by Tim Lebbon
Mum looked at me. “Dad’s right,” she said. “The car’s not big enough.”
“So leave Jude behind!”
“Ally, don’t be—”
“I’m lost without Otis,” I said. “You know that, Mum. Dad.”
I saw the moment when Dad relented. His expression didn’t change noticeably, but the tension in his shoulders lessened, and his left arm around Mum relaxed a little.
“He’ll be in the boot,” Dad signed. “Lynne will be in the back with you and Jude.”
I nodded.
“We’ll need the pod for the roof,” Mum said. She wasn’t signing, but I picked up most of the words by lip-reading. “I’ve got clothes ready for all of us, and Mum and Jude are in the kitchen getting some food together. So… what was it like?”
“Busy,” Dad said. He looked at me and smiled. Clicked his fingers, scratched Otis’s head when the dog went to him. “People are panicking. It’s scary. We need to take all the food we have; the shops are already sold out.”
“All of them?” I asked, shocked.
“The ones I checked. Glenn’s coming with us, too.” Dad turned away and said something that made Mum open her eyes wide. I looked from the window again. It had been a deliberate exclusion, and I tried to not mind.
My favourite time of year was upon us. Several days earlier there had been a windy, stormy night, and the following morning a carpet of leaves had fluttered across the garden, gathering in piles against the garage and fence. I loved the colours of autumn, the textures, the smell of bonfires and fireworks in the air, the feel of leaves crumpling beneath my feet when we walked Otis.
But now there was something different about the garden. It was no longer a safe place.
Otis nuzzled my hand, and I turned around to find my parents looking at me.
“Go and grab anything else you want to take,” Mum said. I had to ask her to repeat herself, because my eyes were watering. I only noticed when I couldn’t lip-read properly.
“When are we leaving?” I asked.
“As soon as we can,” Dad said. “Meeting at Glenn’s. Come on, Ally. Hustle.” He tried to smile, but there was no humour in it.
I scratched Otis behind the ear, then stood and hurried through to the hallway. Jude was there, sitting on a suitcase. He was concentrating on his iPod Touch and I didn’t disturb him. Next to him was my own suitcase, packed with clothes Mum had plucked from drawers and wardrobes without really thinking. We’d need shoes, coats. And I’d need books and toiletries.
I started to shake. It was a strange feeling, but I could do nothing to shrug it off. My jaw rattled, scalp crawled, limbs shook, and I had to grab hold of the staircase to prevent myself from slipping to my knees.
Jude looked up and smiled at me. “We’ll be okay, Ally,” he said. “We’re going on an adventure!”
I nodded and waited for the shaking to subside before going upstairs. I was afraid that this adventure had already begun.
* * *
In my room I turned on the TV while I was grabbing stuff Mum had left behind. But I didn’t even pick up one item before becoming transfixed by what I saw. And I didn’t need to read the streaming subtitles to know that I was witnessing something terrible and world-changing.
It was a piece of film perhaps two minutes long. I turned on just in time to catch the shocking finale, and then the BBC News channel repeated it. Across the bottom of the screen a banner read, “Vienna, Austria”.
Did I just see that?
The city appeared in a view from above. The camera was moving slowly, so I assumed it was on board a helicopter. Directly below I could see roads jammed with traffic, and the camera zoomed in and down so that people could just be made out, filing out of the city like ants following scent trails to safety.
Did I really see that?
The view changed again, and in the distance was a skyline I would not have expected of Vienna—skyscrapers, modern glass and metal buildings, and a wide, ship-like structure that might have been a sports stadium. Beyond, smoke rose from fires that were mostly out of sight.
Because if I did see that, how can this scene change so quickly into—
A cloud swept across the city. It originated behind the skyscrapers, manifesting from the drifting clouds of smoke beyond, and seemed to swell around and over the buildings like a slow-motion tidal wave. Pale white, smeared yellow in places, it was opaque, spreading across the city and blurring the view, as if a special filter had been used. But I knew otherwise, because I had seen this before.
It was them, but in numbers so vast that my brain couldn’t comprehend.
The view shimmered for a few seconds, then, when it levelled again, the helicopter the cameraman was filming from had tilted sharply to escape the approaching storm. Two dark objects streaked across the sky below, shades across the city, and they unleashed streaks of smoke that blossomed into expanding splashes of fire, exploding high above the ground and searing gaps in the swarm of vesps. Two more aircraft arced across the upper part of the picture, unleashing their own ordnance before disappearing from the screen. Their bombs seemed to explode lower down, and I caught a glimpse of fire boiling between buildings, queues of traffic consumed.
I know what’s to come, I thought, but I could not turn away.
Even as the jets disappeared from view the gaps they had blasted in the clouds of vesps were all but gone. The creatures came on, sheets of them dipping down across the city, others spreading quickly in from the distance. Far below, another explosion bloomed briefly, soon lost amidst the blurring effect of the tide of creatures.
The helicopter shuddered, the image shook.
Close now, I thought. It can’t be long until—
And then I saw the end of the footage, the several-second clip I’d walked in on two minutes before. The clouds closed on the helicopter. The cameraman fell back, dropping the camera, closing the door, his pale face screaming silently as the camera rolled to the rear of the cabin and jammed there, showing the window in the aircraft’s side door darkening as yellow, fleshy bodies and leathery wings slammed against it.
The window broke. A tumble of vesps poured in.
The view stirred sickeningly, and then the picture snapped to black.
Two news presenters stared from the screen, seemingly speechless. One of them touched her ear, the other kept glancing at a small laptop screen in front of him.
I turned the TV off. They’re bombing them now. Even above the cities they’re trying to bomb them, and there are so many. How can you kill so many?
I looked around my bedroom and felt a sudden, shattering sense of sadness. This was the place where I felt most at home and protected, my place of safety. It reminded me of those bedrooms I sometimes saw on TV or read about in books, kept by parents exactly as they had been when their child disappeared or was killed years before. It was an old room filled with things that suddenly didn’t seem important. My CDs, books, make-up, posters, trophies.
None of it mattered any more.
I’d just seen people dying on TV. Why would I need makeup? How could I even be considering taking a book with me?
I left my bedroom without a backward glance. Otis was waiting at the top of the stairs, head down and ears drooping.
“It’s okay, boy,” I said, but his ears barely lifted. Maybe he knew the truth.
* * *
We left the house an hour later. Dad had fitted the car’s roof pod, and Mum stood on the door sill and filled it as we passed things up to her. Mostly food and bottles of water. Dad shoved one big suitcase into the boot and I almost objected. Otis usually went in the boot of the estate car, and because he was such a big dog we rarely put anything in there with him. But this was no normal trip. And I had insisted that the dog come along.
Sitting in the car on the driveway—Mum and Dad in the front, Jude sandwiched between me and Lynne in the back, Otis standing and alert in the boot—I had to wonder whether we would ever see our house again. I saw that ou
r parents were talking, and I felt the rumble of Jude’s voice where our arms touched. Mum turned around to answer him.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” she said.
As we left the street, I looked down at my mobile phone. I’d sent Lucy a text telling her what was happening, but she had yet to reply. She went swimming with her family every Friday evening, but I couldn’t believe that they had done so today.
Driving along the short street, however, I realised how differently everyone was handling the unfolding tragedy. The Pritchards three doors down already seemed to have left, both cars absent from the driveway and curtains closed, no lights on inside. The Coopers were still at home—I could see their father in the living room, and two bedroom lights were on upstairs. I liked Mr Cooper; he’d given me sweets when I was a kid and did the same for Jude now.
I started to cry.
“I don’t want to go,” I said. I caught Dad’s eye in the rear-view mirror but couldn’t see what he said. My grandmother reached over Jude and tapped my knee, trying to offer comfort. But my little brother was crying too, probably because I was, and I could feel Otis’s breath on my neck where he rested his head sadly on the seat.
I didn’t say any more, and neither did anyone else. None of us wanted to go, but there was nothing to debate. Our course of action was set, and all I could do now was wonder whether it was even worthwhile.
I leaned against the window and watched everything I knew pass by.
* * *
As we reached Glenn’s big country house—Dad sometimes said he must rattle around in there, but Mum said there were always women to soften the blow—the phone vibrated in my lap. I snatched it up and saw a text from Lucy.
You’re really going to Scotland?
Yep. All of us. Mum and Dad think it’s for the best.
Didn’t tell me you were going on hols this week. What about school?
I blinked at the message. Lucy’s apparent ignorance and lack of concern washed a wave of doubt over me. But now that we’d taken action, left home, everything I’d seen weighed heavy and real on my mind, and that wave soon receded.
My family had left the car. Mum and Dad spoke with Glenn, while Jude kicked a ball around the large floodlit patio area. Lynne leaned against the car, looking out over the fields.
Not a holiday. We’re getting somewhere safe. You seen what’s happening?
I hit send, and there was no immediate response. I checked the message had been sent. Sat there. Otis nuzzled my ear and I reached back to stroke his head. I felt him whining, and I whispered kind words to settle him.
Glenn and Dad seemed to be arguing, but I couldn’t see what was being said.
My phone vibrated, and Lucy had sent,
Yeah.
So we’re getting away from it. They might reach England tomorrow evening, Mum and Dad reckon.
There’s nothing to worry about.
That what your folks are telling you?
Lucy didn’t answer. I waited for a minute or two, but there was no response. Maybe I was scaring my friend. Or maybe Lucy was drying her hair, dancing around her room, oblivious and ignorant to what might come.
The door opened, startling me, and Mum appeared beside me.
“We’re waiting here for a bit,” she said.
“Why?”
“Glenn’s decided he doesn’t want to leave.” Mum shrugged. I guessed that if I could hear, I’d sense a quake in her voice. I hated seeing Mum scared, and I climbed from the car to stand beside her.
It was hardly surprising that Glenn didn’t want to go. His house was beautiful, and most of his three acres of land was given over to a smallholding. He had a dozen lambs approaching slaughter age, geese, chickens, rabbits, and three big bounding dogs, probably now locked away in their large kennel. A year ago I had spent a few weeks over the summer helping with Glenn’s animals, and he’d paid me to come over every day to feed and tend them. But one day the largest goose had gone for me. I’d been searching for eggs—a goose-egg omelette was a real treat—and I hadn’t heard the trumpeted warning, the pattering feet. The monster pecked and prodded at me even as I ran and leaped the fence, and I’d been left with several dark bruises and one bleeding wound on my behind. A trip to the doctor and a tetanus injection had followed, and while I saw the funny side, I’d decided that my time with geese was over. Jude had laughed for a whole evening.
If Glenn came with us, who would tend the animals?
Dad and Glenn were walking slowly across the large gravelled driveway towards the house, talking animatedly.
“The vesps will kill the animals anyway,” I said.
Mum only squeezed my hand.
“Glenn!” I called. Dad and Glenn paused and turned around. “The vesps will kill all the animals! You can’t keep them quiet. And they’ll kill anyone still here with them.”
Dad said something, but he was too far away for me to read. I turned to Mum.
“Glenn’s brother Rudy and his family live in Switzerland,” Mum said. “He’s watching on TV.”
Sad, I walked off to join Jude kicking the ball around the big patio. When I glanced back at Lynne, she was leaning against the car and looking out across the fields, a pained expression on her face. She seemed to be breathing heavily.
“Lynne?”
“Go and play,” Lynne said, then she looked away. She seemed to be struggling to control her expression, standing tense and straight as if defying whatever tried to twist her up. She was in pain. Something was wrong, I had suspected it for a while, and now it was just another shard of fear piercing my heart.
Everything was changing, everything was going bad.
8
Oh no, that’s not correct at all. We’ve had plenty of contact with people inside the infested areas. I myself have spoken to our embassy staff in Chişinău. They’re barricaded inside. They’re surviving. The idea that all those areas exposed to the infestation have been swept clean of any living thing is rumour. These things, these so-called vesps, are dangerous animals, not… not monsters. Deadly, yes, but blind. Stay hidden, stay quiet, and they will pass you by.
(Non-subtitled question)
Er… no, we’ve not yet heard of any military response that has had significant results.
(Non-subtitled question)
You’ll understand that because of security reasons, no, I can’t outline any military response that the UK is preparing.
(Non-subtitled question)
That is ridiculous scaremongering¸ and at a time like this, people who spread rumours of apocalypse, people who start shouting about the end of the world… they should be arrested. They will be arrested.
(Non-subtitled question)
Under the Terrorism Act. Or something else. I’ll pass an emergency Act, if needs must. Listen, we’re facing—
(Non-subtitled interruption)
No, not martial law. We’re facing something shattering, but it’s something we have to face together. All of us. Britain has survived worse than this.
Prime Minister’s statement, 6 p.m., Friday, 18 November 2016
In the end, Glenn turned off the TV himself. He’d tried to contact his brother and family in Switzerland by phone, but there was no connection. He called the helpline for the service provider, but the tone was constantly engaged. He buzzed his family over the Internet, but the Skype and FaceTime calls went unanswered.
Saying nothing, he walked through the large kitchen and went down into the cellar to collect his shotguns. Huw had seen the tears in his eyes but said nothing. He had a complex relationship with Glenn, although he guessed most of the complexity was on his own side. Though they were good friends, he saw the man as many things he would never be. Glenn was fit and excelled at sports, handy with his hands, effortlessly confident around women, and the sort of character who lit up a room. Huw had an element of all those aspects, but was superior in none. Glenn probably didn’t even recognise that fact, and that was just one more thing about him that made Huw
feel insecure—his complete confidence. He was at ease with himself and with life, and though irrationally jealous of that, Huw couldn’t help loving the guy.
Huw continued stacking bags of food by the open back door.
“Maybe they’re dead,” Glenn said from behind him. He stood at the open cellar door, two shotguns in cases slung over his shoulder. They suited him. Of course they did.
“There’s nothing about Switzerland on the news,” Huw said, realising how lame that sounded.
“Yeah,” Glenn said. He blinked a few times, then shrugged the guns higher on his shoulder. “Yeah, okay. Sorry. I’m fine now. Come on. Let’s get the fuck out of here.” He snatched up a couple of heavy holdalls and edged sideways through the back door.
“You’re sure about this?” Huw asked.
Glenn sighed. “Maxine. Jesus, if you saw the things she could do with…” He laughed. “Yeah. I am sure, now. It’s the sensible thing to do and I can try Rudy again when we’re on the road.”
“The animals—”
“Are animals. And Ally was right.” Huw could never get used to the idea that Glenn’s livestock was reared for slaughter, but Glenn called him a hypocrite and suggested he become vegetarian. Huw knew that his friend had a farmer’s outlook, but he was a product of the consumer age. Meat was prepared food in sealed packets, not animals with characters, gambolling and eating and sleeping.
“We’ll be back soon,” Huw said.
“You think so?”
They packed Glenn’s Land Rover in silence. Kelly and Lynne stood chatting, and Ally and Jude were kicking a football around the garden, laughing. That almost broke Huw’s heart. They were just kids, even Ally, and seeing them playing made him want to scoop them up and hold them tight, protect them in any way he could.
But that’s what he was doing. Protecting them, in the only way he knew how. And he realised then just how glad he was that Glenn was coming with them.