A large crowd of grim-faced men were clustered about the corpses. Thomas saw Chief Inspector Langford detach himself from the throng and come to meet him. With him was a tall man in his fifties.
‘Dr Thomas, this is Dr McKenzie from the Department of the Environment. He’s in charge of the Department’s team of investigators,’ said the Chief Inspector wearily. His face was now etched with lines of exhaustion.
Thomas shook hands with McKenzie. He’d heard of him but never met him before. ‘Hello, Doctor. Any idea what the cause of all this is yet?’
i’m afraid not,’ said McKenzie. ‘I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on the situation. You’ve had a head start on the rest of us.’ He spoke with a pronounced Scots accent.
‘Have you seen a copy of my report?’ Thomas asked him.
‘Yes. Only a short time ago. Not really much to it, is there?’
Thomas shrugged, i’m sorry, but there wasn’t much to go on. Just those traces of protein, neither of which have been identified yet.’ He glanced again at the rows of bodies. ‘When did all this happen?’
‘We think it started between 9 and 9.30 p.m.,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘The first calls started coming in at around 9.45. It’s been going on ever since . . .’
‘What?’ said Thomas in surprise. ‘It’s still going on?’ ‘Yes, we’re still getting reports of new cases, but thankfully the number is decreasing. We think the heavy police presence in the area is the reason . . .’
Thomas felt a wave of unreality wash over him. ‘But surely someone has seen something by now.’ He gestured at the rows of corpses. ‘What the hell happened to all those people?’
The two men exchanged an uneasy glance. Then McKenzie said reluctantly, ‘Several of the witnesses have reported seeing, er, worms. There have been so many matching stories we have to give credence to them.’ Thomas stared at McKenzie in astonishment. ‘Good God. Don’t tell me Lisa was right.’
‘Lisa?’
‘An assistant of mine at CPHL. Came up with theory about mutated worms. Hookworms and the like. But I dismissed it as being too incredible . . .’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘And I still find it difficult to believe that a worm - mutated or not - can inflict this sort of damage on a human body.’
‘1 agree with you,’ said McKenzie. ‘The whole thing is totally incredible but considering the number of people who’ve said they’ve seen these so-called worms we have to take them seriously.’
‘Hasn’t anyone caught a specimen yet?’
‘No,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘A few brave souls have had a go but without success. The things move fast. They go back down the drains and so forth. We think they’re infesting the town sewer system, though some of them have been seen disappearing into holes in the ground.’ The feeling of unreality became stronger. Thomas couldn’t really believe in these killer worms they were calmly discussing. The sightings had to be a case of mass hysteria. ‘Surely then the sewers have been checked?’ he asked.
McKenzie nodded. ‘A team of engineers wearing protective clothing and escorted by several armed police officers entered the main sewer tunnel beneath the affected area about an hour ago.’
‘And what did they find?’ asked Thomas.
The Chief Inspector winced. ‘Ah, we don’t know. They never came back.’
Anne climbed into Stephen’s blue Fiat Uno and shut the door. ‘Thanks for getting here so quickly, Stephen.’ ‘Oh, that’s okay, Mrs Thomas,’ he told her, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. He was a tall, gangly young man who always reminded Anne of a stick insect. He was only 21, and an art student, but a tireless worker for their environmental protection group. It was only due to a lucky dental appointment that he’d missed attending the fateful protest at the drilling site that Monday.
‘Are you alright, Mrs Thomas?’ he asked seriously.
It always amused her that he persisted in calling her ‘Mrs Thomas’ despite her repeated requests that he call her Anne, and especially since it was obvious he had a serious crush on her. She had often turned to find his eyes fixed on her, the expression in them one of dog-like devotion. A case of true puppy love indeed and she occasionally entertained herself by wondering what sort of sexual fantasies he had about her. She knew he'd be cruelly shattered if he ever suspected that the idea of making love to him struck her as incredibly hilarious. ‘Yes, I’m fine now, Stephen. Thanks for asking.’ it must have been terrible. What happened on Monday, I mean . . . seeing Gavin and Poppy and . . .’ it was terrible, Stephen, and I’d prefer not to talk about it if you don’t mind.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Thomas,’ he said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I wanted to say how relieved I am you didn’t get hurt. I mean, if anything had happened to you I . . .’
‘I appreciate your concern, Stephen,’ she said, making her voice brisk and business-like. ‘Now could we get going, please? It’s late enough already and we have a long drive ahead of us.’
'Oh. yeah, sure . . .’ he said anxiously, and suddenly he seemed to have six extra elbows as he went through the motions of starting the car with a flurry of uncoordinated arm movements.
As he drove down the street Stephen said, ‘What’s this all about, Mrs Thomas? What’s going on in Harpenden?’ ‘I don’t know exactly but I’m sure they’ve had a major emergency of some kind there today that the government is keeping quiet about.’
‘I didn’t see any mention of anything on the news tonight.’
‘No, and there’s nothing on the radio about it either. But Clive was called away to Harpenden for the second time today - he’s there now - which suggests that it involves some kind of serious threat to public health.’ ‘Your, er, husband . . .’ - he always had trouble referring directly to Clive, Anne noticed - ‘. . . er, didn’t tell you what’s happening?’
‘No. We’re not exactly talking at the moment,’ she said dryly.
‘Oh, gee, I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs Thomas,’ he said, sounding anything but sorry. ‘But, well, it’s pretty rare for marriages to last these days . . .’
She couldn’t resist smiling. ‘Thank you for your concern, Stephen, but I don’t think I’m ready to start divorce proceedings against Clive just yet.’
‘Oh.’
They made three attempts to enter Harpenden but encountered a police road-block each time. Requests for information about the reason for the blockades drew only polite but characteristically patronizing replies from the police officers that contained no real information.
‘Now what?’ asked Stephen as they drove away from the third road-block. ‘Shall we try another road in?’
‘No. The whole town is obviously sealed off. At least by road. I’m going to try and get in on foot.’
‘What?’ he cried in alarm.
‘Calm down. I’m not going to take any risks. I just want to get far enough into town to get a picture . . .’ She opened her shoulder bag and produced a Nikon camera complete with flash attachment.
‘Picture of what?’
‘Of whatever’s going on in there. I need some evidence. If the government doesn’t come clean I’m going to pass it over to a certain little bitch of a journalist I know. I’ll have the satisfaction of making her feel guilty if nothing else.’
‘I don’t follow you,’ said Stephen.
‘It doesn’t matter. Look, take the next turning on the right and keep going till I tell you to stop.’
Obeying her curt instructions Stephen turned off down a narrow country lane. He’d gone about a quarter of a mile along it when Anne said, ‘Fine, stop here. I can cut across those fields. The row of trees will screen me from the main road.’
As he pulled up he said, ‘Give me the camera. I’ll go.’ ‘Uh-uh,’ she said firmly, shaking her head. ‘This is my baby. Besides, I’ve seen the sort of photographs you take. I need more than a close-up of your thumb . . .’ She opened the door.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said as she got out. ‘Nothing’
s going to happen to me.’
8
Constable Roy Asher swore as he stepped in a particularly large dog’s turd. He wiped the sole of his boot on the lawn and swore again. ‘Fucking hell, what are we doing her pissing about in the dark like a bunch of prats?’
‘Oh, stop moaning,’ said his companion, Dave Crompton, it’s overtime, isn’t it?’
‘More like a waste of time if you ask me,’ said Asher as he swung the beam of his torch around the front garden. ‘I haven’t seen a bloody thing yet. Nor have you. I think it’s all a lot of fuss about nothing.’
‘Well, something funny is going on. I heard that Phil and Ken found a dead Alsatian a couple of streets away. Only weighed a few pounds . . .’ i hope it was the same bloody dog that dropped the turd I just stepped in,’ said Asher sourly. ‘Come on, your turn to spread the comfort and joy.’
Crompton stepped up to the front door and rang the bell. It wasn’t long before a middle-aged man in a dressing gown appeared. He regarded the two policemen with obvious dismay. ‘Yes, what do you want?’ he demanded querulously. Must have a guilty conscience, thought Asher.
‘Good evening, sir,’ said Crompton politely. ‘Sorry to disturb you but I’m afraid we have an emergency situation in the area and I must advise you to take certain precautions . . .’
'Emergency? What sort of emergency?’
‘What is it, dear?’ A tiny woman, also in a dressing gown, appeared in the hallway behind him.
‘Some sort of emergency, Mags,’ he told her over his shoulder. ‘Nothing to worry about. Go back to bed.’ ‘Well, actually, sir,’ said Crompton, ‘There is something
to worry about. I must advise you to block every drain and plug-hole in your house for the time being . . .’
‘What did he say?’ cried the woman.
‘He said ... he said we have to block all our drains and plug-holes . . .’ said the man, staring at the pair of them as if they were mad.
Jesus, thought Asher wearily. Here we go again . . .
‘He said what?’ cried the woman.
‘Also,’ continued Crompton doggedly, ‘if you see anything around that looks unusual we advise you not to go near it and to call 999 immediately. Just tell the operator it concerns Harpenden and they’ll transfer you to our temporary control centre. Officers will be here right away.’
The man nodded but it was clear he hadn’t taken in any of it. ‘Uh . . .’ he said hesitantly, ‘what do you mean by “anything unusual”?’
Crompton sighed. ‘Exactly what I said, sir. If you or any member of your family sees something in your house that is out of the ordinary you must call the police immediately.’
‘Like what?’ persisted the man.
‘Uh, worms,’ said Crompton, lowering his voice.
‘What did you say? Did you say worms?’
Asher took over. ‘Look, I know it sounds a bit odd but we have instructions to warn all householders in this area to avoid contact with anything that resembles a large worm. A lot of people, apparently, have already been severely injured in this town tonight by these things.’ ‘There are no worms in this house,’ said the woman. ‘I keep a clean home. Don’t I, Frank?’
‘Give me strength,’ muttered Asher.
It took another few minutes of frustrating effort before the two policemen felt that Frank and ‘Mags’ were at least giving them the benefit of the doubt. It was the best they could hope for so they said goodnight to the couple and headed back across the garden, shining their torches back and forth as they went.
They had almost reached the footpath when suddenly the ground gave way beneath Asher’s feet and he sank to his waist in the lawn. ‘Fuck me!’ he yelled.
After a moment’s initial shock Crompton started to laugh. Asher looked absurd in the ground with the expression of stunned amazement on his face. ‘Looks like you’ve encountered a touch of local subsidence, old son,’ laughed Crompton.
‘Jesus Christ, help me out of this, will you?’ cried Asher, struggling to extricate himself.
Still laughing, Crompton was extending his hand to him when Asher stiffened and gave a startled yelp of pain. Then he cried, ‘Shit, something’s biting me! Get me the fuck out of this hole, you bastard, quickly!!’
Alarmed, Crompton grabbed him by the arms and heaved as hard as he could. For a few seconds Asher remained stuck, then slowly his body came up out of the hole. He was screaming in terror now, ‘Get them off me! For Christ’s sake get them off me!’
Crompton looked down and saw three long and glistening black threads, about the thickness of a man’s forefinger, attached to Asher’s legs. One of them appeared to be fastened to his crotch. As Asher came out of the hole they seemed to stretch, like rubber bands.
Asher fell beside the hole, writhing and kicking frantically as he vainly tried to dislodge the things from his body. Crompton, overcoming an intense feeling of atavistic revulsion, forced himself to grab hold of one of the things. Even through his gloves it felt cold and slimy, and oddly insubstantial ... He shuddered as he pulled but the thing remained attached to Asher’s thigh.
Then Asher suddenly went still. His screams stopped as well. He looked at Crompton with despairing eyes.
‘They’re inside me,’ he gasped. ‘I can feel them . . . inside me . . . Oh, God Dave, help me . . .’
It was the last thing he said.
Crompton leapt up and began stamping on the wormlike threads with his heavy boots . . .
He was still stamping on the lawn beside Asher’s body when another police patrol arrived on the scene. They shone their torches on the ground but there was nothing there.
Anne Thomas was approaching the rear of what appeared to be some sort of factory. Beyond it was a playing field and the edge of a new-looking housing estate. The lights were on in almost all the houses, despite the late hour, and she could see a group of uniformed men with torches moving slowly down one of the streets. From the way the torch beams were moving back and forth across the ground it was obvious they were searching for something. But what?
Anticipating the possibility of having to keep a low profile Anne had taken the precaution of dressing in black cord jeans and a dark blue jacket. She was confident she wouldn’t be spotted as she crept along the fence beside the factory.
As she reached the roadside she was surprised to hear the sound of an approaching helicopter. She took cover behind a tree as the aircraft came low over the playing field, its powerful searchlight sweeping the ground.
She raised her camera, wondering whether she could get a shot at it. At that moment she felt something wet and cold touch her on the right calf. Then came a prickling sensation.
Startled, she shook her leg and looked down . . . and got a bigger shock when she saw a long, snake-like object trailing out of the leg of her jeans.
She gave a yelp of alarm and accidentally pressed the shutter button on the Nikon. The flash went off and in its brief glare she got a fleeting impression Of something long and black moving swiftly over the ground and disappearing down a sewer next to the kerb.
Gripped with panic, and heedless of the hovering helicopter, she ran to the nearest street light, bent down and rolled up the leg of her jeans. There, quite visible on the flesh of her calf, was a red puncture mark.
Oh shit, it’s true!’ she told herself. I’ve been bitten by a snake!
But how could that be? The only poisonous snakes in England were adders and they were small things. Much smaller than the shape she’d glimpsed disappearing into the drain.
Forcing herself to stay calm, she undid her belt and used it to make a tourniquet around her right thigh. Then she deliberated on what to do next. The helicopter, meanwhile, was heading away over the housing estate. Its crew had obviously failed to spot either her or the flash from the camera.
She considered going and asking the group of policemen she could see in the distance for help but decided against it. There would be too many awkward questions. No, she would return to
the car and get Stephen to drive her to the nearest hospital. He would enjoy that - playing the knight saving the damsel in distress.
As she headed back towards the fields she told herself to stop worrying. It couldn’t have been a snake. But even if it had been an unnaturally large adder there was nothing to get in a panic about. Very few people ever died of adder bites these days.
She also told herself that the creeping numbness in her right leg was just the product of her imagination.
‘Why haven’t you evacuated the whole town?’ asked Thomas.
‘We planned to, but then the attacks started to tail off,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘Can’t say I was too happy about the plan myself. Didn’t like the idea of getting all those people out into the streets in the middle of the night with those things around. I think they’re safer in their own homes for the time being. At least until we know exactly what we’re dealing with here . . .’
Thomas nodded. They were driving down Harpenden’s high street, an attractive thoroughfare which had a strip of parkland running along its centre. It was ablaze with so many lights it reminded Thomas of a film set, and there were police vehicles everywhere. The Chief Inspector and he were heading for the temporary control centre which had been set up in a nearby school.
He smiled as he noticed the name on a pub they were passing. It was called ‘The Old Cock’. He would have to tell Anne about it. Then he felt a sharp pang of guilt as he remembered the way he’d spoken to her. He’d acted like a total shit. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. After the frustrations of the day and the bollocking from Renton he’d had to take it out on someone even though he knew he couldn’t blame her for swallowing that bloody reporter’s line. Oh well, he’d make it up to Anne tomorrow . . .
Minutes later, as he was following the Chief Inspector into the school, he was surprised to hear his name being called. He turned and saw a red-faced young constable approaching at a run. ‘Are you Dr Thomas?’ he asked.
Simon Ian Childer Page 6
