He scrabbled to his feet. It was chaos in the carriage now. The tentacles were everywhere. Some of the bigger ones had smashed straight through the windows. People struggled vainly in their grip and he saw one man hauled bodily out of a shattered window.
Farrukh, screaming, slashed and pushed his way to the connecting door that led into the next carriage and wrenched it open. He came face to face with a middle-aged black man who was trying to escape in the opposite direction. Farrukh immediately saw why. The scene in the next carriage was identical to the one in his.
The other man, his eyes wide with terror, yelled, it's Judgement Day, brother! The demons from the pit have come to drag us sinners down! Too late to repent now, brother, too late . . .’
Hysterical with fear. Farrukh stabbed him in the heart. The older man grunted and fell backwards.
But even before his body hit the floor it was snared in the black coils of an enormous tentacle. Farrukh turned and tried to get back the way he’d come but slipped on something greasy underfoot and crashed full-length to the floor. To his horror he found himself lying on top of an almost empty bag of skin. Only the suit revealed that this caricature of a human being had once been a man who had suffered the same fate as the girl by the doors.
Farrukh tried to get up but his feet slipped again in whatever pool of fluid it was that covered the floor. He screamed as a thick tentacle came snaking down towards him. He struck out at it with his knife but even as the blade glanced off its skin he felt a burning sensation in his side. He twisted his head round and saw one of the smaller tentacles penetrating his left side at a point just below his bottom rib.
He hacked at it with the knife but already the strength was fading from his fingers and arm. He dropped the knife and slumped to the floor. His only hope then was that he would be dead before his body began to wrinkle and sag . . . But he wasn’t.
It, in its own unfathomable way, was pleased. The food was plentiful in these tunnels. Much of the food it incorporated immediately into itself, which increased the bulk of its body considerably, but some it preserved for future use.
Exploiting its new mass it extended its variety of holding and feeding tendrils out along the network of tunnels in all directions. At the same time it began to reach upwards . . .
17
As was his habit at this time of the night, Tony Else was having a cup of coffee in the Burger Paradise hamburger bar on the corner of Old Compton Street and Greek Street near Cambridge Circus. He was on his break from the Starburst nightclub in Greek Street where he w'orked as a bouncer. Being a non-smoker he liked to get away from the club’s smoky atmosphere whenever he could.
Despite the late hour the hamburger bar, which stayed open all night, was quite crowded. There were a few tourists scattered about but the rest of the customers were regulars and Else recognized them all. Such as the two prostitutes sitting in the next booth - Valerie and Liz. They’d both been on the game for years and were practically landmarks in the area. He’d first met them when he was in the CID working out of West End Central. That was a decade ago . . .
Those had been good years, he reflected moodily as he stirred his coffee. But then, stupidly, he’d got too greedy - greedy to the point where none of his mates on the force, or even his superiors, could cover for him. And that was that. When he’d got out of prison he’d drifted back to his old stamping grounds in Soho. Things had worked out alright, he supposed, though he was 41 now and knew that his future was a bleak one. But then everyone’s future was bleak in the long run, with or without a police pension . . .
‘Would you look at that!’
It was Valerie. He turned. She was pointing out the window. ‘He must be having a fit . . .’
Else looked through the window. Across the road a man was threshing about on the footpath. He was in evening clothes and standing nearby was a middle-aged woman in a fur coat. She had her hands to her face as she watched the man on the ground.
Heart attack, or epileptic fit more likely, decided Else. He got up, his policeman’s instincts taking over. When he got to the door he stopped and frowned. He could see something now he hadn’t spotted before. The man across the street seemed to be wrestling with what appeared to be a length of black cable . . .
Else was just about to go over to him when there was a loud noise to his left. He turned in time to see a heavy manhole cover go flying up into the air about ten yards away.
‘Look out!’ he yelled to a young couple who were obviously unaware of what was happening. The cover came down with a crunch on the footpath just a few feet in front of them.
While Else was trying to figure out what could have caused the heavy cover to go shooting off like that he saw something even more astonishing. Out of the open manhole erupted several long, black cables - identical to the one wrapped around the man across the street.
It was only when he saw one of the cables whip itself around the girl and pull her into the manhole that he realized the things were alive . . .
He started forward, then came to a halt again when the vanished girl’s dazed-looking companion was pulled off his feet by the things and dragged towards the manhole . . .
/ need a weapon, Else told himself as he stood there hesitantly. An axe . . .
The young man, screaming, disappeared into the hole. A taxi pulled up and its driver, looking mystified, started to get out. One of the ‘cables’ snaked swiftly in his direction.
'Don’t get out!’ yelled Else. ‘Get away!’
The cab driver, halfway out, stopped and looked at him uncomprehendingly. Then he looked again at the advancing thing on the ground. He made up his mind and got back into the cab but before he could slam the door the tentacle darted forward.
Else watched helplessly as the driver was pulled out of his cab, then he noticed that one of the things was now moving in his direction. He turned and ran back into the hamburger bar.
‘Stay back! Don’t go out there!’ he cried as he pushed his way through the knot of people gathered round the doorway.
‘What is it? What is happening?’ asked Santos, one of the waiters, as he peered outside. ‘What is that taxi driver doing on the ground?’
'Dying, by the look of it,’ said Else tersely. ‘Get everyone to the rear of the restaurant, quickly!’ He started pushing people back from the doorway, ignoring their startled protests, then pushed the door shut. Fortunately it only opened inwards so he was able to jam it closed with a chair.
There was a tap on the glass. He looked up. The tip of one of the things was pushing at the glass panel in the top half of the door. It left a smear of slime behind it.
‘Ugh! What is that thing?’ cried Valerie. 'A snake?’
'I don’t know what it is,’ said Else, backing away from the door. 'But it’s dangerous. And there are more of them outside.’ He looked around the restaurant. What would make a good weapon? he wondered desperately. Then his gaze centred on the hamburger grill behind the counter. He pushed his way to the counter, climbed over it and quickly sorted through the cooking utensils by the grill. He decided his best bet was a small but heavy and very sharp cleaver. Then he noticed a fire extinguisher on the wall. He was just about to reach for it when he heard the sound of glass shattering . . .
He turned and saw one of the biggest of the black tentacles come crashing in through the plate glass window. People screamed as splinters of broken glass showered over them and there was a panicked stampede towards the rear of the restaurant.
‘Santos!’ yelled Else over the din. ‘Get everyone out the back way! Hurry!’ He had no idea if the entire West End was crawling with these things but there had to be a better chance of survival outside than in here.
As the crowd of terrified customers surged towards the door behind the counter that Santos had just opened, Else, without thinking, pushed in the opposite direction, the cleaver held ready. All he had was some vague notion of acting as a rear guard to the evacuation . . .
Then he saw that not ever
yone was fleeing from the groping tentacle. Two people remained behind, staggering about helplessly as blood streamed down their faces. Both had been victims of the flying glass. One of them was Liz. She was screaming hysterically and staggering right towards the tentacle that was snaking its way into the restaurant. Behind it came smaller tentacles through the shattered window.
‘Liz!’ he yelled. ‘Not that way, you silly old whore! Come this way!’
She stopped and started to turn towards him but it was too late. The great tentacle darted at her and snaked around her waist. Then it lifted her into the air.
Else swore and rushed forward. He swung the cleaver as hard as he could and had the satisfaction of seeing it slice deep into the tentacle. Black fluid, like thick treacle, bubbled out of the incision. He swung the cleaver again and the tentacle relaxed its grip on Liz, letting her drop to the floor.
He got the screaming woman to her feet and propelled her roughly towards the rear door. Only Santos remained, now, gesturing frantically at them to hurry. Else pushed her into his arms and as Santos led her out through the door he turned back to the other victim of the shower of glass. It was a man Else didn’t recognize - probably a tourist. Like Liz he was blinded by the blood on his face, and also like Liz had blundered into the grasp of a tentacle. It was a small one but was dragging him across the floor without any difficulty.
Else had it in mind to free the man in the same way as he had Liz but as he ran forward, brandishing the cleaver, he was caught by surprise as another tentacle came whipping in through the window and wrapped itself around his waist.
He grunted as he felt the enormous strength of the thing as it squeezed him hard and lifted him upwards. Then he struck out with the cleaver - but it was from an awkward angle and the blade merely skidded off the tough, semi-transparent outer membrane. He struck again and again . . .
And at last felt a satisfying thunk as the blade bit deep and suddenly the awful pressure around his waist was gone. But as he fell heavily to the floor he lost his grip on the cleaver. He heard it clatter some distance away from him and then, before he could get to his feet, felt one of the smaller tentacles grab him by the left ankle.
At the same moment there came a terrible scream of agony. He looked and saw that the other man was being dragged through the shattered window, the dagger-like shards of plate glass in the lower frame slicing into his body as he went. And Else was only feet away from a similar fate . . .
He clung onto the leg of a table as he slid over the floor but the pull of the tentacle was inexorable and he was forced to let go or suffer a dislocated arm.
Any second now, he knew, he would feel the cruel bite of the glass as he was dragged over the protruding fragments, and there was nothing he could do to save himself . . .
A loud hissing noise. Clouds of billowing white mist, momentarily blinding him. Coldness. What was happening?
Then he felt the tentacle release his ankle. A hand grabbed his arm, helping him up. It was Santos, the fire extinguisher in his other hand still sending out its pressurized white cloud over the tentacles, which were withdrawing rapidly from its touch.
‘Hurry!’ cried Santos. Else needed no urging. He ran for the rear door. Beyond was a short passage with storerooms and toilets leading off. The furthest doorway led into an alleyway.
In the alley Else paused to try and get his breath. Santos joined him, dropping the now-empty extinguisher. The two men leaned panting against the brick wall. ‘Tony,’ gasped Santos, ‘what is happening? What are those things? Where did they come from?’
Else didn’t answer. He was listening to the cacophony of sirens and alarm bells that he hadn’t been aware of before. The whole of the West End seemed to be going beserk.
‘Tony, what’s happening?’ repeated Santos pleadingly.
‘By the sound of it, the end of the world,’ answered Else.
It had now extended its tendrils through the entire labyrinth of tube tunnels, sewers, conduits, pipes, ventilator shafts and ail the other passageways and tunnels, many of them unknown to the bulk of the city’s population, that lay beneath central London. The affected area stretched from Camden Town in the north to Battersea in the south, and from Kensington in the west to as far as Mile End in the east.
The tendrils erupted not only from all the tube entrances within this area but from sewers and manholes as well. In some cases they forced themselves up through the very pavements and basement floors, utilizing the powerful hydrostatic forces that it had harnessed within its mainly liquid body.
The damage it caused was on a huge scale. The passage of its thrusting tendrils weakened building formations, cut telephone and power lines, and fractured gas pipes. Large parts of inner London were soon blacked out, and then followed a series of large gas explosions . . .
And in all this chaos, as fires raged, buildings collapsed and panic-stricken drivers crashed their vehicles into each other on the darkened streets the tendrils continued their harvest of humanity, snaring people one by one and dragging them underground . . .
The air was heavy with the musky odour of sex. They lay sprawled out on the floor - both still naked, but not touching. She was asleep, on her side, her head resting on a cushion. He lay some feet from her, propped up against the side of the sofa. He was awake but in a kind of dazed torpor, his new-found strength exhausted by his recent activities.
He was watching her reflectively, trying to analyse his confused, ambiguous feelings. He still felt guilty about Anne; he had, he knew, betrayed her by making love to the woman who had been involved in the events leading up to her death.
On the other hand he no longer felt guilty about the way he’d used Robin, or the way he intended to keep using her. He still didn’t particularly like her very much, and probably never would, but on another level - a purely physical one - he needed her with an intensity that disturbed him.
Even now, sated and tired as he was after making love to her three times in the space of a couple of hours, the sight of her lying there created in him an acute pang of desire. He knew why he needed her; he was using her as an anaesthetic to blot out the pain of losing Anne. And he would keep on stunning himself with her body for as long as he could - which he knew was going to make him feel even guiltier about Anne and increasingly resentful of Robin.
Catch 22.
The phone began to ring shrilly, making him start. Robin, too, twitched then sat up, blinking anxiously. For a second or two she looked vulnerable and defenceless and he briefly saw her in a different way, but then, quickly, she had regained her usual cool poise. She got up and, oblivious to her nakedness, hurried over to the phone.
He idly examined her sweat-slicked buttocks as she answered it, his gaze centring on the cleft between them. He decided he would have her from behind next time -as soon as he’d regained some of his strength.
Then, reluctantly, he became aware of the growing tone of alarm in her terse responses to whoever was on the other end of the line.
She turned to him, her face white, it’s Larry, calling from the office,’ she told him quickly, it’s happening, what we were afraid of. The things are coming up out of the ground all over central London, attacking people. And they're spreading . . .!’
18
Renton did not take defeat graciously. When he entered the conference room and saw Thomas sitting there his face stiffened, then he said bluntly, if you expect me to admit that there was some basis in your wild theories after all, Dr Thomas, you are sadly mistaken. There is no proof that these tentacle-like manifestations are part of a single organism, and none at all to suggest they are of extra-terrestrial origin.’
Thomas sighed inwardly. He’d hoped that the night’s horrific events would at least have made Renton a bit more open-minded. Instead he could see it was going to be a difficult job to make him see reason, in spite of everything.
‘Excuse me, Professor Renton,’ said Doctor Montgomery, who was in charge of the Department of Haemor-rhagic Diseases at
the Central Laboratory, ‘but I must insist it goes on record that Dr Thomas was correct in his warning that the organisms, or organism, might strike next in the centre of London.’
Renton scowled at him as he took his place at the head of the table. He said, ‘The time for post-mortems on what this facility did or didn’t do will be when the emergency is over. In less than an hour the Prime Minister will be holding an emergency cabinet meeting at Chequers which means I must submit a list of proposals to the Minister of Defence as to how the CPHL Centre and Porton Down can assist in dealing with the problem. So let’s attend to the matter at hand, shall we, gentlemen . . .’
‘Professor, before we start I have a question,’ said Thomas. ‘Did anyone repeat my tests on the specimens?’ Renton’s look was one of pure poison. Coldly, he said, ‘Yes, Dr Thomas. They were analysed again both here and at the CAMR facility at Porton Down.’
‘And?’
Renton shrugged. ‘Your findings were duplicated, but he added, ‘not your interpretations of them.’
‘But no DNA was found in any of the cells?’ asked Thomas.
‘Not yet, Dr Thomas,’ said Renton.
‘If three different sets of tests have failed to locate a trace of any DNA in those specimens it means there isn’t any to be found. And that means we’re dealing with a totally alien form of life.’
Renton pursed his thin lips in annoyance. ‘Doctor, as a microbiologist you define life as a relationship among molecules, am I correct?’
Thomas nodded.
‘And,’ continued Renton, ‘the two key molecules in that relationship are DNA and protein. Remove either one from the relationship and you don’t have life. Right?’ ‘Not as we define it,’ admitted Thomas wearily. ‘Which is why I believe the organism we’re dealing with evolved somewhere other than this planet.’
‘This is wasting our time, Dr Thomas!’ snapped Renton. ‘You know my feelings about your theory, so, if you don’t mind, we shall drop the subject and proceed with the meeting.’
Simon Ian Childer Page 13