John Halkin - Slither

‘Okay!’ he shouted back.

The worms were crawling over his legs, unhurried. Their teeth had not yet met his flesh but he’d felt the thick material of his overalls tear in several places.

He shifted his grip on Jenny and tried to lift her high enough for Fran to take her, but she clung to him hysterically. Nothing he said could make her let go. Then she squealed in sudden desperation, an unnatural, high-pitched squeal, and her fingers loosened their hold on his clothing. He swung her up to Fran who caught her under the arms and began to haul her to the safety of the higher ledge. It was only then he saw what had made her squeal — a second worm, gnawing at her ankle. Its tail slapped against Matt’s face.

The helicopter was immediately above and someone was being lowered. It looked like the leading seaman. His feet kicked against the granite as he came down, narrowly missing Matt. He grabbed Jenny and gave the signal to be taken up again, hugging her close to him but with the worm still dangling from her ankle.

But something else was happening up there too. He couldn’t see what it was, though from Fran’s shrieks he could guess. Then he heard the thwack of the stick against the hard rock and realized she was screaming anger and hate. Once more something hit the rock with a sharp crack! and he found himself grinning, feeling the worms had met their match in her.

And Jenny was safe. Whether he lived or died didn’t seem to matter any more. At least Jenny was all right.

He caught the head of one worm which was moving up to his abdomen and squeezed the life out of it. How long he could carry on like this he had no idea. So far they hadn’t succeeded in doing more than rip his clothing with their sharp teeth, but sooner or later they’d find a way through those lined overalls, Ministry-issue, and that would be the end. There wasn’t much time. The helicopter would pick up Fran first, winch her to safety, and by the time they returned for him…

He snatched at another worm but his arm became entangled in its writhing body. Holding it as far away from his face as possible, he tried to shake it off. Unsuccessfully. Its head was pulled back ready to strike, its eyes watching him. Hard. Knowing. Almost as though it recognized him.

This was it, he thought. Above him, he realized the leading seaman was being winched down again to fetch Fran whose high-pitched yells were still audible above the engine. He felt uneasy. Something was wrong — voices, shouts, a couple of shots…

The sound cleared his mind. He’d been so taken up with the danger of his own position, so convinced there was no hope of getting off these rocks alive, that he’d been acting like an idiot.

With his free hand he tugged the knife from his belt and slashed at the worm just as it was shooting its head towards him, impaling it on the sharp blade.

He shook it off and peered upwards to see what was happening to Fran. A drop of blood splashed on to his face.

‘Fran!’ he yelled out. ‘Fran!’

The leading seaman swung free on the end of his cable with Fran’s body strapped to him. She was unconscious. One leg of her overalls was in shreds and she was bleeding profusely. On the other leg was what appeared to be a long ribbon of luminescent green.

The remaining worm on his own leg shifted. Viciously he jabbed down at it with his knife, risking the blade going into his knee but just avoiding it. The worm, injured but not dead, dropped away. Another immediately took its place, slipping rapidly over the rocks towards him and trying to bite into his boots. A third raised itself to investigate his leg and took a mouthful of overall, which it let go again. A fourth swung down from the ledge of rock above and fell across his shoulder.

He heard a bellow of horror, quite involuntary, escape from his own lips as he attempted to shake it off, brushing it away with his hand. Miraculously, he almost succeeded. It slipped sufficiently to make it feel insecure. It squirmed and wriggled to regain its balance. Those few seconds were enough for him to get hold of it and sling it away.

A shot whined close to him. Fragments of rock showered against him. Then another shot. And another.

Glancing up he saw Lieutenant Smythe kneeling in the open doorway of the helicopter, calmly picking off the worms around him one by one. Stupid bugger, he thought. How many does he think he can kill that way? If he had any compassion he’d put a bullet through me, finish me off before the worms do it.

Another tear at his leg, and this time they drew blood — not deep, but enough to whet their appetites. He caught one in his hand and hammered its skull against the rock.

More shots. ‘Christ, that was close!’ he shouted up resentfully. ‘If you want to kill me, do it properly!’

The leading seaman was only a couple of yards above him. As he came closer the firing ceased. Matt killed another worm by the same method, dashing its head against the granite. Then he turned to find his rescuer face to face with him.

He took two worms with him up to the helicopter, but Lieutenant Smythe was ready to deal with them the moment he was hauled on board. He plucked them expertly off the tattered overalls and threw them out.

In several places the worms had bitten through the composition rubber of the frogman suit Matt wore under his overalls. Blood oozed out and began to drip down his legs.

Jenny lay on a stretcher, whimpering and hardly aware of where she was. Her eyes were open but she stared straight in front of her without seeing anything.

If possible, Fran was in an even worse state. She was unconscious and her right leg was soaked in blood. The lieutenant had applied a tourniquet.

‘Right! Let’s go!’ he ordered brusquely.

‘Wait!’ Matt still had one job to do. They were hovering directly above the tor next to the bright green of the ‘featherbed’, its surface now broken by the giant coils of the queen worm. He crawled to the box of grenades, then back to the door. Gripping the metal ring of the pin between his teeth, he pulled it out and tossed the grenade down to her. It exploded in a shower of moss and mud. ‘An Easter egg for the bitch.’

‘Suppose you find your seat and get strapped in!’ the lieutenant snapped, asserting his authority. ‘Keep your vendetta for another time. We must get these people to hospital.’

Jenny was asleep under heavy sedation but at least he’d spoken to her. She’d smiled up at him, her face almost as white as the hospital pillow case, and held out her arms. ‘Sorry, Daddy,’ she’d murmured drowsily in his ear, ‘but it’s all right now, isn’t it?’

Was it?

Fran wasn’t expected to live, that much was obvious. When they’d taken her into the operating chamber there’d been a flurry of people around, doctors and others, consulting in hushed voices. A heavy, deep-jowled, pasty-looking man had arrived after about half an hour. ‘Mr Griffiths,’ they’d whispered. Everyone gave way in deference as he strode through the hospital and Matt understood that this was the surgeon on whose skill Fran’s life depended.

Matt himself had shrugged off all attempts to persuade him to remain in hospital as a patient. Once his minor injuries had been cleaned and dressed he sat about in the waiting room, hoping for news of Fran and coldly thinking about the worms. The Ministry had been informed. He’d spoken to Rhys personally and no doubt the committee was meeting at that very moment, deciding on a course of action. But they would do nothing till the next day, Matt was convinced, so he still had a few hours left in which to settle his own account with them.

A friendly nurse came to ask if he’d like something to eat. He shook his head impatiently. ‘When… when she comes out of there,’ he wanted to know, ‘assuming she’s … all right…’