That had been three days ago. The bottle was a big one, and Lemmy had worked out that he could make it last for at least four more days if he rationed himself. He had already had his daily quota, but circumstances had changed. When a man was on the road he had to be prepared to make changes at a moment’s notice. This was one of those times. Lemmy put the bottle to his lips and took a long swallow. The whisky flowed down his throat and warmed his stomach. He leaned back, sighing contentedly. The remembrance of the couple in the back of the Rolls stayed with him. Lemmy found himself forming an image of the girl again. Blonde she’d been, with the sort of rounded, lush young body he favored himself. Not that he got the chance to indulge much these days - but if he ever did she was the type he’d go for. He took another swallow of whisky. It seemed to stimulate his thoughts. Though he hadn’t been able to see all of her, on account of the man lying on top, Lemmy had pleasant memories of the girl’s white legs, the curve of one hip, her soft buttocks raised off the seat as she arched her body under the man. There was a lingering image of one exposed breast, all full and white, trembling softly as the girl squirmed, the big nipple all red and jutting. Lemmy swallowed. He felt himself growing hard and fumbled under his coat, opening the front of his pants. It was the best he’d get tonight! He closed his fingers over his stiffening organ, starting to fantasies about nineteen-year-old blondes in the back of big cars.
He was so withdrawn from reality that it was some time before he became aware of the movement. Lemmy sat upright, flinging the whisky bottle from him in a reflex action. His other hand withdrew from his clothing, and he began to slap at his clothes, lurching to his feet. He began to yell… to scream… to roar in pure terror.
His body was alive with wriggling, clawing, biting things. They were all over him, under his clothing, scaly legs crawling over his puckering flesh. Lemmy began to stagger about, hopping from one foot to the other. Desperately he began to strike his own body, hoping to crush the things. One or two squashed and burst, spreading a pulpy wetness across his flesh. He went on striking at them, ignoring the hurt he was inflicting upon himself. It didn’t matter, he had to get the things off. His actions only seemed to enrage the creatures and they began to tear at his flesh with increased ferocity.
In his agony he turned and ran out into the pouring rain, his numbed mind thinking that the downpour might wash them away. He slipped and slithered on the wet ground, losing his balance and falling. He writhed about in the muddy earth. A high, shrill scream burst from his throat as one of the crawling horrors worked its way into his groin, clawing at the tender flesh. Lemmy plunged both hands between his legs and snatched the thing free, ignoring the snapping claws, the curving tail that kept driving its sting into his flesh.
‘Got you… you bugger!… ‘ Lemmy screamed wildly, and closed his hands over the twisting body. It crunched between his palms, the body bursting open, filling his hands with a revolting pulpy mess.
He was still enjoying his minor victory as one of the things crawled up from his chest and over the open neck of his shirt. The sensitive membrane beneath its body detected the pulse beat in the external carotid artery in the side of Lemmy’s neck. The movement seemed to excite it and it began to claw at the soft flesh directly over the artery. Blood began to bubble from the ragged wound, spurting over the hard body. As pain exploded fiercely across Lemmy’s throat his fingers clutched at the blood-slick thing clinging to his neck. As he got a grip on the wriggling body and jerked it away, one of its snapping claws sliced open the exposed carotid artery. A thick jet of bright blood spurted from the gashed vein. With each beat of Lemmy’s racing heart the blood gushed out. Lemmy clamped a hand over the wound in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood. It still came, squirting from between his fingers and streaming down his arm. He staggered to his feet and began to run in aimless circles. He didn’t know what to do or where to go. He simply ran, in total, blind panic.
And in that panic he ran away from the coast road, down the sloping grass, and stepped over the edge of the high cliffs overlooking the sea. It was almost a three-hundred-foot drop, straight down. Lemmy fell screaming all the way, his body turning over and over. The turning and the screaming ceased in the same instant. His body struck hard rock at the base of the cliff. The impact shattered every bone in his body, compressing flesh and organs. Bone was thrust out through flesh, internal organs erupting through the ruptured trunk of the body. The skull burst apart like a smashed egg, the brains spattering across the rock, wiping out everything that had been Lemmy Tyson in one split second of time.
The scorpions clinging to Lemmy’s body survived for the most part. Three of them were no more than pulpy smears on the rock. But five of them, entangled in Lemmy’s clothing, crawled out of the sodden remains. They huddled together on the slimy surface of the rock until a wave crashed down on the rock and swept them out to sea. Little by little, the remains of Lemmy Tyson were washed from the rocks, sluiced away by the recurrent waves, until by dawn there was no sign left at all.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘I think I’ve uncovered something about the nuclear plant,’ Chris said as they ate breakfast.
They were sitting up in bed with a large tray between them. Chris had woken early, gone down to the kitchen, and returned with coffee and toast.
‘Something important?’ he asked.
‘First I have to make sure of my facts,’ Chris said. ‘But what I’ve got points to a radiation leak that went undiscovered for a long time - and was then conveniently hushed up.’
‘Will you be able to prove it?’
Chris smiled. ‘I hope so.’
They finished eating. Chris put the tray on the floor beside the bed and slid under the covers.
‘Hey!’ she said, prodding Allan in the ribs.
He glanced down at her. ‘I should be getting ready for work,’ he said.
‘Last night was so nice,’ she said. ‘I mean, just having you there next to me. Even though we didn’t do anything except sleep.’ A gentle flush colored her smooth cheeks. ‘This morning I feel different… ‘
‘Chris, I’ll be late.’
She pressed her warm body against his, sliding one hand down his hard stomach, fingers touching him lightly.
‘Damn you, Chris, that’s a lousy thing to…’
The bed creaked softly as they came together, merging, desire and physical flesh becoming fused into one.
Allan had one last clear, logical thought before he gave in to the rising demands of his passion - Camperly’s going to be bloody wild!
***
Oddly Gamperly was not raving, or yelling, or foaming at the mouth with fury. If he had been, Allan could have dealt with it. Instead Camperly was cold and calm almost to a ridiculous degree.
‘I couldn’t believe it,’ he said. ‘One of my own staff allowing himself to become a party to journalistic speculation and sensationalism. It is utterly beyond me.’
Allan felt like a schoolboy being chastised by a headmaster.
‘Scorpions! Whatever next? My God, if this gets around I’ll be a laughing stock!’ He stared across his desk at Allan. ‘If this comes back on me, Doctor Brady, I’ll be damned if I go down alone!’
‘The newspaper article was none of my doing,’ Allan protested, knowing that he was wasting his time. ‘It was only after the victim described what had bitten him that I started to think about scorpions.’
Camperly scowled at him. ‘Think? I’m beginning to realize, Doctor Brady, that every time you make the effort and actually create thoughts, we have problems.’
Allan forced himself to remain silent.
‘Who was this reporter you talked to?’ Camperly asked.
‘Bill York I think his name was.’
Camperly wrote the name down. ‘We have had an uncomfortable, long, very hot summer. It’s upset everyone and everything. Do you realize this year’s pollen-count has risen dramatically? That there are flowers and plants growing and blooming in abundance that normally can only be raised in strictly controlled greenhouses? That there has been a virtual doubling of the wasp and bee populations?’
‘You can’t convince me, Doctor Camperly, that the cases I’ve investigated were nothing more than aggravated bee stings!’
‘Nor will you, Brady, be allowed to go around giving credence to wild speculation about phantom scorpions!’
‘Damnit, Doctor Camperly, you know as well as I do there’s a colony of the things down the coast!’
‘Totally harmless creatures that have adapted to a new environment. They don’t even relate to their antecedents.’
‘Maybe they’ve reverted.’
Camperly snorted his derision. He snatched up the internal phone and viciously stabbed at the dial. ‘Ah, McFee. Would you kindly come to my office.’ He replaced the phone, glancing coldly at Allan. ‘Isn’t it time you started some work. Doctor Brady?’
Allan left the office. He knew he hadn’t heard the last of the matter. Nor had he any intention of dropping it himself. On the way down to the lab he passed Fergus McFee. The Scot glanced at him and raised his hands in puzzlement.
Allan worked through until lunchtime. He thought of missing his break to make up for being late, but he wasn’t feeling in a relenting mood. He took off his lab coat and walked up to the hospital cafeteria. He helped himself to a cheerless meal from the self-service area, found himself a table and sat down. He played around with the food.
‘So there you are - chum!’
Allan glanced up. Fergus McFee was looming over the table. He was wearing a baggy raincoat that dripped water on to the cafeteria floor. His hair was plastered to his skull, and he didn’t look very happy.
‘If I catch cold and die,’ he hissed dramatically as he sat down, ‘I’ll come back and bloody haunt you!’
‘Me? What have I done?’
McFee picked up a spoon and began to stir lumps of sugar into the cup of tea he’d brought with him. ‘Don’t play dumb with me, you English twit! You and your damn theories.’
‘Fergus, I don’t know what you’re on about.’
McFee sighed. ‘For the last couple of hours - at Camperly’s request - I’ve been out at the old dockyard, crawling about on my hands and knees to find him some specimens of those bloody scorpions that live there!’
‘What?’
‘Soaking wet,’ McFee grumbled. ‘Cold and bloody wet. All on account of you and your nappy mouth!’
‘Did you find any?’ Allan asked.
‘Find what? Oh - yes. Finally prodded a couple out of a crack in some brickwork. Nasty wee things!’ McFee shuddered. ‘They’re on Camperly’s desk now.’
‘I wonder what he’s up to?’
‘Hopefully he’s working on the most effective place on your anatomy where he can stuff them to get the best effect!’
‘I’m going to give Chris a call.’ Allan said.
As he moved away from the table Allan heard McFee say: ‘Funny thing out there. That dockyard used to be swarming with the things. Not anymore. I don’t think there were many left there at all.’
The remark lingered at the back of Allan’s mind as he crossed to the phone on the cafeteria wall. He dialed Chris’s number and listened to it ring. There was no reply. He hung up, faintly disappointed. At least he would see her that night. It was something he was looking forward to.
Later that afternoon Allan was called to Camperly’s office. His superior was not alone. Bill York, the reporter from the local paper, was there. So was a photographer. There were also a couple of men carrying tape recorders. Camperly introduced them as news reporters from local radio stations, one was from the area’s BBC station, the other from a commercial station.
‘All right, gentlemen,’ Camperly said. ‘I explained when I contacted you the reason why I have called this little conference. It is to clear up some misconceptions over the recent unfortunate outbreak of insect stingings. As you are all no doubt aware there was a rash conclusion reached yesterday that could easily be escalated out of proportion. It is this that I wish to put right. The policy of this department of research is not to give public pronouncements until full and proper investigations have been carried out. This applies to all aspects of our work. I was not here yesterday, when certain statements were made concerning the outbreak I mentioned a moment ago. It was said that the cause, or should I say the perpetrator, of the stingings we have had, is the scorpion. Here and now I am saying officially, that there is no truth or substance in that assumption.’
Allan stiffened. He stared across the office and caught Camperly’s cold stare. The look in Camperly’s eyes warned Allan not to say a word, or he would regret it.
‘I am not going to be so stupid,’ Camperly continued, ‘as to pretend that there are no scorpions in this area. There are.’ He held up a flat, clear, plastic box. ‘These are two of them. Specimens collected by one of my staff only a couple of hours ago.’
Camperly held up the box so that everyone could get a good look. The photographer took a few shots of the box and its contents.
The scorpions were no more than a few inches long, a pale, red-brown color. They remained motionless beneath the plastic lid, hardly responding when Camperly tapped the side of the box.
‘Over many years and generations these scorpions have changed their physical make-up as well as their habits. Their natural enemies no longer bother them so they have lost the need for the hard shell on their bodies. Likewise, the pigmentation has altered to suit the new surroundings. Originally they would have been dark in color - now they are the color you see. It blends in with their surroundings. Insects are much more able to adapt to new surroundings than man. Their cell structure is nowhere near as complex as the human animal. It is on a much lower scale, therefore they can alter their appearance and their physical development in a short time.’