The Silence

by Tim Lebbon

  Lynne was being stronger than ever now. I thought perhaps she might even take control.

  “Yes, we need to know exactly what’s going on,” Mum said.

  “We’ve seen!” Dad said. “You’ve seen more of this than me. Hasn’t there been talk of… intervention? The military? Any discussion about what those things are?”

  “It’s all been scattered news reports and amateur footage,” Lynne said. “The government’s emergency… thingy, that was meeting last night.”

  “Cobra,” I said.

  “Yes, them. But there’s been no official word.”

  “There must be soon,” Mum said. “Jude, bring my laptop, will you?” Jude jumped to her words.

  Dad touched my wrist, waiting for me to look at him. Then he signed, “Can you fetch me the atlas from the living room?”

  I nodded. I knew what he wanted, and why. I was already trying to work out distances and times myself. But it’s still so far away, I thought. And there’s the Channel. They’d never cross the English Channel, they couldn’t. Could they? I dashed into the living room, and as I passed the TV that had been left on with sound on mute, I caught sight of a face I recognised.

  “Mum! Dad! There’s a press conference!”

  The rest of my family crowded around. Even Jude, no longer bored, hugged the laptop to his chest.

  Mum said something to Dad and he put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close.

  Lynne picked up the remote, turned up the sound, and switched on the subtitles as the Prime Minister approached the microphone and lectern set on the street outside Number 10 Downing Street.

  He looks tired, I thought. And I’ve never seen him looking so glum.

  He shuffled some papers, tapping their edges to straighten the pile. Then he looked around at the assembled cameras, attempting a smile that turned into a grimace. He coughed. Several microphones and handheld recorders poked into the picture.

  “By now…” the Prime Minister said, and he coughed again, holding his hand to his mouth. Someone appeared from out of picture and handed him a water bottle. He nodded thanks, took a drink, and seemed to compose himself. “By now you will all be aware of the events in eastern and southern Europe. Rumour and conjecture is widespread, both on the TV and Internet, including social media sites and independent news outlets. Overnight I chaired a meeting of Cobra, and all through last night and into today, my government and I have been in touch with our embassies overseas, and the governments of those countries affected.

  “What we are certain of at this point is this: a swarm of creatures, not yet identified and of unknown origin, has been sweeping across several countries in Europe. They have caused widespread panic and, regrettably, many deaths. It appears that they attack any living thing other than those of their own species. There’s evidence that they eat some of their victims, lay eggs in their flesh, and that these eggs have an accelerated birth rate, hatching within hours. The creatures’ young are able to fly upon hatching. They eat their host. They multiply at an aggressive rate. Communication with infected areas is sporadic at best. Attempts to infiltrate infected areas have been mostly unsuccessful. The creatures…”

  He coughed again, took another drink.

  “It appears that they are blind, and they hunt by homing in on sound. Built-up locations, areas of dense population, are therefore worst affected. Death tolls are unknown, but several sources from Moldova, Romania and Ukraine have described them as ‘catastrophic’.”

  There must have been questions shouted from the reporters, and the Prime Minister held up his hands to calm them down.

  “Please,” he said. “Please. Let me finish my statement and then I’ll take questions. I have spoken to as many European leaders as I can, and I assure you of this: we are doing everything in our power to ensure that Britain remains safe. All military, police and other emergency service leave has been cancelled indefinitely. All public service leave is also cancelled. All foreign travel is postponed, and we are commencing a phased shutdown of all major air and sea ports. We are offering whatever help we can to those countries affected. Scientists are striving to find out more about this swarm… this plague… and we will find a way to stop them.” He paused, and was immediately deluged with more questions. They came thick and fast, too quick for the subtitle service to list and type them out. The Prime Minister looked harried, glanced left and right as voices clamoured to be heard.

  Someone appeared behind him and whispered into his ear. He tilted his head, and for a second I thought he looked like a little boy, a bullied kid being offered an easy way out. But then he seemed to remember himself. He shook his head and said something to his aide, then held up his hand.

  “One at a time.”

  A question was asked.

  “No, evacuation is not an option.”

  Another question.

  “No, my government and I will not be seeking cover in any shelter. We will remain here in office, serving the country to the best of our ability.”

  Another.

  “Yes, I saw that, and yes, the caving expedition is a possible source of these creatures. That is being investigated. But let me say…” He suddenly looked scared. He glanced back towards Number 10, where several aides stood huddled by the door, and a dozen security men kept a good watch on their surroundings. It looks like he’s seeking permission to say something more, I thought. But he’s the Prime Minister!

  “Let me say,” he continued, “the reports we have are… serious. These things—they’ve been called ‘vesps’ by the popular media, and that’s as good a name as any—they hunt by sound. I’ve seen footage, heard first-hand accounts, read reports. They seek out noise, in the same way as other animals hunt by smell or sight. Helicopters that fly over the infected zones have been brought down. They’re reproducing and hatching at a staggering rate, and they’re voracious!”

  He’s gone off-script here, I thought, and sure enough his aides suddenly seemed nervous, glancing at one another until one of them stepped forward. She whispered something to the Prime Minister, but he ignored her. It was as if he didn’t even know she was there.

  “Honestly, we don’t know much more than you.” He stopped then, blinking into the camera lights and seeming to look much further. “We’re doing everything we can. I’m being completely honest and open with you, and I promise that I’ll be here, on the hour from now on, to give you any updates. God help us.” He paused for a moment as if to say more, then turned and walked back towards Number 10. His aides were already fluttering around him. He looked like someone under attack.

  “That wasn’t what I expected,” I said. I stood and turned, looking at my family so I could be part of any ensuing conversation.

  “What were you expecting from the spineless idiot?” Mum asked.

  “Kelly!” Lynne scolded. “Didn’t you see? He wasn’t the Prime Minister there at the end, he was a human being, just like us. Scared and confused.”

  “Much as I hate it, I agree with your mother,” Dad said, smiling softly. “I think he’s being as honest as he can be.”

  “He made me frightened,” Jude said. “It’s like a film, except it isn’t.”

  “No evacuation,” I said. That’s what had unsettled me most. Awful though it was, the idea of moving, fleeing, seemed to be the only action we could take. I’d already been thinking things through. We have an attic, but we can’t stay up there for long, too small. No cellar. Could barricade one room, maybe, and…

  Memories of the old Cold War information films I’d seen came flooding back. Take down doors, form shelters beneath your stairs, stock up on canned goods, take a bucket for a toilet, make sure you have plenty of water, and a radio and spare batteries…

  As if any of that could possibly have helped against an atomic bomb. It had been guff, hollow instructions designed to make the public think they could do something useful instead of just sitting there waiting to be killed. And to stop them running.

  The last thing t
he country needed was millions of refugees streaming out of the cities.

  “Nothing’s safe,” I said. “Nowhere. No one.”

  “What do you mean?” Jude asked, and it shocked me to see him crying.

  “They hunt by sound, and where’s quiet? Nowhere.”

  Only in my head, I thought. That’s the only quiet place.

  6

  There is evidence that the spread of the creatures popularly known as “vesps” is slowing. Contact has been made with all affected governments, and policies put in place. Great Britain is as prepared as it can be, and we have one distinct advantage over our European neighbours—we are an island. There is no evidence of the infestation crossing large bodies of water. Our message to you at this time is as follows:

  1. Do not leave home. Mass migration is not the answer, and may impede the ability of military or emergency personnel to travel where required.

  2. Continue monitoring the BBC News channels—television, online, and radio—through which all government statements will be released.

  3. Do not panic. All necessary measures are being taken to combat the threat.

  BBC News Emergency Broadcast, Friday, 18 November 2016 (repeated hourly)

  What a heap of fucking shit.

  BBC Newscaster, Friday, 18 November 2016 (her final broadcast)

  They needed to eat. Lynne had suggested that, and as she went about preparing a meal with Ally and Jude helping—Ally sensible and efficient, Jude instantly dropping a bag of dried pasta across the kitchen floor which Otis commenced to crunch on—Huw had to admit that the old woman was worth her weight in gold.

  He had a strange relationship with Lynne. She annoyed the hell out of him sometimes, but he also loved her, and knew that she’d given Kelly just about the best upbringing anyone could hope for. When her husband Philip had died of a heart attack soon after Ally was born, she had barely stumbled. She was crying on the inside, she’d always told them when they asked how she was. Kelly had crumpled, Huw had been her rock, and Ally—still so young and demanding much of their time—had been her reason to pull through. But Lynne had sailed her own sea of grief and loneliness alone, only asking for rare help when the storms became too great. There were some who would call that stubborn and proud, and once Huw might have been one of them. But he also knew Lynne was a dignified woman.

  She’d need that now. It was three weeks ago that she’d been told her cancer was terminal. She’d faced the news with her familiar stoicism, insisting that Ally and Jude not be told until she was ready to tell them herself. Lynne had also spent a long time quizzing the oncologist about managing her symptoms, and how her independence would be affected. She wanted to live in her own home as long as possible. It wasn’t about being a burden on anyone—she knew that Kelly and Huw would have looked after her without a qualm, and to the best of their efforts—it was about being able to look after herself. Not misplaced pride, but dignity. Lynne had always lived on her own terms, and she intended to die the same way.

  Such choices might now be taken from her.

  “I can’t believe this,” Kelly said to Huw.

  “Yeah.” They were in the living room together, with the hallway door closed. “He looked scared! You never see him like that. Angry, sure, a lot of the time. Even when he tries to smile he looks angry. But it was almost as if he didn’t want to be there.”

  “Would you?” Kelly asked. “With what’s going on, it’s no wonder he looked like a rabbit caught in headlights.”

  Huw sat beside her on the sofa, shoulders and thighs touching. They weren’t very physical with each other any more. She usually dismissed it if he brought it up, said they had busy lives. It upset him sometimes. Made him think there was something wrong in their marriage when, in all other respects, they were tight. Maybe it was just a part of starting to grow old together. Whatever the reason, he took comfort from that contact now.

  “So what do you think?” his wife asked. She leaned in against him, also taking comfort.

  I think I’m not going to be like him, Huw thought. The Prime Minister had looked like a man who didn’t know what to do. Someone scared to make choices, because of the impact his choices might have on the whole country.

  Huw couldn’t afford to let fear distort or confuse his actions. He had always been afraid, he was smart enough to realise that. But now that Doomsday might truly be here, he could still fear the worst, but had to start thinking the best.

  “Map,” Huw said. He stood and went to the bookcase, scanning the reference books on the lower shelf until he found the atlas he’d asked Ally to fetch. The TV had distracted her, all of them. But now was the time to work things out.

  He sat back down in the armchair, apart from Kelly but able to open the atlas on the furniture arms between them. He flipped it open to the political map of Europe, suddenly shocked at his lack of geographical knowledge.

  “Here,” Kelly said, touching Moldova.

  “Sure it was northern Moldova? Shit, I hardly knew it existed before today, and it’s as big as Wales.”

  “Yep, somewhere close to a place called Edinet. Pretty certain I heard that.”

  “Right, so that was about six last night.” He delved down into the magazine rack between the seats and fished out a pen, writing the place and time on the edge of the map.

  “By six this morning there were incidents in Ukraine and Romania.”

  “And Hungary,” Kelly said.

  “Right.” Huw tore a strip of paper from a magazine, placed it on the map’s scale and marked some distances. Then he placed the paper spanning the northern tip of Moldova. “So that’s… maybe four hundred miles.”

  “Twelve hours,” Kelly said. “About thirty miles an hour.”

  “Look at you, Miss Maths,” Huw said, but he was examining the map. It was chilling to think what might now be happening in these countries he was looking at, and which he knew so little about. Moldova. What the hell was Moldova known for? Had he ever seen anything about it on TV, read anything? It was a blue country on his map, roughly the size of Wales, and yet he knew nothing about it. Not its capital city, its currency, even its language.

  “There can’t have been that many of them down in the cave,” he said.

  “They say they breed quickly, grow fast.”

  “Like Alien.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” He’d said it as a joke but it didn’t feel remotely funny.

  “First mention of Bucharest was about ten this morning,” Kelly said.

  “Earlier. I was having breakfast at the hotel.” Huw measured the distance. “Almost four hundred miles.”

  “Thirty, maybe forty miles an hour.”

  “Then this afternoon, 3 p.m., Austria and the Czech Republic.” He measured. “Maybe eight hundred miles, twenty hours.”

  “So how far is Moldova from here?” Kelly asked softly. He looked up. She was scared, and beautiful. He wanted to protect her. He wanted to protect his whole family, though the weight was heavy, the pressure crushing. All the badness he’d spent much of his life fearing seemed to be settling around them now.

  He measured. “Maybe thirteen hundred miles to the Channel, as the crow flies.”

  “The crow,” Kelly said, and he knew that she was thinking of those pale, flying things. Perhaps the size of crows, but so much more deadly and terrifying. No one seemed to know what they were, but for Huw’s purposes that did not matter.

  “Couple of days’ travel, if they keep up the same speed of spread,” he said. “So tomorrow evening they might hit the French coast.”

  “If nothing’s done to stop them,” Kelly said. “If the military don’t have something. Gas, chemicals, or something. If no one finds a way to kill them, or if they don’t die of natural causes. Sunlight, perhaps. If they’ve been in the dark for so long…”

  “Too many ifs,” Huw said. He sat back and stared at the atlas. He felt sick, the same way he felt when he watched people on TV free-climbing or illegally scal
ing tall towers.

  “Fight or flight,” Kelly whispered.

  He reached for her hand, clasped it tight. They often jokingly said that they were parents now instead of husband and wife, but for Huw that joke had a sharp, sad edge. Romance was rare. They made love, they were a good, solid family unit, but though they loved each other he wasn’t sure they were still in love with each other. It was never something that he’d say to Kelly, but he guessed she thought the same way. They were still together when many of their friends were not. They were still secure and comfortable. But so often he wished for more.

  “I was thinking the same,” he said. “If what they say is true—”

  “About them using noise to hunt?”

  “Yeah. Usk’s a small town, but it’s still noisy. We’re surrounded by countryside, but… we’re not remote. Where can you go where you don’t hear traffic noise, or see signs of civilisation?”

  Kelly frowned, looking at the wall. “Mid Wales. We go to Snowdonia.”

  “No,” he said. “Not far enough. Not remote enough.” We’re talking about running, he thought. Actually vocalising it was making it real, and that was scary. This house, this home, had always been their castle, the place they retreated to during good times and bad. He’d tried to make sense of his parents’ deaths here, and Ally’s terrible injuries following the crash that had killed them. Kelly had mourned her own father within these four walls. This house was more than a home, it was part of the family. It held their history like layers of paint. The structure had heard the raised voices of arguments and the sighs of lovemaking, Jude’s baby language changing and growing, Ally’s words remaining even though she could no longer hear them herself. They could not leave it behind.