Alien Invasion

by Flame Tree Studio

  “I was working at a book of verses,” I answered.

  “Well, the world has escaped that, anyhow,” said Lord John. “There’s always compensation somewhere if you grope around.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “Well, it just so happens that I was tidied up and ready. I’d promised Merivale to go to Tibet for a snow leopard in the spring. But it’s hard on you, Mrs. Challenger, when you have just built up this pretty home.”

  “Where George is, there is my home. But, oh, what would I not give for one last walk together in the fresh morning air upon those beautiful downs!”

  Our hearts re-echoed her words. The sun had burst through the gauzy mists which veiled it, and the whole broad Weald was washed in golden light. Sitting in our dark and poisonous atmosphere that glorious, clean, wind-swept countryside seemed a very dream of beauty. Mrs. Challenger held her hand stretched out to it in her longing. We drew up chairs and sat in a semicircle in the window. The atmosphere was already very close. It seemed to me that the shadows of death were drawing in upon us – the last of our race. It was like an invisible curtain closing down upon every side.

  “That cylinder is not lastin’ too well,” said Lord John with a long gasp for breath.

  “The amount contained is variable,” said Challenger, “depending upon the pressure and care with which it has been bottled. I am inclined to agree with you, Roxton, that this one is defective.”

  “So we are to be cheated out of the last hour of our lives,” Summerlee remarked bitterly. “An excellent final illustration of the sordid age in which we have lived. Well, Challenger, now is your time if you wish to study the subjective phenomena of physical dissolution.”

  “Sit on the stool at my knee and give me your hand,” said Challenger to his wife. “I think, my friends, that a further delay in this insufferable atmosphere is hardly advisable. You would not desire it, dear, would you?”

  His wife gave a little groan and sank her face against his leg.

  “I’ve seen the folk bathin’ in the Serpentine in winter,” said Lord John. “When the rest are in, you see one or two shiverin’ on the bank, envyin’ the others that have taken the plunge. It’s the last that have the worst of it. I’m all for a header and have done with it.”

  “You would open the window and face the ether?”

  “Better be poisoned than stifled.”

  Summerlee nodded his reluctant acquiescence and held out his thin hand to Challenger.

  “We’ve had our quarrels in our time, but that’s all over,” said he. “We were good friends and had a respect for each other under the surface. Goodbye!”

  “Goodbye, young fellah!” said Lord John. “The window’s plastered up. You can’t open it.”

  Challenger stooped and raised his wife, pressing her to his breast, while she threw her arms round his neck.

  “Give me that field-glass, Malone,” said he gravely.

  I handed it to him.

  “Into the hands of the Power that made us we render ourselves again!” he shouted in his voice of thunder, and at the words he hurled the field-glass through the window.

  Full in our flushed faces, before the last tinkle of falling fragments had died away, there came the wholesome breath of the wind, blowing strong and sweet.

  I don’t know how long we sat in amazed silence. Then as in a dream, I heard Challenger’s voice once more.

  “We are back in normal conditions,” he cried. “The world has cleared the poison belt, but we alone of all mankind are saved.”

  Chapter V

  The Dead World

  I remember that we all sat gasping in our chairs, with that sweet, wet south-western breeze, fresh from the sea, flapping the muslin curtains and cooling our flushed faces. I wonder how long we sat! None of us afterwards could agree at all on that point. We were bewildered, stunned, semi-conscious. We had all braced our courage for death, but this fearful and sudden new fact – that we must continue to live after we had survived the race to which we belonged – struck us with the shock of a physical blow and left us prostrate. Then gradually the suspended mechanism began to move once more; the shuttles of memory worked; ideas weaved themselves together in our minds. We saw, with vivid, merciless clearness, the relations between the past, the present, and the future – the lives that we had led and the lives which we would have to live. Our eyes turned in silent horror upon those of our companions and found the same answering look in theirs. Instead of the joy which men might have been expected to feel who had so narrowly escaped an imminent death, a terrible wave of darkest depression submerged us. Everything on earth that we loved had been washed away into the great, infinite, unknown ocean, and here were we marooned upon this desert island of a world, without companions, hopes, or aspirations. A few years’ skulking like jackals among the graves of the human race and then our belated and lonely end would come.

  “It’s dreadful, George, dreadful!” the lady cried in an agony of sobs. “If we had only passed with the others! Oh, why did you save us? I feel as if it is we that are dead and everyone else alive.”

  Challenger’s great eyebrows were drawn down in concentrated thought, while his huge, hairy paw closed upon the outstretched hand of his wife. I had observed that she always held out her arms to him in trouble as a child would to its mother.

  “Without being a fatalist to the point of nonresistance,” said he, “I have always found that the highest wisdom lies in an acquiescence with the actual.” He spoke slowly, and there was a vibration of feeling in his sonorous voice.

  “I do not acquiesce,” said Summerlee firmly.

  “I don’t see that it matters a row of pins whether you acquiesce or whether you don’t,” remarked Lord John. “You’ve got to take it, whether you take it fightin’ or take it lyin’ down, so what’s the odds whether you acquiesce or not?

  “I can’t remember that anyone asked our permission before the thing began, and nobody’s likely to ask it now. So what difference can it make what we may think of it?”

  “It is just all the difference between happiness and misery,” said Challenger with an abstracted face, still patting his wife’s hand. “You can swim with the tide and have peace in mind and soul, or you can thrust against it and be bruised and weary. This business is beyond us, so let us accept it as it stands and say no more.”

  “But what in the world are we to do with our lives?” I asked, appealing in desperation to the blue, empty heaven.

  “What am I to do, for example? There are no newspapers, so there’s an end of my vocation.”

  “And there’s nothin’ left to shoot, and no more soldierin’, so there’s an end of mine,” said Lord John.

  “And there are no students, so there’s an end of mine,” cried Summerlee.

  “But I have my husband and my house, so I can thank heaven that there is no end of mine,” said the lady.

  “Nor is there an end of mine,” remarked Challenger, “for science is not dead, and this catastrophe in itself will offer us many most absorbing problems for investigation.”

  He had now flung open the windows and we were gazing out upon the silent and motionless landscape.

  “Let me consider,” he continued. “It was about three, or a little after, yesterday afternoon that the world finally entered the poison belt to the extent of being completely submerged. It is now nine o’clock. The question is, at what hour did we pass out from it?”

  “The air was very bad at daybreak,” said I.

  “Later than that,” said Mrs. Challenger. “As late as eight o’clock I distinctly felt the same choking at my throat which came at the outset.”

  “Then we shall say that it passed just after eight o’clock. For seventeen hours the world has been soaked in the poisonous ether. For that length of time the Great Gardener has sterilized the human mold which had grown over the sur
face of His fruit. Is it possible that the work is incompletely done – that others may have survived besides ourselves?”

  “That’s what I was wonderin’,” said Lord John. “Why should we be the only pebbles on the beach?”

  “It is absurd to suppose that anyone besides ourselves can possibly have survived,” said Summerlee with conviction. “Consider that the poison was so virulent that even a man who is as strong as an ox and has not a nerve in his body, like Malone here, could hardly get up the stairs before he fell unconscious. Is it likely that anyone could stand seventeen minutes of it, far less hours?”

  “Unless someone saw it coming and made preparation, same as old friend Challenger did.”

  “That, I think, is hardly probable,” said Challenger, projecting his beard and sinking his eyelids. “The combination of observation, inference, and anticipatory imagination which enabled me to foresee the danger is what one can hardly expect twice in the same generation.”

  “Then your conclusion is that everyone is certainly dead?”

  “There can be little doubt of that. We have to remember, however, that the poison worked from below upwards and would possibly be less virulent in the higher strata of the atmosphere. It is strange, indeed, that it should be so; but it presents one of those features which will afford us in the future a fascinating field for study. One could imagine, therefore, that if one had to search for survivors one would turn one’s eyes with best hopes of success to some Tibetan village or some Alpine farm, many thousands of feet above the sea level.”

  “Well, considerin’ that there are no railroads and no steamers you might as well talk about survivors in the moon,” said Lord John. “But what I’m askin’ myself is whether it’s really over or whether it’s only half-time.”

  Summerlee craned his neck to look round the horizon. “It seems clear and fine,” said he in a very dubious voice; “but so it did yesterday. I am by no means assured that it is all over.”

  Challenger shrugged his shoulders.

  “We must come back once more to our fatalism,” said he. “If the world has undergone this experience before, which is not outside the range of possibility, it was certainly a very long time ago. Therefore, we may reasonably hope that it will be very long before it occurs again.”

  “That’s all very well,” said Lord John, “but if you get an earthquake shock you are mighty likely to have a second one right on the top of it. I think we’d be wise to stretch our legs and have a breath of air while we have the chance. Since our oxygen is exhausted we may just as well be caught outside as in.”

  It was strange the absolute lethargy which had come upon us as a reaction after our tremendous emotions of the last twenty-four hours. It was both mental and physical, a deep-lying feeling that nothing mattered and that everything was a weariness and a profitless exertion. Even Challenger had succumbed to it, and sat in his chair, with his great head leaning upon his hands and his thoughts far away, until Lord John and I, catching him by each arm, fairly lifted him on to his feet, receiving only the glare and growl of an angry mastiff for our trouble. However, once we had got out of our narrow haven of refuge into the wider atmosphere of everyday life, our normal energy came gradually back to us once more.

  But what were we to begin to do in that graveyard of a world? Could ever men have been faced with such a question since the dawn of time? It is true that our own physical needs, and even our luxuries, were assured for the future. All the stores of food, all the vintages of wine, all the treasures of art were ours for the taking. But what were we to do? Some few tasks appealed to us at once, since they lay ready to our hands. We descended into the kitchen and laid the two domestics upon their respective beds. They seemed to have died without suffering, one in the chair by the fire, the other upon the scullery floor. Then we carried in poor Austin from the yard. His muscles were set as hard as a board in the most exaggerated rigor mortis, while the contraction of the fibres had drawn his mouth into a hard sardonic grin. This symptom was prevalent among all who had died from the poison. Wherever we went we were confronted by those grinning faces, which seemed to mock at our dreadful position, smiling silently and grimly at the ill-fated survivors of their race.

  “Look here,” said Lord John, who had paced restlessly about the dining-room whilst we partook of some food, “I don’t know how you fellows feel about it, but for my part, I simply can’t sit here and do nothin’.”

  “Perhaps,” Challenger answered, “you would have the kindness to suggest what you think we ought to do.”

  “Get a move on us and see all that has happened.”

  “That is what I should myself propose.”

  “But not in this little country village. We can see from the window all that this place can teach us.”

  “Where should we go, then?”

  “To London!”

  “That’s all very well,” grumbled Summerlee. “You may be equal to a forty-mile walk, but I’m not so sure about Challenger, with his stumpy legs, and I am perfectly sure about myself.” Challenger was very much annoyed.

  “If you could see your way, sir, to confining your remarks to your own physical peculiarities, you would find that you had an ample field for comment,” he cried.

  “I had no intention to offend you, my dear Challenger,” cried our tactless friend. “You can’t be held responsible for your own physique. If nature has given you a short, heavy body you cannot possibly help having stumpy legs.”

  Challenger was too furious to answer. He could only growl and blink and bristle. Lord John hastened to intervene before the dispute became more violent.

  “You talk of walking. Why should we walk?” said he.

  “Do you suggest taking a train?” asked Challenger, still simmering.

  “What’s the matter with the motor-car? Why should we not go in that?”

  “I am not an expert,” said Challenger, pulling at his beard reflectively. “At the same time, you are right in supposing that the human intellect in its higher manifestations should be sufficiently flexible to turn itself to anything. Your idea is an excellent one, Lord John. I myself will drive you all to London.”

  “You will do nothing of the kind,” said Summerlee with decision.

  “No, indeed, George!” cried his wife. “You only tried once, and you remember how you crashed through the gate of the garage.”

  “It was a momentary want of concentration,” said Challenger complacently. “You can consider the matter settled. I will certainly drive you all to London.”

  The situation was relieved by Lord John.

  “What’s the car?” he asked.

  “A twenty-horsepower Humber.”

  “Why, I’ve driven one for years,” said he. “By George!” he added. “I never thought I’d live to take the whole human race in one load. There’s just room for five, as I remember it. Get your things on, and I’ll be ready at the door by ten o’clock.”

  Sure enough, at the hour named, the car came purring and crackling from the yard with Lord John at the wheel. I took my seat beside him, while the lady, a useful little buffer state, was squeezed in between the two men of wrath at the back. Then Lord John released his brakes, slid his lever rapidly from first to third, and we sped off upon the strangest drive that ever human beings have taken since man first came upon the earth.

  You are to picture the loveliness of nature upon that August day, the freshness of the morning air, the golden glare of the summer sunshine, the cloudless sky, the luxuriant green of the Sussex woods, and the deep purple of heather-clad downs. As you looked round upon the many-coloured beauty of the scene all thought of a vast catastrophe would have passed from your mind had it not been for one sinister sign – the solemn, all-embracing silence. There is a gentle hum of life which pervades a closely-settled country, so deep and constant that one ceases to observe it, as the dweller by the sea loses all sense
of the constant murmur of the waves. The twitter of birds, the buzz of insects, the far-off echo of voices, the lowing of cattle, the distant barking of dogs, roar of trains, and rattle of carts – all these form one low, unremitting note, striking unheeded upon the ear. We missed it now. This deadly silence was appalling. So solemn was it, so impressive, that the buzz and rattle of our motor-car seemed an unwarrantable intrusion, an indecent disregard of this reverent stillness which lay like a pall over and round the ruins of humanity. It was this grim hush, and the tall clouds of smoke which rose here and there over the country-side from smoldering buildings, which cast a chill into our hearts as we gazed round at the glorious panorama of the Weald.

  And then there were the dead! At first those endless groups of drawn and grinning faces filled us with a shuddering horror. So vivid and mordant was the impression that I can live over again that slow descent of the station hill, the passing by the nurse-girl with the two babes, the sight of the old horse on his knees between the shafts, the cabman twisted across his seat, and the young man inside with his hand upon the open door in the very act of springing out. Lower down were six reapers all in a litter, their limbs crossing, their dead, unwinking eyes gazing upwards at the glare of heaven. These things I see as in a photograph. But soon, by the merciful provision of nature, the over-excited nerve ceased to respond. The very vastness of the horror took away from its personal appeal. Individuals merged into groups, groups into crowds, crowds into a universal phenomenon which one soon accepted as the inevitable detail of every scene. Only here and there, where some particularly brutal or grotesque incident caught the attention, did the mind come back with a sudden shock to the personal and human meaning of it all.

  Above all, there was the fate of the children. That, I remember, filled us with the strongest sense of intolerable injustice. We could have wept – Mrs. Challenger did weep – when we passed a great council school and saw the long trail of tiny figures scattered down the road which led from it. They had been dismissed by their terrified teachers and were speeding for their homes when the poison caught them in its net. Great numbers of people were at the open windows of the houses. In Tunbridge Wells there was hardly one which had not its staring, smiling face. At the last instant the need of air, that very craving for oxygen which we alone had been able to satisfy, had sent them flying to the window. The sidewalks too were littered with men and women, hatless and bonnetless, who had rushed out of the houses. Many of them had fallen in the roadway. It was a lucky thing that in Lord John we had found an expert driver, for it was no easy matter to pick one’s way. Passing through the villages or towns we could only go at a walking pace, and once, I remember, opposite the school at Tonbridge, we had to halt some time while we carried aside the bodies which blocked our path.