The trio were subdued as they made their way toward the rail station, playing over the encounter in their minds. It was encouraging to see homes and families still intact – they had seen movement in other intact houses, even seen others scuttle across the road in the distance – but if people didn’t wake up to the new reality, one day they wouldn’t wake up at all.

  Maybe this part of the village hadn’t experienced a huge volume of creature activity yet? Matt thought, although that didn’t explain the obvious fear they saw in most of the people they saw, and no others tried to engage them in conversation. The talk of disappearances and runaways probably indicated that there were some dangers lurking in the local background. In the densely packed terrace houses, there were plenty of sheltered yards and gardens which might conceal a nest or lair, as well as the expanses of woodland, flood plain and farmland that surrounded the village.

  At the end of the road stood the railway station, usually busy with passengers on the main commuter line between London and Reading, the largest local town. The branch line to Henley-on-Thames saw a lot of use by students at local schools and colleges, and had been rammed full for one weekend each Summer for the world-famous rowing regatta.

  As they warily moved onward, Matt wondered whimsically whether the railways might be salvageable for use. Even if electronic systems had been rendered totally inoperable, there were still a few steam engines that saw use on special occasions, and might still run on original fire- and water-based energy. Now we just need to find someone who knows anything about them, he thought.

  The large plumes of smoke they had noticed in the days following the Event had died away and were no longer visible. With the ever-present air traffic to Heathrow airport to the East, they had assumed that these were crashed aircraft, but Matt now considered also the impact on the rail network. England was criss-crossed with a well-connected rail system, with large trains hurtling between cities, towns and villages all day and into the night. When drivers were knocked out by the initial impact and electronic braking systems and safeguards failed, these trains would become missiles of steel, and many would reach a terminal end of the line before coasting to a stop with the lack of propulsion.

  Grimacing away the unwelcome thoughts, Matt paused with the others as the station came into view. They took shelter in an overgrown front yard, surveying the road and open courtyard in front of the station itself. The ever-present rows of parked cars were the only familiar component of the scene, the usually bustling landmark now quiet and still. The hardware shop was on the far side of the station, and they were eager to take the safest direct route and get back home quickly.

  There was a tunnel leading to the station car park, the winding lane taking a much longer distance to get to the same destination, so they avoided that by mutual agreement. The footbridge was the consensus choice, as they were swiftly developing an aversion to wide open spaces and crossing the tracks would leave them exposed to the sky as well as anything that had taken up residence.

  Alan took the lead, crouching low behind the cars for cover as they approached. The ticket office was empty, but the sliding doors were inactive with the power out. Heading up the stairs to the footbridge, Arlee grabbed Alan’s arm and stopped his progress, pointing to the side of the enclosed set of stairs. Following her gesture the men saw a white substance lacing the wall in places, like silly string from an enthusiastic bunch of school-leavers. Sparse at their level, further up and it grew thicker and covered more of the stairway, leading into the left turn onto the bridge at the top.

  “Good eyes Arl.” Alan whispered. “Let’s take a look and see what’s there. We can go another way if it’s not totally clear.” He paused and looked at Matt with a smirk. “But if you tell me that it looks like some kind of secreted resin - and ask ‘secreted from what’ – I am bailing right now!”

  Matt shuddered at the thoughts that brought to mind but moved forward once more. They cautiously made their way up to the top of the stairs and peeked around the corner. The enclosed bridge across the tracks was a tunnel of maybe sixty or seventy metres, ending in another turn down a matching staircase on the far side. The stringy new adornments were thicker along this length, but not to the extent they had feared. They could clearly see along the length of the bridge with no obstructions. On both sides there were alcoves at each end and in the centre, where elevators and stairways provided access to the platforms and the station exits.

  Alan looked back questioningly, getting a pair of distinctly unenthusiastic faces in response. Pretending to be movie soldiers, the next several seconds were spent using increasingly confusing hand gestures to try and indicate which alternative was favourite. Although the choices had seemed pretty clear before, according to their improvised sign language, Alan was wanting to cross the bridge, Matt wanted to spin in a circle a few times, and Arlee apparently was advocating some sort of breakdance.

  Any frustration was eclipsed by the utter absurdity of their failure to communicate, so Matt chanced a whisper before their inevitable approaching giggles overtook their ability to suppress them. “Let’s try the bridge. It looks clear, and we might find out something about what left this stuff here.”

  Arlee didn’t look convinced, but reluctantly nodded. Alan fumbled around in multiple pockets, producing a lighter and aerosol deodorant, which he handed over to her.

  “If Insy-Winsy shows its face Arl, give it a roasting. That’s how I cleared our shed out last Autumn, it worked like a charm.”

  Arlee continued with a world champion impression of ‘Least Reassured Participant’ but took the proffered items and tried striking the lighter, looking relieved when it produced a strong flame every time. She nodded and Alan took the lead around the corner, treading carefully around the threads which lined the floor. Matt hoisted his bike onto a shoulder, watching his feet carefully to stay balanced.

  They slowly made their way across the bridge, approaching the centre point, where covered stairs led down on the left, and on the right was the elevator, which they could see had its doors open. Drawing level, their eyes widened in shock and disgust as they saw several large cocoons of the same white, stringy material that was coating the floor, walls and ceiling of the bridge. Matt reached up with a trembling hand and rubbed the light patch on his chest, which he had moved from his boxer shorts.

  They clenched their jaws to bite back the waves of bile, as the contents of the shadowy alcove were revealed. Swaying slightly, more of the hanging cocoons were visible in the elevator shaft, the lift chamber itself no where in sight, probably below on the ground floor. The pods were not tightly clustered, but clearly visible in places were the tips of shoes, fingers curled into grasping claws, and a face locked in a silent, anguished scream.

  Arlee turned away in horror, eyes looking around frantically. At the end of the bridge they had entered from, tiny blue lights were speeding erratically across the enclosed surfaces. Like tiny bolts of lightning in the night sky, the small sparkles faded after a few seconds, swiftly followed by others a moment later. In another circumstance, she would have thought them beautiful, but that realisation flew from her mind at what emerged from the stairwell.

  A long, dark, jointed leg. Another, and another. A swollen, horror-inducing head, with flexing mandibles and glittering eyes.

  The long appendage settled onto the ground, and a burst of the small bundles of energy sped away across the nearby strands; of what – she realised with a sinking heart – were webbing. She stood, frozen in fear as another leg, then another, were followed by a massively swollen arachnid head, complete with flexing mandibles and glittering eyes.

  Arlee’s scream had the others jumping in surprise, their eyes following Arlee’s trembling finger toward the grotesque perversion of nature that unhurriedly rounded the corner and turned its gaze on them. The head and swollen body were about waist level to them, the legs supporting on each side at least six feet long in their arched, stationary positions. Every now and then, one of the legs would flex, a small burst of sparks racing away along the nearby strands, fading about ten feet from the monster.

  Shaking off the paralysis of fear, Alan slowly reached forward and took Arlee’s arm, pulling her into a slow backward stumble as she started at his touch, her eyes still locked on the horror standing just a stone’s throw away. Nudging Matt with his stick and nodding his head toward the other end of the bridge, Alan pulled Arlee behind him, keeping his eyes on the spider.

  Matt moved backward, dropping his bike from his shoulder to steer it with one hand and hold his makeshift spear with the other. As he stepped, a biting pain hit his foot and ran up his leg, causing him to flinch and stumble. Looking to his right down the stairs to the central platform, another arachnid – larger than the first – was silently crawling toward them along the web-lined wall.

  “Back! Get back!” He shouted, seeing the crawling sparks once again racing toward them. At his shout, the others turned and saw the second crawling hunter, stumbling back quickly to avoid getting caught between the two. The first spider advanced slowly, pacing their retreat as the converging sparks from the footfalls of both monsters pursued the shaking trio.

  “Arlee, burn the webs!” Matt yelled, seeing the way the jolting sparks were following the lines of webbing. At first she didn’t respond, eyes locked on their stalkers, but as he repeated himself, she jerkily nodded, frantically striking the lighter and then pressing the aerosol button. A jet of reddish flame shot out, engulfing the lines of web on the wall to her side, causing them to shrivel and melt away. They heard an alien shriek, as both spiders reared up, front legs and mandibles extended. The smaller spider scuttled forward; with the horrible mechanical movement that has terrified and repulsed children and parents for time immemorial. Arlee swung the aerosol across the ground between them, cutting the network of strands and creating a firebreak, the fast-crawling sparks either fizzling out or redirecting up the strands on the walls.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The spider reared up again, and Alan held his staff ready, but it did not draw closer. It’s larger cousin emerged from the stairway, noticeably larger sparks bursting away from every footfall to race along the walls and bite at the group. Alan convulsed as sparks jumped from nearby threads to his legs and side, and he stumbled back, barely staying on his feet and struggling to maintain grip on his staff as his muscles jerked and strained.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Matt noticed similar sparks coming into view behind them from the stairway which was their destination. Another spider, similarly sized to the first, had completed the trap. Front legs raised in challenge and black eyes glittering, holding its position as if to prolong their fear.

  “We’re surrounded!” Matt yelled, eyes darting about looking for an escape. The windowed sides of the bridge had a lattice of metal over them to prevent smashing – there was no way out there. The floor was solid planks of wood between metal girders, and the ceiling a mass of webbing strands, slung between thick steel support arches under the planked roof.

  Damn old buildings and their solid construction, Matt thought. Their options were fight or give up, and he had no illusions about the level of mercy that would be shown to them. The fully stocked larder they had seen spoke volumes about their fate, should they fail to escape.

  Behind him, Arlee dropped the first – now empty – aerosol and was waving the second back and forth in bursts, alternating between clearing the ground at their feet and waving it in front of the advancing spiders to back them off, their caution at the bright heat clear. Equally obvious was the fact that these superb hunters had evolved a terrifying new threat, as their very footfalls would incapacitate prey without ever needing to get close enough to risk getting struck. Throwing a slipper was not going to do the job with these massively overdeveloped beasts.

  “Arlee, keep them back!” Alan yelled, fumbling his staff back onto his back as he slipped a bottle out of his bag. She ignited the aerosol and resumed the warding wave, but they could see the plume of red flame was shrinking.

  Alan pulled another lighter out and frantically thumbed the striker, cursing as it sparked but did not ignite. Profanities laced the air as his thumb rasped down the striker again and again.

  “Alan, they’re getting close again, this can’s almost d…ow!” Arlee’s words were cut off by a cry of pain as a spark leapt off the wall and her arm jerked, losing grip on the can, which fell to the floor and rolled toward the spiders. With another unearthly shriek, the smaller spider scuttled forward over the rolling can, as Alan yelled wordlessly in triumph and smashed the glass bottle at its feet.

  With a loud WHOOOOSSHHH, flames burst out in all directions, engulfing the tunnel in a small fireball. Arlee and Alan were forced back by the heat, turning their heads away as a horrific high-pitched shriek-squeal rose above the crackle of flames. Backing away, they could see the smaller spider, legs curled up, convulsing as its flame-covered head and body shrivelled away. Further back down the tunnel, the large spider reared up, that awful shriek echoing toward and over them as it raged impotently.

  Matt had been a few steps back from the others, watching the other spider. Seemingly content to wait until the prey was driven to its jaws and sparking feet, it now reared up and echoed the high-pitched sound of the other arachnids. He was reminded of the trumpeting shrieks made by the xenomorphs in the Alien movies, sounds that had shivered the spine in fear. The rush of flame and heat had startled him, and as he recovered, he saw the spider starting to advance slowly, sparks rushing out and drawing ever-closer.

  A loud pop behind him was followed by a cry of pain from Arlee. Looking around in panic, he saw flames jumping on one of her arms, which Alan was trying to smother with his now-empty bag. The spider pyre was still burning merrily, the corpse of its unfortunate target now barely recognisable as a crumpled heap. As Alan extinguished the last of the flames, Arlee reached into her bag for a bottle of water, tearing it open and dousing her arm as her pretty face clenched in pain.

  Matt’s eyes turned stony, his fear forgotten in his fury, that these things would dare harm his wife. The anger swelled inside him, but he retained a sense of detached calm, swiftly evaluating a somewhat desperate plan. Tapping the armour patch on his chest, the light still radiating from the other, he mounted his bike, pushing off and pedalling madly to build up as much speed as possible.

  His legs burned as he put everything into building up momentum, the spider pausing as it saw him approaching. As he reached the edge of the biting sparks, Matt jammed the butt of the spear into his stomach, the sharpened tip at the far end laid over the handlebars, as the spider reared up, fangs extended.

  Stabs of pain bit at his legs, but the rubber tyres and handgrips insulated him from the worst of the sparks as his makeshift lance struck the underside of the body. Ducking his head as momentum carried him forward and punched the butt end of the spear back into his stomach, the brunt of the impact being blunted by the protection of his patch, and he doubled over reflexively. This may have saved his life, as the spiders fangs stabbed down and onto his back, feeling the impact as it thankfully failed to penetrate the shine coating his hoodie. Again and again the points jabbed down onto his back, pushing him down into his curled over position. The weight of the beast was directly down onto his head and neck, but the protective field was preventing him from being crushed, although he didn’t have the strength to get out from under it.

  Foul liquids sprayed out from the puncture wound at the back of the spiders first body segment, coating his front in slimy goo, though with the hood up, this was largely kept off his skin. He heard his name bellowed and approaching footsteps as the spider frenziedly jabbed with its jaws, then an almighty crack and the beast was flung to one side, and he could finally raise his head, lifting his arms to ward off any further strikes.

  Hands reached out and dragged him back off the bike saddle, collapsing back into a heap as the spider jerked into death, its body still pinned through by the spear and the side of its head collapsed inward, where Alan’s staff had impacted. Behind and beneath him, Alan and Arlee lay panting, while further down the tunnel, flames had caught on the side walls and were moving up to the ceiling. A final shriek faded away as the final spider scuttled out of sight at the far end of the bridge.

  Matt jumped to his feet, reaching down to swiftly get the others up. Not wanting to hang around and see if the large beast would pursue them by another route, they ran down the stairs and out the back of the station. The road extended off in both directions, and their objective was only a few buildings down to the right as it curved around, leading out of the village into the countryside. Unspeaking, the trio ran, Matt wheeling his bike to avoid outpacing the others, and not trusting his balance just yet after the jarring encounter.

  A faint burned smell was overpowered by the disgusting spider cuts coating the head of Matt’s spear. He dragged it through grass and hedges as they ran, scraping the worst off, though the stench remained.

  They got to the shop moments later, to find the door swinging gently in the light breeze. Looking around, there were no obvious signs of struggle, no movement. Taking a chance, Matt lay down his bike, hefted his spear – now disgustingly coloured in various shades of spider guts – and pushed through the door.

  Inside the shop was remarkably undisturbed. Well-ordered racks and shelves were mostly full of tools, fixings, protective clothing and the like. It was as if someone had left only minutes before their arrival and forgotten to shut the door properly.

  They looked around, but the only vermin products they could find were for ants, slugs and other tiny garden pests. Alan looked over at Matt with a questioning expression. “Where did your football mate say they kept the rat poison?”

  “He didn’t go into that sort of detail, but I’d imagine that it’s like prescription medicine – held in the back somewhere away from general customers.” He pointed his spear to the doorway behind the service counter. “Let’s try through there.”

  They moved through, making as little sound as possible. At some point over the last few days, it had turned into a habit – being as stealthy whenever outdoors. Not that it’s a bad idea, thought Matt. The less attention we attract now, the safer we are. He eased open the door behind the counter and led the others through into a storage area. Stairs led up to one side, no doubt to the small flat about the shop. Cupboards lined the walls and racks of shelves stood freely in the centre of the room.

  Arlee pointed up the stairs. “Should we check if anyone’s home?” As the others considered this, the question was answered with the bang of a door swinging open heavily.

  A voice thick with drink called down the stairs. “Whoosh dere? Whatcha doin’ in my shhhhop?”

  “We’re friendly.” Arlee replied. “We’ve got a really bad rat problem and were hoping you might have some rat poison we could use please?”

  Alan and Matt stayed quiet, not wanting to spook the owner. There were a few moments of silence, then a heavy footfalls thumped down the stairs in a stumbling, off-rhythm pace. Rounding the corner of the stairwell, an old, grizzled man clung to one of the handrails, swaying precariously, his other hand clutching a half-empty bottle of bourbon. Bleary eyes squinted down at them, seeming unsurprised to find a group in the private area of the shop. With unsteady steps, he stomped the rest of the way down and made his way across the room, the stink of body odour and vomit making their noses curl as he passed.

  They watched wordlessly as he fumbled a large ring of keys from a pocket, swaying gently from side to side as he clumsily tried to identify the right one. After a minute or so of swearing under his breath, swigging from his bottle and unsuccessful attempts, he evidently got lucky and the cupboard door popped open. Inside were a number of large sacks stood on the floor, rows of bottles lining shelves higher up. The old man vaguely waved his hand over the whole selection.

  “Thash it, the whole lotttt. Sacks are besht stuff – brommi…brotha…brometa…somethin’. Mix it with meat bes’ way. Take whateff’ you wanna, don’ matter t’ me.” He turned and started weaving his way back toward the stairs.

  As he passed, Matt could see more clearly in the sparse light, the crusted front of the man’s sweater, soiled trousers and flushed face. Disgust warred with pity, and he called out as the wretch put a shaky foot on the first step up.

  “What do you want for this stuff please? Do you need anything?” As he spoke, the man stopped and turned slowly, raising eyes devoid of hope to meet Matt’s.

  “I gotsh everything I need riiiiight here.” He waved the bottle in his other hand, clear brown liquid sloshing out and up the wall. “Worl’s ending, nobodiesh gonna need my stuff anymore. All gone shoon, you’ll see.”

  They stood silently as the broken old man turned and trudged back up the stairs, the door slamming closed a few seconds later. There was a creak above them, and a few moments later a rambling voice started a conversation with itself, or no one.

  They looked woodenly at each other, shocked by the depth of despair they had just witnessed. The trio realised once again how lucky they had been to have friends to depend on in the aftermath of the Event, suspecting that this would not be the last case of total surrender they would find.

  Turning back to the cupboard, they found some heavy-duty protective gloves, before Matt and Alan picked up the sacks one at a time and carefully placed them into the opening of Arlee’s bag. Again, they marvelled as she showed no sign of being weighed down in the slightest, and in short order they had emptied the cupboard, throwing in several pairs of the protective gloves for good measure.

  Without a backward glance, they left the shop, closing the door behind them. Above, faint sounds of the rambling voice drifted from an open window and were lost on the breeze.

  The first step toward ridding the village of a monstrous threat had been taken. It was only the start of that journey though, and horrors waited at the end.