Scorpion [Scorpions 01] (17 page)

    Duncan made a face and turned away.

    Sanderson joined Allan and pointed to the far side of the passage. ‘I think that leads down to the lowest level. Price has picked up indications of small amounts of radioactivity but nothing to bother us.’

    As they descended the final flight of concrete steps they could feel the coldness rising up to meet them, even though they were wearing the protective suits. Inside the suits they were beginning to sweat, and the musty smell hanging thickly on the air didn’t help.

    The man with the camera began to take shots of the large chamber. Price wandered back and forth with his detector.

    ‘Look here,’ Duncan said.

    Allan and Sanderson joined him, crouching beside the Inspector. In the pool of light thrown by their combined lamps lay a scattering of bones.

    ‘Mice,’ Allan said, indicating some of the bones.

    ‘That’s no mouse,’ Sanderson said, pointing to a mass of larger bones. ‘Looks more like a cat.’

    Allan leaned across and disturbed another pile. ‘That’s a fox if I’m not mistaken.’

    ‘Over here!’

    They all glanced round at Price’s muffled yell.

    He was standing before the caved-in section of the concrete wall. He lifted a gloved hand and indicated the crack in the pipe.

    ‘That’s it,’ Allan said. He began to move forward towards the mass of earth that had been forced through the fissure in the wall.

    ‘Careful,’ Price warned. ‘The radiation level is highest there.’

    Allan held back. ‘There’s just one thing missing,’ he said.

    ‘What?’ asked Sanderson.

    ‘The scorpions!’ He gestured at the vast, empty chamber. ‘I don’t think they’re here!’

    ‘Then where are they?’ Duncan asked.

    ‘Up until a week or so ago the weather was fine. Hot, dry, then muggy - just the atmosphere for a scorpion. And down here, with the superheated water from the plant seeping through, it would have been ideal for them. But two things have happened. The weather’s changed drastically. Now it’s wet and cold. That’s probably why we didn’t have any scorpion problems for a while - the cold weather drove them back here. Then the plant shut down the reactor that provided the hot water. This place would soon lose its warmth. You can feel how chilly it is now.’

    ‘Are you saying that the scorpions have gone?’

    ‘I think so, yes. They’ll be looking for new nests, for warmth and a ready food supply. And they can get both in plenty where there are houses and people.’

    ‘That means they could be anywhere,’ Duncan said sharply.

    ‘I’m afraid it… ‘

    There was a sudden cry. They turned and crossed the floor.

    ‘What’s wrong?’ Sanderson asked his photographer.

    ‘I was taking some shots of the crack in the wall and the pipe. I’ll swear something moved under that pile of earth.’

    They all took a few steps away from the mound, watching it closely. Nothing happened.

    ‘Maybe it was your flash,’ Allan said.

    The photographer nodded. He directed the camera at the high mound of earth and touched the button. The pile was illuminated by the stark burst of light. The shadows returned as it faded, and they all turned their lamps on the mound.

    Thin trails of soil trickled down the mound. Slowly the rate increased; a chunk of concrete slid partway down. The surface of the mound swelled in a couple of places and lifted, the soil falling away.

    Something dark and glistening humped itself up out of the earth. It struggled to support itself on legs that were too feeble for its body. With a clumsy thrust it dragged itself clear of the soil and flopped forward, slithering down the slope.

    ‘Jesus Christ,’ Sanderson said.

    ‘What the hell is that?’ asked Duncan.

    ‘I think that is the next stage in the development of the scorpions,’ Allan said, his voice low, shocked.

    The scorpion lay at the foot of the mound, struggling pitifully to raise its heavy body off the ground. It was easily two feet long, its tail dragging in the dirt behind it and adding to its length. The clawed arms moved clumsily, the pincers opening and closing with heavy sounds. Where its eyes should have been there were only blank sockets. The dark shell of its body was covered in swollen lumps, some of which had burst open to expose festering tissue running with pus.

    ‘Do you realize what would happen if these things got outside?’ Duncan asked.

    ‘I don’t think they have yet,’ Allan said. ‘Look at that one. Born blind, its body too heavy for its own legs, covered in sores - probably cancerous - that will kill it off before too long. This strain has a long way to go before it becomes dangerous. But it makes the job of destroying the others that much more important. They have to be got rid of before too many eggs are laid. Any egg could produce one of these.’

    ‘Another one!’ yelled Price.

    A second large scorpion was dragging itself from the mound. Again this one experienced difficulty. When it had dragged itself clear they were able to see that it had no sting at all, and the legs down one side of the swollen body were shriveled and dead. There were large and cruel pincers on the end of the waving arms. It slithered down the pile of earth and lay motionless. Allan moved his lamp in its direction and saw that it had one good eye, a cold, gleaming orb that swiveled round to stare directly at his beam of light.

    ‘We’ve got to destroy them right now,’ Allan said. He handed his lamp to Sanderson. ‘Keep it trained on those things,’ he said. Inside the suit he was trembling from head to foot as he approached the mutated scorpions. He went up to the blind one first. It might not have had eyes, but there was nothing wrong with its sensory system; as Allan closed in on it the ugly creature lifted its head and it seemed to be looking directly at him. Gripping the pickaxe handle firmly Allan stepped quickly to one side, raised the handle and smashed it down on the scorpion’s head. He felt the jar of the impact the length of his arms. He swore softly. Lifting the handle he struck again, and again. The scorpion squirmed, trying to drag its body away from Allan, but he followed it, striking again and again. There was a sickly crunch and the head spilt a gush of pulpy matter from the long crack Allan had opened. He stepped back, feeling sick. The scorpion began to jerk about, the swollen body curving almost double, the long tail lashing back and forth.

    ‘The other one,’ Duncan said and followed Allan’s actions.

    Price joined him and the two of them hammered at the scorpion’s head. Suddenly Price let out a terrible scream. The others turned their lamps full on him. The scorpion had Price in its grip, pincers sunk deeply into his middle. Even as they rushed to his aid the scorpion closed the pincers fully. Price’s shriek of agony echoed between the concrete walls of the chamber. A surge of blood erupted from around the pincers, flooding down the front of Price’s suit. The clear visor of his suit turned red as he coughed up gouts of blood. The scorpion yanked its pincers free from Price’s body, tearing out a ragged mass of flesh. Blood spewed out of the hole, followed by a greasy flood of entrails, a ghastly stream of pulsing organs that slid to the floor.

    The others turned on the scorpion as one, battering the loathsome creature until it was a twitching mass of oozing pulp. They took hold of Price’s arms and dragged him across the dirty floor, trying not to look at the trailing entrails that followed them. Lying him down at the foot of the steps they rested for a moment to catch their breath.

    ‘Do you think there could be others under that mound?’ Sanderson asked. His voice was trembling with anger and shock.

    ‘God knows,’ Allan said. ‘Sanderson, can you get people in here to make sure? Work out how you want to tackle it - but for God’s sake make sure you destroy anything else under that mound. Burn it out! Burn the whole place out! Don’t even leave any ashes!’

    Sanderson nodded. ‘We’ll do it,’ he said. ‘The way things are looking this whole mess is our doing, so we’ll do everything we can.’

    Price was dead. Together they carried him out of the building and laid him down on the concrete. One of the police officers brought a blanket and they covered Price up.

    Allan stripped off the protective suit and threw it aside. He waited until Duncan had got rid of his, and then followed the Inspector up to the road. The first person Allan saw was Chris. She came running over to him.

    ‘Allan, what’s happening?’ she asked.

    He took her hand and led her away to a quiet spot. Gently he explained what had happened. Chris listened, her face paling.

    ‘I almost went in there!’ she said. ‘That poor man.’

    ‘Sanderson will take care of that place,’ Allan said. ‘What we have to worry about now are the rest of the damn things. They may be smaller than those two things we found, but there are a hell of a lot more of them. The question is - just where are they?’

    

    

    The scorpions had left the place that had been their home for so long. Gradually the heat that had always been there faded away, to be replaced by a damp coldness. It did not suit the scorpions. In warmth they could thrive and multiply. Now there was only chilling discomfort. And there was the sickness that killed many of them. In the beginning there had been many born dead; some were weak; some blind; others born without legs. Then, with each new hatch, many of the old senses returned, the poison glands beginning again to secrete the powerful venom. And there were other things: a sharper awareness of their surroundings; a fiercer attitude towards anything presenting a threat towards them. The whole colony developed a closer existence. They moved about in groups rather than singly, though there were still the solitary members of the colony. Realization of their new senses led them to venture further from the nest than ever before. The colony was larger now than it had ever been and there was a greater need for food. Using the sensory advantages they now had and the ability to see better, they were able to go for much larger targets. And once they had used their stings, seeing the effect the venom had, they realized that they were in a position to take what they wanted.

    And so it would have stayed, but the weather had changed its pattern, bringing severe cold that drove them back to their nest - and even there they found change. The warmth of the nest faded away, coldness invaded their world, and the scorpions knew they had to find a new place.

    In the dark hours of night they streamed out of the depths, leaving behind only the sick, misshapen creatures who were the sole survivors of the last hatching. The creatures were unable to walk and they would soon die…

    The scorpions crawled through the night, seeking a new place, any place, that might offer warmth and food… they found it as the dawn pushed aside the cold blanket of night…

    

    

    Moss Curnew shuffled slowly along the passage, wheezing slightly. He couldn’t take cold mornings so easily nowadays. The sharp chill seemed to melt right through to his very bones. Still, it wouldn’t be so bad once he got inside the bakery. It would be nice and warm in there now, with the smell of the fresh bread filling the air. For the next couple of hours he would be busy pulling out baked loaves and shoving in batches of dough, so that by the time the shop opened at eight the shelves would be filled with the bread that had been a part of Long Point for the last fifty-odd years. Moss Curnew’s father had opened the shop back in the 1930s, and it had remained in business ever since, despite a World War, economic difficulties, and sliced loaves!

    Moss reached the door that led into the bakery. He could smell the hot bread already. The first batch would be almost ready to come out. He pushed open the door. Ed French and Sam Butler, the night men, would be gone by now and there would be a pot of fresh tea waiting on the stove for Moss. When he pulled out the first batch of bread and shoved in the next, he would sit down and have his tea and a slice off one of the hot loaves, smothered in butter. It was something Moss looked forward to.

    He eased open the door and shuffled in, closing it behind him. He took off his overcoat and went to hang it behind the door. He paused - the coats belonging to Ed and Sam were still there.

    Frowning, Moss turned and moved along the floor. His eyes were still a little watery from the cold outside. He rubbed them with his hands. And saw much better…

    He saw what was left of Ed and Sam. They were sprawled on the bakery floor, their bodies red with blood, the swollen flesh all dark and torn. Sam’s face was turned in Moss’s direction and the old man could see that his eyes had been chewed out of their sockets. His tongue protruded from his gaping mouth, black and distorted.

    ‘Oh, my God!’ Moss heard himself moan. He felt himself sway, a sick feeling rising in his stomach. He put out a hand to support himself, leaning against the long table that took up the centre of the room. Almost immediately something touched his hand. Moss glanced down and saw the biggest insect he’d ever set eyes on poised directly by his hand. Moss had a blurred impression of a dark tail curving up over the thing’s back, and then a terrible pain engulfed his hand; it felt as if it was on fire. He jerked his hand back with a start, staggering. His heart began to pound and a nauseating sickness filled his stomach, rising in his throat. He felt cold and hot at the same time. His legs buckled and he crashed to the floor. He struck the hard flagstones with the back of his head and the impact made him cry out. He felt warm blood running down his neck. The bakery began to blur around him, and just before the blackness engulfed him he thought he saw more of the insects scuttling towards him across the floor. He couldn’t be sure because he was finding it hard to breathe and he began to choke… there was an odd smell filling his nostrils, and he realized it was the bread burning in the ovens… the numbness increased and he couldn’t feel any more pain… he found it easier to just drift… no use fighting it…