A/N: Thanks for the review, Leona - yes, things are going to be interesting! Sorry for the delay - but you'll be pleased to know that we're back on track again, so here's the next chapter to savour...
Chapter Twenty-One
Swarm
Sharon is standing at the door, her expression nervous, "I'm sorry, Max. I've been ordered to take Erin to the nursery."
It's barely first light, and there's not a soul about.
"You'll have to wait, Sharon. She's not up yet."
"I've been told that she has to go right now - I'm really sorry. They said that if she wasn't ready, you had to pack her clothes for the day to go with her." She looks really unhappy now, "I've got to go to see Maddy after I've delivered Erin. And then fetch in the other kids, as well."
"But why? Why's he doing this?" She has no idea why she's asking, because Sharon's hardly likely to have been told the answer to that question. It's all about control - that much is obvious - but it seems to go beyond merely controlling her. Presumably Jackson wants to hold the entire colony to ransom through its children; is he going to make people work for nothing, or something like that?
Trembling, as she knows that it probably won't be long before Jackson pays the visit he's been promising, Yseult goes through to pack a small bag of garments for Erin, before going to wake her. It's no surprise that the little girl clings to her and screams the place down as one of the two men who came with Sharon prises her out of her mother's arms.
"For God's sake, she's not even two yet!" Sharon is now angry, "Stop it! Let me have her - she knows me."
"Shut up and get moving." The other member of her escort intervenes, then turns to Yseult. "You, stay put."
"Like I have a choice?" she demands, angry and tearful at her daughter's mistreatment.
"I'm so sorry, Max, I promise I'll keep her safe once she's in the nursery - I promise!" Sharon is also in tears now - equally appalled.
"I know - it's not your fault, Sharon - just make sure she's okay!" Yseult calls across as she's shoved back into the house, and the door pulled to behind her.
Shaking violently, she re-engages the deadlock, and hurries through to the bedroom. It takes a bit of shoving to move the unit, but once it's away from the wall, she removes a small piece of the wall panel and retrieves her ornamental sword. After what Mike did to her, there is no way - no way in hell - that she's going to let Jackson get what he wants. If she has to kill him to prevent it, then she will.
Assuming, of course, that she can bring herself to do it.
After two tense hours, a knock at the door causes her to stop sharply, a lurch in her stomach. She'd call out to demand who's there - but her mouth has gone dry, and she can't get the words out.
"It's the shopping fairy, Max."
Boylan.
Relieved, she hastens to the door, and looks out through the window panel to see that he is, as promised, standing at the door - and there is no sign of the dreaded Jackson. Then, and only then, will she open it.
"Just me, kiddo." He says, reassuringly, a bag in his hands, "Some provisions, as promised."
"Where's Jackson?"
"The Command Centre, last I saw him." Boylan's eyes flick down to the bag briefly. There must be a missive in there.
"Thanks, Tom."
"I'll be back tomorrow."
She nods, fighting down a strong urge to beg him to stay with her, and closes the door again. It takes all her fortitude not to start burrowing into the bag, but instead carry it through to the kitchen and unpack the foodstuffs within. There probably isn't anyone watching her - but one can't be too careful.
There it is. Hidden at the bottom of the pile of provisions. Moving into the corner of the kitchen, where she's not visible from any windows, she unfolds the rice paper.
Shannon's under house arrest. So's Chris and Raj. Elisabeth's allowed into the infirmary and Josh to the bar. All kids are back at school or nursery - to keep people behaving. Everyone else is in the fields. Make sure you have a weapon - Jackson keeps talking about you because Malcolm's not here. He's gonna pay a visit because he thinks you're a bit of a weak flower and it's Pete who does the work. Prove him wrong, kiddo.
Hang tight. Will try and drop by as much as I can to keep an eye for you. Sharon's going to keep a close grip on Erin so they can't use her.
B
PS Eat this.
In spite of the warning, she can't help but smile at the final sentence. At least she knows that Jackson is seriously planning on making her be some sort of concubine to him - and he'll probably threaten Erin to make her do it, too. Boylan is looking out for her, while Sharon will do what she can to keep Erin safe; but it looks very much as though she really is going to have to prove that she is not, as Boylan puts it, a 'weak flower'.
Suddenly, the humour of the situation is gone. Grimly, she rips up and consumes the rice paper. Then she goes to fetch her sword, and conceals it in the sofa. If he comes in, she's going to have to lure him to her couch, pour him a drink, pretend he has her at his beck and call, play coquettish…
And almost certainly kill him.
The silence in the house is oppressive, and Jim wanders back and forth in frustration. Zoe is now at the school, the teachers doing their best to continue lessons despite everyone knowing that the children in the classes are now hostages, not students.
Boylan's latest missive leaves him even more worried - as he has made it clear that, while all of the single women are apparently at risk, Yseult is in particular danger; as Jackson has essentially decided to victimise her thanks to her lack of a nearby husband, and her 'senior' status. It's reverse snobbery at its most vicious; she has academic credentials, which he lacks, and she's vulnerable as none of the other senior staff are. Elisabeth has her importance as a surgeon, and his presence; as does Maddy. Yseult, on the other hand, has no one other than Pete, who is forbidden to go anywhere near her house.
His eyes scan over the shopping that Boylan used to hide that letter, and is hard put not to grab something and hurl it across the room. God - he's so damn helpless. Any act on his part will lead to some sort of unpleasant outcome for Zoe - that much has been made very, very clear to him. Everyone who has kids is equally trapped - and those who don't have been advised that a random child will be picked instead. Thus no one dares to object to whatever might happen from now on.
God alone knows what'll happen when Taylor gets back; guaranteed he'll be locked out, though whether Jackson and his crew will be brave enough to actually do some real killing remains to be seen. They've been pretty much all bark and no bite so far - fists and boots aside - and the accumulation of overall cowardice is likely to stay their hands once they face a serious threat. None of them have ever been OTG - so they don't know the real dangers that lie beyond the fence-line: dangers that could get in if that perimeter isn't guarded and maintained.
His back and forth travel takes him past the window, and he looks out to see that Jackson is making his way down the pathway between the houses in the morning light with an unpleasant looking swagger. Jim clenches his fists in hopeless anger - it couldn't be more obvious where he's going. And there's nothing that he can do to stop it.
There's more oppressive silence in Yseult's house, as she sits and frets. The sword is secreted in the couch, so she can act if she must. The thought of actually having to seriously hurt - or even kill - someone to protect herself is horrible. She's had to do it before - she struck Mike over the head with a heavy hammer in order to stop him from pushing Malcolm onto the furnace; but that was down to a primal instinct: the need to protect the man she loved from being cruelly murdered in front of her eyes. This time, she's planned what she'll do - and she's not at all sure that she can be so cold-blooded as that.
A jug of juice sits in the fridge, and she's found a small remnant of some of the sedative medication that Elisabeth prescribed for Malcolm when he was still recovering from his traumatic experiences in the Badlands. It's still just about inside its expiry date, so it should be effective, though she can't vouch for the quantity. That, in a glass of juice, might put Jackson out for the count, and thus keep her safe for another day - assuming, of course, he's willing to drink it.
The sound of a heavy footstep on the verandah captures her tense attention, and she looks up at the door, sharply. Her hands go horribly cold with fear, and there's a sharp lurch in her stomach. And this time, there's no voice from without announcing the presence of an altogether more welcome laconic Aussie.
She wants to ignore it - but she knows that she can't. Shaking with all manner of unwelcome emotions and memories, she rises and walks to the door.
As she unfastens it, it is pushed inwards quickly and with a solid shove, causing her to stumble back several paces. Jackson stands in the doorway, and looks around the meticulously re-tidied house with a lazy smirk, "Talk about a woman's place. Just where you should be."
She has no answer to that that would wound, so she remains silent and hostile. Typical; not only is he a complete stereotype bully, he's a stereotype chauvinist, too. Oddly, the realisation serves to reduce her fear of him, as he now seems altogether more pathetic - he is so threatened by her that it looks as though he needs to find some way to exert power over her. She has an academic career behind her; she is respected, given control of an entire department - while his role in this Colony is to be in charge of one small group of people who plant stuff.
"I'd say 'come in', but it looks like that's superfluous."
Jackson ignores her, and makes his way into the lounge, "You know the score. You do what I say, and your kid comes home tonight. You say no, and she stays away until you change your mind. Got that?"
She watches him as he looks around the house, "Wow - must be nice to be rich."
"In what way?" Yseult looks bemused; no one earns enormous amounts in the colony - though it has to be admitted that she, as a member of the senior team with extensive responsibilities, does earn rather more than a man who plants stuff. Even so, no one lives in poverty, so his argument is barely valid.
"Swanning around, doing stupid stuff that doesn't help anyone."
"What - such as make shoes for them to wear, and clothes? Prepping us for a time when our technology starts to break down? Of course - I've been wondering what I've been doing with myself all these years. What was I thinking?" She turns to him, "Drink?"
He smirks again, clearly amused at her sarcasm; "Sure. Why not?"
Fetching out the juice, she pours out two drinks, unsure whether he'll accept a drink if she doesn't have one, too. Turning, she can see he's examining one of her wedding pictures with Malcolm, that vile smirk on his face again - a look that a lot of people have when they mention the Chief Science Officer. Or, at least, they used to.
Hastily, she fetches out the small ampoule of sedative and tips it into the juice, before concealing the offending article back in her pocket. Just in time, too - as he turns back to her. Knowing better than to smile, she holds out the drugged glass, her eyes wary.
"Cheers." He looks at her again, that horrible gaze that seems to imagine what she's looking like underneath her clothes. There's only one man who's allowed to see her so attired - or rather not attired - so she lifts her own glass to her lips and glares back, "Nice. Like that sulky look. Keep it on in bed, won't you? Not anything else, mind."
Still smirking, he downs the entire contents of his glass in six, swift gulps.
She has no idea how long it'll take for the sedative to kick in, and the last thing she wants is to have to fight this pig off once he decides he's had enough of waiting. He might not be as big as Mike was, but he's still too strong for her. Besides, she wants matters to progress no further than the couch, where she can get at that sword if the worst really does come to the worst.
Ignoring his leering, she moves back to the couch and sits down, "So, what is it about me that interests you?"
Jackson shrugs, "Who said anything about interested? You get the praise and the treats from Taylor, while we do all the hard work. I want to show you just who really calls the shots in this place."
"So I've got too big for my proverbial boots?" she watches him, waiting to see if he starts to show even the slightest hint of sluggishness. So far: nothing.
"You should just do two things: drop kids and keep house while the men do the work." He says, with pompous sanctimoniousness.
"Oh, come on. I know it's the Cretaceous - but that doesn't mean biblical times. Or medieval, for that matter." Yseult scoffs, "If you can't handle a woman having authority then you're in the wrong place. Either that, or you're doing this on purpose to piss me off because you think it's funny."
He doesn't seem keen to answer - but there's something odd. A strange sound that she can't identify that captures her attention, and suddenly she isn't interested in him anymore, "Can you hear that?"
"Don't try and change the subject." He mumbles, suddenly sounding drowsy, "C'mere and get your top off."
Ignoring him, Yseult moves across to the window and looks out. Yes - there's something she can hear; a strange, brittle noise like rushes battering together at the edge of a lake. It's becoming more insistent, and it's definitely coming from outside.
Behind her, there's a scuffle, and then a thud. She turns to see that Jackson has tried to get up, but has instead fallen over and is now sprawled across the floor. He's not out yet - but it's not looking like it'll be long.
Leaving him where he lies, she opens the front door and looks out, and then up. "Oh, shit…"
The rattling sound is coming from millions of pairs of wings, as the skies above the colony darken, concealed behind an impossibly large multitude of insect bodies.
The timing is impeccable; with pest control compromised, the one thing they don't need has just arrived.
A bloody great swarm of locusts.
Sitting at the kitchen counter, trying to persuade himself to swallow a cube of tofu on top of some salad leaves - a dim prospect even though it's been covered in chilli sauce - Jim is distracted by the sudden sound of rattling, like palm fronds on a window in the midst of a strong breeze. Bemused, he abandons his unappetising lunch and hastens to the window. The sound is coming from outside - that much he can tell; but he isn't permitted to leave - and there are two thugs outside who'll push him straight back inside again at gunpoint if he pops his head outside.
The noise is getting louder, and his curiosity is close to overcoming his discretion, until he hears the sound of running footsteps, and someone is hammering on the door, "Jim! Come out - quick!"
He turns and calls through, "Max? What're you doing out there? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine - Jackson's out for the count, I managed to drug him - but we've got bigger problems. You need to get out here!"
The guards must be gone - that's the only reason she could possibly have been allowed to approach his door. Immediately, he snatches the door open to see her outside, "What the hell?"
"Look." She turns, and points upwards.
"Jesus…" Jim remembers Chris's words about locusts; it's the worst time of the year for locusts, and they make holocene locusts look abstemious. "There must be millions of them…"
"At least." Yseult turns, "Jackson's asleep in my lounge - we need to do something. Is Chris still in his house?"
"Probably. Come on - we need to get the hell out and try and protect the crops."
"If we're not too late." Yseult is still looking up at the horrible crowds of insects that are already descending on the fields, "They should've started the countermeasures as soon as the first hints of the swarm were detected. I'll go and fetch Chris."
"And I'll go and see what we can do in the fields." Jim answers, "Get Chris down there as soon as."
"I'll pinch a rover if I have to." She promises, and flees.
Jim takes to his heels. It's nearly three quarters of a mile to the nearest outpost of the fields, where people are already looking up at the sky and pointing. With all of the pest control team engaged elsewhere, no one has the first idea what to do.
"Where are Pest Control?" Jim's holler captures their attention, and they turn to look at him, "Where the hell are they?" his volume goes up, "Someone find at least one of them! Move!"
One of the crowd turns and bolts for the orchards. God - what the hell are the pest control team doing there? Who was the idiot who assigned that work to them?
He's been there less than five minutes when a spare rover pulls up nearby, disgorging Yseult and Chris, "They're running around like headless chickens back at the compound, Jim," She reports, "Jackson's still out cold - but I don't think he'd be any better. What do you need us to do?"
"Chris - I've got someone fetching back the pest control team. Get them doing whatever they need to do. Is there anything we can do while they're busy?" Jim turns to look across the wide expanse of fields that stretch for a good two miles beyond where they stand. Already the enormous swarm is starting to settle. If they don't move seriously fast, then that's the entire grain crop gone - and they can't afford to lose it.
"All I can suggest is getting people in amongst the crops with sheets of plastic and trying to drive the bastards back up into the air." Chris says, "If you can do that, we can charge up the pesticide cannons - just be aware that we'll need everyone out of the way when we fire. The pesticide's derived from local fungus - but it's still not something you want in your lungs. We'll start a siren two minutes before we fire - get people into the sheds as soon as we do. They've got protective air-filtering systems. People should stay in there for an hour after the pesticide settles. We'll sound the siren again as soon as it's safe to come out."
"Jim," Yseult turns to him, "We'll deal with this - you get back to the Compound. They really are panicking up there, so I think you should take Guzman and turf them out of the Command Centre while they're still in a mess. Take the rover."
He nods, "Good luck."
"Thanks. I think we're going to need it."
He feels bad, abandoning Chris and Yseult to try and salvage next year's food supply - but if things are going to hell in the compound, then it's now or never if he wants to regain control. Already, Guzman is sprinting across towards him, "Do you want a hand, Mr Shannon?"
"Get in. We're going to kick those bozos out of the Command Centre and make damn sure that they realise they're in danger of starving us all out."
"Count me in." Guzman grins, as Jim starts up the engine.
As always, the temperature has dropped precipitately as the sun has dipped below the horizon, and everyone's grateful for the large heater that sits in the centre of their camp. Dunham and Lynott are busy setting up a perimeter: they haven't seen anything large and carnivorous in this neck of the woods since the Bambiraptors trailing them got washed away, but it always pays to be cautious.
Paula has opened another small vial of distillate into a bottle of water and Taylor continues to plug away at it. The four new people in their party are vulnerable enough as it is without him going off again. So far, none of them seem to have shown much shock or confusion at their surroundings - but then, it's a massive heap of information to take in in one go, and the chances are that it hasn't sunk in that they're not going back.
He watches them, intrigued. The young man - what was his name? Oh yeah: Diego; is sitting alongside his father, while the girl, whose name he's now forgotten, sits very close to him, his free arm wrapped about her shoulders. Looks like they're an item, then. The professor is investigating Malcolm's plex, comparing it with equipment that he has access to in his own time. From Malcolm's expression, it's pretty clear that he's convinced - as Taylor is - that the guy is on a nerd-trip with the specific intention of ignoring the fact that he's now in the age of Dinosaurs. The dad is drowsing as the meds Paula gave him have kicked in while his leg mends - and probably isn't thinking much about anything at all.
Now that all's quiet, his mind flips back, inevitably, to thinking of the Colony; wondering how Shannon's getting on. While he trusts Shannon to the ends of the earth and back, it's the other factors - natural disasters, technological foulups and the like - that really bother him. No matter how well prepared you are, some things can always blind-side you; and, now that the big science party is over, he wants to get back and make sure that everything's still in one piece.
He takes another sip, and grimaces, as Mira sits down beside him, "Hell, this still tastes like crap."
"Proves it's doing you good, Commander." She smirks "I never trust medication that tastes nice. So, back to camp at first light, and prep to go?"
"Hell, yeah. Been there, done it, bought the t-shirt. The sooner we get back to the colony, the sooner we can settle in our new arrivals. This environment's hardly the place for a proper counselling procedure."
"And you've got one?" She asks, "We've never had accidental arrivals before. Pilgrims always knew what they were getting into before they arrived. How the hell do you help someone come to terms with being snatched into the past against their will?"
"God knows." He admits, "I'll get Dr Shannon onto it as soon as we get back. She's sure to have someone on her staff who can help."
"I'd tell them that they're lucky - the other sixteen people on board didn't make it. But that's no consolation if they've got family back in the future that they'll never see again."
Taylor turns to look at her, "Like you?" he says, quietly; sympathetically.
Her gaze falters, and she is suddenly closely examining her boots, "Like me." She agrees, equally quietly.
"Then you understand something of what they're going through."
She shrugs, "I'm no counsellor. Don't subject them to my idea of a pep talk."
"Fine." Taylor's expression crinkles into a kindly smile, "I'll have Malcolm do it."
She snorts with mild laughter, "That would be a sight to see - except for the fact that it'd be a disaster on both sides."
They look up as Dunham approaches, "The perimeter's set, Sir."
Taylor nods, "Good work. I'll take first watch with Mira. You take second, Lynott third. You two get your heads down."
"Yes Sir."
Across the other side of the heater, Malcolm is feeling more and more uncomfortable. Falker has been showing a depth of interest in his plex that even he is sure comes from a need to ignore realities in favour of minutiae. The diminution of his obnoxiousness has led to a commensurate increase in self-awareness and empathy that he never used to have - and he can see that the small group of survivors are dealing with the shock of their arrival by simply not dealing with it. Being a man more than capable of making a bad situation worse with a sequence of poorly chosen words, he is now almost too nervous to say anything at all, for fear of triggering an explosion.
Allowing Falker to babble on about the copies of his books that Malcolm has had stored on his plex for several years, he dredges his memory for anything he can recall about the man's private life. While information about the rest of the people on the Madre de Dios was scanty to say the least, there was much discussion about Falker - thanks to his regular articles in fringe magazines, self-published tomes and appearances upon television programmes with an apocalyptic bent - and he is sure that the man had no family to speak of. He had been married, but that had ended in a highly acrimonious divorce without any children involved. There was no mention of any new 'significant other' type relationships - but that doesn't mean there wasn't one. He has no idea of the circumstances of the other three - and he's too afraid to ask.
Then, without warning, the young woman rises to her feet and crosses to the sled upon which have been placed all manner of boxes and crates salvaged from the ship, where she begins to rummage about, almost obsessively.
"Where's my stuff?" her expression is anguished, "There's a box with my name on it - why isn't it here?"
"I think we only fetched out provisions." Malcolm says, getting up and coming across to join her, "What are you looking for?"
"I…" she looks embarrassed, "I have a cuddly toy dog. A mascot - his name's Mr Thompson. I just want to find him."
"I don't think we searched the personal quarters, Janet." He looks across to Mira, who shakes her head.
"No - I have to go and get him. I can't leave him behind - he's been all over the world with me." Already, she's turning to approach the perimeter, and Malcolm has to grab her arm to stop her walking into the fence line, "Let go! She said that the ship was like a bomb, I can't leave Mr Thompson to be blown up! You don't understand - he's really important!" she's suddenly almost in tears.
He would dismiss her grief - but he can think of a small, cuddly toy cat called Schmidt, sitting on Yseult's side of their bed, and he knows that she would be just as heartbroken if she lost him, too.
"I'm sorry, Commander - I think we should go." He turns, and is not surprised to see a scandalised look upon the Commander's face, "We'll be as quick as we can."
Mira's on her feet, "I'll go with them. Don't worry - I'll get them back alive."
"Are you crazy?" Taylor is staring at them both, "If that thing goes up, then you're all going up with it. What am I supposed to tell Max if you end up dead, Malcolm?"
"It's something we need to do." Malcolm says, surprisingly firmly, "I promise we'll be careful."
"That's supposed to reassure me?" Taylor asks, "You said yourself that the ship was like a bomb, Mira."
"The sooner we go," She answers, "The more chance we have of getting the dog and getting out before it goes up. As long as we go on foot and don't strike any sparks, that should keep us safe."
He wants to order them to stay put - but then he remembers his order. The one telling them not to obey any of his orders. He sags, "Just be quick. And don't get killed."
"Thank you, Commander." Malcolm turns to Janet, and then to Mira, "Shall we?"
Their walk across the sand of the crater is brisk. There's no other way to get there, so they move as quickly as they can on a surface that is not designed for fast movement.
"I'm sorry," Janet's expression is still pained, "I can't be without Mr Thompson - I just can't. He's been with me since I left home."
"My wife has a cuddly toy cat that she's had since she was a child," Malcolm explains, slightly out of breath, "She'd understand. That's why I'm doing this - I don't think I could ever look Schmidt in the eye if I went home and hadn't rescued your dog."
Behind them, Mira rolls her eyes. Such sentiment…
And then she remembers Sienna's favourite teddy bear…the one she dropped and lost when she was six. How heartbroken the little girl had been by her loss. Stung by the thought, she picks up her pace, "We need to be quick. The fumes were pretty bad when we got out, so it's only going to be worse now."
Every step towards that heeling fishing boat seems to take forever - as though they are hurrying, and yet make no forward momentum at all. As they draw closer, Malcolm feels a growing sense of nervous dread that the bloody thing is going to explode and pepper them with shrapnel where they stand: shredded to death in the search for a cuddly toy - he must be out of his mind.
It's probably not taken as long as it felt, but now the great hull is looming over them, and Malcolm hands out a pair of torches, "Where were your quarters?"
"Close to the room where you found us." Janet says, "I can show you." There's no mistaking the desperate hope in her eyes that they're not too late.
Skirting around to the other side, where the rail is easier to reach, Malcolm gives Mira a bunk up so that she can get aboard, and then she helps them up to join her, before they scramble back up to the hatch, and make their way inside.
Even as he does so, Malcolm curses at the reek of fuel, "Hell, it's going to be hard to breathe down there - do you have breathing apparatus?"
"I don't know." Janet admits.
Mira snatches out a large bandanna that she's been wearing around her neck, "I've got this."
Malcolm quickly fumbles into his pockets and finds a large kerchief that he's been using to mop sweat out of his eyes, while Janet unties the scarf from around her head. Primitive, but all that they have to hand, the three tie their respective cloths over their mouths and noses.
"We'll have minutes at the most once we're in there." Malcolm warns, "We go in, get the box, and get out."
"Is it metal?" Mira asks.
"No, it's plastic."
"That's something. Come on. Let's go."
I can't believe I'm letting them do this…Mira thinks to herself as she lowers herself into the tilting corridor again. Fortunately, Janet knows her way around, and quickly leads them into the tumbled mess that was once her cabin. Equally, she knows what she is looking for, and snatches up a small plastic crate covered in stickers, "This is it."
"Right. Everyone out. Now." Mira's order is firm - not that anyone wants to disobey it.
"Where's the professor's quarters?" Malcolm asks, suddenly.
"Don't you dare." Mira warns, "We're risking our lives now - that information's no use to anyone, so it's not worth saving."
"He might find it useful." Malcolm counters, "Besides, I want to see how right he was."
"Are you crazy? Every second longer we stay, the more chance we die in here. Come on - we go now!"
"It was in the room we were in." Janet offers, "I'll get it."
"The hell you will." Mira snaps, "You two, out. Get on your way back to the camp. I'll get it. Were there any other laptops in there?" she's never seen one, but she knows what a laptop is.
"No, just his." Janet's eyes are frightened, "Please be careful."
"Get moving." There's no disobeying that.
Cursing himself for his foolishness in listening to the young woman's arguments, Malcolm quickly starts the climb back out, "Come on - you first." He helps her over the doorway back onto the side of the ship, before dropping the box over the side, and lowering her in its wake. In short order, he is beside her, and guiding her away, "Come on. Is there anything else in that box you need?"
"Just photos. It's Mr Thompson that matters." In the torchlight, he can see the bulbous shape of a small plush toy within, and again he knows that he couldn't have made her leave that dog behind - any more than he could force Yseult to abandon Schmidt.
Still slightly dizzy from the fumes, he leads Janet back towards the crack in the crater wall, following the trail of footprints. Just as it seemed to take ages to reach the bloody thing, now it seems as though their progress away from it is nightmarishly slow - no matter how hard they plug on, the ship's still right behind them.
Finally, they reach the crack, and Malcolm hastily sends her through, "Go on. I'll stay here and wait for…"
He doesn't finish the statement - a huge flash of yellow light behind him is followed by a hideous crump-like sound as the petrol fumes ignite inside that ship. Appalled, he turns, and sees that - as Mira feared - the ship has exploded into fragments.
The light of the explosion has killed his night-vision, and he stares helplessly into the dark. God, where the hell is Mira? Did she get out? Was she hit by shrapnel?
Staring desperately, trying to stop seeing only the negative imprint of the blast on his retinas, he looks out into the wide expanse. If she's dead, then they're in serious trouble. She's the only person who can be guaranteed to get them out alive.
And her death is his fault.