Pigs Might Fly (Part Two)

© 2013 David Jasmin-Green

Daffy and Sheila rushed into the living room just in time to see the first squealing, fiery blob smashing a car sized hole in the roof of the house opposite. The upper floor of the building exploded, and in an instant the house was an inferno. A burning figure cocked a leg over the ground floor window sill and tumbled out into a bed of hydrangea and fuchsias, and a smaller figure got halfway and gave up the ghost, the tiny body stiffening and crackling as the tremendous heat of the flames fast cooked it. “That's Karl Biggins and little Emily,” Daffy said. “His missus is at work, she's a nurse.....” Sheila didn't answer, she just stared goggle-eyed out of the window.

A blazing porcine missile hit the wheely bin on the path in front of the Dolloways' house, instantly disintegrating it, and the pig exploded sending balls of burning flesh and grease in all directions. A large something hurtled through the upper pane of the front window at tremendous speed. The shock and the shower of broken glass brought Sheila to her senses and she screamed as the object splattered on the far wall just under the sun-ray clock, the impact extinguishing the flames long enough to see what it was.

It was the crushed upper section of a huge pig's head, Daffy bought them from a butchers in town to feed his two German shepherds so neither of them failed to recognise it. One eye miraculously remained intact, twitching rapidly as the pulpy, smoking mass slithered down the burgundy flock wallpaper and came to rest on top of a seriously overloaded bookcase. The sizzling hot flesh reignited, the hungry flames curling around a framed photograph of Daffy and Sheila on their wedding day twenty five years previously. Outside similar blazing missiles were falling everywhere, there were people shouting and screaming but there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

“We 'ave to get out of the 'ouse!” Daffy said, grabbing Sheila's arm and dragging her behind him as he made for the back door. “Even if we put out the fire in there it's only a matter of time before the 'ole 'ouse goes up in flames.

“But where can we go, Dave, nowhere is safe!”

“That's the first time you've called me Dave in bloody years,” he replied. “Come on, I've got an idea.”

There was no sign of Bandit and Bolero as they went into the back garden, but next door's shed and garage were ablaze so the dogs had probably jumped over the gate in terror and done a runner. Daffy led his wife to the bottom of the garden and started to climb the concrete panel fence. “Where are we going?” Sheila said.

“Old Mrs. Cribbins 'as an Anderson shelter that's still intact, 'er dad covered it in a foot of concrete during the war, so it's pretty well preserved. Come on, 'urry up! I don't know what's going on, but we 'ave to 'ide or we're 'istory.”

“I'm not sure if that's a good idea,” Sheila said. “You know I don't like dark, confined places, an' it'll be full of creepy crawlies.” A fiery bomb plummeted through the roof of their house, the windows exploding in a cloud of smoke and flames, and that was enough impetus for Sheila, she was over the fence like a shot. A couple of minutes later they were in the old Anderson shelter, and Daffy pulled the door shut as far as it would go. They sat huddled together, Sheila crying in big, agonised gasps, and before long Daffy found himself crying too.

**************************

A couple of hours later, maybe more, the chaos outside had dwindled somewhat and Daffy chanced a tentative peep through the partially open door. The sky was still a deep, bloody red peppered with great palls of black smoke, and the row of houses before him were mostly reduced to heaps of smouldering rubble, only a few were still standing. There were a number of people wandering around in small clusters, aimless and in shock, and they were largely silent.

He took another look at the sky, and to his horror more black objects were falling, but they weren't pigs – they were huge, bulging, roughly circular objects like great overripe seed pods. When the first barrage began to strike the estate one exploded less that forty yards away, or rather it shattered, spilling out its writhing contents, and this time there were no flames. The dark, scuttling things that tumbled out of the pod were scorpions, impossibly large ones as big as dogs, and they fell on the nearest huddled group of people like wolves, stinging and biting and grasping at their flailing limbs with their huge pincers.

“What can you see, Daffy?” Sheila said from the back of the shelter. “What's that screamin', are more of those damned pigs falling? Is it Armageddon, love, is it the end of the world? Please tell me the truth.”

“Don't fret, love, I don't know what's going on, I can't see anythin', it's too smoky,” he lied, not bothering to try to secure the rusted corrugated steel door. “Maybe it's just one of God's practical jokes to pay me back for all the stunts I've pulled, I really don't know, but I've never 'urt anyone. Not as far as I know, anyway.” He put one arm around his wife and his other hand worked the kitchen knife free from his belt where he had shoved it just before they left the house. Gently he stroked Sheila's face and she leaned into his embrace, comforted a little. Daffy moved so quickly that Sheila didn't feel the cold steel slicing her trachea to the bone, but she felt the hot gush of blood and she immediately panicked. He held her tightly, dropping the knife on the damp earthen floor. “It's OK, love, don't struggle. I'm sorry it 'ad to end this way, but believe it or not this is the pleasantest way out I could think of at short notice. Everything's going to be all right, I promise.....”