'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.
The footsteps altered course. His cries had been heard. He began to sob with relief.
His sanity left him completely the moment he caught sight of the Slime Beast. It wasn't even horrible. It was beautiful. He couldn't understand why everyone had made such a fuss about it He hated the villagers for trying to kill it. If only they had offered it the hand of friendship, of course it would have responded. The pain had gone now. It hadn't really hurt him. It had all been in his mind. He could think clearly now, but the others couldn't. All it wanted was a friend. He was surprised to find that he could stand up now. Easily. He smiled. Held out his hand. He would go back to the village with it. Show everybody. Make them feel sheepish. The soldiers too.
See! Its hands were out Embracing him. Claws around his neck. Ice-cold fetid breath on his face. Perfume. He never believed that he would pass out with sheer happiness ...
Liz nestled closer to Gavin for warmth as they listened to the firing coming from the distant village.
'Seems we chose the wrong place.'
'Sounds like the army are having the whale of a time up there.' he replied and kissed her. Tm glad. It saves us a lot of trouble.'
'Uncle too,' she smiled. 'He'll be livid when he learns they've killed it.'
He laughed softly.
'I'm dying to see the look on his face.'
'Can we really go back to London tomorrow?' she murmured.
'All the treasures of all the kings of England wouldn't keep me here a day longer,' he promised and pressed his lips to hers, his tongue searching out her mouth.
Suddenly he stiffened, and held his head to one side.
'What is it?' The anxiety had returned to her voice.
'I don't know for sure,' he replied, 'but I thought I heard something, down by the mouth of the big creek, probably about a couple of hundred yards away. Let's watch quietly for a minute. It may be nothing.'
The minutes passed then they heard a faint stirring of the spartina grass. A sucking noise such as that made by a Wellington boot being forcibly withdrawn from mud. The figure of a man was silhouetted against the silvery sheen of the receding tide. The outline was plain and only too familiar. Safari-type hat, bushy beard.
'It's Uncle!'
'Yes, it's him all right,' Gavin snapped. 'He must have been there all the time. Well I think we'll just hang back and let him make his own way to the blockhouse. Relationships are somewhat strained at the moment to put it mildly, and I've no particular desire for his company out here at this time of night. I think somehow that this expedition will be permanently dissolved tomorrow.'