In another second he was in the midst of the awful mass, fighting the most terrific and nauseating battle of his life. Branches writhed away to the ground as he cut them asunder. Brilliant green sap flew through the air, dropped to the smothered ground, and sprouted. Tendrils pulled at his legs, tore at his arms, curled round his neck.
Right and left he slashed, the keen blade cutting the stuff through in all directions, until at last he reached his wife’s side. She was unconscious, and yet, strangely enough, the stuff no longer tried to curl round her now that she was still. Six more cuts, and the main stems that clamped about her were slashed in twain. With desperate speed, Price cut the remaining coil that was twisted about her neck.
Glancing round, he was staggered to see how far the weed had travelled. It was hemming him in on every side. Tossing the girl over his shoulder, he battled his way back again, hacking and hewing like a madman, stumbling and falling, his clothes spattered with the evil, green sap. Until finally, utterly spent, he staggered through the edge of the advancing stuff and went reeling away, drunk with horror and strain.
Yet even now there was no respite. The plant was still advancing. He picked Lucy up once more and staggered on across the adjoining meadow, heart bursting with the exertion.
As he reeled crazily onwards he cast horrified glances over his shoulder towards that behemoth sea of vegetation, so silent yet so invincible, spreading through the moonlight. Then he found he had reached the road again.
Here, exhausted, he paused for a moment, then set about reviving his wife. It took him five minutes, but by that time she was able to stand on her feet again. It was curious to note that she had sustained but little physical injury; the awful shock had been mainly responsible for her collapse.
She stood now, panting and shaky, in the moonlight, drawing her torn clothes together.
“Now what?” she asked finally, anxiously. “We can’t outstrip it, Price.”
“That’s what’s worrying me,” he answered, breathing hard. “I’m about all in, and I can’t think of any—”
He paused and looked up with a puzzled frown as a sudden deep, beating hum came upon the air. It became louder, until at last two pairs of eyes were treated to the surprising sight of a silvery, peculiarly-shaped air machine—wingless, remarkably enough—speeding along close to the ground, not a mile away.
Presently it swung round and headed towards the road. It seemed to actually stop in mid-air, then dropped in a straight, vertical line to earth.
The two onlookers did not stop to consider the machine’s unorthodox behaviour; they screwed up all their remaining energy and raced towards the spot where it had alighted. As they reached it a door opened in the glittering side, and a tall, familiar figure became visible.
“Hugh Benton!” Price gasped in amazement.
“How well you remember names, my young friend,” the strange scientist responded. “Get inside, both of you. I’ll explain later. Hurry! The weed is moving fast!”
Without further ado, Price and Lucy tumbled into the softly sprung seats at the rear of Benton’s machine. The door closed by some automatic process, then the remarkable craft, quite different to an ordinary aeroplane, rose vertically into the air and swept over the billowing sea of vegetation.
Gazing down, Price and Lucy both shuddered involuntarily. One slip and it meant doom of the most horrible kind in the midst of that all-destructive plant. But Hugh Benton fid not seem in the least perturbed. He drove steadily towards the south, high above the seething life below, and never uttered a single word.
Drugged…
To the complete amazement of both young people, Hugh Ben-ton’s dwelling on the hill, when eventually they reached what had been the Somerset countryside, was the only place free from the all-embracing, wriggling plant-life. The sea of leaves reached to the railings of his abode and there stopped, as though an unseen power had bidden them advance no further…
With the same calmness of manner, Benton brought his strange air-machine round in a wide circle, then dropped direct to the flat roof below. A slight jolt, and the flyer was still.
Silently he opened the rear door, assisted the two to alight, then led the way down through a trapdoor into his familiar laboratory. Passing through this—and as they went Price and Lucy both noticed that the strange machines were now humming with power—he preceded them into the lounge, switching on an electric fire and light by a synchronic switch.
“Make yourselves at home,” he invited, cordially. “The sooner you get into practice, the better.”
“You mean—? You mean we’re prisoners?” Price demanded; but Benton shook his head.
“Not my prisoners, Mr. Driscoll—prisoners of the weed,” he responded quietly. “In fact…”
He hesitated, stood thinking for a moment, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now. Later, perhaps. I will bring you some refreshment. I am sure you must both be tired and nerve-racked after your ordeal. I’ll return in a moment.”
When he came back he was carrying a bottle in his hand.
“Champagne,” he explained, in response to the glances of the two. “It will revive you wonderfully after its first effects have passed off. My—er—champagne is different to most brands in that it leaves no after-effects the following morning. You really must try it.”
Without waiting for an acceptance, he crossed to the sideboard and filled two glasses to the brim; for some curious reason he omitted himself, and handed them to his two guests. A faintly amused smile hung about his lips as he watched them drain the glasses to the last drop.
“By jove, sir; it’s marvellous!” Price declared emphatically. “Sets you on fire! What do you say, Lucy?”
“Never tasted anything quite like it!” she affirmed, passing an uncertain hand over her forehead. “What—what brand is it? Do you mind telling us?”
“I have no objection to telling you; but the trouble is that it is quite unobtainable except by me. However, we can discuss that later. I would suggest that you retire now without having any food. This particular champagne does not agree with food. I had a very comfortable room in the south wing of this building which will amply suit your needs. It was just as well I knew you were coming and saved you from the weed.”
His strong hands helped the exhausted pair to their feet and piloted them down an adjoining corridor, up a broad staircase, and finally into a wide and expansive bedroom, tastefully furnished, the window draped in red velvet curtains.
“I feel sure you will be comfortable here,” he said, his face full of smiles. “You will find a bolt on the inside of this door. Lock the door; I shall not be offended. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Goo’ ni’!” Lucy exclaimed, with a wild wave of her arm flopping on to the billowing bed; and Price’s response was a loud bass hiccup.
Quietly, Benton closed the door behind him, then locked two outer bolts as well. Manifestly, the fact that the two could lock themselves in did not prevent him from ensuring that they could not leave. The bolts moved very silently; then, with the same calmness, Benton strolled up the passage.
Within the bedroom, after a befuddled effort to move over the bolt, Price fell full length on the bed beside the stupefied Lucy. Almost instantly, they both fell into a deep, drugged sleep. So deeply did they sleep, indeed, that they failed to hear, for a period lasting from two until four in the morning, a persistent stabbing of powerful Morse from a super radio-transmitter, or the seeming echo of those messages in a strong loudspeaker somewhere downstairs.
Hugh Benton did not attempt to sleep; it seemed to be the thought furthest from his extraordinary mind. Instead he viewed the approaching dawn with a wakefulness and calmness foreign to the strongest man…
CHAPTER IV
The Creeping Menace
Price Driscoll awoke with a start. Why, he did not exactly know. He swivelled an eye round and found sunlight streaming through a niche in the red velvet curtains.
Remark
ing his amazement at finding no trace of stiffness or headache after the champagne of the night before, he scrambled off the broad bed and dropped to the floor. For a moment he was puzzled at finding himself dressed in the remnants of his previous night’s clothing; then, with a grim smile, he remembered.…
Suddenly recollecting his wife, he turned to find her face downwards on the heavy quilt, arms outflung, hands clutching the heavy material as though she were afraid of slipping off it—a silent revelation of her previous night’s thoughts.
She shook her head as Price tapped her on the shoulder, then twisted into a sitting position and rubbed her tousled hair sleepily.
“How are you?” Price asked.
“All right; never felt better. That champagne of Mr. Benton’s is about the best thing I’ve struck… H’mm!” She cast a disapproving eye down her ripped garments. “Wonder if there are any clothes anywhere?”
Price shrugged. “We can but ask. Let’s get moving; I’m hungry.”
He crossed to the window and flung back the curtains, then stood gripping them, staring transfixed with shock for a moment. From this high position he could see the entire countryside, and everywhere except the scientist’s lonely abode was buried in a turbulent mass of green.
It was as though an entire Sargossa Sea had arisen overnight. Mile upon mile of it, in every direction, swelling and swaying in the exuberance of bounding growth, increasing its pace now under the rays of the hot summer sun.
“We certainly were lucky to be picked up,” Lucy commented quietly, looking over her husband’s shoulder. “This stuff is smothering the world.”
Perplexity settled on her brow. “I still can’t fathom why this place is left untouched. See, down there by the railings it isn’t getting a hold at all. But out there there’s nothing but weed. Price, dear, do you think we’re in a dangerous position?” she asked worriedly, turning to him.
“Not inside here,” he replied; and, satisfied with the view, he turned to the door and slipped back the bolt. Timidly, like children, they both crept out into the corridor, ragged, dirty, and faintly apprehensive.
“Ah, good morning, my young friends. I trust you are feeling better?”
It was Hugh Benton himself, standing behind them, immaculate in a lounge suit. That faint suggestion of an amused smile still hung about his lips.
“Oh—er—good morning, sir,” Price stammered, and Lucy took refuge in a faint smile.
“You seem ill at ease,” Benton remarked in surprise. “I assure you that you have nothing to fear. I may be strange in manner, but I am the perfect host. Breakfast is awaiting us downstairs; after we have had it I will arrange clothing for you. Come along.”
At breakfast Benton ate little; instead he watched his guests detachedly, as though studying them. Not that this made the pair self-conscious; they were too hungry to care.
When they were satisfied, Benton looked at them thoughtfully.
“Today, my young friend, we will tour the world and see how far this weed has moved,” he announced. “We can be back before dark, and still have fairly long stays in London, New York, Berlin, and other principal cities.
“I am anxious to see how things are progressing. I could use television, but I prefer to see with my own eyes. Besides, I think you will enjoy the trip.”
“Did—did you say the world?” Price asked, incredulously. “Back before dark?”
“Easily.” Benton nodded, calmly. “My air-machine moves at half the speed of light itself; namely, ninety-three thousand miles a second, when at maximum. I rarely use maximum speed, of course. We can soon cover the globe at a slower rate. You will be interested, surely?”
“Oh, very!” Price agreed dazedly, almost convinced he was dealing with a lunatic.
“Very well, then. Run along and smarten up a bit; you will find several articles of clothing in your room, which have been put there whilst we breakfasted. I have a mechanical servant. You need fresh clothes. Also, if your faces are any guide, you missed the shower and washbowl in the corner of your room, behind the curtain. With all due deference to both of you, use it. I’ll prepare my ship meantime.”
The Smothered Metropolis
Half an hour later the two were seated comfortably in the rear of Benton’s amazing air-machine. He clambered up in front of them, flicked a button, and the engine purred softly. It had none of the harsh, blasting roar of an aeroplane; its smooth rhythm was something to wonder at.
A lever moved, then with easy grace the machine rose in vertical ascent, turned, and began to gather terrific momentum as it shot across the sea of vegetation below. Price and Lucy, enthralled by the view, forgot the mysterious personality of their host as they gazed down upon the massive banks of weed struggling and battling with each other to reach the hot sunlight.
With almost incredible speed—yet, strangely enough, without any unpleasant effects, despite the tremendous acceleration—the vessel ate up distance. The roar of the wind outside became distinctly noticeable through the immensely thick walls, a point which presently brought a question from Price.
“Mr. Benton, if you travelled at your maximum speed, surely the friction of the atmosphere would burn up your entire ship?”
“Not the metal of this machine,” Benton replied. “It is known as Oilian steel, and has a melting point several thousand degrees Centigrade above tungsten, one of Earth’s toughest metals. Besides that, Oilian steel is very light; and again, between the inner and outer walls of this ship is a perfect vacuum—or, at least, the nearest approach to one—which stops either cold or heat affecting the interior. The wind you hear is from the window-sockets, not the walls. Sound can’t pass through a vacuum.”
Price digested these remarks before speaking again.
“I can’t understand why, with such knowledge as yours, you don’t make money!”
“Probably because money doesn’t interest me,” came the grave response; and Price said no more…
Seven minutes later London was reached. Switches moved and clicked once more, and the air-machine became stationary.
“I use a radio-motor,” Benton explained, turning to read the wonder in the faces of the two passengers. “Generated from my abode is a special class of radio-waves, which propel my motor, the motor being attuned to those waves. Since these waves are powerful enough to encircle the world, I travel round the world in them. That is why my machine can achieve such terrific velocity, because radio waves move at the nearly same speed as light—one hundred and eighty-six thousand miles a second. I find, though, that half that speed is a safe maximum; once I get past it my automatic acceleration neutralisers and gyroscopic-seats behave faultily, being unable to cope with the excessive inertia…
“The radio-waves also explain why I can go up and down vertically, and why I can remain stationary in mid-air. Since this vessel has a radio-motor at each end, controlled from this switchboard, an equal pressure can be radiated from both ends; hence the ship remains still. You understand?”
“Vaguely,” Price said doubtfully.
“Well, why try?” Benton asked, smiling. “Look down there! Interesting, is it not?”
The three turned to the windows. The air-machine was hovering over Trafalgar Square, permitting a wide view of London on every hand. Never in their lives had Price or Lucy expected to see what they did then.
For London was already being attacked by the weed. During the night it must have moved at tremendous speed from the south country, besides having burst out in various other quarters of the city of its own accord. It was clear that, in the main, the mighty weed had come up the river, for from end to end the wide bosom of the Thames was choked with crawling, struggling green life.
It stretched forth its squirming tentacles on both sides of the river. The Westminster, Tower and Waterloo Bridges were already cloaked in green, making them appear oddly like medieval castles with a covering of ivy.
Directly below, people were lying prone in the streets,
hundreds upon hundreds of them, obviously first stricken down by the amazing paralysis. And towards them, covering them, rolled and expanded the monstrous columns of Martian vegetation.
A colossal main branch, quite eight feet in diameter, lay down the centre of the Strand. The taller buildings, too, made excellent holds for the stuff. Big Ben had already vanished amidst the smother. Fleet Street, place of ink and news, had also succumbed.
A World Engulfed
Even as the trio watched, the weed continued to envelope the city with almost uncanny speed. The dark, natural green of Hyde Park was gradually obliterated as the mass crept over it. Building after building disappeared; streets and people vanished before that irresistible tidal wave of astounding growth.
Presently Lucy’s voice broke the silence.
“Those poor people down there! The stuff will kill them—choke them!”
“On the contrary,” Benton answered, shaking his head. “The Martian weed, from the tests I have made of it, will not strangle or even harm a sleeping or unconscious person or animal. It is the things which give resistance, like struggling people or animals, which it chokes.
“That is why you were in danger last night, when you tried to fight free from the weed. The instant you became unconscious and limp it ceased to try and overcome you. No buildings will suffer, either, because they offer no resistance. They will be covered, yes; but nothing more.”
“You seem to know a lot about it, sir,” Price ventured. “Why on Earth don’t you remove the paralysis from the world? You said it was to stop war, and you managed it. But why let the world go to pot?”
“When I realised that the weed would cover the Earth I decided to increase the power of my paralysis-machine and render every living soul unconscious. Dead, and yet alive. In that way the weed will grow over them, and they will not suffer because they offer no resistance.
“In perhaps sixteen or seventeen hours Earth will be covered from end to end. From here we will fly northwards and see how the rest of the world is faring. Those Martian seeds, contrary to your belief, were not confined to the Atlantic Ocean. They were widely scattered, some falling in the Atlantic, some in the Pacific and Indian Oceans, and others in various parts of different continents. Don’t question how I know all this…”
The John Russell Fearn Science Fiction Megapack Page 24
