Fourth World
an excerpt

I was woken by a loud knock on the door. The girl who had manned the radio the previous evening poked her head round the door, ignored me and spoke to Minnie - she must have crept up there at some point during the night.
"We can't find the chief."
Minnie was struggling with consciousness, she couldn't have slept for long. I checked the clock: 6am.
"What do you mean, you can't find him?" she countered.
"Message came through from Al, Jon wanted to pass it on, and he's not in his room."
"I thought Logan told you lot not to disturb him during the night."
"It's 6am."
Minnie groaned and got out of bed. She was fully clothed also. "OK, OK. Where's the message?" The girl handed it over.
"What about the chief?" she asked
"I'll deal with it, Claire. When's your shift end?"
"Ten minutes ago."
"Fine, go home, sleep, whatever it is you do when you're not here. We'll deal with it."
The girl frowned but left.
"She doesn't like you, that one," I ventured.
"Tell me about it," said Minnie. She scowled at the piece of paper in front of her. "I can't believe they wanted to wake him for this."
"What is it?"
"Nothing important," she said, and stuffed the paper into the pocket of her jeans.
She made for the door and I followed her, half asleep, reacting automatically. She banged on the door next door. The guy posted there interrupted her. "He's not here, Minnie"
"Then why aren't you looking for him?" The guy gave her a questioning look. "Go on, off you go." Minnie was obviously not one to be messed with this early in the morning. She pushed open the door to Marcus's room to check for herself. Empty. Sure enough.
She banged on another door on the other side of the hallway. She must be intent on waking the house.
"What?" came Logan's quiet voice.
She poked her head round the door. "Seen Marcus?"
I didn't hear a response, but it must have been negative because it was just a couple of seconds before Logan was standing in the hallway dressed only in jogging pants. He checked Marcus's room too, then shrugged.
"Get dressed," Minnie told him, but he was already gone, leaving the door half-open in his hurry. He pulled on a t-shirt and sweater, found some socks and shoes. I looked down at my own feet, Minnie at hers. "Point," she said. We found shoes quickly and reconvened in the hall. Minnie made for the stairs, heading down to the meeting room and kitchen. I followed her automatically, but Logan caught my arm and pulled me back, watching Minnie disappear downstairs.
"What?"
He motioned for me to follow him and opened a door further up the landing, revealing another staircase. He bounded up it, taking the stairs two at a time, and then proceeded up a ladder at the top of that. I followed him, quickly running out of breath. I really wasn't made for the physical stuff. He pushed open a trap-door, and a blast of icy-cold wind rushed down the ladder, causing me to wobble. Logan hoisted himself up, and I poked my head through the opening. He reached down to pull me up and I shook my head violently. No way was I getting out on the roof. My head swam just thinking about it. What the hell were we doing up here anyway?
Logan looked down at me and shrugged, leaving me standing there on the ladder, just my head and shoulders sticking out. We were right on the roof ridge, and as he made his way along it, as if on a balance beam, I realised why we were here. Silhoutted by the rising wintery sun, Marcus was standing at the far end of the roof ridge, his back to us. Arms outstretched as if about to make a swallow-dive. Logan stopped about 10 feet short of him, sat down without comment, and lit a cigarette. I held my breath, I was dizzy just watching them, could almost feel the ladder slipping out from under me. As strange as it seems, I thought I'd feel better with something more solid underneath me, and hauled myself up through the hole, so I could sit on the rim. Nothing happened. I sat and shivered in the cold, trying not to look down, for a good ten minutes before Marcus finally turned around and saw Logan, cigarette long since finished, stubbed out and thrown into the gutter. If he saw me, he didn't acknowledge me, just looked pointedly at Logan, stretched his arms into the air and then went into a handstand. Was the guy totally nuts? We were I don't know how many feet up, it was freezing cold, half-dark and he'd been shot the previous evening. Shot. I entertained the thought that he'd taken something for the pain and this was the result. But then how would Logan know where to go? Apparently this was some kind of regular occurence, because Logan continued to ignore Marcus's antics and just sat there watching, calmly. Marcus moved out of the handstand and walked over to Logan, hands in his pockets. Hands in his pockets. Thirty feet up. On a roof ridge. Neither man commented as Marcus took a seat beside Logan.
Logan risked a side-ways look at him. "Minnie's going to kill you if you've ripped your stitches."
Marcus stood, shot a withering look at Logan, turned his back on his friend, raised his arms again and did something akin to a cartwheel. I'd never been a gymnast. Looked like this guy had. He looked pointedly over at Logan. "How many want me out now?"
"Maybe one or two more."
I don't think I'd have had the guts to give an honest reply like that. Not with Marcus balancing on one foot on a roof ridge.
Marcus nodded. "Where's Al?"
"We haven't told him yet."
"Nothing to tell."
"Minnie told me what happened. He hesitated."
Marcus shrugged. "It happens."
It happens? Apparently it was partly Al's fault he got shot, the guy wants his job, and all he can say is "it happens?"
"Want to ask me how many people want Al out now?"
Marcus shook his head. "Doesn't matter."
"Want to tell me why we're having this conversation up here?"
"Nowhere else left to go," Marcus said, simply, and finally took a seat beside Logan again.
By this point I was freezing and baffled and ready to just leave them to it. Someone should tell Minnie where Marcus was. And besides which, I felt like I was intruding on a very private conversation. I shuffled my butt around the trapdoor, trying to get into a better position to get back onto the ladder again, and managed to dislodge a tile, crying out as it made an unholy noise scuttling down the roof. Two heads whipped round in my direction.
"I don't do handstands," I pointed out before Marcus could ask what the hell I was doing there. "It's OK, I'm leaving," I said, "except, um, I seem to be stuck."
"You don't do heights, either, do you?" Logan asked, rising from his position to help me out.
"Not particularly," I noted. "If you ever decide you need an adrenaline rush when Logan's not around," I said to Marcus, "could you get it somewhere closer to the ground?"
He laughed. A real, honest-to-God belly laugh. And then clutched at his side. I looked over, concerned. "Laughing hurts," he said with a grimace. I decided not to mention the cartwheel. Logan helped me find my footing on the ladder again and then watched carefully as Marcus descended. He *was* hurting, just trying not to show it. Logan stopped Marcus at the foot of the ladder and lifted his t-shirt and sweater matter-of-factly. A red stain was spreading through the huge bandage round his middrift. "Go see Minnie," he ordered. "She's worried, and that needs taking care of. And don't disappear on her watch again."
"Yes, mother," Marcus said and made his way down the stairs, hanging hard on the handrail. I watched him as he disappeared round the bend in the staircase and made his way onto the upstairs landing. Logan sank down beside me onto the top stair and rested his elbows on his knees.
"I do wish he wouldn't do that," he said.
"The getting shot part or the doing handstands on the roof part?" I asked, sitting down beside him. He leaned his head on my shoulder. I was surprised at the vote of confidence, but didn't want to disturb his new-found talkativeness, and kept quiet.
"Both," he said, and closed his eyes. I wondered if he'd actually slept.
"How do you do it, Logan?" I asked, too tired myself to spare the directness.
"Hmm?"
"How do you keep so calm? Don't you ever lose your temper, get upset? I mean, you spent three hours last night listening to a pitched battle over the radio, Marcus got shot, he's sleeping with me... and you just keep going. Cope. Get on with it. Talk Marcus down from the roof as if nothing had happened."
"You did that," he said.
"Yeah, but only cos I got stuck. How many times have you talked him down from up there?"
No answer.
"I'm sorry," I said.
More silence. But his head was still resting on my shoulder.
"Somebody has to," he said, out of the blue.
"Hmm?"
"Somebody has to," he repeated. "Someone has to stay calm. That's not Minnie, or Al, or Marcus. Someone has to not panic. Someone's got to talk them all down from the roof."
"You don't talk to Minnie," I pointed out.
He sat up with a sigh. "Doesn't matter, she still listens," he said, and got to his feet. He made his way down the stairs without another word.