The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (16 page)

“Don’t you try to sabotage me, Paul Winter,” she said, threatening him with a sewing needle. “I’m going to look ridiculous enough in all this as it is.”

“Yes, and then what would the men of Sheffield think of you then?” replied Paul, holding his hands to his cheeks in mock terror. “Who will buy you lambrinis and pinch your arse and hump against you on the dance floor? The horror—” He cut off mid-sentence as a plastic bottle of fabric glue bounced off his chest, and he skipped away towards the door, chuckling to himself.

“Don’t wait
up
,” hissed Holly, gesturing him away with her free hand. He blew her a raspberry and she blew one back, then smiled and shook her head as we left.

“This is us,” said Paul, as he headed towards a blue Ford Focus parked just outside on the street. He stopped and looked back at the house as I made my way around to the driver side. “She’s a great girl, Andy,” he said wistfully, still looking at his front door. “I don’t like lying, but …” he shrugged, and turned to me. I nodded. What else could he do, for now at least? Time was of the essence, and we couldn't afford to delay whilst we explained the impossible-to-believe situation to her.

Once we were seated in the Focus and belted in, I started the engine; other than its quiet hum, silence now descended. The car smelled reasonably new, and it was clean. Paul had clearly looked after it. I pulled out into the street, and Paul didn’t need to ask if I was heading in the right direction. We were both running on the same internal Sat-Nav, and we could both feel it. Houses went by, and even though the pull seemed to be directional on an as-the-crow-flies basis, I took lefts and rights through the streets on instinct. Paul only had to correct me twice, knowing that certain roads would be dead ends.

It was strange, those first few minutes. If you’d asked me (and Paul would say the same, I’m sure) I’d have told you that we were about half an hour’s drive away from our destination. We both knew it, and though that alone was a concept utterly mind-blowing in itself, talking about it seemed incredibly awkward, to me at least. I assume Paul felt the same, as he didn’t make any attempt to make conversation either. We were strangers, after all, bound only by something entirely beyond our comprehension, and whilst one might think that bond would make any social barriers more insignificant, small talk seemed flippant, and talking about what we were actually doing seemed taboo. It was
insane
, this mission, with only the knowledge that we weren’t alone stopping us from thinking we had lost our minds. We’d seemed to have made a silent agreement that we’d just get on with it and see what happened next.

Of course (and this, I would realise after more time in his company, was a mark of the man), after a while Paul found the perfect conversational balance. Not glib, not directly addressing the fact that we were, in fact, chasing a man using our newfound psychic abilities and racing a walking statue at the same time. He asked about what we were going to do after it was
over
. (Of course, we didn’t know that we weren’t even
close
to it being over.)

“Listen, this arsehole. Say we find him and he spills his guts, tells us the facts, maybe even how to, you know, shut it down or whatever. Or he knows nothing, and he's just the destination for whatever reason. If we have answers and a solution, or no answers at all … this might be a stupid question, but do we try to go to the authorities with this? I mean, I know they probably wouldn’t even listen, but do we try to find a way to convince them we have a link to this thing and see if they can do something with it?”

It occurred to me in that moment that Paul didn't yet know I was a reporter—not wanting to lie, yet not wanting to make Paul doubt my motives, I’d just said I was a writer when I was giving him my backstory, and he hadn’t pursued it further—and seemed to think I was here purely motivated by the mystery, in a Richard-Dreyfuss-Close-Encounters kind of way. He hadn’t put two and two together and realised that I had my own reasons; career and fortune being the first two (although not necessarily in that order.) My heart sped up a little, but I wasn’t
that
nervous. Socially awkward I may be, but I have always been a great liar. I think fast. Hooray for me. Either way, I didn’t want to make any promises that I might later regret, or let him know what I was hoping to get out of this. The last thing I wanted was even the thought, at this stage, of getting anyone else involved. Plus, dammit, I was excited,
thrilled
beyond measure to be on this. I was at the centre of the biggest piece of news in a decade, one that had the potential to be the biggest ever, and not only was that thrilling in itself but it came with the added, major potential to transform my life forever. I didn’t even want to
think
about a buzzkill, about Big Brother’s possible involvement.
We
were going to solve this!

“We’ll play it by ear,” I said, keeping my eyes on the road. We turned onto a dual carriageway, taking us away from the city as we headed further north. Several police cars passed in a convoy going in the opposite direction, their sirens and lights off, moving in a quiet hurry. They were almost the only cars we’d seen on this road so far, and the drivers stared at us as we went past. The evacuations and roadblocks were beginning. “Who knows what might turn up in the meantime? Hell, they might even find out for themselves. I mean, we don’t know what they’ve managed to figure out already. But obviously, if we can help, we’ll help.”

Paul was silent for a second.

“I just can’t help thinking … ah, sod it, what the hell would we tell them anyway, right?” said Paul, raising a big hand and turning to me. “It means nothing until we actually have this geezer, and then we can hopefully back up our story. Until then, we’d just be a couple of bloody loonies. I just wish there was a way to let them know
now
, you know? Get them to believe us. It might mean ... well ... no more deaths.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, wanting to avoid this line of conversation. Here was something I hadn’t even considered. Would letting them know they needed to clear a line all the way to Sheffield sooner have saved more lives? Maybe a few, I thought, but human nature would always play a part. The religious element, the rioters … and anyway, as even Paul said, how the hell would I have gotten them to believe me? “People have never seen
anything
as incredible, as straight-out-of-a-comic-book incredible and … well, magical, if you like, as this in their entire lives, in the entire
history
of the human race. They’re shocked by this like nothing ever before. And that percentage of the population that are less capable of dealing with it are doing very, very stupid things. I bet there’s been suicides too, right? End of the world stuff? I haven’t seen much news.”

“Yeah, there’s been three suicides so far, reported ones at least,” said Paul, looking thoughtful.

“There you are. I’m telling you, Paul, that thing is killing some people just by
existing
. And then there’s the people that will be panicking as soon as the government releases the official predicted path, wanting to make an early move. Frightened for their families, and prepared to kill if necessary, even though they’re hundreds of miles and days of slow statue-walking away. All they’ve seen on the news are ruined buildings and early death tolls, the biggest destruction on UK soil since the Blitz, and the media are doing nothing but fanning the flames.” A beeping horn filled the air as a car full of laughing twenty-somethings passed, heading in the opposite direction, of course. “No, even if we could have let them know the instant that thing showed up, and they’d cleared the path, you’d have had the same effect. They can’t stop it moving, so they can’t stop it destroying, and that means they couldn’t keep it quiet, not with the Internet. People are having to deal with something they can’t comprehend, and even if it came
without
all the destroyed buildings, I think you’d still have deaths as a result.”

I believed it. I’d been speaking initially to convince him, but in my stream-of-consciousness speech I’d convinced myself. (I saw things later on that confirmed my thinking was right.) Paul sat silently for a second, mulling it over. “Mmm. Yeah, I see your point. I suppose then, for now at least, it really is just you and me …” He stopped, and rolled his eyes theatrically. “
Jesus
, that was Hollywood. Sorry, sorry …” I laughed, both amused and glad of the change in mood and subject. Paul settled back in his chair, smiling slightly, then blew out his cheeks. He jabbed at the car stereo, and Radio 2 came on, halfway through the latest middle-of-the-road female singer-songwriter that they were championing. No Non-Stop Oldies on a Sunday either. I was disappointed. The song finished, and I noticed the DJ talking with a more sombre tone than usual. I remembered when I’d heard something similar before, on 9/11, when Radio 1 ran constant news updates whilst keeping the DJ links very brief, and just played music. All the usual light-hearted talk and bullshit had been gone, and they’d only relayed the latest news with brief explanations and reminders as to why they were doing things differently that day, out of respect. The same thing was happening today.

The report explained the Stone Man’s latest movements (this was the first time I’d heard the phrase used, and Paul and I looked at each other upon hearing it. We found ourselves referring to the Stone Man by that name from that point on) and that it was now approaching the outskirts of Sheffield. Relevant evacuations were beginning, and roadblocks were being set up, so people outside of the evacuation area were requested to stay in their homes unless members of the police or military came to remove them. Farther south, in the capital, there was apparently a growing religious gathering in Trafalgar Square, which had developed into clashes with the police after other religious denominations had become involved, causing the biggest riot yet. The police’s initial intervention had caused it to escalate, and things were worsening, increasing the growing calls from some quarters for a temporary curfew whilst the Stone Man was walking. Sixteen people hospitalised in the riot so far, one fatality. Paul hissed air through his teeth at this last announcement.

“Another one,” he said, then pointed at a passing exit sign. “You’re taking this one, right?”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Yeah, I know why, but this will be quicker.”

“Okay.”

I indicated, as more police cruised past. As we pulled off down the exit ramp, I heard their sirens start up in the distance. Damien Rice started playing on the radio as we picked up the A road. We didn’t speak for a bit. Paul broke the silence after a while, and when he spoke it sounded as though he’d been thinking deeply.

“You know what … and this is gonna sound so tarty … but man …” he smiled in an embarrassed way, and actually squirmed a little in his seat. It was the first time I’d seen him look uncomfortable
.
“If we … you know, if our friend has something to tell us …” he continued, smiling to himself now, but a little flushed in the face. I knew where he was going. I’d thought the same thing, really. It would be the dream scenario for me, in terms of what I wanted out of this.

“If we find something out,” Paul continued, “and like, maybe the reason we know is so we can be the guys to … you know …
stop
this thing …” he looked at me, and raised his eyebrows. “That’s hero stuff. That’s real deal bloody hero stuff, right there. Can you imagine? All the lives we’d … well, that we’d save?” He nodded, checking that I got it, and there it was; that childlike look in his eyes, transforming him from a man most comfortable when holding court, to a boy with a dream. He was trying not to show it, but he was deeply earnest. I didn’t really know how to respond. It made me feel suddenly awkward, to be honest. Maybe he saw it, as the man instantly returned.

“Food for thought, anyway, food for thought,” he said, and looked out of the window. I opened my mouth, unsure whether I was going to agree or change the subject, when I became aware of the pins and needles in my fingers. This was new. Goose bumps broke out on my forearms and I saw Paul sit up in his chair, looking at his hand. He then looked at me, eyes wider than before, and broke into an excited grin.

“Getting close, eh?” he said, breathing slightly faster. I returned the smile as I felt the goose bumps spread across my chest and shoulders, making the car suddenly feel colder.

“Northeast, still,” I said, nodding, “We’re still far away enough to keep it that little bit vague, but this is really strong. I know what you mean about the fillings, I only have a few but mine are starting to buzz.” Paul tapped his cheek in response.

“I got loads, to be honest,” he said. “Fat kid. Probably why I got that sensation early.”

“Well, I think pretty soon we’ll be getting even more,” I said, and then an unpleasant thought occurred. “It might get painful, you know.” And then another, worse. “Jesus, what if we can only get so close? What if we can’t take it right at the source?” I felt the blood drain from my face, and it wasn’t because of the pull. It was because I realised that I had no idea how high in strength the pull went. I stared at Paul, aghast.