The Silence

by Tim Lebbon

  Huw’s face connected with the door’s edge. Pain roared into his nose and behind his eyes, and the last thing he saw as he slumped to his knees, head back, was the whole mad world spinning.

  * * *

  He dragged me across the garden. No matter how much I struggled, kicked, punched, tried to trip him and kick at where Lynne had slashed with the knife, the man hauled me behind him across the grass. The cold night kissed my skin, and the illuminated house suddenly felt like the only safe place as it receded behind.

  I had never felt so helpless. Even with the vesps coming and the world changing so much, I had struggled to maintain an element of control—compiling information, recording details, telling stories and trying to see patterns of truth amongst the chaos.

  But now I could do nothing. I was being swept along by the madness of things, and my attempts to swim against the flow were hopeless.

  He had me by the back of my pullover, hauling the neckline tight against my throat as he dragged me backwards, my bare heels useless as I tried to dig them into the ground, slow myself down. My arms were raised by the tension in the material. I rolled, turning so that my knees were scraping across the ground, and the half-twist wound the material tighter around my throat. I was finding it hard to breathe. I punched at his calves and ankles, forgetting which one Lynne had slashed, but to no avail. I tried digging my feet in and shoving, hoping to topple him forwards and land on his back, turn his arm, break it. But though tall and thin the man was also solid, and it was like shouldering a tree.

  Past him I could see the garden wall, and standing on the other side, two shapes. One of them was the Reverend; I could make out his dog collar glowing faintly in the light spilling from the house. I wondered where the others were, and hoped that Dad had killed some of them. The idea was shocking, but I didn’t feel bad thinking it.

  I tried to stand but slipped on the wet grass, turning as I went so that the man was dragging me backwards again. And that was how I saw Lynne.

  I could not remember the last time I had seen my grandmother running. She’d probably think it was unseemly, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen her moving quicker than a fast walk. But now she was sprinting across the lawn, her twiglike silhouette somehow awful and inspiring at the same time. Threatening and courageous. I would have cried out in delight if I hadn’t known what that would bring.

  Someone must have warned my abductor. He dropped me and I splayed on my back on the wet grass, banging my head, quickly sitting again as Lynne ran towards me. My mother’s mother offered a small, sad smile as she ran past, and I rolled to my left and knelt. I was on my knees in time to see Lynne dive at the tall man, sending him staggering back against the boundary wall, her arms around his chest, head against his neck, feet scrabbling and driving them both over and out of sight.

  The Reverend and the other Hushed went to help. I saw the Reverend suddenly trip and disappear with them behind the wall, and the shock was the first real expression other than madness I’d seen on his face.

  That was when Lynne must have screamed. Afterwards, Jude would tell me that the scream sounded like a high-pitched cry of delight rather than a screech of fear or pain, and that went some small way to making the memory of what happened next easier. Some very small way.

  The shapes came from all around. Some whisked past me from the direction of the house, others dropped from the dark skies, yet more emerged from the trees and shadowed countryside, streaking through the night towards the sudden, loud noise. They converged on Lynne and the men still on the ground beyond the wall, and I never saw my grandmother again. But I remembered that small, sad smile as she’d run past, and my surprise at seeing my old, sick grandmother running so fast. I don’t think I’d ever seen her so alive.

  Hands closed on my shoulders and I spun around, but it was only Jude, wide-eyed and terrified but still out there to bring me back home. He pressed his finger to his lips in a completely unnecessary gesture, but I nodded as I stood, and we held hands as we went back towards the house.

  Guilt sliced in with every step. I should be helping Lynne! We should all be there, fighting them off and pulling her free, killing those beasts that are killing her.

  But there were at least twenty vesps there, and many more converging at every moment.

  Lynne didn’t want our help.

  By the time we reached the door my vision was blurred, tears of fear and terror and grief burning away the touch of cool night air on my skin. Dad was sitting just inside the door, head in his hands and blood pooling between his legs. Mum was standing beside him with a stained knife in one hand, roasting fork in the other, and her shirt was slashed and speckled with blood, her shoulder gored, eyes wide.

  Her gaze flickered back and forth between us as we reached the safety of the house, and the chaos beyond the wall. The place where her own mother was dying. I wondered why she wasn’t running. Later, Jude told me that the last thing Lynne ever said was to our mum: “Stay here, my darling girl.”

  Jude and I tripped over the door sill and fell into the house, and I turned to see my mother hesitate for only a second before closing the door. She clicked the lock, turned to lean against the door, and slid slowly down until she too was sitting.

  In her eyes I saw the ice-cold loss of hope.

  PART THREE

  GREY

  22

  An early snowstorm in parts of western Germany has resulted in tens of thousands of vesps becoming slow, lethargic, disorientated, and easy to hunt and kill. Dozens of groups of citizens—some containing police or army members, many more simply well-meaning civilians—have been stalking the silent city of Frankfurt killing vesps with knives and hastily fashioned spears, gardening implements, and bows and arrows. The corpses are gathered into bags and then thrown into the Rhine. There is no accurate count being kept. Communications are difficult. But in this unseasonably cold snap, the fightback has begun.

  Reuters, Tuesday, 6 December 2016

  There are 1,233 people safe in Antarctica.

  Angus MacReady, Halley Antarctic Research Station, Tuesday, 6 December 2016

  They had to leave the house.

  It was Jude who marshalled them, brought them together, and thought of everything. He busied himself around the kitchen, pausing every now and then to listen at the door leading into the rest of the house. The phones had stopped ringing. There was no sign of the Hushed. Huw watched his son with pride, but every time he closed his eyes it felt like his skull had been cracked in two, his eyes pulped in their sockets.

  He’d smacked into the heavy door’s edge face-first, hard enough to break his nose, chip two teeth, and put a three-inch gash in his forehead. The bleeding probably made it seem worse. He was dizzy and felt sick, and suspected he might have a mild concussion. Every time he stood the world swayed, and he remained leaning against the table.

  Kelly was also injured and she stood close to him. But her incapacity was of a different kind. She had just seen her mother die—not witnessed it first-hand, but close enough so that the distinction didn’t matter. She was shivering, pressed close to Huw’s side. He did his best to examine the wounds on her shoulder, chest and hands. They were swollen and bleeding, and quite possibly infected. There was no saying what exotic, unknown diseases those bastard things carried.

  Ally seemed okay. She followed Jude, taller and bigger than him yet at that moment doing as he said. Huw watched his daughter, looking for signs of trauma or injuries, but he guessed anything serious was on the inside. That would have more of an impact on her later, but right now it meant that she was still strong and capable.

  We’re all going to be fucked in the head, he thought. Maybe the same, maybe in different ways. He blinked slowly and behind his eyelids everything was red.

  They had to bathe, clean and dress their wounds, but proper treatment would have to wait. Everything would have to wait. Because they had to get away.

  Jude and Ally gathered together everything they could use. The broom h
andle, now a one-ended spear, the knife stained dark with vesp blood. The holdall he’d brought down from the bedroom, packed with warm clothing and a couple of boxes of shotgun shells. He’d tried loading the weapon but Ally had gently taken it from him, placing it on the table.

  Every few seconds Jude went to the window and looked out. He scanned left and right, shading his eyes against the glass to block out the kitchen’s weak light.

  Huw knew that they might come at any moment. He didn’t really know how many of the Hushed there were, and although some might have been injured or killed, there were probably more who had escaped. He might have hit two or three with the shotgun blasts. He felt cool about that, calm, and even if regrets came later, he was glad there was nothing now. The tall man who had grabbed Ally was almost certainly dead, along with Lynne. Maybe the Reverend, as well.

  Hopefully the Reverend.

  They might attack again. They could be fleeing into the countryside. It could be that the few survivors were huddled down under trees or against walls, adrift now that their leader was vesp fodder.

  Huw didn’t care. As long as they stayed away, he didn’t give a shit about what might happen to those poor, wretched people. That felt harsh, but it also felt right. Every single thing he loved and cared about was in this room.

  Jude and Ally stood by the table, Jude frowning and looking around as if to assess what he had gathered. He glanced at his parents and away again, not wanting to look at them for too long. Huw had noticed this, and hardly blamed his son. Huw’s face was a bloody mess and he swayed where he stood, and Kelly seemed lost.

  Huw squeezed his wife’s good shoulder, trying to bring her back to them. She let out a heavy gasp and looked around the kitchen, gaze resting on Huw. She assessed his face, seeing his wounds and his blood, then stared into his eyes.

  Huw tried to smile. It hurt his broken nose and split lip, and he could feel tooth shards on his tongue.

  Kelly pulled away and went to her children. She buried her face in Ally’s hair, then dipped her head and did the same to Jude, and Huw realised that she was smelling them.

  Tears blurred his already fluid vision. When he wiped them away Kelly was in front of him again, checking his wounds with a calmer eye.

  “You walk?” she whispered.

  “Yeah.” He touched her face. “You okay?”

  She laughed once, softly, then rested her hand on his cheek. “Yeah. Dandy. We need to go.”

  “I know. Jude and Ally…”

  “They’ve got all they can. But there’s one more thing Ally needs.”

  Huw frowned, confused.

  “Her iPad.”

  “It’s upstairs?”

  Kelly nodded. “I’ll go with her.”

  “No, I—” Huw moved away from the table and the world swam, and his wife’s gentle hands eased him back again.

  “I’ll go with her,” she said again. She lifted the shotgun from the table, broke it open and reloaded. “Jude, stay with your dad and keep watch. Hold the knife. If you see anyone coming…” She trailed off, unable to suggest a signal that might be safe. There were vesps in the house now, and broken windows, and any noise might bring down the chaos again.

  “Kel,” Huw said, “get the old woman’s medicine bag.” They’d seen it in her room, a carrier bag filled with dozens of bottles, foil packets and sachets of medicines they mostly didn’t know.

  Kelly nodded. She looked across the room at the range cooker, seemingly lost again, eyes distant. Seeing her mother die.

  Ally touched her arm, and the two of them went to the hall doorway.

  “Won’t be long,” Ally signed to Huw, and he nodded and smiled, ignoring the pain, loving her more than ever.

  * * *

  Mum went first, taking each stair slowly, shotgun held out in front of her. If she had to use it she’d doom us all, but somehow I still felt safer knowing that she was armed. Maybe I’d watched too much TV, too many horror films.

  I carried a knife and the roasting fork. I was shaking, but confident and determined. We went to my room first and I snapped up the iPad from beneath the bed. I took shoes and a jacket too, and in Jude’s room we gathered more of his clothes.

  There was a vesp roosting in my parents’ room. It sat on a dressing table just inside the smashed window, moving gently from side to side as if trying to hypnotise the open space. I thought about crossing the carpeted room and stabbing the thing, but the thought of such sudden violence scared me. It might squeal, thrash, knock things around and bring more of them. So I stood ready with my weapons as Mum walked slowly, so slowly, across the room, gathering up the bag of medicines from beside the bed, bending and picking up Dad’s boots, backing out slowly. Each footfall might creak a floorboard. Every movement could shush clothing, click a knee joint, nudge a piece of furniture.

  I noticed the smear of blood around the creature’s mouth and across its strange, arrow-shaped head. Maybe it was satiated, and slight, subtle noises no longer interested it. It was a possibility I should consider, and when I had the chance I’d write it down. I tried not to imagine what or who it had been eating.

  It was another fact that might help us fight them. And now we all had first-hand experience.

  * * *

  We left the house ten minutes later. Dad and Mum held each other up, my mum carrying the shotgun. Jude hefted the holdall of clothes and food, and I carried two hessian shopping bags tied across my back.

  Heading for the lane meant that we had to cross the garden. Dawn was breathing across the hilltops to the east, and I could make out three shapes lying on the ground, one of them a little girl. There was no need to go closer because I knew what they were. I wondered what Dad thought. One or two of those he had shot, the others had probably died when the screams of the wounded attracted the vesps. I was sure he noticed the bodies, but he did not even slow his pace.

  I was glad. He shouldn’t feel guilty. He’d been protecting us, and right then he was the best, bravest father in the world.

  When we reached the gate, Jude went ahead and examined the catch. He turned and shook his head, signing, “I think it’ll make too much noise.” So we climbed, Jude and me first, then Mum, and finally we all helped Dad over the gate. I was pleased to see that he looked better. He seemed stronger in the weak light, his wounded face no longer bleeding so much.

  Mum paused and looked to the right. Over there, around a curve in the wall, lay her dead mother. I remembered again that smile as she’d run past, and I wondered what had been going through her mind. She’d known that she was about to die, and in great pain. But she was also doing her best to protect the family she loved so much.

  I couldn’t bear thinking about it for too long. It was painful and confusing, and it also felt so hopeless. No one else would know about her sacrifice. No one would care.

  Lynne had been a true believer. She and I had often talked about God, and sometimes I saw her unhappiness at my disbelief. But she also respected my opinion, and my insistence that I could not simply change my mind to please her. She’d never tried to force ideas upon me. I hoped her faith had helped her in those final awful moments.

  I touched Mum’s arm and gestured along the road. She looked at me blankly, then shook her head. She walked along the wall to where Lynne must have been lying. We saw her standing there and looking down for a while. She didn’t bend to get any closer. She just looked.

  Then she came back, and the only thing she signed was, “No Reverend.”

  We started walking. Only a couple of minutes later Jude looked back and paused, pointing.

  The lights in the house had gone off.

  “The Grey?” Jude signed.

  I nodded. It made sense. Just when things were so bad, they got worse.

  * * *

  He was waiting for us on a small footbridge spanning a stream a hundred metres from the road. Jude saw him first, and when Mum spotted him she lifted the shotgun and aimed it. For a loaded moment I thought she was going to sh
oot, but Mum was not so foolish, though her rage radiated from her in fearsome waves.

  The Reverend came to us. He was on his own. He was limping properly now, right arm held awkwardly across his chest, his white collar speckled with blood. Perhaps he’d been hit by a few shotgun pellets, and I hoped they hurt. I was sure that later I’d think of him as a wretched, pathetic victim, but right now he was a monster.

  I had no idea how he’d escaped the storm of vesps that had taken the tall man and my grandmother. But I would never give him the satisfaction of asking.

  There was a ditch beside the road and he stood on the other side, squinting at me. He’d lost his glasses. He didn’t even seem to notice the rest of my family. I looked around frantically, suspecting a trap or an ambush of some sort, but there was no one else there. Maybe the other Hushed were all dead, or perhaps they’d abandoned their Reverend after he had failed to get them what he’d promised.

  Mum was still aiming the shotgun at him. She was shaking, and I could see that she was breathing rapidly, but the barrel held steady and true. The Reverend did not even seem to notice the weapon. The longer he stared at me, the more I wished Mum would shoot. If we ran fast enough, perhaps we could get away before his screams doomed him.

  But of course we would not escape the vesps that would zero in on us. Not out here in the open. I could see several of them now, in the trees and bushes, and a few flying past close enough to reach us in a matter of seconds.

  We’re under siege, I thought. It had only become obvious after we’d left the cottage. We were prisoners of the vesps, even out here in the wild and beneath the widest, deepest skies I had ever seen.

  Jude stepped close to the edge of the ditch and gave the Reverend the finger. It wasn’t funny, not really. But it broke some of the tension that had been building, and it also seemed to break his gaze. He looked at Jude, then at our parents. There was very little communication, even with his eyes. He simply looked us over and turned away, limping back the way he had come. He did not stop at the bridge but kept going, soon consumed by the evergreen forest’s shadows as the sun finally broke above the hillsides behind us.