The Satan Bug

Thirty seconds were up. At least thirty seconds were up. No one twitching yet, far less in convulsions. More slowly this time, I played the lamp beam over each and every one of us, starting at strained staring faces and moving slowly down the feet. The beam steadied on one of the two constables whose clothes had been taken.

'Take off your right shoe,' I said sharply. 'It's been splashed. Not with your hand, you bloody idiot! Ease it off with the toe of the other shoe. Superintendent, the left arm of your jacket is wet.' Hardanger stood very still, not even looking at me, as I eased the jacket at the collar and slid it down carefully over arms and hands before dropping it to the floor.

'Are we — are we safe now, sir?' the sergeant asked nervously.

'Safe? I'd rather this damned place was alive with cobras and black widow spiders. No, we're not safe. Some of this hellish toxin will escape to the atmosphere as soon as the first of those splashes on the wall or floor has dried up— there's water vapour in the air, too, you know. My guess is that as soon as any of these splashes dry up we'll all have had it inside a minute.'

'So we get out,' the General said calmly. 'Fast. Is that the idea, my boy?'

'Yes, sir.' I glanced quickly round. 'Two barrels on either side of the door. Two more in line with them and a bit back. Four men standing on those and swinging the cider-press between them. I can't do it, something's wrong with my ribs. That press must weigh three hundred pounds if it weighs an ounce. Think four of you could do it, Superintendent?'

'Think we can do it?' Hardanger growled. 'I could do it myself, with one hand, if it meant getting out of this place. Come on, for God's sake, let's hurry.'

And hurry they did. Manreuvring casks into position while having to stand on others was no easy trick, more especially as all the casks were full, but desperation and the fear that borders on overmastering panic gives men ability to perform feats of strength that they can never afterwards understand. In less than twenty seconds all four barrels were in position and, in another twenty, Hardanger, the sergeant and two constables, a pair on each side of the heavy ponderous cider-press, were starting on their back swing.

The door was made of solid oak, with heavy hinges to match and a draw-bar on the outside, but against that solid battering ram propelled by four powerful men with their lives at stake it might as well have been made of plywood: the shattered door was smashed completely off its hinges and the wine-press, released at the last moment, went cartwheeling through the doorway into the darkness beyond. Five seconds later the last of us had followed the cider-press.

'That farmhouse,' Hardanger said urgently. 'Come on. They've probably got a telephone.'

'Wait!' There was twice the urgency in my voice. 'We can't do that. We don't know that we're not carrying the virus on us. We may be bringing death to all that family. Let's give the rain time to wash off any virus that may be sticking to the outside.'

'Damn it, we can't afford to wait,' Hardanger said fiercely. 'Besides, if the virus didn't get us in there it's a certainty it won't get us now. General?'

'I'm not sure,' the General said hesitantly. 'I rather think you're right. We've no time—'

He broke off in horror as one of the unclothed constables, the one whose shoe had been splashed by the cider, screamed aloud in agony, the scream deepening to a tearing rasping coughing moan: clutching hands clawed in a maniac frenzy at a suddenly stiffened straightened neck where the tendons stood out whitely like quivering wires: then he toppled and fell heavily to the muddy ground, silent now, the nails of his fingers tried to tear his throat open. His crew-mate, the other uniformless constable, made some sort of unintelligible sound, moved forward and down to help his friend, then grunted in pain as my arm hooked around his neck.

'Don't touch him!' I shouted hoarsely. 'Touch him and you'll die too. He must have picked up the toxin when he brushed his shoe with his hand then touched his mouth. Nothing on earth can save him now. Stand back. Keep well clear of him.'

He took twenty seconds to die, the kind of twenty seconds that will stay with a man in his nightmares till he draws his last breath on earth. I had seen many men die, but even those who had died in bullet and shrapnel-torn agony had done so peacefully and quietly compared to this man whose body, in the incredibly convulsive violence of its death throes, twisted and flung itself into the most fantastic and impossible contortions. Twice in the last shocking seconds before death he threw his racked and tortured body clear off the ground and so high in the air that I could have passed a table beneath him. And then, as abruptly and unexpectedly as it had begun, it was all over and he was no more than a strangely small and shapeless bundle of clothes lying face downwards in the muddy earth. My mouth was kiln-dry and full of the taste of salt, the ugly taste of fear.

I can't say how long we stood there in the heavy cold rain, staring at the dead man. A long time, I think. And then we looked at each other, and each one of us knew what the others were capable of thinking only one thing. Who was next? In the pale wash of light from the lamp I still held in one hand, we all stared at each other, one half of our senses and minds outgoing and screwed up to the highest pitch of intensity and perception to detect the first signs of death in another, the other half turned inwards to detect the first signs in themselves. Then, all at once, I cursed savagely, perhaps at myself, or my cowardice, or at Gregori or at the botulinus virus, I don't know, turned abruptly and headed for the byre, taking the lamp with me, leaving the others standing there round the dead man in the rain-filled pitchy darkness like darkly-petrified mourners at some age-old heathen midnight rites.

I was looking for a hose and I found one almost immediately. I carried it outside, screwed it on to a standing plug and turned the tap on full: the results in the way of volume and pressure would have done justice to any city hydrant. I clambered awkwardly on to a hay wagon that was standing nearby and said to the General, 'Come on, sir, you first.'

He came directly under the earthward-pointed nozzle and the jet of water on head and shoulders from a distance of only a few inches made him stumble and all but fall. But he stuck it gamely for all of the half-minute that I insisted he remain under the hose, and by the time I was finished he was as sodden as if he'd spent the night in the river and shivering so violently that I could hear his teeth chatter above the hiss of the water: but by the time he was finished I knew that any toxin that might have been clinging to face or body would have been completely washed away. The other four all submitted to it in turn and then Hardanger did the same for me. The force of the water was such that it was like being belaboured by a non-stop series of far from lightweight clubs and the water itself was ice-cold: but when I thought of the man who had died and how he had died a few bruises and the risk of pneumonia didn't even begin to be worth considering. When he had finished with me Hardanger switched off the water and said quietly, 'Sorry, Cavell. You had the right of it.'

'It was my fault,' I said. I didn't mean my voice to sound dull and lifeless but that was the way it came out, to my ears anyway. 'I should have warned him. I should have told him not to touch his mouth or nose with his hand.'

'He should have thought of that himself,' Hardanger said, his voice abnormally matter-of-fact. 'He knew the dangers as well as you — they've been published in every paper in the land to-day. Let's go and see if the farmer has a phone. Not that it'll make much difference now. Gregori knows that the police Jaguar is too hot to hang on to for a second longer than is necessary. He's won all along the line, damn his black soul, and nothing is going to stop him now. Twelve hours he said. Twelve hours and then he would be done.'

'Twelve hours from now Gregori will be dead,' I said.

'What?' I could sense him staring at me. 'What did you say?'

'He'll be dead,' I repeated. 'Before dawn.'

'It's all right,' Hardanger said. Cavell's mind had cracked at last, but let's play it casual, let's not any of us make a song and dance about it. He took my arm and started out for the lamp-lit rectangles which showed where the house stood. 'The sooner this is over the sooner we'll all get the rest and food and sleep we need.'

'I'll rest and sleep when I've killed Gregori,' I said. 'I'm going to kill him to-night. First I get Mary back. Then I'll kill him.'

'Mary will be all right, Cavell.' Mary in that madman's hands, that was what had sent Cavell's last few remaining grey cells tottering over the brink, he thought. 'He'll let her go, he'll have no reason to do anything to her. And you had to do what you did. You thought that if she stayed there with us in the cider house she would die. Isn't that it, Cavell?'

'I'm sure the superintendent is right, my boy.' The General was walking on my other side now, and his voice was quiet because loud voices excite the unhinged. 'She won't be harmed.'

I said rudely, to both, 'If I'm round the bend, what the hell does that make you two?'

Hardanger stopped, tightened his grip on my arm and peered at me. He knew that those whose minds have