The Forgotten Son
Page 19
It wasn’t just the web that caught his eye, though. A group of five people stood about ten feet from the Yeti, ignored. None of the group moved, they just stood there, their faces vacant, their bodies limp, as if they were puppets waiting for their strings to be pulled.
‘Just like Ray and George?’ Henry asked.
From the colonel’s descriptions of what had happened, Bishop nodded. ‘We need to get them away from here.’
‘How? If we move too close to the Yeti…’
‘I know. Same thing might happen to us. But the colonel was okay, so maybe we will be, too. We have to risk it. We can’t leave them there.’
It looked like Henry wanted to protest again, but he simply nodded.
‘Okay, as soon as we’re near enough, jump out and get them into the back.’
‘Me? Why me?’
‘Because I need to be ready to pull out as soon as the Yeti move towards us.’
Henry swallowed hard. Putting the Land Rover into first, Bishop inched forward, closer and closer to the group, his eyes darting to the Yeti and back again. So far the Yeti were ignoring them. ‘Now, Henry, and look sharp!’ he ordered.
Hesitating for a moment, Henry unlatched the door and jumped out of the Land Rover. Bishop looked back and forth from the Yeti to Henry. At first Henry moved fine – one, two, three people safely in the Land Rover – but on the fourth he started to become sluggish, blinking rapidly. Bishop leaned out of the window and called out to him.
For a moment Henry didn’t notice, then with great effort he looked at Bishop.
‘Get in, before we lose you too.’
Henry didn’t seem to understand. It was as if he was losing his free will. Bishop knew it was a risk, but he had no choice. He jumped out of the Land Rover and grabbed hold of Henry.
The Yeti turned in unison.
Moving as fast as he could, Bishop herded Henry into the back of the Land Rover with the other three people, and rushed around to the driver’s seat. He released the brake and rammed his foot onto the accelerator. The Land Rover skidded in protest, but the tread on the tyres finally caught and the vehicle reversed through the field. The Yeti stopped and turned to the two people left behind.
Once Bishop had returned and reported, the response was decisive. Lethbridge-Stewart refused to let his home village fall to the Great Intelligence. Proximity to the Yeti was like a switch in the minds of people, turning them off, giving the Intelligence some kind of control of them. The only thing to do was to gather all the villagers in the centre of Bledoe, as far from the Yeti as possible. No doubt they’d advance at some point, but in the meantime the villagers could at least find a way to protect themselves.
To that end Lethbridge-Stewart had called a meeting in the village hall, and sent out the men to round up everybody they could. At first it proved to be difficult, most simply refusing to believe, until Henry spoke to the local vicar, a Reverend Edwin Stone, an open-minded chap for a man of the cloth. With his help they were soon able to round up most of the villagers who remained in Bledoe, except those who lived near the web perimeter. They had to be left alone for now, already enraptured by the mind-cleansing ability of the Yeti.
The meeting itself was a difficult affair, taking the testimony of trusted men like Henry and George to convince the villagers of the danger. Most laughed and appeared uncomfortable at the idea that Ray’s Hollow Man was real, but Reverend Stone used a parable of faith to assuage their doubts.
The discussion soon turned to weapons. There were some in the back of the Land Rover, but they would need more than a few hand guns and rifles. Lethbridge-Stewart was surprised, although probably shouldn’t have been, to learn that quite a few villagers owned their own rifles and shotguns, and not all legally. Beyond that there were plenty of hand-to-hand weapons that could be used, everything from spades and rakes to meat cleavers, but from experience he knew such weapons would have little effect on the robotic Yeti, besides how many of the villagers would get close enough to use the weapons? What they needed were firearms that could be used from a distance.
‘Fire bombs,’ someone from the back of the hall suggested.
A few mutters and grumbles followed, including one loud voice claiming he always knew Billy was an arsonist. Lethbridge-Stewart hardly wanted to encourage criminal behaviour, but needs must and all that.
Billy was a fifteen-year-old boy who seemed to know an awful lot about Molotov cocktails. In other circumstances Lethbridge-Stewart might have been troubled by that, but as things were they had to make use of every advantage on hand. He sent George with Billy to supervise a small group and make whatever explosive weapons they could. True, explosives had not served them very well in London, but any small deterrent would help.
Meanwhile he tasked Privates Bishop and Barns to come up with a way to breach the perimeter. He had to get a message to Hamilton, and not only was there still no signal on the RT, but it seemed all the phone lines were down. Just like in London. Whatever happened, reinforcements would be needed. Lethbridge-Stewart still wanted to find a way to the Manor, not only to find out what the Intelligence was up to, but to rescue his mother. First though it was necessary to secure the village. Besides, it didn’t look like his mother was in any immediate danger, if the casual way she had walked away with Owain was anything to go by. The Intelligence needed his mother for something.
He wondered if Arnold had reached the Manor yet. For surely that was his intention.
Arnold had a plan, but without matches or some way of creating a fire it was a plan that he could not put into operation. The barn he had woken up in was one of three; the two larger barns either side were full of bales of hay. If he could entice a Yeti or two to the barn and ignite the hay… He remembered them fighting the Yeti in London, and although the Yeti were indefatigable, and seemingly immune to guns and other artillery, the army had never thought to use fire on the Yeti; after all, flamethrowers had no effect on the web that surrounded London. The way he saw it, the Yeti were only robots protected by thick fur. Fur burned. How strong would they be once exposed, their bodies no longer protected? There were plenty of rakes and spades that he could use as weapons once the gears and wires that propelled the Yeti were exposed. But first he needed a way to start a fire.
He had never been a boy scout, and so wasn’t up on surviving in the wilderness with nothing but dry sticks and the sun. Not that there were many dry sticks around anyway. The sun may have been out, but it had been a cold night and the air and ground was still damp.
What he needed was a box of matches. He patted his pockets again, just in case.
He wished he could remember what had happened to him, how he’d come to be in the barn. Even as he’d searched the haysheds he had racked his brain, trying to remember beyond going into the web with Corporal Lane, but he couldn’t remember a blasted thing. How had he got from London to here… wherever here actually was!
He was once again huddled by the hedge, looking out at the Yeti. They hadn’t moved much, other than to spread the web. He had to assume the worst, that London had fallen and Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart’s plan had failed. Perhaps they were all dead now? God knows enough men died before he had.
Arnold shook his head. No, he couldn’t berate himself over that any more. He had to focus. Take back a little of what the Intelligence had taken from him.
His head whipped around at the sound of movement. ‘Ere, who the hell are you?’
A young man, in his early twenties at the most, stood nearby, looking a little worse for wear. His clothes were dirty, his coat torn. His hair was short, almost military in its closeness. He looked at Arnold like a wild thing.
‘Well, speak up, lad. Who are you?’
‘Charles… Charles Watts. Who the hell are you?’
‘Staff Sergeant Arnold, Royal Engineers 21 Regiment,’ Arnold replied automatically. He shook his head. ‘Never mind me, lad. What’s happened to you? You look like you’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards.’
Arnold considered. From what he could see the village was surrounded, and he knew from experience that attempting to break though the web was futile, which meant… ‘Running from where?’
‘The Manor,’ Watts said. ‘It’s up there, the Whisperer, controlling those abominable snowmen. I think they must have got Lewis… I haven’t seen him in hours.’ He looked around. ‘I need to get back to the village, but there’s no way in. That web. It’s everywhere.’
The Whisperer. Arnold vaguely recalled a voice whispering to him. Could it be the Intelligence? Arnold couldn’t see what else it would be, especially if it was controlling the Yeti. He looked back through the hedge. He wouldn’t be able to get back into the village, and without matches he… No, never mind the matches. He had a better plan.
‘You need to show me to this Manor.’
‘You’re out of your head. I ain’t going up there again.’
Arnold didn’t have time for this, but he could tell Watts was scared, so he said, as calmly as he could, ‘Listen, lad, those things, as you call ‘em, have already taken London, and if they’re here a lot more than one city has fallen. If I can get to the Manor I may be able to put a stop to this. Those Yeti have killed hundreds already, but they’re just weapons. If I can stop the Intelligence…’ He frowned, trying to remember. What was it that Scots lad had said? ‘A pyramid. Did you see a pyramid in the Manor? If we destroy that, we can stop the Yeti.’
A dark cloud passed over Watts’ face. ‘What do you mean, taken London? But that’s my home. How…’ He shook his head. ‘What the hell is going on?’
‘The rout of civilisation, I should think. Now, we need to get to that Manor, and you need to show me the way.’
‘I’m not…’
Arnold placed a hand on Watts’ shoulder. ‘We have to do this. The village is surrounded, so we have to go to the Manor. If we don’t stop the Intelligence, who will?’
‘This is nuts, I’ve only been gone the night. How can…?’ Watts looked him up and down. ‘When did the army get here? Where’s the rest of your lot?’
‘Wish I knew, lad. As far as I know, I’m all that’s left. So, are you going to show me to this Manor or not?’
He wanted to be out there, but Lethbridge-Stewart was the Officer in Command for the duration of the siege. There was nobody else in the village who could take his place, with his experience, and besides which, he was the only person in the village with any official lawful authority. No police were stationed in Bledoe to take charge or help, although as a result of the meeting earlier he had learned that there were several ex-military men living in the village. These he had put to work immediately, sending them out to keep an eye on the activities of the Yeti, armed with their own firearms – short range rifles and shotguns primarily. If the Yeti were advancing, Lethbridge-Stewart wanted to know before it was too late.
He didn’t like commanding civilians, but he had little choice in the matter. Still, in some ways, this village was his home as much as theirs and they all deserved the right to protect it.
He had commandeered the pub as his centre of operations – although the village hall was bigger, it was too close to the church and thus the graves of several brave men who had given their lives for their country. If there was to be final battle then Lethbridge-Stewart wanted to make sure it was as far away from the graveyard as possible.
The pub door opened and Mark Cawley, the local vet, entered. ‘Colonel, there seems to be something very strange going on.’
Lethbridge-Stewart looked up from the map on the table before him and raised a laconic eyebrow. ‘You don’t say. Specifically?’
‘Getting reports of a… vibration.’
‘A vibration? Machinery?’
‘Not so we can see, sir.’ Cawley shrugged. ‘It’s not a physical vibration, more something in the air. Sets your teeth on edge, according to Ross.’
Lethbridge-Stewart wasn’t sure who Ross was, no doubt one of the runners who conveyed messages from the watch-points to the command centre. He nodded slowly, not sure exactly what such a vibration could mean. Another weapon of some sort, no doubt. Perhaps connected to the Yeti’s new mind-clearing ability.
‘Any more debilitating bouts of peacefulness, Mr Cawley?’
‘Not at the moment. But I suppose if the Yeti advance that will change.’
Lethbridge-Stewart checked his wristwatch. ‘Bishop and Mr Vine should be in position by now.’
Cawley glanced up at the clock above the bar. ‘Do you reckon they’ll get through?’
‘Let’s hope so, Mr Cawley, or you may end up working on humans instead of animals. If we don’t get reinforcements, Doctor Starling may well be in need of your help.’
They had chosen Fore Street. It was narrow, and thus easily controlled, plus it had a ready-made weapon. George couldn’t believe how easily he accepted that, how little it troubled him. But he had spent over half his life in Bledoe, raised his children there; as far as he was concerned, it was home, and he had to do whatever was necessary to protect it. He looked through the binoculars at the crashed car, feeling a very brief moment of sadness.
He could see the two bodies draped half across the bonnet, tangled up in the smashed windscreen. He was relieved to see no other bodies – no sign of either Charles or, thankfully, Lewis. He still had no idea where his son was, but at least he could hold on to the hope that he was alive out there.
George hadn’t known the Watts’ well, and what he did know he didn’t much care for, but he didn’t think they deserved such an end. He tried to think of what they were about to do as igniting a funeral pyre and sending them on their way.
A Yeti stood in the middle of the lane, only a few feet from the crashed car. Close enough for their purposes. George moved the binoculars and watched the two people sneaking along the verge, almost pressing themselves into the hedge as they neared the car. Young Billy Moynihan was your classic ne’er do well, a bad influence on everybody he knew. Fifteen and already out of school, expelled for his trouble-making ways almost two years previously. The only kid George had ever forbade his children from bothering with. That Billy had such a knowledge of explosives came as no surprise. Even now, through the binoculars, he could see the excitement written all over the boy’s rough little face. The man with Billy, Adrian Shosty, looked more cautious, fearful almost – as he should. They were risking their lives after all.
He glanced back at the Land Rover parked behind him. Private Bishop and Henry sat inside, waiting patiently. It was decided that Henry should go with Bishop, an extra voice should one be needed, and back-up in case the close proximity of the Yeti should affect either of them. George smiled grimly and returned his attention to Billy and Mr Shosty.
Still undetected, they approached the car. In one hand Billy held a milk bottle with a rag emerging from its long neck. A home-made petrol bomb all ready to ignite should the Yeti spot them. Shosty held another rag in his hand. They reached the car and Billy kept his eyes on the Yeti, his hands itching to ignite the bomb, while Shosty opened the petrol cap at the rear of the car. Into this he stuffed the rag and retrieved a box of matches from his pocket.
George frowned. The zealous look on Billy’s face was fading, replaced by a docile limp look. Already the Yeti was affecting him. Shosty was thus far his normal self, fortunately, and he flicked a match off the box. It took a few attempts to light in the cold breeze, but it did and he cupped his hand around the flame, bringing it into contact with the rag.
George shuddered, feeling a tooth-jarring vibration run through his body. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore it. It was more than a vibration. Now he had his eyes closed he could feel it more clearly. A harmonic resonance, more like a tune than a simple vibration. Like chanting. Just like he’d felt in the cow field earlier, before the presence of the Yeti had affected
him and Ray.
He opened his eyes and focused, fighting the fugue in his mind. Shosty was pulling Billy away from the car, trying not to attract the attention of the Yeti. The furry beast turned to the car, most likely alerted by the smell of the burning rag. It lumbered towards them. Shosty noticed it and, no longer needing stealth, ran as fast as he could, dragging Billy after him.
The Yeti had barely reached the vehicle when the flame disappeared into the petrol tank and the car exploded in a ball of fire and black smoke.
George dropped the binoculars, caught off guard by the noise of the explosion. He took a deep breath and retrieved them. The sight that greeted him brought a smile to his face. The flames from the car licked at the web, burning a hole right through. The Yeti staggered around, consumed in fire.
George looked back at the Land Rover and gave the thumbs-up. Bishop returned the signal and the Land Rover rolled forwards.
Picking up speed, the Land Rover careered through the gap in the web, knocking the stumbling Yeti aside as it did. George grinned. It was a small victory, but hopefully one of many. His elation was short-lived, however. As he continued to watch, the web overcame the fire and sealed the gap, once more cutting them off from the rest of Cornwall.
George ran down the lane towards Billy and Shosty. The teenager was back to his old self again, jumping and jeering at the Yeti, which continued to stagger around, the fire slowly lessening as it ran out of fur to burn. George had barely reached them before he felt it again – that harmonic chant. He called out to Billy, to warn him away from the Yeti, but the word hardly escaped his mouth when a metal claw emerged from the flames and gripped Billy by the neck.
Shosty went to move forward, but George pulled him back. They watched, horrified, as the flames died down and the Yeti was revealed in its full robotic glory. George wasn’t sure what to make of it. Bits of fur hung off it in clumps, the silver surface was scorched by the flames but otherwise it looked undamaged. Although standing a good six-foot, the bulky machine looked squat and dangerous. A pneumatic hiss accompanied every movement of its powerful metal arms and legs, hydraulic muscles pumping. At the centre of its chest was a gaping hole, the size of a softball. George had never seen anything like it before – even on TV, with the wonders of modern film making, nothing quite rivalled the robot that even now choked the life out of Billy.