I just had time to get over my second, disoriented shock inside thirty seconds, and to gulp some air frantically into my lungs as I opened my mouth to say It’s here, it’s coming through now but suddenly there was no need. With a crash of shocking volume and a huge final burst of smoke, the Stone Man smashed its way through the house at the bottom of the street, and began its final unstoppable journey towards us.
***
In my previous career—that of a nobody reporter—I’d taken a lot of eyewitness accounts, covering everything from minor public brawls to full-on explosions (the best being at a chemical factory in Dudley). The most common phrase, the one that I heard time and again was It all happened so fast, even when the actual incident in question wasn’t that fast at all.
I never really understood what they meant until it was all over that day; standing as I was in the dark sunset of a summer evening in Yorkshire and wondering what the hell had just happened. I knew even then that it hadn’t actually happened very fast at all; the Stone Man had come up the road at its own steady walking pace, and everything else had happened reasonably slowly. But when I think about the actual key events, they seem to play out in my mind in such a chaotic, haphazard manner that they feel like they must have been over in seconds. I asked Paul about it later, and he said he remembered them the same way.
In reality, it had probably taken around two to three minutes, and all the actual chaos, the confusion and the shouting, came afterwards as the military tried to save the day, to do anything to respond. But they were far too late.
I haven’t talked about any of this—I certainly haven’t described it in detail—since the day it happened. This will be extremely difficult, and believe me, if I hadn’t worked my way through half of this fucking mini bar I wouldn’t be talking about it now. But I said I would. I have to finish the job. I have to finish the job.
Some nights I still see that street. I can see it through the plastic shield. And whilst in some dreams you’re powerless to stop things from happening, this isn’t a dream. It’s a memory, and I’m no more capable of doing anything about it today than I was then.
***
Even at such a great distance—farther than the length of a football pitch—it was incredible to see. Somehow, you still got an impression of its weight; whether that was from the cracks that appeared in the concrete under its feet, or from the heft of its body as it moved, I couldn’t say, but to see that density, to know it was heavy stone that weighed so much and yet it was somehow bending and folding and travelling like it was made of rubber … it was simply incredible to watch. All over again, I was awestruck, and Paul even more so; I heard him gasp for breath, and I realised that this was the first time Paul had seen the Stone Man anywhere except on the TV.
“Fucking hell,” he breathed, his face pale and his mouth open.
As the Stone Man continued on its slow, inexorable way up the street, we could see it leaving a steady stream of dust behind itself, powder and debris that blew off its shoulders, leftovers of the house that it had just destroyed. I saw this and had a fresh revelation; despite muddy fields, the oil of destroyed cars, the rubble and plaster of demolished buildings and even the white hot fragments of exploded metal from items of various military ordnance, nothing had permanently stuck to the Stone Man. How the hell did any of that not stick to stone?
It would have been so easy to say its movements were robotic, when attributed to a humanoid shape with no facial features, but the fact was the Stone Man was far too smooth in its gait to be described in such a manner. It moved fluidly, yet it was solid and ponderous at the same time. Everything about it, from its size to its movement, said relentless. Unstoppable. It was awe-inspiring, and terrifying at the same time.
I snapped out of my open-mouthed trance, and tried to figure out if it was heading directly for Patrick. The Stone Man was not, of course, following the line of the street. It had come through the house at a slight angle to us, and I felt a lightning flash of excitement as it became obvious where it was aiming. It was still heading for Patrick’s house, and not Patrick himself. Paul tapped me on the shoulder, and pointed frantically at the house. I nodded equally frantically, letting him know that I’d seen it. Shortly, I knew, we were going to get some answers. It was electrifying.
I suddenly realised Straub and her two superiors had moved, and were now stood a few feet to our left. They were of course watching the scene as well, with Straub listening to information from her walkie-talkie, and occasionally calling over her shoulder to someone at one of the nearer consoles, asking for reports on temperature, distance, rad count, and the like. I don’t know what they were hoping to find. She turned to Paul and me.
“This is it,” she said, and even the unshakeable woman looked nervous now, or as nervous as I thought Straub let herself get when in uniform. Her voice was slightly breathless. “You two have been pretty quiet, but if you ever had a time to shine, it’s now. Anything to report?”
Paul and I exchanged a glance, but it was Paul who spoke first.
“Nothing here,” he said, shaking his head, still wide-eyed. “The pull hasn’t even changed, and I half-expected that it would.”
“The what?” said Straub, looking irritated for some reason.
“The pull, you know, the … feeling, the thing that drew us here,” answered Paul. Straub nodded, and turned to me.
“You?”
“I don’t know,” I said, not taking my eyes off the Stone Man. “Just now … I was in it as it came through that house. I didn’t even try to see where it was this time, I was just suddenly in there. I don’t know if it’s because now the thing’s this close, and the shock of the noise startled me—”
“What?” interrupted Paul, but Straub flapped a hand at him and he shut up.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” she snapped, looking furious now.
“It literally just happened!” I protested, “I mean, about thirty seconds ago, and then it was coming towards—”
“Right, right, shut up,” she said, speaking rapidly. Her two superiors looked at me sternly as she spoke. “Did you get anything new from it?”
“Well … well no,” I said, exasperated, turning to her but looking quickly over my shoulder through the plastic screen. The Stone Man had halved the distance between us by now, and seemed frighteningly large and solid; even the cracks in the floor beneath its feet had, to my eyes, taken on a more ominous appearance. Someone called out a distance from one of the workstations, and Straub quickly spoke into her walkie-talkie, telling two men to stand by. I didn’t get their names, but I could see it was the two soldiers stood with Patrick by the way that they both responded into their walkie-talkies, and then looked again towards the Stone Man. According to the workstation people, it was 150 metres away from Patrick, but it was still heading towards the house. All signs so far suggested that it was going to totally pass him by. Then Straub was talking to me again.
“Anything at all? Anything different?” she urged, now quickly looking between me and the approaching Stone Man. The clear tension in her body seemed to make mine worse, as anything that made someone like Straub go into action mode meant it was time for someone like me to start running for the hills. But it wasn’t me that had to be frightened. It was the poor abandoned bastard out there.
Regardless, I forced my racing mind under control and tried to think, which wasn’t easy with three high-ranking members of the military standing in front of me, demanding answers, whilst an impossible stone juggernaut headed up the street. Anything different? Actually … there had been, hadn’t there? That sound. That rhythm that had been quietly been playing. Was that even relevant? What the hell would that tell them? My thoughts were interrupted by a feeling that was beginning beneath my feet, one that Paul felt as well as he grabbed my shoulder in surprise. The big man’s grip was painfully tight, and I realised that he was as electrified as I was.
My brain broke my shock by reminding me where I’d felt this in my fee
t before. Millennium Place. It was the vibrations in the floor caused by the Stone Man’s feet striking the concrete. The call came out across the tent again.
“One hundred ten feet and closing.”
“Well, this … well it might be nothing,” I said, babbling slightly, “but there was like a, like a … quiet rhythm in there. It was very small, but it was there.” Straub held up her hand, snapping her fingers over and over frantically and impatiently. A balding man in a shirt and tie tore himself reluctantly away from his station and hustled over, a younger woman in a lab coat trailing behind him. His face was flushed, either from the excitement of the situation or with annoyance at being called away in the middle of things.
“A rhythm,” snapped Straub quickly, addressing this new man without taking her eyes off me, “does that match up with anything? A rhythm from Caementum.” The balding man looked suddenly exasperated, looking between Straub and me, back and forth, and then at the Stone Man drawing closer and closer to the house.
“Well!” he started, and then shook his head quickly, calming himself. Even in my own shaken state, I recognized this action. This was the response of a man under intense stress who, at the worst possible moment, has been asked a question by someone who not only wants immediate answers, but wants them to a stupid question … and the person asking is your boss. “It, it, it … it depends entirely on the rhythm itself, doesn’t it? I mean, technically the rad count produces a rhythm, but it’s holding steady now and I’d never say it was particularly rhythmic, it’s too inconsistent. Brigadier Straub, I’m extremely sorry, but unless you have something more definite this really is the worst time—”
“Tell him,” said Straub, low and serious, “do it. How did it go? Do it for him. Do it now.”
And then, when my brain heard the question, a funny thing happened.
Straub’s request produced several simultaneous questions of my own in my head, each one answering itself and leading onto another question. As they did so, I caught glimpses of a bigger truth in each thought. If I’d asked myself those questions in a different order, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed it; I don’t know. But as it was, the story told itself, a chain of answers that led to a startling and terrifying conclusion.
I knew, right then, what the Stone Man was here for.
How could I reproduce the rhythm? I don’t know how it went.
So how did the rhythm go? It was familiar, I know that.
Wasn’t it too fast for you to reproduce anyway? You couldn’t do that.
I felt something roll over in my stomach, and I whirled away from Straub and the others to look out through the plastic screen. She was shouting something at me, but in my horror she became totally irrelevant.
But you’ve heard it reproduced before, haven’t you? What is it?
I saw the Stone Man draw near the start of the line of soldiers, and then, for the first time in two days, it stopped walking. My mouth was dry, and when I tried to speak, nothing would come out.
It was a constant, rapid beat, wasn’t it? BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM
The Stone Man raised its head, straightened, and then began to turn on the spot.
GCCAATTGAATTTGGCCCGTTAACTCGCCAATAATCCCGTTAACTCAGGCATG
Something terrible clicked, and I finally realised that the three letters that had been there all along, ever since the guy in the green vest had said them, telling me what the Stone Man wanted. I desperately wished I didn’t know; what could I do anyway? It had to happen. It had to end.
Not Morse code.
Its turn complete, the Stone Man paused again momentarily, and then began walking towards Patrick.
I found my voice.
“It’s genetic code,” I whispered, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene about to occur in front of me.
“It’s what?” whispered Paul, not hearing me, lost in the scene before him. My mouth dry, I looked at Straub as she stared intensely ahead, in control, giving orders into her walkie-talkie. I realised that she had expected this all along. She had to have. The scientific minds at her disposal would have made the connection nearly instantly, unlike myself, who merely thought of a chain of Gs, Cs and Ts, and felt like it was a vaguely familiar reminder of something that I should know, and then dismissed it. The scientists surely worked with that stuff every day. I was just someone who’d seen genetic code a few times, in science fiction films and on the news. How could I have been expected to know?
“You knew,” I whispered, wide eyes on Straub and feeling the heavy fall of the Stone Man’s feet vibrate through the concrete as it advanced upon Patrick. Straub’s eyes darted to mine briefly, but even though she didn’t stop talking into her handset, it was enough to tell me that my suspicions were correct.
“It’s going for him,” said Paul, grabbing at my sleeve as his eyes remained glued to the street. “It’s not going to stop, it’s going for him!’ With that, he actually started to hop lightly from one foot to the other, helpless in his panic and fear for the helpless, unaware man standing in the road. It was such an effeminate action for a man of Paul’s size that it would have been funny in any other situation, but it wasn’t that day because I knew that he was right; the Stone Man wasn’t going to stop, looming larger and larger before us and bearing down on Patrick as if to crush him. It was here for Patrick, for something from his genes.
The soldiers holding Patrick clearly realised it as well, speaking frantically over the airwaves and stepping back, still holding on to Patrick’s arms.
“Hold your position until further instruction,” replied Straub, firm and intense, but I noticed the two soldiers exchange a glance, suggesting that doing otherwise might be an option. Who could blame them? There was an unstoppable, unthinkable stone monster bearing down upon them, come to claim the man they were holding, and its pounding, inexorable footfalls now sounded like a judgement.
The soldier said something again, more frantic now, and Straub repeated the command. On the Stone Man came, crunching pavement as it did so, and I could see both of the soldiers arguing with each other over Patrick’s head.
“Hold your position!” yelled Straub, and for one of the men, those words broke the spell; her words had the opposite effect. He let go of Patrick’s shoulder and began to back to slowly away, holding his assault rifle across his chest. The other man screamed at him, then looked at the advancing Stone Man—now only a few feet from its goal—and seemed to visibly shrink slightly. He hesitated, and then also let go of Patrick, pointlessly aiming his rifle at the Stone Man’s head as he backed away.
Incredibly, Patrick stayed upright, swaying gently on the spot. I realised that his mouth had stopped moving completely, his jaw now hanging limply open. His eyes still stared blankly ahead, seeming to look straight through the enormous stone figure that would have filled his vision, for it was now upon him.
And yet it wasn’t. The Stone Man passed straight by Patrick’s right shoulder, causing Paul to temporarily loosen his grip on my shirt.
“It’s left him, it’s left him, look, it’s left him, it’s left him!” he cried breathlessly, freezing halfway through his foot-to-foot motion. And indeed it had, already several feet behind Patrick and seeming to head towards the retreating soldiers. There was an enormous bang, followed by a shattering sound, and it took a second for me to realise that the second soldier, the one aiming his rifle, had pulled the trigger, the shot ricocheting off the Stone Man’s head and passing through the window of a nearby parked car. The Stone Man, of course, didn’t respond, and instead suddenly began to turn, bringing itself in line with Patrick’s back. Paul’s hand clamped down on my arm once more, and he reassumed his frantic dance.
“Look, look! Why aren’t they doing anything? Why aren’t they doing anything?” said Paul, babbling to himself. He already knew why, of course, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things. Patrick was the sacrifice. There wasn’t any other choice. They had to do it. If the decision had been mine, I would have made the same one. Even Paul w
ould, I think.
“They don’t want to stop it,” I whispered, shaking my head. “They knew it wanted him, and they want it to take him. They need it to happen so it can end.” My breathing was fast and shallow now, horrified yet—to my disgust—excited. Of course it was exciting. Don’t judge me for that. All the other stuff, fine, but don’t judge me for being excited. You would be exactly the same. I was there. Even if you don’t think you would be, you would be. I know.
The Stone Man walked up right behind Patrick … and stopped. As Paul and I held our breath, I realised that the tent around us was almost silent. Everyone, from the science teams to the radar operators to the medical staff to the commanding officers, knew that this was the moment of wait-and-see. And don’t think there was anyone there that wasn’t excited, either. I could feel it, the air hot and heavy with breathless anticipation. The pause continued, almost for a full minute. No one spoke. All you could hear was the movement of air, from hushed human breathing to the mechanically pushed kind coming from the workstation CPU fans. The silence then broke as a cry went up from one of the workstations.
“Temperature drop!” they yelled, meaningless to Paul but not to me. I’d felt a severe drop in temperature around the Stone Man before; it had been just before the Stone Man started walking for the first time.
“Unit one, stand by,” said Straub into her walkie, referring presumably to the line of soldiers by the house. I could no longer see Patrick’s guards, who had retreated out of my sight line. I never found out what happened to them. I’d like to think that they were treated leniently. How could they be trained for that? As I was straining to see their retreat, the cold hit us suddenly, washing into the tent and making nearly everyone gasp either in surprise at the incredible change or as a physical response to the sharp drop in temperature. This time, it was even colder than it had been in Millennium Place; it was like walking out of the sun into a meat cellar. Something new was about to happen. Patrick, meanwhile, was still oblivious to everything, but still miraculously upright.
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