THE FEARLESS

INVASION:CHAPTER 2

I stared at it. I understood what it was saying, yet I couldn't make sense of it. I kept thinking about what Dad had told me up on the hill: There aren't going to be any Fearless here. The government and the army are making sure of that. "What's happening?" I asked, my voice thin and high with fright.

"I don't know." Dad grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. They were all showing the same message. He turned the TV off and grabbed the laptop off the coffee table. I watched him try to connect to the internet. The same message flashed up on the screen.

"What the hell?" he murmured.

"What about the radio?" Mum said.

Dad fetched them. We had two – a brand new digital one and an ordinary one. When he turned the digital one on, there was nothing but a low hum. The ordinary one crackled and hissed; he switched it from FM to AM, twisting the dial. I heard a burst of sound – a voice. It startled Kali, who wriggled out of my arms and darted out of the room.

"What was that?" Mum said.

Dad turned the dial again, more slowly this time. Out of the hiss of the static, the voice emerged. It was a man, talking very fast, his voice high and panicked. ". . . here," he was saying. "They reached the coast an hour ago and it's carnage. I don't know if anyone can hear me, but I'm in Dover, at . . ." Another burst of static obscured his words. ". . . and I'm using this . . ." More static.

"How's he doing that if the radio stations have stopped broadcasting?" Mum said.

Dad shook his head. "Maybe he's got some sort of police radio."

The man's voice rose out of the static one last time. ". . . to send this message to warn you. The Fearless are here! There are thousands of them! And they . . ." Then the static grew to a buzz, and no matter which way Dad turned the dial, he couldn't find the man again. He switched the radio off.

I didn't cry easily, but I felt a tear leak from the corner of my eye and trickle down my cheek. "What's happening?" I said.

"Sweetheart, I don't know." Dad's face was grim. He took his mobile out of his pocket, dialed someone's number, then cut the call. "That's gone now too."

"What about the landline?" Mum went into the kitchen, and came back a few moments later holding the handset. She shook her head. She was breathing fast, clutching her bump.

The doorbell went.

"Wait here," Dad said with a nervous glance at the blank TV screen. He went into the hall. I heard the chain on the front door rattle, then voices – familiar voices.

"Sol!" I cried, running into the hall as Dad let Sol and his parents into the house.

Dad showed them into the living room. Mr. Brightman limped across to one of the armchairs and sat down with a grunt, sticking his left leg out. Two years ago, he'd been in a terrible car accident. He was rushed to Dad's hospital, and it was Dad who'd operated on him and saved his life.

Mrs. Brightman perched in the other chair; her mouth pinched into a thin line. As always, her blonde hair was sleek and gleaming, her clothes, cream blouse, and white trousers, immaculate.

"Do you have any idea what's going on?" Mum asked Mr. Brightman.

Mr. and Mrs. Brightman exchanged glances. "Perhaps we should send the kids upstairs for a bit," Mr. Brightman said. "There's something we need to talk to you and Pete about, Clare."

Mum turned to us. "Why don't you and Sol go up to your room, Cass?" she said in a too-bright voice. "I'll bring you up some biscuits and juice as soon as we've finished."