Slimer (14 page)

    Chris remembered all those locked cabins with the piles of empty clothes inside. She automatically looked down at the gap beneath the door, half-expecting to see some sort of black slime oozing its way inside. 'There's no defence against it, is there?' She asked in a toneless voice. 'When it decides to get us it will, won't it?'

    'Don't talk that way,' said Paul sharply. 'We can beat it. We will beat it.'

    'Those scientists didn't.'

    'They were taken by surprise,' he said quickly, 'by the time they knew what they were up against it was too late. All we have to do is set ourselves up in a way that will make it impossible for that thing to get to us. And then we wait…'

    'Wait for what?' asked Mark.

    'Help. It should arrive soon. Someone in the Brinkstone organisation must be wondering why they haven't received any word from the platform recently. It must be about two weeks by now. Or there might be a regular supply drop soon.'

    'Or there might not be,' said Chris.

    'Look, you don't leave over 200 people stuck out here in the North Sea without some kind of regular contact.'

    'Officially these labs don't even exist,' said Mark. 'They probably go long periods between flights to and from the rig to avoid arousing suspicion.'

    'Well, I don't think so,' said Paul, becoming irritated, 'but if anyone else has any suggestions on what we should do I'd love to hear them.'

    No one did. Paul gave a resigned nod. 'Okay then, first we go and fill the others in on all this, then we get organised. And from now on keep alert for anything that moves, no matter how small.'

    

    

    There was no response when Paul banged on Alex and Rochelle's door and he began to fear the worst. But then finally the door opened. To his surprise it was Rochelle, and she was naked. Then Paul got another surprise when he realized she was alone. 'Ro, where the hell is Alex?' he demanded as he entered the cabin, closely followed by the others. 'Why has he left you alone?'

    She looked dazed. 'Alex?' she said, frowning. 'I don't know. He went out. He didn't come back.'

    Linda was staring at her in astonishment. 'Ro, why on earth aren't you wearing anything? It's freezing in here. I told you to stay as warm as possible.'

    'Warm?' Rochelle looked at her blankly.

    Linda began picking up her clothes from the floor. 'Come on, I'll help you. Then you're going back to bed.'

    Paul was already at work blocking the ventilator grill. 'That's just great,' he muttered. 'Alex is wandering round out there on his own. Serves him right if that thing gets him.'

    'Good riddance,' said Chris darkly.

    Mark, trying not to watch as Linda assisted Rochelle into her clothes, was sincerely hoping that Alex was alright. It wasn't Alex he was worried about, of course, it was the heroin. If he didn't get a fix soon...

    'Mark, you and Chris stay here with Ro,' Paul told him, 'Linda and I are going to go collect the stuff we need. When we leave see if you can block the gap under the door.'

    'What stuff are you going after?' Chris asked him.

    'Food, tinned fruit… and extra weapons. Including those two home-made flame throwers we left in one of the kitchens with the rest of the guns.'

    'What's the use?' asked Chris listlessly. 'If flame-throwers were any good against that thing the people who used them would still be around.'

    Paul turned on her. He grabbed her by the arms and shook her violently. 'Now listen to me, Chris! That sort of crap isn't any help at all. You may be ready to give in but I'm not! I intend staying alive. So does Linda. But our chances are better if we all try and lick this thing together. You understand me?'

    Startled, she nodded yes.

    Paul let go of her. 'Good. Now everyone stay right here until we get back.'

    

    

    Later, as he and Linda edged their way warily down the corridor towards the kitchen Linda said, 'That was a good speech you made to Chris back there. You almost had me convinced. But what do you really think our chances are?'

    He was about to lie to her but decided against it. He was tired of playing the hero - the man with all the answers. The strain was getting too much. It would be a relief to share some of the burden with Linda - she was. tough enough to handle it, he knew - so he told her the truth. 'Our chances are shit. That thing has been designed to survive. It's probably unkillable. It can adapt to take anything that's thrown at it. As Shelley said on one of those tapes - it's instant evolution. Unless…' He paused.

    'Unless what?'

    'Unless there's a way of destroying it faster than it can adapt. That's why I think the flame throwers are our best bet. If we could incinerate the whole thing fast enough it might not have enough time to develop the means of protecting itself. Or there's another possibility. If we could hit it at once with two different types of danger - say we spray it with acid and then burn it - it might be able to only adapt to one thing at a time. If the acid fails but the fire works or vice versa…'

    'Yes.' She sounded doubtful. He knew what she was thinking. So her next words came as no surprise. 'But that stuff can move pretty fast, can't it?'

    'Apparently.' Might as well continue being honest with her. 'According to Mark it practically shot up the side of the crane cabin.'

    'So cornering it long enough to carry out some complicated manoeuvre isn't going to be easy.'

    'No, not easy…'

    They arrived at the kitchen and entered it slowly. It seemed full of potential hiding places for the creature and Paul felt very vulnerable and exposed as he moved to the centre of the room, his eyes scanning for the slightest indication of movement.

    While Linda kept watch he then went and examined one of the flame-throwers. It was a jerry-rigged affair consisting of a fuel container linked to a cylinder of compressed air or some other gas. It looked as if it would be just as dangerous for the user as for whatever it was aimed at but he had no choice but to try it out.

    He carried it over to the doorway. He studied the valves on the two tanks until he was satisfied he'd worked out which did what then he turned them on. There was a hiss of gas from the long nozzle he was holding. Nervously he lit a match and applied it to the invisible stream of gas. There was a flash and a blue-green flame extended from the nozzle. Taking a deep breath he aimed the nozzle through the doorway and turned the small handle at its base. A long jet of burning liquid was suddenly arcing its way some twelve feet down the corridor with a frightening roar. Caught by surprise, Paul could only stare at it in fascinated awe for several moments before he realised he was wasting precious fuel. Then, hurriedly, he switched it off.

    'Horrible,' said Linda with distaste. 'That's the sort of thing only a man could invent. Imagine being able to use it on a human being.'

    Small pools of burning fuel were spattered along the floor of the passageway. When he was certain they would go out harmlessly he turned and carried the device back into the room. 'We won't be using this against people. The thing we're fighting isn't human.'

    'No, but it has people trapped inside it, in a sense. People who can still feel and think.'

    'Some of the time, I guess. But they're dead really. Except that…' he frowned, not wanting to go on.

    'Except that they don't know it. Or don't want to know it.' She said, and shuddered. 'They're dead and yet they're still alive in a horrible kind of way. They're trapped in a sort of purgatory.'

    He could see the depth of her fear in her eyes and it alar-med him. 'Don't think about it,' he advised.

    But she wouldn't leave it alone. 'Paul, promise you won't let it get me.'

    Misunderstanding what she meant he said quickly, 'Of course I won't let it get near you.'

    'No. I mean if it looks as if we're going to lose I want you to kill me first - before it can get me. I don't want to become a… part of it… Do you promise?'

    He looked at her and swallowed hard. He would never be able to bring himself to kill her, he knew that, but he lied and said, 'Of course. I promise.' And for her added peace of mind he didn't tell her what Shelley had said about death possibly not being protection against the absorption of one's personality by the creature…

    Later, as he was piling up a collection of supplies on one of the tables she said, 'There's something else worrying me.'

    'Yes?'

    'It's Mark. He said the thing, the slime in the crane, didn't attack him.'

    'That's right.'

    'Paul, how do we know he's telling the truth? What if it did attack him? What if he's part of that creature now? Has been all along…?'

    Patiently, Paul said, 'He can't be. He's been with us when Shelley and the others, including good old Charlie himself, have made appearances.'

    'Yes, but Paul, how do we know there's only the one creature?'

    Paul stopped what he was doing and stared at her. It was a good question.

    Chris was getting worried about Rochelle. There was some4 thing disturbing about the way she was lying there, her eyes wide open and watching both of them so intently. Mark, hadn't seemed "to notice - he was too busy fighting a losing battle against his body's craving for that damned drug - but it was beginning to get on her nerves.

    Finally she got up and went over to her. 'Ro, why don't you try and get some sleep. You've had a pretty nasty experience. You need rest. You - ' Suddenly she screamed and recoiled.

    Immediately Mark leapt up, grabbing for one of the M16s. 'What's wrong? Is it here? Where is it?'

    Shaking, Chris managed to regain control of herself. 'I'm sorry. It's nothing. My imagination's working overtime. I'm seeing things.'

    'Seeing what?' he demanded.

    She shook her head. She couldn't tell him that for a moment she could have sworn she saw Alex's eyes staring out from Rochelle's face…

    

    

    The cramps were getting worse. It felt as if there were steel hooks inside his belly, ripping and twisting through his guts. Mark wanted to fall onto the floor and curl up into a tight, screaming ball but instead he remained on the chair, bent forward almost double, hugging his stomach.

    His eyes were watering and his skin was covered with goosebumps. This latter symptom of heroin withdrawal, he knew, was the origin of the term 'cold turkey'. He also knew that the muscle spasms he was experiencing would get pro-gressively worse and eventually his legs would start kicking uncontrollably. This was the origin of yet another colourful expression - 'kicking the habit'. Finally the spasms would get so bad he would have spontaneous orgasms. Not that he'd be in any condition to enjoy them…

    He knew all these things because once he'd become hooked on heroin he had studied up on the subject of drug addiction. What he'd learned had scared him profoundly but his dependence and need for the drug hadn't lessened. It was like going down a hill in a car with no brakes - you knew there was going to be a fatal crash at the bottom but there was no way you could get out of the car.

    How much longer could he last without another fix? How much longer before the final convulsions and the descent into a coma? He didn't know. He had taken several codeine tablets which, like heroin, was a derivative of opium, and they had helped but not much. If only that last fix Alex gave him hadn't been so small. If only he could get another one…

    He groaned aloud.

    'Is it bad?' asked Chris.

    'Of course it's bad, you cretin,' he hissed at her.

    'Isn't there anything I can do?'

    'Yeah. Go get me some smack. Go find Alex and get it off him. That's all you have to do…'

    'Oh Mark, don't ask me to do that,' she cried in anguish. 'I can't go out there. I'm scared. That thing is waiting… And even if I could find Alex he wouldn't give me any heroin. Not unless I… I…'

    Mark glared at her. 'Jesus Christ, I'm dying here. It won't kill you to give Alex what he wants from you. You've done it before. Hell, underneath it all you probably enjoyed it.'

    Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to hit him. Did he understand so little about her that he could actually think something like that? But she contained her anger. She knew he couldn't help himself. He was like an animal with its leg caught in a trap. He was snapping out at everything, even her.

    'Well, are you going?' he demanded.

    She shook her head helplessly. 'I can't, Mark.'

    'Then we're through. It's all over between us,' he snarled. 'When we get out of here I never want to see you again.'

    'Mark! You don't mean this… you don't know what you're saying!'

    'Shut up,' he said coldly. 'The sound of your voice makes me sick. The sight of you makes me sick.'

    'Mark…' she cried. 'Please don't do this to me…'

    'The heroin's here,' said Rochelle.

    Both Chris and Mark turned to her. Chris had thought she was asleep but now she was sitting up on the bunk and looking at them with the same spaced-out expression she had before.

    'It's here?' asked Mark, disbelievingly.

    'Under that mattress.' She pointed at the bunk Chris was sitting on. Chris immediately got up and pulled the corner of the mattress to one side. Lying there was a wide belt. Mark gave a wild cry and leapt out of the chair. He snatched up the belt and began to frantically rip open its series of pouches. Small plastic packets containing white powder fell onto the floor. He looked at them with the kind of wondrous awe that you normally only see depicted in religious paintings. It tore Chris up to see how much power the damned drug had over him.