Infested (3 page)

Five

By the time I returned to the grassy bank the man had gone and I saw
him standing some way off, peering at a particularly neat cruiser which was moored
near the marina. Sirens split the tranquillity of the day wide open, getting
louder as they approached. I tensed and edged as casually as I could toward
the river and started to untie the knots holding the canoe to the metal rings.
A small bead of perspiration formed on my brow. I was not ready for capture,
not yet.

All heads turned to watch as two police cars came racing along the road,
revving their engines hard and almost gaining air-time as they raced across the
humped bridge in front of the pub. Until they’d passed I hadn’t realised I’d
been holding my breath, but as the wail of sirens receded along the road toward
the village, I let it out slowly from between my teeth. My heart was beating
hard in my chest and the tremble in my hand caused a little beer to slosh over
the side of the glass and trickle down my leg.

The sirens stopped before they’d faded to silence, so I figured
wherever they were heading to, wasn’t far away. Without tying the canoe back
up, I sat back down and put my foot on the rope while I rolled another
cigarette and tried to calm myself.
Time to
be moving soon
, I thought. Still, I didn’t want to be rushed and
have my day spoiled, and so I took time over my drink and only took small sips,
glancing often over my shoulder toward the road, ready to leave at the first
sign of the police.

I was beginning to feel morose, regret nibbling at the edge of my
senses. Would it be like this forever, entering a state of panic whenever the
police were within sniffing distance? I hoped not and just then my heart
skipped another beat as a policeman, a big man, came running from the road
toward the beer garden. Even at a distance I could see he was red in the face
and he leaned one hand against the corner of the pub, breathing hard.

Discreetly, I climbed into the canoe, with haste but not enough to draw
suspicion to myself. From my seat I was mostly hidden behind the concrete
bank, and I kept myself steady by holding onto it with one hand, my eyes just
peering over the top so they were on a level with the pub-goers’ feet. I
hesitated out of curiosity, for it was quite disconcerting to see the officer
so obviously flustered, panicked even.

“Go,” he shouted, waving his arms. “Everybody run.” His terror was
obvious, the cause for it was not. Everyone in the beer garden stared at him,
then at each other and back to him: All unsure what to do, all waiting for
someone else to move first. I was no exception, lightly bobbing in the wake of
the weir when the policeman started to scream, tearing at his clothes, slapping
himself and stamping his feet. By the time he’d managed to remove his stab
vest he was writhing on the ground, having convulsions which gradually became
less violent until there was only the odd spasm and twitch.

A man ran to him - in his mid-fifties, greying on top and wearing an
argyle tank-top and beige trousers - with the intention of offering assistance,
while the rest of the patrons became agitated. Without knowing where the
danger lay, they didn’t know where to run. Parents shouted their children from
where they were playing by the stream who, sensing the urgency, came without
argument.

The man going to the aid of the policeman pulled up short when he was still
within a few paces and without pause, he let go a scream of his own, turned on
his heels and ran back the way he’d come, waving his arms at everyone to save
themselves. He fell and just like the policeman had, started to slap at his
body and attempt to rip away his clothes but soon he too was writhing on the
ground, gasping for air like a fish.

Everyone ran toward the water and at the same time I let go of the
bank, letting myself drift a few yards out into the river. I looked hard
toward the fallen men, and could vaguely make out movement over their bodies
which seemed to be spreading into the beer garden almost like an inkblot, but
still I didn’t know what I was looking at. The men on the floor were slowly
taking on a whitish appearance, as if being wrapped in some kind of cocoon, or web.

There were people at the water’s edge now, teetering, trying to decide
whether to jump into the river or not, jostling for position. I was
transfixed, peering at the small, unremarkable looking spiders which had begun
to appear around their feet, easily visible on the concrete bank. Their shouts
and shrieks blended into a constant din of background noise. They were appealing
to me to save them but I knew I couldn’t. They’d noticed the spiders too, and
were stamping their feet, squashing many but becoming overwhelmed as the black
tide flowed around them, over them and brought them down.

I edged further into the river. Fathers were holding children up above
their heads, but it only meant they had further to fall, and they did, some
with sickening crunches and cries of pain. Now the pub-goers on the bank began
to jump into the river and swim toward me, but I knew I’d be overturned if any
grabbed hold of my canoe and tried to climb aboard. For a moment I froze; the
situation was hopeless and I was caught between trying to save a few, which
meant me succumbing to either the spiders or the river, and saving myself. I
made a decision. I can’t say it was the right one and, dare I say it, it was a
cowardly thing to do but I decided to save myself. It was a choice most probably
helped by a man who was trying to do the same, pushing past all the others who
were thrashing in the water to swim directly toward me. I saw him kick out at
a child of around ten years old, who’d tried grabbing hold of him for buoyancy.
The child slid under water just as the man reached a hand to my gunwale. A
reflexive reaction caused me to bring the paddle down like an axe, the edge of
the blade undoubtedly breaking his fingers. He let go and I moved further
downstream, torn between paddling back into the melee or moving away and not
looking back.

By now, bodies were floating face down on the surface of the river. It
was too soon for them to have drowned and so I had to presume the spiders were
of a poisonous variety. A handful people were still alive though, treading
water; an old lady with her skirts spread out around her like a lily pad, the
young man who’d been one half of the lovers I’d first seen staring into each
other’s eyes over their drink, frantically searching the water for his beloved.
And a little girl who couldn’t have been more than eight, her shock of red hair
plastered to the sides of her face as she desperately tried to swim back to
shore. I strongly suspected that if she made it, the spiders would have her.

Fuck it.
I dipped
the paddle and pulled hard, propelling myself forward to intercept her before
she touched a hand to dry land. In a couple of seconds I was with her. “Grab
on,” I shouted when the front of the canoe was level with the girl’s head. She
looked around and quickly figured it out. “Pull yourself up.”

The canoe lurched violently and I had to fight to keep it upright as
she tried, and failed to haul herself out of the water. “Wait,” I called and
edged forward so I could grab her hand. It felt tiny in mine as I pulled.
“Kick your legs,” I told her and heaved. For the next few moments I thought we
were both going to end up swimming, but eventually I had her slumped in front
of my seat, resting on my legs. It was an awkward position for paddling but
with my gear piled in front of us, it was too much of a task for her to clamber
forward into the front seat.

Neither of us spoke as we moved away from the pub and the bodies which
were gently floating. Nothing moved on land and I didn’t turn around to look
back for fear of seeing any late survivors clinging to the life which was
surely slipping from their grasp. When I felt we’d travelled a safe distance
from the pub, I began looking for somewhere to land, so the girl could climb
into the front of the canoe and make our progress easier.

It must have been half an hour or more before I spied a narrow place to
stop and I manoeuvred beneath the overhanging branches of a willow to where its
roots met the water. I stayed seated and told her what I wanted her to do,
that she was to get out, I’d move the canoe a bit, and she could get back into
the front. She simply nodded her understanding, numb shock evident on her
face, as it must have been on mine, and as she clambered out onto the river
bank, my heart was breaking.

I bit down my sadness for her, it would do neither of us any favours, and
edged back out from the branches, leaving it easy for her to get back in.
“Ready?” I asked when she was seated. She nodded, for I saw the back of her
head move, and I moved us back out onto the river.

Six

For a long time we travelled in silence, the only sound being the song
of the paddle as it slipped in and out of the water. I don’t know what she was
thinking, or feeling, and could only guess, as I could only see the back of her
head. I wondered whether she was crying and stared, looking for any tell-tale
movement of her curly locks.

Me, I was trying to formulate a plan. My thinking being that during
our next brush with civilization, I could leave her with some responsible adult
and - although I didn’t doubt for a moment the events of the pub were
undiscovered - pass on news of what had happened.

Now, the river was so tranquil I found it almost impossible to believe
what we’d experienced had really happened, as if it had all been a dream. Were
rescue teams and frogmen right now searching for the girl, I wondered? A
horrible thought struck me hard and filled me with panic:
What if they take me in for questioning when I
deliver her to safety?
I decided the best course of action was to
flag down the next passing boat and deposit her on board, with as little interaction
from myself as possible.

The next boat we encountered however, was coming at speed, headlong
down the middle of the river and creating a wash which was breaking over the
banks on either side. Its pointed bow was aiming directly for us and I needed
to steer hard into the trees to prevent us being rammed, which would have
certainly turned the canoe into matchwood and killed both me and the girl. The
fat man at the helm appeared to be in a state of high anxiety and if he’d seen
us, he showed no sign of it.

The bow-wave hit us with a jolt and we were almost capsized. On
instinct alone I pointed the front of the canoe into the waves to ride them as
best I could. The girl in the front clung to the gunwales but thankfully did
nothing to further upset the canoe. By the time I’d managed to restore
balance, the speeding boat was already rounding the next bend and out of
earshot.

“That was close,” I shouted forward, thinking I ought to break the
silence between us.

“I liked it,” she laughed, half turning in her seat to look over her
shoulder. Although there was still plenty of sadness in her eyes, her freckled
face lit with a smile which showed where she’d lost a front tooth.

I had to laugh myself at that. “Yes, it was quite fun wasn’t it.” The
resilience of children never fails to amaze me and as it happens, the
excitement, no matter how short lived, provided a welcome distraction and
stopped us both thinking, at least for a short while. “Want a drink?” I asked
her.

“Please.”

I grabbed the big, square water carrier, which was now two-thirds empty
and warm, and leaned forward as far as I could, reaching over the gear stacked
between us and half throwing it in her direction. It tumbled to a rest just
beneath the back of her seat. It took her a little while of feeling about to
find it and then she struggled with the cap which I’d over-tightened.

“What’s your name?” I asked after she’d got the bottle open and was gulping
down water from its neck.

She paused for breath and lowered the container. “Lindsey.”

“I’m M… Bobby,” I said, figuring I’d have to get used to my new name.

She turned back to face forward, so once more I was staring at the back
of her head. The awkward silence which followed seemed to last an age, and I
for one could not think of anything with which to fill it until eventually she
said, without turning. “My mum and dad are dead.”

It was a simple statement, but at least she understood. “Yes,” I said
quietly. “Yes, I think they are.”

Her shoulders started to shake and I could hear her quietly sobbing.
Lost for words and thinking of nothing to comfort her, I simply continued to
paddle gently down river, hidden from the world by green banks of trees and
reeds until she finally broke the silence. “Will you look after me?”

I sighed. “Until I find somewhere to leave you.”

“Don’t leave me. Please don’t.” She was crying again.

“It’ll be with someone nice, I promise.”

“But I want to stay with you.”

I sighed again. “I don’t think that’d be a very good idea,” I said,
half under my breath.

“Please,” she pleaded.

“We’ll see.”

The next words spoken were “I need a pee.”

Although I was starting to need one myself, my heart sank a little and
I didn’t want to stop just then. “Can you hold it for a bit?” I asked. “We
should be at the next lock soon.”

“I’ll try,” she said although I could see her squirming in her seat.

I put more effort into paddling, to try and speed our progress but a
few minutes later she piped up again. “I’m desperate.”

I groaned. “Okay, I’ll find somewhere to stop, just hold it a little
while longer.” I paddled harder, studying both banks for somewhere suitable
and when I spied a small gravel bank on a bend I ran the front of the canoe up
onto it, jolting us both forward. “There you go,” I said. “Hop out.”

She shot me a look as if to say,
don’t
be grumpy, it’s not my fault,
and climbed out onto the gravel and
then scrambled up the side of a small, vertical section of bank which the river
had carved during times of flood; devoid of vegetation and full of holes. Sand
martins darted in and out of them, swooping low over the river and seemingly
unbothered by our presence. I watched their acrobatics with fascination while
she disappeared out of view into the fields above.

“Eaugh,” I heard her shout. “There’s dead cows up here.”

“Just do whatever you need to do and hurry back,” I shouted in reply,
having no inclination to investigate. I imagined there might be one dead cow
and she was exaggerating by using the plural.

A few moments later she was clambering back down the bank and into the
front seat. We were well and truly grounded, “Right, when I say, grab the
sides and shuffle back,” I said to her and took hold of the sides of the canoe
myself and counted to three before lurching backwards in my seat. The canoe
moved a couple of inches back into the river. “And again.”

We continued to try and shunt the canoe with our combined movement and
each time it edged back a little more. It was an effort but so much better
than me getting out and pulling it off the gravel, giving myself wet feet in
the process. Soon we were free enough for most of the canoe to be afloat and I
shoved the paddle down onto the river bed and gave a final punt to free the
front end.

“I wonder what killed them?” asked Lindsey when we were once again
making steady progress down the river.

At first I was unsure what she was referring to. I wished I’d got out
to relieve myself at the same time, I was getting pretty desperate myself and
hoped the next lock wasn’t far. “What?” I asked, being as unspecific as I
possibly could be.

“The cows.” She said. “I wonder if it was the spiders.”

“Were there a lot of cows?” I asked, suddenly putting two and two
together with a sinking feeling in my belly.

“Yes.”

“I’m sure it was something else,” I told her. “The spiders were back
at the pub, we’re a long way from there now.”

“I don’t like spiders.”

“I know.”