Darkest Hour 1: Their Darkest Hour

by Christopher Nuttall

  They didn’t seem to enjoy making people suffer themselves. The aliens stamped hard on resistance, and they were indiscriminate when it came to applying heavy weapons, but they didn't have the sadistic urges that many human despots had indulged. But if they’d found humans who did enjoy making people suffer...the thought was sickening. If someone had suggested it to the aliens...

  A hand grabbed her breast and squeezed, hard. Another reached down and clawed between her legs. Alex screamed for the first time, trying to bring her leg up to kick out at her tormentor. He slapped it down and then yanked at her breast. Alex felt her mind start to blur as he slapped her time and time again, the pain threatening to drag her down into the darkness. She’d lost track of time. How long had she been tortured...she heard a hiss and opened her eyes, in time to see a single jet of blue fire right in front of her eyes.

  “You won’t be such a pretty face when I’m through with you,” her interrogator whispered. There was no doubt at all that he was enjoying himself. Alex cringed back as the heat came closer and closer to her face, only to be pulled away just before it started to burn her skin. “Do you know how many women I’ve beaten and broken here? How many are nothing more than my slaves, dependent upon me for everything?”

  Alex tried to speak, but it was so hard to concentrate. She wanted to give in, and yet some stubborn part of her nature refused to surrender. The pain was growing; she was suddenly aware that he’d freed her from the chair, only to roll her over so she was bent over the chair, her buttocks lifted up for his inspection. Something sent a wave of pain over her rear and she screamed again, feeling a desperate desire to be sick that sent a tidal wave of vomit out of her mouth. Everything she’d eaten in the camp, as mushy and tasteless as it had been, seemed to be spilling out of her.

  She felt his hands on her rear, spreading her thighs. And then she felt him pressing his hardness into her...the pain and humiliation overwhelmed her, sending her crashing down into darkness. Her last thought, shining out against the blackness, was that she’d told them nothing...

  ***

  “Are you all right?”

  Alex opened her eyes slowly, unsure of what had happened to her. She found herself in a small cell, staring up at a naked girl. The bruises on her skin told their own story. Every single piece of Alex’s body hurt in ways she would have thought unimaginable. It hurt to try to open her mouth and speak. The pain around her breasts was horrific.

  “Remain still,” the girl urged. “He’s cut you, the bastard. I don’t know if you’ll recover...”

  Somehow, despite the pain, Alex managed to pull herself up into a sitting position – and instantly regretted it. Her buttocks felt as if they were on fire. Carefully, she inspected herself and saw red marks and cuts covering her skin. Some of them looked to have broken the skin, only to be allowed to heal on their own, without interference. She glanced around the dirty cell and realised that there was a good chance that one or more of the scars would become infected. And then...she doubted that they’d give her any medical treatment. Maybe the infection would finish her off quickly.

  “What...?” She managed to say. Her mouth still hurt, even when she touched it. They’d slapped her, she recalled. Maybe they’d knocked out a tooth or two. Or maybe...hadn’t she read a book, once, where the hero had had his teeth removed to make him talk? She didn’t seem to be missing any teeth, but her mouth hurt too much for her to be sure. “What happened to me?”

  “They dumped you in here,” the girl said. “I don’t think you told him anything. He was proper raging when he left you here and told me to take care of you. I think he’s probably afraid that the Leathernecks will be angry with him for failing to get anything out of you.”

  “Good,” Alex managed, finally. Maybe they’d send him to be interrogated instead. A taste of his own medicine would teach him a lesson. “Where...where did they get you?”

  The girl hesitated, and then shrugged. “My brother was killed by the bastards and I was taken away,” she said. “When I woke up, I was here – at his mercy. You...you don’t know what they’ve done to me...”

  “I think I can guess,” Alex said. The bastard had raped her, just as he’d raped Alex. Part of her wanted to crawl into a corner and die, but the rest of her wanted revenge. There would be a chance to kill the bastard and she intended to take it. It was the only thing left to her. “Do you have more water? Something to wash?”

  “There’s a shower over there, but the water’s always cold,” the girl said. Alex pulled herself to her feet, despite the pain, and staggered towards the little chamber. “They do it on purpose, the bastards.”

  “Probably,” Alex agreed. Her body was stained with blood – and his seed. She wanted to be clean again, even though she felt as if she would never be clean. “But we will get them, one day.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Near Alien Detention Camp

  United Kingdom, Day 40

  “Jimmy!”

  Jimmy Coates scowled as he heard his wife calling his name. What did the dumb bitch want now? It was bad enough that she picked a fight with him about each and every little thing, but she wouldn't allow him to respond to her stupid arguments. So what if he drank too much and came rolling home drunk? She’d come rolling home drunk if she saw half the shit he had to see, as well as the looks people gave a collaborator when they thought one of the aliens wasn't watching. And who cared if the fucking cooking club bitches had voted to throw Ginny out on her arse? Just because they didn't want a collaborator’s wife...

  “What?” He demanded, furiously. There were times when he thought that going to the whorehouses would be a good way to punish a shrewish spouse. It wasn't as if there was a shortage of whores these days. Pussy was cheap when so many were starving, kept alive by the mush the aliens doled out every week to those who bent the knee to them. “What’s so fucking important that you have to drag me out of the bathroom?”

  “They’re saying there’s going to be a national announcement in twenty minutes,” his wife shouted back. God – what had he been thinking when he married her? She’d trapped him, all right; she’d told him that she was on the pill. But she’d gotten pregnant and her father had insisted that he marry her, or else. Jimmy still remembered the moment when he’d realised that he’d been trapped, forced into a marriage to a girl he didn't love. And even though they’d had three brats together, he still didn’t love her. “You have to watch it too.”

  Jimmy snorted, but didn't argue any further. The BBC was wholly controlled by the aliens these days and they used it to make sure that their subjects heard announcements that might otherwise be missed. When they weren’t issuing orders, they were showing old soap operas and movies, rather than anything else. The once-famed BBC news service had terminated two days after the aliens landed, never to be replaced. It seemed that the aliens believed that humans were only to know what they needed to know, rather than have news from all over the world pumped into their living rooms. Jimmy was almost relieved. His wife and her cooking group had held sales for every lost cause across the world, apart from Britain itself. No one was allowed to mention how Britain had problems...

  He stumbled down the stairs, cursing the five pints of beer he’d downed after leaving work earlier, and crashed into the living room. She’d decorated it, of course, with all of her frilly decorations, rather than the beer table and fridge he would have preferred. Surely a man could design at least one room in his house. But no, it was all her own work – and it had cost him a pretty penny too! He sat down in the armchair and pretended not to see his wife’s lips thinning with disapproval. So what if he was half-drunk? It wasn't as if he wasn’t providing for her, was it? She still got half of his salary – real alien money – and there were goods in the shops for those who had alien money. They ate better than all of their neighbours.

  The television was showing the end of one of the soap operas he so detested, but he told himself to be patient. It wasn't easy, not when his wife was
either looking at the television or scowling at him, giving him the look that suggested that she regretted marrying him almost as much as he regretted marrying her. But it wasn't as if he’d had any choice...and then there were the kids. He loved his kids, or at least he told himself he did, and he wouldn't want any harm to come to them. They’d be shattered if mum and dad broke up...maybe he would go to the whorehouse after all. It wasn't as if his wife was giving him access to her body any longer.

  He looked up as the music announcing an alien broadcast caught his attention. The aliens always announced their broadcasts in advance, warning everyone to watch – or else. Jimmy had no idea what had got into their minds this time, but he knew better than to avoid watching, not when his very career depended upon them. The aliens seemed interested in recruiting thousands of humans and they paid well, although they were really the only paying employers these days, No doubt the wretched banking CEOs and others who made it impossible for a man to overcome his debt and stand tall had sold out to them. No one had any principles any longer.

  “Case in point,” he grunted, as the collaborator-in-chief appeared on the screen. Alan Beresford was just another MP who proved that there was no point in being loyal to the country. Why should he be loyal to a government that pardoned outright criminality among its own members and at the same time hectored him to improve his lifestyle? What fucking business of theirs was it if he smoked twenty fags in a day, or drank himself senseless every weekend? It wasn't as if there were any dreams any longer. How could they claim his loyalty when they so manifestly didn't deserve it? The last Prime Minister was probably hiding in a aristocratic mansion somewhere, while his successor was an outright collaborator.

  His wife looked over at him. “Yes, Jimmy?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Jimmy grunted. He wanted a beer, any beer. But he’d stashed all of his cans upstairs and there was none within reach. “I thought you admired this guy anyway.”

  “These have been tragic times for our country,” Beresford said. Jimmy snorted. Somehow, he didn't think that Beresford had found them very tragic. It was clear that he was well-fed and content, even if he was the focus for a great deal of anger. The aliens would protect him if the lynch mob ever reached his door. “We have been forced to adapt to a new world order – and yet there are those who are resolved to fight to the bitter end. But their fight is hopeless – we are part of a greater universe now and it is time to earn our place in it.”

  “By whoring for the aliens, no doubt,” Jimmy sneered. “Bet you’re not worried about thugs slashing your tires when you park and go for a beer.”

  He smiled at the memory. It hadn't been that long ago that he and his fellow lorry drivers had caught a pair of young kids slashing their tires. They hadn’t bothered to call the police, knowing that the little brats would only be let off with a warning. Instead, they’d thrashed hell out of them and abandoned them some miles from town. Jimmy had half-expected them to inform the police, but there had never been any comeback. Perhaps the police had figured that the brats deserved their treatment.

  “We have broken many cells of bitter-enders, people who believe that they must still fight on,” Beresford continued. “It is with great regret that I am forced to confirm that those fighters – who have killed far more innocent humans than aliens – will be executed in two days. Their deaths will serve as a warning – being a bitter-ender will bring you nothing, but grief. The entire population will see their executions on television. And then let us pray that that will be an end to the fighting. Our poor country has suffered enough.

  “But you haven’t suffered at all,” Jimmy bellowed, and threw the remote at the television set. People like Beresford never suffered. They simply attached themselves to the centre of power and made themselves indispensible, at least until a new centre of power arrived. Bottom-feeders, the lot of them. “Do you really think that we will be impressed?”

  “It gives me great pleasure to announce that the daily ration will be increased in response to the increasing number of people who have seen the inevitable and started to work with the aliens to build a new world,” Beresford concluded. “Together, we will build a new Britain.”

  His face vanished from the display. Moments later, the next soap came on, while a small line of text underneath the pictures warned that the alien broadcast would be repeated every hour on the hour. Everyone in Britain would see it. And then they would watch in horror as the aliens executed their captives. Jimmy shrugged as he stood up. What had Britain ever done for him that he should fight for it? He’d been nagged by the nanny-state since he was a little kid. Don’t smoke, don’t drink, don’t question....we know what’s best for you, never mind that you don’t like it...we have the right to reshape you as we see fit...

  He rolled his eyes, just as the doorbell rang. Jimmy blinked in surprise; ever since he’d gone to work for the aliens, their circle of friends had dwindled away to almost nothing. His wife had taken it harder than he had – he was happy as long as he had beer and a place to sleep. Perhaps it was one of the religious freaks who went around offering salvation – in exchange for a cash donation, of course – or someone collecting for charity. It seemed that the only endangered species unworthy of assistance was the white male.

  Carefully – there were bitter-enders out there – he peered through the tiny spy hole and frowned. Two brisk young men stood in front of the door, wearing civilian clothes. They didn't look like religious freaks. Maybe they wanted to sign up with the aliens – it wouldn't be the first time he’d been approached by someone looking for a job. He opened the door and scowled down at them. They didn't seem intimidated by his face.

  “We need to talk to you,” one of them said. He stepped forward, put his foot neatly in place to prevent Jimmy from shutting the door, and pointed a gun right at his face. Jimmy jumped back in shock, feeling the pleasant haze of near-drunkenness fading away. “You’re going to help us rescue our friends.”

  Jimmy found himself on the floor, looking up at them. “And if you don’t help,” the man added, “you’re really not going to enjoy what happens next.”

  ***

  Alex rolled over as she heard the sound of the cell opening. They seemed to take her to a different cell after each interrogation session, sometimes with someone in the cell, sometimes empty so she had a chance to brood on what would happen to her next. Her body just ached constantly, the pain blurring together into a single mass tearing away at her mind. She was half-convinced that they were torturing her for the fun of it, or perhaps they were waiting for her to break. They certainly hadn't bothered to ask her any questions.

  The light came on, revealing a man with a blood-stained face hobbling into the cell. Like her, he was naked, with dark blue-black bruises covering his entire body. She found herself wondering if she would recognise him, but as her eyes adapted to the light she realised that he was a stranger. The blood on his face suggested that he’d been tortured worse than she had, at least physically. Being at the mercy of a pair of sadists who could do anything they wanted to her was taking its toll. The only thing keeping her from breaking was a bitter determination not to give them the pleasure.

  “Hi,” Alex said. So far, all of the other prisoners she’d met had been women. She hadn't even known that there were any male prisoners in the complex, although she wasn’t really sure how large the complex actually was. It felt as if they were underground, but there was no way to know for sure. God alone knew if they were even still in Britain. “What did they do to you?”

  The man stumbled to his knees, grunting in pain as he hit the stone floor. “They caught me two days ago,” he said, quietly. Alex blinked in surprise. It looked as if he had been worked over more than once, but maybe she was mistaken. “They were lying in wait – wiped us out, apart from me. I was the lucky one they took alive.”

  There was a bitterness in his voice that was alarmingly convincing. “I was in Chester’s group,” he added. “Good old Chester – Shiny Two’s Colonel.
He’s dead too, now.”

  Alex winced. Shiny Two was the nickname for 2 Para, one of the toughest units of fighting men in the British Army. She’d flown missions supporting their operations in Afghanistan, before returning to Britain and flying in defence of the UKADR. If they’d been wiped out, what hope was there for anyone else?

  “We lost contact with everyone else,” he admitted. “Who were you with?”