Scorpion [Scorpions 01]

by Michael R. Linaker

  He eased open the door and shuffled in, closing it behind him. He took off his overcoat and went to hang it behind the door. He paused - the coats belonging to Ed and Sam were still there.

  Frowning, Moss turned and moved along the floor. His eyes were still a little watery from the cold outside. He rubbed them with his hands. And saw much better…

  He saw what was left of Ed and Sam. They were sprawled on the bakery floor, their bodies red with blood, the swollen flesh all dark and torn. Sam’s face was turned in Moss’s direction and the old man could see that his eyes had been chewed out of their sockets. His tongue protruded from his gaping mouth, black and distorted.

  ‘Oh, my God!’ Moss heard himself moan. He felt himself sway, a sick feeling rising in his stomach. He put out a hand to support himself, leaning against the long table that took up the centre of the room. Almost immediately something touched his hand. Moss glanced down and saw the biggest insect he’d ever set eyes on poised directly by his hand. Moss had a blurred impression of a dark tail curving up over the thing’s back, and then a terrible pain engulfed his hand; it felt as if it was on fire. He jerked his hand back with a start, staggering. His heart began to pound and a nauseating sickness filled his stomach, rising in his throat. He felt cold and hot at the same time. His legs buckled and he crashed to the floor. He struck the hard flagstones with the back of his head and the impact made him cry out. He felt warm blood running down his neck. The bakery began to blur around him, and just before the blackness engulfed him he thought he saw more of the insects scuttling towards him across the floor. He couldn’t be sure because he was finding it hard to breathe and he began to choke… there was an odd smell filling his nostrils, and he realized it was the bread burning in the ovens… the numbness increased and he couldn’t feel any more pain… he found it easier to just drift… no use fighting it…

  ***

  ‘Come on, Sandy, you’ll be late!’

  The voice penetrated Sandy Lord’s warm cocoon and she stirred with a low groan. She wished the voice would go away - but at the same time she knew she was going to have to get up. She turned on her side and opened one eye, peering at the daylight edging through her bedroom curtains. She sighed, took a deep breath, and rolled the blankets aside. She swung her long legs out of bed and stood up, stretching. Opening the bedroom door she shouted down to her mother.

  ‘Be down in twenty minutes, Mum. I’m just going to pop in the bath.’

  ‘See it is twenty minutes,’ her mother called back, then turned up the radio so she could listen to her favorite early morning program.

  Sandy padded across the landing and went into the bathroom. She put in the plug and turned on the taps. While the bath filled she went back to her room and laid out the clothes she was going to wear for work. That done she returned to the bathroom and closed the door. Slipping off her nightdress she caught sight of herself in the mirror over the washbasin. A faint flush of color rose in her smooth cheeks as she spotted the dark-red mark on the white flesh of her left breast, just above the softly jutting pink nipple. Seeing it brought back the memory of the date she’d had the night before, with a boy out of her office. They’d gone to see a film and afterwards he’d taken her for a drive in his car. Things had gone a lot further than Sandy had anticipated, but she hadn’t complained - well, no more than was expected. She smiled when she recalled John’s surprise when she’d allowed him to take off her sweater, revealing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. His surprise hadn’t lasted all that long and it hadn’t done a thing to upset his performance, or his roving lips, which had seemed permanently drawn to the silky fullness of her breasts.

  She turned to the bath and tested the water. A little more hot, she thought. Humming softly she crossed the bathroom and opened the door of the airing cupboard to get a clean towel. A warm rush of air drifted out from around the hot-water storage tank. Sandy saw that the towels were at the bottom of a pile of clothing. She placed one hand on top of the pile to support it, while thrusting the other beneath the towel to pull it out.

  Excruciating pain shot up her arm as something snapped viciously at her hand, biting deep into the flesh. Sandy screamed and jerked her hand out from the pile of clothing, scattering it across the bathroom. As her hand withdrew from the cupboard, bright beads of blood sprayed into her face and dappled her breasts. Sandy saw a dark, wriggling object clinging to her hand. She held it up in front of her face, screaming in sheer terror. The object, arching its dark body with ease, drove the tip of its tail deep into her hand. Venom raced through Sandy’s body; she began to grow dizzy in seconds. Swaying across the bathroom the back of her legs nudged the edge of the bath and she overbalanced. She fell back into the hot water just as her mother burst into the bathroom. Water sprayed across the room. Her mother rushed to the side of the bath, took one look at her dead daughter’s blackening face and passed out on the bathroom floor.

  The scorpion, which had dropped from Sandy’s hand before she fell into the bath, crawled slowly across the tiles. It skirted the unconscious woman and made its way out on to the landing. Its sensors had picked up heat rising from the floor below. The heat was coming from the kitchen. Sandy’s mother had left a frying pan on the cooker when she had rushed upstairs. The hot fat had ignited and the flames had already reached the kitchen curtains. Burning fabric dropped to the floor and set the carpet alight…

  ***

  ‘I’ve arranged a press and media conference for later this morning,’ Camperly said as Allan walked into his office that morning. ‘Before any misleading reports are fed to the public I want to give them the straight facts. I’ll insist that nothing is released until we give the word.’

  Allan couldn’t have cared less about Camperly and his image. He tossed a pile of 10 x 8 blowups of the giant scorpions on to Camperly’s desk.

  ‘Make sure you tell them how a man died because of those things,’ he said.

  Camperly’s face paled as he studied the photographs. ‘Those are the things you found?’

  ‘Pity you weren’t there,’ Allan snapped.

  Camperly’s face tightened. ‘I didn’t hear about the operation until it was over.’ His voice was testy, becoming almost petulant. ‘I’ve been busy at this end. One of the people at the plant had the presence of mind to catch one of the scorpions alive. Unfortunately it didn’t do Meacham or that other chap any good - but at least we have a source of venom now.’

  ‘You’d better read this then,’ Allan said, handing Camperly a sheaf of typed papers; it was a detailed report on Miles Ranleigh’s findings. ‘You’ll see that the toxic content of the venom is likely to vary from insect to insect. The mutations are still developing so we can’t expect a constant venom - not yet.’

  ‘In that case we’re going to need a cross-section of scorpions so we can build up a comparative toxin value.’

  ‘That won’t be easy,’ Allan protested. ‘The damn things have gone to ground again. Until they start to show… ‘

  Camperly’s phone rang. He snatched it up, listening intently, then wrote something on a pad.

  ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting the paper at Allan. ‘They’ve started showing in town! Three men were found dead in a local bakery. And a teenage girl in her home - discovered after a fire in the place.’

  Camperly leaned back in his seat. ‘Hadn’t you better be going, Allan? Your friend Inspector Duncan is yelling blue murder because you aren’t there to advise him!’

  ***

  Duncan wasn’t exactly yelling - but he was worried.

  ‘What the hell can we do, Allan?’ He indicated a map of Long Point pinned to the wall of his office. ‘It’s not large as towns go but we could easily end up with mass panic on our hands.’

  ‘If we assume that the majority of scorpions have reached town and gone to ground I can’t see an easy way out. As long as the public carries on normally then there are going to be incidents. There isn’t any way we can avoid that. The alternative is to evacuate the town completely
.’

  ‘That’s been on my mind ever since those first reports came in.’ Duncan glanced at the map again. ‘Even if we decide to evacuate there’s no guarantee a major incident won’t occur. If that happens before we can take control and organize a calm exodus… I don’t think I need to elaborate!’

  ***

  ‘Gawd, I’ll be glad when it’s lunchtime!’ Lana Greenwood said.

  Her friend Josie, who worked the checkout next to Lana’s, shrugged.

  ‘It’s just one of those days,’ she said. ‘Everybody comes shopping at once.’

  Lana sighed and turned her attention to the grim-faced, stout woman who was pushing a loaded trolley to the checkout.

  ‘This trolley doesn’t run properly,’ the woman complained. ‘One of the wheels isn’t going round!’

  ‘Tell the manager, love,’ Lana said, not even bothering to look up from checking out the goods in the offending trolley. ‘Not my department.’

  The woman scowled at her. ‘Are you being funny?’ the woman asked.

  Lana glanced at her, face expressionless. ‘No, madam, just doing my job.’

  ‘This place is losing its touch,’ the woman grumbled. ‘You’re all the same. Couldn’t care less.’

  Oh, shut your face, Lana thought. She checked out the woman’s goods in record time, took her money, and saw her leave the supermarket. Lana glanced at her watch. It was only ten; another two-and-a-half hours to go before lunch! She squirmed uncomfortably on her seat. Sweat trickled down her back, soaking through her thin blouse.

  ‘Is it me or is this place like a bloody hothouse?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s Baxter and his flaming heating system,’ Josie said. ‘Just because it’s been a bit nippy he’s turned the thing up full.’

  ‘Bloody twit!’ Lana muttered. ‘Where is the little creep?’

  Josie giggled. ‘Where do you think? Him and that new girl - the one who come here straight from school last month - they’re… well, you know!’

  ‘Never!’ Lana grinned. ‘Baxter? He’s old enough to be her dad!’

  ‘That doesn’t seem to bother her.’

  ‘How’ve I missed that?’

  ‘Search me. But you see for yourself. She’ll be coming out of the stockroom looking like the cat that got the cream. And old Baxter will follow after about five minutes. Face as red as a beetroot and puffing like an asthmatic camel.’

  Lana glanced down the length of the supermarket towards the stockroom door. The trouble was that the milling customers were blocking off her view.

  ‘Why couldn’t they have waited for a slack day?’ she muttered.

  ‘Baxter knows when to take his chance.’

  Lana switched off her till and slipped out of her checkout box.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Josie asked.

  ‘Ladies’ room,’ Lana chuckled.

  Josie smiled. ‘Have a look for me,’ she called.

  Lana walked along the nearest row of filled shelves, threading her way past the trollies and the meandering customers. She was halfway down the length of the row when a woman screamed. It was a terrified scream, and it sent a cold shiver down Lana’s spine. Heads were turning to see what was wrong. The woman was still screaming, and almost as if a signal had been sounded other women joined in. They began to scatter, run, abandoning loaded trollies, dropping wire baskets in their haste. Above the bobbing heads an arm was raised, a gloved finger pointing towards the ceiling. Curious, Lana looked up and saw one of the grilles of the heating system sagging open. A black object dropped from the darkness above the grille. It landed on a woman’s shoulder. The woman shrieked insanely, trying to brush the thing away. Lana glanced up again and saw that more black things were dropping from the heating vent, slowly at first, then faster, as more and more of them fell. It was like a veritable shower, an unceasing stream of black objects. Half-curious, half-afraid, Lana stood her ground, wanting to see what was causing all the chaos. The shoppers fled in all directions. There was no order, no discipline; just a blind running. Lana stepped aside as one woman dashed past her; in doing so she collided with another. The impact slammed Lana to the floor. She lay dazed, her confused mind still trying to fathom out what was wrong. A foot came down on her outstretched hand. Lana gasped and snatched her hand in against her body. She tried to get up but got in the way of another woman who tripped over her. The woman slithered across the polished floor. She was screaming at the top of her voice, legs kicking wildly, hands snatching at some dark object clinging to her hair. Lana saw red on the woman’s hands… God, it looked like blood!

  The whole supermarket echoed to the shrill screams, the terrified pleas for help. Hysterical women fled down the rows, all with the same intention. To get outside. They ran…

  … and the scorpions went with them. Clinging to hair, to clothes, to flesh itself. They scuttled across the shiny floor, converging upon the dazed figures knocked over in the general stampede. They crawled swiftly up exposed legs, shredding thin nylon to get at the flesh beneath. Cruel stings dug into shuddering bodies; sharp pincers clawed the warm, living flesh. Bright blood began to flow; it streaked arms and legs, dappled clothing, pooled on the gleaming floor of the supermarket.

  Sobbing women, some dragging screaming children, battered their way through the checkouts, sweeping aside any assistant who got in their way. As they ran they tore at the squirming insects that had attached themselves to their bodies, wriggling and squirming inside their clothing. They shrieked in horror as featherlike legs scurried across their cringing flesh. Many failed to reach the front of the store. Scorpion venom brought a sudden, brutal end to their flight, and they fell to the floor, writhing and twitching in agony, bodies contorting as they were driven to a swift and painful death.

  The fleeing women jammed the doors, fighting each other as they tried desperately to get through. As the first few burst out the weight of those behind caught up with them. One elderly woman fell to her knees and was promptly pushed to the ground. Her scream of terror was lost in the general din as more women pushed their way through the door. The woman vanished from sight, her body trampled, bones broken and flesh split.

  If panic had not been the driving force behind the general stampede the women would have been able to leave the store without too much trouble. But their minds were filled with the horror of the scorpions. Sense and reason had no place in their thinking…

  Those at the rear of the crowd, pushing, screaming, thrashing wildly at the scorpions invading their bodies, added their weight to the already considerable bulk of gathered humanity. The doorways were blocked solidly. There was no outlet for the forward pressure there so it began to seek a fresh direction. The women pressed against the store’s huge plate-glass windows felt the weight of the crowd transfer to them. At first the glass held, but as the force increased it began to give, bending outwards, swiftly reaching the point of its tolerance. The women squashed against the windows tried to warn what was happening. Their protests were lost in the uproar. It was only when the great sheets of glass shattered that awareness came… writhing bodies were hurled out on to the pavement… glass flew in all directions. The upper portions of the windows dropped in larger sections - on to the vulnerable bodies below. The dead weight of the thick glass had a guillotine effect on the flesh. One young woman, dragging herself slowly out from beneath a motionless form, felt a solid blow across the back of her left thigh. She cried out against the numbing impact, continuing to pull herself across the pavement. It was only when she glanced back to see if she was clear that she saw that her leg had been completely severed - the only thing linking her with the missing limb was the trail of glistening blood she’d left behind her. One long sliver of glass, dropping swiftly, impaled a screaming woman to the wooden surround of the window. She lay in a spreading pool of blood, her body kicking like a fish on a hook… A young girl dragged herself across the pavement, hands pressed tightly over her left breast. Blood was streaming from between her fingers, spre
ading across the front of her white sweater. She was not yet aware that the long lance of glass that had torn into her body was protruding bloodily out of her back…

  … Lana tried to sit up. She gasped in pain as she placed weight on her injured hand. It was agony! Her whole body felt bruised. She’d tried to get to her feet more than once, only to be sent sprawling again by the fleeing crowd. They had reached the front of the store now, leaving Lana more or less alone. But not quite…

  She could see the scuttling insects as they darted from body to body; three women were stretched out on the floor nearby; scorpions were crawling all over them. Lana stifled a cry of terror. If she made a noise the things would hear her… if she could get to her feet maybe she could make a run for… Her mind raced. The damned things were everywhere. She had even seen them moving about on the shelves, among the foodstuffs… She pushed herself upright. That was better. She raised a hand and brushed her hair back off her face. She was surprised to feel something warm and sticky. When she looked at her hand it was red with blood; gingerly she explored the cut above her left ear. God, she felt in a mess! Her nylon overall was ripped, ruined. Well bugger it, she thought. If Baxter thinks I’m paying for it he can whistle! She tried to cover her exposed legs, then gave up. What did it matter now! And anyway she had damn good legs! Closing her ears to the noise and the screams, Lana climbed to her feet. As she got up a number of the scorpions turned in her direction. Cold panic began to overwhelm her. No… no, she cautioned… keep calm! Pick which way to go, then run! One of the scorpions jerked out of its immobility and came scuttling across the floor in her direction. Lana repressed a violent shudder. She turned and hurried along the row, stepping over fallen tins, packets, a broken bottle of sauce. Where to go? Where? Think… The office! Up the stairs and into the office! Yes… relief washed over her… she rounded the end of the row… and stepped on to a rippling carpet of gleaming dark bodies. She tried to retreat… and stepped on squirming bodies that crunched and burst open, thick pulp oozing out from the crushed shells. Her foot slipped… Lana screamed as she lost her balance. She fell back against a stacked display of canned fruit. Tins crashed to the floor, some crushing a few scorpions - but there were many to take their places. They swarmed over Lana… covering her writhing form… insidiously working their repulsive bodies beneath her thin overall… nipping and gnawing at her soft flesh… shredding the flimsy bra… pincers violating the tender softness of firm breasts. Others crawled up her long thighs… across her warm stomach… the satin smoothness of her inner thigh… and then a high, terrible scream that rose and rose…