The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (5 page)

“
AATTGAATTTGGCCCGTTAACTCAGGCCAG …”

Everyone else still stood around, struck dumb, stunned beyond cognition as the world went mad before their eyes. I looked away from the fallen cops to see the Stone Man reach the opposite wall of the atrium, and smash straight through it without slowing. The noise of the impact was deafening, made worse by everyone screaming again as plaster and chunks of breeze block rained down on the Stone Man’s departing shoulders. Plaster dust billowed out, temporarily obscuring it from view, but screams were heard from inside whichever area it had just entered.

The remaining cop, with a shaking voice, stood up hurriedly from his two fallen associates, and raised his arms.

“Everyone out of the building! Everyone back outside, it’s not safe here! Police backup is on its way! Everyone outside,
NOW!
” he yelled, making gathering gestures with his arms to both the new arrivals and the workers and visitors that were already in the atrium. People began to hurriedly stream for the exit, casting glances toward the hole that the Stone Man had made in the wall, and a scream went up as another deafening crash was heard from farther inside the building. The Stone Man had passed through another wall. The stream of people making their way out suddenly became a dash, and I was caught up in it and swept outside. I was relieved, in a way; if the Stone Man had gone through two walls like that, I wasn’t sure of how stable the building would be, even with it being as large as it was. My main thought though, was
What
the fuck is going on?
I’d just seen a walking piece of ... well, what
looked
like stone smash through a solid wall as if it wasn’t even there. Was this some kind of protest?
Terrorists,
the old woman in me said, and I almost dismissed it … but then thought again, as this was so unprecedented that nothing could be discounted.

As I lurched out into Millennium Place, hearing more crashes from inside and wondering what the hell was going to happen next, I suddenly realised that I needed a photographer down here immediately, as I could well have a national-level story on my hands. The thought energised me, woke me up, and I pulled out my phone to ring around some contacts to find
anyone
that had a decent camera and could take a half decent picture; worst case, I had my own reasonable camera, but obviously better quality pictures meant better media exposure. Rich Bell was missing the assignment of a lifetime. I turned back towards the museum at the sound of the next crash, and saw the lights inside go out. There was still plenty of daylight, so the difference was marginal in terms of vision, but it still sent up another scream. Shocked and terrified-looking people were still trickling out of the museum, some covered in plaster dust, people who had been flushed out of the building by the Stone Man’s entry like ants staggering out from under a freshly overturned rock. Clouds of dust were now starting to pour out of the museum, and I could hear sirens coming from the ring road as other members of the emergency services rushed to attend the scene.

Old instincts kicked in at the sound, making me realise that soon, the area would be cordoned off, and I would probably be removed. Thought was starting to trickle back into my stunned brain, and all it was saying was
Money,
don’t lose the MONEY
, and I knew I had to think fast. Another crash came from inside the building, along with fresh, distant screams. This time, there was one that didn’t end. At least one person was hurt, and badly. I registered this, but my thoughts didn’t stray from a possible career-making scoop. Something big and crazy was happening, and I was
right here
at the heart of it; I had to stay on top of the action. People were coming from all sides of Millennium Place now, attracted by both the sounds and the sight of the glass-fronted museum smashed inwards. Two ambulances began to pull up.

Then it hit me; the Stone Man wasn’t stopping, clearly, for the time being. That meant that, unless its destination was a point inside the transport museum, it was bound to pass straight out of the rear wall … and out onto Cook Street. I didn’t hesitate. I pulled out my camera, snapping off a quick shot of the ruined museum as I ran, and sprinted across the square, heading round to the right of the museum and onto Chauntry Place. I ran up the gentle incline of the street, past the several houses that ran along the right-hand side of the building, and I could see another person up ahead of me, a woman, running as well and clearly having the same intentions as me. I wondered with a sinking feeling if anyone
else
had the same idea, and was already waiting around the rear of the building. My lack of exercise came into play, as I was already puffing and panting; I’d have breezed the same run only five years earlier. If you don’t look after it, you lose it.

Before I reached the top of Chauntry Place, I heard a huge smash from round the corner and a screech of tyres. This was followed by a loud metallic bang, combined with the sound of breaking glass. After a brief pause, there was another, similar bang, and then silence ... except for a continuous hissing noise. The woman up ahead had already reached the top of the street, and had stopped, staring at something. I caught up a few seconds later, turned left and saw it for myself. Immediately, it was clear what had happened.

Cook Street was a narrow, single-lane road, hemmed in on either side by industrial looking buildings (the rear of the museum was certainly a step down from the impressive, modern front) with a high metal fence running along the buildings on the right-hand side of the street. It wasn’t one of the city’s more pleasant looking streets, and now it was even less so; a gaping hole lay in the centre of the museum wall on the left, with rubble strewn in front of it across the street. Skid marks in the centre of the road led to a dented lamppost on the right, although there was no vehicle on the end of them; that lay a few feet away, wrapped around the crumbling, twisted mess that was a combination of waist-height wall and metal fence. There was a mangled gap in this fence where the Stone Man had passed through, kicking aside the crashed car (for a low-traffic street, the driver had been extremely unfortunate with his timing) and continued on its path, crushing the car, wall and fence together as it went by. The vehicle was now around half of its normal width, the front end pressed almost to a point, and the hissing sound was coming from the remains of its engine. I couldn’t see, from the angle I was at, what the deal was with the driver. There was a fresh hole in the wall of the building beyond the fence; I had more running to do.

I felt numb to all of this, like my mind had already adapted to the situation
(OK, enormous stone man walking through everything. Got it)
and was already in its usual assessment mode. I quickly took a photo, then made to run on down Cook Street to turn right and get round the building, when the woman started screaming. I looked where she was looking, and saw the red liquid beginning to drip from the remains of the car. I hesitated—briefly—and asked her if she had a phone on her. Sobbing hysterically, she looked at me—she would have been otherwise pretty—and nodded yes. To her, I was clearly someone who might have an answer to this.

“Then call an ambulance, right now,” I said, and squeezed her shoulder in what I hoped was reassuring way before running off. I looked back over briefly, and saw her numbly fumbling her phone out of her purse. Seeing how the car was crushed—end first—I wasn’t too sure about the driver’s chances. Incredibly, I later found out that he had lived, and made a full recovery. Two people had died from the Stone Man’s passage through the museum, however; one had been unfortunate enough to be directly in its path as it came through the third wall, and the other had been crushed between two exhibits.

My lungs were burning as I ran around the left of the second building (turned out to be a car rental depot. That, along with the whole transport museum thing, was the reason for all the wild speculation that the Stone Man was somehow related to cars, drawn to them somehow. It made more sense that a lot of the other early theories) and came out at the T junction of Tower Street, faced with the huge looming mass of the post office depot. I didn’t like the idea of running through freshly smashed buildings after it. God knows what might have fallen on me, or which live wires might have been exposed.

Tower Street was busier with traffic than Cook Street, but not by much, due to the time of day. There was a handful of people walking past, and one or two had actually turned to point at something above the rental depot; I turned to where they were pointing to see a plume of smoke rising in the near distance, from what I assumed was the transport museum. That was the moment the Stone Man smashed through the wall of the rental depot with a bang, covered in dust, but seemingly unaffected by anything in its path so far. Even though I’d seen it only a few moments earlier, I was stunned by the thing all over again.

Most of the small handful of people on the street screamed and ran, but one or two just stood there, frozen with shock. A car braked, hard but safe, mere feet away from the Stone Man as it crossed out into the road, heading directly for the post office depot wall.

“Get back!” I shouted. “Don’t touch it!” I don’t know why I said that. It didn’t even look like anyone was thinking about doing so. I just couldn’t stand the idea of having to hear that staccato stream of letters again, and seeing those glazed eyes. I don’t think anyone even heard me anyway; they were too shocked by the sight of the moving stone before them. It was the weirdest sensation, watching the Stone Man walk towards the wall of the post office depot in its steady, almost casual manner, and knowing that it wouldn’t just stop short of the red brick wall. Looking back on it now, I can say it was more exciting than anything I’d ever known. I even had my camera ready to get a shot of the moment. I kicked myself later for thinking like an old-school newspaper man; I never took any
video
footage. Stupid, I know. My only defence is that I wasn’t really thinking properly at the time, and fell back on old habits.

That was when I heard the sound of rotary blades, and looked up to see the helicopter hovering above. I wasn’t sure if it was police or news (I hoped to God it wasn’t news) but the answer became clear when the loudspeaker started blaring:

“PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR HOMES. DO NOT APPROACH THE STATUE. POLICE ARE ON THEIR WAY TO DEAL WITH THE SITUATION. WE ARE EVACUATING THE AREA. PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR HOMES.”

People almost immediately started to obey, staring at the hole in the wall of the post office depot as they hurriedly departed. I was running on instinct as it was, but at least I’d had time to get used to the idea. What the hell those people made of what they were seeing, I’ll never know.

All hell sounded as though it was breaking loose inside the depot, and I almost followed it inside until I heard the loudest bang yet, and a man screaming like an injured dog. It was painful to hear. Plus—although I doubted they’d do anything—the police would probably be here soon and I didn’t want to get stuck inside the depot in any way. I decided to stick with the outdoors policy, and after a snapping a pic of the outside wreckage, I sprinted round to the left of the building and up the hill of Bishop Street, the top of which met four lanes of ring road. At least, to the police, this would look as if I were evacuating the area.

There was a pedestrian flyover that went over the top of the ring road, and although I didn’t want to risk being on top of it when the Stone Man went by (in case its path took him through the supports of the flyover) I decided it would be best to get across the ring road now and maybe be ahead of it for once. I raced up the flyover steps, casting a glance at the police chopper to see if it was doing anything. It turned out it was; turning and heading in my direction, probably having the same idea of getting ahead of the Stone Man. They were no doubt feeding back reports to their own base, so they could sort out their plans to do … what, exactly? I didn’t fancy being the guy stuck with figuring that solution out. Solid walls couldn’t even slow it down, just the same as metal couldn’t. I couldn’t see a line of police riot shields or patrol cars proving to be much of a problem for the Stone Man, based on what I’d seen.

I’d just reached halfway up the steps to the flyover when I heard the boom, then the deafening sound of crumbling brick as the Stone Man emerged through the rear wall of the post office depot. I didn’t know it then, but the death toll had already reached four people. If it had been a weekday, God knows what the count would have gotten up to. I panicked, realising I’d overestimated the time that I had to get ahead of it, and as I reached the top of the two flights of steps up to the flyover, thirty feet above the road, I ran to the railing to look down.

I breathed a sigh of relief for two reasons: from this height, I could instantly see that the Stone Man's path was several feet away from the flyover, (the first thing I ever learned about the Stone Man was that it was undoubtedly set in its path) and that the small back alley behind the post office depot—and therefore the point at which the Stone Man emerged—was seven feet below the level of the ring road, with high black metal railings running along the top of the alley wall. Effectively, the Stone Man would find itself stood at the bottom of a concrete cliff. I doubted even this thing could plough through endless amounts of solid concrete; maybe it would finally stop?