Chaos Theories Collection

by Moody, David

  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.

  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.

  Praise For Author

  Moody is as imaginative as Barker, as compulsory as King, and as addictive as Palahniuk.

  - Scream the Horror Magazine

  Moody has the power to mak
e the most mundane and ordinary characters interesting and believable and is reminiscent of Stephen King at his finest.

  - Shadowlocked

  In his evocation of fear and unease and the speed with which he grips you, he brings to mind old Brit horror writer James Herbert. And that is some recommendation.

  - London Lite

  British horror at its absolute best.

  - Starburst Magazine

  Moody is an inarguably talented author... one of the best horror authors of the new decade.

  - Bloody-Disgusting.com

  Books By This Author

  AUTUMN

  “With AUTUMN, David Moody paints a picture of a marvelously bleak dystopian future where the world belongs to the hungry dead. It’s the creepy start to a compelling series.” --Jonathan Maberry, multiple Bram Stoker Award-winning author of Patient Zero and Zombie CSU

  AUTUMN: THE CITY

  “Moody is a master of the human condition... a must read for any post-apocalyptic fan.” —2 Book Lovers Reviews

  AUTUMN: PURIFICATION

  “Not for the gore-hounds who can't think past a pile of entrails, but the rest of the readers in the world (including the legion of zombie fans with working brains), this is a perfect next chapter in the wonderful AUTUMN series. Landmark.” —Jonathan Maberry

  AUTUMN: DISINTEGRATION

  “Moody has succeeded in not just driving forward the thread of the series but expanding his Autumn universe in admirable fashion.” —Andy Erupts

  AUTUMN: AFTERMATH

  “As demonstrated throughout his previous novels, readers should crown Moody king of the zombie horror novel, and his final book in the Autumn series adds a much-deserved jewel to his crown.” —Booklist

  AUTUMN: THE HUMAN CONDITION

  “Takes the genre in a fascinating new direction. If John Wyndham was alive and writing zombie novels, they'd read like this” —Jonathan Maberry

  HATER

  “A head-spinning thrill ride, a cautionary tale about the most salient emotion of the 21st century... HATER will haunt you long after you read the last page...” ― GUILLERMO DEL TORO (director of PAN’S LABYRINTH, THE SHAPE OF WATER)

  DOG BLOOD

  “If Hater gives you nightmares, Dog Blood will rewire your brain.” ―Bookreporter.com

  THEM OR US

  “Puts most post-apocalyptic novels to shame by facing a reality not commonly dealt with.” ―SFSignal

  ONE OF US WILL BE DEAD BY MORNING

  "Moody really knows how to write creeping, claustrophobic terror, effectively sneaking up on his readers and, finally, scaring the life out of them. Top-drawer horror." ―Booklist (starred review)

  ALL ROADS END HERE

  “The magnitude of the utter desperation painted in blood across its pages is like no other. Trust me, I don’t say this lightly, but the ‘Hater’ series seems to keep getting better and better.”—DLS Reviews (10/10)

  CHOKEHOLD

  “Desolate and relentless, no one is safe here. David Moody has put together a completely satisfactory end to this trilogy.” —Ain’t it Cool News

  STRAIGHT TO YOU

  "Straight to You deserves to be ranked alongside such classics as The Stand and Swan Song." —Ginger Nuts of Horror

  TRUST

  "Trust is a slow-burner and all the richer for it. It's an outstanding novel, delivers in more ways than one, and is worthy of a place on the discerning fan's bookshelf. 10/10" —Starburst Magazine

  STRANGERS

  “Strangers is easily Moody’s best work to date, a dark, disturbing and visceral book that gives him a legitimate claim to the title of Britain’s Best Living Horror Author.” —This is Horror

  LAST OF THE LIVING

  "A truly superb post-apocalyptic story." --DLS Reviews

  THE LAST BIG THING

  “a deeply impressive and highly accomplished set of short story Horror fiction… firmly cements Moody’s reputation as one of the masters of British Horror writing.” —The SciFi and Fantasy Reviewer

  THE FRONT: RED DEVILS

  “brilliant action scenes, a fantastic setting and atmosphere, and an exciting plot that ratchets up the tension until the last few scenes.” —SciFi and Fantasy Reviewer

  THE BLEED: RUPTURE

  THE BLEED: RAPTURE