“Voracious wee buggers, aren’t they?” Hynd said, lighting a smoke with a hand that trembled slightly with tension.
All that remained of the beast they’d shot was the pulpy tissue that had spattered their clothes. When Banks brushed the worst of it off, it felt cold and waxy under his fingers, slightly slimy like the river eels he’d sometimes caught as a lad when trout fishing. The stink caught in his throat and he was grateful when Hynd handed him another cigarette to mask the smell.
He turned his back on the riverbed, looking north. They once again had a carpet of stars overhead and he saw a long stretch of rocky ground laid out ahead of them.
“Finish the smoke fast, Sarge,” he said. “Looks like we’re in for some decent running.”
- 16 -
“What do you mean, batteries?” Wiggins asked as Donnie moved to connect the copper wire across the vases on either side of the doorway.
“I’m betting there’s a rolled copper sheet around an iron rod inside each of these pots,” Donnie said. “You pour in an electrolyte, say vinegar or grape juice, and you’ve got a simple voltaic cell. Connect them in series with the copper wire and they’ll generate a weak electric field. Think of it as an alarm system if you like. Not very powerful but having seen the vases in operation back at the monastery, I’m guessing it’s enough to interfere with the worms’ own field and confuse them.”
“It’s already fucking confusing me,” Wiggins said. “I thought you dealt with fossils and shit like that?”
“Aye, but I read a lot,” Donnie replied. “And I watch a lot of crap on satellite telly. I heard about these vases in some Ancient Aliens documentary. Chariots of the Gods and all that shite.”
Wiggins laughed.
“Aye. They practically own South America. In that case,” he said, patting his rifle, “I’ll trust to Sweaty Betty here but go on, knock yourself out, connect them up—it cannae do us any harm.”
Donnie finished connecting the wire to the vase, wet his finger, and touched the copper. He felt a slight tingling, heard a faint buzz.
“So now what, Einstein?” Wiggins said above him.
“I’ve no idea. I guess we’ll find out if the worms come back.”
Rain continued to run in sheets off the roof. They’d see an occasional blue flash out in the night, dim as if far off but for now at least the worms were not encroaching. After a time, Wiggins and Davies swapped places and Donnie joined the corporal as he brewed yet another pot of coffee.
“Do you think they’ve got to the airstrip yet?” Donnie asked.
Wiggins checked his watch.
“If they got a clear run, they should be getting close,” he replied. “But in this rain, I don’t know. They may have found shelter and be huddling down ‘til it passes. Or they might have met worm trouble. Either way, there’s bugger all I can do about it right now, so I’m not going to waste time worrying.”
It was yet another thing that distinguished the soldiers from Donnie; all three of them, despite the recent shooting and the possibility of another attack at any moment, seemed as calm as they might be sitting around in someone’s front room having coffee and a chat. Probably even calmer than that, for there was a quiet surety to their movements and actions, a sense of control that Donnie could only watch and envy.
It made him feel slightly nervous, as if he was a young schoolboy dropped among a group of his elders. Although he was clearly of a similar age to both Wilkins and Davies, they seemed somehow more assured, more adult.
And they don’t even know it; it’s second nature to them.
They smoked, drank coffee, and listened to the professor snoring for another half an hour before Davies called out from the doorway.
“Here they come again.”
Wiggins clapped Donnie on the shoulder as he rose from beside the fire.
“Now we’ll see if your wee theory holds up.”
Wiggins went to join Davies in the doorway.
“Stand back, lad,” he said. “Watch the door. We’ll give Donnie’s idea a shot; if it works, we might not have to waste any ammo on these wee buggers, but if they look like they’re going to get in, take them down fast, same as before.”
The first worm to approach the door was far from a wee bugger, being almost a foot wide, with a mouth to match. It pressed forward through the wash of water running down the doorway, electricity cracking all around it, blue light dancing among the white fangs. It stopped as if it had hit a solid barrier, straining in place but unable to make any headway. The copper wires connecting the vases took on a faint but distinct golden glow and the air hummed.
“Fuck me sideways, it’s working,” Wiggins said.
Donnie pumped the air with a fist as the worm tried to press into the doorway only to be obviously repelled by the new field being put out by the series of vases. The golden glow from the wires intensified and flared in counter to the blue flashes of static coming in rhythmic waves from outside the door. Another worm, equally as large, joined the first in attempting entry and met with the same resistance. The golden glow from the copper wires filled the chamber with a warm light and the hum became a tingling vibration that ran through Donnie from the soles of his feet to the crown of his skull. Neither worm was able to gain entry through the door.
“Remind me to watch those shite Ancient Aliens documentaries,” Wiggins said. “Well done, lad.”
Donnie felt his grin grow wider, sharing, if only for a moment, in the men’s camaraderie. It didn’t last. The blue flashing intensified as the worms strained against the field and the golden glow flared and now flashed in reply, warring colors clashing in swirling patterns around the walls. More worms gathered in the doorway straining to come through. The hum from the batteries raised to a wail, almost a shriek.
“How long will your wee batteries last?” Wiggins asked.
Donnie could only shrug.
“I don’t have a Scooby, sorry.”
“Stay tight,” Wiggins said to the other soldiers. “We wasted these fuckers easily enough before, so even if Donnie’s magic batteries fail, this shouldn’t be a problem.”
There was a distinct creak from above them, loud even above the wail from the batteries. Pieces of foliage fluttered down on their heads, the dry scraps taking flame as they reached the fire. Donnie looked up to see blue electrical discharges dancing along the surface of the ceiling.
“The fuckers are up on the roof,” Wiggins shouted. “Heads up, lads.”
Donnie saw a small hole at the apex of the ceiling, made for the escape of smoke from the fire. He kept expecting red worms to slither down through it but no sign of them appeared as of yet. Instead, the creaks and groans from above increased, more dry debris fluttered down, the blue flashes became more persistent, and more worms strained at the doorway. The glow from the copper wire was bright yellow now and the howl from the vases protective field echoed around them as the blue and the gold warred for control.
Okay, Captain Banks. We could do with the cavalry about now.
- 17 -
Banks and Hynd arrived at the airstrip a full two hours later than they’d planned. Any hope they had of a quick rescue was quashed as soon as they saw the site. The strip lay empty of any aircraft and the whole area appeared deserted, although there was a light on in the shack that passed as a control room and a transport truck with the keys in the ignition parked outside it.