by Guy N Smith
The going seemed even heavier than on the previous day as the party trudged across the soft saltings. Only Professor Lowson seemed tireless, as though some invisible force was driving him on. Time and time again Gavin had to quicken his own pace and help Liz along in order to keep up with him.
It was shortly after ten o'clock when they saw their excavations of the previous day a hundred yards or so ahead.
'Well, there she is!' Lowson shouted.
Liz halted. She felt a desire to run. Anywhere. Just to get away from this dreadful place and the horrors which it held. Gavin turned to her.
'Perhaps you'd better stop here,' he said. 'Sit down in the sun for an hour or two. I'll go on ahead with the Professor.'
She shook her head.
'No.' She forced a smile. 'I've come this far and I'll not leave you now. I'd sooner stick with you.'
They caught up with Lowson. The pile of mud still stood on the spike-grass like a miniature pyramid. Beyond it lay...
The smell of seaweed was strong in the air today, and Gavin breathed deeply until a sudden thought struck him. They shouldn't have been able to smell it. Instead this pleasant tangy aroma should have been nullified by the putrifying stench which would cause them to retch and vomit.
The air was fresh and sweet.
Gavin joined the Professor on the brink of the pit Liz hesitated and stood back a yard or so. They looked down.
Thick black oozing mud. A couple of inches of water which had failed to seep away. Apart from that... nothing!
'My God!' Lowson sank to his hands and knees and continued to peer into the empty hole. Here and there were faint traces of the greyish-green slime, disappearing fast. Nothing else.
'It's gone.' Gavin's expression was tense and strained. The Slime Beast has gone! '
'Well,' Gavin turned to Lowson, an expression of triumph on his face, Tm calling the tune now. Prof. I've given you your chance. Now there's only one course left open to us. There's a dangerous beast on the rampage. It's already killed once. The chances are it'll kill again unless something is done. I'm going right back to Sutton to inform Chief Inspector Harborne and then to telephone my colleagues at the British Museum.'
Professor Lowson looked at him for some seconds and then burst into peals of laughter. His mirth was uncontrollable, insane almost Bent double he cackled until a coughing fit finally turned his complexion a deep scarlet, then finally he spoke.
'You poor, poor fool!' His words lashed at Gavin with a venom which hitherto the young man had not suspected from this eccentric old man. 'Are you out of your mind? Even the police, who half suggested some horrific creature, will not believe you. They are seeking a homicidal maniac. Where is your proof? This slime melts into nothingness after a time. See, only traces remain hi this pit. In an hour they will be gone. Just because you claim to have seen this ... this Slime Beast as you call it You and Liz.. .'
'And you I' snapped Gavin angrily.
'Me?' The other was indignant. 'Me! I shall deny all knowledge of it Pure fantasy on the part of two very highly-strung imaginative people. You fool. Do you think I'm going to let a chance like this slip through my fingers?
The greatest scientific discovery of all time. Almost within my grasp! Do you think I'm going to step down so that others can take the credit?'
It was Gavin Royle's turn to laugh.
'You're the fool.' he retorted. 'You're the one who's living on fantasies. The Slime Beast has gone, man. It's on the rampage. You'll never get a chance to study it.'
'Oh no?' Lowson was more rational, scheming. 'I intend to find it, my friend. If I have to search the whole of this earth. I'll find it, somewhere. Furthermore, you two are going to help me. Go to the police and I'll have you put hi an asylum! You forget one thing. I am Professor John Lowson the greatest archaeologist in Britain, maybe the world. You two are nothing. A couple of kids helping me. Do you think your story would be believed against mine?'
'You might be one of the greatest archaeologists alive today,' Gavin snarled, 'but you're also a selfish scheming bastard! OK, so you hold the trumps. It can't do much without proof, I'll admit. Furthermore I'll help you locate the Slime Beast. But ... when, and if, we find it, don't rely upon either of us to go along with your schemes. I want to find it to safeguard mankind. For no other reason. If I can find a way to destroy it I will.'
They looked at each other in silence for some moments. Then Lowson nodded.
'On those terms then,' he leered, 'we are united. We are doing no good here obviously so the sooner we start back the better.'
CHAPTER FIVE
GAVIN and Liz ate their supper in silence. Professor Low-son had shut himself away, once they arrived back at the blockhouse. He had not emerged since.
'Do you really think we shall see the Slime Beast again?' Liz asked as she began clearing the table.
Gavin shook his head.
'I wouldn't like to say,' he murmured. 'I wonder just where it's hiding out. After all there isn't a lot of cover on these salt marshes and mud-flats. It's either got to submerge itself hi the mud or be seen. Tomorrow we shall spend the day tramping up and down hoping to spot where it might have buried itself, but it's going to be hard work. Perhaps you'd better take the Land Rover into Spalding and spend the day there.'
'Not a chance.' Her mind was made up. 'Where you go, I go. No arguments.'
Gavin did his best to improve the security of the door before they retired for the night. Not that it would keep the Slime Beast out—just hinder it. Make a noise. He also saw that he had an ample supply of newspapers and a box of matches at hand.
'Anyway,' a sudden thought struck Liz as she pulled off her blouse and began unfastening her bra. 'Just supposing we do find the Slime Beast. What do we do? I mean we haven't got any weapons of any sort have we?'
'No.' Gavin smiled. "But if our theory is correct it sleeps by day. If we can locate its hiding place I'm going to telephone the police straight away, no matter what your uncle says. We'll get the army in to deal with it then. Of course that'll be the end of my association with the Professor but I can't help that'
Liz shook her head.
'Once he gets an idea in his head there's no shifting it. He never forgives and he never forgets.' She stood there, naked to the waist, blushing with pleasure as his admiring gaze centred on her breasts and remained there. He stepped close, kissed her and fondled her. His fingers began searching for the fastenings on her faded jeans. Slowly he began to slide them down.
Crash! They both recoiled in alarm as something heavy struck the outside of the boards which covered the narrow slitted window.
'What the hell!' Gavin pushed Liz to one side. With trembling fingers she pulled her trousers up again.
'Is it... is it the Slime Beast?' her voice shook.
'If it is,' he replied, 'he's changed his tactics. That was a stone thrown by somebody with a very good aim. I'll just move the boardings a little and take a look. Keep those matches and newspapers handy. Just in case!'
Gavin pulled one of the narrow slats of wood to one side thus giving him a much restricted view of (he moonlit saltings outside. Even the Slime Beast would be unable to get more than a scaly webbed claw inside.
At first all he could make out was an area of spartina grass shimmering in the silvery moonlight. All was still save for the lonely warbling of a curlew. Then several beams of light stabbed viciously out of the semi-darkness. Searing at his eyeballs. Blinding. Something struck the concrete only niches away from his head and rebounded.
Voices—clamouring, angry, vicious.
'Come on out you bastards!'
'You've caused one death here. The next will be yours.'
'Grab 'em. Throw 'em in the quicksands!'
Gavin could make out moving forms. He counted three, but there were probably a dozen, all surrounding the blockhouse, bathing it in the beams from their torches.
'What is it?' Liz was at his side. He pushed her away from the window.
'G
et down,' he hissed. 'It would appear the locals are resorting to mob-law!'
They heard a splintering sound. Someone was using an axe on the door.
Suddenly Professor Lowson appeared in the doorway, and from his appearance it was obvious that the noise had just awakened him.
'There's a crowd of people outside,' he snarled, 'shouting and throwing stones.'
Gavin turned on him. 'They're going to throw us in the quicksands Prof. You'd better do some fast thinking because right now I've run out of ideas.'
'I'll talk to them. Explain, reason with them.'
'You're crazy!' Gavin's only thought was for Liz's safety. 'They're not going to reason with anybody. They're scared to hell. Superstition is ruling their actions and they think our deaths will ensure that nobody else gets killed. It's like being back in the Middle Ages!'
Hastily Gavin began sorting out some wooden stakes from a pile in the corner. Most of them were rotten. Months ago some fisherman had probably used them for staking out his nets, left them in here for safety, and then forgotten all about them. Anyway they were better than nothing. If used properly they might crack a skull or two before snapping.
Gavin grimaced. Outnumbered as they were they would sell their lives dearly. He slipped an arm round Liz's waist and kissed her, trying to sound confident and reassuring.
'They're only a bunch of ignorant peasants.'
That was true enough; ignorant, but very dangerous.
The man with the axe had almost broken through. His companions surged to help him, ripping away the broken wood with their bare hands.
'Give us the girl before you throw her in,' a couple of the younger ones shouted. 'Don't waste her. Screw her first!'
With a crash the remains of the door fell inwards. Men clustered around it, half afraid of that which they might find inside. Gavin barred the corridor, his improvised club held firmly in his right hand.
'Come on then,' he taunted them, 'who's first for a cracked skull?'
The leader of the mob looked at the short axe which he held. It seemed to give him confidence. He stepped forward. It was the lead which the others sought and as one they surged in his wake.
Gavin braced himself. This was it, and it wouldn't last for long.
Then explosions reverberated along the corridor and into the three tiny compartments, echoing and re-echoing with increasing volume. The rush halted almost before it had begun. Someone was screaming. It was one of the youths who had already pulled down his zip and exposed himself in eager anticipation. He fell to the ground clutching at his legs. Blood was already seeping through his trousers.
'I've been shot!' he yelled. 'Somebody do something.'
But there was only silence. Nobody moved. Mouths gaped open, hi surprise, shock and horror.
Another violent, ear-splitting report came from outside. Closer this time. Something struck the roof of the blockhouse like a jet-powered hailstorm and chipped the concrete.
'All right, all right, that'll do. Hold it right there. The first one of you bastards to move gets it right hi the guts!'
The voice was vaguely familiar. Gavin recognised it A slow fenland drawl suddenly whipped into a spasm of fury that was Glover—Mallard Glover, the hermit wildfowler!
'Come on then. Back to your homes, all of you, you drunken sods. Carry that lout, he isn't hurt all that bad. One of you can dig the pellets out of his legs with a penknife when you get back.'
Slowly the men moved to obey. Two of them hoisted the wounded youth to his feet and supported him between them. Sullenly, dejectedly, they sloped off back towards the sea-wall.
Gavin stepped outside. Glover was standing about ten yards away, his long-barrelled shotgun cradled under his arm. His face was hidden in shadow. He did not speak.
Gavin made a move towards him, but stopped suddenly. The twin barrels of the gun were focused on his stomach.
'Don't jump your luck,' Glover grated. 'You can see how things stand now. Anyway they won't be back tonight, nor tomorrow if I know them, the yeller bastards.'
'Thanks.' Gavin was puzzled. 'You saved our lives. I don't know how to...'
'You needn't bother,' the fowler snapped. 'I didn't do it for you anyway. Now I'll be moving along. Just try and forget that tonight ever happened. No good can come of stirring things up.'
Professor Lowson and Liz joined Gavin outside. In silence they stood and watched as Mallard Glover set off across the saltings, heading seawards. Obviously he was still intent on a night's sport under the full moon in spite of the recent happenings.
'Well,' Gavin sighed and shook his head. 'If he hadn't turned up I don't think we'd be standing here now. He saved our lives. But why? Two nights ago he was warning us off, and got a punch on the jaw for his trouble. He doesn't want us here and that mob would have solved his problem for him. Yet he horns in and breaks the party up, risking his own life in the bargain. It just doesn't add up.'
'Maybe he's just got a kind heart underneath a rough exterior.'
'Not him, Liz. He wouldn't do anything without a reason, and I'd give the helluva lot to know what's behind all this.'
They went back inside.
'It's barely midnight!' Professor Lowson looked at his watch. 'Another seven hours till daylight and we haven't even got an excuse for a front door.'
'We'll have to take it in turns to keep watch. Those villagers won't come back but the Slime Beast might. It's between you and me, Professor. You take the first three hours, I'll take the last four, and don't doze off; you might not wake up!'
Gavin and Liz retired separately. With Professor Low-son on the prowl they would not be able to sleep together.
Dawn broke cold and dull. A sea-mist shrouded the salt-marshes. Visibility was reduced to twenty yards.
The archaeologists slept late. There was no point hi making an early start. They could have passed within yards of the Slime Beast's daytime refuge and not even be aware of it They could have become lost, wandered seawards and fallen victims to a ruthless incoming tide. Most of all though they needed sleep and only with the coming of daylight were they assured of safety.
It was noon before they set out. A breeze had sprung up and the fog had disappeared in a very short tune, so that weak sunlight flooded the saltings.
'Walk in a straight line,' Professor Lowson ordered, 'no 48
more than twenty yards apart, and keep your eyes peeled. It's a big area. Look in every creek. Move slowly.'
They set off. The going was heavy but the coolness was a relief. The hours went by, and they kept searching, but there was nothing, nothing but an expanse of grass and mud.
They arrived back at the blockhouse at 5.30 pm. They could have stayed out another hour but the door had to be repaired before nightfall.
They were silent as Liz served the evening meal.
The Professor was dejected; he had not envisaged failure.
Gavin was angry; an organised party armed with the necessary weapons should have been searching for the Slime Beast.
Liz was frightened; another night of fear lay in front of them—the villagers, the monster; darkness brought it all back to her.
After they had washed up she and Gavin sat talking. Lowson resumed his lengthy sessions with his books and papers. They did not put the radio on, much as they would have welcomed it, for it could well serve as a cover for other sounds. It was a matter of life and death.
'How much longer are we staying on here?' Liz threw the paper she had been reading into the corner. 'It's getting me down. We haven't seen a sign of the Slime Beast today and we've walked miles. It just seems to have vanished, and Uncle appears to have forgotten all about the treasure, which is what we came here for in the first place. We can't sleep properly at night for fear that that monster will show up or else a bunch of superstitious villagers will try and throw us in the quicksands. I can't stand much more Gavin.'
Gavin pulled her on to his knee and kissed the nape of her neck.
'Don't worry, love,' he murmured
. 'Well give it one more day. Then, if there's no sign of the beast, you and I'll go back to London. If the Professor chooses to stay on here by himself then that's his business.'
She leaned back on him. 'Thanks. I shall be glad to get away from here. So long as we're together.'
For the next half hour not a word was spoken between them. There was no need. Their hands explored each other's bodies without any hint of embarrassment. Gavin let her do what he wanted her to do, his breath coming faster and faster until finally his whole frame shook with the release of his tension.
Afterwards they just lay there partially clothed forgetting for a time the horror which surrounded them.
'There's somebody coming!' Gavin struggled to his knees, pulling his trousers up as he did so.
Liz paled. They both listened. Footsteps, hurried, panic-stricken, coming from the seaward side of the marsh. Squelching and splashing, stumbling, laboured breathing then a violent pounding on the newly repaired door.
'Who ... who can it be?' Liz breathed. 'God, never a night passes in this place without somebody brings trouble.
'Well it certainly isn't the Slime Beast,' Gavin replied. 'Nor the villagers for that matter. Whoever it is, is badly scared of something. I'd better go see.'
'Don't. Please don't!' Liz caught hold of his arm. 'Every time somebody calls here it means trouble and terror. Don't open the door Gavin, Perhaps they'll just go away.'
Footsteps in the corridor heralded the approach of Professor Lowson. They saw him pass and then heard him tugging at the door. They moved to where they could watch fascinated, irresistibly drawn by the prospect of some fresh horror.
'Let me in! For God's sake, help me.' Clenched fists hammered on the woodwork even as the Professor tugged it back, then a man squeezed himself through the narrow opening. 'Shut it. Bolt it. Quick man or it'll get us all!'
'Glover!' Gavin exclaimed aloud. 'Mallard Glover.'