The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller

by Smitherd, Luke

  As the ringing sound came down the line, I was halfway relieved; if he was there, he at least hadn’t unplugged it from the wall. Seven back-to-back but unsuccessful calls later, I began to have severe doubts. I decided to try three more before setting off in the car, but he finally picked up on the next ring. It was immediately clear that the fear still had him, that he hadn’t connected and broken its hold.

  “Leave me alone!” hissed the voice on the other end. It was choked and hoarse, the desperate tone of a madman. I struggled to hear anything of the man I knew in there. “You fucking bastard, leave me alone, I just want—”

  “Paul, Paul, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me, it’s Andy,” I said, interrupting and trying to sound as calm as possible, even though inside I was anything but. It almost seemed pointless, calming him down to give him such awful news, but if I was going to tell him, I wanted him to be in his own mind. He deserved that much. “I know you’re freaking out, but I just need you to listen to me, okay? I know what’s wrong, and I can stop you feeling that way.”

  “Andy?” said the stranger’s voice on the other end, cracking with emotion at the sound of a friend’s voice. I didn’t know how long I had until that temporary relief twisted into suspicion and fear, turning on me as if I were an intruder, so I knew I had to be quick. “Andy, what’s happening? Oh God, what’s happening to me? I can’t … I can’t stop feeling …”

  “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you,” I said in my best soothing voice, and trying not to lose my barely maintained self-control at hearing such a big man as Paul turned into a whimpering wreck. “I need you to stop for a moment for me and think, okay?”

  There was no reply from the other end of the phone, except for the slightly distant sound of sobbing. It was awful to hear, but this was purely a courtesy call—no, more than that, a call made out of respect … and even friendship—and I couldn’t listen to that for too long or I would lose all my resolve.

  “Paul, I need you to listen. Come on. Please. I’ll stop you shaking.” I said it as softly as I could, but I couldn’t keep the tremor out of my own voice. I could feel my own, real fear threatening to creep back in, and I pushed on, head and hands feeling cold and strangely light.

  “Help me …” the voice on the other end of the line whispered, and I nodded even though there was no one in the room with me.

  “All right, Paul, I will. I need you to try something for me. You remember what it felt like? In your head, do you remember what it felt like when you tried to lock in with the Stone Men?”

  The was a brief pause, then a sniff and a whimpered sound that was in the affirmative.

  “Okay. I need you to try to do that in your head for me now,” I said, as if talking to a child. I felt sick doing it. “Okay? I know there’s no pull, but I need you to try to feel for it, just like you did before. You know what I mean, don’t you?”

  There was again silence on the phone. It went on for longer this time, almost to the point where I was no longer certain that Paul was still there. I began to wonder whether he was able to do it at all; he’d needed me, after all, to find Patrick’s signal, but I’d thought that he would lock in without trouble now that he was the target. Correction, now we were the targets. I was going to speak again, and then suddenly I heard a yelp on the other end followed by the sound of the receiver hitting the floor. I heard a series of cries, and what was possibly the sound of stumbling feet, followed by silence again. He’d done it. He’d been in and out, the fear effect had short-circuited the same way that it had with me. Now his mind was his own, and he knew that he was going to die.

  I sat down on the floor, sighing and rubbing my temples, and waited. Now I knew that Paul was back in himself, I didn’t know how he’d react. He’d been hysterical before, but that had been inflicted by an outside influence. Now it was just him. A good two or three minutes must have passed, and still there’d been nothing from the other end. If he’d passed out, I thought, then I had no idea when I’d be able to speak to him. I couldn’t make the phone ring again to wake him up if it wasn’t on the hook.

  Eventually though, his voice came back.

  “Andy?” he asked, softly. His voice was calmer now, but still hoarse. And scared.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you … have you …”

  “Yep.” My lip trembled, but I would not let it give way.

  “Oh Andy … oh fuck …”

  “I know. I know.” I had to give a big, snorting breath inwards to hold it all in. If he wasn’t giving in to tears, then neither would I.

  “What …” His voice was barely audible now. “What are we gonna do?”

  “Well … probably not a good idea to book any holidays, eh?” I said, the words coming from nowhere, but had to bite back a giggle that threatened to turn into hysteria.

  “What are we … what are we …” babbled Paul, and this was the worst part to hear. This was him. This was coming from the real Paul. “Straub. We … we’ll call Straub.” His voice had brightened slightly, his words coming out almost in a jumble as he clung to something that looked like hope.

  “Probably the worst person to call, buddy,” I said with a deep, pained sigh, putting my fingers on my eyelids, and realised that maybe I wasn’t being fair. I’d had more time to get used to the idea than Paul had—not much, admittedly, but when time was against us like this, my adjustment had taken a comparatively long period—and I was wired differently than he was, after all. And he’d not been in the best way before any of this. “I think we both know what her solution would be.”

  “Jesus …” said Paul, his voice muffled, and I thought he was talking with his hand over his mouth. There was silence for a minute or so, and then Paul spoke again. “We stayed in too long, didn’t we,” he said, his voice low and resigned. “They saw us.”

  “Maybe, maybe,” I replied. “I think they probably would have spotted us anyway. We were on their frequency, after all.” I felt a burst of anger, and kicked at the nearest kitchen cupboard door. It came off its hinges with a bang, and I suddenly threw the mug I was still holding at the wall, where it exploded. It wasn’t fucking fair, and I wanted to destroy the whole place, but I couldn’t allow myself to do that. I had things to do. I took a deep breath and went back to the phone.

  “What the fuck was that?” gasped Paul, startled.

  “Sorry … me. Just … expressing my … distaste.”

  “Don’t do that, I’m pretty fucking wired right now, you arsehole!”

  “Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry.”

  “No … no it’s okay. Jesus, if you don’t have an excuse now … then when do you?” Then silence descended once more. I had no idea what to say. What could I tell him? What was I ringing to actually say? I hadn’t even thought about it, I just wanted to give him his dignity back and … what? Pay my respects? Then I realised that’s exactly what I wanted to do. I wanted to give Paul my respect.

  “Look … I don’t know what you’re going to do, Paul,” I said, quietly, feeling a strange sense of calm and purpose settle into me, I had never experienced its like before. “But I’m going to … take care of things. Early. Do the right thing here, you know? Try to stop people getting hurt.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Paul’s voice down the line. His voice was shaking again.

  “Bit easier when you’re saving the day by giving up other people, eh?” I said, and then the tears came and I couldn’t stop them, and Paul joined me. This went on for some time, but there was no shame in either of us.

  “Look, look,” I managed to say when we’d calmed down as much as could be expected, “I just … I wanted to say that, what you do is up to you, and I won’t judge you, or anything like that, okay? I just wanted to say that you’re a good bloke, and … none of the other stuff was your fault, all right? You were doing the right thing.” The words were clogged and barely audible, more like squeaks than the manly tone I would have liked, but he understood me.

  “Yes, yes,” Paul gasped back. “Yo
u … too. You’re a good guy Andy, I-I like you and you’re a good guy.” I chuckled briefly, a grim, short bark then sent a small bit of spit flying across the room.

  “I’m not, you know,” I said, shaking my head sadly, “I’ve not really tried too hard to be one, either. I don’t really like people, I’m think I’m pretty shallow, and all I’ve ever really thought about—not totally, I’m not Hitler, for fuck’s sake, but most of the time—is getting ahead. And … ahh, Jesus, some other stuff, and I’m sorry for all that, I really am …” I trailed off, trying to think of the best words to describe the intentions that I’d only recently found, the sense of … fucking dignity that came with it. “But this … this I think I can do.” That calm feeling embraced me, a melancholy but firm resignation that told me I could be, for the first time in my life, certain about a course of action. “This is a good thing. This last thing … this is a good thing. And I’m the one doing it. I’m not fucking happy about it, but … this is something worthy. I don’t know if that makes sense to you.”

  There was silence on the phone.

  “You’re right, Andy,” Paul said at last, solemn. “It is worthy. I just wish … fuck me, Andy, I just wish it wasn’t us.”

  “Yeah,” I said, but I didn’t add the sincere Me too that hovered on my lips. I thought it would somewhat take the shine off the noble point that I’d just made.

  “How’re you gonna …” Paul asked, not needing to finish the question.

  “I’ll figure something out,” I said, already having it planned. I just didn’t want to talk about it, but I was going to do it in private; undisturbed and on my own terms. They wouldn’t get to walk across my country and wreck it, or at least not the one coming for me. I would be long gone. It occurred to me that maybe the kid’s death—Target Three, as I would only ever know her as—had maybe not been in vain. It gave us information, knowledge about how to at least stop them early. The thought didn’t bring any comfort, though. I had my own death to worry about.

  “Are you gonna talk to Straub first?”

  “Yeah. Not just yet though. Gonna wait ’til they arrive—it’ll be soon, I think, a few hours, tonight at the latest—then try the map, see if I can get anything. Give them a head start if possible.”

  “Right … the Third Arrival. Fucking thing,” said Paul, his voice low. “I think … I think I’ll call Straub too. Speak to her about … getting some help. You know. Keep it quick, like.”

  “Okay, mate,” I said. “But look, you know, don’t forget. After seven or eight hours … after they’ve started walking …”

  “Yeah. Yeah. The things, the … the barriers.” He sounded sick.

  “Yeah, them. Just keep them in mind, time-wise I mean. I’d, uh … I’d best be going.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

  “Good luck, Paul. Hope it goes … ah, fuck, forget that. It was nice knowing y … ah Christ, that’s even worse. Sorry.” Paul actually laughed in response down the line, but it was punctuated with sniffs.

  “Fantastic send-off there, buddy, brilliant,” he said, voice trembling even more, but I gave a sniff-laugh of my own in return. “I appreciate the thought, though,” he said, “and the same to you man … I don’t care what you say. I think you’re a good bloke.”

  “Thanks, Paul.”

  There was much more to say, and yet there wasn’t.

  “Take … take care then.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you too. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  With a sense of finality that was nearly overwhelming, I pushed the ‘End’ button on the phone. That was the last time we ever spoke to each other.

  ***

  I did start off by mentioning you, Paul, when I began recording this, and I wish to God that you could have a listen to it. I’d love to hear if I missed anything, or if I was getting anything wrong. A real shame, that.

  Anyway. Time is ticking … always is, right? Heh … anyway. There’s just a bit more to tell. Just time for a little bit more. Just a bit longer.

  ***

  I drove back to Birmingham, after calling ahead to the hotel that I’d been staying in whilst the workmen had renovated the house. I didn’t want to take care of business in that building; someone would hopefully live in it again someday, maybe a family, and it just didn’t feel right. People died in hotels all the time, didn’t they? That’s what I thought, anyway. And, I admit without any shame, it would stall time quite nicely. I could have stalled until the moment they actually came back if I wanted, but I knew that would be a bad idea. The longer I waited, the longer I would have to talk myself out of it.

  Everything on that twenty-five-minute drive took on an extra air of sweetness; songs on the radio—ones that I’d previously not even cared for—now sounded like masterpieces, and the inane chatter of the DJ sounded like life itself. The industrial buildings either side of the M6 now had a dark beauty to them, buildings that I’d looked at in the past and had no desire to ever see again. My vision blurred with tears many times, and I nearly pulled over once or twice as the enormity of what I had to do hit me. And then I would think of Henry, and how he’d handled things, and how he’d managed it even in the state he’d been put into, and I would tighten my hands on the wheel and carry on.

  As I drove, I rang Straub. I’d rethought my previous plan, and decided to at least give her a heads-up. She needed a chance to get the wheels turning as early as possible, get units ready to scramble, even if I couldn’t tell her where to scramble them to. For once, they would know that the Stone Men were coming before they arrived. All I could get right now whenever I locked in was that horrible, screaming wind that signalled my own death, and there was no way I was facing that noise again. It was like hearing the screech of a nightmarish pack of hounds as they fell upon me, and the memory of that sound made me picture teeth finding their way into my spine. I was doing more than enough for my country as it was. I would just have to wait until the Stone Men were actually here, and try to get their individual destinations if I could. I doubted it, but it was worth a try.

  Once she picked up, I gave her the details. I told her to prepare for the Third Arrival, who at least two of the targets were, and what I planned to do. As expected, Straub was a consummate professional about the whole thing.

  “Mr Pointer … Andy … I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, taking a deep breath. “You seem to be … taking it rather well.”

  “I wasn’t exactly having the fucking time of my life beforehand, to be honest,” I replied, wishing for the fourth or fifth time on that drive that I had a bottle with me and feeling deeply, deeply sorry for myself. “All that cash as well, eh? What as asshole. What a fucking asshole.” I punched the wheel and the horn beeped, causing the driver next to me to look my way. I didn’t return his gaze.

  “You’d seen some awful things that you weren’t trained for, Andy. And you were deeply involved with them. You couldn’t be expected to shrug all that off.” She sighed, and it sounded as if she was moving into a chair. It was a rare sound from Straub, one from the heart. “I blame myself for that. I should have made sure we got you counselling, or at least trauma therapy … things were just so crazy afterward, and our first priority had to be preparing for a return. If you’d have asked … no, you shouldn’t have had to. I’m sorry, Andy. We let you down.”

  “Doesn’t matter, Brigadier,” I said, biting back more fucking tears, “I’d still be screwed now, either way. At least this way I’m in the mood for it.”

  “Andy,” she said, talking closely into the phone, her voice softer. “Is there anything we can do? To make it … easier? We could sedate you, you know. Then a final injection. You wouldn’t feel a thing. Peaceful.”

  “Thank you, Brigadier, but I think I want to be on my own. I think it’ll be pretty painless as it is, to be honest. I’ll leave the spook phone on so you know where I am; you don’t have to worry about me getting cold feet. I’m …” I sighed, and realised that the sun was starting to set in the grey horizon
. Jesus, I thought. That is some bleak shit. “… I’m doing this.”

  “You’ll be a hero, Andy. We’ll make sure of it.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Just give all my money to Coventry Refugee fund, okay?”

  “Done.”

  “Andy … how many are coming this time?”

  “No idea. How are your new backup guys checking out?”

  “Everything adds up with three of them. They know things they couldn’t possibly know, with complete accuracy; we think that if we get them together, like you and Paul, we’ll have another hunting unit. You’re not leaving us unmanned, don’t worry.”

  “And what are you going to tell them? About what happened to me and Paul?”

  She fell silent, but only for a second.

  “We’ll tell them what they need to know of the truth. That you were cut off.”

  “I see.”

  “My job is to look after the country’s best interests, Andy. You know that.”

  “Mm.” A dark thought occurred to me. “Did you suspect this? Did you think this might happen? To me and Paul?”

  Straub sighed again, but it was sad, reluctant one. When she next spoke, as ever, she was direct. The softness in her voice was gone, however, and the distance had returned.

  “It was one scenario we anticipated, yes. We couldn’t be certain, obviously, but once you were cut off we thought it might happen.”

  “Do tell.” I wasn’t even angry. Hadn’t I thought the same with the others, that it just had to be done? How could I stand in judgement now that I was the one being offered up?

  “There’s a common factor amongst the targets, obviously,” Straub said. “People within a certain genetic bracket. The Stone Men connect with them, and then hunt them down. Fair enough. And the targets seem to know on some level that they’re picked, have an ability to receive the signal, or what have you. And there are those who are sensitive to it, the ones who got migraines or were sick, people perhaps on the outskirts of that genetic bracket. And on the other end of the scale are people like you and Paul, the ones who can not only receive it but search for it, who can tune between different frequencies. And all of those people, we theorised, must have something in common, something the Stone Men, or their masters, want. I think you yourself might have suspected that they just pick the first target they find, yes? Distance and time aren’t a factor for them; their targets are going nowhere once they’re pinned in place, after all.”