Conscious

by Vic Grout

  “So then that’s what It is: It’s an animal that has to be killed; it’s It or us.”

  Andy considered for a moment.

  “Barely an animal, I’d say; It has no idea what It’s doing, does it? It’s embryonic – just a foetus. I think we’re talking about an abortion here.”

  “Ah!” She could think of nothing better to say. This might get messy.

  Andy smiled again. “Aye, that’s the one area where my spirituality and politics have never quite got along. As a religious guy, I’m not keen on taking any life; as a socialist, I’m all for equality and the right to choose. My moral escape route has always been that it’s a choice I’ll never have to make personally so I’m happy to delegate it to the women and stay out of it. It’s the woman who has to make the decision and make the sacrifice.”

  “Sacrifice?”

  “Aye, there’s always a sacrifice involved in a difficult decision. If someone’s considering an abortion then there must be a reason why they don’t want the child. So, keeping it will be difficult. But equally, deciding to lose it won’t be without some sort of pain. Sometimes it’s considering the sacrifice that helps make the decision; sometimes you can’t do it at all otherwise. Maybe there has to be a sacrifice?”

  *

  The final hours passed. In her delicate state, it was Aisha who first felt the uncomfortable pressure in her ears that told her the plane was losing height. The others began to detect it shortly afterwards. Within a few minutes, one of the pilots came back to tell them that their initial descent had begun. The sun had been lost over the western horizon for the duration of the flight – they had chased it in vain – and, whilst it was still daylight, only dark clouds were visible below.

  “So how’s this going to work, then?” Bob asked. The departure from Brussels had been such a scramble that no-one had paid any attention to detail. They had simply climbed aboard the plane – a small, two-engined jet – helped Aisha to a seat, secured (with help from their escort team) an assortment of medical equipment and Hattie, and strapped themselves in. Then their original escorts had disembarked and left the plane to the travellers. They must have already been positioned at the end of the runway: the plane had burst into life, screeched along it, then into the air. They thought no more of it. Now, however, their remoteness – their isolation – suddenly seemed very real indeed. How would they get down safely with no contact with the ground?

  The response was not as encouraging as they might have hoped.

  “We’ll see, sir,” he answered, with a forced grin. “We won’t know exactly where we are until we’re through the clouds. We’ll take it from there!”

  “How close are we likely to be?”

  “Hard to say. It would have been better without the clouds all the way and it’s not dark enough to see the stars well: we’ve had to rely on blind compass work; but we hope to be within a few hundred miles of where we want to be.”

  “A few hundred miles?” It was hard to tell how serious he was.

  “Hey fella, this ain’t easy!” he laughed. “We know from the shape of the clouds that we’re passing over the Atlantic coast now but we’ll find out exactly where when we’re through. After that, we’ll just have to hope there’s enough daylight left to be able to navigate by sight until we get to the O.I. That’ll still be an hour or two.”

  “The O.I.?”

  “Operational Installation. Where we’re headed.”

  “And where’s that?”

  But the pilot was on his way back to the cockpit and appeared not to hear.

  *

  Passing through the cloud layer was far rougher than they expected. None of them had any technical knowledge of modern aviation but they suspected that much of the equipment that would have eliminated – or avoided – the turbulence, could not be used. Although they were strapped tightly in, a number of the smaller pieces of medical equipment came loose, and rattled dangerously around the cabin, and Bob eyed Hattie nervously as she strained her retaining straps by squirming violently in all directions. Their airspeed gradually dropped as the plane did the same.

  Emerging, shaken but intact, from the cloud base, they – Aisha apart – caught their first glimpse of American soil – considerably closer than they had anticipated: the clouds had been very low indeed. The last natural glow of day was fading and the lights from the ground blazed brightly. They could see no detail of the surface through the gloom but wide-scale RFS devastation was evident nonetheless. Mixed with the ordered, but broken, lines of highway lamps and clusters of residential and industrial illumination, fires – large and small – raged, apparently unchecked. As they watched, even the artificial lighting appeared and disappeared randomly – sometimes in blocks, sometimes individually – and new explosions erupted now and then around and between them. It was a battle-zone: a battle between It and humanity – and It was winning. Andy, in particular, gazed in horror; then closed his eyes and slowly nodded his head as if his mind was resolved.

  *

  There was no word from the cockpit – they assumed the pilots had enough to occupy them – so there was no knowing how close to, or far from, their intended coastal entry point America had welcomed them. However, after about two minutes, the plane banked slightly and turned left what seemed like a few degrees. The crew appeared to have agreed where they were. A few minutes later, there was a smaller adjustment to the right. The process repeated, from time-to-time, as they flew onwards into the gathering darkness.

  They flew close to the ground. The patterns of lights, fires, flashes and explosions changed in their fine detail as they passed over but the overall effect was the same. Eventually, their friendly pilot reappeared to say it was safe to remove their belts once more.

  “About an hour now,” he called over his shoulder, as he re-entered the cockpit.

  “Where are we going?” “Whereabouts in the US is the OI?” Jenny and Bob asked separately. Still no reply.

  For the first time in the flight, the four of them sat and spoke together as a group – and did so for the remainder of the journey. They all still needed sleep but there would be none now: a mixture of anticipation, fear and an urgency to finish the task made such thoughts impossible. And, yet, they could not somehow bring themselves to discuss It any more: perhaps all that needed to be said, had been. They spoke of their past, careers, friends, hobbies, families, futures, hopes and dreams – anything except the job in hand.

  Around the expected hour, they were visited – for the final time – by the familiar pilot. Outside was now completely dark.

  “Get your seatbelts back on, guys,” he grinned. “We’re going to give this a go!” No-one bothered asking any questions this time.

  They gained height again and leaned into a circular path; seeing what was probably the parallel lines of runway lights occasionally to their side. The plane maintained the arc for perhaps two or three complete circuits. It then banked harder and turned in towards the centre, eventually settling to a straight line as it dropped further through the radius. They felt the undercarriage drop and lock. Bob, Andy and Jenny strained to see out of the windows but there were very few lights anywhere to be seen, and even RFS seemed massively reduced. They appeared to be in the middle of nowhere.

  As Bob looked out over the wing, only the near section of which was illuminated by the glow from the cabin windows, a flashing blue light appeared in the darkness beneath. His first impression was of a beacon, or similar, in the distance; but, as his eyes adjusted quickly to the low light level, he could see the glimmer of a slight reflection emanating from the underside of the wing. The light had to be on the plane itself. He nudged Jenny.

  “I don’t like the look of that,” he said, motioning with his head in the light’s direction.

  “What is it?”

  “Looks like a Zigbee sensor transmitter for the landing gear – maybe to monitor it coming down; probably only a back-up or something, but it really shouldn’t be on. My guess would be they’ve
disabled all of the essential wireless functions but forgot some of the auxiliary control kit. Bugger it; we’re signalling.” They could see the runway lights approaching from the side, lining up with the plane: they could only be a few dozen feet above the ground.

  “Do you think It will be able to use that to ...,” started Jenny, but was answered, before she could finish, by a huge convulsion from, and within, the plane.

  It was largely an electrical impulse: fuses blew and sparks flew from everywhere. There was no time to shout a warning. Several parts of the working medical kit exploded and flashes could be seen from behind panels. But there was some motive effect also: the plane shuddered as several competing forces seemed to pull various parts of it in different directions. However, its essential momentum forced it on.

  They hit the runway – considerably harder than intended: their belts cut into them. Even with this protection, Bob could not prevent his face from smashing into a seat in front of him. Blood squirted from his top lip. Andy quickly shielded Aisha from a similar impact. Equipment broke loose and ricocheted freely around the cabin. Tyres squealed and the plane lurched to one side, then righted itself (or was righted by the pilots) before screeching rapidly towards a halt. The deceleration continued the painful pressure from their belts and more kit came away from its mountings.

  They stopped. Within seconds, one of the pilots – a different one to before – came running back to unlock and throw open the main door. Electromagnetic chaos still surrounded them.

  “Off!” he shouted. “Everyone off the plane. Now!” At least one person – possibly one of the doctors – had already jumped.

  There was a drop of perhaps ten feet to the ground, faintly illuminated below. The Desk all hesitated: Andy seized Aisha, Bob looked at Hattie. Jenny stared with impatient alarm at them all. Unsure whether she was escaping or showing a lead, she threw herself out, hit the ground hard and rolled to absorb the impact as best she could. But it was further away than they had thought – and it hurt.

  She struggled painfully to her feet with vague, desperate thoughts of catching people as they fell. Immediately, however, she was aware of headlights approaching at speed out of the darkness. They separated to each side of her as the vehicle came closer and slowed. She could only make it out in outline but it was large and noisy. It stopped and an unknown number of dark shapes issued from within, some taking up positions on the frame of the vehicle itself. She was pulled roughly inside and pushed onto a seat – or a bench – in one corner.

  She could see little from where she sat, nursing painfully sore – but, it appeared, essentially uninjured – elbows, knees and other extremities. There was a raucous impression of action from the place where the highest point of whatever she was in reached up to the plane door. People were helped – close to dragged – from the plane. Barked instructions were heard and it appeared that some equipment was being taken off roughly as well. In less than two minutes, someone shouted, “That’s it. Go!” The engine roared and they lurched into action. The plane, still arcing and flaring against the night sky, receded quickly into the background and became small. They were about three hundred yards away when it was engulfed in a sudden explosion; they saw the flash a fraction of a second before they heard the sound. A fireball blazed and leaped into the sky before burning out quickly and becoming lost in the blackness.

  *

  They drove perhaps another mile before their pace slowed and some dim internal lights came on. They could see their rescuers for the first time. All were armed and in camouflage green, brown and black – army, they assumed, although none of them recognised the dress well enough to be sure. No seniority was immediately evident: they spoke quietly in small groups amongst themselves. Although interspersed, the plane’s passengers and crew were easily distinguished from their new companions – and outnumbered by them by about two to one – by their lack of such uniformity; they were also largely ignored by them.

  They appeared to be inside something like a huge personnel carrier. A row of bench seating ran the length of both sides and two similar lines, back-to-back, filled the centre. Between them all, they occupied about half the available seats, although there was considerably more unused standing room. The surrounding roar suggested a powerful engine at work but the vehicle appeared to be sturdily armoured and heavy, and may not have been travelling at more than forty or fifty miles per hour. Although they could not see directly, they had an impression of weaponry on the exterior as well.

  Bob took in the detail quickly. Aisha appeared to have sustained no further injury but was very shaken; Andy looked to be a little further battered as he took care of her; Jenny was clearly in considerable pain and his own lip still bled. Aisha’s four helpers were unhurt and he noted, with some relief, that Hattie was at least in one piece in the corner – albeit it with some leads dangling loose here and there. Time would tell how much internal damaged she had sustained but at least she was there.

  But there were only two of the flight crew: the pilot who had brought them progress reports and instructions throughout the journey was not there. Bob looked at the rest of The Desk; Andy and Jenny appeared to be coming to the same realisation simultaneously. Glances darted from face to face and between army and civilians, and eyebrows were raised in enquiry.

  Eventually, their question was answered in abrupt fashion. One of the soldiers – she may have been of a higher rank: the others hushed their conversation somewhat when she spoke – consulted some notes from a file of papers she held, and asked:

  “What happened to Joe M.?”

  Both remaining pilots shook their heads slowly.

  “Didn’t make it,” one of them answered simply. “Died in the cockpit. We couldn’t get him off the plane.”

  Chapter 25: Topography

  They drove for hours; Jenny and Bob peering out from porthole-like openings towards the front of each side of the vehicle. Its own beams illuminated a small stretch of road ahead but little else. At first, the few lights they could see from the airfield, faded and were replaced by even fewer, more distant ones. As these also disappeared, there was progressively less and less to see. Eventually, they were surrounded by only darkness: no sign of human life anywhere, not even RFS apart from the occasional larger flash in the far distance – there was probably nothing much out there to go wrong. The road contracted, as they continued along it, from two asphalt lanes to a single one, then little more than a stony dirt track. Beyond the road, nothing could be seen in any direction. The only people alive in the world seemed to be aboard the carrier. Some polite conversation was attempted by The Desk but the uniformed men and women were not particularly communicative. No-one, certainly, would answer the essential question of where they were going. They drove on.

  After an hour or so – it may have been nearer two: they found time hard to judge and they had surrendered all mobile devices in Brussels, they suddenly drove into a small settlement and, just as suddenly, out of it. It may have comprised no more than two dozen wooden and metal shacks, workplaces and shops, and some street-lighting. The track they were on appeared to be its sole thoroughfare. There were inhabitants though: a few souls ventured out to see the passing spectacle, their forms silhouetted against the glow from within their homes. A hand-painted sign on an open hut read, ‘Coffee-Beer’. Where there was technology, of course, there was also RFS. Even in the middle of nowhere, no-one was immune. Then the place was gone and they continued on into the night.

  But they only drove another quarter of an hour this time. Without warning, a small, dilapidated shed materialised out of the gloom by the side of the road and, unpromising an edifice as it may have appeared, they stopped before it. The soldier with the papers motioned that they – Aisha, Andy, Jenny and Bob – were to get out. The flight crew and Aisha’s medical team seemed to understand implicitly that they were to remain in the vehicle. With considerable trepidation, The Desk climbed down – Aisha supported by the other three – and watched with increasing ala
rm as their transport continued immediately, and noisily, off along the track. With almost all of its lighting to the front, and them at the rear, they could still make out little detail of size and shape; then it was gone. Other than the old shed, there was nothing else in sight. They were alone.

  *

  Slowly both the noise of the carrier, and the little light it threw to its rear, faded to nothing. Even the shed, just a few yards away, could no longer be seen; they stood together in complete darkness. Aisha was the first to speak.

  “Where are we?”

  “Nowhere!”

  They groped for each other in the blackness and held hands in a ring.

  “What do we do now?”

  “God only knows!”

  “Happy New Year!” A disembodied voice from the night. They each twitched in shock and felt the others do the same.

  A light came on a short distance away; it could have been a small torch or the display from a mobile phone – it was hard to tell – but it was bright in itself in the darkness and just enough to indicate movement in its immediate vicinity. Then there was another, and another; then one more. Between them the four lights showed the outline of a number of figures: how many was unclear. They moved towards The Desk, who – whilst very uncomfortable indeed – realised that any attempt at escape was pointless. As the figures came closer, they appeared to also be four in number. Their leader was in touching distance of Andy now. He put out a shadowy hand, which Andy – somewhat reluctantly – accepted.

  “Glad you guys could make it! I bet you could use a beer?”

  “Just a cup of tea for me please,” growled Andy distrustfully.

  “Hey, a Scotsman! Pleased to meet you, buddy. My great-grandfather came from Glass-cow!”

  “Did he have trouble milking it?”

  “Say what?”

  “Never mind. Anyway, I come from Eden-berg.”