Constable Jack Reed had just returned to the open doorway for a breath of fresh air when his old mate Constable Duncan Monroe came running across. They had done their training together, he and Duncan, though these days they didn’t see much of each other off duty.
‘Something odd’s going on in there,’ Duncan said tersely, ‘though God knows what. Did you hear his message?’
‘What there was of it. Fire brigade and ambulance, that’s all I got. Was there more?’
‘I dunno. Maybe his radio’s malfunctioning. I tried to raise him but he’s not answering.’
i’ll go and check. Stick around, will you, just in case.’
He sprinted down the corridor, found the narrow staircase and went up two steps at a time. Emerging into the reception area he stopped dead, dazed with shock. The place looked as though a bomb had hit it. Worse than that, the body of young Tim Jones lay spreadeagled on its back over a heap of fallen timber. Feeding on it — actually feeding on it — was a long snake. No, not a snake, he realised, but something more like a worm with a pale segmented skin the colour of liver sausage and pinkish patches. He knew right away what it must be. That man Archer who’d been attacked in the old school had cross-examined him about seeing snakes, and a few days later he and Tim Jones had gone in the panda car to bully that black kid into telling the truth.
Archer was right, though.
He stepped back, retreating towards the staircase and trying to avoid looking at the twisted remains of Sergeant Taylor, over which the vicious, clawed beetles were crawling like maggots over rotting meat. Somehow these beetles and the snakes belonged together, his mind told him dully, but he couldn’t understand why.
‘Duncan, d’you read me?’ he called on his personal radio.
‘Go ahead, Jack.’ it’s like a bloody battlefield. Cover me while I try to get out in one piece, will you? Use anything — fire hose-anything you can lay your hands on. But for Chrissake be quick.’
The beetles were ignoring him, perhaps because they were still busy with poor old Dave Taylor’s body; from the way they were chewing into him there’d not be much left for his widow to identify. But what about Bob Phillips, Jack wondered. He might be hiding somewhere, too scared to move. Couldn’t go off and leave Mm there, not if he were still alive.
‘Bob!*' he shouted, ‘Bob, it’s me — Jack! Give me a yell if you can hear me!’
He took a step or two farther in.
The giant worm paused in its feeding on, the dead constable and raised itself up to stare at the intruder — at least, he could have sworn that was its purpose — but it made no move to attack Mm. The more blood it drank, the more the pink patches on its skin seemed to be spreading, he noted; the mere thought of it made him feel sick.
"Bob! Can — you-hear — me?’ he bawled out again. ‘Bob!’
Looking around, it was like finding himself in the centre of one of those old illustrations of damnation filled with medieval terrors. He was more frightened than he’d ever thought possible, yet determined not to let it take over, Mo panic, that had always been his motto. Flay everything cool.
‘I’m ready for you, jack,’ came Duncan’s steady voice from the stairway. He was another one who’d still be ice-cold even in hell, Jack thought. ‘The Armstrong woman suggested the fire extinguisher. Said it’ll slow ’em down even if it doesn’t kill ’em. Can you make it over here?’
The beetles had moved, cutting him off from the entrance to the basement stairs. He stepped farther out into the middle of the corridor, intending to go around the sergeant’s body and reach the stairs from the other side, but immediately the beetles began to regroup.
‘Bloody hell, they seem able to read your mind!’ Duncan exclaimed when he saw what they were doing.
‘It’s more than that.’ Jack tried to speak calmly but his voice cracked. Hoarsely he.went on: ‘They’re getting ready to attack.’
Forty or fifty of them at least, he reckoned. If they all came at him at once he’d stand no chance.
‘Stand by,’ said Duncan, raising the nozzle of the fire extinguisher. ‘Let’s see if this thing has any effect.’
It was like a sudden snow storm as he sprayed the beetles with the compressed gas. They froze to the floor, glistening as the ice crystals formed, jack seized the moment and started, forward, intending to walk straight over them. Had he been wealing old-fashioned police boots he’d have mads it; as it was, these rubber composition jobs couldn’t get a grip on the ice and his foot gave way under him.
Duncan lowered the nozzle and came to help him; even as he was still falling jack realised it was a mistake. Above Duncan’s head, along a timber ledge at the top of the panelling, lay another of those pale giant worms.
‘Duncan!’ he screamed out in a desperate attempt to warn him. ‘For God’s sake, get clear!’
It dropped directly on to his shoulders, draping itself over him like a long scarf, then twisting its head upwards, its whole body rippling as it prepared to attack.
Duncan grunted with astonishment, his eyes bulging in terror as he dropped the fire extinguisher, which went bouncing and rolling down the stairs far out of reach. Hastily Jack tried to get up, but he was too slow. From behind he heard a movement; then something heavy thrashed against his back. A second later he felt a burning sensation on his neck, sharpening into an unbearable pain.
Then everything became vague, save for a crazy singing in his ears as his blood drained out. Something crashed down across him, a writhing, yelling body which was not his own. Oh no, because his own body was floating now, freely levitating above the rooftops.
Higher into the dark sky… higher… until the great cloud dispersed him, accepting him into itself.
It had been the note of urgency in the constable’s voice which brought Mary Armstrong out of the office to ask what was going on,
‘Beetles!’ His total bewilderment had been plain to see on his face. "What the hell can I use- against beetles?’
So she’d advised the fire extinguisher and started to explain the effect: on insects of a rapid drop in temperature. He hadn’t waited to hear her reasoning. Grabbing the nearest extinguisher, he’d dashed towards the stairs. She didn’t even have a chance to ask if anyone was hurt.
She knew exactly what she had to do and went about her preparations briskly. At the old school she’d gone to pieces at the sight of beetles, but all that was well in the past by now; this time she had total control over herself. What she needed was hard information, including photographs, to back up the report she’d been working on when Evan phoned her about the key. The department’s camera was ready to hand on the desk, freshly loaded.
But first she telephoned Guy.Archer, who had seen more of the beetles than anybody — which made him a useful witness; unfortunately, the only reply came from an answering machine. Leaving a message, she then dialled the number the inquisitive girl journalist had given her earlier in the day. This time she felt quite certain of herself; in fact, if she were to get her way she needed, the press on her side.
‘May I speak to Tessa Brownley?’ she requested when at last the call was answered.
‘Speaking.’
Mary gave no details — she knew none to give — but merely said there was an emergency'at Worth Hall and Tessa should get there as quickly as possible if she wanted a story for the national papers, That should be enough to get her moving, she thought as she put the receiver down.
Taking the camera with its flashlight attachment, she went towards the door, but then stopped.
‘God, I’m scared!’ she whispered aloud to herself.
Every time she even thought of beetles that same feeling returned.. that same uncontrollable nausea…
Going through the connecting door into the laboratory she found a bottle of ether, which she gingerly placed upright in her shoulder bag, using a thick wad of folded report forms to keep it in place. Anything was better than facing those creatures with empty hands, she decided.