Scorpion [Scorpions 01] (10 page)

    Allan returned to the research unit and dragged out everything he could find relating to scorpions. He retreated into a corner, refusing to let even Fergus McFee draw him into their usual banter. He was still there at half past six, when the phone rang. He ignored it at first, but it went on ringing. Muttering under his breath he snatched the phone off the rest and jammed it to his ear.

    ‘Allan? Is that you?’

    ‘What do… Chris? Is it Chris?’

    ‘Of course it is, you idiot.’

    ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologized. ‘I wasn’t expecting you to call me here.’

    ‘I just read the paper,’ Chris said. ‘Is it true? Is this what killed Les?’

    Allan shook his head. He realized how tired he was feeling. The back of his neck ached and there was a gritty heaviness to his eyes.

    ‘Allan? Are you still there?’

    ‘Yes. Look, I’m sorry, I can’t talk right now. Can I ring you back in ten minutes? Give me a chance to clear my head. I’ve been reading all day.’

    ‘Then it’s time you packed in,’ Chris said. There was a slight pause. ‘Why don’t you get in your car and come over to my place. It won’t take you more than twenty minutes. I’ll have some fresh coffee in the pot.’

    ‘That sounds great. I’ll see you soon.’

    Allan put down the phone. He got up from behind the desk, groaning against the ache in his back. He stared at the pile of books and at the notes he’d been making. On an impulse he stacked up the books and took them with him as he left the lab. He made his way out of the building, nodding to the security man. Tossing the books on the passenger seat Allan started the Capri and drove away from the hospital. He turned the car on to the road and put his foot down. The rush-hour traffic had been and gone, so he had the road to himself. Long Point was deserted too. The town’s nightlife wouldn’t commence for another half-hour. The town slipped behind him. Allan cruised steadily along the narrow road, searching for the side-road that would lead him to Chris’s cottage. He almost missed it. Touching the Capri’s brake he brought the car to a shuddering halt. Spinning the steering wheel, he took the car on to the side-road. Chris’s neat cottage was the last in line. It stood in its own carefully tended gardens, surrounded by bloom-filled rose bushes and green lawns. Easing the Capri into the drive Allan parked behind Chris’s own car. He picked up the pile of books and climbed out, making his way to the cottage’s front door. It opened before he reached it, and Chris stood there.

    ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Come on inside.’

    Allan stepped through the door. The room he entered was low-ceilinged, furnished with care. It gave him a comfortable feeling, and made him want to forget his own sparse, modern flat.

    Tut your homework down,’ Chris said.

    Allan remembered the books he was carrying. He looked round awkwardly, not sure where to put them. Chris reached out and took them from him, placing them on a small table by the wall.

    ‘Are you hungry?’ she asked.

    He realized he was. ‘Starving.’

    ‘Thank the Lord for that,’ Chris laughed. ‘I’ve got two huge steaks cooking and enough salad to hold a vegetarian banquet.’

    ‘That sounds fine.’

    ‘I’ll be a few minutes,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you sit down and relax.’

    She guided him to a big, soft armchair and Allan sank gratefully into the sensual embrace of the cushions, stretching his long legs. He watched Chris leave the room, noticing that she was wearing a clinging, one-piece suit in some soft material. It was a rich golden-yellow shade that complemented her mass of shining dark hair. He allowed himself the luxury of total relaxation, forcing the day’s events completely from his mind. They would still be around in the morning - and with his luck they’d most probably double tomorrow.

    ‘Allan!’

    The soft voice reached him from a long way off. He opened his eyes, blinking away the heaviness. Chris was leaning over the arm of the chair, grinning down at him.

    ‘Come on, sleepy, food’s on the table.’

    It was starting to get dark by the time they finished the meal. Chris served coffee and taking their cups with them they crossed to the armchairs. Chris switched on a low lamp, then drew the curtains across the darkening windows.

    ‘It’s a nice place,’ Allan said.

    ‘I like it.’

    ‘How long have you lived here?’

    ‘All my life,’ she said, sitting down opposite him. She smiled at his expression. ‘In my mind I
have
lived here all my life. This has been my dream house ever since I can remember. It only became reality three years ago.’

    Allan drank his coffee and leaned back in his armchair. He felt very envious of Chris and her secure, comfortable home. He was surprised at his feelings; envy was not a weakness he gave in to.

    ‘Can I show you the paper?’ Chris asked some time later.

    She handed Allan a copy of the
Long Point News.
The feature was on the front page. Allan gave a low groan.

    ‘My God, Camperly’s going to bury me over this!’ He scanned the columns. ‘Did I say that? I suppose I must have done.’

    The article explained how Doctor Allan Brady of the Tropical Diseases Research Unit had established the identity of the mysterious creatures responsible for a number of deaths in the area. The creatures in question, it turned out, were scorpions. There was a little more, most of it pure speculation on the part of the reporter. To drive in the nails even deeper the paper had printed a large black headline over the article: SCORPIONS AT LARGE!

    ‘Was it a scorpion that stung Les?’ Chris asked.

    Tm pretty certain it was.’

    ‘How did you find out? From someone who was stung?’

    Allan nodded. ‘A workman who’d been up on the coast road got himself stung on the arm. He was able to describe in detail what had stung him. And so were a number of his workmates.’

    ‘But, Allan, scorpions aren’t native to this country. All right - I’ll accept one, maybe two. But the way things have been happening it reads as though there are lots of them. That couldn’t be true, could it?’

    ‘I’m not sure. You see, there is a quite large colony of scorpions in this area.’

    Chris stared at him in disbelief. ‘Where?’ she asked.

    ‘About three miles along the coast is that abandoned dock complex. It’s been closed down for over ten years. There are dozens of scorpions living there. They’ve been there for fifty-odd years. Originally they must have come ashore from some cargo boat - maybe only one or two, perhaps only a female who laid her eggs. But the scorpions survived and established themselves. Over the years they multiplied and adapted to their new environment. The scorpions who nest in the docks are small and completely harmless as far as we know. Over the years they lost the use of their stings.’

    ‘Until now, that is,’ Chris said. ‘Do you think something has happened? That these harmless scorpions aren’t harmless any longer?’

    ‘Right now, I’m ready to believe anything.’ Allan tried to hold back a powerful yawn but he failed. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Maybe it’s time I left.’

    Chris leaned over and took his empty coffee cup. ‘How about another drink?’

    She crossed the room and filled both their cups from the warm pot. A slight noise caught her attention. She crossed to a window and eased back the curtain. Heavy rain had started to fall, large drops spattering against the glass. Chris let the curtain fall back into place. She took the coffee and returned to the armchairs. Placing the cups on the low table she knelt before the wide fireplace and turned on the gas-fire set at the back of the hearth.

    ‘It’s raining like mad out there,’ she said.

    Allan groaned wearily, the thought of dragging himself out into the wet night filling him with disgust. He felt the warmth reaching out from the gas-fire. Chris handed him the cup of coffee.

    ‘No need to rush off,’ she said.

    They sat and talked, listened to the rain slapping against the cottage, watched the comforting glow spill out from the fire. Much later Chris excused herself and vanished upstairs. Allan sat up, stretching lazily. He glanced at his watch and saw with a shock that it was well past midnight. He heard the rain beating against the windows, felt the pull of the armchair and muttered, sod it, as he lay back. Lulled by the warmth of the fire Allan’s eyes drooped…

    He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder and jerked awake. The room was in semi-darkness. Allan turned his head and saw Chris kneeling beside his chair. He stared at her, his mind still muzzy from sleep.

    ‘Do you think you could climb the stairs?’ she asked softly.

    ‘Stairs?’ he asked, puzzled.

    ‘Yes. It’s time you were in bed, Doctor Brady.’

    She helped him stand up, then took his hand and led him across the room and up the short flight of stairs. He was too sleepy to raise any protest - even if he’d wanted to. By the time they reached the top of the stairs Allan had realized there was something different about Chris. The yellow suit had gone, replaced by a thin robe that molded itself to her supple young figure. He was still enjoying the view of her shapely rear when Chris took him through a door and into a bedroom.

    ‘I’m afraid it’s the only one I’ve got,’ she said, without too much of an apology in her tone. ‘But the bed’s rather on the large size.’

    It was the least subtle invitation Allan Brady had ever received from a woman - but at that moment it might have been the most sophisticated. He turned, just as Chris switched off the light. The room dimmed, only a pale glimmer of light shafting in through the uncurtained window.

    ‘Can you manage?’ Chris’s voice whispered out of the shadows.

    Allan began to form some witty remark, but his voice had translated itself into an unintelligible croak that made him sound like an amorous frog. He kept quiet and undressed as casually as he could. Somewhere across the room he heard the bed creak very gently, heard the soft glide of flesh against cotton sheets. He padded across the room, bumping against the side of the bed, and groped his way in. Pulling the covers over him he lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling. There was a brief silence.

    ‘It’s not that large,’ Chris said out of the darkness, and for a moment Allan wondered if she knew something he didn’t. Then he realized she was referring to the size of the bed, and the absurdity of his thoughts almost caused him to burst out laughing. ‘Well, is it?’ Chris asked.

    ‘I’ll time you if you come on over,’ he said.

    She giggled softly and slid across to him. Her slim, warm hands touched his face, soft lips seeking his. Allan drew his arms around her lovely body, pulling her tight against him, and that was how they stayed. For the moment it was enough.

    

    

    The rain caught a number of them out in the open. The dark skies had been filling with swollen clouds for a few hours now, and suddenly the rain came slanting down. The first drops dusted the dry earth, being swiftly absorbed, but as the rain increased in intensity, there was nowhere else for it to go so it began to pool and gather. It flattened the tall blades of grass, exposing the very ground, and exposing, too, the scorpions that were out foraging for food. As the rain struck their hard, shell-like bodies, they halted and probed the air with their claw-tipped arms. After a time realization came to them that the rain did not present an immediate threat. Even so it seemed to affect their progress. They began to scurry back and forth, their movements hurried, abrupt, the flexing tails curling over their wet backs.

    As if with a single thought they turned and began to retrace their path through the grass. The darkness did little to hinder them. They knew with an inbred instinct the way back to the breeding ground. Scurrying lightly over the sodden ground they returned to the place they had made their home. Almost reluctantly they crawled under cover, gathering at the entrance for a while watching the rain… waiting… But it did not cease. The scorpions slid silently into the shadows. Soon the rain would stop - and when it did they could emerge once again…

    

    

    Lemmy Tyson stirred uncomfortably in his sleep. He wriggled his behind on the hard surface, wishing he had something a little more comfortable beneath him. He swore softly, opening his eyes a fraction, and peering out from his shelter. The rain was still pelting down out of a black sky. Lemmy sniffed. Christ, it was cold! That was just like the weather. For weeks now it had been nothing but blazing sunshine. Long hot days and sweltering nights. And now look at it! Fucking rain! He struggled to sit up, groping in the pocket of his filthy, smelly old raincoat. His grubby fingers closed over the bottle of whisky. Lemmy pulled it from his pocket, shaking the bottle and listening to the sloshing sound it made. A swig of that should keep me warm, he decided. He unscrewed the cap, sniffing the fumes that rose from the bottle. He hesitated before he raised it to his lips, recalling how he’d nicked the bottle from the front seat of the Rolls-Royce he’d spotted parked off the road. He’d crept up to the car, keeping his eyes open for the owner, and had peered in through one of the side windows. The first thing he’d seen was the couple on the rear seat. A middle-aged man and a girl who couldn’t have been more than nineteen. There they were, in broad daylight, naked as anyone could be, and going at it as if sex was about to be rationed. For a while Lemmy hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from the pair. Reluctantly he had edged towards the front of the car. The passenger door window was down and there, resting on the rich leather seat was a full, sealed bottle of expensive whisky. Lemmy hadn’t hesitated. He’d stretched his arm through the open window and deftly lifted the bottle off the seat. The sounds coming from the rear seat told him that lust, rather than honor, was about to be satisfied, so Lemmy had slipped quickly into the undergrowth.