by Tim Lebbon
He looked at Kelly instead and she beckoned him to her.
It was awkward climbing over the back seat, squeezing past Ally—still stiff, still looking away from him—and into the driver’s seat again. He moved slowly and cautiously, careful not to kick a window. They didn’t know how much noise the vesps needed to home in on, how loud or persistent it had to be. They knew nothing.
Jude slid over and crouched beside him on the seat. He hugged his father and Huw took so much from that. It could have been forgiveness, but he thought it was more a sense of need. Whatever he’d done to the dog, Jude needed him to be there.
Huw hugged his son back and looked through the smeared windscreen.
Twenty metres downhill, there were still vesps crawling across the overturned Land Rover. Others smothered the rocks and the sparse trees sprouting from them. They slipped in and out of the vehicle, emerging with blood smeared across their sickly yellow skin. Their mouths were wet, dark, red holes. He could not see much inside, other than a bloodied, tattered arm and hand slumped from the window. Glenn was dead in there, and perhaps now home to vesp eggs that would hatch very soon. They’d killed and eaten of him, but left enough for their young to consume.
Huw was determined that would not happen. It was too much. Glenn had distracted them from the Jeep, and Huw believed that he’d known very well what he was doing. He could not bear for him to become a birthing ground for more of those monsters.
Soon, he would perform one last favour for his friend.
A strange calm had settled over his family. They had been waiting for this moment for days, and now it was here some of the pressure had been relieved. Fear sat in its place. It was a heavy, tactile fear, fed by what they could see all around them rather than by nebulous news reports from afar. They sat still and silent, watching vesps flying past, sometimes slow, often much faster. The sense of being surrounded was very real, and Huw knew that was the immediate danger—becoming too scared to leave the Jeep.
And they would have to leave. They could not remain here indefinitely, with very little food and hardly anything to drink. Five of them could not live and sleep in such confined quarters. And there was Otis.
He’d soon begin to smell.
Huw caught Kelly’s attention and started to sign.
“We’ll have to get away from here soon.”
She nodded.
“We’ll leave it a couple of hours, see how many of them there are.”
“Maybe they’ll thin out,” she replied.
“Or maybe there’ll be flocks of them.”
Kelly shrugged. None of them knew.
He looked in the rear-view mirror. Ally was huddled with her back against the side door, legs drawn up, arms hugging her knees to her chest, staring from the rear window. Huw didn’t think she could see Otis from there—the back seat was in the way—but he wished he could reach out instead of her having to comfort herself.
Lynne tapped him on the shoulder and started signing. She was clumsy, and had never really perfected the Andrews family’s personalised signing language. But she had gone to classes to learn, made a big effort, and he could only love her for that.
“Don’t be angry at yourself. There was no other way.”
Huw nodded his thanks. Lynne smiled and touched his shoulder again, leaving her hand there this time.
“I’ll need one of your secret cigarettes later,” he said.
She raised her eyebrows.
“Not to smoke.”
She nodded, confused. He’d explain when the time came.
Jude squirmed beside him and looked from the windscreen. He was staring at the Land Rover.
Huw pressed his mouth to his son’s ear and whispered, “He did it for us.”
No vesps came. None hit the windows at the folly of a father’s whisper. Good. They could talk, at least, though it had to be muted.
Jude nodded slowly, but he was only a little kid. What a terrible thing to see. What an awful thing to accept, that a family friend had sacrificed himself for them.
We’re all learning again from scratch, Huw thought. And perhaps everyone might soon be in that position. It was a new world now, and they were all children.
* * *
Kelly was the first one who needed to urinate. She signalled this to Huw, pointed into the boot, shrugged.
Otis was back there. Bad enough that he’d killed the family dog, no one was going to piss on the poor mutt’s corpse.
Huw nodded, then gestured outside. He’d been keeping track of the time, and it was now mid-afternoon. If they didn’t move soon, they’d have to face spending the night in the Jeep.
Cuddling Jude, becoming warm and sweaty with the boy curled on his lap, Huw had been weighing up their options. Maybe they could stay in the Jeep and open the door whenever one of them needed a comfort break. Would the door opening and closing again be noise enough to attract a vesp? Would the sound of piss hitting the ground? There was no room to move around, and he could already feel his legs stiffening, the dog urine drying into his jeans. They had a few tins of food. They’d already drunk most of the bottled water. He’d risked turning on the ignition and lowering his window an inch, so at least they had fresh air, though it had a strange odour. Perhaps they were safe for now, but he was afraid that the longer they stayed put, the more difficult it would be to start moving again.
He favoured walking. It meant going outside and being among them, but over the past hour the number of vesps passing by had diminished. They were always in sight, but now only ten or so passed by each minute, rather than dozens. He could see some of them resting or roosting, usually in elevated positions—on rocks, in the branches of trees, and several remained on the Land Rover’s underside—and a few seemed to settle comfortably on the ground. If they moved cautiously, slowly, and quietly, he was confident that they could pass the creatures by.
A house would be a far better place in which to hold out. If they were lucky they’d find one with a supply of food and water. But any solid building would be better than this.
He had briefly considered driving the Jeep downhill, but that was a non-starter. The vesps would swarm to the noise, and in moments the windscreen would be covered and they’d be blind. This time, with nothing to lure them away, the creatures might persist in their glass-scratching.
He had ideas of a distraction to set them on their way.
Ally still hadn’t looked at him. He thought perhaps she’d fallen asleep with her head resting on her knees. The more time passed, the more nervous he was about the moment when they would have to communicate with each other again. He didn’t want her to hate him. He didn’t think he could handle that, not now.
Huw signalled to Kelly that they should get ready to move. She nodded slowly. Her mother had seen the exchange and she also agreed.
“You all move along the hillside that way,” he signed, pointing north away from the traffic-clogged road in the opposite direction.
“You?” Kelly asked.
“I’m going to see to Glenn and set a distraction.”
Kelly held out her hands in a What? gesture.
Huw went to answer, but that was when Ally turned around and looked right at him. He stared back, more scared right then of his daughter hating him than the creatures outside. He felt utterly wretched about what he’d done, but also as certain as he could be that it had been necessary. But if Ally did not believe that, there was nothing he could do to persuade her otherwise.
“We’re leaving?” she signed.
Huw nodded.
“Okay. But I want to say goodbye to Otis.” She offered a sad smile, and Huw could not hold back the tears that burned his eyes. He watched his daughter lean over into the back seat, ruffle her dog’s fur, scratch him behind the ear. She stayed there for some time.
Jude stirred and saw what was happening. He scooted across to his mother, rubbing his eyes, watching Ally then turning to look through the windscreen.
Lynne touched Huw’s sh
oulder and signed, “We should all leave through the same door.”
Huw nodded. “I’ll need that cigarette now.”
He was surprised to see how shamefaced she looked as she pulled the packet from her pocket and handed him a couple. She gave him a lighter too, and he tucked them all into his jacket’s breast pocket.
Kelly had one eyebrow arched at her mother, then she fired a questioning look at Huw. He glanced downhill at the overturned Land Rover. And that was enough. She knew, and seemed to accept what needed to be done.
Ally sat back into her seat and rubbed at her teary eyes. Then she checked the iPad charge and disconnected it from the charger. Packing her small rucksack, she looked like a different girl.
Huw leaned between the seats and touched her knee, ready to sign to her, tell her how much he loved her and how he could see no other way. But she made all of that unnecessary.
“It’s okay, Dad,” she whispered. Hearing her voice was a welcome surprise. He nodded, thinking that perhaps it would be some time until it was completely okay. But at least she seemed to understand why he’d done what he had done. He hoped that time would give them the opportunity to talk about it properly.
They all took a few minutes to prepare. Kelly packed the tins of food they’d rescued from the Land Rover, Lynne massaged her legs where they’d gone to sleep, Jude fidgeted nervously. When the time came, Huw felt a stab of doubt.
Were they doing the right thing? Couldn’t they at least try to stay here until help came? But he shook those thoughts aside. Help was not coming. If they stayed here they would die. He made sure everyone was watching before he signed, “I’ll go first.”
16
My dad just killed my dog. We saw our friend die. Suddenly it’s a different world.
Twitter, @SilentAllyA, Saturday, 19 November 2016
The first thing that hit me was the smell.
It was rich, harsh, sour, acidic, a sickly and overtly biological stench that nevertheless bit in like industrial chemicals. It did not belong up here on the wild hillsides, and even the breeze did nothing to disperse it.
The vesps stank. That was one more thing to note about them. Perhaps that knowledge might help us in the future. The creatures drifted by, coming from uphill and flying a couple of metres above ground as they flew down into the valley. To our left lay the ruin of the Land Rover, and a dozen vesps still roosted on the upturned vehicle, rocks, and the trees sprouting above them. Some were smeared with Glenn’s blood. I hated them, felt a rage burning, but knew that there was nothing I could do.
Through the smashed side window I could see Glenn’s shredded arm and hand, but little else. I was glad. At least this way I could remember him as he had been, not as the vesps had made him.
We stood motionless for a while after getting out of the car, huddled in a group and staring around, trying not to move. I caught Jude’s eye, and though petrified he was also fascinated. “They’re totally silent,” he signed. “Can’t even hear their wings.”
I was worried about the vesps’ echolocation. I’d watched them swerve around static obstructions, and they had to know where the ground was, which direction they were heading—and there was no saying whether or not they also used it to hunt. Once we started moving, perhaps the vesps would see us as prey.
But I thought not. From everything I’d seen and gathered in my digital scrapbook, it appeared that they hunted exclusively by following the sound of their prey.
A vesp flitted past my head, close enough for me to feel the breath of its leathery wings. I froze, shock driving through me, but managed to not cry out. I pressed my finger to my lips and looked around at my family.
They were good. Scared but alert to the dangers. But none of them were moving. They stood in a huddle by the Jeep, door still open behind them. The vehicle suddenly felt like safety, but I knew that there was no going back.
I was the first to start walking. I took slow, gentle steps, looking where I placed my feet so that I didn’t stumble or disturb a stone, focusing ahead, holding my rucksack tight over one shoulder. I felt the pressure of my family’s gaze, and I was afraid that if I turned around they’d be beckoning me back. We can’t go back, I thought. Not after what’s happened. Not after Glenn and Otis. The only way left is forward.
I reached a small tumble of rocks and skirted around them, concentrating so hard on my footsteps that I didn’t see what was coming.
They flew past so quickly that one snagged my hair and tugged my head sideways. I winced and held my breath, holding in the scream. I glanced uphill in time to see several more vesps sweeping down towards me, but at the last moment they swerved, none of them colliding. They flew in close formation but did not touch. For the first time I found myself admiring their grace.
Once past the rocks I signalled the others to follow. Again I planted my finger to my lips, signing that they should remain silent. But they did not need telling.
Lynne came first, then Jude and Mum. My mother still carried the shotgun. It was so unnatural in her hand, made her look almost like someone I didn’t know. I didn’t like it one bit. The shotgun would offer scant protection against a swarm of vesps, but I knew it was more to defend against other people than the creatures. That was the way the world was going, and why I didn’t like it.
Dad stayed behind at the Jeep, and he had a cigarette in his mouth. I’d seen him smoking when I was a kid, but as far as I was aware he hadn’t smoked for ten years or more. I knew that Lynne still stole an occasional puff. I could smell it on my grandmother’s clothes, and was surprised when no one else seemed to notice.
When the others reached me, I raised an eyebrow at Dad, and he signalled that we should move on. Mum nodded to me and started leading the way.
Jude grabbed my hand. I liked that, though I didn’t like the look on his face. It was a very adult fear. Witnessing Glenn and Otis’s deaths had made my little brother grow up quickly. Another change forced upon us all.
Mum veered slightly downhill, past a clump of trees and onto a narrow sheep trail that wound through bracken and across a small stream. Several vesps flew by from right to left as we walked, and once or twice a creature passed between us, shedding a trail of stench behind it. How something alive could smell so rank I did not know. Perhaps it was to do with how they communicated. Maybe it was a sign of their excitement at being on the hunt.
A couple of minutes later we paused and looked back the way we’d come.
Dad waved, then leaned into the Jeep. What’s he doing? I wondered. Then the vehicle juddered and began to roll downhill. He leaped away and crouched down, watching the Jeep pick up speed and just skim past the rolled Land Rover. It struck the clump of rocks, jumped slightly, then rolled on, gathering momentum and bouncing across the rough, uneven ground.
Where it had struck the rocks, several vesps quickly converged, hovering, darting down and up again, finding nothing of worth. They continued on, seemingly agitated and dancing in the air, sweeping left and right as if searching for whatever had made the noise.
When the Jeep struck another large boulder and rolled, they found it. It tumbled onto its roof, rolled one more time, then slid to a stop on its side further down the hill, nose thudding into a hollow in the ground. As its back end tilted up at the sky, dozens of vesps streaked in toward it.
They passed by my crouching father, veering around him and downhill towards the Jeep. Others flew quickly past where we waited, trailing their strange tentacles and rancid smells behind them. Striking the Jeep, they crawled across its surface and disappeared inside, and I suddenly realised a terrible truth—they would find Otis in there, and perhaps they would eat him.
Maybe they would even lay eggs.
I sank down to the damp ground, wanting to cry in rage and grief but knowing that these must now become restrained emotions. Whatever enraged me in the future, I could not scream. Whatever grief was visited upon me, I must cry in silence.
Part of me hated Dad for what he’d done, but
I knew it had been the only way. I’d already been worrying about Otis, but my blind love for him had come in the way of any solution. There was no solution to him making a noise, so I’d blocked it out. A problem for later. As it turned out, somebody else’s problem.
I knew that Dad was feeling terrible, and that my haze of hate was already melting to a deep sadness for us all. It was selfish to think that only I had loved him.
Dad edged downhill to the Land Rover, lighting the cigarette as he went. He took what looked like a long, deep drag, and then lobbed the cigarette in through the open portion of the boot door. He hurried towards us across the hillside, watching his footing, and then the fuel ignited with a blue flash. He didn’t look back. By the time he reached us, face grim, the Land Rover was fully aflame. Vesps flew from it and circled the heat before drifting away downhill towards the Jeep.
I found the sight strangely hypnotic. The fire was somehow comforting, because it gave warmth to the desolate scene, and it took Glenn away from us at last. I hoped some of the monsters had been trapped inside. I hoped whatever eggs they’d laid in our friend were bubbling and boiling.
Other vesps flew quickly around, zeroing in on the now silent Jeep. They must have been answering whatever strange call their cousins put out when they were hunting. It was another aspect to them that I would note down, if and when we ever reached somewhere safe.
My parents hugged briefly, then we set off downhill, heading away from the burning vehicle and the Jeep that had brought us this far. Sometimes, when I caught them from the corner of my eye, I thought that distant vesps were snowflakes.
That idea stirred a thought that I could not quite grasp. Confused and troubled, we went in search of safety.
* * *
The cities had fallen first. Loud and chaotic as they were, finding a quiet, safe place in built-up areas must have been next to impossible. Hide your family in one house, and if someone in the next house screamed and attracted a flood of vesps, a chain reaction of terror would doom even those struggling to maintain silence. There was mounting anecdotal evidence of the vesps letting out some sort of signal when they found prey—the strange stench, perhaps, or maybe a sound out of a human’s range of hearing. They acted very much like ants or wasps in that regard, and it made them even more deadly.
