Squelch

by John Halkin

  The constable lay on his back, his body twisting as though in a fit, caterpillars probing every part of him. Over the groin the blue serge of his uniform trousers was soaked in blood. Two caterpillars had eaten their way through it – from the inside, she realised sickeningly. But they were everywhere: around his ankles, poking under his rolled-up sleeves, chewing through his sweated armpits, investigating his eyes… his ears…

  Again he roared out his agony, his whole body shaking, but there was nothing she could do to help him.

  A knife?

  Perhaps there’d been a knife on one of those stalls. At least she could put him out of his misery… spare him some of the pain…

  The end came of its own accord, worse than anything she’d yet witnessed. One last roar shook him, but the voice died within seconds to become a deep-throated rattle which went on and on, chilling her ice-cold to hear it. When at last it ceased, trickles of blood appeared at the corners of his mouth, as well as from his dead eyes and nostrils.

  From overhead came the sound of a helicopter, first circling, then hovering before slowly coming down to land in the neighbouring field. She stood by the policeman’s body watching it, unable even to think of what still had to be done. If only, she felt, she could allow herself to collapse into some rescuer’s strong grip. Let someone else take it all over.

  A caterpillar began lazily to investigate her boot.

  ‘Urgh!’

  In alarm she managed to step back, then scraped it off against her other foot and ground it till it burst. Another approached her from the side. And a third. As though they could sense her exhaustion and were marking her out as their next victim. She wanted to cry out, but her words died in her throat. She could hear the woman from the Garden Centre calling something, but didn’t know what.

  She was next, she could swear to it.

  Again she stepped back, almost stumbling and falling over a teenage girl’s mangled body. Was it imagination, or did those caterpillars actually stop eating to raise their heads and gaze darkly at her with their nasty little eyes? Was it fear – or were they really moving closer to her from every side?

  Her chest tightened. The saliva in her mouth dried, tasting of dust. She wanted to scream. Oh God, she needed help more than these other people, didn’t she? Wasn’t she still alive? With everything still ahead of her?

  Send someone to help me, PLEASE!

  That whimpering sound puzzled her. Not her own voice, she could swear to it, but nearby. The fear suddenly snapped within her, leaving her cold and rational. It was a child she could hear, somewhere among the remains of a smashed-up stall.

  In two steps she was there, defying the threat around her. Scorning it.

  She tugged the fallen trestle-board aside to reveal a small boy of about four lying curled up, his thumb in his mouth. Miraculously, the caterpillars had ignored him. Hastily she checked his limbs: not a scratch or a bite anywhere. His mother – wherever she was now – had obviously dressed him up in his best for the All Saints Spring Fête, Ginny noticed with bitterness in her heart.

  His big eyes regarded her wonderingly as she swung him to her shoulder and began to pick her way across the field, heading for the marquee.

  Two men from the helicopter, masked and in boiler suits, with canisters secured to their backs, were spraying the vegetation along the approach to the marquee. To allow her to pass, one turned off his spray for a couple of seconds. She was uncomfortably aware of his eyes staring at her through the goggles.

  It vaguely surprised her to discover how quickly some sort of order was being re-established. A fat, motherly woman took the little boy off her and carried him away between the trestle tables on which the injured were lying. They seemed strangely silent, she thought. A few groans here and there; a man sobbing; heavy, desperate breathing from an old woman fighting for air: but for the most part they lay there inertly, as if already dead.

  Bernie, his shirt sleeves rolled up, a syringe in his hand, glanced up and saw her. ‘Ginny!’ he called across. ‘Thank God you’re all right!’

  She threaded her way between the tables. It looked like some mad butchers’ convention, she thought dully as her eyes lingered on those wounds. However much she wanted to turn away she found she couldn’t. That exposed flesh and sinew exerted a horrible fascination on her until waves of faintness began to blur her vision.

  ‘Ginny, I need more bandages!’ Bernie’s voice cut through the mist. ‘Get over to the church, will you, and see if you can find some surplices we can tear up. Are you sure you’re okay?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ she said stubbornly, ashamed of her weakness.

  ‘Get anything you can lay your hands on, providing it’s clean,’ he repeated, stooping over his patient again. ‘Bring it back here, then try the shop, the pub – you know! And ladies,’ he called out impatiently, ‘we need more hot water!’

  Ginny stumbled out of the marquee, her eyes smarting, her face and neck pouring with sweat. If only she could have been more use to those people, but she knew nothing about nursing or first aid. Her efforts would only make matters worse.

  She took the short cut to the church, climbing over the broken wall, then across the treacherously subsiding ground between the untidy clusters of older gravestones to the vestry door which she found unlocked.

  No surplices on the pegs though, and the heavy timber cupboard was firmly shut. Nothing in the church itself either. Then she remembered the annual nativity play, and having heard that all the planning and rehearsals were normally held in the Sunday School room in the Norman crypt. They must have chests full of costumes and drapes down there.

  The entrance was through a wide door behind the altar. She ran down the aisle and behind the choir stalls to reach it. Grasping the heavy iron ring she tugged it slowly open, then groped about on the stone wall inside to find the light switch. Unsuccessfully.

  It must be down at the bottom, she thought, though that hardly seemed the most logical place to put it. Briefly she searched outside again but could still not find it, so she decided to feel her way down in the semi-darkness. With those people dying there in the marquee, she’d no time to spare hunting for switches.

  Keeping close to the wall – there was a hand-rope to guide her – she crept cautiously down the worn, uneven steps. Somewhere, she felt sure, she would come across an electric cable secured to the stonework.

  Then she heard the noise: a disturbed breathing sound which echoed through the still, clammy air.

  ‘Anyone there?’ she called out nervously. ‘Hello?’

  Silence, followed by more eerie sighing. Not human, though; not pronounced enough: more like a faint suspicion of movement in the atmosphere.

  One more step she tried; then another. It became darker, the lower she went.

  Then suddenly they were all around her – giant, fluttering moths brushing her cheeks with their wings, caressing the back of her neck, landing on her short hair. Her shrieks twisted through that vaulted stairwell, bouncing back at her off the hard stone walls, setting her nerves jarring through her whole body.

  She buried her face in the crook of her arm, terrified, trying to press herself into a corner between two stone slabs, and sobbed hysterically. It was then – after her own first screams – that the awful chorus of squeals started, stabbing mercilessly into her brain. She was in the midst of them, shaking with fear as they continued to fly at her, knock into her, crawl over her, probe into her ears with that long, hair-like sensor.

  How long she remained there she had no concept. She waited for death – prayed for it, even – convinced there was no possible way of escape. But death did not come to release her and the torture went on.

  At last she became conscious of a bright, intense flickering which settled down to become a steady light.

  ‘Oh hell!’ she heard a male voice exclaim. ‘Bloody hell! Okay, Ginny – keep your eyes covered! Got that? Keep them covered!’

  Then came a high-pitched sibilant sound like hissing s
team. The pungent smell irritated her nostrils, but gradually she calmed down. The mere knowledge that she was no longer alone helped her get a grip on herself. Gradually the squealing died down and she realised the moths were no longer bothering her.

  ‘No, don’t uncover your eyes yet, not till we get you away from where I’ve sprayed.’

  ‘Jeff?’

  ‘That’s right. Now I’m going to put my hand on your shoulder and try to guide you back up the steps. Slowly now, one at a time. Careful – there’s a corner here.’

  Eventually they reached the main body of the church and she opened her eyes again. They felt hot and uncomfortable, but her sight was normal. Jeff Pringle was dolled up like a First World War pilot with goggles, a close-fitting flying helmet and a scarf across his mouth and nostrils which he now removed.

  ‘Lucky you hid your face like that,’ he told her, examining her critically. ‘Most sensible thing you could do.’

  ‘God, I was scared!’

  ‘Saved your eyes, though. See this white stuff on your clothes? We’ll keep some of that to get it analysed, but it’s my guess they were aiming for your eyes, probably intending to blind you.’

  ‘The moths, you mean?’

  ‘Spitting it at you, same as they spat at me the other night. Now we’d better find some water and get you washed. What with this stuff, plus the pesticide I was using, the sooner we bathe those eyes the better.’

  There was a little washroom which could be reached through the vestry. On the way there, he explained that it was Dr Rendell who had sent him in search of her, fearing something had happened as she was away so long. Everything was well in hand now, he added. The village was riddled with police and the ambulances were running a relay service. Plenty of bandages available too, so there was no need to rip up the vicar’s surplices.

  ‘The vicar’s dead,’ she informed him, glancing around apprehensively. There were too many dark corners high among the tie-beams of the old church. ‘Can we really be sure it’s over?’

  ‘No,’ Jeff said frankly. ‘No, we can’t be sure about anything.’

  9

  Bernie insisted on examining Ginny’s eyes before agreeing that she could go back to the cottage for a wash and change of clothing. Despite her protests Jeff went with her, taking the keys out of her hand and opening the front door for her. Before allowing her inside he checked the living room and kitchen for caterpillars, but both were clear. The air was suffocatingly hot, but she dared not risk opening a window.

  ‘I’m thirsty.’ She made for the sideboard.

  ‘Ginny, you’ve just come through a double-barrelled shock.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘No alcohol. Let me just take a look upstairs, then I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘Oh, feel free!’ she declared, flopping angrily into her armchair. ‘It’s only my bedroom!’

  Her hand was shaking and she felt totally exhausted. Maybe he was right, but if there was one thing she was not going to tolerate, it was being given orders by a domineering male. Listening to him moving about upstairs, she made up her mind.

  ‘All clear!’ he announced as he came down, ducking his head. ‘Now for the tea.’

  ‘No.’

  He grinned at her uncertainly. ‘No?’

  ‘I need a bath. I can’t have one here, so I’m going to my sister’s place. If you phone me there later we can fix a time to meet, though I’ve no idea what we can do about this.’ She got up unsteadily, but hoped he did not notice. ‘I haven’t said thank you, have I? You probably saved my life.’

  ‘We’re all in danger,’ he replied soberly. ‘After today, perhaps the authorities will take the threat more seriously.’

  Ginny began to go up to the bedroom to fetch a change of clothes, but she paused on the stairs.

  ‘You do appreciate what happened?’ she asked pointedly. ‘This morning we saw no caterpillars at the house nor anywhere else in the village, only at the fête itself. There, they deliberately waited till the field was crowded before attacking en masse. How do you interpret that?’

  ‘Assuming the purpose of the attack was simply for food –’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Some animals hunt alone. Some in packs. Humans do both.’

  ‘As do caterpillars, it seems from today’s evidence. But that isn’t what I meant.’

  ‘You’re saying it was a deliberate ambush?’

  ‘Oh yes. They dropped out of the trees, most of them. What were they doing there in such large numbers? Why concentrate in those trees rather than any others around the village? I think it was planned, don’t you?’

  ‘That means an intelligence.’

  ‘Intelligence… instinct… It’s a matter of definition.’

  She continued upstairs to the bedroom where she pulled off her stained T-shirt and dropped it into a plastic bag which she could later give to Bernie for the dried moth-saliva to be analysed. On her breasts and over her ribs she noticed traces of a mild rash corresponding to where the saliva had soaked through. Into a canvas grip she put some fresh clothes to change into after her bath, then slipped on a clean T-shirt and went down again into the living room.

  ‘Perhaps you could drive me to my sister’s,’ she requested. ‘I left my car up there.’

  ‘Be my guest!’

  Dancing a little in the breeze, the long thin banner high above the road still announced the All Saints Spring Fête. Strung between the trees were the rows of coloured light bulbs which would now not be switched on. Several police cars were parked near the church, together with two undertakers’ anonymous black vans, but the last of the ambulances had left. Jeff stopped the Range Rover on the far side and they sat there looking across in silence.

  ‘When I’ve dropped you I’ll go over to see if they still need any help,’ he said quietly. ‘There might be something I can do.’

  ‘I discovered today that I’m a coward.’ Ginny felt a desperate need to confess to somebody. She couldn’t have faced telling Bernie; with Jeff still practically a stranger she found it easier. ‘I’d never given it any thought before, but when the real test came – well, I was so scared, it was like a kind of mental breakdown.’

  ‘Everyone gets frightened,’ Jeff told her.

  ‘This was more than fear. It was… I don’t know, I just seized up. A kind of paralysis. I didn’t function any more. I was… oh, so useless!’ She was not looking at him as she spoke but still gazing towards the field where it all happened. ‘All I can be certain about is that I shall think of myself quite differently now.’

  ‘From what I heard, people were praising your courage.’

  ‘That’s sweet of you, but it’s a lie.’ She turned to face him. ‘Anyway, I’ve got it off my chest now, not that it makes me feel any better.’

  ‘What a strange, complex creature you are!’ he murmured gently, resting the back of his hand briefly against her cheek.

  She pulled back from him. ‘Drive on, please. That wasn’t at all what I intended.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am!’ he laughed.

  He released the handbrake and the car eased smoothly forward, gathering speed. Within a couple of minutes they had reached the entrance to Lesley’s drive. Ginny swung her legs out and retrieved her grip from the back seat.

  ‘Let’s be in touch this evening – okay?’ she said. She was aching all over and winced as she bent down to say goodbye through the open window. ‘Thanks again, Jeff. For the rescue, I mean. The new lease of life!’

  He smiled ambiguously, raised a hand, then drove off. Odd man, she thought wearily. Impenetrable. Like an actor in one of those old British war films, playing a part that was all on the surface. She wished now she hadn’t made that confession to him.

  Ginny trudged up the drive and found Bernie’s Rover parked in front of the porch, its boot open. Phuong was on the point of loading a couple of suitcases into it.

  ‘You okay?’ she asked Ginny anxiously, stopping the moment she saw her. ‘Not hurt?’


  ‘No, I’m fine.’ Then she realised she must still have blood smears and God alone knew what else all over her. She’d not even washed at the cottage. ‘I’m sorry, Phuong, I must look awful. I came here for a bath. But what’s going on? Where’s Bernie?’

  Before Phuong could answer, Lesley appeared. ‘Oh Ginny, I’m glad you’ve come. We’re leaving.’ She came down the steps one at a time, supporting herself on her stick. ‘I just can’t stay here with the children. You’ve heard the latest news, I suppose? They say forty-nine people died. And who knows where else they’ll strike? We can’t risk going into our own garden. And look at all the creeper we’ve got round the windows! They could even get into the bedrooms.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Ginny was beginning to feel faint and longed to get inside out of the sun. ‘Is there anywhere safe?’

  ‘I rang Mary – you remember Mary? We shared a flat when we were students. Well, she’s now headmistress of a school in Wiltshire where they’ve never even heard of caterpillars. So I’m taking Phuong and the children.’

  ‘And Bernie?’

  ‘Oh, Bernie’s relieved we’re going. He’ll have to stay of course because of his patients, and I’ll leave him my car. The Mini would be too small for all of us.’ Lesley paused, her eyes troubled. ‘Oh, I know it seems like deserting the camp, but what else can I do? I can’t be much help, not with this foot.’

  ‘Can you manage the driving?’

  ‘Just about. And what about you, Ginny? You look as though you could do with a cup of tea.’

  Ginny exploded. ‘Oh, for Chrissake, why is everybody going on about tea?’ She stared at her sister angrily, yet not really understanding why. A wave of fatigue washed over her and it left her feeling totally isolated and powerless. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Les. I didn’t mean to shout.’