Slither

by John Halkin

  Indicating what appeared to be a firmer patch of ground a few yards away, the pilot took the chopper towards it. As he came down the lieutenant, armed with one of the rifles, sprang out as if he were on a combat mission.

  ‘Okay!’ he yelled, waving.

  Matt followed him. It was a bald expanse of moor where the soil and moss barely covered the smooth granite. Towards the west, moorland and cloud dissolved into each other.

  The dead pony lay just below them about two hundred yards away, its hide apparently undamaged. Beyond it was some low shrub, and then one of the smaller tors looking like a man-made tower of massive rock-slabs rising gauntly out of the ground.

  ‘I’m going down there,’ Matt decided on impulse. ‘Alone.’

  ‘What d’you expect to find?’ the lieutenant enquired. ‘No worms anywhere near that pony. Died of natural causes, I imagine. But if you’d like us to accompany you, that’s why we’re here.’

  ‘I’d prefer you all up here. Any sign of worms—’

  ‘I’ll fire a shot,’ the lieutenant told him. ‘And here – use this radio if you need help.’

  Matt nodded and began to make his way off the broad granite shoulder to the softer ground, deliberately ignoring Fran’s unspoken pleas to go with him. He could still observe a good area of moorland around him – his greater height gave him that advantage over the others – but it was treacherous underfoot and he was forced to move slowly. Playing safe, he took a step at a time, from one tussock of grass and rushes to the next.

  It helped him, too, to feel that the others were still up there by the helicopter, watching him, though he was too busy to look back in their direction.

  One more little island and…

  Yes, he was right. He could see only the tail of the worm protruding from the dead pony’s side but that luminescent green was unmistakable. Slowly it wriggled back till he saw its head emerge, grasping a large piece of raw meat in its jaws. As it withdrew he spotted a second worm, then a third. No wonder they’d not noticed them from a distance. They were all entering from underneath the carcase, or from the side, into the soft under-belly.

  But they weren’t eating. He watched them closely to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. No, he was right – they were taking the food away! Relays of worms, each about the size of those which had originally attacked him in the sewers, were approaching the body to fetch mouthfuls of meat and carry it off into the undergrowth.

  So far they hadn’t observed him. He held well back and began to move as quietly as he could from one islet to the next, trying to keep them in sight. On every other occasion they’d always eaten on the spot, so why were they behaving differently now?

  He reached firmer ground and was able to get closer. Two lines of worms, squirming across the balding rock near the foot of the tor, busily going to and from their food source… He followed them round the base of the tor, carefully, still making sure he didn’t get too close.

  At the side of the tor he saw them head for what appeared to be a bright green quilt laid out on the ground, quite flat and about ten feet across. It was a beautiful thick, soft layer of moss and as treacherous as the worms themselves. The moment he saw it he felt sick in his stomach. If Jenny had come this way and thrown herself down on it to rest, not realizing that she’d sink to her death in the muddy ooze underneath…

  As he watched, the matted moss on the surface broke and a head rose above it, the head of the largest worm he’d ever seen. Its eyes were partly closed, its features bloated. Though he couldn’t see its full length, its neck alone must have been almost a foot in diameter. Oblivious of his presence, it laid its head on the edge of the green quilt and opened its mouth lazily to be fed.

  A gasp came from behind him – Fran! She clutched his arm and whispered something, but too low for him to understand. He knew they had only to make the wrong move and the worms would turn on them. This giantess – he was convinced it was female – had probably laid eggs in the mud; this could be the only reason why the others were feeding her. She was like a queen termite in the centre of a colony: protected, but also co-ordinating the tasks of her offspring, sending out those waves of intelligence he’d so often experienced. A queen worm, the telepathic centre of her empire.

  He freed his sleeve from Fran’s fingers and turned, intending to ask her to leave. If the worms did attack – and those visiting the pony’s corpse must be the soldier-hunters of the tribe – he’d need to be unencumbered. But then he heard a low whimper from the direction of the tor.

  ‘Daddy!’ The voice was so soft, hardly distinguishable from the whine of the wind through the stones, that he thought at first his ears were deceiving him. ‘Daddy…’

  ‘Jenny! Jenny, where are you?’

  Then he saw her. She had climbed on to the lowest of the great hunks of rock which made up the tor and half-knelt there, pressing herself into a narrow cleft. One slip, one split-second of tiredness, and she’d drop down among the worms, perhaps even rolling over into the jaws of the queen herself.

  20

  Between Matt and the tor stretched the soft quilt in dazzling light green, enticing him to set foot on it. The queen worm had withdrawn and the only reminder of her presence was the ruffling of the thick moss where she’d poked her head out. The soldier worms too went, one by one, as if it were now their turn to feed, though Matt knew they had not returned to the dead pony for he caught glimpses of their luminescent skins here and there among the vegetation.

  ‘Waiting to see what we do,’ he told Fran.

  ‘As though they can read our thoughts.’ She shivered.

  ‘Jenny,’ he called out, attempting to sound unrushed and confident, ‘I want you to stay where you are a bit longer. You’re quite safe there. I’m going to find a way of reaching you. Can you hear me all right?’

  ‘Yes.’ Her thin voice trembled a little, but then she took courage and spoke louder. ‘Yes! Oh, hurry, Daddy!’

  He explained – still keeping his voice as steady as possible – how he was going to try and work his way round the side of the tor. She seemed to understand. Then he unclipped the radio from his belt and called up Lieutenant Smythe to tell him what he intended.

  ‘Sounds crazy to me,’ came the reply, ‘when we can pick her up from the air.’

  ‘Not with that amount of overhang, you can’t.’

  ‘So what d’you want us to do?’

  Matt spelled it out.

  ‘Okay, Matt, it’s your neck. If that’s the way you want it, we’ll stand by till you give the signal. Good luck!’

  Fran refused to return to the helicopter, saying yet again that she had no intention of letting Matt out of her sight. If there had been more time he would have argued with her, insisted, but he had to get to Jenny as quickly as he could. Already three worms had appeared from somewhere and were slipping towards the foot of the rocks where they stopped and raised their heads, moving them gracefully from side to side.

  ‘Jenny, don’t look at them!’ he warned, speaking encouragingly. ‘Turn your face towards the rock… that’s right… now close your eyes and keep them tight shut…’ He glanced at Fran. ‘Ready? Okay, let’s move. And have your stick ready. If only that moss were as solid as it seems we’d be over there and…’

  ‘The locals call it a feather-bed.’

  He hardly listened. They skirted the edge of it, testing the ground carefully whenever they were in doubt. More worms were gathering, though they’d gone no closer. Not yet. So long as Jenny didn’t get caught by their eyes she’d be all right. He could keep them off long enough with his stick for her to get on to his back, he reckoned. Risky, but safer than any other way.

  The moment they were clear of the ‘feather-bed’ he knew his plan was hopeless. The ground was soggy right up to the edge of the rock. The patch where the worms waited was like a firm island cut off from all sides.

  Through the bright green moss the head of the queen worm protruded once again, regarding him with half-lowered eyelids. Even
if he could get safely across the morass – and somehow Jenny must have managed it – his retreat was too difficult under full worm attack.

  ‘Over the rocks,’ said Fran. ‘It’s the only way.’

  The great outcrop of rock was much more extensive than they had first imagined and only a trained climber with all his equipment would be able to get to the top. Matt examined it carefully. There was a ledge, and if they could get on to it, perhaps working their way round… Yes, that might be possible.

  He gave Fran a leg-up first and handed her both the sticks to look after while he pulled himself up beside her. Once again, his height and longer reach were an advantage.

  They tried edging carefully around the rock face but un expectedly the ledge narrowed and there were no more handholds, so they went back again to find a spot where they could climb up to a higher level. This time they succeeded in working towards the point where they could overlook the ‘feather-bed’ Jenny was somewhere below them.

  Matt spoke to her quietly, telling her not to move, they were not far away and they’d soon be with her. She mustn’t look up, he repeated twice; just keep her eyes closed.

  With some difficulty he managed to lie down full-length on the rock and peer over the edge while Fran held tight to his legs. At first he couldn’t see Jenny at all. Either she’d pressed herself more deeply into the cleft or else the rocks overhung more than he’d estimated. Then he caught a glimpse of her shoes.

  It was an impossible situation. Even if he brought the helicopter overhead and had himself lowered on a cable he’d most likely not be able to reach her because of the overhang. Yet from the ground level, where ten or more worms were patiently looking up at him, he’d be able to stretch out his arms and lift her clear.

  He wriggled back to a more secure position.

  ‘There’s a spur sticking out about half-way down,’ he explained to Fran who crouched precariously on the edge of the rock beside him. ‘I’m going to see if I can reach Jenny from it. With any luck, I might be able to hoist her up here – that’s if you can take her off me when I’m ready.’

  ‘I’ll try. What about the helicopter?’

  ‘Here…’ He unclipped the radio and gave it to her. ‘Call them up when I give the word. But not before, because I could be in trouble if the down-draught catches me at the wrong moment.’

  ‘If only we had some rope!’

  ‘We’ll have to do our best without it. But keep the sticks handy, I might need one.’

  He took a breath and looked around. Great banks of white and grey cloud moved across the sky, blotting out the sun and causing wide areas of dark shadow to creep over the moor. Glory be to God for dappled things! he thought, remembering the poem.

  But not for green worms gathering at the rock’s foot.

  And not for queen worms lurking like giant serpents in the mire. Maybe these were the monsters of ancient legend come to life again after centuries of lying dormant. Yet there, not half a mile away, was the oil pipeline leading to the new refinery. Surely the whole world would have heard the news if there’d been worms on the moor when they’d laid it only three or four years ago?

  ‘You know what to do?’ Matt asked.

  Fran nodded. ‘Be careful,’ she begged. ‘Don’t… do anything…’ She stopped and looked at him, her eyes filled with concern, as though she were suddenly convinced she’d not see him alive again.

  Slowly he crept backwards towards the edge, feet first, feeling his way blindly. The ledge was too narrow for anything else. Gradually he eased himself over till his legs were hanging free. Instinctively he felt for a foothold, though he knew there was none. He would have to lower himself over completely till he was supporting his weight on his arms before his feet could find that jutting piece of rock he’d noticed.

  His legs waved wildly in the air as he searched, but then his boot kicked against it. The real question was whether he’d be able to stand firmly without slipping or the rock giving way. Cautiously, he tested to discover if it would take his weight. It did, and he breathed in relief.

  The next stage – this was the way he’d planned it – was to bend his knees till he was almost squatting on his heels and could reach out to Jenny beneath the overhang. It wasn’t going to be easy. The rock face was so close, angled outwards as it got higher, he might well lose his balance. He looked down to check his position.

  A worm was moving purposefully up the cleft towards Jenny, whose ankles and feet he could just see. Another, farther off, was approaching along a parallel route. A sudden shaft of sunlight caught them as the clouds above shifted; they looked like flowing rivers of shining emeralds.

  ‘Stick!’ he called urgently to Fran.

  She handed it across to him.

  Grasping it in his right hand and steadying himself against the rock face with his left, he began to crouch … slowly … carefully… knowing that if he fell the worms beneath would be on him without mercy.

  At last he stopped, wanting to move his feet, to adjust his balance, but at the same time feeling the risk was too great. He could just about reach it now perhaps, if he stretched out.

  The fingers of his left hand found a slight fault in the granite, just enough to give him a better grip. Holding on firmly, he reached out with the stick towards the worm in the cleft. There’d be no chance of beating its brains out as he’d like to, not from this distance, but if he could flick it away… The metal ferrule at the end of the stick slipped beneath it, but he was too slow. As he tried to dislodge the worm, it draped itself in festoons over the stick. Taken by surprise, he tossed away both worm and stick together.

  ‘Fran!’ he yelled up. ‘Fran, get the helicopter! Quick!’

  The second worm was joined by others, and two more had appeared in the cleft. There would be no way of fighting them off. Jenny was trapped higher up the cleft where it widened. On hearing his voice she turned and saw him.

  ‘Daddy…’ Her eyes were wide with fear.

  ‘Jenny, listen,’ he urged her. ‘I want you to be sensible and brave. Keep quite still for a minute till I get a bit closer to you. Then I’m going to lift you out. We’re going up, not down – remember? Whatever happens, there’s a helicopter on its way to get you out of here.’

  As he was speaking he tried to crouch down even farther, leaning over in the direction of the cleft. The handhold he’d found was no longer any use to him and he had to steady himself against the bare rock. Then he noticed a small fold in the granite which offered about an inch for his foot. He’d have to risk it.

  Jenny screamed, but he begged her to hang on whatever pain she felt. A worm was biting into her bare ankle, just below the leg of her jeans.

  His foot found the fold of granite. Reaching across, he was able to grasp Jenny around the waist with his right arm and swing her out of the cleft towards him, still screaming and sobbing. For a second or so he was convinced he would lose his balance and they’d both plunge down to the giant queen worm’s lair in the ‘feather-bed’, but at last he managed to get both feet back on to the firm spur of rock.

  Somewhere, he couldn’t see where, the helicopter was hovering. The roar of its engine filled his ears, but without drowning Jenny’s screams which cut into his very soul. Still holding her tight against him, he manoeuvred into a position where he could support himself against the rock face, freeing his left hand to grip the worm just below its head. He squeezed relentlessly till he felt the bones crack between his fingers and the jaws slacken.

  But as he dropped the dead worm he sensed something pressing against his legs, winding itself around and between them. Another explored his boots and ankles. Jenny’s blood, he thought. It’s attracting more of them. He looked down. They were coming at him from all directions, wriggling along every crack and fissure in the granite tor. And below, as if in command, the queen worm had risen to the surface of the ‘feather-bed’, breaching the moss carpet in several places, the thick loops of her body glistening green in the sunlight. Over towards the p
ipeline he saw more speckles of green and it seemed he was totally surrounded.

  ‘Matt!’

  At first he hardly heard the voice above the noise of the helicopter, and Fran must have screamed his name several times before he looked up. She was lying on the rock only a foot or so above his head, holding out her arms ready to take Jenny from him.

  ‘Okay!’ he shouted back.

  The worms were crawling over his legs, unhurried. Their teeth had not yet met his flesh but he’d felt the thick material of his overalls tear in several places.

  He shifted his grip on Jenny and tried to lift her high enough for Fran to take her, but she clung to him hysterically. Nothing he said could make her let go. Then she squealed in sudden desperation, an unnatural, high-pitched squeal, and her fingers loosened their hold on his clothing. He swung her up to Fran who caught her under the arms and began to haul her to the safety of the higher ledge. It was only then he saw what had made her squeal – a second worm, gnawing at her ankle. Its tail slapped against Matt’s face.

  The helicopter was immediately above and someone was being lowered. It looked like the leading seaman. His feet kicked against the granite as he came down, narrowly missing Matt. He grabbed Jenny and gave the signal to be taken up again, hugging her close to him but with the worm still dangling from her ankle.

  But something else was happening up there too. He couldn’t see what it was, though from Fran’s shrieks he could guess. Then he heard the thwack of the stick against the hard rock and realized she was screaming anger and hate. Once more something hit the rock with a sharp crack! and he found himself grinning, feeling the worms had met their match in her.

  And Jenny was safe. Whether he lived or died didn’t seem to matter any more. At least Jenny was all right.

  He caught the head of one worm which was moving up to his abdomen and squeezed the life out of it. How long he could carry on like this he had no idea. So far they hadn’t succeeded in doing more than rip his clothing with their sharp teeth, but sooner or later they’d find a way through those lined overalls, Ministry-issue, and that would be the end. There wasn’t much time. The helicopter would pick up Fran first, winch her to safety, and by the time they returned for him…