by Nick M Lloyd
Emergence
by
Nick M. Lloyd
Published by Nick M. Lloyd
First Edition
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Copyright © Nick M. Lloyd, 2014
Art work by Jay Aylmer at The Potting Shed
eBook formatting: Guido Henkel
All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
To those for whom fear and wonder come hand in hand…be brave.
Acknowledgements
I took down about 20 SciFi novels from my bookshelf to get ideas at the style, format, and content of this page. Two hours later I was still laughing at the many different ways authors have said I did it all myself. Well maybe they did… but I didn’t.
Above all others has been my wife, Therese. She has been my emotional foundation; without her good humour and encouragement this book would never have been finished.
Secondly, my kids, who have been simply amazing, wonderfully supportive, and accepting of my quirks.
Not far behind, and in no particular order, a heartfelt thanks to the following:
James (elf), Gus (reader), David (blockade runner), Sally (tough love), Phill (geek), Willis (cuz), Mum (dearly loved), Dad (dearly missed), Jay (boy-wonder), Ems (blurber), Tony R (counsellor), Faye (agent), Bruce (professor), Guido (eWiz), Jindy (writer), Fergus (information crystalliser), Andy M (playwright & coach), Krishen (friendly pedant), and Mark F (coach).
I have been very well supported.
Prologue
February 1965
Escape was the only thing on Bill’s mind as he ran through the dark backstreets. Police sirens were closing in. He’d not seen an actual police car yet, but it was just a matter of time.
Can’t stop.
His legs ached as he pushed himself onwards. He turned another corner fast. And fell, losing his footing on the wet pavement. Pain shot up through his hip as it took the brunt of his fall. At that moment, the headlights of a police car swept around the corner behind him. Gritting his teeth, he scrambled through a hedge into the garden beyond, branches ripping into the skin on his face and hands.
Bill crouched down, stock-still, willing them not to see him. The police car flashed past without slowing. Recovery was quick; he took a few deep breaths and started to run.
Have to warn Tom.
He knew physically getting to Oxford would be beyond him; there were simply too many people chasing him, but a phone call might be possible. Taking a quick look around, he recognised a side road that led up to Hampstead Heath. He had friends close by who would help.
In almost total darkness, his hip pain gone, Bill powered up the hill towards the heath. As he reached the entrance, he forced himself to slow down. He peered into the gloom of the heath. Perhaps he had a chance in there. He looked back down the road; there were no more vehicles yet.
About to move off, he froze at the unmistakeable sound of a gun being cocked. A rough voice came out of the darkness.
‘Stop there and you won’t get hurt.’
Dread overcame him. His legs, so strong when running, went weak. It was all he could do to simply stand upright. A shape appeared—one of the soldiers from the laboratory—with a revolver pointing directly at Bill’s face. Neither the revolver nor the voice wavered.
‘Okay, Bill, face down on the ground while we wait.’
He felt sick. Can’t go back.
The soldier turned on the radio on his belt; it crackled.
Bill considered his position. Could he escape into the darkness? But the revolver pointed directly at him drained his hope.
‘I said lie down.’
Suddenly, the radio crackling loudly, a fragment of conversation. ‘…closing in…’
Although distorted, Bill recognised the voice, his nausea got worse. It was the psychotic programme director. A wave of hopelessness washed over Bill, and he lay down on his front. Now the pain from his hip, and his bloodied face and hands, made itself known. He was shaking badly.
They’ll do the experiments again.
Lying face down on the ground, Bill remembered the electric shocks and involuntarily retched up. He wiped the vomit away from his mouth.
A few moments later, he realised the radio was still crackling and the soldier hadn’t spoken yet. He looked up, just as the soldier collapsed to the ground with a thud.
There’d been no gun shot and nobody else was around. What just happened? A flash of headlights. A few hundred metres away a car was coming up the hill. Adrenaline surged through him. Fear pushing him onwards, Bill jumped up and stumbled deeper into the woods.
Once amongst the trees his strength began to build, and soon he was moving fluidly. He headed across the heath. Friends in Highgate would have a phone he could use to warn his son. Behind him, there were some muffled explosions, and more police sirens. But, as he moved steadily eastward, the sounds of pursuit faded away.
This deep, amongst the trees, it was pitch black. Bill slowed his pace to a jog, listening carefully and looking around for lights. He picked his way through the trees for a few minutes. A dull glow grew ahead of him; he could see the streetlights of Highgate up ahead—a glimmer of hope. He just had to cross the final field.
With the end in sight, Bill quickened his pace. Escape. He’d be out of the country before they could stop him. Then revenge. Suddenly there was stinging pain in his leg. He reached down instinctively to rub it. A bee? His leg went momentarily numb, and collapsed under him. Bill fell.
Got to warn Tom.
Again, his strength returned quickly. He got up. But almost immediately upon getting back his feet, another sting hit him in the small of his back. He stumbled; he could tolerate that one. He staggered on. Then there was a muffled shriek close behind him and a pain bloomed in his skull; he fell. Heavy footsteps were closing in as Bill struggled to remain conscious. What? Disorientated, Bill pushed himself to his knees. Have to get away.
Footsteps were very close now, and a new background noise—a mechanical humming. Still on his knees, Bill half-turned and watched with mounting terror as a shape loomed out of the darkness.
In the gloom, a hand with six fingers reached down towards him; the hand was large, very large. His eyes lingered on it for a few seconds, then his attention was drawn to the muscled forearm disappearing into a heavy sleeve. Horrified, but unable to look away, his gaze continued up the arm to a chest the width of two normal humans; and then the creature’s head: green, enormous eyes and carnivorous teeth.
Bill tried to scream, but the sound wouldn’t come. Terror froze him as the creature took a firm hold of his coat and effortlessly lifted him into the air.
At first light the next day, the hunt for Bill continued. Police with dogs were drafted in, but they hunted in vain. No trace of Bill was found. He’d disappeared, along with the soldier who had been patrolling the southwest side of Hampstead Heath.
Chapter 1
October 2015
Jack Bullage felt slightly nervous as he walked through the restaurant. Looking around, he could see people crammed around wooden tables laden with steaks, red wine and heavy looking cutlery. The waitresses, with good-natured smiles, ran around and took orders against the clamour of bar-room bustle. Jack looked back towards the door; his two business partners
were following. They look relaxed—good.
A squeeze on Jack’s hand brought him back to the present. In fact, he had three of the firm’s directors with him tonight.
Sarah smiled at him and, leaning in close, whispered in his ear, ‘It’s all fine, love.’
‘The next few weeks are going to be critical…’
‘It’s fine. They love you…and your plan.’
As they sat down, the waitress brought their drinks through from the bar. Jack reached for the bottled water on the table. ‘Welcome, gentlemen, and Sarah. This is mostly just a social visit to the infamous Spatchcock Saloon, but if you have any concerns about the deal then speak out.’
One of the guests murmured, ‘Don’t worry Jack, we’re on board.’
Jack let out a quiet sigh of relief. That’s it?
Under the table, Sarah gave Jack’s hand another squeeze and when he met her eyes, she smiled broadly. ‘So, Jack—what are you having?’
Jack perused the menus, then winked at Sarah.
Sarah arched an eyebrow but remained silent.
After a few minutes, the waitress returned. Jack waited for the others to order, in each case making a supportive remark on their choice. Then he leant forward. ‘Would you be prepared to arrange a fight between your two biggest lobsters and then cook the winner?’
The waitress laughed. ‘So you want a big lobster?’
Jack put on his mock hurt expression. ‘Have you heard it before?’
‘I don’t hear it every day.’
‘Well, I don’t come here every day.’ Jack laughed, and the waitress disappeared. He raised a glass to his other dining companions. ‘A toast to our dynamite CFO, Sarah Jukes.’
Glasses were raised. Sarah leant over to Jack and whispered in his ear. ‘In polite company I’d probably prefer you referred to me as dynamic rather than dynamite.’
Jack turned and gave Sarah a quick kiss on the cheek, noticing out of the corner of his eye the other two discreetly looking away. Sarah mocked a scandalised face.
With the tacit agreement to the deal from the two directors secured, Jack felt very relaxed. He regaled the table with stories, rumours and lies, until the waitress politely told them their table was promised to a late sitting. Sarah flashed out the company Amex Platinum; then they all made their way, a little unsteadily, into the car park.
The stretched executive BMW was waiting. As they approached the car, the chauffeur jumped out and opened the doors. Jack organised the seating and then climbed into the back, between Sarah and one of the others.
Sarah made a fuss of adjusting her seatbelt before cuddling into Jack. ‘You’re a bit skinny, but I’ll make do.’
Before settling back in his seat, Jack passed his iPod to the chauffeur. ‘The Relax Jack playlist please, and we must be home before the last track finishes.’
Moments later, the soporific music drifted around the car’s warm interior and Jack smiled contently. Sarah opened her eyes for a split second and ran her hand through his hair. Jack returned the favour, caressing her cheek. Sarah mumbled something affectionate but unintelligible, and snuggled closer into his chest. Jack started to reach for his seatbelt, but with Sarah mostly asleep, almost on top of him, he decided against disturbing her; he left it off.
The rain began to fall as the car moved out of Woodstock. Jack closed his eyes and thought back over the past week. It had been a good week: business was booming, Sarah was loving. The patter of the rain on the roof of the car gave Jack an even more tranquil feeling and he started to doze off.
Approaching the M40, the weather was deteriorating, very heavy rain was reducing the visibility, and on the entry ramp the BMW slowed to make way for a heavy truck struggling for control in the high winds. Cocooned within the backseat, and with his eyes closed, Jack noticed the slowing. ‘Home before the last track…’
The BMW gunned forward and joined the outside lane, heading for London.
Jack continued to drift in and out of sleep. He felt the warmth of Sarah pressed in close. The car was going smoothly at 90 miles an hour and, to Jack, it did feel good to be alive. Board approval and 100 million…Tonight just me and Sarah. He opened his eyes to look at Sarah. She was sleeping deeply.
A little while later Jack drifted out of his doze again. The rain was hammering down and he could see signs for the M25 indistinctly in the distance. He could see the instrument panel—90, maybe it was a little fast for these conditions. I suppose I did tell him to get us home quickly. Jack considered saying something, but the chauffeur was a professional and Jack drifted back to sleep.
‘Brace! Brace! Brace!’ screamed the chauffeur.
Jack’s eyes came open in an instant. About 60 metres away in the road ahead, he could see a fiery inferno, and they were rushing inexorably towards it. The tyres screeched as the brakes locked up, but the car did not seem to be slowing. Time, however, was, and Jack watched in horror as the scene unfolded.
The line of fire contained a mass of burning vehicles; they slid towards it, 40 metres away, then 30 metres, then 20. Jack looked left and right; no one else in the car seemed to be moving. The driver’s face was locked in a rictus of fear. The car continued towards the fire’s embrace. Jack felt as though he was being force-fed into the mouth of hell. He could feel the enormous heat on his face, smell the burning hair. Then hell swallowed him and there was a noise like an enormous rushing waterfall; then pure silence.
This was not a calm silence for Jack. In utter terror, he drifted towards the windscreen. He turned as he was pulled away from Sarah, still attached to her seatbelt, and still asleep! I’m going to die. Looking forwards again, the windscreen was a little closer and he could see a spider web of cracks covering it. The silence was absolute as he closed in on it; his arms raised to his head. The windscreen exploded in slow motion, Jack couldn’t tell if he had broken the windscreen or not; there was still no pain. He looked around; he was outside amongst the flames. He saw the roof of another car as he passed over the top of it. A few metres away, a ruined car contained two inert bodies broken and charred. Then Jack felt movement and motion speed up, and he burst out of the smoke and flames. The tarmac of the motorway was coming up fast. He blinked.
Opening his eyes, Jack looked at his feet, his legs, his body, his arms…all intact. His heavy overcoat was a little scuffed up, but otherwise he was unharmed and standing. He turned back to the raging fire. Sarah! His senses, more than just coming back to normal, were being assaulted: the smell of burning rubber, the screech of steel being shredded. Jack saw burning bodies, flying bodies, all of them dead bodies. He fought to keep control. Sarah!
Jack ran towards the inferno, I have to get back in. But the heat stopped him twenty metres away. ‘Sarah!’ He covered his face with his heavy coat and edged forward, he could smell his hair smouldering; the heat was unbearable. He screamed over the noise of the roaring flames. ‘Sarah!’
A man came up behind him and pulled him back. ‘There’s nothing alive in there, buddy. Don’t throw your life away.’
‘Sarah’s in there.’ Jack slumped down on the motorway. ‘My rock…’
A woman came up and comforted him. ‘It’ll be all right.’
Jack looked up at her. ‘One moment I was holding her in my arms, the next moment I’m here and she’s not.’
Soon a crowd was gathering at the perimeter of the dead zone.
Chapter 2
At the same time as Jack Bullage was leaving the restaurant, Louise Harding was exiting the tube. Once outside, she put on her small rucksack, and walked up the road heading home.
After only a few minutes, she mumbled a curse, turned around, and walked faster back to the high street. Her curses increased as the first drops of rain fell. Powering onwards, she was oblivious to the raised eyebrows as she swept past the other pavement users going too slowly for her tastes.
By the time she’d arrived at the local shop, the rain had matted her hair across her fa
ce. She picked up a few necessities and took them to the counter. ‘Evening, Mr Singh.’
‘Another late night at the office?’ Mr Singh started to process the contents of her basket. ‘How’s my mate Jeff doing?’
‘He’s fine, as always. I suspect he’s probably curled up on the sofa watching a movie.’ Louise ran her hands through her hair. ‘Yep, another late night at the office.’
Mr Singh picked up a few bars of chocolate from her basket. ‘This helps.’
‘They’re not all for me. I use them to bribe Jeff.’
Mr Singh chuckled and Louise left with a smile which quickly turned back into a frown; the rain seemed to have settled in over Kilburn for the night.
Arriving back home, on Exeter Road, Louise had a quick look up and down the street before entering. Once inside, she pottered in the kitchen for a minute before slumping down on a chair.
Moments later Jeff came down the stairs with a towel wrapped around his waist, and another around his shoulders; he was using a third towel to dry his hair. Louise looked appraisingly. ‘Got enough towels there?’
Jeff raised his eyes in apparent mock surprise and gave her a kiss. ‘Do you know where there are any more?’
Ignoring him, Louise fetched herself a glass of wine. ‘I’ve been subjected to just general drudgery today. Nothing unusual. A new corporate malpractice investigation.’
Jeff smiled. ‘They still let you do those?’
Louise frowned but a ping from the microwave interrupted her train of thought. She retrieved her dinner, took out her laptop and booted it up while wolfing down the food.
Jeff dug around in the shopping bags, located the chocolate and retreated to the sofa. Jeff’s phone buzzed—an incoming text. ‘Mike says he fancies a pre-closing time drink.’
‘My new case has nothing to do with Jack Bullage.’ Louise scanned her anonymous email accounts for a few seconds. ‘…yeah, sure, we can meet Mike for a quick one.’