Scorpion [Scorpions 01]

by Michael R. Linaker

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Allan leaned against the side of Duncan’s car. He was trembling and he didn’t care who knew it. He’d never seen anything like the mess in and around the supermarket. The place was crawling with police and medical people from Green-bank. Renshaw was there, never still, moving from one spot to another, directing the ambulance teams. The whole scene was like something out of a nightmare - but this was no dream. It was happening all over town; reports were coming in thick and fast.

  ‘Allan! Allan, look!’

  Allan turned at the sound of Chris’s voice. She was sitting in the police car. She had joined him at Duncan’s office. Though she’d tried to hide it he could see she was scared and when she’d told him she was staying with him he didn’t argue. At least while she was by his side he knew she was safe - as safe as anyone could be at the present time.

  ‘Look!’ she called.

  The traffic had been building up for the last hour. Now the town’s main street was jammed with cars, vans, motorcycles…

  … even buses and lorries. Faces looked out on the scene around the supermarket; scared faces; angry faces; faces holding puzzled, dazed expressions. The news had got round even before the official announcement. There hadn’t been any point in holding back. All the authorities could do was to plead for commonsense…

  … to ask the public to leave calmly, without doing anything to add to the already mounting chaos. But survival was the only common desire; consideration was a courtesy few felt they could afford. The hoped-for evacuation became a mass rush for safety.

  Inspector Duncan joined Allan, watching the slow-moving stream of traffic. Allan could see the frustration on the man’s face.

  ‘It’ll take hours,’ Duncan said. He sighed. ‘I’ve got every man on the force checking the streets. But it’s a long job checking every house, every shop. How can we be certain just how widespread these damned things are?’

  ‘We can’t,’ Allan said. He seemed to be repeating the phrase to someone every few minutes; somehow he had become the source of all information, the fount of knowledge concerning the scorpions. The responsibility scared him.

  ‘The thing is,’ Duncan said, ‘how do you go around destroying the bloody things? One or two, okay, tread on them and that’s it. But we’re dealing with thousands! You can’t go round shooting them. They ignored that insecticide we sprayed inside the supermarket. So what’s left? Burn them? We’d have to set fire to the whole town to do that. And they’re not sticking to a particular pattern. There are bunches of them like those in the supermarket, then there have been reports of single ones popping up.’ He glanced at Allan, a dry smile edging his mouth. ‘Oh, Doctor, we’re in trouble…’

  ***

  Constable Ian Reedy brought the panda car to a stop beside the curb. He switched off the engine and glanced in the mirror before opening his door. He smiled to himself. What the hell was he doing checking his mirror? There wasn’t liable to be any traffic around here. Not today. He put on his cap, closed the car door and walked round to the pavement. His footsteps seemed unusually loud. Not surprising, seeing as how the whole area had been evacuated.

  Reedy walked slowly along the street as far as the newsagents. He checked doors and windows as he reached each house. Nothing. It was odd to walk down such a silent, deserted street in daylight. A bit eerie! A bloody lot eerie, he corrected, aware of what might be lurking inside any of the empty houses. Reedy had been one of the first on the scene at the supermarket, and it had been a sight he wouldn’t forget in a hurry. Christ, it had been horrible! It had been the first time he’d set eyes on the scorpions, and they had sickened him. He walked back along the street to check the other end.

  As he passed the double gates of a builder’s yard he paused. The gates were slightly ajar - and Reedy suddenly caught the sound of childish laughter. It came from somewhere in the yard. Reedy slipped inside, gazing round as he tried to locate the laughter.

  He found the cause of the laughter behind the high stacks of timber.

  There were four small boys, each armed with a thin stick - and one extremely agitated scorpion, measuring at least seven inches long. The boys had it in a corner, and they were poking and prodding it with the sticks they were holding. Absorbed in their game, the children didn’t notice Reedy.

  The scorpion was completely bewildered - and all the more dangerous. It scuttled back and forth, trying to avoid the offending sticks, its movements hurried, desperate. The harder it tried to escape and was foiled, the fiercer became its actions. The clawed pincers opened and closed unceasingly, the curved tail quivered with suppressed rage as it waited for the moment to strike.

  Reedy almost shouted a warning. He resisted the urge - he didn’t want to startle the boys. If he broke their concentration it could give the scorpion an opportunity to use its sting.

  He slipped off his cap, edging to one side of the children. Crouching, he tossed the cap at the frantic scorpion. The cap struck the insect and sent it skidding across the ground.

  The moment Reedy saw the cap hit the scorpion he yelled at the boys, waving his arms wildly.

  ‘Get out, you silly young beggars! Go on! Go on!’

  Stunned expressions crossed the young faces - almost as if they had suddenly realized the danger they were in. They turned and ran, shoving each other in their haste - and one of them stumbled, fell.

  There was a harsh rasping sound as the enraged scorpion scuttled swiftly towards the fallen boy.

  In the few seconds remaining Ian Reedy threw himself full length on the ground, between the scorpion and the boy. He thrust out his right hand and closed it over the scorpion’s body. He felt the legs thrash, the taut body twist and wriggle. Out of the corner of his eye Reedy saw the boy scramble to his feet and disappear after his mates. In that moment he felt the scorpion’s sting bite into his wrist, directly over the artery. Pain speared up Reedy’s arm. He clamped his teeth together in agony, and closed his powerful hand over the scorpion’s body. Then he drove the wriggling insect against the ground, again and again, until the head was reduced to pulp. The scorpion jerked, the tail coiling, straightening, and then it stilled.

  Ian Reedy’s body arched like a drawn bow, facial muscles locking rigidly as the venom burned through his body. He began to jerk violently, his nervous system being rapidly destroyed by the poison flooding through him…

  ***

  The roads out of Long Point were jammed with traffic. Cars moved along bumper to bumper. There were frequent delays; vehicles ran out of petrol because the drivers had forgotten to check their tanks before setting out; others, because of the holdups, overheated, erupting steam like metal geysers. There were the odd accidents as impatient drivers tried to overtake, then found they couldn’t get back in their lanes.

  Not all the accidents were minor. As the flow of traffic began to pick up speed a mile or so out of town, the frustrations of forced caution began to show. The impatient foot was thrust down on the throttle and the chance to overtake was too strong to resist. A gleaming Ford Cortina Ghia, horn blaring, swung out and sped along the apparently open lane. Three other vehicles executed the same maneuver almost precisely at the same time. The one furthest up the line jerked to a sudden halt, its radiator spewing scalding water and a cloud of steam. The second car hit it about midway along its length. The next one went into a skid as the driver braked sharply. By this time the Ghia was doing somewhere in the region of fifty miles an hour. It came seemingly out of nowhere, slamming into the rear of the skidding car, pushing it forward by sheer weight and moving force. Metal screeched, glass shattered, tires burned as they fought to maintain a grip on the greasy surface of the road. White vapor crept out from under the bonnet of the second car as a torn fuel line gushed petrol on to the hot engine - there was a soft thump, followed by a blast of flame that boiled out and up. As the four locked-together cars shuddered to a halt, flame spread swiftly, bubbling paintwork, melting plastic and shattering glass. Traffic came to a halt a
nd people began to scramble from cars close to the burning wrecks. Another petrol tank, already leaking fuel across the road went up. Tongues of flame raced across the tarmac. Dazed figures were literally picked up and thrown as the explosion sent shock waves through the air. Clothing was scorched, flesh blistered, bones broken. Scared drivers, instead of abandoning their vehicles, tried to maneuver out of the line of traffic. They added confusion to the already difficult situation…

  ***

  As the police and emergency services moved across town they began to discover the havoc wrought by the invading scorpions. Blackened, swollen bodies, flesh torn and bloody, were found on the streets, in houses, shops. A similar incident to the supermarket was created when a mass of scorpions crawled out of the heating system of a local factory. The factory manufactured furnishings, employing around fifty men and women. It was located in an old building, cramped and badly organized. Before anyone became fully aware of what was happening the scorpions had killed eight people. The rest fled in panic, more being injured during the flight. When the police entered the factory, later that morning, the place was deserted except for the stiffening corpses - the rest of the employees had joined the rush to leave town. In small terraced houses along the back streets a number of elderly people were found. Overwhelmed by scorpions they had been repeatedly stung and then viciously torn to shreds. They were left dead and mutilated, their bodies lying on sheets sodden with blood…

  ***

  During the morning Allan Brady, assisted by Fergus McFee, took on the repellent task of capturing, alive, a number of scorpions. They equipped themselves with metal rods which had controllable jaws at the end; the rods were, in fact, aids for disabled patients who were unable to bend and pick up an object from the floor; McFee had brought them from the hospital. Even with the help of the devices it was a long, slow, and dangerous task. Both Allan and McFee drew the line at six captives.

  ‘If Camperly wants anymore,’ McFee said dourly, ‘then he can come and get the wee things himself!’

  ***

  In the middle of the afternoon Allan was in Duncan’s office, talking to Miles Ranleigh over the phone. Duncan was sifting through masses of reports - more were coming in at frequent intervals. Chris stood beside Allan, her face pinched and pale.

  ‘You’re up against a tough species,’ Ranleigh was saying. ‘The scorpion is a survivor. You won’t drown him - he can survive immersion for hours. Smother him in a ton of sand and he’ll dig his way out. A scorpion has up to eight lungs and even if seven of them get blocked he’ll survive happily on the remaining one. Let’s face it, Allan, the scorpion has the irritating habit of walking away from most things thrown at it. And that includes an A-bomb test site in the Sahara! The only sure way to get rid of your scorpion is to physically destroy him. But as you say, you’re not dealing with one or two. You’ve got thousands of the things spread out all over a town.’

  ‘That’s the main problem,’ Allan said. ‘And it’s giving me one hell of a headache. Anyway, Miles, thanks for your help.’

  ‘If I come up with anything useful I’ll give you a call.’

  Allan put down the phone. He realized Duncan was watching him from the other side of the desk.

  ‘I never said there was an easy answer.’

  Duncan sighed. ‘There never is. So we’re stuck with the bloody things, are we? Damn! What’s so bloody appealing about Long Point that a bunch of insects walk in and take over?’

  ‘It’s an ideal situation for them. Plenty of dark corners, heating systems to keep them warm. That’s the attraction. They got into the supermarket hot-air ducts, likewise the factory. The bakery was the same. Ordinary homes - they all offer what the scorpions need. Warmth and food! At least we’ve deprived them of that now the population has moved out.’ Allan tapped the pile of reports on Duncan’s desk. ‘All these incidents point to the same conclusion - the scorpions are using Long Point as their new nesting ground. They have everything they need for the next breeding cycle.’

  ‘You think they’ll lay their eggs - or whatever they do?’ Duncan asked.

  ‘The environment’s inducive.’

  Allan caught sight of Chris as she wrapped herself more tightly in her coat.

  ‘Cold?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘It really is chilly.’

  ‘Sorry about the temperature,’ Duncan apologized. ‘I’ve had all the heating switched off. The last thing we want is to encourage those damn things to come crawling round here.’

  ‘Don’t worry about apologizing,’ Chris said. ‘I’d rather freeze than have one of those things on me.’

  ‘Stupid idiot!’ Allan said suddenly.

  Chris frowned at him. ‘Pardon?’

  ‘How dumb can I get!’ He almost shouted. He snatched up one of the phones, knocking Duncan’s reports flying in his haste. He was shaking his head in self-disgust, dialing a number. ‘It’s been there all the bloody time! We’ve even been talking about it! I…oh, hello, Miles? It’s Allan. Listen - tell me what you think about this…’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Allan took a quick swallow of hot coffee. He glanced at his watch. It would be light in another hour or so. He gazed out of the office window. Long Point lay in total darkness, shrouded in silence. He let the coffee trickle down his throat, spreading warmth through his chilled body. Duncan’s office was like a fridge. Allan’s breath hung in the air. The only illumination was an oil lamp standing on a corner of the desk, casting a baleful yellow glow across the room. Allan could just make out Chris’s sleeping form; she was huddled up on a chair, covered with a blanket.

  One of the phones on the desk rang with a muted sound. Allan snatched it up. Duncan’s weary voice reached him.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ Allan said. ‘I’ve had final checks from everyone. We’re set, so all we can do now is wait.’

  ‘Comfortable in my office?’

  ‘No,’ Allan said. ‘It’s bloody cold up here!’

  ‘I did have those flasks of hot coffee sent up to you,’ Duncan chuckled.

  ‘For that you have my undying gratitude. I always said the police are wonderful.’

  ‘Oh, I almost forgot - you’ve a visitor on the way up.’

  ‘Who?’

  Duncan coughed. ‘Your boss - Camperly!’ He rang off.

  Damn! The last person Allan really needed to get involved with was Camperly. Not that he’d seen much of the man since the scorpions had moved into town. Camperly, in between his affair with the media, had been taking full control of the search for the anti-toxin - though it was proving a difficult problem.

  The office door opened and Camperly’s shadowy figure entered.

  ‘This is the first chance I’ve had to get away,’ he said. He joined Allan by the window. ‘I had a hell of a job getting into town. The police have put up barriers and they’re not allowing anyone in. I had to do a little weight-pulling.’

  Allan handed him a cup of hot coffee.

  ‘This idea of yours - do you think it will work?’

  We’ve nothing to lose by trying - and everything to gain.’

  Camperly dragged up a chair and sat down. ‘Do you mind explaining it fully?’

  ‘The main reason the scorpions deserted the previous nest was because the heat from the drainage pipe was cut when the reactor shut down. No heat meant a drop in temperature, a condition the scorpions can’t tolerate. It’s one characteristic the mutations still retain - cold irritates them, makes them sluggish. It won’t kill them but they’ll do anything to avoid it. Anyway, they abandoned the previous nest and went looking for a fresh one. Long Point offered ideal conditions, which was fine for the scorpions but not for us. The problems were one, how to get all the scorpions together, and two, the swiftest way to immobilize them. The penny took a long time to drop. First, we deprive them of all heat sources. The simplest way was to get the gas and electric supplies to the town cutoff. We did that late yest
erday afternoon. That has meant an overnight period without heat of any kind - the weather’s done us a favor and stayed cold and wet.’

  Camperly nodded. ‘So, you create a situation that, hopefully, will force the scorpions out of doors. And then?’

  ‘The intention is to get the things in one place. So we needed an attraction.’

  ‘A heat source?’

  Allan nodded. ‘If the scorpions find the whole town has withdrawn its heat, that’s what they’ll be looking for.’

  ‘Do you have it?’

  ‘Yes. Portable blow-heaters. They run off ordinary paraffin. They’re used in industry, garages, workshops, anywhere that doesn’t have its own heating. Electrodes provide a constant spark to ignite a spray of paraffin and a fan drives air through the flame and out into the required area.’