Chapter 3: Chapter Chapter Three: The Dead Zone

“I’m going to tell you something that only a handful of people on the whole planet know about,” Braverman said. “Needless to say, this information is highly confidential.”

They were in the back of Sharpe’s people carrier. It was a spacious beast of a vehicle with an engine that sounded like a tank. The big American was driving. There was a passenger next to Sharpe that hadn’t introduced himself. MacGregor hadn’t cared to ask what his name was or where he fitted into the scheme of things. In the back of the vehicle, MacGregor and Fraser were seated together on a padded bench seat. Braverman was seated across from them. He was close enough that MacGregor could smell his breath and flinch at each tiny droplet of spittle that made its way across the three feet that separated them.

Jackie had stayed behind with the young man called Robert Hall. She hadn’t said a word of goodbye to MacGregor. MacGregor guessed that she was upset about not being included in the current adventure. There wasn’t much he could do about that.

“Something is happening in the north of Scotland,” Braverman said. “Something quite serious that nobody can explain. A twenty square mile area of the countryside has been affected by this and it’s spreading faster and faster. Within twenty-four hours, the first nearby towns and villages will be affected. We’ve already got plans for evacuation. In another day, every town and city north of Inverness will be affected. If the effect continues to spread, within the next 72-hours most of Scotland will be, for want of a better word, crippled.”

MacGregor digested Braverman’s words. They didn’t make total sense to him.

“Are you serious?” Fraser said. “What the fuck’s going on, then? Is there a nuclear power station about to explode or something?”

“Nobody can explain it,” Braverman replied. “There’s an energy field. No, that’s not what they called it. A field. An energy field. The center is fifty miles northwest from Wick. Within the radius of the dampening field, nothing will work. Electric lights, petrol engines. Diesel engines. They can’t even get a spark to light a candle.”

The people carrier leaped over a speed bump. MacGregor felt Fraser’s hand on his hip, keeping him pushed down on the bench. He nodded a “thank you” to his friend and listened, with jaw agape, to Braverman’s story.

“I know it sounds like a joke, but it isn’t. Nobody knows what they’re dealing with here. Scientists on the scene can’t make up their mind about it. They think it’s some kind of first strike weapon, but nobody has ever seen anything like it.”

MacGregor felt the vehicle braking sharply. He leaned against Fraser and braced himself for yet another rapid acceleration. But it did not come. The big car’s engine died and he heard the two doors opening and then slamming shut. Moments later, the cold night air blasted into the back of the people carrier as Sharpe jerked open the double doors. The noise that accompanied the wind was deafening. It made MacGregor shiver.

“We’re here.” Sharpe had to scream to make himself heard. “Everybody get out!”

“Well done, Mr. Sharpe,” Braverman said, “Gentlemen, let’s get going.”

Fraser led MacGregor to the helicopter. He felt real fear as the rotor blades swished above his head and the engine roared mere feet from his face. Fraser was holding his arm in the same way as Sharpe had when he’d tried to pull him out of the flat. He was glad for the reassurance of Fraser’s grip. Someone helped him into the helicopter. It might have been Braverman, Sharpe or the pilot. MacGregor was numbed by the shock of the helicopter’s din. He felt a headset being placed onto his head. Heavy earmuffs silenced the roaring racket of the helicopter engine. MacGregor relaxed slightly as the noise faded to a level that wasn’t quite earth shattering.

“Pretty intense.” Fraser’s voice sounded high pitched and tinny through the headset. “Can you hear me?”

“I can hear you.” MacGregor tried not to allow his voice to crack, “Yes, pretty intense. Thought my head was going to get sliced off at any moment.”

“Aye, that’s pretty intense,” Fraser laughed.

The door slammed closed. MacGregor wasn’t sure who was in the helicopter now.

“Who’s all here?” he asked.

There was no reply for a moment. Then it was Fraser’s voice again. As he spoke, the helicopter engine increased in pitch.

“Braverman is here. Our friend, good old Sharpe, is here, too.”

The aircraft lurched into the air. MacGregor felt like his stomach might have been left behind. There was a horrifying moment when he felt his sphincter twinge. But it was only a fleeting moment.

“Gentlemen,” Braverman said, “we don’t have that much time. We’re heading for RAF Lossiemouth. We’ve got a car waiting there to take us further North.”

“Uhh, sir.” A voice crackled over the intercom. “Change of plans, sir. We’ve been advised to proceed directly to the Southern Marker. Be advised that the Southern Marker has been moved.”

“Where is it now?” Braverman replied.

MacGregor realized that the new voice belonged to the pilot. The man’s accent was unrecognizable.

“Uhh, Southern Marker is just northwest of Tain.”

“How far northwest, dammit!”

“Eight miles, sir.”

Braverman didn’t have anything else to say. MacGregor waited for someone to speak, but nobody did. He hated the dull throbbing of the helicopter engine and the sick feeling in his stomach as the machine gained altitude. After about a minute of silence, MacGregor couldn’t stand it anymore.

“What’s this Southern Marker thing?”

The intercom crackled. Long seconds passed. MacGregor was sure that he’d been heard, but he repeated the question anyway.

“It’s the nearest we can safely get to our objective,” Braverman said.

“Why’s that?” MacGregor asked automatically.

“Because north of that point nothing will work.” Braverman sounded irritated and stressed. “Beyond the Southern Marker, nothing will work.”

“What do you mean, nothing will work?” MacGregor shouted. “I don’t understand.”

“Electricity won’t function,” Braverman said.

“What?” Fraser laughed loudly. “Why? Who’s turned it off?”

“We don’t know,” Braverman’s voice was a low grumble. “Nobody seems to understand what’s going on. It’s not just electricity. Combustion engines won’t work either. Nothing works within the dead zone.”

“The dead zone?” Fraser had stopped laughing. “What’s the dead zone?”

“The dead zone is the area affected. It’s a fifteen square mile radius that we just want to go near.”

“What do you mean, nothing will work there?”

There was a long pause. Braverman was hesitating.

“What the fuck is going on?” MacGregor said, “What the fuck am I getting into?”

“We can’t generate any kind of energy within the dead zone. Nothing will operate. Electrical lights, combustion engines. Even a zippo lighter and a match. We don’t know how that kind of thing is even possible, but we know that there’s an object at the center. We haven’t been inside it yet. There’s a team being put together now, Mr. MacGregor, and you’re a part of it. You’re one of our experts, in a manner of speaking.”

MacGregor felt a sudden cold rush of fear. “Fraser?”

“This is the first I’ve heard of this.” Fraser’s surprised voice sounded genuine. “I thought they were going to ask you some questions or something like that. I didn’t know they wanted you to… to go into it.”

“Into what?” MacGregor asked. “What is the object, exactly?”

“We don’t know exactly what it is,” Braverman said. “That’s what we’re hoping you’re going to help us find out.”

“What bloody good will I be to anyone?”

“Because you’re , mate,” Sharpe spoke so loudly that he might not have needed the helicopter’s intercom. “Torches don’t work. Can’t even make a fire. Fucking blinding yourself came in handy for something in the end, didn’t it?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Fraser hissed. “Just leave it, Sharpe.”

There was a scuffle. MacGregor felt rough movement to his left where Fraser was seated. He realized that Fraser was grappling with the big man. There was muffled growling and then grunts of pain. MacGregor was sure he heard Sharpe laughing quietly. Finally, he heard Fraser mutter a muted but familiar obscenity. Sharpe grunted something that MacGregor could not make out.

“Jesus Mr. Sharpe!” Braverman snapped.

“Just defending myself, sir.”

“What kind of team am I part of?” MacGregor’s anger overcame his fear. “Sounds like a right farce.”

“Piss off, idiot,” Sharpe whispered.

“I didn’t know they wanted you to go into it.” Fraser panted. “Honestly, pal.”

“Go into what?” MacGregor’s voice trembled. “What am I supposed to be getting into.”

“You’ll see when we get there,” Braverman said. Correcting himself automatically he added - “Or not. You’ll it soon enough. But like I said before, we don’t know what’s generating the dead zone. We haven’t gone inside it, yet. We’re waiting for our experts to arrive.”

“What experts? MacGregor shouted.

“A team we’ve put together to explore this thing. We’ve got a psychologist coming in from Edinburgh. There’s already an astrophysicist who’s been on the site for sixteen hours – a Canadian. The team of mechanical engineers is on its way from Birmingham, should be here by morning. We’ve also got various other non-sighted security personnel flying up from London as we speak.”

MacGregor mulled over Braverman’s words. He was relieved and mildly – inexplicably – disappointed to realize that he wasn’t the only blind person. The disappointment was quickly drowned in the intense relief he felt.

“Who are the blind guys? What are the names?”

Braverman didn’t reply. The pilot’s tinny voice squawked over the strong throb of the helicopter’s powerful engine. “Sir, we’ve got some kind of a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Braverman asked promptly.

“I’m no longer in touch with the Southern Marker. I’ve lost contact with Lieutenant Jarvis. The last message from Simard was over four minutes ago and he said the dead zone had expanded even more than he’d expected.”

“What about Lossiemouth? Are they in touch with the Southern Marker?”

“Lossiemouth is broadcasting sir. They lost contact with the Southern Marker.”

There was a pause. MacGregor guessed that the pilot was receiving a message from the military airfield at Lossiemouth, just east of Inverness.

“Lossiemouth reports negative contact with the Southern Marker,” The pilot said. “Nothing coming in from Delta squad or Alpha squad. Gamma squad still calling in.”

MacGregor was waiting to speak. He had questions. But then he was lost in the mystery that had just presented itself.

“What happened to the Southern Marker?” he blurted out.

He wasn’t even sure what the Southern Marker was, but being out of touch with it didn’t sound good. He waited a few seconds before saying his piece, but then it was too late. The pilot was talking again.

“Gamma squad now no longer in touch with Lossiemouth. Sir, we’ve lost track of the dead zone boundary.”

“Yes, it seems like it,” Braverman said, “How far away are we from the Southern Marker’s last reported perimeter zone?”

“About forty miles sir. Visibility is twenty miles, and I can still see lights ahead of us.”

“Keep an eye on those lights. If those lights start going out, we’re going down. Keep us low.”

“Ahh, Roger Willco, sir.”

MacGregor didn’t like the pilot’s tone. He wondered what Braverman meant about the lights going out, or about the chopper .

“What other blind people are joining us?”

It was Fraser who answered.

“Another old friend of mine from Glasgow, Reggie Crammond. He’s pretty cool. Another guy you might have met. Sammy Survivalist. Know him?”

“No.”

“Okay, I thought he came from Glasgow, too,” Fraser mused. “Doesn’t matter. He lost his sight to an IED in Desert Storm. Pretty cool guy. Tells these depressing, long-winded stories. They’re quite funny at times. But don’t laugh when he’s talking or I swear he’ll go off his nut…”

There was a sudden and terrifying silence and then the helicopter was falling from the sky like a dead weight. MacGregor realized, immediately, that the power had just shut down. It wasn’t just the engine. The headset had gone completely silent. He could hear someone shouting through the baffles. It took him a few moments to realize that it was his own voice.

He ripped the headset off. The helicopter was dipping forward. Fraser was shouting something next to him. MacGregor found an arm next to his. He gripped it like a vice, eliciting a scream of pain from Fraser.

“We’re going down!” Sharpe’s tone was high pitched. “We’re going to crash!”

The helicopter’s engine groaned like a dying giant. Then there was an ear-piercing mechanical screech. MacGregor stayed attached to Fraser’s arm. Fraser was rigid, too. None of the passengers were making a sound. The only screams were coming from the rotor assembly. MacGregor opened his mouth to shout at Fraser, and that was when the helicopter struck the ground.