Scorpion [Scorpions 01] (15 page)

    He was pretty certain there wasn’t anything in the building to have given her information. He recalled something about the military using the heat from the drainage pipe to warm the place - but that had been years ago. The building had been deserted ever since. Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to give it the once over. If she had found anything and Meacham got wind that he, Condon, had overlooked it…

    He stepped inside, wandering across the dim, dusty room that must have been the reception area. His powerful flashlight threw a brilliant shaft of light ahead of him. He noticed the odd cigarette end on the floor, the broken whisky bottle that Lemmy Tyson had dropped in his terror. Condon moved on, along dusty passages, into another room. He found nothing - save for the solitary indication of previous human visitors. In a corner of the room his torch picked out the shriveled remains of a discarded rubber protective sheath. Condon grinned as he visualized the heated excitement of the couple who had shared a brief, but hopefully satisfying time together. The rough floor of an abandoned building wasn’t the most romantic place, but Condon had experienced enough illicit moments of his own to know that at times like that surroundings didn’t make much difference.

    He moved on, shoes rapping against the hard floor. There was nothing to be found. He was almost ready to leave when he spotted the dark opening and beyond it a flight of grey concrete steps leading down. He recalled that there were extensive passages and chambers below, on two levels. He stepped through and made his way down the steps. The first thing he noticed was the musty, earthy smell. It rolled over him, filling his nostrils, vaguely repellent. It reminded him of moldy leaves, of rotting vegetation, of decay. He reached the bottom of the steps. Under his feet lay brittle objects that cracked and splintered when he trod on them. Condon swung the flashlight down. The floor was littered with the things. They looked like the empty husks of acorns, but they were much longer and narrower. Dark in color, they shone dully under the light. Condon swept them aside with his foot and the husks rattled across the concrete, drowning out the scratchy sound of many scuttling feet moving through the shadows.

    Condon wandered back and forth along the underground passages, in and out of empty rooms. He found nothing to arouse his curiosity. He came to more steps - these led down to the lowest level. He was just turning away when something caught his attention. He leaned forward and put out a hand. He felt a draught of cold, damp air rising from the depths and noticed the musty smell he’d picked up earlier. Condon played his light on the steps and began to descend. Halfway down he stopped and listened. He was sure he’d heard a sound behind him. A soft, rasping sound. The sound wasn’t repeated. He carried on to the bottom and swept the torch across what appeared to be one long, wide room. In a far corner he caught a gleam of metal. He crossed over to it, playing his torch on the floor. There were more of the dry husks here - a lot more - some of them much bigger than the ones he’d seen before. He stopped in the far corner of the large chamber, playing his torch on the concrete wall where a large crack split it from floor to ceiling. A mass of earth and stones had spilled out into the chamber and at the top could be seen the dull gleam of metal. Condon didn’t need a second look to know what he was facing. It was the waste pipe from the plant; the one that took the heated water from the reactor; the one that had been involved in the leak. Condon stepped away from the wall. He let his torch play on the pipe. There was a long crack in the metal. A slow, but steady seepage of water oozed from it, spilling on to the mound of earth that sloped down into the chamber. The soil was sodden and excess water had run out across the concrete floor. From the stains on the concrete it was obvious that the water had been present for a long time. The water coming out of the pipe now was cold. It had been for the past week, ever since the reactor had been phased out. The cold water was helping in the final cooling and to clear out the pipe. Condon realized that during the time the reactor had been running the water leaking into the chamber would have been scalding. The chamber would have been like a damn hothouse! Now it was bloody cold! He glanced round suddenly as a slight sound reached him out of the darkness. It was only a faint sound but in the silence of the chamber it couldn’t be missed.

    His flashlight almost missed it… a dark shape in the angle where the floor joined the wall… Condon moved the beam of light back and… yes… there it was!…

    It sat there on the concrete, deathly still, held by the bright gleam of the flashlight. Dark in color, the hard shell of the body reflected the light. Condon realized that it resembled the dry husks he’d stepped on. Only this one was different - this one had legs and a flexible tail that curved up over its back, pincered arms raised in a defensive shield in front of it. Condon stared at the creature, a thought stirring in his mind. He’d read about these things in the paper a few weeks ago. There’d been a bit of a scare about them - and then it had all been denied.

    Scorpions! That was what they’d all been talking about. He peered at the creature again. He’d only ever seen the things in photographs before, but that was what this thing looked like. The only thing was it looked a damn sight bigger than he would have expected it to be!

    Revulsion swept over him. There was something in the way the bloody thing just sat there staring at him! Condon stepped forward and drove his foot at the scorpion. His shoe scraped the rough wall. Condon grunted and drew his foot back. The thing had gone. Something dragged against his shoe; he swore in annoyance as the scorpion climbed into sight over the toe. Condon grinned suddenly - got you! He swung his foot at the wall again, hoping to crush the thing against the rough concrete. But the scorpion scuttled up on to the top of his shoe and reared its body back, flexing the pincered arms. With slight panic replacing his anger, Condon shook his foot, trying to dislodge the scorpion. It still clung on. He bent forward and swiped at it with his hand…

    The scorpion snapped its pincers together, gripping the soft flesh of his hand. The sudden sharp pain made him cry out. He shook his hand wildly but the scorpion had too strong a grip. Condon could feel the blood running from the gouged flesh where the tips of the pincers were dug in. Ignoring the pain he slammed his hand against the wall in desperation. It was useless. The scorpion clung to his bloody hand undisturbed. In the bobbing glare of the flashlight Condon saw it lift its body, arch the jointed tail over its head, then strike at the exposed flesh of his hand.

    His scream was like the howl of a soul in torment. He lashed out at the scorpion with the flashlight, hitting himself on the hand at the first attempt. His next swing struck the creature and knocked it from his hand. Shreds of raw flesh hung down from where the keen-edged pincers had ripped his hand, blood oozing in thick globules from the wounds. As the scorpion fell, Condon lost his grip on the torch and it dropped to the floor, bouncing and sending its beam of light dancing across the concrete.

    And in that moving pool of light Condon saw something that tore another scream from his aching throat.

    Scorpions! Hundreds of them - maybe even thousands - it was impossible to count them as they scuttled across the concrete floor. A surging, rippling, dark tide flooding towards him. They created a harsh whispery rattle of sound as they moved, pincers opening and closing, eyes glittering in the bright light.

    Condon, his stomach jerking from fear and pain, snatched up the flashlight from the floor. As his fingers touched the case he sensed dark shapes lunging at him, and felt the sharp slice of keen pincers gouging his flesh… blood spattered on to the hard shells of the jostling insects. He grasped the flashlight and turned, running across the floor towards the stairs. Hard bodies squashed under his shoes, crunched to pulp, smearing the concrete. He slipped and fell to his knees, felt the hot stabs of pain as unseen pincers tore at his flesh, was aware of the feathery touch of many legs scrambling over the sleeves of his coat, his trousers… The things were all over him! He stumbled upright, lurching towards the steps, slapping wildly at his clothing.

    He was almost at the top of the steps when he felt a movement on his neck. He yelled in terror and slapped at the scorpion clinging at his face. A sudden and agonizing stab of pain burned into his flesh. Blood spurted thickly from the lacerated cheek, spilling over his collar. Condon forced himself to reach up and take hold of the scorpion, pulling it free from the side of his neck. He could feel it trying to squirm out of his grasp; its writhing body made him feel sick. He crunched it against the wall as he reached the top of the stairs. Thick pulp spewed out, dribbling between Condon’s Angers.

    He fled along the dark passages., searching for breath, moaning and screaming as the scorpions clinging to him tore and gouged his flesh. Somehow he worked his way back up to the entrance level. He staggered and fell, his body jerking and writhing as he struggled to his feet again. He located the door that led to the outside and staggered blindly into the rain. When he looked down he saw that his body was covered in wriggling dark insects. He flailed at them with his shredded, mutilated hands, blood still spilling from the ugly gouges.

    He ran towards his car, groping open the door, and fell across the driver’s seat. Where his hand had touched the door there were glistening streaks of blood on the paintwork. Condon jammed the key in the ignition and started the car. He freed the handbrake and rammed his foot hard down on the clutch. Knocking it into gear he released the clutch. The car leapt forward. Condon fought the twisting wheel as the car bounced its way across the bumpy ground. He yanked the wheel round as the car cleared the grass verge and slammed hard down on the road. Tires howled in protest, smoke streaming from the hot rubber as the car gathered speed. Condon clung to the steering wheel with one hand, the other clawing at the scorpions. Some of them, dislodged, began to crawl around on the floor of the car. Others, trapped between his body and the back of the seat, wriggled and fought to free themselves.

    Condon drove in a haze of pain and terror. Saliva frothed from his mouth. In his fear he had lost control of his bladder and a spreading wetness marked the front of his trousers. Though he didn’t know it yet he was already dying, his body pumped full of venom. If he had been in control of his responses he would have noticed that a numbness was starting to flow along his arms, to deaden his legs. His heart was racing. The road before him blurred, wavered. The car slewed drunkenly from side to side. Peering through the windscreen, he saw the looming shape of the plant. He sagged forward over the wheel, almost passing out, but by some surge of inner strength he pulled himself upright. The high fencing of the plant whipped by the car. Condon mumbled something and jerked violently on the wheel. The car almost rolled over as it slithered towards the gates. A crooked smile passed over Condon’s blood-streaked face, and he thrust his foot hard down on the throttle. Gathering speed, the car smashed through the gates. The impact crumpled the front of the car bodywork, pushing a section of the left front wing into the tire. It shredded rubber as Condon forced the ailing vehicle along the access road leading up to the plant’s reception area.

    Professor Meacham had just stepped out of the building and was making for his own car when he heard the rending crash from the direction of the main gates. He glanced up and saw a car racing along the access road. The car was swerving from side to side, tires howling in protest. It skidded round towards the parking area, only yards from Meacham himself. The driver’s door swung open and Meacham, hurrying forward, could see Condon’s squirming figure on the front seat.

    ‘For God’s sake, Condon, what’s wrong?’ Meacham neared the car.

    He stopped dead in his tracks, his face paling as Vic Condon half fell out of the car, holding on to the door to keep himself on his feet. Condon’s body was crawling with moving, living things. Blood streamed from countless open gashes. Condon reached out towards Meacham with a hand that was already turning black.

    ‘Please… ‘ he croaked. ‘Help me… Meacham… ‘

    Meacham stood transfixed, fascinated, repulsed by the loathsome sight.

    In his agony and desperation, Condon lurched forward, his arms raised in a gesture of suppliance.

    Meacham seemed to suddenly become aware of his surroundings. He took one look at Condon and threw out a hand.

    ‘No… stay away from me!’

    Meacham, trying to back away, slipped on the wet concrete. Condon stumbled over his crouching body, pushing Meacham down beneath him. A startled cry burst from Meacham’s lips. He brutally pushed Condon aside, dragging his legs free, and scrambled to his feet. Shuddering at his narrow escape he brushed angrily at the wet patches on his coat, hoping he hadn’t stained it. His hand passed over something hard clinging to his coat sleeve, something that seemed to be moving. Meacham glanced down. A scorpion was clinging to his coat, moving swiftly up his sleeve in the direction of his neck. Meacham held his arm away from his body and tried to dislodge the creature. The scorpion flattened itself against his coat. Meacham struck at it a second time; his hand brushed over the back, catching the curved sting. The scorpion reared up on its front legs, seeming to regard Meacham coldly with its glittering eyes, then it scuttled up his sleeve and across his shoulder.

    ‘Oh God!’ he moaned. ‘Oh God! Somebody help… somebody… ‘

    His cries were cut off as the scorpion laid its legs against the side of his face. Meacham felt the alien touch against his flesh. He brought up his hand to grasp the thing and tear it away from him. The moment the shadow of his hand fell across the scorpion’s head it reacted instantly. The pincered arms reached out, snapping at his flesh. As it dug into the soft flesh of his lower lip, drawing a sudden spurt of bright blood, the scorpion pulled its tail over its head and sank the curving sting deep into Meacham’s right cheek. He screamed loudly as pain erupted across his face. He raised both hands to his injured face, nudging the tensed scorpion. The creature twisted its body, nicking the curved tail in a swift strike against Meacham’s hand.