Alien Invasion

by Flame Tree Studio

  “D’you know…where…?”

  “No.” She steps back over the threshold, half-hiding behind the door again. “Why d’you wanna see her? I wouldn’t…”

  “Why? What’s the matter with her?” When this goes unanswered: “She spoke to Alice. It…worried her – Alice, I mean. And…and I want…”

  I want what, precisely? To make sure that this seeming new leaf is not some sort of gambit to win back Alice? That’s certainly part of it. But there’s also a healthy dollop of pure curiosity; I don’t know Serafina well, but to meet her even once is to be left with a pretty strong impression. I want to see this transformation for myself.

  “I wouldn’t,” says the girl behind the door. “I wouldn’t bother. And keep Alice away from her. Away from all of them.” She shuts the door, not quite slamming it, before I have a chance to do the polite thing and ask her name.

  * * *

  I can’t bring myself to simply surrender and crawl home. I head for the city centre – more precisely, for Depravity’s Rainbow, reasoning that since Serafina has always been a leader of whatever group she’s in, that much at least will not have changed.

  I am not wrong; she’s brought her new friends to her favourite haunt. My pleasure at guessing correctly is very quickly swept away, though – by bewilderment, as I look at the group surrounding Serafina. Whatever I was expecting, it was not this.

  I’ve quite literally never seen such a motley assortment. A couple of them look too young to go to the bar; a couple of them look like they were around when the place was a stagecoach stopover. There are two men and one woman in suits, a homeless girl I recognise, a housewife-type and maybe two who fit the mould of Serafina’s usual hangers-on.

  The bar staff clearly don’t know what to make of it, either; two of them are leaning at the far end of the bar, heads together and eyes on their surprise flood of customers. Mid-week afternoons are dead here.

  Movement from the hub of Serafina’s assembly – she’s seen me. Now is the moment I realise I haven’t worked out what I want to say. Paralysis takes hold of me as she picks her way over. Behind her, the group fall into conversation with one another; that’s comforting because it means they won’t be watching, but also…unusual. As if Serafina is not especially important. She doesn’t throw a look behind her, either, which is practically a reflex for her in these situations.

  “Chloe!” The tone is one I’ve never heard from her – and not just in speaking to me. If I had to describe it, I’d have to plump for ‘undisguised warmth’.

  She lays a hand on my sleeve, and I can’t keep from flinching. I’m not sure I’ve ever been this close to her. I’d like to report the sighting of a million tiny flaws, but the truth is she’s even more overwhelming from a foot away; eyes so deep brown they’re almost black, and a great explosion of hair to match. The killer smile has always been faintly sarcastic or patronising when aimed at me, but today it’s…different. Different how, I can’t say.

  “I was talking to Alice about you yesterday. You admired that Burberry I had. I wondered if you wanted it?”

  I’m not sure what my face is showing, because I’m not sure what I’m feeling. I can’t read her face, either; every line and feature is in the right place, but she’s like a twin of herself. I can’t read this face because it never shows me what I’m expecting. ‘I’ve given away most of the rest,’ the face says, ‘but I kept that back, in case.’

  ‘Given away…?’ I thrash about mentally, trying to make sense of this. I look over her shoulder at the others, and return to the idea I dismissed earlier. “Is this…are you…is it some kind of religious group?”

  I already know the answer, but her reaction still surprises me. She doesn’t scowl; she doesn’t laugh. “No. Come and talk; find out.” Her brown hand brushes my pallid one; I yelp and jump back.

  Did I feel a shock? An instant after it’s happened, I’m already unsure. Serafina’s looking at me – no impatience, no curiosity, just looking. She doesn’t move or speak – or even smile, quite. She’s just there. And I understand Alice. It’s the most frightening thing I’ve ever seen Serafina do; nothing. She’s either totally in your face or showing you her back. This isn’t her. And yet, it is.

  “N-no. Thank you.” This is all I can manage, followed by a step back. “Don’t…don’t worry about the coat. I mean, thank you, but…it’s ok.”

  “All right.” She nods, her arms folded loosely, her head slightly on one side. She appears utterly relaxed, neither waiting for anything nor about to launch into a monologue. I can think of nothing to say, and after a couple of moments she gestures in the direction of her new friends. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk…?”

  “Not…at the moment.” I move another two steps back. “Thanks. Another time, maybe…”

  “There’ll be another time. Soon.” Her smile is gentleness itself, and it literally makes me shiver. “Say hi to Alice.”

  “I will.” I’m already almost to the door, trying not to run.

  * * *

  Halfway up the block I already feel ridiculous. I’m also not exercising regularly, so I have two reasons to stop running. I sink down onto a bench and look towards the pub, wondering if I should try again. I can’t find a sensible reason to go back, but lack of a sensible reason didn’t stop me running away.

  Someone approaches the bench from the other direction. I whip around to see Serafina’s housemate. Or whatever she is. She looks at me with the wariness I remember from the beginning of our earlier encounter, stopping a few feet away. “You saw them?”

  “Yes. Did you…follow me?”

  My manner obviously reassures her and she sits down beside me. “When I saw you running I thought you were probably still ok – they don’t seem to run – but you were in there a few minutes…”

  I’m staring at her, and she seems to intuit at least part of the reason. “Sorry…I’m Di. Came after you because…” She makes a little noise. “Shouldn’t have let you walk off, before. Knew you’d still look for her.” She glances over at Depravity’s Rainbow. “Got here too late to stop you going in.”

  “Thanks for trying.” Without thinking I make to lay a hand on her arm, but she’s not quite at that level of reassured; she comes to her feet.

  “Sorry,” I say. I lean back, making an effort to seem relaxed. “What happened to her – to them? Do you know? Is it a drug? I mean, they don’t look…”

  She’s shaking her head. “Not a drug. Dunno.” Her eyes unfocus for a moment; a memory? “Unless…no, I dunno.”

  “What? What did you…?”

  She doesn’t answer for a moment. Her eyes are on the pavement. “Two of her – Serafina’s – friends came round yesterday. They were…as normal. Freaked out by her. She…they…they were talking in the kitchen. They were getting more and more wigged out, but she kept the same tone of voice, the same look on her face…and then she took hold of one of them, by the hand. That’s all. And…” She looks up. “And that was it. That one calmed down, right off. The other one got out of there, pronto.” She looks at her own hands. “Guess I’m lucky not liking to be touched.”

  I lift my own hand, remembering the shock I seemed to feel. “How did…I mean, how long were they touching? Did it…was the change immediate?”

  Di shakes her head. “A few seconds…maybe ten…fifteen.”

  I exhale. “And you really think it was the touch that did it?”

  “Stood there and watched it.”

  * * *

  “Sorry, I have to go. She wouldn’t call me unless she was in total panic.” Alice is throwing clothes and books into a holdall.

  “What did she say?”

  “Dad’s…I don’t know…just kind of lost it. Wants to sell the car, keeps giving people things…”

  “Like Serafina.”

  She barely glances up. “I can’t think about
her now. You shouldn’t worry about that. I’m sure it’s just…”

  I step closer to her. Has she already forgotten, the way I was unsure about the jolt when our hands touched? Is this something else that happens, this amnesia? “I mean, it sounds like the same thing. The exact same thing. Don’t you think –”

  “What?” Now she does pause. “No, I don’t see…I mean, they’re two hundred miles…unless some new cult’s sprung up overnight, all over the place…” She sees my face. “I mean, come on. How is it possible? There can’t be any…”

  “I don’t know.” We’re really close now, face to face, and yet I’m afraid to touch her. “I don’t think you should go.”

  “What??” She tosses her head in dismissal. “I have to; you know I do. Can you remember the last Mum asked me for help…?” She zips up the bag, takes a moment. She turns to me and opens her arms.

  I hesitate, but then step into the embrace, wrapping my arms tight about her, leaning my head against hers.

  “Christ you’re tense.” She pulls her head back and looks into my eyes. “Take it easy. It’ll be a couple of days. They’ve got Skype now – we can have a filthy midnight session once Mum and Dad have gone to bed.”

  “Don’t go.”

  * * *

  I saw her onto the train, and then bought a few bits of food so I wouldn’t have to leave the house for a couple of days. I was on edge the whole time I was out; someone held a door open for me and I gave them such a look, they must have thought I was on something. I walked right at the edge of the pavement to avoid passing close to anyone. I turned into side streets to avoid two people I know.

  Now I’m home, and I think about it, and at odd moments I’m convinced I must be losing my grip. What have I seen? What have I actually seen? Some people being perfectly pleasant. That’s literally all. Maybe I should go out again, see a film, lose myself in something for a couple of hours. I’d come out and the world would be back to normal.

  But what has happened to Serafina? What happened to the ego, the game-playing, the needling? Serafina used to live her life like a performance, but the woman I saw in the pub was completely open, completely without masks. Something in her was utterly transformed. Di saw it. Alice saw it, before she was distracted by this family crisis.

  I’m searching online. There’s nothing in the news outlets – how could there be? What would they report? But on social media, it’s starting to filter through. A few statuses, a few conversations. Most people doubting their own perception, like me.

  I want – I desperately want – to talk to Alice, but apart from a text when she arrived, I’ve heard nothing. She didn’t answer when I called mid-evening, so I’ll have to wait for the promised Skype session. I’m not much in the mood, I admit.

  * * *

  She doesn’t Skype. She doesn’t pick up. I get nice, perfectly bland texts saying she’ll be back soon.

  * * *

  When she comes through the front door it’s a kind of shock – something normal, something that feels like the life before. The life of two days before.

  But it isn’t like before, because there’s something in her face that I’ve seen in other faces. In Serafina’s, in the newsreader who went off script, in the politician shaking hands at that premiere. In the videos now being posted on social media.

  “Chloe.”

  There’s a tone of voice she uses, like nothing I’ve ever heard from her before. Warm and friendly, open and positive – but completely lacking in any kind of passion, any undertone of what we are to each other. Any sense of what links us – and separates us from the rest of the world.

  She steps toward me and I grab up a knife from one of the plates lying around. “Keep back.”

  She doesn’t seem alarmed, or surprised. “We should talk,” she says gently.

  “What about? What happened? What is happening?” I am babbling, holding up a blunt knife stained with baked bean sauce.

  “Nothing’s happening.” She looks around, taking in the mess. “Do you want me to tidy up?”

  “What is happening to people? What happened to your dad? What happened to you?”

  “I’m fine.” She spreads her hands. “I’m wonderful.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “Chloe, perhaps you should have a lie down – maybe a shower.” She steps over a couple of plates, slipping her bag off her shoulder and onto the end of the sofa, and extending a hand. “Let me –”

  I scramble away from her. “Don’t touch me!”

  She doesn’t react to my screech, simply looks at me for a second. “I’ll tidy up.”

  “Where does it come from?”

  She looks up from gathering the plates and cutlery. “Where does what come from?”

  “This – you know. This whatever-it-is. What’s changed you. Is it some kind of virus…?” I’m still looking for something in her eyes, some trace of the old Alice. “Something…something from a lab? Or even…something from space…a meteor landed, or…I don’t know.”

  She stands up, holding the plates, the cutlery on the top one. She holds out a hand for the knife I’m still brandishing. “Not from outside. Inside.”

  “What?”

  There’s a faint smile on her face. “They come, originally, from right next to us.” She withdraws her hand. “Right next to us, and a universe away.”

  “What? I don’t…”

  “Have a shower. You’ll feel better.” She turns away. Not even a glance back as she leaves the room.

  While I sob, I’m peripherally aware that she is filling the sink; there is the clatter of plates. I think about the online attempts I saw to understand what this is. Another dimension, they were talking about. Just speculation, but something that seeped through, or came through, and…it’s all ridiculous. Nobody knows anything. And there’s hardly anyone left who cares to ask the questions.

  I look at the knife in my hand. How much would it hurt? A hell of a lot, I suspect. So many people decided it was the only way out, decided so quickly…but what do we know about what it’s like on…the other side? They’re not unhappy, they’re not upset by anything, they work together to make life better – materially better – for everyone. What’s so wrong with that? Why is it so frightening?

  I think about Di. I barely know her, but she’s the person I feel closest to in this moment. I wonder if she’s still herself.

  My fist is closed tight around the knife.

  Alice appears in the doorway. “You really need to relax. Never mind the shower; I’ll run you a bath.” Without the slightest change in her tone, she says: “Would you like me to wash you?”

  The Germ Growers

  Preliminary–Chapter II

  Robert Potter

  Preliminary

  When I first heard the name of Kimberley [a region in North-west Australia] it did not remind me of the strange things which I have here to record, and which I had witnessed somewhere in its neighbourhood years before. But one day, in the end of last summer, I overheard a conversation about its geography which led me to recognise it as a place that I had formerly visited under very extraordinary circumstances. The recognition was in this wise. Jack Wilbraham and I were spending a little while at a hotel in Gippsland, partly on a tour of pleasure and partly, so at least we persuaded ourselves, on business. The fact was, however, that for some days past, the business had quite retreated into the background, or, to speak more correctly, we had left it behind at Bairnsdale, and had come in search of pleasure a little farther south.

  It was delicious weather, warm enough for light silk coats in the daytime, and cold enough for two pairs of blankets at night. We had riding and sea-bathing to our hearts’ content, and even a rough kind of yachting and fishing. The ocean was before us – we heard its thunder night and day; and the lakes were behind us, stretching away to the promontory which the
Mitchell cuts in two, and thence to the mouth of the Latrobe, which is the highway to Sale. Three times a week a coach passed our door, bound for the Snowy River and the more savage regions beyond. Any day for a few shillings we could be driven to Lake Tyers, to spend a day amidst scenery almost comparable with the incomparable Hawkesbury. Last of all, if we grew tired of the bell-birds and the gum-trees and the roar of the ocean, we were within a day’s journey of Melbourne by lake and river and rail.

  It was our custom to be out all day, but home early and early to bed. We used to take our meals in a low long room which was well aired but poorly lighted, whether by day or night. And here, when tea was over and the womenkind had retired, we smoked, whenever, as often happened, the evening was cold enough to make a shelter desirable; smoked and chatted. There was light enough to see the smoke of your pipe and the faces of those near you; but if you were listening to the chatter of a group in the other end of the room the faces of the speakers were so indistinct as often to give a startling challenge to your imagination if you had one, and if it was accustomed to take the bit in its teeth. I sometimes caught myself partly listening to a story-teller in the other end of the room and partly fashioning a face out of his dimly seen features, which quite belied the honest fellow’s real countenance when the flash of a pipelight or a shifted lamp revealed it more fully.

  Jack and I were more of listeners than talkers, and we were usually amongst the earliest who retired. But one evening there was a good deal of talk about the new gold-field in the north-west, and a keen-looking bushman who seemed to have just returned from the place began to describe its whereabouts. Then I listened attentively, and at one point in his talk, I started and looked over at Jack, and I saw that he was already looking at me. I got up and left the room without a sign to him, but I knew that he would follow me, and he did. It was bright moonlight, and when we met outside we strolled down to the beach together. It was a wide, long, and lonely beach, lonely to the very last degree, and it was divided from the house by a belt of scrub near a mile wide. We said not a word to one another till we got quite near the sea. Then I turned round and looked Jack in the face and said, “Why, man, it must have been quite near the place.”