The corporal turned and ran back down the street glad to be away from it for a few minutes. The watching crowd had swelled. Every upstairs window seemed to be full of watching white faces.
There was another burst of firing, and gunfire from the cottage windows too. Everybody was determined to throw some lead at this thing from the deep.
Street and houses trembled as the tank lumbered under way, sweeping round in a wide arc and heading back up the road. The corporal manipulated the searchlight. God! The creature was more terrible than ever in the circle of white light. Every detail was exposed. Slugs were still pouring into it. Puffs of grey vapour marked where each one had struck. The stench was vile.
The sergeant was moving his men well dear, at the same time shouting for the crowds to get back.
'Keep well away,' he yelled. 'Give us a chance to get the big gun on it. Blow its guts out, corporal. Give it the lot. Straight hi the belly!'
The soldier in the tank was swinging the big gun round. Then suddenly the arc of white light was empty. The Slime Beast had moved back into the shadows. Another burst of rifle fire rang out, wild and erratic this time. Windows smashed. People were screaming. The watching crowd panicked. Some ran back towards the wharf. Others pounded frantically with then' fists on locked doors.
'Hold your fire!' the sergeant yelled, not wanting half a dozen deaths to answer for. 'Keep the searchlight on it corporal!'
This was easier said than done. The Slime Beast suddenly seemed to have become gifted with cunning. No longer was it just a horrific foe relying on brute strength and fear. It clambered over the brick wall which bordered the front gardens of the terraced cottages. Now it was on all-fours, the searchlight revealing only occasional glimpses of its back as it smashed through the flimsy wooden fences separating one patch of lawn and rose bushes from the next
'Keep following it!' The four infantrymen piled on to the rumbling tank as they endeavoured to keep abreast of it Somebody leaned out of an upper-storey window and discharged both barrels of a twelve-bore at no more than five yards range. He might as well have thrown a bucket of water for all the difference it made.
The sergeant was tempted to radio for reinforcements. More men and more powerful weapons would soon put paid to it. He hesitated and changed his mind. That wasn't the way to quick promotion.
Then they lost their quarry. Somewhere it discovered an alleyway, a temporary escape route to the rear of the buildings.
The corporal brought the tank to a standstill and switched off the engine. Silence. Even the screaming stopped. 'It's bloody well disappeared sarge!'
'Keep the searchlight on the street. It can't hide for ever.'
Tom Southgate had been watching from the window in the bar. He could not see much but he did not want to go out and leave The Bull empty except for Marjorie upstairs. It wasn't the Slime Beast so much that he was worried about. Rather it was the crowd outside. A good many of them had had far too much to drink already. A locked door would not halt their .search for more.
But the firing had stopped now. People were running in the direction of the wharf and screaming. Well at least they wouldn't be thinking of beer for a while. Everywhere was quiet, too quiet. Suddenly he heard a faint movement. Somebody was in the cellar.
The lousy shits!' he snarled and went upstairs for the twelve-bore.
'What's the matter?' Marjorie was in bed but still awake. 'Aren't we going to get any sleep tonight? D'you mean to tell me that a bunch of soldiers and a tank can't exterminate that monster after all this time?'
'Seems like they must've got it,' he replied, pushing a couple of shells into the double-barrelled gun. 'The shooting's stopped. The crowd's got out of control though, running riot all over the place. Some of 'em have got into the cellar through the chute in the car-park. Well they're in for a shock. A helluva bloody shock!'
He went back downstairs and unbolted the cellar door. He remembered as he did so that he had forgotten to replace the bulb which had blown earlier in the evening. Still, the moonlight streaming through the gaping hole where the grid should have been would give him enough light to see what was going on.
Slowly he descended the narrow stone steps. A foul aroma filled the small cellar as though the tide had been in recently and left a residue of filth behind it.
Something moved hi the far corner.
'All right you bastard!' he snarled, 'you'd better come out before I shoot. Come on! I'm not fooling!'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BLAST the shadow! Tom Southgate knew that somebody was in the far corner. He could hear him breathing. Loud rasping like the thief had been running. Maybe it was fear though, fear of being caught! The landlord cocked both hammers loudly.
'Come on!' he snarled again. 'Let's have you. I haven't all night to stand about here!'
Something moved, paused, then moved again. Then he saw it as the first moonbeam glinted on green slimy scales. The Slime Beast!
Southgate fired at point-blank range A yard. No more. Both barrels straight into its face. Acrid choking smoke. He coughed and closed his eyes for a second. Nothing could live after that double-charge. He'd done what the army had failed to do. He'd be a hero. He'd...
Two webbed fingers were thrust into his open mouth. The sharp claws lacerated his tongue, and he choked on his own blood. The beast had a grip on his cheek. It pulled. Half his face came away effortlessly leaving distorted bone streaming with blood. He could not see. His eyes were being gouged. Sharp incisions were made to get behind them. Torn from their sockets.
He prayed for the first tune in his life. For death. It came with the slashing of the jugular vein, spouting blood turning his attacker's scales scarlet Tom! Tom I Are you all right?'
The Slime Beast turned its head. It saw the woman standing at the top of the stairs. The bulbous breasts were clearly visible through the semi-transparent nightdress. It watched her collapse and keel over down the narrow steps lying with her head towards him, breasts now fully exposed. It recognised them. The recent flavour. The slurping tenderness there for the taking. It turned. Something halted it Instinct calling from deep within. Compelling a minute brain to obey, to flee, back to the mud. Safety.
It obeyed unquestioningly. The moonlit square above it pointed the way. Minutes later it was standing on the tarmac of the deserted car-park. The sound of voices reached it from afar. The easy route back to the sea was blocked. What did it matter though? It had no sense of time.
It set off at a lumbering shambling gait. The sea-wall was visible a mile or so to its right across the stubble-fields. Safety.
The wounded man found that he could cover no more than ten yards without stopping to rest. His shirt was a matt of dried blood and his shoulder felt as though it was on fire. Dimly he recalled his camera lying back there somewhere in the mud. He grieved its loss, but not for ten such cameras would he have retraced his steps. That nightmarish creature would live with him for ever. Indeed he feared that his sanity had already left him.
He had heard the gunfire in the distance. Then silence. They must have killed it. He cursed himself for not having remained in the village.
His strength was failing him fast now. He could no longer stand upright. Progress on hands and knees across the marshes of the Wash was slow, really almost impossible. He wondered if he would ever make it. Perhaps the gulls and crows would be picking his flesh at dawn.
Someone was coming, heading towards him. He tried to stand up in order to see over the top of the spike-grass but he fell back again. He sobbed softly. Suppose they missed him. He must attract their attention. He braced his vocal chords.
'Help! Help! Over here. Please... help me! '
His voice died away. He knew that he could neither crawl nor shout anymore.