Mortal Skies: A Post Apocalyptic Sci Fi Horror Novel

by Rebecca Fernfield

  Three

  Ellie wipes at a tear and blinks to focus on the opening doors, as Nate stands on Katy’s doorstep saying a final goodbye to his son. His first job is at ten-thirty this evening, but he has work to do in the office first, and he’s running late.

  “What’s in the bag?”

  “Just my telescope.”

  Nate sighs. “Don’t stay up all night, Josh. You’ve got school in the morning.”

  “Yeah, sure, but sometimes I can’t sleep.”

  “Since when?”

  Josh swallows. “Since Mum … doesn’t matter. Anyway, I want to check on the sky.”

  “Josh! You heard the news, same as me; NASA, the Russians, the Brits, even the European Space Agency, have agreed that there will be no more meteors.”

  “You believe that!”

  “Well, I-”

  “If they know so much, how come they didn’t see the others and do something to stop them?”

  “What, like send up rockets to intercept them?”

  “Yeah!”

  “That’s just for films, Josh.”

  “What makes you think they really know what’s going on?”

  “I haven’t got time for this!”

  “Do you even know what’s going on?”

  Nate checks his watch. “Josh, I-”

  “Dad! I’ve seen videos, riots, the police firing on people, using live rounds, in Paris, and London.”

  “Oh, come on!”

  “James shared a clip, but they took it down before I got to see it.”

  “If that’s true, then it would be all over the internet and on the news. And it’s nothing to do with the meteors—people are piss- … people are dissatisfied with the government. If the police are involved it’s because the demonstrations got out of hand. They always do.”

  “You have no idea, do you! If they don’t want you to see something, they block it.”

  “Who’s they, Josh?” he asks with a weary smile.

  “The Establishment, Google, Facebook, MSM, the Deep State. They all collude to keep us ignorant Dad, so there’s no way I’m going to believe anything they say.”

  “MSM?”

  “Main Stream Media.”

  “Come on, Josh. That’s just conspiracy crap.”

  “No, Dad. It’s not. If you’d just take your head out of your arse-”

  Nate glares at his son. “That’s enough, Josh!”

  “Sorry, but Dad, you need to start looking for yourself. There’s something going on. I don’t know what, but-”

  “We can talk about it later, Josh. If I don’t leave right now, I’ll be late.”

  “Dad-”

  “Josh, watch the sky. OK? Just don’t stay up too late. I’ll be here at seven-thirty sharp.” Nate turns his attention to Katy standing behind Josh, her hand on his shoulder, her smile a calmative, as always.

  A younger boy’s face appears from the living room door, curious at the raised voices. “Josh! Do you want to play a game?”

  Josh’s frown softens and Katy gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “There, you go. Justin’s been waiting for his big cousin to arrive. He’s got half an hour left before screen-time is over.”

  “Sure.” Josh gives an unconvincingly disgruntled and martyred shrug and turns to the boy. “Coming.”

  “You all right, Nate?” Katy asks as the boys disappear through the door, Justin’s excited chatter a background to her questioning.

  “Sure. Just not looking forward to going to work.”

  “Josh will be fine, you know.”

  “Yeah? He seems so … angry.”

  “Listen. Kids are resilient. Go to work. He loves being here.” Nate raises a brow. “He does!” she laughs. “Honest. Stop beating yourself up, Nate.”

  The weight of guilt shifts a fraction from Nate’s chest. “Thanks, Katy. I appreciate-”

  “I know.” Her smile quietens him and he turns with a lighter mood to the car.

  Four

  As Nate pulls out from the kerb to head in to work, the sun casts an orange glow behind a dark horizon and a gust of wind blows into Ellie’s hair. She takes another step up the metal staircase to the plane’s open door, and smooths her painstakingly straightened and tucked-under-just-so bob with an irritated frown then blinks, suddenly blinded by dust. The air is thick with particles, has been for days; gritty particles that rise into your nostrils and bury themselves next to your scalp. Here, the particles buffet as clouds from the airfield’s vast concrete pads and patches of parched grass. It crosses her mind for a second that perhaps the air is filled with tiny grains of concrete from the bombed apartments, or ash from the scorched curtains, settees, and carpets that have been obliterated in the bizarre, and horribly destructive, meteor showers of the past days. She quickly focuses on taking the remaining steps into the aeroplane as thoughts of what else could be in the dust crosses a mind fed by a relentless stream of videos featuring fiery missiles shooting through the sky and bombarding the world’s cities. Why the cities? But then, why not? The earth was so densely populated, meteors couldn’t always land in the depths of an uninhabited desert. It had become impossible to avoid the images of exploding concrete blocks, shattering glass, and burning, flailing bodies. Horror had turned to intrigue and then to a harrowing hollowness that had crept into her bones. She takes another weary step, her eyes beginning to burn. She has to get a decent sleep on the flight – somehow – and be the up-to-speed-and-in-control expert they were expecting at nine am sharp! Thanks for that, Leon. Fuck you.

  She blinks the remaining dust from her eyes as the saccharine-sweet smile of the air hostess greets her, says a quick ‘hello’ with a flicker of recognition, and walks along the aisle to her seat with a watering eye and mascara beginning to bleed below her lashes. A band of tension tightens at the back of Ellie’s head as she sits in her allocated aisle seat and sags into the chair. Bags are stuffed into the overhead compartments, and passengers strapped and settled into their seats, before the airhostess begins her safety demonstration. Beneath her saccharine smile, and red-rimmed eyes, is a weariness that matches Ellie’s own. A thin line of black rings her prettily drawn lips. The outline seems incongruous to Ellie, the rest of the woman’s makeup being perfectly applied though understated. She dismisses the thought as she reaches for the safety belt.

  Seat belt clicked into place, Ellie watches the woman perform her routine; smile fixed, eyes staring above the rows of passengers to the back of the plane. Chatter in the cabin continues, the woman ignored. A shout from the rear; the hostess flinches but holds up a laminated card with poise. Unaware of her movements, passengers continue to stare at their mobile screens, the woman in the next seat reaches for a book from her bag, the child at her side oblivious as he battles monsters on his device. The hostess points to the rear of the cabin as the pre-recorded message mentions ‘exit at the rear’ and then to the exit doors just behind.

  A balding man in the next row of seats leans to watch out of his window, pate glimmering in the hazy overhead light, and nudges at the woman at his side. Bright lights from a taxiing plane shine in the growing dark. The hostess snaps the demonstration belt with a crack. Her lips thin out, then purse. Her blue eyes shine red as the light catches them. The noise of chatter intensifies, fighting with the pre-recorded monologue. Ellie watches the woman with rising curiosity. It isn’t the first time, or even the second, that Ellie has seen the repression of a fierce temper, although it is the first in a time-served, well-trained air hostess. Unable to take her gaze from the woman, she watches her finish the public safety drill with snapping, brittle movements before disappearing with a strop behind the curtains—dry parchment curling in the heat, ready to ignite. The other passengers continue unaware, eyes closed, leaning back against their seats, earplugs in and oblivious, or chatting with a neighbour, friend, lover, or child. The curtain draws shut and Ellie sighs with relief as the plane begins its ascent.

  The woman sitting beside Ellie pulls forward then
leans back with a sigh. “Do you think there’ll be more?”

  The sudden question, without introduction, throws Ellie. The man in the window seat turns to the woman but doesn’t respond, obviously not her companion.

  “Do you?” she repeats.

  “Sorry! I didn’t realise you were speaking to me.”

  The male passenger replies. “More of what?”

  “The meteors? I mean … what if one hits the plane?”

  The man grunts and shakes his head, mouths ‘silly bitch’, and turns his face to the window with a dismissive roll of his eyes.

  “I’m sure the airline wouldn’t let us fly if they thought-”

  “Yes, but they could! They could be aiming at us right now!” Her tone is angry and her eyes glint, her pupils a bright red in the overhead light.

  Next to the nutter, again! “Well … it’s unlikely. It was a freak shower-”

  “A freak shower that took out seven cities!” The woman’s tone is surprisingly, oddly, aggressive.

  “Meteors fall to earth all the time, it was just … unfortunate that they landed in the cities.” That’s an understatement, but Ellie doesn’t want to ratchet up the woman’s anxiety. “There’s very little chance of that happening again.”

  “What if it wasn’t an accident! What if we’re being attacked?” Her voice is snappish, argumentative.

  Ellie bites back her desire to berate the woman’s rudeness; the last thing she wants is to get into a heated debate about EU/Russian/Iranian/North Korean/Alien attacks with someone unbalanced, one that she’ll have to sit uncomfortably close to, for the next few hours.

  “They were meteor showers, that’s all.” Ellie pulls her sunglasses down, hoping the woman takes the hint.

  The woman leans back in her seat and closes her eyes.

  As the plane climbs, a low growl rumbles across the aisle, breaking through the noise of the aeroplane’s engines and the dull throbbing in Ellie’s ears as they adjust to the changing cabin pressure. The child with the device is standing, glaring at the screen. His mother taps his side. He slaps at her hand. The airhostess powers towards them.

  “Sit down please, whilst the lights are on.” She jabs at the overhead lights, the ‘seatbelt on’ sign still lit.

  The boy ignores her, the mother taps at his arm once more. Ellie drags her eyes away from the scene, embarrassed for the woman, and focuses instead on the darkening sky beyond the window. The airhostess’ voice reaches a higher, whining pitch. Ellie’s gaze falls on her fractious neighbour, eyelids shut, earphones plugged in, perhaps even – please! - heading towards sleep. A line of black, no thicker than cotton thread, lines her lips, the colour spreading like delicate and intricate frost across their pink flesh. The woman’s freckled face is bare of makeup, honey-coloured skin shining across her cheekbones, auburn hair laid in a thick plait over her shoulder. Ellie leans forward a fraction to inspect the black patterning. It has to be a tattoo, but who has the skill to create such an exquisitely delicate pattern on human lips? The woman’s eyes snap open as the boy in the aisle shrieks. Ellie starts, and swivels to the screaming child, registering, as she turns, that the woman’s eyes had been red—the damned pupils had been a dark and bloody red!

  The boy’s mother has a hand on his back, clutching at his shirt, Ellie’s skin crawls as she instinctively grabs at the clip to unlock her seatbelt and move away from the auburn stranger. She steps into the aisle. A quick glance back confirms it; the woman’s pupils are red, and ringed with an opaque, bluish iris. Cold runs over Ellie in a rush as hair follicles contract. Turning back to the boy, his mother clutches at his shirt, pulling at his arm, pleading with him to sit down as he thrashes where he stands, whacking the device on the back of the chair, hitting it against the bulkhead above. The man in the chair has turned to look, a deep, disapproving frown scarring his brow, dark-livered lips pulled back in a snarl. The boy continues to rant and thrash the device, hammering the screen. The man raises his arm, clenches his fist, and pulls it back.

  “No!” The shout bursts from Ellie’s throat as the fist jabs towards the boy. In that second, the mother yanks once more, her patience lost, and the boy unbalances to land across her knee. The man lurches as his punch fails to make contact with the boy’s face and slams instead against the seat. Regaining his balance, the man reaches with a massive hand and grabs the boy, digging thick, nail-bitten fingers into his hair. The mother screams as the boy is lifted and pulled over the top of the seat. Squirming with rage, and clawing at the man, the child’s eyes are a mad and staring red, his lips black. Behind Ellie, the redhead growls.

  In the next moment, Ellie is knocked into the aisle as the woman shoves her aside. The boy’s screeching rage fills the cabin and, as his legs disappear over the row of seats, the redhead lunges, digging nails into the man’s face. Acrylic nails gouge a red trail from cheeks to lower jaw. The cabin fills with shouts as passengers become aware of the attack.

  A dry, rasping, inhuman scream rises above the cacophony, and Ellie’s scalp creeps. What the fuck? The phrase repeats; anxiety on a loop. Stumbling as she takes another step back, she grasps for a headrest, and pain shoots through her hand. An elderly woman retracts manicured and pointed pink nails from the back of Ellie’s hand, snarls, then swipes an arthritic claw across her cheek. Wrinkled jowls jiggle above a string of pearls, as sagging breasts ripple beneath a baby-pink fine-knit polyester twinset, and black-rimmed lips pull back against synthetically white teeth.

  Ellie grasps for the curtain at her back as the woman swipes again. Gnarled fingers sweep through the air, a froth of spittle gathering at the corner of her mouth as she shouts obscenities with furious rage, the grey curls of her thinning hair a halo against the cabin’s overhead lights. In the cabin, passengers shout warnings, stand in confusion, scream, run, punch, and hide. The woman lurches. Fumbling for the partition, Ellie staggers through to the toilets.

  The first door shows a red square. Locked. Shit! The second is green. Ellie throws herself inside the cramped toilet cubicle, slamming the door shut. The elderly woman’s scratching, rasping voice is a flow of obscenities, a foul torrent of hate. Where the very hell did an old grannie learn language like that? As the lock clicks, the door shudders beneath pummelling fists. Stupid old biddy! Heart hammering, Ellie steps back against the far wall, staring in horror at the vibrating panels, her confusion absolute. What the hell? What the very hell? “Fuck off! Just fuck off, you stupid old cow!” The words blurt from Ellie’s throat as her heart pounds. Oh, hell! What the hell had she just seen? The bloody pupils, the opaque irises! Her bowels become watery and her sphincter contracts. Freaks! Bloody freaks! Jesus! The hammering rattles at the door. Ellie’s heart hammers in her chest. She shouts again. “Fuuuck … Off!” Rage rises. What if … She turns to the mirror, a mist of warm breath fogging her reflection as she leans forward to inspect her face. She wipes the glass with her sleeve, pulls back a little, then stares into her eyes. Wild eyes stare back, wild eyes with pupils solid and black, irises clear and dark green. No hint of dullness stares back at her. She checks her lips, pulling at the skin to reveal her teeth; dark pink, no hint of black patterning. Her stomach rolls and, with a bark, she empties her last meal into the toilet’s steel basin.

  Five

  As the pilot on Ellie’s flight initiates emergency landing procedures, a new cluster of meteors is tracked, its trajectory mapped, and the relevant authorities alerted. Bitterly argued, contested, and hastily drafted protocols are initiated, and Nate, thankful for the quieter roads this late in the day, pulls into his favoured bay in the nearly empty carpark next to his office building.

  The moon has risen in the sky, the first stars are visible, and Josh’s words ring in his memory, ‘How do they know nothing else is coming?’. In all his forty-one years Nate hasn’t once looked at the brilliance of the skies with fear. Now they hold a foreboding that he can’t quell. He hasn’t shared his worries with Josh, hasn’t needed to, given the boy’s outburst tonight,
but his confidence that the ‘authorities’ are telling them the ‘truth’, whatever that is, has certainly been shaken.

  He locks the car and heads across the carpark to the building where his office sits, a sub-let that has cost him more than the company brought in last month, and this month looks no better. His stomach gripes. If the company’s profits don’t pick up soon, he’ll have to declare bankruptcy, and that is a shame he’s not sure he can live with. He taps in the door’s code and pushes through to the small foyer, collects his mail from his allocated post box, then works his way up the stairs, shunning the lift; he sits down far more than he wants to these days, particularly after being forced to let Andy, his chief surveillance officer, and most expensive employee, go. He sighs as he tramps down the corridor to the office, and pushes open the door with ‘M & M Penrose Ltd. Surveillance and Security Consultants’ in bold black print. The day he’d stood with Melanie, her arm around his waist, as the building’s janitor had screwed the sign onto the door, had been one of the best of his life. He counted his Passing Out parade at the tender age of nineteen, and the birth of Josh, his only child – at least the only one he knew of – as the others. Now, seeing the sign daily, only brings him pain.

  A bright smile greets him. “Evening, Boss!”

  “Evening, Sam.” Nate places his laptop case on the desk and sits down.