by Moody, David
‘Mrs Price,’ Bethany said.
‘Who’s Mrs Price?’
‘Don’t know. Just this old lady who comes around when Mummy and Daddy go out sometimes.’
‘Do you know where she lives?’
‘No.’
‘Does she come in a car?’
‘No, I think she lives near here. Mummy makes Dad walk her home. I’ve stayed up and heard them talking before now.’
‘Which way’s her house?’
‘Don’t know.’
‘I’ll go and find her.’
With that he opened the door and took a step out onto the street. He turned back. Bethany was standing in the doorway, eyes wide. Behind her he could see Stephanie, head drooping, just about managing to hold onto her baby.
‘Will you come back?’ Beth asked.
Tom steadied himself. He had to do this. ‘I’ll go find Mrs Price. Either she’ll come and look after you or I will. I won’t leave you on your own, okay?’
She nodded and he forced himself to go.
Tom tried five houses before he got any answer. It wasn’t Mrs Price, but he did find a Mrs Simpson, a reassuringly lucid woman in her late-sixties. When he explained what was happening she immediately agreed to look after the kids. She knew them – rather, she’d heard them – and, more importantly, she too had realised something was seriously wrong this morning. She tried to ask Tom about it, pleaded with him to explain the inexplicable, but he couldn’t. Despite her protests, he left her.
He felt like a callous, uncaring shit as he drove away, but the truth was James, Stephanie and their family were not his main concern. He needed to get to Siobhan.
29
Tom continued out through the village and on towards Siobhan’s flat. He fought to keep his attention fixed on the road, struggling despite there being hardly any other traffic or pedestrians around.
What he’d seen at James and Stephanie’s house had terrified him. Until then he’d been trying to convince himself that this morning had just been a series of bizarre, unconnected events, but the further he travelled, the more he began to realise that was bullshit. He’d been lying to himself, trying to keep calm and not blow things out of proportion, convincing himself that the reason everything felt so quiet today was just because he’d got used to everywhere being busy these last few bizarre months. The truth was, whatever it was that was happening to the people of Thatcham, it was no bizarre coincidence or isolated issue. It was fucking huge. Fucking terrifying.
He passed only one other car and just a handful of people in all the time he was driving. One young lad was sitting on the step of a driverless bus going nowhere. A woman was walking along the side of the road like a drunk. If only drink had been the reason for her freakish behaviour, he thought. Once he’d passed he looked back in his rear view mirror and saw that underneath her long brown coat she was completely naked. Elsewhere he saw several other folks who looked like they’d just given up and stopped. Some were lying on the pavement. One man was face-down on the white line in the middle of the road. Everyone was grinding to a halt. The more of them he saw, the more frightened he became.
Tom’s heart thumped in his chest as he pulled up outside Siobhan’s flat. He looked in through the window, his breath clouding the glass, but couldn’t make out anything in the gloom. He rang the buzzer but there was no reply. He unlocked the door and went inside.
He found Siobhan sitting on the end of the bed, naked but for a bra which wasn’t even done up. She didn’t move, didn’t react to his presence at all. Her hair was a mess. The remains of yesterday’s makeup smudged around her eyes.
‘Siobhan?’
She didn’t flinch.
‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked. Still nothing. ‘Are you sick?’ He reached across and touched her arm. She felt ice-cold. ‘Siobhan,’ he said again, his voice louder, ‘what’s wrong?’
Very slowly, almost undetectably at first, she moved her eyes slightly. He couldn’t tell if she was looking at him or trying to look away. He picked the duvet up off the floor and draped it over her shoulders. Not knowing what else to do, he filled up the kettle and put her last two slices of bread in the toaster. The sink was full of dirty plates, the bin overflowing.
Is this the best you can do, you useless fucker? He screamed at himself. Your girlfriend’s catatonic and you’re making toast?
He didn’t know what else to do. Was there anything else he could do? If he called for a doctor or an ambulance, would anyone come, or were they all in the same state as this? His mind filled with images of silent hospitals, all the people there completely unmoving, lying in the corridors, slumped at the bottom of staircases. He imagined Drayton in the same state as Thatcham was this morning, then cities like Birmingham and London, then the rest of the world...
The toast popped up, the sudden noise making him catch his breath. He took the plate through to Siobhan and put it down next to her, then tried tearing a strip of toast off and offering it to her like she was a pet. He even pushed it up against her mouth but she didn’t react at all, didn’t even lick away the crumbs on her lips. Should he force feed her? Try and make her eat? Did it even matter anymore?
His mobile rang. He fumbled for it in his pocket and answered quickly, hands shaking, heart thumping.
‘Tom? Tom, is that you?’
‘Clare?’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at Siobhan’s house.’
‘Can you come over?’
‘Not really... Siobhan’s sick. I don’t know what to do.’
‘Penny too.’
‘No better than last night?’
‘Worse. She’s barely moving. I’m scared.’
Tom looked down at Siobhan, still comatose. Should he bother telling Clare everything he’d seen this morning? He struggled with his next question, knowing it would sound bad, no matter how carefully he phrased it.
‘Clare, is there anyone else who could—’
‘There’s no one else,’ she answered immediately, cutting across him. ‘You’re the only person still answering.’
Tom paced the room. The plate of toast slid off Siobhan’s bed and hit the floor. Holding the phone to his ear with one hand, he struggled to clean up the food with the other. Siobhan still didn’t move.
‘Tom... you there?’
‘I’m here.’
‘I need help. Can you come? Please, Tom.’
‘I can’t leave Siobhan. She’s hardly moving, Clare. Barely even knows I’m here. I think Rob might be the same. He’s still at home...’
‘Sorry... I’ll keep trying, see if I can get anyone else to answer. Sorry, Tom.’
She was about to disconnect the call when he realised he didn’t want her to go. Didn’t want to lose her voice.
‘Wait, Clare. Just give me a little time. I’ll come over.’
‘But what about Siobhan and your brother?’
‘Don’t do anything,’ he said, not entirely sure what he was agreeing to anymore, just glad to have found someone else still able to communicate. ‘Stay there and I’ll be over.’
Tom’s head was spinning as he ended the call, trying to balance Clare and Penny’s relative importance against Siobhan and Rob’s. And then there was the mess he’d left back at James and Stephanie’s house... Where the hell did he start? Could he do anything for any of them?
He made a half-hearted attempt to move Siobhan, pulling her arms and trying to get her up onto her feet, but she didn’t respond. She remained a dead weight.
‘Help me!’ he yelled at her, but her face didn’t flicker. He yanked her arm again and pulled too hard, almost dragging her over. She fell onto her side and remained where she’d fallen. She looked at him – through him – with vacant eyes, and he gave up. Admitting defeat, he draped the duvet over her again. ‘I’ll be back. I’ll go and get the others and I’ll be right back.’
30
Clare was out of the door before Tom had even stopped the engine. She ran across the road and grab
bed hold of him. He revelled in the sudden close contact of another lucid person.
‘You okay?’ was all he could think to say. Stupid bloody question.
‘No,’ she answered. ‘I don’t know what the hell’s going on. I can’t get anything out of Penny. I tried calling the doctor, but no one answered. I tried 999, Tom. I couldn’t get an answer on bloody 999!’
He followed her inside. The last few times he’d been here, the place had been full of Penny’s noise and bluster. Now the building felt cold and unwelcoming, as unnaturally quiet as everywhere else. Clare stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Where is she?’
‘Her room. She hasn’t moved all morning, Tom.’
‘Can I see her?’
She nodded and took him up to her little girl’s bedroom. She seemed to slow down as she approached the door. She reached out for the handle but didn’t open it, turning back and looking to him for reassurance. He braced himself, not sure what to expect. Clare pushed the door open, peered inside, then stood out of the way to let Tom through.
The small room was just as he remembered; bright, colourful, innocent. There were toys scattered all about the floor, but no sign of Penny. The bed was unmade and empty. Clare gestured over to the other side of the bed. Tom walked a little further, cringing as the floorboards creaked loudly under his weight, and then he found her. She was slumped on the floor in the corner of the room, her head lolling over to one side as if she’d cricked her neck. Her eyes were open. She was staring right at him, and yet at the same time it was as if she wasn’t looking anywhere at all.
Penny’s unnatural appearance increased his unease. Tom wanted to get out but he made himself move closer. He crouched down in front of the little girl, feeling sure that at any second she’d snap out of this trance and start laughing like a kid again, as if it had all been one big joke. But she didn’t. She remained completely still. She didn’t even react when, out of sight of her mother, he gently picked up one of her hands and pinched her skin so hard it must have hurt.
‘Well?’
Tom looked over his shoulder. Clare was standing just behind him, waiting at the foot of the bed.
‘Have you seen anyone else today?’ he asked.
‘No, why?’
‘Because they’re all like this, Clare.’
‘All of them?’ The disbelief in her voice was evident.
‘Pretty much.’
‘That doesn’t make any sense...’
‘I never said it did. I know, Clare, it’s fucked up. I don’t have a clue what’s going on. Penny’s exactly the same as Siobhan. And James and Stephanie too.’
‘James and Stephanie? Christ, Tom.’
‘One of the kids phoned me and I went around. Same reason you managed to get me – I’m the only idiot still answering. It’s like they’ve all just stopped...’
‘But why? What’s caused this?’
‘Come on, Clare, how the hell am I supposed to know?’
‘You should try and find your brother’s alien friend. He’ll know. It’s got to be something to do with them. Where is he?’
‘For Christ’s sake, how am I supposed to know?’ he snapped at her. He hadn’t realised he was yelling, but he could see it in Clare’s frightened reaction. He tried to apologise but he couldn’t find the words. He was scared, unable to think straight. He turned back to Penny, hoping she might have reacted to the noise too, but she hadn’t. She was stuck in the same uncomfortable-looking position.
Tom got up and left the room, thumping back downstairs.
‘Where are you going?’ Clare shouted, chasing after him.
‘Siobhan and Rob,’ he replied, sounding as unsure as he felt.
‘Please don’t leave us here, Tom.’
Confused, he walked back out to the car. He paused before getting in. He walked up to the front of the house next to Clare’s and rang the bell. When there was no immediate answer he began hammering on the door with his fist. ‘Who lives here?’
Clare was right behind him. ‘His name’s Graham,’ she replied. ‘I’ve never had a lot to do with him.’
‘Is he likely to be in?’
‘Rarely goes out. Doesn’t have a job, as far as I’m aware.’
There was still no answer. Tom rang the bell again, this time leaving his finger on the buzzer. Although muffled, they could clearly hear the shrill, continuous ringing from outside. He moved to the nearest window and peered in. He beckoned Clare over. She looked over his shoulder and saw her neighbour sitting on a sofa on the far side of the room, staring into space. He was just like the rest of them. Frozen. Unresponsive.
‘This is fucking crazy,’ Tom said, climbing over a low picket fence to get to the next house along. He used the brass knocker but had barely waited for the noise to fade before he tried the door and found it unlocked. He went inside. Clare was hesitant to follow. They could hear running water. The kitchen was flooded, the ceiling bowed, water dripping down.
‘Let’s go, Tom. Please.’
‘Wait here.’
Tom ran upstairs. In the bathroom an overweight, middle-aged man was sitting in the base of the shower cubicle in several inches of water, his legs hanging out over the edge, water pouring over the top of the tray and flooding the carpet. The man – head bowed, skin pruned, water running into his open eyes and dripping off his forehead, nose and chin, didn’t react. Tom didn’t say anything, he just rattled the shower cubicle door. The man did nothing. Tom pulled the power cord and the water flow immediately stopped, but even that failed to illicit any response.
Back to the car.
‘What are we going to do, Tom?’
He looked at Clare but didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. What did they do? He went to open the car door.
‘Don’t go,’ she said.
‘I have to.’
‘You can’t leave us here.’
‘Come with me. We’ll get Penny, then go and get Rob, then go on to Siobhan’s. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
31
It was already afternoon, the gloom of the day making it feel like the light was fading ahead of time, almost as if it was being snatched away. It was bitterly cold. Clare went upstairs to try and dress Penny, leaving Tom pacing the ground floor rooms, trying to make contact with other people. He rang every number in his mobile, but no one answered. He did the same with Clare’s, then tried her landline, working his way through her entire phone book as well as any other numbers he could remember. Still nothing. He checked the computer upstairs, but information was loading incredibly slowly, and when he did manage to read something, it had been hours since anything had been updated. The flow of information had stopped along with the people who consumed it. He looked up the number and tried to call John Tipper at the Badger’s Sett, the last person he’d spoken to other than Clare, but the line just rang out unanswered.
The silence outside gave him too much time to think. Was this some kind of sickness? A contagion? Was it somehow connected to the aliens – and he couldn’t imagine that it wasn’t – or purely coincidental? Some kind of infection they’d brought to Earth, perhaps, which had laid dormant until now? His inability to find answers served only to intensify the fear. He hadn’t seen any aliens since he’d last seen Jall, and with only a few hundred of them scattered across the surface of the entire planet, there didn’t seem to be any prospect of that changing. They could have been anywhere. For all he knew, they could have gone.
Clare was taking forever. Tom waited impatiently, flicking through the channels on the TV now. Several channels just showed blank screens, others test cards or station identifiers. A couple were still broadcasting, but he guessed their programming must have been automated. Having some noise in the house – any noise – was welcome and he left it on as he stood at the window, scanning the street outside for any signs of movement. He looked around when Clare turned the TV off again, but she wasn’t even in the room. He tried the nearest light switch, flicking it up and do
wn several times more than was necessary, then did the same in the hall. Clare was at the top of the stairs.
‘Power’s gone. Where’s your fuse box?’ he asked her.
‘Under the stairs.’
‘You got a torch?’
‘Should be one in there.’
He found the torch and switched it on, but it wasn’t working.
‘Got any spare batteries?’
‘Shouldn’t need any,’ she shouted down. ‘I only changed them a few days ago. I’ve told you before, the wiring’s dodgy here. The lights are always tripping.’
Tom checked the torch a couple more times and even unscrewed the base and removed and replaced the batteries before giving up on it. He felt for the fuse board in the darkness under the stairs and located and flicked the trip switch. Nothing happened. He pulled out the fuses and examined each of them in turn as best he could but couldn’t see anything immediately wrong.
‘Don’t bother, Tom,’ Clare said from upstairs. ‘It’s not just us.’
He reversed back out of the cupboard, banging his head and cursing with pain, then went to find her. She was in her bedroom, looking outside. And he saw that she was right. Although it was too early for every light to be on, he would have expected to see a few lights out there by now. There were none, not a single damn bulb lit up for as far as he could see. Instinctively – though he already knew it was pointless – he tried a few more electrical items. A table lamp and small TV in Clare’s room were both dead, as was the phone.
‘Not even a fucking dialling tone now,’ he said, slamming the handset back down. He took his mobile from his pocket. His battery hadn’t been fully charged, but he knew he’d still had some power remaining. The screen was blank. He panicked. ‘I’ve got to go. Sorry, Clare, I’ve got to go.’
She followed him down and out onto the street. He pressed the key fob to unlock his car as he ran towards it, but nothing happened. Clare grabbed his arm and tried to pull him back.
‘This is pointless. Don’t, Tom. It’s too late...’
