The Silence

by Tim Lebbon

  “Shit. Shit!”

  “Try the jack,” Glenn said. He sounded different. Woozy, weaker. Maybe there really was something about being hung upside down for too long. Blood rushing to the head? Unconsciousness? Huw thought it was a myth, but he didn’t know for sure.

  Kelly was beside him, touching his arm.

  “The jack,” she said. “I’ll help.” Together they tried to figure out some way to wedge the jack into the space between door and frame. It wouldn’t go. It was too thick, even in its lowest profile. And even if they could, Huw feared it would rupture the metal around the framing before popping the lock.

  “Okay, back inside,” he said. “I’m going to try and jack the column up from his legs.”

  “Huw,” Kelly said softly.

  “No!” he said. He wouldn’t talk about leaving Glenn here. Didn’t even want to think about it. But with that on his mind, it was all he could think about.

  “She’s right,” Glenn said.

  “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered. He dropped down, slid back in through the windscreen and scooted himself into a sitting position next to his friend.

  “Really,” Glenn said. “You need cutting gear. Fire brigade. And I don’t think they’ll send a rescue helicopter today, do you?”

  “Shut up,” Huw said again. “Don’t try to be in control. You’re not in control of this.”

  “No, you are,” Glenn whispered. “Your family depend on that, mate. Kelly’s strong. Right now she’s stronger than you because she’s right. Think about it.”

  “I can’t.” He moved the jack up beneath the wheel, trying to figure out where he could place it without it crushing Glenn’s legs. If he propped it on the seat between his legs, wouldn’t it just compress and break the seat? He needed somewhere solid to hold it against, something stronger than the ruptured steering column he wanted to move.

  He tried not to look too closely at Glenn’s wounds. His legs were broken and compressed, but his stomach had been injured as well.

  “I don’t want you and your family here when they come,” he said.

  “We won’t be. Neither will you.”

  “I fucking mean it!” Glenn said, hissing as pain scorched through his body. “Now you made me raise my voice. But I mean it, Huw. Leave me, go find somewhere to hide and ride it out. A cottage. Nice fire, wine cellar.”

  “You’ll die.”

  He’d said it. They were all thinking it, but he’d said it, and now it was out there it couldn’t be unsaid.

  “Maybe, but only me,” Glenn said. “Lots of people are dying. But not your kids. You want to see Jude torn apart by those things?”

  Huw propped the jack, but there was not enough room to turn the handle.

  “Fuck!”

  “Huw,” Kelly said. She was crouched next to the door, looking in past Glenn’s trapped legs.

  “Tell him, Kelly,” Glenn said.

  “Huw, we have to get the kids away. We’ll come back. Glenn can keep quiet, stay safe, and we’ll come back when—”

  “When it’s safer?” Huw asked, feeling hysteria pressing in on him.

  “Maybe,” she said. “But we don’t know what’s going to happen when they come.”

  “She’s right,” Glenn said. “What if I pass out, shout, scream? Because honestly, it hurts like fuckery, mate.”

  Huw threw the jack down. It clattered against metal, sparking, and he held his breath. Beside him, utter silence.

  “Well that could have been bad,” Glenn said, and Huw couldn’t help laughing. It was manic and felt dangerous, but even Glenn managed a chuckle before he hissed and held his breath again.

  “I’ll come back,” Huw said. “Couple of hours…” But he trailed off. He couldn’t promise anything. “I don’t want to leave you to die.” He was crying now.

  “Pussy,” Glenn said. “Go on, I’ll be fine, I’ve survived worse than this.”

  This time Huw couldn’t find it in himself to laugh. He crawled from the Land Rover without another word and marched uphill, head down, not meeting his family’s eyes. Kelly went with him and tried to hold his hand, but he shook her off. Glenn might be watching. He might see the hope between them, and Huw didn’t want that.

  “Dad?” Jude asked. “Where’s Glenn?”

  “We’ll be coming back for him,” Kelly said. “As soon as it’s safe.”

  “Safe?” Ally asked, and whether it was a question, or she’d simply picked up on Kelly’s final word, Huw could not tell. He jumped into the Jeep and started the engine, slamming his door and waiting for the others to get in. Jude was speaking, pleading, and Kelly tried to quieten him down. Lynne said something in that deep, quiet voice he so fucking despised, self-righteous and know-it-all. He hated himself for hating her right then. Hated himself for everything.

  Ally urged Otis into the boot and she was the first to climb in behind Huw.

  “He told you to go, didn’t he?” she asked.

  Huw didn’t turn around to reply, nor did he nod. He simply gripped the wheel and stared downhill at the stricken Land Rover.

  The smell of petrol hung heavy in the vehicle. It was on their clothes. The scent of blood was more subtle.

  When everyone was inside he slipped into gear. Kelly was beside him. He waited, ready to let off the handbrake, drive away, edge down past Glenn and into the valley beyond. He saw all this in his mind’s eye, and actually experienced the sickness that he’d feel with every minute he put between himself and his dying friend.

  He closed his eyes and turned off the ignition.

  “No way,” he said. “There’s no way.”

  14

  Even while the enemy advances, people are writing history texts about the Day of the Vesps. They’re recording events that happened in Eastern Europe, the rapid spread across the continent, the vesps’ limited incursions into Asia and North Africa, the efforts made and battles lost. They are charting world reaction to the tragedy, including the USA shutting all sea and land borders, Australasia isolating itself from the world stage, and the military skirmishes in the Far East between Japan, China, and North and South Korea. Interviews are being collated, opinions sought, and books written, even while vesps occupy airspace above the writers’ retreats, and danger still stalks the streets. And I find this encouraging. Looking ahead in this manner is testament to the human spirit. It speaks of a belief in survival, and on this dark day, such belief is vital. So I say to these historians… keep writing. You are already creating our brave new world.

  Prime Minister’s Address to the Nation (audio only), 11 a.m., Saturday, 19 November 2016

  “I can prepare you to live in silence,” I said. “Listen.”

  We were all there, sitting on the ground close to the overturned Land Rover so that Glenn could hear too. We’d made a renewed effort to free him, but to no avail. He groaned and hissed in pain whenever we touched the steering wheel, and trying to push him out sideways had made him scream in agony. I had seen my family’s reaction, and it made me glad I couldn’t hear.

  I’d suggested going across the hillside towards the distant roadblock and seeking help. But Mum told me that there was still intermittent gunfire coming from that direction, and several new fires had sprung up further along the line of stationary traffic. She and Dad feared that if we made ourselves known it would bring trouble, not help.

  “It doesn’t feel right,” I said. “To see you, know you’re with me, but to not hear your voices. It’s unnatural. It’s wrong. But you can get used to it.” Lynne sat on a small rock with Jude standing beside her, arm around her shoulder and leaning in. Mum and Dad knelt close to the Land Rover. Dad was squatting down holding Glenn’s hand. I couldn’t see if Glenn was even aware, didn’t know if he could hear. Mum had told me that he was drifting in and out of consciousness.

  Otis was sitting by my side, panting softly, pupils dilated with excitement. I wished he could understand my words as well because I worried about him. His zest for life, his excitability. His ba
rking.

  “You feel cut off from the world. Like a wall has gone up, and things are moving on without you. It was like that for me to begin with. But we all have an advantage that most people won’t have—we can sign. Lynne, you’re not as good as the rest of us, but you’ve got to know a lot of our sign language, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, I—” she began, but I cut her off.

  “Sign it,” I signed.

  Lynne smiled, nodded, and very carefully and purposefully started signing. “It takes me a little time to understand. But I get there in the end.”

  “So we won’t be cut off from each other,” I said. “Perhaps in the Jeep we’ll be able to whisper. But even that might be dangerous. So to begin with, when they get here, I think we should stay silent. Completely. Until we know more about them.”

  Mum waved to get my attention and then spoke. “We’ll all face each other,” she said. “So that none of us feels alone.”

  I smiled. Mum knew me so well, and understood why I hated travelling in the car. The rest of my family would be feeling like that soon. Seeing each other’s faces would give us all strength, the means to communicate, and the confidence to do so in silence.

  Dad leaned forward, low down, and looked in at Glenn. He said something to him, then looked up and repeated what he’d said for my benefit. “I told him we’ll be very close.”

  I nodded. Otis whined and I ruffled his neck. Dad looked at the dog.

  “What if we need to go toilet?” Jude asked.

  “We’ll go now,” I said. “And if we need to go in the Jeep, it’ll have to be in the boot.”

  “It’ll stink!” Jude said, with the familiar fascinated disgust that only young boys can muster.

  “Then you’ll be used to it,” I said, grinning at him. He signed something rude that nobody else saw.

  “We’ll have one of the shotguns,” Mum said. “Glenn will keep the other one with him.”

  “But we can’t use them,” I said. The whole idea of guns was shocking to me, and when I blinked the twin, dark barrels of the shotgun I’d faced seemed to float before my eyes. The concussion of the blast, the man’s shocked expression, the sight of his wife’s shattered ankle and dragging, blood-smeared foot was horrifying.

  “For later,” Mum said. “After it’s safe to leave the Jeep. Just for protection.”

  There was so much we didn’t know about after, and I felt eyes and attention on me. They wanted me to say more—I’d been following the news, taking accounts, building my own picture of what was happening, including rumours and speculation about the nature of the vesps. But I knew little more than anyone else.

  “People are surviving,” I said. “Shut away in basements or sealed buildings. Keeping quiet and still. But I don’t think all the vesps move on. Infants hatch and swarm, but the ones who lay eggs hang around.”

  “Where do they lay their eggs?” Jude asked.

  “In their prey,” I said.

  “What, in people?”

  I didn’t reply. No one else spoke.

  “In their eyes and their mouths?”

  Lynne muttered something, and Jude’s eyes went wide as he glanced past Dad at Glenn.

  We all fell silent.

  A cool breeze drifted across the hillside carrying the stench of smoke. I saw my family glance up and past me as one, and guessed there had been more gunfire. I had no desire to turn around and look. I’m going to be seeing enough as it is, I thought, and a chill went through me, deeper and colder than the wind breathing across the barren hills.

  Mum stood. “We should get ready,” she signed. “Let’s make sure we’ve thought of everything.”

  How can we think of everything when we don’t know anything? I thought. But I took a deep breath and tried to steady my nerves. Now was not the time to start panicking.

  Now was the time to be silent.

  * * *

  Dad went to move the Jeep close beside the upturned Land Rover, but I saw him and Glenn talking heatedly. I couldn’t make out anything Dad said, but it resolved with him leaving the Jeep where it was and stalking to the back of the ruined vehicle.

  In case he makes a noise, I thought. Glenn doesn’t want to put us in danger if he starts shouting in pain. I wanted to kneel down and talk to him, but knew how awkward it would be. He could only sign a few basic phrases, and with his bloodied face and swollen lips, I’d have great difficulty reading him. It would be a one-way conversation, and I knew how awkward those were.

  So I busied myself getting the Jeep ready instead. We sorted through the bags in the rear of the Land Rover and pulled out the supplies that hadn’t been spoiled by the leaking fuel: tinned food, a few packets of dried pasta, and some cans of lemonade and bottled water. Most of the clothing was stinking and unusable, but Mum scattered a couple of boxes of shotgun shells on a flat rock to dry. She checked over both weapons thoroughly, then loaded one and knelt close beside Glenn. She was there for some time, and when she stood and walked away she left the weapon behind.

  It disappeared through the smashed window as Glenn pulled it inside.

  I raised an eyebrow at Mum, and she signed, “My grandfather took me shooting a few times when I was your age. You’ve got an action-mum.”

  Lynne wiped the outside of the Jeep’s windows so that we had a clear view. Dad walked across the slope a little, scouting the way ahead and down for when the time came to leave.

  If the time ever comes when we can risk starting the engine, I thought. The future was a stark, dark place, shaded by unknowns and tainted by fear.

  At two o’clock that afternoon the fear came home to roost.

  * * *

  “Vesps,” I whispered. “Mum, Dad… vesps!” I pointed across the hillside in the direction of the distant, traffic-clogged road. Smoke still rose from several burning vehicles, and the military roadblock remained in place. I squinted, wondering if I was wrong and had simply imagined the worst when I saw a cloud of specks in the sky. But then I saw movement on the ground, starting at the top of the slope where the road appeared over the hillside, and panic settled over the land.

  People were running. They flowed downhill past parked vehicles and the hedges lining the road, every colour of clothing, heads bobbing, individual shapes falling and rising again to continue their flight. Maybe they’re screaming, I thought, hoping against hope that they were not.

  In the air above and around them the pale shapes flew. They flitted and swirled, spiralling above the road, dropping and rising again. People tripped and were immediately smothered in vesps. Some fled into the fields, leaving their cars and loved ones behind. The creatures darted after them, swerving back and forth before closing in and landing on their targets.

  The flicker of gunfire—muzzle flashes, coughing smoke—erupted from among the military vehicles, and a cloud of creatures quickly converged on the roadblock.

  I’m seeing people die, I thought, and horror gripped me, crippling, paralysing, shattering.

  I sensed movement beside me and instinctively ducked, glancing that way with a hand held up to ward off danger. Dad was reaching for me. He held my hand and pulled me gently towards the Jeep.

  Mum, Jude and Lynne were already inside. As Dad climbed in behind them, I checked for Otis.

  He was standing halfway between the Jeep and the rolled Land Rover, staring uphill past the Jeep with his hackles bristling, teeth bared.

  “Otis,” I whispered, tapping my leg gently as I always did when I wanted him to come to me. He ignored me. I turned to see what he was growling at.

  Pale shapes had appeared above the hilltop and were drifting down towards us, veering back and forth across the landscape. “Otis!” I whispered, harsher, and the dog leaped past me into the Jeep. I followed into the back seat, pulling the door almost closed behind me, both hands on the handle, unsure whether or not to tug it. Lynne reached across and hauled the door closed. I felt the impact and my whole family froze.

  Then we turned as one and looked bac
k at the Land Rover.

  It was difficult to see Glenn from this angle. I could just see his head and arm, the stark, dark shape of the shotgun lying beside him, and the puddle of blood beneath him on the upturned ceiling. He was motionless. I hoped because he knew what was happening.

  Still looking outside, I reached over and grabbed someone’s hand. I wasn’t sure whose it was. Mum and Dad were in the front seats; me, Jude and Lynne were in the back, and Otis had jumped over into the boot, already used to travelling there.

  The vesps came. There were not as many as I had expected. Several flew by on the left a couple of metres above the ground, circling the Jeep and Land Rover and then moving on.

  They must have echolocation, like bats, I thought, and it had never occurred to me before. If they were blind and hunted by sound, they must also have a means to navigate, feel where they were going.

  And they were horrible. The size of large kittens, leathery wings perhaps twice as long as their bodies, skins or hides a pale, sickly, slick yellow, flowing tails like several split tentacles, the nubs of legs on their lower bodies, and teeth. I saw the teeth even as they flew by, because they were bared. Small but glinting, their lips were drawn back like folds of skin, mouths exposed and ready to attack, eat. And what was worst about them was their unnaturalness. They simply were not meant to be. They were like a child’s drawing of a monster given life, all whimsy stripped away, only horror and ugliness left behind. They reminded me of deep-sea fish, blind and ugly. I had always appreciated nature for what it really was; if we were watching a natural history programme where lions caught a zebra and Mum made some comment about the poor creature, I would say that the lions had to live. But these things…

  They had shattered the natural balance. A mutation. A plague.

  A vesp whispered along the side of the Jeep, larger than the others. Perhaps the first few I’d seen had been infants, but this was clearly an adult. Its trailing wing left a moist smear across the windows, and Otis bared his teeth.