It was an impossible situation. Even if he brought the helicopter overhead and had himself lowered on a cable he’d most likely not be able to reach her because of the overhang. Yet from the ground level, where ten or more worms were patiently looking up at him, he’d be able to stretch out his arms and lift her clear.
He wriggled back to a more secure position.
‘There’s a spur sticking out about half-way down,’ he explained to Fran who crouched precariously on the edge of the rock beside him. ‘I’m going to see if I can reach Jenny from it. With any luck, I might be able to hoist her up here — that’s if you can take her off me when I’m ready.’
‘I’ll try. What about the helicopter?’
‘Here…’ He unclipped the radio and gave it to her. ‘Call them up when I give the word. But not before, because I could be in trouble if the down-draught catches me at the wrong moment.’
‘If only we had some rope!’
‘We’ll have to do our best without it. But keep the sticks handy, I might need one.’
He took a breath and looked around. Great banks of white and grey cloud moved across the sky, blotting out the sun and causing wide areas of dark shadow to creep over the moor. Glory be to God for dappled things! he thought, remembering the poem.
But not for green worms gathering at the rock’s foot.
And not for queen worms lurking like giant serpents in the mire. Maybe these were the monsters of ancient legend come to life again after centuries of lying dormant. Yet there, not half a mile away, was the oil pipeline leading to the new refinery. Surely the whole world would have heard the news if there’d been worms on the moor when they’d laid it only three or four years ago?
‘You know what to do?’ Matt asked.
Fran nodded. ‘Be careful,’ she begged. ‘Don’t… do anything…’ She stopped and looked at him, her eyes filled with concern, as though she were suddenly convinced she’d not see him alive again.
Slowly he crept backwards towards the edge, feet first, feeling his way blindly. The ledge was too narrow for anything else. Gradually he eased himself over till his legs were hanging free. Instinctively he felt for a foothold, though he knew there was none. He would have to lower himself over completely till he was supporting his weight on his arms before his feet could find that jutting piece of rock he’d noticed.
His legs waved wildly in the air as he searched, but then his boot kicked against it. The real question was whether he’d be able to stand firmly without slipping or the rock giving way. Cautiously, he tested to discover if it would take his weight. It did, and he breathed in relief.
The next stage — this was the way he’d planned it — was to bend his knees till he was almost squatting on his heels and could reach out to Jenny beneath the overhang. It wasn’t going to be easy. The rock face was so close, angled outwards as it got higher, he might well lose his balance. He looked down to check his position.
A worm was moving purposefully up the cleft towards Jenny, whose ankles and feet he could just see. Another, farther off, was approaching along a parallel route. A sudden shaft of sunlight caught them as the clouds above shifted; they looked like flowing rivers of shining emeralds.
‘Stick!’ he called urgently to Fran.
She handed it across to him.
Grasping it in his right hand and steadying himself against the rock face with his left, he began to crouch … slowly … carefully… knowing that if he fell the worms beneath would be on him without mercy.
At last he stopped, wanting to move his feet, to adjust his balance, but at the same time feeling the risk was too great. He could just about reach it now perhaps, if he stretched out.
The fingers of his left hand found a slight fault in the granite, just enough to give him a better grip. Holding on firmly, he reached out with the stick towards the worm in the cleft. There’d be no chance of beating its brains out as he’d like to, not from this distance, but if he could flick it away… The metal ferrule at the end of the stick slipped beneath it, but he was too slow. As he tried to dislodge the worm, it draped itself in festoons over the stick. Taken by surprise, he tossed away both worm and stick together.
‘Fran!’ he yelled up. ‘Fran, get the helicopter! Quick!’
The second worm was joined by others, and two more had appeared in the cleft. There would be no way of fighting them off. Jenny was trapped higher up the cleft where it widened. On hearing his voice she turned and saw him.
‘Daddy…’ Her eyes were wide with fear.
‘Jenny, listen,’ he urged her. ‘I want you to be sensible and brave. Keep quite still for a minute till I get a bit closer to you. Then I’m going to lift you out. We’re going up, not down — remember? Whatever happens, there’s a helicopter on its way to get you out of here.’
As he was speaking he tried to crouch down even farther, leaning over in the direction of the cleft. The handhold he’d found was no longer any use to him and he had to steady himself against the bare rock. Then he noticed a small fold in the granite which offered about an inch for his foot. He’d have to risk it.
Jenny screamed, but he begged her to hang on whatever pain she felt. A worm was biting into her bare ankle, just below the leg of her jeans.
His foot found the fold of granite. Reaching across, he was able to grasp Jenny around the waist with his right arm and swing her out of the cleft towards him, still screaming and sobbing. For a second or so he was convinced he would lose his balance and they’d both plunge down to the giant queen worm’s lair in the ‘feather-bed’, but at last he managed to get both feet back on to the firm spur of rock.
Somewhere, he couldn’t see where, the helicopter was hovering. The roar of its engine filled his ears, but without drowning Jenny’s screams which cut into his very soul. Still holding her tight against him, he manoeuvred into a position where he could support himself against the rock face, freeing his left hand to grip the worm just below its head. He squeezed relentlessly till he felt the bones crack between his fingers and the jaws slacken.
But as he dropped the dead worm he sensed something pressing against his legs, winding itself around and between them. Another explored his boots and ankles. Jenny’s blood, he thought. It’s attracting more of them. He looked down. They were coming at him from all directions, wriggling along every crack and fissure in the granite tor. And below, as if in command, the queen worm had risen to the surface of the ‘feather-bed’, breaching the moss carpet in several places, the thick loops of her body glistening green in the sunlight. Over towards the pipeline he saw more speckles of green and it seemed he was totally surrounded.
‘Matt!’
At first he hardly heard the voice above the noise of the helicopter, and Fran must have screamed his name several times before he looked up. She was lying on the rock only a foot or so above his head, holding out her arms ready to take Jenny from him.
‘Okay!’ he shouted back.
The worms were crawling over his legs, unhurried. Their teeth had not yet met his flesh but he’d felt the thick material of his overalls tear in several places.
He shifted his grip on Jenny and tried to lift her high enough for Fran to take her, but she clung to him hysterically. Nothing he said could make her let go. Then she squealed in sudden desperation, an unnatural, high-pitched squeal, and her fingers loosened their hold on his clothing. He swung her up to Fran who caught her under the arms and began to haul her to the safety of the higher ledge. It was only then he saw what had made her squeal — a second worm, gnawing at her ankle. Its tail slapped against Matt’s face.
The helicopter was immediately above and someone was being lowered. It looked like the leading seaman. His feet kicked against the granite as he came down, narrowly missing Matt. He grabbed Jenny and gave the signal to be taken up again, hugging her close to him but with the worm still dangling from her ankle.