The Night of the Triffids (28 page)

    Even though he didn't move he must have sensed that I was no longer asleep.

    'It's been a bad business, David,' he said, barely whispering. 'A bad business.'

    Moving limbs stiffened from sleeping on the earth, I sat up.

    'She told me yesterday she was going to have a child…' He spoke in a rambling, disconnected kind of way. 'Tomorrow she was due to fly home to her husband on maternity leave. Jazmay was a good kid… well, a kid no longer… a woman. I knew her from the time her family came over from Ireland on a sailboat that seemed to be held together by string and brown paper. It's a funny thing life, isn't it… not funny ha-ha. It… it just leaps out and bites you sometimes. She was chatting, all happy and excited about being a mom. A couple of hours later she's lying dead on the ground… kinda makes you think, doesn't it? Fate. Destiny.' His tone changed as he suddenly switched tack. Although he still spoke in that soft Southern whisper he sounded angry with himself. 'How could I be so stupid, David? How could they take us by surprise like that?'

    'Those torpedo boats were fast. They came at us before we even knew they were there.'

    'But we had observation posts downriver. All I can figure is that they jumped the lookouts before they had time to sound the alarm.'

    'I guess so.'

    He turned this over in his mind for a while. I could imagine his blue eyes like two cold flames there in the darkness. 'You know what really riles me? The way I underestimated Torrence's obsession with revenge. Sure, I knew he was ruthless. He eliminates anyone who opposes him. But I never thought he'd mount a raid like this. He can't spare the manpower or the resources, but that man's capacity for vengeance is… is
infinite.
He must have thrown every single soldier he had at us, burned up most of his fuel reserves and half his fleet. But he wanted something bad… so bad he'd nearly bankrupt his nation doing it.'

    'But what was it that he wanted? From what you say the base back there is only one of dozens you people have.'

    'Come on, David, don't be so naпve.'

    'Pardon?'

    'Take a good look at this.' Crushing out the cigarette, he pulled something from his jacket pocket. 'I took this from one of Torrence's men… no, he didn't mind, he was just embarking on a new career as a deceased person. Here, what do you make of that… no, wait… you can't see it in the dark. Let me get some light on that for you.' I heard the click of his lighter. 'From what I could see, all of Torrence's men had these stuffed into their pockets or taped to their helmets. That, David, is what Torrence wanted so badly.'

    In the wavering flame I saw a photograph. I sighed as I understood. 'Me,' I told him.

    'Got it in one. While you were back in New York Torrence's spies were watching you.' He pushed the photograph back into his pocket. 'They were taking snaps, too.'

    'But why risk the lives of his best men to go after me?'

    'Torrence wanted you back. Dead or alive would have been fine by him. Remember, Torrence holds your father responsible for him losing his eye, as well as causing a lot of hurt to his ego. Torrence would cheerfully have sent your head pickled in a jar to your family if you'd been killed. Or if he'd gotten you back to New York alive he'd have used you as a hostage. Either way, he'd exploit you to make your father suffer for what he'd done.'

    'You know how this makes me feel now? Dozens of your people were killed this morning.'

    'Any way you look at it, there's only one man to blame. That's Torrence. He's responsible. He's the one with blood on his hands.'

    'What now?'

    'We'll camp out here for a few days. When that mob have gone we'll go back, clear the base of triffids, repair fences, rebuild. Bury what's left of the dead. It'll be a long job but we'll do it.'

    'But you have military aircraft. You could hunt down Torrence's ships and bomb them to pieces.'

    'We could,' Sam allowed. 'But you see, a lot of our people will have been taken prisoner today. They'll be on those ships. One day, we hope they'll be free again.'

    'But until then they'll be used as slave labour?'

    'Yes, they will.' He nodded, thoughtfully running a finger along the bridge of his nose. 'And the women who were captured will become part of Torrence's grand scheme. They'll be forcibly impregnated. They'll have babies.' He sounded tired. 'I'm going to turn in now.' He patted me on the shoulder. 'You try and get some sleep too. We're going to have some busy days ahead of us.'

    He ambled away to sit with his back against one of the vehicles. I doubted very much if Sam Dymes slept at all that night. Even if he did, I had the feeling that nightmares would torture that good-hearted man until daybreak.

    

    

    

    THE next morning I'd barely pulled on my boots when Gabriel Deeds tapped me on the shoulder. 'David. Come take a look at this and tell me what you think.' He looked like a man who'd just uncovered a treasure chest.

    I followed him to the edge of our camp, marked by the line of Jumbos. They looked even greyer in the misty dawn.

    'I didn't think it would be long before we had the neighbours round,' I commented. For already triffids had been shuffling towards the camp. So far their way was blocked. Even so, we'd have to be careful of their stings.

    'Stand up on that tree trunk, so they have a clear view of you.'

    'Gabriel.' I looked at him quizzically. 'Gabriel, I've seen those things before, you know?'

    'Of course. But stand up on the trunk. Trust me on this, I'm going to show you something.'

    'But they're-'

    'No, listen to this,' he said quickly. 'There's something different about them.'

    'What do you mean?'

    'Unless I'm very much mistaken I think they've just gone and learned a brand new trick.'

    I stood on the tree trunk, which gave me a platform about four feet from the ground. The nearest triffids were hidden, with the exception of their uppermost stems and sting cones, by the bulk of the Jumbos. However, a hundred yards or so away a slight bump in the ground meant that a few triffids were elevated enough for me to see them root to stinger. From those triffids came a tapping as they rapped their sticks against their hairy boles.

    I gave Gabriel a questioning look.

    'What do you hear?' he asked.

    'Nothing, apart from the triffids tapping their finger sticks.'

    'You mean you missed it when you climbed onto the tree trunk?'

    'Missed what?'

    'Now. Stand very still for five seconds.'

    'Gabriel-'

    'Trust me, OK?' He looked serious, but charged-up somehow. As if he was onto something important.

    'OK, now what do you want me to do?'

    'All right. When I say "Now" stand as still as possible for five seconds. Then quickly put your arms straight up above your head. Only, as you do so, listen carefully to those triffids across there on the mound.'

    I did as instructed.

    When I stood still I heard a slow rattling sound, almost like a man drumming his fingers meditatively on a table top. When I moved my arms there came a sudden manic burst of tapping, which slowed back to its previous rate when I stopped moving.

    'Did you hear that?' he said expectantly.

    'Yes, but what does it mean?'

    'The triffids nearest to us, the ones that are hidden behind the Jumbos, didn't increase the rate at which they rattled their sticks. Yet the ones that were in full view of us suddenly went crazy; the tapping became so rapid it was like listening to a… a woodpecker or a machine gun… not a
dit-dat-de-dat
sound but a rapid
brrrrrr
.'

    'You're saying that they responded to my movement? But we've always known that.'

    'Yes, but something's changed here. They're responding from a greater distance. And can you see that the ones on the hill all have their cones pointing at you - targeting you - like radar dishes?'

    'You're telling me that they've undergone some kind of evolutionary change? But why now?'

    'Why not? When environmental conditions change, life must adapt too or go stand in line with the dinosaurs, dodos and Tasmanian tigers in extinctionville.' He rubbed his jaw reflectively. 'My guess is that when the sun stopped shining for a spell it triggered some quantum leap in their evolution.'

    'But evolutionary change takes thousands of years.'

    'Normally, yes. But we're not dealing with your normal beastie here. Those plants have torn up the laws of nature and are rewriting them to allow triffids to meet their goal. Namely, to inherit the Earth.'

    I moved my arms again. This time I heard it. The triffids on the hill rattled their sticks so fast the sound became more a buzz than a rattle.

    'But only the ones on the hill made the sound. The ones just behind the Jumbos didn't do anything different.'

    'That's because they can't see you,' Gabriel answered, a note of triumph in his voice. 'But I use the word "see" between inverted commas.'

    I smiled. 'Something tells me that if my father was here you two would have a wonderful conversation. My own knowledge of botany inclines to the scant.' I jumped down from the trunk. 'So, Gabe, how does the process work? After all, there's still no physical evidence of eyes.'

    'I don't think it is optical.'

    'Not optical? I don't follow. Surely-'

    'No… no.' He held up his finger. 'Not all animals see using an optical system. And remember, I said I used the word "see" in inverted commas.' He took a breath. 'Take dolphins. They have eyes like we have, but they rely on sound to track fish, or to avoid rocks and boats.'

    'You mean a kind of natural sonar?'

    'Only it's infinitely more sophisticated than the crude electronic sonar equipment we have. A dolphin fires out clicks at a rate of around three hundred a second. The click bounces back from a fish, the echo enters through the dolphin's lower jaw where it shoots through to its middle ear, then on to the part of its brain where the sound is processed. But the remarkable part of this is that the dolphin doesn't hear the sound, it "sees" it in a way that we don't entirely understand. But we do know it "sees" a three-dimensional image of the fish it's hunting. And because sound travels through soft tissue it not only sees the outside of the fish, like we would, it sees the fish on the inside, too - its skeleton and some of the denser internal organs.'

    'Hang on there, Gabriel. So you're telling me that the triffids are "seeing" the echoes of the sounds they make with their sticks?'

    'Sure. I reckon they're catching the echoes in the cones at the tops of the stems. Think about it: they'd make the perfect natural antennae.' He nodded across to the vehicles. 'But the ones screened by all that armour plate can't "see" us because of the obstruction to their clicks. But if we were to move those vehicles they could see not only our outer forms but our bones and probably what we ate for supper, too.'

    'All of which is pretty depressing news. A plant that can walk and hear and kill is bad enough. Now it can see in the dark?' I shrugged. 'That tips the scales in their favour, doesn't it?'

    'I agree.' Gabriel's eyes were troubled. 'But the question I ask myself now is this: what kind of surprise are they going to spring on us next?'

    

    

    If the triffids were harbouring any unpleasant surprises they kept them well hidden. More triffids did, however, join the growing throng beyond our circle of vehicles. For most of the time they did little but sway and rattle their finger sticks, while no doubt carefully scrutinizing us inside and out (assuming that Gabriel's sonar hypothesis was correct).

    We gave the plants a wide berth within our enclosure, ensuring that we stayed beyond the range of their stingers. Apart from that exercise in self-preservation there was little to do but talk among ourselves, eat our dried-food rations and, on occasion, leave the safety of the camp to gather firewood, suitably attired, of course, in protective triffid gear complete with large cylindrical helmets of plastic 'glass'.

    Sam Dymes lived beneath a cloud of his own preoccupation for the first couple of days. His speech came in halting fragments as if self-doubt had completely destroyed his confidence. But by the third day he was largely back to his old self. The hesitant speech was still there, freely decorated with those
uhms, ahms
and long thoughtful
mmmmms…
but every so often, just when you thought his speech would grind completely to a halt, the words would suddenly pick up speed until they were tumbling out after each other. He was a man who lived on nervous energy. When he was animated his whole gangly frame would come to life and he'd walk up and down, gesturing enthusiastically. That was when the words would come flying from his lips like those of a man close to speaking in tongues.

    Already he'd dispatched one of the Jumbos with its crew to keep a discreet watch on the camp. They would return as soon as it looked like Torrence's marauders had quit the place.

    It was late on the third day after the invasion that we had more visitors - of sorts, that is. Three men came across the plain. They walked with the easy rhythm of those who travel great distances on foot. Instantly the Foresters were alert to danger, watching the approaching men with their guns at the ready. But the three made a point of giving our encampment a wide berth.

    From what I could see there were two young men walking with an older man. Each one wore his long hair in a single ponytail. Clad in clothes of brightly woven cloth, they carried heavy backpacks stuffed full, I imagined, with game or skins. On their shoulders they carried bows with quivers full of arrows.