by Mark Morris
We're trying not to think too much about that, tho, and in fact, in the last 2 days, Max has come up with this snare thing and we've managed to catch 2 birds with it-a seagull and a pigeon, which we've cooked and eaten. Sometimes, tho, we only have 2 tins to feed all of us, and cos we don't know what's in them we could end up with something like sweetcorn and mushy peas (which is what we had 4 days ago, by the way. Totally gross).
The birds are getting more vicious. They'll have a go at your rucksack, cos they know there's food in it. We've taken to carrying sticks to fight them off. It was a bit of a joke at first, but it's not now. Dad says it's like that old Alfred Hitchcock film, The Birds.' I've never seen that movie, and now I don't suppose I ever will.
At least there have been no more aliens, which probably just means their babies haven't been born yet. They're probably in the towns and villages all around us, waiting for their young to hatch out. That's a creepy thought, but there's not much we can do about it. We've decided that the monsters are evil now, or at least that they want to wipe us out. If Greg was here he'd probably say that the dog attack doesn't prove anything, that there could be evil aliens and nice aliens, but Sue says we have to assume that they're hostile, and we all agree with her.
Our theory is this: The aliens somehow caused the flood and then they came down to Earth on the blue lightning. We don't know HOW they caused the flood, but Dad thinks maybe they've got some machine, like a giant water magnet or something, which draws up the water and moves it about ("displaces it," he said). It's a pretty simple theory, I know, but, like Sue says, we need to make some sort of sense of things, and this is the simplest thing that everyone can understand. What's a bit MORE complicated is our theory about the dogs, but it's not THAT complicated. It goes like this:
On the night Greg was killed, all the dogs that attacked us were the same breed (Dobermans, we think). It wasn't until later, when Libby pointed this out, that we all realized how weird it was. We know that the dogs weren't really dogs, but aliens. But what we'd al-ways thought before was that the alien had to "absorb" you before it could change into you. But none of us can believe that the aliens found a whole pack of dogs to absorb. So what we think is, they found one, which had somehow survived, and then they copied it, down-loaded it into themselves, sort of. Dad says they must have used the first dog as a template that all the aliens could then tap into. We reckon they must have a group mind (a "hive mind," Sue called it). What's scary, tho, is that if the aliens can become dogs, they can prob-ably become birds, insects, anything. All the birds we see flying above us could be aliens, spying on us, and we'd never know.
We still don't know how the aliens can be killed. We know they don't LIKE bullets, but guns don't actually seem to kill them. Dad and the rest have shot at 2 now, and both times they've got away. From the dog it looks as tho they can sort of be killed when they're not aliens, but then they can change back into aliens and come alive again.
Apart f rom guns, the other weapons we've been carrying are petrol bombs-which, with the guns and the camping stove and the food and everything else, means our packs are really heavy. We haven't used any petrol bombs on the aliens yet to see if they work, but some-times I wish we WOULD see an alien, just so I can chuck a few and get rid of some of the weight.
Me and Dad had a long chat last night. We were staying at yet an-other service station Junction 61 at Durham. I was huddled up in my sleeping bag cos I was really tired, and everyone else was sitting a little way away, talking and drinking a bottle of Jameson's whisky that Libby had found poking out of the mud at the side of the road, when Dad stood up and came across.
"Hey, babe," he said, "how you doin?"
"Okay," I said. "You?"
He smiled at that, like it was a question so big and crazy he didn't know how to even begin answering it. Then he said, "Yeah, okay, y'know. All things considered."
I could smell the whisky on his breath, and that made me realize that I missed the warm, sort of homey smell of his rolling tobacco, which used to linger about him. It was funny, but I hadn't even noticed when Dad had stopped smoking. I guess it must have been when his tobacco ran out.
"I thought I'd pop over for a chat," he said. "We haven't talked for a while."
"We talk every day," I said.
"Yeah, but not properly," he said. "It's always just nuts and bolts stuff. We haven't had a good old natter for ages."
I looked across at Libby. I couldn't help it. I didn't mean to be bitchy, but that's probably what it sounded like when I said, "Well, you've been busy with other things, haven't you?"
He sighed, and I wasn't sure whether that was cos he thought I was being a pain or cos he felt guilty. Then he said, "I know I've been spending a lot of time with Libby, but that's cos she went thru an awful thing at that farmhouse. I know you did too, but-"
"But I wasn't raped," I said before I could stop myself.
He winced, as if someone had jabbed him in the stomach. "I know you were terrified too," he said. "I'm not saying that what you went thru up here"-he tapped his head-"wasn't as traumatic as what Libby went thru."
Suddenly I felt like a silly, spoiled kid. I took his hand and said, "What I went thru wasn't so bad, Dad. I was scared at the time, but they didn't do anything to me. I'm over it now. It doesn't bother me. And I think it's cool that you're helping Libby thru this."
He looked at me then, and at that moment I could tell he really loved me, and was proud of me, and was scared for me too, scared of what might happen to us. Funny how you can tell so much just from the look in someone's eyes. He squeezed my hand and said, "You're an amazing girl, Abby. You've grown up so much these past few weeks. I can't believe you're only 13."
I wasn't sure what to say, so I just said the first thing that came into my head: "Max asked me out."
"Did he now?" said Dad. "And what did you say to that?"
"I told him he was too old for me," I said.
Dad laughed.
"Is Libby your girlfriend?" I asked him.
He stopped laughing and said, "Would it bother you if she was?"
I shrugged, then I asked, "What about Mum?"
He didn't answer straightaway. Then he said, "Me and your mum get on OK, but we're never going to get back together. We're too dif ferent,Abs."
"You weren't different once," I said. "You were together for 17 years."
"We met at college," he said. "We were kids. We didn't know what we wanted. But Mum was always more ambitious than me. I was into my music, just wanted a quiet life, no hassle.Apart from my records and my guitar, I've never been a material person. But Mum always wanted a bigger house, bigger car, better job. I wasn't into all that, but we stayed together for the sake of you and Dyl."
"But you LIKED each other," I said, suddenly upset. "You were friends-you got on."
"If we'd stayed together we'd have ended up hating each other," he said. "It wasn't easy to split up, believe me. We both cried. But it was the best thing to do."
"Not for me and Dyl," I said, knowing that would hurt him and hating myself when it did.
He looked really sad and his voice went quiet, but he said, "You might not believe it,Abs, but it was."
"But things are different now," I said. "Everyone's the same. You can start again."
"It's not that simple," he said.
"Yes it is!" I said, loud enough to make Libby and Max look at me. I lowered my voice. "It's very simple. You just have to start from scratch. I'm not saying you have to LOVE each other straightaway."
"I love Libby," he said, as if he were apologizing for it.
His words upset me. In the 3 years since Mum and Dad had split up, and Mum had taken me and Dyl to Scotland after she got offered a job as a local TV presenter, I'd never seen Dad with another woman. I know he'd been out with other women, but I just told my-self that none of them were serious.
"But you can't," I said.
"Why not?" he said.
At first I couldn't think of a reason, but
then I said, "Cos you've only known her a few weeks."
"So?" he said.
"S o..." At first my brain wouldn't work. Then I thought of something to say. "If you love Libby, why are we going to Scotland to find Mum and Dyl? I thought it was cos you wanted us to be afam-ily again."
He sighed and said, "Dylan is my son and your brother. I care about the 2 of you more than anyone in the world."
"More than Libby?" I said.
"That's an unfair question,Abs," he said, and the way he said it made me realize I'd overstepped the mark.
"Sorry, Dad," I said. "It's just..." But I didn't know what else to say. I was scared and lonely and I guess I just needed to know he was always going to be there for me, whatever happened. (Is that self-ish? I don't know. All I can say is that I can't help how I feel.)
But he seemed to understand. He gave me a hug, breathing whisky breath on me, and said, "I know, sweetheart."
I had to ask him something. Even tho I was scared of what the an-saver might be, I HAD to ask him.
"Dad," I said.
"Yes, hon?" he said.
I couldn't look at him. I looked at my hands instead. "When we find Mum and Dyl..."
"Yes?"
My mouth went dry. "When we find them," I said, "you will stay with us, won't you? You won't go off somewhere with Libby?"
His hug was even tighter this time. "Of COURSE I'll stay with you," he said. "I'm never going to let you out of my sight ever again."
For a few seconds my eyes went hot and there was a choking feeling in my throat. I felt happy enough to make a joke of it. "That might be embarrassing," I said.
Dad laughed. For a minute or 2 we sat there, happy to be quiet and together.
At last Dad said, "You do know,Abs, don't you, that there are no guarantees?"
"What do you mean?" I said.
"About Scotland," he said. "About finding Mum and Dyl. If things are as bad there as everywhere else..."
I didn't want to hear him say it. "We'll find them," I said.
He looked sad and worried. "I just want you to be prepared," he said, `just in case."
"We'll find them," I said again. "Definitely. They're alive, Dad. I know they are. I can feel it in my bones."
"That's something you don't see every day" Sue said.
There was a wrecked yacht on the partially collapsed road bridge. The aft section was almost intact, but the stern was all splintered wood and shattered fiber glass, as if it had been dropped on its end from a great height. The bridge itself was buckled and there were jagged cracks in the concrete buttress on the northbound side. Even so, they could still all make out the graffiti, carefully rendered in yellow print on the sagging support fascia: CRY GOURANGA-BE HAPPY.
"It's like Tom's," Libby said quietly.
Steve looked at her in alamn. "It's not his, is it?"
She smiled and tugged on the straps of her rucksack, shifting the weight. "No. At least... I don't think so."
It was October 30, the day before Halloween. Newcastle was a hundred miles behind them, and they were now close to Tranent, just outside Edinburgh, almost at the end of the Al. From here they could either take the quick route and tramp through the city, with all its concomitant dangers, or they could shift down onto the A720 and follow what would probably be a safer route around its southern outskirts. Though they still had the sprawl of Edinburgh to negotiate, what they were hoping was that the Forth Road Bridge at Queensferry would be intact and crossable. If not, they would have to follow the M9 inland, past Falkirk and Stirling and Dublane, in order to loop round the long curling tongue of the Firth of Forth. This would mean adding several unwanted days to a journey that was now beginning to take its toll on them all.
They had crossed the border into Scotland at four fifteen on the afternoon of the twenty-sixth. Perhaps it should have seemed more like a victory, but after a full day's trudging only Abby had been in the mood to raise her arms and tiredly say, "Hooray for us" The metal sign declaring WELCOME TO SCOTLAND had been draped with dried seaweed. A rook had been perched atop it, strutting back and forth like a diminutive border guard. It had looked healthier than any of the group felt, its feathers blue-black and glossy as engine oil. It had regarded them balefully until Max had flung a rock at it, whereupon it had taken to the air with a disdainful skraak.
The thirtieth dawned cold enough to turn their breath to mist the instant they emerged from the increasingly stale depths of their sleeping bags. After a breakfast of watery porridge and crunchy apple-flavored fruit bars, they set off into the concretecolored light of day with numb fingers, sore feet and aching muscles. A frost had settled overnight, lending everything an austere sparkle, turning the ruts of silt brittle underfoot. Max slipped at one point and went down with a bellow of pain, banging his knee; Libby walked with one mittoned hand clamped to the left side of her head, nursing an earache.
It had been twenty minutes to midday when Sue spotted the smashed yacht on the motorway bridge. Walking had warmed them up by this time. Tattered flags of vapor still spurned from their mouths and the chill of the ground still throbbed coldly in their aching feet. They admired the yacht for all of thirty seconds before moving on. The Al was narrowing now as it neared its end, and an icy wind was blowing in from the North Sea, turning their journey into a test of endurance.
Once again it was Abby who heard it first. Ten minutes af ter seeing the yacht she came to a halt and pulled down the fur-lined hood of her parka. She raised her head and looked around. The sky was the color of old plaster, flecked with birds, which wheeled lazily, like vultures in the desert.
"What's up?" said Max, who had fallen a little behind in the last hour or so, hampered by the grinding itch of his athlete's foot.
"I can hear something," Abby said.
"Like what?"
"You tell me. Maybe I'm imagining it."
Max pulled off his woolly hat, and immediately his haircropped close to his skull when she had first n et hinm-sprang up in wiry tufts. He listened for a moment, frowning; then his eyes widened. "It's that helicopter again!" he said.
"Well... I don't know if it's the same one," Abby said.
"Where is it?" Max spun round in a circle, scanning the sky. "There, look! Hey, everyone! It's the helicopter!"
As before the chopper was nothing but a silhouette at first, a giant black dragonfly moving across the featureless sky. It was too distant to wave to this time, though still close enough for Sue to identify it as an R44, the same make as the one they had seen in London.
"It can't be the same one," Libby said, unwittingly echoing Abby's words.
"Why not, man?" shouted Max. "It's fate, that's what it is!"
This was the first indication of life they had seen in almost three days. The last had been a middle-aged woman in filthy rags who had been lying at the side of the road. They had all assumed she was just another corpse until she had leaped to her feet and scuttled away. They had tried calling after her, but she had ignored them, and they had not seen her again. Later Sue had wondered whether the woman was an alien on watch for weary travelers like themselves.
"Maybe I should have put a bullet in her just to be on the safe side," she said.
"Shoot first and ask questions later?" said Steve. "Is that what we've come to?"
"It's one way to survive."
"It's not my way, and it never will be."
Sue had merely shrugged at that and said nothing.
"It's getting lower," Libby said now. Suddenly her body stiffened with excitement. "It's landing!"
"How far away?" Steve asked.
"A few fields? Just over those trees somewhere."
"About a mile and a half," said Sue.
Max looked at her. "How do you know?"
Sue pointed back the way they had come. "About half a mile back there was a sign for Falside Hill Airfield. I'm guessing our man will be stopping to refuel. The tanks on those things hold about a hundred and eighty liters, and they burn something like s
ixty liters an hour. He'll have to refuel a lot."
"How long will that take?" asked Steve.
"I'm not an expert. I've never refueled a helicopter before. Not long though, I'd guess. Ten, fifteen minutes?"
"We'll never make it before he's up and away again," said Steve.
"Well, that depends on whether he takes off straightaway, doesn't it? He might stretch his legs, have a bite to eat."
"Come on, let's give it a try" said Max.
"But what would we do if we did catch up with him?" asked Libby.
Steve shrugged. "Ask for a lift?"
"Thought you said it was a four-seater," said Max.
Sue shrugged. "We're not exactly porkers, are we? Tell you what, Maxie, if he says yes, I'll let you sit on my knee."
Max grinned, embarrassed.
They decided to give it a try, scaling the banking at the side of the road and setting off across open countryside. They moved in a slow jog, their feet first squelching through an area of marshy gorse and bracken, and then across a number of churned farmers' fields strewn with debris. After a quarter mile or so, Steve, Libby and Abby began to fall behind, sweating and panting, their backpacks dragging them down.
"Come on, you lot!" Sue shouted.
"We're knackered," Libby replied.
Steve flapped a hand. "You and Max carry on and we'll follow at our own pace. We won't be far behind."
"Okay," Sue said; then she and Max headed off, moving faster than ever, despite Max's athlete's foot. Abby stumbled along with her dad and Libby, watching Max and Sue pulling ahead of them. It struck her how military they all looked nowadays, how much they resembled commandos in the battlefield, with their guns and their rucksacks.
They plowed doggedly on-across two more fields, over a narrow road, through a straggly area of woodland. They lost Sue and Max somewhere around the mile mark, the duo shrinking to black specks moving across the brownish landscape before being swallowed by the larger mass of a clump of trees.
They were trudging up the slight incline of yet another field, heading for a stile in the thorny hedge that bordered it, when they heard the crack of a gunshot. Libby pushed her windswept hair out of her face. "That didn't sound good."
