Brian Lumley: Necroscope: Invaders

'Not very appetizing,' Liz commented, breathing with difficulty through her mouth.

'Eh?' He came back to earth.

'The dump, as you called it.'

'The name says it all.' Jake was equally adenoidal. 'Probably the entrance to an old mine. Hence "Old Mine Gas".'

A great talent for the obvious, she wanted to tell him but didn't. Sarcasm again, covering for something else.

'So what do you think?' she finally said, as they got back into the 'Rover.

'Good time not to think/ he answered, and Liz could only agree. At least he'd remembered what little he'd been told. So they tried not to think, and continued not thinking as he started up the vehicle and let her coast the downhill quarter-mile to the Old Mine Gas station…

Lights of a sort came on as they turned off the road to climb a hard-packed ramp to the elevated shelf that fronted the shack. The illuminated sign flickered and buzzed, finally lit up in a desultory, half-hearted neon glare; grimy windows in the shack itself burned a dusty, uncertain electrical yellow. In an ancient river valley like this, dry since prehistory, it got dark very quickly, even suddenly, when the sun went down.

It also got cooler; not cold by any means — not in this freakish El Nino weather — but cooler. After they pulled up at the lone pump, Jake helped Liz shrug herself into a thin safari jacket, took his own from the back of the 'Rover and put it on. In the west, one shallow trough in the crest of the domed hills still held a golden glow. But the light was rapidly fading, and the amethyst draining from the sky, squeezed out by the descending sepia of space. To the east, the first stars were already winking into being over blackly silhouetted mountains.

Maybe twenty-five paces to the right of the main shack a lesser structure burrowed into the side of the steep knoll. The 'See the Creechur' sign pointed in that direction. Liz wondered out loud, 'What sort of creature, do you reckon?'

But now there was a figure standing in the shadow of the shack's suddenly open screen door. And it was that figure that answered her. 'Well, it's a bloody/wnnjy one, I guarantee that much, miss!' And then a chuckle as the owner of the deep, gravelly voice stepped out into full view. 'It's a bit late in the day, though, so if ver want ter see 'im, best take a torch with yer. Bloomin' bulb's blown again… or maybe 'e did it 'imself. Don't much care for the light, that creechur feller. Now then, what can I do fer you folks? Gas, is it?'

Jake nodded and tilted his hat back. 'Gas. Fill her up.'

'Ah!' The other's gasp seemed genuine enough. 'Eh? What's this, then? Brits, are yer? A pair of whingein' pommies way out 'ere? Now I asks yer, what next!?' He grinned, shook his head. 'Just kiddin'. Don't yer be takin' no note o' me, folks.'

To all appearances he was just a friendly old lad and entirely unaccustomed to company. His rheumy little pinprick eyes, long since abandoned to the wrinkles of a weathered face, gazed at his customers over a bristly beard like that of some garrulous stagecoach driver in an ancient Western. As he took the cap off the Land Rover's tank, his wobbly spindle legs seemed about ready to collapse under him. And as if to make doubly sure he'd said nothing out of turn: 'Er, no offence meant,' he continued to mumble his apologies.

'No offence taken,' Liz gave a little laugh. And Jake had to admire her: her steady, give-away-nothing voice. She quickly went on, 'Can we get a drink or something, while you're filling her up? It's been a long and thirsty road, and a way to go yet. Maybe a beer? You do have beer, right?'

'Did yer ever meet up with an Australian' (but in fact he said Orstrylian) 'who didn't have a beer close ter hand?' The old man grinned again, started the pump and handed the nozzle to Jake, then hobbled back and 'elp open the inner door to the shack for Liz. 'Just you help yerself, miss. They're all lined up on the shelves back o' the bar there. Not a lot ter choose from, though — Fosters every one! It's my favourite. And since I'm the one who drinks most of it, it's my choice too.'

'Well, good/ said Liz. 'It's my favourite, too.' Jake watched them go inside, frowned at the nozzle in his hand. Just like that, he'd accepted the bloody thing. Damn!

After that… but it seemed it was going to take forever to satisfy the 'Rover's greedy guzzling. So Jake quit when the tank was only three-quarters full, slammed the nozzle into the pump's housing, tried not to look too concerned as he followed Liz and the old boy into the shack. But he'd hated to lose contact with her, lose sight of her like that, even for a few seconds. And she'd looked back at him just before she passed from view, her green eyes a fraction too narrow, too anxious.

Inside, however, it wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. Or as it might have been.

It was the grime, the blown dust of the desert, clinging to the outside of the windows, that had shut the light in and made the place seem so dim from outside. But within — this might be typical of any outback filling station a million miles from nowhere. That was Jake's first impression. The bar was a plank on two barrels, with a bead curtain hanging from the plank to the floor in front, and smaller barrels for seats. Liz was perched on one of them, and the old man had passed her a beer that she held unopened in her hand.

She must have asked him if he was all alone out here, and he was in the process of answering: 'Alone? Me? Naw, not much. And anyway I enjoys bein' on me ownsome. Oh, I got a couple o' boys to 'elp out. They ain't 'ere right now, is all. It ain't so bad, actu'ly. 'Ad a truck through just a day or so ago.'

'A truck?' Liz said, all innocence and light. 'Out here?' And the old man nodded. 'Gawd knows where they'd be goin'! But for that matter, where be you goin', eh? What're yer doin' out 'ere anyway?'

Having taken in much of the single room at a glance, Jake strode to the bar and asked for a beer. Without waiting for an answer from Liz, the old man reached for a bottle and turned to Jake. 'Well now, you was a mite quick!' he said. 'Yer just topped 'er up, am I right? I mean, yer'd never fill a big tank as quick as that/

'Right/ said Jake, accepting the beer. He gave the bottle a quick shake, forced the top off with a practised thumb. Then, changing the subject as the warm beer foamed, 'No cans?' he inquired. He passed the bottle to Liz, took hers and repeated his trick, with the same result. The beer wasn't flat; these bottles were old stock, but they hadn't been opened previously.

And meanwhile: 'Cans? I don't hold with 'em/ the oldster told him. 'All this newfangled shite! But yer can trust a bottle/ And turning to Liz again, 'You were sayin'?'

'No/ she answered, 'you were saying. You asked what we're doing out here/

'Well then?' he pressed.

She smiled. 'Can you keep a secret?'

He shrugged his hunched shoulders, sat down on a barrel on his side of the plank and chuckled. 'And who do yer reckon I'd be tellin'?'

Liz nodded. 'We were visiting kin in Wiluna, decided to get married sort of quick. So here we are, run off where no one can find us/

'Eh? Honeymooners, yer say? Run off on yer ownsome and left no forwardin' address? All out o' touch, secret an' private in the Gibson Desert? Huh! Hell o' a place fer a honeymoon.. p>

'I told him the very same thing/ Liz nodded her agreement, shaking an I-told-you-so finger at Jake.

And Jake said, 'Anyway, we're headed north. We thought we'd take a look at the lakes, and—'

'Lakes?' the old fellow cut in, frowning. 'Yer visitin' the lakes?' Then, with a knowing nod of his head, he muttered, 'Big disappointment, that/

'Oh?' Jake lifted an eyebrow.

But the oldster only laughed out loud and slapped his thigh. 'Lake Disappointment!' he guffawed. 'Way up north o' here. Damn me, they falls fer it every time!' He sobered up, said, 'Lakes, eh? Somethin' ter see, is it? Huh! Plenty o' mud and salt, but that's about all IQ