The Fungus

London. Feeling sorry for her, they’d invited her to dinner on several occasions. He’d given her a ride home each time, and then one night she’d invited him up to her place for coffee, and—

He knew he hadn’t taken advantage of a lonely, homesick young woman who could have been rather attractive if she’d lost a bit of weight; he was aware that she’d done the seducing, not him. But he certainly hadn’t resisted one iota. And sex with her turned out to be surprisingly good. Hilary in bed was a different Hilary from the somewhat shy and very correct young lady he’d come to know across the dinner table. He would have been quite happy to continue the affair except for the nagging guilt, and there was more guilt when he told her it was over, because her reaction had been unexpectedly emotional. There had been lots of tears and he’d sat there, all eyes on him, feeling like a heel.

That had been over two years ago. He hadn’t seen her since. And now here she was confronting him in the dark in this hell-hole.

“You?” she said with surprise. “It can’t be!”

“I’m afraid it is. Barry Wilson in the flesh. How are you, Hilary?”

There was a long pause before she answered. “Why are you here? Why have you murdered my sisters?”

Wilson flinched at the word “murdered.” “I have to see Jane—speak to her. It’s very important. She’s the only hope of saving the rest of mankind from the fungus.”

In the darkness Hilary laughed. To Wilson it seemed, under the circumstances, a shocking sound.

Then she said, “Mankind is finished. A new order has arisen to cleanse the world of his unholy deeds. The great softness will spread across the globe and blur the edges of Man’s harsh works before consuming them totally. And Man himself will also be consumed. Only those who welcome the softness— who become part of it—will be saved.” She spoke the words as if reciting a litany.

Wearily he said, “The only softness around here is in your brain. Christ, Hilary, only a short time ago you were a scientist! You can’t have changed so completely, so quickly. There must still be a glimmer of rationality in you somewhere. So listen to me, Hilary. Pay attention to what I’m saying! You’re sick! But you can still help protect others who aren’t sick!”

There was another long pause and when she spoke again her voice sounded different. “You’re right, Barry—I am am sick. What am I going to do? Can you help me? I can’t seem… to think… straight anymore—” Her voice broke and he realized she was crying. Then he heard her coming down the stairs toward him. She stepped hesitantly into the red glow coming from the after-burner. She was still recognizably a woman. Her fungus consisted of a thin moss-like mold that looked like some kind of skin-tight costume covering every inch of her. Her full, heavy breasts swayed as she came slowly down the stairs. Her eyes—those very familiar eyes—were stricken with despair.

“Hilary—” he whispered, a terrible sadness welling up through him. She held out her arms to him.

“Help me,” she pleaded.

Then she lunged.

Before he knew what was happening he was losing his balance and she had almost wrested the flame- thrower nozzle out of his grip. Then he was on his back, the tanks digging painfully into his flesh, and she was on top of him, snarling as she pulled the nozzle out of his reach with one hand and squeezed his wind-pipe with the other.

Suddenly, to his amazement, a metal tongue suddenly grew out of her chest, right between her breasts. She stiffened and screamed. It was then that he saw Kimberley behind her, one of their metal spears in her hands.

“Hurry,” she said as she shoved Hilary to one side, “I can hear her friends coming.”

She helped him up. He fumbled with the nozzle. The footsteps sounded very close.

They came round the curve like a solid wall. There must have been a dozen of them at least. At the same moment, he ignited the flame-thrower.

The next minute or so was literally something out of hell. At the end of it he stood there, choking on fumes, while around him bodies writhed and moaned. He somehow found Kimberley through all the smoke and together they hurried on upward, anxious to get away from that hideous scene.

They encountered no more of the “sisters” and finally reached the top of the stairway. They emerged into the lowest level of the observatory. The fungus was everywhere, covering even the windows. A quick search revealed that the area was empty.

So were the next few levels. But when they entered the section that had once housed the rotating restaurant, they found themselves blinking in a blaze of bright light.

Warily they stepped into the circular room, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the unexpected brightness.

The second thing that surprised him was the total absence of fungus in the place. It was draped over the exteriors of the windows but there was none inside at all. The floor, ceiling, and various pieces of laboratory equipment scattered around were all pristine clean.

Then a voice said, from so close behind him he jumped, “Why on earth did you shave off all your hair, Barry? Being bald doesn’t suit you at all.”

It was Jane.

7

He turned, dreading what he was going to see.

But what he did see was totally unexpected.

Jane stood there exactly as he remembered her. She seemed completely untouched by the fungus. She was wearing a white lab coat, but her legs and feet were bare and there was not a single blemish on them. Her face and hands were unmarked too; in fact she appeared to be positively glowing with good health.

She advanced toward them with a welcoming smile and Wilson experienced a wave of unreality. It was as if he and Kimberley had dropped in to pay a social call, except that they were both naked, covered in soot and blood, and he was carrying a flame-thrower.

Jane stopped some feet away and ran a critical eye over both of them. She frowned slightly, then smiled again. “Who’s your friend, Barry?” she asked, gesturing at Kimberley. “She looks quite attractive under all that muck.”

Before he could answer Kimberley said, “My name is Kimberley Fairchild. We’ve met before, at the London University Conference two years ago.”

“Really?” There was no sign of recognition in her eyes as she again examined Kimberley’s body. Wilson realized she was looking for a sign of the fungus. She was obviously puzzled that there was none on either of them.

“Jane, where are Simon and Jessica?” he asked urgently. “Are they all right?”

“What? Oh, yes, they’re fine,” she said dismissively.

“Where are they? I want to see them.”

She ignored him. She was now sweeping her gaze up and down his body again. “How very strange that neither of you show any sign of the fungus. The odds against both of you having natural immunity must be very high. I don’t understand it.”

“We were taking drugs to protect ourselves. They seemed to have worked, so far,” he said. “Look, about the children—”

“Drugs? What drugs?” Jane’s eyes glittered brightly. It was the first firm indication of her state of mind. His hopes that the children might be safe after all began to plummet. He told her quickly about the Megacrine and the other drugs.

She smiled with what appeared to be relief. “Short term protection, possibly, but nothing more. You’ve both been lucky.”

“So have you. Unless you’re concealing it.”

“No. I am untouched too.” She opened the lab coat. She wore nothing underneath it. The rest of her body