“I'll get you a pencil and paper,” Sparky said. “Hold on. Hold on!”
An idea. Jack and Lucy-Anne looked at each other, and he wished he could pluck the idea from her mind. Wished it was that easy.
Sparky returned.
As Lucy-Anne began to write her idea down, Jack was still dwelling on that thought.
Pluck the idea from her mind…
The pain was part of her dream, and in the strange places she wandered, no one knew what she was trying to say. The London of her dreamscape had a bland, washed-out look—all colour was bleached, the sky was a monotone grey, and the parks and avenues were filled with the memories of trees. People walked the streets, but their expressions were neutral. Even when Lucy-Anne tried speaking to them, they only broke into slight frowns. Children walked with parents without being naughty, or inquisitive, or children at all. The River Thames did not flow.
The only splash of colour and life was the woman she was following along the South Bank. Nomad! she tried shouting, but the woman did not seem to hear. Either that or Lucy-Anne's voice was not working, because she could not hear herself.
I was shot. I can see, but not smell or taste. I can feel and wish I couldn't. Some of this is true.
So she ran after Nomad instead, sprinting through her dream of a London that never was, and each footfall jarred up through her body and reminded her of the pain.
Nomad turned, smiled, and Lucy-Anne imagined them meeting and embracing and the bomb not exploding.
She approached Nomad and held out her arms, and the woman raised her eyebrows in surprise. They embraced. I think this is something I can do, for a while, Lucy-Anne said.
When she opened her eyes she was talking to herself, and that grey London was deserted. But it was still there. No heat blast, no mushroom cloud, and a future that might just be malleable, for a time at least.
Maybe for long enough.
“You really think you can do that?” Sparky asked.
“It's all we have,” Jenna said quietly. She was looking at Lucy-Anne, smiling and nodding.
“But dream a nuclear explosion not happening?”
“What else would you do?” Jenna asked, not unkindly.
“Get the bomb onto a boat. Float it down the Thames. Into the North Sea, or something.”
“In…” Jenna glanced at her watch. “…less than two hours?”
Sparky frowned. He had no answer.
“It's the only idea,” Jack said. They all looked to him, Reaper included.
“Getting pretty bloody desperate here, mate,” Sparky said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, we are,” Jack said. “That's why Lucy-Anne's right.” He looked around at all of them, and he had tears in his eyes. Sparky, feisty and hard, but with a good heart. Jenna, resourceful and kind. And Lucy-Anne, who might well have lost more than all of them, and who now might be dying.
“Nomad,” Jack said, pushing hard into her mind to make sure she heard. She raised her head.
Lucy-Anne tensed, trying to lift herself up, and Jack thought that perhaps she already knew. But hopefully that would not matter.
Hopefully.
Jack closed his eyes and flipped, and when he opened them again his friends were all but frozen where they stood, sat or lay.
“Jack,” Nomad said. She had flipped as well, just as he'd hoped.
“I won't let anyone else die for me,” he said. He didn't say what else he was thinking; not yet.
“And I'll do anything I can to help you and Lucy-Anne.”