A Voyage in the Near Distance 1: From Here to Nearly There

by Alec Merta

  As we glided through the wind and lightning of the ever-menacing weather, a strange calm fell over me. I was relaxed by the view outside. Thus, I nominated myself to keep vigil, scanning the skies for anomalous lights that did not belong. This was probably a rather futile effort, I must admit. The clouds formed a low ceiling that hung for miles in every direction. When the world lit up in brief flashes of lightning, I could see vast, swirling clouds rolling with natural hostility. To my eyes, the world above us was an intermittently lit ocean filled with magenta waves and crests.

  The rain held back, more or less, until we made it to Pickering. From there until we reached the outskirts of the park, it came in waves. These would fall upon us without warning, blanking out the windscreen such that the wiper blades could barely keep up. Then they would subside as we travelled out of the reach of one storm cloud and toward that of another. Always, there was lightning. With each flash came another booming of thunder.

  Exhaustion threatened to overtake me. I sorely missed the coffee I had purchased only, what was it now? An hour ago? Two? Was that all? In any case, I would have paid dearly for some caffeine. From time to time, I considered abandoning my vigil in favor of sleep. Each time I did so, I closed my eyes only to see a white shaft of light reaching out from the darkness to seize my body. Each time, my eyes snapped open, and I resumed my watch.

  I knew we had reached the Moors when the foliage began to consume the road before us. Trees hung over and cast shadows in the headlights. Bolts of lightning made monsters of them all.

  I marveled at how transformed the world was from only a few hours before. It was hard for me to accept that I had driven the very same road, in the opposite direction of course, only just that morning. How different was the scenery now. Gone were the bucolic and the pastoral. These had been replaced by murk and darkness. And cold. Even with the heater on, I felt the chill outside gnawing at the doors. It wanted in, and I shivered in anticipation of our inevitable venturing away from the safety of our stolen transportation. This thought made me look at Allie.

  “It’s going to be cold out there,” I said.

  “Yep,” she replied.

  “You’re not really dressed for it.”

  “That’s already crossed my mind. Why don’t you look around and see if the guy we stole this from keeps any warm clothes in the back.”

  This was an unquestionably fine idea. I knew my immediate surroundings held nothing, so I turned around and began to look in the back seat. There were no clothes, but I saw an object tucked under the seat; hidden carefully out of sight. I tugged at it, and it slid forward. It was a large, plastic box with a clasp and housing for a padlock. There was no lock securing it, however. I recognized what it was and gave a whistle.

  “What?” Allie asked.

  “This may come in handy,” I said as I unbuckled my seatbelt and crawled into the back.

  “What the hell are you doing?” She leaned to let me pass.

  “Never you mind, just give me a minute to look at this.”

  I made it to the backseat with little trouble, although I am certain that Allie saw more of my posterior than she wanted (and more than any innocent person should ever be subjected to). Re-settled, I opened the box. I had been correct.

  “It’s a shotgun.”

  “Say what?”

  “You heard me. A hunting gun.” I took it out.

  “Carver, you’re English, do you even know how one of those works?”

  “I’ll thank you to keep your bigoted opinions to yourself, Yank. Or whatever.” I removed the gun. It was not an antique, although it certainly was not recently made. I could feel scratches and pitting, but it seemed to be in working order. I lay it back in the box and continued to examine the contents. I found a cleaning kit, some official-looking paperwork, and:

  “There’s a shell. It’s old, but I think it’s still good.”

  “Load it.”

  “Do you think we’ll need it?” I asked, suddenly incredulous.

  “That’s a question you want to answer with a gun in your hand. Way better than the alternative.”

  Now, normally I am not much for guns. Obviously they have an appeal to that part of my brain that is perpetually twelve years old. I had learned to shoot, though, from my father and uncle who both fancied a bit of hunting when their work schedules had allowed for it. Sadly, they never taught me to hunt for anything otherworldly.

  I loaded the shotgun and lay it back in its case, safety catch on.

  “There’s nothing else back here,” I said after finishing my inspection.

  “Get back up here, I might need your help navigating.”

  Allie, bless her, kept her comments to a minimum as I squirmed myself back into the passenger seat to her left. I re-buckled my seatbelt and took in the surroundings. My breath caught in my throat as I saw a shape hanging in the sky before us.

  My breathing resumed a moment later when I recognized it as a large, private home that stood near the edge of Rosebury Abbey. The road turned, and we made our way past.

  I had returned to the village.

  It was transformed. Even at this distance, I could see that the village’s quaint hominess and gentle architecture had been replaced by inky black shadows and dark streets. I tried to spot the clock tower. It could not be seen in the perfect darkness.

  But wait, that was wrong wasn’t it?

  “The streetlights are out,” I said.

  “It’s worse than that,” she said. “All the lights are out. Every light in every house is dark.”

  She was right. The building that had given me a fright should have been illuminated from without by street lamps and from within by domestic illuminations. Instead, it was blacked-out. All the buildings were blacked-out. Every part of the village appeared to be without power.

  Just as the thought occurred to me that our own vehicle might be immune from any anti-electronic effect, it began to shake. It was much as I had felt back in Wetherby but worse. The engine fought for life and struggled to gulp air. This was to no avail, and we were soon without motive power. Allie managed to stop more gently on this occasion than she had before, and we ended up on a curve in the road.

  As the last of the electronics winked out, Allie sighed.

  “Have you ever seen anything like this?” I asked.

  “Not really.” A boom of thunder punctuated the statement.

  “So, I guess we have to go on foot,” I said.

  She nodded her assent. We opened our doors and let the wet, cold air inside. I shivered, although it was only partially due to the temperature. Stepping outside, I went to the back and withdrew the gun case. I tried to ignore the fog.

  “Do you remember how to get there?” I asked.

  “In full daylight, yes. Not so much in this. Do you?”

  “If we stick to the trail, I think we’ll be fine. I’m a little worried about all the lightning.”

  “Me too,” Allie said as she looked skyward. “We have to chance it. There’s no going back.”

  I knew she was right. It was scary, obviously, to think of venturing out into the Moors at night under such conditions, but it had to be done. Obviously the village was dark because of us, or rather because of those who pursued us. Despite our fleeing across the country and despite the efforts of military aircraft, we had still been tracked down.

  “Do you think they’re waiting for us?” I asked, “You know, in there.” I pointed toward the village.

  “Maybe. Can we get to the trail some other way?”

  “Sure. I just don’t know how.”

  We stood at the apex of the curve. From that location, we looked down into the land that rolled away until it rose back up and met the road again on the far side. The village lay there, dark and foreboding. I saw not a hint of life.

  Allie said, “Let’s go.”

  We began walking toward the village.

  I jumped every time a sound was heard. Every rustle was a monster waiting to leap out and de
vour me. Every clap of thunder was the rapport of distant artillery. My hands began to ache as I clutched the gun case close to me.

  The road was well paved, so the going was not too bad. Our car had stalled only a quarter of a mile or so away from the village, as measured by a crow’s flight. Taking the winding nature of the lane into account, we had to walk about a half-mile until we reached the village proper.

  Allie froze in mid-stride. Her hand reached out and bid me to stop as well. I did and tried to see what she was peering at in the distance.

  Slowly, gradually, a shape materialized out of the murk. I stood frozen as the silhouette approached. I heard the sound of gravel under its feet. My hand reached to open the gun case.

  “Who’s that?” came a voice.

  Allie replied to it, which was just as well because I could not have, such was my condition.

  “Our car died,” she shouted. “On the road outside of town.”

  The shape came closer. I let out a long breath of relief as I recognized Mr. Wendell, the hotelier.

  He walked up to us.

  “Oh eh? Just shook and died, did it?”

  “That’s right,” she answered.

  “Well, the whole place did the same thing about an hour ago. Buildings didn’t shake, mind you, but the cars just rumbled a bit and died. Everything else just died.”

  “Have you called the police?” I asked.

  “Who’s that? Mr. Carver? Didn’t expect to see you back here so soon. Back on business, are you?”

  “Something like that,” I said.

  “Well maybe you can tell us what’s going on. You being with the government and all.”

  I shook my head, although he probably could not see the gesture. “No, Mr. Wendell, I’m afraid not. We’re just as confused as you are.”

  The sound of gravel being trod upon came again. I looked up and saw another figure approaching.

  “Matthew, come on. It’s only Mr. Carver the surveyor come back to town.”

  The shape solidified into a young man.

  “My son, Matthew.”

  We said timid hellos. Matthew stayed mostly quiet, taking the two strangers in and assessing us for danger.

  “Mr. Wendell,” Allie said, “Has anything else happened tonight? Anything, you know, weird?”

  “Like what? Other than the whole place going dark. Even the phones are dead, mobiles and the old ones. That’s why we haven’t called the police, to answer your question, Mr. Carver.”

  Allie shook her head, “No, I mean weird like-”

  I cut her off, which surprised even me. “Lights in the sky. Have you seen lights in the sky tonight.”

  I could barely detect that he was crinkling his face while he considered the question.

  “Lights in the sky? There’s been lightning all night. Queer sort, mind you. Lots of it and very, very purple. Lavender almost.”

  As though to make his point, a bolt of purple electricity streaked above the valley. We turned to look in that direction. For the briefest moment, the land was lit like daytime. For a sliver of that time, I thought I saw shapes in the valley. Shapes like people.

  The thunder came fast on the bolt’s heels. I blinked my eyes a few times to adjust them back to darkness. Allie and Mr. Wendell kept talking. My attention was focused elsewhere.

  “Allie,” I said.

  “What?” She spoke but did not turn.

  “Allie,” I repeated, “I can see where we parked from here.”

  “That’s great, Carver,” she went on addressing Mr. Wendell. “Have any strange people been through tonight?”

  He answered in the negative, but I did not pay attention to his words. I kept looking at where our vehicle was parked. Our disabled vehicle with no power, which was now faintly illuminated.

  I did not use my voice to get Allie’s attention. Instead, I reached out for her in the dark. Upon feeling my hand on her arm, she turned. I pointed toward the parked SUV. Mr. Wendell stopped talking as he also turned to look.

  We saw, roughly a quarter of a mile away, the tiniest spark of light. It was either inside or very near to the vehicle. Even in the dark, it was plain to see. We all stood silent as the light grew brighter.

  “Did we leave the door open?” I said, breaking the silence.

  Allie shook her head slowly from side to side. “We locked it.”

  The light was definitely brighter now. I could see opaque metal blocking it out. I swore it was inside the vehicle. I squinted in order to get more detail.

  “Is it moving?” I asked.

  Allie was wide-eyed as she looked across the valley. “Maybe…”

  Then it began to rock. It must have been a violent rocking to be visible from that distance. Was someone trying to push it off the road and down into the valley? Why would anyone do that?

  We all nearly jumped from our skins when the vehicle roared to life. The engine started and began to strain itself. The headlights came on and began to flash bright and dim. The horn sounded in a mad cacophony; a sinister Morse Code with short dots and dreadfully long dashes.

  This went on for three or four seconds before I saw them. They stood before the car and within the scope of the flashing headlights. Four diminutive shapes. Their arms hung at their sides as though casually observing the madness being acted out before them. They watched like zoologists calmly documenting a great beast perishing in a fit of agony.

  A better comparison would probably be to big game hunters.

  All went silent again. The headlights went out. Darkness returned. A single, brilliant flash of electricity crackled high above us.

  I saw the shapes in the valley. The shapes of small people, like children. They were walking in our direction.

  Allie grabbed Mr. Wendell by the shoulders and shouted at him.

  “How many people are in the village?”

  “I don’t know, about a hundred.”

  “Go to every house and start telling people to lock the doors. Stay inside, lock the doors, and load whatever guns they have.”

  He shook her off and took a step back.

  “Why, for God’s sake?”

  “Because your village is under attack.” Allie said coolly. “Now go!”

  He blinked at us for a while. In the end, it was the son Matthew who agreed to sound the alarm. He turned and ran. Allie rotated around to look at me.

  “They’re coming over land. They never come over land.”

  “Who? Who are they?”

  I knew she would not answer that, and in truth it did not matter in the least. They, whoever they were, meant danger.

  “Mr. Wendell, do you know how to get to the Hole of Hercum?” She asked.

  “The Hole? Aye, yeah, I know it. That’s the one that’s been growing a new hill.”

  Allie and I exchanged a look.

  “What? We’re supposed to be blind? You government types think we’re all daft and stupid. We know you’ve been up to something down there, and there’s no environmental disaster neither.”

  “So…” I began to speak.

  “Mr. Wendell, you’re right. And the government intends to reward the people of the village of not blabbing about this. I can’t give a figure, but it will not be modest.”

  “My behind. I wish you lot would just ask us to keep secrets. Tell us it’s all about national security or something, and we need to keep our mouths shut. We’ll do it. Don’t have to go trying to bribe us.”

  This was taking too much time. I said, “Mr. Wendell, I will convey that to the Home Secretary myself the very next time I see her. But for now, can you get us to the Hole?”

  He let out a snort. “Come on then.”

  9

  We began our trek on a trail that was unfamiliar to me. Mr. Wendell assured us that we would reach the Hole a bit faster going this way.

  “More direct,” he said. “Runs over an old leasehold, but no one’ll mind. There used to be an old Roman wall there. Not so much a wall anymore, mind you, as some stone
s and rubble. But it was interesting. Nice little spot to send tourists by.”

  The English can be unnervingly calm in unusual situations. Before he passed away, my grandfather told me of evenings during the Blitz when whole neighborhoods had taken shelter in tube stations. While they waited for German bombs to start ruining their beloved homes, the people held dances and shared tea. It was only when the bombs actually began to shake the streets above that anything like a sense of fear became exhibited. Even so, most were able to drift off to sleep, after a fashion, and leave the terrible images of war for the next morning.

  I guess it is a generational thing, for I am immune to English stoicism. I had to fight for each step as my body shivered. Terror like nothing I had ever experienced blew upon me from all sides and wrapped me up tightly. I wanted to tell Mr. Wendell to shut up. At least I had taken the shotgun from the case and now held it in my hands, my finger near the trigger.

  A scream pierced the night.

  We all stopped and turned back to look in the direction of the village. I was instantly distressed by how little progress we had made. A second scream followed the first. We saw nothing in the fog.

  “Are they,” I said, “…is that them?”

  “We have to call for help,” Allie said.

  “How? The phones are dead? No one even knows the power is out.”

  Allie considered Mr. Wendell.

  “That old leasehold, is it abandoned?”

  “More or less. There’s a man with claim to it, rich fellow named Stanholpe. I don’t think he goes there much. Hasn’t been around while I’ve lived in the village.”

  “Any structures?”

  “Structures?”

  “Yeah. Barns or houses or anything.”

  “There’s an old house. The council made him dress up the outside so as not to scare away the tourists. But it’s all rot inside.”

  “Get us there. Go.” She gestured.

  He shrugged his shoulders and began to walk again. Allie took up station by his side and encouraged him to go faster. We picked up our pace.

  There was another scream.