by Moody, David
‘That’s what Jall said. He called it re-engineering.’
‘Chances are it’s going to take a while, even with all their tech. I don’t know about you, but I’ve been sitting here all day assuming the end could come at any minute. It might not. We might still have days left. Weeks... months, even. We should use the time. Get out and find the people who matter, maybe others like us.’
‘But the end result’s going to be the same, isn’t it?’
‘Probably, but what would you rather do? Are you prepared to give up on her like this? I’m not.’
Whether it was a clumsy attempt at emotional blackmail, or just something to say in these darkest of moments, Clare’s words struck a chord: what kind of a man would he be if he just sat back and waited to die without even trying to find Siobhan? But then he remembered the condition Rob had been in when he’d left him, and he knew there was no point trying to save any of them. But Clare still believed there was hope, and who was he to tell her otherwise? She was right about one thing; time was all they had left. Maybe they should try to do something with it instead of sitting here like prisoners on Death Row. He tried to think more positively, logically.
‘Maybe our best option is to get away from anything man-made,’ he suggested. ‘Jall said the few of us still conscious aren’t a concern to them, so if we stay away from towns and villages and just head out into the middle of nowhere we might last a little longer.’
‘Long enough to find Penny?’
He didn’t think so – still didn’t think there was any point even looking – but he didn’t want to tell her otherwise.
‘We should head for the sea,’ he said suddenly. ‘Just water there, no buildings. We might be safer if we can get off the mainland.’
‘It’s got to be worth a try. Can you sail?’
‘No.’
‘Do you know where we can find a boat?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Then that’s what we should do. Get away from here, find out where they’ve taken everyone, get Penny and the others, then get the hell away from everything else.’
✽✽✽
They were ready to leave within a few minutes. They worked quickly and quietly together to collect all the food and other useful supplies they could find from around Clare’s little house. Clare cried as she worked, and Tom wondered if she was experiencing the same emotions he had when he’d left his own home for the final time. He thought it must have been even worse for Clare, the pain infinitely more intense. She’d lived here for years and had brought her daughter up in this house too. Her attachment to this place undoubtedly ran deep.
They managed to fill a rucksack each. As they readied themselves in the kitchen, rain began to clatter against the window. It sounded like someone was throwing stones against the glass. Tom looked out and saw that the clouds were whipping across the skies at different levels and different speeds, almost too fast. It reminded him of the storm he’d been caught out in when the aliens had first arrived. And overhead their ships continued to sail through the atmosphere untroubled. Impervious.
‘We should go,’ he said. ‘We’re not going to—’
His words were silenced by an intense flash of light outside. He thought it was lightning at first, maybe a double-strike, but the longer the light continued, the more obvious it became that this was something else entirely. It was too bright to keep watching, and Tom looked away until it faded again. He wondered if it was a signal that the invaders were readying themselves to make a long-overdue appearance on the surface of the planet they were claiming as their own. He hoped they were. In some bizarre way he thought that might even the odds slightly. He’d already killed one of them with unexpected ease. Maybe he’d have a chance to take out a few more yet, one for each of the people he’d lost.
‘Ready?’ he asked, sensing that Clare was standing right behind him.
‘I’m ready,’ she replied, though there was clearly much reluctance in her voice. Before she could dissuade herself, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the patio. Tom had already suggested they should stick to the train track he’d followed to get here – a relatively direct and well-sheltered route which would lead them to the coast. He followed her down the garden and clambered over the fence, stopping only when a number of smaller alien ships whipped through the air just above their heads, much lower than most others they’d so far seen. The wind they left in their wake was intense, and Tom held onto Clare tightly, struggling to stay upright through the sudden gale.
‘Keep moving,’ he said when the wind had faded again.
The ground beneath their feet was boggy, making progress frustratingly slow. The train track was just about visible as a dark black line stretching across the already dark landscape.
‘Which way?’ Clare asked. Left would take them towards the ocean, right would lead them straight back to Thatcham. There was a part of Tom that still wanted to go back there. There was still some familiarity in Thatcham – in the shapes of the buildings and the roads if nothing else – and that seemed preferable to just about anything else.
‘Away from the village,’ he replied, hoisting his rucksack into a more comfortable position, then scrambling over a low fence and down onto the track. Their pace quickened now that they were able to walk on the sleepers and shingle. Clare made an attempt to stay hidden, but Tom knew there wasn’t any point. There remained some level of alien activity in the sky visible almost all of the time, but apart from the occasional smaller ship which hugged the ground, in the main they continued to operate at dizzying heights. Tom and Clare were of no interest to them.
41
Their initial burst of energy didn’t last long. With only a vague, interminable aim, they both soon began to flag and the effort of the walk increased. At first Clare marched on and set the pace, thoughts of her missing daughter driving her forward. Within the space of a mile, however, the last light of day had all but completely gone and she’d dropped back, allowing Tom to take the lead.
There was another intense pulse of light in the far distance. Tom turned away and crouched down, waiting for it to disappear. He took his time getting up again, long enough for Clare to catch up. ‘You all right?’ he asked as she drew level.
‘Dumb fucking question,’ she replied. ‘Of course I’m not all right. Fucking idiot. How can I be all right when I’ve just—’
The appearance of another alien ship overhead immediately silenced her. Its absolute lack of noise had taken both of them by surprise, allowing the huge machine to creep up and catch them both unawares. Although it remained hundreds of metres above them, its unannounced appearance chilled Tom to the bone.
Without needing to speak to one another, they both leant up against the steep embankment until the ship had disappeared. It was gone in less than a minute, but Tom remained on alert, determined not to be caught out like that again. He gently pushed Clare forward. She shook him off and grumbled at his unsubtle intervention.
‘Leave me alone.’
‘Can’t be far now.’
‘You’ve been saying that for as long as we’ve been walking. There’s no sign of anyone around here, and there’s no way we’ll see anything from down here on this bloody train track. They’re just words, Tom. If you haven’t got anything constructive to say, don’t bother saying anything anymore.’
‘Another couple of minutes and we’ll try and get onto the coast road,’ he continued, ignoring her. ‘We’ll have more chance of finding them there.’
‘Whatever.’
He watched her walk on, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. He wasn’t interested in finding anyone, he just wanted to put as much distance as possible between him and the bulk of the aliens. But it was different for Clare. He’d already accepted that the others were lost, but she hadn’t. She was very clearly still clinging onto the faint, fading hope of seeing her daughter again.
There were more flashes of light, miles behind them this time, lighting up the world
like slow-motion artillery explosions. Tom kept walking, shuffling his pack into the centre of his back, then putting his head down and marching. It was still raining and the wind was gusting along the tracks, but the night now felt unexpectedly, almost artificially, warm. He undid the zip on the front of his jacket, struggling with the humidity. Was this something to do with the aliens too? He shook his head and trudged on, sodden boots squelching.
Clare had stopped again. He pretended he hadn’t noticed at first and just kept moving. Beyond her the railway line seemed to stretch on forever. He overtook but didn’t acknowledge her, just glancing back now and then to make sure she was still there. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be out here anymore. He didn’t want to be anywhere. But what was the alternative? Other than sitting down where he was and waiting for whatever was coming to take him and finish him off, he didn’t have one. A nearby building, perhaps, to get out of the rain? That prospect was no more inviting. He imagined the two of them sitting in silence at opposite ends of a dark and unfamiliar room, nothing to do but wait... For a fraction of a second he thought about turning tail and heading back to Clare’s house or even his own place, but those ideas were dismissed almost instantly. They were closer to the coast than they were to either house now. Pointless. It all felt so fucking pointless.
‘What the hell are we doing out here?’ Clare shouted at him, clearly thinking along the same lines. He stopped and looked up. For a few seconds he was distracted by the warmth and the rain and the movement of the clouds overhead. They looked like they were swirling, turning in on themselves and slowly sinking down towards the ground. When Clare repeated her question, virtually screaming at him this time, he forced himself to answer.
‘Looking for Penny,’ was the best he could manage.
‘We can’t even see where we’re going,’ she said, spitting into the rain. ‘What chance have we got of finding her?’
‘More chance than if we’d stayed back at your place, I guess.’
He looked into her face. She looked drowned, her hair plastered down, water dripping off the end of her nose and chin. He tried to walk on again, not knowing what else to say, but this time Clare stopped him. She grabbed the shoulder strap of his rucksack and pulled him back.
‘I just want to see her again,’ she sobbed, her tears mingling with the rain. ‘You understand? Just once more.’
‘And you will,’ he lied. ‘Keep yourself together. Keep moving.’ He gently took her hands away and carried on walking. ‘Let’s get up,’ he said, starting to climb the embankment, grabbing handfuls of long grass and weeds to help keep his balance and haul himself up. ‘We’ll see more from up there.’
Tom looked back from the top of the climb and saw that Clare had hardly moved. He shouted back for her to follow him but kept walking, trudging wearily across a ploughed field. He reached a hedgerow on the far side of the churned mud, but still hadn’t seen her. Eventually she appeared, head peering up over the ridge.
He waited for her to catch up, using the time to find a way through the tangle of hawthorn and undergrowth which bordered the field. When Clare finally reached him he held back a branch of spiteful, barbed-wire-like thorns and gestured through. She looked down and saw a steep bank on the other side. At the bottom of the bank she could see tarmac.
‘Look, a road.’
‘So?’ she said, panting with effort. ‘Which road?’
‘Not sure. Doesn’t matter. We’ll find a way down to the sea from here. And there are hills up ahead too. We’ll be able to see for miles from up there. We’ll see the people.’
‘You sure about this?’
‘As much as I’m sure about anything anymore, yes.’
‘I just want to stop now, Tom. I’m cold and I’m tired and...’
She stopped talking when he wrapped his arms around her. Her body remained stiff, her arms hanging at her sides.
‘I’ll go down first,’ he told her. ‘Give me a few seconds, then follow. Okay?’
He was gone before she could answer. He tried head-first, but the drop was further than it looked. He changed position, getting down on his hands and knees then turning around and reversing through the greasy mud. He held himself steady, his boots hanging in mid-air, not knowing how far a drop it was down to the tarmac. He looked up at Clare as the sky behind her was illuminated by another distant flash of alien light, then pushed himself down. Clare followed. He took hold of her feet and guided her down. The two of them stood together in the middle of the road.
‘Recognise anything?’ Clare asked.
‘Think so,’ Tom replied, adjusting the increasingly uncomfortable backpack on his shoulders again. He needed to be positive, to try and keep her moving. ‘It’s this way.’
Tom marched off, hoping he’d chosen the right direction but knowing that it mattered less and less if he hadn’t.
42
Footsteps.
‘What’s that?’ Clare asked. It sounded like footsteps, but it was too loud and too orderly... like the stomping of some advancing giant creature, increasing in volume as it came nearer. Tom instantly recognised the sound. This was the noise of hundreds of pairs of feet moving in perfect synchronisation, an unimaginable number of individual movements combining to create a single eerie sound. These were footsteps which were as unnatural and inhuman as the creatures which continued to crawl tirelessly through the skies overhead tonight.
‘What is it?’ she asked, frantically looking around but seeing only the road and the tall hedges on either side. Tom stopped, unable to tell from which direction the people were approaching. What he couldn’t hear unnerved him more than what he could. There was still not a single voice of dissent. Not a solitary groan, moan or other voluntary or involuntary noise could be heard over the relentless marching noise.
He took a few more steps forward, and then stopped. He could see the first of them now, coming towards him. They walked in single file in the absolute centre of the road, their formation so perfect that it was only when they followed a slight curve to the left that he saw any of the others behind the man in front. He turned and ran in the other direction, grabbing hold of Clare’s arm and dragging her along with him.
‘Tom,’ she hissed at him. ‘Tell me!’
There was a gap in the hedge to his left; the entrance to a well-trampled public footpath. He pulled Clare down the dark path and off the road. She tried to pull back the other way to see what was happening but he restrained her, covering her mouth with his hand and keeping them both out of sight.
‘This is what I saw in Thatcham,’ he explained, whispering right into her ear, afraid of being overheard. ‘Hundreds of people.’
Clare writhed and bit his hand. ‘Let me go,’ she spat at him. ‘Penny...’
It took all his strength to restrain her. She slipped one arm from her rucksack strap and started to run but he pulled her back again. Still she fought as the thunderous marching noise continued, kicking out and trying to scratch at his face, anything to free herself. In desperation he kicked her legs out from under her, dropped her down and lay on top of her body, his weight too much for her to move.
‘There’s no point,’ he said, still whispering, still terrified. ‘There’s nothing we can do. Even if we find Penny, we won’t be able to help her.’
At the mention of her daughter’s name, Clare struggled again. She tried to knee Tom in the groin but couldn’t get enough leverage. Holding one of her wrists with either hand, he twisted his legs between hers and spread them, then pushed his weight down on her harder than before. She hissed and yelled in his ear, in real pain now, but he ignored her, even when she started spitting and biting again. He focused on the apparently endless queue of people still striding down the middle of the road, perfectly equidistant, unblinking and unseeing. He was hypnotised by their emotionless gaze. Whatever the aliens had done to them had stripped away their individuality and made them all the same. No longer people with personalities, capable of free thought, they we
re now just vacuous, easily manipulated shells. Soulless and dead.
‘They’re all lost, Clare,’ he said. ‘All gone.’
She finally stopped struggling. Tom lifted his head slightly and saw that she was looking up now. He looked over his shoulder and watched as an alien ship moved overhead. He’d seen one like this before. It had a distinctive engorged head and stunted body. This was the same kind of ship which had hovered over Thatcham when he’d been hiding in the pub, perhaps the exact same one. The ship, he assumed, which controlled the people.
‘Are they looking for us?’ Clare asked, slightly calmer now.
‘They’re not interested in us.’
Moments later – Tom wasn’t sure how long – the end of the column of marching figures finally came into view. Tom watched as the last of them disappeared. The final person was a girl, older than Penny and darker-skinned, still wearing pyjamas. Her hair was tied into a ponytail which bobbed as she marched, its random movements completely at odds with everything else about her. He waited a minute longer, then relaxed his grip on Clare. He got up and brushed himself down, taking care to make sure he was still blocking the way through to the road.
‘Where are they going?’
‘Let’s find out,’ he said, taking her hand and starting to move. He could still hear the regimented footsteps. Rather than risk the road, he instead went further along the footpath they’d stumbled across. It curved left, running almost parallel with the road, then climbed a formidable-looking hill. ‘Up,’ he ordered.
The ground beneath their feet was increasingly steep, the narrow path little more than a greasy furrow. The climb was difficult and slow, both of them having to help each other to keep moving forward, the summit never seeming to get any closer. After several minutes Clare reached the top. She stood upright, hands on her hips, panting hard. Tom pulled her down.
The distinctive alien ship had stopped less than half a mile away, he estimated, and was now hovering over a large, open expanse of grass. Below it he could see the queue of people entering the field through a single gate. It took him a few seconds to realise, but there were far more people in the field than the number he’d seen on the road. He’d estimated that hundreds of people had just marched past them, but there were thousands here. What was this place?
