in it, but that’s the least of our problems.”
“Can it be fixed?”
“We can do some temporary repairs. Fuel pump’s going to be a real pisser. Whether it’ll get us to London is anyone’s guess.”
“How long will it take you to fix things?”
Slocock shrugged and looked at Kimberley. She said, “At least another four hours. Possibly longer.”
“We’ll never reach London by tonight.”
“No,” agreed Slocock. “We’ll have to stop for the night somewhere along the way. I don’t feel like driving this around in the darkness with things the way they are out there.”
An atmosphere of gloom settled over them as they shared a thermos of coffee, provided by their Wolverhampton army hosts, and ate a can each of cold stew.
Then, after Kimberley had given them their shots of Megacrine, the two of them got into their suits again while Wilson returned to his vigil in the driver’s cab.
Before Slocock left, Wilson asked him whether they should report to Buxton and tell him what had happened. Slocock vetoed the idea. “Screw Buxton. Why waste time talking to him or anyone else on the outside? They can’t help us. When we’ve got some information for them we’ll send it, but until then they can sweat it out. Serves ’em right.”
It was even hotter in the cab now, and Wilson was quickly drenched in sweat.
Wearily he made periodic sweeps of the area with the binoculars, but all remained still.
Then, while making one of these sweeps, he noticed something odd. He happened to focus on one of the bodies lying in the distance and saw that it had undergone some kind of change.
The fungus covering it had grown thicker. It was now almost impossible to tell that there was a man’s corpse under it.
Puzzled, Wilson investigated the four bodies lying closer to the truck. They too had changed. They now looked as if they were covered by patchwork fur blankets.
He switched on the radio and drew his companions’ attention to the phenomenon. They’d been too busy to notice what was happening, but now one of the white-suited figures walked over to the nearest corpse and kneeled next to it.
He heard Kimberley’s voice say, “Fascinating. The fungus seems to have mutated. Now that the host is dead, it’s changed from being a parasite into a saprophyte.”
He winced as he saw her reach out and touch the growth.
“For God’s sake, be careful!” he called.
“Relax. It can’t hurt me. You should see this, Barry. The rate of tissue absorption is remarkable. There’s hardly anything left of this man apart from his bones.”
Slocock’s voice suddenly boomed out of the radio. “Kim, stop messing around and get back to work. You’ll have more than enough time to look at fungi when we reach London.”
Wilson was relieved when Kimberley’s white-suited form left the man-shaped mound and returned to the front of the truck.
The day wore on. Slocock and Kimberley took another break, then went back to work. Conditions in the suits were almost intolerable, they told Wilson. Apart from the heat, the visibility was frustratingly poor as the face-plates kept misting up. Equally frustrating was trying to do anything delicate with the thick gloves. And there was also the constant fear they would puncture or rip the suits.
By four in the afternoon Wilson was struggling to keep awake in the stuffy, overheated cab. He’d made two trips that afternoon to the rear compartment to bleed more oxygen into the air, but it didn’t seem to improve things.
He was just starting to nod off again when he spotted movement in the trees ahead of the truck. Jolted into full awareness he reached up for the controls of the big machine gun.
Through the sight he got a glimpse of something monstrous coming straight toward the truck. It was moving on four legs and was very large. Its head was massive and bulbous and it seemed to be covered in thick, green strands that hung from it like clumps of seaweed.
Wilson pressed the firing button. He was off-target to begin with but quickly compensated and proceeded to spray the monster with high-velocity bullets.
The thing shuddered and its front legs collapsed beneath it. It skidded forward for about three yards then lay there kicking. Wilson continued to pour bullets into it.
“Okay, Wilson, it’s dead!” came Slocock’s shout over the radio. “Stop wasting ammunition!”
Wilson took his finger off the button and took a deep breath. He was, he realized, shaking. “What the hell is that thing?”
Slocock and Kimberley walked over to the creature. After a long pause Slocock laughed and said, “Congratulations, Wilson. You’ve just killed a cow.”
“A cow?” Wilson couldn’t believe the ghastly apparition was nothing more than a cow.
“Poor bitch must have been driven crazy by the stuff growing on her. Next time, Eagle-eye, don’t waste so many bullets.”
Wilson’s brief feeling of satisfaction evaporated. For a moment he’d thought he’d saved both their lives. Now, he felt foolish. Slocock was laughing at him and so, he suspected, was Kimberley.
They didn’t finish working on the engine until after 7 p.m. When they came back inside and stripped off their suits they both looked exhausted.
“God, I stink,” said Kimberley, sniffing at her sweat-stained t-shirt. “I’d give anything for a shower. Or even a wash.”
Wilson couldn’t prevent himself from staring at the clear outline of her breasts through the damp material. The nipples were plainly visible. He felt a rush of desire for her and wished, yet again, that Slocock wasn’t around.
“Can’t spare the water,” grunted Slocock, “you’ll just have to keep stinking.”
“How’s the engine?” asked Wilson.
Slocock shrugged. “A 50/50 chance it’ll get us to London. But I’m not doing any driving tonight. I’m too tired. I’ll park the bus under those trees to give us some cover, and then I think we should turn in. We’ll make an early start in the morning.”
After Slocock had driven the truck into the shelter of the trees, they had an unexciting meal of more cold stew, fruit salad, and bars of chocolate. Then Kimberley gave them their shots and they prepared for bed.
“Kim and I will take the bunks,” said Slocock as he stretched out on one of them. “We did all the work. All you did was play Buffalo Bill.”
Surprised, Wilson was about to protest but there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make him appear ridiculous. He looked helplessly at Kimberley but she seemed completely unconcerned by Slocock’s declaration. She lay back on the other bunk and closed her eyes.
Forcing himself to sound casual, Wilson said, “Okay, I’ll sleep in the cab.”
“You don’t sleep, Eagle-eye, you keep watch,” Wilson told him. “You can sleep back here when we get moving in the morning.”
Anger flared up in Wilson but he held himself in check. The trouble was, Slocock was right. One of them should stay on guard and it was obvious that he was the most rested. So he simply muttered goodnight and made his way forward. Kimberley already appeared to be asleep.
“Don’t slam the door on your way out,” said Slocock, and sniggered.
Wilson sat alone in the cab feeling absurdly jealous. He was certain—almost certain—he had nothing to be jealous about, but the small amount of doubt was sufficient to make him acutely uncomfortable.
He told himself it was inconceivable that Kimberley would let herself be touched by Slocock. He had seen the antagonism between them.
And yet this evening the antagonism seemed to have vanished altogether. And he remembered how she’d defended Slocock after the shooting incident that morning.
And they’d been working together all afternoon.
And he called her “Kim” now.
Wilson lasted for an hour and then, hating himself, he switched on the intercom.
