“Alright, alright!” snapped Jones. “You three men, stay with me. You others get back to the main shaft, quickly now.”
They obeyed his orders automatically.
“Barnes, you’re carrying flares, aren’t you?”
The aircraftsman nodded, licking his lips nervously.
“Give them to me, man!”
The aircraftsman swung his backpack from his shoulder and pulled out the flares. Within moments Jones had lit them and placed them in the tunnel so that it was as bright as day.
“Now, lads, back along this gallery. Sharp’s the word!”
The four airforce men trotted swiftly along to the far end of the gallery where Jones halted them. They turned and saw a wide stretch of the tunnel illuminated behind them.
“You two kneeling, me and Barnes standing,” cried Jones. “Rapid carbine fire at anything that appears in that lighted area.”
The awful sound grew nearer and something showed in the light. It was the tip of something large and snake-like, black and slime covered. Barnes let out a cry of disgust.
“Rapid fire, commence!” shouted Jones.
The noise of the four carbines was deafening. The airmen emptied their magazines frenziedly at the awesome thing that twisted and turned and writhed at the far end of the tunnel.
“It has no effect, Sarge!” yelled Barnes.
“Don’t panic!” grunted Jones. “Stand by for a grenade, ready?”
He hauled a grenade from his belt and pulled out the pin.
“Now!”
The grenade hurled along the gallery towards the terrifying creature.
“Run!” yelled Jones, turning and suiting the word to the action. His men followed and all four of them scampered a good fifty yards before the blast threw them off their feet.
“Come on! Come on!” screamed Jones, dragging his men up. They were running now in pure panic and Jones could not stop them for he, too, felt the awful nearness of the great wormlike creature slithering after them.
After fifteen minutes of running they came into one of the main tunnels, a tunnel some twenty feet across and as much high where once horses had dragged ore along a rail track to the bottom of the main shaft on its journey to the surface.
A bullet cracked near Sergeant Jones’ head, causing him to fling himself flat.
“Who the bloody hell do you think you are shooting at?” he cried in outrage.
A nervous voice answered.
“Who’s that?”
“Sergeant Jones, who the hell did you think it was — the Queen of the May?”
Further along the tunnel a nervous aircraftsman stood up, carbine held awkwardly in his hands.
Jones climbed to his feet and motioned his men forward.
“What do you think you are playing at, Smith?” he thundered at the hapless airman.
The pale faced man gulped fearfully.
“We were attacked, Sarge. One of them…them things…got us. One of the civilians and Jim and Ben were grabbed, Sarge. I lost the others. I didn’t know which way to go.”
Sergeant Jones laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“Alright, lad, alright. We’re here now. What happened?”
The airman gulped.
“We were running through a stretch of tunnel back there when suddenly this thing came out of one of those tunnels, the round ones. I saw several of them. It just grabbed Jim and Ben before they had a chance to fire a shot. Then it grabbed one of the civilians.”
He paused and shivered.
“Then it slithered off. It was terrible, Sarge. Like a big worm.”
“What happened to the others, Smith?”
“They ran on. I think they were heading for the main shaft but I got separated. I didn’t dare move in case I got lost. Then I heard…well, I thought it was another one of them things…I nearly shot you.”
Jones patted the boy’s arm.
“Alright now, Smith. Come on, lads, let’s get out of here before we meet up with another of those brutes.”
“What are they, Sarge?” asked Barnes.
“They look like giant slugs to me,” ventured one airman. “Slugs?” grunted Jones as he led them cautiously forward. “Some bloody slug, they must be ten feet wide!”
Claire and Neville watched the ambulance disappearing up the village towards the Bodmin Road. Neville put his arm round the girl’s shoulders and sighed.
“Well, at least they will survive.”
Claire shuddered.
“What’s going on here, Bill? Ever since I came to Bosbradoe such terrible things have been happening.” Neville felt her shivering and drew his arm tighter.
“To be truthful, I just don’t know, Claire.”
“Do you remember the warnings that dreadful Mother Polruan gave me? In a way, she’s been right.”
Neville bit his lip.
“Do you remember the first night you arrived?”
Claire nodded.
“Well, old Mother Polruan came by my cottage and warned me to make you go back to London because “dark and sinister” forces were at work. She said she had cast your horoscope or whatever. I thought she was round the bend at that time. You know what she is like.”
“You don’t think she is mad now?” Claire frowned. “Something “dark and sinister” is certainly happening. But there must be a cause, must be some reasonable explanation. I’m not going to believe in beasties and ghoulies and long legged creatures.”
“Yet how could Mother Polruan know this was going to happen?”
“Well, she didn’t specify what was going to happen. Maybe it was a lucky guess.”
Claire shook her head.
“She knew something. Bill. Incidentally…I haven’t seen her about during the last two days.”
Neville frowned.
“You’re right. Don’t say we have another missing person on our hands?”
“Seriously, Bill, do you think there is some creature in Wheal Tom — a creature such as Roscarrock thought he saw?”
Neville hesitated and nodded.
“And not just down in Wheal Tom, Claire. When the skipper of that coaster was conscious he was raving about giant eels attacking his ship. Young Johnny Treneglos reported seeing a similar creature. There’s his uncle’s whirlpool mystery and the disappearance of the Scawens. Somehow it all seems to fit together in a terrifying illogical way.”
Claire looked startled.
“You believe that there is some sort of sea serpent — a serpent that can live in the mines and in the sea?”
“Roscarrock’s description was of a giant slug. The descriptions are similar to those of Johnny Treneglos and the unfortunate coaster skipper.”
“But it’s unthinkable…” breathed Claire.
“Not so unthinkable. Claims of sightings of such creatures around the Cornish coast have been pretty frequent during the 1970s.”
“You mean all the talk about the Morgow?”
“Yes,” agreed Neville. “I know most of the claims have been dismissed as belonging to the same imaginative fanatics who see monsters in Loch Ness or flying saucers and such like. But those sightings were pretty widely reported and by some very respectable people.”
Claire looked frightened.
“You actually think that we are dealing with some animal which science has so far not recorded?”
Neville guided Claire back across the car park outside The Morvren Arms.
“It is possible; man still has such a lot to learn about marine species of animals…”
The sound of gunfire halted him in his tracks. Both Claire and Neville turned in the direction of the sound. It came from Bronbucca — Goblin Hill — beyond the crumbling grey tower of Castle Breaca towards the dark silhouette of Wheal Tom’s deserted engine house.
“What was that?” whispered Claire.
“Look!”
Claire followed his outstretched hand and gave a cry of terror. Across the green swathe something was moving. It was long, g
igantic; something which squirmed and wriggled and raised itself many feet into the air like an enormous snake about to strike. Not just one, either. There was another, and another. Here and there across the hillside many such glistening snake-like creatures were pushing upwards through the earth to lie in the pale afternoon sun.
CHAPTER XXI
The rattle of sporadic gunfire echoed across Bronbucca. People spilled out of The Morvren Arms and emerged from the cottages and houses of Bosbradoe. The sight that met their eyes, the great creatures pushing up through the hillside, enormous, horrifying, sickly, erupting around the old mine workings and ruined castle, caused a range of reactions. Some began to cry hysterically; others fainted, some rushed about in panic.
Little Johnny Treneglos’ voice came shrilly as he tugged triumphantly on his father’s sleeve.
“See! I did see a serpent! I did!”
Reverend Pencarrow, his face ashen, joined Claire and Neville as they stared in disbelief at the awesome sight.
“What are they?” he said hoarsely. “In God’s name, what are they?”
“At a guess,” Neville forced the words, “I’d say that they are Mother Polruan’s Morgow.”
“Look!” It was Noall who pointed along the road.
A small band of figures were running helter-skelter down the road from the direction of the hill. Neville could make out the lanky figure of Dr Lambert at their head with the burly, now undignified figure of Constable Roscarrock puffing red-faced in the rear. In the group were two or three RAF men. They came clattering into the car park of the inn in a state of near collapse.
“What’s happening? What are they?” demanded Neville, looking from the wheezy figure of the scientist to the physically fitter RAF sergeant.
Sergeant Jones took some deep breaths to recover.
“I’ve lost six men, that’s what!” he gasped.
Neville glanced round.
“And the Chief Superintendent?”
“Those…those things got him,” replied the sergeant.
“Incredible! Impossible! All those men dead!” Lambert had cut in, his voice rising to a pitch of hysteria.
“Noall,” Neville seemed to take charge naturally, “get him inside and give him a drink.”
Noall guided the shaken scientist into the bar.
Adam Taylor and his camera crew had stopped taking pictures of the creatures and had come across to Sergeant Jones.
“Give us a statement, Sergeant,” he demanded, his eyes dancing in excitement. “This is the story of the year — of the century!”
Neville wheeled round angrily.
“Simmer down, Taylor! Don’t you realise how we’re placed? If those things come down the hill…”
Leaving the sentence unfinished he turned back to the sergeant who had by now sufficiently recovered his breath.
“Did you get a good look at those things?” asked Neville.
“As close as ever I want, mister,” replied the man.
In quick jerks he recounted what had happened down the mine.
“We were just getting out of the shaft when all hell was let loose. The creatures, God knows what they are, suddenly erupted all over the place. They seem to dig their own tunnels as they go. They’re like gigantic worms. That’s when we lost most of the men, the policemen and the Chief Superintendent and my chaps. It was bloody awful. Bullets don’t harm them at all.”
The entire village had gathered, or so it seemed, in the car park of The Morvren Arms.
“I’m going to phone my office,” declared Taylor, turning.
Neville held him back.
“No you’re not!” he snapped. “We want those telephone lines open. The safety of the people here is more important than your damn story!”
“You can’t order us about,” sneered Taylor, wrenching his arm from Neville’s grasp.
Roscarrock, almost recovered from the experience, pushed his way forward.
“Neville’s right. I’m giving you the order. Sergeant Jones, as senior military man here, I want your men to enforce this.”
Jones stared in surprise and then nodded.
“Smith, Barnes, stand by the telephone in the inn. No one is to make a telephone call without my, or the constable’s, permission. Got it?”
Taylor snarled: “I’ll report this.”
“You can do that later, also,” returned Roscarrock.
Neville looked at the panicking villagers.
“Reverend Pencarrow,” he turned to the elderly vicar, “can you do your best to calm things down? Claire, will you help?”
They seemed to accept his authority without question.
He turned back to Roscarrock and Sergeant Jones.
“We don’t want people to become panic stricken and uncontrollable,” he explained. “Whatever those creatures are, they are dangerous. We have to inform the authorities and get the people away from this area.”
“You are right, Mr Neville,” Lambert joined them, looking a little shamefaced, though it was clear he was still shaken by his ordeal. “Sorry I let slip,” he said. “I’m better now.”
“Good man,” declared Neville. “We need you. Who can we report this to?”
“I’d better get on the phone to Goonhilly.”
“Right. We’ll do that from the inn.”
“What will you tell them?” asked Jones curiously. “It seems so unbelievable, so fantastic.”
“I’ll tell them the facts,” replied Lambert somewhat dryly.
“The facts?” Roscarrock gave a bark of laughter. It sounded bitter “Will they believe the facts? Giant worms killing people?”
Lambert gestured towards the hillside.
“All they have to do is come and see for themselves.” Neville nodded.
“Tell me, Lambert, you’re a scientist…can you speculate on what those things are?”
“I deal in facts, not speculations.”
“But you can make an educated guess, can’t you?” Lambert hesitated.
“I do have some biological training, although it isn’t my discipline. If you want an educated guess I should say those were species of the common or garden worm.”
They stared at him in astonishment.
“Worms?” Jones sneered. “Worms don’t grow to that size, doctor.”
Again Lambert hesitated.
“You obviously have some theory on which you base that?” prompted Neville.
Lambert cast a nervous glance towards the group of angry press reporters.
“Yes. Strictly between ourselves, I believe that the radiation levels in the mine prove there was a leakage from the waste dump. I believe the radiation seepage has affected cellular life in the area. I believe that the radiation attacked the most primitive cell forms — chaetopoda — earthworms or marine worms, causing a disruption in their growth.” Neville stared at the man’s calm scientific assessment. Lambert glanced round.
“Well, you pressed me for an educated guess. That’s mine.”
There was a silence before Lambert stirred and moved towards the inn.
“I’d better get on to Goonhilly.”
Neville, Roscarrock and Jones went with him while he made the call. It turned out to be a lengthy one with Lambert, at first, meeting obvious ridicule from the person on the other end. However, within ten minutes they heard the sound of a helicopter whirling overhead. Neville glanced out of the window and saw a huge Seaking helicopter flying low over the hill. Whatever it reported to Goonhilly caused a change in attitude of the speaker on the other end of the telephone. Lambert fell silent as a series of instructions were issued. Finally, with a few terse words of assent, the scientist put down the telephone.
Sub-Lieutenant Harcourt Carrington, of the Royal Naval Air-Sea Rescue Squadron 771, based at Culdrose, was feeling a little bored as he flew his Seaking helicopter on a routine patrol of Tintagel along the wild north Cornish coastline. There were fifteen minutes of the patrol to run and it had been pretty uneventful. He was looking forward
to a few drinks in the mess before a roaring log fire, and then curling up with a novel which he was currently enjoying. Suddenly his earphones crackled.
“Seaking Harry Able Charlie, this is Culdrose Base. Do you read? Over.”
Carrington switched on his r/t.
“Harry Able Charlie reading you loud and clear. Over.”
“Special patrol over Bosbradoe. Check hill Bronbucca, repeat Bronbucca, west of village and report what you see. Over.”
“Understood, Culdrose,” replied Carrington, frowning with bewilderment.
“Proceed with caution. Repeat with caution. Out.”
Carrington glanced at his co-pilot.
The man turned down his mouth and shrugged.
“Skipper to navigator,” called Carrington into the intercom. “Got that? Course for Bosbradoe.”
“Roger, skipper,” replied the voice of his navigator which proceeded to reel off a number of figures.
Carrington swung the giant helicopter into the coastline and started racing over the tops of the cliffs.
They were over Bosbradoe within minutes.
It was the co-pilot who saw them first.
“Christ, skipper, look at those things! What in hell are they?”
Carrington blinked and stared.
“Hell is the right word, Mike,” he muttered. “They look like a chorus line from the infernal region.”
For a few minutes he circled the helicopter round the hill and then switched on his r/t. He tried to keep his voice unemotional as he reported what he was seeing on the hill below.
In the public bar of The Morvren Arms the Reverend Pencarrow was trying to call for order. Faces were turned expectantly towards him.
“Come on, Vicar, tell us what’s going on here,” demanded Jack Treneglos.
“Please keep calm,” cried Pencarrow. “Dr Lambert will be speaking to you in a moment.”
He turned to Claire.
“You’d better go and get them,” he whispered urgently. “I can’t keep things under control much longer.”
Claire nodded and went to find Neville, Lambert, Roscarrock and Jones who were making their phone call from Noall’s office behind the bar.
Outside, in the car park, Adam Taylor and his BBC crew were watching the snaking elongated invertebrates moving almost lazily across the hill. Whereas before there had been half a dozen of the mammoth-sized creatures, there was now a score, pushing upwards through the earth, wriggling their gigantic bodies out into the afternoon sunshine.
The Morgow Rises! Page 16