
He smashed his thumbs over the buttons, refusing to believe it. No matter how many times he tried, the screen remained unchanged.
Slowly, his legs gave way. Ash dropped to his knees. He opened his mouth to scream, but there was no sound.
Ash left his mouth gaping and he gripped the mobile in one hand, and pounded the dirt with the other.
He remained down for some time.
Birds flew overhead, mocking him.