‘Must get out.’ She spoke aloud in her panic. ‘Out…’
But Roberta’s body blocked the door again. The jellyfish were too close to get near it, and her own bare feet too vulnerable. Distraught, she looked around for some weapon — anything which might help her — and noticed the fire extinguisher clipped to the wall beside the door. To reach it, she had to tread between two jellyfish, each a couple of feet across, barring the way like Scylla and Charybdis in the ancient legends.
She tried to get a grip on herself: this had to be done carefully, for the space between the stretch of those tentacles on either side was very narrow. First one foot, mud-spattered and cold; the tentacles flickered out towards it, but without success. Then the next… choosing her spot carefully… wavering a little… unsure of her balance…
The fire extinguisher was in her hands, and it seemed like a miracle. She freed the nozzle, tugged out the restraining pin and pressed the lever. The carbon dioxide spurted out, covering the nearest jellyfish with freezing snow which caused them to curl up, writhing, before subsiding into inactivity.
But her feet were also hit by that extreme cold. She tried to take a step away, directing the flow now at the jellyfish guzzling on Roberta’s poor body; it was like walking on raw, jagged stumps and she fell sprawling towards the first tanks. For one second only she looked up — winded — and was aware of the jellyfish perched on the shelf immediately above her.
Then it dropped over her face, muffling her shrieks of terror. She tried to tear it away with her hands, but the agony shot through her fingertips, tingling through both arms. Another spasm ran through her like a stream of hot lead, down her throat, her windpipe, her lungs, and… oh, God — no! Her nipples burned with that unimaginable pain.
Oh, Bill… Tim…
Tim’s coming tomorrow… oh, Tim, I left it too late…
‘Bill — All right, go to your fucking wife! What do I care?
I do.
Admit it, Jane, you do care — admit it.
Saw your wife, Tim. No hope there. She’s gone. Stuck in the same shit, aren’t you? Same old bloody shit.
19
A church hall had been requisitioned for the press briefing prior to the combined services offensive against the jellyfish invasion. It was crowded.
Tim sat on the front row with Jane’s sister, Jocelyn, her face pale and intense. From the dark, haggard look in her eyes it was obvious she’d not slept at all in the two days since Jane’s mutilated body was found in her laboratory together with those of her assistant Roberta and one of Robin’s students. When they heard the news, the Ministry had suggested filming elsewhere, but she wouldn’t hear of it.
‘No, of course not!’ she’d protested, close to tears, when they telephoned her. ‘We must warn people! It’s so horrible! It’s the nursery you want, isn’t it? The babies? I haven’t killed them yet.’
So they’d driven down there with the usual crew. Jacqui, deep in her own problems and looking equally in need of a night’s sleep, had glanced cynically from Tim to Dorothea as though she knew. If she did, it must have been Dorothea herself who had told her. But none of that mattered any more. His own mind was on Jane: he must have spoken to her only ten minutes before it happened. She’d confessed everything about Totnes and seemed surprised he didn’t already know Sue was in hospital.
He’d rung the hospital right away, but they said she’d left. Just left, the girl had insisted; then he’d tried all the Totnes numbers in his diary, without success. Maybe she’d gone off somewhere: who could tell? More likely still avoiding him.
When they arrived in Somerset, Jocelyn had led them past the hut where Jane had died. It was closed and locked. She made no comment on it, but took them directly into the nursery — the second hut — where she showed them all they needed to see. Only the brisk, brittle manner in which she gave her explanations betrayed how close to the edge she must be.
Afterwards, once Jacqui and the crew had left, she talked about Jane’s death. And Roberta, of whom she’d become very fond. The boy — she said — she hardly knew, although Robin spoke highly of him. She blamed herself bitterly for all that had happened, insisting that she should have foreseen it.
‘This army operation you’re going on,’ she added before he left. ‘I want to come with you. I can see now Robin was right, it’s them or us. Though I still don’t agree with burning.’
‘It’s the most effective way so far.’
‘It doesn’t touch those still in the sea, which is the majority. I’ve moved on from digestion and their food intake. I’m starting experiments on their nervous system.’
Tim thought of the nerve gas grenade but said nothing — as ordered. From what they had told him, it had slaughtered everything within reach.
‘I’ll put it to them,’ he agreed, ‘though I can’t promise what their answer will be. I’m not even allowed to take the crew on this one. Any pictures — assuming there are some — will come from army cameramen.’
The army refused her request, as he’d expected. If it was important, they said, she could accompany the press party who would be kept well to the rear out of the danger zone, although kept up to date with regular reports from the press relations people. Tim himself was in a different category, they pointed out. He was the Ministry’s responsibility and they were under direct orders to take him.
He pleaded, claiming he could do his own job a lot better if he could take her with him as a specialist adviser. When they still refused, he telephoned the Ministry. Grudgingly they agreed to back his request, with the result that she was to accompany him.
The press briefing was chaired by Colonel Smythe, a tall balding man dressed informally in a knitted army jersey reinforced with leather patches, including a couple on his shoulders bearing the insignia of his rank. He put over his message with a cool, matter-of-fact competence.
Beside him as he spoke was a large-scale map of the Dorset coast pinned to a blackboard on an easel.
‘This part of the coast,’ he explained, tapping the area with his pointer, ‘is occupied by jellyfish up to five or six miles inland, although the actual depth of penetration varies of course from place to place. At eleven hundred hours, army units will move forward on a wide front, exterminating such jellyfish as we find and — ah — reclaiming the land. All men have been issued with safety clothing, and you’ll be given an opportunity to examine a specimen suit. The method of extermination will be fire. I should like to stress this. We are going in for what can only be called a scorched earth policy. Crops, grassland and woods will, I’m afraid, all suffer to a greater or lesser extent. We need to make sure we destroy all possible places of concealment and kill every single jellyfish in the area. On the other hand, the men have been instructed to avoid causing damage to houses and other property whenever possible.
‘Now, I’ll take questions in a few minutes, but first I’d like to introduce my colleague from the Royal Navy who is here to tell you about their side of the operation. Captain Binns.’
Tim noticed how closely Jocelyn was following every word of the military men’s statements, although she must have been familiar with the details already from the regular flow of reports and summaries which arrived with each post.
Several shoals of jellyfish were approaching the coast of Britain from different directions, Captain Binns stated drily, betraying no emotion on the subject. RAF Nimrods were keeping them under constant observation.