by David Moody
Tom vomited salty water and struggled to stay standing upright. He held onto Clare for support, urging her to start moving again and climb back down the other side of the rocks, so they could reach level ground once more. He followed her down to the next beach, tripping through pools of water. He was relieved when they were finally able to stop and rest, temporarily shielded from the wind and driving rain by the headland they’d just negotiated.
He looked around, the weather making it difficult to make out detail. And then, away from the beach, back towards the land, he saw a number of dark, rectangular outlines. Caravans. He started towards them, dragging Clare behind him as he struggled to remember if he’d been here before. It looked vaguely familiar, but the conditions combined with his state of mind and fatigue to leave him confused and disorientated. They walked further along the beach towards where Tom could see more caravans and then, in a flash of alien light, he caught sight of a concrete ramp and, next to it, a narrow wooden jetty stretching out into the water. The wild waves constantly battered the flimsy looking construction. And there, moored right at the very end of the dilapidated slatted walkway, bobbing up and down on the viciously swirling water, he saw several small boats.
‘Clare,’ he said, pulling her close and shouting into her ear to make himself heard over the storm. ‘We’ve done it. Look!’
But she didn’t look. He stared deep into her eyes and saw that they were gone, trance-like.
‘One last push,’ he said, and he began marching across the beach, head down into the wind, pulling her along behind him, almost having to drag her through the sand. He’d suspected she might be close to succumbing to the alien programming, but he wasn’t going to give up on her now. Not here. Not after getting so far and coming so close. ‘Not now, Clare,’ he pleaded with her. ‘Please stay with me.’
And then everything stopped.
It was as if someone had flicked a switch. One second, ferocious gales and driving rain. The next, nothing. Absolute calm.
Clare didn’t even notice.
Tom kept moving, kept pulling her. Was it starting to get lighter now? He thought it was his mind playing tricks because, although it was late, he could definitely see more of his surroundings than he’d been able to just a few minutes earlier.
Tom continued along the beach, tired feet digging into the sand and fine shingle, then he climbed up onto the jetty and pulled Clare up after him. The three boats moored there looked reasonably seaworthy – not that he knew enough about boats to be able to tell for sure, and not that it mattered anyway because he didn’t think they’d be out there long – and he threw his sodden rucksack onto the furthest of the three. It was little more than a small rowing boat, barely big enough for the two of them. He helped Clare on board, resorting to manhandling her when she wouldn’t move, then scanned around for something to use as an oar. He ended up grabbing a piece of the jetty, struggling to free the sodden wooden slat, realising just how much energy he’d already used to get this far, and what little now remained. With a grunt of effort he finally wrenched the slat free and then, with numb fingers, untied the frayed knot which had so far kept the boat moored.
Tom half-climbed, half-fell into the boat. It rocked precariously. He used the wood to push them away from the jetty, and then began digging into the water on alternate sides, desperate to get away. The light levels seemed to have increased another notch, because now he could definitely see more than before – far more than he wanted to. He took one last look at the land they were leaving, then turned his full attention to the water which stretched out ahead of them. He looked out towards the horizon, and what he saw there made his already heavy heart sink further.
‘Oh fuck.’
Coming towards them, as silent as every other alien machine he’d so far come across, was a bizarre looking craft. It was unimaginably long and narrow, gently curved, appearing to span several miles across. It looked like it was flying sideways, disobeying every known rule of aerodynamics in the process. And as it flew, a curtain of intense blue-white light shone down onto the water from beneath its entire length, sweeping across the surface of the waves.
Was this it? After getting so far, would this be the light that finally ended his life? Tom watched the ship steadily approaching, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do now. Maybe he could get in the water and try and get under the boat? Maybe he could paddle back? Maybe not. What was the point? He could see even more of them now flying tip to tip: lines and lines of them steadily sterilizing everything. The ship and the light came nearer and nearer, seeming to increase in speed the closer it got. Tom dropped his makeshift paddle and reached across for Clare. He held her tightly and buried her face in his chest, then screwed his eyes shut and waited for the inevitable, for the light to cover them both and reduce them to nothing.
CHAPTER 44
When Tom next opened his eyes, the sea was as flat and steady as a millpond. Artificially motionless. The waves had stopped. The only ripples came from the rocking of their boat. It was light now, and there were no signs of the peculiar ships which had been scouring the planet when he’d last looked up.
Am I dead?
‘Clare?’ he said, his voice sounding disproportionately loud in the suddenly overwhelming silence and calm. She was sitting at the other end of the boat to him, her feet entangled with his, her head hanging back over the side. ‘Clare, are you okay?’
She shuffled, then raised her head and looked up at him, but he wasn’t sure if she’d understood or if she’d even heard him. She lay back again.
The temperature was intense. Tom stripped off his sodden clothing, discarding his jacket, sweater and T-shirt, dumping them in the middle of the boat. Steam snaked away from his clothes, just visible in the unnatural light. He crawled over to Clare, struggling to keep his balance, then lifted her head up again. He held her face in his hands. Her eyes flickered then focused, her pupils dilating.
‘What?’
‘We did it, Clare. We got away.’
‘So?’
‘So we did it. We escaped.’
‘What now?’
He struggled to answer. ‘Now we make the most of what’s left.’
‘There’s nothing left. All gone. They’ve taken it all.’
‘We’ve got a little food, enough to get us through a few more days.’
‘Then what?’
Another hesitation. He didn’t know. ‘We could head back to the shore. Get more stuff.’
‘No point.’
‘Come on, Clare. We’ll survive.’
‘We won’t.’
‘We will. They’re not interested in us, can’t you see? We could last for months out here.’
‘Until they click their fingers and snuff us out.’
‘Don’t do this. Please, Clare… you have to stay with me and…’
He stopped talking. Her expression had changed. She was staring into the sky beyond him, watching something over his shoulder. Tom got up and spun around, steadying himself as the boat rocked, and saw that it was one of the smaller, dart-shaped alien machines. It was moving slowly, and there was no question that the little rowing boat was its intended target. Tom’s heart raced, pounding in his chest so hard he thought he might pass out. There was nowhere left to run now, nowhere to hide. He picked up his wooden paddle, one last act of defiance.
The alien ship came to an abrupt halt less than a metre away, its pointed nose level with Tom’s face. The backdraft from its powerful but silent engines was boiling the water. Tom stood his ground. When the alien ship did the same, refusing to move, he swung his wooden plank around and smashed it against the vessel’s hull. It hit the metal with a sonorous clang and the shuttle seemed to waver slightly, the impact having an unexpectedly dramatic effect. Encouraged, Tom did it again, and this time the ship lifted itself several metres higher in response, just out of reach. He threw the paddle at it like a spear. It glanced off the side of the machine then splashed down into the water.
&nb
sp; Tom was ready to fight, willing the alien piloting the craft to reveal itself and face him. But the vessel simply angled itself to port and went on its way, the force of its sudden acceleration knocking Tom off his feet. He lay on the deck of the boat and laughed out loud as the alien ship disappeared.
Batter me and beat me and wear me down for a hundred years and I’ll never give up, he thought. I am Tom Winter, and I will always be Tom Winter. You’ll never take that from me.
*
The light never faded. It was permanently like the middle of day. Tom lay back in the boat alongside Clare and watched hundreds of alien ships teeming through the light blue sky overhead like worker ants. They filled the sky like dark stars. More of the long ships appeared on the horizon and dragged their curtains of light across the land. They were cleansing the face of the planet, setting in play the changes which would remove the last traces of man, sterilising the land and making it hospitable for its new masters.
EPILOGUE
Tom talked to Clare constantly, though she rarely replied.
‘Look at the sky, Clare,’ he said as the colours changed. Purple turned to pink. By the third day, stars were visible all the time. ‘The sun’s not yellow anymore. It looks grey now.’
Hour by hour, the level of the ocean dropped until the water had almost completely disappeared. Where once there had been nothing visible but the waves, there now lay a vast and silent tundra. Tom and Clare hid under the upturned boat which they propped up with the plank of wood.
‘It’s hot, Clare. Can you feel it? The air tastes different too. It’s sweet.’
No answer.
‘You still with me, Clare?’
‘Tired,’ she said, her first word in more than a day. Her last word.
They both slept. The heat was exhausting. When Tom next woke, another day had dawned. He shook Clare to wake her. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘they’re going.’
Every alien ship had risen up. They now held positions at unimaginable heights. Tom could barely see them.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked her. She didn’t reply. ‘I’m going to go back and find some food. Will you be okay here? Stay with me, Clare, please. I don’t want to be on my own.’
*
Once I was running I was fine. The nervousness, the trepidation, the apprehension, it all disappeared in seconds. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. It was easier than I expected. I ran faster than I remembered and with less effort, as if gravity itself had been reduced.
The aliens and I regarded each other with a mutual lack of interest and respect. They ignored me, and I did what I could to ignore them. I felt strong enough to run all the way back to Thatcham, but when I got there I couldn’t find it. The entire village had disappeared, as had every road, building and other landmark. In their place was an unending blanket of blue-green tinged moss.
There was no food or water anywhere. I stopped looking and walked to the place where my house used to be. Even though everything had changed, I knew I was in the right place. I could see the moss-covered stump on the cliffs which used to be the war memorial. I stood in the spot where my living room once was and looked down over the space where the village had been. It all looked so very different, and yet the undulating shapes of the land still bore an undeniable familiarity. I felt strangely proud to be back there again. Vindicated. I’d doubted myself as the people around me had succumbed, but I’d been right all along. My only regret was not having more faith in myself when it mattered most. Maybe I could have done more to help the others. Then again, maybe not.
The moss which had already covered the land was starting to spread out farther from the shore. I rested for a short while longer before returning to Clare. Above me I could see thousands of aliens sitting and waiting for whatever they were doing to my planet to be completed so they could come down and claim it as their own.
I walked back to the boat, too tired to run.
I held Clare close and talked to her for as long as I could, although it had been days since she’d last answered. It was like she was sleeping with her eyes open: still alive, but no longer aware, just like the rest of them. I wish she’d wake up. I wish she’d talk to me again. We’d talk about the fact that we’d survived, and we’d remember all the people we’d lost.
No matter what those bastards have done to everyone and everything else, they haven’t beaten me. I know I don’t have long left now, but when I die, I’ll die remembering who I was. They can’t take that from me now.
*
For the next seventeen hours, Tom Winter was the last man alive.
