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only a sheen of mold. And others were so deformed by the fungus it was hard to
believe they were of human origin at all.
Making nerve-jangling cries they hustled him over the rubble to the rear of
the truck. He glimpsed a white suit in the midst of another throng of the
creatures ahead, then saw the familiar short black hair and pale face. He
shouted Kimberley s name and heard her cry his in return. But then she was
swallowed up in the mass of obscenely soft, fungus-coated bodies.
At least she was still alive, he thought as he was halfshoved, half-carried
along the Harrow Road, back along the way they d come, but what had happened
to Slocock?
Slocock fought to control his panic. His biggest fear was that the truck would
be hit by another petrol bomb. He wanted to get out through the emergency
hatch and get as far away from this death trap as he could, but his soldier s
conditioning warned him to resist the urge. It would be, he knew, suicide to
venture out there unarmed.
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So he forced himself to take a deep breath, and then began to hunt around
under Wilson s crumpled body for the Sterling. As he did this, to his
surprise, Wilson groaned. He d presumed he was dead. Well, thought Slocock, he
soon would be, and good riddance. He located the Sterling and also the
revolver. For a moment he was tempted to put a bullet through Wilson s head,
but decided not to bother. Why waste ammunition?
Ammunition.
Again he stopped himself from using the emergency hatch. Instead he maneuvered
open, with difficulty, the hatch leading into the back of the truck and
crawled through.
The rear compartment was a shambles. Kimberley, still in her
anti-contamination suit, was moving feebly under an oxygen cylinder that had
come loose from its wall bracket.
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He pulled the cylinder off her, then ignored her as he set about collecting
several full clips of 9mm ammunition for the
Sterling. He shoved them into his belt and was about to open the rear door
when he thought of something else.
His prayers were answered. One bottle of whiskey had survived the crash. He
picked it up and smiled at it as if greeting his dearest friend.
By then Kimberley had taken her helmet off and was struggling to stand up.
What happened? she gasped.
Bit of an accident. Drove into the side of a house, he said as he got the
door to the airlock open. Better get moving if you re coming with me.
Kimberley gave a groan of pain as her left leg buckled beneath her and she
fell. My leg! she cried. You re going to have to help me!
Sorry. It s every man for himself. Beside, you d only slow me down. He
hauled himself up into the airlock, which now lay horizontal at chest height,
taking care not to break the bottle of whiskey.
You can t just leave me!
Watch me. He pushed the outer door open, slid through the airlock, then
jumped down to the ground. He almost slipped on the fungal matting but managed
to keep his balance. It was fortunate that he did. Three lumbering figures
were coming straight toward him, clubs in their hands. They were less than
five yards away.
Operating the Sterling with just one hand he was holding the scotch in the
other he sprayed them with bullets. All three of them dropped but in the grey
twilight he could see more of them coming down the Harrow Road towards the
crashed
Stalwart.
He hurried across the intersection and into Ladbroke Grove. It was difficult
running on the slippery, yielding surface but by adopting a kind of sliding
shuffle he found he could keep up a fair pace.
He crossed over the bridge that spanned the Grand Union Canal. The canal
itself couldn t be seen. It was concealed beneath a thick profusion of
different fungi, some of them quite huge. The plentiful supply of water had
obviously allowed the fungi to grow even larger than usual along the canal s
route. The giant, brightly colored toadstools marched in both directions in
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formation.
Slocock hurried on and then took cover beside a fungus draped building that he
felt instinctively had once been a pub. He set his bottle down carefully
between his feet and waited. He didn t have to wait long.
They came hurrying along the road, using the same sort of shuffle he had.
There were only about a dozen of them. He guessed the rest of the mob he d
seen were concentrating on the truck. He felt a momentary pang of regret at
having had to leave Kimberley behind, but quickly suppressed it.
When the shuffling group had passed his hiding place he stepped out and opened
fire. He got most of them with the long burst but two were still standing when
he d emptied the clip.
Unhurriedly he pulled the empty clip out, threw it away and replaced it with a
fresh one. The two creatures hesitated, then started toward him. He felt
strangely calm and detached as they approached. Even when one of them spoke,
unexpectedly, in a clear, educated woman s voice he experienced no real
surprise. He was beyond surprise.
Don t shoot, she said. We just want to talk to you. He let them get
closer. One of them was holding a crowbar. When they were about six feet away
and he could plainly see the loathsome details of the crusts that covered them
he opened fire.
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As the bullets smashed into them they were both sent sprawling backward, but
the one with the crow-bar flung it at Slocock as he, or she, fell. He dodged
to one side and the bar missed him. But then it bounced off the fibrous wall
behind and landed right on the whiskey bottle.
Slocock stared down in distress at the shattered remains. He felt like crying.
He walked over to the two fallen fungus victims and kicked the nearest one in
the side. His boot penetrated the crust and body beneath it by several inches,
making a dry snap sound. When he pulled the boot free he saw a greenish liquid
begin to trickle out of the cavity he d made.
Incuriously he examined the other corpse. This one was lying in a pool of
ordinary red blood. He wondered if this was the woman. He also wondered, if he
ripped off all the fungal crusts, whether he d find the body of a perfectly
ordinary woman underneath.
He doubted it, but the idea made him think of his wife Marge. They d had some
good times together, at first. But then he d realized their sexual needs were
out of sync. He d never thought of himself as undersexed, but she had made him
feel that way after a while. She wanted it every night, no matter what. And
when he couldn t manage it every night, or at least without being able to
conceal the effort it took, she began to nag and taunt him about it, which
only made the situation worse. And after that things just went to pieces.
Where was she now? he wondered idly. He knew she d moved to London after
leaving Aldershot, but she d never sent him her new address. Was she still
alive, and if so, did she look like one of these things lying on the ground in
front of him?
His thoughts turned to Kimberley and their love-making of the night before.
Again he felt regret at having to leave her behind and briefly considered
returning to the truck, but he dismissed it as a suicidal idea. There had been
too many of the things coming down the road and, hell, it was probably too
late now.
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