The Smog (14 page)

 

As the aircraft taxied in at the airport at Yellowstone, Palfrey tore his gaze away from the wonders of the land about them, astonished by the size of Yellowstone Lake and seeing, though he did not know it then, a sight much the same as he would see in Pale Valley. He saw a small group of people near a twin-engined jet passenger aircraft. A man and a woman stood close to this and he recognised Griselda Kemble and Arthur Harrison.

Palfrey's aircraft pulled up, near the small airport building.

Another – the one in which young Collins and three other Z5 men were flying – was still a speck in the distance.

Palfrey and Smith walked down the short flight of steps which was pushed close to the plane door, and almost at once Smith began to gasp for breath. Palfrey turned to him in concern.

“Don't worry—don't worry,” Smith gasped. “Altitude. Always the same. Won't stop me—” he positively gulped for breath— “talking for long.”

He followed Palfrey more slowly, as Harrison came towards them, the roar of the other jet making the air quiver and the ground shake.

“Dr. Palfrey,” Harrison said, advancing awkwardly to Palfrey's outstretched hand, in which, after a moment's hesitation, he placed his own. “We are all ready to fly to the Professor, who asks me to tell you that the first six of a hundred and forty cubicles have been successfully tested.”

“Six out—how many?” gasped Smith.

“One hundred and forty.”

“My God!”

“It will take less than forty minutes to fly to the Valley,” said Harrison, changing the subject. “I—ah—don't think that Professor Storr is expecting the second aircraft, is he, Griselda?”

She was watching it taxi towards them.

“No,” she said. “Is everyone in your party to fly with us, Dr. Palfrey? Mr. Andromovitch is already with Stephen.”

“No,” Palfrey answered in turn, “the second aircraft will follow us, and constant surveillance will be kept while I'm in Pale Valley.”

“You will be quite safe,” she said, almost testily. The other aircraft stopped and Collins, wearing an open necked, short sleeved shirt and a Paisley pattern choker, and slacks, stepped out; he looked like a model for men's outdoor clothes, and his flaxen hair had a golden sheen. His gaze rested on Griselda in unfeigned admiration.

“All set, sir,” he said to Palfrey.

“I must consult the Professor about this,” Harrison said. He took off his horn-rimmed glasses and did much as Palfrey had with his watch. “Professor, Dr. Palfrey has—”

“Let me talk to him,” Palfrey suggested, and took the glasses from the old man's hands. “Professor …” he told Storr what he proposed, and almost without hesitation Storr replied: “I have no objection at all.”

“Good. How many tests has Costain passed now?”

“Another one cubicle. You understand that it will take several days, don't you?”

“Yes,” said Palfrey, and he thought: Agonising days of waiting.

“Palfrey,” Storr said abruptly.

“Yes?”

“Is Philip Montefiore with Mr. Harrison?”

“I haven't seen him,” Palfrey said, and looked at Harrison. “Is Philip with you?”

“No,” answered Harrison. “He stayed in the Valley.”

“I heard that, thank you,” Storr said. “Will you tell my pilot to watch the lake? Sometimes Philip takes a launch out by himself.” After a pause he went on in a less worried voice: “I shall look forward to seeing you very soon. Goodbye.”

Palfrey said: “Goodbye,” and handed the glasses back to Harrison.

In five minutes they were airborne again; in ten, they were in sight of the Grand Tetons, and Palfrey felt the same almost hypnotic pull as Costain had felt in the chair lift. It was virtually impossible to feel the sense of urgency which had driven him here.

 

Costain put down a newspaper which had two fascinating articles, one on world population and the other on the origins of sport, stood up, and moved to the door of the eighth chamber. It slid open, and he stepped through.

The palpitations which followed were less vigorous than before; the fear of death remained but was less harsh.

He saw Philip Montefiore, some distance along, in his wheel chair, but gave no thought to that, knowing he would be watched every moment of his testing.

After a few moments, he sat down.

 

Palfrey stepped out of the aircraft on a landing strip along the shore of the lake, bemused by the beauty, dazzled by the sun's reflection from the snow, thoughtful at the sight of Pale Valley and both reassured and inwardly excited by the sight of Stefan, towering above Storr. There was bright eagerness in Stefan's eyes as he came forward. They shook hands. Stefan engulfed Palfrey's in both of his for a moment, and then drew back.

“Dr. Smith,” Palfrey said, and Smith, still affected by the atmosphere, shook hands with Storr and then with Stefan. Overhead the Z5 aircraft roared, and dipped its wings; Collins was enjoying himself.

“Has Philip turned up?” Palfrey asked.

“No.”

“There was no sign of him on the lake,” Griselda said. “Would he be in the Valley?”

“Marion has gone to see,” Storr told her, looking very straight at Palfrey. “I am most concerned, Palfrey. Philip is a brilliant young man but too often unpredictable. He bitterly resents his incapacity, and I have heard him threaten to wheel himself into one of the pools. I—”

He broke off, at a peep of sound, a radio signal; and it came from his watch, as Palfrey's had.

“Yes, Marion,” he said sharply.

Her voice came very clearly.

“Philip has been here, I can see the tracks of the chair's wheels. But I can't find him.”

“We will organise a comprehensive search at once,” promised Storr, “Goodbye.” He beckoned a man from the dinghy, and said: “We want all the launches quickly.” He turned to Palfrey: “You are welcome to come with us or to rest here.”

“I'll come,” Palfrey said promptly.

“It is vital to keep to the paths—” Storr glanced at Stefan and went on: “There are large areas where the earth's crust is so thin here that even a man of ordinary weight would sink. It would be instant death.”

“I will be very careful,” Andromovitch said mildly.

 

Costain stepped into the next cubicle.

Philip was still watching him, and, strangely, giving him a greater feeling of disquiet than the gas-filled cubicle itself, in which he was now sealed.

 

Two launches drew up at a landing stage close to the biggest of the geyser fields. Palfrey saw two places, under water, where boiling mud bubbled up into the cold of the lake. Close to the water's edge, steam was rising in dense clouds. From a hundred feet up in the mountainside, boiling water first erupted, then fell, then trickled, steaming, into the lake. On each side there were colours of rich hues – gold, bronze, purple, green, blue. As they stepped out, a geyser erupted, not a hundred yards away, and a huge spout of water rose high into the air, and a great roar travelled along the surface of the lake.

They stepped on to the wooden stage.

Paths of rough-hewn logs led up the mountainside and into tunnels, pools of bubbling water looked like rainbows leading down into the earth. Circles of brown mud plopped and bubbled. A drifting log reached one of these circles and slowly sank, as if into quicksand. One large pool of water, fifty feet across, was like an enormous simmering saucepan.

Harrison said nervously to Andromovitch.

“Please—please keep to the middle of the path. If the edge crumpled we would all fall in. And if that happened—”

“We wouldn't be seen again,” Griselda remarked, as if with macabre pleasure.

The path now led slightly uphill. The mud and water hissed and bubbled, while every so often a geyser blew with a deafening roar. Palfrey, who knew Yellowstone, and so was acutely aware of all the dangers, felt the thickness of sulphur in his nostrils, making breathing difficult.

They turned a corner – and Marion stood at the entrance of a tunnel which oozed mud and from which scalding water poured. A little further along, a waterfall gushed, steaming, out of the wall of rock. This was where Boiling River had been diverted. Marion was peering into the tunnel, and saw them, and moved nearer.

“Philip's gone in there,” she said in a harsh voice. “I think he's out of his mind. He—” She looked in almost unbearable distress. “He said he can get through to the test chambers this way and he's going to blow them up.”

Then she said. “And David's in there.”

 

Costain saw the steam, not far ahead: one chamber ahead, or two, perhaps three, cubicles from him. Philip was grinning. By the side of the wheel chair was a cloud of steam. Water was seeping through the sides of the tunnel, and he remembered that Boiling River ran almost parallel.

Philip was beckoning.

 

“Can we go round to the main entrance?” Palfrey asked urgently.

“There isn't time,” Harrison told him. “The test chambers are only fifty or sixty feet from here, through the rock. I surveyed the rocks seeking a place for an air vent. But—I didn't think there was a path. It's damnably close to the new channel of Boiling River.”

“If Philip went that way—” began Griselda.

“I saw him,” insisted Marion. “
I'm
going.”

“Marion, a single slip and you would be in that scalding water!” Harrison barked. “If you're right and Philip
is
going to destroy the test chamber, he's planning to divert the river back to the main tunnel.”

“Can it be done?” demanded Palfrey.

“With one charge of explosive, yes. He would destroy himself and everyone near.”

“He would destroy our hopes,” said Storr, in a cold voice.

“
I
must go
—” Marion cried.

“I am willing—” began Andromovitch.

“For God's sake! With your weight the path would crumble at every step.” Harrison sounded terrified.

“Marion,” said Storr, “I will go with Jensen—”

The man from the motor launch growled: “I'm not going in that hell hole for anything or anyone. Only a fool would try. If Philip went in there he's a skeleton by now, that water has the flesh off the bones in minutes.”

“I don't believe he can have got through,” Harrison said—and across his words there came another ‘peep' Storr raised his watch.

“Professor Storr,” he answered.

“Professor, there's something wrong,” a man said in a clear voice. “Philip is in one of the inspection bays—the one near Boiling River. Costain's two cubicles away from him. I can see, but I can't get at the bay unless I change the concentration levels. If I do that Costain won't have a chance to finish the tests and the testing chambers will be out of action for days. What do you want me to do?”

“Wait until he is at the loading bay,” Storr said. “If there is an emergency cleanse the chambers. I am going in through Boiling River Cave.”

“
My God!
”
the other man said, aghast.

 

Costain had no idea what was going on, but Philip's expression made him feel more and more uneasy.

 

“Professor,” Palfrey said equably, “Harrison is right, and Stefan is too heavy. So are you. If Miss Kemble and I go in, we should have the best chance of getting through.” He smiled at Marion. “Shall we go?” It was as if he were asking for a dance.

In a strange, taut voice, Storr said: “You need to prevent Philip from using any explosive. He probably has a revolver which will fire an explosive charge into the wall of the inspection bay, and let the water through. If the river water does hit the test chambers—”

He broke off as Palfrey took Marion's arm and led her towards the steam-filled cave. As they went in the heat made Palfrey gasp, but soon he could see as well as breathe. He could see and hear the roar of Boiling River, in a channel on one side. There was a path along the wall, on the other side, away from the river, and he saw the tyre tracks, obviously recently made. He led the way. The river ran black and terrifically hot on his left. He brushed the inside wall with his shoulder, sensing that Marion was cringing back, too.

Just ahead, some of the path crumbled away and fell into the water, making no sound. Marion gasped. Palfrey stepped across the crumbling patch, turned, and helped her over. Their hands were wet with sweat and steam, their hair flat against their heads, their clothes moulded by steam to their bodies.

And the water boiled.

Then, he saw a light – a single electric lamp, burning. He heard Marion whisper: “
There he is!
”
And there was Philip Montefiore, with a revolver in his hand, staring towards David Costain, who was inside the test chamber only ten feet away.

Philip was talking, like a demented creature.

“Come on, one more step and then you'll know what it's like to choke to death … One more step and there won't be any people left … one more step.
Come on!
My God, how I hate you. How I hate …”

Palfrey was now on firmer ground, only feet away from the maddened youth, the sound of his approach drowned by the rush of the scalding water. He reached the chair and, with infinite caution, stretched out his hand and took the gun away.

Philip screamed, and spun his chair round. The chair moved forward, slithering downhill towards the river and the steam. Marion, flattened against the wall, saw Philip going, saw the terror on his face as the chair jolted, then tipped up, and pitched him into the river.

 

Costain, watching in stupefied horror, saw it all.

First Philip, then the chair, disappeared.

Next, he saw Palfrey, one arm round Marion's shoulders, making the thumbs up sign.