Thump-thump. Heartbeat in her ears. Thump-thump. The man points the gun directly at the blonde woman's head, tightening his grip around her with his left arm.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Heartbeat getting faster, each beat rolling into the next, building up to a crescendo of noise, a ceaseless drone, an unearthly rumble so strong you could feel it in your feet.
She looked left towards the mountains. The man and his hostage looked right. A wall of water, barrelling across the black sand at a horrific speed. Five seconds to react.
She turned and ran, as the bridge behind her vanished into a maelstrom of ice and frigid water and twisted steel and-
***
Alice awoke with a start to the sound of her phone ringing under her pillow. "Who the fuck is calling at this time?" She reached over to her alarm clock, smashed the backlight button, and read three forty-three.
She reached under her pillow, pulled her phone out, and blinking through bleary eyes read the screen. Incoming call, from DO NOT ANSWER!!
She pressed the green button. "Fuck off, Richard." She pressed the red button.
Phone back under her pillow, Alice rolled over and, with a yawn, closed her eyes. Not two seconds had passed before it started vibrating again. DO NOT ANSWER!! was calling again.
"Richard, what the hell do you want?" she barked. "It's quarter to four in the morning! If this is about the papers-"
"Look, there's no need for that tone, first of all," said the snide voice on the other end of the line. "I need you in work."
"It's quarter to four!"
"Have you seen the news?"
"No, I haven't," she sighed. "Can't someone else take it?"
"I can tell you haven't seen it. Turn on the TV, and then call me back." He hung up.
Alice struggled with the idea of having to get out of bed at such an early hour. The mattress was so soft, and her pillows were just that right kind of cool... She closed her eyes for a few seconds and began to drift off-
No! She caught herself, pulled herself upright, pulled back the blanket and slid out of bed. a
"Where's that damn remote?"
On top of the drawers, of course, where she left it. She touched something a little too gingerly next to where the remote should have been, which promptly threw itself onto the floor with a faint ringing sound.
"Shit."
She turned on the light to see last night's wine glass on the floor - empty, thank God - and the remote, sat on the opposite side of the room from where she thought it was, next to an empty bottle of a Chilean Malbec.
Almost empty, she thought, with a smirk, taking a swig from the neck of the bottle.
She turned on the television, flicked to the news, and promptly dropped the empty bottle on the floor.
"Holy shit," she whispered.
She leant back across the bed, grabbed her phone and immediately redialed her ex-husband.
"You see?" he started.
"Yeah, I see. I'm on my way."
***
Dishevelled and hungover, Alice stumbled off the tram at Shandwick Place and made her way up the two flights of stairs to the office.
"Glad you could finally show up," sneered Richard. "Your old friend has completely lost it."
Alice didn't respond.
Projected onto the back wall of the newsroom was a two minute clip of a jovial man, bald but bearded, with an inviting smile, talking to the camera.
"What do you think? Someone put acid in his Brennivín?" laughed Richard.
"Must be. I mean, this is absurd."
The subtitles on the video translated the man's Icelandic: "I am pleased to announce that Iceland has been contacted by an extraterrestrial civilisation. I will host our visitors this coming Friday at Austurvöllur Square, and I am inviting all Icelanders to attend this momentous occasion. I am grateful beyond words that the visitors have chosen Iceland as their chosen destination. Thank you." From there, the clip repeated, interspersed with the Icelandic national anthem.
"Gísli Jónsson. What a guy," said Richard. "Whatever the hell is going on here, it's going to be a shitshow."
"You want me to go on air and talk about it?" asked Alice.
"Hell no. I need you in Reykjavík."
Alice took a step back with a start. "You want me to cover... first contact?" she spluttered. "In person? In Iceland?"
"Look. I know better than anyone but you what happened there the last time. But you're the only person here who can cover this for us - you're the only person here who speaks Icelandic, and with your contacts-"
"She's dead." interrupted Alice with a glare.
"Yeah, okay, she's dead, but surely you have other contacts, right? You were there for five years, after all!"
"No. No, Richard, I'm not doing this again. I can't go back to Iceland. Everything I've tried to do since then has been to forget everything that happened then!"
"You married a man you hated," pointed out Richard.
"I never hated you, Richard!" she yelled. "I'm finally getting over things, you know? I'm finally getting better. I haven't even thought about Iceland - about her - in months!"
"You were drinking last night again, weren't you?" Alice felt the tears welling up in her eyes. "I can see the wine stain on your lips."
"Yeah, I was! And so what? Can't a woman enjoy a bottle of wine by herself without being demonised for it? How was I meant to know that President fucking Gísli was going to eat the wrong kind of mushrooms with his dinner last night? And what do I get for it but standing here under these godawful lights at six o'clock in the goddamn morning with a pounding headache and I feel sick to my stomach and ugh!" She wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to pull herself together. "I need a fag."
***
Nine years. That's how long it had been since she'd last been in Iceland. How long does it take a person to forget something? To forget someone? Surrounded by people, by friends, family, lovers, yet unable to process the scars of the past, lonely in a crowded room.
She inhaled. At least with the smoke from the cigarette she didn't feel quite as lonely. And... exhale.
The smoke drifted off into the gentle rain of Edinburgh.
She stood up, shaking the dust of the doorstep off her trousers, and walked towards the city centre. Just a quick stroll to calm down, she thought.
'You know where Richard can shove it?' she thought. There was no way she'd go back. Especially not for him and his stupid news page. 'Isn't it ugly, this thing of him being your boss. What the hell were you thinking?'
She sat down on a bench in the gardens and looked up at the monolith of the castle. Immovable and immense. As she must be. She mulled over the choice words she would say to Richard when she got back to the office. Fuck you, or something along those lines. Fuck this.
'I mean, how dare he? He knows me better than anyone... as if! There's one person in this world who knows me better than anyone, and it sure as hell isn't him.' Her train of anger paused for a second. 'Was one person.'
Nine fucking years. A hundred and eight months. Three thousand-odd days. And every single one wishing, praying, willing into existence that she could wake up in a different tomorrow. In a different place, a different time.
Goddamn.
Her cigarette reached its logical conclusion, and she flicked the butt into a bin nearby. With a deep sigh, she stood up and began the walk back to the office.
***
Richard was waiting on the doorstep.
"There's someone here to see you. Some woman. I don't know her; she says she used to work with you. Back, you know, Before."
"I don't get an apology?" said Alice, shaking the water off her umbrella before crossing the threshold.
"For what? You smell of smoke."
"Dick."
"She's in my office. Says she needs to talk to you in private - it's urgent, apparently."
***
Alice knocked on the chipboard door. Third on the left from the stairs, marked 'Richard McAllen - Editor In Chief'. Can't miss it.
"Come in," said an uncomfortably familiar voice. "Not you," it continued in response to Richard opening the door.
Alice edged into the room. Her old boss, sitting on Richard's chair behind the desk, greeted her with a smile. The kind of smile that people only put on when they're trying to manipulate others.
"Long time no see, Agent Chester."
"Nope. Absolutely nope, no, nope-" said Alice, turning right around and attempting to walk out of the door, before being blocked in by an enormous bodyguard - where the hell did he come from! - and forcibly placed on the other chair. "Hey!"
"You can leave, Alice," drawled the woman, "after you hear what I have to say to you. Might I remind you that you still answer to me?"
"Gloria, whatever the fuck you want from me, I'm not interested. Quite simply, I don't care, and I don't want any part of it. Please, leave me alone."
"First of all, to you I'm Director Eaves. And secondly, you're going to want to know about this. It concerns Herdís."
"She's dead," argued Alice.
"She's not dead."
Alice stood up with a start. "What the fuck do you mean, she's not dead?"
"Well, she wasn't last night, at the very least. She reached out to me approximately fifteen minutes before Gísli made his announcement this morning. Which I'm sure you've seen," she added.
"She reached out to... to you?"
"Look, I don't understand it either. But she contacted me earlier today and informed me that this whole alien contact business appears to be legitimate."
"What the fuck?"
"This doesn't leave this room, Agent Chester. This is a matter of national security, and operatives from both the British government and the American government are on their way to Reykjavík right now. As well as God knows who else."
"So what the hell do you want with me? You've got your spies, you've got your military men - right, that's what the world needs, aliens from sector fifteen landing in Reykjavík expecting a shot or two of Opal and instead getting met by a bunch of American troops with guns. That'll go well. So what's my job, to unfuck it? Because let's be honest here, Director Eaves," she added pointedly, "I'm not very good at that, am I?"
"That's not what I'm asking of you." Gloria smiled. "Herdís disappeared fifteen minutes after she contacted me this morning. Fundamentally if we've lost the closest contact to whatever the hell is going on here, we have a problem."
Alice didn't respond.
"We need you to go and find her." She flicked her hair out of her face. "Something big is about to happen, and we need as much control over this situation as possible. Work with me here, Alice Chester. Please." She smiled again. "Not for me, not for Richard, not for our organization... for her."
"For her," repeated Alice.
"For her."
