Simon Ian Childer

by Tendrils (epub)

  Then he saw a split appear on the membrane. The split swiftly acquired the dimensions of a chasm. A jet of thick, black fluid spurted upwards. Some of it spattered over Thomas’s suit.

  He was never sure what happened next. He had the momentary impression of something rushing towards him and then he was knocked backwards. He was then vaguely aware of being dragged out of the cabin by one of the SAS men. He could hear the screech of tearing metal and the carriage was vibrating alarmingly. There was also another sound - a scream so high-pitched it was almost in the ultrasonic range. He later wondered if it had been the creature screaming or himself.

  A CBS news team - flying over the area in a chartered Agusta-Bell 204 helicopter - not only had a perfect view of the creature’s final manifestation but managed to capture it on video tape . . .

  First the American newsmen saw what appeared to be a massive explosion in Regent Street, at a point almost exactly halfway between Oxford Circus and Piccadilly Circus. Buildings on both sides of the street seemed to rise into the air before disintegrating into fragments. A great cloud of dust and smoke billowed upwards, obscuring the scene. Then, seconds later, the men in the helicopter saw a huge shape emerge from the cloud. As Thomas had been, they were all reminded of some kind of huge, repulsive jellyfish as the thing continued to thrust itself into the sky . . .

  The bulbous, spongy mass was mounted on a thick stalk from which countless tendrils protruded. The biggest of them disappeared back down into the ground while the smaller, shorter ones flailed about in the air. The thing kept growing, until finally it stretched some 400 feet above Regent Street, looking like some gigantic phallus.

  Then, suddenly, the bloated membrane on the top of the huge column ruptured with explosive force and thick strands of viscous fluid streamed out in all directions . . .

  The column of tendrils slowly collapsed, falling to the east of Regent Street where it cut a swathe through several buildings. The line of destruction ended up stretching from the corner of Beak Street to beyond the opposite side of Golden Square.

  The CBS helicopter hovered overhead until the cloud of dust and smoke dispersed enough for them to see the remains of the creature. Nothing stirred among the ruins of the flattened buildings.

  The thing was dead.

  Robin couldn’t breathe. The coils of the tendril were crushing her chest while the sharp tip probed her body looking for a suitable point of entry. She knew she was only seconds away from a horrible death. And it was all in vain. The stupid children hadn’t run away; instead they were all standing around her, frozen with fear . . .

  The tendril suddenly went limp.

  Gasping, she wriggled free of its slimy embrace. What was it doing? Playing with her? But it continued to lie unmoving on the floor. She crawled away from it, expecting it to spring back to life at any moment.

  Long seconds gradually coagulated into a minute. The thing remained stationary. Then she saw the skin of the tendril begin to rupture and ooze black fluid.

  The children were crying now. Some of them were screaming. She stood up and limped to the door. She opened it cautiously and looked out. Apart from the sounds of someone moaning in the distance all was quiet. There was no sign of any tendrils.

  Reluctantly - after telling the children to stay where they were - she made her way along the passageway. When she reached the boiler room she stopped . . .

  She didn’t see the dessicated remains of the tendrils’ victims - all she had eyes for were the tendrils themselves. They lay everywhere, rotting and decomposing like the one in the children’s room.

  It really was all over.

  The realization hit her with an almost physical force. She swayed dizzily as her mind at last gave up the struggle and pulled down the shutters against the outside world. She slumped to the floor and sat there rocking back and forth, crooning tunelessly to herself. She was still doing it an hour later when the rescue workers found her.

  Thomas remembered little of the journey back to the surface. While climbing back up through the buried tube train a reaction set in and he passed out. The two surviving SAS men had to carry him the rest of the way. Somehow they got him to the top of the hole in the tube tunnel where they managed to revive him. Even so he was still in a dazed state as they led him, stumbling, up the tunnel to Oxford Circus - the route back to Piccadilly Circus being impassable.

  They saw a lot of tendrils on the way but they were all unmoving. Oxford Circus station itself was full of decomposing tendrils and the floors were thick with black, stinking slime.

  As they staggered out of the tube station exit Thomas collapsed again.The next time he regained consciousness he found himself in an army helicopter. A medic was bending over him, a syringe in his hand. ‘Just gave you a shot of Suprarenin, doctor,’ the medic told him. ‘How do you feel?’

  His head rapidly cleared. He grabbed the man’s arm and said urgently, ‘What happened? Are all the things dead? Really dead?’

  ‘Sure seems that way,’ said the medic. ‘Looks like whatever you did down there worked okay. Pity you people didn’t do it a little sooner though . . .’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘The things attacked all over London tonight - way beyond the expected danger area. Attacks didn’t last long, thanks to you, but a hell of a lot of people copped it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Thomas, subdued. But he’d done his best. They all had. There was no way they could have reached the thing any faster . . .

  The medic said, ‘I’m going to give you another injection. Glucose and water. You look dehydrated.’

  Thomas nodded and offered his arm. As the medic pushed the needle in he said, ‘You think there are any more of those fucking things around?’

  Surprised, Thomas said, ‘What?’

  ‘I heard there might be more of them. In other parts of the world. Buried deep underground. Asleep, like this one was, but waiting for an alarm call. I mean, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? That there’d be more than just one of them?’

  Thomas sighed. ‘I suppose so.’

  By the time the helicopter was approaching Colindale Thomas was feeling a lot better. The glucose had worked. He couldn’t wait to see Robin again. Anne’s ghost was still hovering there in the background but the pain and guilt had lessened, as he’d hoped it would. Now he could think of living again. And to him Robin was life.

  He remembered what he’d decided in the tube train; that he would find Robin as soon as he landed and they would go to his office and make love. To hell with the official debriefing, he thought with a smile, he had his own kind of debriefing to take care of first.

  He hoped she would be in the mood.