Blurred Vision: Seven billion voices about to be silenced

by Chris Botragyi

  Tom stood next to the window, peering out through the thin gap that separated the curtains. The misshapen pieces of wood that he had taped to the crudely repaired frame to replace the broken glass, wobbled as a strong breeze blew through its shallow material. Shouts echoed from the streets as more people were taken against their will. He looked through the cracks, up to the skies. He sighed in defeat. The dotted bright lights could be observed across the whole city for as far as he could see. My God, there must be thousands of people being taken.

  Connie ran from the bathroom in her baggy red robe. Tom smiled tiredly as he watched her towel dry her unruly hair. They hadn’t talked about what had happened earlier with their attempted abduction; he felt that it was bad enough to think about it, let alone talk about it. Besides, he had had to calm her after she broke down in floods of tears when frantically ripping the blood-stained duvet cover from the bed. He felt it best to leave her be for now.

  Screams continued to shred their nerves as a ship attacked the building in the next street. Peeping out again, Tom stared at the silhouettes of the houses that sat beneath the vibrating craft. Now and again a faint light caught the stones and their 1970s style cement exteriors, showing the dull designs in all their old-fashioned glory. The houses seemed small, Tom thought, as he casually watched a young African woman pleading as she desperately fought to prevent the aliens from dragging her off. It didn’t work.

  BREAKING NEWS! LIVE! BREAKING NEWS! LIVE!

  The television flashed as Nick MacMillan appeared on screen in his now crumpled grey suit. His voice continued as the cameras streamed to their live feed.

  ‘Tom, you’d better see this,’ Connie said, glancing quickly towards the window.

  The two of them faced the TV. Tom shuddered as he heard the craft outside ascend into the night, knowing that the helpless woman was onboard.

  ‘We have breaking news for you, er … yes, here we are,’ said Nick as he pressed his right hand against his plastic earpiece. ‘Yes, we can go live to New York City, and what you are seeing here is the President of the United States, and the British Prime Minister. It appears they are leaving the United Nations Headquarters. We can only assume that the UN leaders have all been present, but we’re not quite sure what is going on. As you can see, they are walking together, flanked by four security advisors as they head towards one of the alien ships that remains stationary.’

  The craft let out a dramatic hiss, causing the watching crowds present to cower in gasps of shock.

  ‘A door has opened on the ship. I can’t quite see inside, but – ah, there is movement. Six Greys have exited and are approaching the leaders. The security are doing their jobs well, cautious, though nervous under these circumstances, which is completely understandable given the situation.’

  The stress had taken its toll on Nick MacMillan’s face. The last 24 hours seemed to have aged the man 10 years overnight. He looked gaunt as he commentated on the unusual proceedings that were unfolding. He once again held two fingers against his earpiece. ‘I’m being informed that we can now go to our North American correspondent, Carol Thirston. Carol, can you hear me?’

  The wind blazed powerfully as the blonde-haired young woman tried to keep her light green jacket hood up. The camera quickly fixed on her position. ‘Yes, Nick, I can hear you. This is all very bizarre behaviour; we are not allowed too close to the ship that landed no more than 200 feet from us, around five minutes ago. The police are still trying to maintain professionalism, but as you can –’

  Tom turned to Connie. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked, perplexed by the whole scenario. ‘You can’t let them enter that ship, they’ll never return!’ He held his hands out, gesturing as though he was holding a heavy weight. ‘That’s what you have aides for, to do the leaders’ jobs for them while they are tucked up safe in their underground bunkers.’

  He scratched at his unkempt hair before sliding his right hand down and around his day’s facial stubble. He moved towards the top of the bed and plumped up his pillow. Connie held his hand as he laid next to her. He loved the feel of her soft fragrant skin as it navigated its way through his fingers, interlocking with them. They continued to stare at the TV screen with a silent apprehension.

  Carol stared down the camera. ‘The humans are now flanked by the six creatures, who seem to have weapons of some type.’ Rain began falling fiercely, its needle-like texture battering her small attractive face. ‘I can’t really make them out, but I have to say that I don’t like the look of this,’ she said as she tried to turn her head from the relentless blasts.

  A group of protesters began chanting in unison as they came into the camera’s line of sight. ‘Leave aliens, leave! Leave aliens, leave!’ They waved their cardboard signs furiously around the flinching reporter. A shaven-headed man preached from behind Carol’s back. ‘Who are they to decide who lives and who dies? What gives them the right?’ he shouted into her ear as he prodded his finger towards her, forcing her to cringe away from the aggression.

  Tom couldn’t take his wide-eyed stare from the TV screen. ‘Why are they allowing them to set foot on that bloody craft, is it some sort of sacrifice?’ he suggested chillingly.

  ‘I don’t know, but whatever it is they must know what they’re doing, right?’ replied Connie. She began running a pink plastic hairbrush through her thick curls. ‘I mean, they will have their respective Vice President and Deputy Prime Minister to take over in any event. But I agree, this doesn’t make sense.’

  Tom pursed his lips as his brain ticked over for a second. ‘Even if it is some sort of peace meeting – negotiations, for example – you wouldn’t send your country’s leader into a blindfolded situation such as this.’

  ‘Maybe you were right first time; maybe they have offered themselves up in a bid to prevent more bloodshed,’ she suggested. ‘Anyway, forget about that for now. Go take a shower, it’ll make you feel better. And change that t-shirt, I can see the sweat stains underneath the arms from here!’

  Tom frowned, oblivious to Connie’s remarks. ‘Hmmm, I don’t know. Besides, there’s no way that us and the Yanks would lay down and do nothing.’ He tapped the remote control against his right thigh. ‘Perhaps they’ve been captured, and this is the only dignified way of them agreeing to go, rather than being forcibly paraded in front of the world.’

  The pictures on the wall suddenly began to rattle. Tom jumped up from the bed and leapt towards the window. He gently used two fingers to slowly part the curtains, and carefully gazed through the gaps in the flimsy plywood. ‘Oh God!’ he shouted as the alien’s musty breath struck his face through the cheap board. The wood snapped in half as the creature’s head burst through the frame. Its dark eyes oozed violence as more Greys followed behind it. He struggled to stay on his feet as he stumbled backwards. ‘Connie, get back up against the wall, NOW!’

  She jumped up with a start, and looked to Tom who himself backed up with speed and efficiency as he regained his balance.

  ‘Tom, they’re coming, look!’

  ‘I know, I know!’ he replied furiously.

  Something caught his eye as he joined Connie at the wall. Under the bed, the tip of the alien paralysis device poked out from within the shadow of the uncovered duvet. The creatures began stepping through what was left of the window frame, one after the other. He debated whether he could grab the instrument in time or not. Without a word he took the chance. He sprang forwards, hitting the soft carpet as he landed on his knees, and scooped the gadget up in his right hand.

  Four aliens stood tall in the bedroom, bent slightly below the off-white painted ceiling. The leader of the group took a step back as the others began their familiar advances.

  ‘Come on, come on you piece of E.T. crap, WORK!’ shouted Tom, panicking as he struck the weapon several times against the palm of his left hand.

  With his right hand trembling he pointed the device at the group, and began thrusting it outwards as he desperately tried to make it work. Suddenly,
his hand jerked on its own as tiny lights on the weapon’s stem glowed in a yellow sequence. They all paused and looked at the gadget, waiting. The aliens started to move away from him as the lights reached their peak. Tom, sensing their hesitancy, took a step forward. The weapon squirted out an odourless, mustard coloured vapour that engulfed the humanoid in front of him.

  Tom looked at the instrument in his hand with raised eyebrows. A new urgency now had a hold of him as the being collapsed to the floor, motionless. Its small quivering lips were the only signs that it was still alive. The others began retreating hastily.

  ‘Yeah, you fucking know it!’ Tom said with an air of bravado.

  He raised his right arm at the next alien, clenching his teeth as he prepared to strike. From his left came a large shadow that knocked the device out of his hand. It flew into the wall with a dense thud before hitting the floor where it buzzed and sparked, broken.

  Tom grappled with the alien; the feel of its slimy skin in his hands made his stomach turn. Its oval eyes bore down on him as it overwhelmed his strength, forcing him down to his knees.

  Connie let out a horrendous cry. Tom looked over to where his wife was, grimacing as he fought the alien hard. She struggled to evade the two monsters who had a violent hold of her. He watched as terror crept over her pretty features. The aliens twisted her arms hard, almost breaking them as she begged them to stop. In a split second, the immense love he felt for her washed over his soul. He stared blankly as they began to pull her towards the window frame, kicking and screaming. A bizarre feeling of doom dominated him – he could feel the end coming.

  The alien looked deep into his eyes. Give up pathetic human, your time is at an end!

  The fight began to disappear from his limbs as he started to lose all hope.

  ‘Tom… Tom!’ screamed Connie as the Greys dragged her by her arms.

  Her shrill voice brought him back to reality. All the noise in the room became crystal clear. The creature’s moist face stopped an inch from his own sweaty, agonised features. He could see his feeble reflection within its huge, shiny black eyes.

  He loosened his aching arms, releasing his grip from the alien’s bony wrists. Sensing victory, it relinquished its own firm hold to one arm. Tom seized his chance. With his free arm he threw it forwards, plunging his fingers into its left eye. The being let out a coarse yelp before smashing the side of Tom’s head, knocking him to the floor. The alien clasped its wounded face as thick liquid trickled down and through its elongated fingers.

  Tom felt a vital advantage. He grabbed the alien by its ankles, holding on as he rolled over onto his side. Pulling the creature off balance, it fell head first, crashing to the carpet. It lay next to him on its stomach, disorientated; its arms splayed out in front of it, twitching like thin grey branches.

  The other Grey that had been paralysed now began to stir as the effects of the spray began to wear off. Time was of the essence. Tom pulled over the small black metal waste bin that sat next to the bed. He tore the plastic bagful of litter from it. Dangling it awkwardly in front of his face, he quickly emptied the assorted contents from it, watching as the junk food wrappers floated to the floor. An empty fizzy drinks can bounced softly before several drops of cherryade leapt onto the carpet, next to the alien blood. Its red colour began darkening the lighter shade beneath it.

  He straddled the alien, placing his legs either side of its torso. He could feel its small ribcage protrude from underneath its skin as he forced the crinkled bag over its head; it was a tight fit, but it worked as the creature began fighting for air. He crossed his hands and held the plastic handles tightly. It kicked as it fought for its life. Tom hung on for all his worth, riding the alien’s midriff in desperation. He kept glancing over at the Grey that was coming around, staring with fear as it woke more with each passing second.

  ‘Come on, die you fucking monster, die!’

  A final flurry of life burned out rapidly as Tom looked into the alien’s eyes. A last breath exhaled from its dry mouth, causing the bag to expand slightly. A tinge of sadness coerced the hairs on the back of his neck to rise as he watched the shine of life dissipate. Without hesitation, he left the corpse and climbed to his feet. He stumbled over to the recovering alien that was trying to haul its tall frame upwards. All guilt had quickly disappeared – a swift kick to the body sent it reeling with a gurgling whine; its mouth bent downwards as it experienced pain. For the first time Tom finally got a feel for the extraterrestrials – and they were afraid. With a wild fury he brought down his right foot upon the creature’s skull, stamping it until its cranium folded in a mess of blood and brain. Breathing heavily, he looked down upon the mush before him. It reminded him of when he was a child, smashing pumpkins to a pulp during Halloween nights. There was no sentiment now as the gooey liquids soaked into the carpet’s thick fibres.

  Connie couldn’t move as the two Greys gripped large chunks of her hair. They began to slide through the window frame, brutally hauling her out with them. Tom looked around until his eyes met with the oak wardrobe. Without thought he pulled a wire coat hanger that dangled precariously from the top of the half-inch open door. He let out a cry as he ran at the humanoids, his feet leaving bloodied prints across the floor.

  He stretched high as he flung the hanger over the alien’s neck, pushing and pulling as it stumbled uneasily. It let go of Connie’s hair, its face tightening as it tried to grasp at the ligature around its long neck. They both crashed into the wall with sickening force; Tom nearly lost his grip as his head bounced off the plaster. The creature clawed at the air as it tried and failed to remove the wire; its fingers couldn’t force their way underneath the metal. With a hefty push they both flew towards the window. Tom let go of the hanger as he tried to stop himself from following suit. He staggered in his tracks, watching as the alien grabbed at the blue curtains before it fell head first through the frame. It passed the transparent bridge, and plummeted to its death.

  A few cheers surfaced from the remaining residents of the surrounding buildings as the being slammed the concrete path with a bone-crunching thud. The lead alien stood in the width of the frame; even though it was thin, it still seemed to engulf the space as it held Connie by her left arm. It produced one of the cattle prod-type weapons and jabbed it against her freckled skin. The golf ball-sized curved steel end glowed red, and a popping noise emanated from the instrument. The smell of burning flesh wafted through the apartment. Tom stepped closer as she weakened, then collapsed. The creature hoisted her up to her feet. She moaned at the vice-like grip upon her scarred flesh.

  The anger swelled throughout Tom’s body. ‘LET – HER – GO!’ he demanded through gritted teeth.

  The alien bent down as it pushed its head backwards out through the window. It snarled as it looked to Connie before turning back to Tom. Guilty!

  ‘No, no, no! Don’t you dare, please don’t do it!’ pleaded Tom as the creature’s word sank into his mind. Stunned, he raised his shaking hands in surrender. He began to back away, giving the alien some space. It looked directly into his watery eyes, almost mockingly. Tom could have sworn that he saw its lips curl into a slight smile. In one effort it swung its arm fully, sending Connie flying out of the window and into the false light. ‘NO!’

  In a flash, the alien had lowered its head and jumped out onto the transparent bridge. Tom lumbered towards the frame in a stupor. Clenching the sill, he thrust his head out into the freezing air. His face was filled with dread.

  ‘Tom…!’ wailed Connie as her flailing figure became ever smaller.

  Her cry for him echoed around the buildings. He watched in horror as she reached out for him before landing on the path, mangled. Blood slowly pooled around her head, entwining with the alien that lay by her side as she stared back up at him with glassy eyes. She was gone.

  ‘Oh my God, you bastard!’ His voice cracked into weak sobs. He put his hands on his pulsating head, pulling at his hair. Previous cheers had now turned to stunned gasps as
the residents looked on, devastated. He glared at the alien who shifted backwards along the invisible bridge. ‘Why?’ he asked as the creature moved further away towards its ship.

  Why not?

  The words that bled into Tom’s mind would forever be imprinted there. He stood a broken man, as the being disappeared into the ship’s orange entrance. He watched silently – distraught – as its propulsion systems kicked in with a whirring force. The blast slammed into the brick face of the apartment block as the ship turned. Its force shot through the broken window frame, hitting his face. He turned his head to a 45º angle, looking through squinted eyes as the craft flew straight up into the darkness.

  Chapter 5: Lost Hopes and Plans

  A sadness crawled around the room as the remaining humans clung to the wall. James discreetly wiped the tears from his face with the balls of his hands, trying not to show a softness in front of the others. John sat staring at the floor, occasionally lifting his head to glance at each of them. The General was solid, continuously in survival mode as he rubbed his large hands together, seeking warmth. Mark played with the thin mist, teasing it with his fingers, fascinated as it trailed after their lead.

  ‘We’re not getting out of here alive, I know this now,’ said John, resigned to the fact.

  ‘You don’t know that, son,’ replied Hargreaves in his gravelly tone. ‘Besides, I don’t want to hear that shit! While we are alive there is always the possibility of escape.’

  John averted his gaze, looking back at the floor.