by Moody, David
‘Why do you think?’ Jall said, his confidence beginning to increase as Tom’s ebbed away. ‘We were being used as biological probes. They needed to see how we adapted to living here, so they sent us here and monitored the effect of the atmospherics on us for several months. Now they know exactly what they need to do to make the planet fully habitable, and the fleet has been mobilised. They’re here to colonize, to expand the empire.’
‘You fuckers. You think you’re just going to stroll in here and—’
‘Look out of your window,’ Jall interrupted. ‘It’s already begun, and there’s nothing either of us can do to stop it.’
Tom’s rage returned, a thousand times stronger than before. He threw himself at Jall, taking the spindly-limbed figure by surprise again. Tom charged into him with his shoulder dropped, knocking him back, slamming him against the wall-mounted TV and cracking the screen. Jall fell forward and dropped to his knees, then hit the ground, face first, out cold.
Tom looked up into the dead TV and could see the rest of the room behind him, reflected back in the shattered monochrome mirror. He sat beside Rob, turning his brother’s head to face him, trying to shake him back to life. His eyes remained unblinking. Pupils wide. Vacant stare. At his feet, Jall was beginning to stir.
‘So what happens now?’ Tom asked, his heart breaking.
‘The planet will be recalibrated. Re-engineered,’ Jall replied, dribbling dark blood.
‘How?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not a scientist, Tom, even though I thought I was. I’m a politician. A failed revolutionary.’
‘Has this happened before?’
‘This is the fifth time, as far as I’m aware. I don’t expect you to believe me, but this was one of the reasons I stood up against the regime. I couldn’t stand back and be a part of this.’
‘But if you can re-engineer planets, why choose this one? Why not just choose some other place? Somewhere uninhabited?’
‘The scientists can do a lot,’ Jall explained, ‘but they can’t move planets yet. Unfortunately for you, yours is optimally placed.’
‘But there are billions of people here...’
Jall cleared his throat. ‘There’s a process.’
‘Go on,’ Tom said, unsure if he wanted to hear more, but knowing he had to.
‘The first stage is to disable the resident population.’
‘Disable?’
‘Switch them off,’ he clarified, looking directly at Rob. ‘If it’s any consolation, I don’t think any of them can feel anything. Only minimal brain activity is maintained, basic control functions. They are completely unaware.’
‘And then what? Ship them off somewhere?’
Another hesitation.
‘There will be a cull,’ he said. Tom couldn’t help himself and he laughed out loud. It sounded so clichéd and implausible. Jall remained stony-faced.
‘A cull? You’re fucking kidding me. But when? How?’
‘I would think it’s probably already started. They’ll do it land mass by land mass, I expect. It won’t be long before it begins here.’
‘Did you not hear me? There are billions of people here.’
‘Come on,’ the alien said, forgetting himself momentarily and unwisely adopting a superior tone, ‘I don’t agree with what’s happening, but is this really any different to what you’ve been doing here yourselves for hundreds of years? Just substitute a rainforest for the entire planet.’
‘How can you say that? It’s completely different. All those lives... We’d never treat another people like this.’
‘You would,’ he replied factually, without any malice or spite in his voice, but with a definite hint of anger now. ‘You have. Think of all those indigenous populations you’ve driven out of their homes. Is this any different? At least this way most people won’t even know it’s happening. They won’t feel anything.’
The enormity of what he was hearing totally floored Tom. He walked away from Rob and Jall, barely even aware of his own movements now. Everywhere he looked, all he could see were things which reminded him how much he’d lost. Rob, Siobhan... everything was gone. The life he’d made for himself here now felt as if it was a million miles away. Tears rolled down his face, and the alien’s last words rattled around his head: they won’t feel anything.
‘So why am I different?’ he asked. ‘Why am I here talking to you when everyone else is...’
‘Not everyone is as susceptible to the programme, I guess. It’s difficult to achieve one hundred per cent success in anything.’
‘How many are left like me?’
‘I don’t know. It won’t be many. I’m sorry, Tom. You know there’s every chance it will still happen to you. If you feel yourself losing control, don’t fight it. You should embrace it. It’ll be a lot easier that way.’
Notwithstanding everything he’d seen and been a part of since the aliens had arrived last summer, Tom felt like he was trapped in a third-rate science-fiction film. His mouth was dry. He struggled to string enough words together to ask his next question.
‘What if I don’t conform?’
‘Then all you can do is sit back and watch your world change around you. I’m in the exact same position. I don’t have any option either. They don’t give a damn about me. They sent me here to die.’
‘My heart bleeds.’
‘If I could change things, Tom, I would. But I can’t. I’m scared... probably as scared as you. I don’t want to die.’
‘But there must be something you can do?’
‘There’s nothing. The process has already begun and it’s unstoppable. It’s like a reboot of the planet, by all accounts. There’s nothing either of us can do now. I don’t know how long it’ll take or what immediate effect it’ll have. You might be able to survive for a few days, maybe even longer. You could try and find somewhere remote and watch it happen.’
Another ship drifted out over the village and moved over the ocean, the sudden change in light as it blocked the window refocusing Tom. What the hell am I doing here? He looked down at his brother – all but dead – and then thought about Siobhan alone in her flat and Clare and Penny... He needed to get out of here if he wanted to see them again. He tried to pick Rob up, but his useless bulk was too heavy. He knew he had no option but to leave him.
‘Where are you going?’ Jall asked as Tom moved towards the door. Tom didn’t answer. The alien ran after him and pulled him back. ‘Don’t go. Stay here. I’m scared, Tom. I don’t want to be on my own when—’
‘You don’t want to be on your own? I couldn’t give a fuck about you! Look at what you’ve done to my brother. My girlfriend’s out there like this. She’s on her own...’
‘And there’s nothing you can do for her, I’ve already told you. Believe me, Tom, things will start to move quickly around here soon, and you won’t want to be outdoors when it begins.’
Tom ignored his protests and shook him off. He reached for the front door handle and Jall put a hand on his shoulder. Tom glanced down, and the sight of those foul, elongated, pale alien fingers enraged him.
‘Get off me, you bastard,’ he hissed, turning around and pushing Jall away.
Jall winced and staggered back, holding onto his injured midsection. ‘Please,’ he begged. ‘I’m as innocent in all of this as you are.’
‘Innocent? As innocent as Rob and Siobhan?’
‘Stop this, Tom,’ Jall said. ‘You’re wasting your time. Do you want me to tell you exactly what’s been done to them? Shall I tell you which parts of their brains have been disabled and which parts left operational? Nothing you can do will help them. It’s over. The people you used to know are already dead.’
‘As long as they’re still breathing, they’re alive—’
‘Only physically. Emotionally they’re—’
Tom moved towards Jall who continued to cower away. ‘You can deny responsibility all you like, but the fact is none of this would have happened if you bastards hadn’t com
e here. You’ve taken everything I had left. You’ve destroyed my life.’
‘And they’ve destroyed mine too. This isn’t my fault,’ Jall whimpered. ‘You’re just making things harder for yourself, Tom. Admit defeat or keep fighting, that’s the only choice we have left to make. And it doesn’t matter what you decide, the end result will be the same.’
Tom stared deep into the alien’s piercing eyes. He’d despised this particular fucker from the outset, and because he was here, an invader in his own home, he was going to make him pay for the crimes his entire people were now committing. He screwed up his fist and slammed it into Jall’s face, catching him square on the jaw and completely off-guard. He tried to crawl away, but Tom wasn’t finished with him. He grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him back upright, easily manhandling the alien’s surprisingly insignificant weight.
‘Fucking bastard,’ he yelled at Jall as he spun him around and threw him into the kitchen. Jall fell and Tom picked him back up, pushing him up against the wall. He looked deep into the alien’s face. There were tears rolling down his cheeks and blood was pouring from a split in his swollen bottom lip.
‘Please,’ he begged. ‘It’s not my fault...’
Tom punched him again, and felt his body slump. He almost believed Jall, but he was past caring now. He held him by his neck, pinned up against the wall, and he offered no resistance. Jall knew he was beaten and he shook and sobbed, his cries choked as Tom tightened his grip on his windpipe. Tom’s pain was unbearable. He knew he’d never make love with Siobhan again and wake up next to her in the morning. He’d never go drinking with James, never watch bad movies and rip them to pieces with Rob, never listen to music or read another book... He hoped more than anything that the alien felt as much pain and loss as he did.
Tom covered Jall’s face with his right hand. He squeezed hard, pulled his head forward, then smashed it back. Jall whimpered, but didn’t cry out. He screwed up his eyes in pain, then opened them again and looked straight at Tom. Tom did it once more, thumping his head back harder this time, leaving a bloody smear on the wall. He let go of Jall, letting him slide down to the floor. He looked up at Tom and opened his mouth as if he was about to say something. Whatever it was, Tom didn’t want to hear it. He kicked Jall in the face, then, when the alien slumped over, he brought his boot crashing down on the side of his head, feeling bones crack.
Before leaving the house, Tom collected food, water and clothes, then left much of it behind. If what the alien had said was true – and despite everything, Tom thought it probably was – then he didn’t have long left.
He wanted to stay a while and say goodbye to Rob, but there wasn’t any point. He lay him down on the sofa and covered him with a duvet to keep him warm. It was a pointless gesture, but it made him feel marginally better. Then he made himself leave. Standing outside, he looked down over the lifeless village of Thatcham below.
Which way do I go? Siobhan or Clare?
Despite everything, his mind was made up in an instant. He began running towards Siobhan, knowing it was futile but unable to stand the thought of not seeing her again.
37
The quickest way to Siobhan’s by foot was to head into the centre of the village and out the other side. Tom ran down the uneven pathway which led away from his house, increasingly conscious that he was the only thing still moving. Even the birds seemed to have disappeared from the sky. He allowed himself one final look back over his shoulder before his home disappeared from view forever. The temptation to turn back was still there; to sit in familiar surroundings alongside his brother and watch the world he knew gradually disappear and become something alien and new.
He struggled to moderate his speed. He wanted to sprint to Siobhan, but he knew he’d never make it. He needed to conserve energy, knowing that after reaching her flat, he’d then need to try and get her to Clare’s. How he was going to do that, he had no idea. A short time with Siobhan in an unresponsive state was infinitely preferable to never seeing her again, and this way, he thought, he might still have a chance, albeit a very slight one, of protecting her from the oncoming cull. That was what he kept telling himself, anyway. If he said it enough times, he thought he might start to believe it.
Another alien ship appeared overhead, overtaking him as he ran down the main street through the centre of the village. It was radically different to the others he’d seen. It flew much lower, and had an enlarged, rounded front-section with a stunted rear. With his mind filled with terrifying thoughts of the impending extermination of millions of lives, he panicked and ducked out of sight behind a metallic blue Ford Mondeo opposite the Badger’s Sett pub, tripping over the outstretched legs of another lifeless victim of the aliens. He instinctively steadied the young woman’s body.
On his knees, Tom looked through the car’s windows straight across to the pub, then got up and ran across the road, remembering that John Tipper had been as lucid as he himself when he’d last seen him yesterday morning. John was like him and Clare, somehow resistant to the aliens’ programming. The thought of seeing another familiar face gave him a faint flicker of hope.
Being inside the pub was a heart-breaking, almost surreal experience. Everything looked much the same as before, but it was all inherently different; unreal, almost like a film set. This was a dead place now, devoid of all atmosphere. The noise, the people... all gone. He walked around the end of the bar, helping himself to a lukewarm drink from a useless chiller cabinet, then went into the back of the pub.
Tom had been behind the bar several times before, always at John’s invitation. He’d once helped him carry an awkward wardrobe upstairs, and had unloaded deliveries with him on a couple of occasions when he’d been short-staffed. Today, however, he felt like an intruder. He stood at the bottom of the long, straight staircase and called up.
‘John? John... are you there? Betty?’
There was no answer. He knew he was wasting time, that he should leave now and keep going, but he couldn’t go without checking. He crept upstairs, cringing at the disproportionate noise his heavy footsteps made on the creaking boards, then waited at the top of the landing and called out again. Still nothing. He walked further into John’s home and found Betty sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, staring into space.
‘Betty?’
She didn’t move when he approached. He waved his hand in front of her face, but there was nothing. Betty’s condition unnerved him more than most others he’d seen this morning. He’d never known this woman quiet before.
Tom found John in the bedroom next-door, slumped against the foot of his bed, as unresponsive as everyone else. He looked the same as always: a saggy, hand-knitted Aran sweater, and with his glasses still perched on the bridge of his nose. There was a cricket bat beside him, like he’d been ready for his last stand, but had then given up. He shook John’s shoulder, virtually begged with him to wake up, but he knew he was wasting precious time. He was lost like all the others.
Tom paused in the doorway and looked back at his friend. As the initial disappointment faded, his sadness turned to terror. If John eventually succumbed, he thought, will I go the same way? What about Clare? The thought of losing control and being reduced to this was unbearable.
Tom was about to leave the building when the light in the upstairs rooms changed. He looked out of the nearest window and saw that the alien ship he’d come into the pub to escape had altered its position again. Ominously, it was directly over the centre of the village now. The size of the thing was impossible to gauge: he couldn’t tell whether it was a mile above him or ten. As he watched, a single wide opening appeared in the base of the rounded front-end of the vessel and a long, stem-like object was lowered down. He dived for cover, terrified at what might be about to happen next. Like a frightened kid he scrambled under the bed, tripping over John Tipper’s unresponsive legs as he did so. Tom buried his face in the carpet, covered his head, and waited.
Nothing happened.
He held his position for a while longer, still too scared to move, convinced that the second he looked up would be the moment the aliens unleashed whatever hell they had ready over Thatcham, wiping out its population, regardless of whether or not they had submitted to their programming.
Still nothing. The pub shook as the enormous craft held its position overhead. Ornaments and books fell off shelves. He heard glasses smashing downstairs. It felt like an endless earthquake.
I’m dead anyway, Tom thought, sick of hiding, and he crawled back out into the open and returned to the window. The glass rattled and shook in its frame. The alien ship was still there, but it was climbing vertically now, drifting up into the sky and rotating slightly as it did so. Tom remained there for a moment longer, pulse racing, holding onto the windowsill for support. Pull yourself together, he told himself. Get out of here.
He was about to move when he heard someone else moving in the building with him. An alien? He looked around for a weapon but could find only the bottled drink he’d brought up from the bar. He emptied the last dregs out onto the carpet then held the neck of the bottle and smashed the end of it against the wall. He crept around the edge of the room and was about to step out onto the landing when Betty Tipper strode past the doorway.
‘Betty?’
He immediately regretted calling out, but she didn’t react. She marched past him, her face emotionless. She’d have collided with him if he hadn’t moved out of her way. He pressed himself up against the wall to avoid her touch, then leant over the banister and watched as she went downstairs. He spun around when he heard more footsteps behind him. He tripped over his own feet and ended up on his backside, looking up in disbelief as John Tipper marched towards him, his face vacant, terrifyingly expressionless. Tom scrambled back up and tried to grab hold of John but the older man was unnaturally strong and walked on regardless, following his wife down into the pub.
Tom crept down after the Tippers, maintaining a cautious distance. He watched them both walk through their pub, following the exact same route step for step, then heard them go out through the door. By the time he’d reached the exit, he could see through the glass that the street outside was rapidly filling with people. He stood on a bench and watched through a window as people emerged from virtually every building. The noise of hundreds of footsteps filled the air, the sound made all the more uncomfortable by the total absence of anything else. No speech. No coughs, splutters or sneezes. No cries, no one begging for mercy. Not a single damn word.
