by Sam Kates
“What is it…?” she began, but then she knew. “Oh, shit.”
The dark line was a wave, travelling fast, almost on the submarine. Its hatches were closed so it should be fine, she thought, but the dinghy was another matter. A green wall of water rose to meet the yellow boat and enveloped it.
“No!” moaned Colleen.
“Tom! Ceri!” shouted Will.
Dusty barked and disappeared. For an awful moment, Bri thought he’d jumped over the edge of the cliff, but then she remembered the steps that led down to the narrow beach.
The wave came on, but it had already lost much of its ferocity. Bri caught glimpse of a flash of yellow amidst the green and the dinghy popped out of the back of the wave. Empty.
“Oh, no,” she murmured.
Colleen and Will had risen to their feet and were hurrying for the steps. Someone else had already reached them and started to descend. The man from the submarine, Irving.
As Bri made for the steps herself, the crash of the wave hitting the base of the cliff sounded from below. She increased her stride.
A short line of people were making their way down the wooden steps in front of her. Below, the wave had dashed itself against the cliff and dissipated, leaving behind a seaweed-strewn strip of sand. A black shape was streaking across it.
Dusty. He was heading for the figures that had been scattered along the sand, left behind in the wave’s wake.
Five figures. Human figures.
* * * * * * *
Zach had been about to give the order to open fire on the advancing lines of drones, when they came to an abrupt halt and lowered their weapons.
“What’s going on?” Elliott hissed from behind him.
Zach didn’t answer because he didn’t have a clue.
The lines of drones parted. Striding down the path so created came three of them: an attractive, sandy-haired woman flanked by two men. As they cleared the drones, they came to a stop. The woman unhooked the strap of the submachine gun from her shoulder and handed it to one of the men. She took a few paces forward alone.
“Please may I speak to whoever’s in charge?” she said in an Australian accent.
Joe took a step forward and paused. He looked back at Zach.
“Come on.”
Zach handed his rifle to Aletta. He nodded at Joe’s weapon. Joe shrugged and passed it to Amy. Together, they walked to meet the woman.
“G’day,” she said when they stopped in front of her. “My name’s Tess Granville.” Her eyes widened as she took in the boy’s features. “You again.” She sighed and nodded to her right, to the west. Far in the distance, a dark column was climbing towards the sun. “The Great Coming. Something has gone fatally wrong. I have been contacted by Jason Grant. You may not know the name, but he is one of the Keeper’s Deputies.”
“I’ve come across him,” said Joe shortly.
Zach had no idea what they were talking about; his expression must have said as much.
“No matter,” said the woman. “He is in the west with the Keeper and the other Deputies. They were to welcome our people home. I do not understand how or why, but the people who arrived from Earth Home are dead.”
“Let me get this straight,” said Joe. “All that corpse burning, the food collecting, the slitting of throats at Stonehenge, all that was for nothing?”
“Fuck,” Zach breathed. Both of them looked at him. “I’m probably the one person on this godforsaken planet who benefitted from the Millennium Bug.”
“We call it the Cleansing,” said Tess. She frowned. “But how would any human have benefitted from that?”
Zach shook his head. “That’s not important. What is important is that the Millennium Bug, the Cleansing, was also for nothing.”
Joe’s eyes widened. “You’re right.” He threw back his head and uttered a loud, braying laugh. “It was all for nothing. You idiots!”
Tess Granville had the grace to look uncomfortable.
“So where does that leave us?” asked Zach. He suddenly felt weary to the bone; he wanted to lie down and close his eyes. Perhaps when he woke up the world would seem less crazy.
Tess looked him in the eye. “I have been instructed to call off hostilities.”
“Huh.” Zach exhaled heavily. “You mean, you’re letting us go?”
“So long as you stop attacking us, we’ll let you pass unmolested. All we ask is that you make your way back to Hillingdon Hospital. We’ll send food and medical supplies.”
“Why?” asked Joe, his voice dripping with suspicion. “Why are you letting us go and why do we have to go back to that fucking place?”
“As to your first question, the answer clearly has something to do with the failure of the Great Coming.” She shrugged. “I do not yet fully understand the implications myself. As to your second question, we are asking you to go back to the hospital because you already have people there and we need a base to which to deliver supplies.”
Zach returned the woman’s gaze. “This is no trick?”
Her expression didn’t flicker and she didn’t hesitate. “No trick.”
“She’s telling the truth,” said Joe, as though he could sense it.
The woman turned to Joe. “That’s where we met before. I understand why you don’t like the place.”
Joe snorted. “I remember you now. Must have forgotten for a moment, probably ’cause you’re not my type.” He turned and began to walk back to their weary line of anxiously waiting people.
Tess grinned, the tension draining from her bearing. She called after him: “Not your type? You had your hands all over me, mate.”
Joe waved over his shoulder but didn’t look back. “’Fraid I’m taken now, love.” He reached Amy, who threw her arms around his neck.
“That’s it then?” said Zach.
She nodded and held out her hand. Zach paused for a moment. His thoughts jumped back to December, to his local hardware store in Maine, when he had seen a woman touching objects for no apparent reason; when she stroked his cheek, a scratching sensation began inside his skull.
Zach reached out and firmly grasped Tess’s hand. No unusual sensations, in his head or elsewhere.
Then Zach turned and followed Joe back to the line of people.
Not just people. His people.
* * * * * * *
Jason Grant released the minds of George Wallace and Lavinia Cram.
“Thanks, guys. Couldn’t have done that without your help.”
Supporting Simone had left Grant drained, without the energy to contact Tess Granville alone. With the Deputies’ assistance, he had managed—just—to send to Tess and remain connected long enough to convey his, or more accurately Milandra’s, message.
He peered closely at them. George Wallace looked haggard; Lavinia Cram haggard and distraught.
“Go eat, you two,” he said.
Wallace’s glance darted to the slumped figure of the Keeper.
“Don’t worry about Milandra,” Grant said. “She’ll be fine when she pulls out of it. Shattered and in more need of food than you two, but just dandy. I’ll keep an eye on her in the meantime.”
He watched them trudge away.
Rodney Wilson sat on the ground nearby, arms clutched around knees, staring into space. Grant stepped over to him.
“You okay, man?”
Wilson turned a forlorn gaze to Grant. The man’s eyes looked empty.
“That was ’orrible,” he breathed. “Poor Miss Simone.”
“Well, it’s over now. Eat, Rodney. Then soak up some sunlight. Rebuild your strength. You’ll need it to drive us back to London. I suspect we’ll be leaving tomorrow.”
“P’raps I’ll go fishing.”
“Good idea. Eat. Then sit in the sun and catch some fresh fish for our supper.”
Grant watched him walk slowly away. He needed to eat himself, but wanted to make sure Milandra had pulled out of it first. And he couldn’t leave Simone kneeling in full view of everyone.
He stepped back to Milandra’s side and lowered himself to the ground. There was some sort of activity going on behind him near the cliff’s edge, but he ignored it. He stretched out his legs, leaned back on his elbows and let his head droop back to allow the full glare of the sun to fall on his face.
The hubbub behind him died away and he relaxed. The events of the last hour were surprising and perplexing—from excitement that the Great Coming was at last happening to shock that their people intended to kill them to relief that the Coming had failed—but he was too drained to ponder them. For now, it was enough to be alive with warmth on his cheeks, knowing that a danger he hadn’t even been aware of that morning had been averted. As to how this changed things, and change them fundamentally it undoubtedly did, that could wait until he had recovered and could think straight.
Grant was falling into a restful stupor when movement from Milandra roused him. He raised his head to look at her.
The Keeper was blinking in the sun, her eyes hooded and heavy as though she had been drugged. She turned her head towards him and squinted to focus.
“Jason…?”
Grant sat up and held out his hand to take hers. He squeezed reassuringly.
“All done?”
She nodded. He’d expected her to look exhausted, and she did, but her overriding expression could only be described as troubled.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
Milandra shook her head slowly. “Not all,” she said.
Although Grant did not understand what she meant, he felt the first stirrings of unease.
“Not all what?”
“Not all of them died.”
“The craft from Earth Home? Not all of them died?”
Milandra nodded.
The unease turned to alarm. Milandra grimaced and Grant realised that he was squeezing her hand harder than he’d intended. He let it go.
“How many?”
“Thirty, I think. Difficult to be sure yet.”
“They’ll run. Hole up in Ireland.”
Milandra again shook her head slowly.
“The reason I’m not sure how many survived,” she said, “is that they’re a little too far away. But soon I’ll be able to sense exactly how many of them there are. You see, they’re heading this way.”
* * * * * * *
Tom came around to a familiar sensation: a damp tongue licking his cheek.
“Gerroff, you daft mutt.” His words came from habit, not sentiment.
He groaned. His head felt like someone had mistaken it for a vat of grapes; his side like a heated knitting needle was being inserted slowly but deliberately.
Sand. He appeared to be lying on sand. And he was soaked through.
Gingerly, he opened his eyes and sat up.
“Oww!” he hissed through gritted teeth as the pain in his side intensified.
Dusty licked his face again.
“Good boy. Where am I?”
Then he remembered. He clenched his teeth in anticipation of fresh pain, but it was already subsiding to the point where he could look around without scrunching up his eyes.
A man lay on his back about three feet away. Blood ran from a cut above his eye and he groaned softly.
“Manning?”
The man’s head turned towards him.
“I’m all right,” said the submariner. “Whacked my head on the outboard motor. Gashed my forehead on the propeller.”
Tom looked further. A woman was sitting up away to his right.
“Ceri!”
She looked at him without seeming to recognise him. Then her face cleared and she smiled. Unsteadily, she stood and tottered towards him. Dusty ran to meet her and licked her hand furiously.
While she approached, Tom clambered to his feet. The world lurched and he thought he might faint, but then it steadied.
“Tom, are you okay?”
“Yeah. Banged my head and think I might have cracked a rib, but seem to be in one piece. You?”
“A little woozy. Think I might have passed out for a few seconds. Otherwise, I’m fine.”
Tom indicated Manning, and the two men sitting up beyond him.
“There should be six of us. I can only see five.”
Ceri grimaced. “We’re lucky any of us survived. The wave must have been losing strength or we’d have been dashed against the cliff.”
Tim glanced back. The craggy face of the cliff was less than twenty feet away. Ceri was right: they had been lucky. The wave had deposited them beyond the jagged rocks that crowded the water’s edge and onto the narrow stretch of sand before the pebbles and rocks began that led to the base of the cliff.
A small party of people had descended from the cliff top and was picking its way towards them. Acting Lieutenant Commander James Irving led the way, followed by Colleen and Will, with Bri bringing up the rear.
Irving approached Tom and Ceri first.
“I wanted to express my gratitude for saving my men.”
“We pulled three from the water,” said Tom, “but it looks like only two made it.”
“Well, um, thanks,” said Irving.
“We accept your apology,” said Ceri.
“Apology? What apology?”
“For not believing us in Scotland.”
Irving had the good grace to blush. Before he could say anything more, his pocket beeped. He pulled out the walkie-talkie.
“Irving here. Over.”
The set crackled into life. “Irving, it’s Napier,” said a clipped voice. “There are two objects heading this way from where that black craft went down. From what we can tell on the radar, they are some sort of boats, each big enough to hold at least ten people. The current would take them south, but they’re coming directly at us. Over.”
Tom felt a ball of dread curl tight in his stomach. He glanced at Ceri. The colour that had been returning to her cheeks was draining away.
“Deep water,” Tom said to Irving. “Tell them to dive to deep water and stay there until this is over. I don’t think the aliens will be able to take over their minds if the sub is submerged.”
Irving frowned. “But if there are only twenty of them coming…”
“That might be enough,” said Ceri. “They could make the Argute fire at us. Or make the men turn on each other. Or make Napier scuttle it.”
“Okay,” said Irving. He pressed the button on the handset. “Commander. Advise immediate submersion and removal from vicinity. Incoming hostiles likely to be sufficient in number to, er, influence crew. Running deep should avoid risk. How long until they get here? Over.”
There was a pause before the walkie-talkie once more crackled.
“ETA at current speed and course, twenty-seven minutes. Is there any assistance we can offer? Over.”
Irving looked at Tom. He shrugged.
“They need to make themselves scarce.”
Irving nodded and pressed the button.
“Negative, sir. Advise commence manoeuvres to vacate vicinity immediately. Over.”
Another pause. When the voice came back on the walkie-talkie, it began with a sigh.
“Affirmative. Good luck, Irving. Over.”
“And you, sir. Over and out.”
Irving returned the handset to the pocket of his jacket.
“Are you two fit enough to make it back to the clifftop?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Tom. “My ribs and head hurt, but I think I can walk.”
“I’m fine,” said Ceri. “I was feeling sick, but it’s passed. Now I’m just terrified again.”
“Okay. I’m going to assist my men. See you up top.”
“I’ll help,” said Colleen. She, Bri and Will had joined them as Irving’s conversation with the Argute commenced and had stood quietly listening.
Irving walked towards Manning and Colleen fell into step along
side him.
“Tom,” said Will. “Are the spacemen coming?”
“Yes, Will. I’m very much afraid that they are.”
* * * * * * *
The clouds that presaged the arrival of the spacecraft had completely dispersed and the sun shone warmly. Peter found Milandra on a wooden bench at the side of the hotel, in full glare of the sunlight, a large platter of food balanced on her knees. Her hair showed more grey than black; deep lines spread from the corners of her eyes like crevasses in ice. She looked too exhausted to do anything, but was managing to fork food into her mouth, chew and swallow.
“Jason said you wanted to see me?” he said.
“Give me a few moments.”
Peter took a seat on the other end of the bench and sat back with his eyes closed. He, too, was exhausted and could do with finding something to eat to help rebuild his strength. For now, the sun felt good on his face. He could feel his cells open to soak up the solar energy. He had fallen into a semi-dose when Milandra spoke.
“You know they are coming?”
He sat straighter. “I heard. Do you know how many?”
“I sense thirty of them.”
“Is that sufficient to overcome us?”
“I fear so. There are only seven of us, plus the humans. While our support of Simone greatly weakened us, they drew strength from the encounter. I saw many things when I probed them during Simone’s last minutes, but it is, as always, a two-way street. They in turn saw that we are few and that our mental reserves are sorely depleted. They come, rather than running away to lick their wounds, because they are confident that they will endure.”
“We have weapons.”
“Yes and, as far as I can tell, they do not. That is our only hope, but I fear it is a forlorn one.” Milandra forked more food into her mouth and spoke around it. “Their number includes their Keeper. His name is Stark.”
“His?”
“Much has changed in our absence from Earth Home. He will be the last Keeper. He has severed the psychic link with the rest of his people. When he dies, the group memory dies with him.”
“You have plans to make use of that knowledge?”
Milandra glanced at him. “I have a plan. One that I hope not to have to use.” She looked away. “One which I need your help to carry out successfully.”
