by Guy N Smith
The inhabitants of Sutton had overcome their fear with the coming of the army, and the terrors of the previous night were almost forgotten with the excitement of having a tank stationed in the car-park of The Bull. The sight of the heavy artillery, a crate of Mills bombs and a few .303 rifles soon restored their confidence. The beast from the marshes was as good as dead!
'I wouldn't be too sure,' said Tom Southgate, making the most of his popularity in his crowded bar. 'This ain't no ordinary beast. Armour-piercing shells won't make any difference to it. You mark my words. I fired half of a box of BB cartridges at it last night. Every one was on target, full in the face, from no more'n twenty yards, and it never even blinked!'
The evening wore on. Scant attention was paid to the portable television set until ten o'clock. Then as the news came on everybody surged forward. They gazed open-mouthed at the picture of the very pub in which they now stood and fell silent as the newscaster's voice came over the air.
'A strange beast is believed to be on the prowl on the marshes of the Wash in the area of Sutton village. Two killings, previously believed to have been the work of a homicidal maniac are now attributed to this creature from the deep. In the early hours of this morning several villagers opened fire from their bedroom windows on what appeared to be a lizard but having marked human features. The beast killed an Alsatian dog and then escaped apparently unhurt, surviving a number of point-blank shotgun blasts. An army defence post has now been set up in the village anticipating a return of this monster. Gerald Watson. News at Ten. Sutton, Lincolnshire.'
A buzz of conversation broke out again in the bar-room and Tom Southgate switched off the set This was great. The longer the creature delayed its reappearance, the better. He made a mental note to telephone the brewery in the morning to ask for an extra delivery of bitter. This business could go on for a very long time.
Soon after dark Gavin and Liz heard Professor Lowson go out. They had not spoken to him since their earlier defiant exchange, and the tension which had built up since seemed to ease with his departure.
'Why don't we follow him?' Liz asked as they heard his footsteps dying away.
'No point,' Gavin replied, pulling on a thick polo-necked sweater. 'He's got no more idea of where to find the Slime Beast than we have. If he had he'd either have got himself killed last night or else brought it in alive. I reckon our best bet is to hide up somewhere down by the big creek where it flows out into the mud-flats. That's where we saw the thing walk off into the sea, and it's as good a place to start as any.'
Carefully he unwrapped the flame-gun and made sure it was in working order. Then he fetched a can of paraffin from the hall and filled the container.
'Seems just the job,' he murmured. 'You know Liz, I'd feel much happier if you stopped here until I get back. If this thing doesn't work or doesn't keep the Slime Beast off...'
'Just suppose the Slime Beast comes here while you're down by the big creek,' she countered, 'and finds me all on my own.'
'You win,' he sighed. 'Maybe, though, we just ought to leave it all to the army... and the Professor.'
But she did not reply and five minutes later they pulled the door shut behind them and set off into the night Once again the moon was sufficiently full to bathe the saltings in its silvery glow and enable them to see their way with ease. There was no sign of any fog. Instead a fresh sea-breeze blew into their faces, the salt making their lips smart
'There's the big creek ahead,' Gavin pointed to a swirling muddy channel amid the thick spike-grass. 'On second thoughts we won't wait at the mouth. If the Slime Beast should emerge on the opposite bank we won't be able to get within range. As it is, if we take up a position further .back I can leap across where it narrows if necessary.'
'Seems a good idea,' she replied. 'Let's get settled in somewhere. I shall be glad when this night's over.'
Professor Lowson smiled to himself as he arrived at the mouth of the big creek. The small hollow on the near bank afforded shelter and cover as well as an ample view of the mud-flats in front of him. Carefully he unpacked his roll of strong netting, folding it neatly into a small square with the iron hooks resting on the top. He tested its weight with his right hand. Heavy but manoeuvrable. He lit his pipe and settled down to wait.
CHAPTER TEN
THE tide flowed. Paused. Ebbed. Seldom did it reach beyond the line of zos on Shep White's except during spring tides and in gales.
It was high tonight, coming almost within fifty yards of the old blockhouse, and creeping relentlessly. Only once had it ever been inside the concrete building, fifteen years previously when two visiting fowlers had disregarded their tide tables and camped there. Both had been drowned.
The salt residue sparkled in the moonlight as the water receded. Somewhere wild geese gaggled. Yet the saltings were not deserted altogether. In front of the sea-wall crouching behind the trunk of a dead tree which had been washed ashore during the summer a man waited. There was nothing about him to invite the interest of a passer-by. He was of average build and clean-shaven, no different from any of the other sensation-seekers who preferred to conduct their vigil within the confines of the village, secure in the knowledge that the army would protect them from the perils of the night. Every so often he gazed affectionately at the expensive camera and flash equipment which hung from his neck. It had cost him an awful lot of money. With luck it could earn him a great deal more.
Something moved. He heard it rather than saw it. Way out to his left where the reed-beds began. Perhaps it was a coypu or an otter. Maybe even a seal venturing far inland.
It was cold and he was bored. He thought again of his camera. Magazines paid well for nature pictures. Not as well as the leading dailies would pay for some of the Slime Beast but what was to stop him trying for both.
He rose to his feet, and choosing each step with care in an attempt to avoid noisily slurping in the patches of mud he headed towards the reeds. He could still hear it. 'Somewhere on the banks of the narrow channel it was wallowing in the sticky ooze. It probably was a coypu. He adjusted his flash attachment and entered the tall reeds. It was darker in here. More shadows. Difficult to see clearly. Blast! That was twice he had squelched in a patch of mire. Surely his quarry must be aware of his approach by now.
Silence. Perhaps it had gone, drifted to safety with the currents. He could see moonlight reflecting on water through the edge of this reed jungle. Another couple of yards and he would be in the open. His finger rested on the button of his camera. He would have to be quick.
He stepped into the open, but saw nothing, just moonlight, mud and a slow-moving current. The banks were empty, totally devoid of life. He gazed down at them in disappointment. Suddenly he noticed something. He stooped down for a closer look; footprints. Or was it the impression in the mud of some creature, possibly a coypu, which had hopped from one place to another leaving the indentations of its body to mark its progress. The prints were certainly large enough: a good twelve inches long by five across, yet they resembled claw marks, webbed claws, pointing in the direction from where he had come. A stagnant smell hung in the night air.
Realisation dawned upon him, but too late. There was a rustling and parting of rushes, a grunting and rasping of laboured breath, and a choking, foul odour. Slime covered scales, gaping jaws, fish-like eyes...
The man screamed. He might have run had not his feet sunk above the ankles into the sucking mud. Too late. His finger caught the button of his camera as the first slashing blow tore the flesh from his collar-bone.
A blinding eyeball-searing flash. The man felt the pain in his shoulder, and warmth of the blood welling up inside his tattered shut. He closed his eyes tightly hoping the next blow would be swift and painless. A quick end to it all.
He opened his eyes again. Something was wrong. He was still alive. The beast was nowhere to be seen. Only its odour remained, wafting on the breeze until it was replaced by the sweet-sour aroma of seaweed.
Eventually his ears pic
ked up a faint sound. Distant footsteps squelching and splashing across the salt-marshes, hurrying in fact, going towards the sea-wall. Perhaps the Slime Beast was not going to Sutton after all tonight. Or maybe it was just making a detour. The man forgot all about his camera lying there in the mud.
Tom Southgate would have been quite happy to have kept the bar of The Bull open until the morning. Nobody showed any inclination to retire to the rooms which they had booked for the night. Indeed he would have continued pulling pints until the first faint light appeared in the eastern sky had not the law poked its head round the door shortly after eleven o'clock.
"Ere, 'ere,' PC Thorpe tried to appear stern although his instincts told him to go home, change and then return to the flowing ale. 'This ain't New Year's Eve y'know Tom!'
'OK, OK,' Southgate began draping tea-towels over the bar-taps. 'Just closing anyway Joe.'
However it was twenty minutes before the bar was empty. Even those who had taken rooms upstairs did not mount the narrow wooden steps to the floor above. Instead they flocked out on to Main Street, Everybody in Sutton was on Main Street. One or two of the householders were selling tea and coffee from open windows. People laughed and joked. There was no hint of terror. Only curiosity. After all, the army would protect them!
"Aren't you coming to bed?' Marjorie Southgate wiped the last of the glasses and turned to her husband who had been looking out of the window for the last ten minutes.
'Wouldn't sleep if I did,' he replied without turning his head. 'Nobody'll sleep in Sutton tonight There ain't a soul who'd miss seein' this Slime Beast cop one of the big shells.'
"It probably won't turn up after all. Can't say I blame it with all that lot out there. It'd hear 'em a mile off. Well I'm going to bed. You can please yourself Tom Southgate whether you come or not!'
He grunted. His thoughts returned to the scene outside. Maybe those half-dozen boys in khaki would appreciate a crate of beer. Trouble was they wouldn't want to pay for it, so there was no point in taking them one.
He opened the door and stepped outside. It was warm, almost like summer, and too nice to stay indoors. He headed across the street to where the soldiers were grouped around the small tank. He noted that someone had already supplied them with beer.
'Could do with a job like this every week,' a corporal was telling some young girls who were hanging around. 'Gives a chap time to appreciate life. No fear of getting a sniper's bullet in the back every minute of the day. For me, this here beast can take its time. Keep showin' up just enough to keep the top-brass happy. After all we don't want to kill it too soon do we ?'
Peals of laughter. Southgate smiled. The Slime Beast was certainly doing everybody a big favour.
The slight breeze was blowing off the land. It made a pleasant change. Gave a man a whiff of the farms, of newly harvested potatoes and barley stubble.
Southgate paused. His nostrils twitched. It seemed like somebody's spuds were going rotten already. Or maybe it was the large pond beyond the village, stagnant after the dry spell, its surface covered with floating algae. Somehow the foul odour seemed familiar.
The laughter around the tank increased. Somebody brought some more beer. Then came the first scream. Loud and piercing embodying every vestige of human terror. It was one of the girls about a hundred yards inland from the tank. One of the young soldiers was with her. They had been enjoying themselves in the seclusion of a side alley... until they discovered that they were no longer alone.
The creature seemed to materialise out of the shadows. They might have smelled it first had their attention not been diverted elsewhere. The apparent slowness of the Slime Beast was deceptive. Its scaly webbed claw flashed up and down in one blur of shivering moonlight The talons touched flesh, closed and then pulled. The girl's left breast came away in one piece trailing bloody roots and exposing a pumping gushing heart in a gaping hole.
The soldier's reactions were hindered by the fact that his trousers and pants were around his ankles. His hand, reached for the .303 propped up against the wall but he never made it. The beast's other claw flashed down scraping the young man's thighs as it did so. Once again it grasped flesh, and gave another tug. There was more screaming, more spurting of blood, and the soldier sank down on top of the dead girl's body, his own life's fluid mingling with hers. The most pleasurable act available to mankind had ended in death for both of them.
'What is it? What's up?' The tall sergeant fought against the drink which was beginning to dull his brain and pushed the two girls away from the tank. "There's something going on up the other end of the street Come on you chaps. Rifles at the ready!'
Five khaki-camouflaged figures advanced commando-style, yet somehow they lacked professionalism. The surroundings did not blend with the school which had taught them. The relaxed atmosphere beforehand had dulled their appetite for action, and the beer had clouded their thinking. Their foe was unreal. Had not the CO in Lincoln joked and told them that their main enemy was the superstition of a bunch of east coast peasants? This was not war.
Then they saw it! Lurking in the shadows. Crouched, watching, waiting, but not afraid.
The sergeant missed with his first shot. Splinters of brick flew from the cottage wall above the Slime Beast's head, and the slug whined harmlessly, viciously into the air. The creature turned, moving out from the shadows. Now they could all see it clearly. Its slit-like mouth was open, steadily chewing and slobbering the human flesh. Blood trickled down the hideous countenance. It gulped, swallowed, and then it roared, bellowing with anger and frustration at the continual harassing by those who sought only to fire leaden missiles at it.
The sergeant's finger was tightening on the trigger for the second time. He paused. The noise seemed to have a paralysing affect on his brain. It was as though his whole body jarred and vibrated. His skin crawled. Everybody else stopped too. It was the first time they had heard the Slime Beast give full vent to its vocal chords. The previous raspings and gruntings were like sweet melodies by comparison.
The sergeant forced himself into action. He pressed the trigger and held it back. The stabbing flashes of flame from the barrel of the automatic weapon were virtually constant. The others were firing too. Yelling 'Give it to the bastard!' They were scared. They had to boost their confidence to stop themselves from running.
The Slime Beast just stood there. Bullet after bullet was on target. Jets of thick foul slime marked (he place where each slug had struck, like pebbles thrown into a pond.
It just stood there.
'Keep at it!' the sergeant shouted There was a lull as trembling fingers fitted fresh magazines into the rifles. 'Keep firing! Mow it down. It can't take much more. Corporal get the tank round. Blow it to hell! '
The corporal turned and ran back down the street glad to be away from it for a few minutes. The watching crowd had swelled. Every upstairs window seemed to be full of watching white faces.
There was another burst of firing, and gunfire from the cottage windows too. Everybody was determined to throw some lead at this thing from the deep.
Street and houses trembled as the tank lumbered under way, sweeping round in a wide arc and heading back up the road. The corporal manipulated the searchlight. God! The creature was more terrible than ever in the circle of white light. Every detail was exposed. Slugs were still pouring into it. Puffs of grey vapour marked where each one had struck. The stench was vile.
The sergeant was moving his men well dear, at the same time shouting for the crowds to get back.
'Keep well away,' he yelled. 'Give us a chance to get the big gun on it. Blow its guts out, corporal. Give it the lot. Straight hi the belly!'
The soldier in the tank was swinging the big gun round. Then suddenly the arc of white light was empty. The Slime Beast had moved back into the shadows. Another burst of rifle fire rang out, wild and erratic this time. Windows smashed. People were screaming. The watching crowd panicked. Some ran back towards the wharf. Others pounded frantically with then
' fists on locked doors.
'Hold your fire!' the sergeant yelled, not wanting half a dozen deaths to answer for. 'Keep the searchlight on it corporal!'
This was easier said than done. The Slime Beast suddenly seemed to have become gifted with cunning. No longer was it just a horrific foe relying on brute strength and fear. It clambered over the brick wall which bordered the front gardens of the terraced cottages. Now it was on all-fours, the searchlight revealing only occasional glimpses of its back as it smashed through the flimsy wooden fences separating one patch of lawn and rose bushes from the next
'Keep following it!' The four infantrymen piled on to the rumbling tank as they endeavoured to keep abreast of it Somebody leaned out of an upper-storey window and discharged both barrels of a twelve-bore at no more than five yards range. He might as well have thrown a bucket of water for all the difference it made.
The sergeant was tempted to radio for reinforcements. More men and more powerful weapons would soon put paid to it. He hesitated and changed his mind. That wasn't the way to quick promotion.
Then they lost their quarry. Somewhere it discovered an alleyway, a temporary escape route to the rear of the buildings.
The corporal brought the tank to a standstill and switched off the engine. Silence. Even the screaming stopped. 'It's bloody well disappeared sarge!'
'Keep the searchlight on the street. It can't hide for ever.'
Tom Southgate had been watching from the window in the bar. He could not see much but he did not want to go out and leave The Bull empty except for Marjorie upstairs. It wasn't the Slime Beast so much that he was worried about. Rather it was the crowd outside. A good many of them had had far too much to drink already. A locked door would not halt their .search for more.
But the firing had stopped now. People were running in the direction of the wharf and screaming. Well at least they wouldn't be thinking of beer for a while. Everywhere was quiet, too quiet. Suddenly he heard a faint movement. Somebody was in the cellar.