Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

Smith led her into the Town Hall after a brief chat with the policeman standing outside, looking rather worried. Alex saw his hand toying with his radio and realised that the police in Long Stratton had been cut off from London by alien jamming. She thought about telling him what she knew, and then realised that it would be pointless. He couldn’t do anything about it, but panic. Shaking her head, she allowed Smith to lead her into a small room. Three men were gathered there, looking deeply worried. She smiled inwardly as they saw her uniform and frowned, uncertain what to make of her presence. God alone knew what she was going to tell them.

“This is the Parish Council, or as much of them as could be assembled,” Smith said, without preamble. “Rupert Leigh; Tory MP for his sins, but a good man outside politics.” A tall thin man nodded impatiently. “Timmy Simpson; used to farm quite a bit, but now pretty much retired.” Simpson snorted, making a gesture with his fingers that suggested counting money. He was an older man, with a hunch that suggested that he was bowed under some great weight. “And the Reverend Macpherson, shepherd of our little flock.”

“I should be in the Church,” Reverend Macpherson said, shortly. “People need to come together and pray to God for guidance.”

Smith nodded and started to outline what he’d heard from Alex, starting with the story of how he’d found her in his field. Halfway through, when he reached the bit about aliens, all three of the councillors stared at her. They looked as if they wanted to call in the policeman and have the pair of them arrested for public drunkenness. Smith finished by reminding them of some of the more hysterical statements on the BBC — “we live in strange times,” he said.

“I wish I didn’t believe you,” Leigh said. His voice had an upper-class edge that reminded Alex of a certain breed of officer. They’d sounded as if they’d been absolutely certain about everything too. “But aliens… dear God, what are we going to do when we tell the people?”

“We shall inform them in the Church,” the Reverend said. “They will have time to reflect on God’s will instead of panicking.”

Leigh snorted. “But what are we going to do ?”

Alex had been giving the matter some thought. “They made us study recent military history back when I was a trainee pilot,” she said. “The first few hours after an invasion are always the most dangerous for ordinary people, because the occupation force will be on edge and unsure of its ground. You may not see very many aliens this far from London, or they may decide to take stock of the entire country. I think you need to consider what you’re going to do when they arrive — and what you’re going to do about others.”

She scowled. “Right now, London and a dozen other cities are war zones,” she continued. “The population is going to start fleeing the cities and heading for the countryside. You’re not that far from Norwich — and that’s got upwards of three hundred thousand people who will find themselves starving very quickly. What happens when they start flooding the farms? You have food here — and animals that can be slaughtered for human consumption. What are you going to do when they arrive?”

“There’s the police,” Leigh said, slowly.

“I think you have to assume that the police and the military have been knocked on the head,” Alex said. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was quite possible. “Even if there is still a working government and military out there, they are going to have more on their hands than helping you. You need to start planning for the worst.”

“Good God,” Leigh said. He stared down at the table, helplessly. “I don’t think that there is anything we can do if the situation is that bad. We can’t hold back swarms of starving humans…”

“We may have no choice,” Simpson said, flatly. “Do you want to wait and see your families starving because you gave all your food to refugees?”

“I would remind you,” the Reverend said sharply, “that charity is your duty towards your fellow man. Remember the parable of the Good Samaritan.”

“The Good Samaritan,” Simpson replied, “was in no danger.”

He shook his head, slowly. “We may be in serious trouble anyway,” he warned. “It isn’t as if we keep stockpiles of food and seeds out here — normally, we could just order the supplies when we needed them. How dependent are we on the rest of the world? International trade is probably shot to hell.”

“No doubt,” Alex agreed.

“Then we put it to the vote,” Leigh said. “We can speak to the people in the Church — ask them to work together to safeguard our farms and the rest of our property. And then we can hope that this whole crisis is just going to blow over.”

“Hark at him,” Simpson crowed. He laughed, unpleasantly. “Stupid politicians always think that the world will go back to normal if they just keep their eyes closed long enough. The country has been invaded , you idiot! Even if the army does manage to give those thieving bastards a damn good thrashing, do you think that anything is going to be the same ever again? Really? I want some of whatever you’ve been smoking.”

Leigh reddened, but he somehow managed to keep his voice calm. “If the worst does happen, we’re probably doomed,” he said. “I refuse to stop hoping for the best even as I try to prepare for the worst.”

“Typical politician,” Simpson said. He looked up at Alex, amused malice glinting in his brown eyes. “You want to bet that we’re all dead a week from today?”

“That will do,” the Reverend said. He stood up from the table. “I believe that it is time to sound the bells and summon the townspeople to the Church. We can tell them what we know and then we can decide what to do.” He looked over at Alex. “I’d like you to remain at hand. You may be needed to answer questions.”

“I don’t know what else I can tell you,” Alex admitted. “I’ve told you everything I know.”

Simpson shrugged. “Some people will probably feel better knowing that someone in a uniform is telling them not to worry,” he said. “Back in the War” — it took Alex a moment to realise that he meant the Second World War — “they used to tell us to keep calm and carry on. And we did too.”

“You lived out here, safe on your farm,” Smith pointed out, with some amusement. It was clear that he and Simpson were old friends. “I think the people in the Blitz probably felt a little different.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Simpson said. He looked up at Alex. “After the meeting in the Town Hall, let me know if you decide to stick around. I have some items you may be interested in using.”

The announcement and discussion in the Church was just as bad as Alex had feared. Nearly two hundred people had crammed themselves into the building and they all wanted to talk. The children had picked up on their parents’ emotions and looked fearful, apart from the ones too young to know that something was wrong. Alex found herself targeted by irate people who wanted to know what had happened to the RAF, or why the invasion had been allowed to take place. After trying to point out twice that she had been taken completely by surprise, she did her best to ignore the louder protesters. It wasn’t as if there was anything else she could do.

“We can survive this if we all pull together,” Leigh said, once the general panic had calmed down slightly. The sheer unreality of the situation helped, although the BBC had clearly managed to cause panic in some quarters. One report claimed that London and Manchester had been occupied by giant elephants. Alex couldn’t help, but feel that little gray aliens would have been more traditional. “We don’t know what’s going to happen, but we will get through it all.”