Torchwood: Exodus Code

they can get their hands on as soon as she asks them to play with the kids instead of going round to the pub. There’s going to be a run on tranquillisers.’ He tossed the toy into the playpen on the other side of the room. ‘This whole thing is going to give a new meaning to domestic violence.’
    Rhys sipped from his can. ‘You have a very dim view of your fellow man.’
    ‘I’ve a very dim view of all kinds of creatures,’ said Jack.
    ‘At least some folks are trying to figure out what’s going on. You haven’t come up with any brilliant answers, Captain Jack. My Gwen’s been mad for a week and now she’s out there somewhere doing God knows what.’
    Jack understood why Rhys was so upset, but he couldn’t tell him what he was working out. He owed it to Gwen not to drag Anwen’s only parent further into this.
    ‘I’m thinking about it. Ruminating over the situation. Gathering data.’
    ‘Oh, that’s what thinking looks like, is it?’ said Rhys.
    ‘No, this is.’ Jack put his foot up on the arm of the couch, posing like Rodin’s statue. Rhys laughed, snorting lager across the keyboard.
    They were both stopped in their laughter when Anwen’s cries burst through the baby monitor.
    ‘I’ll go up this time,’ said Jack. ‘You keep searching for something on that image.’
    ‘You know this would go a lot faster if we could run your Torchwood software.’
    Jack stopped at the living room door. ‘I told you, Rhys. That’s not an option right now. We’re on our own.’
    *
    Later that night, Jack was stretched out on the couch, unable to sleep. He was still dressed in his shirt and trousers. He had always been able to sleep in the tightest confines, believing the reasons he couldn’t sleep in the massive beds that everyone in this century owned – no matter how tiny their bedroom – was as much to do with being buried alive as it was that too much open space made him feel disconnected, like he was drifting from his moorings. It was a feeling he’d thought he’d overcome; however, in the aftermath of his recent experiences, Jack had once again found himself drawn to tight spaces.
    Jack heard the front door closing quietly. Quickly tugging on his boots, he ran through the hall, into the kitchen. In the middle of the table was Gwen’s wedding ring and, propped against the sugar bowl, a handwritten note:
    When she’s old enough, give this to Anwen.
    Tell her I’m sorry and I love her.
    G x
    Jack charged through the door, pausing in the empty street. There wasn’t a sign of Gwen. Not even the distant echo of footsteps. But then, Jack had an idea. These last few days, his senses had been turned up to eleven. Why not use that to his advantage? He took a deep breath and held it, savouring it until he could just catch the tiniest, familiar smell of Gwen – expensive shampoo, old-fashioned soap, masked with a recent layer of hospital disinfectant and industrial laundry. Feeling a little like a bloodhound, Jack sprinted off on Gwen’s trail.
    *
    The pier had been closed for renovations. Renovations that kept being put back and put back, as though the council were waiting for the rusting Victorian structure to have the decency to give up and fall into the sea of its own free will.
    Jack trod across the boards, feeling them creak and shift more than he’d hoped. He made his way gently towards the figure at the end of the pier, silhouetted against the low moon. She must know he was there. He just prayed she wouldn’t jump now. Because that’s all people really came to the pier to do these days – jump off it.
    Jack crept forward, wondering when he dared call out her name. If he startled her, maybe she’d turn and fight – which would win him time. But if she jumped into the sea… Jack started to calculate how long it would take him to reach the end of the pier, to dive in after her, to find her in the cold, choppy waters. He wanted to call to her, try to reason with her, to let her know he was going to find out what was happening, that he was going to save her, but he didn’t dare risk it, not yet.
    Jack edged forward, plank by plank, feeling them shift and buckle under his weight. Was it his imagination, or was the entire structure twisting slightly in the waves? Had the recent tremors done the ironwork damage? At each step, Jack caught his breath, to see if there was any reaction. Maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to reach out, to grab her, to stop her…
    ‘I know you’re there.’