Chapter Three
McKinley High and the Heat Ray

Blaine found himself walking down the road at a brisk pace, obviously intent on getting to his desired location as quickly as possible. He completely disregarded the usual norm of keeping on the sidewalk – it seems that the thunderstorm had brought with it some kind of electronic field, which had caused all of the cars within the radius of the storm to be completely stuck. Blaine was bemused at the actions of the people who had previously been driving; some almost looked scared of leaving the confines of their assumedly cool vehicle interiors. However, some shared the same child-like inhibition as Blaine, and soon there was a small, scattered, diverse group that shared a silent acknowledgement of their goal. It was almost like a hastily created hive-mind; however, with this dysfunction hive of sorts, there was no queen bee, all of the group relying on each other to get to their shared desired location. Indeed, it was a very quiet journey for Blaine, an eerie silence that was only broken by the occasional wine and holler of a dog, or the loud cries of a baby which would cling to the airwaves and find themselves being forced into his eardrums.

About half-way to McKinley – and the site of the repeated lightning strikes – he found himself outside of Burt’s garage. He slowed down slightly and turned from the hastily created hive-mind, who then seemed to disperse further, almost as if Blaine had become the missing link in an intricate yet child-minded electrical circuit. He started to make his way towards the garage; in front of the shop, working on a rather large Ford SUV was Burt, the older man looking fairly bewildered as he shone a torch under the propped up hood into the engine. A Small amount of smoke was being emitted from the battery, which had apparently been hit the freak lightning and had become smouldering to the touch. Blaine walked up to his father-figure and clapped his own hand on Burt’s shoulder.

“Hello, sir… dad!” Blaine spoke, still getting used to the concept of calling Burt ‘dad’, even after agreeing with Kurt that it was for the best over a year ago. Burt, however, thought nothing of it – if anything, he was touched that his son’s boyfriend thought of him as a father – and turned to him, with a confused look still on his face.

“Hey, kiddo – would’ya look at this?” Burt signalled towards the engine, which Blaine stepped towards to look into. The electrical wires which connected to the battery, and the battery itself, had been reduced to a smouldering ‘goop’ which seemed to be a mixture of melted copper wiring and plastic components. Blaine studied the sight for a while, before asking questions.

“Was it hit by the lightning? I mean, directly?” Burt only responded with a shake of his head, then seemingly spreading his confused look over to Blaine, who was now holding such a grimace on his face. He pulled his head out of the engine, realising that he needed to get to the school to see what had happened – and that the smell of melted plastic had begun to make him feel light headed, and was still holding onto his nostril hairs for dear life.

“Sorry dad, but I’ve really got to  run – try changing the solenoid?- And the wiring of course.” Blaine smiled at Burt, as the mens shared confused looks began to fade from their faces. Burt grinned, slamming his fist into his palm with glee.

“Of course, the solenoid! Why didn’t I think of that? Blaine, buddy, you’re a life saver!” Burt pulled his sons boyfriend into a strong, masculine hug, which Blaine accepted gladly. He then pulled away and sifted through his tools quickly.

“I’m gonna get this fixed up and then head home. Doesn’t look like many clients are gonna make it today, now that everybody’s stuck on the road.” Burt then smiled to Blaine, who returned the smile before beginning to walk to the door.

“Okay, dad, I’ll see you there.”

Blaine again found himself on the streets of Lima, heading directly for McKinley High – his original objective. In the short period that he had been gone, the block had seemed to fall into a sort of subtle chaos – couples were arguing over the insurance costs on their cars, important looking middle-aged men in pristine suits were grumbling to eachother about how they would now miss their 8:10 to JFK, which would most certainly mean that their oh so promised raise would vanish. He even saw one woman trying to push her Corvette down the road, presumably to her house – of course, as expected, the car didn’t move by even an inch. As he came closer to the school, the concentration of people on the road and sidewalk seemed to double with ever meter – until they were literally shoulder to shoulder, being pushed back by oversized police officers who had formed a makeshift line, ten meters across, surrounding a smouldering pile of rubble that had presumably been the entrance for the lightning bolts into the cold road. One police officer was sifting his hand through the rubble, and had grabbed one apple-sized chunk before dropping it quickly; an expletive was loudly emitted from his lips, before he said something about it being ‘freezing cold’. Suddenly, the ground began to quake and shake violently, cracks beginning to form in the tightly woven tarmac beneath their feet.

The hairline cracks in the ground seemed to carry on for hundreds of meters, weaving in and out between the panicked populaces’ legs and feet. The circle of officers had quickly dispersed, their main goal now being to attempt to move everybody else away from the cracked ground. Suddenly, one of the rips found itself shooting up the foundation and brickwork of McKinley High, glass shattering and falling like tiny raindrops glistening in the summer heat. The water pipe that climbed up the side of the school and maintained a line into the sewers below snapped off, swinging down and covering the lawn with a watery-brown mixture. The hive-mind seemed to have returned; Blaine found himself running away from the cracks, along with every other person in the area before. The front row seemed to dictate how far they would move before stopping – they had begun to hide themselves behind rows of cars and walls, inciting the rest of the group, including Blaine, to do the same. They waited, in an eerie silence which was only broken by the occasional birdsong or loud, distant car horn, for what was to come. For what they assumed, was to come. And then, as if it were choreographed – ‘it’ came.

The ground, using the cracks as a guideline, began to swallow itself inwards at an alarming rate – everything within tens of meters of the lightning strikes began to roll into the makeshift funnel that was now being created by the quakes. People winced – some running for their lives – as expensive cars, lesser expensive road signs and even bolted-down necessities such as fire hydrants were sucked into the ever expanding black hole which was forming on the front lawn of McKinley. The large flag pole – which, in ever such a cliché manner, carried a large United States flag which blew freely in the wind – which had made its home on this such lawn began to be swallowed hole, the pole effectively being halved in size, and the flag drooping slowly as the windy conditions began to die down.

Then, as if the ground was a resuscitated heart-beat, the ground began to raise up, causing some of the people to scream in terror. Blaine, however, simply watched in a mix of shock and fascination as the meticulously laid road-works were reduced to broken rubble by a supposed freak lightning storm. With the raising of the ground, dirt and debris was pushed into the front entrance of McKinley, the brickwork being crushed and enveloped in a mashup of cars, earth and tarmac. Glass shattered and cement was crushed, adding further to ever expanding mixture that was effectively destroying the school. Suddenly, the entirety of the front wall was split In two by a speedily traveling crack, which was followed abruptly by its collapse. Blaine watched in shock as his previous school was reduced to nothing in a matter of seconds.
 
As clouds of dust began to circle the open wound, visibility past the rows of curious humans was left to absolutely nothing – so nobody could see the towering machine that had begun to claw its way out of the hole. That was until the dust began to settle – the smoke, if you will, began to clear – and people watched in awe and bemusement as a three-legged fighting machine, with a head somewhat shaped like a sharp pear, starred right back at them. The tripod began to raise itself further into the air, it’s three lights on the front of its intricate face serving as intimidating, shocking windows into the unearthly creation. Blaine felt his heart drop, and swallowed a small ball of saliva that had formed in his mouth. Seconds later, the machine seemed to be at its full height, and as if it didn’t already tower over the landscape that surrounded it – it was now a good six storeys higher than the high school that had previously sat in its place. People watched the machine with curious eyes – while a few others, a surprising minority, knew that the sensible idea was to run away while they still had a fantastic chance. Some people, however, did not believe it was a machine of war – if it was a machine of war, where were it’s weapons?

This question I’m sure left anybody’s mind when the tripod let out the most deafening, un-tamed roar, like a caged yet wild beast that was being released after years of torment. The sound startled the majority of people that stared at the machne in bemusement, some staggering and falling – while others did not move even slightly, possibly not wanting to show weakness to such an alien intruder. Blaine watched intently as two, long, grey arms with protruding fork-like hands began to fold out of their previously occupied space, and began to aim towards the ground infront – towards the masses of people. At this moment, he could feel the beads of panic rolling down his skin, his hands becoming clammy with fear. It was then, fearing the worst, that he decided to join the minority who had previously ran away, his mind racing with thoughts as to why the rest of the populace weren’t doing the same thing. Suddenly, as he came close to the junction – and right turning that he needed to follow to get back to Kurt’s – a mass scream filled the air, coupled by the electronic sounds that you would expect to hear If you contacted a battery-powered fly swatter. He turned his head as he ran, and saw that the standing group had begun to move. This was no organised march – it was a stampede, the fall of mankind.

As he watched them move, he also saw the streaks of white light that shot down and licked at the ground in an instant. He took note of the heat vapours that seemed to come off the ground – or indeed anything that seemed to get into its path. It was then, to his horror, that he saw the devastating ‘heat ray’ meet its first victim – or, rather, first victim that he had witnessed. The beam shot through her like a powerful torch through paper, before her body was reduced to floating ash seconds later. He felt vomit begin to tickle at the back of his throat, his mind being absent of anything apart from the floating ashes and clothes that seemed to be carried in the breeze, as light as a feather. He turned his head to face his path, whipping to the right at the very first moment, and enjoyed a momentary piece of safety. His only reminder now of the disaster he had just witnessed, was the electronic zapping noise which coupled with the heat-ray repeatedly ringing out from behind him as he ran on the deserted second road, with each ‘zap’ – he assumed – signalling the demise of yet another person he had been standing next to moments before.