Under The Mountain

by Maurice Gee

  Across the bottom Ricky had scrawled: Hey you kids, where in hell have you been? Couldn’t wait. I’ve gone to pick up the gang. We’re going to have a party. See you soon. Ricky.

  ‘That’s great, isn’t it? Are you sure the doors are all locked?’

  ‘I don’t want a party, I want to sleep.’

  They turned on the TV set and watched part of a programme. Neither of them could get interested.

  ‘Did you see Mr Jones when that thing attacked? He turned into fire. Do you think he’ll ever let us see his real shape?’

  ‘He wants to be human. Just think how lonely he is.’

  Theo got up and turned the TV off. ‘I wonder why he hasn’t told anyone. The army for instance. They could plant explosives down there. Blow those things sky-high.’

  ‘It isn’t the army’s war.’

  ‘Why? They’re going to turn the Earth into mud.’

  ‘It’s the war of the Wilberforces and the Joneses. We’re Joneses now, not Mathesons.’

  ‘Honorary Joneses.’ Theo warmed his hands an inch from his stone. ‘I wonder how these things work. Do you think they explode?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I don’t know. Theo, have you thought, the Wilberforces are the last ones too? The last of their kind in the whole universe.’

  ‘It serves them right.’

  ‘No it doesn’t. They’re only doing what they have to do. I think – I think we should try to save them. Like the Notornis – and the blue whale. Otherwise they’ll be extinct. We could give them a place to live – put a bog wall around them.’

  Theo shook his head. ‘You saw what they did to Johan. And remember that model under the lake, with the world turned into mud.’

  ‘Yes.’ As usual she could not answer him. But she felt she was right. Only when she remembered the smell – it was strong tonight – and the slugs sliding out of the cellar, and Johan, did she feel there was something evil about the Wilberforces. But pigs smelled, and hippopotamuses. Crocodiles, octopuses, snakes, worms, were ugly or slimy. Lions killed. Hawks killed. That didn’t make them evil, simply different. She sat at the table worrying about this. Theo had gone to his bedroom with Uncle Clarry’s binoculars.

  ‘It’s all quiet over there,’ he called.

  ‘All they are is different, Theo. Octopuses are different too.’

  ‘Octopuses don’t want to turn the world into mud. I’m going to do some practice with my stone. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  ‘Is Mr Jones out there?’

  ‘I couldn’t see him. But he’ll be around somewhere. Don’t worry.’

  The doorbell rang. It rang with a long hard clangour, like a burglar alarm.

  ‘Who?’ they pebbled, staring wide-eyed.

  ‘Ricky?’

  ‘He wouldn’t ring. Besides, there wasn’t a car.’

  ‘Mr Jones then?’

  ‘He can just hop straight through.’

  The bell rang again. Theo crept down the stairs and approached the door. Its wood suddenly seemed flimsy and the fastened safety-chain no stronger than a thread of wool.

  ‘Do you think it’s them?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I’m going to turn out the light.’

  ‘No. They’re better in the dark.’

  ‘Theo, the smell, it’s stronger.’

  ‘You get back. Get in your bedroom and lock the door.’

  ‘I’m staying with you.’

  A heavy knocking sounded on the door, which vibrated under it.

  ‘Let’s try calling Mr Jones. Together.’

  ‘What will we say?’

  ‘S.O.S. Ready?’

  They sent the message out – once, twice, three times. No answer came.

  ‘He promised he wouldn’t go away.’

  The knocking sounded again and as it finished a voice called, ‘Is there anybody home?’ It seemed to belong to a young man. They sighed with relief. Theo went close to the door.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘Police. Open up.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Is this the Cooper place?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s been an accident. I’ve got a message for the twins.’

  There was something wrong about this and Theo began to be suspicious. But Rachel cried out, ‘What is it? Is it our parents?’

  ‘Yes. Your parents. They’ve been hurt.’

  At once Rachel rushed to open the door. Theo caught her arm. ‘Wait. Don’t. There’s something fishy.’

  ‘Come on, young fellow. Don’t fool about. Open the door.’

  ‘We’ve been told to keep it locked. What’s your name?’

  ‘Brown. Constable Brown.’

  ‘What’s your number?’

  ‘Seven four six two.’

  ‘What sort of accident was it?’

  There was a pause. Then the voice said, ‘Their house burnt down.’

  ‘Oh, Theo –’

  ‘Keep quiet. Let me handle it. – Where is the house? Where do they live?’

  He felt something slow, angular, wet, probing in his mind, and he thought desperately, Hamilton, Hamilton.

  ‘Hamilton,’ the voice said. ‘Now come on with this door. I haven’t got all night.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Theo cried. ‘It’s Taumarunui. Our parents live in Taumarunui. Ring the police, Rachel. It’s one of them.’

  At once there was a heavy blow on the door. Theo flung himself against it. Another blow fell and then the door began to creak under a steady pressure. Timber began to crack around the lock.

  ‘I can’t find the number,’ Rachel cried.

  ‘One one one, you fool.’

  The lock burst and the door jerked open the length of the safety-chain, knocking Theo off balance. He steadied himself and lunged forward. His weight made no difference. The door stayed a fraction open. A hand came sideways through and pressed down on the chain, trying to tear it off the wall.

  Theo grabbed Uncle Clarry’s binoculars from round his neck. He swung them on the end of their strap and brought them down on the hand with all his force. But they bounced off just as the camera had bounced off the baby slug in the tunnel.

  Rachel was still fumbling with the telephone book. ‘I still can’t find it,’ she shrieked.

  ‘One one one.’

  He rushed across the room to the telephone, picked it up, dialled one … The chain broke from the wall and the door slammed back with a force that shook the house.

  It was indeed a policeman standing there. He lurched in: a young man, pink-faced, two metres tall or more.

  ‘There’s been an accident,’ he said in a thick ugly voice and he advanced clumsily towards them. An overpowering smell moved along with him. The hand that had broken the chain was not a hand – it was shaped like a huge grey mitten.

  ‘You’re a Wilberforce,’ Theo yelled. ‘Keep away from us. We can burn you.’

  ‘Come with me. Come to the lake. One will be enough.’

  ‘Stay away.’

  ‘You come. Or else I’ll take your sister.’

  The words were spoken with great effort. Theo remembered that keeping a human shape was tremendously hard for a Wilberforce. It took almost all their will, all their strength. Speech must use a good part of what was left.

  ‘Up the steps, Rachel. Keep away from him. He can’t move fast.’

  They backed away and started to mount the steps. The Wilberforce walked after them slowly. By himself Theo would have risked ducking round him and making for the open door. But Rachel was no good at that sort of thing. She was bound to be caught. And getting caught meant being dragged to the lake and drowned. The Wilberforce spread his arms. They covered the whole width of the staircase. Heavily he started to climb. He had not troubled to re-form the hand that had broken the chain from the wall and this flexed in a livelier way, more naturally than the other. His face was calm – pink, young, handsome. He did not bother
with speech again.

  Theo and Rachel stood at the top of the steps and watched him come. There were ten steps, broad and shallow. He was hardly ten strides away, his head level with their knees.

  Rachel grasped her stone. ‘Make the light, Theo. The way we did before.’

  At once their minds were together. Light, they thought, light, and the intense invisible beam sprang out, more easily, more powerfully than before. It struck the Wilberforce in the face. It hurt him, blinded him. He gave a quack of pain and recoiled as though he had walked into a wall. But then he stood his ground at the bottom of the staircase. His eyes sank deeper into his head. Their brown began to grow darker, turn into grey, into black. Their aperture narrowed to a slit. Then slowly, painfully, quacking with the effort, he began to advance again. He leaned forward as though against a huge weight.

  ‘Harder,’ Theo yelled. They increased the strength of the beam. It stopped the Wilberforce but did not drive him back. His face began to lose its pink colour and the fingers of his human hand run together. ‘He’s turning into a slug.’ Theo fought to make the beam even stronger. But he felt himself beginning to falter. It was too much, he could not keep it up. He was on the point of blacking out. The Wilberforce stopped re-making himself. He moved up another step.

  ‘I can’t keep going, Rachel.’

  ‘Try, Theo, try.’

  ‘I can’t.’ But he joined in again and for a moment they held the Wilberforce where he was. Then he moved again, another step, against the full force of the beam.

  ‘It’s no good.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’

  ‘You go that way. Split up.’

  They ran one each way along past the bedroom doors. ‘Don’t go in,’ Theo yelled.

  The Wilberforce climbed more easily. He reached the head of the stairs, looked at Theo first, then Rachel. He began to walk towards her.

  Theo rushed at him. He gripped the material of his uniform jacket and tried to pull him off balance. But it was not material. It was the Wilberforce’s skin, hanging loosely on the body underneath. It was damp and rubbery and slipped from Theo’s grasp. He lost his balance and sat down heavily on the carpet. The Wilberforce turned. He made a lunge at Theo, but Theo scuttled sideways like a crab, keeping under the grabbing hands. He rolled frantically and jumped to his feet. The Wilberforce followed, then saw that Theo was out of reach. He turned to Rachel again.

  Theo tore open the door of the storage cupboard between two of the bedrooms. He had found Uncle Clarry’s golf clubs there in his exploring. He pulled one from the bag – a long wooden one numbered 2 on the leather bag protecting its head. He ripped the bag off and gripped the club near the top of its handle. It was dangerously heavy, and whippy as a piece of bamboo.

  The Wilberforce had Rachel trapped against the wall beyond the farthest bedroom. She was holding him off with the light-beam, making it on her own with such force that he was even pushed a step or two back. But Theo could see her exhaustion. She could only last a moment or two more.

  He ran at the Wilberforce, swung the club high and wide and brought it down on the side of the creature’s head. It bounced back with such force that Theo almost lost his grip on it. The Wilberforce stood steady as a rock. The skin of his face showed no effect from the blow. But he turned side on, seemed undecided what to do. Theo struck him again, a blow on the chest. And again the club bounced. The Wilberforce made up his mind. He turned back to Rachel. Theo attacked wildly. He struck the Wilberforce a dozen times – shoulders, head, neck, even legs. But only the helmet was damaged. It caved in a little and made a hollow sound. The Wilberforce quacked. He retracted the helmet on his head, made it a plate of rubbery skin.

  Theo struck again, again. Rachel was pale as paper. Her strength was nearly gone. The Wilberforce inched forward.

  Fire, thought Theo, matches. He dropped the club and ran down the steps, heading for the kitchen. But as he reached the lower level he saw a way Rachel might escape. He had chosen stupidly, going right at the top of the steps and sending her left. On the right the drop from the bedroom level was less than two metres. On the left it was three or more into the conversation pit where the floor was brick under the sheepskin rugs. But the built-in seats around the sides had cushions as fat as mattresses. If she could jump on to those …

  He ran into the pit. ‘Rachel,’ he cried, yelling and pebbling at once, ‘jump. Climb the bannister and jump.’

  He could not tell if she had heard. All her concentration was in the beam.

  ‘Jump, jump,’ he screamed.

  She heard. She edged towards the bannister. The Wilberforce was released a little. He lurched forward. But she held him off and once again pushed him back a step. She felt for the bannister, gripped it with her hand. And then she had to look away from him to lift herself over and he came at her in three great strides that made the floor shake. She did not jump, she simply pushed herself out and fell. His hands lunged, brushed the cloth of her blouse, but missed their grip. She fell sideways and landed heavily on the cushions, then rolled off on to the floor, tangling with Theo who had rushed forward in an effort to break her fall. He jumped to his feet and tried to pull her up but she was dazed. The Wilberforce had started back and was striding clumsily down the stairs. They were not going to make it. By the time Theo had her on her feet it was crossing the room to the stairs that led to the conversation pit.

  ‘This way,’ Theo yelled. He dragged her across the pit to the rail by the dining-room door. If they could climb that there was a chance of beating the Wilberforce to the front door or perhaps heading out through the kitchen and getting the back door open before he arrived. But he saw what Theo planned and stopped his advance. He moved across the room to a position that blocked both lines of exit. Then he began to come forward again. He would climb the rail himself, trap them in the pit.

  Theo waited. It was going to be touch and go. There would be an instant when they might get away up the stairs again. He felt like a general planning a delicate manoeuvre – except that here failure meant the lake.

  He pebbled instructions to Rachel and heard her reply in a tired, dazed way. The Wilberforce reached the rail, gripped it, hefted his leg.

  ‘Now. Go. Run.’ He pushed her. She went across the pit, up the steps into the lounge, up the second set of steps, all at a tired run. Theo kept at her heels. If he had been alone he could have reached the open door without being caught. But he felt her exhaustion beating on his mind. She would not have been able to move fast enough. Making the beam of light had taken all the strength she had.

  The Wilberforce had been caught by surprise. He moved again to block the door, but came to the steps more slowly. They were now in the same position as before: the Wilberforce looking up, the twins looking down, the ten steps in between. But there would be no beam of light this time.

  ‘You can’t catch us,’ Theo said. ‘And you’d better get out. Mr Jones is coming.’

  The Wilberforce seemed to do something with his mouth – re-make something inside it. ‘Give me the girl. I’ll let you go.’

  ‘No,’ Theo said.

  ‘Push her down.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll drown you both.’ He spoke as though his tongue were a wooden clapper.

  ‘You can’t catch us,’ Theo said. ‘We’ll go round and round like this all night.’ He moved Rachel and himself a little to the right. ‘If you try to come up we’ll jump down and be out the door before you can get us.’ But he knew Rachel would not be able to manage. Please come, Mr Jones, please come, he prayed.

  The Wilberforce stood still for a moment. Then he moved with frightening speed, taking the steps three at a time. The twins reached the far end of the railing, climbed, Rachel in a drunken way, dangled their feet over, ready to jump. The Wilberforce stopped again at the head of the stairs. They were all three still.

  ‘We’ve got you beaten,’ Theo said. He tried to grin.

  The Wilberforce’s face turned grey. He moved
again, faster than before, crouched like a skater.

  ‘Jump,’ Theo yelled. He threw himself forward, hit the floor, and rolled out on to the carpet. Rachel thudded behind him. But she did not roll. She knelt quickly, stood up, tried to run; and the Wilberforce bent his body over the rail, reached down with his huge arm, caught her by the wrist. He began to draw her up like a fish. She made no sound. She had a shocked agonised look in her eyes. Her face was soft, white, shadowy, remote – a face that Theo no longer knew. It was as if she had already gone into another world.

  He gave a cry, more of grief than rage, and threw himself forward in a rugby tackle. He caught her round the waist, tried to drag her down on to the floor. His weight made no difference. The Wilberforce raised them both as easily as he had raised the one. Theo felt the strain on Rachel’s body. He let go and saw her drawn up out of his reach. The Wilberforce lifted her over the rail, still with one hand holding her wrist, and dropped her to his side. He could have killed her then, with a single blow – but his plan was made: the lake. He started for the steps, pulling her behind him. Theo met him halfway. He attacked with all his strength, with the ferocity of an animal, with fists, feet, knees, teeth. But the Wilberforce simply walked straight over him, tumbled him head over heels down the steps and shoved him away with his foot at the bottom. He walked on towards the door.

  Halfway across the room he stopped. Theo, on his knees, saw and heard it too. Lights, engines, voices, laughter. He gave a cry and scrambled across to Rachel. She was trailing behind the Wilberforce like a doll. He lifted her, tried to break her free. The Wilberforce began to go forward again. Then people came through the door in an avalanche: Ricky, and five, ten, twenty, girls and young men carrying guitars, bongo drums, accordions, bottles of soft drink and beer.

  The shouting and laughter stopped. They surrounded the twins and the Wilberforce. They stared at them with amazement.

  The Wilberforce had been busy. He had re-made himself. His helmet was a peaked cap now. His pink face glowed with health. His eyes were cornflower blue. The hand that had been a mitten had five fingers which were locked about Rachel’s wrist. He smiled.