into them, and spread out a cluster of special feeding hyphae that grew out along the length of the worms’ bodies. These hyphae would liquefy the worms’ tissues and absorb the digested food until only the skins remained.
This is what had happened to Horace Snell, and was in the process of happening to Geoffrey Henderson.
The mutated
Sheena waited until Geoff was silent and his body had begun to swell. Then she turned and headed back toward the end cave.
Once there she stretched out on her sleeping bag and put her hands behind her head. “Peace at last,” she murmured.
9
The Belfast dock area was crawling with soldiers.
As they halted at yet another roadblock Wilson was struck by the futility of all this military activity. What did the Army hope to achieve by the show of force? What use were guns against microscopic particles of fungi being wafted ashore in the wind? Or perhaps a seabird landing on some remote stretch of coast would bring the fungus to Ireland. He guessed this display of military muscle was more for the benefit of the officers and soldiers themselves than anyone else. By strutting around and being obtuse in the way typical of all British authority they were fooling themselves into thinking they still had some control over the situation.
The discussion between the officer in charge of the roadblock and O’Connell went on and on. Finally the officer disappeared into a small hut by the side of the road. The pole remained lowered in front of their vehicle.
“What’s all this for?” Wilson asked O’Connell. “Couldn’t you have phoned ahead or something? It would be nice to go to our deaths without being held up by army red tape.”
“It’s regulations,” said O’Connell curtly. “They’re only doing their job.”
“Their job?” Wilson laughed. “I suppose they’ll still be checking each other’s passes when they’re nothing but toad-stools on legs.”
“That’s not funny,” said O’Connell.
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
It was the last of the roadblocks. Once through, the army staff car turned onto a wharf and pulled up alongside a strange-looking boat. It was about 90 feet long and had a square, chunky shape to it apart from the bow and forward cabin which were streamlined. It also seemed to sit very low in the water.
“Christ, what kind of tub is that?” exclaimed Slocock as they got out of the car. “It’ll take us forever to get to England in that thing.”
“On the contrary,” said a man in naval uniform who was coming along the gangway leading from the top deck of the vessel. “This is HMS
They all shook hands with him except for Slocock who said, “No offense, Captain, but it’s a habit I’ve picked up recently. Avoid all physical contact with someone until you know where they’ve been.”
Captain Barclay regarded him with amusement. “Probably a wise precaution where you’re going. Rather you than me, I must admit. I admire your courage. All of you.”
“Courage has nothing to do with it,” muttered Wilson. Then he added, “But won’t you be stuck on the mainland too, after you’ve delivered us?”
“No. I’m dropping you a half a mile outside of Holyhead. You’ll go the rest of the way in that.” He pointed to one of two rubber boats lashed to the roof of the cabin. Both of them had powerful-looking outboard motors.
“Time you were leaving,” said O’Connell, glancing at his watch.
“Not coming with us?” asked Slocock, an edge to his voice. “I thought you’d want to make sure we reach our destination.”
“Captain Barclay is more than capable of doing that,” he said stiffly. “Goodbye, and good luck. I don’t have to tell you how much depends on the success of your mission.”
“No, you don’t,” said Wilson. He muttered farewell to O’Connell and followed the others up the gangway and onto the deck of the hydrofoil. The gangway was immediately pushed ashore by crewmen who then began to cast off.
Barclay led them into the spacious bridge. Two other naval officers were there. One of them sat facing controls that were more like those of an aircraft than a boat. Barclay nodded to him.
“Okay Jim, take her away,” he said casually. He obviously ran an informal ship.
An engine rumbled into life and the vessel started to move. Wilson looked back at O’Connell’s stiff, unmoving figure on the wharf.
The hydrofoil moved slowly out of the harbor and into Belfast Lough. Then it began to pick up speed.
“I’m afraid it’s going to be a noisy and bumpy ride once we’re up on our foils,” warned Captain Barclay. “I think you’ll be more comfortable down below. We can’t offer much in the way of passenger amenities but I can at least give you a drink or three.”
Slocock’s face brightened. “Thank God for the Navy,” he said.
Barclay waited until HMS
“She’s a great little boat,” he said proudly as he ushered them into a small cabin fitted with comfortable chairs, a couch and a card table. “She was supposed to be the first of a fleet of five but the budget cuts put an end to that.”
He told them to sit down and then produced a bottle of Johnny Walker and four glasses.
As Wilson sipped his scotch and listened to Barclay make small-talk about Defense Budgets he experienced a sudden feeling of unreality. Not many hours ago he’d been working as usual in his County Wicklow cottage and now he was plunged into a nightmare world where London had been practically destroyed and all human life was under threat. And he, Barry Wilson, failed scientist and struggling writer, was expected somehow to save the day. All he had to do was make a long journey into an unimaginably poisonous environment with two complete strangers and find his wife, who, if she was still alive, could be anywhere in what remained of London.
I’ll wake up, he told himself. I’ll wake up and be back in my own safe world where my biggest problem is thinking up ways to stall my bank manager.
But he didn’t wake up. He remained stuck in the small cabin in the hydrofoil that was juddering like a bus being driven at speed over very rough ground.
For the first time he looked closely at his two traveling companions. Slocock didn’t impress him. He looked like a thug. A tough thug. Someone who’d be dangerous in a fight, despite his small stature. Wilson didn’t relish the thought of being trapped in close proximity with him for any length of time.
On the other hand Kimberley Fairchild looked very attractive. He hadn’t realized until then just how attractive she was. Beautiful skin, good, strong features and an interesting body. He wondered what it would look like out of those baggy clothes.
He glanced up to find she was looking straight at him. “I met your wife once, Dr. Wilson,” she said.
“Really? When?” he asked. He was sure she knew what he’d been thinking.
“Two years ago. At a mycology conference in London. At London University. She impressed me a great deal. I could easily believe what people said about her—that she was a genius in her field.”
“Some genius,” said Slocock with a bitter laugh.
Wilson didn’t know what to say. He felt an instinctive urge to defend Jane, but how could he? The enormity of what she’d done hung over them like a giant cloud.
