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Authors: William Meikle
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still feeding." He was white as a sheet, and visibly trembling.
"How many casualties?" the President whispered.
"Too many to count," the chief of staff said. "It has taken most New York State… and we don’t know if anybody is still alive in the area. It will be here in minutes."
"That’s it," the President said. "Call in the Air Force. We’re going to nuke it… and somebody shut that window!"
Outside, the crazed fluting of Rickman’s plasma filled the air.
The plasma lay along the eastern seaboard covering most of New York and New Jersey.
Flocks of birds cawed and fluttered.
The plasma ate them.
Three passenger jets inward bound from Europe passed overhead at thirty thousand feet.
The plasma threw up tendrils and ate them.
The bomber carrying the nuke came in at over a thousand miles per hour.
The plasma ate it.
The nuke exploded creating a fireball of white heat and radiation at more than a million degrees centigrade.
The plasma ate it, surged, and headed for Canada.
The President of the European Union got involved an hour later. Assembled in his room were the heads of the UK, France and Germany. The President of Russia was on a TV screen, linked in by satellite.
"So what is it doing now?" the President of the EU asked.
"Still growing," the Russian President answered. "And still feeding." He was white as a sheet, and visibly trembling.
"How many casualties?" the President whispered.
"Too many to count," the Prime Minister of the UK said. "It has covered most of North America and is heading South and East fast… and we don’t know if anybody is still alive anywhere. It will be here in minutes."
"We only have one option," the President said. `We hit it with every missile NATO and Russia have, and hope for the best. And somebody close that window!"
Outside, the crazed fluting of Rickman’s plasma filled the air.
Over a thousand nuclear weapons were launched in the next fifteen minutes… enough firepower to start, or finish, a global war, enough mega-tonnage to destroy every city on the planet.
The plasma ate them all and surged.
The last human beings on the planet got involved an hour later. Assembled in a lab at the South Pole were scientists from the US, Brazil, France and Germany.
"So what is it doing now?" the Brazilian asked.
"Still growing," the head scientist answered. "And still feeding." He was white as a sheet, and visibly trembling.
"Is there anybody left?" someone whispered.
"I doubt it," the Frenchman said. "The last we heard it had covered the rest of the planet and was heading south fast."
"We only have one option," the head scientist said. `We keep quiet, and hope it passes."
The crazed fluting of Rickman’s plasma filled the air.
The scientists sat in silence, barely breathing.
Their generator kicked in noisily.
The plasma surged.
~-oO0Oo-~
Can You Hear Them?
The noise came again just as Jim Reagan reached the edge of the field - the same high singing as before.
He tried to peer though the growing gloom of dusk, but all he could see was an expanse of whiteness - a completely snow covered landscape.
"Probably a fox" he told himself, but deep down, even though he would never admit it, he knew that no fox was capable of making that noise. Something was trying to get past his mental filters - something from his childhood - but it wasn't getting through. Not yet.
He made a note in his book that the south fence needed repairing again and was just turning back towards the house when someone spoke.
Can you hear them?
He turned, wondering how a person could have got so close without him noticing, but there was no one within sight, and the only tracks in the snow were his own.
Two minutes later he was standing in the hallway of his cottage, his breath coming in hot steaming gasps, his boots shedding compacted snow onto the hardwood floor.
"It was jist a wee bit o' wind" he whispered, and indeed, as if to counterpoint his thought, a gust whistled through the
"How many casualties?" the President whispered.
"Too many to count," the chief of staff said. "It has taken most New York State… and we don’t know if anybody is still alive in the area. It will be here in minutes."
"That’s it," the President said. "Call in the Air Force. We’re going to nuke it… and somebody shut that window!"
Outside, the crazed fluting of Rickman’s plasma filled the air.
The plasma lay along the eastern seaboard covering most of New York and New Jersey.
Flocks of birds cawed and fluttered.
The plasma ate them.
Three passenger jets inward bound from Europe passed overhead at thirty thousand feet.
The plasma threw up tendrils and ate them.
The bomber carrying the nuke came in at over a thousand miles per hour.
The plasma ate it.
The nuke exploded creating a fireball of white heat and radiation at more than a million degrees centigrade.
The plasma ate it, surged, and headed for Canada.
The President of the European Union got involved an hour later. Assembled in his room were the heads of the UK, France and Germany. The President of Russia was on a TV screen, linked in by satellite.
"So what is it doing now?" the President of the EU asked.
"Still growing," the Russian President answered. "And still feeding." He was white as a sheet, and visibly trembling.
"How many casualties?" the President whispered.
"Too many to count," the Prime Minister of the UK said. "It has covered most of North America and is heading South and East fast… and we don’t know if anybody is still alive anywhere. It will be here in minutes."
"We only have one option," the President said. `We hit it with every missile NATO and Russia have, and hope for the best. And somebody close that window!"
Outside, the crazed fluting of Rickman’s plasma filled the air.
Over a thousand nuclear weapons were launched in the next fifteen minutes… enough firepower to start, or finish, a global war, enough mega-tonnage to destroy every city on the planet.
The plasma ate them all and surged.
The last human beings on the planet got involved an hour later. Assembled in a lab at the South Pole were scientists from the US, Brazil, France and Germany.
"So what is it doing now?" the Brazilian asked.
"Still growing," the head scientist answered. "And still feeding." He was white as a sheet, and visibly trembling.
"Is there anybody left?" someone whispered.
"I doubt it," the Frenchman said. "The last we heard it had covered the rest of the planet and was heading south fast."
"We only have one option," the head scientist said. `We keep quiet, and hope it passes."
The crazed fluting of Rickman’s plasma filled the air.
The scientists sat in silence, barely breathing.
Their generator kicked in noisily.
The plasma surged.
~-oO0Oo-~
Can You Hear Them?
The noise came again just as Jim Reagan reached the edge of the field - the same high singing as before.
He tried to peer though the growing gloom of dusk, but all he could see was an expanse of whiteness - a completely snow covered landscape.
"Probably a fox" he told himself, but deep down, even though he would never admit it, he knew that no fox was capable of making that noise. Something was trying to get past his mental filters - something from his childhood - but it wasn't getting through. Not yet.
He made a note in his book that the south fence needed repairing again and was just turning back towards the house when someone spoke.
Can you hear them?
He turned, wondering how a person could have got so close without him noticing, but there was no one within sight, and the only tracks in the snow were his own.
Two minutes later he was standing in the hallway of his cottage, his breath coming in hot steaming gasps, his boots shedding compacted snow onto the hardwood floor.
"It was jist a wee bit o' wind" he whispered, and indeed, as if to counterpoint his thought, a gust whistled through the
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