A Gathering of Twine

by Martin Adil-Smith

  “It’s heading to West Lomond,” panted King.

  “There’s a footpath just over there,” said Tate indicating a little way north. “It’ll be easier going than this field.”

  Price grunted and made to where Tate had pointed.

  “Doesn’t hang about your man, does he?” said Tate to King, but the boy was already moving off.

  The two men and the boy continued jogging. They could all tell they were gaining on the creature. Maybe three hundred yards now. Price could feel his heart working hard, hammering at his chest. Sweat was beading on his brow and his back felt sticky despite the cool afforded by the brief night. The eclipse was well over and the sun continued to threaten to break through the blanket of cloud cover.

  And then the figure in front of them was gone.

  “Wha...?” Price panted.

  King arrived at his side a few seconds later. Gulping lung-fulls of air the boy pointed towards the trees on the right-hand side. “In…there…Sir!”

  Tate jogged past both of them without a word.

  Civilians! thought Price. Fifty yards on the path forked. One spur seemed to be arcing around the base of West Lomond, whilst the other went into the woods. Tate was standing looking unsure which way to go.

  It was Price’s turn to jog past the man without a word. Following the smear of black ooze the three ran on into the woods. Although they could not hear their quarry, Price noticed they could smell It. That same stench of oily-kerosene hung in the air and his stomach involuntary turned over. For a moment he thought he was going to be sick and his mouth filled with the bitter saliva that told him vomit was on its way. It had been a while since he had been pushed this hard and he was starting to feel it.

  King, on the other hand, Price noted, seem to have found a second wind. Pacing himself better than when he started, he was nearly thirty yards ahead as they broke through the edge of the forest.

  The figure was there, less than a hundred yards ahead of them, and disappeared behind a rocky outcrop. King went to move off, but Price held the boy’s sleeve. Wordlessly, he pointed to King to keep on the path and follow the route the thing had taken, and he would go round the other side of the outcrop, flanking the creature.

  Tate was still fifty yards behind and Price could hear the man’s wheezing. Price and King set off. Tate stopped and saw where Price was going and for a moment thought about following him, before changing his mind and going after King.

  Price and King cleared the outcrop at the same time and stood looking at the other, each with an expression of Well It didn’t come past me. There was no sign of the creature.

  Tate was a few seconds behind and looked equally baffled. Surveying the hill that sloped away from the wood, there was no sign of whatever creature had chanced upon them during the eclipse. For a few moments, they looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

  “Well It must be somewhere,” said Price, exasperated. They had run a mile and a half, maybe two. He was not going to give up now.

  Tate rested on his haunches, breathing hard, and looked at the ground. “He certainly came this way. Look. That stuff he was covered in… it’s in the grass here.” Tate rubbed the substance between his thumb and forefinger and smelt it. “Oil?” he asked Price.

  “None that I recognise,” Price responded.

  “Could it be some sort of fuel?” Tate persisted, and then noting Price’s uniform he continued. “Have any of your mob put up a kite today? Something experimental? Maybe one of them has come down.”

  Price could see the man’s logic. A test plane comes down and the pilot survives but is covered in fuel. He had heard about these new athodyd models being tested, but that was out over Israel. No. The creature was naked. He had seen that much.

  “Look, there’s some more.” King was searching around the base of the rocky outcrop. “It’s quite thick here sir,” he continued, pulling the long grass back.

  Tate and Price joined him, following the trail of thick goo, and pulling the grass up away from the base of the giant stones. All at once a large clump came away in King’s hands and the boy nearly toppled backwards. A small hole in the side of the rock, which had previously been covered in undergrowth, yawned at them. It was no more than two feet in diameter and did not seem big enough to have allowed the creature in.

  “Well, I never...” began Tate as he peered in.

  “He can’t have gone down there,” Price interrupted.

  “I think he did Sir,” King responded. He ran his finger around the inside of the hole and held it up to show Price. It was covered in the thick black substance.

  “What do you think?” Tate asked, turning to Price, smiling. “Reckon we can all get in there?”

  Price knew the civilian was daring him.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” said a voice behind them. All three turned to see a wiry dark haired man, cresting the rise in the field, a length of rope around one shoulder, a shotgun braced on the other.

  “Are you the Estate Keeper?” Tate asked.

  A shadow crossed the man’s thin face. “Yes,” he said.

  Well that was a lie, thought Price, noting that the safety was off on the shotgun. Things had taken a turn that he did not much care for.

  “What’s your name?” Price asked authoritatively.

  “Tuther. Celus Tuther. Who might you chaps be?”

  “Warrant Officer Price. This is Cadet King. We were up on the East Lomond watching the eclipse, when this Thing...”

  “It was a man. Definitely a man,” interrupted Tate. “He was naked and covered in oil or something. The poor devil looked out of his mind. He took off and we followed him. Looks like that he went down this hole. Can you help us?”

  Tuther looked like he was going to say something, but thought better of it. Everyone seemed to have paused for a moment, and then Price spoke.

  “You’re not the Estate Keeper are you?” he said.

  Tuther looked at Price but did not say anything.

  “Thought not. Tuther really your name?”

  “Yes,” Tuther replied, bitter that he had aroused suspicion so quickly.

  “So you found your tongue. What do you know about this man... creature thing?”

  Tuther looked at Price coldly but did not reply.

  Tate sensed the tension between the two men. “Look here Tuther. We need to help this poor soul. What do you know?”

  Tuther turned his piercing gaze to Tate but was again silent. Price noticed that something rippled across his face. What was that? A suppressed expression? Recognition?

  Tuther was beginning to tense. He really did not want to have to shoot the three of them.

  Price’s resolve hardened. He had not been in favour of going down that hole, but it was obvious that this Tuther was hiding something. “Look, if you’re not going to help, we’ll just...” Price made as if to wriggle into the hole.

  “No!” Tuther shouted, lurching forward and startling Tate and King.

  Price backed out and stood up. “Now why the blazes not?” He was very close to Tuther now. No more than six inches. He eyed the shotgun – looked like a slide action. Probably a Winchester. Maybe an M97. He had seen a few Americans use them in the war. Sure he could probably wrest it from Tuther but the muzzle sweep might see a discharge and hit Tate. Worse, the boy.

  Tuther was silent. His jaw seemed to work as if he was going to say something. “Because there are probably more of them down there,” he said finally.

  It was Price’s turn to narrow his eyes. “More of what down there?”

  Tuther knew that he could not stop now that he had started. He sighed. “Those... things. They started appearing a week or so ago. Running around and then disappearing. I tracked one back to this hole, hence...” he hoisted the rope and then the shotgun.

  Price eyed Tuther. Clearly, this man knew more than he was letting on. “What are they? What are those things?”

  For a moment Tuther said nothing. “A threat,” he said eventua
lly.

  Price was not letting the matter go. “What sort of threat? Military?” He knew well enough that the Germans had dropped all sorts over this area during the war, and the locals were still clearing up. Why not some sort of rabid creature that infected the local herds? Maybe it had got into the water and started to affect the local population. Whoever Tuther really was, he had come prepared. Price could see the outline of a pistol on the inside of the man’s tweed jacket and what looked like the body of a torch. Various tool heads poked out of his rucksack, and he knew that few people travelled around that kitted up. Price suspected that Tuther was at the very least associated with the Intelligence Service, if not directly employed.

  “Something like a military risk,” Tuther conceded.

  Price half smiled to himself. He had been around long enough to know when someone was having him on. Tuther was good, but not that good. A truth and a lie. But which was which? Whoever this Tuther was, his accent was not local. And he was good at not answering questions directly. What was he? Special Ops? All sorts of covert divisions had sprung up in the last few years. Some to watch the Ruskies, some the Yanks.

  Price motioned to Tuther to move away from the other two. Turning his back on Tate and the boy he half whispered, “What department are you?”

  Tuther looked at him and said nothing. Price waited. “You know I can’t answer that,” Tuther muttered back eventually.

  Price nodded. “Very good.” If Tuther had quoted a department, made up or not, Price would have known him to be a liar – those sort of fellows admitted to nothing. Price continued, “Looks like you need our help. I’ve got my service revolver. I’ll bet that you’re packing more than just that shotgun, and the boy isn’t a bad aim. We’re stuck with the civilian unless you want to send him off blabbering about a covert military operation. We’ll need to keep him with us and give him a proper debrief when we get back.”

  Tuther looked to Tate for a moment and then back to Price. “Fine,” he said eventually. Turning to King, he said, “Do you know how to use one of these?” fishing a revolver from his pack.

  King looked to Price, who nodded. “Yes sir,” the boy replied.

  Tuther offered the revolver, butt first to the boy. “There’s five in the chamber. Hammer on the empty. You will need to make them count.” He turned to Tate. “Where did you serve?”

  Tate was not sure what to say. Clearly, the balance of authority had shifted from Price to this man, but with Price’s approval. “Seaman. ONS 5,” Tate said eventually. “Took a blighty one in forty-three.”

  Tuther looked at him hard, his jaw working silently again, and Price was worried that he was going to hit the man. “What ship?” Tuther growled, never taking his eyes from Tate.

  Price could see that Tate was beginning to look uncomfortable and pale. “SS Selvistan,” Tate replied.

  “I had friends on the Selvistan. Good friends. How many did you lose when she went down?” Tuther said.

  Tate knew he was being tested. “We lost three when the Germans sunk us.”

  “Name them.”

  “What?”

  “Name them,” Tuther repeated, his eyes fixed on Tate.

  Price could see that Tuther was getting ready to swing his shotgun from his shoulder. Perhaps there was more to this civilian after all. It was more than a bit strange that he was the only one to follow them from the pap. And he had been the one to put off Cram’s shot. Could it be that this man knew about whatever infection had gripped that poor soul? There were always stories circling of rogue German agents who even now were subverting operations in a bid to weaken Great Britain and resurrect the Third Reich. There was even talk of Mosley returning from Ireland and who knew what passions that would inflame.

  Tate stiffened. He could see Price was now staring at him too. The boy was far round on his left, out of his line of sight, but he would bet that his finger was tightening on the trigger of that revolver.

  “Bill Kell, Harry Wright, and Jim Latter,” Tate said. “It was a bad day for all of us. We lost the Dolius and West Makadet early in the afternoon. That night the Selvistan, Gharinda, and the Bonde all went down. Want to ease up now?”

  Tuther did not relax. “Where were you hit?”

  Tate went along with the game. “Port. Just after seventeen-thirty hours. We were hit first in the Number Five and then a few seconds later in the Number Four. She went down in two minutes. The Tay picked us up.”

  “What hit you?”

  “I told you, the German...”

  “What hit you?” Tuther said again.

  Tate paused. “Two torpedoes.” His mouth was dry. This Tuther, if that really was his name, was more than a little unhinged.

  “You saw them?”

  “What?”

  “Did you see torpedoes hit the Selvistan?”

  “Wha... no... no, I was below, in the Number Six.” Tate was rattled now.

  “So how did you know it was torpedoes?”

  Tate took a breath. “The First Officer was on the bridge at the time. He sounded the alarm, and he said...”

  “Oh, and you trusted Mr Head did you?”

  Tate was silent. Clearly, this man knew an awful lot about the Selvistan. “Yes,” he said eventually. “I trusted Mr Head.”

  Tuther continued to stare at Tate.

  A minute passed.

  Then another.

  Tuther harrumphed, startling Tate who nearly pissed himself. He was sure that Tuther was going to draw on him.

  “Right,” Tuther said turning to Price and King, “you two mark this out. One hundred yard intervals,” and threw the rope to them. “You,” he continued in a lower voice, turning back to Tate, “were in the Number Six, were you?”

  “Yes. That’s right,” Tate replied, still not relaxing. He did not like Tuther being this close.

  “Where was Latter?” Tuther was now just inches from Tate’s face.

  “In the Number Four,” Tate said quietly, casting his eyes to the ground.

  “You look at me!” Tuther kept his voice low, but his teeth were clenched and there was violence in his voice. “How did you get to the life boat?”

  “Through the Number Four, and...”

  “What did you see?”

  “What?”

  “What did you see? Where was Jim Latter?”

  Tate looked straight into Tuther’s eyes. “The hatches, the beams... all the ballast had been blown clean off. High into the air. When they came back down... well Jim caught one. At least one. I took a rivet straight through my shin.” Tate hiked up his trouser, showing an ugly scar that covered most of his right shin. Even after eleven years, it still looked angry and time had done little to diminish its savagery.

  “Through and through,” Tate continued, “Damn near lost the thing. Jim... I was carried right past him. Straight past him. I didn’t even ask the lads to check if he was still alive. His skull was completely smashed in. I’d wager both his legs were broken as well… the number of beams on top of them. None of us stopped. We just made for the rafts. Happy now Mr Tuther? Is that what you wanted to hear? How all the rats leave a sinking ship?”

  “Easy boy,” Tuther drawled. Tate blanched. Tuther could not be more than five years older than him. Where did he get off being so patronizing... “When this,” Tuther continued, nodding to the hole in the rocky outcrop, “is done, you and I will finish our chat. Latter was a good friend of mine, and I...”

  It was Tate’s turn to interrupt. “I don’t know what you have against me Mr Tuther, but if you are going to shoot me, I’ll thank you for getting it over and done with now.”

  “Shoot you, Mr Tate?” Tate didn’t remember Price introducing him. Tuther was smirking. “Shoot you? Mr Tate, if I was going to shoot you I would have done so already and you would not have even seen me. What I need to know from you is all about the last days of my friend Jim Latter, from when you left Liverpool, until the day the Selvistan went down. But right now, we need to accomplish this mission.
Then you and I will have a drink and a very, very, long talk.”

  Tate still felt uneasy. “And exactly what is this so-called mission?”

  Tuther stepped back and addressed all the three of them, his voice assumed one of command. “Gentlemen, this is the Bunnet Stane. You will note that this is sandstone rather than the quartz-dolerite which makes up the surrounding area. It is soft, which is why our quarry probably burrowed in here. We’ve been tracking this... thing and believe that this is its nest. It has killed local cattle and we need to put a stop to it before it does anything worse.”

  That’s twice he said “we”, thought Tate. Either he’s playing a part very well, or...

  Tuther continued. “Gentlemen, this thing will resemble something human. Honestly, we do not know quite what it is... but Intelligence suggests that the Soviets might be involved...”

  Price visibly stiffened at the mention of the Communists. Tate gave Tuther his due – he certainly knew how to push a man’s button.

  “...We know they took most of the German scientists involved with the Übermensch Projects back to Russia after the war and it is possible that this is some sort of prototype – a trans-human if you will. Whatever this thing is, we are not to take it alive. We kill it and then bring in my people who will collect it. Understood?”

  The three men said nothing but nodded grimly.

  “Good. We shoot to kill.” Tuther reached into his rucksack and pressed the butt of another revolver into Tate’s hand. “You’d better have this Mr Tate.”

  Tate was stunned. One minute he was almost being accused of lying, and now... this? Tate turned the weapon over in his hand, feeling its weight.

  “Don’t even think about it Mr Tate,” Tuther muttered his back to the man and then continued addressing the group. “This hole is the mouth of a tunnel. Best guess is that it will carry on for a couple of hundred yards,” Tuther squinted towards the Western Pap, “and probably come out in a chamber under that hill. I’ll go first. King, you’ll be next. Then you Tate. Officer Price, you’re to bring up the rear. Secure the end of that rope to... to that tree. I’ll take the other end with me. I’ve only got one torch, so stay close to me. Right, form up and check your weapons.”