by John Halkin
‘After all?’ She felt a flood of pleasure, and stood on tiptoe to kiss him as he leaned over the sink. ‘We’ll have to hurry!’
Separate cars, they had agreed. Just in case anything went wrong. Ginny drove the Range Rover, followed by Bernie in a large black BMW he’d rented a few days earlier, wanting something more robust than the Mini in this situation. Ignoring the route signs for the terminal building, they headed for a side gate they had discovered on their first recce. It gave them direct access to the cargo apron. Bernie had used wire cutters on the chain holding the padlock and it still hung there unrepaired.
Adjusting his protective helmet, he went to the gates and pushed them open. Then he came over to the Range Rover and Ginny wound down the window.
‘The place seems deserted,’ he remarked quietly. ‘I’ve never come across anything so dead. No people, no animals, no insects. I wonder if the airport authorities are right not to have at least a skeleton staff here. Or at least a daily check on what’s happening.’
‘We’ll go where we can see the runway,’ she decided. ‘Then I’ll call Alan.’
Ginny waited until Bernie was safely back in his car before driving slowly into the cargo area. Everything had been abandoned in the middle of a busy work shift. Truck-loads of air freight parcels, containers and lorry trailers stood where they had been left. Only the dead and injured had been moved. She manoeuvred the Range Rover through the obstacle course and across the apron, checking in her rear mirror to make sure Bernie was still behind her.
When she stopped he drove around her, ending with the two cars parked side by side facing opposite directions. He wound down his window. They were only inches apart.
‘It’s all clear, love.’
With Jeff’s field glasses she scanned the airfield but saw nothing on the runway, nor in the untended grass on either side. She reached for the car phone which Alan had doctored to plug into CB equipment, providing a direct radio link with the house.
‘Descent check, please,’ Jeff requested.
‘Roger, descent check, captain,’ Pierre responded immediately. ‘Window heat?’
‘High,’ said Enoch.
‘Number two auxiliary pump.’
‘On.’
‘Hydraulics?’
‘Checked…’
So far it felt good, Jeff reflected as Pierre continued through the checklist. Ginny’s report had been precise, closely following the short list of questions he’d supplied. As he’d feared fuel was low; poor maintenance work on the engines meant they were burning more than they should. But there was no doubt they would make Gatwick comfortably. Not that he had any alternative. Alan had passed on the information that both Heathrow and Stansted were out of action; incoming flights were being diverted to Manchester and even Dublin.
‘Flying ark. Acknowledge. Over.’
‘Go ahead, Alan. Over.’
‘Ginny reports caterpillars on runway. I can now put her through to you. One minute.’ A hard click cut through the static, hurting his ears. Then came Ginny’s voice, recognisable despite the distortion. ‘Jeff, this is Ginny. Do you read me? Over.’
‘Loud and clear, Ginny. What’s this about caterpillars? Over.’
‘Caterpillars gathering on runway,’ she said slowly. ‘Large number. Coming out of the grass. Over.’
‘Okay, Ginny. I read you. Ask Alan, can he keep this channel open? Over.’
‘Wilco, Jeff!’ came Alan’s young, eager voice.
Ginny put the field glasses to her eyes again. It was an incredible sight. The caterpillars on the runway must now number several hundred, yet their progress was so slow, she was hardly aware of any movement. She was grateful to be sitting inside the Range Rover with the windows up. In the BMW alongside, Bernie gestured to her. She glanced back to see what he was pointing at. It was two giant moths, fluttering around each other near the wide, open hangar entrance. Bernie did a quick mime with his hands and pursed his lips, imitating a kiss – a courtship dance? Was that what he was trying to say?
‘Hello, Ginny!’ the car phone crackled. ‘Come in, Ginny, over.’
‘I’m here, Jeff. Over.’
‘Request more detail about caterpillars. Are they… widely scattered… loose pattern… close… or… thick? Over.’
‘Jeff, they’re close but in patches. Do you read me? Over.’
‘I read you, Ginny. Any change, let me know, please. Over.’
Just my bloody luck, Jeff thought. No fire tenders. No foam. No rescue services of any kind. And he only had to put his wheels where the caterpillars were thickest to risk spinning off the runway.
‘A bit like landing in slush,’ he said with a wink at Enoch. ‘Filthy, half-frozen, mucky slush.’
‘Landing gear,’ Pierre intoned.
‘Down,’ came Enoch’s voice. ‘Three greens.’
‘Anti-skid.’
(God, we’re going to need that!)
‘On. Four releases.’
‘Flaps,’ said Pierre.
‘Give me forty, please.’
‘Forty selected. Moving. Forty checked. Two greens.’
Ginny’s voice came urgently through his headset, cutting across Enoch’s response. He could sense the fear as she spoke.
‘Jeff, I can see moths. A thick swarm of moths just visible in the field glasses. You’ll fly into them. Over.’
‘Roger, Ginny. Can’t spot ’em yet, but…’ He glanced at the fuel. There was still enough in the tanks to roast them all alive. Time to speak the unthinkable. ‘Ginny – any problems when we land, you and Bernie stay well clear. Okay? Over and out.’
Pringle’s luck – it couldn’t be anything else! All his life it had dogged him. Everything would go like a dream, then when he least expected it – Wham! Dropped in the shit. Like that time he’d dumped a plane-load of holiday makers into a potato field, overshooting the runway for Chrissake! No one hurt save for cuts and bruises, and that stewardess who’d lost the baby she’d told no one she was expecting. Not even his own fault, as the Inquiry established beyond doubt. Could have happened to anyone, but it didn’t. Happened to him: Pringle’s luck.
They were spot on for a perfect touchdown. There was the runway straight ahead. Then he saw the moths, bloody thousands of them directly in his approach path.
‘Oh-oh!’ he heard Enoch murmur alertly.
Ginny held her breath. The Boeing was over the end of the runway, its wheels seemingly – from where she was parked – only inches above the ground when the roar of its engines coughed and faltered. Despite this, the great aircraft touched down elegantly and began to race along.
For a second she relaxed, until she realised the Boeing’s ground speed was not reducing and its engines still produced desperate choking sounds. Then came silence as they finally cut out. It left the runway, skidding through almost ninety degrees across the grass until at last it did a kind of bellyflop and came to rest on the far side of the airfield.
‘Jeff, are you okay? Over.’ She shouted into the mouthpiece hysterically. ‘Jeff, for God’s sake say something. Over.’
‘Ginny, what’s happened?’ Alan’s voice broke through. ‘Are they okay?’
She examined the Boeing through the field glasses, only too aware that it might blow up at any moment. Jeff had warned them. But nothing was happening. The aircraft was on its belly on the grass, motionless.
‘Alan, I’m going over there to take a look. Keep trying him, will you? Over and out.’
Winding down her window just a crack, she briefly told Bernie what she intended before setting out, keeping at first to the taxiway. It was like driving over a carpet of caterpillars, the wheels crunching them to death and slithering over the green juice they extruded. Coming along behind her Bernie seemed to be in even greater difficulty, at one point skidding on to the grass.
He waved to her through the windscreen, trying to indicate that the grass might be the easier option. She joined him and they drove side by side. The ground was soft after all
the heavy rain and their tyres left deep muddy ruts. Moths flew against the windows and windscreen; she used her washer and wipers to try and keep them out of her line of vision, but they never let up for a moment. She was the intruder, they seemed to be saying; there was no longer any hint of welcome in their interest.
Every few seconds Alan’s voice came thinly from the handset, begging for a response from the Boeing. Its radio remained silent, as if the whole plane had died.
Some twenty yards away from the aircraft she stopped the car and called Alan to describe what she could see. They were not far from the extreme end of the runway. Through the expanse of grass the Boeing had gouged a long, wide causeway of mud before coming to a final stop. She could see no one at the windows; no movement of any kind.
But – just as she was about to finish – the outer skin to the rear of the aircraft began to bulge and shift. She took the field glasses and focussed on it.
‘They’re opening the doors!’ she yelled excitedly. ‘I can see them opening the doors. Oh Alan, they’re still alive! I’m going over to help. Over and out!’
Bernie too had noticed the plane’s doors opening. He was already putting on his safety helmet and fumbling with the press studs of the rubber face mask. He had rejected the offer of an Army suit, saying he found it too restricting. Ginny agreed with him and now preferred heavy overalls, though still using the Army helmet. But nothing they had tried so far was ideal; that was another area where more research was needed.
They clumped over the grass towards the Boeing. The caterpillars were thick on the ground. With every footstep she felt them writhing beneath her boots. By now the moths were whistling again in an eerie concert of high-pitched squeaks which were steadily becoming louder.
Bernie touched her arm, pointing. Something was happening in the plane. In the open doorway, two figures were manhandling what looked like a long, flat crate. Then they tipped it over and seemed to be thumping the bottom.
Out of it fell two of the biggest lizards she had ever seen. Five feet long at least, with whipping tails and stumpy legs which carried them rapidly a short distance away from the plane. They stopped, suddenly motionless; then their heads looked around, as if bewildered.
Watching the nearer of the two, Ginny saw its tongue shoot out. The caterpillars didn’t have a chance against it, though some were already beginning to crawl over its back. Lazily, the second lizard picked them off.
One of the men on board came down to join them. He and Bernie together took the weight of the next crate as it was lowered to them and placed it carefully on the ground. Someone tossed down a crowbar which Ginny seized. She levered the lid off, tugging it open to release the next two lizards, almost falling as they tangled with her legs in their eagerness to escape.
Moths came screaming at her as she worked, spitting their venom across her visor and helmet. Caterpillars – some longer and more agile than any she’d ever come across before – crept over the crates and on to her gloves, or clung to the leather of her high boots. Occasionally she paused to pick them off, but more always appeared. She began to feel desperately that they had chosen her out as their special target until she noticed that Bernie and the other man were also covered with them.
She lost count of how many crates she’d opened – more than ten, it must have been – before at last she straightened up, gasping for breath, the sweat pouring over her body beneath the thick overalls. Everywhere she looked she saw these long, slender lizards, dark in colour with pale yellow rib-like patches at intervals down the full length of their bodies. The moths were fewer now; any that ventured too near the ground were soon trapped by those darting tongues.
Muffled grunts came from the two men as yet another crate came down. They staggered under its weight.
‘Careful!’ Ginny shouted.
Bernie took a blind step backwards in an attempt to keep his balance.
She ran forward to help.
The crate had tilted as it was lowered from the plane and they had gripped it awkwardly. In trying not to drop it they lurched towards the discarded lids with their protruding nails. Before Ginny could do anything, Bernie trod on a loosened board which gave way and he fell heavily with the crate on top of him. A nail ripped through his trouser leg, gashing his calf.
Despite the lizards, caterpillars came out of the grass from all directions, attracted by the blood. They swarmed over him, snuffling into the wound on his leg and searching his safety clothing for more openings.
‘Bernie! Oh Bernie!’ she sobbed as she went down on her knees to try and pick them off.
There were too many. She wanted to throw them aside but they clung to her gloves. Tearing them apart was more effective but more kept coming. The pesticide aerosol she carried at her belt made no impact on them. Even the lizards were too occupied elsewhere, all but one which darted over to investigate, licked up two or three caterpillars only, then scuttled off in another direction.
Someone took hold of her shoulders and lifted her up, trying to comfort her. Two others had come down to help and were discussing whether or not to get him into the plane, but it was already too late. His fall had knocked his hard helmet awry, snapping open one of the press studs of his face mask. A caterpillar had already found the gap.
It was over, she knew. Blood from his throat slowly dripped on to the grass. One of the would-be rescuers shook his head and stood up. Bernie was dead.
Unable to accept it, Ginny knelt down again amidst the caterpillars to cradle his head on her arm, but it lolled limply to one side and she saw a gash too on the rubber neck-piece below the face mask. From it a caterpillar protruded.
Defeated, she left it to feed; what else could she do? Slowly she got to her feet. From the top of a pile of empty crates a lizard was regarding her philosophically. It began gathering caterpillars off her overalls with its long tongue.
‘Come on, then!’ she screamed at the others. She retrieved her crowbar and began to tackle the unopened crate which had killed Bernie. ‘Let’s get these lizards out! Can’t stand round all day!’
They had won, though with Bernie’s death Ginny was too dazed to take anything in. All meaning had gone.
She returned to the house later that day dreading the prospect of having to tell Lesley what had happened. The first time she rang Mary answered the phone and swore at her angrily when she realised who was speaking. No, she could not have a word with Lesley! A click, and the line went dead. She dialled again, only to hear the Number Unobtainable tone.
She was tempted to leave it at that, but it was her duty and she had to go through with it. Somewhere she had a number for the school which she’d looked up days earlier. She found it and rang the school secretary who explained in a great hurry that they were on the point of evacuating everyone to Scotland. Reluctantly she agreed to take a message.
So Ginny dictated the bare facts about Bernie’s death and how sorry she was. It seemed so heartless, put like that.
How long she sat there after ringing off she never knew. But at last she stirred herself, collected her clothes from the bedroom, her toothbrush, her pills, her comb, and moved back to the cottage.
The next days were hectic enough to keep her from brooding. They made regular checks at Gatwick and by the end of the week were able to report the airport clear of caterpillars. Their twenty-five monitor lizards had become fat and lazy. With Fred’s help she caught a couple and took them back to the cottage to live with her.
Members of the Ministry’s scientific committee arrived by Army transport to judge for themselves and pronounced the experiment a success. The attacks in London had brought the Government under considerable pressure to take immediate action regardless of cost. Planes were requisitioned to fly in carnivorous lizards from all over the world. Vast numbers were bought from any country in Africa willing to trade them, although many died when the weather turned cold.
But the caterpillar menace was finally beaten.
Services of thanksgiving were h
eld throughout Britain. The Prime Minister appeared on television to proclaim the success of the Government’s policy. At a press conference of his own, the ex-President let it be known that the initial plane-load of lizards had come as his personal gift to the United Kingdom. He modestly suggested that the British Cabinet could have consulted him earlier.
People returning to their homes in the stricken areas were advised to keep monitor lizards as house pets, and many did. But a five-foot lizard can be quite a nuisance in a living room and the majority were given quarters in the garden shed, only to die as winter came on.
Ginny kept her two and was glad of their company during the long empty months that followed. Jeff kept in touch but was usually busy. Alan was in Cardiff doing computer studies. Not even Jack was around. In fact no one knew where he was till he sent her a picture postcard from California.
She was on her own. To fill the days, she put her notes in order and began work on the book her agent was nagging her to write: The Caterpillar Episode.
15
‘Ginny! I was hoping you’d drop by!’
Jeff strode over to the Renault and opened the door for her. He’d had the house painted, she noticed as she got out; in the warm sunlight it gleamed like a whitewashed Mediterranean villa.
It was a year now since the caterpillar invasion, but it still made her shiver to see his windows standing wide open with no wire mesh to protect them. In fact, all that remained visible from those days were the aerials on the roof. They had actually had the gall to prosecute him in court for operating a wireless transmitter without a licence; luckily, the magistrate had been on his side. He’d fined Jeff one penny, which he had paid himself.
They kissed, then she broke out of his hug to dive back into the car for her shopping bag.
‘Strawberries,’ she announced, holding it up. ‘Thought this time I’d bring something.’
‘I have news!’
‘What kind of news?’
‘Three kinds – good, interesting and indifferent. Which d’you want first?’