The Incredible Melting Man (16 page)

Round the huge sculptured sides of the tower they met the Captain’s men. They ringed the second cooler, seventy-five yards or so from its base. Most of them lay flat on their bellies, their eyes squinting down the sights of their rifles. Some of them knelt behind machine-guns. At intervals round the siege circle were army trucks with searchlights mounted on the backs. Yellow beams of light cut through the darkness and lit the base of the tower like daylight.

At first Nelson couldn’t make anything out. Under the immense hollow funnel there was a lattice of angled struts through which the tumbling water fell. The searchlights were diffused by the spilling water into dazzling clouds of light. It was like sunlight bursting on the surf of an ocean.

Then he saw him. Dwarfed by the massive superstructure of the tower that climbed above him, he stood waist-deep in the swirling water. His back was to the light and his face turned upwards to catch the cool flow of the cascading stream. The stumps of his arms were raised as if to try and hold the precious soothing drops.

The doctor’s throat went dry. “I’m going over to try and have a word with him,” he said.

The Captain’s protests were drowned in the roar of the water as he turned and walked towards the tower.

Steve was standing perfectly still. He was naked apart from the tattered remains of the hospital robe that still hung round his neck. And he was pathetically thin. How had he managed to kill in such a state? thought Nelson. The bones of his pelvis had broken through the skin and his back was rippled where the ribs were barely covered. Yet his dripping body shone with a strange red menace, the same luminescence that Nelson had seen on the severed arm. At his waist the water was stained where the pressure of the cascading waterfall had sloughed off the degenerated tissue.

Only a small wall separated them now, and over the rush of splashing water he called his name.

“Steve. Steve.”

Steve turned slowly and the haunted skull faced him. A flicker of recognition passed like a phantom across his shattered features.

“What happened up there, Steve?” cried Nelson. “For God’s sake what happened?”

Fred Zimwell had no difficulty getting past the soldiers on guard at the power plant gates. He couldn’t believe his luck until he realised that he’d still got the borrowed lab coat on. They must have thought he was one of the doctor’s staff.

He clutched his camera and ran across the yard to where he could see the searchlights. An officer tried to stop him but he pushed past and made towards the focus of attention: the two figures confronting one another at the base of the cooling tower. He raised his camera at the spectral figure in the water, but Nelson pushed out an arm to try and stop him.

“Get back, you bloody fool!” he shouted.

But Zimwell hadn’t got so far to be thwarted. Nelson had planted himself between him and the wall, right in the way of his shot. He pushed him fiercely aside so that the doctor slipped on the wet grass and fell to the ground with a yell of alarm. As Zimwell turned to look through the viewfinder there was a sudden eruption of water at the base of the tower. With a gurgle of choking rage the dripping spectre lurched over the wall and leapt at him. He felt the putrid slime cover his face and his terrified cry erupt not from his mouth but from the gaping hole that had appeared in his throat. Then he was lifted from his feet and hurled at the metal struts that held the tower. The rush of water and night blotted his senses.

Nelson watched in horror. “No, Steve,” he shouted. “No.”

The thing turned, a despairing look in the cavernous skull, then lurched off towards the ring of soldiers. An order rang out above the noise of rushing water and the troops opened fire.

As the searchlights followed the retreating figure Nelson saw bits of flesh flying as the bullets struck their target. But it was unaffected by them and the line of troops parted in amazement as the incredible figure burst past them and across the yard before disappearing into the turbine room.

Fred Zimwell’s body lay face downwards under the waterfall, the tails of his borrowed lab coat spread out above him. The broken camera strap still clung to his neck and his notebook floated away into the shadows at the foot of the giant cooling tower.

TWELVE

N
ELSON SET
off after him towards the turbine room. He was intercepted by the Captain.

“Don’t!” he shouted. “Leave him to us. He’s too dangerous!”

The doctor pushed him aside.

“I must try and speak to him,” he cried. “Don’t you see? He can tell us what happened. He was about to say something when that damn fool reporter arrived. Why the hell did you let him through?”

He didn’t let the Captain explain but sprinted for the door where Steve had disappeared. The Captain dashed after him.

The door led on to the lower deck of the turbine room. It was brightly lit and Nelson stood for a moment in the doorway blinded by the lights. It was a vast and complicated building, a modern cathedral to the god of thermal energy. Through the maze of steam ducts that stretched before them they could see the massive cylindrical turbines which dominated the centre of the great hall. Everything was dazzlingly clean, right down to the white tiled floor.

“Where’s he gone?” shouted the Captain, his voice echoing out above the powerful hum of the giant generators.

Nelson’s eyes searched the deck for any sign of movement. Where would he go? he thought. He’d seen the despair in his eyes, the helpless, hunted look. He would try to hide, hide somewhere and die in agony.

“You’d think there’d be blood stains somewhere,” shouted the Captain, examining the spotless floor. “He won’t go far. He must be pretty badly injured.”

“Your bullets didn’t affect him,” said Nelson quietly. “The alien cells are controlling him, otherwise he’d have been dead long ago.”

The Captain didn’t understand. He gripped the barrel of his rifle tightly.

“We’ll get a proper look at him in here,” he said. “And there won’t be any mistakes this time.”

Nelson had suddenly spotted a shining smear on the black hand rail of the companionway up to the next deck. Without speaking he set off up the iron stairs. The Captain and two of his men were soon on his heels.

The second deck was more open, just a huge apron of tiled floor around the string of turbines that spread across the hall. Catwalks were slung between the huge polished flanks of the generators, and it was high on one of the ladders that rose from one of these to the roof of the largest turbine that Nelson caught a movement. It was Steve.

He ran across the floor and up a short flight of stairs on to the catwalk. The trail of mucus seemed to be getting thicker as though the degeneration process was beginning to accelerate. There was no time to lose.

He paused at the bottom of the ladder. He couldn’t see over the curved top of the turbine, but he knew he was there. He edged his way up the ladder before stopping again and calling out. His voice echoed emptily in the high roof.

One step at a time he crept to the top. He hesitated before allowing his head to breast the rim, listening to see if he could catch the awful strangled breathing of the dying man. But he heard nothing for the drone of the machinery. One more step and his head was over the top of the ladder and looking straight into the red pools of hate and fear that had once been human eyes.

The shock sent him reeling backwards. He grabbed at the ladder but it slipped through his grasp. The iron rungs drummed painfully against his chest as he slid down, scraping and bruising his arms as he tried desperately to cling on. He hit the catwalk with both his feet, sending a jolt through his body that nearly split his spin. He keeled over on to the back and lay there chasing his scattered senses.

With the help of the rail he dragged himself to his feet, rubbing his arms and chest in a bid to disperse the stinging pain. He’d twisted his ankle and it would hardly bear his weight. Apart from that he was lucky, nothing was broken. He cursed his stupidity for allowing Steve’s appearance to alarm him. It was hideous but he must get beyond the surface to the mind, to see what could be salvaged. Steve had recognised him, he knew. So there was hope that the memory was still intact.

He hauled himself painfully back up the ladder. As he lifted his head above the top he saw Steve halfway along the top of the turbine. He had his back to him and was hesitating in apparent confusion. Nelson soon saw the reason. The head of that damn fool soldier, Sharpe, had appeared at the opposite end of the turbine. Steve was trapped.

Nelson clambered up to the top.

“Leave him to me, Captain,” he called. “We don’t want any accidents.”

Steve looked round as he spoke and seemed to cringe, raising the stumps of his arms as if to ward the doctor off. A pleading look came into the ravaged eyes, the tattered remains of an appeal.

The Captain ignored Nelson’s warning and climbed up on to the shining back of the generator. He raised his rifle to his shoulder and stepped determinedly towards the cornered creature. It turned quickly and began pawing the air with sharp jabs like a maimed cat that has lost all but its attacking reflexes. The Captain stopped.

“Stand still or I’ll shoot!” he ordered.

The thing froze, turned slowly, guiltily, to look back at the doctor, then crouched, seeming to gather its spindly and glistening form like a defensive spider.

Then it struck.

It moved towards the Captain with remarkable agility. The wet sticky feet acted like pads, certain of their grip on the polished surface. The Captain barked a final command then opened fire.

Nelson had to duck as the bullets tore through the yielding flesh as if it was lard. He saw the bits flying off, splashing on the spotless hull of the turbine. But the holes they made stained red for only a second before the jellied flesh slid back to seal the wound.

The impact of the bullets buffeted the thin body and brought it to a standstill. The Captain lowered his rifle and stared in appalled bewilderment. He didn’t know what to do. His military training was as redundant as his spent ammunition. He signalled wildly to the soldier at the top of the ladder to shoot, but the man couldn’t get a clear aim without hitting the Captain. The thing seemed to sense its advantage and prepared to strike again. Nelson watched in despair as he recognised the familiar movements.

It crouched and the liquid skin seemed to flow around it, obscuring the humanoid shape until it was a glistening mass of angry jelly, glowing hot and red on the glassy roof of the turbine. Then the head and arms oozed forward in attack and the rest followed in a spasm of fury. In the next moment the Captain was fighting off the swirling tide of jelly that lashed and plucked at his face and neck. He grappled helplessly with the chimerical form as it seethed over him, peeling his skin and sucking out the ripe pulp of his body. They heard the bones crack like firewood against the unrelenting pressure of the strangling cells. And when he was limp and ripped as a rag he fell loose with a smack of broken suction and slipped down the smooth side of the turbine in a trail of blood and slime. He fell between the flanks of the machine and the platform, from one level to the other until he hit the high voltage cables below in an explosion of sparks. The hall was plunged into darkness as the body crackled and burnt its way slowly down the cables, sticking as flesh and metal fused to cinders in the white heat of sixteen thousand volts. Then it dropped like molten molasses to the tiled floor and the stench rose from the shadows to revolt their numbed senses.

The huge generators whined to a halt and the great hall was filled with silence. Nelson stood stiff with shock, poised somewhere between his heartbeats. As his senses slowly reawakened he heard the dry rasp of heavy breathing spreading towards him. With it came the wet pad of footprints, peeling their way stickily along the top of the generator. A dim red glow spilt out of the darkness and he felt the warm stickiness touch him. A putrid stench filled his lungs as he contracted in terror on the narrow ledge. The reeking jelly slid past him gently caressing his skin and hair. He felt the hot breath on his face and heard the crumbling lips trying to speak. The word began with his name but ended in an anguished choke of pain. It slipped past him on to the ladder and fell with a heavy splat on the bridge below. Then the wet footsteps retreated into the darkness bearing their unspeakable burden of despair.

The voice of the soldier at the other side of the turbine broke the silence. He was calling out to see if Nelson was all right.

It was an effort to struggle free of the nightmare that gripped his soul and answer. The appalling responsibility for what had happened was his, his and that of all the others on the programme. It was their dereliction of duty that had damned Steve to such insupportable suffering. They should have foreseen that an alien life form might attempt such a thing. They’d been criminally blasé. Mars may be a dead planet now, but what of its past? The universe must be full of the dormant spores of lost species waiting like seeds on Earth for their long winter to turn into spring. Why should life in space be any different from life here, an interspecific battle for survival? Confident that they’d face only a barren world they’d taught the explorers how to deal with physical conditions only. Against organic competition, against aggression, they’d sent them naked into the unknown. Their carelessness had betrayed the safety of the whole human species.

Nelson answered the soldier wearily. He felt too exhausted to move. With all the mucus about it was too dangerous to attempt anything but to sit and wait for someone to replace the blown fuses. Steve would be lost to them; the revelation he’d prayed for was only the hopeless dream it had been all along. They’d never know what had happened on the red planet. They’d never be prepared to face the threat when it arrived with the return of Prometheus Two. Whatever was up there knew everything it needed to know about the human host it had chosen to colonise Earth. Steve’s ravaged body had seen to that, and perhaps their own ill-conceived experiments. Armed with the knowledge which the alien cells had transmitted back into space it would return impregnable. The naked aggression of the red cells would seem like a baby at play in comparison.