Alex hesitated, and then nodded just as her stomach rumbled loudly. “Have something to eat first,” Mrs Smith said, firmly. “And you as well, Giles. You don’t eat enough as it is.”
Alex had never been to Long Stratton before, but Smith was happy to fill her in as they rumbled into the town and headed towards the Town Hall. Long Stratton was a civil parish with a population of roughly three thousand people, many of whom seemed to be thronging the streets as if they expected answers to be handed down from above. It struck her that many people around the country would have only seen explosions or heard thunderclaps, or perhaps listened to the ranting from the BBC — and wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what was going on. How long would it be, she asked herself, before confusion turned into panic? And how long would it be before the aliens made their demands known to humanity?
Smith parked by the Town Hall and nodded towards the old-style stone church. “There’ll be hundreds of people there, seeking guidance,” he said, softly. “Everyone knows everyone else here, not like in the big cities. We have a real community here, despite everything London can do to ruin it. Little green men aren’t going to take this place from us without a fight.”
Alex kept her opinions to herself. Some of the farmers would have shotguns, or hunting rifles, but most of the population would be unarmed. It was quite possible that they could produce Molotov Cocktails and other makeshift weapons, yet how could they stand up to the alien onslaught? The defenders of Long Stratton and its sister towns might just be marking themselves for extermination. What was her duty to them if they decided to challenge the aliens directly?
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.”