The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller (6 page)

This idea was immediately rejected as, without missing a step or even moving its head to ‘look’, it swung its nearest arm in an overhead arc and plunged it into the concrete wall. The other arm followed, and in two or three more short movements the Stone Man had effortlessly clawed its way up the wall, pulling itself up using its arms alone. Once it was on top of the wall, it got its legs underneath itself once more and stood, walking again without any pause and smashing through the metal railings that fenced off the drop, which gave way with a deafening, screeching wrench. The concrete beneath its feet continued to crack as it walked. I stood and watched, mouth agape, struggling to comprehend it, yet fascinated by seeing this incredible walking object carry out a new series of movements. Behind him, the railings remained splayed outwards where he’d smashed through (sorry, where
it
had smashed through, must remember that) and looked like the wall of a burst metal stomach after some kind of horrible, monstrous pregnancy. That might sound like an odd way to describe the scene, but I can remember it clearly; standing on the flyover, staring down, and feeling an immense sensation of unreality. It felt like this was happening to someone else, or that I was dreaming. In that moment it finally hit me, the crazy undeniability of what I’d actually been seeing, and when I think about it now I wonder if—from the moment it began walking across Millennium Place—I’d been in shock up until then. I don’t know. But watching it cross the pavement towards the edge of the ring road, all I could think was
This
is fucking insane! This is fucking insane! This can’t be happening, it CAN’T be happening!

As the sound of the chopper drew overhead, barking orders that I was no longer listening to, I realised that there was a lack of any other nearby sound. In my temporary state of delirium, it took me a moment or two to understand why, but then I had it: no cars on the ring road. The police had already closed it off, a response carried out at a speed which astonished me at the time, but in hindsight I imagine it would have been quite easy; get on the radio, send out the units, and park them at entrances and exits. Quick, simple and effective. I realised I could hear more sirens in the distance, and another, deeper sound starting to join them. More helicopters. Military, I wondered? They still wouldn’t know if this was a terrorist attack of some sort … or perhaps bringing in heavy artillery in an attempt to take the Stone Man down, I wondered wildly. Had I been thinking more clearly, and not feeling as mentally battered by the tectonic shift in reality that seemed to be happening around me, I would have realised that this was a stupid thought; the Stone Man was still in a heavily populated area, and so far no attempt to stop him by less dramatic methods had been made. They hadn’t tried out the less extreme responses yet, so they weren’t about to start dropping the nukes already. The fog of growing crisis still hung over all of their options, after all; they didn’t have a fucking clue what was going on.

I watched the Stone Man crash through the railings on the central reservation, and realised that I’d better get a move on if I actually wanted to get ahead of the thing. I didn’t have a plan, but I did have enough awareness at that point to grab a quick shot of it from above. I even fumbled my Dictaphone out and made a verbal note (
straight line from transport museum, through Cook Street and Tower Street and post office depot, onto ring road
) then began to run across the flyover, intending to reach the other side some way ahead of the lumbering figure below. I never made it.

***

Better have some water. Gentleman Jim is making his presence felt already, and I feel a little warmer. I didn’t realise I was such a lightweight these days … I’d better pace myself for a bit, at least until I get nearer the end, otherwise this’ll end up even more of a rambling waffle than it no doubt already is. Actually, I might as well have some of the mini bar’s bottled water. Heh. Something I normally avoid out of principle. Principle … that’s what’s gotten me to this point in the first place, the principle of the thing. I blame the sergeant. Henry, that old bastard. Why couldn’t he have just …

Sod it. I’m having another bourbon. The last thing I need is to start thinking about that guy.

So anyway. The flyover. I could tell I’d been out for a good few hours, as the sun had dropped considerably. The sky was displaying that beautiful early summer evening haze, the kind that casts those warm shadows that I love so much. Of course, I didn’t stop to appreciate this, as I was too busy freaking out over what had just happened.

Wait, wait … I’m getting ahead of myself. I’d passed out, did I mention that? Sorry, don’t think I did. Yeah, one minute I’d been on the flyover, running across, then bam, next thing I knew it was several hours later and I was lying on my side on the floor of the flyover with a headache, hearing nothing but sirens and helicopter blades. When I realised what had happened, and the shock hit me, I did just about the worst thing I could have done; I jumped to my feet, panicking, and not thinking about any possible head injuries that I could have just made ten times worse by jerking myself upright.

I was breathing in short gasps, almost hyperventilating, as I tried to work out what could have happened. Was it shock that had caused it? Had I been hit by something, attacked maybe? The other thing that was rattling around frantically in my head was the thought of being scooped, that the biggest story of my entire career—a story that would possibly be the biggest of
anyone’s
career—had slipped through my fingers whilst I was having a nice nap on a ring road flyover. I rushed to the railings. The Stone Man was long gone, and it was clear that he had indeed stayed on the same trajectory; the small unit of apartments on the other side of the ring road was partially collapsed, with several people sitting by the roadside wrapped in blankets. The chopper was gone too, obviously prioritising its observation mission over collapsing men on flyovers. Two ambulances were at the scene though, and a few people in fluorescent clothing were picking through the rubble, waving handheld devices. When I saw the headgear they were wearing more clearly, I realised that their bright clothes were yellow hazmat suits. Beyond all that, in the distance, the sky was filled with smoke, and I could see several choppers hovering near the black haze in the sky. There was so much
noise
coming from that direction, a cacophony of different chaotic sounds that I will never forget.

I pulled out my phone as I felt gingerly along the back of my head and the sides of my face; there appeared to be no bumps on my skull, but there were what felt like small scratches on my left cheek that stung when I touched them. I paid them no heed and unlocked my phone, going straight to my contacts book. I’d always stored the relevant numbers for national news outlets in the hopeful but unlikely belief that I might come across something on a national news level (and had even submitted pieces to them from time to time, but had gotten nowhere) but even though I had a hollow, sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach because I knew it was probably too late, I thought I’d try anyway. If nothing else, I had the pictures, and they had to be worth something. I dialled the
Sun
, and when I just got a beeping sound, I looked at the screen.
Call failed
. I tried again, and got the same result, and again with all the other numbers. I had full signal on the handset, yet I was getting nowhere, just as if I were trying to place a mobile call at midnight on New Year’s Eve. This was getting bigger by the minute, and I was missing the whole damn thing. I decided to head towards the smoke.

As I ran across the flyover and down the steps on the opposite side of the ring road, my thoughts raced back to the fact that I’d passed out like that. Why the hell did that happen? I wondered wildly if the military had tried some sort of gas, or a new kind of weapon to halt the Stone Man that had somehow had an effect on me as well. I didn’t like the idea of that. Plus, this headache was worrying. I had no painful spots or bumps on my skull, so I didn’t think I’d damaged my brain significantly, but it was a deep,
full
headache, unlike anything I’d had before. Not more painful, just a feeling like it was surrounding my whole skull. It made my eyes squint slightly, darkening the already darkened buildings around me even further. The sun was dipping fast.

I ran around the ruined apartment building, trying not to catch the eyes of the people sitting on the kerb. One was covered in dried blood, staring straight ahead, glassy eyed, whilst another was weeping hysterically. From what I could see in the air up ahead, it didn’t look like the destruction was stopping anytime soon; there would be more of this. I think of that moment often, seeing the looks on those people’s faces as I sprinted away, as they cried for their loved ones and their ruined homes, as I ran after the story and worried about getting beaten to the punch. Even now, I know that I would have done the same.

I don’t remember much about that sprint towards the smoke, as so much of it was simply more carnage and rubble. After a while, it lost its shock value, and I had a job to do. I have certain stand-out images of it in my head, of course, but they are only there as glimpses. The headache didn’t help, forcing me to focus on just putting one foot in front of the other to get to my destination as quickly as possible. You have to remember, this was sheer chaos; it didn’t even feel like it was really happening, as it was hard enough simply taking in the concept of a walking man made of stone. By comparison, emergency vehicles and ruined buildings were nothing out of the ordinary.

Memories: a fire engine freeing seven or eight people from a tree that they’d jumped into to get clear of their ruined building, the lower floors partially destroyed and blocked. A nursery completely flattened, the children fortunately all gathered safely on the lawn, already over the shock of the destruction and trying to play as staff counted heads and told them to stand still. A beautiful Porsche squashed down the middle, its owner sitting and sobbing helplessly by the side of the road in the arms of his girlfriend. A paramedic tending to a dying old man, who lay gasping clutching at his chest. A bus that had been concertinaed by a Stone Man-sized object that was no longer there, people still trapped on board as rescue crews cut an exit into it with an oxyacetylene torch. Bloodied people. Exposed wires fizzing and giving off sparks. Traffic, so much completely stationary traffic, horns blaring and filling the air and adding to the siren sounds and helicopter whirrs. The drivers all shouting; some people wanting to get out of the city, some wanting to see what was happening, others wanting to get home to either check on their loved ones or check if their home was there at all. And worst of all, at two separate locations, TV news crews. I’d missed it.

I was absolutely devastated, even moaning out loud as I pulled up at the sight of the first OB van, but already my mind was ticking over as usual, shutting down in the mechanical process of analysis rather than feeling. Going over the ways this could be salvaged.

At this stage, no one could have stills of the Stone Man in early motion as I had, or at least as many. Could they? No one seemed to be taking still shots as it first started to actually
walk
; they’d all been too stunned. And I was the only one, at least as far as the ring road, that had kept pace with it, although it was perfectly feasible that someone else could have done the same whilst I was unconscious on the flyover. But the odds were good that, providing most people that saw it during that time were amateurs, they would have gone for the standard mobile phone mp4, shooting
moving
video. Good for TV, yes, but I had stills of a higher resolution that would look far better when blown up on the news. Stations would still be interested in both.
Here’s some early footage … and here’s a clear close-up.
It wasn’t the strongest argument, but it was relevant.

One thing I do remember is feeling completely and totally physically fucked. The running became a jog, the jog became a wheezing walk, and the walk became a stop-start, hobbling, sweating farce. My fitness, as I suspected earlier, was a joke. The stitch that developed in my side soon turned into a barbed blade, and my breath tasted of metal. I was red faced and wincing, and that, combined with my headache, made it a nightmare. I’d also had some time to do a bit of maths as I ran, and I’d come to a rather worrying conclusion. It was now some time past seven in the evening. I’d reached Millennium Place sometime before five, and it wasn’t long after that the Stone Man had started walking; it was only a few minutes after
that
I’d passed out. Simple maths said that if the Stone Man had been travelling at normal walking pace—which to my knowledge was about three miles an hour—and I’d been unconscious for at least two, then it was already good six miles away. Although I might be able to catch up if I had the endurance, it was clear that I didn’t. Plus, by this stage, I think it was safe to assume that it now had a fairly heavy police or military tail of its own, and I wasn’t going to get close enough to get any good footage. I’d seen police blockages along the way, and even if there had been only those, there were enough destroyed vehicles and pileups causing dense traffic that getting a taxi to collect me in the first place—let alone one that would be able to get me ahead of the Stone Man—was out of the question. I was out of the loop.