The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (37 page)

“Patience with you doing what?”

There was a pause, and a small sigh.

“I dunno … I’ve not really been … myself, so much. I’ve missed a lot of work. Signed myself off as sick for a few weeks. Just couldn’t face going in, you know.” He paused, and then continued. “I’ve been moping about a lot, if I’m honest. Been finding it hard to go out. She was good about it at first, but … she gets frustrated sometimes. I suppose I don’t really blame her.”

There was silence again, as if he wanted me to give my opinion, but I was thinking about my own situation. I’d had nightmares, but what had happened with Patrick had clearly taken its toll far more on Paul than it had with me. For the umpteenth time in my life, I felt a darkness in myself and wondered what the hell was wrong with me. Okay, medically, I knew, but that knowledge doesn’t help when you’re made to feel like a robot. Even in that moment, I should have been thinking about Paul, about what he was saying, but there I was, internalising again. I pulled my thoughts together.

“Have you seen anyone?” I asked, trying to make some kind of supportive response. I was
trying
. Isn’t that worth something? “Have you thought about getting helllllllllll—” My jaw suddenly stuck, and I held that last syllable as my entire body cramped up and I fell sideways. There was a white flash as my head hit the tiles, and I heard a corresponding bang from inside the cubicle. I was dimly aware that it had come from Paul falling bodily against the plastic cubicle wall.

Something was happening, that much was clear, but at that moment in time my main concern was not swallowing my tongue. No Shaun here to jam a wooden spoon between my jaws today, as my teeth ground painfully together and spittle ran from the left hand corner of my mouth. I remember thinking faintly that I’d been very lucky; I’d been milliseconds away from zipping up my fly. If it had hit at that moment, there could have been some major complications.

My knees were drawn up into my chest, and my head and shoulders pulled down towards them so much that they touched my forehead. It was like my entire body was trying to draw inside itself, as the pull kicked into me properly with intense force. It was all over me, expanding inside my bones, and then suddenly, behind the darkness of my screwed-up eyelids, a light seemed to grow.
Here we go
, I thought, and I was right. Emerging slowly into view, I saw a face.

It hung there just like before, but just as it fully arrived it became another, then another, too quick to see anything other than a flash of skin. Then back to the first one, too fast to make any of them out, their features and outlines so faint that at the speed they were switching they just became a blur of flesh and hair. One of the faces belonged to a woman, I thought I could see that much.

I can vividly remember there being a loud snapping sound this time, and then it all passed. I was lying on the tiled floor, soaked right through to my suit with sweat, and I could hear Paul breathing heavily as he pulled himself to his feet.

“Andy?” he gasped, fiddling with the catch on the cubicle door.

“Yes, fine, fine,” I croaked back, realising my throat was now sore and dry. “You see that?”

“It was crazy,” he said breathily, emerging from the cubicle. Like me, his clothing was dark with sweat. “It was just this … mess … I can’t really describe—shit, have you seen your eye?”

I got up shakily and turned to the mirror, and then cried out in surprise. My right eye was totally bloodshot. I looked like something out of a horror film.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” said Paul earnestly, trying to reassure me. “That shit heals, I know. It’ll go.” I forced myself away from the mirror and turned back to Paul, noticing the change in the pull. The first time it was all over my body, but singular, focused. Today, it had been without direction, without any sense of purpose. Now it seemed different again, like it was focused, yes, but ...

“Does it feel the same as last time to you?” I asked Paul, and he looked down, trying to focus.

“No …” he said, uncertain. “It’s like … it’s harder to pick out. Can you tell which direction it is? There’s … uh ... it’s going different ways?”

He was right. That was exactly what it felt like.

“Something’s changed,” I said, and was immediately proved right as Straub burst through the door.

“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted. She looked, for the first time, as if she were no longer in control of herself. Something had definitely happened. “Get a move on! We’re delaying the chopper, you have to get on those maps
now
and see if anything’s different—” She cut off abruptly, our appearance finally penetrating her fury. Looking at my bloodshot eye, she said, “Something changed, hasn’t it? Did you detect it? Can you feel it now?”

“Wait, what the hell’s happened out there?” asked Paul, bewildered. It had been a very intense two minutes.

“I think we know why you weren’t getting anything,” said Straub, hurriedly leading us back into the other room, where both David and the two civilians were jabbering frantically into walkies or telephones and hammering at computers. “It was waiting.”

“Waiting? What for?” I asked, my blood running cold, but I thought I already knew.

“Backup. It’s not alone. There are two more of them. And they’re different.”

***

Chapter Seven: Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad, A Dressing Down From David, The Sergeant, and A Very Unpleasant Trip To Birmingham

***

People went nuts. If things were bad before, this time it was far worse. If had just been the Stone Man alone, it might have died down quicker, but the panic and hysteria started in Coventry and spread like wildfire. Plus, the destruction before had been immense, but now it would spread in three directions, or perhaps become one solid wall of moving implacability. The concept was terrifying.

All the Internet theorists already believed that the Stone Man had caused Patrick’s reported ‘heart attack’, intentionally or otherwise. They said either the force that powered it, or the strange stone-like material that its extraterrestrial body was constructed out of, was fatal to whichever human it had selected, simply by standing in their presence. Some believed that whoever sent the Stone Man was threatened from afar by the existence of its particular victim, that its creators knew something about the human gene that we didn’t, and that they felt that Patrick could not be allowed to breed and create more like himself. Some fringe elements believed that Patrick was really an undercover alien, tracked down and executed by the Stone Man’s vengeful owners. The theories were endless.

The one unifying through line in all of them, however, was that intentionally or otherwise, to be the Stone Man’s target meant death. Everyone—even the politicians, reluctantly, as they had to be—was in open agreement on this. And that fact made it even more terrible during the Second Arrival when, across both traditional and social media, an immediate and forceful cry went up around the world:

Who are the Stone Men here for, and how do we find these people?

***

We were led at a run to Paul’s previous computer terminal, when an idea struck me. I grabbed Straub’s arm.

“Before, I visualised it,” I said, blood rushing in my veins whilst the pull tried to drag me simultaneously in what I now knew were three separate directions. “I could see it, walking across the map, like in a computer game. I think I might need to see the new pair to be able to do that.”

Straub didn’t say a word, and instead waved her hand at a soldier who’d been holding a tablet PC up for one of the civilians, waiting patiently as they barked responses into their phone. The soldier hurried over, despite the civilians’ protests (these ended sharply as soon as the civilian saw that the soldier had moved under Straub’s orders) and Straub took the tablet from him. She thrust it into my hands, and I saw the now-familiar shot of the Stone Man standing in Millennium Place. But as I already knew, it had brought company. Behind it, seen via the slightly grainy Internet feed being shot from above, I saw the two new Stone Men … even forewarned, I was shocked that these were indeed different.

The basic design was the same as the original—the tapered hands, the slightly elongated head, the rough, rocky surface and the gentle bend at the waist—but most notably, these were bigger. If the original had been around eight feet, these were closer to ten. And even more curiously, they were a different colour. The original was still its dark, greyish-brown colour, a fact that was even more clear now; all of the dust that had been surrounding it the last time I saw it was gone. Someone or something had given it a rubdown.

The new ones—albeit in a dim, washed out kind of way—were a pale, sickly blue.

I don’t know why—maybe it was their size making them appear even more destructive and unstoppable, maybe it was the colour, maybe it the was the knowledge that they were here to remove parts of someone’s body, and couldn’t be stopped until they had—but seeing them there, motionless in the centre of Millennium Place on that cool October afternoon … it scared the crap out of me.

“Jesus …” said Paul. I’d seen enough, and pushed the tablet away.

“Right, got it,” I muttered, and moved over to the computer screen and sat down, feeling uneasy, but not about whether or not I could work my magic this time. I knew I could; the incident in the toilet had made that clear enough. I didn’t have time to enjoy or consider what I was actually doing in my reacquired role, or think about the bigger picture involved. Already, there had been another switch, and the job at hand meant that I just had to get on with it.

On the screen was a map of the UK. The PC functions were unnecessary, I knew; even if we zoomed in, we wouldn’t get a clearer image of where the target was. At this range, just like before with the normal map, I couldn’t be any more accurate. We would have the rough area, and we would have to travel there, but this time we had extremely rapid transport.

“You got this?” said Paul, leaning on the back of my chair. I thought about it; it might be different with three.

“Um … I don’t know,” I said, head whirling. “Put your hand on my shoulder and concentrate or something. Think of the original Stone Man. We’ll do him first.”

Paul did as he was told, and as he did so I suddenly froze, half-expecting the jolt like our first meeting, and with no time to warn him ... but it didn’t come. It seemed that once the circuit was complete, it was complete for good. Letting out a sigh, I looked at the map as I tried to picture the first Stone Man’s solid bulk in my head, mentally putting it in Coventry on the screen before me.

Almost immediately, and far more quickly than before, the monitor disappeared and I was seeing the UK from above, with the moving seas again surrounding it. It was incredible, yet effortless and natural at the same time; of
course
I could see the UK like this, it was just a question of shifting perspective. I saw that now. Whilst I saw the Stone Man stood still, my finger—not my whole hand this time, my finger, as with Paul’s boost I could be more specific—raised of its own accord and travelled north again, fast at first, covering hundreds of miles. This target was a lot further north than Sheffield. It passed the border into Scotland, slowed down around Edinburgh … and stopped.

“Edinburgh,” I whispered, and Straub immediately pointed at the nearest soldier, who started whispering into their walkie.

“Can you zoom in? Get us an address?” she asked, and I shook my head and shushed her.

“Paul,” I said, feeling calm and focused now. “Think of the one on the left, the first blue one. Can you see it? Focus on them?”

“Got it,” said Paul, equally quietly. We were working in sync, feeling our way together. The Stone Man on the UK image before my eyes was now switched, it’s larger, pale blue companion taking its place. This time, my finger barely moved.

“Birmingham,” I said.

“Thank Christ,” breathed Straub, “minimal damage at that range.”

“The other one now, please, Paul,” I said, taking a deep breath before the final attempt.

“Uh huh,” he whispered, eyes still closed. The figure in the centre of the map changed, but it was barely noticeable; it was the other’s twin, after all.

This time, my finger started to head northwest again … and then faltered. It was stopping, but not because of it finding its target; I was struggling to follow the signal any further.

“What’s wrong?” asked Straub, sensing that there was a problem.

“I can’t … Paul?” I said, the image faltering before me as my concentration struggled.

“I know, I know,” he said, “It’s like—”

And then the vision before me vanished, and my head was full of a high-pitched screeching sound. It was ear-splitting, like brass fingernails on a ridged blackboard. I screamed at the same time that Paul did, and he let go of my shoulder as I let go of my focus. Mercifully, the screaming sound abruptly stopped, but I instantly became aware that the pull had reduced. The second blue Stone Man’s signal was gone.

“What the fuck …” Paul gasped, but I knew immediately. It was obvious. Wide eyed, I turned to Straub.

“They’ve cut us off,” I said, my voice shaking. “Their owners know.”

The room was silent for a moment, with even Straub at a loss for words. This latest development implied something else; in a roundabout way, this was a form of contact. They’d responded to our actions, whoever or whatever they were. Either way—with one of the blues at least—we were out.

“The original, are you cut off from the original as well?” snapped Straub, and I already knew the answer; I still had a link to that one, at least, as strong as ever. I tried to feel for the remaining Blue as well; I had that too.

“Yeah, I’ve got the original, and the other Blue too. Paul?”

“Just those two, yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “We stayed in there too long, I think. Like, in deep contact. Maybe if we’d come out sooner …”

“Maybe, but anyway it’s too late for that,” said David, heading for the door, and speaking over his shoulder. “We still have two, and that will have to do. We’ve got to get you both in the air immediately and over Edinburgh so we can narrow down on the original’s target. We’ve no idea if you’re going to be able to find the target quickly, and even if you do we don't know if we can beat the blue one to its Birmingham target by the time we’re done in Scotland. Let’s get in the air. Agreed?” David was aiming this question at Straub, who was nodding. She began to head for the door as well, beckoning for us to do the same. I looked at Paul; he seemed to share my confusion.

“But … you have the trajectory,” I said, following David regardless. “You can’t take the targets to the Stone Man, or they’ll die once they leave their containment zone. We saw that with Patrick, the guy started to have a goddamn seizure once we drove him away from his house. I mean, yes, the Stone Man will kill them anyway, but who knows what happens if they die before it gets them? Does the Stone Man then move onto someone else? You can’t risk the extra damage involved in that, surely?”

Straub didn’t answer, as she was busy on the radio commandeering units in the north, telling them to be on standby for our arrival and giving the evacuation orders and rough trajectory coordinates. David didn’t either, simply because he was ignoring me. We headed out of the building, and towards the nearest hanger and the now-familiar sound of rotary blades. Whether it was due the tension of the situation, or just anger from my dislike of David, I’ve no idea, but I reached out and grabbed his shoulder. I didn’t pull him around to face me—I hadn’t plucked up that amount of guts, for certain—but he stopped and turned of his own accord, looking pretty pissed off himself.

“You want our help, and I asked you a question,” I said quietly, before he could speak. I surprised myself. It was tough guy talk, certainly far tougher than I’d ever tried on in my life. I didn’t think I could intimidate David, but I thought I could let him know that I was serious, and prepared to dig my heels in even now.

“Plus,” said Paul, stepping up beside me, “we haven’t actually been told the plan here. I know time is a big issue and everything, but I want to know what you plan to do with the targets once the poor bastards are found. Hide them? Cover them with lead, and hope it breaks the signal? We didn’t know what would happen to them before. Now we know what the Stone Men are here to do to them. What do
you
plan to do?” Paul folded his arms, and I became aware of the size difference between him and David. Not that it probably made much of a difference; I had a feeling that David had enough training up his sleeve to take down Paul with minimal effort, and then have his reporter friend for dessert.

“What do you think, Winter?” said David, angrily. Aggression seemed to be his default setting. “Don’t be naïve. This isn’t the time for experimentation, and the instructions have been very clear and simple: damage limitation. So that’s what we’re doing. People die the more time we spend pissing about, so feel free to moralise all you like, but every moment we delay risks another death on
your
conscience, not mine.”

“But that doesn’t even make any sense,” said Paul, his voice rising to match David’s level of aggression. “Andy’s right. We can’t move them, as you risk killing them before the Stone Man gets what it needs. You don’t know what might happen. It might, I dunno, just go off wildly and never stop, you’ve no idea—”

“We’ve been planning and researching this for months, Winter, do you think we have no ideas at all?” snapped David, interrupting. “You arrogant prick. There were two radiation spikes from the Stone Man at specific points once it started walking, right? To put it in terms you’d be able to understand, these were on the long-distance frequency of the electromagnetic spectrum, meaning that they were designed to travel—guess what—very long distances. We think either of those rad spikes might have been the point that the Stone Man somehow created the barrier, if you like, for the targets. Maybe it simply affected their minds so that they believed there was a barrier there, a belief strong enough to kill them if they went far enough past it. Maybe it was a real, physical thing, we don’t know!” David threw his hands up, the nonstop tension of the day combining with his anger to animate him. “But the point is, it might mean there’s a window, a chance to move the target closer. The second major spike was several hours after the first, and
that
could have been the one that actually put the barrier up, with the first being some kind of seeding signal, right? That’s a long enough gap between the spikes to make it worth the effort. Plus, the original didn’t become active in any sense until roughly two hours after its arrival, and it looks like it’s been waiting for its buddies to get that process started again. It hasn’t started walking yet. So we
might
have that extra two hours here too. We’re not fucking morons, if we’re wrong and the target shows signs of physical seizure, as with C.I. Four, we take them back inside the barrier. We have to
try
the first option, at least.” He finished, and brought his arms against his sides sharply, causing his hands to slap against his legs. It was an unintentionally camp gesture that would have been funny at any other time. “Now do either of you two arseholes disagree with that, or can we get a fucking move on? Happy now?”