The Flood (18 page)

“I do not think that they will give us a great deal of trouble,” Davos was saying to Faversham, “and if they do not submit readily to our will and to each other, then—” he shrugged his slim shoulders and gave his little deprecatory smile. “Then we shall have to subdue them, as we have the animals. It doesn’t greatly matter whether they accept the inevitable now, or whether we have to wait for a few weeks, does it?”

Faversham, erect as a lamp-post, gave his quick, too toothy smile.

“Of course not,” he said. “Not at all.”

“And when all is said and done, they are an intelligent couple,” Davos went on, “when they see how inevitable it is, I’m sure they will give no trouble.”

He glanced away from Faversham as a tap came at the door. He called: “Come in,” and when Eve appeared, he smiled.

“Ah, my dear! I’m glad you’ve come. I wanted to see you and Mr. Woburn together. I’ll send for him, and—”

“I’ve told him,” Eve said stonily.

“You have! Well done, my dear. I am sure he realises—”

Eve said, in the same icy tone: “Nothing will make either of us do what you want, if you continue with the flooding. If it doesn’t stop—”

She broke off.

“My dear,” her father said, “you cannot make terms with me. You must make that clear to him. Doesn’t he realise what a magnificent opportunity he has? Don’t
you
? To have the first-born of the new world, the ruler, the King. My dear, go and tell him to come and see me.”

Eve said: “It was just a dream, Bob. Nothing will move him.”

The guards were there; the stars gave light enough to see them.

There was no way out, but Woburn had to try.

He put out the light in his room, waited a while, and then opened a window. He had a vivid mental picture of Adam, being torn by the panther. He didn’t flinch, but climbed out. He made no noise, and the guards seemed to notice nothing.

He would be heard when he dropped down, unless he could reach one of the buttresses.

He edged to one side.

He reached a buttress, and climbed down.

He dared hardly breathe as he reached the ground and, walking on the grass, passed the guards outside his window. He was through. God help him, he was on his way.

The best place to climb the wall was by the portcullis. It was still in position, and he could use it to climb to the arched gate. He began, with the same dread of making a noise.

He reached the top, and managed to haul himself over the top of the gate. Beyond were the moors, the craggy land, the water; and in sight, the lights of small craft, waiting. Once in that water—

He stood up, to turn round and climb down, and as he did so a great ringing sound broke the night’s quiet. Lights flashed, one into his face. He tried to scramble down, but there were guards outside the gate, too; he hadn’t a chance.

He reached the ground and began to run, but the nearest man brought him down.

Some hours earlier, at the London headquarters of Z.5, where Palfrey spent much of his time when he was in England, there was a large gathering of silent men. Service chiefs, Cabinet Ministers and civil defence chiefs had been here for some time. In all, thirty men and three women sat round a large table in a great room in the heart of London, listening to Palfrey.

He was standing up, with a hand at his head, toying with his hair.

“I wish I had better news,” he said in the quiet, diffident manner which had puzzled Woburn. “In fact, it is bad. Very bad indeed. If we attack Ronoch Castle we might be even worse off. Davos obviously has the power to make such reprisals that, on the advice of the Prime Minister, no assault is to be made yet.”

Palfrey took his hands away from his forehead; the few strands of hair stuck out.

A man asked: “Do you think we should attack, Palfrey?”

“By and large, I wouldn’t believe a word that Davos said.” He moved his hand, sharply, as a wasp buzzed fiercely past him. “I’d wait until dawn, I think. I’ve still a man at Ronoch, perhaps two. And we may yet find something to help. We’ve every research laboratory working on the
octi
that we’ve caught, but we haven’t anything like enough – once they’ve burst, they’re useless. We’ve made some discoveries. They contain a large store of hydrogen, in a jelly-like substance, and a catalyst we can’t identify. When the
octi
burst, the hydrogen shoots out, explodes with the oxygen in the air, and creates this mass of water, which comes out at great speed. As far as we can judge, there’s no limit to the flood risk, which is controlled wholly by the number of
octi.
These can be created almost as swiftly as frost, overnight; they can cover the earth.”

He paused again, but no one spoke, so he went on: “Every conceivable effort’s being made to find out more.”

Silence . . .

The wasp smacked against a large window which overlooked a quiet square, and that was the only sound in the room except the breathing of these men and women.

Then a man said abruptly: “You don’t think we have much hope of stopping the floods if they really start, do you?”

“No more than I’ve told you,” answered Palfrey; he did not feel as icily cold as he sounded. “The only possible thing to do is to broadcast warnings to all low-lying areas, coastal and inland, to all river areas, and all towns. Emergency measures should be put in hand at once, and action taken. Sandbags, sea and river wall reinforcements – exactly as we would do for a great flood. And, of course, a full description of the
octi
has now been circulated to all public authorities and police stations, to all military establishments – in fact everywhere. We must expect hundreds of false reports about them having been seen, but must check each report.” He patted the hair down on his forehead, very deliberately, and added: “There isn’t another single thing we can do.”

Ten minutes later the meeting broke up.

Twenty minutes later Palfrey walked down the fine staircase of the house, and reached the hall, hesitated, and then went down another flight of steps into a basement of reinforced walls, as impregnable as one could be. In a large room, here, sat a thin, pale-faced man, wearing a green eyeshade as he pored over a paper on his desk.

He glanced up, vaguely; then sat back.

“Oh, hallo, Sap.”

“Hallo. What’s on?”

“Another false alarm,” said the man who sat at the desk. He was Jim Kennedy, secretary of the Z.5 organisation and he seldom left this house. He looked very tired; Palfrey could not remember a time when he hadn’t; his voice sounded tired, too. “No word from Adam Reed since last week – nothing at all. Of course if he’s locked in that damned castle—” he broke off. “I can’t help wondering if he sold out. We had a distorted message on the Ronoch wavelength, but we can’t make it out, except one word – malic. Mean anything?”

Palfrey said sharply: “Malic? Malic acid.” He looked straight into Kennedy’s eyes. “Tell all the laboratories that, Jim. And then try to find out if anyone else picked up more of that message. Trace every amateur radio station, and check. Everything.”

“Right,” Kennedy said, and added quietly: “If you don’t get some rest, you’ll crack.”

Palfrey smiled.

He stifled a yawn, and said mildly: “I’m going to take forty winks now. Don’t seem to have slept for weeks. Wake me if any more of that message comes through.”

Kennedy nodded.

An hour afterwards Palfrey was lying at full length on a camp bed in a small room next to Kennedy’s office. He felt his shoulder being shaken and woke up to see Kennedy standing by his side, looking as near excited as the secretary could.

Palfrey swung his feet to the floor.

“News?”

“Of a kind,” Kennedy said, “and the hell of it is we don’t know whether the message was intercepted, and stopped, or whether the broadcast faded out. I—” he gulped.

“Sorry. Your chap Woburn managed to broadcast from the Castle. Reception was bad. All we have for certain is that
octi
are already everywhere, we should ignore Davos’s warning and attack the Castle. He said malic acid makes them grow. There’s a gap we haven’t been able to fill in, but we’re still trying. Meanwhile—”

Palfrey, now wide awake, said sharply:

“Yes?”

“The P.M. wants you to go to the flood area near Cromer,” Kennedy told him.

THE GREAT FLOOD

The sea swept over the land.

Where there were high cliffs, they crumpled. Concrete sea walls were pounded, cracked and broken and swept inland, crushing everyone in their path. The great waves went on and on. Torrents poured through every gap, into every accessible valley, and worked their way along streams and across low-lying land, and in their path there was disaster.

Vast acres of land were lost.

Some seaside villages, filled with holiday-makers, vanished under the onslaught.

The people were drowned, thousands upon thousands of them in their beds, or while they hurried desperately to pack a few belongings and to get out of the path of the disaster.

The roads leading away from the coast towns were filled, first, with lone lines of walking people, shocked and frightened, carrying what they could with them, sometimes carrying babes in arms, or small children. Gradually the line of refugees thickened. Military transport roared along the roads, only to come up against massed crowds, who couldn’t be thrust aside. So the rescue transport stopped. The authorities, flinging all emergency atomic raid plans into action, found the mass of refugees too great for the plans to work.

On they came.

Trudging, frightened people, with the flood waters on their heels.

For the floods came more quickly than men and women could walk.

Of them all, perhaps the greatest single tragedy of the dread night of the great floods, happened in “Norfolk, England.

Palfrey was sitting by the driver.

Ahead of him was another Jaguar, driven by one of the Z.5 agents, to keep the road clear. In front of that was a military jeep, and behind Palfrey a third Jaguar. They sped along the flat roads of Cambridgeshire and Suffolk, then into the winding roads of the Broads, then across to Cromer. They might have saved an hour by air, but little more.

Both men were nodding.

Palfrey hadn’t slept more than an odd hour since he had first heard of the
octi
in Scotland. Now he was snatching some rest, which might have to serve him for another twenty-four hours, but it wasn’t true sleep. Every now and again he would hear the roar of the water in his ears, or see the way the earth had fallen away or see the village under water. It would wake him up, but he refused to allow himself to dwell on it.

He had to have a clear mind.

If there were
octi
at Cromer, if a whole town was undermined, then the village of Wolf would seem a trifle compared with what would happen next. And if the torrent spread, south and north to the flat lands, then – it would submerge half England.

He heard the driver’s voice, and stirred.

“What’s that?”

“Just entering Cromer, sir.”

“Oh. Good. Quick work.” He glanced round, to see that Andromovitch was just opening his eyes. “We’re there, Stefan.” Here, at least, they had taken the first precautions thoroughly. Military transport was already lined up at the side of the road. Military and civil engineers had been instructed for a plan to dig an enormous ditch round Cromer, to cut it off from the rest of the country; and to evacuate the people. The ditch would be filled with the acid which reduced the water content of the
octi.
What else could they do?

Palfrey watched the stream of private cars, sleeping children, scared youths and men and women.

A single line of traffic had been kept open for him and for reinforcements of the military. From radio flashes, he knew that the Military Headquarters for the time being was at a hotel overlooking the sea. A reserve H.Q. lay farther back, near the station.

A youthful-looking soldier was directing traffic. He held outward traffic up, then came towards Palfrey’s driver, who showed his authority.

“Turn left, then first right, and you’ll have to walk along the cliff front from there,” he said. “H.Q. is the white hotel, overlooking the sea, sir.”

“Good, thanks.”

Five minutes later, they were there. It was a little after eleven o’clock. Behind them, the whole town was astir, in front of them the sea looked as calm, beneath the restful stars, as it would ever look. The pier, only just repaired after its war-time damage, had a few lights on it. Boats floated gently to and fro, just off-shore. Lights spread along the cliff top itself, and showed the steep cliffs leading to the sandy beach below.

Palfrey went in.

“General Carfax is speaking to London, sir, if you’ll wait just a minute,” an aide-de-camp said.

“Yes, of course,” Palfrey said. “Or lead us to a tap, will you, and provide towels?”

“This way, sir.”

“No troubles yet?”

“No,” said the aide-de-camp, “but judging from the descriptions there isn’t much doubt that they’re the things you’re looking for. Rather like crabs, with eight legs and a jelly underbelly.”

“Got any specimens here?”

“Well, sir, we did have half a dozen, but some fool knocked the box over, and they burst. Hell of a mess.”

Palfrey said: “Where did you find them?”

“They crawled out of the sea – masses upon masses of them. Others were on the beach, coming out of the cliff not far from here. Matter of a couple of hundred yards away.”

“Oh,” said Palfrey. He shivered; and he saw the dread look on the giant Russian’s face. The aide-de-camp seemed more impressed by Andromovitch’s size than by anything else; otherwise, was almost casual.

They were in the cloakroom for three minutes, and Palfrey dried his face after the stinging cold water, and went back to the hall. General Carfax was now sitting facing the door – and facing Palfrey. He was a tall, heavily-built man, with red hair and a round, red face.

“Ah, yes, Dr. Palfrey. Glad to see you. Just sent for some more of these pesky little things, if you’ll wait ten minutes. Anything we can get you? Care for a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’d like to go and look at the spot where you’re finding them.”

“As you like. Won’t come with you myself, ought to be on the spot here. London rings up about every five minutes.” That displeased him. “If it were possible to do more, I’d do it. Can’t. Shouldn’t think there are a hundred people left along the cliff top. If they come trooping back tomorrow, find it was a panic decision—”

“General,” Palfrey said, “yesterday I saw some mountains of Scotland fall into a loch, and fifty square miles flooded.”

Carfax opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn’t express his disbelief; just looked it. That didn’t matter. His job was to evacuate Cromer, and he was doing it; no one would do it better.

“Mr. Holden,” he said to the aide-de-camp, “take Dr. Palfrey along to the spot where these creatures were found, will you?”

“At once, sir.”

Troops in battledress lined the beaches, as if to repel an invasion. A few landing craft were drawn up beneath the cliffs. Offshore, more craft were coming in, slowly. A long way off along the coast the lights of a pier glimmered out at sea.

Palfrey and Andromovitch walked as briskly as the sand would allow them towards a spot where a small searchlight was rigged up, and shining on the cliff. There were clusters of men about. As they drew nearer, Palfrey saw that a trench, several feet deep, had been dug in the sand; close to the sea, it had been filled with water; close to the cliff, it was almost empty. Boards had been thrown across this and an area of perhaps fifty square yards was isolated, On this two or three armed men were standing close to the boards, and a little group was thrown up vividly in the light which shone on the cliff.

In the middle of the isolated patch a sentry stood on guard over a small table which was piled with oddments. Passing this, Palfrey saw ice-cream cartons, cigarette packets, buckets, spades, some odd shoes, a bathing cap, a fountain pen, apple cores, banana and orange skins.

“He might not believe in it, but he’s doing a job,” Palfrey said. “Everything found near the spot, presumably. Well, let’s have a look.”

They reached the centre of interest. Two officers and two sergeants were standing at attention, waiting for them. Here a large section of the rock had been hacked away; and a hole, perhaps twenty feet deep, had been dug. The side of the hole had been lined with massive steel sheets. At the foot there was a little water, and in the water, ‘things’ were swimming. A light had been rigged up so that it shone into the hole and Palfrey felt the familiar tingling at the back of his neck at sight of them.

“Just have to dip down to get some up, sir,” an officer said.

“Will you?”

“At once, sir.” The officer nodded, and one of the sergeants lowered a small tin can into the hole. It was on a length of rope which looked big enough to haul a motorcar out of a ditch. The tin disappeared for a moment; then the sergeant began to pull it up. As it drew nearer,
octi
were seen, wriggling.

Palfrey glanced at the face of the cliff.

He saw cracks, which might have been there before, and might have been made that day. Several
octi
appeared, out of one crack, scuttled, and then disappeared into another. He didn’t need any more telling, and he didn’t need to look at the samples.

“Put those in a sealed can,” he said, “don’t jolt it, and have it sent straight to London for the attention of the Home Office Laboratory. Mark it O –
Urgent,
in red. Now, back to Headquarters.” He turned, and was heading for the boards leading to the rest of the beach when he saw the table of oddments. He stopped.

“Anything here?” he asked the sentry.

“Seen no sign of movement, sir.”

“Hmm,” said Palfrey. He studied the heap for a few seconds. Andromovitch was beside him, like a giant shadow. “Shouldn’t think—” he began, and then stopped abruptly.

An apple rolled over, as if of its own volition, and stopped against a cigarette packet.

“Seen that before?” he asked the sentry.

“No, sir.”

“Hmm,” said Palfrey again. The mood and the air of detachment stood him in good stead; he didn’t feel detached, but more frightened than he had ever been in his life, “Lend me your glasses.” He put a long forefinger on the apple and turned it over.

He snatched his finger away.

The bright light shone on a mass of writhing, wriggling creatures as if the apple had been taken over by maggots; only these weren’t maggots, they were much too small. The whole of the inside of the apple had been eaten out; the little remaining of the outside looked as if it were suffering from brown rot – normal enough, if it had been lying in the open long enough.

He said: “Malic acid, Woburn said. Malic acid makes ‘em grow, here they are growing
in
an apple. Stefan, lend me your glass.” His voice was so taut that it affected the guard.

One of the officers came over, quickly.

“Found anything?”

“Not sure,” said Palfrey softly. “Just having a look.” He took the magnifying glass from Stefan, and peered at the apple. He closed his eyes, after the first moment, looked again and then handed the glass back. “You have a look.” Andromovitch took the glass and peered at the writhing mass, while the officer said: “Ugh.”

Stefan lowered the glass, very slowly.

“They are
octi”
he said. “Tiny ones, feeding on—”

“Apples – which are four or five per cent malic acid,” Palfrey exclaimed.
“Apples.”
He swung round, and the officer and the corporal looked as if he had gone mad. “Come on, let’s get to that radio.” He started to run, then checked himself. “Put that apple in a container, seal it up, get it to Headquarters as fast as you can.” He turned and ploughed on through the sand towards the steps.

He didn’t get that far at first, for a sentry near the foot of the pier gave a wild shout. Another bellowed, and there was enough light to see the water which sprayed about them.

Palfrey swung towards them.

Men were shining torches on to the beach, the sea, the legs and iron work of the pier. It showed the horror of the invasion. The beach and the sea, the pier, the groynes, were swarming with
octi,
everything Palfrey had feared was on them now.

Suddenly the pavilion at the end of the pier collapsed, smashing into the sea.

Palfrey gave the order to get off the beach, then ran to the steps; he hadn’t run so fast for years. Troops stood aside. A coach stood outside some hotels at a small crescent near the Headquarters, and a policeman was arguing with a man and woman who stood at the open door of one of the hotels; that was the only one where lights were on; all the others were in darkness.

“Get that coach load out of here,” Palfrey called. “If they won’t come, leave them to drown.” He turned towards the hotel entrance and went inside. Carfax was on the telephone, speaking in a long-suffering voice: “No, you can take it from me there is no sign of spreading, and—”

Palfrey said: “Sorry, stop.” His bark made the General jerk his head up, and drew the telephone away from his mouth; and put a spark of anger into the protuberant eyes. “Every indication of the thing spreading disastrously. There are millions coming out of the sea. Already taken over the pier. You’d better move headquarters at once, General, I wouldn’t like to give Cromer front another half hour.”

“What the
devil
are you talking about?”

Palfrey said: “We’re going to get the biggest flood in history probably in half an hour or so. Get everything moved. Who are you talking to – the War Office or the Cabinet Room?”

“War Office. Do you seriously think—”

Palfrey said with great deliberation: “I will lay you a fiver on it, General.” He moved towards the wireless officer, who was looking on without expression. “Get me the Cabinet Room, will you? They’re expecting a call from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Palfrey lit a cigarette with quick, jerky movements. He heard General Carfax make some curt comment, and ring off. Carfax raised a hand for an adjutant, and gave instructions – get the men off the beach and the cliff. The adjutant saluted smartly, and went out.

The wireless officer said: “It’s a Mr. Kennedy, sir, is that right?”