The Infinity Bridge

By Ross Kitson

Sam: likes loud music, wears black eye-liner... and sees monsters.

Nick: wears Che Guevara knit-wear, big specs, loves sci-fi... and designs computer viruses.

Annie: dresses like a Sunday evening period drama, lives with her granddad... and fights like a ninja.

When Sam helps out the mysterious Annie, he and his cousin, Nick, are drawn into a world of excitement and danger. Terrifying androids roam the streets of York seeking the awesome power of the Infinity Bridge, a device that could signal the end of our world as we know it. All who stand in their way are being eliminated.

The three teenagers are propelled into an action-packed race against time, involving alternate realities, airships, clockwork killers.... and Merlin.

Sometimes the monsters are real....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ross Kitson
• Release date: Jan 14, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301989263

Ross Kitson

During the day i work as a doctor in intensive care, twiddling ventilators and generally sorting out sick patients...but at night...? At night i tap to ridiculously late hours on my PC crafting stories of fantastic worlds and awesome magic.Day job pays the bills though...My main genres are epic fantasy and YA sci-fi, although I've had steampunk stories published in antholgies also.

Book preview

1.

The emerald beam sizzled through the air and punched a hole straight through the Pinstripe Man’s chest. He stumbled towards Sam and then collapsed onto the ground. Smoke spiralled from his mouth.

Sam ducked as a second beam etched a flaming trail on a car bonnet. He grabbed hold of the slumped Pinstripe Man and dragged him behind the car. He was surprisingly light, considering he was three times Sam’s fourteen years.

The silence in the multi-storey car park was ominous. Sam chanced a look from behind the car. He couldn’t see where the beams were coming from.

‘Sam,’ the Pinstripe Man said. His voice was a whisper. ‘Sam, you have to get my smart-phone, or we’re both dead.’

The hole in the Pinstripe Man’s chest was still billowing smoke. There was a horrible stench of burnt flesh. Sam could hardly believe he was alive, let alone talking.

‘Where is it?’ Sam checked the Man’s suit.

‘I dropped it... when I was shot.’

Sam’s heart plummeted. He could see the smart-phone twenty feet away, in the middle of the car park.

‘I... I can’t,’ Sam said. ‘I’ll get shot.’

‘You... must. It’s the only way to stop them.’

A tremor rippled through Sam’s body. The day’s events flashed through his brain. He began to run from behind the car.

2.

Ever since he could remember Sam had seen monsters. That wasn’t quite true—he recalled the first time, so he must have been aware of the time before. His dad had just read him Not Now Bernard, a book about a boy who had found a monster in his garden.

Sam’s monster was actually shimmering behind the radiator, but the irony wasn’t lost on him.

He learned very quickly to keep quiet about it. If you told your parents about this sort of thing then they did one of two things: they either smiled then ruffled your hair or they made odd noises, like constipated hens.

Sam’s brother Ben had told them that he also saw monsters. He currently resided in a psychiatric hospital. That had pretty much made up Sam’s mind on the matter.

***

The music in Sam’s room shook the shelves. It filled every corner of the room. It washed over Sam, cloaked him, calmed him.

This is the only way to listen to Green Day, he thought. Volume ten and on your own. He slouched on his bed. His head rested on his backpack, as he waited to leave.

The door crashed open and Ollie, Sam’s step-brother, stormed into the bedroom. Ollie was the diametric opposite of Sam. His hair was trimmed and neat, Sam’s was dyed black and spiked; his attire was catalogue perfect, Sam’s was black and punk; his build was six foot rugby player, Sam’s was skeletal-thin.

This last trait gave Ollie a certain ability to throw his weight around the house. He jabbed the off button on Sam’s stereo and rubbed his ears in irritation.

‘It’s bad enough you listen to that rubbish, let alone subject me to it.’

‘It drowns out your whinging when it’s loud,’ Sam replied. ‘Anyhow, you’ll get a two week reprieve from me soon enough.’

‘I’m counting down the seconds.’

‘Oh, you’ve learned to count now? Who says private education is wasted on rugby players?’

Ollie growled. ‘You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So how come you’ve got no mates at school, eh Sam?’

‘The selection is pretty poor, given most of them like you, Ollie.’

‘Yeah, sure, tell yourself that.’ Ollie’s lip curled in a sneer. ‘Perhaps it’s the fact you throw fireworks into people’s faces. How stupid was that, vampire-boy?’

Sam flushed and rolled off his bed. Anger boiled in his chest.

‘That wasn’t my fault. It was an accident.’

‘Oh, right! Not jealousy? Baz was our best fly-half and now he’s off school and out for the season.’

‘Well that’ll save him bullying any more kids at school then won’t it?’

Ollie loomed over Sam, his face red. ‘It’s not bullying. There’s a pecking order at school, a hierarchy—like there is in the real world. Not that you’re likely to ever be part of that.’

Sam stomped towards Ollie, his fists clenched. He may get a pasting if he punched his step-brother, but at least he’d feel better.

‘Boys? Are you ready yet?’

Sam’s mother, Jen, had popped her head into the bedroom. The tension in the room dissipated.

‘What’s going on?’ Jen asked.

The two boys shrugged. Ollie shot Sam a glare before leaving. Sam’s mother lingered by the door as he grabbed his backpack.

‘You are all right about going to your dad’s place while we’re away?’

Sam shrugged. ‘It’s preferable to two weeks in Gran Canaria with Ollie throwing a ball at my head on the beach.’

Jen sighed. ‘Let your dad enjoy your moods for a change. We’re going in five.’

Sam took a last look around his bedroom and then followed her out.

***

Big Dave, Sam’s step-father, gunned the Jaguar through the village. He chatted casually over his shoulder to Ollie. In the back seat both Sam and Ollie cringed as the car missed an old lady in the road by a molecule-width.

‘David! Pay attention to the road,’ Jen said. ‘We have to live in the village even if you run over all the grannies here.’

‘What? Oh, sorry, love. Just asking Ollie if he had the DVD of last year’s Grand Slam with him for the journey.’

Sam rolled his eyes. Dave was a bigger, albeit more pleasant, version of Ollie. He sweated sports—his love of everything physical permeated every moment of his day. Every business trip he made had some ulterior connection with a sporting event. To Sam, who was usually the last to be picked for sides during games lessons, this was bewildering at best.

Dave caught Sam’s eye. Oh God, Sam thought, he’s going to try and be nice to me now. I can just feel it.

‘So, matey,’ Dave said. ‘Your dad got anything, er... cool planned for you this fortnight?’

Ollie interjected before Sam could reply. ‘Like leaving you behind when he’s played a gig?’

‘Ollie!’ Jen scolded. ‘That only happened the once.’

Sam looked out of the window. They were out in the open countryside now, heading down the lanes towards York. The sky was a sinister battleship grey. There was a storm coming.

‘Oh sorry, Jen, I can see how,’ Ollie said. ‘Finish gig. Guitar... check. Six-pack of beer... check. Son tucked away at back because he’s under-age... um, not check.’

‘C’mon, Ollie, you’ll not see Sam for two weeks, let’s be nice, eh?’ Dave said.

Ollie snorted, but didn’t tease further. He’d been furious with Sam ever since the incident with Baz and the firework. Sam didn’t really care—he preferred it when the kids at school stayed away from him. It made it easier to cope with the monsters.

For several minutes there was only the rumble of the road in the car. Jen kept glancing back, as if building up the nerve to say something.

‘Er, Sam?’ she asked ultimately. ‘Are you going to try and visit Ben whilst we’re away? The hospital isn’t far from your dad’s shop.’

A sick sensation stirred in Sam’s belly.

‘I’m not sure, Mum. I’ll... see.’

‘It’s just he... he misses your visits. He’s had a bit of a relapse and they’re keeping a closer eye on him. It might help...’

‘I said I’ll see!’ Sam snapped. His heart was thumping and he felt light-headed and nauseous.

Dave and Jen exchanged glances. Sam struggled to draw breath.

‘Stop the car, Dave,’ Sam said.

‘What? Don’t be...’

‘Stop the damn car!’ Sam yelled.

Dave screeched to a halt at the edge of the lane and Sam scrambled out of the car. He leaned over a dry stone wall and gulped down the air. He became aware, after a minute, of his mum stood by him.

‘Sam, I’m sorry.’

‘No, Mum, I’m sorry. I’m just... I just struggle with seeing Ben. That’s all. I’ll try and see him. Promise.’

Jen nodded and put her arm around Sam. Her perfume was fragrant and warm. He rested his head on her shoulder and looked past her into the field they had stopped next to.

Twenty feet away the air was rippling and curling. Sam could see a hint of motion within the distortion. He turned his head away; he didn’t want to ruin the moment by watching monsters.

***

Dave pulled the Jaguar into a ‘park and ride’ on the outskirts of York. He sat in the car with Ollie whilst Sam gave his mum an awkward hug outside. The bus was arriving nearby.

‘The firework thing wasn’t my fault, Mum. He threw it to try and hurt the first former and I just knocked it back towards him.’

‘I know, Sam,’ Jen said. ‘It’s just with all the other problems at school, I think it was the last straw. You have to appreciate how people can misunderstand you... misjudge you.’

Sam nodded and hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders. He slipped on his earphones and made to leave. Jen touched his arm.

‘Sam, Ben wrote you a letter. I understand if you don’t want to see it.’

Sam took the letter from her silently. He walked towards the bus queue.

***

Sam wobbled down the central aisle of the bus as it drove off. He was well prepared for the stares that accompanied his appearance. Two old ladies, faces bright red under their huge fur hats, tutted at him like metronomes. Six tourists gawped at him as if he was one of York’s many attractions.

He sat at the rear of the bus and turned up the volume on his iPod. Several fidgety minutes passed before he tugged out the letter from his leather jacket.

Big Ben

One of the wards (I forget the name)

Bootham Park

Er...today

Hi Sam Spam

You still stealing Mum’s mascara you EMO boy, you? Only teasing. I’m jealous cos if I did it they’d double my medicine.

Anyhow, thought I’d write you a letter. Supposed to be therapy or something daft. Dude—everyone is bonkers in here! Even the staff! I reckon the only way to tell between staff and patients (they call us clients sometimes) are the badges. They’ve moved me to a more secure unit as the old brain’s gone a bit haywire. Reckon I need an upgrade.

Sorry about the handwritten letter. Can’t handle computers at the best of times. Might sound weird, but it feels like something’s alive on the internet. Watching. Waiting. Not evil, as such, but old. Very old.

(Don’t stress—the docs know I think this. Reckon they read all the letters anyway)

They’ve moved me to a secure area because my monster visions are on the increase—think there must be a World of Warcraft party going on in York! The medicine kind of helps. It sort of dulls things, makes it all fuzzy and seem less important. I feel like an old photo in a multi-coloured world.

(Just to re-iterate I do see stuff other than monsters, waving at me through those wounds in the world).

Days are a bit dull on the secure unit. The telly upsets half the patients so is usually off. Scrabble gets a bit random when your opponent insists FWQZHER is a triple point word. Come visit me, buddy. I miss ya! Make sure u get a pass or they’ll keep you in here with me, what with that crow nest haircut of yours.

Later

Big Ben

***

Sam stared out of the window for a long while as the bus crawled through the traffic towards the city walls. An empty vast void occupied his gut. It had been six months since he had visited Ben and that had not gone well. If he was honest, just seeing Ben terrified him.

The bus stopped to allow some passengers on. Sam clicked through some songs on his iPod. He glanced up to watch them sit.

A girl his own age had got on the bus. Her seat was opposite from his. She was remarkably pretty and carried herself with the poise and confidence of an athlete. Paradoxically, she was dressed in clothes that could be best described as Sunday night period drama. Her neat blouse was tucked under a knitted cardigan. Her grey skirt was below knee and her shoes were as shiny as beetles.

She caught Sam looking at her and she smiled faintly. He blushed and looked away. There was something familiar about her, although he was certain she didn’t go to his school. All the girls there had big hair and designer sunglasses.

Ten minutes later the bus pulled up by the station and everyone stood. The girl carried a bag jammed with books. She’d been reading one by Dostoevsky. Sam doubted he’d be able to read the cover, let alone the book. She alighted from the bus and strode off into the crowds that were milling towards the city walls.

Sam had a strange sensation that he was being watched. He looked around and across the far side of the road he saw a man regarding him. The man was slender, with an angular bird-like face. He wore a pinstripe suit and had an umbrella tucked under his arm.

A truck rumbled in front of Sam, obscuring his view. He looked again for the strange figure once it had passed, but the man was gone. Sam suppressed a shudder and walked towards the city centre and his dad’s shop.

3.

Sam’s dad, Rob, owned a record shop on Lower Petergate, a stone’s throw from the Minster. It nestled between coffee shops and wine bars like a forgotten sibling. Rob held out against repeated requests to sell the place and against all odds the shop kept breaking even.

The interior of the shop paid homage to Rob’s love of old tunes. A vintage jukebox glowed like a rainbow in the corner. A continual selection of Fifties rock and roll boomed throughout the shop. The walls were decorated with yellowed LPs and rare singles. A signed record by Elvis had its pride of place above the till.

Sam was greeted by Roy O, his dad’s partner, when he entered. Roy O had a Brylcreamed quiff and wore black sunglasses despite the gloom of the day.

‘Sammy-O,’ Roy said. ‘How’s life in the alternate generation on this fine February day?’

‘Not too bad, Roy,’ Sam replied. ‘Dad around?’

‘Sure is, Sammy-O. He’s in the back sorting out his gee-tar for the gig tonight.’

Roy-O liked to affect a Southern US drawl, which merged badly with his Yorkshire accent. Sam had a sinking feeling.

‘Gig? He’s playing a gig?’

‘Umm, you betcha! Maybe y’all should go on through.’

Sam slipped behind the till and through into the rear of the shop. The room was small. It was cluttered with memorabilia and dusty boxes of records and CDs. Rob was kneeling in the corner changing some guitar strings.

‘Dad, what’s this about a gig? You know I’m too young to go in pubs at night.’

Rob jumped to his feet. He displayed a wide smile. His greying hair was tied in a ponytail and he was wearing a Dead Kennedys t-shirt.

‘Sam! Now then, son. You’re looking way cool.’

‘Don’t change the subject, Dad, at least not so obviously. The gig?’

‘Oh, Sam, it was a last minute thing. It’s a great slot—it could be my big break.’

‘If Mum found out it’d be the big break for your neck. She was fuming after that last time.’

Rob winced. ‘She still going on about that? How is everyone? Hulk and Hulk junior keeping well?’

Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the reference to Big Dave and Ollie. ‘They’re still sharing the brain cell between them. Mum’s OK though.’

Rob passed Sam a bottle of Coke. Holding the guitar under his arm, Rob strode back into the shop. Sam swigged the coke, letting his irritation ebb and then followed him through.

‘I’ve asked Auntie Gaynor to look after you tonight, at her place.’ Rob tucked his guitar away in its case. ‘She’s despatched Nerdy Nick to meet you at three outside the Minster.’

‘Dad! You can’t call him Nerdy Nick—he’s the only friend I’ve got.’

‘C’mon, Sam. He’s geeky and proud. It’s the continual diet of mung beans and lentils from Gaynor.’

Sam laughed and rubbed his aching stomach. ‘Any chance of a fiver for some decent lunch then?’

Rob rolled his eyes and tugged a crumpled five pound note out of his jeans. ‘Go and splash out on an exploitive corporate burger and shake, son. You’ll need the energy...’

***

York was busy, despite the dark clouds that tinted the sky a malevolent shade. Sam munched on his burger as he weaved through the tourists and shoppers. Tudor buildings leaned over the street as if peeking at what was going on below. Strains of a busker’s melody drifted on the breeze, enticing memories of sunnier days.

Sam had had a feeling of apprehension ever since he had left his dad’s shop. He went to sit on a bench, but the tiny puddles of water that rippled on the top changed his mind. The crowds were starting to feel oppressive, yet he knew returning to his dad’s shop would tempt nagging about visiting Ben.

Sam slipped down an alleyway between two shops and onto a cobbled back street. The clamour of the main street faded and he felt his anxiety ebb. He sat on a dry step outside a flaking back door and pondered how to kill the hour until he met his cousin Nick.

At the far end of the lonely back street the air began to ripple and shimmer. Sam could feel a headache building rapidly. He rose, with a sigh, and wandered towards the distortion in the air.

In the centre of the rippling air he could see figures, perhaps eight in total. They were walking in a cobbled street, attired in top hats and brandishing ornate canes. Above their heads he could see huge balloons, like zeppelins, drifting across the sky. Sam reached for the image, but his hand passed through it as if it were featureless air.

‘Makes a change from monsters, I suppose,’ he said to himself.

A tingle ran down his neck. Sam turned and saw a tall figure walking down the alley towards the backstreet. His heart skipped a beat. It was the man in the pinstripe suit he had seen earlier.

Sam ran, past the shimmering image and out of the far end of the back street. It was irrational, sure, but something about this Pinstripe Man creeped him out. Sam emerged back onto the busy street and slipped through the throng of people and towards the river.

The Pinstripe Man emerged from the alley and looked around with a sigh. He tugged a smart-phone from his breast-pocket, tapped the screen and then strolled down the street.

***

The River Ouse was a sombre grey, emulating the darkening sky, as Sam crossed the bridge. He was probably just feeling a bit paranoid today, he reflected. Ben’s letter had upset him more than he thought.

Sam ambled by the riverside, sipping from his Coke. There was no sign of the Pinstripe Man so he relaxed. He passed a family splashing in the brown puddles that decorated the stone flags at the side of the river. One of the children laughed at Sam’s black spiky hair. He fixed his gaze past them.

Further down the riverside he saw the girl from the bus. She had obviously been to the library as she was carrying half a dozen books. He stared at her, trying to place her face and then it hit him. She lived in Auntie Gaynor and Nick’s village. She was one of those kids whose parents tutored them at home, except in her case Sam thought it was her granddad who did it.

He made to catch her up when he saw four lads saunter down to the riverside, laughing and shouting. Sam winced as he recognised the largest as Hugo ‘Baz’ Barrett, Ollie’s bullying friend. His lumpy features still bore the scar from the firework incident.

‘Good afternoon, my pretty,’ Baz said loudly. ‘I’m afraid there is a toll to pass along the riverbank today.’

His rugby-sweatered friends snickered. Baz’s voice was intrinsically irritating, a mixture of arrogance and posh-schooling.

‘I... I don’t want