lifted. She
might not have found help, but she had helped them find a route that might lead
them to somewhere better. Where there was a road, there would be – eventually –
civilisation.
She set off to circle
the shell of the Centre, but was pulled up short by Alyssa who still held her
hand, but refused to move. Nicola looked down at her daughter and saw her
pointing above the trees on the far side of the clearing. Following the
pointing finger with her gaze, Nicola could see three shapes in the sky. They
were vaguely triangular, but these were no jets. They were hovering like
helicopters, but there were no rotors. As she watched, they zigged and zagged
from side to side, contrails of missiles fired from the ground passing between
them, and Nicola realised they were hovering somewhere over the burning field
from which they’d fled.
From their bases,
thick green streams of light shot out, parallel to the paths of the missiles. A
few moments after the appearance of the beams, Nicola could hear a singing,
whining noise which was accompanied by a rumbling, roaring, crumbling noise
like a distant rock-fall. The three UFOs started to move closer, and so did the
noise. If they kept on in a straight line it wouldn’t be very long before the
beams, and the steadily loudening noise, would arrive at the clearing in which
they were standing.
Once more she scooped
Alyssa into her arms, turned to face all the people who were still staring at
the apparitions in the sky, and screamed, “ Run !”
Fifteen
Tony hated the
countryside. He always had. He’d been brought up in North Manchester where
grass was for parks and trees were the things which they periodically planted
on the edges of pavements and left to die. He’d never seen the attraction of
walking the hills or wandering by the sides of rivers. He was a creature of the
city-centre; of clubs and pubs, shops and restaurants, paving stones and
tarmac. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really thought about it, but he hadn’t known
that such places as this really existed. This was not the kind of woods that
you saw on television with rosy-cheeked couples walking hand in hand, their
over-sized dog bounding around them looking for sheep to worry. There were no
paths in this forest, just trees and fallen leaves, mud and stone and moss. His
city shoes slid on the slickness under foot, a crust of mud forming around the
leather sole. Sam stumbled after him, the heels of her shoes, admittedly
shorter than they might have been, either sinking into the soft ground, or
skittering on stone. She hung onto his arm and he half-guided, half-carried her
through the dimness.
He kept expecting to
come across some kind of path or clearing, but these woods seemed entirely
unmanaged and untouched by human hand. He wondered how long it had been since
anyone had walked between these trees, or even if they ever had. Maybe this was
primordial forest that had never known man’s presence before.
This thought was cut
short when they passed around another of the impenetrable stands of trees which
blocked their way, to see that the trees ended only a hundred yards in front of
them. The woods thinned allowing sunlight to light the ground, and then there
was grass visible beyond.
As they walked towards
this oasis of light the leaf-litter became more sparse and the ground grew more solid underfoot, making the going easier and allowing
them to move faster. A few yards from the end of the shade, Tony saw a picnic
bench sitting on the grass in the sunlight. For a moment he wondered if it was
a mirage, a drowning man spying a pool of water with its attendant date trees.
But it never wavered, and as they emerged finally into the light he saw that it
was not isolated. Beyond the bench were four, five, six, ten, twelve more. They led in a scattering to a large brick
building with a glass conservatory. And then Tony saw the sign at the front
which announced this was The Hare and Hounds. They’d found a pub,
might not have found help, but she had helped them find a route that might lead
them to somewhere better. Where there was a road, there would be – eventually –
civilisation.
She set off to circle
the shell of the Centre, but was pulled up short by Alyssa who still held her
hand, but refused to move. Nicola looked down at her daughter and saw her
pointing above the trees on the far side of the clearing. Following the
pointing finger with her gaze, Nicola could see three shapes in the sky. They
were vaguely triangular, but these were no jets. They were hovering like
helicopters, but there were no rotors. As she watched, they zigged and zagged
from side to side, contrails of missiles fired from the ground passing between
them, and Nicola realised they were hovering somewhere over the burning field
from which they’d fled.
From their bases,
thick green streams of light shot out, parallel to the paths of the missiles. A
few moments after the appearance of the beams, Nicola could hear a singing,
whining noise which was accompanied by a rumbling, roaring, crumbling noise
like a distant rock-fall. The three UFOs started to move closer, and so did the
noise. If they kept on in a straight line it wouldn’t be very long before the
beams, and the steadily loudening noise, would arrive at the clearing in which
they were standing.
Once more she scooped
Alyssa into her arms, turned to face all the people who were still staring at
the apparitions in the sky, and screamed, “ Run !”
Fifteen
Tony hated the
countryside. He always had. He’d been brought up in North Manchester where
grass was for parks and trees were the things which they periodically planted
on the edges of pavements and left to die. He’d never seen the attraction of
walking the hills or wandering by the sides of rivers. He was a creature of the
city-centre; of clubs and pubs, shops and restaurants, paving stones and
tarmac. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really thought about it, but he hadn’t known
that such places as this really existed. This was not the kind of woods that
you saw on television with rosy-cheeked couples walking hand in hand, their
over-sized dog bounding around them looking for sheep to worry. There were no
paths in this forest, just trees and fallen leaves, mud and stone and moss. His
city shoes slid on the slickness under foot, a crust of mud forming around the
leather sole. Sam stumbled after him, the heels of her shoes, admittedly
shorter than they might have been, either sinking into the soft ground, or
skittering on stone. She hung onto his arm and he half-guided, half-carried her
through the dimness.
He kept expecting to
come across some kind of path or clearing, but these woods seemed entirely
unmanaged and untouched by human hand. He wondered how long it had been since
anyone had walked between these trees, or even if they ever had. Maybe this was
primordial forest that had never known man’s presence before.
This thought was cut
short when they passed around another of the impenetrable stands of trees which
blocked their way, to see that the trees ended only a hundred yards in front of
them. The woods thinned allowing sunlight to light the ground, and then there
was grass visible beyond.
As they walked towards
this oasis of light the leaf-litter became more sparse and the ground grew more solid underfoot, making the going easier and allowing
them to move faster. A few yards from the end of the shade, Tony saw a picnic
bench sitting on the grass in the sunlight. For a moment he wondered if it was
a mirage, a drowning man spying a pool of water with its attendant date trees.
But it never wavered, and as they emerged finally into the light he saw that it
was not isolated. Beyond the bench were four, five, six, ten, twelve more. They led in a scattering to a large brick
building with a glass conservatory. And then Tony saw the sign at the front
which announced this was The Hare and Hounds. They’d found a pub,
Similar Books
