The Invasion (Extended Version) Page 4

  “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 t
he 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 rose-bed.

  “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 decisi
on 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.