From Beyond (closed)

[Somebody1123]

The Not Too Distant Future...

MONDAY - 10:42-10:59am

IT HAD STARTED as had any other day, for Wyatt. He had awoken, stepped out of bed, showered, shaved...

Nothing different about this day than any other. The TV was loud when he turned it on; he'd left it on standby all night, and cursed quietly under his breath. It wasn't a very new set, and it didn't take kindly to being left on all night in that way - he had already had the TV repair man out three times in a year to fix the damned thing.

The TV guy had said leaving it on standby wouldn't help the set, but the set was so old that it wouldn't keep the picture and sound settings. When he turned it off, he had to set them again.

That took all of a minute - far too long for such a busy man.

Wyatt liked to believe he was a busy man, but in fact, he wasn't. He didn't work nine-to-five hours; he didn't need to. His father had passed his wealth onto him - Wyatt was busy in the sense that he had alot of time to burn, and burning time setting up the TV every time he turned the damned thing on was not a priority on his list of things to do.

He switched over to the news, as he always did, when he first woke up. According to the clock in the lower left, it was 10:53am. He barely paid attention to the set - although certain words leapt out at him, words that had been repeating for so long now that nobody paid any attention; 'threat', 'tension', 'conflict'.

Nothing unusual about this day, he thought again.

Finishing off his cereal, he put the bowl in the sink - it could be washed by his cleaner - and walked to the window to gaze out at the city. As usual, a fine layer of smog had settled in; it wasn't that easy to see, because the air was cleaner than it had been in his youth. He remembered vividly driving towards London from the seaside, the smog visible hanging in the distance over the valley ahead, the swamp-infested valley that London was built upon.

Nowadays, the pollution was less intense. But it was still there. Actually, it was kindof pretty today; the sky was quite vivid blue in places, although it was cloudy, and the variation in shade made the sky leap out at you.

* * *

MONDAY - 11am-11:04am

Not a sausage stirred in the undergrowth, and not for the first time, the Major muttered under his breath - loudly. "Damned tree rats."

Scott stole a glance at his father, trying to hide his amusement. IT wasn't the first time that his father had been outwitted by a 'tree rat', nor would it be the last. Hopefully, though, they'd catch it again soon. They were breeding reds here for reintroduction, as per 'the plan'; the little grey bastards got everywhere, despite the efforts to exterminate them. The red squirrel population had been on the decline for years - over a hundred years, in fact. Now they were doing something about it - but Scott couldn't help but be amused at the red-faced Major outwitted by a tree rat.

Tree rats - grey squirrels - were outlaws. They were to be exterminated to make way for the native red squirrels - Sciurus Vulgaris.

Especially here, right at a spot where reds were being bred - artificially rapidly, of course. Natural breeding just didn't cut it; they only had a few thousand 'semi-captive' squirrels to work with, an alarming number of which were males. Before natural reproduction could replace the artificial, they would need a female to male ratio of four to one - at least. Otherwise the population wouldn't rise fast enough to replace the declining tree rat population - and keep the squirrel-food population down.

Scott spied the movement in the undergrowth, and levelled his rifle slowly, uttering a soft, "Shhhhhhh," to his father, who was still muttering.

He waited patiently, his father quieter but still going on; he hadn't noticed the movement. Scott had. He was a patient man, willing to wait however long it took to get his prey; he was no different with women, which had landed him in trouble on numerous occasions.

Usually the 'trouble' was being chased down the street by an errant husband with a pitchfork or some such - although that was probably the most extreme occasion.

Probably.

Still, this was no different a day to any other, Scott realized dimly. It felt so...

Usual. Normal. It was setting him on edge, he realized. Was that what people meant, when they said they felt something was going to happen? Was this the calm before the storm?

He realized he was being extremely melodramatic, and terminated that line of thinking with a well-placed shot from his rifle.

The tree rat - having been about three-quarters of the way out of the undergrowth - apparently knew what was best for it, when it was shot at close range with a rifle.

The major inspected the body - he prodded it with a steel toecap - and pronounced in a professional manner, "He's snuffed it."

* * *

MONDAY - 10:41am-11:03am

It was a painful day for Tanya. First, she had come home from a flight to Paris to deal with a client, early in the morning, to find her boyfriend screwing around with someone else.

She wouldn't have minded so much, if it hadn't have been her brother. Who had married Tanya's boyfriend's sister.

Who had then accused Tanya of being responsible for the whole situation.

Who had accused Tanya of turning her brother 'gay'.

Needless to say, she hadn't managed to get the two hours possible sleep available to her before work...

Furthermore, her dog had decided to be ill at some point, and had vomited on her second-best shoes, which she had been planning on wearing, since the current pair needed a good clean - and she didn't really have time to clean them.

As if any woman needed that on a Monday morning.

To make matters worse, when she arrived at work, her desk was cleared. Fuming, and already getting an inkling of what had happened, she marched into her boss' office.

And naturally, she greeted her with,

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The woman stared at her. "You're being released," she said slowly, "as you have not met your three-month target. Your desk has been cleared for you; your belongings are at the door. Get them from the guard."

"Bitch," Tanya spat, leaning on the desk with her hands. She felt a moment of extreme self-consciousness, aware that her cleavage was exceptionally visible in this outfit, in this position. But the moment passed, and her anger spiked again.

"You're only sacking me because your fucking brother is a good for nothing bastard who can't keep his cock in his pants!"

Tanya reflected that this probably wasn't the best way to keep her job, but what the hell did she care? She was already sacked; she'd take the bitch for thousands in court.

To her surprise, her ex-boyfriend's sister admitted it. "Yep," she said quietly, "but seeing as my father owns the business, and he wants you out, you're out. Go take it up with him." She sounded surprisingly concillatory, and Tanya was taken aback.

She even considered apologizing...

For a moment.

"Fuck you," Tanya informed her, more calmly, as she walked out of the office.

She didn't notice the sound of her footsteps or the sound of the older woman calling after her; nor did she pick up her belongings: she would do that later. Now?

Now she needed to walk.

So she did. She strode to the carpark, where her car was, and, it was only as she was leaving that she noticed her boyfriend's sister was racing across the carpark to her.

Ignoring her, she pulled away, and headed out-

But was blocked at the exit by a driver arguing with the guard about the cost of his parking. Annoyed, she suppressed the urge to honk on her horn.

She heard the tap on her window; noting it was her boss, she sighed and wound the window down, resolving to be nicer.

Really. Nicer.

"I'm sorry," her boss told her, "but Daddy doesn't want to believe that Stuart is gay. As far as he's concerned, you left Stuart for no reason... I don't know how to tell it to you, Tanya. And I'm sorry about my phonecall earlier, after Stuart left your place and came over to tell me what happened... I didn't mean it, really. We all knew... well. We hoped he'd changed, not because we disapprove but well, because Daddy just doesn't understand."

Tanya stared at her. She had just been sacked, her boyfriend had been fucking her brother, and her dog had vomited on her shoes, and the woman was telling her about her familial difficulties as an excuse for why she had been an utter bitch?

Tanya wasn't in a forgiving mood. She stared daggers at the other woman. "Philippa, have I ever told you that you're a self-centered sow? I swear! You just sacked me, took away my job, and you're trying to tell me you're sorry but it's all Daddys fault?"

Tanya tried to understand, under the fury. She had known Philippa, Stuart, the whole family for years - why had she not seen it? Why had she not seen it before?

"Daddy tells me what to do. He owns the company," Philippa insisted.

"You know the company will be seeing me in court? I can't let it go."

Philippa stared at her. Tanya looked at her eyes, tried to figure out what the other woman was thinking. Tried, and failed. She couldn't see beyond the anger at this woman, the anger at her insensitivity - didn't she understand how badly it hurt to be so betrayed by both boyfriend and brother in the same way at the same time?

Obviously not, Tanya reflected. "Look," she said, following a deep breath; Philippa was still just staring at her, "maybe I'll go see your father, try to sort it out."

Philippa looked relieved; Tanya couldn't quite figure out...

"Oh, Tanya, thank-you, thank-you," Philippa let out, with a sigh of relief; Tanya didn't understand still, but she was sure she would.

"If he doesn't listen, I'll still take you to court," Tanya insisted, watching Philippa's face carefully.

Exactly what she expected: the woman flinched slightly. Ah, Tanya thought, the sow doesn't want to go to court. I wonder why.

Tanya noticed that the driver ahead of her was about to pull away, so she wound up her window, ignoring the pained look on Philippa's face. The bitch deserved worse than a window being wound up in front of her, in Tanya's opinion.

But Tanya had no tolerance for people who weren't considerate of others feelings.

That was why she drove away without a word, ignoring the pain on Philippa's face.

She ignored the voice at the back of her mind informing her that that was ironic to the extreme...

 

[Somebody1123]

MONDAY - 11:00am-11:11am

Wyatt gazed up at the aircraft that caught a gleam of sunlight so very brightly just for a moment; it was startling, bright, and just for an instant, it sparked a memory.

He had had a nightmare the evening previous, a terrible, terrible nightmare. He didn't remember the events when he awoke, but he woke up sweating, trapped in his bedsheets from rolling around anxiously in his sleep.

Now he remembered one single thing: there had been a bright white light in his dream. He had been so very terrified of the light, for it had expanded and filled his vision, and there had been nothing else but the light and the screams...

He shook his head. Just a dream. This day, he repeated to himself - his unease increasing - is just like any other.

And that was when the bells began to ring...


MONDAY - 11:05am-11:11am

"Snuffed it indeed," he agreed, not without a small amount of compassion for the poor little blighter. Occasionally he felt more sympathy than other times - he remembered that the grey squirrels (tree rats, he asserted) had been brought to Britain by humans. It's not like they'd built little boats and sailed the Atlantic on their own; they couldn't be blamed.

But they did need to be removed, and there just wasn't the money to move them. Nor was it really possible; it was okay on a little island, one could manage sometimes to relocate an animal population then, if it were small enough...

But the tree rat population wasn't small.

He slung the corpse over his shoulder in the special bag they carried; the little guy would get a funeral of sorts, later on, with the others. They'd say a few words; that the sacrifice was not in vain...

That had been Lucy's idea. Silly, silly Lucy. Lucy who thought that the squirrels - tree rats! - deserved a proper burial. Lucy who had pushed and pushed until the others agreed.

Silly, sweet, pretty, wonderful Lucy. He sighed, catching a glance from the Major.

"Not sympathetic, are you? Hm? Hm? Better not be. Damned tree rats," he grumbled. He was still sore about that miss.

The path opened up as they progressed through the trees, leading out into an open space. They could see the river from here; this was in fact a public park, but they had a little square of land hidden away from the public, fenced in. They paused to stare across the river at the white elephant built for the beginning of the millenium, each sparing a chuckle before turning back to the trees to head home...

Both stopped short at the sound of the bells chiming loudly...


MONDAY - 11:11am

Tanya was driving, with her radio on full blast. Some rubbish was playing - some of that teenage gumph, she was sure, but she'd never been into that pop nonsense.

Consequentially, she didn't hear the bells. She heard something worse.

The music on her radio stopped sharply, and she blinked in surprise; it was replaced with a serious-sounding voice, but there was something wrong with that voice: it sounded terrified.

And so was Tanya by the time the voice had stopped speaking.

 

[Somebody1123]

MONDAY - 11:11am-11:15am

Wyatt screamed. For the first time in his life, he screamed. He had run into the living room to stare at the tv, remembering the troubled months before - and his worst fears were there on the screen.

"Get to the predesignated locations you were informed about in the recent Government publications immediately," the man was telling him.

Wyatt wished he'd listened. He had, what, two minutes? To run down five flights of stairs... and get to the underground whilst, what, a hundred thousand people in this area, perhaps? tried to do the same.

Wyatt sagged against his couch.

He was dead. That was all there was to it. He sobbed pitifully as he hauled himself to his feet; if he was to die, he would watch. He managed to crawl to the window - somehow, his sobs slowed him down. He didn't dare look at his watch; he knew it would be soon.

The bells stopped ringing; that wasn't good, if he was remembering right.

* * *

The major beckoned his son on, towards the old shelter. It wasn't that deep, and it wouldn't protect them from the radiation pulse - there wasn't enough earth between them and the air, he knew - but they would be able to get access to the sewers from down there.

And maybe they could gain some protection from the effects of fallout down there.

The major had planned for this; he had seen it coming. "Stupid bastards," he muttered, shocking his son, "can't tell their arse from their elbow."

Scott wasn't sure who his father was talking about, but he'd never heard him speak like that. Nor did he know his father was quite so mobile; he was actually having difficulty keeping up.

But the shelter wasn't too far; the only problem was the iron grille covering the entrance, locked tight.

Scott flinched and jumped with alarm as his father solved that problem in the most simple way available: he shot the damned thing open with the gun.

Yanking the entrance open, Scott found himself shoved into the shelter-

* * *

Tanya swallowed the instinctual 'scream your head off' response. Get to a shelter, the man had said.

Well, she was about one minutes drive from Mrs Peters allotment, wasn't she? And hadn't that batty old moo had her late husband build her a fallout shelter?

Mrs Peters would let her in; she knew she would. She opened her car door, shocked to see a car ride up onto the pavement and mow down at least thirty or forty terrified people who were trying to enter the Inderground along with a massive crowd just across the street.

The drive there was a blur. She didn't see anything, because the chaos was too disturbing; people were mown down by cars mounting pavements, cars smashed into other cars, people screamed as they lay bleeding on the streets - a rare few ignored, most helped by those compassionate enough to stop, even though they knew they had only minutes to get to shelter. A lump came to her throat; it was insane, but despite the fact that its existance was probably limited to about two minutes, she was proud to be British. Except for the whole insane-driving bits; somehow, the pedestrians seemed calmer than the drivers. She was glad to be out of her car as she dashed down the alley - utterly deserted - to the allotment.

She leapt over the wall around the small area of land - God only knew what it was doing here, in the middle of the city, but according to Mrs Peters it had been protected by some agreement that went back a few hundred years. The fallout shelter was pushing the terms of that agreement, but nobody really cared anymore.

She banged on the hatch, after she removed the small leaf camoflauge that Mrs Peters had put over the top. "It's me!"

She heard the hatch opening and heaved a sigh of relief. "Nobody else better be with you," the old lady informed her, shaking a bread knife in what she probably thought was a menacing way.

"Nobody else," she asserted, trying to ignore the pangs of grief that ripped through her already: was everybody she had ever known or loved going to die?

What about Scott Dobey? He had been her first love; he had played skiprope with her even though he was a boy and the other boys had taken the piss out of him something rotten for years afterwards. But he had wanted to hold her hand, and she wouldn't let him unless he played that game. She thought that cruel, looking back; she knew he would get stick for skipping with the girls. Like when she had painted his fingernails in return for a kiss...

She tried not to sob as she realised she would never get the chance to apologize; she didn't even know where Scott was, or even if he was alive.

On the way here, brief as the journey had been, she had wondered whether or not she would survive this. She had begged God to allow her to survive, even though she didn't believe in Him in the slightest; now, at this time, anything would help.

Now...

Now she wasn't so sure she wanted to survive at all.

No, that was ridiculous. Of course she wanted to survive.

Didn't she?

* * *

Wyatt couldn't help but look at his watch: thirty seconds late.

He had never been more full of joy; time stretched out, his mind a whirl with reasons as to how they'd got it wrong... ranging from the sane - computer error - to the insane: a spider on a satelite, or perhaps a practical joke by a teenage hacker...

He laughed out loud; danced away from the window, spinning with joy as if dancing as he did, crying, "They got it wro-"

The flash cut his celebration short, and, as the white expanded to fill his vision (although it had a curious red tinge to it; somewhere at the back of his mind, Wyatt realised that the flash had seriously injured his eyes, and that he was probably bleeding from them), Wyatt had time only to sob once more before his building was blasted away by the initial shock of the blast.

* * *

Scott hadn't been aware that his father was claustrophobic. Nor had his father bothered to tell him before they were in the dank, cold, dark room just off of the shelter. This was where they'd wait; moving around might prove dangerous, as the sewers were bound to collapse in places as the buildings fell. Here, under the park, there were no buildings.

Then the rumbling boom came; it was louder than anything either of them had ever thought possible.

Scott was not embarrassed to admit to himself that he was terrified, and he huddled closer to his father - who was even more terrified than him. He hoped his father didn't have a flashback; that would be so much harder to deal with when one knew that millions were possibly dying right above your head.

The rumble seemed to go on forever, and then Scott realised it was: he wasn't hearing a thing. His feet didn't make a sound, and nor did his father's lips when they moved. Nor did his.

"We're deaf," he mouthed.

"I know," his father informed him; Scott hoped their torch lasted.

"Let's wait a little while longer," Scott suggested, needing to repeat the longer sentence a couple of times so that his father could understand. Lipreading wasn't as easy as it looked.

His father just nodded; he looked despondant. Scott could sympathize.

For some strange reason, Scott was thinking of his first love. He had been six, she had been seven. She had been an angel, he was sure, until he had been about thirteen or fourteen. He had realised she wasn't, then; but she was as close - in looks - to one as he could possibly imagine, even now.

He smiled fondly at the memory of her painting his nails - she had insisted he let her, if he was to be allowed to kiss her on the lips, just once.

He remembered that he would've cut off his damned fingers, if it had let him kiss those lips, just once.

He laughed softly at the memory, but his father did not look up: he was asleep, or seemed to be.

Scott sighed, and stretched; he would have to wake him soon. They could not stay here.

* * *

Tanya held the old lady in her arms, gently, for she was frail. She was crying hysterically; the sounds terrified her, so loud were they. There had been a long, low rumble, and then there were a series of booms and bangs from above... and then the ground had shaken.

Tanya was almost certain they were sealed in, but she had told the old lady it was probably just gas mains exploding. There would be alot of that going on up there, she knew.

She shivered, huddling closer to the other woman with fear...