In the Wrong Space and Time

V

Media: Have some nice art of the gang in the alternate universe lol. They're standing at the entrance of Whittington Barracks, which also functions as the Staffordshire Regiment Museum. Caroline is unamused at Percival's tardiness. Drawn by yours truly.

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I STARE WITH WIDENED EYES at the detritus before me. Neighbours' houses are reduced to charred and still-smoking ruins, with glass shards from broken windows scattered haphazardly across the ground.

Fires had been hastily put out, by the looks of the scorch marks on the once-pristine pavement. The flowering plants and ferns in old Mrs Adams' garden have been burnt to a crisp.

Breathing heavily, I take in the destruction of my neighbourhood, a panic-induced asthma attack threatening to seize control of my lungs and chest.

Suddenly, a thought strikes me. What about my own home?

I step out of the garage, and a pile of broken bricks greets me in a morbid fashion. The wrought-iron gate swings on its creaky hinges, the sound grating on my ears. The weeds in my unkempt garden have been reduced to charcoal.

My eyes lock onto the rubble that used to be my home, and slowly, tears leak out of them. Where am I going to go now? I brush the tears from my face fiercely, willing myself to remain strong.

However, an image of a furry grey creature flashes across my mind, and I take to my heels, darting across the lawn towards the ruins of my house. I begin to dig through the debris frantically, screaming out my pet Nebelung's name.

"Sodium! Sodium?!" I push the crumbling red stones away, in a desperate attempt to free my cat from the rubble. "Where are you?"

A voice is carried on the wind from behind me. "Hey, you over there, what are you trying to do?"

I whip around as fast as lightning. A group of men fitted in khaki jackets, trousers and brown boots is making its way towards me. "Have you seen a grey cat around here anywhere?"

Instead of answering my question, the closest soldier cocks his head in a questioning manner, his slightly-long brown hair grazing his shoulder as he does so. "Dr. Campbell? What are you doing here? Why are you looking for a cat?"

My jaw slackens as I stare dumbly at him. "How... how do you know my name?"

The soldier's brows crease in bewilderment. "Doctor, we've been using the weapons you've designed for nearly three years now - those are brilliant, by the way. How could we not know who you are? The real question is, shouldn't you be looking for more mechanical supplies and resources now? I hardly think you'd find anything of use here."

His statement addles my brain, and I squint in perplexedness. "But... I don't design weapons. I'm a chemical engineer."

Another soldier pipes up. "Isn't that Dr. Johnson's job? You've never dabbled in chemicals before."

"Dr. Johnson - Tyra?" I stride over to him, gripping his collar and yanking him towards me. "You know where she is?!" I demand, my face close to his. He pushes me away lightly, rather disturbed by my aggressive mannerisms.

No one answers, though, causing me to scream once more, "Where's Johnson, you morons?!"

The soldiers look at each other in discomfort, but heave a sigh of relief all the same. One whisper carries into my ears: "At least her insults are still intact."

What's that supposed to mean? I huff internally.

All the same, their eyes convey a message, one that clearly says, I doubt this woman's sanity. Eventually, the first soldier, whom I assume is the leader, speaks.