by Mark Morris
"Wow," she breathed.
Max looked at her and nodded. "Yeah, I know."
They stood, as if in homage, for several more seconds; then Sue repositioned her gun, shifting its weight. "We'd better get on."
They trudged on towards the town, the countryside falling away behind them, the houses becoming more plentiful. Max kept his gun poised and looked constantly left and right, alert for the slightest sound or movement.
The silence was unnerving. Even now, three weeks after the flood, he couldn't get used to it. He would have given just about anything to hear the bustle of a London market or the rumble of traffic or the roar of a football crowd.
Or music. God, what he wouldn't give to hear some music. He wouldn't care what kind either. Even the gospel stuff his mum used to listen to, and he and Leo had hated, would be a godsend.
What became evident to both of them as they entered the town proper was that even without the devastation caused by the flood, Whitthorpe would have been a grin place. The colliery had evidently been the heart of the community, and now that it had closed, the town had become little more than a collection of empty shops, boarded-up businesses and rundown housing. After negotiating a labyrinth of narrow, debris-choked streets they came across the common. Emerging onto a pavement beside what they guessed was a main road, they saw a spiked metal fence adorned with slimy beards of seaweed and streamers of shredded paper, ringing a vast patch of what might once have been grass, but was now merely a lake of mud scattered with the usual wreckage of cars, uprooted vegetation and smashed household items. Hefting his gun in one hand, Max said, "What's that?"
"What?" asked Sue.
"That pile of stuff over there."
Sue squinted into the rising sun. "Dunno. Town bonfire? Does it matter?"
Max shielded his eyes. "I think it's people," he said.
"What?" Now Sue was shielding her eyes too. After a moment she said, "Fuck, you're right. It's a heap of corpses."
"What's going on, d'you reckon?"
"Clean-up operation? Maybe a bunch of survivors have banded together, made this their base."
Max glanced at her. "Reckon we should check it out?"
She thought about it a moment, then said, "Come on then."
They crossed the road and climbed over the fence. The common covered a large area, and the heap of bodies was maybe eight hundred yards in from its perimeter. They were within two hundred yards of the mound when Max stopped.
"Look at the bodies," he said. "There's a funny sort of... blue gleam."
Sue shielded her eyes once again. "You're right. It's like they've been scattered with blue jewels or something."
Max looked around at the buildings surrounding the common. "I don't like this," he said. "Something's not right."
"Apart from the fact that everyone's dead and monsters are stalking the land, you mean?" Sue smiled. "Come on, let's check this out, then find some food and fuck off."
They edged closer to the heap of corpses, their guns raised and ready, as if they half expected the dead to suddenly rise up en masse.
They were maybe twenty yards away when Sue murmured, "Oh, fuck."
"What?"
"I know what these things are." She swallowed. "They're eggs."
Sure enough, the bodies were encrusted with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of blue "eggs." Each one was a quivering jellylike sac, and looking closer, Max realized that within every semitransparent coating he could see the suggestion of squirming, shadowy movement.
He wrinkled his nose in disgust. "That's gross, man."
He jabbed one of the sacs with his rifle. A thin, colorless fluid gushed out, followed by a trickle of lumpy black liquid. The shadow inside the sac convulsed for several seconds, then became still. Max didn't feel any better for having killed the thing. He watched, sickened, as the sac deflated.
"We should torch the lot," he said bleakly.
"Uh-oh," said Sue. "We've got trouble."
Max looked up. Around the common, doors were opening and people were coming out. There were men and women both young and old, even the occasional child. The one thing they had in common were the expressions of grin intent on their faces. They began to march, almost in unison, towards Sue and Max, apparently unconcerned by the guns that they carried, seemingly prepared to overwhelm them by sheer numbers.
"Run!" Sue shouted.
Max's face was taut with fear. "Where?"
"Back the way we came. There's a gap in the ranks."
"Not much of one."
"It's all we've got. Come on!"
They ran, weighed down by their boots and guns, their feet slithering in the mud. The townspeople closed in on all sides, marching inexorably, faces set.
Sue and Max were less than two hundred yards from the fence when the first wave of townspeople reached them. Max swung round, gun raised.
"Back off!" he screamed.
"Halt or we fire," Sue shouted, wondering not only whether she was capable of gunning down civilians in cold blood, but also how many she could kill before they engulfed her and tore the weapon from her hands.
She was both relieved and surprised when her order was obeyed without question. As one the townspeople clumped to a halt, though they continued to stare balefully at the intruders.
"We don't want any trouble," Sue said. "What happened was an accident."
There was no response. The townspeople remained still as statues.
"Why don't they answer?" Max hissed, glancing about nervously.
"I don't think they're human," said Sue.
"You mean they're all... those monster things?"
"Either that or they're being controlled in some way."
"Fuck, man," Max breathed.
"I think they're like... antibodies," said Sue. "Or... what are those things that travel to the site of a wound? Endorphins. They're like endorphins, flowing to the injury, protecting the body"
Max was still trying to cover every direction with his gun. "So what happens now?"
"Now we go."
"Easy as that?"
"Let's see." Sue raised her voice again. "Is anyone going to speak to me?"
Silence.
"Okay," she said. "My friend and I are going to leave now. We won't hurt you if you don't hurt us. Deal?"
At first none of the townspeople moved or spoke, and then those that had closed in took a few steps back, creating a clear path to the perimeter fence.
"I think that's our cue," said Sue.
Max nodded. "Let's go. These guys give me the creeps." Once they had put the town a mile behind them, Max gave the barrel of his gun a pat. "Think they'd have let us go if we hadn't had these with us?"
"I don't think I want to find out," Sue said.
"It seems the evolution of our mysterious new species has entered the next phase," Greg said once Sue and Max had told their story.
"There were hundreds of those eggs, man," Max said quietly.
"Thousands," Sue said.
A somber silence descended upon them. "So?" Abby said. "What do we do?"
"I think..." Greg steepled his fingers to his lips, then seemed to come to a decision. "I think we should talk to them."
"Talk?" said Libby.
"You mean go back there?" said Max.
"Yes." Greg nodded decisively. "What have we got to lose?"
"Our lives?" said Max.
"But they could have killed you and they didn't."
"They killed Mabel," Libby reminded him.
"One of them killed Mabel," corrected Greg. "But who's to say that wasn't a rogue element? Or perhaps their initial period of aggression has now passed. How do we know they haven't now evolved into intelligent, reasoning creatures?"
"I still say we should keep away from 'em," said Max.
"That may soon become impossible," Greg said. "I think we have to assume, Max, that the situation you happened across in Whitthorpe was not an isolated one. It's a reasonable hypothesis that similar activity is taking pla
ce throughout the country, perhaps even the world."
"You mean they're spawning?" said Steve.
Greg nodded. "It would seem so."
"We're fucked then," said Sue. She raised a hand. "Sorry, Abby"
"What for?" Abby said. "I'm not a kid. What I've seen over the past few weeks is a million tines worse than hearing someone say the F-word."
"If we're in such a dire situation as you believe, Sue," pointed out Greg, "then that brings me back to my earlier point. What have we got to lose? Based on your evidence I would surmise that in a very short time, whatever's left of humankind will be not only outnumbered but overwhelmed by these creatures. And if they are predatory, as you fear, then I'm sorry to say that our days left on this planet are very much at a premium. So rather than run and hide, why not face that uncertainty sooner rather than later?"
"Take the fight to them?" said Max.
"They say attack is the best form of defense," muttered Sue.
"I'm not advocating a military campaign," said Greg.
"No, but it's always best to be prepared," Sue argued.
"We've got guns," said Steve. "What else can we prepare ourselves with?"
"Petrol bombs," she suggested.
"Forgive my ignorance," Libby said, "but don't you need petrol for petrol bombs?"
"We've got petrol," said Sue. "Gallons of it. There's a petrol station right outside."
"Yeah, but it's been underwater," Max said.
"So?"
"Won't the water have got in? Contaminated the petrol or something?"
"No reason why it should have. Those underground tanks are sealed units, tight as submarines. They have to be. They're full of thousands of gallons of highly flammable liquid, remember."
"But how do we get to it?" asked Steve. "Surely the pumps won't still be working?"
Sue drained her coffee mug and stood up. "Let's see, shall we?"
They stashed most of their stuff at the service station and set off just before midday, their backpacks containing nothing but petrol bombs and light provisions.
"I can't believe we're going back there," Max said to Abby.
"Are you scared?" she asked.
"Nah." He glanced at her and smiled. "A bit. You?"
"Terrified," she admitted. "What do you think's going to happen, Max? Long-term, I mean?"
"Who knows? Let's just get through today, shall we? Not think too far ahead."
"Live for the moment?" she said.
"Yeah, man. It's all we got now, isn't it?"
She sighed. "I can't believe there was so much I was looking forward to a few weeks ago."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Just little things. The new Faithless album. My friend Myleen's birthday party, which would have been... oh, G c1, last weekend! And when I was in London my dad was going to take me to Billy Elliot. We had tickets and everything."
`Bummer," said Max. "Did you get a refund?"
"We tried ringing the box office, but no one answered," she said, deadpan.
He tutted. "Can't get the service these days."
"I know," she said. "What is the world coming to?" They
looked at each other and sniggered. Then Max said shyly, "Can I ask you something, Abby?"
"Depends."
"If the world was, say, still normal, and I asked you out... what would you say?"
"I'd say no," she replied without hesitation.
"Really?"
"'Fraid so."
He swallowed. "Why's that?"
"Because Dad would kill Inc."
Max looked hurt, but tried to make light of it. Adopting a Jamaican accent, he asked, "Is it because I is black?"
"No," said Abby, "it's because you is seventeen and I is only thirteen. But ask me again in three or four years. It might be all right then."
"Okay," he said, "I'll do that"
On the outskirts of the town he told her to close her eyes, and didn't let her open them again until he had led her around the corner and stood her in front of the paddock containing the remains of the whale. Despite the trepidation they all felt, they still allowed themselves a moment to view the spectacle. When they finally-reluctantly-moved on, Sue said, "Okay, guys, we're getting close now. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears...
"Pricked?" suggested Libby.
"That's the one."
They followed the route that Sue and Max had walked earlier, but didn't see a soul. "Reckon they're watching us?" Abby whispered to Max.
"Who knows?"
Eventually they emerged from the maze of streets and came in sight of the common. Everything was as it had been earlier that day-the mound of corpses in the near distance, the houses fringing the vast, litter-strewn patch of mud, betraying no obvious signs of life. Abby nervously scanned the encircling windows, so dark within their white frames that they looked painted on to the buildings. She half expected to glimpse ghostly faces melting back into the shadows, but she saw nothing.
They crossed the road and hovered on the pavement beside the fence. "What now?" asked Steve. "Head for the center or go round the outside and knock on a door?"
Sue delved into her rucksack and pulled out one of the carefully packed petrol bombs. "Let's negotiate from a position of strength."
"You aren't going to use that, are you?" Abby asked nervously.
"Only if I'm forced to."
She and Max scaled the fence and helped the others over. Steve winced as Max grabbed hold of his injured arm. "Sorry, man, I forgot"
They tramped across the mud towards the corpses. As soon as they were close enough to see the egg sacs glistening among the bodies of the dead, Libby turned away. "I feel sick."
Abby joined Greg, who had walked right up to the heaped corpses and was peering intently over the top of his spectacles at the substance coating them.
"Fascinating," he said. "Obviously the dead are here to provide sustenance for the newborn."
"What now?" said Steve. "Do we just stand here and wait for them to come out?"
"I could fire a shot into the air..." suggested Sue.
Steve nodded. "Go for it."
Sue pointed her rifle at the sun and pulled the trigger. The gunshot was oddly muted in the still air.
"Can anyone hear us?" she shouted. "We were here earlier. We've come to talk to you."
At first nothing happened, and then, almost in unison, doors opened and the inhabitants of Whitthorpe emerged, same as before. They filed through a gate on the far side of the common and began to tramp across the mud, a ragtag army, unhurried but well drilled. Libby huddled closer to Steve. Sue held the petrol bomb casually in her left hand, as if it were a pint of milk she had bought at the local shop.
"Shall we tell them we come in peace?" Abby said. "That's what they always say in the movies."
The townspeople clumped to a halt some twenty yards from the six survivors and regarded them, no expressions on their faces. It struck Steve that this was like a standoff in a Western-high noon in Whitthorpe. Instead of the Magnificent Seven he and his friends were the Motley Six.
"Hi," he said, suddenly realizing that maybe they should have elected a spokesperson and decided exactly what they were going to say. "A couple of us were here this morning. We've come back because we want to talk to you. We want to... well, basically just find out who you are and what you're doing here....
He tailed off, hoping the others weren't as dissatisfied with his words as he was. It was only as he had started talking that he had realized what an odd, even unique situation he was in. What did you say to people who might or might not be monsters or genetic mutations or space aliens in disguise? Everything that came to mind sounded like a dopey rehash of lines from some dumb science fiction movie. What he really wanted to know was whether the earth and what was left of its inhabitants were under threat, and, more specifically, whether by coming here he and his friends had strolled unwittingly into the lions' den.
A man broke away from the rest of the townspeople and app
roached them. He was about fifty, tall and portly, with graying hair and rimless spectacles. He was wearing a white shirt under a maroon sweater, blue jeans and black walking boots. He looked like a civil servant relaxing at the weekend, like the sort of man you would pass in the street and not look at twice. The only unusual thing about him was the unnerving blankness of his expression.
"You've come to talk?" he said.
Steve nodded. "Yes."
"But you have guns. You don't need guns to talk."
"We weren't sure what kind of reception we'd get," Sue said.
The man regarded her. "That's reasonable."
"So who are you?" Steve asked.
The man spread his arms. "We are the people of Whitthorpe."
"With all due respect, we know that's not true," said Greg.
Abruptly the man smiled. "Perhaps you'd like to tell us who we are then?"
"We don't know who you are," said Greg, "which is why we're here. We believe you're a new species to us. We've seen what you really look like, but we can't identify you-hence our curiosity."
"I see," said the man.
"So?" Sue said. "Who are you?"
Again the man spread his arms, as if to show he had nothing to hide. "We are just like you. Our aspirations are the same as yours."
"Which are?" Steve asked.
"To survive."
"And how do you intend to do that?" Greg asked.
"In any way we can."
"By using us as food, you mean?" said Sue, nodding at the mound of corpses.
"Your dead are a source of nourishment," admitted the man, "but we didn't kill these people. The water did that."
"But who brought the water?" asked Steve. "Was that you?"
"The water has always been here," said the man.
