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Authors: Simon Clark
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image unsettled me. If I'd been in charge I would have been inclined to herd the children into the relative safety of the cellar.
Mother Susan, however, had thought it best not to alarm them. So, with the exception of the darkness beyond the windows, it was business as usual - although I did suggest the precaution of posting a number of sighted Mothers as lookouts. These now patrolled the flat roof of the building. Occasionally, they would report back to a Grand Mother that slender stalks could be seen moving in that characteristic jerky motion beyond the walls.
***
Later, Mother Susan unerringly tracked me down to the refectory where I was being fortified with tea and toast. Joining me at one of the long tables she said briskly, 'Mr Masen, I usually find it best to ask this straight. Are you registered with any of the Mother Houses?'
'Registered?' I asked, deliberately playing dumb.
'Now, now, don't be coy with me, Mr Masen, you know perfectly well what I mean. Come now, are you registered?'
'No, I'm not.'
'But the island's population would benefit enormously from such fine blood as yours.'
'Well, I don't know if-'
'You have no philosophical objections to eugenics?'
'No, but-'
'Well, that's settled then. After this storm in a tea cup has blown itself out, and once we've returned to our proper routine you must call on us as our guest for dinner.'
'I'm due to fly out to-'
'Oh, there'll be no pressure, Mr Masen,' she said with a bright smile. 'Would next Friday suit?'
'Er, I'm not sure…'
'Excellent! Next Friday it is, then. And just you remember: the oats you sow needn't necessarily all be wild ones. Right, I'll leave you to your toast. And do try the gooseberry jam - it is sublime.'
As she climbed to her feet she smiled before adding breezily, 'Now, it's not every day you're invited to contribute in such a physical way to repopulating the world, is it?'
'Er, no… no, it's not.'
She left me feeling a trifle dazed and with her extraordinary invitation still hanging in the air. I would certainly have to think that one over for a bit.
At that moment, despite the shock of finding myself in darkness when there should have been daylight, and my alarm at the incursion of triffids that had crossed the Solent to land on the beach at Bytewater, I still believed that my life would, sooner or later, go on as before. I would continue to ferry passengers by air to the Scillies, Jersey and Guernsey, and make rarer forays deep into the mainland. I had no idea when I woke to the nightlands that all of that was over - the future I had envisaged dashed to pieces and then swept away like so much broken glass.
***
Later that day the anti-triffid squads arrived in their protective gear, armed with triffid guns. These teams of men and women were mustered from every walk of life. As soon as the triffid alert sounded they would have dropped whatever they were doing and rushed to their designated assembly points, ready to deal with any triffid attack. With their appearance I remained convinced that life would soon return to normal.
From an upper window of the Mother House I watched as vehicles closed in on the plants, their headlights blazing. Within minutes the triffids were being efficiently decapitated, thus depriving them of their ability to sting. Then, one by one, they were toppled and their stumpy timber legs were hacked away. After that, the stems and woody boles were hauled off to be processed and pulped as if they were nothing more sinister than bales of waste paper.
Within a few hours the island had been cleared of the triffid invasion. Triumphant radio broadcasts trumpeted the news.
But there were still ominous question marks hanging in the dark skies above us.
What had happened to the
Mother Susan, however, had thought it best not to alarm them. So, with the exception of the darkness beyond the windows, it was business as usual - although I did suggest the precaution of posting a number of sighted Mothers as lookouts. These now patrolled the flat roof of the building. Occasionally, they would report back to a Grand Mother that slender stalks could be seen moving in that characteristic jerky motion beyond the walls.
***
Later, Mother Susan unerringly tracked me down to the refectory where I was being fortified with tea and toast. Joining me at one of the long tables she said briskly, 'Mr Masen, I usually find it best to ask this straight. Are you registered with any of the Mother Houses?'
'Registered?' I asked, deliberately playing dumb.
'Now, now, don't be coy with me, Mr Masen, you know perfectly well what I mean. Come now, are you registered?'
'No, I'm not.'
'But the island's population would benefit enormously from such fine blood as yours.'
'Well, I don't know if-'
'You have no philosophical objections to eugenics?'
'No, but-'
'Well, that's settled then. After this storm in a tea cup has blown itself out, and once we've returned to our proper routine you must call on us as our guest for dinner.'
'I'm due to fly out to-'
'Oh, there'll be no pressure, Mr Masen,' she said with a bright smile. 'Would next Friday suit?'
'Er, I'm not sure…'
'Excellent! Next Friday it is, then. And just you remember: the oats you sow needn't necessarily all be wild ones. Right, I'll leave you to your toast. And do try the gooseberry jam - it is sublime.'
As she climbed to her feet she smiled before adding breezily, 'Now, it's not every day you're invited to contribute in such a physical way to repopulating the world, is it?'
'Er, no… no, it's not.'
She left me feeling a trifle dazed and with her extraordinary invitation still hanging in the air. I would certainly have to think that one over for a bit.
At that moment, despite the shock of finding myself in darkness when there should have been daylight, and my alarm at the incursion of triffids that had crossed the Solent to land on the beach at Bytewater, I still believed that my life would, sooner or later, go on as before. I would continue to ferry passengers by air to the Scillies, Jersey and Guernsey, and make rarer forays deep into the mainland. I had no idea when I woke to the nightlands that all of that was over - the future I had envisaged dashed to pieces and then swept away like so much broken glass.
***
Later that day the anti-triffid squads arrived in their protective gear, armed with triffid guns. These teams of men and women were mustered from every walk of life. As soon as the triffid alert sounded they would have dropped whatever they were doing and rushed to their designated assembly points, ready to deal with any triffid attack. With their appearance I remained convinced that life would soon return to normal.
From an upper window of the Mother House I watched as vehicles closed in on the plants, their headlights blazing. Within minutes the triffids were being efficiently decapitated, thus depriving them of their ability to sting. Then, one by one, they were toppled and their stumpy timber legs were hacked away. After that, the stems and woody boles were hauled off to be processed and pulped as if they were nothing more sinister than bales of waste paper.
Within a few hours the island had been cleared of the triffid invasion. Triumphant radio broadcasts trumpeted the news.
But there were still ominous question marks hanging in the dark skies above us.
What had happened to the
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