Vaporized

by Simon Rosser

  The elevator doors closed and the tube of liquid that had been supporting the entity was severed in the process. The tendril thrashed around inside the lift, and then hit her on the neck.

  Amber felt immediate pain at the impact site, like the worst bee sting she’d ever experienced, and started feeling immediately nauseous, and also incredibly thirsty. A thumping headache quickly followed.

  Amber fell to the floor, her backpack preventing her from falling backwards. The entity just swayed in front of her, grinning stupidly, and appeared to be absorbing her bodily fluids. That’s what it felt like, she was sure.

  She tried to pull the tendril away from her neck, but it was stuck fast. Feeling increasingly tired and drained of energy, she remembered the flour in her backpack. She reached back with her right arm and pulled the toggles to loosen the top flap, and pulled out a bag of flour, which she’d deliberately packed at the top of the bag.

  She moved the bag of Homepride to her lap, and split the top of the bag open with her nail, just as the elevator reached the foyer. With the little energy she had left, she emptied the bag onto her neck, where the tendril was attached. The tendril immediately loosened, bits of it falling to the floor in a gooey mess. What was left of it then retracted back into the entity’s abdomen.

  Amber quickly emptied the remains of the bag of flour at the thing’s torso. The flour was instantly absorbed, causing chunks of the entity to fall away.

  The elevator doors slid opened, and Amber scrambled to her feet and limped out, just as the doors started to slide closed on the advancing mass of acrid smelling gelatinous liquid.

  Without looking back, Amber ran as quickly as she could along the corridor towards the main foyer, each step sending an electric shock of pain up her leg from her injured ankle.

  She raced to the exit, hobbled down the steps to the pavement and limped briskly along St Thomas Street, back towards the Thames. She looked behind her, but nothing was following her. The flour had done the trick again, she realised thankfully. Above, the storm clouds looked less threatening, but the sky was now an odd light-crimson colour. A clap of thunder rumbled way off in the distance. At least the storm appeared to be receding.

  The time was now almost 2 p.m. and she realised she needed to eat and drink, and get out of the centre of the city as quickly as possible.

  Amber made her way back onto the small wooden boat and steered it along the remaining shallow body of water, towards the west, along what was left of the River Thames, determined to get as far out of the centre of London as possible. The river was now only around forty feet wide, exposing some three-hundred and fifty feet of muddy banks either side of the boat.

  Amber motored out into the centre of the river, a place where she felt relatively safe. It wasn’t long before a feeling of exhaustion enveloped her, following the encounter with the entity in the elevator. She shuddered at the thought of how close she had been to becoming liquidised by the disgusting, alien, gelatinous mass.

  Amber continued on, noticing that the large tendrils along the banks of the Thames appeared to have gotten larger, gorging the river’s water for, as yet, unknown purposes. The view from the top of The Shard had confirmed her worst fears. The Event, which she was now calling it, hadn’t simply been confined to the centre of the city. The fact that inbound aircraft had crashed upon landing at Heathrow, suggested that whatever had happened was possibly a worldwide phenomenon, no doubt connected with the mystery objects that had entered Earth's atmosphere, and landed at both the North, and South Poles.

  She choked back panic as she thought about her parents in West Wales, not wanting to accept that they might be dead.

  Amber thought back to the night of the weird lightning, and wondered how she survived, when nothing else clearly had. Thinking back to her actions that night, she recalled going into her uncle’s panic room to fetch drinking water, when she noticed the strange blue flash. Could the room have somehow protected me from whatever had happened?

  It was clearly a possibility, she realised. Whether it was a blessing, or a curse, was another matter.

  Amber’s pattern of thought was interrupted, when she noticed that the river ahead had almost completely dried up. The entire river had been sucked dry by the alien tendrils. The river bed ahead was just a wide strip of mushy brown mud. Her plan to motor all the way along the river to the outskirts of London wasn’t going to be possible.

  Luckily, a narrow channel of water remained, branching off to the right, just deep enough to negotiate the boat along. She steered along the narrow strip of water, and up to a vertical stone wall, which formed the right bank of the Thames, and cut the boat’s engine. The wooden boat came to an abrupt stop as its bow crunched up against the stone wall.

  Amber looked up and surveyed the wall in front of her. A couple of feet to the left, fixed into the wall, were some rusty iron hand grips. It appeared to be the only way up. Albert Bridge was some two hundred feet further along on what was left of the river.

  Amber grabbed her backpack, pulled it onto her back, and stretched over to the iron hand grip protruding from the wall. At the same time, she used her right arm and the palm of her right hand to steady herself. At full stretch, she was just able to reach the hand-grip with her left hand.

  She slowly brought her right arm over to the metalwork, and grabbed it. Her body was now leaning at a thirty degree angle, her feet still positioned on a raised section on the bow of the wooden boat.

  Amber kicked away from the edge of the boat, her hands and arms momentarily taking her full bodyweight, until she was able to place her right foot onto the lowest metal rung.

  She clung on to the metalwork, resting, whilst sucking in some deep breaths of air. After a few minutes, she slowly ascended the ten feet or so to the top of the wall. Her left ankle protested each time she had to weight bear on it, but she knew she needed to ignore the discomfort in order to get to the top.

  Amber reached the top, and peered over. The Chelsea Embankment was littered with abandoned vehicles and the Nineteenth Century red brick properties, that lined the street opposite, were covered in alien tendrils. They protruded through now shattered windows, snaking down the facades of the properties, before merging into one large thick trunk, which continued down the street, towards the city. Amber could see that one section of it branched off across the road, and over the embankment wall, into the Thames.

  Amber pulled herself over the wall, and headed left, towards the west, keeping off the road. After walking for about forty minutes, limping heavily, she reached Old Church Street. Just beyond the street, on the Chelsea Embankment, there was a large pile up of vehicles. Three buses had skidded across the road, and collided with six other vehicles. The burnt out chassis of what was once a luxury 4 x 4, protruded from the mess.

  The pile-up blocked the route forward, so Amber had no choice but to turn right, up Old Church Street. The only other option was to clamber over the bonnets of the wrecked vehicles, which she considered was too dangerous.

  She pulled out her smartphone and checked the map, but there was no signal. She reached into the side pocket on her backpack, pulled out the London street map and opened it up. She quickly pinpointed her position and figured that if she walked a little way further, she could loop back around to the embankment, avoid the wrecked vehicles and continue heading west.

  She headed up the street, reaching the first left turn after fifteen minutes of walking. As she turned left into the street, she froze. A large translucent tendril, the width of a car, snaked across the road, some fifty feet ahead of her, and smashed through the front door of a large office building.

  Glass and pieces of the building’s façade cascaded to the street, as the tendril pushed its way further into the building. The rest of the huge translucent cylinder of gravity-defying water, extended along the street away from her, curving around a building on the opposite side of the road, and out of sight.

  Amber slowly backed away and turned left, up the main
street, on towards the King’s Road. The sound of shattering glass echoed along the side street behind her. The sudden realisation that the meagre bags of flour, she was carrying, would have no effect on the monstrous-sized thing she just saw, sent a chill up her spine, so she quickened her pace.

  The time was approaching 3.50 p.m. when she reached the Kings Road. The normally bustling street would usually be full of London’s fashion elite, shopping and dining, but now it just looked like the city’s other deserted streets; covered with ash, and litter and extremely eerie.

  On the left side of the street was an old cream and blue building, now occupied by Cineworld Cinemas. The steel and glass front entrance doors were smashed and hanging off their hinges.

  Across the street, were two up-market wine bars, which looked relatively unscathed. Amber had intended turning left but, again, the route was blocked by a burnt out lorry, which had jack-knifed across the road before colliding into a Bentley. The cab of the lorry had smashed through the front of a building on the right side of the street. The Bentley had been left wedged between the building on the left and the rear of the lorry.

  Beyond, Amber could see a row of cars and buses which had been prevented from passing the spot; the scene was the same on the right.

  “Shit,” Amber, cursed, as she limped across the street and up Old Church Street. She continued along the Kings Road, heading into what was clearly a very wealthy neighbourhood. Beautiful, well maintained, light grey brick properties; townhouses, mansions, and apartments lined both sides of the street, all now apparently bereft of their wealthy owners.

  The green trees, that once lined the pavements, were now just dried out and leafless versions of their former selves, and looked like something from a Scottish Moor in wintertime.

  Amber continued walking. There was no sign of any of the alien tendrils here. She was very tempted to go and take a look inside some of the properties, to see what they were like, find out what their owners looked like. There would be framed photographs of the families that once lived in each property, but she decided against it. It would be far too dangerous. Her journey was taking much longer than she’d planned. It was already 4.20 p.m. and she was nowhere near getting out of the city. The sky above was still thick with reddish-brown clouds, looking like an eerie daytime sunset, giving a surreal hue to the dying afternoon light.

  Amber stopped to take a rest and sat on a low red brick wall. She pulled out her map to check where she was, together with a Mars Bar which she wolfed down. She then drank what was left of her bottle of mineral water, noting she only had four bottles left. The only drinkable water, that had survived the Event, had come from her uncle’s panic room.

  The next major street ahead was Fulham Road, but it ran southwest, back towards the Thames. It meant she had to walk all the way up to Cromwell Road, to then head west and out of town. Once she reached the larger roads and the main arterial route out of London, she’d have to find a car she could use.

  Amber folded the map back up, and shoved it into the side pocket on her backpack. She pulled the band from her ponytail and let her hair fall down over her face, shaking her head to untangle her hair. She dreamed of standing under a hot shower, soaping her body and washing her hair.

  The sound of breaking glass dragged her from her thoughts. She pulled her hair back and placed it into a pony tail, as she looked around.

  Again, the sound of more glass shattering from the rear of one of the properties lining the street, pierced the silence.

  Amber grabbed her backpack, pulled it on, and jogged up the street, looking back and turning around every couple of paces, to check if she was being followed.

  Amber pulled the straps of her backpack, securing it tightly against her back, and ran as fast as she could up the street.

  She passed Elms Park Road, on her right, and continued running. She sensed something was behind her, but she didn’t slow down to look around. She continued past a row of neat red brick terraced houses, and felt herself starting to tire. With her heart pounding in her chest, she stopped running and turned around.

  Amber’s jaw fell open, as she watched a huge translucent tendril snaking up the middle of the road towards her. She turned, forcing her legs to move again and continued sprinting in the direction of Fulham Road, just a short distance ahead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the tendril draw level with her, as it matched her pace, moving up the middle of the road. Unable to outrun it, Amber stopped, and ducked down behind a silver BMW convertible, parked against the curb.

  Amber drew in shallow breaths, too petrified to move, or even breathe deeply. Where the hell was it?

  All she could hear was the thump, thump, thump of her heart, pounding in her chest. She slowly turned her head, and could see the worm-like body of the tendril stretching back down the road, from the direction she’d just come from. The front of it was behind the BMW, somewhere in the road, just ten feet or so away from her.

  Amber slowly crawled towards the front wheel of the BMW and peered around it, keeping her head low and close to the curb. As she surveyed the road, she felt a splash of water fall onto her left cheek.

  Paralysed with fear, she slowly looked up. Hovering above her was the blunt end of a translucent tendril. Amber screamed, but no sound came from her mouth, her throat was far too dry. As she looked at the tendril hovering above her, the molecules of liquid, within the structure, started to rapidly morph into features she began to recognise.

  Within seconds, Amber found herself staring at an image of her own face, as the alien began to mimic her.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE ALIEN TENDRIL swooped down over Amber, its blunt end now formed into a perfect image of her own face. Amber held her breathe, for what felt like an eternity, waiting for the thing to attack her but it didn’t. Amber’s facial expression reflected her emotions, alternating from initial shock, to confusion and then fear, which was copied perfectly by the entity above her. It was if the thing was mocking her.

  Amber felt like retching at the strong smell of ammonia emanating from the thing, but she managed to suppress the feeling, and very slowly, whilst looking at her own terrified image looking down at her, moved her knees and feet into a position that allowed her to manoeuvre.

  Amber inched slowly backwards in order to position herself just in front of the vehicle’s driver’s door. The thing above her tracked her movement like a giant snake, as if it was preparing to strike.

  Crouching just behind the seam of the door, Amber slowly reached up with her right hand, and slipped her fingers into the space under the door handle. She then closed her eyes and pulled.

  Clunk, the door opened.

  With the door open a crack, Amber glanced up. The tendril moved back and up into an arc, as the end of it rapidly transformed from a reflection of herself, into a dagger-like spike.

  Amber frantically struggled to unclip the straps of her backpack, and it fall away from her shoulders. She then yanked the door open, sprang up from her crouched position, and fell into the driver’s seat of the BMW, quickly slamming the door closed behind her.

  She punched the driver’s door locking mechanism down, instantly locking both the driver and passenger’s doors.

  Outside, the spike-shaped tendril swiped down, striking the windscreen of the car with huge force, cracking it.

  Where are the damn keys? Amber mentally screamed, as she frantically felt around for them. She hoped they were still slotted into the ignition, but no such luck. She searched in the central console and behind the sun visor, hoping they would drop out like they did in the movies, but they weren’t there.

  Outside, the tendril reared back again and struck the windscreen a second time, this time, smashing it completely.

  Amber ducked down, realising this was it. The next strike and the thing would get her. She felt around in the foot-well, just in case the keys had fallen down there. As she did, she placed her hand into a mound of ash. “Shit!” she cursed, realising the owner of the
vehicle must have been vaporized in the front seat.

  Then, as she pulled her hand away, she felt something cold, something metal. She grabbed the object, pulling it from the ash. It was the vehicle’s ignition key and alarm fob. She disengaged the alarm on the fob, rammed the key into the ignition slot and twisted it clockwise.

  The tendril struck again, this time narrowly missing the windscreen and hitting the convertible roof, tearing through it like it was butter.

  The BMW’s engine turned over, but the car failed to start. She tried again, and slammed the palm of her hand down on the horn in desperation.

  Suddenly, the engine sprang to life, spluttering a little, before dying.

  The vehicle’s battery appeared to be fine as the car’s horn blasted, but the engine was knackered. The tendril reeled back from the sound of the horn, but only for a few seconds. Sensing any potential danger had passed, it slammed back down onto the roof of the car, penetrating further into the convertible’s material hood.

  Amber, her hands now shaking, started to weep. She twisted the key in the ignition a third time and screamed. “START, you German pile of – !”

  The BMW’s 2.5 litre fuel injected engine roared into life. The tendril instantaneously arced backwards, and away from the front of the vehicle.

  Amber unlocked the driver’s door, quickly opened it a foot or so and dragged her backpack inside, throwing it onto the front passenger seat. She then pushed the sports gear stick into first, and slammed her foot on the accelerator pedal.

  By the time the tendril slammed back down, the BMW was twenty feet away. Amber wrenched the gearstick into second gear and, before she realised, she was hitting 60 mph and the BMW’s engine was screaming. Suddenly, she heard a loud bang and the car lost power, and steam came billowing out from the bonnet.

  By the time the BMW’s engine blew, Amber had travelled the remainder of Old Church Street, crossed over a main junction into the Fulham Road, and into Selwood Terrace.