The Infinite Read online

  ‘Would anyone like a leap band?’

  Leap bands are metal bangles you wear if you get leapsickness. I read about them on the itinerary. I’m glad Mrs C Eckler has brought them along because it might stop me vomiting like I did after my solo leap. She has leap bands in several different metals, gold, silver and bronze. They remind me of the medals in the Olympics, so I choose a gold one. Who would go for bronze?

  We’re sitting in a circle that goes like this, in a clockwise direction: me, Big Ben, Mr C Eckler, Maria, Jake, Mrs C Eckler. When you leap in a circle, it’s called a Chrono. Six is a good number for an interdecade leap. When we hold hands, that’s 12 hands representing each hour of the clock.

  Mrs C Eckler makes sure we place all our luggage in the middle of the circle otherwise it will get left behind and we’ll spend the week with no clothes. I’ve heard Leaplings can transport Annuals like luggage but you need a very large Chrono for it to work. I check I have my phone in my pocket, even though I checked three times at home and twice in the back of the car. Most of the suitcases are black but mine is white, obviously. My suitcase is right in front of me. Mrs C Eckler stands up and we all go quiet.

  ‘Thank you, everybody, for being on time.’ She smiles like she’s made a joke. ‘As you all know, today is the 29th of February 2020, a very special day. It celebrates the way humans have allocated time. The 29th of February is made up of six hours from each of the four years, which equals 24 hours saved up and carried over to make an extra full calendar day each leap year. Today is vibrating with four years of energy. It’s the best day to time travel. Happy Birthday to us all!’

  Everyone claps and Big Ben punches the air rather than correct her maths. It’s actually a bit less than six hours from each of the four years but the maths balances out in the end. We lose three leap days every 400 years. I’m glad I was born in 2008. It’s lovely to be with other Leaplings on my birthday.

  ‘We will be arriving at Time Squad Centre at 7 a.m. 2048,’ Mrs C Eckler continues. ‘We will be there seven days. We will return here at 3 o’clock on the 29th of February 2020. You will be able to celebrate your special birthday twice: once this evening in the future and once when you’re back home.’

  Mrs C Eckler looks around the circle. ‘Any questions? Yes, Jake.’

  ‘Is there breakfast when we arrive? I’m starving!’

  ‘Yes. When we arrive, we go straight to The Beanstalk Café, where they will be serving breakfast.’

  She looks around the circle again but no one else speaks. Big Ben, who usually asks questions in our PPF group, is squeezing my hand so hard I’m worried he’ll break my fingers.

  ‘OK. Come, let us link hands.’

  It sounds like something Grandma would say, quoting from the Bible. I think that’s what the first bissextiles said, when they discovered they had The Gift. Most gifted Leaplings find it difficult to leap alone and end up in the right place and time. You have to be really strong-minded, have intense powers of concentration and exceptional stamina. Maybe it helped that I was tongue-tied when I did it by mistake. I was able to concentrate to the max. But I still went forward in time instead of back.

  This is my first time doing a group leap. My left hand holds Big Ben: my right, Mrs C Eckler. I suddenly realise it’s not Big Ben squeezing my hand super tight; it’s me squeezing his. I don’t want him to think he’s my boyfriend. My hands start to feel fizzy, like when I get a static shock taking washing out of the tumble dryer. Grandma can’t manage the laundry, so I take it in the shopping trolley to the laundrette every week, and every time I get a shock. I hate that. This fizzing is worse because it doesn’t stop, but Mrs C Eckler warned us about it and says it passes in about 30 seconds when the power reaches its height.

  This is like my solo leap to the power of 6. That doesn’t mean 6 x 1, it means 6 x 6 x 6 x 6 x 6 x 6. Big Ben taught me that. I don’t feel like I’m in a car accelerating to top speed but staying in the same place. I AM the car. Big Ben’s done an interdecade leap before and he loved it. He said it felt like being a Koenigsegg Agera RS. Not that he’s ever even been in one. But he could imagine it. I feel sick. I close my eyes and squeeze both hands tighter. I’m scared. Scared I’m going to vomit. Then I remember what it said on the itinerary. If you feel sick, concentrate on the number. The number for our trip is the year of destination: 2048. I focus on 2048. 2048. 2048. The numbers work their magic. I think I hear Mrs C Eckler saying the number but I’m not sure whether it’s her saying it now or me remembering her saying it in a lesson and it’s playing back in my head. It sounds like a recording.

  I relax. Though I still have my eyes closed, I can see everything’s become brighter. It’s like looking at a red screen rather than a black one. But it’s not a plain red screen. If I look closely, I can see tiny grains of black right in the middle. Numbers. The first two numbers are two and zero and they don’t change. But the last two are flickering like a countdown. Except it’s a countup: 37, 38, 39. We reach 2040 and the numbers start to slow down. Almost there.

  I’m too scared to open my eyes but I want to. This is hard. I squeeze Big Ben’s hand and Mrs C Eckler’s hand. No one’s talking but they both squeeze my hands back. I concentrate on 2048. The numbers slow right down. I can feel light rain on my face and hear birds singing. I open my eyes.

  We are no longer in Room 4D in Block T in Intercalary International.

  We are outside the Time Squad Centre.

  We must keep holding hands until Mrs C Eckler says we can stop.

  I’m so excited I shout out loud inside my head.

  Chapter 06:00

  FERRARI FOREVER

  ‘1 minute 59 seconds,’ says Big Ben.

  He was counting in his head and I bet he’s right but it felt like half an hour. We’re still holding hands. Mrs C Eckler told us we must maintain the energy to centre ourselves. I know if I move I’ll be sick. The air is very warm for February, like the middle of summer. But the light rain is helping; it’s good to be outside. We’re in the eco play park, where everything’s made of trees, and still looks like trees. If I didn’t feel sick, I’d go on the swings.

  I love swinging. Before school when I was in First Year, Grandma took me to the park every day to calm me down when my body felt fizzy. One morning I counted each swing up to 100 out loud and Grandma was crying because she was happy. I know that sounds odd, but she said they were tears of joy. I never used to talk very much and she didn’t know I knew my numbers. Afterwards, she had to sit down on the bench to get her breath back.

  Everywhere I look, there’s trees. Some of them are like brown canes coming out of the ground with ruler marks on them. Mrs C Eckler sees me looking.

  ‘They’re bamboo, Elle. The fastest grow 90 centimetres a day!’ Some of the trees have trunks so large you could live in them. You could have one room on each floor and a spiral staircase going up. I think they’re oak trees which are hundreds of years old. I’d love to live in a REAL treehouse. And there’s palm trees too, lots of different kinds. It’s the greenest place I’ve ever seen. Except for the glass building in the middle, which is the centre, it’s like a tropical jungle. I wonder if they grow trees inside the centre, like in a glasshouse. That would be better than the pretend beanstalk in the café video. I could happily sit here forever if I didn’t feel sick.

  I can hear birds singing and a strange noise like the sound of a fast car approaching but it’s like someone turned the sound of the engine off. Like the sound’s invisible. And it’s coming from the sky!

  I slowly turn my head to see a lime-green car descending in front of the centre! It’s so green it hurts my eyes, but I can’t stop them staring in amazement. I’ve always been car blind; most cars look the same to me, but this is definitely a supercar. I never saw a flying car before, and certainly not a flying supercar. Big Ben lets go of my hand and starts shouting in noises rather than words, he’s so excited. Big Ben can imitate different supercar noises brilliantly. His best impersonation is the Lamborghi
ni Asterion but it’s always so loud I put my hands over my ears. Now, I want to move my head to see what he’s doing but if I move my head I’ll vomit so I stay still. Mrs C Eckler squeezes my hand.

  ‘Elle, are you OK?’

  I’m scared to shake my head so I don’t do or say anything. She squeezes my hand.

  ‘Well done, everyone. That went smoothly. We’ve arrived at the centre. Stop linking hands now but remain seated. Heston,’ that’s her husband, ‘keep an eye on Ben.’

  I can hear Big Ben whooping in the background. He’s not just happy, he’s ecstatic. I feel like I’m going to die of nausea but very, very slowly turn my head in his direction. The lime-green supercar has parked in front of the main entrance. Big Ben is running up and down, whooping and flapping his hands. It’s obviously a very special car. The driver’s door opens but I don’t see who gets out because, without warning, at that exact moment, I projectile vomit all over my suitcase.

  ‘Whatisitwhatisitwhatisitwhatisit?’

  Big Ben’s doing chanting and running around like an aeroplane. We’re in The Beanstalk having breakfast. I stare at the huge green beanstalk in the middle of the room. It has grooves on it, like the bamboo, so that you can climb up if you want to. Jake’s hanging off one of the top tendrils. Season, who runs the café, sees me put my hand over my mouth. I’m scared he’ll fall.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she says. ‘The floor’s designed for spills and falls.’

  There’s only the six of us; no one else has arrived yet. Everything starts at 9 a.m. I’ve only just come in. I sat outside for half an hour and Season gave me a clear sweet to suck after I vomited.

  ‘You’ll be right as rain soon,’ she said in a Scottish accent I didn’t notice in the film, and she is fatter than I remembered. Why do people say right as rain? I hate rain, so how can it be right?

  But she IS right. The rain made me feel refreshed and the sweet took away the nausea and Mr C Eckler took away my suitcase and Mrs C Eckler led me down into The Beanstalk. I like it in here. Everything’s clean and white: the plates, the cups, the tables, the walls. Everything’s gleaming. And though it’s raining outside, the sun streams through all the glass, making everything sparkle. Light rain mixed with sunlight isn’t drizzle, it’s drazzle.

  I sit eating a roll with some white paste in the middle. I’m not sure what it is, but I eat it anyway. The coconut water is heavenly. Big Ben’s still doing his chanting and running when Season comes to sit with us.

  ‘Feeling any better now?’

  She smells of freshly baked bread. She has small hands with sparkly white nail polish. I remember her kneading bread in the film.

  ‘Are you going to teach us to make bread?’

  She smiles. ‘I hope so. It’s my . . . speciality.’

  I like the way she emphasises the word ‘speciality’ by pausing before it. That’s called a meaningful pause. I wonder if bread is her specialist subject.

  ‘Are you autistic?’

  ‘Yes, Elle. I’m a supertaster cook and call myself Autie-Auto at the car club.’

  I LOVE her nickname and that she’s into cars like Big Ben. She has the blackest, silveriest, shiniest hair imaginable, better than in the video, like a black-silver glass skyscraper on top of her head. She turns to Mrs C Eckler, who’s sitting next to me in case I projectile vomit again.

  ‘He’s quite a character,’ meaning Big Ben.

  ‘He’s car mad,’ I say, and Season laughs. Her laugh sounds as glittery as her fingernails. Then she says something surprising.

  ‘It’s mine. If he’s good this week, I can take him out for a . . .’

  She’s the opposite of Big Ben. He pauses before he speaks; Season pauses at the end of sentences. But I guess she was going to say ‘ride’. Big Ben would love that. But I’m trying to get my head round what she said.

  ‘How did you afford such an expensive car? I mean, you’re a cook, you can’t make much money.’

  Mrs C Eckler brings her eyebrows down to her eyes, even though she told me she used to say rude things all the time when she was young. But Season isn’t cross.

  ‘My brother and I used to run a garage. When I decided to become a cook, we traded everything in for the Ferrari.’

  Big Ben stops in his tracks and turns to our table. ‘Whatisit? What is it?’

  ‘A Ferrari Forever,’ says Season. ‘The most eco-friendly supercar. A wind-rain hybrid. We get a lot of both.’ As if it heard her, the wind outside starts howling, lashing rain onto the glass roof of the café. Big Ben does his three-second pause.

  ‘0 to 60?’

  ‘1.4 seconds on land.’

  Big Ben punches the air with both fists. I’ve never seen him so happy. If he knew Season would take him out for a ride, he’d die on the spot. Season tilts her head to one side and says, ‘If you’re good this week, I’ll take you out for a flight.’

  So ‘flight’ was the word, not ‘ride’. I can see Big Ben’s sad. His mouth turns down at the corners.

  Pause. ‘I don’t want to fly; I want to drive.’

  ‘OK. We can stay on the ground.’ Season smiles.

  ‘Wannadrivewannadrivewannadrive!’ No pause at all.

  ‘You’re too young to drive, Ben, even in 2048. But, if you’re good’ – she stresses the word ‘good’ – ‘I’ll teach you the driverless three-point . . .’

  She stops talking and stares across at the table where Jake is eating a bacon sandwich. That would be normal, except there’s no bacon on the menu. I could smell it when he took it out of his bag, even though he must have made it hours ago, in 2020. I have an exceptional sense of smell. Season probably has too.

  ‘Jake,’ she says, and I’m surprised she has learnt all our names so quickly. ‘Meat is forbidden on these premises. If you want to eat meat, you’ll have to go outside.’

  Jake clockwises his eyes. I know that’s rude but I’m not surprised. Jake’s always breaking the rules.

  ‘Mum said not to eat before take-off, in case I threw up.’

  ‘Did you not eat breakfast in here just now?’

  ‘Yeah, I did.’ He wriggles his nose. ‘But bacon butties are better!’

  Season looks cross.

  ‘Next time, try the beancon. You won’t taste the difference. You shouldn’t have transported it. I should report it as an Anachronism but . . .’ She shrugs her shoulders. ‘It’s not worth the paperwork.’

  She addresses us all.

  ‘If anyone else has meat with them, declare it now!’

  There’s total silence. Even Big Ben stops his wannadrive chant.

  ‘OK. Let’s go outside. And Ben,’ she adds, ‘I’m sure you want to see Fiona. Fiona the Ferrari!’

  Everyone laughs. A car with its own name.

  Fiona has chocolate-brown vegan leather seats with white stitching and a matching steering wheel. I’m not into cars like Big Ben but even I think she’s exceptional. Season lets Big Ben sit in the driving seat to pretend he’s driving, then she lets Jake, once he’s finished his sandwich.

  ‘Would you like a go, Elle?’

  I shake my head. It smells too much of baked plastic, and though I feel 95% I don’t want to be sick again. Instead, I walk round the outside of the car and notice the wheels match the steering wheel. I’ve never seen chocolate-brown tyres before. I thought all tyres were black. The best bit is the number plate:

  F1 0NA

  I’m still admiring Fiona when I hear buzzing and look up. There are lots of black dots in the sky in formation like birds. When a bird formation moves around like a snake it’s called a murmuration. I learnt that in science. I like the feel of the word murmuration in my mouth, even though I’m not speaking out loud. It could be birds, but maybe it’s giant bees. It SOUNDS like bees.

  Now everyone’s looking up. Big Ben’s mouth is a capital O. Some of the black dots have formed a murmuration of their own and they’re heading for the centre. They’re not birds, or bees. They’re PEOPLE!

  A light-skinned
black girl with a huge ginger afro lands first. When her feet hit the ground, she runs fast for about 40 metres. Maybe she’ll do sprint training with me. She’s wearing a jacket with a shell on the back that makes her look like a giant insect. I recognise her from the photo: Ama, my mentor for the week. She waves over at us. She’s followed by three other teenage girls and two boys who run 50 metres after they land. Yusuf and Martin. The E-College-E pupils must have flown with the Music, Maths and Movement School because they’re all from 2048. One of the girls rushes over to the car with her mouth open. It’s Seren. She must like cars as much as Big Ben! Season lets her sit inside as Ama comes over to me.

  ‘Wreckage!’ she says, looking at Fiona. Mrs C Eckler said in 2048 if something’s perfect you say wreckage. So Ama must love the Ferrari.

  ‘I’m Ama,’ she says and holds out her hand.

  ‘I’m Elle,’ I say. ‘How fast can you run the 100 metres?’ I’m surprised that I’m talking to her without feeling scared. After all, I never met her in my life. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with her hand, so I ignore it. She shrugs.

  ‘Ama means born on Saturday.’

  ‘And it’s a palindrome.’ I smile. ‘Is it your birthday today?’

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘I’m not a Leapling, but my brother was.’ She suddenly looks sad. ‘Catch you later.’

  She walks quickly to the main entrance. Two of the 2048 teachers, a fat man and a woman with purple hair, help the pupils take off their insect jackets, which are called eco-jets, and we all go inside. It’s 8:55 a.m. The introductory session is about to begin and we must be on time. This is the Time Squad Centre after all!

  As I walk inside, I notice a girl with short blonde hair sitting in the park and recognise her as Noon. She’s wearing beige-cream two-tone shoes with a strap across the middle and heels shaped like an hourglass. She has all-the-better-to-see-you-with-eyes and I wait for a second or two to see if she’s going to projectile vomit. If she does, I’ll ask Season to give her a sweet. She stands up and I see that she’s quite tall, taller than me in her shoes. She picks up her suitcase and walks slowly towards the entrance, looking down at the ground the whole time.