Blossom Burning

[nervouspete]

Hullo all!

My first post here. I'm a massive fan of the book and actually do feel rather confident about Spielberg's film. So I decided to do a bit of pre-emptive fan fiction as to his film, only without the film characters, as that would be stupid. In writing this I deduce the lead up to the invasion. More stuff will come later, if anyone enjoys it. It's all first draft, so please forgive any clumsiness.

Cheers,
Pete



Blossom Burning

Chapter One

By Peter Evans





Sheriff Leonard jogged across the main street to the bar. He swung open the screen door, flicking the dry brittle leaves into a merry dance. It was quiet inside, early afternoon. A perpetual drift of dust seemed to be sifting from the beams, creating a film between him and the bar. It made a lot of dry mouths in that place; even the complimentary peanuts were coated.

"A good afternoon to you, George,” he said, smiling ingratiatingly as he sat down.

George the bartender was an elderly black man who had seen too much in Mississippi to be at ease with the law. He smiled his best and said in a light, sweet sing-song voice, “It sure is, Sheriff, for all the leaves and that. Guess it might turn cold though.”

He had never had much trouble from the stocky, balding Sheriff. George regarded him with a nervous curiosity. The man sometimes called him boy when he wasn’t thinking. He barked orders on occasion, as if he were a servant, when he drank too much. But when there had been a nasty white on black beating rewarded with a feather-touch sentence down at county hall, at least Leonard stayed out of the bar. And at least the man couldn’t abide crowing or lording. Leonard was like a freshly quit smoker, the habit died hard but how he struggled to be good.

“Turn the radio on please, George.” He plucked the cold beer from the bartender’s hand, smacked his lips upon the rim and tipped back to enjoy the cold, fruit taste of it sliding down his gullet. Leonard only bought the expensive beer.

As ever, there was a match on the radio. It was little league stuff but diverting enough for Leonard who had a cousin on the subs bench. The voice crackled with a drawled, sleepy enthusiasm. Of a sudden the bases were loaded. It looked to turn pretty interesting.

The radio cut out.

“Damn, George! Just getting to the good stuff and now it all gone and… ah, hell.”

“I’m sorry, Mr Leonard.”

The Sheriff shifted himself around on his stool impatiently, rapping his fingers upon the bar. “Reckon you pulled the plug out with your foot, happened before, George old boy.”

"I got us a wireless one, now, Mr Leonard. Must have been the batteries, but I only bought them yesterday…” he trailed off wonderingly.

A few beers drunker and he might have argued the point. Sober as he was, he had a small rush of shame. “Sorry,” he muttered, waving his hand in a conciliatory gesture. He sat awhile enjoying his beer, while George washed the glasses.




The door swung open. A man in an apron jogged in from next door. Joe sold ice cream, few varieties but plenty of flavour. He looked a little like Ed Harris, Leonard thought. Like he should have been an astronaut but had a lousy careers teacher. Still, Joe did do pretty well from his trade.

“You’re electric gone?” asked Joe, marching towards the bar. “Mine’s all shot, been checking to see the fuses.”

“Just a sec… sir,” said George stooping down to check his fridge. “Nope, fridge gone too; must be a power-cut.”

“Ah damn,” said Leonard, drawing his fingers over his face and rubbing his chin. Some folk said he looked like Gene Hackman circa 1980’s. He didn’t quite believe them, but he didn’t contradict them. “Best phone the station. You’d be surprised at the mess a power-cut can cause.”

“You forget I own an ice-cream parlour, Mr Leonard. A couple of hours of this an’ no amount of mess will surprise me.”

“Damn strange.” Leonard put his mobile back in his pocket. “Give me your mobile, Joe, please?”

Joe handed it over and suffered a brief absurd spark of pride in aiding an officer of the law, despite the mundane nature of his role. He watched as Leonard stabbed in the number, with some difficult owing the tiny keypad. He matched Leonard’s frown as nothing happened.

Leonard flashed a nervous smile. “Funny how you don’t stop to think how the lil’l screen ain’t lit up, just go punching the numbers in anyhow. George, could I use your landline please?”

“Sure, Mr Leonard.”

As the dust fell, so did a heavy weight. The air grew tense. Leonard had used that special calm, sweet voice that the man of authority whispered when something was very wrong. There were three other men in the bar. They weren’t reading the papers now, they were looking at Leonard. He walked over to the side of the bar with the phone, dropped some coins into it and dialled.

There wasn’t even a tone.

Leonard’s mouth cracked dry. How long had it been since the radio had switched off? More than ten minutes. It was an insane thought… but were the missiles en route? The nearest city was over sixty miles away. The nearest town over forty. Blossom was the definition of a hick town, however so much pride they felt in it. Maybe they’d get by with a light rocking, a few windows smashed or…



“I don’t like that look on your face, Mr Leonard. What’s going on?” asked Joe softly. “You don’t think… do you?”

“I’m sure there’d be a siren…” laughed George nervously.

“You’d think,” said Leonard levelly. “I’m off to the station. Joe, George, find out for me if there are any radios or phones anywhere, still working.”

Leonard marched out quickly. He covered the width of the street in seconds, noting out of the corner of his eyes clusters of people talking.

“… ain’t heard any planes this last ten minutes, and we’re on the flight path…”

“… imagination can get people in a whole lot of trouble. Probably just a sun spot or something, if anything…”

“… dear I want you to take the car and go pick up the kids…”

That suppressed fear that spread like wildfire. A thousand small details screaming at you that something is wrong, but you don’t know what. He walked through the park, kicking up piles of dead leaves and swung through the rusted gate to the parking lot. Keys fumbled in lock. Pick them up. Breathe evenly. Open the door.

The radio wasn’t working of course, he wasn’t expecting it too. He turned the key. The engine didn’t start. Hands slapping on dashboard, kicking the pedals. Leonard was angry and cursing, and that was better at least than being scared. Better to let it all out now and then do what he had been elected to do.

A few minutes later a calmer looking Sheriff emerged from the patrol car. He walked back through the park to the main street. He always walked through the park, not the road. Parks are government property; they must be seen to be loved. And he liked the crackle of dry leaves underfoot.

There was quite a collection of people in main-street now. He saw Deputy Saunders in conference with the gathering. Saunders was young and dependable with a stolid, stupid smile and fast thoughts. He was sickeningly handsome.

“Please, we’re just in the dark as you are. Mrs Langley, I know it’s a disgrace. Yes, I know. You got washing to do, yes? Well, when the phones come back on I’ll be sure to tell you who you can complain to.”

Saunders was good, Leonard admitted. He had raised a laugh. Without the level heads, without the cool calm of authority the next one would have been in hysteria. He knew crowds, knew what they could be like. Seeing the bartender stood outside his keep, watching affairs from afar, he bet George remembered it all too well too.

Striding up fast, Leonard forced his most jovial tone of banter. “Saunders, being trying to call you! At this rate we’ll be left with just the old cup and strings.” He pulled up to a halt, tucked his thumbs into his belt loops and looked down at a kid. “Say, you got the old cup and strings… you know… toy telephone?”

The kid shook his head.

“Kids today. Probably has a mobile.”

The crowd chuckled. Not a comfortable laughter, but enough.

“Folks, I know y’all confused. I am too. Never seen anything quite like this. You get used to the noise, don’t you? Even way out here. Now, I got no word because I got no phone. But I can tell you it ain’t the Russians, or the Chinese, or Al Qaeda. We got a special alarm for that and it’s too simple to be tampered with by anything devilish. What we’ll be looking at is some sort of New Scientist weirdness, I reckon. So let’s leave the geek geniuses to fixing it and watch them poor suckers in the big cities pulling their hair out later on CNN. In the meantime, I want you all to go home. Some of you may have left irons or washing machines going. Make sure you have everything potentially dangerous switched off. Just leaves the lights on and the TV’s and radios plugged in. Now… me and Saunders are going to make the rounds, good day to you folks.”

The crowd weren’t exactly satisfied, but they did realise that it was turning a little cold and so the majority of them shuffled off. None of them raised the question as why their cars wouldn’t work. Why laptops were dead, even their mpeg players. They felt grateful for the false confidence; they didn’t want to spoil it.

Saunders slapped Leonard on the back. “Good work, chief.”

“Thanks. Say, do you hear a car?”

[nervouspete]

[continued]

Down the street came a battered old car. It was an old 50’s Cadillac and was a mix of mint green and grime. An old man grinned in the driver’s seat; tipping his Stetson to those he passed by.

“What a relic,” grinned Leonard.

“The man or the car?” shot back Saunders, automatically.

“That’s old man Smithers.”

“He run the amusement arcade?”

“There ain’t no amusement arcade, Saunders,” said the Sheriff, looking at him in suspicious surprise.

Saunders grinned.

The car pulled up sharply in a cloud of dust, some the dry road’s, most the cars. “Good afternoon, Sheriff!” called out the old man. Leonard muffled a cough and nodded back.

“Guess you know that everything’s gone and switched itself off except your car?” asked Leonard, amiably.

“I sure do. This car from the day before the devils abroad started shipping us their junk. Old reliable, that’s what she is. None of your fancy pants stuff. Pure class.”

Smithers’ was a little gone with old age, and intolerably nostalgic for what he viewed as the simpler times. Today was like a magical dream come true for him, a day where he could drive around as if on parade calling out, “See! See where your little handsets and computers and silly luxuries got you?”


“I’m sorry, Smithers, but I’ve got to go and commandeer your vehicle.”

“Aw!” spat the old man, scowling darkly.

“Now don’t you be giving me no grief, you hear? The only reason I let you drive around here is because there ain’t no traffic this time of day. By rights you should be off the road.”

“He’s barely ever on it,” whispered Saunders in his ear, grinning still.

Leonard chose to ignore the remark. “Now I need to get up to the District authority and find out what’s going on. You oblige me here, Smithers, and there’ll be some whiskey coming your way come Christmas.”

Complaining loudly, but thinking of the whiskey, Smithers handed over his car. Dropping the keys in Leonard’s hand, he gave a mocking arthritic bow and then tottered over to the bar, where George gave him a helping hand to get inside.

“Still no planes, chief,” said Saunders, who had fallen to a grim expression now the fun was over.

“I know, I know. It remind you of something?”

Saunders nodded. Closed his eyes and turned away.

Leonard got into his car and called after Saunders. “Third drawer down – in the second folder. It’ll tell you what you need to do if things get bad. Otherwise… you know what to do.”

Saunders waved his hand in acknowledgement but didn’t turn. He kept his resolute stride to the station.

Leonard gunned his engine and turned around in the street to head to Jackson. When he mounted the crest of the hill he would see the thin columns of smoke on the horizon, half a dozen in number. For now, he tried to enjoy the drive through the tree lined dusty roads, a whirlwind of dead leaves in his path.

[EvilNerfherder]

Hey, Nervouspete, welcome to the board!
That's a pretty good tale you got going there.. more please! I like your writing style.
When it's finished, if you like, Rob can host it on the main website for you along with some of our efforts.

[nervouspete]

Thanks, Evilnerfherder!

And you can pop it up onto your fanfic bit if you want. I'm having it as a slow mover to start with, just to build the tension. The martian invasion will kick off full, soon!

Meanwhile, here's the second part:


Chapter Two


Jessica stood in the middle of the road, scarf wrapped tightly around her neck and hands shoved deep in her pockets. It was getting colder. She had tried her mobile, but it had refused to even work. Standing in the road waiting for a car to come by seemed the best option at the time, considering the distance between her and Jackson and Blossom, but an hour had passed and none had come. Her nerves were beginning to fray.

She flicked her sandy hair out of her face and spat upon the road.
There was a distant whirring. A cloud of dust rose upon the crest. Something silver gleamed, moving fast.
“Hey!” she waved her arms, shouting.

The Cadillac tore down the road, crazily. Jessica ran to the side of the road just in time to have it whip past her. She swore, excessively.
Perhaps the words had carried, for the car slewed to a halt and began to reverse back up the hill. She saw a grim faced sheriff in the driver’s seat. He looked a bit like Gene Hackman, she thought.

“You need a lift, lady?” he called.

“Please!” She looked around her at the thick and tangled woods lining the roads, she didn’t feel like running in that wilderness, not in her shoes.

He leant across and the door swung open. He had a business face on, she saw, and was clearly impatient to be moving. She patted her pockets for her mobile and keys; hooked her handbag over her shoulder and got in the car.
“Thank you, Sheriff. I’ve been stuck in those woods for over an hour. I was beginning to get a little panicky.”

“No problem, ma’am. Where do you want me to drop you off?”

“Near a decent café with a phone; I’ll have to phone to get my car towed away.”

A grim chuckle issued from the man beside her, one that soon doubled up into a giddy laughter.

“Did I say something funny?”

“This may be one of only half a dozen cars still running in and around Jackson. Something’s happened that’s knocked out all the cars, ma’am. Electricity and mobiles have gone too, and the phone network.”
Leonard explained what he knew, sugared the pill as much as he could on they way through the woods. He decided to let her ask about the smoke when made the open road.

“Are those fires?”

“Plane crashes. Don’t ask me. I don’t know what’s going on. I guess they fell out of the sky when the electrics went.”

“Electro magnetic pulse?” she whispered.

“Say what they will about 9/11, it sure has broadened people’s vocabulary,” he replied, grimly sardonic. “Yeah, it looks that way to me.”

“You headed to the police station?”

“It’s going to be mighty busy there, ma’am. Again, I can recommend a good café, a reasonable hotel for you. I’m afraid that’s all I can do for now.”

“My husband will want to hear from me.”

“That’s all I can do. Lots of folk will be wanting to make calls. We can’t help ‘em.”


People stepped out of the houses as they tore past. Some ran to their cars and tried starting their engines, hopeful that this was a herald for the return of normality. Their curses and kicks against the useless hunks of metal were lost on Leonard and Jessica as they whipped past. They were going fast enough that the rushing wind was drowning out the cries and the hollers.
“That makes seven plumes.”

“Not all of them may be aircraft ma’am. Some may be industrial facilities.”

“Do you reckon that it’s just here, or nationwide?”

“I don’t have any answers ma’am.”

She turned back to look at the suburbs whipping by. “Could you do me a favour? Could you please stop calling me ‘ma’am’? My name’s Jessica.”

“Sure thing, Jessica,” he said.

Jessica watched as people stared at them go past. Kids pointed them out, asked their parents why the sheriff could drive when daddy couldn’t get the car going? Here a taut silence; there a frustrated bark or a cuff to the head: a parent quietly snapping in the face of a simple, innocent question.
“I feel like the Queen of a Macy’s Day Parade. All those people staring at me.”

“Don’t take it personal. It’s the car. They’re staring at the car.”

“And not at the sheriff and his floozy?” she asked sweetly.

Leonard laughed. He liked her. She wasn’t woman to bluster or to pretend a strength she didn’t have. Nor was she witless or scared. She accepted her fear and had her eyes and mind open. He almost wanted to invite her to the station as they pulled into Pascagoula Street, the grey slab of a police station surrounded by a small crowd.

“That’s probably gonna get bigger,” snorted Leonard. “People nowadays always wants the quick fix. Civilisation takes a holiday for a couple of hours and they’re already banging on my door.”

“They’re looking at the car.”

“Better not pull up here. I’ll get into the station car park.”

Leonard drove up to the gates and beeped the horn. Then he quickly reversed as four cops ran towards the gates and pulled them open with an effort. Half a dozen people in the crowd started moving towards the gates, but Leonard flung the car forward and they scattered fast. Jessica whipped around in her seat to watch the four policemen wrench the gate shut again, thwarting the crowd’s half-hearted effort to get in.
“You could do with oiling those gates,” said Jessica.

“They’re electric, installed last month.”

“Oh.” Jessica wondered how long the emergency would last, and how many of the little things would continue to surprise her. “Funny, you don’t think of the little things…” she said. “Cold showers, no pop-tarts, no fridges...”

“…no speed cameras,” Leonard added, grinning.

“I guess it ain’t all bad, then!” she laughed.

“Don’t sweat it. They’ll have all this fixed soon. It has to have been an accident. Two hours have passed and no nuclear attack. That’s got to count for something.”

“I guess so. Say, that was worrying me a little. But you know how you can’t really accept that it’s happening? You just bury it under trivial crap.”

“I’ll level with you. I was terrified the first half hour. When the mushrooms didn’t come, I cannot tell you the relief.” Leonard turned the wheel hand over hand, forcing the car through a sharp corner and into the underground car park. He found a space and pulled up. “Just hope we haven’t lost too many of those planes, though it looks grim.”

Jessica nodded in silence.

The place was swarming with cops, a fair few of them state troopers. Mingled in here and there were FBI agents and various smart suits of the city council and state government.

“Hey! Leonard!” came a cry from a small office to the left, as the sheriff and Jessica bounded down the busy corridor.

“Marty!” Leonard cried out, attempted to turn in the tight corridor and shuffle back past the sudden rush hour traffic of suits carrying piles of paper.

“Guess who’s stuck in town; Edward James Olmos and Michael Stipe!”

“You're kidding me!” Leonard laughed. “What are they doing here?”

“Damned if I know. They’re down in the station diner, waiting it out. Louise wouldn’t have any harm come to Stipe; she rescued him from the crowd outside.”

“Olmos?”

“He just turned up and started on the coffee, from what I’ve heard.”

Leonard turned to Jessica, who was lucking very wry in a demure way. “You’re not a journalist are you? Because that’s how it usually works in these films. Big disaster happens and the cop gets landed with a journalist hanging around him, asking for plot details.”

“Not me, sir. I own a lil’l carpentry store. I barely even read the papers.”

“Good,” Leonard grunted. “You want to go get something to eat down in the diner. Stare at Stipe and Olmos a bit, weird them out, you know?”

“Why not? I’m pretty hungry.”

“Good. Go fetch us some sandwiches when you’re done. Find me down the corridor, in the big room on the left. I’ve got to go and talk to the chief.” He put his hand on her shoulder, smiled reassuringly at her.

She pushed up onto tiptoe. Kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, sheriff.”

Leonard nodded, mumbled something and walked briskly off down the corridor.

[nervouspete]

Chapter Three:

It looked bad. Ten cars had been commandeered by the police department and these had been used to investigate the fires. The earliest reports spoke of seventeen downed planes in a forty mile radius around Jackson. Four of them were small passenger jets, but the thirteen were big passenger planes. Without the fire engines running, some of the blazes in a couple of built-up areas were spreading.

A grey haired colonel in plain clothes was in earnest consultation with the chief when Leonard walked in.
“We should have had some form of military presence here by now. We’ve made hardened systems to cope with this sort of thing.”

The police chief, a heavy set black man with a white moustache, grunted and guzzled his coffee. “Yet they’re not here.”

“It’s a big one. Whatever they used.”

“So you’re certain this is an attack and not some sort of accident?”

“No one can be certain,” the grey haired colonel snapped. “All I’m saying is that it’s looking increasingly likely. This pulse seems to have acted on even basic systems. Only the oldest cars or ones that have been kitted out with the older engines have weathered this. That points to a high yield pulse. Then you have the power stations knocked out. They’re supposed to have back up systems that can kick in after something like this.”

“Thank God we have paraffin stoves or I’d be drinking cold coffee right now,” muttered the chief. “Any hope for the army, then? I’m surprised they could be knocked out so easily.”

“We have basic back up systems that are kept unplugged and heavily hardened. We’ve got engines we can shove into the tanks and hummers, but I reckon we can only rely on twenty percent of our forces in ten hours time. My current estimates are that we’ll have four thousand troops, sixty tanks and three hundred hummers in Jackson in seven hours.”

“That’s not a bad fix. We can do things with that. A few hummers on the streets will work wonders for crowd control.”

Leonard hovered within range of hearing. The two men were too focused to notice him. He wandered forward. “Things are only down for three hours and you talk like it’s world war three. They might be back up by tonight.”

“We’ve got a hardened red-line working here. Trust us, the nation’s pretty shafted,” said the chief. “We’re looking at a week’s work before we get the power back on, and that’s just for starters. The number of circuits burnt out across the nation is pretty staggering. We’re talking one hell of a recession coming here.”

“It’s not just here either. We’ve got word that the rest of the world has been hit too. The Whitehouse hot-lines have been burning non-stop. We’re talking total outage across the globe. No country excepted.”

“Jesus,” gasped Leonard.

“I’m missing the Red Sox – I had money resting on them. Damn communists,” snarled the colonel.

“Or Al Qaeda,” said the chief.

“Or Lex Luthor,” added Leonard, sardonically.
The two men stared at him. The colonel broke the silence, grinned ruefully. “He’s right. We don’t have a hope in hell of figuring out this one right now. Best thing we can do is damage control.”




“Mother Earth’s taking her revenge on mankind. It was only a matter of time,” said Michael Stipe, idly.

“You believe any of that crap coming out of your mouth?” grunted Olmos.

“Hell no,” said Stipe, smiling and knocking his mug of whiskey against Olmos’s.





“The people outside are getting restless,” said the young state trooper sat across from Jessica.

“Can’t say I blame them. No answers and a world of hurt. If you made some sort of statement beyond telling everybody to stay indoors, maybe that would help.”
He looked her in the eyes. His voice was tired, despairing. “Lady, if we had anything we could tell them, we would. We’ve got no idea what’s going on.”

“The name’s Jessica,” she said abruptly, offering her hand.

“Martin,” he replied, managing a weak smile and shaking a little limply.

“So, what you going to do, Martin?”

“They’re digging some old engines out, trying to get our cars working again. There’s a sheriff who hasn’t reported in yet, I’m going to take his place and get back to his patch.”

“It’s not a man called Leonard, is it?”

“No, his name’s Michael.”

Idly Jessica flicked her eyes over to the other side of the room to see if Stipe had jumped at his name. He appeared to be heavily into a conversation about the myriad varieties of whiskey.

“The hospital’s the priority. She needs power before anyone else. I hear they’re working on her diesel generator; she should be back up in an hour. Then we got to get out onto the highways, make sure they’re clear. There might be some unpleasantness there, though. As for transport, fire engines first and then the ambulances. Then we can start on the trucks.”
“It’s all a little unreal.”

“You’re telling me. I was in town to pick up this woman.”

Jessica’s eyes widened in sympathy. “Aw, I’m sorry your date’s messed up. You look damn good in that uniform too, mister.”

“Thanks,” said Martin, slightly embarrassed. “But I’m not talking about that kind of woman. She’d married this old man for his money and then murdered him with a garrotte. I’m not kidding. What kind of woman kills with a garrotte? I was meant to pick her up from this station, but she’s probably sweating it out on a prison bus on some highway.”

“Weird. I’m sure I saw an episode like that on Homicide: Life on the Street. Only without the apocalyptic plot line.”

“Good show that,” said Martin, sipping his coffee. “They nailed it pretty right.”

A policewoman ran up to the table. She had the bearing of Janeane Garofalo, Jessica decided. That sort of sardonic, world weary look combined with cute features and ironically hip heavy rimmed glasses. She could tell the sound of her voice before she even opened her mouth. A sort of disinterested sophisticated drawl.
In any other occasion it may have been, but the woman’s voice was urgent and low. “Officer Tanner, we have a situation. We need you to come to the roof immediately.”

“What is it, Michelle?”

“Immediately. No fooling, Tanner. This is serious.”

Martin swung his head back to Jessica. “Don’t go anywhere. You can finish my sandwich.”

He grabbed his hat and ran out of the room with the officer.

Jessica wanted some of what Stipe and Olmos were drinking.


Leonard fell in alongside Tanner, the thick set police chief bulldozing a path ahead of them. The colonel fell to shuffling through papers, keeping pace behind them. The lifts were out, so they were taking the stairs, and already Leonard wished that he had pushed his workouts a little more lately. He had been running from office to office this last hour pretty constantly, cross checking reports and liaising between sheriffs. His legs burnt as he pushed himself up the steps. Leonard felt an absurd resentment against the healthy young state trooper next to him. The feeling was quickly tossed aside; he reflected what the trooper might be thinking, so far away from his family. He had one grown son, his wife having died seven years ago. Stephen could take of himself, he reckoned. His son and inherited most of the old man’s instinct; and something of the physique he used to possess.

There were exclamations from up ahead, coming from the open square of brilliant white that was the roof door. There was a brief pause as a small traffic jam occurred at the door, and then they were through and onto the highest flat roof of the building.

The seven plumes of smoke were still there, with another half dozen distant ones nudging over the horizon. But nobody was staring at them. All eyes were turned to a giant rolling mass of smoke from the direction of Blossom. It stirred up into the heavens, and flashes could be seen within the dark cloud.

Leonard couldn’t find the words.

“No plane fire could have caused that,” whispered Tanner. “That’s… that’s Blossom woods on fire…” he reached out his arm, pointed to the landmarks, “spreading on over the hill to Blossom itself, arcing out to Piney Woods and Braxton.”

“What are we seeing here, colonel?” demanded the police chief.

“Lt. Giardello, I think we’re looking at the sort of fire you’d get from an advanced forest fire. How it’s spread so fast and into those towns, I don’t know. Did anyone see it spread?”

“I came up to scan the roads for cars with the binoculars, and I saw it. We would have seen it from downstairs if it weren’t for those office blocks. It wasn’t quite as big ten minutes ago. It’s grown fast.”

“Too fast,” said Giardello, an edge in his voice. “Simon, get on the red-line, see if this is being repeated anywhere. Sophie, I want you to bring the sheriffs for Braxton and Blossom to me and ask them if they saw anything unusual in the way of fires, small or large…”

“I’m right here, chief,” said Leonard.

“Good. Did you see anything?”

“No, no planes crashed near me. It’s mainly wood around Blossom, and I drove straight through them. I would have seen smoke, heard the noise.”

“Look!” cried a man behind them standing on the edge of the roof, looking out over the Ross Barnett reservoir in the direction of Sandhill.

[nervouspete]

(cont)

They all span around just in time to catch a brilliant pale-light green flare travelling fast from the heavens, heading in at a low angle. It seemed to be curving very slightly in its flight, not like a regular meteorite at all. They saw it disappear to ground level. A flash and then a plume of smoke silently erupted.

Some seconds later a mild tremor shook the
building, barely noticeable. Then came the sharp crack of impact, stinging the ears, giving voice to the flash.

“Jesus Christ!” somebody exclaimed.

The plume expanded rapidly, lifting to the heavens. It seemed to be mainly dust however, for it quickly began to dissipate and fall back to earth in the form of a miniature mushroom cloud.

“Could one of those have landed in the Blossom woods? That would explain it…” said Michelle quietly.

“At this stage I’m assuming nothing,” barked Giardello, clearly unnerved.