‘I… I’ll be back shortly,’ he said lamely. ‘Will you be all right?’
Her head jerked upward and her face hardened with determination. ‘I’m all right now. Where are you going?’ Her eyes fell on the ice-box. ‘Oh.’
‘You said we need more skins. I’ll not be long.’
‘By yourself? Why?’
‘I always hunt by myself.’
‘With Angus,’ she contradicted him.
‘He’s not here. And I take the main risk; that’s my part of the contract — remember?’
‘You’re trying to protect me!’ she laughed, getting out of the car. She stretched up on tiptoe and kissed him, a quick peck, almost maternal. ‘Isn’t that sweet!’
‘No, but—’
‘Matt, love, I’ve recovered now. I’m as tough as old boots. It was just the sight of that poor dog… I’m always like that about dogs.’ She ran her hand over her hair as if to tidy it. ‘But if that’s what worms did to Annie, I’m going after them with you. What should I carry?’
He regarded her uncertainly, knowing the risks, but she insisted. Handing her the two empty ice-boxes, he went back to the boot for the Bolex camera and the hand-lamp. With her help it might be possible to film the worms after all.
Neither of them spoke as they trudged back around the perimeter till they reached the woods and the hole in the fence. Before going through he bent the wire mesh back as far as he could to give maximum room. He also poked around in the undergrowth with one of the walking-sticks, just to make sure.
‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘We’ll take the gear through.’
‘Too far away from the water for them,’ she commented.
‘Who knows? They may not be as dependent on water as we think.’
It was already late afternoon and he decided to do the filming first, before the light went. He’d load with fast Eastman-color; with help from the hand-basher he might get some decent shots.
They followed the same path as before, with Matt taking the lead again. The only sound they could hear was their own legs brushing against the undergrowth and the uneasy play of the breeze among the branches. It was turning colder, too.
One worm was still feeding on the carcase of the dog, now an unrecognizable red mass. Several flies shared the meal. Silently, Matt showed Fran how he wanted her to direct the light from the hand-basher and he started filming. The worm blinked up at them, then went on chewing; its skin glowed with a weird phosphorescence.
After a couple of shots he moved nearer the edge of the pond in search of other worms. They might be hiding anywhere in the gullies which were deeply scored into the soggy ground, but he was reassured by the thought that they’d not yet been known to bite through waders and Wellingtons. Yet how long would this immunity last? He was convinced they’d begin to understand sooner or later.
The pond was still, revealing nothing but weeds and decomposing leaves. The piece of rag was clearly visible among the stems. He stared at it doubtfully as Fran played the light over the water. Where were the worms?
Taking some offal from his pocket he threw it into the water but the pond was so overgrown, it produced only the slightest of ripples. He tried some more a little farther off. Still no reaction; it remained untouched.
The slithering sound behind them was so slight it was almost not there at all. Slow… soft… sustained. A quick gasp from Fran as they both turned. Three worms approached from different directions out of the undergrowth. The fear twisted in Matt’s intestines but he forced himself to raise the camera.
‘Light,’ he requested.
She tried to obey, and switched the lamp on, even, but at the same time she stepped back and slipped on the mud. A terrified moan escaped from her lips as she fell.
‘Fran!’
Matt dropped the camera and grabbed her, catching her with both arms around the body. But the momentum of her fall knocked him off balance too, and his feet began to skid from beneath him. Desperately he fought to regain a firm foothold, aware of the three pairs of hard eyes observing him alertly, waiting for the right second to sink their teeth into him.
It was a miracle he managed to avoid dropping flat on his face. As it was, he was forced down on to one knee in the mud, still holding Fran upright.
‘I’m all right! I’m all right, Matt!’ she announced breathlessly, holding on to an overhead branch to steady herself. ‘Look after yourself.’
As he released her the worms darted closer. His face was almost within their reach and they reared up to strike, their heads back like cobras about to spit venom. Their jaws opened wide. Hate and revulsion flooded through him at the sight of those sharp incisors.
He bent forward challengingly, madly tempting fate, ‘Come on, let’s see what you can do!’ he taunted them. Some insane mood had seized him and he dared them to attack. In the background he heard Fran pleading with him to get up. ‘Come on!’ he urged them.
Their heads shot forward but Matt was quicker. He grasped the nearest couple by their necks and stood up, one in each hand, laughing in triumph. They wriggled helplessly as he gripped them.
‘Let’s go!’ he said to Fran.
The third worm nudged against the rubber of his waders, then backed away. He ignored it and began to march along that twisting narrow path between the trees, holding the worms before him high enough to keep their tails clear of the ground.
Fran stumbled on behind him, protesting against the risk. ‘They’re too long, too dangerous…’
‘Just what we need!’ he called back cheerfully, ducking to avoid a tangle of branches above his head. One of the worms snapped viciously at his nose; he jerked back, narrowly avoiding its teeth. She was right; he’d have to be more cautious.
When they reached the fence he instructed her on how to open one of the ice-boxes they’d left there and pour a generous helping of chloroform over the cotton wool he’d spread out inside. Then he dropped the first worm in and she slammed the lid down before it could escape.
He waited for a few moments for the chloroform to take effect. ‘Okay,’ he said when he was ready.
She opened the lid and he lowered the second worm inside. The first was sluggish but not yet completely overcome by the fumes. Its head rose slowly over the edge in an attempt to escape, but he knocked it back in sharply with the tip of his walking-stick.
‘That’s the first two safely put away!’
‘You’re not going back again?’ Her voice betrayed her fear.
‘You asked for fifty.’ He spoke lightly, trying to disguise his own uneasiness. What he longed for most at that moment was to get his hands on the driving-wheel again, feel the accelerator under his foot, and forget this place ever existed. ‘How else are we going to get them?’
‘We came here to look for Annie, not to get ourselves killed.’
‘Did you see that piece of rag by the pond. Or rather, in it?’
‘Well?’
‘It could’ve been Annie’s T-shirt. She was wearing one that colour when I met her. That makes two reasons for going back to the pond. And there’s a third: I can’t leave the camera.’
She was obviously worried. Her face was pale and she bit her lip uncertainly.
‘Look,’ he said gently, ‘there’s no need for you to come with me. Why don’t you wait outside the fence?’
She scorned his suggestion, picked up the hand-basher and said she was ready to move. Matt slung the second ice-box over his shoulder; the first, containing the worms, he pushed out through the hole in the fence where they could collect it later.
They both carried walking-sticks, expecting to be attacked by worms at any minute, but they reached the pond without seeing a single one. The sun was sinking lower in the sky; the shadows were lengthening. Fran swung the wide beam of the lamp this way and that, on the look out for the slightest glimmer of luminescent green, but she found nothing. Several bluebottles circled over the dog’s remains, but no worms.