No Sharks in the Med and Other Stories

by Brian Lumley

  David pulled himself up and hung his arms and his rib-cage over the rung he was on—just as they had practised in the playground—getting comfortable before carefully turning his head to look back. He was shocked to see that John’s face was paler than he’d ever known it, and that his eyes were staring. When John saw David’s doubt, however, he managed a weak grin.

  “It’s OK,” he said. “I was—I was just a bit worried about you, that’s all. Thought your arms might be getting a bit tired. Have you—have you looked down yet?”

  “No,” David answered, his voice mouse-like. No, he said again, this time to himself, and I’m not going to! He carefully turned his head back to look ahead, where the diminishing line of rungs seemed to stretch out almost infinitely to the far side of the viaduct.

  John had been worried about him. Yes, of course he had; that was why his face had looked so funny, so—shrunken. John thought he was frightened, was worried about his self-control, his ability to carry on. Well, David told himself, he had every right to worry; but all the same he felt ashamed that his weakness was so obvious. Even in a position like that, perched so perilously, David’s mind was far more concerned with the other boy’s opinion of him than with thoughts of possible disaster. And it never once dawned on him, not for a moment, that John might really only be worried about himself…

  Almost as if to confirm beyond a doubt the fact that John had little faith in his strength, his courage—as David hung there, breathing deeply, preparing himself for the next stage of the venture—his friend‘s voice, displaying an unmistakable quaver, came to him again from behind: “Just another twenty rungs, that’s all, then you’ll be able to climb up on to the walkway.”

  Yes, David thought, I’ll be able to climb up. But then I’ll know that I’ll never be like you—that you’ll always be better than me—because you’ll carry on all the way across! He set his teeth and dismissed the thought. It wasn’t going to be like that, he told himself, not this time. After all, it was no different up here from in the playground. You were only higher, that was all. The trick was in not looking down—

  As if obeying some unheard command, seemingly with a morbid curiosity of their own, David’s eyes slowly began to turn downward, defying him. Their motion was only arrested when David’s attention suddenly centred upon a spider-like dot that emerged suddenly from the cover of the trees, scampering frantically up the opposite slope of the valley. He recognized the figure immediately from the faded blue shirt and black trousers that it wore. It was Wiley Smiley.

  As David lowered himself carefully into the hanging position beneath his rung and swung forward, he said: “Across the valley, there—that’s Wiley Smiley. I wonder why he’s in such a hurry.” There had been something terribly urgent about the idiot’s quick movements, as if some rare incentive powered them.

  “I see him,” said John, sounding more composed now. “Hah! He’s just an old nutter. My dad says he’ll do something one of these days and have to be taken away.”

  “Do something?” David queried, pausing briefly between swings. An uneasiness completely divorced from the perilous game they were playing rose churningly in his stomach and mind. “What kind of thing?”

  “Dunno,” John grunted. “But anyway, don’t—uh!—talk.”

  It was good advice: don’t talk, conserve wind, strength, take it easy. And yet David suddenly found himself moving faster, dangerously fast, and his fingers were none too sure as they moved from one rung to the next. More than once he was hanging by one hand while the other groped blindly for support.

  It was very, very important now to close the distance between himself and the sanctuary of the gap in the planking. True, he had made up his mind just a few moments ago to carry on beyond that gap—as far as he could go before admitting defeat, submitting—but all such resolutions were gone now as quickly as they came. His one thought was of climbing up to safety.

  It had something to do with Wiley Smiley and the eager, determined way he had been scampering up the far slope. Towards the viaduct. Something to do with that, yes, and with what John had said about Wiley Smiley being taken away one day…for doing something. David’s mind dared not voice its fears too specifically, not even to itself…

  Now, except for the occasional grunt—that and the private pounding of blood in their ears—the two boys were silent, and only a minute or so later David saw the gap in the planking. He had been searching for it, sweeping the rough wood of the planks stretching away overhead anxiously until he saw the wide, straight crack that quickly enlarged as he swung closer. Two planks were missing here, he knew, just sufficient to allow a boy to squirm through the gap without too much trouble.

  His breath coming in sobbing, glad gasps, David was just a few rungs away from safety when he felt the first tremors vibrating through the great structure of the viaduct. It was like the trembling of a palsied giant. “What’s that?” he cried out loud, terrified, clinging desperately to the rung above his head.

  “It’s a—uh!—train!” John gasped, his own voice now very hoarse and plainly frightened. “We’ll have to—uh!—wait until it’s gone over.”

  Quickly, before the approaching train’s vibrations could shake them loose, the boys hauled themselves up into positions of relative safety and comfort, perching on their rungs beneath the planks of the walkway. There they waited and shivered in the shadow of the viaduct, while the shuddering rumble of the train drew ever closer, until, in a protracted clattering of wheels on rails, the monster rushed by unseen overhead. The trembling quickly subsided and the train’s distant whistle proclaimed its derision; it was finished with them.

  Without a word, holding back a sob that threatened to develop into full-scale hysteria, David lowered himself once more into the full-length hanging position; behind him, breathing harshly and with just the hint of a whimper escaping from his lips, John did the same. Two, three more forward swings and the gap was directly overhead. David looked up, straight up to the clear sky.

  “Hurry!” said John, his voice the tiniest whisper. “My hands are starting to feel funny…”

  David pulled himself up and balanced across his rung, tremulously took away one hand and grasped the edge of the wooden planking. Pushing down on the hand that grasped the rung and hauling himself up, finally he kneeled on the rung and his head emerged through the gap in the planks. He looked along the walkway…

  There, not three feet away, legs widespread and eyes burning with a fanatical hatred, crouched Wiley Smiley. David saw him, saw the pointed stick he held, felt a thrill of purest horror course through him. Then, in the next instant, the idiot lunged forward and his mouth opened in a demented parody of a laugh. David saw the lightning movement of the sharpened stick and tried to avoid its thrust. He felt the point strike his forehead just above his left eye and fell back, off balance, arms flailing. Briefly his left hand made contact with the planking again, then lost it, and he fell with a shriek…across the rung that lay directly beneath him. It was not a long fall, but fear and panic had already winded David; he simply closed his eyes and sobbed, hanging on for dear life, motionless. But only for a handful of seconds.

  Warm blood trickled from David’s forehead, falling on his hands where he gripped the rung. Something was prodding the back of his neck, jabbing viciously. The pain brought him back from the abyss and he opened his eyes to risk one sharp, fearful glance upwards. Wiley Smiley was kneeling at the edge of the gap, his stick already moving downward for another jab. Again David moved his head to avoid the thrust of the stick, and once more the point scraped his forehead.

  Behind him David could hear John moaning and screaming alternately: “Oh, Mum! Dad! It’s Wiley Smiley! It’s him, him, him! He’ll kill us., kill us…” Galvanized into action, David lowered himself for the third time into the hanging position and swung forward, away from the inflamed idiot’s deadly stick. Two rungs, three, then he carefully turned about-face and hauled himself up to rest. He looked at John through the blood that
dripped slowly into one eye, blurring his vision.

  David blinked to clear his eye of blood, then said: “John, you’ll have to turn round and go back, get help. He’s got me here. I can‘t go forward any further, I don’t think, and I can’t come back. I’m stuck. But it’s only fifty rungs back to the start. You can do it easy, and if you get tired you can always rest. I’ll wait here until you fetch help.”

  “Can’t, can’t, can’t,” John babbled, trembling wildly where he lay half across his rung. Tears ran down the older boy’s cheeks and fell into space like salty rain. He was deathly white, eyes staring, frozen. Suddenly yellow urine flooded from the leg of his short trousers in a long burst. When he saw this, David, too, wet himself, feeling the burning of his water against his legs but not caring. He felt very tiny, very weak now, and he knew that fear and shock were combining to exhaust him.

  Then, as a silhouette glimpsed briefly in a flash of lightning, David saw in his mind’s eye a means of salvation. “John,” he urgently called out to the other boy. “Do you remember near the middle of the viaduct? There are two gaps close together in the walkway, maybe only a dozen or so rungs apart.” Almost imperceptibly, John nodded, never once moving his frozen eyes from David’s face. “Well,” the younger boy continued, barely managing to keep the hysteria out of his own voice, “if we can swing to—”

  Suddenly David’s words were out off by a burst of insane laughter from above, followed immediately by a loud, staccato thumping on the boards as Wiley Smiley leapt crazily up and down.

  “No, no, no—” John finally cried out in answer to David’s proposal. His paralysis broken, he began to sob unashamedly. Then, shaking his head violently, he said: “I can’t move—can’t move!” His voice became the merest whisper. “Oh, God—Mum—Dad! I’ll fall, I’ll fall!”

  “You won’t fall, you git—coward!” David shouted. Then his jaw fell open in a gasp. John, a coward! But the other boy didn’t even seem to have heard him. Now he was trembling as wildly as before and his eyes were squeezed tight shut.

  “Listen,” David said. “If you don’t come…then I’ll leave you. You wouldn’t want to be left on your own, would you?” It was an echo as of something said a million years ago.

  John stopped sobbing and opened his eyes. They opened very wide, unbelieving. “Leave me?”

  “Listen,” David said again. “The next gap is only about twenty rungs away, and the one after that is only another eight or nine more. Wiley Smiley can‘t get after both of us at once, can he?”

  “You go,” said John, his voice taking on fresh hope and his eyes blinking rapidly. “You go and maybe he’ll follow you. Then I’ll climb up and—and chase him off…”

  “You won’t be able to chase him off,” said David scornfully, “not just you on your own. You’re not big enough.”

  “Then I’ll…I’ll run and fetch help.”

  “What if he doesn’t follow me?” David asked. “If we both go, he’s bound to follow us.”

  “David,” John said, after a moment or two. “David, I’m…frightened.”

  “You’ll have to be quick across the gap,” David said, ignoring John’s last statement. “He’s got that stick—and of course he’ll be listening to us.”

  “I’m frightened,” John whispered again.

  David nodded. “OK, you stay where you are, if that’s what you want—but I’m going on.”

  “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me!” John cried out, his shriek accompanied by a peal of mad and bubbling laughter from the unseen idiot above. “Don’t go!”

  “I have to, or we’re both finished,” David answered. He slid down into the hanging position and turned about-face, noting as he did so that John was making to follow him, albeit in a dangerous, panicky fashion. “Wait to see if Wiley Smiley follows me!” he called back over his shoulder.

  “No. I’m coming, I’m coming!”

  From far down below in the valley David heard a horrified shout, then another. They had been spotted. Wiley Smiley heard the shouting too, and his distraction was sufficient to allow John to pass by beneath him unhindered. From above, the two boys now heard the idiot’s worried mutterings and gruntings, and the hesitant sound of his feet as he slowly kept pace with them along the walkway. He could see them through the narrow cracks between the planks, but the cracks weren’t wide enough for him to use his stick.

  David‘s arms and hands were terribly numb and aching by the time he reached the second gap, but seeing the gloating, twisted features of Wiley Smiley leering down at him he ducked his head and swung on to where he was once more protected by the planks above him. John had stopped short of the second gap, hauling himself up into the safer, resting position.

  Above them Wiley Smiley was mewling viciously like a wild animal, howling as if in torment. He rushed crazily back and forth from gap to gap, jabbing uselessly at the empty air between the vacant rungs. The boys could see the bloodied point of the stick striking down first through one open space, then the other. David achingly waited until he saw the stick appear at the gap in front of him and then, when it retreated and he heard Wiley Smiley‘s footsteps hurrying overhead, swung swiftly across to the other side. There he turned about to face John, and with what felt like his last ounce of strength pulled himself up to rest.

  Now, for the first time, David dared to look down. Below, running up the riverbank and waving frantically, were the ant-like figures of three men. They must have been out for a Saturday morning stroll when they’d spotted the two boys hanging beneath the viaduct’s walkway. One of them stopped running and put his hands up to his mouth. His shout floated up to the boys on the clear air: “Hang on, lads, hang on!”

  “Help!” David and John cried out together, as loud as they could. “Help—Help!”

  “We’re coming, lads,” came the answering shout. The men hurriedly began to climb the wooded slope on their side of the river and disappeared into the trees.

  “They’ll be here soon,” David said, wondering if it would be soon enough. His whole body ached and he felt desperately weak and sick.

  “Hear that, Wiley Smiley?” John cried hysterically, staring up at the boards above him. “They’ll be here soon—and then you’ll be taken away and locked up!” There was no answer. A slight wind had come up off the sea and was carrying a salty tang to them where they lay across their rungs.

  “They’ll take you away and lock you up,” John cried again, the ghost of a sob in his voice; but once more the only answer was the slight moaning of the wind. John looked across at David, maybe twenty-five feet away, and said: “I think…I think he’s gone.” Then he gave a wild shout. “He’s gone. He’s gone!”

  “I didn’t hear him go,” said David, dubiously.

  John was very much more his old self now. “Oh, he’s gone, all right. He saw those men coming and cleared off. David, I’m going up!”

  “You’d better wait,” David cried out as his friend slid down to hang at arm’s length from his rung. John ignored the advice; he swung forward hand over hand until he was under the far gap in the planking. With a grunt of exertion, he forced the tired muscles of his arms to pull his body up. He got his rib-cage over the rung, flung a hand up and took hold of the naked plank to one side of the gap, then—

  In that same instant David sensed rather than heard the furtive movement overhead. “John!” he yelled. “He’s still there—Wiley Smiley’s still there!”

  But John had already seen Wiley Smiley; the idiot had made his presence all too plain, and already his victim was screaming. The boy fell back fully into David’s view, the hand he had thrown up to grip the edge of the plank returning automatically to the rung, his arms taking the full weight of his falling body, somehow sustaining him. There was a long gash in his cheek from which blood freely flowed.

  “Move forward!” David yelled, terror pulling his lips back in a snarling mask. “Forward, where he can’t get at you…”

  John heard him and must have seen in some d
im, frightened recess of his mind the common sense of David’s advice. Panting hoarsely—partly in dreadful fear, partly from hideous emotional exhaustion—he swung one hand forward and caught at the next rung. And at that precise moment, in the split second while John hung suspended between the two rungs with his face turned partly upward, Wiley Smiley struck again.

  David was witness to it all. He heard the maniac’s rising, gibbering shriek of triumph as the sharp point of the stick lanced unerringly down, and John’s answering cry of purest agony as his left eye flopped bloodily out on to his cheek, lying there on a white thread of nerve and gristle. He saw John clap both hands to his monstrously altered face, and watched in starkest horror as his friend seemed to stand for a moment, defying gravity, on the thin air. Then John was gone, dwindling away down a draughty funnel of air, while rising came the piping, diminishing scream that would haunt David until his dying day, a scream that was cut short after what seemed an impossibly long time.

  John had fallen. At first David couldn’t accept it, but then it began to sink in. His friend had fallen. He moaned and shut his eyes tightly, lying half across and clinging to his rung so fiercely that he could no longer feel his bloodless fingers at all. John had fallen…

  Then—perhaps it was only a minute or so later, perhaps an hour, David didn’t know—there broke in on his perceptions the sound of clumping, hurrying feet on the boards above, and a renewed, even more frenzied attack of gibbering and shrieking from Wiley Smiley. David forced his eyes open as the footsteps came to a halt directly overhead. He heard a gruff voice: “Jim, you keep that bloody—Thing—away, will you? He’s already killed one boy today. Frank, give us a hand here.”

  A face, inverted, appeared through the hole in the planks not three feet away from David’s own face. The mouth opened and the same voice, but no longer gruff, said: “It’s OK now, son. Everything’s OK. Can you move?”