The Invasion (Extended Version)

This eBook edition published 2010 by Generation Next Publications www.GenerationNextPublications.com www.williammeikle.com © William Meikle 2010 eBook Creation by Stephen James Price

PART ONE THE ARRIVAL

The winter storm that blew through the Maritimes on 23rd February saved the lives of thousands of people. At the time most of them were too busy surviving to be grateful. It had started quietly enough, with a cold breeze from the Northwest blowing a few lazy snowflakes around in the early evening. Thereafter the velocity and the volume ramped up like an accelerating truck until, by the time Alice Noble went to check on the boat-shed, it was blowing a gale and she knew it would be piling up drifts that were already several feet deep. She had been listening to the steady rise of the storm with some trepidation as the winter had already proved to be a hard one, and the boat house roof was showing signs of wear. She was relieved to find everything still intact when she opened the door from the kitchen and walked into the large barn-like space. The Zodiac sat snugly under its winter tarpaulin, looking strangely sad in its deflated state. It seemed like a long time since the hot summer days out on the Bay with the tourists, but that was the price you paid for being here – the Summers were magical, but the Winters were there merely to be endured. It was no surprise to her that many of the island’s inhabitants left in December for more clement places, but she couldn’t afford that luxury, and stayed behind with a few hardy others, hunkered down in solitude against anything Nature could throw at them. And tonight it’s throwing plenty. The main door of the shed rattled violently. It was taking the full force of the wind and the old hinges creaked and complained with each gust. But Alice had put a new set of locks on just this Fall and she was confident it would hold. Before going back to the relative warmth of the kitchen she ran a hand over the tarpaulin covering the rigid-hull Zodiac. This construction of fiberglass and rubber had eaten most of her life’s savings – but it also allowed her to pursue her life’s dreams. For the last two summers she’d made a living bringing tourists over from Grand Manan to spend days at a time out on the Bay of Fundy with the local whale population. If truth was told, she’d have been out on the water anyway, but the tourists provided much needed income – more than enough to see her through the winter. She patted the tarpaulin. Soon. She went back to her kitchen and closed the door behind her. A mug of coffee quickly dispelled any chill that had settled into her during her visit to the shed, and she settled down in her recliner with the coffee and a fresh beer just in time for the second period of the game. She was to be disappointed. Just as the players came back out onto the ice the broadcast cut to a news-flash – and that was when she realized it was important. Anything that disrupted a big hockey night had to be important. At first she thought the color had gone on the television. They showed the scene of a snowstorm in a city – but everything was tinged a deep green. The presenter sounded serious though, so she paid attention. “An unusual phenomena is being reported all along the East Coast tonight. It is

snowing in a zone stretching from New England all the way up to Labrador – nothing unusual for this time of the year. But what has the scientists baffled is the color. Across wide swathes of the storm-hit area the snow is falling green. As you can see from our pictures, this is no joke.” The screen indeed showed what appeared to be green snow falling heavily on city streets. “Reports are also coming in that this snowfall is having strange effects on plant life in some areas, but these reports are as-yet unconfirmed, as many rural areas are completely cut off in the storm. We will, of course keep you fully up to date with this breaking story, but in the meantime, we return you to the big game.” The teams were already playing, but Alice’s curiosity was piqued. She took her mug with her and went through to the sunroom. In the summer she’d have been taking her coffee here, with the windows open and cool evening breezes washing away the heat of the day. At this time of year the room was mostly unused. Frost ran in spider-web patterns across the windows, but she could see enough. The snow is green! The game still blared in the front room, but she wasn’t about to let the opportunity pass her by. She went to the main door and started the process of inuring herself against the weather – snow boots, coat, hat, scarf and gloves. She opened the door thinking she was prepared. She’d left her right glove off to turn the handle. As she opened the door some green-tinged snowflakes landed on the back of her hand. They immediately started to burn, like cinders from a fire that had been poked too vigorously. She withdrew her hand quickly and pushed the door shut. Her hand stung and she had to grit her teeth against the pain. She ran to the kitchen and ran cold water over the affected areas – five small holes bubbled as if acid had fallen there. The water didn’t erase the burning. Looking closely she saw points of green deep down in the small wounds. They seemed to be burrowing deeper, the green areas spreading as if it was actually eating her flesh -- and growing as it did so. What is this shit? There was only one thought in her mind – to get rid of the pain. She scrambled in the kitchen drawers until she found what she was looking for. She managed to light a series of matches and, while the heads still burned, poked them deep into the wounds. Each burning brought a fresh scream from her, but five matches later she was able to study the back of her hand. There was a ruined mess of burned tissue, and the pain was almost unbearable. But there were no more green spots. *** John Hiscock only just got to safety in time, but he had already spent most of his adult life preparing for this moment, and was not surprised it had finally come. Bloody terrorists! When he was younger he’d thought it would be a nuclear event that he’d have to hide from. But in recent years it had become more obvious that it would be either a

biological or chemical attack – that was the sneaky thing to do. He’d bought this cabin high in the hills above Saint John nearly fifteen years ago, and had spent most of his spare time building his defenses and ensuring that he would be fully stocked in the event that his fears came to pass. They’d laughed at him long and hard for years down at the garage. Jake Forbes in particular had ridden him constantly, calling him a paranoid freak, and taking every opportunity to ask what he was wasting his paycheck on this week. But who is laughing now? He almost hadn’t been given enough warning. It was only by luck that the storm didn’t start until he’d got home from his shift. The first green flake had fallen as he walked from his truck to the front door. Old Ben loped over to welcome him home and a flake landed on his nose. The old dog yelped and started to run in circles. It was only by sternly ordering him to stand still that Hiscock was able to get his training to overrule his pain. He examined the dog’s nose closely. Something green and bubbling festered in a weeping sore. A second flake landed next to the dog’s left eye and immediately started to boil. That had been enough for Hiscock. Less than five seconds later he was inside the house with the door securely shut, locking the poor dog outside. Two minutes after that he climbed down into a basement that had been turned into the equivalent of a nuclear bunker. He locked it down and set the air filters going. He spent several minutes checking for any signs of the green spots on exposed skin and let out a sigh when he found that he was clear. It was only then that his breathing started to return to something near normal. He fired up his satellite and CCTV links and tried to make sense of what was going on. The first thing he did was check on the dog. Old Ben had been a companion for ten years now -- a good gun dog and a faithful friend. It had pained him greatly to leave him outside. But I couldn’t take the risk. He had control of several cameras from a joystick and keypad on his main desk. The one in the yard showed green snow coming down – thicker now, coating the drive. A bundle lay in front of the door, a seething mass that bore no resemblance at all to a dog – the only sign that it was indeed Old Ben was the remnants of a tail that had, so far, escaped the terror. The dog’s body looked like green acid had been poured all over it. Flesh boiled and ran. Yet the dog was amazingly still alive, still struggling to stand, mouth open in a howl of pain and fear. Hiscock was glad that he had not got round to installing microphones. He watched for several minutes until the sight got too much. He switched to look at the rear view, where green snow fell on the forest that butted up to the back garden. At first his gaze was drawn to the lawn. It seethed and boiled in the same manner as the dog’s skin. Whatever that green stuff is, it affects grass as much as flesh. He panned the camera up towards the trees and gasped. Thick ropy drools of green slime seemed to be sloughing off the pines, leaving behind only skeletal arms of dead

wood behind. Houston, we have a problem. And I guess it’s time to find out just how big that problem is. He fired up his news feeds, expecting to find that the major channels were already onto the story. He was to be disappointed. The hockey game dominated the schedules. He was about to try the FM bands when the hockey cut to a news flash. About time too. “Reports are also coming in that this snowfall is having strange effects on plant life in some areas, but these reports are as-yet unconfirmed, as many rural areas are completely cut off in the storm. We will, of course keep you completely up to date with this breaking story, but in the meantime, we return you to the big game.” You must be shitting me! Come up here and I’ll show you some strange effects all right. He could believe that such a blatantly obvious terror attack was getting so little airtime. Then the thought struck him. They’re in on it. It’s the New World Order. They’re finally taking control. He needed to check that theory – the answer might determine just how long he’d be required to spend in the bunker. He had long ago been given a hack that allowed him access to CCTV cameras in many parts of the USA and Canada. First up he checked in on Saint John itself. He often used the CCTV camera near the garage to check up on his workplace – it gave him some small feeling of power to watch the others without them knowing he was there. Tonight the picture showed only an empty street. Green snow fell and accumulated, but there was no sign of any damage being done to buildings, and there was no vegetation in that area of downtown that might be influenced. Besides, this was New Brunswick, during a major winter storm. The locals knew better than to be out and about. Then he remembered what they’d said on the news flash. It is snowing in a zone stretching from New England all the way up to Labrador. Canadians might know better than to be out in a storm, but he was willing to bet that some of the Yanks weren’t that smart. He started in New York. He knew exactly what he was looking for. It this was the New World Order coup that so many had forecast, then UN troops, in conjunction with FEMA, would already be out on the streets making sure that any insurgency was quickly quelled. He didn’t find any such signs. But what he did find scared him more. He had flicked through tens of scenes of deserted, snow-covered, roads until he came to a camera in Central Park. A group of teenagers huddled inside a bandstand. He did not need a microphone to know that they were screaming. The snow was thinner on the ground here, but that only gave the green flakes access to the grass and bushes. He was just able to make out the same slimy drool that he had seen falling from the trees in his back yard. The teenagers just had enough cover to keep out of reach of the falling flakes. But some of them hadn’t been so lucky. Three heaving mounds lay on the steps. Hiscock didn’t look closely – he didn’t need to.

Whatever was falling, it had the same fatal result -- on trees, on dogs… and on people. *** Alice was in agony. She had bandaged her hand as well as she was able, glad to be hiding the raw-meat look of her flesh. She’d also swallowed three painkillers. That had been half an hour before. But the pain had not lessened. It still felt as if she held her hand on a hot skillet. The hockey match was still on the big screen but she had lost interest. She flicked channels, looking for news reports that might explain why her hand was afire. All she found was a few joking pieces about the green snow – one even suggesting it was just a publicity stunt for the Boston Celtics. Her biologist’s training told her that algal blooms could conceivably be picked up in a big enough storm at sea and deposited somewhere else entirely. But no algae can burn like that. She too considered the possibility of a terrorist attack. But surely that would have made the news by now? Her hand started to throb in time with her heartbeat. That’s all I need. She was about to make a start on the rum when her phone rang. By instinct she made a grab for it – with her right hand. She was still cursing at the fresh flare of pain as she answered. The voice at the other end sounded frantic. “Alice? It’s Jean. Come quick.” And that was it. The phone was hung up at the other end, and when she redialed no one answered. Jean and Chuck Dupree were her nearest neighbors, retired shopkeepers from the mainland, with a plot some fifty yards further down shore. She went to the window and looked in that direction, but the snow whipped and flurried, obscuring any view. She couldn’t even tell if their lights were on. There’s no way I’m going out in that. But Jean had sounded so distraught. And the Duprees, although proud of their independence, were both getting on in years. If they were in trouble during the storm, it was her duty to help them out. But how can I? That green shit is deadly. An image came to mind, of standing at the wheel of the Zodiac while rain lashed horizontally against the boat – and her body. But she was snug warm – and protected. The survival suits. She’d bought them last year. They were of the kind used by the military and airsea rescue teams across North America -- bulky, and in a gaudy florescent orange. Ten of them cost more than five thousand dollars. But they saved her that much and more in insurance payments, and kept the tourists warm and dry out on a Bay that was often inclement. And, tonight, they’ll repay me even more. Or so she hoped. She went back out into the boathouse and put on one of the suits.

In the summer she wore hers over just shorts and a thin vest. Putting it on now over her winter woolens felt like trying to wedge herself into a tight sleeping bag. It proved to be a struggle, but two minutes later she was encased in the warm suit. It was when she pulled up the hood that she realized there was something she’d forgotten. Although the suit covered her body completely, knee-high boots protected her feet, and thick gloves covered her hands, her face would still be exposed. The helmet she’d used during the one winter when she thought a Skidoo was a good idea sorted that out. It just fit, and when she pulled the survival suit’s hood over the top of it her neck was also completely protected. She stood there for a while, making sure she got enough air so that she wouldn’t suffocate. A claustrophobia panic threatened to send her straight back to the kitchen and comfort, but the thought of the old couple in trouble got her moving. Gingerly she went to open the shed door. She had intended to push just one arm out, a quick test and no more. But as soon as she unlocked the door the wind caught it and smacked it wide open. Green snow hit her full frontal, pattering like buckshot against her faceplate. She winced and drew back, but, looking down, she saw that the green flakes slid harmlessly off the suit, and the ones that hit the faceplate melted and ran off almost immediately. This just might work. She set her gaze on the path that would lead her over to the Dupree’s house and headed out into the teeth of the storm. *** Hiscock couldn’t keep his attention from that bandstand in Central Park. Of all the cameras at his disposal, it was the only one that showed any people. He’d seen enough to realize that most of the greenery on the East Coast was being eaten by the green snow. That of itself was enough to convince him that he’d made the right choice in taking to the bunker. The fate of the kids in the bandstand only cemented his belief. He had watched them, on and off, for nearly an hour before the first of them broke ranks. They had stood in a shivering, screaming huddle all that time, calling for help that showed no signs of arriving. The three mounds on the steps were completely covered in thick green snow. The bodies had seethed and boiled for a time, but now seemed to lie still. The lack of movement, and the fact that they must have been close to hypothermia, led two of the teenagers to attempt an escape. They lasted less than ten seconds. As soon as the snow hit them they started to scream. One fell to his knees, palms in front of his face. The flesh on the back of his hands immediately melted where the snow hit them. The other escapee ran for the trees. One of the ropy drools of slime fell on him, almost completely covering him in a green goop. His skin fell off in oily patches and within seconds white bone showed. He fell, screaming. The slime fell into his mouth.

Hiscock could look no more. He turned away – just in time to catch a movement on the screen that monitored his front yard. A figure, bulked up by many layers of clothing, made its way slowly up the driveway. It limped heavily, dragging one leg behind as if it was a dead weight. It carried something in the crook of its arm. At first Hiscock thought it might be a walking stick, but as soon as the figure stopped and put the stock to his shoulder he knew it was a shotgun. And he knew who it was inside the clothing -- Jake Forbes, his nemesis from the garage. Hello Jake. I was wondering if you’d show up. He watched, slightly amused, as the man outside shouted and waved the gun around. I can’t hear you Jake. You’ll have to speak up. His amusement faded when the man stepped forward onto the porch and into the light. The left side of his face was one long weeping burn. Patches of green seemed to dance in the wound, so deep that some of the man’s cheekbone showed through. Even from deep in the bunker Hiscock heard the bang as the shotgun went off and the lock of his front door was blown away. He didn’t hear heavy footsteps on the floor above him, but he could imagine them. At first he just sat in his chair, feeling secure in the knowledge that Forbes wouldn’t be able to reach him. The hatch was solid, nearly two inches thick, and when locked was only accessible from the inside. His feelings of security started to fade when he thought of the air filtration system. The ducts would be clearly visible to anyone that knew what they were looking for – he hadn’t yet got round to camouflaging them. Did I tell Forbes that? Did I? He couldn’t remember. And he wasn’t about to risk the rest of his life on a fallible memory. He broke open the gun cupboard just as another shot rang out overhead. He took out an AK-47, banged in a clip, and headed for the shaft just as the clanging from above started to get frantic. He stopped climbing just below the hatch lid. The clanging had stopped, and the concrete roof of the bunker was too solid for any other sound to penetrate. He knew he was taking a risk – a big one. But the safety of his air system was too important to leave to chance. He turned the handle and pushed the lid open, lifting himself up in the same movement with the Kalashnikov ready to shoot. Forbes stood only ten feet away, shotgun already lifting to a firing position. Hiscock fired, four quick shots into the torso. Forbes staggered, but didn’t fall. He somehow kept the shotgun trained on Hiscock “You selfish bastard,” Forbes screamed. Green spittle flew from his mouth and wounded cheek where something bubbled. The shotgun went off and Hiscock heard the spatter of pellets on the wall behind him. Time to go. Forbes staggered forward, shotgun still raised. Without aiming properly Hiscock

let off a volley of rounds, hitting Forbes’ bad leg. It blew apart, green slime where there should have been blood. Hiscock only had time to see it coat the wall and start running down to the carpet as he put two bullets between Forbes’ eyes and pulled the hatch quickly closed behind him. Sorry Jake. But I do believe I just did you a favor -- a big one. He stood there for a long time just below the hatch, breathing heavily. Did any get in? Am I contaminated? He’d know the answer soon enough. *** The wind buffeted and tugged at Alice’s body every step of the way along the shore path that linked her house with that of the Duprees. She was forced to move slowly, partly due to the constrictive clothes, and partly because the path was treacherous in places when slippery. The green snow blew in a blizzard around her. Between gusts of wind she could now occasionally see the lights from the house ahead, but her vision was still too obscured to make out any detail. She reached the boundary of the Dupree’s garden without any mishap, but what she found there made her stop and stare, despite the storm raging around her. The Dupree’s pride and joy was their garden. On the far side of the house were two acres of vegetable plots interspersed with large greenhouses. That was Chuck’s domain. On this side of the plot Jean held sway. They’d inherited some already mature rhododendrons, and she had interspersed them with magnolia and azalea of many different varieties. In the late summer they provided a riot of color that could be seen from far out on the Bay. Indeed Alice had often pointed it out to the people on the Zodiac as an example of what could be done if you worked with, rather than against, the weather in these parts. That glorious garden was no more. Thick ropy slime hung from dead branches. Bushes that had been ten feet tall just this morning were reduced to blobs of boiling, festering sludge that bubbled and popped as if they sat on a hot stove. She might have stopped for a closer look, but when she looked up she saw that the front door to the house lay wide open. The green snow was blowing right into the house, coating the porch carpet in an inch-thick layer. She made her way quickly through the garden, having to dodge several times to skirt more patches of the bubbling sludge before she reached the doorway. She struggled to close the door against the wind and the snow but was eventually able to get her shoulder full against it and force it shut. She leaned against the frame, breathing heavily. Now that she was protected from the storm, her faceplate almost immediately started to steam up, but she refused to lift it, not until she had stepped out of the porch and into the house proper, shutting all traces of the green flakes behind her. She stomped on the hall carpet and stood there for a minute making sure that anything she had brought in with her had melted before raising the faceplate just far enough so she could shout. “Jean?” she called. “It’s Alice.” “Up here,” a voice called from upstairs. She sounded weak and Alice had a feeling of trepidation as she climbed. She felt hot and sweaty inside the suit, but could not

being herself to remove any of it. Not until I know what it is we are facing here. “Jean?” she called out again when she reached the top of the stairs. A light came from under the door at the end of the hall and the old woman’s voice came from the other side of the door. “In here.” When Alice opened the door the old woman screamed and threw a hand to her heart. Alice saw why when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. In her day-glo orange suit, with the helmet under her hood and only the black visor showing, she looked like an escapee from a ‘50s monster movie. She started to remove the helmet. Then she saw what lay on the bed and thought better of it. Most of it was Chuck Dupree – at least the parts above the waist. Although the rest of him was covered, whatever lay beneath the sheets was not remotely human. The sheets lay almost flat, with something feebly moving beneath the covers. A green stain covered most of the bottom half of the bed. Having seen the bubbling sludge outside, she could guess the rest. Chuck was dead – and by the looks of him had been for some time, wide-open eyes staring at the ceiling. Jean sat at his side, her grip on his hand so tight that white showed at her knuckles. The old woman looked up at Alice. “Alice?” She raised the faceplate just enough for the old lady to see her, then quickly lowered it again. I have to get her out of here. Jean went back to staring at Chuck’s face. “He only popped out to the porch for a cigarette. That’s my fault you see. I can’t have smoking in the house. It ruins the furniture. And he’s never complained before. I didn’t even hear him go out. The first I knew was when he called out … something about strange snow. “By the time I got to the door he was staggering back in, shouting that his legs were on fire. I tried calling Doctor McGuin, but there’s no answer from the big island.” She looked up at Alice and the tears flowed faster. “I don’t know what else to do.” Alice put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, trying to ignore the heaving movements from below the bedclothes. “Tell you what Jean. Go and make me a cup of coffee please? I’ll see to Chuck for a bit.” She’d pushed the right button in appealing to the older woman’s sense of propriety. Guests got coffee – it was part of the right way of things, and something that would ground Jean in some semblance of reality. The old woman left with one last look back at the bed. “You’ll look after him, won’t you?” Alice didn’t trust herself to speak. She just nodded. As soon as Jean had closed the door she threw the sheets back. Below the chest

there was nothing left of Chuck Dupree – just more of the noxious slurry, bubbling and steaming slightly in the chill room. Alice went to the large window and threw it as wide open as she could. Snow immediately started to blow in, but that couldn’t be helped. She bundled what was left of Chuck along with the sludge into as many bedclothes as she could gather together. The mess slid under her hands and she had to force down a sudden urge to vomit. In a single movement she tossed the whole steaming bundle out of the window then slammed it closed. She stood there for a while, making sure that all the melting snow was harmless, and watching the green stain that was left on the bed. Only when she was sure there was no more activity did she go downstairs, following the smell of fresh coffee and the semblance of sanity. *** Hiscock was back looking at the kids huddled under the bandstand. They’d stopped screaming, and had huddled even closer together. Five minutes ago one of the smaller lads on the outside of the pack had fallen to the ground. The others had immediately huddled around him. Since then they’d taken turns in the center. Like a flock of penguins. From what he could see in the picture, Central Park was a melted ruin. Great trees, some well over a hundred years old, were reduced to skeletons in a matter of hours. Other cameras told him the same tale. This is big. The Eastern Seaboard is toast. The news sources finally started to pick up on the story but even now Hiscock realized that they still hadn’t grasped the sheer scale of the attack. It took a mass death on the Jersey turnpike for them to start paying attention. From what he could gather it started with a traffic accident – a jack-knifed lorry leading to a ten-vehicle pile-up. Tempers flared, people left their cars – and started to melt. All of this was caught on CCTV, but what really got their attention was the quick demise of the news crews who got to the scene at the same time as the rescue teams. Anyone watching on the live feed saw ten people – five from the television, five public service workers – die horrible, messy deaths. After that, people started to wake up to what was going on. The full horror of the situation was brought into people’s homes by an enterprising television crew from Boston who managed to get hold of half a dozen HAZMAT suits and ventured out into the country to check up on what were originally considered wild reports of apocalyptic conditions. The snow had turned to rain here – but that hadn’t helped matters any. The rain fell, thick, like green-pea soup. And above freezing temperatures meant that its effect was not impeded in any way. Where it hit trees, the vegetation simply melted like plastic under intense heat leaving behind only a rolling mass of sludge. The reporter in the HAZ-MAT suit remained remarkably calm as he left the relative safety of the highway and approached a large puddle of bubbling goop. “Scientists have taken samples of the substance for analysis,” he said. “But as yet there is no official confirmation as to the cause of these events. All we can say for certain is that this is a deadly attack, from a source as yet unknown. FEMA has issued a

preliminary statement asking people to remain indoors with doors and windows locked until the storm has passed, and we can only reiterate the importance of that advice. From what we have seen here, this country may never be the same again.” The camera panned round in a near three hundred and sixty degree shot. Although it was dark, there was light enough to see that, beyond the highway, in any direction, there was nothing but green, bubbling, sludge. *** Alice got downstairs to find Jean standing beside the kettle with a vacant look in her eyes, as if unsure what to do next. The television was on in the room beyond, blaring commercial inanities about the wonders of a household disinfectant. Jean saw Alice and turned. “He’s dead. Isn’t he?” Alice raised her faceplate – but didn’t take off the helmet. “I’m so sorry Jean.” She helped the old lady to a seat in front of the television and made them both mugs of coffee. Neither of them talked until Jean looked up at her then pointed at the television. “They say it’s happening all over. They say it’s the end of the world.” “Who says?” Alice recognized the face on the television but couldn’t put a name to it. He was a fire-and-brimstone Evangelist, and over the years had predicted the End-Days about as many times as Alice had hot dinners. He looked to be positively enjoying himself as he relayed detail after detail of reported death and destruction in the Eastern States of the USA. “Has it really come?” Jean said quietly. “Are we at the end?” “Not if I can help it,” Alice said, and changed channels. She got the Canadian Prime Minister, in somber mood. A line scrolled across the bottom of the screen. National State of Emergency Declared. Canada and USA close their borders. She sat and watched, open-mouthed, as the PM laid out the scale of what was still happening. The word terrorism stuck in her head, but her scientific mind refused to believe that any human being would be capable of unleashing such widespread devastation, no matter what the cause. She was so intent on the screen that she didn’t notice that Jean had stood. The first indication of what the old woman meant to do came when Alice felt a colder breath of air and heard the creak as the hall door opened. She stood and turned to see Jean walk, barefoot into the porch. By the time Alice reached the hall Jean was already outside. She hardly made a sound as the green snow splattered against her thin clothing and started to eat at her face and arms. Alice lowered her faceplate and stepped outside, hoping to grab the older woman, but Jean saw her coming and broke into a run. Alice heard her last words, shouted into the storm. “Wait for me Chuck. I’m coming.” She disappeared into the wall of snow.

Alice tried to follow but she already knew she would not find Jean alive. She found the body soon enough – face down in what had been the couple’s favorite patch of roses. The green was already taking her. Alice turned away, fresh tears in her eyes, and headed back for her own home, where a bottle of rum waited. She was halfway back when she realized that the wind had fallen and the snow was now little more than the occasional flake drifting softly from a clearing sky. The temperature had dropped and she felt a chill grip at her feet and legs even through the protective suit. She started to hurry. Some of the green patches of snow had started to turn black. On a quick inspection she saw that whatever made the snow green, it did not survive the sudden drop in temperature and was dying in the cold. If Jean had waited, just ten minutes more, she might have survived. She had no more time for inspection. She made her way home as quickly as she could. Once inside she slumped gratefully against the door. After making sure all traces of green were gone from her suit, she took off all the protective gear and headed for the kitchen – and the rum. She sat in front of the big television, barely registering the growing sense of panic that was filling the airwaves. Her mind was full of images she couldn’t shake – of the strange flat melted thing under the bedclothes where Chuck Dupree should have been, of the bubbling goop that had been a clump of bushes, and of poor Jean, face down in the roses as the green ate her. She poured more rum down. After a while, oblivion called for her and she thankfully answered. *** Hiscock stayed up all night watching the feeds, fueled by hot coffee and adrenaline. His lifestyle choices had all been vindicated – he was safe and secure in his bunker while the world went to hell outside. He did not find much comfort in the fact. He’d been diverted for a while by some of the more extreme fringe web sites. They sometimes got information that wasn’t readily available to mainstream sources, but tonight the cyber-communities had been awash with far too many conflicting theories for him to take any pattern away from it. Reported causes for the attack varied from Planet X to the CIA, from a bio-weapons lab accident to full scale terrorist attack. All Hiscock knew was that this was the big one. That view was only reinforced when it slowly became obvious that the Eastern Seaboard wasn’t alone in suffering. Reports started coming in from other parts of the world. The green rain was falling steadily all along a wide swathe of the Amazon rain forest, reducing it to a thick sludge that was already choking the tributaries and flowing like thick gravy towards the main expanse of the river. Sketchy reports arrived from the Far East, where the jungles had started to melt and flow down mountainsides, like mud in heavy rain. The Russians were quiet except for a brief press statement blaming Western pollution for an ecological crisis across the Siberian forests. And everywhere the green rain fell, nothing was left behind but the noxious

sludge. Casualty reports rose at an alarming rate, from hundreds, to thousands, to hundreds of thousands. By the time a thin dawn came up on Saint John they were talking in the millions. And I suspect even that will rise exponentially in days to come. The first indications that the green rain was only the start of something more came in the early hours of daylight and Hiscock might have been among the first to see the next phase. The green snow in New York had turned to what looked like perfectly normal rain when he returned to the view of the bandstand. Much to his amazement some of the teenagers were still alive, having spent the night huddled in a tight bunch. As they walked off the structure they left three of their companions dead on the floor inside. There were seven of them remaining as they stood in the rain surveying the damage. The green sludge coated everything around them, lying like spilled guacamole all around as far as the camera could see. One bent and put a finger in it, withdrawing it immediately as his flesh burned. He wasn’t given much time to register the fact that much of his hand had started to melt as the sludge seemed to raise in a wave several feet high, washing over his feet and those of his friends. Two of them didn’t even try to move, merely let the slime take them. The other five made a run back to the bandstand, the flesh on their legs already sloughing off. Another wave flowed over the floor of the structure and the last thing the camera showed were three arms raised above the flood. They waved frantically, but only for two seconds, until they too disappeared into the seething morass. Hiscock threw up several pints of coffee into a wastepaper basket. It took him twenty minutes to clean up his mess. By that time the story that the sludge could be mobile had spread to all the main news sources. One reporter called it “a creeping carpet of terror” and all reporters covering the story took up the phrase almost immediately. Unfortunately the man who coined it did not live to bask in his glory. He was standing on Wall Street and Broadway reflecting on what the catastrophe meant for the world financial system when a six-foot wave of green washed through the streets of Manhattan cleansing everything in its path. By now Hiscock was remembering the amount of green goop he had seen falling from the trees in his back yard – and, even closer to his new home, the spray his AK-47 had sent over the walls of the room above him. He eyed his ceiling warily. *** Alice came out of a rum induced sleep the next morning to the sound of heavy thumping. At first she thought it was the hangover, then she realized she was still on the sofa in the front room, and that someone was pounding heavily on her front door. She had a quick check of the weather situation before opening the door. The skies were clear, and there was no trace of green in her garden, just a dull brownish-black where whatever had fallen had frozen.

She opened the door to two large figures dressed all in white overalls apart from thick black rubber boots. Incongruously they wore beekeeper’s helmets over the top. They both carried shotguns, but had them slung, open, in the crook of their elbows. She saw fresh cartridges in all four barrels. Someone has McGyvered a pair of survival suits. As soon as she had the thought she knew who was at the door – Dave and John Roddie, the brothers who ran the farm – and the apiary – at the north end of the island. Their expressions were grim as they came inside and took off the helmets. Dave, the older, saw Alice’s survival suit and nodded, unsmiling. “Good thinking,” he said. “Could you lend us a couple?” “I’ve got enough for everybody on the island,” Alice said, then saw the look in the man’s eye. “I think we are everybody left on the island,” he said. He nodded towards the television that was showing only microwave static. “Have you been keeping up with what’s going on?” Alice looked shame-faced at the rum bottle and shook her head. “I saw what happened to the Duprees. That was enough for me.” John looked like he might puke. “We saw them too – what was left of them. We went to the B&B as well, but Jack and Irene weren’t there. We couldn’t find hide or hair of them. That just left one other house to consider. No. Not the Collins family. Not the kids. John had fresh tears in his eyes, and replied as if he’d read her thoughts. “The kids are gone. Doug and Bettie too. It looks like their front room window blew in during the storm. They all tried to fix it and… and…” Alice put a hand on his arm. “I can imagine,” she said softly. “No. You can’t,” he said, and turned away so that she wouldn’t see him cry. Dave looked again at the television. “Everything’s gone to shit,” he said softly. “We need to get our act together, and quick, or we’ll be joining them.” “Surely help will come…” Alice began, but stopped when she saw the look on his face. “No one’s coming. Anyone who is left will be dealing with their own survival.” She heard the horror in his voice. Anyone who is left. “It’s that bad?” “It’s worse,” John said. While they’d been talking, he’d been tuning the television. The screen showed a familiar view of Manhattan, taken from a boat out on the river. What was completely unfamiliar was the green sludge that coated the bottom third of all the buildings. An announcer spoke over the top of the scene. “If you look closely, and for long enough, you will see that the creeping carpet of terror seems intent on swallowing the whole island.”

Dave put a hand on Alice’s shoulder and she jumped a good six inches. “It’s the same all the way up the coast,” he said. “And there’s reports of outbreaks all across the world. It’s the same in all cases where it hasn’t frozen – the green rain falls, seems to eat everything living, then it starts to ooze.” “But what is it?” she said. She couldn’t drag her eyes from the view on the screen. John shrugged. “No one knows yet. And if they don’t figure it out soon, I doubt anyone will ever know. It’s raining more of that green shit over the Western forests this morning. That’s a lot of greenery for this stuff to feed on.” “But the government…” Dave laughed grimly. “Those that are still alive will be in their bunkers by now. And that’s where we should be, metaphorically speaking. We need to get ourselves set up – before any more of that green stuff falls.” I can’t fault that sentiment. “Okay,” she said. “Where do we start?” Firstly she got them both fitted with survival suits, then all three of them took a tour of the island, calling out from time to time just in case Jack and Irene from the B&B were lying low in hiding. No one made any reply to any of the shouting, and although there were no signs of anything amiss at the B&B, the proprietors were nowhere to be found. “We have to decide on the best place to hole up,” Dave said after the circuit was complete. “Somewhere that’ll stay tight against anything thrown at us. And somewhere we can stock with as much as we need if a long period of being shut in is required.” After some discussion, they settled on the Dupree’s house. The extent of their larder and their basement stock of the fruits of their gardening was legendary across all of the islands in the group, and the house was the sturdiest of all available to them. Alice gave it one last try. “We could take the Zodiac across to Grand Manan?” Dave shook his head. “We tried for hours on the FM bands overnight. If there was anyone left, they’d have contacted us by now.” “Okay then… what about Saint John? I’m fuelled up and ready to go. All it needs is to get the pump going to inflate the dinghy and…” Dave put a hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Alice… it’s all gone… or going. All of it.” He waved a hand to indicate the island around them. “This is all we’ve got.” A call from John rang out across the island. He’d gone to investigate the greenhouses at the rear of the Dupree’s house. “Get over here fast. You need to see this.” *** Hiscock got some broken sleep in his chair. He had a proper bedroom set up at the rear of the bunker, but he was afraid that if he left to lie down on the camp bed he might

miss something vital. The news from around the globe just kept getting worse. The green rain fell on every continent, even falling as snow across Antarctica. What remained of global governance seemed at a loss as to how to combat the menace. Vast tracts of land in China were burned as they tried to napalm the problem away. It didn’t work. Reports came in that the Russians had nuked Vladivostok, but they couldn’t be confirmed. Confirmation of anything at all was getting harder by the hour as news stations closed and reporters fell to the creeping carpet of terror. Hiscock knew from his FM system that there were others like him -- hunkered down in safety. Like him, they were, as yet, too fearful to give their position away. Like him, they knew that the looters wouldn’t be far behind such a disastrous breakdown in civilization. Indeed, he could see it happen, on those CCTV systems that were still operable. After just one night of disaster, parts of the US, especially in the cities, had already reverted to the law of the jungle. Packs of armed men hunted for food, and were killing to get it. There was no sign of any organized policing, either from the police themselves, or from FEMA. The sheer scale of the disaster had brought the country to its knees, like a hundred Katrinas, all at the same time. By now the Department of Homeland Security in the States was broadcasting emergency reports on most of the major television networks. It was one of the few news sources still in constant operation, still capable of reporting on events beyond the borders of North America. Hiscock didn’t know how much of its output to believe. But I can believe what my eyes can see. The pictures from the cities were the hardest to bear. The carpet rolled in from the country and washed through the streets as if propelled by a tidal wave. The depth of the wave depended on how much feeding the slime had done in the surrounding countryside, but in some cases it was nearly six feet deep as it barreled along. People died in thousands in front of Hiscock’s eyes. After several hours of this he thought he was immune to further shocks, but there was more yet to come. The combined forces of the US and Canadian armies were mustered – at least as many of them that could be found. They started to take the fight to the slime, with napalm, explosives and aerial firepower. As far as Hiscock could see, they were, as yet, having no discernible effect. The slime just kept on flowing. *** Alice and Dave arrived at the rear of the Dupree house to find John staring, wideeyed, at one of the greenhouses. “In there,” he said. He didn’t move to go with them as they carefully approached the open door. Dave gently nudged Alice aside and closed the shotgun, readying it to be fired. “Me first.” The greenhouse was some twenty feet long and eight feet wide. Chuck Dupree

successfully grew many pounds of fruit here in the summer, and even now a lot of the plants still had evidence of having green leaves, and several showed fresh shoots poking from the ground. It felt warm in here – Chuck had obviously kept the place heated as much as possible. Halfway along one of the panes of glass in the roof had been partly dislodged in the storm – enough for some of the green snow to get in. It had taken full advantage of the fact. Alice looked, expecting to see more of the bubbling sludge. But the heat in the greenhouse had allowed the sludge time to get settled in. And something else was now happening to it. The slime had hardened into a long patch of green along one side of the greenhouse, ridged and furrowed like a badly ploughed field. Things grew from these ridges – a small forest of tall, spear-like extrusions, four and five feet high, and grayblack in color. When she looked closer Alice saw that the spears at the end were large pods of some kind, each of them a foot in length. The surface looked leathery but she wasn’t about to take her gloves off to check. Each pod had a seam running along what would have been the sharp edges of the spear. As she looked closer she saw that the seam was splitting in some of them, showing deep purple fleshy tissue inside. They’re ripening. She didn’t want to see what might be the fruit of this unnatural growth. “We need to burn this. And quick.” Dave nodded and left at a run. He was only gone five minutes, but in that short time more than half of the pods showed signs of splitting down the seams. One opened even further, revealing blacker pustules in the purple tissue. They throbbed, twice a second, and there was evidence of something small squirming in the depths. “Hurry, Dave,” she murmured under her breath, and started to back out of the greenhouse. She met John at the door. It was only as she lowered her faceplate that she noticed he had removed the beekeeper’s helmet. She didn’t get time to berate him as Dave arrived with two large plastic containers. “Kerosene,” he said. “But we really shouldn’t waste it…” “Trust me,” Alice replied. “This won’t be going to waste.” She stood at the door as the two men poured the kerosene on and around the new growth. The stalks writhed and swayed as if buffeted by a strong wind. Several of the pods split wide down the seams and started to open. They know they’re under attack. Somehow, they know. “Faster,” she called. Dave turned back towards her – just as one of the pods split with a loud thwack. Black spheres flew like scattered shot. “Light them up,” Dave screamed, ducking to avoid a seed that was headed for his head. John turned and spun the wheel of a lighter he had at the ready, tossing it into the growth. The stalks went up with a whoosh and the three of them had to retreat to the door.

That was close. Even as she thought it, John turned back to close the door. The fire raged inside and glass cracked and shattered as the searing heat reached it. Black seeds rattled like gunfire against the glass. As John closed the door one managed to get through. The seed hit him, just below the right eye. Immediately it touched his skin a pair of pincers, eerily like those of a small crab, burst from the seed and gripped tightly. It started to burrow. Alice slammed the greenhouse door shut as Dave dragged John away. She turned just in time to see the older brother grip the seed and tear it from John’s cheek. Blood sprayed and John wailed, but after Dave stomped the seed into slushy mush there was no trace of blackness in the wound. They watched the greenhouse burn. When the fires finally went out they searched the ashes, looking for seeds. All they found was burnt vegetation. For now. *** Hiscock watched the end-of-the-world unfold on the screens in his bunker – at least that’s what it felt like. Green rain was now falling over the American grain belt, the steppes of Russia and the vast rain forests of Central Africa. The world’s armies, united as never before, threw everything they had at the growing swathes of green. In some cases they even managed to slash and burn the sludge away, but that was at the expense of laying such waste to the countryside that it would take decades, maybe even centuries, to recover. But they couldn’t control the rain. Europe had, thus far, remained relatively untouched, but by late afternoon the green rain started to fall over Germany and Poland. After the rain came the creeping sludge. And now reports had started of something stranger yet – of forests of lance-like seedpods. Reports were even sketchier from these areas. It seemed that after the seeds ripened, no one was left alive to report on what happened next. We’re being wiped out – and we don’t know why – or how. News reports grew scarcer, and most of the remaining television networks were reduced to broadcasting ever more creative theorizing. The theories came to an end just as dusk started to fall on the second day. It came in the form of a NASA announcement on the US Department of Homeland Security broadcast. “We are now in a position to confirm that this attack is not of terrestrial origin. I repeat - this attack is not of terrestrial origin.” The screen showed a slightly out of focus picture of a huge dark craft hanging in space. “As of noon today we have confirmation that an invasion fleet is in orbit over our planet. This is not a hoax. The fleet is composed of large crafts, each over twenty kilometers in diameter. We have counted fifty of them so far.”

PART TWO THE TAKING

John Roddie’s cheek wound began to fester on the third day. Alice tended to it as best she could, trying to avoid the fear she saw dancing in the man’s eyes. But when she applied a new bandage just after noon, she was dismayed to see a tinge of green deep in the wound. When John fell into a feverish sleep she went back downstairs to the kitchen to join Dave. The older man merely lifted an eyebrow in question. She responded in kind by seesawing her hand backwards and forwards. “He needs a doctor,” she said. “And proper antibiotics.” Dave snorted. “You know how little chance there is of that. You saw the reports.” Indeed she had. It had taken the best part of a bottle of whisky to get her to sleep after watching them. Even now the images of worldwide carnage played at the back of her mind -- that, and the thought of the giant ships, unseen, but looming large over their heads. As yet the ships didn’t seem to have moved from the geo-stationary orbits they’d taken up on their approach. Not that they have to do much of anything -- their rain is doing all the work. “What do you think they want?” Dave asked, for maybe the tenth time. She still didn’t have an answer. She’d found out the day before -- the Roddie brothers expected her, as a scientist, to know everything and be able to tell them what was happening -- help them make some sense of the sudden collapse of all they knew. She tried to tell them she was just as clueless as everyone else was, but she wasn’t sure they believed her. She did know one thing though. Whoever, or whatever, was in those craft overhead, they had a plan. Just what that plan might be wasn’t fully apparent yet. But the speed at which they had targeted the main areas of vegetation on the planet, and the way in which the green rain turned quickly to a mobile sludge, then just as quickly to a new, sporulating, form told her the plan was well under way. It is not nature we are fighting. It’s technology. They had made a sweep of the whole island. The skies stayed clear, and the nights were cold. No sign of rampant greenery was evident, and the remainder of the greenhouses stayed secure. When the wind came from the West they caught a smell that neither of them recognized – a harsh acrid tang that stung at the back of their throats. But luckily the wind mostly stayed from the North and East, bringing only the familiar salt taste of the Bay. They were quickly making inroads into the Dupree’s booze supply, but if they hadn’t known what had already come to pass, they might think the island seemed remarkably untouched by the cares of the rest of the world. After changing John’s dressing she’d attended to her own. She’d been almost constantly dosed on booze and painkillers. The pain in her hand had dulled to a continuous throb, but she’d been too scared to look at the damage. But seeing the green appear in John’s wound had made her worried – very worried. She slowly unwrapped the bandage, wincing at the fresh pain, half-expecting to see a green, seething mess. Instead she looked down on burned tissue, already pink where the healing had started. She looked deep into the burns to ensure there was no sign of green there, and wrapped her hand in a fresh dressing. She hadn’t realized it, but she was crying, and had to wipe away tears of relief as she finished up. That was the only good news she got all day.

She’d just finished dressing her hand when John started to scream. She beat Dave up the stairs and slammed into the room to find the younger brother writhing on the bed, tearing at the wound. The bloody dressing, a green smudge clearly visible, lay discarded on the bed-covers. As they entered John’s head turned to look at them. The whole side of his face was a bubbling mess of green-tinged gore. That seed left something behind. I should have been more vigilant. There was no time for recriminations. Dave moved quickly to his brother’s side. “For pity’s sake don’t get any of that green shit on you,” Alice said as Dave pinned John’s arms and held him down. Just the sight of his brother seemed to calm John somewhat, but he was obviously in great pain. The wound seethed, the green already much more apparent. She had just bent to tend to the wound when John screamed louder and his eye popped. Green ichor ran down his cheek and started to bubble at the join of neck and shoulder. Dave let him go and stood away. “Hold him,” Alice said. Dave started to pull her away. “Not without the suits. It’s not safe.” “But he’s your brother!” He dragged Alice out of the room and slammed the door behind them. “Do you think I don’t know that?” Tears ran down his face. “Now get your suit. We might save him yet.” It took five minutes to get suited up. By the time they reopened the bedroom door she saw they’d taken around four minutes too many. John was dead, and little remained above his ribs but a bubbling mess of green sludge. “I’ll deal with it,” Dave said. He wouldn’t let Alice stay in the room. She went downstairs and tried to concentrate on the television reports. Dave returned ten minutes later and went straight to the liquor cabinet. *** Hiscock finally slept, nearly forty-eight hours after first entering his bunker. Six hours later he was back at the array of screens, not quite rested, but at least ready for whatever was to come. The latest Homeland Security broadcast reported that nearly seventy percent of the planet’s forests were already gone. Huge swathes of land were now little more than festering sludge. And where it was given some heat, it was becoming more – much more. A video taken during a chopper flight over the Amazon had been played on every station still broadcasting. Tall stems reached high into the sky – but these weren’t trees, at least not in any sense Hiscock understood the word. They stood upright, like tall spears, a forest of them stretching for mile after mile of what had once been hardwood and greenery. From the camera images it was difficult to get a sense of scale, but the commentary provided more than enough detail. “What we are seeing has already covered vast swathes of our planet. Some of these stems are more than a hundred feet high, and the seed pods themselves nearly

twenty feet tall on their own. North and South of the 55th parallel the growth is much less severe, and the lance-like stems much shorter. But it is already apparent that this is a global phenomenon.” The camera zoomed in on one of the tall spears. It had a seam along the edge that was already widening, showing purple tissue inside. “These pods are obviously the start of something new in the ongoing attack. Their function is not yet apparent, and there has been no word from anyone in authority as to how the public should handle the situation if they come across this growth. “We can only wait, and wonder.” The picture changed again, to show the view of Manhattan Island they’d been showing intermittently all day. The green ooze covered everything now, and more of the lance-like growths had sprouted on every available surface. “We have no idea if anyone remains alive on what was one of the most densely populated areas of the planet. The green slime seems to have stopped flowing now, but this latest development, and the ubiquity of the lance-like growth, can surely not be thought of as a good sign. “We have been told that the President and his staff are on their way to NORAD, but there has been no official confirmation. Indeed, there has been no news from anyone in power for several hours now. Lawlessness and barbarism have spread in those cities not yet affected by the green rain. FEMA and UN troops are doing their best to maintain a semblance of control, but they are fighting a losing battle. Our once great country is today on its knees… and still falling.” The report ended with another picture of the tall stalks in the Amazon. One of the seed pods burst open, faster than the camera could follow. Black seeds, each the size of a basketball, flew in a high arc. One hit the chopper full on and the vehicle started to spin, sending a dizzy picture of the world turning upside down. The producer froze the last image. Where the seed had hit the front screen of the chopper it had opened out and started to chew through glass and metal. It looked like some kind of burrowing insect, with two long pincers that tore like a buzzsaw and a long black segmented body. The tail end arced above the head. A heavy hard ball on the end was being used to bash against the glass. It looked to be nearly four feet long. Hiscock spent a long time just staring at the image on the screen. It was while he was doing this that he realized he was struggling to take a breath. The air filters. Maybe Forbes had got to them after all? His CCTV cameras didn’t help much. He hadn’t installed any inside the house itself, not seeing the need. The ones outside showed only an expanse of frozen green sludge, too cold to sustain any of the lance-like growth. His mind kept giving him pictures of the green slime exploding from Forbes’ leg as he blasted it. It had splattered over carpet and walls. And it’s warmer up there than it is outside. Much warmer. He really did not want to leave the bunker. But his air seemed to be getting thinner by the second. Looks like I’m going for a walk. He wasn’t stupid enough to go without taking precautions. And he’d been paranoid enough to include a HAZ-MAT suit of his own in his stockpiled goods. It took

him fifteen minutes to get it on and check it was fully secure – more than enough time to worry about what waited for him up top. What actually met him when he cautiously lifted the lid was worse than he’d imagined. It’s grown. Green sludge covered the carpet around the bunker lid. He had to be careful where he put his hands as he lifted himself out of the bunker and closed the hatch carefully behind him. The sludge wasn’t the worst thing though – the worst thing was Forbes’ body… or rather what remained of it. The body seemed to have been melted. The only thing remaining was a thicker mass of sludge. The body had fallen near one of Hiscock’s baseboard heaters, and the warmth had given strength to the growth of stalks. They rose high over the body, almost touching the eight-foot high ceiling of the room. And judging from what he’d seen on the video reports, these were getting near ripening. The sooner I check the filters and get back to safety the better. But first he bent and turned off the baseboard heater. No sense in giving them any more heat. He also went and opened the front door of the house, letting cold air in. The bunker was well insulated and had its own power supply. Now he’d thought about it, letting the house above freeze seemed like a good strategy. He turned the main heating off as he made his way though to the kitchen to where the filters were situated. The green slime had oozed under the kitchen door and covered the room in a thin oily layer. Hiscock moved gingerly through it, but it showed no sign of being able to penetrate the suit, and he was feeling more confident as he approached the filters. The micropore filters were coated in the same oily slime, but he was able to scrape most of it off with his hand. Opening the kitchen window he let cold air in. The slime immediately started to flow, retreating away from the icy blast. He was able to replace the filters with no slime getting in the way. He was starting to think he’d had a successful outing as he walked back into the main room – just in time for the first of the seed pods to burst open with a crack. Black seeds pattered against his suit but didn’t take hold. They fell to the ground where tiny pincers immediately emerged and new-born creatures, each an inch-long copy of the one he’d seen on the video, started to scurry across the floor. More seeds popped and within a minute there were more than a hundred of the small beasts scattered between Hiscock and the way back down to the bunker. If he tried to go back down, he risked letting many of them in with him. *** Dave called Alice over to the rose bushes. Since John’s death Dave had put away over half a bottle of Vodka, but he showed no signs of it having affected him. As she approached he was standing over a new growth of stalks. They were only just over a foot long, with spear-pods of only two or three inches. Yet still they showed signs of splitting along the seams. No matter what the size, they can still ripen to maturity.

She was trying not to think what these stalks were growing from. They sat almost exactly where Jean Dupree had fallen. “The temperature’s coming up,” Dave said. “There’s going to be a thaw tonight.” He didn’t have to say anything more. We’re going to be in trouble. “What do you think? Try to burn them out as they appear, or sit it out in the house?” Dave was still staring at the swaying stalks on the ground. “I don’t particularly like our chances either way.” One of the pods burst, scattering tiny seeds in a four-foot area around the rosebed. “I’ll get the kerosene,” Dave said. He left for the shed. While he was gone Alice watched in mounting amazement as pod after pod burst, the seeds opened and tiny insect-like creatures swarmed over the green sludge. After a few minutes she realized they were eating it. Several minutes later they swarmed to an area in the center of the rose-bed. They started to dig. Their pincers worked efficiently as shovels and soon they had shifted a small mound of slush aside and reached the earth below. They worked in concert with each other, some moving earth aside, some dragging away small stones that would impede the group effort. Like an ant colony. She’d been so caught up in watching them she hadn’t realized they’d already made a sizeable hole, and were tunneling deeper. “Dave,” she called. “Hurry it up.” She saw him leave the shed and give her an okay. But it was already apparent he would be too late. By the time he arrived and started slopping kerosene into the hole the insects had all gone done into a tunnel. “Burn it,” Alice said. They stood and watched the flames. A breeze took the smoke and drew Alice’s eyes along the line in which the tunnel headed. She realized they might be in even more trouble. The tunnel was going to take anything that survived straight towards the cellar and larder of the Dupree house – the one place where the bulk of their remaining supplies had been stored. She left at a run, an astonished Dave Roddie following not far behind. Once inside the house she headed straight to the cellar and larder. Dave came noisily down the steps. “What’s the rush?” he started, but Alice hushed him. “Quiet. We need to listen. And have more kerosene ready. We might need it.” They stood in the center of the area, facing in opposite directions. “What am I listening for?” Dave whispered -- barely audible through the beekeeper’s hood. “We’ll know when we hear it.” They fell quiet. The only sound Alice could hear was her own breathing inside the helmet, fast and heavy until she recovered her composure after the short run from the rose bed. In her head she tried to calculate just how fast any surviving insects might

burrow, but she just didn’t have enough information about them. Given a lab and plenty of time, she’d be more than willing to study them. But not right now. Please – not now. Her prayer fell on deaf ears. The first indication something was amiss was the sound of falling earth. It took them several seconds to realize it was coming from behind one of the sections of metal shelving holding their stocks. By the time they had moved several boxes of potatoes aside it was too late. A six-inch hole had already formed, high up where the wall met the ceiling and well out of even Dave’s reach. The insects, already noticeably larger than they had been out on the rose-bed, poured through in a small flood and scattered along and behind shelves. Several fell into a potato box Alice had put by her feet. They immediately started to feed. Dave pulled at her arm. “That’s it. Time to go.” “We can’t just surrender all this stuff…” “We can if we want to stay alive. Come on.” As Dave dragged her up the stairs the hole in the wall fell in. It was two feet wide now, and still growing. On the cellar floor the insects voraciously ate anything in their path. Others, seemingly sated, had already started a fresh burrow in the center of the room. Some of the creatures were now nearly six inches long. Alice took Dave’s hand and they fled. *** Hiscock had been standing in his front room for long minutes trying to formulate a plan of action. In that time the insects had eaten most of the green sludge lying around him. When they started on the heap that had once been Forbes he had to look away. I need to get back down to the bunker. But he couldn’t see how – not as long as the creatures remained where they were. The decision was eventually made for him. As one, the insects raised their pincers in the air, as if tasting it. They all turned to face the same direction, formed a column and marched, like cartoon ants heading for a picnic area, heading in single file out of the front door and off to the left out of his sight. He let out a deep sigh of relief and headed for the bunker. Once he was inside he noticed something else – the air smelled noticeably fresher. It was somehow thinner down here. The air filters are working. But it was more. It was as if his head had cleared after a spell of breathing stale air. They’re doing something to the atmosphere. His suspicions were confirmed by several new reports on the Homeland Security news feeds. “Reports are coming in of a sinister new development in the ongoing attack.

Although the giant craft have remained in their positions in orbit, the green sludge has started to break down. An emerging form of bug whose purpose is not yet clear has been consuming large patches of the sludge. But it is the uneaten patches, lying in swathes across much of the planet that is proving the main cause for concern at the moment. “The sludge is breaking down, and as it does so, it is releasing vast quantities of methane into our atmosphere. It is unknown as of yet precisely what the outcome of this will be, but methane is a well-documented greenhouse gas. Alongside the methane – which is an odorless gas –hydrogen sulfide is also being released in very large quantities as the sulfuric acid in the body of the sludge is metabolized. People are urged to stay well clear of areas where the smell of sulfur is evident, as hydrogen sulfide is heavier than air and can lie in pockets that will suffocate an adult in a matter of seconds. “Little more is currently known but rest assured, we will bring you more as we get it.” Hiscock checked the interior perimeter of the bunker. Only once he was certain everything was still secure did he take off the HAZ-MAT suit. He made himself a fresh pot of coffee, and was about to check on the worldwide situation when he caught a glimpse of movement on the camera focused on his back yard. It was immediately obvious a thaw was under way – and a rapid one at that. But that wasn’t what had caught his eye. The insects – already twice the size they had been in the house – were burrowing a deep hole in the yard, throwing dirt and dust high as they worked. Industrious little fuckers. As long as they did it over there, well away from the bunker, Hiscock would be happy. He watched until it started to get dark outside. By then there was a sizable mound in the yard, and no sign of dust or dirt in the air. They’ve gone deep. I wonder what they’re after? Around the world, others were asking the same question. Another chopper in the Amazon provided the most frightening pictures. The beasts hatching there were bigger than those being seen elsewhere. And they were proving to be ferocious diggers. The pilot took the chopper over a hole bigger than a football field. Down inside it a roiling mass of the creatures could be seen, furiously tunneling towards their as yet unknown goal. “Each of these creatures on screen is over nine feet long,” an anchorman said over the pictures. “Reports have come in of similar mounds all over the world, ranging in size from many hundreds of meters down to a matter of inches. The size of the creatures does not seem important. They seem to be born with just one imperative – to burrow. “Geologists have studied the areas where burrowing is underway, but no clear pattern has emerged as yet. We believe the actual site of any burrowing is mostly random chance and opportunity. But it is clear they have a purpose. A search is under way – it is just we do not as yet know its their goal.” Another series of pictures taken from the International Space Station and a spy satellite taken over by Homeland Security showed the sheer scale of the devastation being

wrought on the planet. Between the tropics, little remained but green sludge and vast forests of the lance-like stems, many of which had seeded, but the bulk of which had yet to reach maturity. North and south of the tropics the lance forests did not grow in such abundance – but the green sludge still covered vast areas of ground. Whole countries had been subsumed. Much of Central Europe was now no more than a bubbling puddle of green slime, and the same applied to the US Mid-West and most of British Columbia and Alberta. Pictures from the BBC showed a thick forest of spears twelve feet tall surrounding Buckingham Palace, the Queen herself having long ago been removed to a safe place. And everywhere the cameras pointed, the insects burrowed. This isn’t over. Not by a long way.

Alice and Dave stood at the window of Alice’s house looking out towards the ever-growing hole sitting in place of the Dupree residence. It had collapsed some two hours before, the house falling in on itself with little more than a muffled thud. They had started to make preparations to take to the Zodiac, but held off when the hole seemed to stabilize. There had been no sign of activity in the past hour. By now they knew about the diggers, having seen the news reports. The television was down to just a fraction of its usual channels, the rest showing only white static. And those who did survive were showing reruns of the same set of video clips over and over – the large dig in the Amazon, the forest encircling Buckingham Palace, and the peaks and canyons of the new forest still springing up over what had been Manhattan. Alice had taken inventory of the supplies in her own larder. Even after stocking the Zodiac with as much as it could safely carry, she still had enough provisions to keep both her and Dave for at least a month. But I seriously doubt we have a month left to us. Dave had tried hard to convince her to take to the Zodiac, but she found the ties of the house hard to break. There was a certain security about being indoors, and even after seeing the Dupree house fall in such dramatic fashion, she still felt safer being inside. But not safe enough to take off the survival suit. Both of them were getting warm and sweaty inside the suits, but neither had removed so much as a glove since the scene in the Dupree basement, and both jumped at any small noise. Dave was trying again to get her to leave. “We can get to Saint John easily,” he said. “The authorities…” She reminded him of what he’d said at the start of the mayhem. “This is all we’ve got,” she replied. “The authorities will all be in their bunkers by now, if they’ve survived.” Dave pointed out at the large hole in the ground. “But we can’t stay…” Alice watched the hole. When she spoke, it was as if she was trying to convince herself.

“They don’t seem remotely interested in us. Yes, they have a plan. But it doesn’t involve us. I think, if we stay quiet and under their radar, they’ll leave us alone.” Dave laughed bitterly. “Until they get hungry you mean?” “And it’ll be dark in less than half an hour,” she said. “Do you really want to cross the Bay in the dark? With all that’s going on?” Dave shrugged. “I don’t know. What I do know is that I need to get off this island.” Alice didn’t reply. A movement had caught her eye, something in the air at the far end of the island. Eagle? She immediately knew this was no bird of prey. It was much larger, and swooped down on them fast. It wasn’t a flying saucer – but it was the closest thing to it she was ever likely to see. It looked like a black egg hanging in the sky. As it came closer she could see the oval was distended slightly at the front in a small dome – but there was no sign of windows, nor any evidence of a means of propulsion. It seemed to be a single sleek piece of material – black and slightly oily, like the shell of a beetle. It was the size of a pickup truck and came to a stop, hanging silently in the air above the large hole in the ground. “What the hell is that?” Dave whispered at her side. She thought she knew. During her post-graduate course she’d visited a coal mine. The miners had all been industrious and worked like Trojans. The foremen had ruled the roost though, swooping down in surprise visits to check on progress. And that’s what this is – a foreman, checking on progress. “Shush,” she said. “It will move on soon.” Dave wasn’t to be placated so easily. “Move on? What makes you think so?” Alice couldn’t take her eyes from the hovering object, almost transfixed by its simplicity. And there was something more. She could feel it. As she studied the craft, something inside it studied her. She tried to concentrate. Images came to mind – a purple sky above a planet where tall lance-like spears grew in tightly regimented rows in valleys beneath cyclopean towers of black -- unbroken by any window or door. Something seemed to push against her mind, as if repelling her. She pushed back harder. Outside, the hovering oval wavered and fell six feet before righting itself. Dave ran for the shotgun. “Keep at it,” he shouted. She turned and looked away from the object. Dave looked towards her, then beyond, out the window. “Whatever you were doing, I suggest you get back to it.” The black egg had left its spot over the hole and started to drift – straight towards them.

Once again Alice felt the probe in her mind, and once again she pushed. The egg wavered, but kept coming. Another image grew in her mind, of the vast emptiness of space, going on and on, blackness without end. Then, suddenly, a blue shining pearl -- glowing like a beacon. As if from a dizzying height she swooped. It was as if she was homing in – straight at this tiny island off the Eastern coast of Canada, straight down to a house on the edge of the sea, straight at a window where a Day-Glo orange figure stood, watching. I’m seeing myself as it sees me. The thought was too much for her. She pushed it away. The egg wavered, just as the air was filled with the crack of the shotgun going off. As if in slow motion the craft cracked open along one side. A misty vapor hissed from the wound as the egg fell to the ground. The leading edge hit an exposed rock and crumpled. Everything suddenly went still. *** Hiscock had started talking to himself. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d miss the company of other people. He’d never really interacted with anyone on a day-today basis, but just knowing that he might be the only person left in the city had him more than a little spooked. He wasn’t reassured after talking online to several fellow survivalists across North America. They were all in the same boat – locked on their own in a subterranean bunker while their fears – for some of them hopes – were being played out for their viewing pleasure on their network feeds. There was still little consensus as to what was actually happening – many of his fellow bunkerites still insisted that this was a New World Order takeover, and anything they were seeing on screen was little more than smoke and mirrors – special effects to keep the plebiscite under control. For once, Hiscock found himself disagreeing. Those diggers on my carpet were a bit more than a special effect. More worryingly, several of his regular contacts, survivalists with whom he’d shared tips and strategies for months, sometimes years, seemed to have fallen completely off the grid. Perhaps they were deliberately keeping themselves quiet for fear of attack or, a more frightening thought by far, their carefully prepared plans had gone awry and their bunkers had been compromised. The thought brought a whole new bunch of worries he decided not to think about. Not just yet. He left his fellow bunkerites to their conspiracies and went back to scanning what remained of the news media. It immediately became apparent things had moved on to yet another new phase. Yes, the diggers were still digging, but there was only so much mileage to be had from showing pictures of deep holes in the ground. The media needed something to focus on. And they’ve found it – in spades. That afternoon the black eggs came from the sky in flocks of thousands, each one coming to a halt hovering over a dig site. They seemed to vary in size, corresponding with

the size of the hole they were sent to investigate – some were only the size of a football, whereas others measured forty meters and more. “It is believed these craft are some kind of scout vessels,” one announcer said. “They are obviously checking the progress of the diggers.” “Diggers” had become the word of the day, now that the “Green Carpet of Terror’s” reign seemed to have passed. “Attempts have been made to communicate with these eggs,” the announcer continued. “But as yet with no success. We are still no further forward in discerning the motive for this continued attack on our planet. Nor indeed do we yet know exactly what all this digging is meant to accomplish. The worry in official circles is that we may not be around long enough to find out.” It was getting dark across the Eastern Seaboard now, and the media attention switched further West. They were just in time to see the start of the next phase unfold. “Reports have been coming in all day of noxious air, with sporadic instances of suffocation as a result. But there has been nothing on the scale that we are now seeing in low-lying regions across the plains.” The camera showed an aerial view of a town as yet untouched by green rain, slime, or diggers. Instead, it had succumbed to something just as deadly. Bodies lay everywhere on the ground, dead where they had fallen in the course of their day-to-day lives. “Death came almost instantly,” the announcer said. “Hydrogen Sulfide is heavier than air, and when it falls into low lying pockets, it is a silent, deadly killer.” The camera showed a series of images in quick cuts. Dead lay on the ground in cities thought free from attack. Streets lay quiet with only the accompanying whirr of chopper rotors disturbing the silence. “Paris, Rome, New Orleans and Dallas, Delhi and Hong Kong. All over the world, silence is falling. “We are being exterminated. “We don’t know why. “And there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“Let me shoot it,” Dave Roddie said. They stood over the crashed craft, looking down into a crack running the length of the vessel. The pilot was down there, lying on a bed of what at first glance looked to be little more than glowing seaweed, tendrils of which ran to the outer hull of the broken craft. The pilot itself seemed at first to be another, albeit larger, example of the same insect species as the diggers, but closer inspection showed where the others had pincers, this one had soft, almost feathery, bristles brushing at the weed-like tendrils. Every brushstroke brought a vibration from the hull. That’s how it’s controlled. He’s trying to make it fly. Even when its efforts proved fruitless, it still continued on the same course of action. It can only do what it is programmed to do. It’s just another drone.

“Go on,” Dave said again. “Let me shoot it.” But Alice’s scientific training had kicked in. “We might be the only people in the world with access like this,” she said. “I need to get it into my shed. I’ve got my sample kits and microscopes stored away… I can have a small lab set up in no time.” “What for?” “To study it. If we can find out what makes it tick, we might find a way to fight back." Dave showed her the gun. “I’m ready when you are.” But when she started to climb down into the ruined craft he put the gun down and helped her. She was able to detach the creature from the surrounding structure of tendrils with little difficulty. The beast struggled feebly in her arms, but did not have the strength to resist her. A thin green fluid ran freely from its abdomen. It must have been injured in the crash. Between the two of them they managed to carry the dripping bundle to a table in Alice’s shed. It was colder in here than outside, and with night falling it would be well below zero in several hours. They laid the beast on a trestle beside the bulk of the Zodiac. Now she had a closer look at it, it looked more like an Arthropod or shrimp than an insect. It had a squat body, reminding her of a wood louse more than anything else, and eight hairy legs, four on each side. Two long bristled feelers completed the appendages, rising from either side of the head. It was these it had been using to control the craft. The head itself was small, and there was no sign of any eyes. It wouldn’t need them inside that solid black egg. This thing was made… and built for a purpose. The legs waved feebly but it showed no sign of being able to move any further. Dave stood over it with the shotgun while she prepared the adjoining trestle as a makeshift lab. Her hands shook as she assembled the microscope. I’m about to study an alien life form. She pushed the thought away. If she allowed it to take hold she’d never get anything accomplished. She started by having a look at some of the thin green fluid continuing to seep from the beast. She wasn’t really surprised to find it was a diluted form of sulfuric acid – much less potent than the green rain, but essentially the same stuff. There were small celllike structures floating freely in the liquid. Her microscope didn’t have the resolution for her to study them in detail but she had no doubt what they’d be… not cells, but machines. The things we’ve been seeing can only be driven by nanotech. One of the legs twitched violently as she took samples of tissue, so much so Dave almost fired on reflex, but the creature had gone quiet again as Alice went back to the microscope. The tissues confirmed her suspicions. Every cell had a regular rigid cell wall, like no animal on earth – but similar to that of a terrestrial plant. Within each cell smaller bodies, similar to the ones in the green fluid, moved with obvious motive. But the cellular

structure was just too alien. She had no idea what she was looking at. But someone might. She had a camera fitting for the microscope. It only took five minutes to hook it up, and another five to download a series of pictures, both of tissue and bodily fluid. She wasn’t sure whether she would get Internet access – she went through a satellite, and had no way of knowing whether it was still up there or not. First she tried to send the information to her old professor on Newfoundland, but the server returned it as undeliverable almost immediately. After failing with several other scientists on her contacts list she resorted to the scatter-bomb attack, mailing the pictures to everyone on her list along with a short explanation and a request to pass it on to the authorities. Many bounced back immediately but some seemed to get through. Someone will see it and understand. Someone must see it. The last thing left to study was the creature’s head. She’d already established its blindness, and was keen to see if there were any other sensory organs present. She leaned over the table for a closer look. And immediately she felt its presence in her mind, only a tickle at first, then stronger as it probed. Once more she had a vision of a planet under a deep purple sky, with dark stems rising, casting shadows from a moon that rose above jagged hills. Things moved among the stems, low-slung and insect-like, farmers tending to the growth. And it was not just on the ground where things scurried. Something crossed the face of the moon -- a thin body, propelled by gossamer wings, hovering like a vast dragonfly above the plain below. Alice felt herself being sucked downward towards a dark edifice on the plain, a pyramidal structure enormous in scale, black as coal and swarming with drones. It had a hole in the top, a tunnel leading down into its bowels and Alice knew she did not want to see what was inside. She pushed back against the presence in her mind but this time couldn’t break the bond between them. She swirled down, gaining speed, spinning dizzily, accelerating towards where something waited -- something that wanted a closer look at her. She tried to scream, but nothing came, like being caught in a nightmare and being unable to wake yourself up. She passed the mouth of the hole in the pyramid and tumbled deeper into blackness. It sucked ever more eagerly at her. “No,” she screamed in her head, and pushed with all the strength of her mind. She blinked, and opened her eyes to find herself looking down at the creature’s head. Fresh green fluid poured from what might be a mouth. “What just happened?” Dave said softly. Alice stared at the creature. Its legs no longer moved. She had rarely seen anything more dead. I think I blew its brains out. *** Over the next four days Hiscock watched as the world went dim. The newscasts went to static at regular intervals. The BBC was among the last to fail. By that time Buckingham Palace was completely overrun by lance-like stalks and

Hyde Park was a vast hole filled with diggers. The British Parliament had met, one last time, only to succumb en-masse to Hydrogen Sulfide suffocation when a deadly sinkhole of the gas moved, a silent assassin, along the length of the Thames. The US administration fared little better. The President had made it to NORAD despite several scares on the way. Most of his Chief’s of Staff and a small army of advisors joined him in seclusion. They thought they were safe, deep in a complex built to withstand a full-scale nuclear attack. That feeling of security lasted just one more day. A swarm of diggers focussed in to an area adjoining the mountain and started to tunnel. What was left of the President’s armed escort moved to try to neutralize the situation, but they too succumbed to asphyxiation, this time from a high build up of Methane in the vicinity – different gas, same result. The diggers kept digging. Several hours after they started a black egg-shaped craft arrived and hovered overhead. An hour later it got really interesting for the people inside the complex. The first sign of just how much trouble lay ahead came when their radar reported something huge coming their way. Not long later a mile-wide craft hove into view over the mountain. One of the external NORAD CCTV cameras captured what happened next for what was left of posterity. The craft was sleek and with a deep-bluish black hull unbroken by any sign of window or propulsion mechanism. It hovered above the mountain. It developed a glow – tinged green at first then increasing in intensity until it was a brilliant yellow almost matching the sun. The ground around the entrance to the complex broke up, first in a rising cloud of dust, then faster as pebbles, then stones, then rocks the size of cars rose up in the air defying gravity. As they approached the hovering craft everything was vaporized, dancing light flashing the length and breadth of the ship. Nothing came back down but a fine rain of gray dust. That camera failed soon after. The ones inside the complex kept going for some time – long enough to show the concrete and metal being torn apart and dragged away upward – along with anyone who happened to be in the vicinity at the time. The last thing on screen before everything went dark was an Air Force General, waving frantically as he was torn away from a hold on a table before disappearing up out of view of the camera. Homeland Security managed to divert a satellite to check out the site several hours later. Nothing remained of the mountain but a deep gouge in the ground, ten miles long and nearly a mile deep. The original speculation was that this was a direct attack on the leadership of the USA. But it soon became apparent it had been merely a coincidence. Larger craft descended all over the world, hovering over selected dig sites, some in remote areas, some in the midst of great cities. In all cases the result appeared the same – the craft glowed, gravity was reversed and the sub-strata was vaporized until the craft moved on, leaving only a deep wound in the earth behind. A geologist in Australia was the one who finally figured out what the craft were after. He studied global maps, pinpointing the locations of the new wounds. His training immediately told him what they sought. They are mining Uranium.

*** After spending the next four days in the house Alice was ready to start climbing the walls. She was getting squirrelly. They had packed the body of the alien creature in an old chest-freezer in her basement. She had to go down there for provisions from her larder, and every time she passed she was sure she could hear it scratching. They were taking it in turns to sleep, keeping watch on the hole outside. The wreckage of the craft still lay where it had fallen but, just this afternoon, the scene had changed. A heavy thaw set in, and in its wake new lanceolate shoots forced their way up through the soil. They were not yet ready to seed, but there were far too many for them to be burned out. Alice eyed them apprehensively. Dave’s requests to leave the island had become more strident in the last twentyfour hours. He too had been twitchy -- ever since CBC News went abruptly off-air in the middle of a report. Both of them were having trouble steering clear of what was left of the liquor. Indeed, Alice was starting to come round to the man’s viewpoint. We cannot stay here. Not for long anyway. She couldn’t shake the dreams – of that purple sky, and the black pyramid below. The more she thought about it, the more she thought someone should know of her experiences in the shared mind between her and the creature. It might be important. She had spent several hours trying to contact the authorities, but no one responded. Twelve hours after the creature’s demise her Internet access had gone, never to return. And now that CBC had gone to static they were completely cut off from the outside. Dave tried the FM radio, but, apart from a single Russian station neither of them could understand, all was just white noise. “We should go,” Dave said at her shoulder. They stood together looking out over the forest that seemed to grow even as they watched. She came to a decision. “Let’s do it right now. If we leave in the next twenty minutes we can be on Grand Manan by nightfall.” Once the decision was made she found it surprisingly easy to let go of the house. Dave helped inflate the Zodiac and fifteen minutes later they wheeled it from the boat shed and slid it into the water of the Bay. She had to leave the creature behind. They had no way of keeping the body cold enough to prevent it decomposing. All she could do was leave it in the freezer and hope the power supply held out long enough for someone to find it – if anyone would even be looking. The Zodiac was as reliable as ever. Even laden with fuel and provisions bringing its total carrying weight close to the safe limit, it rode flat and smooth in the water, and the comforting roar of the engines served to remind Alice of happier times and warmer days. She was almost smiling as she took the controls and steered the dinghy away from the jetty, slowly at first in the shallow water, then faster as she reached sufficient depth to lower the engines all the way down.

She wasn’t intending to look back. But she couldn’t help herself. Not for the first time she noticed how fragile the small island seemed from out on the water. She was about to mention it to Dave when a new movement caught her eye in the area where the craft had crashed. Dusk was falling, and she was tired through lack of sleep, so at first she did not trust her eyesight. But after only a few seconds it was undeniable. The diggers were no longer merely land-based. Three of them already hovered on gossamer wings above the hole – each with a body nearly six feet long, looking jet-black in the dimming light. More and more of them emerged from the hole, swooping and diving around the wrecked craft like mayflies over a pond. Dave stood in the bow of the dinghy, the shotgun gripped tightly to his chest. She saw him raise the gun and sight along the barrel. “Don’t,” she shouted. “If they are hive beings, it’s best not to antagonize them.” Dave laughed bitterly, but he did put the gun down. Alice’s hunch was proved right seconds later. The winged creatures rose as one, a swarm of maybe fifty creatures. They headed north, on a tangent to the direction of the boat, and were soon lost in the gloom.

By the time night fell over Saint John the US Homeland Security Broadcast was the only show in town. They alone managed to stay on air, broadcasting from a studio on an aircraft carrier in an undisclosed position off the Eastern Seaboard – and they only managed to keep it going by retaining control of a satellite. Hiscock was still in touch with several other bunkerites, but several more had gone – two at least after complaining of bad air. Hiscock spent much of his time worrying about Hydrogen Sulfide, Methane, and the state of his air filters, but after a while he reached a resignation with his lot. Either it will get me, or it won’t. He suspected that several other survivalists had already eaten their guns, dismayed at the sheer scale of the collapse around them and the almost overwhelming certainty that, in order to survive, they would be bunkered for a long time to come. Hiscock’s resignation with his own lot stretched to his own incarceration. He had taken and re-taken inventory over the last few days, reassuring himself he had been paranoid enough to squirrel away sufficient stocks for any eventuality. He even had a large supply of books and movies on DVD for when all contact with the outside disappeared – as it surely would. And soon. He had just settled back in his chair from a check of his perimeter when the first pictures of the flying bugs started to come in. As had become usual there was much chatter and speculation on the airwaves as to what this new development might indicate. They didn’t have to wait long for their answer. The Homeland Security broadcast showed a scene of a downtown area of a city. It could have been almost any city in North America, and Hiscock realized it didn’t matter that he didn’t know the name of this one – the same scene would be being played out on hundreds, if not thousands, of streets.

At first the picture showed only the now-familiar scene of prone bodies on the ground. A dark shadow seemed to flit over above the view of the camera. Then they descended. It was similar to watching flies descend on a piece of decomposing meat. They swarmed all over the street, crawling over each other in their frenzy to get at the flesh. The clacking of pincers showed Hiscock what he had already suspected. These were modified diggers. And I have a good idea what they want with the bodies. He had an ant-farm when he was a boy – a sealed environment in some ways very similar to this bunker he now inhabited. Once he’d dropped a large chunk of Smeat in with the ants, just to see what happened. They’d torn the meat into chunks within seconds and carried it triumphantly down into the nest. The swarm he watched on the screen behaved in much the same way, tearing the corpses into chunks of a size they could carry, then taking off, dripping gore and blood in Jackson Pollock patterns as they returned with food to their burrowing brothers. And with the still spreading threat of suffocation from noxious gases hanging over most of the planet, it looked like they would have an all-you-can-eat buffet available to them for some time to come. Hiscock wondered if this too was part of the master plan – the annihilation of the human race. But other pictures had come in, from ranches across the Great Plains, of swarms of the new flyers descending on herds of cattle. And in one of the last scenes to come out of the continent of Africa, a survivor in an air-balloon managed to post a picture of a swarm nearly two miles long. It was packed solid like a black sheet, descending on a vast herd of wildebeest. The wildebeest would never be able to run fast enough. The last report of the night went back to scenes of mass death in the world’s major cities. Beijing had succumbed to a huge mist of Hydrogen Sulfide. The Chinese had tried everything to halt its inexorable path – firebombing huge tracts of countryside -and people, into oblivion. It hadn’t mattered. Tens of millions died in less than an hour. The reporter was somber. “The atmosphere of our planet has already undergone a more drastic change than any seen for many millennia. Now, tonight, as the green slime coats more than half the planet, we can only watch and wonder what the future holds for us – if indeed there is to be any future at all.” The report signed off. Hiscock was about to leave his desk for some much-needed sleep when his laptop beeped. You have mail. It came from the last people on the planet he’d expect to contact him. “From General Samuel Davis, Department of Homeland Security. “Mr. Hiscock. We know you are still there. Please reply to this mail. “We need your help. You may be our last chance.”

PART THREE THE SURVIVORS

Alice brought the Zodiac into Grand Manan just as dusk gave way to night. She already knew the town was in trouble from much further out in the Bay – there were no lights on any of the approaches, and the town sat in complete darkness. Tall lance-like stalks stood silhouetted against the dark sky, the pods at their tops open and split. They’ve all ripened. And they’re much bigger than the ones we’ve seen already. Suddenly all she wanted to do was turn and sail for home as fast as the engines would take her. But there was nothing left there for them. They had no choice but to forge ahead and try to find other survivors. Dave had gone quiet. She knew he’d been pinning his hopes on a semblance of normality in their nearest town. Grand Manan had been the place where the Roddie brothers went to blow off steam – to drink beer, play pool and have yet another try at persuading a woman – any woman, that life on an even smaller island was a good idea. But his hopes – like his quest for a wife – were dashed. The view that met them in the harbor was far from normal. The town sat in a secluded Bay and had its own microclimate. That had obviously worked against it. There had been a thaw – enough for the dark stalks – and the resulting diggers, to thrive. Alice knew every house on the skyline, having made the journey many times both in daylight and at dusk. But no rooflines could be seen against the night – only more of the tall stalks. And now that full darkness was upon them there was something more – the alien growth gave off a faint glow, an oily green luminescence wafting and swaying in a slight breeze. She wanted to yell out, to let any survivors know they were there. But something about the whole eerie scene made her keep her silence. With the engines turned down to their slowest revs they drifted towards the main quay. Normally, even at this time of year, there would be people about – either on the quay itself, or on the main street just beyond. There were several bars and cafes along the main drag and local fishermen liked to gather for drink and tall tales during the close season. But tonight all the windows were dark. She knew there were large basements in many of the houses, basements large enough to hide families in. All the way here she’d been holding out hope of finding someone – anyone. But the stillness and sheer alien quality of the night around them told her she shouldn’t let her hopes rise too far. “We should stay here for the night,” Dave said. “Tie up beside one of the fishing boats and lie low until morning.” That’s what she wanted to do. But the thought of people – and children, possibly cowering in dark basements, was too much to bear. After tying the boat to the gunwales of a fishing boat she grabbed a heavy rubber flashlight and made her way over the decks of the moored boats to the quay. Dave was at her side, shotgun gripped tight, as they stepped ashore. She walked off the quay onto the street and by instinct checked for traffic before stepping out. There seemed to be no movement anywhere in the town. “I don’t like this,” Dave said beside her, but he followed as she walked the length

of the main drag through town. The ground underfoot felt rougher than expected. It was only when she shone her light at her feet that she realized why. The surface they walked on wasn’t the road – it was dried and hardened sludge, itself glowing slightly green in the darker shadows. This is stupid. She’d always scoffed at women in horror movies, always walking around in the dark alerting the monsters to their presence. Now here she was, doing exactly the same thing. “Just another hundred yards,” she said to Dave. “I just want to have a look over the hill.” The bulk of the residential area of town was over a slight hill some way east of the quay. When they crested it they found the reason why the town had gone dark. The residential properties were completely gone. In their place was just a deep hole lying in black shadow. It seethed with crawling diggers. Dave tugged at her arm. “Let’s go,” he whispered. “Before they see us.” She turned to agree with him… just as the diggers took to the air, a vast swarm of them. The air buzzed with the vibration of their wings. They were each more than three feet long, moving in unison like a flock of starlings as they swooped up – and down, heading straight for where Dave and Alice stood. Dave turned to run. Alice stood her ground. They’ve shown no interest in us before. Why should they start now? The flyers kept coming. Maybe I’ve miscalculated. At the last second, when the leading flyers were less than ten yards overhead, she shouted, at the same time sending out a mental command. “No! Leave me alone.” As one the flyers veered aside, swooping back up into the sky to be lost in the black of night. Dave stood by her side, shaking. “How the heck did you do that?” “I just thought them away.” Dave laughed. “Hell, if that’s all it took, I’d have got rid of them before they took off the ground. No lass… it seems you have a gift, of a kind.” She thought it but didn’t say it. Or a curse. *** Hiscock kept returning to the email – not replying, just staring at it. We need your help. You may be our last chance. He’d built this bunker primarily because of mistrust of big governments, with the US at the top of his shit list. Now the Department of Homeland Security had contacted

him. It must be a trick. But why would they bother? Was he worth the effort with the rest of the world falling apart around them? That brought another thought. If it’s not a trick, and they really need my help… what could they possibly want me to do? He was quite sure he didn’t want to know the answer to that question. Whatever it was they wanted they obviously weren’t prepared to wait. A second email arrived two hours after the first. “We need to talk to Professor Paul Sauser. He’s a resident of Saint John at 233 Laurel Drive. We know he was alive two days ago. It is vital that we speak to him. The survival of the planet may depend on it.” Hiscock read that one three times before the import of it really hit home. Many times he’d sat and watched movies where the fate of the world rested on the shoulders of one man. And now that man is me. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea. But their request was impossible to comply with at the moment in any case. He was too tired to take to the streets. Besides, night had fallen. Saving the planet will have to wait for the morning. He retired to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. The emails preyed on his mind, and after an hour of tossing and turning he gave up and went back to the laptop. Even as he sat down, he wasn’t sure what to say. “What is it you want me to do?” he typed. The answer came back in less than a minute. “Fetch the Professor. Get him in front of your laptop. We need to speak to him.” He didn’t ask what about – he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Twenty minutes later he was fully kited up in his HAZ-MAT suit and ready to go. This time he’d added an extra precaution – a small oxygen canister strapped to his back with an attachment through to his facemask. It only held fifteen minutes worth – but it might save his life in an emergency. He also took the Kalashnikov, and as many magazines as he could carry in a shoulder bag. Loaded for bear. He made a second trip to load another HAZ-MAT suit into his pickup. He had no idea if this Professor would be prepared, but a reserve suit wouldn’t go amiss. He was about to leave the house when he heard a noise from the yard out the back. It was loud enough to make him go and investigate, and it was light enough out there to make out that there was now a large mound of dirt where his garden had been. They really are industrious little fucks. But it seemed to be far enough away from the house that he did not have to worry. Besides – the bunker is three feet thick reinforced concrete. They’ll never get through that. His pickup wheels were an inch deep in hardened sludge but it had been through

tougher terrain than that. It pulled away with little effort. He was surprised at first by how dark the streets seemed, until he realized the municipal lighting had gone. He turned on his headlights and drove through eerily quiet streets. He had a vague idea where his destination lay in relation to his hillside cabin. He had to detour twice to avoid streets where abandoned cars had blocked any access, but he arrived outside 233 Laurel Drive just ten minutes later. He hadn’t seen a single person, nor any sign that anyone but him was alive in the city. The house itself was equally dark and quiet. It was a squat wooden structure in the old style, similar to many other houses on the street. No lights showed and as Hiscock left his pickup and walked up the drive he was aware just how quiet it had become. No birds sang, no leaves rustled in the breeze, and there was no traffic noise whatsoever. That more than anything else reminded Hiscock just how much the world had changed. He rapped hard on the front door. When there was no answer after thirty seconds he turned the handle. The door opened, revealing a dark hallway beyond. “Professor?” he called, but the noise sounded just too loud. He walked further into the house. The first door led to an empty sitting room. Hiscock noticed that all the electrical equipment – television, sound system and a radio, were unplugged from the wall sockets. There was no sign that anyone had been there for some time. The kitchen proved just as neglected. Everything was neat and tidy, all dishes packed away and the waste bin was empty. This is a wild goose chase. There’s no one here. He was about to retreat to the safety of the pickup when a door he had yet to try slammed open and he found himself staring down the barrel of a shotgun. “Best get yourself gone,” a voice said. “Before I forget my manners.” All of Hiscock’s instincts told him to turn and leave – either that or raise the Kalashnikov and take his chances. Instead he found himself talking, in a small, frightened voice. “Professor Sauser? Homeland Security sent me to find you.” The shotgun lowered slightly. “I guess that’s a story a looter wouldn’t make up,” the man said. “And you’re no ordinary thief… not in that get up. Are you military?” “No, not exactly. But I’ve got a working Internet connection in my bunker. They sent me to get you.” “You have a bunker? And I suppose you have coffee as well?” Hiscock actually laughed. “For as many years as you want it.” The man laughed along with him and lowered the shotgun. “In that case lead on.” The man came forward where there was slightly more light, and Hiscock was surprised. He hardly looked strong enough to lift a shotgun, let alone keep it aimed straight. He was thin, almost skeletally so, and looked to be nearer eighty than seventy. When he put on the spare survival suit it swamped him completely and he was forced to walk in a slow duck-waddle. Hiscock almost had to manhandle him into the passenger seat of the pickup.

The old man was quiet on the drive back up the hill. “Is it all like this?” he said softly as they passed through another empty street with lance-like growth lining both sides. “Everything I’ve seen.” He turned to speak to the old man. “They said they needed you. You are the last chance. So tell me… what makes you so special?” The Professor stared wide-eyed out the window. “I’ve got a plan… but you’re not going to like it.” *** Alice and Dave spent the early part of the night on the docked Zodiac under a tarpaulin, but neither were able to sleep, jumping at the slightest noise even though the loudest thing to be heard was the lapping of the tide against the posts of the quay. “We should try for Saint John,” Alice said. Sometime in the past hours she had become the one keen to be moving. Dave had retreated into a shell – the sights of what had happened to Grand Manan just too much for him to bear. It’s one thing watching devastation and carnage on the television when it is happening to places far off that you’ve never visited. It’s quite another thing to get up close and personal in your hometown. Dave hadn’t spoken more than a few words since they retreated from the hill overlooking the diggers. Alice was glad they’d decided not to bring any booze along on the Zodiac – Dave might have lost himself in it by now. And I might need him sober. She finally gave up trying to communicate with him and started to get the dinghy ready to depart. To her surprise the man moved to help. He still didn’t speak, but it seemed he too was keen to get gone from this place. She took them back out of the harbor at the lowest revs possible. From out in the Bay the green luminescence was even more prominent, lending a subtle glow to the whole island, wavering and dancing as if the Northern Lights had come to the ground. There was something alien about it. A chill ran down Alice’s spine as she turned them away, leaving the town behind and only the dark open sea ahead. Dave proved more alert than he’d seemed. He brought her a coffee twenty minutes later. “This is better,” he said softly. Alice had to agree. Out here the only thing to smell was the salt tang of sea and the reassuring aroma of fresh coffee. There was no taint of the heavy acrid odor that seemed to seep from everywhere the green sludge lay. The moon danced on the water and stars winked overhead. The survival suit kept her snug and warm despite the chill night air, and for the first time in days Alice almost relaxed. Dave stood at her side sipping a hot cup of coffee. “Do you think it’s all like that?” he said after a time. It’s worse. She didn’t say it – it wasn’t what the man needed to hear right now. “Let’s just get to Saint John big man. Then we’ll see what we can find… and who. A place that big doesn’t just fall off the face of the world. She knew that wasn’t entirely true – she’d seen the pictures of what was left of

Manhattan. But Dave was only just managing to keep himself together. She had to do all she could to help. They sailed on in silence for more than an hour before Alice noticed the green glow as they approached the mainland. It stretched from horizon to horizon – as if all the streetlights had been fitted with green bulbs on a misty night. The glow was stronger still further back in the hills where the huge conifer forest that made up the Fundy National Park had gone to feed the crawling green slime. As they approached land again the acrid smell grew stronger and the air grew thicker, almost chewable. By the time they approached the main harbor of Saint John Alice had a headache that gripped tight around her nasal passages and her breathing was as heavy as if she had been on a long hike. “Maybe we should head back out into the Bay?” Dave said beside her. Alice shook her head. “We can’t leave without checking.” At first glance the harbor looked no different to usual. Huge ships lay at anchor interspersed with the smaller vessels of local fishermen. Surely someone on one of the boats has survived? But yet again there were no lights anywhere in the city that could be seen from the sea and the dim green glow rose over everything. As they closed on the quayside they saw the first of the bodies – a fisherman lying half-in, half-out of his boat. More dead lay strewn on the docks. Gas! As if in reflex she started to breathe faster before realizing the futility of worrying. I’d be dead already. Whatever had got the people here, it had moved on, leaving only the silent dead behind. Dave had tears running down his cheeks. He had once again raised the shotgun, gripping it tight. “They’re all dead,” he whispered. “Everybody’s dead but us.” Alice docked the Zodiac beside a cabin cruiser and hitched it up. “We don’t know that yet Dave. Come on. We need to have a look around.” She climbed up onto the quay and turned back… just in time to see Dave raise his headgear, put the gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. The back of his head blew out sending the rear of the helmet billowing like a curtain in the wind. He fell forward, his weight carrying him overboard. He sank with only a short-lived trail of air bubbles to show he had ever been there. *** Hiscock brewed a pot of coffee and the old professor wandered around Hiscock’s bunker in amazement as they waited for a reply message to an email to Homeland Security. “What were you preparing for?” the old man asked him. Hiscock laughed. “I wasn’t sure… but big honking space aliens weren’t really on my mind.”

The Professor smiled sadly back. “Nor on mine.” The laptop beeped. Homeland Security requested that Hiscock fire up his webcam and a messenger service. He complied. It’s too late now to be worried about my security. He had to show the Professor where the camera was. The old man thanked him. “Can I ask you for some more of your damn fine coffee please?” He realized that the Professor wanted to speak in private, but the old man had asked so politely, Hiscock couldn’t really refuse. The coffeepot was in the rear kitchen, and all he could hear from back there was a muffled rumble. He arrived back just in time to see the Homeland Security man – an army Colonel – sign off with a shocked expression on his face. What did the old man tell him? “Thank you,” the Professor said as he turned around to face Hiscock. “For what?” “You didn’t have to give me my privacy – this is your place after all.” Hiscock shrugged. “So what exactly is this plan of yours?” The old man waved him away. “If you don’t mind – you’ll have me as a guest for a few hours. Then I’ll need you to get me to the docklands – they’re sending a chopper for me – and you if you’ll come?” This must be important. Hiscock shook his head. “I didn’t spend my life savings on this place only to walk away when it finally becomes useful. Thanks for the offer though.” “You’ll be safer with the military,” the old man said. Hiscock laughed loudly. “That has to be the single most stupid thing I’ve ever heard out of an educated man’s mouth.” The Professor laughed as well. “You’ve obviously never attended any of my lectures.” Hiscock saw a possible opening. “So what do you lecture on?” The old man simply smiled and refused to reply. Instead he diverted the topic. “Can you bring me up to date with what’s been going on? I lost my connection with the world two days ago now. I take it things haven’t got better?” Hiscock brought him up to speed. The old man seemed most interested in the spread of noxious gases in the atmosphere, and also the mining activities of the larger craft. “It just might work,” the old man muttered under his breath. “But it will have to be done soon.” But he refused to be drawn when asked to explain further. “It’s just a theory so far,” was all he would say. “It needs more work before I’ll know for sure. That’s where the Homeland Security boys come in. They hope to have something for me by the time they pick me up.”

Hiscock realized that was all he was going to get. He made another coffee and on his return the two of them talked about their relative experiences, and their fears for the world. The old man proved to be an excellent talker, but prone to the bane of all scientists – the overuse of jargon. He had plenty of theories about the aliens, but Hiscock understood barely half of the conversation. That didn’t really matter. He was surprised to find that he enjoyed – even craved the company. “Will it ever get back to the way it was?” Hiscock asked. The old man sighed. “Maybe it’s for the best if it doesn’t. We were well on the way to ruining the whole shebang anyway.” Hiscock laughed. “Shit old man – you sound like one of us.” The Professor was almost whispering when he replied. “Closer than you’ll ever know.” The old man looked at his watch. “Not long now.” He looked back then his gaze moved to a point over Hiscock’s shoulder. “We need to go,” he said, and stood, slopping coffee on the floor. I don’t want to see. When Hiscock turned, his fears were realized. The diggers had found the bunker – and even three feet of reinforced concrete hadn’t stopped them. The first was already pulling its two foot long body through a hole high in the corner. Hiscock wasted it with the Kalashnikov, blowing spatters of shell and green slime across the wall among the impact craters left by the bullets, but by then the second and third had got in, fallen to the floor, and scurried away towards his stockpile. He started to move in that direction, but the old man took tight hold of his arm. “You’re too late son. There’s too many of them.” He didn’t want to admit it, but the old man was right. The hole in the wall was already two feet across, and tens of the beasts fell through, clambering over each other in their rush. Every one of them headed straight in the direction of his stockpile. All that gear. All that money. Once again the Professor tugged at his arm. “Come on son. It’s no longer safe here.” That he did agree with. And his paranoia had seen this possibility coming, although he hadn’t wanted to admit it. He’d had a panic rucksack packed and ready in a locker under the hatch right from the start – containing more magazines for the rifle, a small camp stove and tins of solid fuel, and packs of emergency rations. He’d hoped never to have to use it – now he might need it before the before the day was out. By the time he stopped for one last look round the bunker the whole far wall was starting to fall in. Behind it there was no soil to be seen – just a seething mass of the diggers. As he climbed up the hatch, having to hurry the old man up ahead of him, the whole fabric of the bunker started to collapse. The two of them stumbled out into the drive just as the front wall of the house fell

back on itself and tumbled down into a new dark hole -- all that remained of where the bunker had been. Hiscock didn’t look back. He threw the panic bag into the back of the pickup, got the old man into the passenger seat, and headed for the docks. By reflex he had a look in the rear view mirror – just in time to see his life’s work fall into a hole The old man put a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry son,” he said. Hiscock smiled grimly. “I just hope the glory boys have room for an extra one.” They arrived at the docks fifteen minutes before the chopper was due. Something else had got there ahead of them – a glowing oval craft hovered above the quay, casting a green beam down on a survival-suited figure standing stock-still below it.

*** Alice had stood staring down into the dark water for many minutes, halfexpecting Dave’s body to float to the surface. But after the initial bubbles there was no sign he’d ever been there apart from a spray of blood-spatter on the gray rubber. Finally she got back in the dinghy, dampened a cloth and wiped the red away, cleaning for long minutes after all trace had gone. It was only then that she realized she was crying – heavy sobs that threatened to take over completely and send her into a fetal crouch that she might never rise from. She had to force herself to climb back up onto the quay. Her every instinct was telling her to get back out onto the water and just sail – keep going for as far as her fuel would take her and just see what happened next. But that’s too close to the way out Dave chose. I came here to look for survivors. She had to raise her visor – just long enough to wipe the tears away and clear it of condensation. But just doing that brought a fresh stinging to her nose and throat. The air smelled foul. Just another reason to get back onto the water. She pushed the thought aside, gripped her heavy flashlight, and walked up onto the quay, trying not to look at the bodies that lay strewn along its length. She came across the first of the flyers in the alley between two of the bigger warehouses. It was nearly eight feet long and crouched like a black mantis over a body on the ground. Pincers snipped at the limbs and blood pooled in a jet-black puddle. Alice finally reached her breaking point. She ran forward, waving the flashlight beam wildly against the warehouse walls. The creature lifted its head. Pale white eyes reflected her flashlight back at her. The long wings started to beat and the creature took to the air. It carried the man’s leg in its pincer as it came straight for her. “No!” she shouted, and pushed hard with her mind. The wings stopped beating and the beast fell out of the sky as if it had hit a wall. Green liquid spurted from its mouth. It twitched once, then it was dead. Alice bent over

the body then had to raise her visor again as her coffee came back up. She dispatched three more creatures in similar circumstances over the next ten minutes, all of which had been in the process of cutting up the dead. So far none of them had shown any inclination to attack her, preferring instead the easy pickings on the ground. But for how long? She walked out onto a clear space, heading for the main entrance to the dock. There were no people here, but Saint John was a big town. Surely someone has survived? A bobbing light caught her attention. She had started to move towards it when she realized it was much further off that she’d thought. It was another of the flying craft, growing bigger all the time as it swooped towards her position. She wasn’t given time to run. Within a second it had come to a dead halt straight above her. It came for me! Something gripped at her mind, hard, and Alice was lost in a dark place, no longer able to see the docks around her or feel the concrete under foot. Whatever had her, it had her tight. She tried to push against it, but this was no drone. There was an intelligence at work here – one that wanted information. She hung in a vast black void while she was studied – and no matter how much she tried, she could not keep it out of her mind. She was rifled – like a seasoned burglar going through a room, fast and efficient. Part of her revisited the memories being activated – human anatomy classes at University, a particularly gruesome visit to an autopsy room at a morgue, photoflash fast images of pages of textbooks, drawn straight from somewhere she’d never known them to be filed. After human anatomy the mind-rape kept right on going – physics this time. She’d not studied the subject for more than fifteen years, but her mind retained every snippet of information she had ever read or been told. The alien presence sucked it up eagerly. It only slowed for closer study when they got to nuclear physics. She heard her old Professor’s voice in her head, although he had been dead these five years. “There are nearly 2,000 tons of highly enriched Uranium in the world, produced mostly for nuclear weapons, naval propulsion, and smaller quantities for research reactors.” After that the search through the canyons of her mind grew more specific, searching out instances where she had gleaned information about the location of nuclear weapons. A picture came to her mind of a small town in North Ayrshire in Scotland – she’d met a boy from there at University, and his father had worked in the Royal Navy Armaments Depot – looking after the weaponry. After that she watched again a television documentary about the US Naval fleet in San Francisco – including several nuclear powered submarines. I’m betraying my world! She struggled and thrashed – but all inside her mind. For a single, brief moment she caught a glimpse of the dock and felt solid ground underfoot, but the alien presence gripped again, and once more she was back on her sofa at home, watching the

documentary. *** Hiscock brought the pickup to a screeching halt. Before he was even aware of what he was doing he had the Kalashnikov in hand and fired a long burst straight at the glowing craft. At first he thought it was going to soak up the fire without effect, then it started to wobble from side to side. The suited figure below fell to the ground in a heap and Hiscock saw the old man move from the far side of the truck to help. He kept his eye on the craft, expecting at any minute it might come for him. Instead it started to move off, away from the quay and out to sea. He sent another long volley after it, then went to help the Professor. Between them they got the suited figure into the rear passenger seat. The old man removed the mask of the suit and gasped. A pale faced woman looked back at them, her eyes a blank stare, her mouth working like a drowning goldfish. “Do you have any liquor on you son?” the old man asked. Before he could answer the woman jerked and her gaze came into focus. She took one look at them and scrambled away, crawling as far back in the seat as she could. “Who are you?” Hiscock realized all she could see were two masked and suited figures looming over her. He lifted his hood, and the Professor followed his lead. “It’s okay miss,” the Professor said. “It’s gone.” She started to sob. “I told it everything.” They didn’t get time to ask what she meant. Something heavy thudded against the far side of the pickup. Hiscock stepped out, just in time to see a winged flyer attacking the truck’s bonnet with pincers that cut through the metal with little effort. Once more he raised and fired the Kalashnikov. The flyer blew apart in a rain of black fragments and green slime. Hiscock let out a yell of triumph, but it was short lived. Three more flyers, each more than five feet long and with a wingspan of over ten came down from the darkness above. Hiscock started to shoot but with three targets he knew it was only a matter of time before one got through to him. And I‘ll have to change a magazine in the next ten seconds. He killed one of the flyers by blowing five holes in a row along its side. He’d just turned to another when the remaining two fell out of the sky, dead as stone. Hiscock turned to ask the Professor if he’d seen what happened. The old man was staring, wide-eyed at the woman. “What did you do?” The woman smiled wanly. “I seem to be able to stop them – some of them anyway.” “How?” She shook her head. “Apart from the fact that I just think it, I know as much as you do.” The fluttering of wings in the air overhead signaled a new attack. The woman

closed her eyes, scrunching them up. Like a kid pretending to think very hard. Four more flyers fell out of the sky, one hitting the roof of the pickup with a dull thud that shook the truck. The woman now had a nosebleed but hadn’t spotted it yet. “I suggest we get out of here,” she said. “I think they’re targeting us. More will come.” “We’ll have to hold them off,” the Professor said. “Our ride is due any minute now.” “Ride?” The air filled with the roar of an approaching chopper. *** The flyers attacked en-masse just as the chopper came to a halt on the quayside. Two soldiers stood at the door, motioning for Alice and the two men who’d saved her to come across the dock towards them. Alice pushed and flyers fell all around them. “Run,” she shouted. More flyers swooped around them but she concentrated on getting to the chopper. The wash from the rotors threatened to knock her sideways. She almost fell. The two men with her held her up and almost dragged her aboard. The chopper rose as soon as they were inside. The noise deafened her, especially when the soldiers started to fire automatic weapons from the doorway. “Incoming,” one of the soldiers shouted. An even louder burst of automatic fire came from outside the chopper. The whole craft vibrated. The soldiers continued firing in the doorway for several more seconds before one shouted. “Clear!” The noise level dropped as all weapons fire stopped. One of the soldiers from the doorway came across to them. “You can take off the suits,” he said. “We’re all clear.” They helped each other out of the bulky clothes and she found out about her travelling companions. Alice was surprised to find the old man was the reason for the chopper. “Are you important?” she asked above the din. He smiled wanly. “I’m about to be.” The soldier returned and handed all three of them muffled headphones and mouth mikes. “This will help,” he said in Alice’s ear after she got them on. “Just relax. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us.” The two men who had saved her were on the opposite side of the chopper, but she was too weary for further conversation. Not that I’d know what to say anyway. She turned her head to face a window. All was dark outside, with no lights to be seen. She relived the mind-rape, over and over again. There was no doubt about it – the

presence had taken everything she knew about both human anatomy and the world’s supply of nuclear weaponry. But why? No matter how long she thought about it, she couldn’t find a conclusion. And when she finally managed to turn her mind to other matters, all she could see behind her eyes was Dave eating the shotgun. Tears ran down her cheeks. After a while the stress caught up with her and she fell into a restless sleep, full of dreams of purple skies and tall stalks swaying in the moonlight. Some time later she came awake with a start. The engine noise had changed. Looking out the window she saw lights below. It’s a town. A whole town has survived. But as they descended she saw she’d been wrong. They came down to a landing on the deck of a vast aircraft carrier. An armed guard met them on the deck and led them past a fully manned gun battery and down several levels into the bowels of the vessel, along seemingly endless gray corridors before finally leading them through a heavy iron door. The door slammed shut behind them. Alice suspected they were now in part of the boat that the tourists never saw… there would be no guided tours here. They were marched into a room full of middle-aged men… some of whom she recognized from their appearance on the political slots on the news. They never looked this frightened on the television. *** “Good,” an uniformed officer said. He had five stars on his shoulder and looked like he was in charge “We can begin. Would everybody please take a seat.” Most of the twelve or so people in the room moved towards the large table, but stopped when Alice spoke. “I’m not ready to begin anything.” “My dear young lady, ” the senior officer began, but that was as far as he got. “Call me that again and I’ll have your balls in a basket,” she said. She saw the shock on Hiscock’s face, and was quick enough to catch a suppressed grin from the old Professor, but she wasn’t finished. “I’ve lost everything but these clothes I stand up in. And I’ve no idea why I’m here.” She had their attention now. “My priorities are probably different from yours. I want a shower, some clean clothes, a decent meal, a cup of coffee and about twelve hours sleep.” “Me too,” Hiscock said. “I’m afraid we don’t have time,” the General said. “No… I’m afraid you don’t get a choice,” Alice replied. “What are you going to do… bring out the thumbscrews?” The General actually laughed. “It wouldn’t be the first time on this boat.”

The Professor turned to the men around the table. “I can brief you… I think we’ve got enough to talk about for a while? Ms. Noble here is important, trust me on that. But I need to speak to her first… and she’s right. She needs to rest.” This was addressed to the General, who nodded. A tall woman stepped forward. “Come with me. Let us see how many of your priorities can be satisfied in this cold place.” As the woman led Alice and Hiscock out of the room the General leaned over and whispered in the Professor’s ear. The old man went white, and Alice felt a chill run down her spine… a chill that was still there even as she stood under a hot shower and cried for all that was lost. *** Hiscock woke, refreshed and rested. He found a fresh set of clothes laid out on a dresser beside the bed – a gray military shirt and pants that fitted him perfectly. You’re sleeping with the enemy now. He went out into the corridor and followed his nose in search of coffee. As he made his way to the kitchen he realized he was hungry. From the smells coming down the hall, it seemed that someone had beaten him to it. Alice Noble sat at the table staring at a flat screen embedded on the wall. She had the keyboard in front of her, and surfed while eating her way through what seemed to be half a loaf worth of toast. The screen on the wall showed scenes of carnage. “Anything else on?” he asked as he headed for the toaster. Alice looked up at him silently, her eyes wide with fear. Using the mouse she changed channels. First up was a scene of deathly quiet. A chopper roamed the streets of a huge city – to Hiscock’s untrained eye it seemed it might be in the Far East. The streets were full of dead bodies – and flyers harvesting them. It went on for many minutes in complete silence. It was the most horrific sound he’d ever heard. A channel change brought a scene of fire and chaos -- street fighting on a grand scale. Armed police fought to hold a barricade secure against all too familiar attackers – the drones had acquired a taste for live flesh. The camera zoomed in as a policeman blew a wing off one that was swooping straight for him. It didn’t even flinch as it struck, as quick as a flash, embedding a stinger deep in the policeman’s neck. A small logo flashed in the corner of the screen: Live from Houston. There are some channels still broadcasting. But how many? Wordlessly Alice switched to another channel where an announcer spoke over a scene of smoking, ash-covered, ruin. “In the first nuclear attack against a population in North America, the city of Miami has been reduced to little more than ash and rubble, leaving an estimated three million people unaccounted for. ” Alice flicked to a different channel. “The United Kingdom has today felt the full brunt of the alien’s strength. The

latest attack was centered on North Ayrshire where a Royal Navy armaments depot was totally destroyed by the now familiar beam from a large craft. The resulting gouge in the earth also took out the towns of Johnstone, Paisley and much of the southern half of Glasgow. It is impossible to calculate the number of dead.” Alice moved the mouse and the sound cut out, but Hiscock couldn’t take his eyes off the pictures as the scene cut to the Eiffel Tower. Dark shadows crawled over it like ants on a fruit tree. Alice switched the screen off. “At least until after we’ve eaten?” she pleaded, and Hiscock nodded in agreement. They ate in silence, but suddenly he wasn’t nearly so hungry.

Alice couldn’t get the picture of the new gouge in Ayrshire out of her head. Did I cause that? She was pretty sure she knew the answer. The alien presence had lifted the information directly from her mind, and acted on it. How much more will they act on? They were on their second cup of coffee when the Professor arrived. He looked five years older than the night before and took to the coffee as if it might save his life. It was Hiscock who framed the question she wanted an answer to. “So what gives Prof? Are we to be let in on the secret? Or is it too big for simple country folk like us?” “I’ll answer that,” the old man said. “But first I need to hear Ms Noble’s story. I believe she knows something important.” Alice started talking, and once begun, found she couldn’t stop. When she got to the part about the tissue samples the Professor asked her to hold on for a minute and went to talk to a guard at the door. After that there were no more interruptions until she brought them right up to date, finishing with the events on the dockside, and her fears about what the aliens might do with their new information. Hiscock looked at her in astonishment. “Don’t let these glory boys hear that story. I know all about the MK-ULTRA experiments – they’ll have you locked up in a bunker for years.” She expected the Professor to laugh at that, but he was looking at her gravely. “We’ll need you along with us,” he said. “In fact, I think we should have both of you, for young Hiscock here has an alternative way of thinking that might come in useful among all the glory boys.” Both Alice and Hiscock spoke at the same time. “Along for what?” The Professor looked at Hiscock. “I told you before I had a plan. But you’re still not going to like it.” The Professor filled all three of their coffee mugs before beginning. “Our habitat is dying,” he said. “Even if the aliens left right now, all that is left of mankind will be gone in less than a year.” Hiscock snorted.

“Hell, let us down easy Prof, why don’t you?” The Professor continued. “The green sludge did too much damage to the ecosystem. The amount of methane being released is going to warm the planet up in weeks to come. The icecaps will melt and all of the forecast global-warming disasters will come, not over the span of a century, but over the course of months. As a species, we are on the verge of extinction – unless we do something about it, and soon.” Alice laughed. “I hope it’s a hell of a plan.” The Professor didn’t smile. He looked tired, almost ready to drop. Alice saw the look, and recognized it in herself. It was something close to despair. “It’s going to take a nuclear winter, isn’t it?” she whispered. The Professor had tears in his eyes. “If only it were that simple. No… the military lost control of most of the nukes some days ago. We just don’t have the necessary arsenal on hand for that job. But there’s another way to cool the planet fast.” It was Hiscock who made the connection. “You’re talking about volcanic activity, aren’t you?” The Professor nodded. “And not just any volcano. Do either of you know anything about Yellowstone?” He went on before they had a chance to reply. “The last full-scale eruption -- the Lava Creek eruption more than half a million years ago, ejected a thousand cubic kilometers of volcanic dust into the atmosphere. I’ve calculated that might be enough to start a cooling process and reverse the damage.” Alice was in shock. “You’re suggesting we set off a super-volcano?” This time the Professor did smile, but it was grim, with little humor in it. He pointed up with his index finger. “No. I’m suggesting they set off a super-volcano.” Alice had to admire the old man’s ambition. “Is that even possible?” she asked. The Professor nodded. “We already know that they are drawn by Uranium. There are no equivalent natural isotopes in the Yellowstone area…but we can put some there.” She saw it in her mind. “They’ll come for it… and gouge a big hole.” The Professor nodded again. “Yes. And in doing so, they’ll burst the magma chamber and blow the whole shebang. All we have to do is get enough Uranium in the right place. That’s where I come in…unfortunately I’m the foremost expert on the Yellowstone Caldera. I’m due to leave on the mission in five hours. Want to join me?” The question had come from so far out in left field that neither of the others had seen it coming. “Surely this is a job for the glory boys?” Hiscock said. The Professor looked Hiscock in the eye.

“They’ll be there. But I need somebody by my side I can trust… and today, that’s you. Want to do your bit to save the world again?” Hiscock didn’t hesitate. “I’m getting twitchy amid all this authority. I’m in.” The Professor turned to Alice. “And you Ms Noble?” She was shocked to be asked. “I don’t know what I can do.” The Professor smiled. “I’m sure I can think of something.” Another thought struck her. “Prof. Do you happen to know what drives all this?” She waved her hand around the room. “What’s the power source of this boat?” “She’s nuclear,” the Professor said. The implication hit him seconds later. “Come with me,” he said. “I think our schedule just changed.”

Hiscock followed the other two a few steps behind as they walked, almost ran, through the corridors. He had no idea what he was letting himself in for, but just being on the move felt better than all the sitting and watching he’d been doing lately. He’d barely given a thought to his bunker and what he’d left behind. Instead he felt excited, and eager for what would come next. Besides, blowing up a super volcano? That’s kinda cool. He was left in the corridor beside Alice as the Professor talked to the General in his quarters. He could tell the conversation was animated, but could hear no actual words. Both the Professor and the General came out at a hurry a minute later. The Professor urged Hiscock and Alice to follow. “You’re on the team,” the old man said. “But if you want on the mission, you’d better hurry. We move out in ten minutes.” Hiscock laughed. “Hell Prof… it’s not as if we need to pack.” The General led them to a long hold where three teams of soldiers were getting into survival suits. There was enough weaponry on display to start a small war. “You’ll have two choppers with you as backup,” the General said. “I can’t spare any more. And you’ll all have to refuel en-route.” The Professor waved him away. “Yes, yes, I know. What you should be worrying about is the alien craft. If they stick to form, they’ll be coming for you.” The General stiffened. “We’re ready.” No, you’re not. Hiscock was dismayed to find himself proved right just seconds later. The hull rang as the gun battery up on the deck boomed into action. The General left at a run. “Get into a suit,” the Professor said to them. “Looks like we need to get out of

here sooner than we thought.” The next five minutes passed in a blur of chaotic dressing amid ear bursting arms fire from outside. The three of them were given headsets and were led up a flight of stairs to a door leading out onto the main deck. Three choppers sat some twenty yards away, but it might as well have been two hundred. The air was full of flyers, ranging in size form a few feet to several giants more than ten meters long. The carrier’s big guns fired constantly, and the attackers were shredded like confetti by their power. But there were just too many of them. Some landed on the deck, and started to tear at the metal with their pincers. The Professor turned to Alice Noble. “Can you stop them?” Alice stared at the huge swarm. “There’s so many,” she whispered. But she tried. She scrunched her eyes up again. The flyers paused in their attack and some seemed to have difficulty staying in flight. The big guns tore them apart. As one the flock swooped and headed off at speed. Alice stumbled and fell against Hiscock. Her nosebleed was back in force. The soldiers with them all stared at her in amazement, but she was in too much pain to care. “Move out,” one of the soldiers said. “We might not get another chance.” Hiscock held Alice up and between him and the Professor they helped her stagger to a chopper. “In the air in two minutes,” the pilot shouted. “Buckle up.” They got seated and the rotors started up. Hiscock was looking straight at Alice when her head jerked up and she looked directly at him. “It’s too late. They’re here.” *** Alice felt it grip in her mind. She was just able to turn her head. There was a small window beside her and she saw it coming, sleek and black, hovering just above the deck. It wasn’t the massive craft she’d feared it to be, but one of the smaller foremen vessels. That didn’t stop it taking firm hold in her brain. She was already weakened from the encounter with the flyers, and had no strength for a fight. Once again her mind was rifled. Images of the carrier flowed, and once again she heard the Professor’s voice. She’s nuclear. As quickly as it had come, the grip in her mind lifted. The craft banked and started to move away at speed. “Stop it!” she screamed. But the soldiers, used to command as they were, were not used to her commands. The craft was already moving off to sea before the soldiers made a move. She did the only thing she could think of. She pushed, hard. The craft wavered.

She found herself looking out over a wide expanse of sea, and realized she was seeing out of the alien pilot’s viewpoint. But she had no power of command. She pushed again, blinked… and was back looking from her own eyes, just in time to catch a small stream of fresh blood that fell from her nose into her cupped hands. But she had gleaned something from the encounter. She looked up at the Professor. “If we’re going, it has to be now. They know the boat is nuclear. They’re coming.” The chopper started to rise. Through her window she saw two others accompany them into the air. As they banked away from the carrier she also saw the thing she most feared. One of the mother ships, a huge sleek egg, came over the horizon at speed. She heard the General’s voice in her headset. “Get going. That’s an order. Your mission is the important thing here.” The alien craft was already almost overhead and the chopper strained as full power was needed to get out from under the shadow. They banked hard, and Alice had the perfect viewpoint to witness the end. The alien craft started to glow. A blinding beam, wider than the carrier itself, burst from it and the carrier started to come apart – slowly at first. The big guns boomed, but to no effect, and soon they fell silent as metal buckled and tore. The glow from the alien craft intensified and the carrier disintegrated -- huge chunks of metal alongside beds and tables and pipe-work all dragged up by the anti-gravity beam. Nothing came down but dust. The chopper continued banking and the view was thankfully lost from sight. We’re on our own.

PART FOUR THE DAWNING

Alice’s nose finally stopped bleeding ten minutes into the flight, leaving her with a bloody handkerchief and hands looking like they’d been liberally daubed with red paint. The old Professor rose and moved to sit beside her. He handed her a clean handkerchief and a bottle of water. “It’s not much,” he said. “But enough to let you clean up a bit.” His voice echoed and hissed in the headset, but she heard him well enough. Her head pounded, louder and more painful than her worst hangover. But I’m still alive… still in better condition than the ones we left on the carrier. She looked into the old man’s eyes. “Tell me again why you need me on this trip?” The old man took her hand and held it gently. “You’re the wild card up my sleeve,” he said. “I don’t know yet why I need you… I’m just happy to have you here in case I do.” “But for what?” The Professor went quiet. “Do you remember young Hiscock mentioning MK-ULTRA?” She nodded. “It was a CIA funded study. It involved testing various so called mind-expanding drugs on subjects, both willing and unwilling. As well as being inadvertently responsible for the popularity of mescaline and LSD in the sixties, they also dabbled into experiments on thought control and mind reading. A lot of nonsense has been published about the experiments – but they did prove one thing. Telepathy is a reality, in a very small number of people.” He looked Alice in the eye. “I believe you are one of that number.” Alice laughed. “I’m thirty five years old, and never had a hint of anything of that sort.” The Professor smiled. “Well now you do.” Alice stared into space. “But I’m a liability. I can’t block them. They’ll know everything – all they have to do is come on in and have a look around.” The Professor was more serious this time. “And how do you know it doesn’t work both ways?” He went back to his seat, leaving Alice with much to think about. She was still terrified that she might disclose their position to the alien presence. But what if the Professor was right? Then she might actually be able to gain important intelligence. Her reverie was interrupted by a crackle in the headset. She hadn’t noticed, but the Professor had moved up to the cockpit. “Hello? Is this thing on?” By the way other heads looked up she realized he was speaking to the whole crew. “I’m sorry we didn’t have the briefing I promised you on the carrier,” he said. “But time is now even shorter than we thought. I know many of you would have preferred

to stay and fight, but I need you for a job that might be the most important military mission in history.” More heads rose at that. There were eight soldiers in the chopper, and now the Professor had all of their attention. “All I can tell you at the moment is that I have a plan,” the Professor said. “The first stage requires that we pay a visit to the Cardwell Research Unit. As some of you may know, this is in New Jersey. Things have been bad in that area, and no news has come out of there since the very first night when the green rain fell. I’m not going to bullshit you… I don’t know what is waiting for us there. But everyone on board has been chosen because the General thought you were up to the job. I have every faith in you.” A few seconds later the Professor returned and sat next to her again. “Nice speech,” she said. “Thanks,” he replied. “I just hope it’s not my last.” *** Hiscock still couldn’t get comfortable in the presence of the military. He had started returning to thoughts of the bunker, and everything he had lost. But the Prof wants me along on this jaunt. The simple fact that someone needed him gave him a glow he hadn’t felt in years. Despite the fact that the world had come to an abrupt end, Hiscock was, for perhaps the first time in his adult life, happy with his place in it. He was still mulling that over when the pilot spoke in his headset. “Buckle up,” he said. “Landing in two minutes.” Looking out the window all he could see was green slime. It covered the land as far as he could see. The upper floors of taller buildings rose up from the sea of green, and, scattered here and there were large patches of tall dark stalks, all ripened and open, the husks swaying in the downdraft from the three choppers. The Professor spoke in his ear. “Well lad, do you fancy a stroll?” Hiscock laughed. “After you old man,” he said. The Professor told Alice to stay in the chopper. She looked too tired to argue. Indeed by the time they landed and four marines joined Hiscock and the Professor in disembarking, the woman’s head was already drooping in sleep. As they jumped to the ground Hiscock expected some give in the green sludge, but it felt rock hard underfoot. He bent and touched it. It was warm under his hand, like stone that had sat all day in the sun and it smelled, thick and meaty, like fruit gone bad. “No time for sightseeing son,” the Professor shouted above the sound of the rotors. “We’re working against the clock here.” They headed out, two marines in front, two behind with Hiscock and the Professor sandwiched in the middle. Hiscock felt naked without a gun, but the men around more than made up for his lack. They were all fully armed with assault rifles, handguns and belts full of stun grenades. They looked mean and focused. Somehow Hiscock didn’t feel much comfort.

Two more four-man crews, one from each chopper, followed along behind them. The Professor was the one giving the directions. He pointed to a collection of buildings to his right. “If my bearings are right we’re walking on what used to be the car park. The Research Labs are this way.” To either side of them tall ripened stalks swayed, but there was no sign of any drones, either diggers or flyers. They crossed the ground quickly and stopped outside a building. Hiscock saw there was no door – only windows. A full floor of the building was embedded under the hardened sludge. “Okay. We’re going in,” the Professor said. “Keep your eyes open. We have no idea what we might find.” One of the marines had to show Hiscock how to operate the light on his headset. Another of the soldiers smashed a tall window and, still sandwiched between armed men, Hiscock and the Professor made their way inside. They stepped into a long office area, full of open-plan cells. And at almost every desk, a corpse lay -- either slumped in the chair, or fallen, hands to throat, to the floor. “Gas?” Hiscock asked, and the Professor nodded. “The air conditioning is no help – in fact, it would have speeded the process up. But that’s not why we’re here. Come on. The storage room is three floors down.” Three floors down? If the windows haven’t held, it’s going to be under the sludge. The further in they went, the darker it became. Hiscock started to jump at shadows as they entered a stairwell that fell down into a pitch-black hole. The old man seemed unfazed. “Six sets of stairs,” he said. “Then we should be right outside the vault.” Four marines stayed up top. The other ten, Hiscock and the Professor still in the middle, went slowly down into the dark. The air was heavy and thicker the further down they went and soon all of them were panting like overheated dogs. The marine in charge turned to the old man. “Are you sure about this Prof?” The Professor nodded. “Not far now.” When they arrived at the foot of the stairs they found a pair of reinforced doors. The lead marine tried to open them, but they were locked tight. There was a security pad to one side, but with no power in the system, there was no way for them to open the door. “C4,” the lead marine said. Hiscock knew enough to retreat back up to the next landing and cover his ears. “Fire in the hold.” The blast was nearly deafening, even with his ears covered. For long seconds later he could still see the flash as a yellow flare behind his eyelids. But when they descended they found that the C4 had done its job… the doors lay off their hinges, hanging open to reveal a long dark hallway beyond. There was no sign that any green sludge had got in. The marines once again led the way. “Three doors along on the left,” the Professor said. He was proved right. Another door opened out onto an area full of canisters. Each

had the well-recognized symbol for radiation hazard stamped on them. Hiscock instinctively stepped back and the Professor smiled. “It’s okay lad. Everything’s shielded… for now.” Something in the Professor’s eyes gave Hiscock a cold shiver all up his spine. The Professor directed operations while Hiscock stood by the doors, feeling like a square peg in a round hole. While the marines were occupied in the storage room, the rest of the area was in deep blackness. Another bunker. He was considering making for the stairs and heading back to daylight when a voice came over the headset – it sounded like the officer they’d left in charge back up at the windows. “Make it fast down there. We’ve got incoming.” His headset filled with the sound of automatic fire. *** Alice was asleep in the lead chopper. But her mind roamed elsewhere, on a barren planet under a purple sky, hovering above a huge black pyramid. She knew she was dreaming – just as she knew she was also present here, on the alien planet. And this time, I’m in control. She looked down at the dark hole at the top of the pyramid. She also knew that she could be back in the chopper in the blink of an eye. But she remembered the old Professor’s words. What if it works both ways? She willed herself down into the darkness. The further down she went, the more her eyes adjusted. Everything was bathed in a thin green dancing light. The pyramid seemed to be a massive empty shell, sepulchral, like a huge cathedral. She was still high above the floor of the building but already she saw things moving below. The floor was covered in the green slime, but this was still fluid, bubbling and frothing, throwing up high spouts reaching upward only to fall back with a splash to the lake of slime. Thicker globules seemed to swim through the fluid. As she watched, other pictures came to mind – images she had seen the first time the alien presence entered her mind. Anatomical textbook pictures, memories of the morgue, and dancing spirals of DNA molecules swam before her. The globules swimming in the fluid gained mass, swelling into all too familiar shapes – a torso, two legs, two arms, and a head, conical and distended, but almost human. Ten of them grew from the slime and stood, stock still. As one, they lifted their heads and stared straight at the point where Alice hung. She felt them tickle in her mind. Stop it! She pushed. The figures staggered, almost fell, and Alice took her chance. She willed herself up and sped, faster than thought, until she once again hovered high above the pyramid. But still the alien mind tickled inside hers, probing for a way in. Wake up you idiot!

She opened her eyes and sat up, too fast, bashing her head against the chopper’s bulkhead. She was given no time to reflect on her experience. Her headset rang with the sound of automatic gunfire. *** Down in the storeroom the marines’ movement became more purposeful. “Shag it, Marines,” the lead officer said. They started to move out. It took three of them to carry the shielded box containing the samples the Professor had identified as being required. The rest of the soldiers had already gone up the steps, heading towards the sound of gunfire. Hiscock stayed close to the Professor – the old man looked more tired than ever, and every step upwards seemed to take a huge effort. The sound of gunfire above them intensified as the arriving teams came to the aide of the team at the window. It sounds like quite a fight. He found out just how bad it was a few minutes later when they finally reached the top of the stairs and looked out over the open-plan office. Guns blazed in strobe-flash booms and shell casings rained like confetti. Most of the marines were in cover positions behind tables and desks – but there were three dead soldiers in the passageway. One lay face up -- his skull little more than a green bubbling ruin. Is it the rain? He soon saw it was not the rain – it was something worse. The aliens had produced another stage in their life forms. He saw the first in silhouette only, and thought it was one of the marines breaking from cover. But this was no man. It did, however, look like a soldier. It was so tall that its head almost touched the roof, which made it nearly eight feet tall. Against the light from outside it looked black, but when it moved Hiscock saw that it was built from the same shiny carapace that covered the drones. But this time arms replaced pincers -- long thin arms with broad palms and needle-like fingers. The head was oval and featureless, the chest a broad wedge tapering to a tiny waist above wide hips and stout muscular legs. It moved in a fluid motion, light on its feet like a dancer, but strong enough to lift a desk and toss it aside with no apparent effort. And now that Hiscock had registered it, he could see a dozen or more of the tall black shapes moving quickly through the office, so fast that the marines had trouble picking their targets. The marines with them dropped the case of Uranium to ready their weapons. The case hit the ground with a clang. As one, the heads of the aliens turned towards the doorway where Hiscock and the Professor stood. “I think they’re after the Uranium,” the Professor said. The old man was staring in shock at this new alien manifestation. “And we can’t let them get it,” Hiscock replied. The marines, bolstered by the new support, started to push forward from their positions, advancing in a line, spewing and spraying volley after volley at the aliens in a

lethal crossfire. Pieces of black shell flew and green slime spattered the floor and walls, adding a faint green luminescence to the scene. Hiscock and the Professor helped a marine manhandle the case of Uranium across the floor as the team headed through the room, making for escape via the window. The door behind them was knocked open with a bang that sounded even above the gunfire. More tall aliens came through the doorway – tens of them. They found another way in. The lead officer went pale. “Double time guys,” he said. “We can’t afford to get surrounded.” The marines moved swiftly into a wedge formation pointed at the window, with the three men carrying the shielded case in the center. Guns blazed almost continuously, lighting the room like a thrash metal rock concert. More and more fighters poured into the room. Although the marines managed to clear a path towards the window, they were followed every inch of the way by a swarm of aliens. Despite the wall of gunfire, the fighters were getting closer by the second. By the time the team reached the window and started to make their way outside it was obvious that they were not going to get across the space between them and the choppers. We’ll be overrun in seconds. The lead officer turned to the Professor. “Head for the chopper. We’ll cover you.” Hiscock saw the look that passed between the Professor and the officer. They won’t be able to hold. And they know it. Hiscock helped the Professor and a marine carry the case, struggling to maintain balance on the hardened ridges of the slime. Behind them the marine’s weapons fired continuous volleys into the advancing fighters. From the corner of his eye he saw a massed throng of the bipeds coming over a hill to their left, like a swarm of ants. “Hurry it up lad,” the Professor said. “I think we’re in a wee bit of trouble.” When they reached the chopper they threw the case aboard. The Professor turned to call the marines – but he was too late. They were just in time to see the fighters pour over the soldiers. Several guns kept firing for a second then they too went quiet. The remaining soldiers in the choppers set up a covering fire, but no one came alive out of the melee. Seconds later the alien soldiers turned as one to face the choppers. “Get in,” Alice shouted from the doorway. As they climbed in past her, Hiscock watched as she scrunched up her eyes and focussed. The soldier aliens stood still – for all of a second before Alice fell into Hiscock’s arms. “Get us out of here,” the Professor shouted. The choppers started to rise, just as the mass of aliens came straight for them. The lead chopper quickly rose well clear of the attackers, as did the one on the left-hand side. The remaining chopper did not make it. Three fighters threw themselves forward– straight into the rotors that hadn’t quite got up to speed. The engine sputtered and before the pilot could do anything about it a mound of attackers swarmed all over it. The chopper went up in a ball of orange flame as it was blown apart from the

inside Someone didn’t want to wait for the aliens to get them, and in the process they took scores of the attackers with them. As the escaping choppers banked away a pall of black smoke was all that showed where the other chopper had been. They had lost almost two thirds of their forces in getting the Uranium. *** Alice Noble was in despair. They’re humanoid… and the aliens got the idea from me -- from my mind to their pods in less than a day. What have I done? Her nose bled again, and her head felt like it had been pounded repeatedly against the bulkhead. She cleaned up the nosebleed as well as she could. By that time, the Professor had stowed the Uranium and come to sit by her. Opposite them the surviving soldiers were in various stages of shock at just how quickly things had gone bad. It’s all my fault. The Professor took her hand. “We got the Uranium,” he said. “At least we have that.” She looked the old man in the eye and voiced her fears. She told him about her dream, about the lake of green slime and the humanoids that grew from it. “It’s my fault,” she said when her story was finished. The Professor smiled sadly. “No girl… did you bring them here? Did you cause the green rain? No. There’s no fault here. But I was right about one thing. Your gift does work both ways. We may be able to use that fact to our advantage.” He let go of her hand. “But not yet,” he said. “We can’t let them get any hint of our plan.” “Then throw me out now,” Alice said. “I’m risking the whole thing just by being here.” The Professor pushed her back in her seat. “You’re not going anywhere. As I said – you may be our ace in the hole before the end. That outweighs the risk.” He left to talk to the pilot. Alice felt better for having talked to him… but only slightly. She tried to calm her mind by staring out the window, but the sight of nothing but expanses of green sludge only depressed her all the more. *** The choppers flew over the green sludge for several hours. The lights came on at one point, and Hiscock realized that dusk was falling. The craft descended half an hour after that. “Are we at Yellowstone?” he asked the Professor. “Not yet. No… we need to refuel. There’s an Air Force Base here… we’re hoping

it’ll be safe for an overnight stop.” Ten minutes later they landed on the edge of a runway that seemed clear of the green sludge. Hiscock, Noble and the Professor were left in the chopper as the marines checked out the area. Five minutes later a marine spoke in their headset. “All clear. We’ve found a defensible position for the night. I’ll send a team for you.” Four marines led them to a squat concrete building a hundred yards away. Three other marines were already refueling the choppers. By now it was nearly full dark. Hiscock was led into what looked like a canteen. Two marines had already set up camp stoves, and the smell of cooking food filled the air. “Chow in ten minutes,” one said. “Only Smeat and beans, but better than nothing. And there’ll be coffee in five.” The soldiers who had been refueling the choppers returned. Hiscock realized there were fourteen of them left – two pilots, nine marines and the three of them. A young lieutenant was the most senior officer remaining. He sent four of his men back outside on the first guard of the night. The rest of them waited their turn for a plate of the hot food and a mug of coffee. Conversation was limited. Hiscock guessed they were thinking the same as he was. The death of their colleagues and the sight of the plains of green sludge had affected everyone. Will we ever recover from this? Or are we just fiddling while Rome burns? He had just finished his coffee when the Professor came and whispered in his ear. “Come with me lad,” the old man said. “I think you’ll be interested.” The old man led him through the canteen and down a flight of stairs to come to a small dark room. An open trapdoor had light coming from below, and Hiscock immediately knew what was there. It’s yet another bunker. The Professor let him go down first. The place was even bigger than the one he had lost – a vast complex with many rooms, all packed full of provisions and water – enough to keep an army for years to come. Hiscock turned to the Professor. “There was no one here? Where did they all go?” The Professor shrugged. “I doubt we will ever know. But will it do? For us?” Hiscock looked around and nodded. “If you’re planning on a bolt hole, sure. But what about the volcano?” The Professor was deep in thought. “This far from the Caldera the main problem will be hot ash in the air and on the ground. Will this place cope with that?” Hiscock laughed. “Prof, this place looks like it was built to survive everything... including a nuclear bomb going off on top of it. It’ll do for us.” The Professor smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “The only good news we’ve had all day. Maybe the tide is turning after all.”

Hiscock caught sight of a bank of monitors behind the Professor. “We have comms?” A marine sat at a desk, trying to get a contact on the radio. “We have comms,” the Professor said, and the tiredness was back in his eyes. “But nobody to talk to as of yet. There may be others in bunkers like this, but I fear they are keeping quiet, for fear of discovery.” That I can understand. Only one of the bank of screens showed a picture. It was a broadcast from a desert region. A vast army of humanoid aliens, ranging in height from four to twelve feet, strode across the land like a swarm of locusts. Above them, a fleet of black-egg shaped craft sailed across the sky. The Professor spoke in a hushed voice. “I don’t think there’s many of us left. Didn’t you notice? And the air is getting thicker. I fear we might be already too late.” Hiscock looked around the bunker. “We could always hunker down here. Sit it out. We have enough food and water to keep us alive for years. Surely the aliens will find what they want and leave?” The Professor couldn’t take his eyes from the television screen and the fleet of craft sailing across the view. “I don’t think they have any intention of leaving. I think we’re being terraformed… turned into a place where they can thrive… and they’re already well on the way there. We need to get this mission done. Get some sleep. We’ll be moving at first light.”

Alice sat in a small common room away from the canteen. The marines were playing poker, and the sounds of them chatting, and even laughing, seemed incongruous to her after the losses of the day. She knew it was just the soldiers’ coping mechanism – the only way they knew to get through. It doesn’t mean I have to like it. There was a television in the corner of the common room, but all it showed, on every channel, was microwave static. It was of little comfort to know that the dancing white dots on the screen were a message from the very beginnings of the Universe. It only served to remind her of the vastness of space, and how small and insignificant her place in it was. The headache had receded, helped by several steaming mugs of coffee, but despite the caffeine fix she felt dog-tired. But I can’t sleep. They’ll find me. She couldn’t let go of the images of the humanoid aliens rising from the slime. And now the Professor seemed to think that she might be of use. She couldn’t think how. More and more she found herself wishing she were back on the island, stuck in the recliner with a beer and a hockey match. There might never be any beer and hockey ever again. That thought, more than anything else she had seen and done, brought home to her the enormity of their situation. Tears came unbidden, and once she started she

couldn’t stop. She shut down, retreating into herself, letting the grief take her. Sometime later she fell into a fitful sleep. Even in her dreams she felt the grip on her mind. She tried to struggle, but the hold was too strong. Once again she hovered beneath a purple sky, looking down at the vast black pyramid as her mind was rifled. There was something there she couldn’t allow to be seen. Images of the destruction of the aircraft carrier were replayed, and then the flight to the Research Lab. She pictured a wall in her mind, building it up brick by brick. The alien presence tried to tear it down. It was like playing with a recalcitrant child – one layer of bricks going up only for it to be taken down again. And it’s coming down faster than I can put it up. She changed tack, focussing on hockey -- and beer -- and beer and hockey. Simple pleasures, but they seemed to confuse the presence – the slice of skate on ice, the thwack of stick on puck. But she couldn’t hold it – the presence was too strong. It broke through her defense and she was looking at a view of the Research Lab as they brought out the shielded case. In this view of the scene the case itself seemed to glow, shining with an inner silver light. She felt the eagerness of the presence. The viewpoint changed. She hovered, high above an airfield. Two choppers sat on the edge of a runway. Dark shapes moved at the far end of the strip – tall, black, humanoid shapes, hundred of them, heading at speed for the choppers. Alice woke with a start, shouting at the top of her voice. “We have to go. We have to go now! They’re coming.” Alice’s shouts got everyone moving, although the marines were perplexed. It was the Professor who got the exodus to the choppers started. Hiscock was slightly behind the rest, having stayed long enough to close down the bunker. It wasn’t locked. But if the aliens can handle locks, we’re in more trouble than I thought. By the time he got outside into the pre-dawn twilight the marines were already getting into the choppers and the rotors had started to turn. Beyond the craft a darker shadow sat on the runway, stretching from horizon to horizon. The light was dim, but Hiscock could see enough to know it was more of the fighters – an army of them. The Professor shouted at him from the doorway of the chopper. “Come on lad – get a move on.” He threw himself in the door just as the craft started to rise. They were just in time. The fighters swarmed over the airfield beneath them. Several leapt in the air, as if trying to reach the choppers, but they fell well short. The chopper accompanying them fired two sidewinders into the mass of aliens and they went up in a burst of yellow flame. The bunker! The Professor saw the look in Hiscock’s eyes and ordered a cease-fire but in Hiscock’s eyes the damage had been done. A large portion of the building where they’d

spent the night was little more than a collapsed pile of smoking rubble. It was strongly built. It will have survived. But it’s going to be a damned sight harder than before to get back inside. They soon left the scene behind, but Hiscock couldn’t stop thinking about it. That’s another bunker left behind. The Professor was speaking quietly to Alice Noble. The woman looked ill, her eyes veiled in deep shadow, her cheeks hollow. She did not seem to be registering much of what the old man said. After a while the Professor stood and came and sat beside Hiscock. “We’re on the last leg now son. And in case you hadn’t noticed – you’ve become a glory boy yourself.” Hiscock laughed. “Hardly.” The Professor smiled back. “If we get out of this, you’re going to be a hero lad. They’ll be building statues to us.” “If there’s anyone left who knows how.” The Professor’s smile disappeared. “We have to believe,” the Professor said. “Otherwise we might as well have stayed in that bunker.” Maybe we should have done just that.

Alice Noble sat immobile in her seat. I did it again. The old Professor had tried to put a positive spin on it. He said that she’d saved them all, that her warning was what had given them time to escape. But I know better. Fresh tears coursed down her cheeks, and she didn’t have the energy to brush them away. *** The sun was well above the horizon when they started to descend into the Caldera of Yellowstone. Hiscock had been looking intently from the window for some time, but all he had seen was a single unbroken plain of the green sludge. It even seemed to cover a large part of the sheer cliffs that bounded the park. Here and there patches of the tall lanceolate stalks showed. All of them were ripened and burst. But there was no sign of movement on the ground below. The Professor was up front, giving instructions to the pilot. We’re really going to do this. Before now it had seemed like an unobtainable goal – and he still wasn’t sure that the old man’s plan was actually workable, or a pipe dream of a desperate scientist. But the old man seems to trust me. And he actually wants me here. It would be churlish to back away now.

As they descended one of the marines thrust an automatic rifle into Hiscock’s hands. “We’re a few men short. We need more guns. Are you up for it” Hiscock checked the gun was loaded and the safety was on. He smiled up at the marine. “I was hoping you’d ask.” The chopper landed seconds later. Three marines took charge of the case of Uranium and lugged it outside where they were all joined by a team from the other chopper. All of them set off across a patch of exposed rock, leaving only the pilots behind. Alice Noble looked even worse that she had an hour before, and the Professor was almost as bad. This is taking too big a toll on them both. The Prof was right, we need to get this done quickly – for all sorts of reasons. The Professor led them across the rocks for several minutes. “Sorry about the walk,” the Professor said. He was flushed and breathing heavily. “But there’s nowhere closer for the choppers to land safely.” “Where are we going anyway?” The Professor had to concentrate on walking for several steps. He stumbled and was only saved from a fall when Hiscock put a hand on his arm. “There’s a set of caves just ahead,” the Professor said. “They lie above the thickest part of the magma dome. I’ve calculated that if we deposit the Uranium there, and the aliens come in the large craft, then the resulting blast will be what we need to at least kick-start the Earth towards normality.” Hiscock laughed bitterly. “Normality seems a long way away at the moment.” “Hockey and beer,” Alice Noble said quietly, but when he looked at her she had gone back to the flat, straight-ahead stare. They arrived at a deep hole in the rock. “Okay, this is it,” the Professor said. They left four marines up top and the rest of them went down into the bowels of the earth. They passed through three distinct chambers, each progressively smaller than the last. The air got hot and heavy very quickly, and their breathing began to become labored. Just as Hiscock was about to call a halt, the Professor stopped. “This is it. I was on this very spot, three years ago now. It’s just as I remember it.” There was a deep hollow in the ground at their feet. The Professor had the marines lay the case in the space. He sent the soldiers back to guard the surface, leaving just the three of them alone in the cavern. The old man sighed loudly. “And now comes the hard bit.” Alice saw the look in the old man’s eyes – fear, and more than a touch of sorrow. “I’ve thought long and hard about this,” the Professor said. “And I can’t see any other way. Two things need to happen now. The main thing is I need to open that case. The aliens need to be able to get a fix on the Uranium, and opening the case is the best

way.” “But won’t that be fatal for us?” Alice asked. “Not for you,” the Professor said. “For me. You’re not staying. But I need you to do something for me first.” She knew what was coming, But I need to hear him say it. “I need you to do your thing,” the Professor said. “I want you to tell them where the Uranium is. Lead them here, and their own power will do the rest.” She was about to argue, but quickly realized the futility of it. We’re at the last-chance saloon… and we’re out of beer. She was afraid to open herself up to the alien contact. But having seen the devastation that was being wrought on the planet, she was also afraid not to. She looked the Professor in the eye and nodded. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be. Just say when.” The old man smiled back and took her hand. “When,” he said. Alice closed her eyes and focused. The connection was there almost immediately. It probed in her mind, and she relaxed, letting it in. She felt a tugging as she once more soared over the alien landscape. Rivers flowed below, green rivers, thick and almost gelatinous. Forests of lance-like stalks swayed and danced although there was no discernible wind, and for the first time she heard sounds, a cacophonous chorus of whistles and grunts, as if a whole zoo was in turmoil and the sound was being fed through a giant amplifier. The tugging got more pronounced and she sped, ever faster, towards where the colossal pyramid sat waiting. Something probed in her brain, quizzical yet hungry for information. She felt the tug, trying to draw her down into the pyramid for further examination. Not this time. She concentrated, projecting a picture of Yellowstone, and mentally swooped in to the cave system to show the sealed case in the hollow in the rock. She imagined it open, and glowing silver. The tugging grew insistent, demanding to know more, and a headache gripped her hard, but Alice kept that single image foremost in her mind as she sent out a last message. If you want it, come and get it. Another image superimposed on her own. A vast craft sailed serenely over the horizon, heading for Yellowstone. She opened her eyes. “They got the message. They’re coming. Now what?” The Professor smiled sadly. “Now you get the hell out of here, as fast as you can. If you can get to that bunker on the airfield, I’d suggest that’s the best place to be… it’s either that, or Australia.” “There must be some other way. We could...” The Professor took her hand. “I’ve been over this in my head time after time and can’t see another alternative. Besides, I’m ready to go. Who wants to live in a world where there’s no coffee?" He let go of her hand and gently wiped a tear from her eye.

“You have a gift dear. Maybe I can buy you some time to learn how to use it. Now go. We don’t have time to dawdle.” Hiscock showed no signs of leaving. “I ain’t going without you old man.” The Professor laughed again. “But you must. Who else is going to explain to the sculptor what my statue should look like? Now take Alice and get out of here, We’ve no time for a debate.” He pushed Hiscock towards Alice, and the man finally caved in. Alice let Hiscock lead her away. She had only last look back as they left the chamber. The Professor had bent over and opened the shielded case. She was almost surprised that there was no silver glow from the inside. Hiscock hated having to leave the old man, and if the woman had not been at his side, he would have gone straight back down to the Professor’s side. Instead he halfdragged Alice back up out of the cave system. The marines all stood around at the entrance. “Time to go lads,” Hiscock said. They started to head for the choppers. They got halfway across the rock plain when the rear-guard called out. “We’ve got incoming.” Hiscock turned. A score or more of the humanoid aliens advanced at speed on the other side of the cave system from them, heading straight for the cave mouth. If they had noticed the marines they showed no sign of paying them any attention. They know what they‘re after. “Fall back,” Hiscock shouted. “Back to the Prof.” The lead officer stopped him. “We’ve got to get to the choppers. It will be suicide to stay here.” Hiscock pulled away. “No. Don’t you see? If these things get the Uranium, there will be no need for the craft to come…” The officer nodded and went white. “…and the volcano won’t blow. You’re right. We’ve got to buy the old man some time.” The officer sent the youngest marine with Alice back to the lead chopper. “Don’t wait for us,” the officer said. “That’s an order. Get out of here and head for that bunker. Report to whoever the hell you can find.” As the young marine led her away Hiscock saw Alice start to struggle then stop and lift her gaze. Hiscock followed her line of sight. Far off on the horizon, but coming fast, a large alien craft began to fill the sky. “To me,” Hiscock shouted, and headed for the caves at a run. Eight marines ran right behind him. The aliens hadn’t deviated from their course, still heading in wedge formation straight for the cave mouth. In the distance, but coming on fast, more aliens appeared at a run, a black swarm that seemed to fill the horizon. Hiscock upped his speed to keep pace with the marines around him. It’s going to be close.

They got to the cave-mouth just before the aliens arrived. The officer immediately deployed his men in a line across the cave mouth. “Fire at will," he called. Within seconds the air was filled with the crackle of automatic gunfire and the rattle of casings falling on exposed rock. The first wave of attackers fell in a burst of shell and slime, but more came on, running over the bodies of their dead without a pause – a black wall of them. Above the din Hiscock heard the choppers take off. At least the woman is safe. Then all his attention was on the advancing aliens. Despite the carnage being wrought by the marines’ weapons, still they kept coming, the dark, faceless figures implacable in pursuit of their goal. “Grenades!” the officer called. Hiscock turned his head as three grenades looped through the air, blowing alien parts and gore high in the sky in a blinding flash. The gaps made by the blasts filled in less than a second with more of the swarming creatures. There are too many. “Fall back,” the lead officer shouted. Hiscock and the marines started to retreat into the cave system. They fired volley after volley into the mass of aliens, killing them in their scores. They kept coming, and the defending soldiers were forced back into the cave, where the noise was even more deafening and the soldiers barely had room to shoot without injuring their comrades. They retreated, one step at a time. The press of aliens followed them down. The cave mouth showed a disk of sky that slowly grew darker. Hiscock realized what that meant. The shadow of the mother craft covered Yellowstone. *** Alice had been dragged bodily into the chopper fighting all the way. “We can’t just leave them.” The young marine looked pale and frightened, but refused to be swayed. “I have my orders miss.” He almost threw her into the chopper and climbed in behind her. “Please miss,” the marine said. “Sit down. We need to go.” Alice refused to sit in the hold. I have to see. She moved forward and stood just behind the pilot as they took off and banked away. Their turn gave them a clear view of the cave system. The marines had retreated down into the bowels and the cave mouth was almost obscured by a crawling mass of the alien fighters, all desperately trying to get down into the depths of the cave. Alice could see for herself that the situation for the men left below was hopeless. We’ll never be able to get to them. The pilot started strafing the horde of creatures but even now more came into

view, rank after rank of them until the whole area below swarmed in a black carpet that obscured everything else. In an attempt to buy the defenders some time they sent six sidewinders down into the attackers, far enough from the cave to avoid injury to the marines. The aliens blew apart and six columns of flame and smoke rose. But within seconds the swarm had covered the area once more. The ground fell into shadow as the mother craft took position overhead. Alice knew what was coming. “We have to go,” Alice said. “We have to go now or we’ll be caught in the blast.” The pilot took one last look at the scene in front of him and nodded. The chopper banked away… just as Alice felt a new tickle in her mind. *** The lead officer was the first of the marines to fall. He’d held back to give the rest time to retreat, but left himself too exposed. Two of the aliens loomed over him before he had a chance to take aim on them. A large arm came down and the officer’s chest caved in. Blood flew from his mouth – he was dead before he hit the ground. The rest of them retreated and continued strafing the attackers who by now filled the cave wall to wall and floor to roof. The attackers crawled over themselves in their efforts to push through. For every step the marines took backward, the aliens were able to take two forwards. Hiscock’s whole arm hurt from the recoil of the weapon as he pumped shot after shot into the mass of creatures. We’re trapped. And we don’t have long left. Two more marines fell before they left the first chamber, victims of their own enthusiasm for the kill. They stood their ground, refusing to retreat as the attackers filled the area ahead of them. They were still firing as the fighters swarmed over them. Even as the remaining soldiers lined up in the second chamber the aliens filled the entranceway. Despite the combined firepower from the marines the mass of attacking bodies crept steadily towards them. We can’t hold our position. “Back to the Prof,” Hiscock shouted. “We need to protect him as long as we can.” They fell back. The aliens kept coming. *** The pilot had the chopper on full power but they were still under the shadow of the mother craft when it started to glow. We won’t be far enough away. The alien mind seemed to surge within her at that thought, as if it knew the importance of it. Alice remembered the alien craft back on the island, and how she had made it falter. Maybe I can buy some more time. She reached with her mind and pushed with everything she had. She felt the

presence in her mind waver. Once again she seemed to be hovering over the black pyramid. And this time she knew she was looking at the presence that studied her. The pyramid itself was the source. And it knows me. It had the Uranium at the front of its mind. She filled hers with the first thing she could think of – hockey and beer, the sound of skates on ice and the thwack of stick on puck. Simple pleasures, but enough focus to give her strength… for a while. She sensed the presence’s confusion and pushed harder. The alien pushed back. Alice held it at bay. She felt something give and blood flowed from her nose but she paid it no attention. I need to give us enough time as possible. The alien pushed harder. I can’t hold it long. *** Hiscock and the remaining marines fell back into the last chamber. The Professor sat by the open case. The old man’s head was on his chest, and at first Hiscock thought he might already be dead, but when he looked up he had a smile on his face. “Good to see you again lad. But it seems I can forget about my statue.” Hiscock had no time to reply… the aliens were already thronging at the entrance. The cave rang with echoing gunshot and the rattle of flying casings. Soon they were completely surrounded, like being encased in a hollow ball of writhing alien flesh. Hiscock’s head buzzed and his arms ached but he kept firing until the magazine ran out. Several other marines had their guns go dry at the same time. He saw the Professor reach into the belt of the nearest soldier and pull out a grenade. They looked each other in the eye and nodded. The Professor pulled the pin and Hiscock counted down the seconds… Three…Two… *** Alice could take it no longer. She let go, slumping forward in her seat. The chopper banked in one final turn, just in time to see a blast of orange flame and black smoke from the area where they had been. They were now several miles from the craft. It still loomed large in the front screen, but the chopper was well out of its shadow as the glow intensified and it sent out a beam to the ground below. Even above the rotor noise Alice heard the roar of the weapon, and felt the vibration thrum through her as it started to eat at the soil of the Caldera floor. The volcano went up without warning, the shock wave coming straight at the chopper as boiling lava shot upwards. A fissure ran across the whole plateau below the craft. At first it seemed that the alien vessel would just soak everything up. The lava flowed upwards in waves, sheets of flame washing over the hull, but seemed to be having

no effect. We’ve failed. But just as another shock wave hit the chopper and the pilot had to fight for control, she saw the huge craft start to wobble. Another blast rocked Yellowstone. Lave and ash washed over the craft like a wave and it fell sideways, losing altitude fast. The last thing Alice saw before the chopper turned tail and fled before the approaching blast wave was the alien craft crumple into to the ground. Fresh lava bubbled and burst. A hole grew in the craft’s hull. Alice felt a scream in her mind, then the alien presence went quiet. She was smiling and crying at the same time as the chopper fled from Yellowstone. They almost didn’t make it. The chopper bucked and twisted in the wind raised by the blast. The air was already full of hot ash and cinders, obscuring most of the view. The pilot needed all his concentration just to keep the bird in the air. After ten heart-stopping seconds they emerged into clearer air. The pilot banked again, looking for the second chopper. It never appeared out of the maelstrom. A cloud of ash already rose in a huge serpentine plume high into the sky. And although they were now miles from the source, a wide fissure -- glowing and spurting lava -- already snaked across the land towards them. The pilot gave it two more minutes, then turned and fled once more.

By the time they arrived at the airfield an hour later the whole expanse of the sky had grown dark and loomed over them like a vast black wall. Ash had already started to fall. They had to spend twenty minutes clearing rubble before they finally found the entrance to the bunker. By then the air was almost too hot to breathe and ash drew searing burns on their exposed flesh. The three of them fell inside the bunker and sealed it tight behind them. Even then they could hear the rattling drumbeat of ash pattering down above. In those first hours they did little more than sit, dull-eyed, staring into space and waiting for the world to crash in around them. It didn’t happen. The air got hot for a while, then the best air-recycling system that American tax dollars could buy kicked in. Soon they breathed clear, sweet air. After a while Alice realized she was hungry and went in search of the food. That was the start of their domestication. *** She got to know the two marines very well over the coming months. At least twice a day they scanned the airwaves but got nothing in return but static, both from the radio and their bank of monitors. They settled in to a routine of reading, DVD watching and playing board games. The bunker also had a huge supply of booze, and that took a big

hit in those early days. Six months in the marines surprised her. For her birthday she was led into the television room and sat in from of a series of recordings of old hockey matches, beer in hand. Beer and hockey -- simple pleasures. That brought back memories of holding off the alien presence. In the early months she’d been on edge, waiting for a new tickle in her mind. But none came. After that birthday night she tried reaching, looking for contact, but there was nothing there. Her gift, such as it was, seemed to be gone. *** It was a full year before they realized they were not alone in the world. The first sign came from one of the television feeds. It flickered into life one March afternoon. They didn’t get any sound, but the pictures seemed to come from a Far East city. A small group of people, around twenty of them, wandered in a field of frozen ash under a dead gray sky from which a steady blanket of snow fell. Alice waved at the screen. We’re not alone! In the months after that, more screens came alive, and soon they were getting sound, and the first news reports from a changed world. They quickly learned that North America was still too hot on the ground for anyone to venture outside, and that other parts of the world had suffered almost a full year of Winter, with unprecedented snowfall all across the Northern Hemisphere. No news had come out of the US or Canada, nor from Great Britain and the Scandinavian countries. They also learned that no aliens had been sighted since the explosion. Any drones left on the ground had quickly died, either boiling under the ash or freezing in the cold. Their bodies lay all over the New World. It was sixteen months into their captivity before they spoke to another person. Their comms sparked into life one afternoon, and they were soon talking to a Commander Jackson, aboard a battle cruiser in the South Pacific. They were informed that they were the only known survivors in North America. *** And still that wasn’t the end. Not quite. Eighteen months after their incarceration Alice woke with a pounding headache. She staggered to the washroom and headed for the medicine cabinet where the Ibuprofen waited. She looked up into the mirror over the sink... and screamed. An alien face looked back at her through large oval eyes. Once again the grip took hold in her mind and in the blink of an eye she was back on the barren planet under a purple sky, hovering above the huge black pyramid. She was drawn down into the darkness. The further down she went, the more her eyes adjusted. Everything was bathed in a thin green dancing light. Ten of the aliens grew from the slime and stood, stock still.

As one, they lifted their heads and stared straight at the point where Alice hung. She felt them tickle in her mind. Instinctively she knew what was happening. They want to know if it’s safe to come back. Alice concentrated hard and drew pictures forward in her mind, of volcanoes in Hawaii, Iceland, Japan and New Zealand. In these pictures the huge spaceships hovered above Caldera... and were consumed in flame and lava as the magma chambers were exploded beneath them. Alice sent one last message. Stay away. It sounded in her mind like a shout, a chant as if a stadium full of voices had been raised as one. As she rose up away from the pyramid she felt others with her, others like her, sharing the telepathic link that the aliens had provided... the same link they had now used to deliver the Earth’s message. Alice blinked. And was back in the washroom. Her headache had gone, and she smiled at her reflection in the mirror. We sent them away. And I’m not alone. *** A chopper came for them in September, nearly twenty months after they’d entered the bunker. They were taken to Acapulco, where the remnants of the US and Canadian governments were starting to regroup and rebuild. Alice and the two marines were treated like heroes. *** Five hard years passed. Television pictures from around the world showed clearing skies and fresh, green shoots growing through the decomposing bed of slime. Alice knew that the planet was on the way back when she saw a chopper’s-eye view across the Amazon basin. Everywhere the camera pointed they saw new growth spurting under thin cloud that was now threatening to break up completely. The invasion came to its final end on the cooled lava bed where Yellowstone Park had once been. The sun rose slowly, casting the sky awash in a deep orange glow that slowly faded to yellow. All of the politicians in the world who had survived were gathered together for the first time since the attack. A band of marines led them away from a fleet of choppers. Half of the huge crashed alien craft jutted up from a snowfield – the rest of it lying embedded in cooled lava. Teams of scientists had pored over the craft, learning its secrets. Alice had also learned that her early tissue sample results had indeed got through to some laboratories, and had since been used to good effect. They didn’t know whether the aliens would ever return. If they did, they would now find the remnants of mankind also possessed

biological weapons that would slow, and maybe even stop any future incursions. And if that fails, I have some new friends I can call on. We gave them cause to retreat once before. We can do it again. A television crew captured the final event for posterity as Alice and the two marines were presented with their medals and the statues were unveiled. She looked up at a rendition of a group of marines standing in a circle. In the center two men stood over a large sealed case. They hadn’t quite caught Hiscock right, but the sight of the Professor’s face looking down at her brought a tear to her eye. A ray of sunshine broke through the cloud as the band started to play.

About the Author

William Meikle is a Scottish genre writer who has been called the “Master of Pulp Fiction.” He has had more than 130 short stories and 10 novels published and has graced the Number One spot on Amazon’s bestseller list several times.