Slime

by John Halkin

  The major paused. His eyes, through the slits in the rubber mask, regarded Tim sympathetically.

  ‘Where?’ That dryness in his mouth was already warning him what the answer must be.

  ‘Totnes,’ the major confirmed. ‘We’re sending in a helicopter force, though whether they’ll be able to land is open to question. The weather’s against them. The colonel wants to know if you’d like to go with them.’

  ‘My wife?’

  ‘She was still all right up to about an hour ago. Then the telephone was cut off.’

  ‘She’s at the hospital?’

  ‘That’s right. Not as a patient, as far as we can gather. Visiting, I think. She seemed to be taking charge up there – at least, she was the one who did the phoning. Of course, the patients were among the first to be brought out, together with most of the medical staff. I take it you do want to go? The Ministry agrees.’

  ‘Too right I want to go!’ Tim answered vehemently.

  ‘Then we’d best get a move on.’

  As they were about to leave, a lorry passed them, its canvas cover flapping in the wind. It drew up in the village and another fifteen or twenty soldiers jumped out. An NCO barked at them through his face-mask, ordering them to hurry along. They unloaded more flame throwers and hoes, then took up positions near the churchyard wall.

  A little distance away, from the top of a small armoured vehicle, an army cameraman was busy filming the operation. And from the graveyard itself came the sudden chilling scream of a man in extreme pain.

  20

  Sue hung up the phone despondently. She’d hoped they would have repaired the line by now, but it was still dead.

  Outside, the rain was beating down relentlessly. The wind whined through the now-useless telegraph wires which for the first couple of hours had kept them reassuringly in touch with the rest of the world. An eerie, greenish light hovered over the ground, emanating from the masses of jellyfish which surrounded the hospital. They drifted menacingly in the shallow flood-water covering the drive and lawns.

  She shivered and drew the curtains. Now that everyone had settled down the ward seemed cosy enough. The electricity was off but the two nurses had found some oil lamps which made the place look more cheerful. One of the boys had a transistor radio.

  Of course, it was her own fault she was there at all. She could easily have got away on one of the earlier buses. Adrian and Tony had kept a seat for her, as well as one for the young lad from the theatre; her nice landlady had gone too, first putting out the empty milk bottles and checking the fridge, convinced she’d only be gone a day or two.

  But she’d insisted on seeing Mark. Not that he would have known: the dead recognise no visitors. No, it was simply an obscure feeling that she owed him something. She felt guilty towards him. Mark had always been so honest and straightforward with her, whereas she’d merely used him in an attempt to solve her own problem. When they’d telephoned her early that morning to say he’d died, she’d known she had to go. It was the least she could do, and if she’d opted out she’d have had to live with it for the rest of her life.

  At the hospital she’d found everything in chaos. They had left her alone in the mortuary, being too busy to attend to her. When eventually she drew the cloth back over Mark’s wasted face and made her own way out, they had grabbed her and pushed her on to the evacuation coach, shouting that she was one of the last, she was lucky not to be left behind.

  She’d tried to protest that she had her Mini and could make her own way. Then she caught a glimpse of it in the car park – up to the sills in water already, with jellyfish everywhere, including one squatting over the windscreen. Twice on the drive there she’d felt herself skidding over them as they lay on the road, her tyres failing to grip.

  The coach driver had revved impatiently, wanting to get away, but the nurses were still bringing out old people from the geriatric wards. Sue went to help them up the steps and settle them in their seats. But at last they shouted he could close the door.

  They were ready.

  By now the rain had started again, whipped against the bus like water from a tap. Soon the windows were obscured by a film of wetness tinged pale green from the jellyfish phosphorescence. The bus moved steadily down the drive; he was taking it carefully, she’d thought, probably unable to see clearly through his windscreen.

  Suddenly he stopped.

  ‘Well, that just about does it!’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘Road’s blocked!’

  The nurses had still been busy, so Sue had gone up front to see for herself.

  ‘Just look at that!’ the driver exclaimed in disgust as she joined him. ‘There’s no way past it. We’re stuck here.’

  A lorry lay on its side wedged into the stone gateway. Nearby lay the body of a white-haired man in overalls. Several jellyfish were feeding on him already.

  ‘You can’t shove it out of the way?’ she asked.

  ‘And drive over that geezer on the road?’ He turned to her, obviously shocked.

  ‘He’s dead. Oh, I know it doesn’t seem right, but we’ve got to get out of here somehow. Is there a rear entrance? Any other way?’

  He shook his head. ‘Bad flooding down by the back gate. It’s where the road was washed away. Call it a road? It was only a lane at the best o’ times.’

  His eyes were troubled. He leaned forward to wipe the steam off the windscreen and stared through it at the overturned lorry. About her own age, he’d be; long, straight hair, cowboy style; a blond moustache and a turned-up nose. He bit his lower lip as he tried to make up his mind.

  ‘Even if I drove over him, I don’t know if I could shift that thing. This is a holiday coach, not a tank. There’s not much strength in all this fancy metalwork.’ He looked at her doubtfully. ‘To be honest, love, I don’t think I could stomach driving over that. As if he isn’t in enough trouble already.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ she repeated.

  So is Mark, she thought. And Mrs Wakeham. And that cyclist boy. Oh, and so many others…

  ‘I couldn’t live with the thought,’ he decided, revving the engine again, then beginning to reverse at a tortoise pace up the drive. ‘An’ I reckon that lorry’d cause us more damage than anything, an’ we’d be stuck here. We’ll ring up from the hospital, get someone to shift it.’

  ‘If there is anyone.’

  Back at the hospital she’d done the telephoning herself, leaving the nurses free to concentrate on the patients. It was the most useful thing she could do. It would be two hours at least before anyone could come and help them, the voice at the other end said when at last she succeeded in getting through; even then, they couldn’t guarantee anything. Then the line went dead.

  With jellyfish-infested flood-water now lapping at the hospital steps, it had been a nightmare fetching the patients back inside. The driver had brought the bus as close as possible and then personally carried the old people across while Sue had kept guard with a broom, beating off any jellyfish that came too close. The four children – three boys and a girl – had jumped across the gap, although one had landed short and would have fallen if Sue hadn’t grabbed him. As it was, he twisted his ankle.

  Inside, they’d all gathered in one ward, feeling they’d be better off sticking together until they could be rescued. Sue had been delegated to try telephoning again while the nurses made everyone comfortable and brewed tea. She marvelled at the way they took charge quite naturally, bustling around to do whatever had to be done. They were hardly out of their teens. She’d witnessed the fear in the blonde one’s eyes when a jellyfish had washed up against her leg when she stepped down from the coach. Yet she’d recovered immediately, hiding her feelings from the patients.

  Sue looked at her watch, holding it near one of the oil lamps to be able to read it. Almost three hours had passed since that first phone call and there was still no sign of anyone coming to get them out. It was a couple of hours already since the lights had suddenly gone out.

  Yet every
one was so quiet, cocooned inside that long, narrow ward, no doubt persuading themselves that the jellyfish were no more than a bad dream from which they would soon wake up. Over the windows down both sides the curtains were closed, shutting out reality. The old people dozed in their beds or played cards around one of the tables; the coach driver sat in a corner with the four children, telling them stories, and the blonde nurse went over to join them, joking about something.

  Sue remained at the far end of the ward near the telephone, preferring to be alone with her thoughts. By now she accepted that their chances of getting out alive were minimal. It was only a matter of time before the jellyfish invaded the hospital itself, if they weren’t in the building already.

  And that’s the way it would be all over the world, she was convinced. Jellyfish were unbeatable: when one was killed, ten more took its place. Dinosaurs had once ruled on earth, then their day had come. Now it was the turn of the human race to face extinction.

  She’d watched Tim’s broadcasts, every one of them, just to see him. Mark had said nothing, but he’d known only too well why she’d always rushed to the set to switch on.

  Tim…

  ‘Oh, excuse me…’ The blonde nurse startled her, cutting across her day-dreaming. ‘It’s only the outside line that’s dead, isn’t it? I mean, you can get an internal number?’

  She didn’t wait for an answer, but dialled a couple of digits.

  ‘What is it?’ Sue asked. ‘I thought we were the only ones here.’

  ‘So did we, but that little boy who twisted his ankle swears his sister is still here.’

  ‘One of the nurses?’

  ‘No, a patient in the isolation ward. A little girl, suspected smallpox. It’s my friend Deirdre on duty there, that’s how I know about her.’ In exasperation she shook the receiver, listened again, then slammed it down. ‘He says he came here to ask about her, without telling his parents. I was sure she went in one of the ambulances, but he says no, he was told she was still there.’

  ‘We’d better go and see,’ said Sue, glad of something to do at last. ‘As we can’t phone.’

  ‘It’s outside.’

  ‘Where?’ She felt a sudden shiver of fear.

  ‘That brick building at the back near the trees.’ The nurse looked at her, understanding; she put a hand on her arm. ‘No need for both of us to go.’

  ‘Then it’s up to me, isn’t it?’ Sue’s flesh crawled at the very thought of wading through those jellyfish; yet she knew, if anything went wrong, she was the one they could most easily manage without. ‘It’s only a question of checking if she’s there or not. And you’re a nurse, you’re needed here.’

  The look of relief on the nurse’s face was unmistakable, yet she still argued for a minute or two before gratefully agreeing that Sue should be the one to go.

  ‘I’ll find a torch for you.’

  ‘It’s still daylight.’

  ‘You’ll find it gloomy in the ward unless there’s a lamp there. It’s not somewhere I’ve ever worked but I know it’s just a small room – four beds. The bacteriological lab’s in the same building.’

  She led Sue into an office at the rear of the hospital. From its window they could see the building. It looked dark and silent, but then the current would be off there too. The gusty wind was lashing the trees violently, though the rain had eased a little. As far as she could judge the grounds were not deeply flooded – three or four inches at the most – but wherever she looked she saw jellyfish gliding about in the water.

  ‘Are you sure?’ the nurse asked her anxiously.

  ‘What’s your name, nurse?’

  ‘Angela.’

  ‘I’m quite sure,’ she said. ‘Someone has to do it; it may as well be me. But I need a spear… a spade… something I can defend myself with. Don’t worry, Angela. I’ll be all right.’

  They searched around in various corners of the hospital. In the end, they settled on a broom handle to which Angela taped a long amputation knife. They also found a pair of surgeon’s white drill trousers which Sue pulled on over her jeans as extra protection and a fireman’s belt complete with axe which she strapped about her waist over the ski jacket.

  ‘I feel ridiculous in all this gear.’ She tried to laugh, but Angela merely shook her head.

  ‘Ready?’

  Sue nodded.

  Angela drew back the bolt and held the door open just long enough for Sue to step outside, then slammed it shut behind her.

  Gingerly she moved down into the water, feeling her way with the blunt end of the broom handle. A medium-sized jellyfish drifted against her ankle; then it floated away again, showing no interest. She felt grateful for the protection offered by the high white gumboots she’d borrowed from the theatre wardrobe the day before.

  Yet she’d only to slip and they’d be all over her. She knew that well enough by now. She walked slowly, dragging her feet through the water and testing every inch of the ground with the broom handle to make sure she didn’t tread on one. Above her, the sky was still dark with rapidly moving clouds. The luminescence from the jellyfish hung over the ground like a translucent, supernatural mist, merging with the daylight at about waist height.

  They weren’t attacking her, she suddenly realised; they were letting her through.

  ‘Why?’

  She spoke the word aloud, gazing around her. Jellyfish surrounded her on every side – and ignored her.

  Looking back, she caught a glimpse of Angela, watching from the office window. She waved and then went on.

  Almost immediately, her foot came down on unyielding, slippery muscle; it slid forward as the sole of her gumboot refused to grip. To save herself, she stabbed at the ground with the broom handle, but that too failed to hold.

  Her arms waved about in a futile attempt to regain her balance as she felt herself going down. This was death, she knew it. This was how it was going to be. The thoughts flowed through her mind with a slow, logical clarity: it would be the best solution after all; it would free Tim; oh, how she envied Mark with the whole experience of dying behind him; oh, Tim, if only I’d been able to… if only we hadn’t… like drifting jellyfish…

  She came to rest on one knee. The water soaked through both layers of trousers, but she managed with the help of the broom to push herself up to her feet again, gasping for breath and surprised to find herself still alive.

  The isolation ward wasn’t far now. She plodded on, doubly careful. From somewhere, she didn’t know where, she thought she heard the sound of an engine, but realised it was probably only the sound of the wind groaning around the ornate chimney stacks.

  It was an old brick building with high Victorian gables – converted stabling, Sue guessed, or something similar – and the main door stood open, banging to and fro in the wind. Over the floor of the entrance lobby a thin layer of water had already spread, seeping into the corridor beyond. From it came a telltale greenish glow.

  ‘Hello! Anybody there?’ she called out from the step, holding the door open.

  No answer; only windows rattling somewhere inside.

  Then she felt a movement by her foot. She looked down and saw a huge jellyfish gradually pulling itself up over the threshold. In the process, one edge of it had flopped over the toe of her gumboot.

  ‘Get out, will you!’ she snapped angrily, attempting to kick it back outside.

  It hardly moved, but clung effortlessly to the doorstep. She should have left it alone, she knew, but the mere sight of it going into that building filled her with such loathing that she reversed the broom handle and attacked it with the sharp edge of the amputation knife.

  The blade sliced through it, leaving a long, clean gash.

  Nervously, she took a half-step back, holding her makeshift spear ready, expecting a counter-attack. The gash, which passed right through that centrally-positioned ruby-red star, seemed merely to yawn at her. There was no other movement.

  Then another jellyfish nudged her heel from behind. She swung
around to see more of them hauling themselves into the building to take up positions around their injured comrade – and her. They crowded her, resisting her efforts to push through them until, fighting down rising panic, she was forced to cut her way free.

  The amputation knife was razor-sharp. It slipped through the glistening muscle without her having to exert any pressure on it. One after another she dissected the jellyfish, or deprived them of their tentacles, and pushed the fragments aside with her foot.

  More were coming up behind her, but she could still move a lot faster than they could. She reached the corridor and slammed the door on them, leaning against it for a second to get her breath back.

  ‘Anyone there?’ she shouted again desperately.

  Silence.

  The corridor was aglow with green light, yet at first she saw no sign anywhere of the speckled jellyfish. It took her a moment to realise that the luminescence came from slime smeared over the vinyl floor tiles and skirting board. She had difficulty keeping her footing, it was so slippery.

  A short passage cut across the end of the corridor in a T-shaped layout. To the left were two or three steps leading up to a closed door marked Bacteriology Department; to the right were double swing doors leading into the isolation ward. They were open, propped apart by the dead body of a young nurse.

  Sue reeled back, shocked, and put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. She’d hoped – expected, even, in her heart of hearts – to find the place deserted and the little boy mistaken. But this must be Deirdre, this dark-haired girl lying there at such an unnatural angle, her neck obviously broken.

  A speckled pink-and-red jellyfish lay over her face, its body rippling as it gorged itself; a second was wrapped across her neck; two more were busy on her legs, having destroyed the thin fabric of her black tights. A couple of feet away Sue noticed a pair of glasses in delicate green frames, obviously hers.