by Mark Speed
It instinctively spread out its tentacles on the surface and stretched its body downwards, searching for a stable surface. Its foot touched the bottom, around three feet below, but it chose not to grip it. So long as part of it was touching a surface it felt more secure. In contrast, it had felt bad to be close to its siblings, and it had been moving as fast as it could in the opposite direction to the faint pheromones it could sense from them in the water.
It spun slowly, its tentacles splayed like a star in the pool, as the eddy currents played with it. Spread out like this it was about eight feet in diameter, having grown substantially after feasting on the Rindan ambassador and her husband. The need to feed was now expressing itself in its simple neural circuits. It had learnt to ignore the objects in the water that bumped into its tentacles; they were inanimate waste. On a few occasions there had been warm-blooded furry objects that squirmed and bit, and raked at it with claws when it grasped them with its tentacles. Through trial and error it had learnt to squeeze the life out of them immediately, rather than waste poison from its stinging cells. They had sufficed only as appetisers, barely covering the calorific cost of its swift progress.
It sensed that there were three flows into the pool, and one out – towards which it was slowly being dragged. It planted its foot onto the bottom of the pool and tensed the muscles in the middle upwards whilst tensing the ones at the side in a ring. The foot became a powerful suction pad, so it was going nowhere for now.
The outflow was the wrong way to go. Its entrance was below the water, and bacterial digestion of the sewage meant that there would be diminishing levels of oxygen in the pipe. There was another option, which the tip of one its tentacles explored. The brick changed to cold metal, and there was a crack, through which a breeze with the slightest hint of salt in the air flowed. Salt meant death.
Two of the three inflows had no traces of polyp pheromones, which made them more attractive than the way it had come in. Food would be more plentiful where it was not competing with its siblings. One of the inlets had fresher water. Pungent chemicals had been a constant irritant. Occasionally on its journey it had been hit from the side by bursts of water with objects in them, and the water had sometimes stung slightly.
Its tentacles converged in the direction of the inlet with fresher water and planted themselves on the bottom of the pool. It let go with its foot, swung it over its body and planted it closer to the inlet. After going head over foot a couple of times it was beneath the inlet, planted to the wall. Now it could sense not only that the water was slightly fresher, but that there was a hint of meat and blood in it too.
It sensed a splash in the pool behind it, and froze, its senses on high alert.
The pheromones from one of its siblings filled the pool. One of them was here with it. That made leaving all the more urgent, as it could claim the hunting territory beyond this inlet as its own. It heaved itself up into the lip of the tunnel, momentarily disrupting the flow, and then was gone.
The second polyp had sensed the relatively high concentration of pheromones in the pool as it had spread its tentacles out, and knew that a sibling was there. The disruption to the flow from one of the inlets caused it to freeze, until pheromone sensors on the tentacle nearest confirmed that it was where its sibling had just gone.
Its journey had been less fruitful than its sibling’s, which had cut a swathe through the rat population, leaving just a couple of the animals to slake its hunger. To say that feeding was top of its priorities was an understatement. Just like the first polyp, it sensed that the outlet was too dangerous, and that the other exit risked exposure to salt. It lashed out its tentacles for the only inlet without polyp pheromones and hauled itself up and inside.
It sensed a rat scurrying upstream but was a fraction of a second too late to grab it. Moving slowly to conserve energy, it took an hour to get two hundred yards upstream. Its neural system slowly processed its needs, energy levels and possible actions. After a further half hour, its conclusion was that a different path needed to be taken; the side tunnels from which waste occasionally flowed needed to be explored. It was out of something like this that it and its siblings had emerged after feasting on the Rindans. Thus, there was an association with an abundant supply of food. However, there had been an association with danger too. Now, its urgent need to feed outweighed the potential risk.
Instinct drew it towards a relatively large side tunnel with a flow that was more constant than the other ones. It squeezed its way upwards against the sporadic flow for what seemed a very long way, using valuable reserves of energy to prevent itself from slipping backwards. Its most forward tentacle detected a pipe going off to the side. There was barely a trickle of water coming from it, and it felt different somehow. It needed to conserve energy, and to eat, so it moved into this narrower pipe. After a couple of yards it felt smaller pipes going up overhead off the main pipe, which came to an abrupt end.
There was a certain amount of security in only having one large hole to guard. It settled into place and sent its tentacles out to explore more thoroughly its new position. There were four smaller pipes going up, and there were only three feet between each. It settled down to feel the vibrations in the environment around it. There were distinct patterns of thuds, with around half a second between each. One of the patterns of thuds came close to the pipe system and stopped. The polyp slipped a tentacle into the pipe nearest to where the vibration had stopped. There was a set of vibrations as something dropped into water within the pipe system, then a delay. Suddenly water and waste objects cascaded over the tentacle that was underneath the pipe. The vibrations moved away again.
The polyp lay still as its primitive neural system processed the information for a few minutes. Its hunger ratcheted up a notch.
Then it heard another set of regular thuds move near to one of the pipes. It moved itself directly underneath the pipe and squeezed three of its tentacles up to explore. The tube twisted around and into some water. They broke through the surface of the water and were hit by some objects which were still warm – a final confirmation.
All three tentacles thrust upwards and found warm flesh. Stinging glands on the tentacles injected venom. The flesh moved, but two of the tentacles were already wrapping themselves around two thick limbs. It had a tactile memory of these from the Rindans. Two things like the claws of the rats, but bigger, tried to remove its tentacles. It tensed its tentacles around the limbs, its foot suckered itself securely in position and its other tentacles braced themselves against the pipework. The fleshy thing was unable to move. Through its tentacles it could feel the pulse of blood quicken. It felt a high-frequency vibration through the pipe just as its third tentacle found an orifice. The high-frequency vibration stopped a second later as the venom took its effect, paralysing its victim.
The polyp kept the victim locked in place with two tentacles, and began to gorge using the third to tear out flesh and pass it back to its mouth. The Rindans’ flesh had had little muscle and fat. This flesh had more calories – the muscle was meaty, and there was plenty of fat on the internal organs and under the skin. It was just what a polyp needed for healthy growth.
Roddy and Steve were web designers during the week and urban explorers at the weekends – though they preferred the term ‘place hackers’ to describe themselves. They’d met as architecture students, and started with the occasional foray onto rooftops in central London. After the terrorist alerts early in the century security had tightened. Roddy had been caught and received a caution for trespassing. Although they styled themselves as hip and edgy, a criminal conviction could exclude them from some contracts so they’d decided to have a look around for something else.
They’d found a website about the capital’s secret underground world – unused Tube stations, sewers and lost rivers. The stations had been interesting but security was always being tightened. After a court appearance and a fine, they’d decided to concentrate on the lost rivers. The equipment was inexpensive �
� boots, waterproof trousers, flashlights and caving helmets. The advice on the website had been for a minimum of three in a party, but Roddy and Steve had always believed in keeping the numbers down because it made for more agility. That, and the fact that they didn’t know anyone else who was into this sort of thing.
South London had been perfect because of the more extensive river systems within the network, and for the fact that it was, well, South London; the authorities cared little for anything on that side of the Thames. The lower population density also meant less sewage and, if you followed the rivers, it was a relatively clean experience. There was no pressure down there – not even the light of day – and they’d often taken up to twelve hours carefully mapping out the labyrinth of tunnels. If you knew your way you could pop out under cover of darkness at the end of your street. It was the most extraordinary feeling to be able to disappear in one part of the city and emerge at an exact location a few hours later.
They would stare in wonder at the fine Victorian brickwork and appreciate the sleek intersections with modern upgrades, documenting it with digital SLR cameras and video. But the book on the secret architecture of London’s sewers had been put on the back-burner after first Roddy, then Steve, had settled down and started families.
Steve had called Roddy and shown him how the sewers were trending on social media that weekend. It was big news. They could have one last foray for old times’ sake, post fresh videos and rank big. What wasn’t to like?
They’d entered the system near Herne Hill station late on Saturday afternoon, at the southern edge of the Victorian sewers laid out by Sir Joseph Bazalgette. Steve’s wife had insisted on seeing them off, asking them to check in every couple of hours. She’d even insisted on knowing a route plan, reminding him of his responsibilities towards his offspring. On the plus side, she’d acted as lookout as they disappeared down the manhole on the quiet suburban street. Good for his word, Steve had texted his wife after a couple of hours, and had to admit to himself that it added to the thrill knowing that someone outside the system knew where you were and what you were doing.
Heading north, they’d soon come to the tributary coming down from Tulse Hill and Brockwell Park on their left, bringing completely fresh water into the system. They’d trudged downstream to the north for another hour, sensing the occasional vibration of an overground train. Now there was a different thunder. It was deeper and more encompassing than the passing of an overground train.
“Victoria line, train pulling into Brixton,” said Roddy.
“Gotta be,” said Steve. He sniffed the air and shone his flashlight around. “Smell the market?” They both sniffed the air. Under the stench of the sewage there was the unmistakable smell of Caribbean spices and rotting meat from the myriad food outlets in Brixton Village, and the halal butchers’ shops on Electric Avenue. Steve’s flashlight found a couple of fat rats feeding on some offal. The rats ignored them and continued to eat. Next to them was a child’s doll, its dirty clothes in tatters.
“Monster rats!” said Roddy with a grin, stowing his flashlight and taking out his SLR.
“Wasn’t there a Doctor Who story about giant rats in the London sewers?”
“Yeah, was it Tom Baker’s Doctor?” Roddy chose his angle carefully and took a couple of shots with a diffuser over his flash. Still the rats were unperturbed. “Protecting some crackpot professor’s underground laboratory.” He tilted the LCD screen of the camera towards Steve. They had to turn off the lights on their helmets to see the images properly. From the angle he’d taken the pictures, it looked like one of the rats was feeding off the body of the doll. They had a chuckle and turned their helmet lights back on.
“Excellent,” said Steve. “Let’s roll cameras and get some VT. I’ll be back in a sec.” He climbed ten feet up an exit ladder next to a manhole, where he could hear the sounds of Brixton Market – the music and the haggling over prices – and wrapped an arm inside a rung. His mobile phone registered a signal, and he texted ‘Brixton. Found sewer monster! CU 1 hour’ to his wife before climbing back down.
Roddy had put away his SLR and taken out his video camera. He plugged a small stereo mic into the jack on the side. They’d learnt the hard way that flowing water masks sounds, making a mic essential if they wanted the viewer to hear anything but the white noise of the water. He handed the mic to Steve, threading the wire through his fingers carefully so that it didn’t dip into the filthy water. His companion pocketed his torch, turned his helmet light off again and took his position in shot in front of the rats. Roddy’s helmet light was now their only source, and it shone on Steve and the rats. “Take one,” said Roddy. “I’ll pull out from the rats, right?”
The camera bleeped as it started recording. He zoomed in on the rats, pulled out and up to include Steve and waved a finger to signal that his friend was in shot.
“Here in Brixton, the only monsters you’ll find in the sewers this weekend are the rats,” said Steve. “But they’re not as big and dangerous as the fat cats that stalk the Square Mile of the City to the north. This is Steve Cox reporting for Underground London.” He held his position for a couple of seconds. He heard the bleep as the camera stopped recording. “How was that?” he asked.
“Shouldn’t it be here under Brixton?”
“You’re such a pedant. And so am I. Let’s go again.”
Roddy set the shot up for another take. The camera gave a bleep. Roddy panned out then waved his finger to signal that Steve was in shot again.
“Here under Brixton –”
“Sorry. Could you maybe say ‘Beneath Brixton’? Nice alliteration.”
“Yeah, yeah. Ready, Roddy?” He could see his friend was looking at the camera’s LCD display.
“Damn it.”
“What?”
“The rats have gone.”
Steve looked down. “They’ve left their meat.”
“Must’ve had enough.” The camera bleeped as Roddy turned it off.
“I know how they feel. Let’s have a gander at that first take. I can always do something on just the doll.” They huddled together over the camera. “Turn your bleedin’ head light off, will you? I can’t see the screen.”
Roddy let out a sigh of irritation and turned off the light on his helmet. The three-inch LCD screen on the camera lit them up with a bluish glow, but beyond that the tunnel was pitch black.
Whilst Roddy fiddled with the menu, Steve reached around behind his friend and tapped him on the side of the shoulder.
Roddy jumped. “Oh, ha-bloody-ha,” he said. “If I drop this, you pay for it, pal.”
Roddy found the Play button and pressed it. The image zoomed out slowly from the rats to reveal Steve looking into the camera.
“Shush!” said Roddy. “I can’t hear the sound with you horsing around.”
“It’s not me,” said Steve.
Roddy felt a tap on his shoulder. “I told you to –” He looked at Steve. His friend was looking just behind him, his face frozen in horror. “What –”
Something wet slid into Roddy’s mouth. He tried to scream but his mouth was stuffed with something cold, foul-tasting and blubbery. He felt the stinging of needles on his tongue and down his throat. He couldn’t breathe, or even cough. His vomit reflex was triggered as the back of his throat was touched, but the blubbery thing blocked it. He grabbed at it with his left hand, but snatched it back as it was stung. He felt his stomach being ripped from the inside as he was whipped backwards into the stinking water. The camera struck the wall and fell, the LCD shining uselessly into the water.
“Roddy!” Steve stumbled backwards in the pitch dark and tripped on something. He fell to his knees and fumbled for his helmet light. There was nothing but the sound of the water. He got up on his shaking knees, leaning against the wall for support and turned the light on. He’d tripped on a blue-green cable. The same kind of slimy cable that had reached for Roddy. It twitched at the end. The other end belonged to something behind him but he did
n’t have the courage to turn around and see what it was. He jumped up to the second rung on the ladder and began scrambling up, one hand reaching for his phone with the other. He jabbed at his wife’s number and it began to ring.
Something wet and rubbery whipped itself around his neck and stung him. He let out a strangled yell as his wife answered the phone and the grip around his throat tightened. He felt the numbing paralysis spread through his body and a curious sense of relief that the horror was over as he blacked out.
Trinity scuttled along the sewer, the scent of not one, but two of the polyps in her olfactory glands. It was something of a relief; she’d had a bad night of it. The bleach and other chemicals sent down the toilets had proven highly effective at destroying the scent of the polyps. She’d completely lost them at one stage and she’d wasted hours taking the wrong route and then back-tracking along the labyrinthine network. The lack of rats on the polyps’ path had been what had given them away.
She sensed that one of them was in a different behavioural state from the other, and rationalised that it was the one which was following the first one. She made a mental note that the subtle difference was a stress hormone in the animal.
The pipe came to an abrupt end in a pool. She knew from what Tim had told her that this was the sort of area where the first polyp was currently trapped. She stopped at the exit to the pool and focused all of her senses. There was nothing of interest in the immediate vicinity. She turned her mandibles up at the thought of the putrid water, turned herself upside down and clambered out and up the wall, then onto the ceiling. She stopped to observe for a few seconds, and could see that there was an outflow under the surface in one corner. On the side opposite from the inflows, there was a massive slab of iron several feet across, hinged so that it opened away from the pool. She knew what this was: if there was a storm surge, the force of the floodwater would force open the flap and empty the sewage straight into the Thames. She knew exactly where she was now.