The Outsiders (22 page)

“
Just one more, Mr. Holmes.
I’m coming...after I’ve had another medicinal tot.”

“
Be ready in thirty minutes,
please Sergeant.”

“
Why not now, Mr. Holmes?”
asked the soldier.

“
I still have a couple of
tests to perform. And I need you sober, so not too much
medicine.”

It was still only mid-morning as the
grey storm clouds began to gather above Mallaig. Along with the
storm clouds came the people, the watchers, all keen to see the
‘men in the funny suits’ and the great detective Sherlock Holmes.
There were others who wanted the soldiers, Watson and Holmes
gone...and that ship.

Some of
the fisherman had heard the rumours of the ghost ship. Others had
heard that it was a former plague ship that had been bought cheaply
but still carried the illness and that they were all doomed to die
in a spread of seeping boils and agony. Dr. Watson and the ten
soldiers were all now pressed in duty, were charged with ensuring
that there would be no explosion of rage. No reacting to those who
live in the quicksands of ignorance. Hold your steel, gentlemen.
You are professionals.

Young Alten had taken the position of
second volunteer and like Merry before him, went about the task of
checking the four cages that his Sergeant had set down. All still
housed their single occupants, much to his relief.

Within a few minutes, he was back on
the harbour-side, with the rats in the warehouse.

“
Doctor Watson,
sir.”

“
Yes, Private
Alten?”

“
Being as Mr. Jephson is
missing, don’t you think it would be a good idea if I went back
aboard and helped with the search. Many hands making light work and
all.”

“
We both have our orders,
Private Alten.”

A number of the watching group were becoming more
vocal
in their
protestation, unable to contain their unfounded fears and
bias.

“
We don’t want that ship in
here. It’s a devil-ship.” shouted one local, McGraw, sinewy man,
all muck and muscle and a twenty-five year veteran of the sea with
a visage that looked as if another twenty had taken their
toll.

“
We have important business
here, now go about your business, you men.” came the reply from
Watson, who now had one of the soldiers at his side.

“
Take it out and burn it.
Send it back to the hell that spawned it. If you don’t, we will.”
McGraw continued.

The group, now numbering at least
fifty, edged closer to the soldiers and Watson, finding bravery in
their numbers.

“
There are more of us than
you. Now stand aside and no harm will come to you. This is our
harbour. Our livelihood.” McGraw revealed a cosh in his hand and
his eyes gave no doubt that he was being goaded on by his sense of
strange importance and would use every means at his disposal to
carry out his desires.

The group edged closer as the soldiers
drew back to protect the civilian with them and the
walkway.

“
I advise you to stand back, there.” Watson said. How he wished
for Holmes’ presence at this moment. He would act rather
than
react
as was
Watson’s lifelong action plan.

“
We ain’t taking any orders
from your kind.” Dissatisfaction had settled on McGraw’s mind like
a shadow. He acted...and led the rush.

The air was suddenly penetrated by a
single report from a standard issue, Martini-Henry,
rifle.

Everyone at the harbour-side turned toward the collection of
barrels close to the warehouses and smoke houses. Private Scott
stood, impassive on the fish oil-barrels, still looking down the
hot barrel of his rifle that he called ‘
Agnes
’. A small plume of white smoke
lazily left the black steel tube.

“
My word!” exclaimed a
rather nervous Watson as one of the soldiers whispered to
him.

“
Scott...sharpshooter...one
of the regiments best, sir.”

“
He shot me. He bloody shot
me.”

McGraw was kneeling on the ground, his
cosh alongside him, clutching at his right forearm. Blood dripped
on the cobbled stones.

The group had begun to draw back to a
more manageable distance.

Two others came to McGraw’s aid and
helped raise him to his feet. Private Scott’s barrel was trained on
McGraw’s every move. The eager soldier was almost wishing for the
fisherman to give him an excuse to squeeze the release.

Less than two minutes later, only a few
remained. A last defiant act or something to help pass boredom. No
one cared.

“
Excellent shot, Private
Scott. Thank you.”

“
I was aiming for his thigh,
sir. I haven’t aligned this sight properly.” said the
private.

A look of mild discomfort and relief
appeared on Watson’s face like a mask.

Dr. Watson turned on his heels when he
realised that that something...someone...was missing.

“
Where is Private
Alten?”

All he got in reply was blank looks and
the shrugging of shoulders. Watson glanced up at the
Celeste.

“
Damned fool.”

Holmes’ movements were as cautious as a
cat and, despite the heavyweight suit, were as deft. Down in the
holds an anxiety hung in air like a dark impenetrable cloud. The
silence, due to the helmets, was the one sense that Holmes sorely
wished was at his avail.

He reached the first
cage...empty.

The second...empty.

The deeper he moved into the belly of
the ship, the greater his trepidation, regardless of his
reputation. At the back of his mind was the missing, presumed dead,
Dr. Jephson. But that drive for a definitive solution was too
great...and he continued on.

On the deck above, Merry’s own search
revealed two cages empty and two with their occupants very much
alive. As he turned to leave, he caught sight of something out of
the corner of his eye, a light rushing down one of the stairwells
to the holds. The Sergeant moved toward one of the hatchways that
led to the lower deck, to see what or who was responsible for the
light. The big man knelt down and peered into the darkness. He then
experienced the sudden pain of something sharp being stuck into the
back of his hand. He pulled it back from the edge and took a close
look.

Nothing.

A pain in the other hand...and
another...and more

The man stood and saw them, fine
gossamer that emanated from the walls and buried themselves in his
hands and forearms. The pain was growing...and the feeling in his
limbs fading. He saw the glowing and the walls begin to
pulse.

He prepared himself for something
inhuman and found himself being dragged across the damp, wooden
deck. All he could see was the passing of the struts and flooring
of the top deck. Seconds felt like hours until he was aware that he
was being propped up against a supporting pillar. His eyelids were
paralysed open and saw Holmes’ face staring at him. He couldn’t
hear a thing, but could just about understand what Holmes was
trying to relay to him.

Holmes’ slim stature belied the man’s
strength. He was able to hoist the soldier to his feet and put him
over his shoulder. Less than a minute later and Merry was staring
at a greying sky...and Holmes. Watson saw Holmes appear and with
two soldiers in support, hurried up the walkway.

Merry’s helmet was removed to aid his
breathing which had become shallow.

Holmes’ took off his own headgear and
looked up at Watson who was now standing over the pair of
them.

“
Watson, take him down and
give him a shot of adrenalin. You’ll find a supply in the warehouse
in a small, black leather pouch. I prepared the measures in
advance. But hurry, before he goes into shock. And then strip him
down and wash him. C’mon man, time is of the essence.”

“
We have one problem
Holmes.”

“
Problem, what problem,
speak man.”

“
Private Alten.”

“
What of him?”

“
He returned back to the
ship. To help you...speed things up.”

“
The ignorance of youth.
Alright, bring up buckets of water, that pouch I mentioned and your
personal medical kit. I’ll go and get him.”

“
Can any of us
help?”

“
No...I think the Sergeant
may have helped save the Private. Have two men at the stern
hatchway...and do whatever you have to do to get it open. And wait
for my signal.”

Holmes replaced his helmet and
re-entered the darkness.

The first of the tendrils went unfelt
by Alten but within a matter of no more than several seconds, more
of the fine hairs pierced his suit sending their dose of poison
coursing through his veins. The digestive enzyme and poison mix
began to go to work almost immediately. The tendrils held him in a
standing position; in some kind of grotesque crucifix.

Larger tendrils appeared, tightening on his suit. Still, the
man would not fall. Would not cede to anyone or
thing.

The pain in his calf was different. Not like the sense of
stinging from the first tendrils. This was deeper. It was as if the
tendrils
knew
that
they had a larger, unwilling prey and had to resort to more violent
methods. Alten tried to pull away his right leg from the binding
fronds and then felt clear. His leg had been cut away mid-calf. The
pain in his left forearm grew and moments later the limb was
literally stripped from the elbow.

The agony was unbearable but the helmet
silenced any screams.

His body hung there, held up by the
tendrils.

Then the walls began to
glow.

Holmes found Alten in the midships,
close to the stairwell that led to the upper deck
astern.

The detective hurled himself at Alten,
his momentum breaking the bindings. The two men rolled on the
lower-deck floor, covering Holmes in a mixture of blood and
tendrils. He dragged the seriously injured soldier to the loading
platform. On the top deck there was a major problem, they could not
get the hold open.

Private Scott stepped forward and
handed Watson a small, circular hand-held device, black in colour
about four inches and diameter and an inch deep.

“
Use this. Pull that pin,
place it on the hatchway and stand back.”

“
What is this?” asked
Watson.

“
Something we’re developing at Carrick. And I suggest
now
would be a good
test.”

Watson did as instructed. The four men
stood back.

The explosion caused an almost perfect
hole and the platform was hastily lowered.

Holmes’ was covered in splinters and
light from the deck above. He quickly removed his helmet to call
out orders.

“
Hurry with that platform.”
he screamed. It followed with a loud crash, as it was literally
dropped rather than lowered. Holmes cared little for finesse, it
was here. All he cared for was the soldiers’ life.

He peered back to the darkness and
moved quickly enough to avoid one of the thicker tendrils thrusting
itself towards him. He pulled Alten onto the platform.

“
Now.”

Above them, four soldiers pulled on the
loading hoist with all their might and speed.

Holmes looked over the edge of the
platform and could see the tendrils squirming, moving, searching
and all the while, avoiding the light.

Holmes lay back on the platform and
watched as the sky came ever closer. He felt his left arm go
numb.

Holmes opened his eyes and the first
vision was not what he would have preferred, but Watson was a good
second.

“
Good to see you’re awake
old man.”

“
How long have I been
sleeping?”

“
A day...you were very
fortunate, Holmes.”

“
Your suit was peppered with
holes, not as many as the soldiers or that of poor Jephson, but
enough.”

“
I’m beginning to
understand, Watson, what it is aboard that ship. Perfect symbiosis.
Fascinating that these two species work in conjunction with each
other. The worms...or tendrils...have evolved so that while they
inject a mix of poison to neutralise the nervous system, they also
take enough nutrients to sustain themselves and also introduce a
fast acting enzyme that reduces everything organic to something
digestible by those microscopic insects that feed so
voraciously.”

“
But how is it that some of
the rats were harmed and others not? Answer me that.”

“
The creatures were sated.
Simple as that. After the attack on Jephson, there was a window of
opportunity for us...and the lucky rats.”

“
But why was the attack on
Alten, so much more violent.”

“
I can only surmise that a
combination of higher pain threshold and a huge rush of adrenalin
caused the worms to bind together to form larger, thicker tendrils.
Perfect adaptation to its environment and food source.”