The Slime Beast

by Guy N Smith

  The lousy shits!' he snarled and went upstairs for the twelve-bore.

  'What's the matter?' Marjorie was in bed but still awake. 'Aren't we going to get any sleep tonight? D'you mean to tell me that a bunch of soldiers and a tank can't exterminate that monster after all this time?'

  'Seems like they must've got it,' he replied, pushing a couple of shells into the double-barrelled gun. 'The shooting's stopped. The crowd's got out of control though, running riot all over the place. Some of 'em have got into the cellar through the chute in the car-park. Well they're in for a shock. A helluva bloody shock!'

  He went back downstairs and unbolted the cellar door. He remembered as he did so that he had forgotten to replace the bulb which had blown earlier in the evening. Still, the moonlight streaming through the gaping hole where the grid should have been would give him enough light to see what was going on.

  Slowly he descended the narrow stone steps. A foul aroma filled the small cellar as though the tide had been in recently and left a residue of filth behind it.

  Something moved hi the far corner.

  'All right you bastard!' he snarled, 'you'd better come out before I shoot. Come on! I'm not fooling!'

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  BLAST the shadow! Tom Southgate knew that somebody was in the far corner. He could hear him breathing. Loud rasping like the thief had been running. Maybe it was fear though, fear of being caught! The landlord cocked both hammers loudly.

  'Come on!' he snarled again. 'Let's have you. I haven't all night to stand about here!'

  Something moved, paused, then moved again. Then he saw it as the first moonbeam glinted on green slimy scales. The Slime Beast!

  Southgate fired at point-blank range A yard. No more. Both barrels straight into its face. Acrid choking smoke. He coughed and closed his eyes for a second. Nothing could live after that double-charge. He'd done what the army had failed to do. He'd be a hero. He'd...

  Two webbed fingers were thrust into his open mouth. The sharp claws lacerated his tongue, and he choked on his own blood. The beast had a grip on his cheek. It pulled. Half his face came away effortlessly leaving distorted bone streaming with blood. He could not see. His eyes were being gouged. Sharp incisions were made to get behind them. Torn from their sockets.

  He prayed for the first tune in his life. For death. It came with the slashing of the jugular vein, spouting blood turning his attacker's scales scarlet Tom! Tom I Are you all right?'

  The Slime Beast turned its head. It saw the woman standing at the top of the stairs. The bulbous breasts were clearly visible through the semi-transparent nightdress. It watched her collapse and keel over down the narrow steps lying with her head towards him, breasts now fully exposed. It recognised them. The recent flavour. The slurping tenderness there for the taking. It turned. Something halted it Instinct calling from deep within. Compelling a minute brain to obey, to flee, back to the mud. Safety.

  It obeyed unquestioningly. The moonlit square above it pointed the way. Minutes later it was standing on the tarmac of the deserted car-park. The sound of voices reached it from afar. The easy route back to the sea was blocked. What did it matter though? It had no sense of time.

  It set off at a lumbering shambling gait. The sea-wall was visible a mile or so to its right across the stubble-fields. Safety.

  The wounded man found that he could cover no more than ten yards without stopping to rest. His shirt was a matt of dried blood and his shoulder felt as though it was on fire. Dimly he recalled his camera lying back there somewhere in the mud. He grieved its loss, but not for ten such cameras would he have retraced his steps. That nightmarish creature would live with him for ever. Indeed he feared that his sanity had already left him.

  He had heard the gunfire in the distance. Then silence. They must have killed it. He cursed himself for not having remained in the village.

  His strength was failing him fast now. He could no longer stand upright. Progress on hands and knees across the marshes of the Wash was slow, really almost impossible. He wondered if he would ever make it. Perhaps the gulls and crows would be picking his flesh at dawn.

  Someone was coming, heading towards him. He tried to stand up in order to see over the top of the spike-grass but he fell back again. He sobbed softly. Suppose they missed him. He must attract their attention. He braced his vocal chords.

  'Help! Help! Over here. Please... help me! '

  His voice died away. He knew that he could neither crawl nor shout anymore.

  The footsteps altered course. His cries had been heard. He began to sob with relief.

  His sanity left him completely the moment he caught sight of the Slime Beast. It wasn't even horrible. It was beautiful. He couldn't understand why everyone had made such a fuss about it He hated the villagers for trying to kill it. If only they had offered it the hand of friendship, of course it would have responded. The pain had gone now. It hadn't really hurt him. It had all been in his mind. He could think clearly now, but the others couldn't. All it wanted was a friend. He was surprised to find that he could stand up now. Easily. He smiled. Held out his hand. He would go back to the village with it. Show everybody. Make them feel sheepish. The soldiers too.

  See! Its hands were out Embracing him. Claws around his neck. Ice-cold fetid breath on his face. Perfume. He never believed that he would pass out with sheer happiness ...

  Liz nestled closer to Gavin for warmth as they listened to the firing coming from the distant village.

  'Seems we chose the wrong place.'

  'Sounds like the army are having the whale of a time up there.' he replied and kissed her. Tm glad. It saves us a lot of trouble.'

  'Uncle too,' she smiled. 'He'll be livid when he learns they've killed it.'

  He laughed softly.

  'I'm dying to see the look on his face.'

  'Can we really go back to London tomorrow?' she murmured.

  'All the treasures of all the kings of England wouldn't keep me here a day longer,' he promised and pressed his lips to hers, his tongue searching out her mouth.

  Suddenly he stiffened, and held his head to one side.

  'What is it?' The anxiety had returned to her voice.

  'I don't know for sure,' he replied, 'but I thought I heard something, down by the mouth of the big creek, probably about a couple of hundred yards away. Let's watch quietly for a minute. It may be nothing.'

  The minutes passed then they heard a faint stirring of the spartina grass. A sucking noise such as that made by a Wellington boot being forcibly withdrawn from mud. The figure of a man was silhouetted against the silvery sheen of the receding tide. The outline was plain and only too familiar. Safari-type hat, bushy beard.

  'It's Uncle!'

  'Yes, it's him all right,' Gavin snapped. 'He must have been there all the time. Well I think we'll just hang back and let him make his own way to the blockhouse. Relationships are somewhat strained at the moment to put it mildly, and I've no particular desire for his company out here at this time of night. I think somehow that this expedition will be permanently dissolved tomorrow.'

  They watched as Professor Lowson gathered up his bundle of netting and set off across the salt-marshes. In spite of their recent animosity towards him they could not help admiring his agility.

  They let him go a distance of about three hundred yards before they decided to follow.

  Professor Lowson was seething with anger. He, too, had heard the shooting followed by the silence.

  The fools. The bloody fools! The most marvelous scientific discovery of all time was within the very grasp of mankind. And what did they do? They blasted it to eternity as though it were a wild animal escaped from a zoo. Now its origin would never be discovered. He thought of Gavin's theory; maybe the young fool did have something after all! A pioneer from another galaxy. Perhaps another would be sent when this one failed to return, yet it could land anywhere. He might never have the chance again.

  Depression clouded his mind. The power of which he
had dreamed would never be his after all. Yet, how powerful had the Slime Beast been? Had it not after all fallen to rifle bullets! He would have staked his life on the fact that those scales were virtually impenetrable.

  He plodded on, his pace slowing. All was lost. He looked up. The moon was less bright now. There was a paleness in the eastern sky. The false dawn. Another half hour and the real dawn would follow. The night was almost spent.

  He changed course slightly to avoid having to wade through a maze of small pools. The narrow path alongside the reed-beds was the easiest route to take.

  The tall rushes were swaying, yet the breeze had dropped. There was no wind at all. A less observant man than Professor Lowson would not have given it a second thought, but his years of thoroughness in all he did had taught him to query everything. He took nothing for granted. A moistened finger was held up. There was definitely no current of air in any direction. The reeds were still moving. Something was forcing its way through them.

  He stood and watched. Whatever it was, was moving very slowly. In fact it took almost five minutes to cover the remaining fifteen yards before it emerged on to the well-trodden marsh track.

  It took some moments for the scene before him to register on Lowson's brain. He just stood there and looked at the Slime Beast. It gazed back at him with glazed expressionless eyes. Neither of them moved. It was as though old friends had been reunited after a short absence.

  Then the Professor smiled in the same way he might have done when meeting a friend. He smiled and then he laughed. There was no fear in his heart. Only joy. Jubilation.

  'So you were master of mankind after all, my friend,' he chuckled. 'They couldn't beat you in the end, not even with their rifles and tanks.'

  The Slime Beast still remained on all fours just looking up at him. The slime was running freely from its scales trickling down on to the saltings and forming small greyish-green pools. Wisps of vapour were rising from its body carrying the putrifying stench into the air where it hung in small clouds. It was almost as though its terrible power was evaporating from it second by second.

  There's something the matter with you old son,' Low-son murmured in the most affectionate terms he had ever used. 'You're losing your slime. If you were of this earth I'd say you were bleeding to death!'

  He thought rapidly. There was no wound as such on the creature's body. The hail of rifle fire which it had withstood appeared not to have left a mark upon it Perhaps other factors had interfered with its make-up, like lead-poisoning, climate or salt residue from the marshes. It could be any one or a combination of all.

  He came to a decision. A cure was impracticable, impossible and there was no time. There was only one thing to do. He must examine the Slime Beast while it was still alive. Before it was too late. All was not lost after all!

  He bent down and picked up the net. It was almost too easy to be true, like shooting a sitting rabbit.

  Still the creature did not move. Its strength was draining away rapidly. Maybe he would not even need the net. Yet he could afford to take no chances.

  He drew back his arms, poised for a second and then the net sailed from his grasp. It spread out, appearing to hang motionless for a split second before plummetting downwards. Perfect, beyond his wildest dreams.

  The Slime Beast remained immobile. If it was aware of the fact that it was now a prisoner it gave no sign. Baleful expressionless eyes looked through rising clouds of stinking vapour and its breath rasped, becoming weaker by the second.

  Professor Lowson knew what he must do. He was certain that the Slime Beast's power emanated from the foul slime which constantly oozed from its pores. Once free of the body this evaporated into nothingness within a very short time. However if a sample of it were taken and kept in an airtight container he believed that it would remain in its original form allowing him to carry out the necessary tests.

  From his pocket he withdrew a small, empty medicine bottle. He uncorked it and stepped forward. The most constant flow of slime was pouring from the flared nostrils like mucus. It was from there that he must take the sample he required.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  'On my God! Look!' Liz Beck recoiled at the sight which greeted them as they rounded the bend in the reed-bed. Gavin's restraining hand pulled her back.

  'He's caught it,' he breathed, admiration and fear in his voice. The Professor's actually captured the Slime Beast! '

  'What's he doing?' she whispered. 'It's almost as though he's fondling it, patting it.'

  Gavin peered through the hazy moonlight. It was becoming lighter every second. Although they were still fifty yards or so from Professor Lowson and his captive they could barely make out the details.

  'He's doing something with a bottle,' the young archaeologist murmured. 'Taking a sample of that foul slime.'

  Slowly the level of slime in the tiny bottle rose. The creature's breathing was becoming fainter and fainter.

  'Ah!' Lowson grunted with satisfaction. 'I think that should do the trick.' He stood up. 'Thank you my friend. You have given me the power for which I have searched for a lifetime. Your visit to Earth has not been wasted.'

  The Slime Beast breathed deeply, a shuddering which shook its whole frame. Then its breath grew faster. The flow of slime changed to a gentle oozing.

  Suddenly for the first time Professor Lowson felt a twinge of fear. The Slime Beast was not going to die. It had merely been resting. Recharging itself to build up that tremendous power again! The stench, too, was increasing.

  Lowson coughed and retched. It reminded him of the day when they had first discovered it.

  Now there was a movement from the trapped monster. A stirring. It struggled to rise, and fell back. The netting had done its work I

  A terrible roar echoed across the marsh. It gave vent to full voice. The Professor cowered back. He knew that his only chance of survival lay in flight. No longer was he concerned about the Slime Beast. The soldiers could come and finish it off in safety if they liked.

  But his boot caught against a tuft of spartina grass and he was sent sprawling, the tiny bottle flying from his grasp. Frantically he searched the long marshy grass. He could not leave without that,

  The Slime Beast crouched like a tiger waiting to spring. Its huge form tensed, took the strain and the entwining netting stretched, resisted and held for a moment, before finally bursting asunder. The creature fumbled for a second and then it was free.

  Professor Lowson looked up as it towered over him, astride him like a colossus. He knew without a doubt that he was going to die.

  It seemed to hover over him for an eternity. He saw it as a grotesque stone gargoyle, motionless except for the occasional drip of slime which ran down the scaly countenance and fell to the ground. Some dripped on him, and he felt its coldness burning into him like acid, painful yet at the same time invigorating. His veins coursed with fire at its touch and for a brief moment he imagined the sensation of bathing in it, covering his whole frame with invincibility, with power. He closed his eyes at the thought.

  Suddenly he was airborne. The Slime Beast was swinging him aloft above its head crushing his ribs in a powerful grip. Liz's scream projected Gavin from the state of self-hypnosis into which he had drifted. Everything was so unreal. Perhaps he preferred to dream after all.

  The flame-gun was in his hands. His cigarette lighter usually efficient, refused to spark at the first flick. Valuable seconds were lost. Then the paraffin fumes were belching forth flame. He adjusted the licking tongue of fire to its maximum length. There was no point in going any closer to this horrific creature than was absolutely necessary. Then he broke into a run.

  Professor Lowson was already dead, yet the Slime Beast was not finished with him. Some instinct told it that within its grasp was an enemy more deadly than those who had attacked it in the village. It began to roar. One claw held the dead man by the waist whilst the other sought and found the scraggy neck. It braced itself and pulled. There was a loud crack followed b
y a tearing sound, as head and body parted. It tugged again and snapped the remaining sinews.

  Perhaps only then it realised that it was not alone. The reptilian mouth opened to emit another bestial roar, but it was too late. The searing flame took it straight between the lips licking viciously up the wide nostrils and eating at the fish-like eyes. Rivulets of slime sizzled and steamed with the intense heat.

  Burned, it struck out with mighty blows but its attacker was already behind it guiding the flame on to its broad back. It whirled round and then Gavin had the flame gun en its torso and belly.

  The roars were now screams of fear. Steam obliterated most of his target but Gavin did not ease up. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Liz had fainted It was better that way.

  Suddenly Gavin saw that his foe seemed much smaller: a head and shoulders shorter than himself. As realisation dawned upon him he felt his stomach heaving with revulsion. He vomited as he attacked, fearing to pause lest the Slime Beast should take advantage of even the smallest respite,

  It had neither head nor shoulders now. Yet still it lived! Twisting and turning, lashing out in an attempt to avoid the flame which was eating it away.

  Now its arms were gone. Just a trunk on two legs remained, belching forth clouds of putrifying vapour. It was being consumed by the second, but it refused to keel over and die. It knew no surrender.

  Two legs. Independent. Upright. Steaming. Wriggling. Then claws. Not even webbed.

  Finally nothing. Not even a pool of slime on the marshy ground. It was finished. Disintegrated. It might never have existed. Only the bloody mangled decapitated body of Professor Lowson convinced Gavin that it had actually happened. A few yards away the bearded head stuck upright in the mud. The eyes were open, sightless, in an expression of defeat A lifetime's ambitions had been dashed in a matter of seconds:

  Gavin switched off the flame-gun and knelt beside the still form of Liz. Her breathing was regular. Soon her eyelids nickered open.