by John Halkin
‘Where are they?’ Fran demanded. ‘The worms?’
‘This is where we’d expect them,’ he agreed.
When he’d asked the Ministry for a bottle of blood there had been a few raised eyebrows and someone had asked, ‘Pig or cow?’ He’d said it didn’t matter so long as it was fresh. Before he’d left that morning, they’d handed him several flasks. He unscrewed the top of one of them now and splashed the blood over the miry ground.
Fran watched him apprehensively, glancing around every so often to make sure nothing was creeping up on them from the rear.
‘Blood attracts them better than offal,’ he explained. It steadied his nerves to talk about it. ‘Can’t imagine why. Must be some reason.’
She glanced around again, jumpy. ‘Not working this time, is it?’ That odd note in her voice was almost one of relief.
‘I think that’s clear water over there, isn’t it?’ he asked, feeling very uneasy and needing some excuse to move. ‘If we work our way round to it… I’ll go first again, but keep your eyes skinned.’
‘No need to tell me that,’ she responded fervently. ‘Come on, let’s go over there. This spot gives me the willies. Don’t understand why, there’s nothing here, nothing I can see, nothing tangible, but…’ Trying to lighten her tone, she added: ‘But maybe it’s the pixies. Dartmoor was always like this. Human beings are very transient, aren’t they? Insignificant, really. I often felt it up here. And we could easily be replaced by some other dominant life form.’
‘You’ve been listening to Rhys,’ he scoffed, deliberately.
‘Oh, not from space! That idea’s just zany. But the dinosaurs died out, didn’t they? And civilizations have disappeared.’ She shuddered. ‘D’you think the worms could do that to us?’
They reached the clear water whose otherwise calm surface rippled under the wind. The mood of the moor was darkening as heavy rainclouds gathered; dramatically, the sun’s rays passed through a single gap to illuminate the distant tor.
‘Try the blood sacrifice!’ Fran half-joked. ‘Or better still, let’s get away while we can.’ She looked behind her and around in every direction, scanning the ground through her binoculars as well as with the naked eye. ‘They’re here somewhere,’ she announced, quite convinced. ‘But I can’t see them.’
Matt didn’t try the blood immediately. Instead, he assembled the fishing net on the end of its extending rod and let it drag through the water. His catch was disappointingly small – hardly more than a few leaf fragments and a couple of insects which had been dancing on the surface – but he transferred it to the specimen jar, adding more water, then going through the same process again.
When he’d finished, he fitted the lid and returned the jar to his bag. It was time for the blood again. The flask was still half-full and he emptied it completely into the water. If he expected worms to swim suddenly into sight as they’d done in the sewers, he was mistaken. The water discoloured, and that was all. He scooped some up into his second specimen jar, fished around with his net, and finally – feeling empty and dissatisfied, as though he’d wasted his time – said he was ready to go.
This time Fran led the way, crashing through furze and fern, stumbling when her foot caught in the tangled vegetation, kicking herself free impatiently, whacking the plants with her stick to warn any hidden worm of what to expect if it dared confront her.
But none did. They arrived back at the Landrover on the roadside without having seen a single one.
Back at the hotel Matt found a message waiting for him from Sue; she’d taken Jenny out to a tennis party at a friend’s house. It would do her good to see some new faces, but he was welcome to call after breakfast the following morning if he wished. He showed it to Fran without comment. When she passed it back to him, she merely said she was glad she didn’t have to spend the evening alone after all.
He fetched the microscope from the Landrover and for the greater part of the evening they peered through it at drops of water from the specimen jars. They were neither of them very skilled, nor too certain what they should be looking for, though Fran had used a microscope before at college.
A despatch rider had been detailed to collect the jars for laboratory tests, but he was late. When he eventually arrived and they’d handed them over, they went down to the bar for a drink. Only two other people sat there, both local, and the landlord grumbled that the worm-scare had killed the holiday trade. He’d had ninety per cent cancellations, yet he’d still not seen a worm. It was ridiculous.
But at ten o’clock when it was time for the TV news they all gathered silently in front of the set. Southgate, Clacton, Eastbourne and Colwyn Bay had been added to the list of towns to be evacuated. Army patrols had been out again, trying to clean up some of the worst-infested areas. The colonel they interviewed admitted that the best weapon against worms was a good strong stick; flame-throwers had been tried, but there was always a risk to property. The Ministry of Agriculture was also experimenting with various poisons in spite of conservationists’ protests that this would only result in the extermination of most of the country’s wild life and would permanently upset the ecological balance.
The death toll for the day was high, including several children, two soldiers and two Ministry of Agriculture inspectors.
‘I can hardly believe it,’ said the landlord. ‘I don’t know about you, but I can hardly believe it.’
Next morning Matt drove the ten miles to Sue’s house. It was built on high ground well away from the village, a generously proportioned Edwardian house with a glass-covered conservatory along one side and stables at the rear. When Matt arrived he noticed their two ponies grazing in the adjacent meadow. A mud-splattered Volvo estate car stood on the drive.
He’d never seen much of Sue during all the years of his marriage to Helen. Perhaps a brief annual visit, just for the day. Or less than that, once every eighteen months, though Jenny had been invited down there every so often for a week’s holiday with her cousins. They’d still be at boarding school, of course. Sue’s husband was managing director of an engineering firm with a strong export record which meant he was away from home a great deal. She was on several important committees, as well as the county council.
As he parked the Landrover by the spread of rhododendrons, which were in full bloom, she came across the drive to meet him.
‘Gorgeous, aren’t they?’ were her first inconsequential words. ‘Particularly lovely this year. It’s ironic.’
She was a good ten years older than Helen and the first lines had already appeared on her neck, under her cheeks, beginning to indicate how she would look in middle age. Her hair was short and practical, mouse-coloured, as Helen’s had been before she’d decided she preferred it blonde. But then Helen would never have worn those clothes, that thick sensible tweed skirt and sweater, the flat walking shoes.
‘How’s Jenny?’ he asked.
‘Better this morning. Taking her out did her good.’ Her tone was crisp, almost medical. ‘She’s decided to see you, but go easy, Matt. I’ve promised there’s no question of you taking her away.’
‘I’m very grateful to you,’ he said, lost.
‘It’s the least I could do.’
He followed her into the house where they found Jenny in the rear sitting room, staring out of the window. She looked around slowly, her face set, as though determined not to betray any emotion. As usual, she wore jeans, and her long blonde hair covered her shoulders.
‘Hello, Jenny,’ he tried.
A pause before she answered. ‘Hello.’
‘Are you … all right here?’ What the hell could he say? However he’d attempted to put his feelings into words, going over it again and again as he drove here in the Landrover, he’d always known in his heart she’d react against them. Yet there was so little time.
‘Yes. There was no need for you to come, I’m all right.’ Brittle; the words carefully chosen to hurt. ‘Don’t know why you bothered. I’m living with Auntie Sue
now.’
‘I’m staying with Tegwyn Aneurin Rhys. I told you about him. Westport’s been evacuated, and a lot of other places too.’ Stick to the facts, he told himself. Don’t lie; don’t try to disguise anything. ‘The Government’s given me a job which keeps me very busy.’
She looked at him, unmoved, as though patiently waiting for the visit to end.
‘I hear you were playing tennis yesterday.’
That didn’t work either; she said nothing.
‘And you go riding, I imagine.’
‘No!’
It was an outburst; her face flushed with hostility. She stared at him, her eyes dark with hatred. He stood there uneasily, awkwardly, in front of his ten-year-old daughter and didn’t know what to say next. She broke the silence.
‘You’re back with that Fran,’ she accused him. ‘You’re glad Mummy’s dead, aren’t you? Both of you? Now there’s nothing to stop you. You’re glad.’
‘Don’t be silly,’ he told her quietly. ‘You know very well that’s silly.’
‘When I got home I didn’t know where she was. I called out for her just to say I was back. I knew she was around somewhere ’cos the lights were on. So I looked upstairs in case she was lying down. She’d been drinking whisky. Then I heard water from the bathroom and I went to look and…’
‘Don’t, Jenny. Don’t.’ He moved to put his arm around her but she flung away from him.
‘They were eating Mummy, your worms. In the bath. There was blood, and they were eating inside her.’ She backed towards the door, her lips quivering, but her voice hard and un-dramatic. No tears either. ‘I turned off the shower and I went to phone you. Mummy had the number of the hotel written down on the pad. They said you were back but there was no answer from your room. Then I thought, he’s with her, that’s what they’re doing. Like Mummy said once. So I asked for her room, and you were. Daddy, I despise you. D’you understand? I don’t want to see you again.’
She turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her. Matt wanted to rush after her, hold her, rock her as he used to when she was smaller, tell her that everything was going to be… But it wasn’t. And she was right.
‘I did warn you,’ Sue commented briskly. ‘I only hope your visit hasn’t set her back. The doctor said she was to be kept quiet and allowed to adjust at her own pace. When’s the funeral?’
‘Funeral?’ He was startled.
‘Helen’s,’ she said patiently. ‘I imagine you’ll be there. If Jenny insists on going, it’ll be unavoidable that you two…’
Matt tried to explain that Helen’s body was still at Westport, together with the others who’d died there. Since the town had been evacuated, there was no question of arranging funerals or anything else. But Sue didn’t seem to understand. She repeated her question slowly, trying to get through to him.
‘How d’you mean, no funeral? Of course Helen must have a funeral.’ It sounded more like an accusation than a statement, implying that she’d always known Helen had married beneath her but there were family standards to be upheld. ‘It’s your duty to start making decent arrangements as soon as you possibly can.’
He was hardly listening to her. Through the window he’d just seen someone on a pony galloping across the meadow and jumping the hedge at the far end. ‘Isn’t that Jenny?’
‘Where? Oh! Oh, now you’ve done it!’ she snapped. She tugged the window open. ‘Jenny! Jenny, come back!’
‘She mustn’t go on the moor!’ Matt cried.
He ran out of the house to the Landrover, started the engine and reversed to get out of the drive, grazing the side of the Volvo estate. Luckily the road was clear. He shot along it, taking the first turning off to the left, a narrow lane, and praying it would lead in Jenny’s direction. It skirted the meadow where the second pony was patiently chewing; then the hedges grew high and he could see nothing more. The lane began to wind and twist; he lost all sense of where he was heading till suddenly it joined a wider road and he found himself on the very edge of the moor, fairly high up, with a good view of the farmland behind him.
Jenny was nowhere to be seen.
Leaving the door of the Landrover open, he balanced on the sill to give himself extra height and searched the countryside through his binoculars. Cows, trees … a house … the rooftop of … yes, that must be Sue’s house… But no Jenny. She could be concealed among the trees somewhere, or maybe she’d reached the moor first and…
But it was hopeless. She could be anywhere.
Half a mile or so up the road he spotted a phone box. He drove up to it and called Sue, thinking that Jenny might have changed her mind and gone back. No answer. He rang Fran at the hotel, told her what had happened and asked her to wait there; he’d get in touch the moment he had any news. Then he tried Sue again, but there was still no reply.
The next hour he spent driving through the network of lanes between the moor and Sue’s house, stopping at every gate to peer into the fields beyond, enquiring of the one or two people he met if they’d seen a girl on a pony, or without a pony, a ten-year-old girl with long blonde hair down to her shoulders…
At last he found himself back at the phone box and once again dialled Sue’s number. She was at home. ‘Have you found Jenny?’ he asked anxiously the moment she answered.
No, she hadn’t. She’d been out on foot and in the car, but there was no trace of her. She’d rung all their friends, places where she might go, but they hadn’t seen her either. If she’d gone on to the moor… Well, it wasn’t the first time she’d stayed here and the pony knew its way home, but it was very worrying. She’d been thinking of calling the police.
Matt said she should remain where she was in case Jenny returned. He’d ring her every hour or so, but in the meantime he’d organize a search. Then he got on to Fran again, explained the situation and asked her to call the Ministry.
Within fifteen minutes he was back at the hotel where he found her putting on her protective overalls and flying boots. The Ministry had responded immediately, she said. They’d contacted the Navy and a helicopter was on its way. If Jenny was anywhere on the moor they’d have a better chance of spotting her from the air.
‘It’s not far across the fields from Sue’s house,’ he reasoned as he changed his clothes. This time he wore his skin-diving suit under the overalls. Better safe than sorry. ‘It’s much farther round by road.’
They were outside selecting the gear they needed from the Landrover when the large Navy helicopter arrived, its down-draught swirling litter and dust into the air as it landed on the level patch of moorland opposite the hotel. A brisk young officer jumped out smartly and introduced himself.
‘Lieutenant Smythe,’ he said with a quick salute. His keen blue eyes rested on each of them in turn, summing them up. ‘How can we help you?’
With Lieutenant Smythe and the pilot was a tough-looking leading seaman who leaned out through the open door to give them a hand up. He commented that they’d all three encountered worms before – ‘And put a few out of their misery’ – while evacuating the more isolated villages along the coast, so they knew what to expect. They’d brought a variety of armaments with them, including a box of grenades, a couple of automatic rifles and a flame-thrower.
‘Hit ’em with everything we’ve got, that’s my philosophy!’ the lieutenant bawled as they swooped across the moor, keeping the road in sight till they reached the phone box Matt had used earlier.
They began a methodical search of the moor and the bordering farmland. Twice they thought they’d found her but a closer look through binoculars proved them wrong. In the fields they saw several horses and ponies; they went down low to make sure she hadn’t dismounted or been thrown. But there was no sign of her.
After half-an-hour or more they landed in the meadow behind Sue’s house, scaring the one remaining pony into galloping to the far corner where two hedges met. There it stood trembling its wordless objections at them. Matt ran over to the gate where Sue met him
, eyeing the helicopter and his space-era clothing with equal dislike.
‘She’s not back?’
‘No.’ She looked more annoyed than worried. ‘She’s gone off somewhere to be alone for a couple of hours. There’s no need to panic. I’ve been thinking it over. Helen was just the same as a girl. She’d disappear for hours on end. Always turned up again when she was hungry.’
‘In those days there were no worms about.’ He left her standing there by the gate and loped back to the helicopter whose blades were still turning with a slow, steady rhythm. When he’d scrambled on board, he said: ‘Let’s concentrate on the moor now. Maybe she got farther than we thought.’
They took off once again and almost hedge-hopped towards the moor. Nowhere did they see either a rider on a pony or a child on foot. The constantly-broadcast warnings were having their effect, and people were keeping their children indoors. On the moor itself even the usual sheep were missing. It was in one of its sombre moods. Here and there the sun broke through the clouds to bring the yellow furze to life or emphasize the darkness of the black mud. The oil pipeline cut across it like a wound on those long stretches where it was above the surface.
‘Something down there!’ exclaimed Fran, pointing.
‘I saw nothing.’ The lieutenant squinted through his binoculars. ‘But let’s go round again, just in case.’
The pilot swung the helicopter round, then slowed down, hovering above the spot. The bog-grass and rushes danced violently beneath them.
Matt adjusted the focus of his own binoculars, trying to get a sharper image of the object. ‘What is it?’
‘A dead pony,’ Lieutenant Smythe judged. ‘Forelegs stuck in the mud, head partly obscured by vegetation. Lots of ponies on this moor.’
‘But it might be Jenny’s!’ Fran’s voice was sharp.
‘Can’t see her!’ The lieutenant called back above the insistant engine, but he gave the pilot a sign to go lower.