Monday 0700 hours
Thomas was the first to wake.
He looked over to the still sleeping form of his father. He knew that he would not have got to sleep 'til late so left him where he was.
He stood and stretched, breathing a great lungful of the fresh country air.
His twelve-year old brain saw the beauty in the surrounding area, he knew all about the cleanliness and the quiet of the country; much better than the horns and sirens in the city.
Thomas looked across the fields and saw a strange sight…
A group of figures walking next to the high hedges. From that distance it looked like they were dressed in white, their heads were a funny shape. One of them stopped and turned in his direction, raising something to its head. He saw the glint of sunshine reflected off something shiny and put his hand over his eyes, waving with the other.
The bright flash disappeared and he lowered his hand.
The figures were gone.
Thomas tried to see were they had gone and couldn't work it out.
He ran to the prone form on the ground a few feet away and dropped down next to him. He reached out his thin arms and shook the figure awake.
'Dad, dad! Wake up, I just saw aliens.'
He waited until the man opened one eye and sat back on his haunches.
'Dad…why are there aliens in the village?'
Philip opened the other eye.
'What? … who?'
But the boy had already forgotten, distracted by a colourful butterfly as it flew past his face.
Monday 0730 hours
Mary Royston reached out and opened the curtains in her small bedroom, the early morning daylight streaming through the glass.
She looked out unto the village in the world beyond the transparent barrier.
Village life was always slow to get started…
There was the milkman going about his rounds, delivering milk to all and sundry.
He whistled as he walked, the crates with the white liquid sloshing in the bottles at his side.
He wave to people that were up and about; old lady Morris, just opening the local shop, Mr. White, the landlord of the villages one and only pub. Several others that he passed.
She shifted her gaze and saw two middle-aged women chatting over the connecting wall to their houses. Both had on dressing gowns and slippers.
She smiled and walked to her dressing table, starting to get ready for another day.
She remembered last night; the disturbances that people had phoned inn while she had been at the station.
She remembered the radio call from Steve and wondered how he was that morning. She would have to check that as soon as she had the time.
She reached out and picked up the fine-bristled brush, pulling it through her long auburn hair.
After all the excitement of last night she was looking forward to another quiet day.
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As Mary was combing her hair, the women on the street discussing who was doing what to who on the soap of the day, and the milkman was delivering the last of the days milk, Steve Finch was bending over the toilet in his house on the other side of the village.
He opened his mouth and spewed forth a mixture of red and yellow vomit,
It spattered on the side of the bowl and ran down the sides into the already filthy water there.
He stopped for the moment and wiped the back of his hand across his lips, smearing the concoction across his cheeks.
Feeling finished for the time being he turned and sat heavily on the carpet.
He hung his head in his hands and gasped in deep breaths, breathing through the smell of the sewage that he had vomited out his mouth. He had never smelt anything quite so vile before.
The last thing that he remembered was getting home after his duty the night before.
He had taken a couple of headache tablets with a cold glass of tap water and then had gone straight to bed, the pain at his temples threatening to make him sob in pain.
In forty years of life he had never felt anything like that pain.
That was until he had woken up and felt the pain that was starting in his stomach.
He had rolled from his bed, only semi-aware of doing so and staggered to the bathroom. He had just made it before the fluid had burst from his mouth.
He closed his eyes and took another breath, making up his mind to call the doctor as soon as he was able to get to his feet.
He felt the gorge start to rise again and turned sluggishly back to the ceramic bowl.
Maybe he would be able to call later.
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Philip strode down the main street in the centre of the village, Thomas at his heels like a puppy.
The boy carried the rolled up sleeping bags, each tied with twine to keep them from springing open, he carried the tent in its bag, the drawstring pulled tight.
As he walked he thought back to what he heard his son say earlier…Why are the aliens here?
He smiled at the thought but, was also slightly troubled. It wasn't like the boy to make up stories, especially something so…specific as aliens.
He had obviously seen something, but what/
What indeed.
They passed the local shop and his son ran in.
He had promised him some sweets and the boy had not forgotten the promise.
He stepped faster to catch him up, catching the door on the backswing. As he stepped into the cool air of the small, one floor building he saw a vehicle pull past. Nothing unusual in that. He thought that someone must be doing quite well to get a car like that, then nothing more of it as the black SUV, its dark windows seeming to suck in the sunlight, crawled slowly past.
The shop was very orderly; the shelves stocked with almost everything that a person could want.
'Good morning Mr. Ceris.'
Philip looked at the smiling face of the shop owner Mrs. Morris.
He smiled in response.
'Morning Mrs. Morris. It's going to be a beautiful day again I think.'
'That would be nice. Think it may rain later on.'
Philip kept the smile on his face.
That was the thing about the old girl, o matter how good the day, how good the weather, she had a knack of making it sound like it wouldn't last. It wasn't a bad thing, just the way that she was.
Thomas tugged at his sleeve, a huge chocolate bar clenched in his small fist.
'Whoa champ, you eat all that your teeth will fall out.'
The boy lowered his head and started to walk back to where he had picked the bar up from. The old lady was there like a ghost when he arrived, he had never seen her move from the counter. She bent down and whispered in his ear.
'That's okay dearie, just make sure to brush your teeth good and proper after you eat it.'
She gave him a wink and swatted him playfully on the bottom. He turned around and, smiling broadly, waited patiently near the door.
Philip pulled his wallet from his trouser pocket but she waved him gently away.
'First customer of the day always gets a free feed.'
She turned her back and walked into the back room.
Philip pulled a couple of pound notes from the wallet and put them on the counter. He walked over to his son and walked back out into the sunlight.
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Martin Spencer lifted the shotgun in his hands and took aim.
The duck that he had set his eyes on flew up into the air and started to fly to the west. He tracked the birds movements with a practiced hand and, finally, when it seemed that the bird was out of range, that he pulled the trigger.
The shot flew through the air and hit the bird as it started to veer a different direction.
It folded and headed for the ground, its wing all but gone.
Spencer stood from his crouch and started walking to where the bird came down. He walked through the bushes and was shocked almost rigid when he almost stepped on the partly burned body of a naked woman.
He took a hasty step backwards, his eyes riveted on the corpse in front of him, half in sunshine and half hidden. He overcame his horror and reached out a hand, sure that the figure would vanish as soon as he touched it.
His hand was mere inches from it when he noticed the green dot that had appeared on the back of his hand. The light started to travel up past his wrist then on to his arm. It travelled up and up, over his bicep and then across his chest. It came to rest over his heart.
He heard a sot click from somewhere ahead in the dense undergrowth and knew, too late, that he wouldn't find the fowl that he had shot.
The noise, when it came, sounded like a soft pop in the silence of the day.
The camouflaged shooter pulled the bolt back on the high-power rifle and then ducked back into the bushes, gone in the next instant.
Moments later several figures appeared and moved both the body of the poacher and the naked, burnt woman.
Three minutes after the shot the area looked as if it hadn't been disturbed.
As the figures vanished back the way they had come none noticed the partly submerged remains of another body in the river nearby.
It floated for a moment or two and then sank beneath the calm waters.
The river flowed on towards the village nearby.