Vampires Overhead @page { margin-bottom: 5.000000pt; margin-top: 5.000000pt; } � � VAMPIRES OVERHEAD Alan Hyder � � � VAMPIRES OVERHEAD ISBN: 9781553101680 (Kindle edition) ISBN: 9781553101697 (ePub edition) Published by Christopher Roden For Ash-Tree Press P.O. Box 1360, Ashcroft, British Columbia Canada V0K 1A0 http://www.ash-tree.bc.ca/eBooks.htm � First electronic edition 2012 First Ash-Tree Press edition 2002 First published 1935 � This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over, and does not assume responsibility for, third-party websites or their content. � This edition © Ash-Tree Press 2002, 2012 Introduction © Jack Adrian Original cover design © Jason Van Hollander � All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher. � Produced in Canada � � � CONTENTS � Introduction by Jack Adrian VAMPIRES OVERHEAD I. The Coming of Bingen II. The Tunnel Beneath the Brewery III. The First of the Vampires IV. The River Through the Dead City V. The Finding of the Screamer VI. The Flight Across the Marshes VII. The Valley of Security VIII. The Killing of the Stranger IX. The Opal Ring X. The Death of Bingen XI. The Future! � � � VAMPIRES OVERHEAD � � � Introduction ALAN HYDER, in VAMPIRES OVERHEAD, created one of the great pieces of twentieth century horror pulp fiction. There is nothing clever about the story, nothing cerebral; certainly nothing sophisticated (sophistication is not a crime you could ever have laid at Hyder-the-writer’s door, probably never at Hyder-the-human-being’s). Vampires Overhead is crude, flawed, simplistic, and at times downright sordid. But it also has a scorching narrative drive; from the start Hyder grabs you by the scruff of the imagination and hurls you into the action, so that you’re forced to read on and on, blind to its author’s (actually very obvious) imperfections, blind to all the things that don’t add up, that don’t make sense�"blind to everything, in fact, but the hurtling momentum of the terrifying here-and-now. It’s a thrilling (in the best sense of the word) piece of pulp, and absolutely nothing Hyder wrote before its publication prepares you for its impact. Come to that, nothing he wrote after it comes anywhere near. So who was Alan Hyder? Not someone who ever made it into the reference books, that’s for sure; not even that invaluable guide to Grub Street between the wars, The Author’s and Writer’s Who’s Who & Reference Guide. Nobody (so far as I’m aware) mentions him in books of memoirs set in the immediate pre- or post-war period, and the editors and publishers who (presumably) knew him a little and took him out to lunch once in a while must all by now be long since dead and buried. Judging from his books it seems more likely he was either an ethnic West Indian, or a white Briton who was born or had been brought up in the West Indies (almost certainly Jamaica). On balance, my vote would go down on the latter. Workwise, he wrote just four novels, all pre-war, and a handful of normal-length short stories for the magazines of the day, as well as a host of short-shorts, most of which were later collected into two slim volumes. Hyder’s first novel, Lofty (1932), is a grim affair (though told in an authorial voice of almost unrelieved facetiousness) describing a short and by no means merry life that leads to the gallows. Hyder’s themes are socio-realistic�"the kinds of themes explored by American �Śnaturalistic’ writers such as John Dos Passos, Theodore Dreiser, and the young John Steinbeck, although I doubt very much that Hyder himself was aware of this. His primary influence, though certainly not in the actual writing, is manifestly Hardy, in that he seems deliberately to set his characters up as mere pawns of fate: struggle as they may, they cannot escape their doom. Lofty himself has a wretched but hectic childhood, joins up in the Great War, shoots an officer, deserts, befriends a prostitute, gives himself up, is hanged. Although Black-Girl, White-Lady (1934) is altogether more adventurous in theme, plot, and setting, it is sabotaged by Hyder’s lack of general literary skills. His model here is the American chronicler of Deep South poor white trash Erskine Caldwell, whose early bestsellers Tobacco Road (1932) and God’s Little Acre (1933) had already attained near-classic status. Hyder turned his attention to poor black and half-caste trash. Set in Jamaica, the novel tells, in sprawling fashion, the tale of the beautiful Rina (short for Ocarina), the slum-child bastard daughter of a �Śfat Mammy’ and a �ŚSpanish gentilmans’ from Kingston. Rina is more ofay than black and has a desperate desire for a white child, preferably (weirdly) from the dire Cyril, a lazy, selfish English boy from the upper middle class who eventually seduces her�"�Śpain seared thanksgiving through her arched body until her soul flowered’. She works as a prostitute in the local bordello, the �ŚScarlet Grasshopper’, presided over by the gross Madam Titicaca, and at the end of the book gets herself to a nunnery�"possibly with child: Hyder’s prose in the �Śbig moments’ (see above) is by no means a model of transparency, his actual meaning (i.e. what he wants to get across to the reader) frequently difficult to grasp. An additional barrier to understanding is his tin ear for dialogue. It would be simple to quote generously�"or, in fact, un-generously�"from his prose, but this would be too much the sledgehammer/nut approach. A good deal of his dialogue (exclamation marks aside) has a certain crude force that is, at times, almost attractive. Too often, however, he descends to the ethnic, or at any rate his version of the ethnic: �ŚLawsy, suh! Wan’t too, Ise abettin’, a trip along to Noo Yark lak dem rich niggers has to meet dat person dere in dat place what takes de kinks outta black people’s hairs’, or �ŚMarried! Lawsy, suh. Ise suah bin too busy keepin’ dem men offern me to think ’bout gettin’ married!’ Long stretches like this�"and there are many�"make the book hard labour, certainly for the reader seventy years on who is used to a more naturally written black demotic as expressed by writers (both black and white) such as Walter Mosley, Robert B. Parker, Elmore Leonard, and Chester Himes. Hyder’s fourth novel, Prelude to Blue Mountains (1936), is in many ways the most exasperating of the lot. It starts off as another Hardyesque slice of doomed lives battling hopelessly against the inevitable, and its plot may be epitomised in a single chapter heading: �ŚFate moves a pawn’. Its premise, however, though banal, is by no means slackly presented: Start Rasny Hansone, a generally mild and inoffensive man (and though owning a patently West Indian name, he seems to be a straight-down-the-middle white Britisher) strangles his nagging wife in a drunken rage. Leila Lavalette, sable-tressed gypsy beauty with dreams above her station, yearns for adventure and romance, not a dreary life on the road. They meet, are attracted, take it on the lam. But while on the run Hansone is betrayed by Leila’s father, who tells the cops where to find him. Up to this point the novel can be judged to be a reasonable additon to the 1930s’ socio-realistic �Śescape’ novels in which characters uncomfortable within the rules and mores of �Śpolite society’ break out (usually violently) and are pursued by the guardians of society (usually, though not necessarily, the police, who are usually, though not necessarily, far more corrupt and brutal than those they are pursuing). James M. Cain’s The Postman Always Rings Twice and Double Indemnity are exemplars of this particular sub-genre. In Hyder’s rendering Hansone is captured, tried, and sentenced to death. But Hyder then sabotages what is by no means a good book, but isn’t on the whole a terribly bad book either, by changing the social realism of the plot into sheer pulp fantasy. Leila employs a �Ścrook’ (Hyder’s description, and we’re not talking criminal mastermind here) to break into the prison and free Hansone from the condemned cell. This is duly done with not much inconvenience to anyone; indeed with extraordinary ease�"virtually �Świth one bound Jack was free’. Leila and Hansone flee across the ocean to Jamaica, but Hansone jumps off the ship near to land and battles a shark, losing a hand in the process (possibly Hyder’s attempt to mitigate the murder). Leila and her father make land, where they meet a good-time girl at a hotel. Leila’s father marries her. Hansone reappears, minus his hand, having miraculously made it to shore, and hitches up with Leila. Fin. This claptrap, only marginally less silly than the average Jeffrey Archer plot, has to be read to be believed, and frankly one is at a loss to explain why it was ever published.� A glance at Hyder’s pre-war publishers may perhaps explain the seemingly inexplicable. Lofty was issued by Cranley & Day, one of a surprising number of publishers who seemed to spring up in the very worst moments of the Depression, and as swiftly, like mushrooms at high noon, died. Pawling & Ness is another; Denis Archer yet another. Perhaps Cranley & Day’s chief claim to fame (and it’s a legitimate one) is that, in 1933, they issued two cruelly funny satires, by one Robert Leicester (probably a pseudonym), on D. H. Lawrence and Radclyffe Hall: Sadie Catterley’s Cover and The Hell of Comeliness. Both Black-Girl, White-Lady and Prelude to Blue Mountains were published by the maverick Arthur Barker, a sometime refugee from the mad Walter Hutchinson. Barker, when establishing his own imprint, had an open-arms policy to the off-beat, the salacious, the scurrilous, the �Śdifficult’. Some excellent writers passed through his doors: Robert Graves, the fine American regional novelist Phil Stong (author of State Fair, etc.), the comic writers Thorne Smith and Noel Langley, A. G. Macdonnell (as �ŚNeil Gordon’), the apocalyptic fantasist Thomas Tweed�"although in many cases their books were published by Barker because no one else would touch them (e.g. E. F. Benson’s bizarre saga of sex and Black Magic Raven’s Brood and Noel Langley’s bawdy Cage Me A Peacock). What almost certainly attracted Barker to Hyder’s two novels is the writer’s earthy vision and at times even earthier language and imagery�"e.g. �ŚPrimordial Sex quivered with desire under the spell of crooned Negro music’. Unfortunately, what seemed exciting and avant-garde in 1935 appears merely risible a generation or so later. Hyder’s final two published works show his Jamaican roots even more clearly than his adult novels. These books were the visible results of the only fame�"mild as it was�"he gained during his writing career. During the 1940s he wrote a long series of well-received serio-comic children’s stories aimed at adults for the London Evening News, about a lively, mischievous, and irrepressible Jamaican ten-year old called Matthias Nehemiah Martingue: Matt for short. Seventy-six of these short-shorts were collected in Matt (1944) and The Magic of Matt (1950). The stories are mainly knockabout tales in which Matt either gets the better of fat constable Mermian, or gets whupped by his (equally fat) Mammy. The illustrations, by Hyder himself, are as crude and energetic as the stories. � In Vampires Overhead, by sitting down at the typewriter and banging off a pulp thriller, Hyder neatly avoided most of the solecisms exhibited in the rest of his work (of style, plotting, grammar, dialogue, characterisation), even though he still had terrible problems with descriptive adverbs, both in their use and their meaning�"e.g., �Ś�śI’m not sure that you really do understand,” I told her falteringly’ (seems calm enough to me); �Śstared down at her worryingly’ (what, like a dog shaking a rat?). Hyder’s non-weird books strike me as having been written by one trying to make a name for himself as a mainstream novelist whose principal task is to explicate the human condition. This was patently beyond his capabilities. Vampires Overhead, however, looks to have been written by one who needed the money. Ironically, this seems to have liberated his (for want of a better word) muse. After its storming start there are some genuinely horrible stretches throughout the narrative. Hyder’s vampires, for instance, are like few other vampires in fantastic and weird literature. I’m not at all sure quite where he got the central idea from: these are certainly predatory, blood-drinking creatures, but they are by no means the vampires of pre- and post-Stoker cliché. Hyder’s obsession with their eyes, and the fact that they hang in dreadful, silent clusters points, perhaps, to an experience of seeing some genus of large West Indian bat gathered together in jungle colonies. Often one’s own disgust fuels the creative juices enormously, and there are certainly indications throughout the story that Hyder is deliberately homing in on a personal fear or repugnance as a form of catharsis. The general post-cataclysmic background�"quite cleverly dabbed in through the narrative�"is easier to identify. The War of the Worlds (1898), by the founding father of modern speculative fiction, H. G. Wells, may be regarded as a template for most British domestic disaster novels and stories of the first sixty years of so of the twentieth century. I cannot believe that Hyder did not at some time experience that still (even a hundred years later) absorbing narrative. Perhaps, too, the polymathic Grant Allen’s extraorinary novella �ŚThe Thames Valley Catastrophe’ (1897), in which a volcanic eruption drowns the western Home Counties in a roaring sea of fire. Closer to Hyder’s own reality, the Great War had a profound effect on popular culture and the creators of both mainstream and imaginative fiction. The inter-war period, for all kinds of reasons, was a worrying time, and in worrying times writers, especially writers of popular fiction, write worrying books mirroring the general angst. So many threats seemed to loom over middle-class Britain, of which the Bolshevik menace (certainly in the 1920s) seemed the most blatant, and revolution and anarchy the most easily realisable�"the bloody events recorded in Dennis Wheatley’s Black August (1934) summed up the prevailing mood of both writers and readers. But this attitude gradually changed after the Wall Street crash brought terrible instability to the western world, and, even before the sinister events of 1933, the mood in Germany particularly began to turn muscularly against reparations and the botched Treaty of Versailles. Touched by paranoia, the visions of the fiction-writers became even bleaker and more apocalyptic. Already in 1926 the Irish novelist Shaw Desmond’s gloomy Ragnarok had foretold a war that hurled mankind back to the Stone Age, but now the actual horrors of the Great War, in the hands of seasoned thriller-writers, were magnified a thousandfold. Gas that contaminated a mere hundred yards or so of trench networks became, a decade and a half later, a vast rolling cloud of doom that blighted half a nation�"Ladbroke Black’s The Poison War (1933). Lumbering and relatively easily potted Gotha bombers of 1917 were transformed by the imaginative writer’s art into swift, sleek, unvanquishable machines of infinite destruction and terror�"Moray Dalton’s The Black Death (1934). At some point in all of these, and similar, narratives, England�"more precisely the Home Counties�"is reduced to a ravaged moonscape of tortured metal girders and stinking rubble: the kind of scene, in fact, that greeted the aghast travellers in Francis Sibson’s Unthinkable (1933) on their return from the southern Polar regions, unaware that while they have been incommunicado for months, war has virtually destroyed civilisation. All contain memorable scenes of destruction, devastation, and horror that find echoes in Hyder’s fantastic and at times gruesome yarn. Even so, there are one or two explicatory gaps. That has to be admitted. � There is an old story of the lowly pulp-writer who, after a lifetime of pounding out low-grade tosh, is lauded by mainstream reviewers and littérateurs when one of his books becomes a roaring critical success. This guy�"let’s for the sake of argument call him John Schwarzenbrunner�"is British and writes terrible private-eye novels set in California, to where he’s never been, filching all his backgrounds from out-of-date travel books. His thrillers (a misnomer if ever there was one) are formulaic to a degree: eight murders per book; the hero gets beaten up by the cops three times per book; every female in sight succumbs to his brutish charms except his rich, and stunningly beautiful, female client; he gets rich, and stunningly beautiful female client, in the last few lines of the final chapter; out of twenty chapters, Chapter Twenty is filled with mind-numbingly tedious explanations, Chapter Nineteen is all action, and Chapter Eighteen invariably ends with the hero in the most desperate straits, a grisly death staring him in the face (usually of a sexual and castratory nature), no help within a league. Schwarzenbrunner’s publisher is equally low-grade, utterly ruthless, psychopathically stingy, and has an obsession with cost-cutting. So the situation is: the price of paper has suddenly rocketed, the publisher is now trying to cram full-length novels into less pages (by using smaller type and printing on fewer signatures), and Schwarzenbrunner himself has just delivered his latest and gone on holiday to the Galapagos Islands (this is the only note of sheer fantasy in the story: no writer of crap private-eye novels would get enough money to enable him to visit Lundy, let alone the Galapagos Islands). On the Galapagos Islands Schwarzenbrunner falls prey to an abominable disease gained from kissing giant tortoises and is out of action for a year. When he returns to the U.K. he discovers to his astonishment and delight that his latest has been published and, instead of getting two lines in the Doncaster Argus & Courant, is garnering reviews one would happily kill for in the Times Literary Supplement, the London Review of Books, and all the heavy broadsheets: �ŚSchwarzenbrunner plumbs the heart of darkness that is contemporary noir’ . . . �ŚThere are no resolutions, happy or otherwise, in this mean-streets masterpiece’ . . . �ŚThe depths of nihilism: life’s a bitch, and then you die’, and so on. Uplifted by this deluge of praise, he gets invited to a book-signing. Idly riffling through the pages of his chef-d’oeuvre his face suddenly takes on a look of stupefaction which swiftly resolves itself into something akin to that seen on the phiz of the demon in the pantomime when baffled by buxom, be-tighted Jack. �ŚMy God!’ he croaks. �ŚThe bastard’s cut out the last two chapters!’ Well. The point is: did Hyder cleverly and deliberately construct Vampires Overhead the way it has turned out? So that nothing is explained, nothing is resolved, and there are enough loose ends to knit an Arran sweater? A comet is mentioned. Though not pursued. There’s a vague possibility these vampires come from outer space. How? (Can one flap leathery wings in a vacuum?) Why? Are they simply a group deus ex machina, brought in to jump-start the narrative? Is the novel meant to be �Ślike life’, in that in life, too, much is unvouchsafed to us? Is it �Śnaturalistic’? There are certainly a few dollops of sex chucked in�"though not of course explicit sex; this is, after all, 1935. Rape takes place�"though off-stage, obviously. Did Hyder then want to write about the sexual and spiritual interaction between three people undertaking an epic journey under the most appalling conditions (�ŚIt’s hell! We’ve woke up in hell!’) and decided to give it an SF cloak because no other seemed to fit? Or did he simply sit down and write a pulp SF thriller, but didn’t have the breadth of vision or creative imagination to fill in the gaps? Or are the explanations and tyings-up not there because Hyder simply forgot to write them? An imponderable mystery�"and, in the end, probably not worth pondering in the first place. And none of this in any case should detract from the genuine pace and genuine grue of one of the rarest vampire tales of the twentieth century. Jack Adrian August 2002 � � � I The Coming of Bingen CONTEMPLATING RETROSPECTIVELY the first days of terror and the ensuing weeks which alternated erratically between black despair and a curious happiness, it is incredible how horror merges into a dull background of dimly burning smoky flame whilst insignificant details are spot-lighted into prominence. Either it is that man is interested mostly in the minor, the understandable, or it is that Nature cunningly casts aside that which is too big, too terrible, for his comprehension. So that this narrative must needs be the record of what were, however appalling they may have appeared at the moment, trivial events happening in a land crouching in fear and dying. So far as I know the first and only inkling of anything untoward�"and it was unheeded portent to a careless world�"came from Jamaica. The News had a small paragraph tucked away in the �ŚNews from All Quarters’ column concerning a sergeant and a sapper who, stationed at Fort Nugent upon outpost duty, reported having seen humped upon the ramparts two enormous bats. The News headed the paragraph �ŚRum?’ Not many people, I imagine, noticed it, and those who read forgot it immediately. I read it and remember joking about it with Clynes in the saloon of The White Hart. Holding glasses high we peered through the amber beer while questioning the barmaid, �ŚNo bats in here, miss?’ I recollect her lifted eyebrows, her majestic move to another corner of the bar. She was tightly laced, that barmaid, but above and below her corsets, curves bulged into the black lace of her dress, so that even while I wonder how she fared, I know. Eight days after that three-lined trivial paragraph in the News, Bingen and I were crouching in the bowels of the earth like two alien shades in a vivid hell, and above, London flared away to a heaped grey mass of ash glowing redly here, leaving twisted stanchions from steel-framed buildings protruding like picked fishbones there. Yes, that paragraph in the paper was the beginning. There is the new comet, but whether it had any connection with the tropical weather, the fires and the arrival of the Vampires, I do not know. The Khaenealler Comet, named after its discoverer, a Belgian professor, had been growing rapidly out of the sky, watched fearfully by people who were alarmed at rumoured reports of it approaching earth in a manner which left no doubts of it colliding with us to the oblivion of everything. Khaenealler’s Comet neared earth enough to dim the light of a full moon, and then stayed at a respectable distance in the heavens, so that people grew gradually accustomed to it, and now it is either burning out or retreating from the earth’s orbit. Its brilliance is fading. Even at the apex of its illumination, the comet, though dimming that satellite with fiery glow, never approximated the moon in size, and though it is possible its flaming gaseous nucleus may have given birth to the Vampires, it is improbable, in my opinion, and but for the coincidence of its appearance the comet can have no connection with this record of events. To me that insignificant paragraph in the paper was the commencement. The beginning? It is hard to begin, and once begun, the narrative must filter out into an unsatisfactory conclusion. There is no finis! The country flashed alight, was gone under the instantaneous arrival of Vampires, and they dribbled away to leave a land which came gradually to life with their going. And yet this narrative should not be difficult, for it is simply the setting down of plain facts, a record of exactly what occurred. But the trouble is the recollection, for important events are faded now, into personal details, while to attempt the description of the Vampires’ descent and the wholesale destruction of the country would be, even though I had a pen capable, beyond me, for I did not experience it. The story must needs be condensed into the adventures of three, and who to tell it except myself? There is Janet . . . but her tale would perhaps be of less interest to those who come after desiring knowledge of the holocaust than mine. It would not chronicle the small amount of detail anent the destruction of the country, mine will. She would not bother with episodes which brought us together. Her interest is the present . . . the future! And Bingen? Bingen is dead! At first, the intention of leaving some record of events for whoever comes after, grew from a sense of duty, but now, when I examine myself truthfully, I know that the setting down of this story is really an excuse to give myself something to do which will take my mind from other things until they can be met. I know also, that far from recounting events proving of interest to those seeking information concerning the Vampires, this account will develop purely into our story, ignoring the important occurrences which obliterated civilization. From an adjoining cottage I have salvaged a cradle. Pulled it from beneath a heap of debris and dusted it. Janet has lined it with silks from the shops at Croydon. Until I suggested it be put temporarily away for safety, it stood prominently in a corner of the room. This cottage, buried deep in the Surrey Hills, is once again to hear the introductory wail of a newcomer into the world . . . a world burned and drained dry of humanity. Janet is not unduly concerned! Why should she be? She relies so implicitly upon me. To her I am capable of everything or anything. If only I can hide my anxiety from her! Tucked away in the memory cells of my brain there are, I suppose, many higgledy-piggledy, useless little scraps of things graved subconsciously at various periods of my life, and now, having been hidden away for who knows how many years, there has leapt unexpectedly forth from some recess the word umbilical-cord. From what source it came I cannot conjecture, but now, when I lay at night with Janet snuggled in the crook of my arm, it blazes in letters of fire in the blackness. That there are other folk in the world I know, for until the batteries ran down I used the radio in the big house over the hills frequently. Three stations came through at very irregular intervals, so that sometimes for nights on end I listened fruitlessly. Two, I think, were German and the other, Arabic or Turkish. Three stations! And eight months ago my landlady’s son could not twiddle the controls of his home-made three-valve set for two minutes without something booming shakingly out of the speaker. After dark then, the ether was alive with the hammered syncopation of maniacal dance bands and the woeful crooning of their vocal refrains. And now . . . three stations gabbling gibberish to a dead world! As I understand it there must be small communities scattered about England, but the big towns, the cities, the seaports, have burned and died beneath the Vampires. Overseas . . . who knows? I dare not surmise. There is no traffic upon the river. With fear, ever recurrent, of the Vampires’ return, I have not ventured often with Janet from our cottage and the adjacent dug-out, but once we rode hastily, furtively, to Bostall Woods, and from the shelter of the trees high on the hillside stared down on the silver ribbon that is London’s river, and it was unrippled by any moving thing. Here and there among the fire-razed docks, tilting drunkenly amidstream, burned red hulks of great ships towered and, even after all these months, strands of grey smoke twisted lazily, drifting down the river like summer mists, while over all shimmered and danced transparent waves of heat. We were glad to get away from the desolation; from the heaped grey ashes of the towns; past shells of suburban houses standing emptily in pathetic little plots of overgrown gardens. But I am progressing too rapidly. This explanatory introduction with which I intended only to set forth my limitations, so that the reader might the better read with a more discerning eye, is spurting ahead, and to bring order from chaos, I must begin at the beginning. Reader! Who will read this? A son . . . a daughter . . . someone come unexpectedly into this Garden of Eden with its Eve and its Adam . . . some high-browed scientist chipping rock in the distant future about our petrified remains with a tiny hammer . . . Macaulay’s New Zealander . . .? Surely a reader�"if there is to be one�"would read the easier, having some knowledge of the writer, and the only means at my disposal for effecting that knowledge would appear to be a brief biography. My mother died during my infancy, and my father absconded to Australia, where, so far as I know, he may yet be living, and I was brought up by an aunt who, just so soon as I was capable of being impressed, firmly impressed upon me the need for bringing some grist to the mill, so that from the age of twelve I earned my own living and an occasional bun or whatnot for my aunt’s large family.� The European War gave me a glad exit from home, and the winter of 1914 found me, at the age of sixteen, learning the art of evading the effects of modern armaments. I grew up with the War, so that I cannot say how it affected me, but I certainly grew to manhood with extremely few beliefs in anything or anybody. Not many fighting men came through the War without some bitterness in their souls, and with the small gratuity I received after the Armistice I washed mine from my mouth with a fortnight’s hectic living, and then the bitterness returned, for I was seeking a job. The exceedingly slight knowledge of carpentry achieved during my youth when in the factory of a building firm I ran errands and fetched tea for the workmen, proved useless in a country recuperating from a great war with skilfully complacent aid from men who had been indispensable during the fighting, so that, finally, an enticing odour of stew wisping across my distended nostrils, led me hungrily through the barrack gates, and once again I became a gunner in ’Is Majesty’s Royal ’Orse. For seven years I lived, but for the amount of reading I managed to do, the usual soldier’s life in the Far and the Near Easts, and then I doffed my uniform to return to a grateful country, once again in search of a job. This time I was luckier, even though it meant stepping into a uniform again. A uniform that had been designed, I think, by a Hollywood film magnate for a Bolivian Prince who happened at the same time to be a super-general, a glorified aide-de-camp, and a Prime Minister. I became a cinema commissionaire! Not, as you will have gathered, a menial to a suburban picture palace, a mere colonel of militia with a uniform coat over civilian trousers, croaking at intervals �ŚStandin’ One an’ therree, Seats Two an fouer’. My height, I am six feet and an inch, and the fact that I had five medals to add to the already glittering uniform, procured the job for me, and I spent four years running to seed under the portico of a magnificent west-end cinema, The Luxurides. Close to the ornate doors when rain mirrored the pavement and away from the sickly scented warm air drifting through those doors when the night was fine. Motionlessly staring over the heads of people who wanted me to open taxi doors and less-than-people who wanted to know were there any cheaper seats than seven-and-six, I began to run to flesh, and was seriously contemplating whether an increase in majestic mien was worthy of a corresponding increase in salary, when, I’ve an idea, that had life gone on in the same old humdrum way,� the �Śsack’ would have been my portion. For one Saturday afternoon I so far forgot my dignity as to run�"actually run�"down to the pavement and shout �ŚHi!’ at the top of my voice! Bingen was the cause of my undignified emotion. Bingen! Even the manager’s beady eyes glinting over a herbaic nose around the box-office did not deter me. Bingen, who had swung the pole of my gun magically between his shiny chestnuts at Karachi, and on the Menin Road, at Poona, and on the space of Abbassia. Wheel-driver of my battery! Comradeships between gunners and drivers are infra-dig�"to the gunner�"in the Royal ’Orse, but Bingen and I, despite a difference in tastes and amusements, had been pals of a sort, and four long years standing outside the Luxurides had covered the past with glamour, and Bingen was the first of the old crowd I had met. And with the coming of Bingen, death, in a hideous guise, enshrouded the City. � � � II The Tunnel Beneath the Brewery SATURDAY AFTERNOON CROWDS thronged Piccadilly. A May sun glinted down to have rays broken, tossed back in glittering beams from shop windows, and heat danced upwards from the sticky road. Little beads of perspiration damped my neck, the stiff collar of my nightmare uniform rubbed irritatingly. Under the heavy clothing, pores in my skin seemed stifled. I itched, and wanted badly to rub my back to and fro upon one of the voluptuous mermaids which, carved in marble on the pillars of the Luxurides’ fa�żade, formed one of its attractions. The world was a great place for a man not doomed to swelter in a padded uniform beside the hot, scented entrance of a super-cinema. The palace inside was full. With what kind of people eager to spend a sunny afternoon in sultry darkness with an �ŚALL-TALKING, ALL-DANCING, ALL-SINGING’ picture, I beg its pardon, �ŚSUPER-PRODUCTION’, flickering before their dilated eyes, I do not know. People who might have been treading heather on the hills of Addiscombe, or breathing deeply of cool air upon the heights of Hampstead. But they had spent their seven and sixpences to cook there in the dark to music. Surreptitiously I ran a finger round beneath my collar, and my neck was getting soft as well as damp. I was getting fat. Ah well! Nothing, I supposed, would ever happen. Soon, maybe in a few years, the manager would notice his commissionaire had a slightly shop-soiled appearance, and a new frame would be procured to support the magnificent uniform in an erect position upon the palatial steps of the Luxurides. An ex-Guardee, or mayhap another from the Royal ’Orse. Traffic halted, jerked forward, halted again; crowds swerved close to the building, stared at the photographs, and turned to find themselves ringed in, had to fight their way out to continue their stroll. Careless peoples, sauntering through Saturday afternoon with the certain knowledge of a day free from toil on the morrow! And then, down the street, hazily in blue vapour drifting from the over-heated intestines of motors, high on the seat of a brewer’s dray, I saw Bingen. A curling whip, gay with scarlet rosette and shimmering with polished brass rings, slanted from his thigh; rakishly, as ever, his cap, with a gleaming metal house-badge, tilted over one reddened, dissipated eye. The sun caught pinky skin on his head under close-cropped black hair. His team of dappled greys, from great hairy fetlocks to primped manes, were groomed, as ever, immaculately. Their harness was as a glittering display of artificial jewellery in a lighted shop-window. Bingen, even more than I, had run to seed, for the leather apron of his craft curved above his knees, and his forearms, bare in rolled shirt-sleeves, were swollen, bloated. Even as I took in these things I was down to the pavement with outstretched arm, holding up once again the long-suffering traffic of Piccadilly. The dray pulled into the curb, Bingen’s hands, supple for all their size, arched his horses’ necks. He stared down at me. �ŚStrewth! It’s Garrington. Rose from the ranks to be some sort of general. An’ on the gilded staff by the look of him. Don’t let me ’orses see you, they’ll bolt.’ He grinned and reached down an open hand after his whip slammed into its socket. �ŚPut it there, Garry. I’m glad to see you. How goes it?’ �ŚAnd I’m glad to see you, Bingen. Been watching the horse traffic roll down Piccadilly for four years on the lookout for some of the old crush, and you’re the first,’ I cried excitedly, pump-handling his hand. �ŚHow are you, old timer? Quick. See if we can make a date.’ Through the inches thick of uniform padding, I could feel the manager’s disapproving eye boring into my back. �ŚHow can we arrange a meeting? Any chance tonight? I get off earlier than usual tonight. What d’you say?’ �ŚWhat time d’you finish?’ Bingen bent to ask. He thought awhile and continued swiftly.� �ŚKnow the old Red Lion Brewery, over Hungerford Bridge? Stables there. I’ll wait for you there tonight. Can you come along after you’ve done here?’ �ŚI’ll be along soon after ten. That do? How can I find you?’ �ŚThat’ll do fine. There’s a night watchman. He’ll let you in if I’m not there, but I’ll be there. A wicket in the entrance gates under the lion. You can’t miss it. If I shouldn’t be there the watchman’ll fix you up. Old Garrison man he is. That beaky-nosed Jew in a boiled shirt on the steps your boss? He’s got an eye on us. I’ll be getting along. See you tonight then, and we’ll make it a wet one. Old times all over again. S’long, Garry.’ �ŚS’long ’til tonight, Bingen. See you at the brewery. Gosh! What a rendezvous! Could we pick a better? I’ll say we couldn’t!’ Bingen’s whip caressed plump dappled flanks, and his team stiffened into their traces; the van-boy, who had been craning over the piled crates interestedly, jerked fingers in a cheeky caricature of a military salute, and I returned it with a grin; the dray swung into the traffic stream, and Bingen turned to wave a smiling farewell. Cap tilted over one eye, I went happily back up the steps to my job. It was great to see one of the old hands again, even if it were Bingen. But then, he’d a lot of good points about him, despite his two bad ones, women and beer. Anyway, we’d make a night of it tonight. A night worth remembering. I felt bucked enough to walk across the vestibule and rub my back soothingly on one of those tempting mermaids. I almost cake-walked across the steps, had to take a firm hold on myself to avoid turning and staring defiantly at the manager. For a while I could feel his eyes following me disapprovingly, then he went away. The rest of the afternoon and the evening dragged slowly, but how quickly the time flew, for in between glancing at the ornate clock over the box-office, and scowling at the motionless hands, I was going over the old times, remembering incidents in preparation for the yarning with Bingen. Due that night, by a lucky coincidence, to leave early, I was hurrying down the narrow slope of a back exit from the cinema shortly before ten-thirty. Queer, I felt younger, fitter, thinner out of that stifling uniform. Queer also, as I write, how trivial little incidents come jumping to my mind. Sitting here in the cottage with Janet nursing the purring cat, busy with clicking needles upon a pair of socks, I remember, as though it were but a few short hours ago, instead of eight months. A crowded bus carried me along the Strand,� across Waterloo Bridge�"fallen so much sooner than the most pessimistic of engineers had prophesied�"and a hurried walk through squalid streets by the riverside brought me to the brewery. From the far pavement of the narrow street I stood awhile to stare up at the huge stone lion surmounting the entrance gates; blackly it loomed against the sky. Crimson glow from the comet tinged the moon’s pale lustre and the sky was clear, dusted with yellow stars, with light haze from the City merging into its vastness. But it seems now, when I go over everything again and again, I saw, up there in the translucent heavens, a barely discernible cloud. Since beginning this description, I have mused over details of those first nights, and the more I dwell upon them the less sure I am, that while I stared up at the lion silhouetted against the night sky, I glimpsed the first Vampires. But a faint thought will persist that I saw then something which should have warned the unsuspecting country of peril. Who else searched the heavens that night? Crossing the street at last, I banged upon the great gates, the sound reverberating loudly in the deserted street. Footsteps clattered over cobbles and, after many creakings and squeakings as though the tiny wicket were seldom opened, it swung wide to let me stoop and enter. Bingen locked the gate behind me. �ŚWon’t do for anyone to come along and catch us in here,’ he said, after we greeted each other. �ŚOld Dad, the watchman, tells me the manager left his car here tonight. Said he won’t be wanting it until the morning, but one never knows, and I shouldn’t like to lose the old fellow his job any more than I’d like to get the sack myself.’ �ŚYou’re sure it wouldn’t be better to come along out to a pub in the Waterloo road,’ I suggested. �ŚThere’s still half an hour to go before they shut.’ Curiously, the closing and locking of that wicket set in the great gates towering between pillars, vaguely disturbed me. It was as though I were being imprisoned. The place gave me a presentiment of evil. The yard, large as it was, seemed hemmed in by tall, surrounding buildings. Black and eerie shadows stained the cobbles, and little barred windows, glinting darkly in the blank walls, were as those of a jail. I glanced up at the stars again with a weird sensation of being smothered. �ŚIt’s gloomy in here, Bingen. You’re sure you wouldn’t rather come out to a pub?’ �ŚIt’s gloomy enough. The stables at the back are cheerier, but it’s cosy in the watchman’s hut. Old Dad’s been on the job for twenty-four years, and he’s made himself comfortable. There’s hardly time to have more than a couple if we go out. It’s free here, and I’ve got some of the real stuff at that, baksheesh from Dad. Not often anyone can get baksheesh from him. Come on.’ I followed across the yard, with the pungent odour of hops filling my nostrils, to where a golden oblong of light splashed on the black cobbles from the open door of the watchman’s hut, and turned once more to stare back, almost apprehensively, at the shadows in the yard, before stepping out over the threshold. Despite the strangely tropical weather, a large fire burned brightly in an old-fashioned hob and flickered upon a warlike display of weapons hanging on the walls. Bayonets, cutlasses, swords, lance and spear heads arranged in symmetrical designs, polished and burnished from the care so evidently bestowed on them. The watchman apparently lived here, for in one corner, neatly �Śmade-up’ barrack-room style, were brown army blankets folded with scrupulous exactness upon a low iron bed. Fronting the fire stood a wooden table. Scrubbed to a pristine whiteness, it supported, smartly in double file, what I presumed to be the �Śbaksheesh’ �Śscrounged’ from Old Dad; a double or so tall black bottles with dust from a cool cellar still thick upon them. �ŚHere y’are, Dad, meet Garrington. Out of the old Battery. Weren’t exactly bosom pals were we, Garry?’ Bingen eyed the table affectionately and smiled. �ŚBut there, times have changed. There aren’t many of us left. When any of us do meet, well, it’s up to us to have one, and be glad we’re here and able to have one. Set ’em up, Dad.’ The night-watchman, a thin old man, showed pink toothless gums in a smile of welcome, shook hands with me, and busied about the bottles. His spare shoulders, even yet, showed evidence of drilling, and his wrinkled brown face told of acquaintance with tropical suns. �ŚWell, Garry, here’s to you. Seeing you in Piccadilly standing on those steps like a cast-off Mexican general was the surprise of my life,’ said Bingen, lifting his glass towards me and gulping thirstily. �ŚPhew! I’m thirsty. It’s hot for so early in the year. Must be over a month since we had rain.’ �ŚSix weeks tomorrow, and that blasted comet’s been here nearly as long,’ the watchman said. �ŚBut it’ll rain tomorrow. It can’t go on like this. Why, even when I was in Aden we . . .’ �ŚWhen you were in Aden, Garry and I weren’t pupped,’ Bingen interjected rudely. �ŚTonight is our night, Dad. Some other time we’ll listen to all your yarns of ten-sixty-six. Tonight Garry and I are going to hold the fort.’ �ŚWe are that,’ I agreed, taking the glass Bingen offered me. I toasted them. �ŚTo you, Bingen, and to you, Dad. To the old times and the times ahead.’ The times ahead! We didn’t think much about the times ahead that night. Old times . . . they occupied our thoughts, and,� as the beer loosened our tongues, we yarned of the Menin Road; Cairo; Karachi; Poona; the �ŚShot’; old friends. Who knows of what we talked that night! Bingen opened bottle after bottle with all his old expertness, and Old Dad, despite protest, was driven to the cellar once again for more . . . and outside, high in the heavens, those blood-seeking, fire-breeding Vampires must have been dropping silently, nearer and nearer to earth! Bingen and Dad began to be triplicated before my wavering eyes. The black bottles on the table swayed so that I watched them seriously against their falling. Bingen’s voice began to acquire, as usual when in drink, a pugnacious note. The watchman grew worried that someone might hear the sounds of revelry, and Bingen wanted a lot of persuading before he allowed the old man to proceed on his bi-nightly patrol of the brewery. But eventually Dad got away with his lantern and his knarled stick, and when we were alone Bingen resumed his narrative of the divisional Sword v Bayonet contest out of which he had been so foully cheated. �Ś. . . it was like this. I cut, and then to my surprise the judge he whips across and disqualifies me on the spot,’ growled Bingen. He had lurched from his chair and was illustrating the fight with bare hands, when his gaze fell on the weapon-decorated walls. He lifted a sword and a bayoneted rifle from their fastenings. �ŚGood! I’ll be able to show you better with these. Take this gun and get over there, and I’ll show you ’zactly how I got dished out of the championship.’ Taking the rifle I began to parry at Bingen’s instructions, and the wildly thrusting sword would soon have sobered me had it continued for long. The watchman’s hut resounded to the clang of weapons and the stamp of our unsteady feet. Breathless, I was glad of the interruption when it came. �ŚStop! Be quiet,’ suddenly came a voice from the door. �ŚStop, you fools. Stop!’ I remember hazily, for I was intent upon Bingen’s dangerous sword, the return of the watchman, but I know that we ignored him until he pushed his meagre figure perilously between us. Bingen tried to wave him away, but I leant thankfully on the rifle, glad of a respite, watching them dizzily. �ŚGet away out of it, Dad,’ Bingen said surlily. �ŚWe aren’t going to hurt your rotten old collection. Just going to finish showing Garry how I lost, then we’ll hang ’em up for you again.’ �ŚS’not that, you idjuts. It’s someone at the gate . . . the manager!’ the old man stuttered, stammering breathlessly. �ŚHe’s out there at the gate banging away like hell. Come back for his car, I s’pose. Said he wouldn’t want it ’til morning, and here he is now, the skunk.’ The old man danced nervously between us, shook angry fists at Bingen, and turned to me. �ŚIf he finds Bingen here, let alone you, I’m sacked. What are we going to do?’ Dad gasped and then shook a clenched fist excitedly. �ŚI’ve got it! Bingen, you know the tunnel down to the hard, both of you get in there, out of the way until he’s gone. Go right in and down, round the bend. Keep quiet. Then, as soon as I’ve got rid of him, I’ll come along and let you out. Make Bingen go, and keep him quiet. Stop him making a row.’ This last was to me, and the old man gesticulated agitatedly for silence and expediency. �ŚN’mind about them,’ Dad whispered hoarsely as we started to replace sword and rifle. �ŚTake ’em with you if it pleases you, but for Gawd’s sake come out of here. Get a move on.’ Foolishly, I followed Bingen out into the darkness of the yard, and with the night air, cool after the warmth of the room, playing about my temples, giddiness overcame me, for I had drunk more than I was accustomed to these days. In front, Bingen rolled ever so slightly as he tiptoed exaggeratedly over the cobbles. He carried the sword and a bottle, while the rifle dangled in my hand. Past the shadowed buildings to where a gate, looming darkly even in the surrounding murkiness, showed bars glinting blackly. I leant against the wall while the watchman fumbled cursingly with the padlock. �ŚThis ain’t been opened in years,’ he whispered, and when at last the gate swung creaking on rusty hinges, motioned us eagerly into the blackness of a sloping tunnel. �ŚQuick! Get in there out of sight.’ Taking Bingen’s reluctant arm, I led him forward while Dad pushed the gate softly to behind us and padlocked it. We turned to see him dimly in the dark, indicating that we were to go further along out of sight, and then he went off across the yard to the main entrance, his figure casting long dancing shadows from the lantern bobbing by his side. We stared, rather apprehensively, down the tunnel. �ŚNobody’ll be able to see us here by the gate,’ Bingen muttered angrily. �ŚWe’ll be all right here. S’no use going down into that black hole.’ �ŚWe’d better go down a bit farther, like the old boy said,’ I whispered into the darkness. I could not see Bingen, even though he stood within reaching distance. �ŚI shouldn’t like him to get discharged through us being here. If anyone came close to the gate with a light we’d be seen. Let’s go down a bit. There’s a corner, isn’t there? We’ll go round it like he wanted us to.’ The tunnel descended sharply; there were steps, down which we fell, and then a steep descent, into a gloom that could almost be felt, and I stumbled after Bingen, dragging the rifle and sword he had leant against the wall outside. From side to side of the tunnel I staggered, then wavered round a corner unexpectedly to bump into him. �ŚOuch! What the devil you doing with that sword?’ he grunted. �ŚPut the blamed thing down where it’ll be safe. Got a match? We’ll have a drink and a smoke until that blasted manager’s gone.’ Furtively, between cupped hands, I struck a match, and, after we had lit cigarettes, glanced about the tunnel in which we stood. Some seven feet high by six broad, the arched roof and walls of brick were damp and green with fungus. Farther down out of sight I could hear the soft lapping of water. �ŚQueer place this. Does it just run down into the river?’ �ŚUsed to run down to the old loading hard until the hard got silted over with mud,’ answered Bingen sourly. �ŚYears ago you could walk out on the mud to the lighters, and then the river rose to cover the tunnel. It was originally used for loading, but they had to build a loading platform. There used to be a gate at the river end, been underwater for years, but I suppose now, with this weather and the river nearly dry, it’ll be above-water at low tide. The water used to come way beyond here.’ He stooped to feel the ground. �ŚIt feels dry enough, but there was a box up at the top. I fell over it. I’ll get it for a seat. I don’t want to stand about here all night.’ Feeling before him in the dark, Bingen stumbled up the tunnel. I watched the pin-point of his cigarette, glowing redly, disappear, and then in a few moments he was back. �ŚThere’s a light moving about up there,’ he whispered after he had felt for and clasped my arm. �ŚDidn’t like to go up for the box. Anyway, the ground seems dry enough. Let’s squat until Dad gives us the tip all’s clear.’ �ŚI feel just about tight, Bingen,’ I said, softly lowering myself to the ground. �ŚHad more than I usually do these days, but even then, there must have been something extra in those bottles. For the love of Mike, what was it?’ �ŚDrop of the real stuff. Old Scotch ale. Don’t very often get a chance at any. Glad I was sensible enough to fetch a bottle down here with me. Gawd knows how long that blasted manager’ll be. Here, have a sup.’ The bottle was pushed against me, but I’d had more than enough. I declined, and we sat there silently. Bingen drank again and again, for I heard, above the softly lapping river, the gurgling liquid as the bottle titled. Once water smacked violently in and out of the tunnel from the wash of some boat passing out there in the night. A tame ending, I thought, yawning, to what was to have been a hectic night yarning about old times. Bingen was furious at being chased from the light and the bottles of the watchman’s hut, and he smoked surlily, ignoring my attempts at conversation, until I, too, lapsed into silence. I leant with my back against the wall and felt gradually sleepy. Curiously, no thought how strange it was the watchman did not come in a few moments to call us back to the light occurred to me. The strong old beer had made me dozily content, and somehow, after yarning about the war, it was quite natural for me to be there in the darkness of a tunnel with a rifle, sword, and Bingen, now snoring loudly, lying by my side. I slid farther down from the wall until I too lay full length upon the floor. The world heaved, whirled for a few seconds dizzily, and then I was asleep. Vaguely, I remember hearing footsteps clumping over the cobbled yard above before I dozed. It must have been that manager or whoever it was had stayed, and I can imagine Old Dad chuckling delightedly to himself that the two of us, down there in the tunnel, kept so quiet. But no one wakened us, and beneath the river we slept drunkenly, while the country burned and died in scenes of indescribable horror. Queer jest of fate that, armed with weapons which were to save our lives, Bingen and I slept unsuspectingly below that inferno. Dare I try to imagine what happened in the City above? Now that it is over, so far as we know, I have tried to visualize, but the very magnitude of it overwhelms me. London in flames! The population of the country wiped out in a few hours! Theatre crowds must have emerged to swarm into tube and train; the brilliance of the City’s lights dimmed, the black intersecting spaces increased in area; unfortunates upon the Embankment twisting, turning wearily on the light-bathed seats, seeking sleep; taxis grown scarce around Piccadilly, and lorries numerous about Covent Garden. And then, the startling silence preceding the dawn! Empty skies enclosing the huddled, brooding houses . . . and then the Vampires! I can see them! An illimitable cloud of dull-grey cotton-wool, intensifying blackly as it drops silently out of a starry sky� .� .� .� nearing earth. At first, as a cloud no larger than a man’s hand, they might have appeared to one who glanced skywards that night� .� .� .� and then a filthy fungus enveloping the countryside to obliterate man and his works. From the skies they came. The globe we know could not have bred them� .� .� .� from some far planet nearing earth at the outermost curve of its orbit they must have come� .� .� .� seeking food� .� .� .� bringing fire. Lost souls driven from some Hades in the vast Unknown they might have been . . . who knows . . . who will ever know? Silently, hardly disturbing the air, they must have come upon the land. Falling on London; falling in layers like snowflakes, huge, obscene, black, twisting, writhing, growing motionless as more layers press them to earth swelling the drifts. Unaccountable millions there must have been of those blood-chilling muzzles, working vainly at the barren ground, satisfyingly at . . .� Lying unstirring under piled layers of their kind, as though devoid of life, but for a shaking ribbon of pulse beating jerkily in their black foreheads, waiting for food. And for the millions which sated upon warm red blood there must have been millions which could have clamped working muzzles to nothing but the hardness of bricks and mortar, moisture of green herbage, dry brown of bare earth. Were they gratified with the results their ether-crossing flight had achieved? But this story, trying to tell the events of the world above the tunnel, would stop suddenly short. And yet I am fascinated weirdly by what must have happened. Isolated houses would have opened doors and windows in vain efforts to obtain air, when the suffocating layers dropped to smother, and warm into glowing embers with chill, phosphorescent bodies, wooden joists and rafters. And glowing embers would burst into flame when the massed bodies moved to let air drift among them. In the towns, I fancy, fire must have driven people from shelter to frightful deaths beneath the Vampires. Countryside and City, flaming and dying beneath those ghastly, black-winged, suctorial bodies. Until some weeks ago I though the things perished in the flames they so magically spread, but they did not. They are impervious to fire. What mysterious chemical reaction breathed from their cold bodies to cause warmth and smouldering embers? Some unearthly form of phosphorous, for in the dark they have shone faintly. But who can explain . . . who will ever explain . . .? Somewhere in the world, perhaps, high-browed professors are delving excitedly into this visitation from another specie of life. But of the tunnel, Bingen, myself, and later, the girl . . . that is all I can tell you. � � � III The First of the Vampires STRANGE THE WORKING of destiny! Neither Bingen nor I had any special merits deserving an isolated preservation from the holocaust, and yet, there we were, down in that rat-hole, sleeping off what many people would call a drunken orgy, and others, more charitable, merely a hectic meeting between old friends. And the rat-hole was the saving of us both! Perhaps once or twice, when the cold hardness of the stone floor turned me a trifle achingly, I wondered drowsily why the watchman did not come to let us out, but I must have slept heavily, with the unaccustomed liquor doping my senses, for Bingen was the first to awake. How long he sat, crouched in the dark, staring terror-stricken at the thing humped by the gate, I do not know, but for some four hours we were asleep in the tunnel, and during that time London burst into flame above, and its crowded tenements died lingeringly beneath the Vampires. Half asleep, I pushed myself to sit erect, work and stretch my shoulders to ease the stiffness, before yawning and leaning back against the wall. I speculated idly on my whereabouts for some time, until my aching head remembered the night’s events of Bingen, the brewery, the manager’s unexpected visit, and even as I remembered I felt Bingen’s hand tight gripped on my thigh. He must have been sitting silently, holding on to my leg, for some time, and I think that actually wakened me. I tried to push his hand away, but could not, and angrily I rubbed my eyes, and then it was I felt, rather than saw, the red half-light filling the tunnel. Momentarily I thought it due to knuckles pressing on aching eyes, but when I opened them properly I realized that a dull, fiery glow reflected down from the entrance. Bingen sat oblivious to my awakening, and his unmoving tenseness caused me to follow the direction of his fixed gaze up the tunnel. From where we sat, the bend hid almost the whole of the entrance, but one portion of the gate was visible. I saw the deeper black of the corner, my eyes focusing to the dark, the bars of the gate itself, and, beyond the bars, a hardly discernible smudge. Although the diffused glare was uncanny, weirdly prepotential of peril, there was nothing actually, so far as I could see, to bulge Bingen’s eyes from his white face, but he stared as though unbelievingly up the slope. �ŚWhat’s the matter, Bingen? Bingen! Been struck dumb? What’s the matter?’ Leaning forward I shook him, staring into his face. He ignored me, sat motionless, watching, with fixed wide eyes, did not answer, but I felt his grip on my leg tighten convulsively. I shook him again. �ŚIs there something you can see? What’s this light? Bingen, pull yourself together, man.’ Glancing about in the eerie red half-light I understood. The brewery was afire! But surely that was insufficient to strike dumb terror into Bingen, and then, even as I perceived the significance of the light and was pondering on Bingen’s stupefying terror, the blood in my veins chilled slowly, icily, unbelievingly, for startlingly a shaft of red light stabbed down to illuminate the portion of gate in my vision. Behind the bars, the grey smudge grew to blackness. Details came into view, lit prominently by the shaft of flame as I scrutinized it. Bingen whispered huskily, shakingly: �ŚIt was there when I woke up. It was there, like it is now, watching us. It’s watching us. It’s watching us, I tell you!’ His voice rose shrilly. �ŚFor God’s sake don’t be a fool, Bingen. It’s some silly joke that damned old fool of a watchman’s playing.’ �ŚIt was there, watching us, when I woke up.’ Bingen’s voice was low and thick; he whispered emphatically trying to reassure himself. �ŚYes! Yes! It’s a joke. A joke. That’s what it is.’ Yet both of us knew it was no joke. Down my spine trickled a thin stream of icy sweat. Even though the watchman had conceived of the red glow backing it, he could not have produced the thing humped on the ground by the gate. We sat watching in rigid terror. As we saw the thing then, the spotlight of flame had detailed it from a dull-grey mass silhouetted against a shimmering glow, into a fantastic horror, etched acidly on the retina of my disbelieving eyes. But I have seen so many since I saw the first of them down in the tunnel. Clamped to the bars of the gate, humped upon haunches like a black bull-terrier draped in a dull black cape, was a Bat! That at least is as near as I can get to it with a vocabulary coined only for birds and beasts of this earth. The paunchy carcass, sloped bottle-wise from its shoulders was, like the enveloping wings, of a dull black, but slightly lighter in shade; its build was curiously similar in shape and size to a bull-terrier, earless though, and the long working muzzle was mouthless but for a minute aperture; the dull membrane of its wings, folded between the upper and lower limbs instead of, as in bats, merely between the lengthened digits, was leathery, but nearly transparent, and a bonily ridged member protruded under the membrane, jointed like the gear-chain of a bicycle; the scalloped wing edges were fringed with wispy tentacles and, with limbs folded beneath the wings, it was with these tentacles it clamped itself to the gate bars; its eyes were large and, I think, immovable; the eyes of a dead fish, but with a weird light glowing in their depths; they have a way of following one unmoving, like painted orbs in a portrait which are fixed upon one no matter in which corner of the room one stands. The tentacles on the wings quivered gently as though with a fascinated yearning, but the movement was so minute as to be indiscernible except when one stared directly into those expressionless eyes. Only when one looked into its eyes was any life, any movement, apparent. Upon its right temple beat erratically a tiny ribbon of pulse, and the movement of that was not evident when one looked directly at it. Like a spotlight from the wings of a theatre, the shaft of flame lit the thing into vivid relief, and my heart dropped, beat on again suffocatingly. My stomach muscles contracted. Subconsciously I connected the fiendish thing at the gate with the scarlet glow reflecting into the tunnel. A dull thunder of sound undertoning a faint hissing, as though above us, there sizzled and crackled before a fire, a great joint of meat, had beaten in my ears all unnoticed through sheer terror. Then Bingen stiffened jerkily against me. I heard breath leave his throat in a long gurgling sigh. He slumped to the floor. Unobserved, I thought then, if indeed I thought at all, its movements were hidden by the flickering background of red light, but I know now that they have an uncanny effect of moving without appearing to move at all, the thing was almost through the bars of the gate! The ribbed, tentacled wings were behind it now like�"odious comparison�"the wings of a butterfly, and its paunch was through the gate where one bar bent in a slight curve made a possible opening and then, nearly falling to the ground with the effort, it was in the tunnel. I heard Bingen’s chattering sigh, and knew that he knew the thing was in there with us, and to save my life I could not move a muscle. I was in one of those terrible nightmares where one is threatened with danger and one’s muscles die. The thing was nearer! Even now I do not understand how they move. It is as if they hypnotize one and slither close while one stares without seeing. Bingen screamed! That shrill scream, choking into a shuddering silence, broke my paralysis. Close, so close that at last it seemed to melt into his body, the thing moved towards Bingen, and when he collapsed over it in a dead faint, that brought me to my feet. Crimson light filled the tunnel to let me see, and my hands scratched, tore frantically at that loathsome body to pull it from Bingen. It turned its head. . . . Have you seen the eyes of a man whose spine has been smashed by a high-explosive shell? He stares at you pleadingly as though not understanding when you bend into his direct gaze. . . . The thing’s eyes were like that while I pulled and beat and clawed at it frenziedly, and on its forehead, beat spasmodically, as in some tortured animal, a thin pulse. Its wings pushed stubbornly at me while I heaved, and its eyes watched so that I hardly remember anything except that the filthy muzzle was working gently at Bingen’s pallid cheek. . . . Clamped to his cheek, the thing’s throat gulped greedily, and all the time remorseless eyes lifted upwards. It was torn loose at last, and my hands burned, though the thing’s flesh was chill, like damp suede. Flung violently away, it dropped to lay humped on its side by the wall, and I swear its eyes never left my face. I think I went mad! Jumping at it, my wildly kicking feet tangled with the soft leathery wings, and I sprawled to the ground. My fingers clutched the sword Bingen and I had so insanely carried into the tunnel and, with a gasping sigh of relief, I was on my feet, hacking, cutting, stabbing, while tears of horror mingled with perspiration. The sword jerked and sliced in my hands, ribboning the thing on the floor, tearing loose when tentacles twined vainly about it, lifting to swing down with a maddened strength that rang the weapon on the stone through the creature’s soft yielding body. . . . And in the red light glowing fitfully, I could see still, cold, bleak eyes fixed immovably up at my face, and on its temple, despite the gashed and severed body, the pulse beating frantically. When one hysterical swathe of the sword sent the head rolling jerkily across the tunnel, the eyes did not change their chill expressionless stare, and still the pulse beat on mechanically. I shouted, cursed, sobbed, stamping and beating that severed head into a messy pulp! Leaning breathlessly upon the sword, wiping sweat and tears away, recovering my sanity, I bent over Bingen to gasp thankfully that the thing was no more, that it was all right, but Bingen lay as though dead. I lowered his head to the floor, rose to go to the gate to shout for help, water, rescue from the tunnel, and was halted into a heart-beating clamour of terror. The gate was a pressed mass of motionless similar things to the one I had killed. Layer upon layer of them piled behind the bars. A diabolical black curtain. Eyes glinted in its dullness, and bodies were packed so tightly together that only here and there did scarlet light from the burning brewery penetrate in thin cracks. Spurred into action by fear, I jumped forward, for through that curved bar one of the things was being squeezed by the weight of its fellows. If more of them got in the tunnel! Through the barred gate, the sword thrust and stabbed as though into piles of dead pelts, for they made no noise, no eluding resisting movements; there was no discernible killing or wounding. I dropped the useless weapon, clasped the gate while my feet pushed at the one half-way into the tunnel, and, as my fingers tightened about the iron bars, I cried, threw myself away. Clamped to my hands were the trunk-like muzzles of as many of them as could twist and press heads close enough. The one being pressed between the bars fell suddenly to the floor, recovered its balance, sat regarding me bleakly, and its place was taken by another, squeezing, pressing, urged through the space under the weight of its eager kind behind. The one in the tunnel was chopped and mashed into a dry bloodless pulp, the sword was rammed into the opening to close the gap, and I was half-standing, half-crouching with shaking knees to watch them. Great sobbing breaths of the warm choking air brought the fetid odour of them into my nostrils. An indescribable smell like nothing I have experienced before, and then, over that, came a scent I knew. The sickly, sweet, disgusting smell of burning flesh. Human flesh. I had tasted that in my nostrils before, at Ypres and Benares. My boot pressed the sword securely into position, blocking the gap safely, before I turned back to Bingen. He lay in a deathlike coma, but when I bent to slap his hands and cheeks, shake his limp form, he groaned. On his white cheek was a vivid scarlet splodge where the thing had muzzled him. Consciousness came to him, he struggled against my arms until his gaze fell upon the gate and he crouched silently, afraid. I pulled him farther around the bed so that we could escape those watching eyes. In the darkness I trod upon something that squealed and nearly tripped me. Bingen gasped and struggled foolishly back towards the gate. �ŚCome back, you fool,’ I cried as I realized. �ŚIt’s a rat.’ A rat! A companion sheltering from the horror above. We listened to it scuttling away with a dragging movement as though it was hurt. Rats! At any other time in the dark they would have been horrible, but now . . . how insignificant. There were not many. Four we killed when the light filtered through. Afterwards, I saw rats by the score sucked dry and mummified, as were the men and the women and the children not burned in the flaming buildings. The tunnel sloped steeply here and, from the slimy walls, was under-water at high tide. But a few feet away the river lapped gently. Bingen, with his hand on my arm, sank to the ground with a shuddering sigh and we peered at each other. �ŚWorst �śjag” we’ve had, Garry,’ he spoke at last, bravely, though his voice shook. �ŚGod! I can feel that thing yet. What was it? And more of them at the gate. They can’t get in, Garry, can they?’ �ŚThe sword’s pushed between the bars where they were getting in,’ I reassured him. �ŚI think we’re safe enough in here now. But what’s outside . . . the burning. . . . What became of the watchman and the man who knocked at the gate? God! It’s stifling. I must have a drink.’ We loosened collars, took off coats, and I went down the tunnel to scoop handfuls of water into the dryness of my throat. It certainly was hot, and no wonder, for above us, though little we guessed it, the whole of London burned. But for the depth of the tunnel, and the damp from the river creeping up and down it, we should have been cooked, roasted alive, as were the many who burned rather than venture out to the filthy muzzles covering the country. �ŚWhat in hell’s name are they?’ Bingen queried wonderingly. �ŚGod knows! And yet I’ve seen somewhere, illustrations of something very much like them. Vampires! Vampire bats. That’s what they are. How the devil did they get here? Where’d they come from? I’m not so sure that their existence even in tropical countries isn’t contradicted by some authorities. God!’ �ŚContradict! Contradict those things at the gate! Ugh!’ Bingen shuddered. �ŚThere must be fifty hanging on to that gate. Garry! We’ve got to get out! I daren’t stay here and risk another getting close to me.’ �ŚI don’t think they can get in now, and we can’t . . . daren’t go out until they’ve gone.’ I trembled involuntarily at the very thought of being out there amongst those things, until a thought struck me dazedly. �ŚGet out! Bingen, the gate’s locked!’ �ŚWe can’t go out with them there. It doesn’t matter about us getting out, so long as they can’t get in. Oughtn’t we to look at them now and then. Go round the bend to make sure they’re not getting in. God! If another of them got on me, I’m done.’ I agreed, and walked, or rather foolishly tiptoed, to the bend to inspect the gate. They were still pressed, unmoving, to the bars, but the sword prevented ingress, and as I stared at them it came into my mind they had not enough sense to push the sword to one side, and with that thought came back some of my courage. �ŚStill there. Can’t get in. But they seemed to have thinned out a bit, because you can see more light between their bodies. Bingen, that’s no light from an ordinary fire. There’s more than the brewery in flames. If the heat’s like this down here, what’s it like out there? And it’s queer how those things on the gate don’t seem to heed it.’ Sitting with my back against the damp wall, with Bingen so close I felt him jerk nervously every time some sound penetrated the tunnel, my thoughts tumbled between my lips. �ŚYou know, Bingen, I’ve a weird premonition there’s something going on that’s even worse than you and I here in the tunnel imagine.’ �ŚFor God’s sake, what can be worse than this?’ Bingen snarled, and I felt him shiver against me. �ŚI don’t know, but I feel something is,’ I answered slowly. �ŚI feel as if you and I are minor tragedies in some vast unimaginable upheaval.’ Even though we guessed something else beside the brewery burned, we did not dream the whole of London flamed, had no idea, when we did stagger out into the day, that we would find a dead world grey under a pall of ash, floating, spiralling in mists of heat, littered with carcasses from which every drop of moisture had been drained. Had we known, realized, could we have sat there smoking? Would we have survived? Rather would unrestrained terror have driven us mechanically through that locked gate in a vain endeavour to escape. But imagination baulks at what we would have done, knowing no aid would be forthcoming from the world above! �ŚWhat’s the time?’ �ŚJust after twelve,’ Bingen said, holding wrist-watch to the light shimmering round the bend. �ŚOnly been in here a few hours, and to me it seems like days.’ �ŚIt must have been nearly twelve when we came in here. Say we wakened soon after dawn, that means we’ve been in here twelve hours.’ I mused. �ŚA few hours ago I was standing outside the Luxurides with medals and swagger uniform like some little tin god, and now, here I am, crouching in a tunnel with the fear of God put in me by a few bats.’ �ŚBats! Phsaw! Whoever saw bats anything like these things.’ Bingen sat erect, stared along the tunnel. �ŚD’you notice anything?’ �ŚThe light!’ I said at last. The water had dwindled away down the tunnel, and even as we noticed it the light, filtering through, intensified the darkness at the top end. �ŚFor God’s sake. It’s a funny light. Bingen, I understand! It’s the light shining through the river. We’re seeing daylight through the water as the tide goes down.’ Luminous, the light swam in a green haze with flickering hints of flame in it, and weird transparent shadows grew dimly on the walls. Green and red. We held our breaths as we watched it lighten imperceptibly. From black to grey, and in the grey danced suggestions of pink; from grey to green shot with crimson, pale green, and glowing scarlet. The river receded down the tunnel to let light shine through, until, etched quaveringly in the water, we saw the streaky outline of a barred gate. �ŚWe’ll be able to get away by the river.’ �ŚI’m not getting out of here until I know what’s out there waiting for us,’ I answered. �ŚSoon we’ll be able to see.’ The river subsided slowly, crept down to the brown mud outside. Several times I went up the slope to watch the gate. How long it was, waiting, watching the muddy water lap down to the river gate, creeping through and finally under it. We looked at the water, and at the growing mud flat flickering with pink and scarlet from the conflagration like shot-silk. The river slid over the mud to the gravel, back into the bed of low tide, and we sat still, too nervous to move from the security of the tunnel, seeing only the water. Both of us dreaded what the world would have to show us. Bingen moved first. He flung away the stub of a cigarette and rose slowly to his feet. �ŚGot to have a look. Come on. Let’s see what’s outside.’ I followed Bingen down the slope towards the river, and as the north bank came into view our steps grew slower and slower. The whole of the town on the opposite bank was alight. Flames reflected redly, shakily in the smooth water. We forced ourselves closer to the gate silently, then, with one accord, sprang backwards, slipping and stumbling on the slimy floor. A great burst of white heat blistered at our faces. Flames crackled, hissed with a very inferno of noise, driving us back along the tunnel. At the bend we halted, crouching, shielding our faces. And at the back of us clustered on the gate were . . .! The air grew hotter, seared my lungs as I drew it gaspingly into my throat, sweat dried as it seeped into my hot clothing. Bingen whimpered like a child, terrified. Past the tunnel entrance, down the ebbing river, a group of burning barges drifted slowly, a huge bonfire on the water. Under the iron caissons of Hungerford Bridge they swung, hesitated, drifted clear. The heat became unbearable as they went past. Vainly I tried to shield myself. In my brain beat throbbingly the thought I could not stand this. . . . I must go out and face the things clustering on the gate rather than be shrivelled up. But the barges were past the hard outside the brewery, and the scorching heat abated. They were gone, and, with their passing, warm air billowed upon us. Warm air . . . but how cool it tasted after the heat. �ŚThat’s what it’s like out there,’ I said when my dried lips could articulate the words. My voice cracked. �ŚThat’s what it’s like out there!’ �ŚI’m going out. I’ve got to get out of here.’ Bingen shrilled the words in panic. His tongue licked ceaselessly at his lips, his reddened eyes watered, he shook as though with ague. �ŚGot to get out.’ A depression on the floor had gathered water from the ebbing river. I pulled Bingen down, and laying on the floor, we pressed faces into it, sucking muddy water into hot dry mouths. We felt better, rubbed sweat and mud from our faces. �ŚGet out of here into that?’ I asked and shook my head. �ŚWe’ve got to stick in here to keep out of that. It’s cooler now. Let’s go and see what it is like outside. Bingen, the whole damned world’s on fire!’ With shaky hands steadying shrinking bodies against the bars, we stared through the gate. Over the river on the north bank, to the east and to the west so far as we could see, peering first from one side and then the other, scarlet flames stabbed skywards above a rolling veil of grey smoke. Above our tunnel hung low another pall. Had the wind veered and blown that smoke into our refuge . . .! A lifting of the smoke and a towering burst of flame roared away to the east, and dancing in the white-hot wind we glimpsed the burning of London. �ŚIt’s hell! We’ve woke up in hell,’ Bingen muttered. White stone of a newly completed building, a lofty block of offices, shone dazzlingly, and about it flames crept like virginia creeper in the autumn; behind it, to the right, the great dome of St Paul’s loomed out of the smoke and was hidden even as we watched; downstream two barges laden with barrels burned fiercely, and every now and then a barrel would explode, zoom into the air like a Roman candle. At every explosion we crouched, until the very magnitude of the scene we watched held us tense, unheeding. Those exploding barrels, in normal circumstances, would have been awe-inspiring, but now, with the tremendous crackling roar coming from the burning town, they were insignificant. Bingen, as he looked at them, nearly smiled. �ŚBurning rum!’ he cried. �ŚThat’s rum in those barrels. What wouldn’t I give for a quart of it.’ But I was intent upon something else. �ŚBingen, look. Among the smoke over the river, on the barges, the bridges. They’re everywhere.’ Motionless among the flames, in thick layers like ashes, were fellows to the things on the gate in the tunnel. To the left, not two hundred yards away, the red-hot steel-work of Hungerford Bridge was draped with them, like tropical fungus drooping from a burning tree. On the bridge, two trains burned in fiery snakes, and about them clustered the Vampires. In the flames they lay piled upon each other, clamped to one another with tentacled wings, impervious to the heat. Into my swimming brain there leapt a vision of people in those carriages. Drowsy, early morning workers close upon the seats, strap-hanging; the unexpected stopping of the train . . . was it brought to a standstill by impassable layers of Vampires? . . . people staring from the windows . . . and the things forced by weight of sheer numbers in among them . . . fire . . . glowing woodwork blowing to flame . . . white heat . . . flames hissing, crackling . . . the probing black muzzles. . . . My knees gave way, and but for holding to the bars of the gate I should have fallen to the mud. As it was, my feet slithered helplessly. �ŚGarry! God! Garry!’ Bingen’s hand gripped my arm and he pointed shakingly. �ŚLook at that!’ One of the things dropped from the bridge to the river’s brim. It stared at us menacingly, hunched upon the mud. Bingen screamed. �ŚThere’s more! Look at them!’ Silently, as though someone above had emptied a huge bucket of obscene filth, they dropped, piled the mud in struggling heaps, drew closer, until they were at the gate, upon which they packed as we fell back into the tunnel, climbing body upon body like a mounting drift of ebon snow. We were centrally in the tunnel, in the hot dark air, and at the brewery end they hung upon the gate, and at the river end also! We gazed at each other despairingly. Bingen gibbered. His mouth worked aimlessly amid white froth. �ŚBingen! In a little while we’ll both be stark raving mad,’ I whispered. �ŚThis won’t do. We’ve got to plan something. Occupy our minds with some idea of escape. Else we’ll get beyond control.’ �ŚWhat can we do?’ �ŚWe’ve got to hold this place and stay put until these things have gone. They must go sometime. They can’t stay forever. Out there, someone’ll be getting into action. Machine-guns, bombs, gas. They’ll get rid of them. The people out there have been taken unawares, but when they get together they’ll clear those things out. All we can do is stick here until we get a sight of someone outside who’ll help us.’ �ŚI can’t stop here doing nothing. I’ve got to get out. I can’t stand it.’ �ŚWell, there’s plenty to do, damn you,’ my voice rose shrilly, hysterically, for Bingen stared at me with such hopeless terror in his eyes, I had to take hold of myself not to be affected. I continued more calmly. �ŚWe’ll start doing something, Bingen, we’ll take a gate each and see to it, defend it. Which’ll you have, the brewery or the river?’ �ŚNo. We’ll stick together. I’m not going near those gates alone. Go together, from gate to gate.’ And I was glad, for being together gave one a mite more courage. We crept . . . there is no other word for it . . . up the tunnel to the brewery. Behind the bodies on the gate, flames roared even more fiercely, but those nightmarish things were impervious to a heat which made us shield our faces. They clung there unmoving, watching our slow advance with bleak eyes. Close to the bars we halted, and I heard Bingen’s breath catch and quicken in pure helplessness. �ŚWhile we’re in here we’re safe,’ I assured him. �ŚThe sword jammed in there stops ’em getting in. Let’s get the rifle, and bayonet them through the bars.’ Bingen returned in a moment, glad of something which would take his thoughts from panic, with the rifle, and walked slowly to the gate. �ŚGive ’em hell, Bingen,’ I shouted, and at his side kicked foolishly at the forms through the bars. �ŚThat’s the stuff to give ’em. Let ’em have it.’ With all sorts of nonsense I encouraged him as, deliberately, he stabbed the bayoneted rifle through the gate. Stabbed methodically into round eyes, ripped ribbed leathery wings from bulging black bodies, thrust point into stomachs, then, sensing the uselessness of it, he lurched wildly with the weapon, anywhere, anyhow. And the things stayed there on the gate, unmoving. �ŚIt’s no use. You can’t even hurt them,’ Bingen gulped breathlessly at last and rested on the rifle. His glance fell on the bayonet. �ŚGod! Look here. The point’s dry. There’s nothing on it.’ The things were bloodless . . . until after they had fed . . . when one sliced a head from sloping shoulders there was only dark dry stuff like cotton-wool tangled with black threads. �ŚThey can be killed though!’ I shouted triumphantly. �ŚWhen you stabbed ’em, they slid back. Their places were taken by others. These aren’t all the same ones here. They can be killed all right. Didn’t I beat one into pulp?’ But I was trying to convince myself. They could be killed, but it seemed they could not be hurt, for those cold, expressionless eyes never faltered, broke their gaze, showed feeling, no matter what one did to them. Beastly as they were, some change of expression must have been manifest had they been hurt. Pain or dread must have crept into their eyes when sword severed wing, tentacle, sank into body or head, had they been hurt, yet they ignored Bingen’s plunging rifle, gazed fixedly at him, almost pleadingly, as though one should sympathize with them! This strangely pathetic human effect gave birth to the horrifying idea of them being lost souls from another world. Lost souls from purgatory. �ŚDon’t waste strength. You’ll want that later on,’ said I, and went back from the gate into the tunnel. �ŚYou can hardly kill them, and you can’t hurt them at all. We’ll just have to wait until they’ve gone. Bingen, would the old watchman have got away without trying to get us out of here?’ �ŚI dunno. D’you think anyone’d bother about someone else with these things on his neck? Old Dad would have helped us if he could I suppose.’ �ŚThey must have got him.’ �ŚI suppose so. But what I’m concerned about is stopping them getting me.’ �ŚPoor old chap. To come scathless through many a little War on the frontiers and now to go under like that.’ I shuddered, imagining the old fellow writhing beneath those filthy, probing muzzles. �ŚGod! They can’t have come from this earth.’ From somewhere out of space, through the stratosphere, from the unknown, dropping through a silence with bleak eyes fixed greedily towards the inhabited earth. They might have bred here unseen, unheard of, in some darkly warm unexplored tropical fastness, but where in the world is any unexplored territory? No, from some passing planet, some other world, from which I like to think they had been exiled, outcast, for the beastly things they are, and from the space into which they had flown for safety, chanced upon earth. And the voyage had made them hungry! I tried to turn my thoughts from the impossibilities of imagination. �ŚI wonder whether we’ll have much trouble forcing that gate after they’ve gone. Should manage it all right with the sword. Ten to one when we want to get out we’ll want to get out quickly.’ �ŚI’m not anxious about getting out now,’ Bingen answered. �ŚLet me stay here until they’ve blown away.’ �ŚIt’ll be easy enough to get out, but if we want to get out quickly? Want to make a dash for it? What then? D’you think we ought to loosen a few bricks round the gate so that it could be pushed open, but can’t be pushed in? I wonder whether those things would have enough sense to pull the gate down if we did that.’ �ŚNo! Don’t give them a chance,’ Bingen said, stretching out a hand to stay me. �ŚWe daren’t risk it.’ �ŚIt’ll be worth risking. They can’t get in while they’re pushed against the gate like that, and we’ll be able to get away if we have to. We can’t stay in here forever. Risking those things would be preferable to slow starvation.’ But saying it, I knew that, of the two, I’d choose starvation. Bingen was right. We daren’t risk letting them in. Backing down into the tunnel we sat exhaustedly on the floor some distance apart, Bingen keeping an eye on the brewery gate, and I watching the river. We smoked thankfully of the few cigarettes we had left, and our ears tuned above the crackling roar of flames, listening for the sound of things creeping, knowing they moved silently. And that day dragged slowly away. The river climbed its banks to the gate, driving the Vampires away, retreated, to let them gather there again: those at the brewery end remained clamped to their bars. Every so often we inspected the tunnel entrances to reassure ourselves they were secure, and more frequently had to walk down to the river end to bathe faces in the warm water, and gulp thirstily at what, to us in the stifling heat, seemed so cool and refreshing. Without that water what should we have done? Died or gone mad? For the air heated with every gasping breath we took, fiery blasts of wind carried particles of red-hot grit and dust upon us, burning our eyes, scorching our throats, until we rinsed it away with that priceless water. Clouds of ash billowed about the hard, settling on the black bodies by the gate, tonsuring round heads, greying shawls on sloping shoulders. Lack of food worried us not at all. I would have revolted at the thought, for sick terror contracted my stomach muscles; my nerves were taut violin strings, every little noise dissimilar to the roar of flames jerked and twitched my body. Bingen was different. At times he was cheery, defiant, and then, without warning, would get hysterical, his nerves would break, and he would curse, sob, shiver, scream. The evening drew in without appreciable alteration to the light, and the night passed. I dozed in cat-naps, stiffening now and then to peer into the dark. Once I heard Bingen crying softly, and ashamed at hearing him, wandered back and forth between the gates. Daylight came, bringing a difference to the colour of the glow, and so far as we could judge, the Vampires at the gates had not moved. During that day we killed the four rats sheltering with us, for when we passed them they humped back to the wall with bared teeth. Pushing the bodies through the bars, we saw how those hateful muzzles probed and twisted to reach. One by one the rats were pulled away into the press of black bodies out of sight. It sickened me, thoughts of going the same way chilled the sweat on my back. We spent some time searching the floor for cigarette ends from the smokes of the night when we had carelessly tossed them away. Either the air cooled, or we grew used to the heat, but still our clothes were wet with perspiration, and we had stripped to trousers and shirts. But for the thought of those muzzles on bare flesh we would have stripped to the skin. To be naked before those things! Bingen, with eyes reddened by cinders and a stubble of beard darkening his white face, lapsed into a brooding silence from which I vainly tried to coax him. He would not survive many more days of this, I thought, as I watched him. Neither, for that matter, could I. I prayed, I think, for something to happen. For the things to move. For them to struggle to get at us, go away, return, anything but this terrible, motionless waiting. We tried to drive them from the gates with concerted attacks of the bayoneted rifle, but it was as though one attacked a pile of corpses, so that we’d give it up and go down the tunnel to suck water from the puddles on the floor if the river was in ebb, and bathe lavishly if it were high. Four nights and three days we spent there in that hell with the Vampires clustered unmoving on the gates. Four nights when Bingen cried, swore, and fell silently brooding by turn. Three days when we stared hopelessly at the things on the gates and they stared bleakly back at us. Four nights which sapped comprehension from my brain and weakened muscles in my legs. How did we survive? How did we? Times we grew almost contemptuous of the Vampires, kicked them, and withdrew our boots before reaching muzzles could clamp on the leather. Then we shuddered at the sight of them, hid faces in arms, crouched at the bend hidden from the gates. And the things waited silently. If only they would move, make a noise, was the ominant thought throbbing ceaselessly in my brain during the last hours of our confinement. If only they would move! The fourth night passed uneventfully but for a hectic five minutes when Bingen woke from a nightmare in which the Vampires had reached him, to spring at me, fighting, kicking, screaming. Limpetwise he clung to my throat. I had to lift him a crack to the jaw to loosen him. God knows the reality could not be improved upon even by nightmares, but that outburst did both of us good, for afterwards we smiled at each other and cracked sheepish jokes. Bingen was asleep when, with the dawn, there came to me an eerie sensation, a feeling that something was different, something missing. Trying to analyze that premonition I fail. It might be my nostrils noticed the change. There was no perception of relief, safety, danger past; rather was there a tense nursing unconsciously of muscles ready for some new peril. Whatever it was, that impulse was sufficient to make me waken Bingen. What had I wakened him for? Gradually, green and red reflections from the river faded, and the tunnel was lighter than it had been with the things humped about the gates. They had gone! We sat silently watching the light, the empty gates, and I believe both of us doubted our eyes. And the river crept out of the tunnel. I nudged Bingen. �ŚLet’s go to the gate.’ Up the tunnel we walked warily, expecting some fearsome development, but, with the gate clear to our gaze, Bingen jumped ahead of me to the bars. They were red-hot, and his hands fell from them as he peered into the brewery yard. Nothing could be seen but burned buildings, cobbles littered with fallen brickwork, and having stared we turned with one accord, raced down the slope for the river. Raced, I said, but it was a feeble run, for all our excitement. I felt almost too weak to run. We looked out to the river, our faces pulled back a few inches from the hot iron of the gate. �ŚThey’ve gone! God! They’ve gone!’ Bingen cried, and punched me so that I swore at him, for I wanted to do something foolish, cry. He shouted into the morning. �ŚThere’s not a damned horror in sight. Nothing. We’re going to get out of here.’ �ŚYou fool,’ I answered thickly. �ŚNot a horror in sight! What the hell do you call that?’ I gestured over the water. On the north bank, the river lapped a grey embankment; the trees had gone, and, behind, rose a solid wall of white-heat. Above, rose the steel framework of burned buildings; below, drifted lifting clouds of grey ashes. As we watched, some half-burned houses fell, bursting into red flames. Fire shot skywards. Smoke intensified, billowing into the blue sky. To the east and the west, so far as we could see, peering first from one side of the gate and then the other, it was the same. A fiery desolation. London had gone in flame and smoke. There was nothing but glowing ash, broken here and there, where long scarlet fingers quivered upwards from the gutted framework of a building which burned slowly, with less combustion than its surroundings. To our left, the girders of Hungerford Bridge twisted and dropped to the water about the caissons. Red and black, the burned-out carriages fell downwards, tethered together�"empty, I thought as I looked up at them, but they were full of people. Corpses drained dry by the muzzling of� Vampires and cindered by leaping flames. Barges on the flats, burned to the water’s edge, lay broken, gaping, and about those close at hand I could see little saucer-like depressions in the mud where melted rivets and bolts had fallen. It was a dead world we two survivors stared into from our rat-hole. A crashing tearing roar pulled our eyes to the east, and we saw a wall of dust and smoke rise slowly about the looming bulk of St Paul’s Cathedral. The huge dome tilted, swayed in the climbing flames, rose, flattened. A crackling of innumerable explosions, a great spurt of fire, and the dome was gone. But my thoughts were not on the destruction of London’s great buildings. My eyes were searching . . . searching for those terrible scavengers, the grey clustering Vampires. And as I looked for them, Bingen called vibrantly. �ŚThere they are! Look! There’s some of them.’ They had gone from the flats, the bridge, the embankment opposite, and in the flames we could find none. The blue sky was free of them, I thought; but Bingen saw them. Away to the east, a cloud of Vampires rose slowly from a towering plume of smoke.� At first I thought the cloud was smoke, for straight into the air they rose, flying like nothing I have seen fly before. Later, at close quarters, I have examined their flight, and it is strange, for instead of lying parallel to the earth, they are upright, and twisting wings spiral into the air, cork-screw fashion. Those we stared at now did not seem to be moving very quickly, but they must have been travelling at an immense speed, for even as we watched they were disappearing into the west. We spotted others then. Far away over Westminster Bridge beyond the tower of Big Ben, standing like a blind man with an eyeless black cavity whence the clock had fallen, we saw a great grey cloud rise into the air. A tremendous cloud, spreading many a mile across country, and about that cloud there could be no mistake. They were Vampires. So far as I could judge, this edge of the flying millions must have risen from somewhere near Highgate, and they stretched away past the horizon! We saw isolated smaller groups coming faintly out of the sky, merging into the main body, and the vast cloud flew up, up to the blue of heaven, grey faded to blue, merged totally. But for hurrying little overtaking groups the sky was clear of them. �ŚWhat now?’ I asked Bingen, and tried to move the stiffness from my neck. �ŚShall we risk making a dash for it? If those things drop on us out in the open . . . we’re done. Perhaps we ought to stay here a bit longer. Make sure they don’t come back. But we must get out soon. I’m hungry.’ �ŚWe’d better wait,’ Bingen said after a while, his eyes still in the air. He shivered. �ŚI daren’t get tangled with one of them again. I daren’t! Ugh! I can feel it on me now.’ �ŚWhat about seeing the brewery again? We ought to see to that.’ �ŚIf we could get some beer out of it. I want something to buck me up. but we must wait and make sure.’ �ŚYou stay here a minute, and I’ll have a look at the top end. Keep your eyes open for anything. I’ll see what I can, up there, and be back.’ My feet stumbled on the slope as I started to run, and by the brewery gates faintness swayed me, so that I had to squat on the floor to recover. Hunger and terror had told on me more than I realized, I was weak. Soon, I knew,� I must get something to eat, to get strength for the coming effort of escape. We must take a chance, leave the tunnel while we had the opportunity. Who knew when those things might be back? The yard was unchanged, except for a great piece of guttering fallen athwart the gate to drip molten lead from a steel angle. One end of the angle lay close, nearly under the bars, and I reached for it. I should be able to lever the gate open if I pulled one end of it into the tunnel. The padlock wrenched from its staple, but I was scared to open the gate wide. � � � IV The River Through the Dead City �ŚBINGEN!’ My shout brought him running up the tunnel to dart into the yard like a rat with a terrier on its tail. �ŚWhat is it?’ �ŚNothing, except that we’re free,’ I answered. �ŚCome out in the yard and explore.’ �ŚGarry!’ Bingen shot the words out and halted, ready to dive back into the security of the tunnel. �ŚGarry, there’s one still there.’ �ŚWhere?’ He pointed shakily. Picking up the sword, I walked across the yard to where a great stone lintel had fallen from above the entrance. Protruding under the beam was the head of a Vampire, and its eyes, as I approached, held mine bleakly. The tip of its wings were free, but the whole of its body, pressed under the beam, must have been squashed flat, and the thing lived, with no sign of pain, no hint of death. The sword fell, and the pursed muzzle quivered at the leather of my boot even as the live head rolled away from the dead body. No blood or moisture came from the neck. Rather, it looked like darkened cotton-wool intertangled with shreds of black thread.� A protruding spinal cord showed dully black, greying as I watched. The head with the long, mouthless muzzle rolled to a stop, and on the forehead still beat a thin pulse. The expressionless eyes stared up at me. I kicked the thing into a pile of ashes. �ŚFor God’s sake,’ Bingen whispered huskily, �Ślet’s try the watchman’s hut and see if we can get some beer.’ Behind the hut, one wall of which stood, burned buildings crumbled in a heap of fallen bricks between two high gables tottering precariously above ashes which glowed redly beneath a grey surface. Over by the tall entrance gates, flat now on the cobbles, was an unexpectedly clear space. It looked as though it had been covered by some fireproof material during the conflagration, and centrally in that space lay two bodies. �ŚIt’s old Dad,’ Bingen said in answer to my gesture. �ŚThe other’s the manager.’ �ŚThat’s the car he came back for.’ I motioned towards a tangle of twisted metal by the gate, and with a sudden inspiration comprehended the reason for that clear space about the bodies. �ŚBingen! The clear space round them is where those things were heaped!’ We were silent. �ŚThey must have been covered in the middle of the fire, and any falling ash or bricks fell on to the Vampires. Then, when the things flew away, they swept the debris clear from the circular space.’ I could imagine the filthy things rising like a cluster of scavenger flies from refuse, and forced myself to stoop and examine the two bodies closely. �ŚEvery drop of moisture’s been drained from them,’ I whispered. �ŚThey’re nothing but dried skin and bone. All these little red pin-prick marks all over them are where . . .’ �ŚFor God’s sake come away,’ Bingen cried. �ŚCome away.’ The blue sky above was a mockery, with those two at my feet. Sucking muzzles dissolved flesh to moisture and pumped it away through minute apertures. Afterwards, we discovered that this draining away of flesh and blood, to leave only a skin-enclosed skeleton, let men and cattle lay where they had fallen under the Vampires, for weeks, without any appreciable sign of decomposition. Only when the bodies soaked in rain did they begin to smell, to decay. And for months we had no rain. Those two, the first of so many, left me sick in the stomach when I rose from stooping over them. �ŚGarry! Garry!’ Beyond the watchman’s hut I could see Bingen delving excitedly amid the ashes. He stood in a moment, then tilted a bottle to his lips. I went towards him. Warm beer gurgled soothingly down my throat, washing the heat away. How good it tasted! And it endowed me with fresh courage, for on an empty stomach it reacted strongly. Bingen emptied his bottle and searched afresh, but there was no more, for which I was glad. I did not want Bingen on my hands, drunk. With courage from the bottle, he looked across at the body of the watchman and spoke hesitatingly: �ŚLet’s put him somewhere safe away from . . . I shouldn’t like to be left like that.’ �ŚNot much use bothering about them now. They won’t be touched again, even if the things come back, and pray God they won’t. What we’ve got to do, is to look after ourselves.’ It sounded callous, but it was true. The watchman and the manager were but two out of Heaven knew how many. �ŚWhat we’ve got to do, is get away. We wouldn’t stand a chance among all that glowing ash if we tried to get out this way.� The streets are white-hot. We must attempt the river. We’d be better off on the water if they came. We might be able to shelter at the bottom of a boat with something over us. At least we’d drown. I’d sooner drown than burn or . . .’ I pointed towards the bodies, and Bingen shuddered. �ŚIs there a way down to the river through the buildings?’ �ŚThere is, but I’m not trying it. Not through that,’ said Bingen, indicating the mass of grey and red embers. �ŚYou used to be able to get down the lift in the store, but the store’s gone. The only way is to go back through the tunnel, and force the gate down there.’ �ŚThat’s what we’ll do,’ I agreed, staring about the yard until the wavering, rising heat made my eyes smart. �ŚGoing through there would just shrivel us up. We’ll have to get down to the river through the tunnel.’ �ŚBring the sword along. We’ll be able to force the padlock off the gate with it.’ For the last time we passed into the tunnel, and I for one breathed a prayer of gratitude to its dank walls. God knows what it had saved us from. The rusted gate forced open easily, and we went out on the mud-flat by the barges. �ŚDown-river I think,’ I said. �ŚNeither of us want to go under there.’ We headed away from Hungerford Bridge, where those trains, with their ghastly passengers, hung like dead snakes through the twisted girders. Warily out to the water edge we went, our eyes searching. Smoothly the river ran through a City of Dead. At every point of the compass fire belched smoke to the heavens, walling the river along its length with an embankment of red, grey, and white heat. Two terror-stricken survivors in hell, we flinched from the fire, staring at each other hopelessly. �ŚWe can’t get past there.’ Bingen indicated the red shore. �ŚWe can’t go along the bank. We’ll have to get a boat or something and get past the fires in the middle of the river.’ We went so far as we could, walking in water to our waists, stooping to duck sweating bodies, passing the hotter places, until we could go no farther. We stood peering miserably up and down the river. �ŚThere’s a boat!’ It was though in answer to a prayer. �ŚBingen, I’ll go in after it. It is a boat, isn’t it?’ From behind a partly sunken ship to which it was made fast, a dinghy swung slowly into sight on the tide not more than fifty yards from where we stood. �ŚIt’s broken loose,’ Bingen said. �ŚIt’s floating away.’ Wading into the river, I swam towards it and, foolishly, for some time, tried vainlessly to heave myself over the side, failing through sheer weakness until Bingen called to me to push the boat ashore. He waded out to meet me. �ŚThe water’s hot,’ he said, as he pulled both boat and myself to the bank. �ŚIt’s hotter than hell, and gets more like hell every time I look at it.’ �ŚI must have a rest before I pull this out in the stream. Unless you can row, Bingen?’ �ŚNot those kind of oars!’ But for a deep burn in her gunwhale, where something had dropped and flamed before falling into the river, the dinghy was intact. Astern floated a burned rope. It was Providence that rope had held, to sever at the very moment we wanted her. �ŚDownstream with the tide. The rowing’ll be easier and we might as well go this way as the other,’ I said, after shipping oars and pulling out to midstream. For a while I sat panting, resting, then recovered my breath to pull away from the tunnel and Hungerford Bridge. Bingen crouched in the stern staring around dazedly, shooting quick nervous glances skywards. �ŚGet hold of the rudder lines and keep your eyes on the clouds as much as the banks.’ The rowlocks creaked noisily, and we went steadily along the river of the dead between the fiery banks. �ŚI’ll have my work cut out to row this thing very far unless I get some grub. I feel just about dead beat.’ �ŚOh, we’ll soon get somewhere where there’s grub,’ replied Bingen offhandedly, anxiously scanning the sky. �ŚWe’ll soon get amongst people now.’ �ŚI’m not so sure.’ �ŚLook out!’ he shouted, and leant to heave frantically on a rudder line. �ŚGod! We’re going right into the flames.’ With my head over my shoulder, I loosed one oar to heave on the other with all my might, but still the boat drifted towards the flames, until I saw that Bingen was tugging idiotically on the wrong line. �ŚLet go that damned rudder and leave it to me!’ With heart bursting in my breast, I pulled the boat away from a line of barges with cargoes blazing terribly on the water. We missed them by no more than a foot, and I had to shield my face with one arm while pulling with the other. Bingen crouched helplessly in the stern, his arms about his head. A tongue of flame licked a blistering weal across my shoulders, as we passed. �ŚFor Heaven’s sake don’t trouble so much about things in the sky,’ I enjoined him. �ŚLeave the rudder be, but watch where we’re going and tell me the direction.’ �ŚPull us out of here.’ �ŚI’ll pull us out all right so long as you don’t let us run into anything else like that.’ From both sides of the river came a white heat which made the distance dance and shimmer. Ash eddied about in whirling columns, sparks burned in the air, now and then came explosions to stay the oars momentarily and set me pulling with renewed vigour. And, eternally in our ears, was a thundering crackling roar, as the ruins of London burned away. Under the one remaining arch of London Bridge we spurted, for it was hot, and a great mass of stuff flamed fiercely, sending out streamers of fire to drop about our boat. Then we were in the Pool, where great vessels’ burned red sides leant drunkenly against smouldering wharves, and mast-heads pointed from the water, marking sites of sunken ships. �ŚGarry!’ Bingen’s voice yelped at me, vicious with fright. He leaned across the boat to clasp my arm. �ŚWhat . . .’ There was a roar, and from the shore came hurtling, for all the world as though it were thrown directly at us, a glowing length of wood. It dropped across the dinghy with a thump, and one end steamed, sizzled in the river. �ŚWhat the hell!’ I stood erect, searching the bank to see who had thrown it until I understood. Then I went on rowing. �ŚIt’s all right, Bingen. It must have been shot out of that exploding building. Push it overboard�"quick, you fool.’ The timber slid overboard and we went on. �ŚYou look as if you could do with a wash and brush up, Bingen.’ �ŚAw! This is no time to joke.’ Bingen certainly looked to be in a sorry plight. He was black from smoke, with great stripes of grey running down his body where he had smeared the running sweat. Both of us were now stripped to the waist, and I suppose that I resembled him. I know that I was dry. The roof of my mouth was so parched my tongue stuck to it. I had to stop every while to scoop water up in handfuls, until Bingen discovered a baling tin under the seat. He flung water over us in turn, to find that he was filling the boat and had to bale until he perspired again. But, overshadowing everything was one actuality. One awe-inspiring fact which neither of us dared voice until we had travelled some distance. �ŚBingen, have you realized! We’re going right through London without seeing another living soul!’ �ŚYes. But I think I understand that. We’ll find the crowds when we get past the buildings, out in the country. They couldn’t stay here in this fire. They got away.’ �ŚThey couldn’t all have got away as quickly as this. There must be some people about here, if there are any anywhere.’ �ŚFor God’s sake what do you mean? You don’t think . . .?’ He read the answer in my eyes. That made us forget the heat. There was no one else upon the river, and it was impossible for anything to have lived ashore. Ashore, the fires; on the river, nothing but our dinghy and clumps of drifting, smouldering timber, floating debris; and over all, a covering of white ashes. I watched a long baulk float by, hissing, steaming, turning from red to black as water percolated into it. �ŚThere are others on the river besides us,’ I whispered suddenly. �ŚThere!’ We shuddered, and I pulled the dinghy quickly aside. Partly submerged, a collection of bodies, tangled together into a raft, floated slowly along to the left of the boat. We watched until the ghastly procession drew astern. �ŚThey’re exactly like the two in the brewery,’ Bingen said. �ŚThose things have been on them before or after they were drowned. How did they get in the river? There’s nearly a hundred of them.’ �ŚStampeded into the water, and a cloud of Vampires dropped on them. Hope to God they were drowned before . . .’ �ŚGarry, d’you remember seeing those mummies in the museum by the barracks in Cairo? All those people had the same shrivelled, shrunken appearance. They look just like mummies that have been dead a thousand years.’ �ŚThere’s Tower Bridge in front. Half of it’s down. We’ll have to be nippy getting under there.’ One of the great towers had fallen, half the roadway jutted over the river, and on the broken bridge stood a lorry laden with some material which blazed, and yet did not burn away. It looked as if it had been burning for days and would go on burning for ever. The river widened, and the heat abated visibly. Hereabouts, fires on the banks seemed to have nearly burned out. Maybe they started here earlier; the Vampires, perhaps, dropped here first. But there could not have been much difference in the time of their arrival. They must have descended to earth simultaneously in one vast cloud. The one tremendous conflagration razing London could not have started from small isolated fires. �ŚEven here, there’s not another soul but us. Just the two of us on a grey river edged with fire.’ Several times Bingen, whose eyes continually searched the sky, yelled for us to drop to the bottom of the boat and endeavour to hide beneath our coats, when, in the distance, high in the sky, some of the Vampires flew effortlessly by, until, reassured they had not seen us, or seeing us, did not intend to descend, we rose and went on. Once, hunched on the remaining piles of a tumbled wharf, we saw one of them, and even across the river I could feel the cold bleakness of its unwinking eyes. We wondered what kept it there. Perhaps it was hurt. A bend in the river hid it from sight. �ŚWith the fires nearly cold, I’ll pull nearer the bank so that we can shout anyone we might see,’ I said, and rested on the oars awhile to let the dinghy drift closer ashore. �ŚWe seem to be getting away from the worst of it now.’ Rounding blackened stanchions protruding from the water, we almost barged into another fire reaching into the river, but by now Bingen and I had discovered the art of rowing and steering in harmony, and we got safely out of danger, and sweeping into the stream again we caught sight of the barge! A fleet of them lay moored together, burned, like other shipping on the river, to the water’s edge, and but for swerving to avoid the heat from that jutting warehouse, we should have noticed nothing extraordinary about them. Moored closer to the north bank, they were yet some distance from the shore, and amongst them one seemed strangely whole. �ŚSee that barge over there, Bingen?’ I cried. �ŚIt hardly looks as if it has been burned at all. There might be someone aboard her. And there might be something to eat. Can you shout? My mouth’s too dry.’ �ŚAhoy there!’ Bingen’s cupped hands sent the hail booming across the water. �ŚHi! Anyone there?’ The cry, reverberating over the dead river, sounded weird in the silence, for, despite the dull roar of the flames, it was silent, with a silence which could be felt. The silence of a total lack of humanity. So strange did that cry sound that Bingen shrank back to his seat and we pulled towards the barges in quiet. Almost, I wanted to pull on down the river, but that barge attracted me. Perhaps it was the thought there might be food aboard, perhaps the working of Providence. The dinghy heaved through the cross currents and soon we were alongside. I pulled the oars inboard. �ŚWill you go up, Bingen? I’ll give you a back. There’ll be grub of some sort there. Come on, man. There’s nothing there to hurt you,’ I said angrily as he hesitated. �ŚNone of your friends there. Go up and see what’s on her.’ �ŚI’m not so sure.’ Bingen demurred. �ŚWhy so anxious for me to go? What about you having the climb?’ �ŚAh! Get on, you swab. After this row I’d never pull myself up there in a month of Sundays,’ I growled, glancing at the steep side of the barge. �ŚI’m just about beat now, but I’ll try to give you a lift up. Lift me up, damn you, and I’ll go.’ Bingen toyed with the idea of lifting me the seven or eight feet up to the barge, and then stood sulkily upright. �ŚAll right then. Give me a hand. But remember, I want this boat kept here so’s I can jump for it if there is anything there.’ �ŚIf there is anything there, you fool, bring it down and we’ll eat it. Come on.’ Steadying the dinghy, I gave him a thrust which helped him on his way, and sat back in the stern exhausted, tired out, hungry. Examining the barge, I saw why it had not burned with the others. It was built of concrete. One of those, I imagine, built during the war as an experiment�"unless they built boats of concrete afterwards�"and her load was, I understood even more why she had not burned, asbestos boards. Piled above her sides, they were untouched but for blackened spaces where, I suppose, tarpaulins had burned away. The whole of the barge was littered deeply with ash blown from the adjoining boats. �ŚBingen! Bingen!’ He seemed a long time gone, and did not answer my call. �ŚBingen, are you all right?’ I scanned the sky for Vampires and, far away, could see a faint cloud moving at rapid speed. �ŚBingen!’ �ŚRighto! Be with you in a minute,’ came his reply, and I heard him climbing from below. �ŚCome now, damn you.’ His face appeared over the barge side, and I swore at him angrily. �ŚYou . . . You’ve found food and stopped to eat it. Why the devil didn’t you call me?’ �ŚNaughty! Naughty!’ Bingen grinned, speaking with his mouth full, then as he saw I angered, spoke soothingly. �ŚAll right. It’s O.K. in here. Only been a bit of a fire aboard. The stairs burned away and a cupboard, but nothing else.’ �ŚNever mind about that. There’s food, isn’t there? Give me a hand up. See if you can find a rope to let down or something, and I’ll come up.’ �ŚIf we can fix the opening over the cabin we might stay here the night. There’s food here.’ �ŚI can see that! Leaning over the side with your blasted mouth full, while I’m down here, starving. Stay there the night! Am I to stay here the night? Get something to give me a hand up. And something I can moor this boat with.’ Bingen went off, his heavy boots clumping about the deck, poking around in search of rope, and eventually returned with a length of cordage which he dropped down to me. I fastened the boat by the bows and flung the end up to him. He made it fast above, and, heavily, I pulled myself up to roll over the bulwarks and lay gasping on the deck of the barge like a stranded fish. Bingen went below and, while I recovered, climbed back again with food in his hand to offer me bread and an opened tin of meat. The bread was hard, stale, but I munched at it greedily, like a wolf, sitting there on the warm deck; and presently, stretched satisfied, feeling, with food inside me, that I had recovered my strength. �ŚWell? We’d better see about getting fixed up for the night,’ I suggested. �ŚI’m rested now, though I’d like about three days in bed. Come on, let’s go down in the cabin. The dinghy’s fixed so that it can’t float away. Are there any smokes below?’ �ŚI don’t know. Haven’t been through the cabins properly yet. We’ll go and see. I could do with a smoke.’ The stairs, as Bingen had remarked, were burned away, so that we had to drop down into the cabin. It looked cosy enough to me, with memory of the tunnel vividly in my mind. Two usable bunks there were, and examination assured us the place was safe to stay the night. The opening wanted securing, but a couple of the asbestos boards would quickly do that. �ŚBloke evidently had a family aboard.’ Bingen pointed to the litter of clothing on the cabin floor. �ŚThere was a lot of stuff on the floor, but I pulled some out when I was searching for food.’ �ŚIs there much food?’ �ŚSeveral tins of meat, bacon, biscuits, some bread that’s hard, and there’s a sack of potatoes.’ �ŚAny tea?’ I searched about, and soon a kettle was on a fire in the stove. We lit cigarettes, waiting for it to boil. �ŚThere’s a tin stuffed full of money in the cupboard,’ Bingen said. �ŚI shoved about twenty pounds of it in my pocket, but I was more pleased to find the box of cigs.’ With a cup of tea and a cigarette, I clambered into a bunk, lounging thankfully. �ŚOnly take twenty? Might have taken it all! Hell of a lot of good it’ll do you,’ I answered from the depth of the bunk. �ŚBingen, we haven’t seen another soul alive. It looks as if we two are the only people in the world. But that’s ridiculous! There must be folks about somewhere. Everybody can’t have been destroyed. It’s unbelievable.’ �ŚUnbelievable! Those flying nightmares are unbelievable. But they’re here. All London gone up in smoke. That’s unbelievable. It’s happened. But there must be other people. They’ll have got safely out of town, away from this, and rigged up camps.’ �ŚBut Bingen, haven’t you thought how numerous the things are. When we saw them from the tunnel, they covered the town like bees on a hive. People wouldn’t have had a chance to get away from them. Those things must have dropped down in millions and millions. Think of the size of the cloud that we saw.’ �ŚBut we were all right in the tunnel. We two couldn’t have been the only ones in London in a safe place.’ �ŚThe tunnel we were in was exceptional. In cellars and places like that people must have been smothered when the things dropped. They couldn’t have breathed. Then the fire! Others in the open wouldn’t have stood a chance. What chance would we have stood out in the yard! In the tunnel, we were secure from both fire and Vampires. While the gates kept them from us, they let in enough air to keep us alive. The depth and dampness kept the heat from us. How many other people were sleeping in the depths of a tunnel?’ �ŚOh! There must have been similar cases?’ Bingen thought awhile, worriedly. �ŚWhat about the tubes for instance?’ �ŚHum! The tubes were open to the things.’ �ŚBasements?’ �ŚPeople might have lived in such places, but that’s problematical. Anyway, they would have died when the houses burned above them.’ �ŚBut it is incredible that every soul in the country has gone west.’ �ŚOf course it is. In the country. But, Bingen, honestly I feel that we are the only two living in London.’ �ŚIt’s true we came all the way down the river from Hungerford to here, without seeing a living thing except Vampires.’ �ŚIt’s incredible we could have done that. Isn’t it?’ We smoked in silence. The softness of the bunk, and the food I had gorged after my fast, was an inducement to sleepiness, even though it was only somewhere round three in the afternoon. Gradually my eyes closed, until remembering the opening overhead, I sat upright. �ŚI’m going to get in a real sleep,’ I said to Bingen. �ŚLet’s go up and see that the opening over the cabin is secure. Then we’ll turn in, get a good long rest, out of it early in the morning, and make our way right out of the town to see what’s in the country. I’m just about dead beat. Standing on the steps of a cinema for four years doesn’t leave you with enough stamina to go on �śjags” with drivers of the Royal ’Orse, fight Vampires, row boats down rivers. Let’s get the place safe. Come on.’ We climbed to the hatchway. �ŚNip outside and get half a dozen boards of that asbestos,’ I told Bingen. �ŚI’ll get the rope, and if we lash them down over the opening, we’ll be snug for the night. Leave spaces between so that we can breathe.’ With the opening covered, we dropped down again, and I followed Bingen’s example, pulled off all my clothes, for it was hot in the tiny cabin. We could have done with the opening wide to the night air but . . . we were taking no risks. That both of us dispensed with all our clothes was proof of our confidence in the security of the concrete barge. �ŚGood night, Bingen. See you in the morning, I suppose.’ �ŚYou will Garry. I’m not getting out of here until after you’ve poked your head out to see that everything’s all right. Good night.’ I snuggled down in the bunk. Shafts of light slanted down from between the cracks in the asbestos boards, and for a while I could not sleep. I watched the dust dancing in the paths of sunlight, with horrors from preceding days and nights flashing back and forth in my brain and, as though I had not my full share, thoughts of others must needs trouble me. The Luxurides; the programme girls; how had that wonderful little blonde fared; often had I admired her when she had come to the doors under some pretext to breathe deeply of air free from perfume and warmth; the hook-nosed manager; the haughty marcelled damsel of the box-office; how had they fared; the old lady who looked after me so well in my �Śdigs’ in Pimlico. . . . With these people revolving madly in a fluttering cloud of Vampires, I fell asleep. Nature had let me put up with a lot, but now must have put her foot down, for I stopped dreaming and shivering in my bunk, lapsed into total unconsiousness. Before I slept, I heard Bingen snoring noisily. Early in the dark of dawn, I was roused to find myself listening intently for some sound which unwittingly had awakened me. The cracks of sunlight had gone, the cabin was in inky darkness, I saw a star twinkle through a crack in the boarded opening, but as I watched it was gone. Then my muscles tensed gradually. I could not hear Bingen. He breathed noisily, and now in the silence I could not hear him! Suddenly, as I listened, his bunk creaked softly as though he jerked nervously. �ŚYou all right, Bingen?’ �ŚYes,’ his answer came whispering from the blackness. �ŚI wish to heaven I’d had the foresight to leave a light ready to hand,’ I grumbled. �ŚThere’s a box of matches on the table, but where the devil is the table? I think I’ll get . . .’ I stopped talking, for as I spoke I heard Bingen’s breath catch and sob. �ŚBingen. For God’s sake what’s the matter? I thought I heard something. It woke me up. did you hear anything, or have you just got the wind up? Bingen! What’re you up to?’ The words rapped out sharply, for his bunk strained as though he pushed at it, bare feet pattered across the cabin, and he was searching in the dark for me. I reached for the floor with dangling feet, caught his arm, and it was shaking. He held on to me closely. �ŚThe matter. What’s the matter. Speak, you fool. Is there something in the cabin with us?’ �ŚOut there. Out there. Something screaming. God!’ Bingen’s voice shook hysterically. �ŚGod! A terrible noise.’ �ŚWhat noise?’ I asked and, asking, held my breath, shuddering, for I heard now the noise which had wakened me. It stabbed into the quiet of the cabin like a flash of light. �ŚAAAAAAAH!’ And again it came. �ŚAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!’ Out there in the night, someone screamed. High pitched, shrill, monotonous cries, sounding as though they were wrenched from some tortured child or woman. Screams of sheer terrified hysteria. �ŚWhat is it? Bingen, is that what you heard before?’ �ŚYes.’ The screams rang through my ears. �ŚAAAAAAH!’ As though the cries were strangled by sheer inability of the screamer to cry any more, they gurgled softly to a stop, and with the silence, sanity and reason came back to me. �ŚGet away from me. Get out of the way.’ Struggling against Bingen’s clutching hands, I freed myself, and was on the floor, stubbing my toes in a maddened effort to discover my bearings. If only I could see that star twinkling through the crack in the covered opening! My outstretched fingers caught the remnants of the stairs, a broken newell post, and, swinging myself up, I pushed, heaved with my shoulders at the asbestos boards, prising at the ropes which held them down, until finger-nails broke, and in the darkness Bingen rushed forward, tried to hinder me. I shouted and swore at him, kicked, punched, then turned to the covering again. �ŚFor God’s sake. God! Don’t open it,’ he pleaded. His voice rose to a scream. �ŚDon’t undo it. Something’ll come. You’ll let something in.’ �ŚGet to hell out of the way. You fool. You damned fool. There’s someone out there. Don’t you understand? Somebody out there.’ Then ropes slipped suddenly from fastenings, and unexpectedly my shoulder heaved on unresisting boards. The jerk launched me forward and my feet caught Bingen so that he was knocked down into the cabin to lay on the floor whimpering. Pink light from the moon and the comet poured down on to us. With one quick glance above, I turned to Bingen. �ŚPull yourself together. It’s all right. Stand by to give me a hand if I want one when I get out there. Take hold of yourself, Bingen. It’s all right.’ Came the screams. They rose into the night again and died. Bingen’s courage broke then. I saw him jerk swiftly to his feet, dive for the bunk, and he no longer stared at the hatchway. I saw him shrink into the black shadow of the bunk, pull mattress and blankets over himself. I think seeing him do that stopped me from losing control of myself. Sobbing with the effort of pulling myself above the hatchway, I reached the deck, trembling. I must find out who screamed else I would lose restraint, dive for the cabin again. Apprehensively I stared about. The barge was deserted as when we had come aboard! And yet those screams had come from no more than a few yards away. Across the water burned hulks showed black, but a few inches from the fiery,� shimmering water. There could be no one on them. And the shore was half a mile away. I ran the length of the barge, skirting the piled asbestos, stared overboard around the boat to see nothing clung to the side. It seemed I was alone in the night. My eyes darted, peered, watching. Overhead great stars glittered and the sky was clear. The river ran past calmly as it had done for centuries, but now it slid between banks of night enhanced flames, redly. Abruptly, three heart-stopping screams pierced the muttering silence, and they came but a few feet away from where I stood . . . alone! �ŚBingen! Bingen! Get out of that. Search around. There’s someone down there. It must be down there. There’s not a thing up here,’ my voice trailed off hoarsely, for now I was sick with fright, and Bingen did not answer. Later, he told me defiantly, he had crawled into the bunk and covered his head foolishly with bedclothes like a scared child. From side to side I ran calling. �ŚWho’s there. Where are you. Damn you, where are you.’ I cursed Bingen for a chicken-hearted swine, knowing that I was almost in the same state of panic, and then, as though to restore my failing courage, instead of screams, there came a soft sobbing. From every part of the deck the sound came apparently to my frantic ears, and I ran here, there, until not a mouse could have been concealed on the deck with me, and remained unseen. Again, I could have sworn the boat held only Bingen and myself, but, with that quiet sobbing pulling me, I went on searching, if indeed, dashing foolishly from side to side, running from stern to bow, could be called searching. But for myself and the piled cargo the deck was empty. I tried to visualize the cabins below. The screams could not have come from there. We had searched so thoroughly for cigarettes and food. In those tiny cabooses it would have been impossible for anyone to hide. A child even. I called again and again. �ŚWhere are you? Tell me where you are. Answer me.’ It seemed every time I called the sobs grew quieter as though someone was afraid of my voice. Then I cursed myself vilely for a fool. The cargo! Someone was hidden among those piled asbestos boards. If I had to fling every scrap of it into the river, I’d find them now. I’d unload the whole boat by myself. Some of the boards were tumbled into a heap, making a kind of lean-to by the stern. I started on them, flinging them aside so that they slid into the river, and before I had moved many came upon a body. A short dark man, with a stubble of beard and a pronounced corpulency, lay twisted tortuously under the cargo. Incongruously, on his near-bald head, was clamped an ancient derby hat. And, despite his stoutness, he had the same shrunken appearance as though every drop of moisture was drained from his veins. The Vampires. He must have been overwhelmed by the things, killed, and then later the boat had swayed and rocked to cover him with tumbling boards. He could not have screamed! I heaved him to the side and tumbled him overboard. And with the splash those screams burst out again. Now I traced them, and, with renewed vigour tore, lifted at the covering until my fingers bled and I had to rest. I called again unavailingly to Bingen. �ŚCome up and give me a hand. It’s all right up here. Come up and help me, Bingen.’ Studying the piled cargo I saw where one of the sheets, jutting out, would afford me a leverage to tumble a whole heap of boards. Afterwards, I wondered why I had not seen the place before, it was so obvious. For the cargo was piled here, with an untidy haphazardness contrasting strangely with the rest of the orderly stacks. I took a breath, lifted experimentally on the leverage, and heaved. The boards rose, slanted, fell with a crash to the deck, sliding over into the water, and the screams broke out afresh to stop quickly. Curled into a cavity between the boards, holding arms tightly about a curly dark head, silent in terror, was the screamer. � � � V The Finding of the Screamer MOTIONLESSLY, timorously, she lay cringing, not hazarding a glance up to see who stared down at her, and I think her very heart ceased beating with sick terror when the boards tumbled apart to expose her. �ŚCome, kiddie. There’s no need to worry any more now. Come.’ Reaching down into the cavity, my hands caught her shoulders gently, endeavouring to coax her to her feet, but still she crouched, hiding her head in her arms. Her slim figure shook terribly as she strained away from my grasp, and when I insisted gently, raised her to her feet, she fought in my arms with the boneless, twisting, scratching fury of a terrified cat, forcing me to utilize all my strength to restrain her. Teeth buried in my arm. I have the scar yet. �ŚIt’s all right! It’s quite all right now. There’s nothing here to hurt you.’ I tried to soothe her. �ŚDon’t cry. You’re safe enough now. I’ll see nothing will harm you. Don’t cry.’ As a matter of fact she was not crying, but her breath came in great, dry, gasping sobs, to shake her in my arms, and frighten me as I held her tightly, listening in dismay. The child was scared out of her life. Soon she would get hysterical, or even lose her wits, if I did not manage to calm her. I rocked her gently. How could I calm her? �ŚThere! There!’ I urged ineffectually. Still those shaking sobs. �ŚNow, kiddy! Come along. Try to stop being frightened. I’ll be getting scared too if you don’t stop. There’s nothing here at all except me, and I couldn’t hurt you. Stop crying and open your eyes to look at me, and you’ll see there’s nothing to be afraid of.’ And then the words came casually, though why on earth I should have said it I don’t know, for the fact had completely escaped me. �ŚThere’s nothing about me to frighten you. I haven’t got any clothes on just because it was so hot down there in the cabin.’ Realizing, I think I blushed all over in the moonlight. For I remembered! Hurriedly I placed the child on deck, lifted one of the boards to stand behind, but to complete my embarrassment her eyes opened, and she stared at me solemnly while I endeavoured to shrink in size, cowering behind the board. My frightened dash from the cabin, with her screams echoing in my ears, had driven all thoughts of my complete nudity from my mind. No wonder the girl was scared to death when a great thoughtless naked chump appeared unexpectedly before her already terrified eyes. �ŚThere! There! Don’t look at me any more. You’re all right now, aren’t you? Just stay there like a sport while I nip down for my trousers and get respectable again. Shut your eyes while I get down to the cabin.’ I stuttered like a fool, and to this day I do not know whether Janet’s eyes smiled at me or not. When her big dark eyes closed, I retreated behind the covering board, flung it aside, and made a wild spring for the cabin. I must get back to her quickly; mustn’t leave her there on deck by herself to get frightened again. �ŚBingen! Bingen, you windy swine,’ I yelled, dropping through the hatchway. �ŚCome out of it. There’s a kid up there, scared out of her life, and I’ve frightened her more than ever, dashing out like a blasted idiot, undressed.’ Fumbling cursingly in the darkness, I searched for the clothes I had carelessly cast about before climbing tiredly into the bunk. �ŚWhere’s my damned trousers? I’m scared to death she’ll jump overboard. For the love of heaven, help me to find my clothes.’ Bingen still hid, ostrich fashion, under blankets in the bunk, and I pulled him to the floor, kicked him savagely with bare toes, and �Śouched’ with pain, hopping blasphemously on one foot. Into that bedlam there came a small voice, calling timidly down from the deck. �ŚThere’s a lamp down there, mister. Behind the table on the wall. There’s matches there too, under the lamp.’ �ŚThanks, kid. You’re a heroine.’ I gasped with relief that she was safe, not frightened, and called up to her. �ŚDon’t come too close to the hatchway until I tell you. Won’t be a minute.’ Finding my clothes, I dressed in a second, to kick Bingen again, and this time the shoe on my foot stopped any pain on my account. Pulling him to his feet I whispered fiercely at him: �ŚGet hold of yourself before that kid comes down here. She’s scared enough now without seeing you frightened. Get dressed, and I’ll bring her down.’ With the cabin aglow with yellow light, and Bingen sheepishly lacing his shoes, I called to the child, standing under the hatchway with arms upheld apart for her to jump down into. �ŚYou fasten the boards over again, Bingen, and I’ll look after the kid.’ I carried her to a chair and asked, �ŚThere’s no one else with you, is there?’ �ŚDad’s here somewhere,’ she whispered. �ŚMother was ashore shopping. I don’t know where Dad got to after . . .’ She stopped, and fearing another outburst of hysteria, I sat by her chair and placed an arm about her, smoothing the curls from her damp forehead. �ŚWhat became of Dad? Oh, I wonder where he went to.’ �ŚYour dad got away, I expect.’ �ŚHe did not,’ she flamed up unexpectedly to startle me. �ŚHe wouldn’t have gone away without me. I know that.’ �ŚBut he’ll be safe,’ I tried to reassure her, and remembered the bowler-hatted, stout man whom I had thrown overboard. I was glad the girl had not seen him, and wished I had shown more consideration disposing of him. He would have been her father. My arm tightened about her sympathetically. �ŚLater on, we’ll see if we can find your mother and father. They’ll be about somewhere, and you’ll be safe here with us. Won’t she, Bingen?’ Bingen had recovered most of his composure now, and was eyeing the girl curiously. He did not answer. �ŚHere, kid, come and lay down in this bunk. Then we’ll get you a cup of tea, shall we?’ The girl half sat, half lay in the bunk where I lifted her, staring at us with great dark eyes which were far too large for her white face. Bingen, stooping with his hands on his knees, grinned ingratiatingly at her until I booted him surreptitiously. �ŚDon’t stand there like Father Christmas. Search around and get some tea or coffee or something.’ �ŚYou’ll find tea in the cupboard there, mister, but mother was going to get the milk and sugar,’ the girl informed us, and then volunteered bravely, �ŚShall I make it for you?’ �ŚNo. Indeed you won’t,’ I told her indignantly. �ŚYou’re just to lay there and rest, and have us two great big men wait on you.’ I feel sheepish, remembering some of the things I said to her, for at that time I was under the impression, if I gave it a thought at all, that she would be a child of perhaps thirteen or fourteen. She certainly looked no more, sitting there in a rumpled, dirty blue jersey and kilted skirts reaching barely to her knees, staring gravely at me with eyes from which I was glad to see the terror gradually disappearing. She was thin, skinny almost, with a supple grace which made her seem shorter than she really was. Actually she is five feet five, but she has always been tiny to me. Dark hair, black with glints of sepia, curled from a low broad forehead to her slim, square shoulders in what, I believe, used to be termed a �Ślong bob’. Her eyes were black now, but later, I found them dark brown with burnt umber lights. They were sunk in purple shadows. Her lips, now so vivid, were pallid, but with them she tried hard to smile bravely as I looked at her until they quivered. I went to her, sat on the edge of the bunk, and held her in my arms, rocking her gently as though she were a baby. �ŚThere! There!’ For a while she leant towards me, held me tightly, and then, somewhat to my surprise, pushed me from her as though offended, wiped her eyes, wriggled from my arms, and sat bolt upright, smoothing down her skirts. �ŚBetter now? Bingen, he’s that other ugly-looking bloke, will be ready with the tea soon. That’ll buck you up, won’t it? Then, when you’ve had it, you can tell me what happened. Or would you like to leave that until later on? D’you live on this boat?’ �ŚIt isn’t a boat. It’s a barge,’ she corrected me smilingly, and then her eyes grew darker again. She shivered. �ŚOh. What became of Mum and Dad. They got Dad. Oh! I’m sure they got Dad.’ �ŚYou’re not to think about anything like that now. You’re to try not to worry. All you’ve got to think is that you’re safe.’ I hoped to God as I said it, that she was safe, but my eyes lifted involuntarily towards the hatchway as though out there waited the Vampires. And I saw that she caught the glance I shot upwards, for she leant against me with a trusting movement which made me feel I was capable of defending her against even Vampires. But even as she smiled, the smile died from her eyes and she started to cry, softly. I held her tightly. Shook her gently. �ŚListen. You must listen to me.’ I tried to make my voice stern, for she must be shaken from this hopelessness or she would be hysterical, beyond control, ill. �ŚYou mustn’t give way like this. You’ll be ill, and then what would happen? Two old soldiers like us wouldn’t know what to do with a little girl like you.’ Bingen started forward as though in protest at the harshness of my voice, but I waved him back. All very well for him to want to take her over now, but the swab hadn’t come to give me a hand to find her. �ŚYou keep out of this, Bingen, and carry on getting the tea. I’ll try to manage her.’ I turned again to the girl in my arms. �ŚIf you don’t stop crying, we’ll have to leave you behind when we go out to search for your mother and father.’ �ŚBut sure,’ Bingen interposed. �ŚThe mother and father will be . . .’ �ŚDon’t be a damned fool. Pour the tea out and keep quiet.’ He scowled at me, but brought the cup of tea to kneel by the bunk and offer it to her. �ŚThere, now dry your eyes and sip this. It will cheer you. What’s your name?’ �ŚJanet Jameson.’ She dried her eyes and loosened my grip to sit erect. �ŚEveryone calls me Jack, though.’ �ŚWell, we’re not going to call you Jack, my dear,’ Bingen said. �ŚToo much like a boy’s name to suit you. You’re too nice a little girl to have a boy’s name. Come on, drink the tea, and don’t worry. We’ll look after you.’ �ŚHum! You will? Anyway, she doesn’t want looking after now, because she’s perfectly all right. Aren’t you, Janet?’ �ŚI’m better now. I’m sorry I was a nuisance to you. I’ll try and be brave in future.’ She replaced the cup, after drinking the tea, and smiled up at me. �ŚI’m better.’ �ŚD’you think you could manage to tell us all about things now?’ �ŚI think so. But there isn’t much that I know. I don’t know what happened, or what they were.’ �ŚWe don’t either,’ I told her. �ŚBut supposing you try and tell us just what happened to you from the start.’ �ŚWe were sitting on deck, Dad and I,’ Janet began, and her voice came so softly between quivering lips we could hardly hear, but as she spoke it grew stronger, continued more firmly. �ŚMother had gone ashore. She took Bert, he’s the boy, to carry back the shopping. Dad was smoking and I was knitting, socks they were, for him. That was in the evening. Well, mother was visiting after she had finished shopping, and would be very late. We were going to wait up for her. That was on Saturday. What day is it now?’ �ŚWhat day is it, Bingen? I’m hanged if I know.’ �ŚThree days we were in the tunnel. That makes it Wednesday.’ �ŚI’ve been hidden under the cargo for three days?’ Janet asked incredulously. �ŚOh, I couldn’t have been.’ �ŚYou must have,’ I said. �ŚToday’s Wednesday all right. But carry on, and tell us what happened.’ �ŚWell, I’m not very sure about the time, because I was asleep in the chair,’ she continued, knitting her brows thoughtfully. �ŚI don’t know what woke me up, but something did. Dad was staring up at the sky to the east. He lit his pipe and said there wasn’t anything the matter; but there was, because suddenly, all the ships started sounding their whistles and sirens. I couldn’t understand what for, until Dad pointed out a tremendous black cloud coming down to the water. It didn’t drip round us, but I was looking towards the Wanderer and the Daisy Bell, and I thought a lot of black pigeons had settled on them. I only know the Daisy Bell and the Wanderer, but all the other boats were the same. Covered with those black things.’ �ŚDidn’t they settle on this boat?’ Bingen queried. �ŚLet the girl tell her story and don’t interrupt,’ I said. �ŚGo on, Janet.’ �ŚI asked Dad what the things were, on the boats over there, and heard him say something which made me turn round, and on the barge with us were some of them! Ugh!’ Janet shivered. �ŚThey were terrible. What are they, mister? You’ve seen them, haven’t you?’ �ŚYes. We’ve seen them,’ I said soberly. �ŚWe’ve seen them, but we haven’t the faintest idea what they are.’ �ŚSeen them,’ Bingen growled. �ŚSeen them! Why, one of them was on me in the tunnel and it . . .’ �ŚWe don’t want to hear about that now. Go on, kid.’ �Śwell, those horrible black birds were on the barge. Like bats I’ve seen pictures of, except that they were larger. And then they dropped all over us. Our barge was the same as the others. They were on Dad’s legs, and he was trying to kick them off. I ought to have helped him, but I was too frightened to move. I ought to have helped him.’ �ŚYou couldn’t have done anything to help. We were frightened when we saw them, weren’t we, Bingen?’ �ŚDad threw some off the barge, but as lots of them were coming he caught hold of me, pulled the cargo apart and pushed me in. Covered me over with the boards.’ �ŚCould your dad do anything with then? Hurt them?’ �ŚI don’t know, but I saw him throw quite a lot of them overboard. They kept on dropping. When he was pulling me into the cargo there were two on his legs. Hanging on while he carried me. I was terrified, and didn’t do anything to help.’ �ŚOf course you couldn’t have done anything,’ I assured her. �ŚAnd then . . .?’ �ŚThen, I think I must have fainted. I’ve never fainted before in my life. But one of those things clambered on to me! It was horrible. Look.’ She extended her hand, and on the wrist was a tiny red puncture encircled by a ring of pinkily flushed skin. �ŚThat’s where it bit me, I think.’ �ŚYes, that’s it. I’ve got two marks on my cheek just like that,’ said Bingen. �ŚLook here.’ �ŚWill you keep quiet! We don’t want to be reminded about it now,’ I told him curtly. �ŚForget it! Go on, Janet.’ �ŚDad pushed me under the boards and piled them all over me. He pulled some out too. I could hear him calling that it was all right,’ the girl said. �ŚThen I must have kept on fainting, lying there in the dark. I was so frightened. I was covered right up, you see, and couldn’t move. There was just a tiny crack I found later on, but the first time I peeped through I couldn’t see anything. Then it started to get hot. It grew hotter and hotter until I thought I was going to get burned. I could smell smoke and hear fire crackling, and I tried to throw off the boards, but I couldn’t. Then, when the light came, I peeped through the crack again and saw those things sitting on the deck, and close to the crack I could see something black, as if one of them was sitting on the piles of boards over me. So I lay still.’ �ŚThere was probably a lot of them sitting there on top of you,’ said Bingen. �ŚWaiting for you to come out.’ �ŚShut up! Anyway, it was a good job you couldn’t get out, wasn’t it!’ �ŚYes. I believe there were a lot of them, because I could feel the boards moving. So I wouldn’t have come out, if I could have. I lay there crying, until I seemed to have been in there for weeks. I started screaming every now and then. I screamed for help at first, and then, just because I was frightened. I cried because I couldn’t understand what had become of Dad. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t come and let me out.’ �ŚWe couldn’t understand why the watchman didn’t come and let us out either, could we, Garry?’ �ŚDidn’t you hear us call out?’ I asked her. �ŚDidn’t you hear us come aboard?’ �ŚYes. I heard you hail us,’ Janet answered. �ŚI was too frightened to answer at first, and then when I heard someone clambering up the side and go wandering all over the boat, throwing things about and swearing, that made me more frightened.’ I looked grimly at Bingen. �ŚHe was searching for food,’ I told Janet. �ŚWe hadn’t had any for three days.’ �ŚI thought you were robbers.’ Bingen’s hand went sheepishly to his pocket, in which reposed the twenty pounds he had taken from the cupboard. �ŚYou didn’t . . .’ the girl’s voice was anxious as she asked, �ŚYou didn’t see anything of Dad when you came aboard?’ �ŚNo,’ I answered, and kicked Bingen’s ankle when I saw he was about to speak. I felt ashamed I hadn’t been gentler throwing her father overboard, but I was glad I had done so. If she had seen him . . .! �ŚYou’d better try and eat something. After all this time you’ll want something to get your strength back.’ Bingen cut meat, placed it on biscuits, and, after a while trying vainly to swallow, Janet managed to eat. We sat there a long time, and she told us of her life on the barge, of her travels, mostly between The Pool and Gravesend, while Bingen and I made a fuss of her. She was such a plucky kid. That is what I thought. Eventually she dropped off to sleep, even whilst speaking, and we laid her in the bunk, covered her with blankets after I had removed her shoes. I watched her soberly, worriedly. �ŚGod, Bingen! What are we going to do with her?’ �ŚOh, what d’you always do with girls? Train ’em up in the way they should go,’ he grinned. �ŚI’ll look after her all right myself if you’re nervous.’ �ŚYou’ll want looking after yourself,’ I told him menacingly, �Śif you don’t watch your step with her.’ �ŚGoing to save her up for yourself?’ �ŚDon’t be a bigger fool than you can help, Bingen. And for the love of Mike, forget things like that about this kid. We’ll just take care of her until down the river we find someone to hand her over to.’ Round about noon the girl woke with a tiny scream which brought both of us jumping to her side to soothe and reassure her until she wakened thoroughly. I wiped tears from her cheeks. Tears were never far from her eyes during the next few weeks, but all through she behaved so bravely that at times I was ashamed of my fears, and her courage made Bingen scowl and sulk occasionally. �ŚWe’ll make a good meal, and then we’ll be off along the river out of this,’ I said at last. �ŚCome along, Janet, give us a hand to get dinner.’ We dined satisfactorily from fried bacon, stale bread, and tea. We all gulped thirstily at our tea, for the cabin was hot, and a thin layer of fine grey ash covered everything. With the meal finished, we set about preparing for our departure. �ŚIf there’s anything you want to take along, Janet, we’ll pack it for you.’ �ŚI should like to take a few things.’ She packed some little treasures into a bag, and foolishly I carried them instead of the parcel of food I wanted to take. �ŚAw, we’ll be able to get plenty of food,’ Bingen averred. �ŚThere’s no need to load ourselves up with parcels.’ Against my intuition, I gave in to him, and when we clambered up the hatchway we were free of all encumbrances but for Janet’s parcel. The sword and rifle lay in the dinghy. The sky was blue, unmarked by any moving thing but a few fat, lazy white clouds, and we turned from our inspection of it to the water and the close-by barges. Nothing moved on their burned decks. We lifted the girl from below, and then, one by one, clambered down into the dinghy. �ŚNow we’re off,’ I called cheerily, for Janet was on the point of tears at leaving her wrecked home. �ŚSoon we’ll be out of all this and among people again.’ �ŚWill we?’ �ŚOf course we will,’ and somehow as I said it I knew that I was wrong. The dinghy swung into the stream while I fitted oars into rowlocks. �ŚOh! Look! Both the Wanderer and the Daisy Bell are burned out,’ the girl cried as we swept from under the bows of the barge into midstream. �ŚAnd the others as well. The shore! Everything’s burned!’ �ŚYou don’t want to trouble too much about that. Don’t want to look about too much as we go along.’ I tried to make my voice comforting. �ŚThe whole of London we’ve passed until now has been burned. When we get lower down we’ll find things better.’ Hastily, I pulled away from some corpses surrounded by debris floating past, and hoped fervently she had not seen. From their appearance they seemed to me as if they had been caught by Vampires on some vessel, and, when the boat burned to the water’s edge, floated free. Stealthily I tried to see if she had noticed them. From the whiteness of her face and the quick beating of her bosom under her jersey I gathered she had, but she smiled at me bravely, and I dug oars in the river and pulled on. Janet was game. She must have had a worse time under those piled boards than Bingen and I, but she behaved splendidly throughout the whole trip. Alone on the barge! What must she have gone through? Perhaps it was because she did not comprehend sufficiently. Perhaps now, her confidence in Bingen and I was implicit. At all events, it was only when she got into direct contact with the Vampires she actually lost control of herself. Even when I could see her thoughts turning anguishingly about her mother and father, she did not break down. The dinghy lurched on, unsteady under my amateur oarsmanship, a tiny interloping spot in a fantastic grey, red, and blue world. It was incredible how the fire spread, desolating the countryside, for nowhere, that we could see, had escaped. Stretched to the horizon, grey ash and dull red, smouldering, smoke-topped debris. No longer, except at intervals, was the hissing roar of flame in our ears, but the river was far from silent, for intermittently came crashes and explosions as some tottering shell of a building fell. Here, with the river opening out, it was cooler. The ash did not trouble us so much, but the bigger ships were here, and it was dangerous work passing them. Spars and timbers smouldered and made our eyes smart. Flotsam and jetsam drifted past. �ŚGod! Stop pulling.’ Bingen’s voice held terror. �ŚWe can’t go any further. Garry, look!’ Turning a sweeping bend, we rounded the river to run into a very inferno! Ahead, on the northern bank, were clustered the squat tanks of an oil company, and burning oil, running from gaping cylinders, spread in a solid mass of flaming petroleum across the river. From bank to bank was a wall of smoke-topped flame. Black and scarlet. Underneath the river raced, boiling and tumbling. �ŚThere isn’t any way we can get through?’ I stared from side to side. �ŚWe’ll have to land. We can’t go by there.’ �ŚPull a little closer, so that we can see.’ �ŚIf you haven’t got eyes to see from here, going closer to that isn’t any good, Bingen.’ �ŚWhat’re we going to do?’ �ŚWe can choose between the two banks,’ I answered, scanning each side of the river. �ŚThe south side looks best to me.’ To the north was an open space hemmed by burned buildings, where grass had once been green, and trees once dressed a park. Now it was ash-grey, with tree-stumps protruding grimly. The south was more promising. Swampy marshland lay flatly, unbroken along the shore, and buildings were scattered, so that there had been nothing to burn, though grey ash covered the country. �ŚGarry!’ Bingen whispered to me, and his thumb jerked significantly towards the sky over his shoulder. �ŚLook at the back of us.’ In the distance I saw a cloud moving slowly towards the horizon. �ŚNo need to worry about them. Too far away. Besides, they’re moving away from us.’ �ŚNo matter how far away they are, they’re to be worried about,’ Bingen growled, and followed the cloud with anxious eyes. �ŚWe’ve got to get somewhere to be safe, and the sooner we do it the better I’ll like it.’ �ŚAll we had in mind was just getting away down the river,’ I mused. �ŚNow we’ve gone as far as we can, what next? It seems to me, the only thing we can do is settle on some definite place to go, and make for it. We might go rambling all over the country and then be caught napping. You got any suggestions, Bingen?’ �ŚNo. I only want to get away.’ �ŚWhat about you, Janet? Can you suggest where we ought to make for?’ �ŚNo. I only know the river and the riversides between here and Gravesend.’ �ŚSeems then, it’s up to me.’ I thought rapidly, pulling meditatively on the oars when we threatened to drift closer to the burning oil. �ŚLet’s weigh things up. We want a refuge from those things if they should come back. We want food, water, and to find other survivors. To try to pick on a direction that would bring us to other people would be striking off blindly anywhere. What we want is some definite objective with sanctuary at the end of the trail. That means we want somewhere with something like our tunnel or a cave.’ �ŚWe can’t go back to the tunnel,’ Bingen said foolishly. �ŚA cave. Let me think. Once I took a bus out to the country past Croydon. What was the name of the place? Churley. That was it! Churley Hills. I remember, in the middle of the hills about half a dozen cottages in a valley.’ �ŚWhat good will they be to us?’ Bingen scoffed. �ŚWe want some dug-out, or pit, or something.’ �ŚOh, don’t I know it! Wait a minute. The gardens of those cottages ran right back into a cliff, and in the cliff they had got caves cut. Served as stores or coal-houses, or something. If the whole of the country is like this,’ I waved a hand round the boat, �Śwe might be able to live in the cottages, they were stone, unless my memory fails me, and dive for the caves if necessary. If neither of you can suggest anything better, I’ll pull in to the bank and we’ll make a start.’ �ŚLet’s go away from here,’ Bingen urged. �ŚYou want to get away from here too, don’t you, Janet?’ �ŚI want to, but I should like to try and find out where Dad and Mother are,’ she said. �ŚBut I’ll go where you say.’ �ŚThere isn’t a chance in a thousand of finding your people right away,’ I told her. �ŚLater on, when the things have gone, and folks start appearing from wherever they’ve got to, then we can have a look round for them.’ Bingen, in the bows with a length of timber ready to fend off burning driftwood, nudged me and nodded towards the sky. Again I saw a cloud of Vampires. We did not drop to the bottom of the boat for fear of alarming Janet, but we watched anxiously, until we saw they moved away from us, and then I pulled once again on the oars, and Bingen turned back to his task of watching the water ahead. We neared the bank. �ŚWait a minute, Garry,’ Bingen called. �ŚThere’s something in the water. Looks like a cash-box. Pull a bit to the left while I see what’s in it.’ �ŚDon’t be foolish. What’s the use of money to us?’ I demurred, but bent over the side of the boat, and as it seemed interesting, pulled the dinghy closer. �ŚFish it out then, and be quick.’ Among some broken ships’ timbers littered with sodden clothing, supported upon the wood, there floated a black box, with corners strongly reinforced by iron bands. Bingen brought it aboard with a heave. �ŚShan’t be a minute, it’s nearly open now. May be some worthwhile stuff in it.’ The lid wrenched open, and he pulled out handfuls of wet papers�"books, what I think was a ship’s log, a handful of coins, and several charts. Bingen was disappointed, but when I saw what lay at the bottom I leant forward excitedly. Two Colt revolvers and a small waterproof package of what looked like ammunition. �ŚGive me those guns. Open the packet to see if they are cartridges, and find out if they’re dry.’ Taking the guns, I spun cylinders and broke them. They were wet, but otherwise in good condition. I dried them carefully upon my trousers. �ŚThe ammo’ seems all right,’ Bingen told me, and handed over some cartridges. �ŚI think maybe these’ll be of more use to us than a dozen boxes of gold. They may be useless against the Vampires, but if nearly all the people have been wiped out, there’ll probably be gangs about, and it’ll be every man for himself.’ I loaded the guns and gave one to Bingen, sticking the other in the waistband of my trousers. �ŚAh! That gives me a comforting feeling of security, jammed against my side.’ The dinghy ran ashore upon a mud flat, and making sure the ground would bear me, I waded past the mud, tethered the boat to a clump of marsh grass, and returned to carry the girl ashore. Bingen, I saw, had made ready to do that, and I grinned at him when later he clambered from the boat and, taking another course, stumbled deep in the water to his armpits. �ŚTrouble is, with you your behind’s too close to the ground,’ I called to him.� And while he struggled in the mud and water, whispered quickly to the girl. �ŚBingen is quite all right, but he’s a bit of a� . . . Oh, I dunno, he’s a bit of a ladykiller. You don’t want to be too chummy with him. Understand?’ �ŚI think so, mister,’ Janet answered. �ŚBut I think he is all right, really.’ �ŚOf course he is, but, well, I suppose you’re not old enough to understand. But anyway, don’t flirt with him. You understand that?’ �ŚOld enough? . . . Why . . .’ and then she glanced from me and called to Bingen when he landed floundering and swearing softly, �ŚAre you all right, mister?’ �ŚMister?’ Bingen raised eyebrows at her and grinned at me. �ŚMister! You aren’t on a boat now. There’s no misters here. Call me Bingen, the same as this long-legged camel does.’ �ŚWe’ll all have time to make friends properly and call each other pet names later on,’ I cut in. �ŚNow we are ashore, the best thing we can do is to get moving towards Churley, and move quickly.� As it is, I doubt whether we’ll get there tonight. And we want to get some sort of a caboose to settle in before it’s dark. Come on.’ We went winding among the tufted clumps of tall grass and hummocks of the swampy marshlands, towards where a cluster of buildings indicated a road. The damp grass over which we passed was hardly burned, but everywhere ash had fallen, so that we were almost deceived into walking upon the hidden stagnant water. Somehow, the fact that we had a definite objective cheered us, and, reaching the road, we set off briskly. �ŚIf we see anything better on the road than the caves I remember at Churley, we’ll stay there, but anyway, it seems we’ll have to find some place for tonight.’ With the girl between us we must have seemed a queer trinity. Bingen, smothered in mud, trousers torn, and shirt-sleeves rolled above hairy arms, rifle slung over his shoulder and a revolver thrust into his trousers, a stubbly beard turning him from a modern driver of a brewer’s van into an old-time buccaneer; and myself, much in the same state. The girl, slim and dainty, between us two ruffians, with curls free in the wind, in a blue jersey and skirt that was soiled and creased. �ŚBingen, I’m carrying the bag as well as the ammunition. I think we’ll divide it and I’m going to fire a couple of shots to see if the guns are all right.’ The cartridges shared equally, I fired a round from Bingen’s pistol and then, taking as a target a heap of bricks some fifty yards down the road where a small building had stood, I shot and watched red dust fly from the striking bullets. The shots reverberated curiously in the silence. Echoes died, and we smiled at each other, satisfied with the results, and then we were jerked into alertness. From the tumbled building there boomed a terrible cursing voice, unnaturally deep, with the thundering shakiness that comes from an overloaded radio loudspeaker. It cursed monotonously, without expression, like a cracked gramophone record repeating the same phrases tonelessly. Janet whitened, crouched close to me, and Bingen stood protectingly before her. I stared at the place from where the unbelievable voice boomed, and then nudged Bingen. �ŚFor God’s sake go and see what it is,’ he nodded. �ŚI’ll look after the girl.’ I walked slowly forward. The small building had been, evidently, some sort of meter house or power station, for a twisted welter of pipes ran diverging into it. Ashes swirled about my feet as I clambered over the fallen brickwork, and that weird, bull voice resounded in the silence, thundering a ceaseless stream of cursing blasphemy. Amid the ruins I searched, and then, from beneath one of the tanks to the left, I saw the legs of a man. Or the legs of what had once been a man! A strongly riveted boiler or tank, with a small circular opening in the side, and from this opening protruded the legs. On the other side, as I bent over to see, there was a smaller hole, where some connection had broken away, and through this there protruded the remains of a hand and wrist. I understood! He had dived for the tank from Vampires, but had been unable to pull the whole of his body into safety. The hand had been thrust into the smaller aperture to close it. His voice in that tank had been amplified into a booming horror. Gingerly, I pulled him out into the ashes floating about. From between his snarling white lips dropped, in a whisper now that he was in the open, an unceasing stream of filth. His body, sheltered in the tank, was untouched, but his legs to the thighs, where they had been uncovered, and one wrist and hand . . .! The Vampires had been at work. His sagging dry skin was punctured with innumerable tiny red pin pricks. He did not know that I had pulled him free, did not know anything. But for the voice, thin and shrill now, he was dead. How long he had been there like that, how long he might have lived like that, I could not guess, but living . . . he was dead. I shot him through the head. �ŚLet’s get on,’ I said, and had to lick dry lips to speak as I motioned Janet and Bingen forward. �ŚWe’ll get on.’ �ŚBut the shot,’ Bingen asked, but stopped when he saw my face. �ŚAll right! All right!’ Janet was silent, watching me anxiously, and I tried to smile at her. �ŚWasn’t anything. Nothing to worry about.’ To us now the open country, rather than the dusty road and its edging ruins, appealed, and we travelled across the fields. Thoughts of fleeing from a concerted attack of things which had done that to the man back in the ruins, into the red embers of some burning building, were appalling. Out here, we would have a sporting chance. From the crest of a hill we stared back, and I saw that the place where the man had been was a sewage farm. An appropriate place! We went on, skirting some large town which I think was Woolwich, and hurried on at our best pace towards Churley, guessing at the direction. �ŚWe won’t get there before nightfall. Keep your eye open for some place that looks good enough to camp down for the night.’ �ŚI feel pretty hungry,’ Bingen grumbled. �ŚCould do with some of that stuff we left in the barge.’ �ŚAnd a pretty daft couple of fools we were to leave it there,’ I said savagely. And then, concerned at the expression on Janet’s face, added quickly, �ŚBut never mind. Soon we’ll find somewhere that hasn’t been burned too much, and there’s bound to be grub.’ Leaving Janet and Bingen, I went ahead, following the road, but keeping it at some distance, and waved back to them to detour that she might be spared the sight of a huddled crowd of people lying by a burned tree in the corner of a field. Climbing to the heights of a sort of downland, I could see across the countryside, and look down on razed towns. Away to the horizon was a misty pall of grey, and here and there still flamed isolated villages, sending up to the heavens, as though in mute prayer, streamers of blue smoke. Hardly discernible it was, but I think, away from roads and houses, the grass and trees retained slight traces of their natural colour, so that I grew hopeful we might find the land lush and green when we left the towns far behind. I searched the country, while behind me, Janet and Bingen struggled up the long slope. I watched them for a moment. The girl was beginning to tire, and Bingen aided her. And then my attention was distracted from them. Shadows on the ground before me were the first indications I had of danger, and I shot a glance upwards. High above, a crowd of� Vampires dropped out of the sky. For a split second I stared at them, and then turned to scan the open country despairingly. Like a terrified rabbit I ran to and fro on the ridge, and down below Bingen and the girl watched me helplessly. I yelled and pointed upwards, and they began to run, scrambling, slipping on the ash-covered turf. I left them, and ran, frantically, peering here and there for refuge, and foolishly, they ran with me, down at the bottom of the slope, instead of climbing for the crest. The downs dropped sheer away into a deep cutting, and, sliding down, I saw at the bottom a shallow indentation. Here was a place! I heaved and struggled with a boulder, and then another, to bar the opening, and while I struggled they were upon me. As I bent, one of the things settled on my back. I threw it off. Another clamped tightly to my leg. I kicked it away, and then, with the shelter ready, forced my way through the Vampires huddling about me up the cliff with fingers tearing at slipping gravel. They climbed, with me, fluttering above in little excited jumps and dropping on to me. Before I reached the top I began to call breathlessly. �ŚBingen! Bingen! This way!’ They were on the hill looking down at me, and, above them, other Vampires were dropping silently. �ŚFor God’s sake come down! Slide down anyhow. Bingen, throw the girl down.’ But they would not, and stood staring stupidly while I endeavoured to climb up to them. Sweating, I searched the precipice for footholds, and when I glanced upwards again, Janet was prone on the hilltop, and, straddling her, Bingen fought off fluttering Vampires with the bayoneted rifle swirling round his head. More of those beastly things were converging from the sky! �ŚPull her down here, Bingen. I’ll be with you in a minute. There’s a place down here.’ I heaved myself over the top of the cliff, rolling to rid myself of� Vampire Bats clamped on my back. The sword came from my belt, and I was with them, and Bingen, as he saw me, was white as death. Upon the ground Janet lay in a dead swoon, and cuddling close to her were two Vampires. So close that the sword I swung was useless, and it was then I discovered the best way to deal with them. As the girl’s father had done on the boat, I caught them by their wings, hurled them away. They fell dazedly, to lay struggling to regain their equilibrium. �ŚBingen, get down into the cutting. I’ve got a place there we can defend. Bingen, I’ll manage the girl. Get down!’ He did not answer. When I glanced at him, his face was hopeless, jaw dropped open, eyes bulged terrified. Bending over the girl, I felt two Vampires drop on my back, and had to reach to fling them away before lifting Janet’s limp form to slide and tumble down the cliff. Into the cutting I flung her, and with the stabbing sword protected the entrance as the things attempted to crawl in after us. I shouted cursingly to Bingen. �ŚBingen. Come down. We’re all right in here. Come.’ I pulled Janet behind the boulder and went after Bingen. With knowledge that the things could be thrown off fairly easily, I went with better courage. Again I called, but he did not answer, and I clambered up the ascent with the things hindering me. Through my shirt I felt the muzzle of one clamped to the skin on my shoulder! On the hill, Bingen was half-standing, half-crouching, motionless, with arms held about his head. Upon him were Vampires, and he did not move. I tore them from him, pushed and tumbled him to the edge, thrust him over to reach the bottom almost simultaneously, dragged him in beside Janet, and shuddered to see three of the great bats humped beside her, whilst at the entrance others waited for Bingen and I, watching our approach. Bingen was helpless, and he dropped where I dragged him, behind the boulder. Two Vampires I flung into the open, and the third crawled into the place they vacated, ignoring me. I flung that away over the heads of those behind the boulder, kicking and stabbing as they shuffled closer. Even in the confined space here, I found the best way to deal with them was to clutch at a wing and fling them one by one as far away as possible. A horrible effect was, that even while one did this, the thing’s muzzle would twist round, and one could feel its snout sucking at one’s wrist! They crowded me farther between the boulders, so that I had to retreat until I could not hurl them away. I had to snatch up the sword, stab, and thrust at them. �ŚBingen! How long are you going to be before you come and help me?’ I called, sweating. �ŚThere’s not many. Together, we could get rid of them.’ With Bingen to prevent them nearing Janet, I would go into the open, for against these few I felt I could make headway, throwing them to the ground, slicing at them with the sword while they struggled to regain their balance. Beheading them! Turning quickly, I saw that he lay flat, unmoving, while over him Janet bent, rubbing his hands, calling softly to him. Then a Vampire curling about my feet kept me busy. When I had stabbed and kicked it away I called to her. �ŚI can keep them out. We’re all right in here. But I must have a spell soon. You’re a great kid. Keep at him, and he’ll soon come to.’ Even as I spoke I heard Bingen groan, and, turning, saw him lurch to his feet. He stood steadying himself with a hand against the gravel, regaining courage. �ŚAll right now, Bingen? Come on, old son, and give me a hand. The kid’ll be all right. Come and give me a hand.’ My arm, as I turned, knocked against the gun tucked in my trousers. Until then I had forgotten it! I lugged it out and drove a shot at one of the big bats sitting close, and through its head the heavy slug tore, but it never moved or altered its expression. Four shots I had to pump into it before it toppled over, and then it bent slowly, sagged, and lay like a bundle of old rags, limply. Maybe I had hit a vulnerable spot. The gun was useless against them. One would want lorry loads of ammunition to obliterate them. Perhaps it was as well that, until now, I had forgotten the gun. Otherwise I might have wasted all the cartridges. �ŚThey had you on the run just now, Garry,’ Bingen pushed into line with me, and had the audacity to point at the encircling Vampires, speak jeeringly. �ŚMade you run. I didn’t think that you’d go back on a pal. Here, let me give you a hand.’ For a minute I was too surprised to answer. Then I understood. Bingen was impressing Janet. I answered him softly, scowlingly: �ŚIf I’d gone back on you, my little dear, you’d never have got out of that girlish attack of the vapours you had just now. Stand here, and keep them out, away from the girl, and I’ll go and see if I can do anything with them.’ �ŚNo! Don’t risk it, Garry. Let ’em be.’ Bingen caught my arm. �ŚWe’re all right here. Stop in here.’ �ŚDon’t be windy. The things can’t hurt, unless there is so many of them that you get swamped. I’ve found out how to deal with them. You take a lesson from me.’ Anything was better than squatting hopelessly in the gravel cutting, and I went out to discover whether or no I could actually better these bats with this opportunity while they were few. Narrowing their encroaching circle, they came to meet me, as though accepting the challenge, and with a spring I was among them, to grab one by a wing, hurl it away. As it fell I was upon it, the sword slashing downwards. One after another I treated like that, excited that I could master them, and Bingen shouted encouragement. One of them fastened on to my boot after decapitation, and I had to kick it away with my other foot, for I was too sick to handle it. Thirty or so I killed before the last one lay trembling, endeavouring to regain its balance as I walked towards it, for I was too tired to jump. it watched me approach before I sliced at it. Curiously, I felt vague sympathy, or if not sympathy, some queer kind of emotion, as the sword cut into it. The things were so impersonal, it seemed that they had no dislike against us, no feeling at all. It is difficult to explain, but there it is. The sky was clear when I went back into the hole and sat upon a boulder. Janet sat there, white-faced but plucky, and Bingen came and squatted beside us. �ŚWe ought to get on,’ I said presently. �ŚWe want a place where there is food as well as safety. Even though we’re all right here for the time we oughtn’t to stop. We’ll go on, if you’re ready, Janet.’ �ŚAre you fit to go on yet?’ she cried, and to my surprise laid her hand on Bingen’s arm, for I thought that she spoke to me. �ŚD’you feel that you can go on now?’ �ŚOf course he’s ready to go on. Why shouldn’t he be?’ I grumbled. Insanely, I felt a twinge of what was almost jealousy, that she should be so concerned about Bingen when it was I who had saved them. She didn’t seem to care whether or not I was fit to go on. �ŚHe’s all right, so we’ll get along if you’re ready,� Janet. The afternoon’s drawing in and we must get somewhere before dark. I believe the things can see in the dark. We can’t.’ �ŚSee in the dark,’ Janet cried, and hid shocked face in her hands. �ŚOh! Don’t! Don’t!’ �ŚI’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,’ I said, and went to comfort her, but Bingen was before me. �ŚI spoke without thinking.’ �ŚDidn’t think, you big stiff,’ Bingen scolded and grinned at me behind her back as he clasped an arm about her. �ŚWhat the hell d’you mean by trying to frighten her like that.’ Astonishingly, Janet flung off Bingen’s arm and turned to follow me from the cave. �ŚI know you didn’t mean to frighten me,’ she said softly. �ŚI’m sorry.’ �ŚThat’s all right. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to frighten you either, so we’re quits.” We went from the gravel workings to where a broad road wound about the bottom of the downs, to follow it for some distance until it neared blackened and fallen houses. Then we left it again for the grey fields. �ŚQueer how one gets so rapidly accustomed to startling changes, isn’t it?’ I mused. �ŚThe other day we should have stared to see ash over everything like this, and now we just take it as a matter of course. Got used to seeing bare burned earth, leafless trees, ruined houses, and no one but ourselves.’ Thirst began to trouble us, for the day was tropically hot, and the streams we passed that weren’t dry, were bitter, arid to the taste. Under my breath, I cursed myself for having been foolish enough to have carried Janet’s bag instead of bringing food along, for I was hungry. Yet, who would have thought that we would walk through the outskirts of London for many hours without finding food of some description. On rising ground, we halted to reconnoitre. Nestling away to the north in our direction was a great house set amid blackened stumps of trees, and at some distance from it, at the bend of a sweeping drive, was what, I suppose, was the gate-lodge. The building was burned, but its walls stood, and some of the roof was intact. Overhead the sky was darkening. �ŚI’ll go on and have a look at that place,’ I said to them. �ŚCome along after me slowly, and then I’ll shout you if it’s good enough.’ I hoped fervently it might be all right to spend the night, and went on swiftly towards the lodge, through great iron gates along a flagged stone path and into the building. Inside, furniture was tumbled, things were scattered over the floor in the ashes as though there had been a terrific fight. And in the small room at the back I found the bodies of two men and a child. I pulled them into hiding in the garden and, after I had kicked one or two articles out through the door, went to the front to call Janet and Bingen. They stood nervously by the iron gates and came quickly when I called them. �ŚWell, well, well,’ Bingen said cheerily, entering to sit and swing legs upon a table he righted. �ŚThis is like home. Do us fine, won’t it, Janet?’ �ŚIt won’t do me fine until it’s fortified a bit more.’ I pushed him from the table, and when Janet stepped forward as though to prevent me pushing him, I wished that I had thrust with three times as much force. �ŚWell, before you get settled and feel too much at home, we’ll have the doorway blocked and the roof pulled over if we can manage that.’ Tables from adjoining rooms barricaded the door, and we stood upon chairs and heaved at the fallen roof until it collapsed and fell to cover the room entirely. While we were busy, Janet had made herself useful. A fire was alight in the stove, and she had raided a larder to find tea, biscuits, and two tins of fruit. A tap in an outhouse gave us water, and after Bingen and I had sluiced some of the stains of travelling through the ash-covered country from ourselves and slaked our thirst with great gulps of the cold water, we went in to find quite a plentiful table arrayed before us. �ŚThere isn’t any milk, and the biscuits are all the bread I can find,’ Janet said smilingly. �ŚThere’s some porridge that I didn’t cook. I will if you like.’ �ŚNo. Of course not,’ I answered, pulling a chair to the table. �ŚThis will be all we’ll want tonight. More than I expected to get, I can tell you. The porridge will do famously for breakfast, and you don’t feel like cooking tonight, I’ll be bound. You must be tired out.’ �ŚOh, I’m all right, mister.’ �ŚAnyway, you’ll have to get a good night’s sleep in tonight. And, by the way, my dear, I wish you wouldn’t call me mister.’ �ŚWhat you want her to call you? Darling?’ Bingen said, with his mouth full. He grinned at my scowl. �ŚYou notice she’s even swept the floor? That’s the kind of girl I’m asking to marry me when I feel like marrying. One who can cook a meal out of nothing, and cook it in a place that’s swept clean.’ �ŚKind of girl you’d marry. Why, you old swab, you’re past the marrying age,’ I laughed at him. �ŚIf you are set on it, you’ll have to wait a few years until Janet grows up. Wouldn’t mind waiting for her myself, if I didn’t know I was too old to think about getting married.’ �ŚWait for her to grow up!’ Bingen grinned at Janet, and passed his cup for more tea. She refilled it, and I saw that she had flushed scarlet. Bingen gulped noisily and laughed. �ŚWait until she grows up. Ha! That’s a good one. How old d’you think a girl has to be before she’s grown up, Garry?’ �ŚA good deal older than that child,’ I answered shortly. �ŚWhat’s the joke?’ �ŚYou’re not to tease any more,’ Janet called to Bingen, and turned to me. �ŚDon’t take any notice of him, mister.’ �ŚDon’t call me mister. but what is the joke?’ �ŚThe joke is, my long-legged numskull,’ Bingen grinned spitefully, �Śthe joke is, that you’ve been treating this young lady as though she was a baby, and all the time she’s a young woman. That’s the joke. She’s eighteen . . . not thirteen!’ I stared at the girl, and my face grew red thinking of the things I had said to her, some of the things I had done to her, and as I stared at her she flushed with me. Eighteen! Honestly, I hadn’t thought her more than twelve or thirteen. Had treated her as a schoolgirl. And Bingen, the swab, had known it all along, been laughing at me. I remembered particularly helping her over a fence, and she had bothered about her skirts. I had slapped a portion of her anatomy where one emphatically does not smack young ladies. I grew crimson as I remembered, and then she laughed at me and cleared the tension. �ŚI . . . I . . . Eh . . . I’m really sorry,’ I stammered. �ŚHonestly, I thought you were only a kid. Anyway, that’s all you are to me, and, perhaps if I’d known how old you were, I wouldn’t have been able to manage you, stopped you crying. I hope you’ll forgive me.’ �ŚThere isn’t anything to forgive. It is silly to think anything about it at all. Bingen was stupid to mention it,’ Janet answered shyly. �ŚYou have been so sweet to me, and I knew from the way you spoke that you thought me younger than I am. You won’t stop looking after me because I’m not a baby?’ �ŚOf course I won’t.’ �ŚMake him want to look after you all the more,’ Bingen grinned. �ŚYou’ll get what’s coming to you in a minute,’ I said, and stared at him thoughtfully. He had been very attentive to the girl, and the reputation he had in the old days was not good. Bingen was a lady-killer. I hoped he would not cut any capers with Janet. �ŚBingen, no one in his senses would think about anything now, except getting safely away. Understand?’ �ŚOh, it’s only a joke, Garry. Don’t get hot under the collar.’ �ŚLet’s forget that you’re a young woman again, then,’ I smiled at Janet. �ŚAnd we’ll treat you as a baby in arms until we’ve found a place where there’s someone to look after you. Shall we? We’ll try to get some sleep now, and then be off early in the morning to see what comes along. We’ll fix you up some kind of bed in the corner by the fire, and Bingen and I’ll stand guard turn and turn about during the night.’ Throughout the night Bingen and I kept watch. Staring through a crack in the barricaded window at some flames which lit the night away to the south, while soundly, under a covering thin enough to line her form, Janet slept by the fire, tired out by her ordeal. Before she slept I had seen her lips moving soundlessly, and knew that she thought of her mother and father. How good she was not to speak of them. I knew that she did not, solely to save us embarrassment. During the night I watched her and Bingen sleeping, and hoped that there would be no trouble between us in the event of having to spend a few days together. Then I shrugged shoulders and sipped at the jug of tea Janet had left for the guard. After all, there could be no trouble, even were we three the only three in the world, for it seemed that she definitely preferred Bingen. There would be no squabbling over her, but in the event of Bingen . . . But it was foolish to cross bridges before coming to them, even though, somehow, I knew I was rapidly approaching one. It had been I, not Bingen, who had saved her, and, foolishly, I felt a little twinge of what almost must have been . . . Anyway, I felt foolish. � � � VI The Flight Across the Marshes GARRY! Garry! Time to turn out. Be daylight in half an hour.’ �ŚRighto, Bingen. You can turn in for a little while until we’re ready to start off if you want to.’ Bingen shook my arm until I was thoroughly awake, and then made himself comfortable on the blankets I vacated. With the two of them sleeping soundly I pulled the furniture from the door as quietly as I could and went out into the morning. A heat mist lay deep over the earth, and the sky was unbroken with promise of another fine day. It is curious how, since the appearance of Khaenealler’s Comet, the weather has developed from the rain, winds, and snow of an English spring, into the unbroken hot sunshine of a tropical clime. Baking heat, blazing sun, and brassy blue skies. From the time we escaped from the tunnel we saw no rain for nearly three months. Behind the lodge lay the bodies I had dragged there last night. I covered them with corrugated iron from the outhouse, went back to the yard, and doused myself with cold water. It freshened me, and with the roaring hiss of flames no longer in my ears, and the acquired knowledge that I could cope with Vampires were they in small numbers to hearten me, I faced the coming day with cheery optimism. Some distance along the road were houses. I walked slowly towards them, intending to explore, preparatory to making tea and calling Janet and Bingen. I felt slightly ashamed of my thoughts last night regarding those two, and determined to carry on, treating the girl as though she were a child. Bingen, I felt sure, at a time like this, would not harm her. He was good at heart. The first three houses I entered held no bodies, and I wondered, until, in the yard of the end house, I found them. Apparently, the isolated little community had crowded together in a vain effort to escape their fate of fire and Vampires. Piled by the low stone walls lay about two dozen people, and among them, shielded in the middle, were children. Curiously like discarded exhibits from some ghastly waxwork museum, they lay in distorted postures, limply like half-filled sawdust figures. Upon the finger of one woman, who in life must have been fleshily stout and now was so shrunken, glittered a cluster of rings. Seven there were, and even as I counted them they fell startlingly, sliding with a tiny jingle to the flagstones. In the silence the unexpected little sound and movement was so eerie that I jumped. I suppose the rings had attracted my attention unwittingly by an indiscernible movement as they began to slide from that shrunken finger. I stooped to pick them up. They were trashy, and I stared at them compassionately, letting them move upon my palm to reflect the sun’s rays, when my fingers curled over them tensely, while I stood, incapable of movement, for a voice spoke quietly, casually, behind me. �ŚGod’s wrath! God’s wrath, my son.’ My startled jump faced me to the speaker and I nearly shot him, for the gun in my waist-band leapt to my fingers as I dropped the rings. A little middle-aged man with a prominently paunchy stomach stood peering over the wall without surprise or emotion. He indicated the rings rolling at my feet. �ŚThe eighth commandment. Thou shalt not steal!’ �ŚFor God’s sake, d’you think I’d . . .’ �ŚTake not the name of the Lord thy God in vain,’ the little man interjected sadly. �ŚWitness the result of His wrath.’ �ŚHow did you get here? What are you doing?’ I asked foolishly, not really knowing what to say. �ŚAh! I am a clerk, and even the wrath of the All-Highest must not be allowed to interfere with the routine of my work,’ here he doffed his bowler hat and turned to go. �ŚI am a clerk, sir, in a stock-broker’s office, and I must be off to my work. I wish you good morning, sir.’ I understood. The little man was as mad as a hatter. I watched him speechlessly, too astounded to call after him. Away down the road I saw him raise hands in an attitude of prayer, and heard again his voice call with resignation. �ŚGod’s wrath! God’s wrath! It has descended unto us. God’s wrath!’ Running to the wall to stare after him, I saw he hurried over the hill with quick little steps, his bowler hat set squarely on his round head, and I saw that he carried a small attaché case in one hand and an umbrella and gloves in the other. �ŚHi! Hi! Come back!’ I called after him, and before he disappeared he turned to raise that ridiculous bowler hat in grave farewell. But he did not come back. What was his story? Often I wondered about that little man on his way to a non-existent office. How did he fare? I went back to the lodge where Janet and Bingen were, with most of the cheeriness of the morning chilled from me, and in the yard I saw that I had not covered the bodies carefully with the corrugated iron. Janet would need to use the outhouse for water, and I did not want her to see them. I pulled them to where I could lift them over a wall into a pig-sty, and in the sty were the carcasses of three sows and, to my amazement, in the far corner, one of the Vampires lay. It did not move when I clambered over the wall to ascertain whether it lived or was dead, and I found it impossible to see whether the eyes, staring unwinkingly from the black head, were devoid of life or not. I left the bodies in different corners. The men and the child; the pigs; and, apart, the beastly thing whose like was responsible, and went into the house. Janet and Bingen slept, and did not waken while I moved about lighting a fire, boiling a kettle. The covering had fallen from Janet, and I replaced it carefully before waking her. Queer, how thinking her a child I had spoken to her carelessly, without embarrassment, and now, knowing her for a woman, hesitated before waking her! Yesterday, there would have been no scruples in pulling her tumbling from the bed in play. �ŚJanet! Bingen! Breakfast ready.’ She wakened with a little cry of fear which died as consciousness dawned in eyes misty from her long sleep. I watched her bashfully, and it was some time before I gradually managed to achieve the old comradeship with her, and that, really, never came back. I wished in a way, Bingen had not told me how old she was. It would have saved, I thought at that time, such a lot of complications, and yet, I suppose, with Bingen’s attention to what I would have thought a child, provided many others. �ŚTea is ready. Here’s a cup,’ I told her. �ŚThen, if you want to run out in the yard and have a wash before breakfast, the tap’s in the outhouse and everything’s all right. Don’t be too long, because I want to get away as soon as possible to where we can settle down and feel safe. Where we can decide what’s to be done.’ Janet went into the yard after drinking her tea, and I told Bingen about the stranger I had seen. �ŚThat’s promising anyhow, even if he was batty,’ Bingen said. �ŚIf a dafty like that managed to get away, there’ll be plenty of others about.’ �ŚI’d like to know how he managed to get away, though,’ I mused. �ŚFrom what you’ve told me about him,’ Bingen grinned, �ŚGod exempted him from His wrath because his work in the office was too valuable to be stopped.’ During breakfast I am afraid that I scowled at Bingen when he sat gulping porridge, eying the girl with such blatant admiration. She certainly looked nice, for she had brushed her tangled curls, her cheeks shone pinkily from cold water, and she had recovered her spirits, for she joked, making much of Bingen ostensibly when I tried to treat her deferentially. And yet I thought she liked me. Then, I thought, she did not, and it worried me foolishly. That breakfast was almost hilarious, and we enjoyed it, setting off later almost in the fashion of children upon a picnic, but this time I did not intend to venture forth without food. �ŚAw! What’s the idea of carrying all this?’ Bingen grumbled when I thrust a bundle of food tied in a tablecloth upon him. �ŚA rifle, pistol, bundle of grub, a bottle of water. What about the bed? Ought to take that, didn’t we?’ �ŚYou just hunk that along and behave yourself. We aren’t risking going without food today. I seem to remember your grumbling yesterday because you were hungry.’ Because Janet stared at me curiously, I snapped at him curtly. �ŚAnd the reason for you carrying everything is, because I want to be free in case anything happens. If you get another attack of wind-up it won’t matter if you’re too burdened to do anything.’ �ŚOh, mister,’ Janet said reproachfully. �ŚAnd don’t mister me. Let’s make a start.’ I led the way out of the gates on to the road, and before we had gone very far in silence, apologized to them. �ŚI’m sorry, Janet. Didn’t mind, did you, Bingen? Sorry.’ And then I walked on swiftly, while they followed slowly behind, for it was better, I thought, for us to have a sort of advance guard that we might be the less likely to run unexpectedly into danger. Intermittently, I glanced back at them, and they waved. They seemed to get on well together. The sun beat down hotly, even though so early, and it seemed almost as though the Vampires had brought with them from their habitat the tropical warmth they desired. The sky was brassy, void of clouds, Vampires, but fixed into my mind was the fact that tonight ought to see us ensconced in some place which would be a permanent shelter, a place from where we could look forth and see approaching peril, plan to the future, with food and water close to hand. If the place we made for sufficed our needs, all was well, but, if it did not, then I’d have to leave Janet and Bingen there, while I searched around for another which did. And the idea of leaving Bingen alone with the girl was not pleasing to me. Heat made the going hard, and I turned to see how Janet was making it. She was all right apparently, for she had relieved Bingen of some of his luggage and smiled cheerily at me, waving me on. The brown baked earth with its covering of ash crumbled beneath my feet, and between the houses I was glad to get on the smooth road surface again. Where the roads were asphalted we could not use them, for they were hot, melting with a haze of blue smoke hanging about, smelling of tar, and as I walked I wondered what nourishment the Vampires could have gained from the tarry roads. I had hoped that isolated houses would have stood to give us shelter and food, but one after another we passed them, razed to the ground, with gables standing precariously about heaped bricks in little plots of ground that one were gay with flowers and now were grey with ashes. From inspecting one of these, I returned to the road to receive a startled cry from Bingen. �ŚLook out, Garry! Garry! There’s one! Up there!’ he pointed. He ran, with Janet, hastily towards me, and close together we waited, staring into the sky, watching it drop down towards us. Diagonally from the east it came, silently, on spiralling wings, noiselessly, like a great black owl. One solitary Vampire! Fluttering down to a height of perhaps twenty feet above our heads, it ceased descending to hang practically motionless in the air with tentacled wings beating so slowly one could barely discern any movement. Vertically, it hung there, seeming to scan the horizon, and then slowly turned until it lay horizontally, staring down at us. �ŚOh, Garry. Drive it away.’ With that little cry Janet slumped to the road in a faint, and Bingen knelt over her, his eyes fixed upwards. �ŚNothing to worry about,’ I told them, and while I spoke my eyes were glancing about, not on the thing hovering above, but watching for others. Not one could I see. Not another one. �ŚI’ll have a pot at it.’ Six cartridges I shot, and the Vampire ignored them, even though four of the bullets tore its wings, for through the leathery ligament I could see four jagged pieces of blue sky. �ŚOnly waste of ammunition,’ I said. �ŚWait a bit. I’ll have another go at it.’ Some yards away, by the roadside, was a pile of flints. I went towards it, and the thing appeared, in some weird manner, to divide its attention impersonally between myself walking backwards to the stones, and Bingen bending over the crouching girl, but it did not move. Flint after flint I flung, hitting and missing alternately, but it was so unconscious of the stones thudding against its body, despite my efforts, that I almost laughed. It was so futile. Moved jerkily in the air, by force of the jagged flints striking, it made no attempt to evade them. �ŚOh, we’ll leave it alone. It can’t hurt us,’ I said at last. �ŚIs Janet better, Bingen?’ �ŚShe’s better. Be all right in a minute. Can’t you drive that thing away?’ �ŚHave a try yourself.’ �ŚPerhaps you won’t be quite so cocky about them after you’ve had a few of them fastened on to you,’ Bingen remonstrated. �ŚSorry, Bingen, but it can’t hurt. Let it stay there. If it comes down, we’ll deal with it. Dab some water out of the bottle on her face.’ But as I bent, with Bingen, over the girl, her eyes opened, and she smiled up at us, shuddering when she saw the Vampire above, until I interposed my body between them. �ŚI’m sorry to be a nuisance,’ she said shakily. �ŚI’m better now. I won’t faint again, I promise you. Let me get up.’ �ŚSure you’re all right?’ I grinned at Bingen. �ŚEverybody’s hanging around here apologizing to each other. You apologize to me, and then we’ll all have begged each other’s pardons. Come on. Let’s move on.’ We walked along the road without looking back, and I had an uncanny feeling of that Vampire hovering there, watching us go, like a well-gorged man watching the remains of a meal being carried from the room, knowing that when he is hungry once more a short walk to the larder will re-bring it within his grasp. When at last I did look back, it hung unstirring, in the same position, so far as I could see, staring after us. And among the houses we left behind I thought I saw some movement. �ŚCan you see anything back there, Bingen?’ �ŚNo, and, what’s more, I don’t want to. Let’s get out of here.’ But I stood looking back. It might have been that little fat man in the ridiculous bowler with the ridiculous umbrella moving among the ruins. Vividly to me came a thought of him solemnly doffing his hat to the black Vampire hovering above and saying, �ŚGod’s wrath! But there, excuse me, I must be off to the office.’ And I could imagine the thing staring down at him with bleak incomprehension. . . . Ugh! �ŚWe’ll all keep together from now on,’ Bingen greeted me when I turned to them again. �ŚIt’s no use separating.’ �ŚNo! I’ll go in front as before,’ I insisted. �ŚWith me scouting ahead, there’ll be less likelihood of running into something we can avoid. You come along afterwards, but you needn’t keep so far behind this time.’ I did not want the girl to come unwarned upon the piles of bodies we constantly passed. I wondered why, in most cases, the people had managed to die together in crowds. Some human characteristic brought them together to avoid dying alone. yet, if there is one thing a man must do alone, it is to die by himself. Queer! One’s sheer panic, two’s fear, four’s courage . . . and all’s food for the Vampires! At noon, with the sun directly overhead, we called a halt to sit and eat our frugal lunch in the shadow of a rubble wall which topped one side of a ditch running by the roadside. We ate, and lay upon the sloping side of the bone-dry ditch silently, at least I was, contemplating unbelievingly the events of the past few days, speculating on the future. Janet, with an arm under her curls, was at the bottom of the ditch, while Bingen and I were higher, where we could see along the road. �ŚBoth the bottles are empty, Bingen. They’ll have to be filled as soon as we can. This heat is queer for England! Now if it were Cairo . . .!’ �ŚQueer! Can you tell me anything nowadays that isn’t queer?’ �ŚNo. I suppose I can’t.’ �ŚHow much farther is this place we’re going to?’ �ŚI think you can see it from here.’ I sat erect and shaded my eyes to stare. �ŚAway to the south-west. That line of blue hills against the sky. They’ll be Churley Hills, I fancy. We should be there this evening. Hope we get there before dark. Whether or no we’ll find the cottages as I remember them, I couldn’t say. Hope so. Shall be glad to get where I can have a long sleep. This sun is making me drowsy.’ �ŚLook! Garry! Look!’ Janet’s voice, holding terror, jerked both of us to our feet, but even as I jumped up I remember how foolishly glad I felt that on each occasion when Janet was frightened she called upon my name rather than Bingen’s, and I was ashamed to think about it, even as I thought. �ŚWe’re done! We’re done!’ Bingen cried. �ŚThey’ve got us!’ �ŚDon’t be a fool.’ From out of the very blue there dropped upon us a close clustered group of Vampires! As the solitary one had done, so did these, descending near to earth, and then hovering above, to turn and stare down at us. Momentarily, I could not move, standing looking upwards with gaping mouth. I felt Bingen slide to the bottom of the ditch, and when I did glance down he was crouched close to Janet, with his head buried in his arms. And Janet had placed a hand protectingly about him! he quivered, jerked suddenly into a sitting position, and his eyes fixed in panic. His chin sagged to let a thin sobbing scream from his parched throat. I could not help him, for I waited for the things to fall . . . drop on to us. Janet looked at me, her lips moving, then she crawled to hide beneath my arms, and her movement, as though loosening springs in his body, lifted Bingen to his feet. He mouthed noiselessly at the sky and then he was gone. I could not call him back. Helplessly, with my arms about the shaking figure of Janet, I watched him go, running swiftly, foolishly, along the ditch, with outstretched hands and clutching fingers. His eyes must have been closed, for he ran blindly, bumping, staggering from side to side. Out of the ditch he climbed as though by accident, and it seemed for some seconds tried to run through the stone wall, for he kicked and pushed at it before clambering over, out of sight. Above, the Vampires hung, and if some of those terrible eyes followed the screaming, blindly fleeing figure of Bingen, they did not move to follow. My arms tightened about Janet. I tried to crouch over her, wanted to bury my head in her frock, but I had to stare upwards, waiting . . . waiting. Seconds dragged into minutes. They did not stir. I regained a little courage, ventured to whisper. �ŚI believe we’re safe. I don’t think they’re going to come any lower. Anyway, there isn’t too many for me to deal with.’ Too many! What chance would we have stood if that crowd had dropped! My arm tightened about her. �ŚTry not to faint. I’d want you to help if they . . .’ �ŚI think I’m all right.’ From my shoulder under the tangled mass of dark curls came the reply softly, so softly that I scarce could hear. It gave me courage, strength. She whispered again. �ŚI’ll try to help but . . . I just can’t look at them.’ �ŚThey don’t mean to touch us. They’d have done it before now, and Bingen’s gone.’ Janet jerked panically as I whispered, and I reassured her quickly, afraid of hysteria. �ŚI don’t mean they’ve . . . He got away safely. They didn’t go after him. They aren’t going to touch him.’ Stooping to whisper, my gaze fell from above, and when I looked up again the Vampires were moving. I pushed Janet to the bottom of the ditch, stood erect, ashamed to have been crouching afraid, and a savage exultation thrilled my veins from the close contact of her, until I realized the hovering Vampires were moving . . . and moving upwards. They were going! I did not speak until certain, then I called to Janet. �ŚThey’re going away! They’re going!’ Vertically into the air, as though drawn up by invisible strings, they went, ascending rapidly, leaving one behind, and that solitary one stayed motionless with ribbed wings twisting minutely. Fainter and fainter the rest faded from black to grey, merging into the intense blue of the heavens, and were gone. But one was left. It could not harm us. If only it would descend low enough for me to swing at it with the sword; but there it stayed, some twenty or thirty feet above, lying horizontally, staring downwards, and for one heart-stilling moment I wondered whether it stayed to trail us; whether the one that had watched us before had communicated with its kind; whether, having found us, they had gone off, leaving one to watch until they wanted food. I laughed. It was too incredible. �ŚWhat is the matter?’ Janet’s voice asked quickly at the unexpected sound, and she looked up at me wonderingly. �ŚNothing, except that they have gone.’ I lifted her to her feet and she looked up nervously. �ŚIt’s nothing to be scared of. It’s the only one left. They didn’t want to touch us or else they are frightened now they know I can deal with them. We’ll get along if you can manage it.’ �ŚYes. Of course I am ready. But surely we ought to wait for . . .’ �ŚIt isn’t any good waiting for him,’ I cut in rather abruptly, for this eternal worrying about Bingen annoyed me. �ŚWe’ll go on, and it’s ten to one we’ll run into him before we’ve gone far.’ We went quickly along the road, not venturing to glance over our shoulders until we had covered some distance, and, similar to the other, that Vampire hovered there like a butterfly on an invisible pin, until we left it, a mere speck in the distance. �ŚI wonder where Bingen is,’ Janet said. �ŚI feel we ought to wait for him. Poor boy, losing control of himself like that. But I can understand.’ Hearing Janet speak of Bingen as a �Śpoor boy’ sounded humorous to me, and I did not bother to control my laughter. �ŚYou seem to have hit it off with Bingen. I’m glad you like him,’ I said. �ŚI like him, yes!’ she answered. �ŚBut I expect it is because I feel sorry for him. He’s frightened, and he hates me seeing it.’ �ŚThen you don’t feel sorry for me?’ �ŚBut you don’t get frightened.’ �ŚGood God! Is that what you think? If you only knew.’ �ŚBut you haven’t had those things on your skin like he has, and you don’t let us see when you are scared. Bingen does, and that is why I feel sorry for him. Because I understand.’ �ŚUnderstand! You know, Janet, I’m not sure that you really do understand,’ I told her falteringly, stared down at her worryingly.� Very slim and dainty she was, striding alongside with dark eyes shining and curls tumbling about her forehead. �ŚLet’s have a bit of a talk about everything. It’s only fair that you should understand.’ �ŚUnderstand,’ Janet snapped surprisingly into speech. �ŚLook here, mister, I haven’t lived all my life with Dad on the river without learning things and hearing them, too. I think I understand what you’re going to say to me, and there’s no need to say it. I’ve met fellows like Bingen before, and I can look after myself.’ �ŚWell, I’ll be . . .’ the words came breathlessly from me with surprise. And I had been treating her as a child! I laughed until the frown on her face stopped me. I apologized, stammering and stuttering, trying to conceal my mirth. Even though I knew I had things like that in my mind, it was not what I’d been going to speak to her about. I grinned. �ŚI . . . Eh! That is . . . Hum! Well. Oh, I wasn’t thinking anything like that.’ �ŚWhat were you going to say then,’ she asked angrily. �ŚWell, what I was going to say, was, I thought you should understand the position of things. You know, I fancied you were much younger than you are? Then, of course, I shouldn’t have wanted to tell you, but as it is . . .’ with the laughter gone from my voice I spoke gravely. �ŚJanet, you ought to know that things are bad.’ �ŚAnd don’t I know that?’ �ŚYes, you know, but . . . I believe they are worse than you think. God knows how many people there are in the country besides us, or, if it comes to that, in all the world. I don’t believe there are many. I’ve seen two others alive, at least one of them was half dead, was dead,’ I corrected myself hastily. �ŚAnd the other was stark, staring mad. So that doesn’t sound very promising, does it?’ �ŚI’ve known you thought that for a long time now.’ �ŚYou’ve known it. How?’ �ŚOh, by the things you’ve stopped Bingen saying. . . . Oh, lots of times. I’ve felt you thought that, and didn’t want me to know.’ �ŚHum! Might just as well have told you outright then?’ �ŚYes.’ �ŚWell, that’s how it is. We came through London in that dinghy, and then we’ve travelled here, and not a soul have we seen. Everything is burned and the people are dead. Only us left.’ �ŚBut Bingen.’ �ŚOh! I meant to include him. Three of us. Bingen will turn up soon. Poor old Bingen. I’m catching your disease and feeling sorry for him. You’ll be getting a bad impression of him, but really, he is all right, and, as you say, the things have actually been on him and they broke his nerve. Maybe mine would have gone too, like that. But he’ll be better, when he forgets.’ �ŚOf course he will.’ �ŚJanet, you know there must have been millions of those fearful things. Millions! The few we keep on seeing must be just the tail end of them. And that gives me hope they’ve gone. I hope they have, but as you know, there are still a lot about, and we’ve got to get to some place where we can be safe against them. I hope I haven’t frightened you unnecessarily. But I felt you ought to know how I think things are.’ �ŚYou mean you think we three will have to live alone for all our lives because there’s no one else?’ �ŚI hardly mean that, but for some time anyway. Maybe all the time. Who knows?’ �ŚDo you wish that you hadn’t found me? Do you think I will be a nuisance to you?’ �ŚOf course I don’t. I know you won’t be a nuisance. Why, look at the meal you cooked us last night.’ �ŚThank you for saying that so nicely, mister,’ Janet said, and was quiet for a moment before glancing at me quickly and asking surprisingly, �ŚYou don’t like me, do you?’ �ŚFor the love of Mike where’d you get that impression from?’ I stopped and eyed her in amazement. Then I laughed at her. �ŚWell, I thought you were good at understanding things I wanted to hide from you. But you aren’t so good after all, are you?’ �ŚWhat do you mean?’ �ŚI don’t mean a thing except that I hate to have you call me mister,’ I grinned at her. �ŚI’ll try not to in future,’ she said, and then, �ŚWe ought to wait for Bingen.’ �ŚOh, there you go again. Bingen! Bingen! He’ll be all right. It isn’t safe for us to wait. He knows where I’m making for, and even if we don’t run into him, he’ll come along later. We might go on for weeks searching for him, and all the time he’s probably at Churley waiting for us.’ �ŚIf you were alone would you wait?’ �ŚI dunno. Oh, I might. Why? Better than being alone. To be honest with you, I’m not sure that he would like us to stay around searching for him. He’ll be a bit ashamed of himself. Want time to get over it.’ �ŚThat’s one reason why I’d sooner wait for him,’ Janet said seriously. �ŚI’m afraid he’ll be too ashamed ever to come back. If we aren’t going to wait for him, we must call out as we go along.’ I thought there would be little likelihood of him hearing for, from the way he set off, I fancied he would run until he dropped, or until he recovered his sanity again, but to oblige Janet I clambered on the wall by the roadside, cupped my hands about my mouth, and yelled lustily: �ŚBingen! Bingen!’ The shout echoed strangely through the dead world. It seemed it took minutes to die away, and then the ensuing silence, as we listened, was broken by a faint rumbling explosion like a mocking jeer. When the distant noise ceased I tried again, and the call, instead of making us feel we were helping Bingen, caused us to stare at each other nervously, so weird it sounded in the deserted land. �ŚIt’s not much use. He’s gone, and until he comes back of his own accord, we can do nothing. Let’s get along.’ The small-talk with which I tried to cheer the girl soon came to a stop under her unresponsiveness. She was on the verge of tears, and I took her arm, hurrying her along with the hope that she would forget things in her effort to keep up with me. Somewhere about four we reached a village square surrounded with burned trees and the smouldering debris of ruined houses. �ŚI remember this place. We’re getting near the end of our journey. Another hour ought to see us there.’ We left the houses behind and began a long weary climb to the hills and the isolated cottages I remembered, and with the passing of the inhabited land the country began to appear cleaner, fresher, free of the covering ash. Or at least the ash lay thinner, blown here and there to bare the earth, and the air was cooler with the breeze across the hills. On the crest we stopped to rest and stare back over the valley holding the remains of London, hidden in a mist of deep blue. About us rose and fell the heather-covered valleys and hills of Churley. Away to the west a plateau held several buildings. I remembered it as an inn and a farm. They appeared to have escaped severe damage, and I resolved to see what the places contained at my first opportunity. Leaving the road, we walked over the springy roots of burned heather with little clouds of fine grey ash rising and swirling about our feet. But the roots held promise of life, for I could see, when I stooped, the clean green of young shoots among the black stalks. It would not be long, given ordinary conditions, before Churley was green and purple with heather and grass, and yellow and silver with gorse and birch once more. A scrambling descent into a pebble-floored valley, a stiff climb of the hill opposite, and we saw the cottages for which we searched, and, as we neared them, sliding carelessly upon loosening pebbles into the valley where they nestled, we could see the caves which backed them, black in the yellow cliff. �ŚLook! We’re here,’ I cried jubilantly to Janet. �ŚLook! There are the caves, and the cottages themselves don’t seem very much harmed.’ The cottages, there were three, were of stone, with grey slate roofs from which grew great clumps of roof-leak, and despite damage by fire, stood sturdily. The two end ones gaped open to the sky, but the centre house was habitable, with its roof hardly disturbed. A few slates were gone, but that was all right. The right-hand one was gutted, the one at the other end nearly so, and from all, doors and windows were burned away. Long gardens fronted them, and at the back were yards under the cliff with the desirable caves at the end of them. The long gardens were blackened and clumps of burned vegetation blew in the slight breeze. �ŚWill you stay here while I explore? Stay by the gate, and I’ll have a look to see what is there.’ I went through the garden to the intact cottage, turning to call warningly back to Janet. �ŚYou mustn’t watch me. I’ll be all right. You’re not to look to see what I’m doing. Keep your eyes on the sky, and call me at once if you see anything. Listen in case I call you to come to me. But don’t be frightened by yourself for a few minutes. The doorway, opening right into the cottage without hall or passage, showed that it was wise to have left Janet outside, for, erectly in two straight-backed chairs, facing each other in death, as I fancy they had faced each other in life, white-haired and wrinkled, two old folks sat. Darby and Joan. Their faces held a look of quiet content, and I believed, perhaps because I wanted to believe, and because they could not have died with serene untroubled faces had they looked upon the entering Vampires, that they had died with the first shock of flames bursting about the cottages. Tenderly I carried them in their chairs through the back-door into the adjoining cottage. Later I would explore the other two little houses to get rid of any bodies they held, burning or burying them. I returned. The back-room was burned, and amid the blackened furniture was nothing of use. The front-room in which the old couple had died was in a better condition. Curiously, one half of the room was untouched, and the remainder only slightly scorched. Upstairs, the two tiny slope-ceilinged rooms were intact, with beds and furniture. Through the little dormer window I called to Janet, and she came running along the garden path. She was in the house as I arrived downstairs. �ŚEverything’s fine,’ I assured her. �ŚWe can get fixed up here nicely. Now we’ll go out to the back and inspect the caves, for we’re sleeping in one of them tonight. I’ll carry a bed out for you, get the entrance ready for barricading, and then we’ll see about a meal. Get our sleeping quarters ready first though. It’ll be dark soon.’ There were two caves, the eastern cottage having an outhouse. We went into the one belonging to the cottage we had commandeered. About twelve feet deep by five across, and I could stand without bending close to the entrance. The cave was floored with sand and stocks of dried herbs, potatoes, and corded wood littered it. At the back was a small amount of coal. Working fast, I cleared most of the stuff out into the yard, arranged a barricade we could pull easily into place from the inside, and hung a blanket about the mattress I spread on the floor for Janet. Sweating and tired I stood to survey the result. �ŚThere. That’s fine, don’t you think?’ �ŚIt’s grand. We’ll sleep safely in there.’ �ŚAnyway, it’ll do until I fix it up more permanently later on.’ I looked down at Janet sitting on the mattress pulling off her shoes. They were holed, and on her feet were red blisters showing through tattered stockings. �ŚYou sit down here, and I’ll go and get you some water to bathe your feet with; then, before I see if there’s anything to eat in the place, I’ll have a walk up to the top of the hill just in case Bingen is anywhere about.’ I brought water and, leaving Janet intent upon her blistered feet, climbed to the hilltop and scrutinized the darkening evening until my eyes ached for signs of Bingen, yelling and whistling between two fingers in a way I had forgotten since boyhood days. But there was no response. To the north-east, glowing embers of London were beginning to reflect in the dark blue sky, and, circling the horizon, scattered fires were beginning to be prominent in the dusk. From the top of some hill far away on my right hand there floated upwards a continual fountain of sparks. I wondered what it was, and scrambled down into the valley again. It was hopeless, shouting for Bingen. He might be miles away. he would have to get on the best he could. He knew near enough the place we intended to go, and here we were waiting for him. There was nothing else to do. With kettle, cups, plates, stale bread, and a hunk of dry cheese I went through the cottage to the cave and, squatting before a fire, we toasted the hard bread, smarming it with melted cheese, washing it down with strong tea, milkless, sugarless. �ŚI suppose you’re laughing at my welsh rabbit?’ I asked her smilingly. �ŚBut there, I’m no chef. Later on, when you’ve rested, you’ll have to attend to all that.’ �ŚI think we are ever so lucky to have this,’ Janet answered, swallowing a mouthful with an effort. �ŚWhen you think where I might have been, I . . . And it is all thanks to you.’ �ŚNonsense. Perhaps if it hadn’t been for you, Bingen and I would have been wandering about now, terrified out of our lives, looking for some hole to dive into. You see, if it hadn’t been for us picking you up, we mightn’t have thought about this place.’ �ŚYou mean that you wouldn’t have worried about getting to some place where you were safe?’ �ŚWell, I wouldn’t say that. But there is something in it. Anyway, here we are. Cosy as bugs in a rug, and tomorrow, I bet, Bingen will appear on the scene wanting dinner.’ We fell silent. Before us the fire burned cheerily. Queer the comfort and terror one can get from a fire. About us the hills loomed into the purple sky, and above, despite the comet’s rosy hue, instead of horror, great stars blazed fiercely in a clear sky. Silence and content began to close my eyes. I rose, stamped out the fire, gathered together the pots. �ŚThis won’t do. I’ll be asleep in two minutes if I stay here. We’ll go to bed. Have a long, long sleep and make up for all the nights we’ve been missing it, eh?’ �ŚI’m tired too,’ Janet yawned. �ŚIf once I go to sleep, I’ll never wake up again.’ �ŚCome along then, you’ll go to sleep all right.’ In the cave I pulled the barricade into position, lit the candle I had placed ready on a ledge in the rock-wall, settled the blanket so that it completely shielded Janet’s mattress after she had retired behind it, and sank thankfully, stretching full length, upon the bed I had made for myself upon the sand. The candle burned smokily, tracing a twisting smear on the rock. I watched it sleepily while I listened to Janet moving behind her blanket. There was silence. I wondered where Bingen was. �ŚAre you ready for me to blow out the light?’ I spoke to the blanket. �ŚYes.’ �ŚGood night then, Janet.’ The light was out, and I curled comfortably on my bed. �ŚGo to sleep and don’t be frightened, will you. You’ll be all right in here with me. Good night, kid.’ There came no reply from behind the blanket, and I leant on my elbow until apprehending. The girl was scared to be sleeping here in the cave with me. I felt sorry, ashamed that should be so, and lay down again. For a while I lay brooding, and then my eyes closed sleepily for I was dead tired, but suddenly I was startled awake, for the blanket was thrown aside and, with a pattering of bare feet on the sandy floor Janet was beside me. She flung herself by my side and my arm went about her. �ŚLet me stay here with you, Garry, please,’ she whispered against my shoulder in the dark. �ŚPlease let me stay here with you.’ �ŚThen you’re not scared of me? Not frightened of being here with me? Janet, I’m glad of that. I thought you were.’ I held her tightly, glad of her trust in me. �ŚHere, I’ll tell you what. It’s silly for you to be sleeping on the floor when there’s that mattress in there. I’ll light the candle and pull it out here. Then you can go to sleep on my arm and pretend you’re a baby again, and that I’m an old uncle looking after you.’ �ŚGet the mattress . . . but don’t light the candle, Garry, please.’ I did not understand but, in the dark, pulled the mattress from under the blanket and folded clothes upon it for a pillow. For a long time Janet lay silently in the crook of my elbow, and I thought her asleep, until she spoke softly, and I could feel that she moved her head further into my encircling arm. �ŚGarry. Are you asleep?’ �ŚNo.’ �ŚYou’re not old enough to be my uncle. You’re not as old as Bingen?’ �ŚNo. I’m sorry, but I think Bingen is a few years older than I am. Why?’ �ŚOh. Nothing. Good night, Garry.’ �ŚGood night.’ � � � VII The Valley of Security THROUGH THE BARRICADE slanted a shaft of sunshine to waken me. Gently I released my arm from the sleeping girl to sit awhile, musing speculatively down at her, and then, carefully to avoid disturbing her, let myself through the barricade, and climbed in the misty morning from the cottage to the summit of the surrounding hills. To the north-east, remaining panes of glass in a great building twinkled like a signal, reflecting redly some near-by fire; closer there lifted, lazily, clouds of smoke from a smouldering clump of buildings; away at the end of the long slope I could see the oblong green of the nearest village surrounded by burned houses; to the north the town of Croydon burned. Where, in all that fire-razed country, was Bingen? But for wakening Janet, who would be nervous finding me gone, I would have shouted. No sign of� Vampires smudged the sky, and presently I slid back to the valley. From the back window as I busily swept, tidying the room, I glanced towards the cave, and presumed Janet slept on. With the room cleared and a kettle upon the grate I went into the next houses to see what I could do about getting rid of the bodies. One by one I carried them into the end yard, covering them with stuff from the outhouse. Later, I would find a way to inter them. Until then, they were out of sight of the girl. Two dogs and four cats there were among the people and, like their masters, had died in a similar fashion. While I put finishing touches to the covering pall there stalked slowly, from the other cave, a black cat. With tail erect it came stiff-legged towards me with the air of expecting trouble. It took me some time to make friends with it, and when at last I persuaded it to approach close enough to be caressed, its ears slid back and, spitting, it fled away into the cave. Stooping, I watched it go. Janet and I would coax it out with food. I made to go into the cottage again when a shrill scream jumped me over the party wall towards our cave. Hunched in line, staring with eyes which did not turn as I came close to them, were three Vampires, and of Janet there was no sign. I cursed myself for a fool leaving her alone even as I sprang for them. One by one I grabbed leathery wings, flinging them to the ground with all my strength, and when they lay staggering to recover their equilibrium, had to watch helplessly, for the sword was along with Janet in the cave. I resolved, running to fetch it, never in the future to have it beyond reach. Behind the blanket Janet crouched, crying softly, and so frightened was she I had quite a job to make her understand it was I, that we were safe. Afterwards, I heard she had risen and walked yawning from the cave when she found me gone, right out to the three things squatting in the yard. I calmed her and went to settle the Vampires. Recovered once again, they sat facing the entrance as I emerged. The first I lifted, dashing it to the ground, to slash at its fluttering wings even as it dropped. The second I had more trouble with, hacking at its neck repeatedly before I could kill it. The third did not move, hunched, watching with bleak eyes the destruction of its fellows. I reached for it, heaving heavily, more strongly than I intended. It lifted in the air, turned, tried vainly to recover its poise while I waited with lifted sword, and then dropped squarely upon the low enclosing wall of the well. For a second it beat with spiralling wings uselessly, leaning gradually backward to fall at last into the well. I reached the parapet in time to see it falling, bouncing from side to side, wings beating uselessly. It disappeared into the darkness and I heard the wet flop as it reached bottom . . . and splashing. The thing was in our only source of water! Janet ran across to me, clutched my arm. �ŚOh. It’s gone. I’m glad.’ �ŚGlad! What are we going to do? It’s down in the only water supply we’ve got. There isn’t any closer than the houses over the hills. This well supplied the three cottages.’ �ŚIt doesn’t really matter, does it?’ �ŚIt does! You saw it go down the well? We won’t be able to stay here unless we’ve got water. We can’t drag water all the way from those houses.’ I waved my hand towards the hills vaguely. �ŚI searched the place this morning. There’s no other water. I’ll let down the bucket and see if it will come up in it.’ The bucket dropped and rose repeatedly as I worked hastily at the windlass. Each time it rose dripping with cold water, but the Vampire bat stayed at the bottom. �ŚYou’d think anything with a spark of life in it would clutch at that bucket to save itself, wouldn’t you,’ I said petulantly to Janet, and stopped lowering the bucket. �ŚI’m going to get it out somehow. I’m not going to have to leave this place because of one of those things.’ �ŚWill it hurt down there?’ �ŚI don’t know, but it’s coming out if I have to go down and pull it out. It might poison the water, drowning in there. God knows where we might find another place to satisfy our needs like this. Might be searching around for months. I haven’t an idea where else to go.’ �ŚBut you couldn’t go down there in the dark with that,’ Janet cried. �ŚYou couldn’t. I couldn’t stay up here while you did it.’ �ŚOh, I’ll go down. There won’t be much in it. Be a nasty job, but I won’t be down there two seconds. Would you like to stay on here and have to drink the water that thing died in?’ Janet shuddered. �ŚGive me a hand then to pull the rope off the windlass and tie knots in it every foot. They’ll act as a sort of ladder.’ Overcoming her fears, she lent a hand, and together we detached the bucket, prepared the rope, and dropped it into the well. �ŚI’ll go down and you can stay here, but if anything happens you aren’t to wait for me to come up, but make a dash for the cave. I’ll be able to look after myself. Then I’ll come to you. Shan’t be long.’ The last thing I saw as I went over the wall was her white face trying to smile pluckily as I slipped down. My eyes went out of the light and I wished fervently I had thought of some other way to recover the thing. Nearly, I clambered back. I would have, but for seeing Janet waiting for me to pull the Vampire out. After all, I told myself, as I went steadily, slowly down, the thing could not hurt me, but thoughts of being clutched by that filthy thing down here in the dark made me shiver. Desperately I slid down the last few yards with a rush, and my feet dangled in cold water. Above, the circle of blue sky, such a height away, was broken by the intruding silhouette of Janet’s curly head staring down. To drown down here with something clamped upon my body! Spurred into ction by imagination I kicked about with my legs, swinging from side to side. I felt the softness of the Vampire but, bobbing in the water, it evaded me again and again until my boot pushed it to the wall while I guided it into position between my legs. With a secure hold on it I began to climb. Three feet, four, five! I heaved up the rope to realize as I rose that I could not climb without my legs to aid me! Inch by inch I pulled myself upwards, knowing I attempted the impossible. I hung by one hand trying to bend so that I might somehow get the Vampire under my arm. That would give me the use of my legs to step upon the knotted rope, but as I bent and reached, wings tightened about my calves, winding to tether my legs together. I kicked, twisted, trying to free myself, let it fall back into the water, but could not. �ŚAre you all right?’ Janet’s voice came tumbling down to me. �ŚNo! I’ve got it on my legs. I can’t climb with it and I can’t shake it off.’ The rope jerked suddenly to almost loosen my hold. �ŚDon’t try to pull me up. You couldn’t. And the rope jerks. I’ll have another try to get out.’ Slowly I pulled myself up. Joints of my arms were red-hot, aching, till I feared they would let me down. My lungs inflated explodingly, and in my groin grew an unbearable pain. Between my dangling legs the Vampire held still, as though it knew it was being saved, and it did not loose its hold. Motionless as it was, above even the fear I should not be able to pull myself out was the fear it would climb upon me, my shoulders, my face. With the top no more than twelve or fifteen feet above, I hung limply, beaten, after what seemed months of heart-breaking effort, so limply, my hands nearly opened to let me plunge back into the dark and the water with the Vampire. �ŚOh, try, Garry. Try again,’� Janet’s voice came despairingly to me, and it seemed she was a thousand miles away, her voice sounded so distant. �ŚI can’t. I’m done,’ I called huskily, but the words were hoarse muttering in the well, and Janet did not hear. I was beaten, and only the thought of Janet up there alone in the sunlit world with its horrors kept my hands clenched on the rope. I must hang on. Hang on. The rope swung as Janet’s hands strained at it uselessly, hardly moving it from the vertical, but the movement bumped me between the circular wall, swinging me round and round. The searing ache in my shoulders dulled. Could I hang there until I recovered strength? But the rope was slipping slowly, surely, between my palms. I was finished. And then miraculously into the circle of sky by the side of Janet appeared the head and shoulders of a man. I thought it was Bingen, but did not care who it was, too fatigued to lick dry lips and call, shout that he pull me up. Vaguely, I know he shouted down, and the bull-roar of his voice set the rope swinging again unless it was, as he shouted, he tugged upon it. Then I recovered from faintness and understood the import of his shouting, knew it was not Bingen. �Ś’Old on, ol’ cock. ’Old on! I’ll ’ave you out o’ there in two shakes.’ The rope jerked, sliding my hands downwards, and then I was being lifted with a violence which ripped the sleeve from my shirt and grazed my arm along the brickwork. I called to him to heave more gently, for now, with rescue heartening me, I feared the Vampire between my legs would lose its grip to fall, make the whole effort worthless. But gasping and panting I was pulled over the wall to lay in the sun, and still on my legs the thing was clamped securely. Cramp had stiffened my limbs so that I could not move even after the man had pulled the Vampire from me and flung it away. �ŚYou know how to deal with them?’ I gasped. �ŚYou bet I does,’ he answered with a grin. �ŚBetter now?’ �ŚNot quite, but will be in a minute.’ My heart beat as though it must burst from my chest while I tried to fill my lungs with the sweet air. The sun blackened before my eyes, and dimly I felt a bottle being pushed between my clenched teeth. A fiery trickle of neat brandy running down my throat revived me, and I sat erect coughing, spluttering, to feel extremely foolish. Janet, sitting back on her heels, eyed me solicitously. �ŚOh, Garry. Are you all right now?’ she asked. �Ś’E’s better now, Miss,’ the stranger said. �Ś’Ere, chum, ’ave another sup o’ this.’ �ŚNo thanks,’ I smiled between coughs. �ŚI’d like a drink of water to put my stomach out though. I think it is alight!’ �ŚAr! This ’ere’s the stuff to warm yer gizzard.’ Janet came running with a jug of water, and I drank thirstily. The stranger grinned at me and raised the black bottle to his lips. I watched him gulp nearly half a pint of neat spirit before he lowered the bottle to speak to me again. �ŚStrewth! I’ve ’eard of blokes with bees in their bonnets,’ he grinned, showing black and broken teeth between the stubble gracing his dirty chin. �ŚBut goin’ down that there well to save one o’ them there birds! Wot the ’ell d’you do that for? Or did you just ’appen to fall in with it?’ �ŚOh, don’t tell me! I know it. I did a damn silly thing. Did it foolishly, without stopping to think.’ I grinned apologetically at Janet as she helped me to my feet. �ŚI made a fool of myself. But I didn’t realize it until I was down there, and suddenly thought of you being alone, Janet, if anything happened to me.’ �ŚBut wot the ’ell d’you do it for?’ the stranger queried. �ŚI wasn’t actually thinking about saving its life. In fact, I’m going to kill it now,’ I told him. �ŚBut you see we’ve decided to settle here for the time being, and there’s no other water but that from the well. We couldn’t have drunk water after it had been polluted by that thing drowning in it.’ �ŚDrink water! M’Gawd! With all the breweries in the country wide open for the taking. It’s worsen goin’ down a well to save ’im over there.’ The man indicated the Vampire squatting motionlessly, and then walked over to kick it violently, so that it fluttered with wet wings some yards away, to sit again on its haunches staring bleakly, for all the world as though listening to our conversation. Grinning at me the man continued. �ŚWater. Huh! Not more’n couple of miles away there’s a brewery. It’s been burned, but it’s hardly touched. There’s cellars of the stuff there ready for the taking. Tastes all the better for bein’ cooked. ’Ere! ’Ave another swig.’ �ŚNo thanks. You’ll want all there is there.’ �ŚAw! That’s all right. I got a sack o’ stuff, bottles an’ such, the other side the ’ill. Dropped ’em when I ’eard the gal scream for ’elp.’ �ŚYelling for help! Janet, you’re an optimist. And if you hadn’t called for help I shouldn’t have got any. Would still be down there.’ �ŚDon’t, Garry.’ �ŚNo thanks. I really don’t want anything to drink now. I feel more hungry than thirsty. Janet, d’you think we can manage a breakfast from the remains of the bread and cheese?’ �ŚWot’s that?’ the man interjected. �ŚAin’t got no grub? I got plenty in my swag. Send the gal over the ’ill for it. There’s tea an’ tinned milk an’ tinned meat. Though wot the ’ell I’m carryin’ milk an’ tea about for, Gawd knows. I don’t. There’s plenty there, an’ there’s plenty where it comes from. ’Elp yourselves. You ’op off, m’dear. I’ll look after your bloke.’ �ŚYes, of course I’ll go,’ Janet cried, despite my frown of protest. �ŚYou two go in the cottage and get the kettle on, and I’ll be back in a minute.’ Janet was off, running up the hill, and I watched her before following the stranger into the cottage. Inside I remembered something. �ŚWhere you goin’, chum?’ �ŚJust going to slaughter that damned thing I brought out of the well.’ When I returned, the stranger was lounging, at home in a chair with feet upon the window-sill. I eyed him curiously. He wasn’t drunk, but he certainly wasn’t sober. Probably he was so soaked in the spirit he carried around with him that he couldn’t get drunk. He was a burly fellow of the tramp class in a filthy shirt opened swaggeringly to display a great red, bull-like neck and hairy chest. His lips were full and red amid the stubbly tangle of his beard. A tough customer, I thought, and thought of the revolver, and then remembered also he had saved my life. �ŚYou know I owe something to you. Coming along like you did was opportune for me. You saved my life, and I’m grateful to you.’ �ŚAw! S’nothin’.’ �ŚMay be nothing to you,’ I grinned at him. �ŚBut it means a hell of a lot to me.’ He dismissed the matter with a wave of a great forearm. �ŚHow did you survive?’ I asked him. �ŚAre you by yourself? Had a rough time?’ �ŚRough time! M’Gawd! Rough time! I’ve ’ad rough times afore, but . . .’ he shuddered, drinking again from his bottle. �ŚFirst thing I knows about anythin’ was when I wakes up over Mitcham way wiv the ’orrors. Millions of ’em.’ �ŚYou mean . . .’ �ŚO’ course I mean them. Wot else? At least they wasn’t the ’orrors, if you understand wot I mean. Not the D.T.s. I was in a wood, and fust thing I knows there ’undreds and ’undreds of black birds all about. And then I think as they was abendin’ down to kiss me. I ain’t so sure as I wasn’t adreamin’ about beautifool woman like this one ’ere,’ he grinned, jerked a thumb over his shoulder to where Janet busied about preparing a meal, and though he laughed I saw he drank deeply with remembrance. He continued with bravado, intent, I think, upon impressing Janet. �ŚThen when I sees what they was, I ups an’ kills ’em. M’Gawd! Wot killin’ they want too! The time they take to die!’ �ŚWe know all about that,’ I cut in. �ŚIf you don’t mind we’ll have all the horrid bits left out.’ �ŚJust as you say, captain. Anyways, I gets away from ’em makin’ for a place I know where there’s folks an’ an off-licence, though there ain’t no folks there now, and the off-licence’s aburnin’. So I tried to put out the fire, but it ain’t no use, an’ I gets me enough brandy an’ ’ops it wiv me drink lookin’ for some place to get cosy.’ �ŚAnd the Vampires? Where were they? There all the time?’ �ŚThat wot they are, Vampires? Well, they was on me. All the blurry lot of ’em. I felt ’em. Anyways I shakes ’em off and gets me a snug little ’ome in an old cistern in a dust shoot. Them things comes in wiv me, but I ain’t ’avin’ ’em, an’ throws ’em out. Wot you laughin’ at?’ �ŚOh. Nothing,’ I grinned. �ŚOnly the way you’re talking about things that just frightened me out of my life. Carry on.’ �ŚYou don’t say, captain. Well, I sets there, comfy. Two days, three, ’oo knows. But I’m there ’til I finishes the drink I got. Then I goes out to the off-licence again for more. An’ strike me pin, them things is still a ’angin’ round. I runs into more of ’em afore I gets me booze. I gets back, an’ there’s about seven of the devils a ’angin’ on to me. They even tries to get in m’cistern wiv me. One of ’em does, an’ I ’as to squash it all over the sides afore it pegs out. Clamped on me like a limpet ’e was! Worsen any delicious tremblin’s I ever ’ad afore. Anyways, this all ’appens out Mitcham way, an’ I’m off amakin’ m’way down to the sea. All the country’s gone up. Ain’t nothin’ left. That’s all. I ’ears your gal ascreamin’, an’ bein’ a bit of a ladies’ man, I ups an’ comes along.’ �ŚYes. Thank God you came along.’ Janet uttered the words thankfully. I stared at the chap reflectively. He had been sodden with drink all the time, actually he didn’t really know what had happened to him, did not understand, even now, what had become of the country. �ŚBut have you seen anything of any other people? We’ve lost one of our party.’ �ŚI seen a bloke not so very far away from ’ere. Wot kind of a bloke was the bloke you lost?’ �ŚBingen. Not quite so tall as I am, but fatter. Black hair, red face. Dressed in a blue shirt with a rifle. A revolver stuck in his trousers. He’s got a scar on the left side of his forehead.’ �ŚHuh! That the feller you lost?’ The stranger drank slowly from his bottle again, keeping us in suspense, and Janet came from the stove to listen with hands clasped eagerly in front of her. He continued in response to our entreaties. �ŚI seen just the same feller. I can put me ’and right on where ’e is. No fear as ’e’s run away. ’E’ll be there yet, don’t you worry.’ �ŚFor God’s sake what do you mean? Can’t he walk? Where is he? Is he hurt? Is that what you mean? Open up, you idiot?’ �Ś’Ere! ’Oo the ’ell you callin’ a idjit?’ He started up bellicosely, to calm down as Janet laid pleading hands on his arm. �ŚPlease say where he is, and that he is safe,’ the girl pleaded. �ŚCorse I will, Miss. No, ’e ain’t ’urt. ’E’s all right. Least ’e was when I sees ’im. But ’e’s boozed.’ �ŚDrunk?’ �ŚI should say. ’E nearly got to shootin’ me.’ �ŚOh, I’m glad he didn’t,’ Janet said. �ŚBut where is he, Mister?’ �ŚA mile along the road towards town. It’s the second turnin’ to the right. There’s a little country pub. The Blue . . . The Blue somefink it’s called. ’E’s there, an’ if ’e ain’t as drunk as a lord, ’e’s sobered considerable since I seen ’im.’ �ŚBingen! Drunk! Look here . . . what’s your name?’ �ŚRhodes, captain. Dusty Rhodes.’ �ŚOh. We’ll go straight away and fetch him,’ Janet cried excitedly. �ŚAt once, won’t we, Garry?’ �ŚI think I’ll have something to eat first,’ I told her. �ŚGet some of that meat on a bit of the bread and a cup of tea. Then I’ll go after him.’ �ŚGarry! To stop and eat when he might want you!’ Janet spoke the words reproachfully. �ŚThree minutes won’t make any difference,’ I answered sharply. �ŚAnd I’ll be able to deal with him better than if I’m half-starved.’ �ŚOh, Garry. I’m sorry. I spoke without thinking.’ �ŚWill you stop here and see after the girl?’ I asked Rhodes. �ŚOh! Let me come and help bring him back,’ Janet interjected quickly. �ŚPerhaps, if he doesn’t want to come, I’ll be able to persuade him.’ �ŚNo. It’ll be better for me to go alone. If I have to look after Bingen, I shouldn’t want you on my hands as well, should I?’ I told her, and then turned to Rhodes, who had listened interestedly to Janet’s appeal to be allowed to accompany me. Too interestedly I thought. I asked him, �ŚWill you stop here and look after her until I get back, Rhodes?’ �ŚCorse I will. I always was a one to look after the ladies.’ Dusty Rhodes leered, in a manner supposed to be ingratiating, towards Janet. �ŚMe an’ ’er’ll get on together like a ’ouse afire.’ �ŚThat shouldn’t be difficult with this deviltry going on all over the country; but, Rhodes . . . Behave yourself. Savvy?’ �ŚAw! Don’t you worry, captain. Trust me.’ Dusty grinned at Janet, and I felt less then ever like leaving them together. �ŚThe little gal’ll be safe enough with me, captain.’ �ŚYou’d better see that she is,’ I told him curtly, and to Janet said, �ŚJanet, I really don’t see how I can take you with me. It’s better for you to stay here with Rhodes. You’ll be all right, won’t you?’ �ŚOf course I will,’ she smiled reassuringly, and whispered as she accompanied me to the door, �ŚDon’t worry about him. I can see after myself. Don’t be too long, and be sure to bring Bingen back safely. Tell him I want him. Goodbye, Garry.’ �ŚShan’t be long. Cheerio, Janet.’ Climbing out of the valley, I halted on the hill to wave down a farewell to the cottage, and set off with a high heart down the dusty road towards the inn where I would find Bingen. Hastening, I forgot even to glance up at the sky, ignoring any possible return of Vampires, with my thoughts fixed upon Bingen and the safety of Janet. I was worried at having to leave here with Rhodes, for a more unprepossessing scoundrel I had never seen, despite the fact of him having undoubtedly saved my life. I broke into a jog-trot the quicker to get back to Janet. By the cross-roads where the way to Bingen’s inn turned off to the right, a few villas were scattered around, and they were so little burned that I resolved, hurrying past, to investigate them at the first opportunity, for now, with the arrival on the scene of Mister Dusty Rhodes, I little doubted others had escaped from the general destruction. I wondered how Janet was faring with him, and, wondering, quickened my footsteps. But I felt she was capable of holding her own against even such a ruffian as Rhodes. Mounting a rise, I saw, in the distance, a signboard swinging from the top of a tall post. That would be the inn. I called out, running towards it. �ŚBingen! Bingen! You anywhere about? Bingen!’ The shout reverberated noisily down the road, unanswered. Standing some way back, with a garden fronting it, the inn was a small country beerhouse of the usual type, and though woodwork was burned and roof was gone the walls held still bar, beer engines, and bottles, some intact, fallen to the floor from burned shelves. The charred sign proclaimed it to be The Blue Anchor. But of Bingen there was no trace. I called again. �ŚBingen! Bingen!’ Ashes lifted about my feet as I entered the place, strode through three rooms to the yard, where lay four bodies which had evidently been flung out recently. That meant someone had been there since the fire. I searched more hopefully. There were chickens alive in a run nclosed with wire netting! They had been saved from the holocaust evidently by the fact that their run had been built from the discarded steel stanchions of some building. The intersecting wire-netting sagged where the Vampires had pressed, but it had withstood the strain. I threw maize to them from a sack in the outhoouse. Later, we would be glad of those chickens. I would fetch them. �ŚBingen! Bingen!’ It was impossible he could be hidden anywhere, for I had gone through the place again and again. I returned dispiritedly through the bar to the road, staring up and down, calling half-heartedly. There was nothing else for me to do except go back to the cottage. With Janet alone with Rhodes I dared not set off to search about haphazardly. And, so thinking, I glanced down as I traced in the dust with the toe of my boot to see trap-doors in the flagged stones close by the inn wall. A cellar! Why hadn’t I thought of that before? I tried to prise them open, thinking Bingen could not be down there. He would have heard me call, answered. I stamped and hammered, shouting. Either from obstinacy or a determination to be able to return and tell Janet the place had been searched thoroughly, I went through the bar again to the outhouse in search of some tool which would enable me to burst open the doors, and returned with a felling axe. For a while the doors resisted my efforts, then with a crash they dropped into the cellar. With his back against a barrel from which oozed beer dripping to the floor, Bingen sat, drunkenly asleep. Shaking did not waken him, and it was not until I got a great leathern bottle, filled it with beer, and doused him that he regained consciousness, woke fighting, yelling. �ŚGet hold of yourself, dopey,’ I entreated, shaking him roughly until he recognized me. �ŚSober up! Janet’s alone in the hills with some tough I don’t trust. Come along, Bingen. Snap out of it. We’ve got to get back to her quickly.’ He peered blearily, pushing me away at first, and then drunken tears flowed from his eyes. Sulkily he sat ignoring my attempts to rouse him. �ŚAw! I can’t come back and face her again. Not after making a fool of myself like I did,’ he growled at last. �ŚYou go back and tell her you couldn’t find me.’ �ŚFool of yourself be cursed. She understands as well as I do. It was only a bad break for you that you cracked instead of me. I did as near as damn it. Come on. Forget it. Jump up, and we’ll get back before anything happens to Janet.’ �Śno. I’m not coming. Get out of here, and leave me in peace.’ �ŚLeave you in drink, you drunken swab. Now, look here, Bingen. What’s it going to be? You’re coming with me even if I have to crack you under the jaw and carry you back. What’s it going to be? Carried back unconscious�"or walk back like you are�"half conscious?’ �ŚYou mean both of you want me to come back?’ �ŚWhat the hell d’you think I’m arguing down here for, you silly chump?’ �ŚOh! All right then. Give me a chance to freshen up a bit.’ Bingen pulled himself to his feet. �ŚThere’s water up there. I’ll have a bit of a wash.’ �ŚDon’t want to worry about that now. We’ll have a drink, though. You can do with one, I’ll be bound. And I’ve got dust in my throat.’ Bingen filled the leather bottle again and we drank heartily. �ŚGosh, Bingen, you smell like a brewery.’ �ŚWell, why the devil did you throw that beer over me?’ �ŚOh, it isn’t that I’m smelling. That was only a tiny drop in the ocean. What have you been doing with yourself, and why didn’t you come after us? You knew where we were going.’ �ŚOh, hell, don’t let’s talk about it. You know why I didn’t come. What’s the place like where you are? What you wanted?’ �ŚThe very thing. We’ll be there in an hour; come along.’ �ŚSteady on. Not too fast.’ Bingen hurried, and I slowed down to walk with him. �ŚWhat’s this other chap you say is with Janet? Where’d he come from?’ �ŚSome tramp, boozer. Oh, no offence. I mean this bloke’s a spirit mopper. Nearly in the D.T.s, I think. I don’t believe he knows anything’s happened. Not sure whether or no it isn’t just the drink again like it was the last time. Necks neat brandy by the bottleful.’ �ŚLikely sort of customer. How did you come to pal up with him?’ �ŚHe saved my life. Pulled me out of a well.’ �ŚA what?’ �ŚA well. Place where you get water.’ �ŚHow the hell did you get in there?’ �ŚOh, you’ll hear about that later on. You weren’t the only one who made a fool of himself. Come on.’ �ŚWe’re crazy. Both of us. You come along and save my life by pulling me out of a pub, and this bloke comes along and saves your life by pulling you out of a well. Hell!’ �ŚYou said it. Just over that hill there, and then we can see down in the valley and the cottage. And I’ll be glad to. Bingen, I’m worried about leaving Janet with Mister Rhodes.’ We hurried on. �ŚThat’s queer. Bingen, Janet would have been waiting by the door for us to come back. The door’s closed.’ I stared down into the valley at the cottage. There was no sign of life. Janet wouldn’t have shut herself in there with Rhodes unless . . . I yelled between cupped hands. �ŚJanet! You all right? Janet.’ �ŚGarry! Garry! Come quickly. Garry!’ Janet’s scream was muffled from behind the door, but it was sufficient to jerk us into action. I was sliding down the hill in a cascade of pebbles, and behind me came Bingen. At the bottom we picked ourselves up and dashed for the cottage. I hammered on the door. �ŚOpen up! Open. Janet, who’s in there with you? Rhodes, open this door.’ Janet answered me with a cry which stopped my hammering. I pulled Bingen back, and together we charged. The door I had so roughly fastened fell with a crash to spill us into the room. Struggling from underneath Bingen I jumped to my feet. At the far end of the room Janet stood, or rather crouched, and in her hand was my sword. Her face was white and her blue jersey ripped from one shoulder. Facing her stood Rhodes, grinning jeeringly. �ŚJanet! Are you hurt? Has he harmed you?’ �ŚI’m all right. Oh . . . but send this man away, Garry,’ she sobbed. �ŚSend him away.’ �ŚYou sure he hasn’t hurt you. I can’t let him go if he has.’ �ŚNo he hasn’t. Send him away. He only frightened me.’ �ŚYou dirty swine!’ I swore viciously at Rhodes. �ŚYou drunken bum. Get out.’ �ŚGet out, is it?’ Rhodes jeered, grinned at Janet. �ŚLet me tell youse blokes getting’ out don’t suit me just now. ’Ow about you getting out. You an’ your pal. Leavin’ me an’ me lady friend ’ere in peace. We was just agettin’ on ’til you busted up the party.’ Rhodes swung the knobbled leg of a table in one of his great hairy hands and grinned at me meaningly as he swung it. �ŚGo on! Get goin’! We ain’t desirin’ of your company none. Get goin’ afore I ’as to take me little persuader to you.’ �ŚRhodes, you saved my life just now. I’m telling you. Get out. You haven’t hurt the girl. Otherwise you’d never get out. Take a chance.’ As I spoke to him my eyes seached the room for a weapon. There was nothing closer than the sword Janet held. Never again would I go out without a weapon of some kind. I breathed heavily, cursingly. If only I had that axe from the inn! If only I’d brought it back with me! I tensed to spring for the sword before Rhodes could swing at me with his weapon, when, behind me, Bingen whispered softly. �ŚGet out of the way, Garry. Stand to one side. I’ve got a gun.’ A bang dropped plaster from the shattered ceiling, and Bingen stepped past me with a grin, the revolver pointed grimly in his hand. This was a chance to come back with flying colours, and Bingen took full advantage of it. He flung another shot at Rhodes which I swear couldn’t have missed that worthy’s ear by more than half an inch. The table leg dropped from the big tramp’s fist. �ŚGoing?’ Bingen grinned and moved from the door enticingly. �ŚGet going. I might miss just missing again. Hand’s a bit shaky from too much booze.’ Rhodes made a spring for the door, but I stopped him with hands on his chest. �ŚHonestly, Janet. He didn’t harm you?’ I asked. �ŚShall we let him go?’ �ŚOh, please let him go. He didn’t touch me, and he’s drunk,’ Janet implored. �ŚMake him go. Oh . . . if you hadn’t come back. Make him go.’ �ŚMake him? He’s dying to. Aren’t you?’ Bingen taunted Rhodes. �ŚWell then. go!’ I hesitated, swung my fist, and it happened that as my fist caught Rhodes under the chin, Bingen’s boot kicked him violently in the stern. Dusty Rhodes sprawled in the doorway. He lay mouthing curses at us, scowling, until Bingen banged another shot into the floor by the side of his head. That silenced him, and he got heavily to his feet, lurched out into the open. We watched him make towards the hill, climb slowly. On the top he turned, shaking a fist towards us, and his voice dropped down. �ŚI’ll come back. I ain’t takin’ that from no one, let alone . . . like you. I’ll be back, an’ when I does come back I comes back with . . .’ Bingen fired at him again, and this time, I fancy, did not mean to miss, but we saw the bullet kick white dust from pebbles at Rhodes’s feet, and then the big tramp sprang back out of sight as a second bullet went whining over his head into the distance. We heard him running swiftly in the heather, scrambling and slipping on pebbles, and then his heavy boots clattered on the hard road. His footsteps died away. �ŚOh, Bingen! I’m so glad to see you again.’ Janet nearly wept. She caught his arm. �ŚWe thought we’d lost you, and then you come back just in time to save me from that brute.’ �ŚAw! Me save you! It wasn’t me saved you. I saved Mister Rhodes.’ Bingen grinned shamefacedly. �ŚI didn’t save you. I saved the big tramp.’ �ŚSaved him! Why? What d’you mean?’ �ŚWell, if I hadn’t had the gun, Garry here would have torn him apart.’ Bingen grinned and then reddened, his eyes dropped. �ŚJanet, I’m ashamed of myself. I got out of hand and . . . but I’m not ashamed. I’ve had those things fastened on to me, and I reckon anyone, Garry here for instance, would have lost his nerve if it had happened to him.’ �ŚOf course I would,’ I agreed hastily. �ŚBut haven’t I told you to forget all that. It’s finished with.’ �ŚYes. Don’t be silly.� We understand. Let’s forget about it, and we three start all over again, being friends. Not that we were anything else.’ She went across to Bingen and wound an arm about him. �ŚBut, Bingen, I want you to promise me something, will you, please?’ �ŚI promise. What is it?’ �ŚPromise me that you won’t have too much to drink again, until things are better. Will you?’ �ŚI won’t,’ Bingen growled ruefully, rubbed himself where I had kicked him, and grinned. We were three again. But I wished, ashamed of myself for wishing, Janet would not make quite such a fuss of him in front of me. �ŚDinner’s ready,’ Janet called presently. She had busied herself with a meal, listening, interjecting occasionally while Bingen and I told each other all that had occurred during our separation. She called again. �ŚGarry’s ready for it. Aren’t you, Garry? And you’ll be hungry too, Bingen. What have you been getting to eat? Anything?’ �ŚNothing. Only drinks.’ Upon the floor was the sack of provisions Rhodes had forgotten to take with him, and I grinned at the thought of him fleeing over the hills leaving us to enjoy his luxuries. But then, he had saved my life, and by saving mine had brought Bingen back to us. Despite Janet’s gesture of refusal I opened one of Dusty’s bottles to celebrate, and with the meal and the brandy inside us we felt the terrors of the preceding days slip away. We spent the remainder of the day lounging, joking, and I slept during the afternoon, making up for lost time. It was a great day, that day we recovered Bingen and dismissed Dusty Rhodes. Before we turned in at night I covered the well to make sure there would be no more adventures in it. We talked, Bingen and I, so that we slept late and woke to find Janet stepping past us from behind her curtain. �ŚThe weather’s wonderful.’ She greeted the blazing morning cheerfully. �ŚIt hasn’t been so hot even since that new planet appeared. I feel hotter than when I was on the boat and . . .’ �ŚYes. It is hot. There might be something in what Bingen says. That somehow, in some manner we cannot understand, the weather, the new planet, and the Vampires are all connected,’ I answered her. �ŚBut, Janet, can you find something to potter about with here in the cave. Bingen and I have some work to do in the cottages. We want to get rid of . . . several things.’ �ŚI know,’ she said soberly. �ŚGarry, there isn’t any need to hide things from me. I know. And now you know how old I am. I know what you are going to do.’ �ŚI thought you did, but that’s no reason why you should see what we are going to do. Come along, Bingen. Let’s get it over.’ We left her rolling up sleeves of her jersey preparatory to starting work upon the cave, and entered the cottage where the bodies were piled. �ŚThere’s a kind of shallow pit just over the hilltop,’ I told Bingen. �ŚBit of a job carrying ’em all over the hill, but the farther we get ’em away from the houses, the better. Get them up there in the pit, then we can fill it in and the valley will be safe for Janet to ramble in without getting any shocks.’ Three journeys, with the aid from the remains of a barrow Bingen discovered, removed everything, including the bodies of a goat, some pigs, and the cats and dogs. Among the dogs was a great shaggy-haired, bob-tailed sheep-dog I felt like crying over. Neatly we arranged them in the pit and set to work with pick and shovel. It was a long job and, under the blazing sun, a hard job. I was glad when it was done. Bingen worked like a navvy, glad of an excuse, I think, to ingratiate himself in my good books again. We tried hard to disguise the purpose of the new turned ground, cutting turfs, and smoothing them as well as we could, until we stood with aching backs to survey our handiwork. �ŚI could do with something to eat and drink after that.’ �ŚDrink,’ Bingen grinned. �ŚDrink! My mouth’s like the bottom of a parrot’s cage. Gosh! I could do with one of those barrels from The Blue Anchor.’ �ŚYes? Well, the less you think about barrels or Blue Anchors the better it’ll be for everybody.’ �ŚAw! All right! Don’t get shirty about it. I was only . . .’ �ŚI wasn’t getting shirty. Just a little reminder, that’s all.’ �ŚThe less reminders I get about it the better I’ll like it,’ Bingen growled surlily. �ŚIf you’re going to harp on that, the best thing I can do is get out again.’ �ŚGet out. You’ll get knocked out, you damn fool, if you don’t forget it. But that’s Janet calling, isn’t it? She’s got the grub ready, I expect. Bingen, she’s a great kid.’ �ŚDon’t I know it. She’s the goods.’ I glanced sideways at Bingen to see a smile twisting his lips. We scrambled silently down into the valley. �ŚJanet,’ I said, after the meal was over. �ŚThere’s a black cat in the cave next door. It came out to me yesterday, but ran back again when those three Vampires visited us. It’ll come to you. Run along and see if you can coax it out.’ �ŚCat!’ she cried. �ŚWhy, for Heaven’s sake, didn’t you tell me before?’ She was off, jumping lightly over the fence, and we heard her calling persuasively. Lounging, Bingen and I stared into the sky. �ŚBingen. You know the pub you were in . . .’ �ŚAre you going to bring that . . .’ �ŚDon’t be foolish, and let me speak. There were some chickens there. The peculiar run of steelwork they were in saved them, I suppose. They couldn’t be got at. I’ve a mind to go down there and get them. And those houses. I’d like to have a look round there. They were so little harmed.’ �ŚWe don’t want to risk getting back after dark. D’you think we’ll have time this afternoon?’ �ŚI think so. It can only be round about noon.’ I squinted up at the sky. �ŚThe sun’s just about mid-heaven.’ �ŚThat’s not much to go by,’ Bingen answered, and rose slowly. �ŚThat blamed sun’s been directly overhead like it is in the tropics ever since that blasted comet first appeared. Come along then. We’ll chance it.’ �ŚI’ve got it.’ Janet returned, and in her arms nestled, frightened, the black cat. Upon one of her arms a long red scratch gave evidence the cat had been taken forcibly, but now it seemed fairly content. �ŚWhy, where are you two off to?’ �ŚWe’re going to have a trip down the road a little way. I saw some chickens, and thought we’d try to get ’em before something happens to them.’ �ŚWhat about taking me?’ she asked. �ŚWe can’t take you. You’ll be better off here. Don’t roam away from the cave, and be ready to nip and pull the barrier after you. You see, if you came with us we’d have to look after you all the time, and by ourselves we’ll get along quicker.’ �ŚSupposing you go off, and I stay here to look after her,’ Bingen suggested offhandedly. �ŚHow about that?’ �ŚFine. You sit here smoking while I trudge up that hill with a load of live chickens over my shoulder. Fine! But not so fine on second thoughts.’ �ŚYou needn’t carry them. The barrow.’ �ŚThat is a fine idea. Get the barrow then. Two of us pushing, that won’t be any trouble getting back up the hill.’ �ŚAll right,’ Bingen assented sulkily. �ŚLet’s get off then.’ Janet smiled at us mischievously, received my express orders not to stray far from the cave, and watched Bingen seize the barrow to pull it heavily out of the valley. From the top we waved back to her and then set off rapidly towards the chickens. �ŚI’ll give you a hand with the barrow, Bingen.’ �ŚNo. It’s light enough.’ �ŚYour turn to push it downhill, empty, and mine to push it back loaded. Eh?’ Bingen scowled, and I laughed at him. �ŚDon’t be sulky just because you couldn’t stay behind with the girl, Bingen.’ �ŚWhat d’you mean by that?’ he growled quickly. �ŚNothing much, except that I can’t quite forget what a lady-killer you were. Remember that little copper-coloured girl in Aden, Bingen. The one who wanted to see the Commanding Officer about an allowance?’ �ŚNo, I don’t. And don’t preach, or try warning me off any preserves that are public property.’ �ŚMaybe public property, but the sort of public property which has plenty of little notices reading �śKeep off the Grass”?’ I told him soberly. The journey was made in a silence which threatened to develop into a squabble with very little encouragement, until we passed the houses and neared The Blue Anchor. The chickens, three and one cockerel�"five were dead�"we found wandering woefully about their saving enclosure without strength to revolt against the indignity of being tied leg to leg and laid in a barrow. From the cellar we carried a dozen of brandy, the same of port, a small barrel of ale, and from the burned bar I rescued several tin boxes of biscuits, and we returned to the houses. Here we were lucky, for in one of the shops�"there were four�"we found unlimited supplies of tinned provisions. Busily I sorted them out, packing those I thought to be the most valuable upon the barrow, after we had removed the luckless fowls, whilst Bingen ransacked the adjoining shops, a haberdasher’s and a milliner’s. He returned with armfuls of miscellaneous articles, shirts, shorts, socks, and shaving gear for ourselves, and a great bundle, which he guarded jealously, for Janet. �ŚWhat the devil have you got in there?’ I asked, eying the bundle curiously. �ŚRemember we’ve got to push this damned barrow up that hill.’ �ŚAw! Just a few fal-de-dals for the girl,’ he answered sheepishly. With the fowls upon the packed barrow we set off slowly on our return journey, and the road was long and hot. From the crest of the hill by the valley whence she had waited our return, Janet came flying down to greet us, eying the piled barrow with excitement. She treated my reprimands for having left the proximity of the cave with smiling contempt, and Bingen, to my disgust, upheld her. I would have to see that in future she obeyed, otherwise it would not be safe to leave her alone. The three of us hauled the goods to the hilltop and ran them down into the valley with cheers. At the cottage door Janet was all eagerness to delve into the bundles, until I drew her notice to the starved fowls. With them fed, sparingly, watered, and housed in the adjoining cave, Bingen and I retired to shave and array ourselves in clean shirts, leaving Janet to probe the mysterious bundle on the barrow. What a delight that shave was! The first for days. We heaved buckets of water over each other like schoolboys, and like schoolboys we arrayed ourselves in khaki shirts and Boy Scout shorts. �ŚFor Gawd’s sake! We can’t go out and face the girl like this.’ I laughed almost hysterically at Bingen, knowing I too must have presented an identically comical appearance. Bingen’s legs were plump, inclined to be bandy and blackly hairy, and the top two buttons of his shorts refused all his furious attempts at a meeting. Sheepishly we went into the open, both trying desperately to be the one behind. But Janet was too busy to notice us. with Bingen’s bundle spread on the ground by the barrow she was crooning softly with delight. In turn she fondled scent-bottles, powder-puffs, brushes, a large ornate mirror, and articles of that description. Mentally I kicked myself for not having thought of them, and Bingen grinned sideways at me. But the chickens and the foodstuffs. They were the most important. But they did not please Janet so much as the fal-de-dals. At least, I thought not then. Tea, with the two of us rigged up like pantomime Boy Scouts, and the girl fortified with perfume and face powder, was a most enjoyable meal, spoiled only for me by the ingratiating manner with which Bingen proffered biscuits and jam and such to Janet. Almost, I was pleased when a group of� Vampires flying far away to the East, dim in the blue sky, sent us cautiously to the cave entrance, and brought the meal to an abrupt close. Actually I suppose, a mild sort of jealousy mingled with the fact that I felt such overtones to be out of place with the three of us alone in the country in the middle of death, made me hate the way Bingen made up to Janet, and at the first opportunity I shot a quick aside at him, to remember the warning I had given about keeping off the grass. I was taken startlingly aback when he retorted with an accusation of wanting her for myself. I remember I flushed, for suddenly I realized there was a glimmer of truth in what he whispered savagely. Janet rejoined us, peering curiously at my red face and Bingen’s grin. Later in the evening, with a great yellow moon hanging low over the valley, and the dull rosy glow from Khaenealler’s comet diffusing over the hills, Janet nursed the cat, while Bingen and I sprawled at her feet with smoke from our cigarettes curling peacefully upwards. We were tensed suddenly, unexpectedly, when a drunken voice bawled. The words were tossed down into the silent valley, resounding, until the world was full of hurled threats. � � � VIII The Killing of the Stranger IN THE ENSUING SILENCE, as we stared at each other, there came a sound of pebbles slithering down into the valley, and on the crest of the hill, dimly against the starry sky, we saw a figure staggering drunkenly to and fro.� A raised fist menaced us. �ŚI’m acomin’ back for you two . . . I’m acomin’ back for yer, an’ you’d better watch your . . . step. I’m comin’ back. Comin’ fer the girl an’ all. I’m comin’ back.’ �ŚMister Dusty Rhodes!’ I ejaculated. �ŚWe ought to have bumped him off while we had the chance. He’s going to be a nuisance if he hangs about round here.’ The raucous voice softened as Rhodes swayed and staggered from the hilltop, but the refrain still dropped down to us. �ŚI’m comin’ back! Comin’ back!’ He must have circled drunkenly, for his voice grew stronger again, and he reappeared for a moment on another edge of the valley to loom blackly against the red glow from the comet. Again, the valley was filled with blood-curdling threats and his promise anent returning. His voice silenced jerkily as we heard him stumble and fall. He slid, obviously unexpectedly from the cursing, down a pebbled slope. Then he went swearing and staggering away into the night. �ŚHum! Says he’s coming back.’ Bingen grinned at me. �ŚSounded as if he was back. But it was kind of him to let us know.’ �ŚWe really ought to go out after him and give him such a towsing he will alter his mind about coming back,’ I said sternly. �ŚWe ought to have done it before. Treating a bloke like Rhodes decently is making him think he’s put the wind up you. but I don’t like to go and beat him up while he’s blind drunk. Perhaps, in the morning, he’ll have forgotten all about us, and gone on his way.’ �ŚI’m frightened of him,’ Janet whispered. �ŚI believe he’ll come back.’ �ŚLet him. It won’t do any harm,’ I told her reassuringly, taking her hand in mine. �ŚNothing to get nervous about so long as Bingen or I are handy.’ Janet had listened silently to Rhodes’s shouted threats and, curiously at the time I thought it, crept close to me to grasp my arm. I wondered why she did not go to Bingen. She said again: �ŚI’m frightened of him. Don’t make fun of him. You mustn’t let me be alone when he is about. Oh, I believe I’ll be frightened to be alone any more, now.’ �ŚIt’s nothing to be frightened of. He’s drunk. When he sobers up, he won’t bother us again.’ I squeezed her hand. �ŚCome along, forget all about him.’ We heard no more from Dusty Rhodes that night, and I think before we turned in Janet had put him from her mind. I felt sure either Rhodes would have to be scared away from the neighbourhood, or we would get no peace until he was placed in a condition which would not allow him to be an offence to anyone except from a nasal sense. It was three days before we saw him again. But for periodical descents of small numbers of� Vampires, the days passed uneventfully. At first, I used to sally forth from the cave to slaughter them, were they in reasonably small flights, but when we found they stayed only a short while before leaving, Bingen and I used to play bezique, while Janet sewed in the barricaded cave until they decamped. That was the better, the easier way, for their bodies had to be carted over the hill and disposed of, and it was a queerly nasty job carrying these limp, chill, decapitated carcasses. It was far better to let them stay their time, squatting, humped motionlessly outside the cave, until they went away. Somehow, I received the impression they were uneasy, unsettled, as though wanting to return to their habitat, and yet did not want to leave with nourishment still to be had. After Rhodes’s second visit, the times during which they sat about the cave entrance grew appreciably shorter. I wondered fantastic things about them. Did their food last them over long periods? Did they feed but once every month or so, like snakes? Once, we saw two lying flattened to the earth with muzzles boring into the loosened soil where we had buried their fellows. Lying so prone, I thought them dead, until Bingen hurled a stone, which twisted them in the bracken to stare coldly at us as though we disturbed meditations. During those days preceding Rhodes’s return, Bingen and I made solitary journeys over the hills to the outskirts of the town, bringing back upon the barrow such stores as seemed of use to us. We did not leave Janet alone. Bingen tumbled across the local territorial barracks, the rifles and ammunition and, but for him, we surely must have lost the battle with Mister Rhodes. Four rifles Bingen brought back, and half a dozen boxes of .303 cartridges. I was pleased with them, lost no time erecting a target to blaze away with the unlimited ammunition. With the first half a dozen rounds cracked off and echoes crackling over the hills, I stood with the rifle at my shoulder. That noise would have startled all the birds for miles around! The rifle dropped to the ground. A world without birds! We had not remarked it before. It was six months before they returned. Gulls were the first we saw, drifting high in the sky like minute, wind-blown scraps of white paper. Later, we saw birds of the hedgerows, which darted to cover at our approach. Once I knew they were gone, I missed the birds even more, I think, than the beasts and the presence of humans. Rhodes, to Janet, was a tangible fear. She was sure he would come back . . . and he did. For myself, I had almost forgotten him, but I think that Dusty Rhodes discovered the barracks and the small-arms arsenal, and visited our valley immediately afterwards. It so happened it was my turn to stay with Janet, while Bingen went off on an exploration after more stores. The valley was rapidly assuming the appearance of some great dump, for I thought it wise to acquire all we could in case . . . Where Bingen was, I do not know. Janet, busy under my superintending, was sewing straps I had brought from the barracks into equipment which would allow me to carry, when abroad, sword, pistol, and rifle. Frog and holster were fixed into a web-belt, and I tried it on. Janet giggled at me. In khaki shorts and blue shirt with shortened sleeves, I buckled the equipment about my middle, saluted her with military precision, and asked for orders. When there came a derisive shout across the hills. It was followed quickly by the crack of a rifle-shot and the thud of a bullet slamming into the cottage door. �Ś’Ere I am back again,’ Dusty swayed above the valley and yelled. �ŚCome back like I says I would. I come to . . .’ But I was rushing Janet into the cottage, flinging her flat on the floor. The door slammed behind us, and the fusillade started. Dusty bombarded us drunkenly, absurdly. Shots splintered, whistled through window openings, thudded through the door, slammed uselessly into the walls.� And, in between loadings, Dusty called hiccoughing challenges for me to go out and fight him. Janet lay sideways, to stare affrightedly at me. I smiled at her and then swore foolishly. �ŚFor the love of Mike! Here we have been sewing equipment together so that I should always be able to go out fully armed, and now we are in need of that damned rifle it’s in the blasted cave!’ I said to the white-faced girl lying close on the floor beside me. �ŚI wonder if that drunken maniac up there is able to see over the back of the cottage. I’ll be able to get out of the cave for the gun. Then we won’t be long.’ Holstered on my belt was the revolver. I pulled it out and broke the cylinder to stare at the six shells nestling in it. But that was useless unless Dusty came right down into the valley. I smiled at Janet, and we lay listening to the caterwauling and the shots slamming into the cottage. Short of going outside, I could not discover whether or not he overlooked the short distance to the cave. �ŚHe can’t go on like this much longer,’ I comforted Janet. �ŚApparently he’s humped a box of ammo’ up there, but he won’t be able to carry on like that for long. Drunk out there under that sun! He’ll drop right off to sleep before he knows where he is. Then I’ll go up and attend to him.’ �ŚSupposing he comes down?’ Janet queried fearfully. �ŚHe daren’t come down. He’d stagger down the slope and roll to the bottom, right into my arms. But, I hope he does. This revolver will shoot straighter than his drunken rifle at close quarters. We’ll just stay put, here on the floor, until the damn fool goes to sleep or shoots himself by mistake. There’s no need to get nervous.’ �ŚI’m not nervous,’ Janet smiled, and lied bravely through shivering lips. �ŚI’m safe with you, I know. But what about Bingen? If he comes back, he’ll get shot.’ �ŚYes! I’ll have to find some way of letting Bingen know.’ �ŚBut he would hear the shooting.’ �ŚOf course he would.’� I wrinkled my brows, and continued reflectively, �ŚI don’t know, though. If he’s carrying something heavy up that hill under this sun he’ll not be bothering to listen for anything. I know what it’s like. The sweat running off you and the load getting heavier and heavier. There’s a chance he might get close to Dusty before he heard a cannon going off under his ear. Bingen would be hurrying too. He doesn’t like being out by himself. No, I won’t risk it. I’ll get out and silence that gun on the hill.’ �ŚPerhaps Bingen might hear the shooting, after all.’ �ŚYes, he might. He might come rushing right up here to see what it’s all about, and run into Dusty.� Then what?’ �ŚHasn’t Bingen got his rifle?’ �ŚI don’t know. If it isn’t in the cave, he has. I’ll get out there and see. Get my gun, too.’ �ŚOh, Garry.’ �ŚHuh! Nothing to get nervous about. I’ll just make a dive for the cave, and be in it before Dusty knows I’m out of the cottage. Even if he sees me, he couldn’t hit me in a thousand years in the state he’s in.’ Pulling off the equipment, I handed her the revolver. It would be better for her to have it, in case Dusty shot straighter than I thought he could. �ŚHere, catch hold of this.’ I gave the gun to Janet. �ŚI can’t run with all that tied round my tummy. Save the revolver for Dusty, just in case he comes down.’ At the back window I stopped, with hands on the frame before pulling myself up to jump clear. �ŚListen. And try to be brave. If Mister Dusty, by some remarkable mischance, has a bit of luck and hits me with a lick, you can look after yourself with the revolver until Bingen gets back. You’ll hear when Rhodes stops shooting, and then, when you hear him sliding down the pebbles, you can step to the window, poke the pistol out, and shoot him when he’s close enough for you not to miss. That’s all right, isn’t it? You’ll do that?’ �ŚDon’t go!’ I laughed at her. �ŚOh, don’t be a kid. It’s all right really. Just giving you instructions against the improbable. I’ll be in the cave before Dusty sees me. I must go. Anything might happen with that lunatic up there. Look at that!’ A shot burst through the door, smashed through crockery on the table, and whined into the ceiling to bring a cloud of plaster about our heads. �ŚLay on the floor again. Be back with you in two shakes of a nanny-goat’s tail feathers.’ On the opposite wall, silver streaks of lead shone where bullets flattened upon the stone. It was time for me to be off. I shoved the makeshift sash from the opening and, as it fell outside to the ground, the shots redoubled, cracked furiously. I could imagine Dusty lying upon the sun-warmed heather, putting aside his rifle to tilt a bottle to his dry throat, watching awhile from the corner of his eye the cottage. And then his choking curse as he saw the window fall to the ground and me spring and tumble out into view, scrambling to my feet to jump the wall and dart for the cave. Dusty’s bottle dropped and I could imagine the brandy oozing away into the heather when he grabbed frantically for his rifle. Dusty was at home with a rifle. In that short distance he got off five shots at me as I ran doubling. Then he was slamming shot after shot into the barricade, and I was recovering my breath and rummaging in the box of bandoleers of ammunition. With a pile of cartridges at my fingers, and one in the breech, I slid along the floor for a quick glance up at the hill. The showing of my head brought bullets kicking dust viciously. Haphazardly, I loosed off a couple of shots, hoping that Dusty, discovering I too had a gun, would retire gracefully, but he answered them with a regular bombardment and yells of drunken hilarity. Down in the valley, with Dusty commanding the heights, I did not stand a chance. I must get on to his level. Edging the rifle blindly from the cave, I pulled the trigger, thinking things over. The only thing to do was to make a dash for the end cottage, where I would stand a chance of climbing, unseen, up the hill, to stalk Dusty through the heather. I shot off five rounds rapidly, listened, counted as he returned them, and when the tenth thumped into the cliff by the cave, jumped for the open, and was running like a hare as he reloaded.� A bullet tore through the leg of my shorts I found afterwards. �ŚRun! Run, you son of a bitch!’ I heard him call jubilantly. At the south end of the cottage I was screened from his view, though, idiotically, he still pumped streams of bullets into the roof and the air overhead. I wondered, rapidly climbing the ascent, how much ammunition he had carted up there with him. Along a dry water-run I crept, with dragging rifle, veering round to the other side of the hill, and when I reached the crest, crouching in the blackened heather, I smiled. Across the valley, rather lower than my point of vantage, Dusty lay, belching shots down at the cottages. He had two boxes of ammunition, and the ground about him was littered with bottles. Dusty must have spent some time preparing his siege. For a while I watched him. Spilling cartridges unconcernedly, he turned his back to take a swill from a bottle. Then I shot. My rifle-sights were on the bottle in his hand, but the bullet hit another upon the ground by his side! Lucky for Mister Dusty Rhodes! Seven hundred yards. It was too fine a shot for one who had not cuddled a rifle into the crook of his shoulder for years. I lay still in the heather, watched Dusty jerk into firing position with the bottle flung hastily away. He stared surprisedly down the valley, and then searched the surrounding hills incredulously. I grinned viciously to myself.� All in good time I’d smoke Rhodes out of his little encampment, watch him run. Then away over the hills I saw Bingen, and, even as I saw him, saw the Vampires above him. Away to the north, Bingen was creeping along one of the pebbly water-runs with which the hills are inundated, stalking Dusty intently, all unaware that above him there dropped a small cloud of� Vampires. Dusty, set upon searching the valley to see where I had fired from; myself flat among the heather; Bingen creeping cautiously; overhead, forty or fifty Vampires dropping slowly, silently! �ŚBingen! Bingen! Look up!’ I yelled, half standing to point a warning, forgetful of Rhodes, intent upon Bingen. Bingen heard my call, but, even as he looked up, jumped to run for the valley and the cave, the things were upon him. I watched Bingen fight them off violently. Staggering upright, slithering down a slope, shaking them off. Then he was gone from view into a dip. Presently, as I prepared to scramble over the hills to his rescue, he reappeared, and no Vampires followed. Bingen was getting over his dread of them and treating them the right way. As he approached, I turned again towards Dusty Rhodes. He was not to be seen. About the bottle-littered heather a black heap of� Vampires lifted, surging upon a body struggling beneath them. Presently Dusty staggered upright, breaking through the covering bodies, shaking, flinging the things from him. Fastened to the back of his neck a Vampire poised with outspread wings, so that it seemed he wore a fearful caricature of one of the old-fashioned German helmets crowned with an Imperial eagle. Bingen and I ran for him. Dropping my gun, I dragged the sword from its frog, clambering breathlessly up the slippery heather. When I reached the top, Bingen was there, tearing the black, loathsome things from Rhodes’s unconscious form. Together we grabbed them by their wings, flung them to the ground, and slew them. �ŚYou got the trick of it, Bingen,’ I gasped with the last one hacked and killed. �ŚGood for you.’ �ŚAw! I got used to ’em now,’ Bingen grinned, and wiped sweat from his face. �ŚThough what the hell we’re doing this for I dunno. Couple a fools we are, if anyone ever was.’ �ŚYour’re right at that,’ I agreed shortly, and bent over the body of our foe. �ŚPhew! He reeks of brandy. As much drunk, as scared out of his life, the swine. Let’s kick the drink out of him, and, when he’s awake, beat hell into him. Then we’ll put it to him gently he’s not wanted round here at all.’ We shook and thumped Dusty into a sort of semi-consciousness, and he lay, blinking at us uncomprehendingly with red eyes, not knowing or caring who we were. But soon, under our treatment, he recovered more fully, to recollect and whimper, reach for one of his beloved bottles. I stepped upon his reaching hand and Bingen kicked the bottle away. �ŚGet up! Get up, you! This is your finish. Get bumped off. You’re going to get shot, here and now, without any court-martial. Savvy that? We’re not having any drink-crazed swine barging about here with a gun.’ �ŚThat’d be murder. You can’t get away with that. You’d get ’ung,’ Dusty whined, when at last my meaning soaked into his doped brain. He lifted himself upon one elbow and scowled up at us with bleary eyes. �ŚI’ll get out of it, but don’t shoot. Anways, you daren’t shoot. You’d be ’ung.’ �ŚHung? Will we? How? You going to call a copper and give us in charge after we’ve shot you?’ Bingen asked seriously, and then as the blank foolishness of it, calling a policeman in that deserted world struck us, we collapsed into laughter. Rhodes seized his opportunity. With surprising agility he sprang suddenly to his feet and was running swiftly over the hills. We laughed as Bingen called again. �ŚHi! Where you going? To fetch a policeman?’ Dusty Rhodes went over the bracken like a deer and, big man as he was, I don’t think his flying feet bent the blackened fronds. �ŚIt’s better like that,’ I said. �ŚWe couldn’t have shot him.’ �ŚCouldn’t we?’ queried Bingen. �ŚWhy not? He tried to do you in, didn’t he? Anyway, I’ll send a reminder after him to let him know what’s waiting for him if he comes back.’ Coolly, as though preparing for a shoot at Bisley, Bingen dropped to the ground, arranged his legs comfortably, and took a couple of sighting shots. Then he went into action. With rapid fire he hummed bullets after the luckless Dusty, who dodged now as he fled with fear spurring his feet. Into the ground before him, behind, above his shrinking head and, I honestly believe, between his very legs, Bingen pumped bullets after the diminishing figure, while I held cartridge clips ready for him to reload. How on earth Bingen managed not to hit him, I do not know, but if Mister Dusty Rhodes wasn’t scared out of his life, I wasn’t weak from laughing. Janet, now knowing that tragedy had developed into farce, called to us. �ŚStop! Oh, please stop!’ She came down in the valley, running towards us with upstretched arms. She called again: �ŚDon’t shoot him! Please! Let him go.’ �ŚIt’s all right. He’s gone. Don’t worry about Bingen shooting. He saved Dusty’s life, and now he is helping him on his way.’ �ŚSaved his life, huh!’ Bingen grinned up at me from the ground. Dusty had disappeared over the hills and far away. Bingen got slowly up and stretched himself. �ŚSaved his life! I dunno about that. If he isn’t just about dead with fright when he stops running, I never tried to shoot his socks off.’ I laughed at him and called down to Janet. �ŚWe’ll be down in a minute. Stay there! Bingen, let’s get the bodies of these things together and burn them.’ �ŚGood idea. You know, Garry, I believe I’ve got over my fear of them. Over there, just now, when I found I could shake them off and throw them. I got confidence. Don’t think they’ll worry me any more.’ �ŚOf course they won’t. I gathered you’d tumbled to them, when I saw you come up smiling just now. Good man! We’ll take Dusty’s rifle and his ammunition back with us, and I’ll use his brandy to set these things on fire. Gosh! The brandy that fellow must have tucked away. This business gave him a chance to get what he wanted.’ �ŚAnd it looks as if it’s going to give one of us a chance to get what he wanted too,’ Bingen grinned slyly. �ŚWhat the hell d’you mean by that?’ �ŚAw! Nothing. Keep your wool on.’ �ŚThen don’t be funnier than you can help. Give me a hand to pile these things together.’ We heaped the Vampires, covering them with dried fern fronds and pouring brandy over them. The bonfire burned clearly at first, and then gradually the flame dulled and a great plume of smoke towered into the sky. We watched it for a while, silently. �ŚYou know, Bingen, I’ve wondered for a long time. Do those things burn away in the flame, do they disappear, or doesn’t the fire hurt them at all? You know, in all the buildings we’ve been, there hasn’t been a sign of a dead Vampire. Yet we’ve seen them right in the middle of burning houses. I wonder if fire does harm them. They must have caused the fires. I wonder . . . Oh, hell! What’s the use of wondering? We’ll come back when this has burned out and see if those bodies have gone. Come on.’ Later, after we had gone down in the valley and reassured Janet there was no possibility of Dusty Rhodes returning, cooked, and eaten a meal, I climbed back to where the bonfire had burned itself out. In the circle of burned bracken a pile of grey ash moved gently in the breeze. With a branch broken from a slender larch I probed, turned the ash, and in the white, under the grey, still glowing with heat, were the black bodies of the Vampires. They lay as we had piled them, unscathed! Their sleek bodies showing no sign of having been in contact with heat, and, as I poked with the branch, one of those horrible, decapitated heads rolled from the pile, bleak eyes regarded me, and under the skin upon the temple beat erratically a thin ribbon of pulse. I killed it! So my premonition that they came unscathed through fire was correct, and with the certainty of the knowledge I felt physically sick. Lanes ran from the bonfire through the bracken, burning fitfully. I stamped and beat them out.� The Vampires had attacked Dusty and Bingen. Did that mean they were . . .? Back in the valley, I was subdued, and Bingen spoke to me several times before I heeded. �ŚWhat! What was that?’ �ŚWhat’s the matter with you?’ Bingen queried. He jerked his thumb to the hills. �ŚThey gone?’ �ŚNo. They weren’t touched at all.’ �ŚWell, both of us thought that all the time, didn’t we? No need to let it upset us.’ �ŚYes. We both thought it, but the confirmation is a bit upsetting when you think it over. Still, as you say, no good worrying over it.’ �ŚWhat are you two talking about?’ Janet asked curiously. �ŚHave what gone? And what did you know?’ �ŚOh, nothing,’ I answered her, and lapsed into silence. It was some time before I spoke again. I stared reflectively at Janet. �ŚJanet, you know all the Vampires haven’t gone yet,’ I said. �ŚWell, I think now, after they’ve attacked Bingen, we’d better keep a sharper watch out for them than we have been doing for the past few days. Until today, I was convinced that the few we’ve seen flying overhead, and the few which have visited us, were just odd stragglers, and that the main body had gone. But now, I’m not so sure.’ �ŚNo! You were right. They have gone. All but a few,’ Janet spoke decisively. �ŚI’m sure they’ve gone. I feel they’ve gone. There are only a few left and, soon now, they’ll be gone too. Oh, I know it.’ I looked at her shining eyes as she tried to convince me. She was so sure. I hoped that she was right, and later events proved her to be correct. Days there were when huge swarms of� Vampires flew effortlessly overhead, days when we saw but a few, and then days when we saw none at all. Those which attacked Dusty Rhodes and Bingen were the last we actually came in contact with. Several flights dropped to squat in the valley, watching the barricaded cave, but we did not interfere with them and, unable to touch us, at last they went away. The weeks went by, they grew scarcer and scarcer until at last we were convinced Janet had been right, that they were going, and now had gone. We felt the world we knew was free of them. They came . . . destroyed man and his works, burned the land, drained it dry of humanity .� .� .� and left. Those who must come after may comprehend, perhaps. We, who lived under them, do not. Never will, I think. We can only surmise. And I, who have attempted this record of events, have tried hard to avoid conjecture, imagination. I have attempted the telling of this, our story, as a bare record of fact and event. In the cave that night, after we had disposed of Rhodes, I lay awake, pondering upon the outcome, speculating on the future. By my side Bingen lay snoring lustily, and behind the partition which had replaced the curtain Janet slept. At least, I suppose she slept. What would happen to the three of us? Would there be trouble between Bingen and myself over the girl? I could not tell. Fervently, I hoped against it. Later, if things went as they had been going, and let us three see we were the only survivors then . . . if Janet chose. That would dispose of any future trouble.� And it looked to me as if she had already chosen, preferred Bingen. Undoubtedly. So apparent it was that she preferred his company. And Bingen . . . was he to be trusted with her? I tried to appease my wondering with thoughts that somewhere would be other people. That, later on, we would find, maybe, an elderly woman who would befriend the girl. Was Bingen to be trusted with her? Was I? The Vampires. Would they appear again? Twisting, circling, my brain dwelt upon the future and the past, until I tried to stop thinking, turned upon my side, trying vainlessly to sleep. All that night I lay awake, thinking, thinking, until, to my relief, dawn light came stealing through cracks in the barricade. Softly, to avoid wakening the others, I slid the barrier ajar and went out into the morning. As yet, the dawn had not dispersed the shadow in the valley, and I watched the skies lighten over the hills. Gradually the pathetic cottages, standing emptily with burned walls and tumbling roofs, swam from the dusk into the lightening dawn while I leant, smoking, against the garden wall. Another day with the world gone up in flame and smoke, leaving three survivors hidden fearfully in a cave, contemplating only the provisions they could salvage and who was to have the girl! I flung my cigarette away, watching the glowing arc of its fall, and then, with the morning born, pulled water from the well, icy cold, to douse gloominess away. �ŚBeen thinking about the girl and couldn’t sleep?’ Bingen’s voice came unexpectedly to me as I towelled vigorously. He dipped his hand in the bucket. �ŚThat’s the stuff to take those thoughts away, m’lad. Cold water for hot desires. Here, after you with the bucket.’ �ŚFor Gawd’s sake, Bingen,’ I answered morosely, while he turned the windlass. �ŚCan’t you forget she’s a woman? This isn’t any time to flirt about, or rather, try to . . . You know what I mean? Hell! Why don’t you try to treat her as a child.� Anyway, until we get somewhere where it’ll be different. Where there’s someone able to look after her.’ �ŚShe’s a woman. She’s old enough to look after herself.’ Bingen eyed me curiously. �ŚWe can’t forget that. Neither can she. Not unless she’s queer. And she certainly isn’t queer. If things go like this, us living here together, she’ll have to choose one of us. We can’t live here, like two eunuchs waiting on a harem beauty.� At least, I can’t, not without providing evidence to the contrary.’ He laughed and bent over the bucket. �ŚI suppose you’re right,’ I agreed with him at length. �ŚActually, I expect, I’ve known it all along, but . . . I hadn’t the courage to realize. Yet the very idea of you or I, Bingen, living with Janet while the other hung around . . . is incredible.’ �ŚOf course it’s incredible,’ Bingen grinned at me. �ŚWhere’ll you be off to, Garry?’ �ŚWhat about breakfast,’ I said surlily, �Śand forgetting this, until we’re forcibly reminded about it.’ �ŚYou’ll be forcibly reminded of it, just as soon as I get a chance.’ �ŚAnd you’ll be getting that beating up Dusty Rhodes was nearly getting. Come on, let’s go and see about some breakfast.’ Together we walked slowly across to the cottage, and then Bingen halted. �ŚListen!’ he whispered. �ŚD’you hear anything?’ At first I did not. Then to me came the slithering sound of pebbles rolling beneath somebody’s softly treading feet. Someone crept, but the betraying pebbles rolled down the hill. �ŚWhat’s that?’ Bingen dropped the towel from his shoulders, sprang back towards the cave. �ŚGet the guns. Quick!’ My rifle was in the cottage, and walking backwards, watching the hilltop from where the noise came, I retreated towards it. With loaded gun, I peered through the window. Across the yard I could see Bingen watching. We waited. Above, on the hill, the noise ceased. Once, in the silence, I heard a stone roll, tumbling down into the valley, but we could see nothing, so that, after some minutes of waiting, Bingen gestured nonchalantly there was nothing to be afraid of, and walked from the cave into the yard. He lit a cigarette and, while his hands were shielding the flame of the match, a rifle on the hill crackled and echoed through the valley. Bingen dropped as though he had been poleaxed. On the hilltop, among the heather in the clear morning, there drifted a little cloud of smoke. My eyes fixed balefully upon the spot. Rhodes had come back. Bingen lay out in the yard. I hoped to God Janet would not dash out to him. Rhodes would kill her too. �ŚJanet! Janet! Stay there. Dusty’s up on the hill.’ She did not answer, but the silence was broken sibilantly. I heard a whispering voice. �ŚIt’s Dusty. Go and get him. I’m all right. He only creased me. If I move, he’ll shoot.’ Bingen’s voice! For a moment I did not understand. He was lying in the yard, and, by his side, the cigarette he had dropped sent up a little spiral of smoke. �ŚYou all right? Thank God! Bingen, I thought he’d got you.’ �ŚHe has got me, you thundering idiot. But I’m all right.’ �ŚHow long can you stay without moving?’ I whispered. �ŚIf we can stick it, he’ll start to come down. Then I can get him.’ �ŚI can wait. S’long as he doesn’t see me breathing. Gosh! I can feel a bullet smacking into my back every minute.’ I looked at Bingen. His shoulders lifted gently. I wondered if Rhodes could see the movement from up on the hill. If Bingen moved, I felt that Dusty would not miss again! Peeping cautiously, I could see no sign of Rhodes stirring about the spot from where cordite from his rifle had burned to smoke. There was nothing we could do except wait. Janet in her cave; Bingen flat on his face in the yard; myself crouched by a window in the cottage; up on the hill a demented drunk with a cocked gun. It seemed we waited hours silently, minutes dragging slowly were days. I spoke softly to Bingen again, and he did not answer. Lying under the hot sun, he had fainted. Something must happen now, I thought, and stared vengefully upwards, and as I stared, Dusty moved. Easing slowly above the heather his shock head rose, peering down, and yet I dared not shoot. Upwards, from an awkward position, the shot was too risky. This time there must be no mistake. While I waited, Rhodes knelt, stood gradually erect, with rifle aiming down into the valley, until the whole of his figure stood boldly against blue sky. Probably he thought, if that drink-smothered brain of his allowed him to think at all, that I was away, that the girl and Bingen were alone. And he thought he had killed Bingen! Presently, as though satisfied, though still he kept his rifle pointing ready to shoot, Dusty began to climb down into the valley.� At the bottom he hesitated, then, assured of safety by silence and the motionless figure on the ground, tucked his rifle under his arm and walked towards the cave. I heard him swearing, mumbling savagely. He spoke louder, called. �ŚI come back proper this time. Proper. ’N now for the girl. C’mon, lass. Where are you? Dusty’s come back for you.’ He clambered over the wall, and when he turned towards the cave I stepped from the cottage. Called vibrantly. �ŚRhodes!’ My finger curled about the trigger, squeezed. The bullet hit him in mid-air as he jumped to turn. The big tramp swayed, dropped almost over the body of Bingen. I shot him again, walked towards him. �Ś’Ad to come back.’ Dusty’s voice came hesitatingly. Blood dribbled about the stubble on his chin. I had to bend to hear. �Ś’Ad to come back. Get the girl. Getcher s’well. But . . . you got me. . . .’ He died then. �ŚOh,’� Janet cried, as she came slowly from the cave, and the accusation, as she stared at me, dropped my eyes before hers. �ŚGarry!’ �ŚI couldn’t help it,’ I answered her reproach shamefacedly. �ŚIt couldn’t be helped. It was either Bingen or me, or Dusty.’ �ŚBut to kill him.’ She went to where Bingen sat rubbing his head tenderly and knelt beside him. He grinned at me as he put an arm about her. Then he jerked and scowled as her fingers touched his forehead, wiped the trickle of blood away. �ŚAnd so he should be killed,’ Bingen growled. �ŚSee this? He creased me so closely it’s a marvel it ain’t me dead, instead of him.’ Glad of an excuse to break away from the accusing tension, I bent to examine Bingen. Raising his hands to light the cigarette had saved him. The bullet nicked his forearm and ricochetted on to his temple.� A scratch an inch long on his brow and the slight cut on his arm were all Bingen could show in the way of wounds. Leaning with his head on Janet’s shoulder, he grinned at me aggravatingly while she made a fuss of him, bandaging his ridiculous scratches. I pulled Rhodes on to my shoulders and carried him over the hill, tossing him carelessly to the ground. �ŚGarry, old son,’ Bingen greeted me teasingly when I returned. �ŚYou’re going to get in bad for that murder. She thinks you’re a cruel man to have done it.’ �ŚI’d have been several kinds of a fool if I hadn’t done it,’ I told him tersely. �ŚWhere would you have been now if I hadn’t bumped him off?’ �ŚNot sitting pretty like I am,’ Bingen grinned. �ŚAnyway, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Bumping off a nice little lad like Dusty. How could you do it? You nasty cruel man!’ I swore at him and, as we went for breakfast, glanced through the window to see Janet wipe tears away from her eyes as she bent over the fire. Crying over Rhodes! All that morning she treated me with excessive politeness, joking conspicuously with Bingen until, after dinner, I flung on my equipment and announced my intention of going exploring. I reached the top of the hill before Janet relented. �ŚGarry!’ she called after me. �ŚGarry! Wait a minute.’ I waited for her to climb to me and, down below, Bingen sat scowling on the yard wall. �ŚWell. What is it?’ I asked her. �ŚGarry! Please forgive me. I’m sorry,’ she cried, and then was in tears and in my arms. �ŚI was only upset because it was you who killed him. I wish Bingen had. Forgive me, Garry.’ �ŚYou wanted Bingen to do it?’ I stared down at her, uncomprehendingly. �ŚOh, I think I understand.’ She wished Bingen had killed Rhodes, saved her, and as she looked up at me with swimming eyes I cursed beneath my breath. �ŚIt’s all right. I understand. I’m sorry. But I couldn’t help it. If he hadn’t been killed, it might have meant you being alone with him. He would have killed Bingen and me. He might have killed Bingen. Then, where would you have been?’ �ŚWhere would I have been if he had killed Bingen?’ She broke from my arms suddenly, looking at me with eyes sparkling from tears. She dashed her hand across her face and turned to the valley again. Over her shoulder as she climbed down she flung back at me:� �ŚYou’re a great fool, Garry.’ I stared after her, watched her join Bingen, saw that she glanced quickly up from under her curls to see if I still was there. Then, they were laughing together over some task. I watched them a while before turning to march disgustedly across the hills. � � � IX The Opal Ring WITH THE DEATH OF RHODES, rapidly diminishing groups of Vampire Bats allowed us to settle down by degrees into a routine which was a search for food, a rebuilding of the cottage, and the fitting up of a cave to enable it to be taken over solely for Janet’s use. In one of the big houses, across the hills, Bingen discovered a radio, carrying it home in great excitement, and though we fixed an aerial at once to spend the day listening, we had no results from it. Neither Bingen nor I knew the slightest thing about wireless, so that it was Janet who showed us the way to sink an earth, and run an aerial from the hilltop down to the roof of the cottage. It was over a week before anything but atmospherics disturbed the quietness of the loud speaker, but eventually we heard three stations. We decided they were German and Arabic. The radio did not last long. Batteries ran down, and we did not trouble to search around for fresh. The uselessness of sitting waiting for something to come through for nights on end without results, and being unable to understand the stations we did receive, soon palled. Gradually the thing was pushed aside for a gramophone. The black cat and the chickens were joined by a scrawny pie-bald cow which slid down the valley in an avalanche of pebbles, and shrill screams from Janet, terrified by this unexpected apparition. I drove it from Caterham, some twelve miles away, fearing it would drop at every step. We named it Liza, that cow, and though it never gave us any milk, it became a great pet, never wandering far from the valley. Later, when it regained some of its original contours, I wanted to kill it, sick of the eternal tinned meat from the razed provision shops, but Janet demurred. A pony was also added to our farm, but, unlike Liza, it would suffer no fondling, permit us to get no closer than would allow a bunch of grass to be held before its nose. Some time recently, that pony had suffered a shock from which it never recovered. Vampires still went overhead erratically, in ever-increasing numbers though, and at rare intervals dropped low into the valley to hover, watching us coldly, before spiralling away. How I got the impression I cannot say, but I fancied they were uneasy, wanted to get somewhere, and did not know whether they could. Then we went for weeks without seeing one, and began to toy with plans for scouring the countryside in search of other survivors. The cave, now wholly occupied by Janet, was fitted up royally with a great dressing-table carted over the hills, and a glittering display of toilet articles brought back for her by Bingen. More and more did Bingen seek to please her in ways I never dreamed of, and more and more a sort of tension undermined our comradeship. Sometimes I thought that Janet relished immensely heaping coal upon that fiery tension, at others I fancied she feared, and endeavoured to bring us back to the old footing. Mostly, she favoured Bingen conspicuously, but, surprisingly at times, would lean my way in a fashion to astound me. On these rare occasions I even felt sure that Janet preferred myself. But the conceit never lasted for more than a few hours, and soon I was shown Bingen was the favoured one. Yet he never progressed far. There was never an opportunity left open to give him encouragement. Yes, Janet knew how to command the reins. Indirectly, bicycles put a stop to this impossible state of affairs, bringing things to a dreadful climax. Three bicycles I brought back from an outing. Neither of us knew how to drive a car, though there were petrol stores in underground tanks and cars in isolated garages for the asking. My ignorance of both cars and radio brought home to me how little I knew. Horses, artillery, slight knowledge of carpentry, beyond that, what a babe in the wood I am! On the bicycles, we made excursions which increased in radius as our feeling of security grew stronger, though our confidence was never enough to allow us to travel abroad unarmed.� Always sword and revolver were at my hip, even though sometimes for the sake of travelling light I left my rifle at home in the Valley of Security. We arranged one evening an exploration for the morrow which would give Janet an opportunity to delve around the debris of the shops in Croydon, and in the early morning set off over the dusty roads on the cycles. Down the long slope to the south we coasted, with Janet and Bingen well in front, and myself biking slowly behind that I might watch, for I wanted to keep Janet’s first excursion free from danger. Several times they called back to me, waving, then flew on again, laughing and joking. At Purley we sat by the roadside to eat tinned lobster and, as a toast to this first outing, drink champagne from the ruins of a nearby off-licence. Janet, drinking from her glass, before realizing what the bubbling liquid was, tasted champagne for the first time in her life, and it went slightly to her head. Against my wishes, Bingen pressed another glass upon her. They laughed at my frowns, ragging me for an old spoil-sport. Again they went ahead, until, close to the outskirts of Croydon, I spurted to catch them, for I did not want Bingen raking around any more licensed premises after drink for Janet. �ŚHere’s Granpa!’ Janet giggled, sparkling from her champagne as I caught them up. Her bike swerved across the road and she screamed shrilly with laughter. Recovering her balance she eyed me wickedly, and rode closer to Bingen. �ŚWe’ve got to behave ourselves now, Bingen, with Old Sobersides here.’ �ŚDon’t mind me,’ I answered shortly.� �ŚJust carry on as though I weren’t here. Then you’ll be able to enjoy yourselves.’ �ŚOh, Garry. Why don’t you try and enjoy yourself,’ she cried reproachfully, and pushed ahead after eyeing me, puzzled. �ŚI’ll go on by myself if you like.’ �ŚDon’t be silly. Take no notice of him,’ Bingen urged. He grinned at me. �ŚWe’ll stop at the next place we come to and have another sup of bubbly. That’ll cheer us up.’ �ŚWe won’t.’ I caught Bingen’s arm as he went after Janet. �ŚLet her go on. What the hell did you want to let her drink that stuff for?’ �ŚBucks you up, doesn’t it?’ �ŚWell, there’s going to be no more of it. And, Bingen, give it a miss, too, will you? You know . . . Well, when you’ve had a drink you’re apt to . . . You know what I mean?’ �ŚCrossing bridges before you get to them?’ Bingen grinned. �ŚYou needn’t worry. I won’t turn this Sunday School outing into a booze-up.’ �ŚGood man! I only mentioned it, because . . .’ �ŚBecause you’re as windy as hell Janet will forget she’s dressed in knickerbockers like a boy, and flirt around like she had skirts on,’ Bingen interposed curtly. I stared at the slim figure cycling ahead, boyish in shorts, jersey, beret pulled over her curls. Bingen went on, and we entered the town. Past long rows of tumbled blackened houses, interlopers in a dead world, and as we drew nearer the centre of the town, wreckage showed that fire had burned more fiercely.� To the south we found the place better, houses and shops were burned, but walls stood and, here and there, places were almost whole. Bingen and Janet dismounted, leaning bicycles against the curb, and waited for me to join them. �ŚLook! Look! That draper’s shop,’ she cried excitedly. �ŚIt’s hardly touched. Oh, I must go and see what is in there. I can go in, can’t I, Garry?’ �ŚWhy ask me?’ I growled short-temperedly. �ŚAsk Bingen. He’ll let you go.’ �ŚOh, Garry,’ she said hopelessly, and ignored the pair of us to walk towards the great store. �ŚI don’t really have to get permission from anyone.’ �ŚThat’s the stuff,’ Bingen laughed. �ŚGo ahead.’ �ŚWait!’ I called after her. �ŚYou can go in, but I’ll have a look round first.’ Haughtily, Janet waited while I stepped over the ash by the fallen entrance and went into the shop. The place was gutted, but upon shelves and in glass cupboards were goods showing that perhaps somewhere would be stuff unburned. On the ground floor there were no bodies, but rather perilously I climbed broken stairs to where people had died, before returning to the street. �ŚYou can go in the shop,’ I told Janet. �ŚBut understand, you’re not to go upstairs. There are some rotten things up there you wouldn’t like to see. Go in and poke around for what you want, while Bingen and I wait here, but you aren’t to go upstairs. Yell out if you get frightened.’ �ŚI won’t go upstairs. And you’ll stay right here?’ �ŚWe’ll be here. Off you go.’ With a little smile of thanks which wiped out all my bad temper, Janet ran eagerly into the shop, while we sat upon the curb opposite and prepared for a long wait. We caught glimpses of her darting excitedly here and there, pulling boxes from shelves, opening drawers, dusting ashes from things, and then she disappeared from sight into the rear of the shop. I think she went downstairs to the basement. We lit cigarettes. �ŚWhat’s the matter with you?’ Bingen asked at last fiercely. �ŚWhy don’t you let the girl enjoy herself if she can, instead of coming the pilgrim father over her? The drink wouldn’t hurt her.’ �ŚBetter to knock around like a pilgrim father than a blasted Mormon kid snatcher. Sorry, Bingen, I didn’t mean that. Don’t mind me, I’m worried about her, you see.’ �ŚWorried about her is right. If you ask me, you’ve fallen for her worse than I have. Why don’t you be a man and own up to it, instead of trying to keep me off the grass with threats of looking after her. You want her, and that’s why you don’t like me trying my hand. Isn’t that it?’ I lit another cigarette. Bingen had a habit of saying things I knew were not true, and yet knew to be full of truth. I wished I could straighten out this tangle which threatened to overwhelm us. Janet herself came along to straighten out everything, and complicate everything manifold. Bingen saw her first. I turned at his gasp of surprise. �ŚStrewth!’ Bingen muttered. �ŚWill you look at that!’ Janet had gone into that store, slim in shorts and blue jersey, boyish for all her dark eyes and curls, with an element about her of comradeship, of a child playing adventures, and she came out . . . how? Bingen stared at her with his soul glinting out of his eyes. I watched him before turning to see Janet. She stood poised sophisticatedly by the shop entrance. I looked at her, and my heart rose into my throat, sank back into my stomach. This was the �Śkid’ I had treated in such a cavalier manner, the child whom I had spanked as she climbed a fence, the girl who had laughed and slid skilfully from Bingen’s caressing arm. She stood there for us to see, spun on a high heel like a mannequin that we might see the whole of her. Bingen and I watched dumbfoundedly. A great drooping hat of the style called, I think, a picture-hat, covered her curls, lipstick deepened the scarlet of her mouth, skirts swirled about her ankles, and I saw the sheen of silk stockings. Her dress, of some gaily patterned material, swung like an opening flower as she pirouetted. �ŚWell! What do you think of this?’ she called, and as we stared, came with an exaggerated mincing tread daintily towards us. �ŚHow d’you like me now? Don’t you like me? Neither of you seem very pleased with me.’ She pouted with annoyance. �ŚYou’d better go and take those clothes off,’ I said shakily, when at last I could speak. �ŚWhat the hell,’ Bingen shouted gleefully. �ŚTake ’em off. I should say not.’ �ŚShe’ll go and take them off at once. Savvy!’ Fierceness left my voice, and I tried dismally to make a joke of it. �ŚJanet, you can’t wear those clothes, Bingen and I would be fighting over you in two shakes.’ �ŚWould you really?’ Janet twinkled at me mischievously. �ŚDon’t you think I ought to wear them, Bingen?’ �ŚWear them! Wear them.’ Bingen swore. �ŚIf you ever wear anything else when I’m around, there’ll be a war.’ �ŚThere, Bingen likes me, even if you don’t,’� Janet said to me. �ŚHe likes me in these things.’ �ŚAnd I do,’ I answered desperately, scowling at Bingen. �ŚI do like you in them,� Janet. But you can’t wear them. Supposing . . . supposing another Dusty Rhodes turned up!’ I continued quickly, sure that her twinkling eyes mocked me. �ŚBesides, you couldn’t run in those skirts, couldn’t in those shoes either. You can’t wear things like that here. Please, Janet.’ �ŚWhat’s the matter with you?’ Bingen asked crossly. �ŚWhy can’t you let us enjoy ourselves? If the girl wants to wear those things, why not let her! Why, Heaven above, man, you ought to go down on your knees and ask her to wear them.’ Bingen flung his hands up in a grinning gesture of abject admiration, and then stepped close to Janet. For a while he smiled at her, then slid an arm about her. They stood laughing at me, until Bingen, with a sudden unexpected movement, pulled her roughly to him. Kissed her full on the mouth. Janet struggled fruitlessly, and I was too stricken to go to her aid. When she was free her arm described an outraged arc to leave scarlet finger-marks on Bingen’s cheek. �ŚBingen!’ Janet’s eyes flashed, tears sprang to them, and her voice shook. �ŚYou’ve always been nice ’til now. Why did you spoil things? Oh, why did you?’ �ŚYou damned fool! What the hell did you do that for! Another crack from you like that, and you’re for it.’ I scowled at Bingen’s furious anger, and turned to Janet. After all, she had asked for it, and I wasn’t sure but what, given Bingen’s confidence with women, I wouldn’t have done it myself. I told her angrily, �ŚYou go and get out of those things at once, before you make me kiss you. go and get them off before I make a fool of myself, too.’ �ŚBefore you make a fool of yourself,’ Janet said haughtily, and tried to stare me out of countenance. She shrugged her shoulders, flirted with her skirts. �ŚOh, don’t you worry. You’ll never make a fool of yourself.’ She turned slowly, went back again to the store, and Bingen and I stared at each other balefully, while I wondered why the devil she had placed such a peculiar emphasis on the word �Śyou’ when she told me I would never make a fool of myself. �ŚForget she’s a woman,’ Bingen jeered, and retreated hastily as I strode forward. �ŚOh, all right! Keep you shirt on, Garry. Don’t lose your temper and make a bigger fool of yourself than you have done already. Why couldn’t you let things go? Appreciated her, instead of kicking up a dust.’ �ŚKicking up a dust! From the marks on your face, you kicked up a bit of dust.’ �ŚWell, if she did kiss me, instead of you.’ �ŚKiss you! Why, you . . . Bingen, haven’t you got the sense to see I won’t stand for anything like this. Not while we three are here together, alone.’ �ŚDon’t you worry. There’ll only� be two of us if you carry on this way, Garry. And the two of us will be,’ Bingen grinned and stroked his cheek, �Śthe two of us will be me and the bird of paradise you’ve just sent in there to change into knickerbockers. Knickerbockers! Hell!’ We eyed each other belligerently until there came from the store a shrill little scream which jumped us across the road. Janet came running from the door, still dressed in all her finery, panic-stricken. And it was to me she ran, ignoring Bingen. Into my arms she ran for shelter. Her soft form nestling there made my heart beat and breath quicken so that I could hardly ask what scared her. �ŚMatter? Oh, matter!’ she said softly at last, whispering the word from my shoulder, and I could have sworn that she giggled. �ŚMatter! Oh, Garry, I . . . I . . . I thought I . . .’ �ŚYou thought you what?’ I lifted her chin to see what was the matter with her, and she gazed at me seriously. �ŚWhat did you think?’ �ŚI thought I . . .’ She looked up at me without a twinkle in her eyes, resting there on my breast. �ŚI thought I saw a mouse.’ �ŚMouse! Janet!’ A mouse amid that holocaust! In spite of myself, I laughed and shook her. �ŚJanet, you just made that up so that you could come out again with these clothes on. Confess.’ I held her at arm’s length and smiled at her. Let her go. �ŚJanet, be a sport and go and take these glad rags off. You know it wouldn’t be fair to us to have you knocking around in them. Go and take them off and be our kid in knickerbockers again. And don’t come running out with any more idiotic excuses so that you can stay like this.’ �ŚI didn’t make that excuse just to keep these clothes on,’ she whispered, moving backwards with a peculiar expression in her big eyes. �ŚWhy did you, then?’ �ŚOh, you wouldn’t understand. You never do. Oh, all right! I’ll go and take them off again.’� Then in a whisper so soft I was not sure I heard the words aright, she said as she turned away: �ŚWhen I do look nice, the one I don’t want to kisses me, and the one I do want to, just tells me to run along and get into those old rags again.’ I started forward hesitating, not certain I heard her correctly, but as she ignored me, dared not, for the life of me, ask her what she had said. With Janet in her boyish rig, and pals again with Bingen, we pedalled away up the road home after searching the ruins and loading our bikes with such things that she wanted to take back. I dragged behind them as they cycled ahead, went slowly pondering like a fool over the words I knew I had heard, and yet was scared to be certain, admit to myself that I had heard. For some distance I pedalled like a man in a dream, until a sudden flash of comprehension dismounted me to squat by the roadside and smoke musingly. Had I left those two together too much? Janet undoubtedly seemed to prefer Bingen, and yet as I mused, little curious, unexplainable episodes danced into my mind. To me she clung in times of real danger, not to Bingen; treated me in a fashion she never treated him. Gradually it came to me that undoubtedly she did not prefer Bingen, and I sprang upon the bike to race away up the slope after them, intending that very evening to ascertain for certain which of us two she did prefer. Leaving the bike at the hilltop I scrambled down into the valley to discover Janet and Bingen busily unpacking the loads they had brought from our tour. I slung my packages beside them to find Janet unexpectedly treating me with a hauteur which chilled all my determination to find out which of us two she liked best. Bingen grinned at me round his shoulder as he bent over the table beside her, and I went lounging about outside, listening to their laughing chatter, sure now who Janet desired, if indeed she did indeed desire one of us at all. The next morning found me early astir, deciding that I wanted action to banish brooding thoughts about the tangle which had arisen. Breakfast over, I left them, and mounted the bike, cycling away towards Croydon with a rather foolish idea of looting jewellers’ shops to garner enough treasure against the remote likelihood of the world returning to its old order. I even think now that I also had an insane plan of finding some valuable ring and presenting it to Bingen and Janet with congratulations! Anyway, it would pass away another day. Free-wheeling down the slope away from the valley I heard Janet call. I ignored her shout, and cycled on as though I had not heard it. Croydon, after a while as I rummaged among the ruins, banished thoughts of both Janet and Bingen. I went from shop to shop, coughing in the cloud of fine ash rising under my feet, pulling fallen beams aside, poking amongst burned goods interestedly. It was surprising the amount of stuff untouched. A shop here and there was completely gutted with nothing worth the salvage inside, but even in places which had burned fiercely, some goods piled on shelves and stacked in cupboards had escaped material damage. I left my cycle at the beginning of the town and proceeded on foot, zigzagging from pavement to pavement, entering some shops, climbing through broken windows, or stepping over burned door-lintels. Soon I was grey from head to foot, covered with grey floating dust. It made me thirsty, and I scrambled over a pile of debris into a hotel. In the bar I swigged whisky and soda comfortably, until by a rear-door found several corpses, and then I left. Feeling cheery, I searched until I found a jeweller’s shop close to the east centre of the town. A little shop it was�"I had ignored the great multiple jewellers’ premises in the High Street�"with barred windows and a strong door still intact. I set to work on it with a pick from where road-menders had been at work. The bodies of two policemen and an old man lay by an overturned watchman’s hut, and under the eyes of the shrunken dead policeman I burgled the jeweller’s. Inside, roof timbers tangled about the counter. I took another sip at the whisky bottle I carried, placed it safely where it would not be knocked over, and started work. In the windows and on the floor below, where shelves had been, melted and twisted oddments of gold and silver, cups, trophies, ornaments, jewellery lay. It was the valuable stuff I was after, and probing under the fallen roof at the rear of the shop I found a safe. Jewels I had gathered in my search I heaped in a little pile upon an unburned portion of the counter. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, but curiously enough, no pearls. Pearls perhaps would not stand the heat of fire. With the ash from the shop raked through until I was satisfied nothing else of value remained undiscovered, I turned my attention to the safe. I sweated over it, but heat had buckled the steel door and broken the hinges, so that the pick soon opened it for me to see black, white, and blue cases, lined with charred silks. Here was treasure. I admired the flashing brilliance of necklets, bracelets, rings, and then from one small case there tumbled into my palm the ring for Janet! A black opal, square cut, set in brilliants, alive with colours of flame. I wondered at it, tilting it slowly in my hand. From emerald to rose, from rose to indigo, from blue of day heaven to blue of star-studded night. As I studied it, away in the distance, I heard someone call. Faintly came a shout, calling at intervals, drawing nearer. It was Janet. I wrapped the opal in my handkerchief, made a package of the other gems, and climbed out to the pavement to hear her call again. Her cry echoed through the empty streets shakingly, and I knew that she was frightened. �ŚHere I am. Janet! Janet!’ I called in return, dusted as much of the ash from myself as I could, and went towards the main street, to suddenly see Janet dashing past at a run. I called her again, and she swerved, saw me, came flying. �ŚOh, Garry! Garry!’ she cried, and was in my arms, sobbing her heart out, and as I clasped her, my handkerchief dropped to the ground. The opal glittered and flashed as it rolled in the gutter. It winked up at me as then, with Janet sobbing shakingly in my arms, I understood. I grinned up at a weather-cock tilted drunkenly on the tip of a badly damaged steeple. �ŚGarry. Why didn’t you bring me with you? Why did you leave me alone with Bingen? I called after you. You must have heard. Why didn’t you answer?’ �ŚI heard, but . . . Oh, I dunno. But what did you come on here for?’ �ŚBingen. He tried to kiss me again.’ �ŚWell?’ �ŚWhat do you mean . . . well?’ Janet flashed at me quickly and drew away. �ŚI . . . I . . . Eh.’ I stammered and flushed. �ŚI thought you wanted Bingen. You seemed to sort of like being with him.’ �ŚLike being with him! You never gave me any chance except of being with him.’ �ŚWell, you kept giving me the air. How was I to know?’ �ŚHow were you to know!’ Janet queried indignantly through her tears. �ŚWhy, I kept telling you over and over again, and then I’d get cross because you would still give way to Bingen. I suppose I tried not to let you see, because you seemed to want to leave me alone with him so much.’ �ŚYou mean . . .?’ �ŚOf course I mean . . . Oh, Garry!’ She squirmed as I hugged her. �ŚAnd all this time I’ve been miserable because of that swab,’ I said at last. �ŚAnd you knew it, really. Yet you left it as long as this. When did you know that you . . . That I . . . You know what I mean.’ �ŚOh, the very first time I saw you,’ Janet giggled, brazenly. �ŚBut, good God! I hadn’t got any clothes on then.’ I shook her. �ŚJanet, don’t be so forward. I’m ashamed of you. Wait a minute. I’ve got something here for you.’ Releasing her, I searched in the gutter for the ring, and Janet goggled at it with big eyes. �ŚGarry! Wherever did you get it?’ Her voice held spellbound rapture. She shook her head. �ŚBut you might put it on the ring finger.’ �ŚThere, then. That’s about fixed us as near as we’ll ever get fixed without church or registry office. Hasn’t it?’ �ŚYes.’ �ŚHow are we going to tell Bingen?’ �ŚYou’re not afraid of telling him?’ �ŚNo.� But he won’t take it nicely. You see, both he and I sort of mutually agreed that you preferred him out of the two of us.’ �ŚYou couldn’t have,’ Janet cried. �ŚWell, perhaps you might have, but not after I had those clothes on. Not after I had to tell you. Oh, Garry, to think that I had to tell you. You never asked me.’ �ŚOnly because I thought there was no chance.’� I continued anxiously. �ŚYou know, Janet, it really isn’t fair to me. Being able to have you after I’ve worried myself sick about Bingen having you, when there’s only the three of us. No one else in the world. We ought . . . at least, I ought not to think about such things. I ought to just carry on until we hear from somebody. Stay like we were, until things alter. D’you understand what I mean?’ �ŚI think I do,’ Janet answered seriously. �ŚGarry, you know I’ve lived in a boat all my life. The coast-wise trade usually doesn’t wrap things up in polite language. At least, it doesn’t when it thinks its womenfolk are below.� Although, according to you, I’m young, I understand a lot more than you, I really believe. We’ll just belong to each other now. Later on . . .’ �ŚJanet!’ �ŚWell, you asked for it, didn’t you?’ �ŚOf course I did,’ I replied, and laughed, feeling that the half-understood worries which had been troubling me were miraculously solved. �ŚYes, I suppose that, like a damned fool, I’ve been asking for it ever since I first found out how old you were. I worried unnecessarily.’ �ŚAnd now Bingen knows he’ll have to . . .’ Janet hesitated. �ŚKeep off the grass,’ I cut in quickly. �ŚYes. That’s it,’ she smiled. �ŚNow Bingen knows he’s got to keep off the grass, there will be nothing for you to worry about.’ Janet looked at me archly. �ŚNo. I suppose there won’t be,’ I said slowly, thoughtfully. �ŚAnd yet, I wonder?’ �ŚAnd no wonder. Now, look here m’lad, the first thing for you to do is . . . stop worrying and thinking.� We’re each other’s now, until later on, we belong, properly.’ �ŚRight. I hope I can keep my end of the bargain.’ �ŚI’ll see you do that.’ Janet smiled at me, linked her arm in mine. �ŚAnd now, hadn’t we better be getting back?� You haven’t any idea how long we’ve been standing here in the middle of the street, have you? In the middle of the street! Well, m’lad, you certainly take a lot of starting. But when you get started! The middle of the street, indeed!’ I laughed at her. How surprisingly I enjoyed being addressed as �Śm’lad’, who was nearly old enough to be her father! We were a long time getting back to the valley, and at the top of the hill, before we went down to the cottage and Bingen, we halted. �ŚGarry. D’you know we’ve left the bicycles? We’ve walked back!’ �ŚWalk back be hanged! I’ve floated back on a . . . Eh! . . . Um! Floated back in a state of coma.’ I sent a yell down into the valley. �ŚBingen! Bingen!’ We clambered down in silence. �ŚI suppose he’s here,’ I said. �ŚI wonder what he’ll say? After my warnings to him about . . .’ �ŚAbout what?’ �ŚOh, nothing.’ In the gathering dusk Bingen sat in the cottage, and upon the table before him two whisky bottles stood. He eyed our entrance sulkily. �ŚWhere have you been?’ �ŚDown in the town. Knocking it back, Bingen?’ �ŚKnocking what back,’ Bingen asked crossly. �ŚWhisky.’ �ŚNow then, you two,’ Janet chimed in. �ŚYou in a better humour now, Mr Bingen?’ �ŚMister!’ Bingen repeated suprisedly. �ŚWhat do you mean�"Mister?’ �ŚSurely you didn’t expect to be called anything else after the way you behaved while Garry was away?’ Janet said. �ŚAre you going to say you’re sorry?’ �ŚSorry. What for?’ �ŚYou know what for, Bingen. Trying to maul me about while Garry was away.’ �ŚAw. I only tried to kiss you,’ Bingen grinned. �ŚThat why you’ve stopped out all this time. Still angry? Well, I’m sorry. Come and have a drink, Garry.’ �ŚWe’ll have just one,’ I said, and poured out a glass, dropping a slight amount of whisky into a tumbler full of lemonade for Janet. �ŚBingen. Here’s to us. Janet and me.’ I drank, but Bingen stayed his glass in mid-air, puzzling. �ŚWhat d’you mean? Here’s to Janet and you?’ he asked. �ŚWell, you see, Bingen. While Janet and I were down in town, we sort of fixed things up between us.’ While he and I looked at each other Janet, who had gone out into the yard, called to me and, glad to get away from Bingen’s outraged, accusing glare, I went out to her, leaving him alone. The moon rose over the hills to lighten our valley and diffuse the glow from the comet. A lamp was lit in the cottage, and we could see the black shadow of Bingen sitting with his whisky.� Twice I saw him rise and go to where the bottles were stored. �ŚI think I’d better go in and try to jerk Bingen out of that drinking spell,’ I said. �ŚHe’s a nasty bit of work when he’s had one over the eight.’ �ŚI wish he were different,’ Janet said softly. �ŚYou know, Garry, I think we’re going to have trouble with him.’ �ŚAw! Nonsense! He’ll be all right later on. When he gets over the disappointment. Bingen’s a sport, really. Circumstances, you know. Bit tough on him when you think it over. And after all, to be honest, you did give him rather a lot of encouragement.’ �ŚThat I didn’t.’ Janet started away from me. I caught her, and she was forced to stay in my arms, but her body was stiff, unresponsive. She said indignantly, �ŚI didn’t encourage him. I only tried to make you understand, through him.’ �ŚMake me understand, through him,’ I laughed. �ŚBit tough on poor old Bingen, wasn’t it? No wonder he’s peeved.’ The door of the cottage crashed suddenly open, and Bingen swayed on the threshold, staring into the darkness. I called to him. �ŚBingen! Come over here and bring the bottle, you old crab you, and don’t be a fool. Bring the bottle over, and I’ll have a couple with you to celebrate. Come and squat over here.’ �ŚHe’ll make trouble if he comes over here,’ Janet whispered. �ŚDon’t ask him. Let him be.’ �ŚOh, he’ll be all right.’ But I was not too sure, and eyed Bingen, walking towards us, apprehensively. Standing rather unsteadily, Bingen came to a halt and glared down at me. �ŚWhy don’t you forget she’s a woman and think only of her as a lost child,’ he said sneeringly, thickly. �ŚThis isn’t the time to think about things like that. Lost child! Lost woman she looks like now.’ �ŚBingen, you . . .’ I stopped as Janet caught my arm pleadingly. He laughed drunkenly, turned on his heel, and went back to the whisky in the cottage. At the door he turned. �ŚNice little bit of double-crossing, Garry.� Warning me off, and all the time making good yourself. I won’t forget it.’ The door slammed and I frowned. We were going to have the anticipated trouble with Bingen all right. Then I smiled. It couldn’t be anything. If the worst came to the worst, there would be a row. Maybe a scrap. Perhaps he would have to have it beaten into him. Well, I was capable. I stretched back against the cliff and Janet snuggled down beside me. I wondered. If Janet, as I thought she would, had chosen Bingen instead of myself, would I have given them any trouble? I think not. But I hardly imagine I could have stayed in the valley. No, I could not have stayed. Would Bingen have to go? � � � X The Death of Bingen FOR THREE WEEKS Bingen left Janet and I severely alone, going his own way, drinking morosely, wandering off on excursions to The Blue Anchor where I had found him�"with a rifle under his arm. Trying to reason with him, that he was behaving like a spoilt child, I met with such surly cursing I was forced to give up attempts to achieve reconciliation. Several times, quick recollection of my having warned him not to attempt the very thing which I had now done myself, stopped me from answering churlish accusations with a crack under his jaw. Soon, I knew, he must find another place to moon around in, where he could not upset us, or Janet and I would be forced to search for accommodation outside the valley. Janet tried her hardest to pacify him, but her advances roused such sarcasms and developed into such bickerings that I ordered her to leave him alone, and we achieved some sort of a peace, which looked like flaring into murder at the tiniest provocation, living our life apart from him, hoping he would finally end his drinking-bout, and be once again his old self. We went on storing foodstuffs, seeing that vegetables were replanted in the valley, feeding the chickens, and Liza the cow was well fed against the exigencies I had in mind. But Janet did not know of that last! We went farther and farther afield on the cycles, even so far as back to the river, and it seemed indeed that we three were the sole survivors. Three survivors and discord among them! The black cat disappeared into the wilderness for seven days, and returned with a great half-wild female tabby who swore fiercely at all our friendly overtures. Later, the tabby cat appeared at the mouth of the adjoining cave with a kitten in her mouth, and while I held the fierce creature at bay,� Janet went into the cave and brought out four others. We opened a bottle of champagne to christen those blind little balls of fur, and Bingen refused to join our celebration. Weeks went by, and we saw no Vampires at all. When again we did sight some, they were in couples mostly, and never exceeded half a dozen in number. Soon, we felt, they would have disappeared altogether, but actually, it was three months from the time of our meeting with Janet to the time we glimpsed the last, flying swiftly far overhead, to where, we know not. Even then, it was two months afterwards before I felt sure they had gone, and dared to venture abroad without continually glancing upwards, scared of danger. The weather still held its tropical heat; and rain, when it did fall, poured only for a few minutes, mostly in the night. Three weeks after presenting the opal ring to Janet, a thick fog dropped into the valley, turning two days into one long night. Janet and I stayed in the cave with a gramophone while Bingen, as usual, kept to the cottage. The thought of meeting Vampires in that fog kept us from venturing abroad until it dispersed. Grass stabbed water-green spikes through the black bracken, heather on the hills purpled, and later, flowers grew, blossoming in the most unexpected places. We saw gulls high in the sky, and later, a bird darted from the undergrowth before us on one of our walks. And we saw other tiny animals, a mouse, and a ferret or a stoat which came after our chickens and killed one before we saved the others. Life returned to the land. Soon, with the razed buildings hidden, overgrown, and trees in full growth, the country will be as it was before the arrival of the Vampires. As it was before . . . but for humanity.� And that, even, may be once again! Three nights before Bingen died I was watering some seedlings which Janet had gathered from a garden over the hills, assuring me they were scarlet runners, but I was equally sure they were violets, when he came out of the cottage. He had not long returned from a trip to the inn, and had brought back a plentiful supply of brandy. He staggered to where I watered the plants and sat himself ponderously upon the bank to watch. With this, the first overture from him I had received since first he started drinking, I thought he might have regained his senses, but I was soon to be disillusioned. �ŚWell, how goes it, Bingen?’ I asked, cheerily.� Too cheerily, I’m afraid, for he scowled at me in return. �ŚStill boozing?’ �ŚAin’t I entitled to booze?’ he asked pugnaciously. �ŚYou’re not the boss here, anyway. What you got to grouse about? You got what you set out to get. Didn’t you?’ �ŚI didn’t set out to get anything. And, look here, Bingen, you’ve had a good long run now. Why don’t you pack it up?’ �ŚPack what up?’ �ŚD’you have to be told that? It’s about time you were told. Janet’s held my hand all this time, hoping you would sober up and be your old self again. There doesn’t seem to be much hope of that.� And I’m telling you, Bingen, I’ve had about all I’m going to stand from you. Knock off the booze. Pal in again like a good fellow. . . . Or . . . get out!’ �ŚHuh! Get out! Sounds nice from you. That. Get out!’ Bingen sneered and drank heavily from his bottle. �ŚOld pal of mine you were!’ �ŚI was. And still am. Providing that you give me a chance.’ �ŚGive you a chance. Huh! Hell of a lot of chances you want. Make your own chances, an’ stop other blokes at that.’ �ŚOh! What’s the use of trying to give in to you,’ I said disgustedly. �ŚThere’s nothing to it, except that you’ve either got to stop the booze, help us in the valley . . . or get out. That’s final.’ �ŚFine, old pal. Been pals for years, soldiered together, drunk together, gone without drink together, fed together, gone without food together. Gone through this,’ Bingen waved his hand about the valley, �Śtogether. And, now, after you’ve got the girl, it’s get out for me.’ �ŚYou asked for it.’ �ŚAsked for it! What about you? Haven’t you asked for it? What would you have done if I’d got her? Got out? Like hell you would. You’d have stayed snooping around, like I’m going to. Like I’m going to, until I get her. Even if it’s after you’ve done with her.’ Bingen’s voice rose, and I placed the bucket I was using on the ground. Janet came nervously behind me. I looked at Bingen thoughtfully. I could not do anything to him in that state. As near to delirium tremens as it was possible for a man to get without actually seeing things. His hands shook, and the brandy he drank slobbered as much down his chin as into his mouth. What was there for me to do? Short of roping him in one of the caves, forcibly stopping his drink, there was nothing I could do. And that, if I knew Bingen, would make matters far worse. All I could do was to see that he did not molest Janet, and leave him alone, ignore him as much as lay in my power. He glared at me blearily, sulkily, taking no notice of Janet peering from my side, and seemed to muse over some project he wanted to put before me. He drank again before speaking. �ŚGarry, we’ve been pals for years, haven’t we?’ Bingen said thickly. He waited for my nod of agreement, hiccoughed, and continued slowly: �ŚWell, here we are, two old pals. What we want to break up now for? Just over a girl. Girls ain’t nothing, really. Nothing to bust up two old pals. Garry, you’ve got Janet all right so far. But you won’t always have her. Not with me knocking around, you won’t. Because I’m sticking! Sticking, I tell you. ’Spite of all your telling me to get out.’ �ŚWhat’s the good of listening to all this?’ I cut in wearily. �ŚCome on, Janet. Let’s leave him to it.’ �ŚListen to what I got to say first,’ Bingen answered. He stumbled to his feet, steadied, and then spoke determinedly. �ŚHere’s what I’ve got to say. We agreed we’re two pals. We used to share. What d’you say to being pukka pals again, an’ sharing now. You a week, me a week. That’d solve everything.’ I didn’t answer him, standing steadily. I felt Janet plucking nervously at my arm. �ŚBingen, there is nothing for me to say.� You’re drunk,’ I said at last. �ŚSo drunk, you’re a damned maniac. There isn’t a chance for me to tell you what I think about you. You wouldn’t understand. And I think, when you’re sober, you won’t even remember what you’ve been saying. I don’t know if you’re capable of understanding this, but here it is. Hang around, just as long as you control yourself, behave yourself. Take Janet away, if you can take her fairly. Understand? She’d have to come to you freely. And if I know anything about her, she’ll never do that.’ �ŚOh, Garry,’� Janet cried. �ŚYou both know I wouldn’t. Don’t let’s speak about it any more. Let’s go away.’ �ŚBut you understand? I’m warning you, Bingen.’ �ŚWell, that’s that,’ Bingen shouted. �ŚGet out, you said. Well, I’ll get out. But mark this! I’ll bust up this little tea-party before I go.’ He swore softly to himself as though I did not exist, and then spoke to me again. �ŚI helped to save the girl, and she’s as much mine as she is yours. Half the stuff we’ve got here belongs to me. You’ve let me have that, and if I get out I’m busting all up if I don’t take it with me. Savvy!’ Bingen wandered back into the cottage, the door slammed behind him, and Janet twisted her fingers together nervously. �ŚOh, why can’t he be sensible,’ she cried. �ŚThinking things like that, let alone saying them. Just as if I wasn’t here.’ �ŚYou mustn’t take any notice of him. Try and forget it.’ �ŚYes. That’s best. He is bound to get over it before long, and be his own self again. Then, everything will be all right.’ �ŚI’m not so sure,’ I told her thoughtfully. �ŚJanet. It’s no good beating about the bush. We’re going to have trouble with Bingen. He’s got some insane idea in his head, and if I know him at all, he’ll try to carry it out. Whatever it is.’ �ŚWhat can he do?’ �ŚI don’t know. Not much, because as soon as he starts anything, I’ll flatten him out and tie him down. He’s nearly in the rats.’ �ŚRats?’ Janet queried. �ŚYes. Delirium tremens. Delicious tremblings,’ I laughed. �ŚYou’d think what we’ve been through would send anyone daffy, without them having to get that way on brandy.’ �ŚOh! But you couldn’t do that. Not without hurting him. You mustn’t hurt him. Not with just us three here alone.’ �ŚHum! As if I would. For your sake, I’ll try and knock him out without hurting him.’ And then, in the cottage, something started. A bottle flew through the window and a crash followed, as though Bingen had flung the table to the floor. Furniture was hurled about. The door flew open as something bumped against it. �ŚGarry! You’d better go in and see what he is doing.’ �ŚNot much use. I can’t do anything.’ �ŚBut you ought to go in. He might hurt himself. Go in and try to make him stop. Try not to fight or anything, for my sake.’ �ŚI think it’s foolish to interfere with him. I know Bingen, and if I go in it’ll mean a scrap.’ �ŚOh, I think you ought to go in. He might be doing anything. Go and see, Garry.’ �ŚI’ll just keep an eye on him through the window.’ Walking to the window, I saw what Bingen was up to, and the sight jumped me to the door. Furniture was being piled in a heap, and he was pouring brandy about. Even as I reached the door he was striking a match. Too late to stop the match, I flung him to the floor, stamped furiously at the flames, pulled a chair that was well alight, and heaved it through the door. �ŚYou daft, drunken lunatic!’ I raged, stamping and beating on the spirit burning bluely as it ran over the floor. �ŚFor God’s sake, haven’t we had enough fires without you setting the infernal place alight. Get out of the damned way.’ Bingen pulled himself to his feet, staggered across the room, trying foolishly to kick the burning stuff together, so that I had to swing a vicious blow at him. He lay where he had fallen, eying me balefully with his hand cuddling his chin. �ŚNow, you swine. This is the finish. You’ve had all the rope you’re getting. You’ve hung yourself. Either you’ll give your word that this is the finish�"I’ll be damned silly enough to take it�"or you’ll get out of the valley. Which is it going to be? Quick.’ Janet had come running, and stayed outside to smother the flaming chair. She came into the cottage now, and together we watched Bingen on the floor, staring at us sullenly, a trickle of spittle and blood dribbling down his chin, crouching like a cornered rat. �ŚOh, Bingen. What’s the matter? Why don’t you be nice? There’s only the three of us. We ought to all be friends. Let me help you up.’ �ŚGet to hell away from me,’ Bingen answered, and thrust Janet vindictively aside, so that she almost fell. He cursed at her. �ŚGet back to your owner. Get away from me.’ Bingen rose slowly to his feet, his red eyes glaring. �ŚThis is what you want!’ He slobbered the words out viciously. �ŚDon’t be a fool, man. Get out of the way, Janet!’ Springing forward I swept her out of the way, hurled myself on Bingen. �ŚYou damn fool!’ He was fumbling at the revolver in his waistband, struggling with it desperately, and even as I reached him the muzzle came free, wavered in my direction. He pulled the trigger, and the shot burned along my ribs and I hit him. Like a sodden sack he dropped, and I swayed beside him, kicking the gun away over the floor. �ŚGarry! Garry!’ screamed Janet, and ran to me, pulled my shirt from my side. She gasped thankfully. �ŚOh, it’s only a scratch. The beast! The beast! It’s bleeding terribly! Does it hurt? Come, and we’ll get it bound up. No. Leave him there. He won’t hurt. And I was worrying about you hurting him! The beast!’ �ŚOh, I’m not worrying about him,’ I said. �ŚI only just want to take that gun away. He’s done enough damage with it. I’m not really hurt, I suppose. But it smarts.’ From the cave, where we had stored medical supplies, Janet brought gauze, bandage, iodine, and with my wound bound we returned, to find Bingen lifting himself dazedly from the floor. He watched our entrance, not recollecting what had occurred. I went over to kick him as he rose. �ŚWell? You’ve tried to do it, Bingen. Tried to bust up your half of everything. Up you get. The cave for you tonight. You’re going to be barricaded in, and then in the morning . . . out of the valley!’ �ŚAw! I’m sorry, Garry,’ Bingen pleaded, and I saw that the blow on his chin had sobered him. �ŚI didn’t realize what I was doing. You won’t have any more trouble from me. I’m through, Garry.’ �ŚIs that honest Injun? Is that true, Bingen?’ �ŚOf course it is. I’m sorry.’ �ŚCome on, then. Let me help you up. Have one last drink to send you to sleep, and then, in the morning, we’ll forget everything and start all over again. Will you?’ �ŚI will. ’Course I will.’ �ŚI’m sorry I walloped you. Feel better? Janet, things are all right again now. Bingen and I have apologized to each other. He’s going to have this last drink and then chuck it. I’ll have one with him too, I think. Will you?’ �ŚI don’t know. I think he ought to be thoroughly ashamed of himself, and I don’t think he ought to be forgiven so easily.� After nearly having murdered you.’ �ŚOh, let’s forget all that, Janet,’ I said. �ŚWill you really be nice again? Will you, Bingen? Please! Then we’ll all have just one drink and be friends. You have been silly. We three here together . . . and bad friends. It’s ridiculous.’ �ŚThat’s that, then,’ I said, and poured out three drinks. Bingen scowled when he saw I offered him but half a glass. �ŚNot enough?� Well, there’s some more in the other room. But, go careful.’ �ŚOh. D’you want to be always telling me?’ Bingen grumbled, and went from the room carrying his glass in a shaking hand. �ŚGarry. He’s not a bit sorry,’ Janet whispered carefully, and repeated emphatically, when I motioned that he was. �ŚHe’s not. He’s only fooling. Don’t give him a chance. He’s not sorry.’ �ŚSSSH! He’ll hear you. He’s sorry, all right. That sock under the chin I gave him would make anyone sorry. Don’t you worry.’ Bingen came back, and we sat yarning with an undercurrent of anxiety for some time until I yawned. The wound in my side began to throb and burn. I felt dizzy, tired. �ŚWhat about bed? I’m tired. You ready, Bingen?’ �ŚYes. I’m ready.’ Silently he got into bed, without undressing, pulled the clothes about him, without answering my good night. I went out to Janet. �ŚGarry. I want you to sleep in the cave tonight and let me have my old place. Fix the curtain like it was, and then I’ll feel safe.’ �ŚThere’s nothing to worry about now.’ �ŚI’m frightened of Bingen.’ �ŚReally? I’m a bit worried about him, too, but there’s nothing to be frightened of tonight. If you really want me to, I’ll sleep in the front of your cave.’ �ŚPlease. I’m frightened. He wasn’t a bit sorry. I knew he was lying, even while he was speaking. Garry, I feel about him like I did about Rhodes.’ �ŚThat’s not fair,’ I reassured her. �ŚBingen’s certainly a nasty bit of work when he’s drunk, but he’s nothing like Dusty Rhodes. You’d be safe with him, even when he’s like he is now.’ And while I said it I knew that I was fabricating. Bingen was not to be trusted with Janet! I knew that. �ŚAnyway, I’ll be all right with you here,’ she smiled. �ŚHow’s your side feel now?’ �ŚFeels a bit rotten. I think it’s made me feel faint, too.’ I laughed at her alarm. �ŚNothing really. I’ll be all right in the morning.’ With my bed fixed across the entrance, I lay awake for a long time that night. Bingen, why the devil couldn’t you lose like a white man? Why couldn’t we three live contentedly together? And then I wondered again, how I would have taken it, had Janet chosen Bingen. Perhaps not so badly, for I had no expectations. Bingen had. If it had been me . . . But I would never know that. The bullet wound troubled me, so that I twisted, turning from side to side, finding a position in which to lay at ease, and when finally I did fall asleep, slept heavily, exhausted by loss of blood. Late in the morning I woke. I was feverishly thirsty and felt weak when I rose. The wound in my side must have been worse than I imagined. It burned, and the whole of my side ached, burning and throbbing. I lay down again, calling for Janet. For an hour I waited, and then, with no response to my calls, went out in the yard to search the cottage and valley for Janet and Bingen. They were gone. Heating water, I took off the bandage. It had stuck to my side; the wound had bled badly during the night. I bathed and re-covered it, wondering the while, but not seriously, where Janet and Bingen had gone. Making tea, I sat in the sun, languidly watching the hills, and noon drew into afternoon, and dusk came gradually with no sign of either Janet or Bingen. Where could they have gone? Anxiously, I climbed the hill, shouting vainlessly, having no thought then but what Janet had gone with Bingen, uncoerced, of her own free will. With evening purpling the valley, I wondered. A presentiment that Bingen was responsible intensified. I got myself a meal as this feeling grew, thinking that, should it be so, I would want all the strength I possessed. What could I do? Leaving the valley meant risking having Janet return while I was away. I had no idea where to search. There was nothing I could do, except wait, and, as I waited, conviction that Bingen was responsible for Janet’s absence forced itself on me. She would not have left me alone. What had he done? How had he coaxed her away?� That he dragged her away forcibly was unthinkable. He could not have done it. Janet would have fought like a wild-cat. Wakened me. Pain in my side increased, so that I was forced to heat water again, bathing the wound for relief. Returning, I sat waiting by the cave entrance, and now a rifle lay ready to my hand. The moon rose over the hill, a crescent of silver in rosy glow from the sinister comet. The chill of evening seeped beneath the feverish heat of my skin. I shivered. And then, against the glow in the night sky, I saw Janet poised upon the hilltop. She called and scrambled down in a slide of falling pebbles. �ŚGarry! Garry!’ Meeting her at the bottom of the hill, we walked through the valley together. She trembled beneath my arm, swaying as though faint. In the cottage, a lighted lamp let me see that she was deathly white. A great purple bruise circled with scarlet was vivid on her forehad under tangled damp curls. I lifted her to a chair, kneeling at her feet. �ŚBingen! He did that?’ My fingers caressed the bruise on her forehead. �ŚJanet.’ �ŚGarry! Oh, Garry!’ Her control broke, and she was sobbing in my arms. I let her cry, holding her tightly, wondering dully what had occurred. It was a long time before she recovered sufficiently for me to leave her, while I boiled tea, lacing it with brandy. She brushed curls from her forehead listlessly, and it was curious how her eyes evaded mine. �ŚAre you better now?’ I asked. �ŚD’you think you could tell me?’ �ŚOh, Garry. I can’t tell you.’ �ŚBut you must! Everything’s all right now.� You’re back with me. But you must tell me. I want to know what happened.’ �ŚI can’t tell you. I can’t.’ Her voice rose shrilly, hysterically.� �ŚEverything’s not all right.’ �ŚThen I’ll have to go after Bingen and ask him.� Tell me what happened. Where have you been?’ �ŚWhere I’ve been! Oh, Garry. You think that I . . .?’ �ŚD’you mean he took you away by force?’ I asked incredulously. �ŚYou never thought I went away with him while you were ill. Garry, how is your wound?’ �ŚIt’s nothing. Tell me.’ �ŚYou were asleep. I bent over to see, pulled the clothes over you again,’ Janet whispered huskily. �ŚYou looked so hot, I worried about you. There was perspiration on your forehead. I tiptoed out of the cave to get Bingen. I felt sure that he would be nice, if you were ill. I went into the cottage because I couldn’t see him anywhere, put the kettle on, and then, when I came out . . .’ �ŚYes?’ �ŚHe was . . . Oh, Garry. He was mad! I’m sure he’s gone mad. I saw his eyes. He was waiting behind the door, and when I came out he hit me with his gun.’ �ŚHit you with a gun?’ �ŚYes. I saw it raised. But I was too scared to scream.’ �ŚAnd then?’ �ŚAnd then I was being sick. I felt awful. Being sick as if I was on a rough sea. I’m always sick when it’s rough.’ �ŚYes? What do you mean about being at sea?’ �ŚI was tied down on to that barrow. It was rocking and bumping about. Bingen was pushing it down the hill. Running! We had turned out of the main road and reached the public-house where you found him before I felt better.’ �ŚHe knocked you out and then carted you off on the barrow? Bingen?’ �ŚYes.’ �ŚBut . . . But . . .’ �ŚOh, I tell you.’ Janet beat her hands together. �ŚHe’d tied that blue scarf, the one I got to tie round your side, over my mouth. He pulled me off the barrow and carried me down into the cellar. Garry, he . . . he . . . Oh, Garry, you’ve got to go and kill him.’ �ŚYou mean he . . .?’ Janet buried her head in my shoulder, and shook with sobs. I stared vacantly at the wall over her hair. Her arms about me, though I did not know, loosened the bandage round my body. It slipped from the wound. For a long time we did not speak. �ŚHow did you get away?’ Janet did not answer for a while, and then her sobs broke out afresh. �ŚI had to . .� had to . . . make out I liked him to . . .’ The kettle, boiling noisly on the stove, brought me out of my stupor, and I forced strong black tea, reeking with brandy, upon her. At first, then she gulped thirstily. I poured out more, holding her in my arms until at last she slept. With Janet sound asleep from the spirits, the barricade set safely in place so that it could only be opened from inside, and a note upon her pillow that, whatever happened, she was to stay in the valley until I came back, I set off in the dawn light to find Bingen. A bandoleer of cartridges slung over my shoulder, under my arm a rifle, and upon my hip a revolver. Climbing from the valley it seemed I rose to the stars, dimming in the morning. My head was light, swimming. The loosened bandage let my shirt glue with congealed blood to my side, and down my chin trickled a little stream of blood where my teeth bit into my lip. One purpose lifted me exultantly, banished weakness, swung me down the long slope. A refrain burned into my brain to the oblivion of everything else. Bingen must be killed! Killed! Bingen must be killed! The bandoleer thumped out the words on my shoulder and the revolver on my hip. Bingen must be killed. Be killed. Bingen must be killed. Killed! The sun came to banish the comet’s rosy glow, stars shone coldly, disappeared, the world was peopled with rushing shapes, looming out of the burned trees, crouching in roadside ditches. Leaving the main road, I turned towards the public-house where Bingen . . . Bingen. Bingen must be killed. Killed. My hot eyes smarted, so that blindly I staggered, left the road, stumbled into the ditch, climbed out, forced myself onwards. White-hot anger, vengeance, blinded me, while it carried me forward. The inn was empty. I tore it to pieces. A mouse could not have gained sanctuary there, while I searched. Not once did I call. Time enough to call when I saw him, was close enough to whisper, not shout, that he was to die. On the road outside, I stared to the east and the west. Which way? Which way? Unconsciously reason led me. Bingen was drunk. He must have been drunk when he had abducted Janet. He would have drank again, remembering what he had done. He would come from the cellar, stand, glass in hand, grinning drunkenly, to watch Janet fly sobbing away. Then he would drink and go. Go, knowing that I would pursue. Janet had come back to the valley. Bingen would go away from it. Janet had run west, Bingen’s drunken feet would stumble east. The road east stretched before me. All that day, without a pause, I walked, blindly, following the sun, with the refrain hammering into my brain. I do not know where or how I went. Evening drew in and I marched, dropped, rose and marched again. Delirious, the wound in my side throbbing, one thought forcing me on like an automaton. At times, I thought of Janet, and I think then, my steps, circling all unknowingly, retraced towards the valley where she waited. Night passed, a time of dropping to lay unconscious, rising to march on, stumbling in the dark amid burned stumps of trees and roadside hedges. Gradually, faintly, sanity returned. I must quarter the whole of England until I found Bingen. But Janet! She must be cared for. I must care for Janet during the day, and during the night Bingen must be sought. Found! Killed! The sun slid redly over the horizon, and I turned from it to make for the valley, and although I turned, red haze in my eyes convinced me I still stared straight into the sun. Marching, staggering through a blood-red mist. The road danced beneath me, the country swam, as now and again it came clear into focus out of the red mists. Bingen was to be killed! The light of day was blood red. Bingen was killed. I had killed Bingen. Blindly, I walked along the winding, undulating road in the dead world. The bandoleer on my shoulder grew heavy beyond bearance. I cast it from me. The rifle had already gone. My fingers fumbled at the revolver at my hip, but I could not pull it from its holster. I left it there, forgot it. Red-hot knives stabbed into my side. My wound bled again, and I stopped to stare wonderingly at red drops falling into the dust at my feet. The road was endless, but I prayed, and miraculously it shortened, neared the valley, and then, when I rose to the crest to call down for Janet, it fell away into the distance, winding, undulating, never ending, stretching ahead for ever. I had to get to Janet. I must get back to Janet. I forgot Bingen. Tore the red-hot bandages from my side, walked on with the cool air playing about the wound, the drip of blood passing unnoticed as I swung along home to Janet. Suddenly, I was in an orchard, and in my ears the raucous cawing of rooks, and above that the sound of shooting. I was a boy again. They were shooting rooks. A little boy, running late for school. I heard the crack of the cane as the master hit his tall desk, and on my shoulder came a blow. I fell headlong in the dusty road. I opened my eyes in the dust, lying flat upon my face. It was as though someone kicked at my shoulder, for my left arm jerked as it lay outstretched. I could not stop it. Fingers twitched. The new pain in my shoulder eased the pain in my side. I did not feel that now, and blood cleared from my brain and eyes. The red mist went, and cold clear consciousness doused me, drenching away the delirious coma. I knew! Realized what had happened. During that disordered pursuit of the night and the previous day, I had passed Bingen as he slept. I lay in the road unmoving, puzzling it out. Staggering blindly back to Janet I had run into Bingen as he fled, not expecting to see me approaching from the direction I did. He had shot me. Cautiously, I raised my head to peer along the road. It fled away emptily. Bingen had gone. Pulling myself into a sitting position, I felt with gently probing fingers at my shoulder. Close to my armpit the bullet had gone in and, slightly higher under the bone of my arm, gone out at the back. It bled but sparsely, and I wondered how long ago Bingen had fired the shot. Upon my feet I swayed, trembling with anger, then went unsteadily along the road, searching. Retracing my steps, I saw how, all unknowing, I had been descending a hill when Bingen had shot me. If I could reach the summit of the hill quickly, I might stare over the country with range enough to bring him in view. Speedily as I could, I went up the slope until the country lay beneath me like a map, and it was void of any moving thing. Towards the river, land rose, and I could not see far, but nothing moved to catch my eye. I pivoted, and away to the right, running, crouched close to the ground, I saw Bingen. He must have circled after shooting, and seeing me fall, then out in the fields, seen me surmount the hill to stand foolishly on the skyline. He dived for a ditch, traversing the meadow in which he ran. He did not know I saw him, for not once did he glance back. I ran weakly to where I might head him off, when he tried to regain the road. As swift as I could, I ran, assuming that once Bingen thought he had left me behind, he would leave the fields. Then, through the hedge, I saw him. He stopped. Staring back up the hill, and, crouching, so that I was hidden by the thin hedge, I ran past. Soon, he would come on to the road. He would meet me. Ahead, I waited hidden by the hollow bole of a burned oak, peering to where, waist high in mustard weed, Bingen walked towards the road. I wanted to call. Wanted to let him know that I waited, and when, in a few moments he pushed through the hedge, I did, stepping from behind the tree. We watched each other awhile. I went slowly towards him. The rifle he carried went to his shoulder. �ŚGet back, Garry! You can’t do anything against this gun.’ �ŚBingen! You know what I want you for.’ �ŚYes. I know. You’re wanting me for taking my share of the salvage. I’ve taken it. I told you I would. There’s nothing you can do now. Get to hell out of my way and let me go on.’ �ŚYou’re not going on, Bingen.’ �ŚHuh! Who’s stopping me?’ �ŚI am.’ �ŚYou’re ill, Garry. I can see that. You know I’m a good shot. Get out of the way. Before God, I’ve half a mind to plug you and go back and take your half of the salvage. That revolver’s not any good against this gun. Stop!’ As he spoke, I had been moving nearer. I stopped and waited. �ŚYou want to tell me anything?’ I asked him softly. My ears drummed so that I could hardly hear his reply. A red mist outlined Bingen, converging him towards the revolver clenched tight in my hand. I knew I could not miss. �ŚYou want to tell me anything?’ �ŚI want to tell you, damn all. Get out! Get the hell out of this!’ Bingen snarled nervously. �ŚDamn you! I’ve got nothing on you. Get away, and you’ll be all right. Get out!’ �ŚBingen.� You’re going to crack. You always do, when it comes to the show-down. You dirty yellow dog. Your nerve’s going. It’s gone.’ �ŚDamn you! Get away.� You know what happened? It’s done. Nobody can undo it. We saved the girl. We saved her, I tell you. You took her. And then, damn and blast you, I took her.’ Bingen’s voice rose thinly, cracked. He spoke pleadingly, softly, trying to reason. �ŚGarry! Get out of my road. I’m going through. I don’t want to kill you, but . . . Stop! Keep back. I’ll pull this damned trigger.’ The rifle cuddled into his shoulder, shook, steadied, and shook again. Sticking from his pocket a bottle with yellow whisky glinted in the sunlight. His eyes bleared, red, half-shut, buried in his cheeks as he grimaced. He cried, and shot as I walked towards him. He loomed out of a red mist which isolated him from the rest of the world. I heard the bullet from his gun hum past my head, whine into the distance as I went slowly towards him, knowing I was safe. Again he shot, and this time the bullet spurted dust about my feet. He pulled the trigger frantically, uselessly, until he had emptied the chamber, flung his rifle to the ground and screamed, raised fists, either in prayer or maniacal fear. And then suddenly he calmed. Steadily he faced my approach, pulled the bottle from his pocket, drank deeply, dashed it to the ground, and watched the liquid vanishing in the dust of the road. When he looked at me again I was nearly close enough to touch him. He spoke softly, trembling. �ŚGo on, Garry! Go on!’ The revolver, looming monstrously in my hand, grown curiously to giant size, recoiled sharply once, twice. Bingen twitched in the dust of the road as I stood over him. Pain in my shoulder moved me at last, and the red mist returned to my eyes, blinding me, changed to water, so that as I stumbled away I had to wipe tears from my cheeks. The road lifted, heaved, and I walked into black unconsciousness. � I wakened on the hill close to the valley to find myself, as Janet had done, upon the barrow, but I was ascending. Janet had descended . . . into hell. Waiting in the valley, Janet had obeyed my orders for the first day, and on the second, when I did not return, ventured over the hills towards The Blue Anchor, heard shooting in the distance, came running to find me in the road, returned to the inn for the barrow, and heaved and pulled my unconscious form on to it. She had not seen Bingen. I must have walked some distance from him. I regained consciousness at the bottom of the slope ascending to our valley soon after she had realized the impossibility of hauling the heavy barrow up the long hill unaided. With her arm about me, I walked home. The wound in my side festered, but the shoulder gave hardly any trouble.� A month I lay in the cave, and for the first few days was delirious, with Janet keeping a fire going and applying hot fomentations. Later, recovered, I went out to find Bingen and give him a kind of burial. Bingen is dead, and yet . . . I think that Bingen will live with us in the future. � � � XI The Future! THE FUTURE! What does it hold? Seven months have passed away since first I heard Janet screaming among the asbestos boards. Seven months! In some twelve months’ time I hope to be able to start a search for other survivors, a patrol of the land from east to west, from north to south. Seven months ago, when I thought Janet a child, and now she is going to introduce a newcomer into this burned, drained land! The land is free of Vampires. They have gone. Who knows if they will return? Four months have passed since we saw the last of them, a last glimpse of a visitation from some other form of life, flying so high in the heavens we could not be certain they were Vampires. Life is covering traces of their visit with a lush curtain of green. Life in the land has started again. Birds have built in the eaves of our cottage, and our chickens have increased in numbers from when first I brought the gaunt survivors from The Blue Anchor. There are more cats than we have managed to tame, so that many run wild, spitting when we near them, and out of the blue has come to us a gaunt old mongrel, destined, I think, to be the ancestor of all the dogs in the land . . . when he finds a mate. That he will, I am sure, for when later the four of us leave our home here in the valley to begin our search, we will discover other survivors from the holocaust and the Vampires. � � � � For full details of all eBooks published by Ash-Tree Press please visit our website at www.ash-tree.bc.ca/eBooks.htm � � � � �