Part 12 (1/2)
I looked across the room, and saw her in the act of locking the door. I went over.
”I must go down there. I must see what's-”
”No!” she said.
She turned and planted her back firmly against the door. She looked rather like a severe angel barring a road, except that angels are a.s.sumed to wear respectable cotton nightdresses, not nylon.
”But, Phyl it's the job. It's what we're here for.”
”I don't care. We wait a bit.”
She stood without moving, severe angel expression now modified by that of mutinous small girl. I held out my hand.
”Phyl. Please give me that key.”
”No!” she said, and flung it across the room, through the window. It clattered on the cobbles outside. I gazed after it in astonishment. That was not at all the kind of thing one a.s.sociated with Phyllis. All over the now floodlit Square people were now hurriedly converging towards the street on the opposite side. I turned back.
”Phyl. Please get away from that door.”
She shook her head.
”Don't be a fool, Mike. You've got a job to do.”
”That's just what I-”
”No, it isn't. Don't you see? The only reports we've had at all were from the people who didn't rush to find out what was happening. The ones who either hid, or ran away.”
I was angry with her, but not too angry for the sense of that to reach me and make me pause. She followed up: ”It's what Freddy said-the point of our coming at all is that we should be able to go back and tell them about it”
”That's all very well, but-”
”No I Look there.” She nodded towards the window.
People were still converging upon the street that led to the waterside; but they were no longer going into it. A solid crowd was piling up at the entrance. Then, while I still looked, the previous scene started to go into reverse. The crowd backed, and began to break up at its edges. More men and women came out of the street, thrusting it back until it was dispersing all over the Square.
I went closer to the window to watch. Phyllis left the door and came and stood beside me. Presently we spotted Ted, turret-lensed cine-camera in hand, hurrying back.
”What is it?” I called down.
”G.o.d knows. Can't get through. There's a panic up the street there. They all say it's coming this way, whatever it is. If it does, I'll get a shot from my window. Can't work this thing in that mob.” He glanced back, and then disappeared into the hotel doorway below us.
People were still pouring into the Square, and breaking into a run when they reached a point where there was room to run. There had been no further sound of shooting, but from time to time there would be another outbreak of shouts and screams somewhere at the hidden far end of the short street.
Among those headed back to the hotel came Dr Bocker himself, and the pilot, Johnny Tallton. Bocker stopped below, and shouted up. Heads popped out of various windows. He looked them over.
”Where's Alfred?” he asked.
No one seemed to know.
”If anyone sees him, call him inside,” Bocker instructed. ”The rest of you stay where you are. Observe what you can, but don't expose yourselves till we know more about it. Ted, keep all your lights on. Leslie-”
”Just on my way with the portable recorder Doc,” said Leslie's voice.
”No, you're not. Sling the mike outside the window if you like, but keep under cover yourself. And that goes for everyone, for the present.”
”But, Doc, what is it? What's-”
”We don't know. So we keep inside until we find out why it makes people scream. Where the h.e.l.l's Miss Flynn? Oh, you're there. Right. Keep watching, Miss Flynn.”
He turned to Johnny, and exchanged a few inaudible words with him. Johnny nodded, and made off round the back of the hotel. Bocker himself looked across the Square again, and then came in, shutting the door behind him.
Running, or at least hurrying, figures were still scattering over the Square in all directions, but no more were emerging from the street. Those who had reached the far side turned back to look, hovering close to doorways or alleys into which they could jump swiftly if necessary. Half a dozen men with guns or rifles laid themselves down on the cobbles, their weapons an aimed at the mouth of the street. Everything was much quieter now. Except for a few sounds of sobbing, a tense, expectant silence held the whole scene. And then, in the background, one became aware of a grinding, sc.r.a.ping noise; not loud, but continuous.
The door of a small house close to the church opened. The priest, in a long black robe, stepped out. A number of people nearby ran towards him, and then knelt round him. He stretched out both arms as though to encompa.s.s and guard them all.
The noise from the narrow street sounded like the heavy dragging of metal upon stone.
Three or four rifles fired suddenly, almost together. Our angle of view still stopped us from seeing what they fired at, but they let go a number of rounds each. Then the men jumped to their feet and ran further back, almost to the inland side of the Square. There they turned round, and reloaded.
From the street came a noise of cracking timbers and falling bricks and gla.s.s.
Then we had our first sight of a 'sea-tank'. A curve of dull, grey metal sliding into the Square, carrying away the lower corner of a housefront as it came.
Shots cracked at it from half a dozen different directions. The bullets splattered or thudded against it without effect. Slowly, heavily, with an air of inexorability, it came on, grinding and sc.r.a.ping across the cobbles. It was inclining slightly to its right, away from us and towards the church, carrying away more of the corner house, unaffected by the plaster, bricks, and beams that fell on it and slithered down its sides.
More shots smacked against it or ricocheted away whining, but it kept steadily on, thrusting itself into the Square at something under three miles an hour, ma.s.sively indeflectible. Soon we were able to see the whole of it.
Imagine an elongated egg which has been halved down its length and set flat side to the ground, with the pointed end foremost. Consider this egg to be between thirty and thirty-five feet long, of a drab, l.u.s.treless leaden colour, and you will have a fair picture of the 'sea-tank' as we saw it pus.h.i.+ng into the Square.
There was no way of seeing how it was propelled; there may have been rollers beneath, but it seemed, and sounded, simply to grate forward on its metal belly with plenty of noise, but none of machinery. It did not jerk to turn, as a tank does, but neither did it sheer like a car. It simply moved to the right on a diagonal, still pointing forwards. Close behind it followed another, exactly similar contrivance which slanted its way to the left, in our direction, wrecking the house-front on the nearer corner of the street as it came. A third kept straight ahead into the middle of the Square, and then stopped.
At the far end, the crowd that had knelt about the priest scrambled to its feet, and fled. The priest himself stood his ground. He barred the thing's way. His right hand held a cross extended against it, his left was raised, fingers spread, and palm outward, to halt it. The thing moved on, neither faster nor slower, as if he had not been there. Its curved flank pushed him aside a little as it came. Then it, too, stopped.
A few seconds later the one up our end of the Square reached what was apparently its appointed position and also stopped.
”Troops will establish themselves at first objective in extended order,” I said to Phyllis, as we regarded the three evenly s.p.a.ced out in the Square. ”This isn't haphazard. Now what?”
For almost half a minute it did not appear to be now anything. There was a little more sporadic shooting, some of it from windows which, all round the Square, were full of people hanging out to see what went on. None of it had any effect on the targets, and there was some danger from ricochets.
”Look!” said Phyllis suddenly. ”This one's bulging.”
She was pointing at the nearest. The previously smooth fore-and-aft sweep of its top was now disfigured at the highest point by a small, dome-like excrescence. It was lighter-coloured than the metal beneath; a kind of off-white, semi-opaque substance which glittered viscously under the floods. It grew as one watched it.
”They're all doing it,” she added.
There was a single shot. The excrescence quivered, but went on swelling. It was growing faster now. It was no longer dome-shaped, but spherical, attached to the metal by a neck, inflating like a balloon, and swaying slightly as it distended.
”It's going to pop. I'm sure it is,” Phyllis said, apprehensively.
”There's another coming further down its back,” I said. ”Two more, look.”