Slime (12 page)

‘I’m through! Tim, I’m through!’ Jacqui called back to him with obvious relief.

‘Get the boy outside – right out of the cave!’ he snapped, seeing she was about to put Paul down. ‘Hurry!’

He plodded on, taking it one pace at a time, fully conscious that the jellyfish were gathering for him. Perhaps they aimed to finish the job they’d started on him in the harbour. Perhaps they had acquired the taste. It was difficult to avoid treading on them… to find a firm foothold…

Then, unexpectedly, Jane was there. She must have been out of the cave, for she was now armed with one of the shovels. Unceremoniously she scraped the jellyfish aside sufficiently to make a path for him. At last he was through as well.

‘Wait!’

With the shovel-blade she cut through the jellyfish secured to his boot until it fell away, three pieces of it, still undulating.

Once outside again, they all looked at each other uneasily, none of them wishing to be the first to speak. Their faces were strained and they seemed unable to come to grips with what they had just experienced. It was the fact that there had been so many jellyfish in that cave which shocked Tim most. Finding two or three in the harbour – well, he hadn’t thought that particularly unusual. But to see over thirty of them gathered in that confined space! What was worse, he was convinced their movements had been co-ordinated like an army platoon.

The seagulls swooped above them, crying out as if surprised to see them again. They circled, squabbled over a ledge high up the cliffside, then they streamed off towards the sea. Perhaps they knew something that humans could not even sense, Tim thought as he watched the stragglers fly after them with an effortless shrug of their wings. Who could tell how many more of those poisonous jellyfish were swimming in?

The first to recover were the two children. Barbara came over to him and grasped his hand. She had brown eyes, he noticed, matching her long straight hair. Pouting lips, too.

‘You won’t tell Mum, will you?’ she begged. ‘Please.’

‘Why not?’

‘’Cos she said I mustn’t ever go in that cave.’

‘She was right, wasn’t she?’ he said.

‘S’ppose so, only how was she to know it’d be full o’ jellyfish?’ She tossed her head impatiently. ‘Come on, Paul – they won’t tell on us!’

The boy got up and together they began to clamber back over the rocks in the direction of the beach. As they went, his voice could be heard, loud and contemptuous. ‘Bet you was scared!’ ‘Who was?’ ‘You was!’ ‘It’s you
were
, not
was
.’ ‘’Tisn’t – an’ you was!’ ‘Was what?’ ‘Scared. Scaredy-cat! Scaredy-cat! Sittin’ on the doormat!’ But at last their voices trailed away, leaving
only the sounds of sea-birds and the breeze.

Jane stirred first, collecting together the two specimen containers and her shovel. ‘I’m going to get a couple for Jocelyn,’ she announced flatly.

‘You’re not going back in there?’ Jacqui was aghast.

‘It’s what we came here for, isn’t it? My sister’d never forgive me if I missed the chance.’

Tim climbed over the rocks to where he’d abandoned his own shovel. ‘You’re not doing it on your own,’ he said.

Before she could start objecting, they heard the girl’s voice calling out again urgently.

‘Hey, mister! Mister!

They turned to see her coming over the rocks towards them, her hair blowing about her face. When she reached them, she extracted a Brownies’ Diary from the back pocket of her jeans and thrust it at Tim.

‘Can I have your autograph, please?’

The diary was for the previous year, Tim observed as he took it from her, and the cover was sticky. But he found a blank page and signed it with a flourish. This was the only normal thing that had happened so far that day.

13

By the following morning it had become clear that the platoon of jellyfish concealed in that cave was only the advance guard. When the early tide receded, it left behind an army of several hundred spread over the shore, glistening in the light of the rising sun.

The first person to see them was Commander John Dafyd-Jones, RN(ret.), who was out at dawn as always, rain or fine, to take his dog for a run. Like many of those who have spent their lives at sea, Commander Jones was a romantic at heart, although not much given to fantasy. His first reaction to the sight of so many jellyfish gathered
on a single beach was one of disbelief. It was some artistic happening, he thought. He’d read about such things in the colour supplements – that crazy American artist, for example, who wanted to cover the entire length of the Grand Canyon in coloured plastic sheeting. That’s what this must be, some artist’s prank.

Or intended for a film, perhaps. He’d heard the TV people were back again, so maybe they had placed these shining, colourful blobs all over the beach.

His dog was barking, wagging his tail furiously. Commander Jones bent down to slip the leash off his collar to allow him to make his usual wild dash across the sand, knowing he would skid to a halt a good six feet away from the water. He was a brown, shaggy-haired mongrel named Gannet – from his habit of collecting anything he could pick up in his mouth, whatever it was, and bringing it home to deposit in the corner of the living-room – but he was no hero.

Gannet yelped in sudden pain.

‘Gannet! Gannet – come here, boy!’

Commander Jones climbed down to the beach and set out across the sand, still calling his dog. Gannet was barking now at one of those… By God, they
were
jellyfish, and he’d narrowly missed treading on one!

‘Gannet!’ he called out again, sternly this time. ‘Gannet, come here! Come!’

His was a voice accustomed to command, but Gannet had never shown much taste for obedience since he was a puppy. Not that Commander Jones hadn’t tried patiently enough, but even from the start he’d realised the task was ultimately hopeless. Something in the dog’s make-up, some genetic strain inherited from his mixed family tree, had given him the ability to undermine all authority simply by ignoring it.

He was partly crouching now, quivering, his teeth bared. It was so obvious what he was going to do next.

‘Gannet, no! Drop it! Drop it, boy!’

Commander Jones hurried towards him, picking his way amongst the other jellyfish strewn across the sand like malignant ulcers. He arrived just as Gannet seized his tormentor between his teeth to begin shaking it and worrying it in his anger.

Then another yelp as the inside of his mouth was stung. He dropped the jellyfish, but immediately bit into it again, crunching it between his teeth. But as he did so, his hind leg encountered a second jellyfish behind him and the commander saw a long tentacle flickering out to sting him.

‘Gannet!’ he exclaimed anxiously, dropping his walking stick in order to be able to grasp the dog with both hands and lift him clear. ‘Drop that now!’

The body felt oddly limp and the heart beat was faint, yet still that mangled jellyfish dangled from his jaws. It took a moment to realise that his teeth no longer gripped it; in fact the dog seemed partly paralysed. The commander, grief-stricken, bent over him to take a closer look at his eyes.

It was a careless move. A tentacle shot out, stinging him painfully across the cheek. He grunted in surprise. Stupid move, he reprimanded himself, laying yourself open like that. He straightened up, his mind now alert. Around him the speckled pink-and-red jellyfish lay sparkling in the sunshine. Damned things have eyes, too, he thought as he became aware of that deep red spot in the centre of each one. Now he remembered. There had been some headline in the papers about jellyfish, not that he read newspapers, nothing in ’em.

Time to get himself and Gannet out of this mess, he decided as the pain in his face increased, spreading down his jaw until it reached the roots of his teeth in agonising spasms.

Right – now when I give the order
…!

He stooped to pick up his walking stick again, but his movement was clumsy. Somehow he found himself on his knees and a fresh touch of pain whipped across the back of his hand.

Pain could be withstood, his mind was insisting. Did it once before… twice… three times, was it? Jap interrogator… bastard fixed the terminals to…

Why was he thinking so slowly? Slack, that’s what he was! Slack! Smarten up, man! No skylarking there!

… to his balls… fucking Jap. Gone to switch on again… then that pain… that unbearable…

Constable Williams was on early duty that morning. He was a man who enjoyed his job, not least because it enabled him to ride around on a powerful motorcycle, paid for and maintained by the force, while many of his old classmates were on the dole. It gave him authority too, being a police officer, and that couldn’t be bad at the age of twenty-two. Not that he ever misused it, unlike some; if anything he was too soft-hearted, though he could pack a good punch when the occasion arose. But this wasn’t a rough area; what was more he’d lived here all his life, the younger of two brothers brought up by their widowed mother who did the books for a taxi firm.

He was idling through the streets, the engine purring contentedly as if it knew he would open up the moment he was out on the main road and outside the speed limit. In his pocket was the third summons he’d delivered to Gate Farm in the past six months, two for non-payment of TV licence, and this one for speeding. The poor sod had been on his way to court when they’d stopped him. Still, he’d probably have the kettle on, same as last time, or let him have some eggs even.

His personal radio crackled. Without slowing down, he answered it and confirmed his whereabouts.

‘Proceed to promenade where elderly man is reported to be in trouble on the beach. Constable Evans is down there already but may need assistance.’

‘Willco.’

He executed a neat U-turn and roared off down the road in the direction of the promenade. What sort of trouble, he wondered. Heart attack? – but in that case Evans would call for an ambulance. And it was a bit early in the day for a mugging, though not impossible.

Reaching Church Street, he switched on his siren and began weaving in and out between the cars caught up in what was locally known as the ‘rush hour’; at this time of year it went on for roughly ten minutes. Beyond the lights the traffic thickened, so he pulled clear of it on to the right-hand half of the road for the next couple of hundred yards, grinning as he remembered how only a couple of years ago before he joined the force he’d have been arrested for doing this.

But the grin dropped from his face the moment he got to the promenade. He groped for his radio and called up the station.

‘We’ll need an ambulance, sarge,’ he reported urgently. ‘And a couple more men – with gloves!’

‘Why gloves? Get a grip on yourself, man. What is the situation?’

‘Jellyfish. The whole beach is covered with the buggers. From where I’m standing the old’un looks dead, but Evans is down there – Oh, bloody hell! I’ve got to go and help him!’

Williams jumped down on to the beach. It was spotted with jellyfish whichever way he looked, like a horrible rash. Nervously he tugged at his black gauntlet gloves to make sure they were on properly. He recalled only too well the last time he’d met this type of jellyfish. Down by the harbour, it had been. Two men: one he’d recognised as that actor on TV who hadn’t even realised he had a
jellyfish wrapped around his hand, sucking his blood; and as for the other, with that thing over his mouth and nose…

‘Evans! Stand up! Don’t touch them!’ he shouted to his colleague, but he knew it was already too late. There was no way the man could help himself now.

The jellyfish had attacked as Evans tried to lift the old man up. One had secured itself to his ungloved hand. Williams could see it clearly as he ran towards them, although it wasn’t until he was much closer that he realised Evans had also been stung across the face. A frightening red weal spread down his cheek, cutting into his upper lip.

Williams stooped to peel the jellyfish away from Evans’s hand which was already so numb, he didn’t even wince as skin and flesh came away with it. ‘Jesus Christ!’ Williams muttered, wanting to puke.

The tentacles curled around his gloved fingers, holding tightly as he attempted to toss the jellyfish aside. A couple of the more stubborn ones he had to pull out by the roots before he could free himself of it. As he did so, he felt a movement over his foot and looked down as a jellyfish appeared to be heaving itself on to his boot. Could that be possible?

Sickened, he stared about him. Hundreds of jellyfish lay on the beach, surrounding him. They need only move in on him simultaneously in a co-ordinated attack and that would be the end of his chances.

Imagining things, he was – that’s what he told himself, anyway. First, jellyfish can’t move on dry land. Second, whoever heard of them attacking in packs? Hyenas, yes; wolves, yes – but bloody jellyfish? Third, he was well covered, wasn’t he?

And Evans was moaning, needing help.

Williams bent down to get a grip on him, heaving him upright then letting him fall across his shoulder. The old
fireman’s lift. He grunted as he straightened up.

‘All right, mate – soon have you out o’ this!’ he announced cheerfully as he turned towards the promenade.

Already he could hear the wail of the ambulance siren. Not much he could do for the old man or the dog. Pretty horrific sight that was, too. But at least he’d get Evans back.

The tentacle moved slowly across his neck. First came a slight tickling sensation, then an intense burning pain. A second later, while he was still writhing from the shock, he became conscious of something penetrating beneath his collar, creeping down his skin between his shoulder blades. He bit his lip, tasting blood, as he stood rooted to the spot, still with the dead weight of Evans’s body across his shoulder.

The jellyfish must’ve been on his clothes, his mind told him with terrifying clarity. On Evans’s clothes.

Oh, Jesus! The agony ran down his spine, tearing him apart. In the small of his back… kidneys, was it? Bursting?

He’d fallen – but when? How? Jerking uncontrollably, his whole body… Rolling and twisting in wild spasms.

Sand in his face, filling his mouth, hard grainy sand choking in his throat as the pain corkscrewed through him.

Bloody Evans – why did he go and do that? Pulling him down like that? Always messing around, was Evans, sod him.

Pain was easing though, relaxing, like someone’d given him an injection. Ambulance men? No, he was still on the sand, his muscles seizing up, all sensation dropping away. That jellyfish poison was paralysing him. He remembered vaguely how they’d eaten into the face of that poor sod down by the harbour. Were they nibbling at
him
now, and he couldn’t feel it?

Oh, God! Mam, don’t let me die.

Mam?

Tim knew nothing about the mass landing of jellyfish until he went down for breakfast that morning. He had overslept for once, and had no time even to glance out of his window as he shaved and washed, then struggled into his clothes. Thank God he could manage his shirt buttons now without that searing agony jangling through his whole nervous system. Odd, the way that poison seemed to work. The numbing effect had worn off only very slowly and during the first couple of days he’d hardly experienced any real pain at all, compared with what followed.

The danger was the paralysis which left jellyfish victims unable to help themselves. He understood now what it felt like to be hunted – not viciously, as men track down one of their own kind, but simply for food.

After yesterday’s experiences in the cave, none of them had felt too sure of themselves. His own inclination had been to take it easy for the rest of the day, but he’d reckoned without Jacqui’s will-power. The film crew had arrived at midday as planned, and she’d decided to stick to her schedule. Their first location was among the sand dunes where they’d discovered the drowned teenager – how long ago was it now? A couple of weeks only, but it seemed like months.

This time, just to be quite sure, they had their own jellyfish with them, one of those he and Jane had collected that morning. While Jane drove, he nervously held the round specimen container clasped between his knees. He felt thankful the tide was coming in, making it too dangerous to take the crew to film in the cave. Jacqui was quite capable of it, he knew.

As it was, once they’d reached the dunes and had
everything set up, she instructed Jane to tip the jellyfish out on to the sand.

‘Stand well clear, then!’ Jane replied coolly.

At arm’s length, she unclipped the lid and threw it aside. For some reason, he didn’t know why, Tim had expected the jellyfish to be skulking at the bottom of the container; instead, it clung to the side just below the lip and they had difficulty dislodging it.

‘Shake it!’ Jacqui snapped impatiently.

Jane had grinned at her, her eyes mocking; she’d held it out. ‘You try.’

Jacqui was unperturbed. She had brought with her a walking stick for Tim to use as a pointer; with it, she gently prised the jellyfish free. Instinctively, Jane stepped back as it fell on the sand at her feet. Even then Jacqui wasn’t satisfied. She sent for water to splash over it.

‘We want it to look its best,’ she remarked lightly enough, but it was obvious to Tim that was just a front. She watched it cannily – and with loathing – as she was speaking and made sure she stood well clear.

In the shade – so long as it was not giving off any light of its own – the jellyfish looked, Tim reflected, like an unsavoury pink blancmange. But then no doubt it had moods, just as humans do.

After a quick rehearsal for the sake of Wally, the tall cameraman, Tim plunged into his brief commentary, using the walking stick to indicate the various parts of the creature. To his mind, he said off the cuff, this was as genuine a monster of the deep as he’d ever want to meet. Then they moved the camera for a close shot to demonstrate what he meant. With the stick he raised a fringe of the jellyfish to reveal its tentacles. One obligingly emptied its poison against the metal ferrule.