Free The Stone Man - A Science Fiction Thriller by Luke Smitherd Page A
Authors: Luke Smitherd
it off with a flapping, uncoordinated hand. “I’m not the sentimental type. I had contents insurance, but I don’t know where the hell this fits into the policy. You want some of this?” I asked, offering the bottle of Sambuca. Shaun looked at it, thrust towards his face as it was, and started to refuse, then suddenly raised his eyebrows and took the bottle, unscrewing the top.
“Yeah, sod it. Listen, have you got a place to stay tonight?” Shaun asked, taking a swig. He screwed his face up slightly at the aftertaste, and continued. “I offered Phil and his brother the spare bed and the sofa but they didn’t want to impose. Stupid if you ask me, the offer was there, but hey. Anyway, leaves more room for you. You want it? If you don’t mind me saying so man, you look like hell. Rough day?” I took the bottle as he offered it back, and considered the question.
“Yep. My house fell down,” I said, and started to take a swig, but suddenly burst out laughing and sprayed Sambuca everywhere. Shaun laughed too, but not as hard, and wiped the spat-out booze off the side of his face.
“Okay, okay, stupid question,” he said. “But look man, come stay at mine, the missus won’t mind and we’ll get some proper food in you, and some hot tea. You look like you could, y’know, do with leaving off that for an hour or so,” he finished, pointing at the bottle. He handed me back the cap, and I screwed it on.
“Thanks, Shaun. Thank you,” I said, meaning it and suddenly feeling emotional again. “That’s a very, very kind offer of you … from you … of you. Of you. Okay,” I finished, taking a deep breath and standing upright, looking around. A moment passed, and Shaun didn’t seem to know what to say next. Nor did I, really.
“Okay, well … well, let’s go!” he finished, with a forced, breezy air (possibly regretting his decision, and I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did) and turned slightly, a gesture meant for me to follow. I looked down at the floor and gave him a thumbs-up, suddenly dizzy, but kept my shit together long enough to make it down the road with him, heading round the corner and into Shaun’s terraced house. I collapsed onto the sofa, and he went off to explain to his wife what I was doing in the living room with my filthy shoes on.
I just remembered, actually; thinking about that bit with the jets and the missiles has reminded me. I saw footage later, much later, of them trying something that I’d wondered would work; nets. Not to stop the Stone Man—even at the time they’d realised that trying that would be laughable—but to lift it up. The idea went round very quickly that, yes, obviously it couldn’t be destroyed, but if it could be lifted, removed from the ground, then any further progression would be impossible. But, as with many things regarding the Stone Man, the result was baffling. They couldn’t pick it up. They’d laid an immense steel-cabled net, attached to four choppers, one on each corner, and placed the whole thing in its path (another field if I remember right) and waited. Once the Stone Man had stepped onto the net, the choppers had taken off … and yet the Stone Man had just carried on walking. The net had gone taut, and yet the part of it that had been under the Stone Man’s foot at any single time remained anchored to the earth. As the Stone Man stepped forward onto the next part of the net (obviously raised up at an angle due to the upward pull of the choppers) that part went down under the Stone Man’s heel also, actually dragging the choppers slightly downward with it. The bit that the Stone Man had just stepped off sprung upwards, taut as a drum. The really, really crazy thing, that they still don’t understand even now, is that apparently it was nothing to do with weight.
I remember seeing a show on TV talking about that exact same day; apparently the amount of weight it would take to hold down four choppers of that model (whatever the hell it was)
“Yeah, sod it. Listen, have you got a place to stay tonight?” Shaun asked, taking a swig. He screwed his face up slightly at the aftertaste, and continued. “I offered Phil and his brother the spare bed and the sofa but they didn’t want to impose. Stupid if you ask me, the offer was there, but hey. Anyway, leaves more room for you. You want it? If you don’t mind me saying so man, you look like hell. Rough day?” I took the bottle as he offered it back, and considered the question.
“Yep. My house fell down,” I said, and started to take a swig, but suddenly burst out laughing and sprayed Sambuca everywhere. Shaun laughed too, but not as hard, and wiped the spat-out booze off the side of his face.
“Okay, okay, stupid question,” he said. “But look man, come stay at mine, the missus won’t mind and we’ll get some proper food in you, and some hot tea. You look like you could, y’know, do with leaving off that for an hour or so,” he finished, pointing at the bottle. He handed me back the cap, and I screwed it on.
“Thanks, Shaun. Thank you,” I said, meaning it and suddenly feeling emotional again. “That’s a very, very kind offer of you … from you … of you. Of you. Okay,” I finished, taking a deep breath and standing upright, looking around. A moment passed, and Shaun didn’t seem to know what to say next. Nor did I, really.
“Okay, well … well, let’s go!” he finished, with a forced, breezy air (possibly regretting his decision, and I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did) and turned slightly, a gesture meant for me to follow. I looked down at the floor and gave him a thumbs-up, suddenly dizzy, but kept my shit together long enough to make it down the road with him, heading round the corner and into Shaun’s terraced house. I collapsed onto the sofa, and he went off to explain to his wife what I was doing in the living room with my filthy shoes on.
I just remembered, actually; thinking about that bit with the jets and the missiles has reminded me. I saw footage later, much later, of them trying something that I’d wondered would work; nets. Not to stop the Stone Man—even at the time they’d realised that trying that would be laughable—but to lift it up. The idea went round very quickly that, yes, obviously it couldn’t be destroyed, but if it could be lifted, removed from the ground, then any further progression would be impossible. But, as with many things regarding the Stone Man, the result was baffling. They couldn’t pick it up. They’d laid an immense steel-cabled net, attached to four choppers, one on each corner, and placed the whole thing in its path (another field if I remember right) and waited. Once the Stone Man had stepped onto the net, the choppers had taken off … and yet the Stone Man had just carried on walking. The net had gone taut, and yet the part of it that had been under the Stone Man’s foot at any single time remained anchored to the earth. As the Stone Man stepped forward onto the next part of the net (obviously raised up at an angle due to the upward pull of the choppers) that part went down under the Stone Man’s heel also, actually dragging the choppers slightly downward with it. The bit that the Stone Man had just stepped off sprung upwards, taut as a drum. The really, really crazy thing, that they still don’t understand even now, is that apparently it was nothing to do with weight.
I remember seeing a show on TV talking about that exact same day; apparently the amount of weight it would take to hold down four choppers of that model (whatever the hell it was)