A Bridge Too Far

Posted on Sun Sep 15th, 2024 @ 15:17 by Claire Cavendish

Chapter: Besieged
Location: Avalon Institute, Exterior
Timeline: Monday morning, February 1st, 1993
1572 words - 3.1 OF Standard Post Measure

Harold gripped the wheel tighter as the car wound its way around the hill. A month ago, he was just a Public Health Officer for the NHS. Now, he was driving up a winding road flanked by trees on the brink of budding in the coming spring. Yet, all he could think was how he was about to face something he barely understood.

"Ken of any famous muties?" The question coming from the local officer currently in the Jeep's backseat cut through the silence. "That Bowie lad, surely." Thomas, he had said his name was, offered his own suggestion when no response was forthcoming.

Harold kept facing forward. His own thoughts too occupied to consider the hypothetical. Why was he here? He'd signed up without too much second thought. The Union had negotiated a hefty salary bump, very enticing hazard pay. With a kid at home and one on the way he had been a no brainer. Now he wasn't so sure anymore.

In the passenger seat Richard, with his perpetual half-smile and easy demeanour, looked back over his shoulder, "Boy George." He had been an Environmental Health Officer before he was accepted into his new role.

"Really?" Thomas furrowed his brow as he questioned in his Scottish brogue that was almost as thick as his muacular build and bushy beard.

"Don't know, but if not him, who?" Richard then looked at Harold, half smile broadening.

Harold shook his head. Grip tightening around the wheel. Eyes trying to perpetually scan the backroads they were taking to their destination. he was nervous about this whole thing.
"You can't really tell, though, can you? That's the whole point."

"Ye can definitely tell wi' that Head Mistress ye're aboot tae meet," Thomas countered. "Shame, too—she’d ha’ been a bonnie lass if it wisnae for aw that purple." He looked back towards Richard, "Ye kin what her powers are?"

Harold tried to quietly swallow the lump in his throat. The files had been suspiciously light on details regarding Head Mistress Cavendish.

"For all we know it's just the purple thing." Richard remarked.

Thomas nodded at that, "Imagine that. Goin' through life purple an’ no' able tae dae onything special."

Richard turned back to face the road, "I bet it's some sort of brainwave stuff, though."

There was a lull in the conversation as the road they were on lazily went around a large hill. Harold felt his stomach churn as the dark outline of a castle on a Loch came into full view. The stories and reports he had read about the place, and its inhabitants, immediately occupied his mind. Mutants with the power to incinerate you with a glance. Even the trees now seemed to loom over them, skeletal branches grasping at the car. And there he was, a glorified NHS pencil-pusher, in charge of documenting their identities and powers.

"Ye'll need to slow down, the pap have been camping out since late last night." Thomas leaned forward from his backseat.

They approached the crowd gathered in front of the bridge. The crowd barely shifted at their approach. Several cameras flashed in their direction. The mob seemingly unmoving, a solid mass.

Harold's pulse quickened, "Well," he muttered through a shaky exhale. He glanced over at Richard. "Here goes nothing." He pressed down on the horn a couple of times, the blare cutting through the murmur of gathered voices. More flashes of camera's, like distant lightning.

The car crept closer and reluctantly the crowd started to part. The last few metres for them to cross seemed to take longer than the distance between New Cresthill and here. The bridge had barriers put up. Making it impossible for a car to cross it. Harold parked right in front of it and looked over at Richard.

"This ought to be fun." Richard got out of the car and gave a casual half wave to the gathered journalists.

"Frankie, ya nobheid, whit ur ye daein' here?" Thomas asked a local who had also come out to watch the proceedings.

Harold's ears were ringing with the sound of his own heartbeat. He barely registered the exchange as he locked his side of the car. He reached in the back for his bag and slung it around his shoulder. His eyes never left the gate at the end of the ancient stone bridge.

The three men started the walk across, easily stepping around the barriers. It occurred to Harold that they looked like solid parts of the bridge itself. As if someone had simply willed the stone to grow into barricades. The faded yellow and grey tones of the bricks raised in defiance. A stray thought about how perhaps a mutant powerful enough could shape themselves into a bridge, it even a castle.

Harold came to a stop several meters from the gate. Looking around and up to try and see if there was a way to notify the occupants of the bastion of their arrival, even though he was sure they already knew. Maybe they'd known from the moment they left New Cresthill, perhaps they knew from when they left Inverness the day before. There was no telling the powers these people had. A cold shiver went down his spine.

The half-smile had faded from Richard's features. All business now that they were stood in front of the enemy's gates. His stare was straight ahead. "Do we knock?"

"That won't be necessary, officers." The even and measured tones of a woman's voice met them as Claire stepped out of the shadow behind the gates. Her long black overcoat flapping in the frigid winds. Her appearance matched the even tone and RP accent.

Several journalists had followed the three men across the bridge and camera flashes filled the air.

Harold did his best to suppress his startle. Did she just appear out of nowhere? He hadn't see her approach. Perhaps she'd just been waiting around the corner. He cleared his throat. "Miss Cavendish. My name is Harold Kingsley, this is Richard Miller," he gestured towards his colleague. "We're Registration orif.. officers with the Genetic Oversight Unit and we've come here today to process the identities and abili..lities of the residents of this Institute." The words hadn't come out as confidently as last night, when all he'd been facing had been his own reflection.

"Do you have a warrant?" Claire stood. Straight back. Unwavering. The winds tugging at a stray hair that had escaped her tight bun.

"A warr..?" Harold hesitated.

"We do not require a warrant, ma'am." Richard interjected. "We're here to enforce the the legislation and we have plenty of evidence to support the notion that mutants reside here," he cocked an eyebrow. "Yourself included. So why not start there shall we? Please state your full name for the record."

Claire shifted her gaze from Harold to the other man in a suit. She smiled at him, though the smile didn't reach her eyes. "No." A short shake of the head, "I don't think I will." She stared the man down, "and seeing as this is private property, I am going to have to ask you to vacate the premises." She then looked at Thomas, "unless I have to ask the local authorities to escort you back to your vehicle."

"Dinnae make this difficult on yerself, Claire." Thomas did his best to suppress his Scottish accent. "They just want tae ken who ye are, what ye can do."

"Quite frankly, Thomas, I don't care if they are here to take stock of our pantry. They are not welcome here and since technically even the bridge is on private grounds, all three of you are already trespassing." She turned to face the man that had started the conversation, assuming he was the officer in charge. "So I will ask you politely. Once more. To vacate the premises."

Harold felt his hands get clammy, "ma'am, with all due respect, refusal to comply with the new registration law will result in legal action." His eyes pleased with her to not make his life more difficult.

"If you set up a registration location I'm sure there will be several people more than willing to come and register their identity and status with you in due time. As far as I'm aware the new law does not give you unfettered access to privately owned residencies and does not provide you with grounds for forceful entry or to detain any individuals refusing to comply with your requests." She allowed for a moment to let that sink in, "Any further inquiries on the matter may be addressed to my lawyer." She pulled her hand from her coat pocket and produced an immaculately designed business card which she extended through the bars of the gate.

Harold hurriedly stepped forward and grabbed the card before distancing himself once more.

"Have a pleasant day, gentlemen." With that she turned away to start her walk back to the main entrance.

"Claire, come on, don't be an eedjit!" Thomas called after her.

"Send my regards to Sarah and the kids, Thomas, and make sure these men leave my home in an orderly fashion." Claire called back without turning to face the trio or the growing crowd of reporters several metres behind them.

Harold found himself staring after the woman. The business card feeling heavy in his hand. As far as first assignments went, it could've gone a lot smoother.