by John Halkin
She wanted to turn and run, to put it all behind her, to get as far away as she could from that terrible place. But what about the little girl? Was she still there? Still alive?
There was only one thing she could do. Somehow, she had to get past that body and take a look inside, although she knew she’d never have the courage to step over it while those jellyfish were still active. Steeling herself, she poked the amputation knife at one of those on the dead girl’s legs. She could disable them at least, she thought feverishly, even it they didn’t die.
Its ripples became more violent as the knife cut into it. A red stain from the girl’s blood spread over the blade; then one piece of jellyfish suddenly sagged away.
Encouraged, she attacked the others in the same manner. At last she felt ready to reverse the broom handle and use the blunt end to drag the body clear of the doorway.
The ward turned out to be a small room, as Angela had said. It looked dreary and uninviting in the dull light from the rain-drenched windows. There was no slime to brighten it up, no doubt because the jellyfish had found enough to occupy them in the doorway without going any farther.
In the third bed – the only one occupied – was a little girl, flushed with fever and turning restlessly on her pillow. She was about ten years old, sloe-eyed, with long, black hair. Sarita, the chart at the end of the bed said her name was. Sue bent over the small form.
‘Hello. You’re Sarita, aren’t you? My name’s Sue. I think we’re going to be all right now. We’ll soon get you out of here.’
The girl muttered something Sue didn’t quite catch.
‘What? Something you want?’
‘Drink… please…’
On the bedside table was a glass and an empty water-jug, but she’d already spotted a sink at the far end of the room. She went over there to refill the jug. The water spluttered and coughed as it came out, but at first she gave it no thought. Old building, old plumbing – what was unusual about that?
It was only when she’d turned the tap off that she noticed an unexpected movement on the jug-rim. In her ski-jacket pocket she had the torch Angela had lent her. She switched it on to examine the jug more closely, then gasped in horror. Floating in the drinking water was a host of tiny medusae.
The jug fell from her hand, shattering in the sink.
Sue opened the cupboards, one after the other, but found nothing she could offer the poor kid. She had to get her out of this place.
The scene from the windows offered no hope whatsoever. That pale green light still hovered over the rippling flood-water. The wind was whipping the trees frenziedly, groaning like a throbbing engine. A slate slithered over the rooftop, then crashed to the ground only feet away. Sue saw the splash and hoped it had landed on a jellyfish.
‘Drink… drink…’
The little girl was hardly conscious of what she was saying. Her cheeks were unnaturally flushed; her eyes looked hot and dry. Sue wrapped her in a blanket, then picked her up while still trying to hold on to her spear, knowing that they’d never succeed in getting back to the hospital without it.
‘Sarita, we’re going to the big hospital now,’ Sue whispered, trying to comfort the girl. ‘We’ll be OK once we’re there.’
Sarita’s head rested against her shoulder; her breathing was noisy, and worrying. She gave no sign that she’d understood.
As they went past the dead nurse near the doorway, Sue noticed how the pieces of jellyfish she’d cut up were still turning and wriggling, refusing to die. It gave her the shivers even to look at them. Then, in that mystically-lit corridor with slimy floor, she was seized by a deep spasm of fear. She stood stock-still, unable to put one foot in front of the other.
It took several moments before she managed to regain control of herself sufficiently to carry on. She shifted the little girl in her arms, took a fresh grip on the spear, and walked very cautiously towards the door leading to the lobby.
She paused for a second with her hand on the latch, then tugged it open.
Jellyfish tumbled against her legs, sprawling over her feet. They must have been piled up against the door on the other side, just waiting for her to return.
With a cry of revulsion she backed away, hammering at them with the blunt end of her spear. There was no time even to turn it round and use the knife. They were pushing forward into the corridor, jerking along with that disgusting snail-like movement. In the lobby ahead of her so many crowded over the floor that there was hardly an inch of it left visible.
No other course was open to her but to retreat.
There must be some other way out, she thought desperately. She felt so helpless before their onslaught – and yet why? They covered the floor and flopped over her feet, but she still towered above them, didn’t she? She was still human, wasn’t she?
Bloody jellyfish, that’s all they were – slimy, smelly, repulsive jellyfish.
Oh, if only she could spray them with something poisonous. Dispose of them with a quick aerosol burst, like greenfly… or cockroaches…
Instead, she was going back along that corridor the way she had come, clutching the sick child close in her arms, relieved that at least she’d succeeded in ridding herself of those clinging to her gumboots.
They were following her. It was obvious they’d not be satisfied until they’d brought her down – and the child – to strip the flesh from her bones, just as they’d done to so many others.
But where could she hide?
Not in the ward, that was too easy; they’d be in there within seconds. The dead nurse would point the way for them. No, it had to be the other direction. The Bacteriology Department, whatever that was. A laboratory, probably. At least it had a door which closed, and they’d first have to climb the two or three steps leading to it.
She went up the steps herself: vinyl-covered, with a metal strip along each tread. They seemed so secure after the slime of the corridor. The top half of the door had a frosted glass panel, but it looked solid enough. She tried the handle.
Locked.
For some crazy reason she suspected there might be a key on the inside. Shifting Sarita on to her other arm, she took the fireman’s axe from her belt and smashed the glass to reach inside.
No key.
The first of the jellyfish had already reached the foot of those steps. Outside, the wind was roaring even more intolerably; it was as if some terrible dream were taking her over. Desperately, she inserted the axe-blade into the gap between the jamb and the door. With a splintering of timber she at last got it open.
Inside, she found the laboratory was sparsely furnished: benches against the walls, a couple of high stools, a desk with a chair or two, shelves of jars of all sizes, a sink and a large fridge. She trampled over the broken glass, looking for a place where she could put the child down. In the end, she cleared the desk with a sweep of her arm and laid Sarita on it, with a chair up against it to prevent her falling.
Dashing back to the door, she saw that jellyfish were already congregating at the foot of the steps, half a dozen of them at least. She slammed the door shut but the lock no longer held. In a wild panic, she stared around for something she could use to barricade herself in. A low cupboard! She dragged it across.
‘Drink…’
‘Yes, Sarita, yes! In a minute!’
The fridge proved to be a dead loss. It was filled with jars and test-tubes and little glass dishes, nothing she dare give a child to drink. Yet what about the people who worked there? Did they all take their tea and coffee black?
The roar from outside became more and more persistent until her head felt it would burst. She looked out. Above the nearby trees – or so it seemed – a large cigar-shaped object was hovering in the air. As she watched, so crazed by everything that had happened that she was convinced she must be on the threshold of insanity, a dark cloud of spawn appeared to issue from it, floating downwards.
Tim had chafed impatiently in his seat, wondering why the flight had to take so long.
Their route was over Lyme Bay, where absolutely nothing was to be seen other than the neutral sea. No ships. Lines of white foam showed up clearly over the stormy water. Broad dark patches triggered off images of shoal upon shoal of jellyfish heading for the coast.
It was a rough ride, too. The pilot warned they might not be able to land, nor even get in close enough for observation. Yet he knew he had to get down there somehow. For the soldiers on board, including Major Burton, this operation was no more than another job; for Tim, it was –
Oh, fuck! he swore to himself as he looked around that cramped cabin; the truth was, he’d rather die down there with Sue than carry on living without her.
Maybe none of them would survive, who could tell? By now the army had begun to realise the real size of the problem; for every hundred yards of territory regained they’d suffered one man dead or injured, and no one knew how long they’d be able to hold on.
He’d left Jocelyn back at the command post, invited to lunch by the general who’d made a point of stressing how much they needed her advice. She was an unwelcome guest no longer, but a specialist who might be able to suggest a way out of the mess.
‘OK, I’m going in low to take a look.’ The pilot’s laconic message floated over the intercom. ‘Hang on to your balls.’
They spotted the hospital right away, a holiday coach parked in front of it and an overturned lorry blocking the drive gates. No lights in the building, though a pale green shimmer covered the waterlogged grounds. But the wind was gusty; to be on the safe side, the pilot began to climb again.
‘Jellyfish all round the place,’ the major commented tersely. ‘No telling how deep that water might be.’
‘The ground’s higher near that clump of trees,’ Tim said.
‘Can’t imagine our pilot liking that idea. Not in this weather. I’ll go forward and have a word with him.’
For a time they circled over Totnes, but there was no sign of movement anywhere in the town. It had stopped raining but the sky was still overcast. In normal circumstances people would have switched on their lights. Instead, every street and alleyway gleamed pale green as if treated with luminous paint, making the whole place seem unreal. Insubstantial, even.
The major returned to his seat and once again the helicopter flew low over the hospital, this time making its circuit of the grounds from a different direction. A few yards away from the trees, not far from a small, steep-gabled building standing on its own, they hovered before cautiously going down lower to scout out the possibilities.
Again they regained height, returning to the town, and the major went forward for consultations.
‘We’re going in,’ he announced a minute or so later. ‘You’ve all got your orders. You know exactly what to do. The aim at this stage is to get into the hospital and stay there. Now remember, the ground is likely to be slippery. If you do fall, keep calm and get to your feet again as soon as you can. Right, sergeant – they can get themselves ready.’
For this operation, the major had decided that his men should wear anti-gas suits and respirators. They would be protected from head to toe, with not a single chink which jellyfish poison could penetrate. Tim was still dressed in the outfit they had laid out for him that morning in the general’s caravan, but beggars can’t be choosers, he thought. He fished the rubber face-mask out of his pocket and was about to put it on when the major stopped him.
‘Not you,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
They would not be landing, the major explained briefly. The helicopter would hover above the ground just long enough to drop the men who were trained for that sort of exercise; it wasn’t something they could expect a civilian to handle. Once they had achieved their objective and were inside the hospital, they would radio the helicopter with a report on the situation.
‘Then what?’
‘You fly to Exeter to refuel and the pilot will decide whether it’s feasible to airlift any survivors out.’
‘And that’s why I came here?’ Tim burst out angrily. ‘What about my wife?’
The major remained adamant. Until they were actually in the hospital he refused to commit himself one way or the other. Had the helicopter been able to land, that might have been a different matter; as things were, like it or not, Tim had to stay on board.
In disgust, Tim pushed the face-mask back into his pocket and sat slumped in his seat, broodily watching the men preparing to jump.
They flew in from the same direction and again hovered for a few seconds just beyond the clump of trees before beginning their descent. Despite the obvious power of those engines and the great turning blades, Tim was only too conscious that the slightest shift in the wind could send them all plunging to their deaths in that sea of jellyfish below.
The soldiers opened the door on the leeward side and two men took up positions there, spraying the ground below with sub-machine guns. Next, they hauled a heavy, close-meshed net over to the entrance and dropped it out in such a way that it spread like a dark cloud as it fell. Its purpose, he knew from what the major had said earlier, was to contain the jellyfish in the immediate area where the men would land, at least until they were properly on their feet. How effective it would be, no one could tell.
‘Go!’ the sergeant yelled, his voice muffled behind his respirator.
The major went first, followed by the others in rapid succession, each man swarming down a rope which reached to within a couple of feet of the ground. Once down there, they spread out ready for their sweep through the jellyfish to get to the hospital. Some now carried rifles, he saw, though two had flame throwers and some were still armed with garden hoes.
Tim pulled on his gloves. No way was he going to be left behind, he decided.
The last man went over the edge. With a wave to the pilot, the sergeant followed him.
‘Hang on! I’m going too!’ Tim bawled above the intolerable roar of the engines.
He paused only long enough to see the two startled faces peering back at him from the flight deck. In a couple of strides he’d reached the door. H swung his legs over the side, grasped the rope and a second later he was swinging freely in the wind, his arms feeling as though they were being dragged out of their sockets.
Hand over hand he went down, trying to grip the rope between his feet to steady himself but not always succeeding. The ground seemed one hell of a long way down – and down he had to go, for there was no chance he’d be able to climb back up into that cabin again, even if he’d wanted to. But then would he make it at all before the pilot found himself forced to regain height? Or before the helicopter crashed, with him directly beneath it?
Despite his gloves he felt his hands slipping on the rope, unable to hold on any longer. He glanced down – and there was the ground, no more than five or six feet below him. He could see the jellyfish wriggling beneath the net.
Tim landed on his hands and knees; unable to steady himself he rolled over, skidding across the slime. Miraculously, he managed to get to his feet, shaken but otherwise unhurt. Only his face was unprotected; without the net to restrain them, one of those tentacles might well have found him.
He looked around. A couple of soldiers glanced back and gesticulated towards him, but then went on, moving cautiously towards the hospital. They clearly had no intention of waiting for him. He was on his own, and with no means of defending himself. His hoe was still in the helicopter which was now soaring far above the trees.
Every step had to be taken slowly and carefully. Through the thick rubber of his waders he could feel jellyfish exploring his ankles. He needed a stick, a spade, anything…
Just beyond the trees, he remembered, was a small building standing on its own. He headed for it, hoping to find something suitable there before attempting the longer walk to the main hospital. The moment it came into sight, he spotted someone signalling urgently from one of the windows.
‘Sue!’
It was unmistakably Sue and she was waving a lighted torch, hoping to att
ract the soldiers’ attention. They couldn’t see her, that was obvious, from the direction they were facing; nor, inside those anti-gas suits, were they able to hear her calls.
‘Sue!’ he shouted at the top of his voice. ‘Sue! Hold on! I’m coming!’
Trying to hurry, he almost fell face down in the midst of a cluster of five jellyfish which had gathered hungrily in his path. He had to force himself to slow down again. Before each step he had to be quite certain the ground was firm under his foot.
‘Tim, don’t go round the front!’ she screamed. ‘Tim, they’re everywhere! In the corridor, coming up the stairs – oh, God! Oh, I’m glad you’re here!’
Beneath the window was a small lean-to shed; against the wall next to it were half a dozen plastic milk crates and – to his relief – a stoking shovel.
‘OK, I’m coming up through the window!’ he called back to her. ‘Sue – I love you! It’s going to be all right!’
A look of astonishment replaced the hysteria on her face. Then she laughed. ‘Oh, you are an idiot, Tim! What a time to say it! But I do love you too!’
Jellyfish were crowding around his feet, almost willing him to make a false move. He spotted one on the lean-to roof as well, but pushed it off the far side with his shovel. Clearing a space among those on the ground – slicing a couple in half for good measure – he arranged the milk crates against the side of the shed and climbed up.
The shed roof sagged alarmingly beneath his weight but somehow he managed to scramble over it. Sue grasped his arms to help him through the window.
‘Oh, Sue, thank God I found you!’
He took her in his arms, holding her close. His heart went out to her as he took in the smashed door held shut by a cupboard pushed up against it, the long knife strapped to the broom handle, its blade glowing green with jellyfish slime, and the sick child wrapped in a blanket on the desk. She must have been through hell, he thought, and it wasn’t over yet.
‘Tim – the window!’
She broke away from him and reached for the knife. Across the sill over which he had just come lay one of the most beautiful jellyfish he had yet seen. Its delicately-patterned red-and-pink body pulsated gently as though it were preening itself.