But they weren’t eating. He watched them closely to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. No, he was right — they were taking the food away! Relays of worms, each about the size of those which had originally attacked him in the sewers, were approaching the body to fetch mouthfuls of meat and carry it off into the undergrowth.
So far they hadn’t observed him. He held well back and began to move as quietly as he could from one islet to the next, trying to keep them in sight. On every other occasion they’d always eaten on the spot, so why were they behaving differently now?
He reached firmer ground and was able to get closer. Two lines of worms, squirming across the balding rock near the foot of the tor, busily going to and from their food source… He followed them round the base of the tor, carefully, still making sure he didn’t get too close.
At the side of the tor he saw them head for what appeared to be a bright green quilt laid out on the ground, quite flat and about ten feet across. It was a beautiful thick, soft layer of moss and as treacherous as the worms themselves. The moment he saw it he felt sick in his stomach. If Jenny had come this way and thrown herself down on it to rest, not realizing that she’d sink to her death in the muddy ooze underneath…
As he watched, the matted moss on the surface broke and a head rose above it, the head of the largest worm he’d ever seen. Its eyes were partly closed, its features bloated. Though he couldn’t see its full length, its neck alone must have been almost a foot in diameter. Oblivious of his presence, it laid its head on the edge of the green quilt and opened its mouth lazily to be fed.
A gasp came from behind him — Fran! She clutched his arm and whispered something, but too low for him to understand. He knew they had only to make the wrong move and the worms would turn on them. This giantess — he was convinced it was female — had probably laid eggs in the mud; this could be the only reason why the others were feeding her. She was like a queen termite in the centre of a colony: protected, but also co-ordinating the tasks of her offspring, sending out those waves of intelligence he’d so often experienced. A queen worm, the telepathic centre of her empire.
He freed his sleeve from Fran’s fingers and turned, intending to ask her to leave. If the worms did attack — and those visiting the pony’s corpse must be the soldier-hunters of the tribe — he’d need to be unencumbered. But then he heard a low whimper from the direction of the tor.
‘Daddy!’ The voice was so soft, hardly distinguishable from the whine of the wind through the stones, that he thought at first his ears were deceiving him. ‘Daddy…’
‘Jenny! Jenny, where are you?’
Then he saw her. She had climbed on to the lowest of the great hunks of rock which made up the tor and half-knelt there, pressing herself into a narrow cleft. One slip, one split-second of tiredness, and she’d drop down among the worms, perhaps even rolling over into the jaws of the queen herself.
20
Between Matt and the tor stretched the soft quilt in dazzling light green, enticing him to set foot on it. The queen worm had withdrawn and the only reminder of her presence was the ruffling of the thick moss where she’d poked her head out. The soldier worms too went, one by one, as if it were now their turn to feed, though Matt knew they had not returned to the dead pony for he caught glimpses of their luminescent skins here and there among the vegetation.
‘Waiting to see what we do,’ he told Fran.
‘As though they can read our thoughts.’ She shivered.
‘Jenny,’ he called out, attempting to sound unrushed and confident, ‘I want you to stay where you are a bit longer. You’re quite safe there. I’m going to find a way of reaching you. Can you hear me all right?’
‘Yes.’ Her thin voice trembled a little, but then she took courage and spoke louder. ‘Yes! Oh, hurry, Daddy!’
He explained — still keeping his voice as steady as possible — how he was going to try and work his way round the side of the tor. She seemed to understand. Then he unclipped the radio from his belt and called up Lieutenant Smythe to tell him what he intended.
‘Sounds crazy to me,’ came the reply, ‘when we can pick her up from the air.’
‘Not with that amount of overhang, you can’t.’
‘So what d’you want us to do?’
Matt spelled it out.
‘Okay, Matt, it’s your neck. If that’s the way you want it, we’ll stand by till you give the signal. Good luck!’
Fran refused to return to the helicopter, saying yet again that she had no intention of letting Matt out of her sight. If there had been more time he would have argued with her, insisted, but he had to get to Jenny as quickly as he could. Already three worms had appeared from somewhere and were slipping towards the foot of the rocks where they stopped and raised their heads, moving them gracefully from side to side.
‘Jenny, don’t look at them!’ he warned, speaking encouragingly. ‘Turn your face towards the rock… that’s right… now close your eyes and keep them tight shut…’ He glanced at Fran. ‘Ready? Okay, let’s move. And have your stick ready. If only that moss were as solid as it seems we’d be over there and…’
‘The locals call it a feather-bed.’
He hardly listened. They skirted the edge of it, testing the ground carefully whenever they were in doubt. More worms were gathering, though they’d gone no closer. Not yet. So long as Jenny didn’t get caught by their eyes she’d be all right. He could keep them off long enough with his stick for her to get on to his back, he reckoned. Risky, but safer than any other way.
The moment they were clear of the ‘feather-bed’ he knew his plan was hopeless. The ground was soggy right up to the edge of the rock. The patch where the worms waited was like a firm island cut off from all sides.
Through the bright green moss the head of the queen worm protruded once again, regarding him with half-lowered eyelids. Even if he could get safely across the morass — and somehow Jenny must have managed it — his retreat was too difficult under full worm attack.
‘Over the rocks,’ said Fran. ‘It’s the only way.’
The great outcrop of rock was much more extensive than they had first imagined and only a trained climber with all his equipment would be able to get to the top. Matt examined it carefully. There was a ledge, and if they could get on to it, perhaps working their way round… Yes, that might be possible.
He gave Fran a leg-up first and handed her both the sticks to look after while he pulled himself up beside her. Once again, his height and longer reach were an advantage.
They tried edging carefully around the rock face but un expectedly the ledge narrowed and there were no more handholds, so they went back again to find a spot where they could climb up to a higher level. This time they succeeded in working towards the point where they could overlook the ‘feather-bed’ Jenny was somewhere below them.
Matt spoke to her quietly, telling her not to move, they were not far away and they’d soon be with her. She mustn’t look up, he repeated twice; just keep her eyes closed.
With some difficulty he managed to lie down full-length on the rock and peer over the edge while Fran held tight to his legs. At first he couldn’t see Jenny at all. Either she’d pressed herself more deeply into the cleft or else the rocks overhung more than he’d estimated. Then he caught a glimpse of her shoes.