“I just thought them away.”
Dave laughed.
“Hell, if that’s all it took, I’d have got rid of them before they took off the ground. No lass… it seems you have a gift, of a kind.”
She thought it but didn’t say it.
Or a curse.
***
Hiscock kept returning to the email – not replying, just staring at it.
We need your help. You may be our last chance.
He’d built this bunker primarily because of mistrust of big governments, with the US at the top of his shit list. Now the Department of Homeland Security had contacted him.
It must be a trick.
But why would they bother? Was he worth the effort with the rest of the world falling apart around them?
That brought another thought.
If it’s not a trick, and they really need my help… what could they possibly want me to do?
He was quite sure he didn’t want to know the answer to that question.
Whatever it was they wanted they obviously weren’t prepared to wait. A second email arrived two hours after the first.
“We need to talk to Professor Paul Sauser. He’s a resident of Saint John at 233 Laurel Drive. We know he was alive two days ago. It is vital that we speak to him. The survival of the planet may depend on it.”
Hiscock read that one three times before the import of it really hit home. Many times he’d sat and watched movies where the fate of the world rested on the shoulders of one man.
And now that man is me.
He wasn’t sure he liked the idea. But their request was impossible to comply with at the moment in any case. He was too tired to take to the streets. Besides, night had fallen.
Saving the planet will have to wait for the morning.
He retired to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. The emails preyed on his mind, and after an hour of tossing and turning he gave up and went back to the laptop. Even as he sat down, he wasn’t sure what to say.
“What is it you want me to do?” he typed.
The answer came back in less than a minute.
“Fetch the Professor. Get him in front of your laptop. We need to speak to him.”
He didn’t ask what about – he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Twenty minutes later he was fully kited up in his HAZ-MAT suit and ready to go. This time he’d added an extra precaution – a small oxygen canister strapped to his back with an attachment through to his facemask. It only held fifteen minutes worth – but it might save his life in an emergency.
He also took the Kalashnikov, and as many magazines as he could carry in a shoulder bag.
Loaded for bear.
He made a second trip to load another HAZ-MAT suit into his pickup. He had no idea if this Professor would be prepared, but a reserve suit wouldn’t go amiss.
He was about to leave the house when he heard a noise from the yard out the back. It was loud enough to make him go and investigate, and it was light enough out there to make out that there was now a large mound of dirt where his garden had been.
They really are industrious little fucks.
But it seemed to be far enough away from the house that he did not have to worry.
Besides – the bunker is three feet thick reinforced concrete. They’ll never get through that.
His pickup wheels were an inch deep in hardened sludge but it had been through tougher terrain than that. It pulled away with little effort. He was surprised at first by how dark the streets seemed, until he realized the municipal lighting had gone. He turned on his headlights and drove through eerily quiet streets.
He had a vague idea where his destination lay in relation to his hillside cabin. He had to detour twice to avoid streets where abandoned cars had blocked any access, but he arrived outside 233 Laurel Drive just ten minutes later. He hadn’t seen a single person, nor any sign that anyone but him was alive in the city.
The house itself was equally dark and quiet. It was a squat wooden structure in the old style, similar to many other houses on the street. No lights showed and as Hiscock left his pickup and walked up the drive he was aware just how quiet it had become. No birds sang, no leaves rustled in the breeze, and there was no traffic noise whatsoever. That more than anything else reminded Hiscock just how much the world had changed.
He rapped hard on the front door. When there was no answer after thirty seconds he turned the handle. The door opened, revealing a dark hallway beyond.
“Professor?” he called, but the noise sounded just too loud.
He walked further into the house.
The first door led to an empty sitting room. Hiscock noticed that all the electrical equipment – television, sound system and a radio, were unplugged from the wall sockets. There was no sign that anyone had been there for some time.
The kitchen proved just as neglected. Everything was neat and tidy, all dishes packed away and the waste bin was empty.
This is a wild goose chase. There’s no one here.
He was about to retreat to the safety of the pickup when a door he had yet to try slammed open and he found himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun.
“Best get yourself gone,” a voice said. “Before I forget my manners.”
All of Hiscock’s instincts told him to turn and leave – either that or raise the Kalashnikov and take his chances. Instead he found himself talking, in a small, frightened voice.
“Professor Sauser? Homeland Security sent me to find you.”
The shotgun lowered slightly.
“I guess that’s a story a looter wouldn’t make up,” the man said. “And you’re no ordinary thief… not in that get up. Are you military?”
“No, not exactly. But I’ve got a working Internet connection in my bunker. They sent me to get you.”
“You have a bunker? And I suppose you have coffee as well?”
Hiscock actually laughed.
“For as many years as you want it.”
The man laughed along with him and lowered the shotgun.
“In that case lead on.”
The man came forward where there was slightly more light, and Hiscock was surprised. He hardly looked strong enough to lift a shotgun, let alone keep it aimed straight. He was thin, almost skeletally so, and looked to be nearer eighty than seventy. When he put on the spare survival suit it swamped him completely and he was forced to walk in a slow duck-waddle. Hiscock almost had to manhandle him into the passenger seat of the pickup.
The old man was quiet on the drive back up the hill.
“Is it all like this?” he said softly as they passed through another empty street with lance-like growth lining both sides.
“Everything I’ve seen.” He turned to speak to the old man. “They said they needed you. You are the last chance. So tell me… what makes you so special?”
The Professor stared wide-eyed out the window.
“I’ve got a plan… but you’re not going to like it.”
***
Alice and Dave spent the early part of the night on the docked Zodiac under a tarpaulin, but neither were able to sleep, jumping at the slightest noise even though the loudest thing to be heard was the lapping of the tide against the posts of the quay.
“We should try for Saint John,” Alice said. Sometime in the past hours she had become the one keen to be moving. Dave had retreated into a shell – the sights of what had happened to Grand Manan just too much for him to bear. It’s one thing watching devastation and carnage on the television when it is happening to places far off that you’ve never visited. It’s quite another thing to get up close and personal in your hometown. Dave hadn’t spoken more than a few words since they retreated from the hill overlooking the diggers. Alice was glad they’d decided not to bring any booze along on the Zodiac – Dave might have lost himself in it by now.
And I might need him sober.
She finally gave up trying to communicate with him and started to get the dinghy ready to depart. To her surprise the m
an moved to help. He still didn’t speak, but it seemed he too was keen to get gone from this place.
She took them back out of the harbor at the lowest revs possible.
From out in the Bay the green luminescence was even more prominent, lending a subtle glow to the whole island, wavering and dancing as if the Northern Lights had come to the ground. There was something alien about it. A chill ran down Alice’s spine as she turned them away, leaving the town behind and only the dark open sea ahead.
Dave proved more alert than he’d seemed. He brought her a coffee twenty minutes later.
“This is better,” he said softly.
Alice had to agree. Out here the only thing to smell was the salt tang of sea and the reassuring aroma of fresh coffee. There was no taint of the heavy acrid odor that seemed to seep from everywhere the green sludge lay. The moon danced on the water and stars winked overhead. The survival suit kept her snug and warm despite the chill night air, and for the first time in days Alice almost relaxed.
Dave stood at her side sipping a hot cup of coffee.
“Do you think it’s all like that?” he said after a time.
It’s worse.
She didn’t say it – it wasn’t what the man needed to hear right now.
“Let’s just get to Saint John big man. Then we’ll see what we can find… and who. A place that big doesn’t just fall off the face of the world.
She knew that wasn’t entirely true – she’d seen the pictures of what was left of Manhattan. But Dave was only just managing to keep himself together. She had to do all she could to help.
They sailed on in silence for more than an hour before Alice noticed the green glow as they approached the mainland. It stretched from horizon to horizon – as if all the streetlights had been fitted with green bulbs on a misty night. The glow was stronger still further back in the hills where the huge conifer forest that made up the Fundy National Park had gone to feed the crawling green slime.
As they approached land again the acrid smell grew stronger and the air grew thicker, almost chewable. By the time they approached the main harbor of Saint John Alice had a headache that gripped tight around her nasal passages and her breathing was as heavy as if she had been on a long hike.
“Maybe we should head back out into the Bay?” Dave said beside her.
Alice shook her head.
“We can’t leave without checking.”
At first glance the harbor looked no different to usual. Huge ships lay at anchor interspersed with the smaller vessels of local fishermen.
Surely someone on one of the boats has survived?
But yet again there were no lights anywhere in the city that could be seen from the sea and the dim green glow rose over everything. As they closed on the quayside they saw the first of the bodies – a fisherman lying half-in, half-out of his boat. More dead lay strewn on the docks.
Gas!
As if in reflex she started to breathe faster before realizing the futility of worrying.
I’d be dead already.
Whatever had got the people here, it had moved on, leaving only the silent dead behind.
Dave had tears running down his cheeks. He had once again raised the shotgun, gripping it tight.
“They’re all dead,” he whispered. “Everybody’s dead but us.”
Alice docked the Zodiac beside a cabin cruiser and hitched it up.
“We don’t know that yet Dave. Come on. We need to have a look around.”
She climbed up onto the quay and turned back… just in time to see Dave raise his headgear, put the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger.
The back of his head blew out sending the rear of the helmet billowing like a curtain in the wind. He fell forward, his weight carrying him overboard. He sank with only a short-lived trail of air bubbles to show he had ever been there.
***
Hiscock brewed a pot of coffee and the old professor wandered around Hiscock’s bunker in amazement as they waited for a reply message to an email to Homeland Security.
“What were you preparing for?” the old man asked him.
Hiscock laughed.
“I wasn’t sure… but big honking space aliens weren’t really on my mind.”
The Professor smiled sadly back.
“Nor on mine.”
The laptop beeped. Homeland Security requested that Hiscock fire up his webcam and a messenger service. He complied.
It’s too late now to be worried about my security.
He had to show the Professor where the camera was. The old man thanked him.
“Can I ask you for some more of your damn fine coffee please?”
He realized that the Professor wanted to speak in private, but the old man had asked so politely, Hiscock couldn’t really refuse.
The coffeepot was in the rear kitchen, and all he could hear from back there was a muffled rumble. He arrived back just in time to see the Homeland Security man – an army Colonel – sign off with a shocked expression on his face.
What did the old man tell him?
“Thank you,” the Professor said as he turned around to face Hiscock.
“For what?”
“You didn’t have to give me my privacy – this is your place after all.”
Hiscock shrugged.
“So what exactly is this plan of yours?”
The old man waved him away.
“If you don’t mind – you’ll have me as a guest for a few hours. Then I’ll need you to get me to the docklands – they’re sending a chopper for me – and you if you’ll come?”
This must be important.
Hiscock shook his head.
“I didn’t spend my life savings on this place only to walk away when it finally becomes useful. Thanks for the offer though.”
“You’ll be safer with the military,” the old man said.
Hiscock laughed loudly.
“That has to be the single most stupid thing I’ve ever heard out of an educated man’s mouth.”
The Professor laughed as well.
“You’ve obviously never attended any of my lectures.”
Hiscock saw a possible opening.
“So what do you lecture on?”
The old man simply smiled and refused to reply. Instead he diverted the topic.
“Can you bring me up to date with what’s been going on? I lost my connection with the world two days ago now. I take it things haven’t got better?”
Hiscock brought him up to speed. The old man seemed most interested in the spread of noxious gases in the atmosphere, and also the mining activities of the larger craft.
“It just might work,” the old man muttered under his breath. “But it will have to be done soon.”
But he refused to be drawn when asked to explain further.
“It’s just a theory so far,” was all he would say. “It needs more work before I’ll know for sure. That’s where the Homeland Security boys come in. They hope to have something for me by the time they pick me up.”
Hiscock realized that was all he was going to get. He made another coffee and on his return the two of them talked about their relative experiences, and their fears for the world. The old man proved to be an excellent talker, but prone to the bane of all scientists – the overuse of jargon. He had plenty of theories about the aliens, but Hiscock understood barely half of the conversation.
That didn’t really matter. He was surprised to find that he enjoyed – even craved the company.
“Will it ever get back to the way it was?” Hiscock asked.
The old man sighed.
“Maybe it’s for the best if it doesn’t. We were well on the way to ruining the whole shebang anyway.”
Hiscock laughed.
“Shit old man – you sound like one of us.”
The Professor was almost whispering when he replied.
“Closer than you’ll ever know.”
The old man looked at his watch.
“Not long now.”
<
br /> He looked back then his gaze moved to a point over Hiscock’s shoulder.
“We need to go,” he said, and stood, slopping coffee on the floor.
I don’t want to see.
When Hiscock turned, his fears were realized. The diggers had found the bunker – and even three feet of reinforced concrete hadn’t stopped them. The first was already pulling its two foot long body through a hole high in the corner. Hiscock wasted it with the Kalashnikov, blowing spatters of shell and green slime across the wall among the impact craters left by the bullets, but by then the second and third had got in, fallen to the floor, and scurried away towards his stockpile.
He started to move in that direction, but the old man took tight hold of his arm.
“You’re too late son. There’s too many of them.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but the old man was right. The hole in the wall was already two feet across, and tens of the beasts fell through, clambering over each other in their rush. Every one of them headed straight in the direction of his stockpile.
All that gear. All that money.
Once again the Professor tugged at his arm.
“Come on son. It’s no longer safe here.”
That he did agree with.
And his paranoia had seen this possibility coming, although he hadn’t wanted to admit it. He’d had a panic rucksack packed and ready in a locker under the hatch right from the start – containing more magazines for the rifle, a small camp stove and tins of solid fuel, and packs of emergency rations. He’d hoped never to have to use it – now he might need it before the before the day was out.
By the time he stopped for one last look round the bunker the whole far wall was starting to fall in. Behind it there was no soil to be seen – just a seething mass of the diggers. As he climbed up the hatch, having to hurry the old man up ahead of him, the whole fabric of the bunker started to collapse.
The two of them stumbled out into the drive just as the front wall of the house fell back on itself and tumbled down into a new dark hole -- all that remained of where the bunker had been.
Hiscock didn’t look back. He threw the panic bag into the back of the pickup, got the old man into the passenger seat, and headed for the docks. By reflex he had a look in the rear view mirror – just in time to see his life’s work fall into a hole
The Invasion (Extended Version) Page 7
