Famine (5 page)

 

All the time, Palfrey's mind was working, probing, acutely alive to the fact that there must be other aspects he had missed. He was deeply troubled by the significance of the cloud of smoke or vapour. Confident that it would be watched, and that whenever he needed to make a closer examination he could do so, he had come here with this woman, but he had warned no one of possible danger from the ‘smokescreen'; that had been a mistake. He glanced behind, to see Police Sergeant Cooper's colleague, and a man he did not know, together in the police car. He beckoned. The men were so intent on the body near the gateway, that they did not notice him. He gave a hissing sound between his lips; the woman took no notice but the men looked up.

The policeman came hurrying.

“Yes, sir?”

“Have you a radio?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Flash a message to your headquarters asking them – telling them – to be extremely cautious until we know the truth about the smokescreen. It could be poisonous.”

“Right, sir.” Unperturbed by that ominous suggestion, the policeman cast a troubled glance at Betty Fordham. She had reached the body, and stood looking down at it. Palfrey waved the men away and stepped to her side. She did not appear to notice him.

Palfrey saw the stain of blood in the earth, from the wound in the dead man's neck. He was sure of death in his own mind, but bent down and felt for the left wrist. The woman made no comment, and did not stir.

Palfrey drew back from the lifeless hand.

“Dave,” Betty Fordham whispered. “Oh, Dave.”

Palfrey took her arm, but she stood, as immovable as a rock.

“Dave,” she repeated.

“Mrs. Fordham,” Palfrey said, “we need your help more than ever.”

“Help,” she echoed without looking up.

“Very great help,” said Palfrey. “You may have seen something which no one else in the world has seen. It's more than ever necessary for you to talk only to me, for the time being.”

She didn't speak.

“Have you any children?”

Huskily, she said: “No, no children.”

So, children could not comfort her, and there would be no companionship. He watched her, his mind still seeking and probing. One simple thing dropped into place. Two men had probably bled to death, as a result of wounds in the throat; so throats must be protected before any close examination of the field was made, and a warning must be flashed back. But this was not the factor that teased him, hovering on the edge of his conscious mind.

He heard a car engine, and looked up to see an army jeep with half-a-dozen men in it, approaching. A fresh-faced young lieutenant appeared to be in charge. He sprang down, glanced at the body, avoided looking at Betty Fordham and said: “What can we do, sir?”

“The vulnerable place is the throat,” Palfrey said. “Everyone engaged in this affair needs throat protection – thick plastic, metal, something pliable and easy to put on and off.”

“I'll report that, sir. Anything else?”

“Yes. What have you got to protect my throat now?”

The innocent-seeming brown eyes shadowed.

“Let me think a moment, please.”

A tough, taut-looking corporal, approaching, said: “Sir.”

“Yes, Corporal?”

“Would two army gaiters, clipped together, do the trick?”

“Would they?” the lieutenant asked Palfrey.

“Damned good idea. I'd like your men to protect themselves, by that means, and then spread out and cross this field. It should be cordoned off as soon as possible.”

“Men are moving into position, sir.”

That was comforting; the speed and efficiency of the army when prompt action was needed was always reassuring.

“Good.” Palfrey turned to the policeman and his companion. “Will you take Mrs. Fordham to the Goose Inn?” he asked. “I'll come back to see her there as soon as I can.”

“Very good,” the policeman said uneasily, not sure how to deal with the woman who had been so suddenly and cruelly bereaved.

Men were busy, clipping together the wide khaki canvas gaiters that were to protect their necks. In the distance, more vehicles were in sight and soldiers were being detailed to surround the field. Palfrey was anxious to find out what had happened, but reluctant to leave the woman unsupported. There would be real danger that after the death of her husband had really struck home, she would be so bitterly hurt that she might say whatever came into her head; and who could blame her?

“Mrs. Fordham,” the policeman said nervously.

She stared steadily down at her husband.

“Mrs. Fordham,” Palfrey's voice was sharply authoritative.

She looked round at him.

“I want to come with you,” she said simply.

The obvious thing was to say she could not; and yet she would be better with something to do than on her own, thinking, grieving. And she would recognise a ‘rabbit' if one appeared. With only a moment's hesitation, Palfrey said: “That'll be a great help. Thanks.” He stretched out for one of the gaiter collars, gave it to her, and went on: “Put that round your neck. How do we secure it?” he asked the corporal.

“Easy enough to adjust the buckles and straps, sir.”

He was a resourceful chap, the kind of lean, leathery type who had probably seen years of service and some action.

“Good,” Palfrey nodded to the policeman as the man drew nearer to the car. They waited until the gaiters had been adjusted, and Betty Fordham had made hers more comfortable. Then at Palfrey's side, she walked through the gateway, with the lieutenant, the corporal and his men behind him – at Palfrey's order.

The policeman and his companion lifted the body of Dave Fordham, and carried it to the police car. They should mark the spot where the body had lain, of course, the usual routine of investigation was essential; but the police would see to that. Palfrey walked alongside Betty Fordham across the field, taking the path already trodden by her husband. The only sound was the buzz of insects, droning in the heat, and the gentle swish of the barley as they passed. They could see nothing beyond it until they came in sight of the combine-harvester.

“It's fallen into a hole,” Betty said in a strained voice.

“Yes.” Palfrey was thinking of those ‘babies' he had noticed from the helicopter. He scanned the land where the barley had been cut, and then saw the spot where the subsidence began. Almost at once, he saw the bodies, laid out so neatly. They were not of babies, but of midget men. As he drew near, he saw how beautifully formed each one was; and he saw, also, that each face was hairless. He did not know why that made such an impression on him, but it did. Palfrey looked at Betty Fordham, but she gave no sign of response. One of the soldiers exclaimed ‘My Gawd!' No one else spoke, but all stood still, surveying the scene of destruction.

From here, they could see the ‘city'.

Palfrey would never know what kind of impression that made on the others, only what effect it had on him. He was appalled. It
was
a primitive city, in miniature, the earth walls, the rooms, the separate terraces of houses like those in American Indian pueblos, the communal rooms, the communal kitchens. He judged it large enough to house not dozens but hundreds, possibly thousands, of these tiny creatures. There were beaten tracks, or roads, and ‘streets'; there were tiny wheeled carts, motionless now. There were what looked like Greek or Roman amphitheatres, roughly shaped.

“My
Gawd!”
breathed the soldier, again: “It's like a huge native village.”

Palfrey thought. “And they've gone, leaving their dead behind.” The word which came to his mind was exodus. The creatures had suffered a major disaster, these tiny semi-human things who had lived here, possibly protected by the fur-clad ‘rabbit men'. He needed no more telling what the smokescreen had meant; they had marched off under its cover. Somewhere not far away, a few miles at most, this colony of midget ‘men' were still on the march.

At least, they couldn't get far, he thought.

But where would they go? Where were they heading? What would they do? Would they burrow again and try to build a new city? He could only guess, but even guessing was slow, his mind numbed by this wonder which was also horror.

As his mind cleared, he thought: I've put everything I can think of in hand. The colony would not escape of course, and that recollection reassured him at least in one way. Now he could consider the problem objectively.

Betty Fordham said unexpectedly: “It's like an earthquake.”

And that indeed was what it must have seemed like to those creatures, as they died.

“And Dave did it,” she said, stonily. “He didn't know they were there.” She went on, her voice strengthening, warming to life. “He was the kindest man who ever lived.”

Palfrey said: “How often did he come into this field?”

“He hadn't been here for months; not since sowing.”

“I see. Three months?”

“Nearer five.”

“What machine was used here then?”

“The plough. That's very heavy, too.”

So it was possible that if this city had been here at the time of ploughing, the damage to it would have been done then. It was not a certainty, simply one of the possibilities which passed through Palfrey's mind; a possibility that rested on the inference that this whole community had built its home here in a few weeks.

“Have you heard any rumours of a plague of rabbits?” he asked.

“No.” She was quite definite.

“Any animals?”

“No.”

“Have there been many rabbits, this year?”

“Not since they were killed off by myxomatosis.”

“These two you saw,” said Palfrey. “How big were they?”

“Very big. More the size of hares.” Betty looked about her, at the tiny bodies, and then turned towards Palfrey, catching her breath: “You don't think these—” she broke off, as if horrified at the thought that two of these creatures had in fact attacked the stranger, and later killed her husband.

The lieutenant, standing by, came up; a boy turning into a man very quickly.

“Excuse me, sir.”

“Yes?” Palfrey asked, absently.

“Shall we search the ruins?”

Palfrey stared at him almost blankly.

“No,” he said at last. “Not yet. We ought to have the place checked for—” he hardly knew what for. Gas? Poisons? Living midgets? All he knew for certain was that they must be extremely careful, that men well-versed in detailed searching must be used: rescue squads, yes. Civil Defence workers? Perhaps. All of these working together would get the best results. Mine detectors would be needed too; and what about Geiger counters?

As the thought came to him, he knew that every possible risk must be considered before anything was done. Had he been emphatic enough with his instructions and requests? One of the great dangers of reaching a position like his was the tendency to believe that only he was capable of taking full responsibility. It wasn't simply vanity or arrogance or big-headedness; it was a genuine fear that things would go wrong because no one else knew all he knew. One positive thing was that these ruins must be examined for all possible dangers. The only group competent to do this was a Nato Research Company, and Nato could best be approached through the British Prime Minister.

Time was the big anxiety, for a situation of which they had known practically nothing a few days ago, was now a matter of desperate urgency. There was a code for nearly all emergencies, of course; in these days of fantastically fast aggressive action, with weapons travelling beyond the speed of sound, minutes could matter. Out of his memory came the code number for Nato Research; NR12. He looked at the young officer.

“Does NR12 mean anything to you?”

“I've worked with it, sir.”

“Good. Tell your H.Q. I would like NR12 in operation here, before dark. It can't possibly be more urgent.”

“I'll fix that at once.” The youth was obviously raring to go. “Would it be in order to make a preliminary search, sir? The corporal has been in command of a bomb disposal squad for years, he won't take any chances.”

“Call H.Q., and then let's get cracking.” Palfrey decided.

There was a risk, of course, of attack and of gas or bacteria undetected by smell, but the dead men had died of blood-letting. No weapons had been used, and he had seen none in the hidden city. He felt that he had earned a few minutes respite, not only for himself but for this woman who needed help and strength to draw on. He did not think there was any reasonable precaution he had forgotten, and so he could give her all his attention. She was walking along the edge of the subsidence sector, rather too close, but trying the earth at every step, obviously aware of the danger. He moved after her, not really able to understand why she was so intent on what she was doing.

Then he saw that she was staring at a tiny hand. It was jutting out of a pile of stubble-littered earth, so tiny that it looked like a doll's. It was limp; no doubt another dead creature was buried there. Palfrey watched as she bent nearer. She poked cautiously at the earth and Palfrey wanted to hurry after her, curious to know why she was so intent.

Then he saw.

The hand did not stick out of the earth, but out of a sleeve, a furry sleeve; and the finger nails were like talons of steel. Heart beating very fast, Palfrey drew still nearer. He did not interfere as Betty scraped the earth away, revealing first an arm, fur-wrapped, then the head and shoulders, then a whole body. There was no possible doubt that Betty Fordham had solved the mystery: the ‘rabbits' were these midget men, dressed in rabbit skins.

So they were murderers; deadly killers.

 

 

Betty Fordham straightened up slowly, still looking at the figure she had revealed. With that trick of not showing any kind of surprise, she spoke without glancing at Palfrey. Her voice was quite calm and unemotional.

“Do you see what I see?”

“Yes. The proof that you were right in saying you saw rabbits attack a man.”

“These are the creatures who killed my husband.”

Palfrey nodded.

“I want to work with you,” Betty said.

“For revenge?”

“In a way.”

“Revenge doesn't make for good detection.”

“It wouldn't affect my judgement,” she asserted.

“I would need proof of that.”

She didn't answer, but turned to look at Palfrey, and there was almost a touch of humour in her eyes, as if even in the face of tragedy, she could laugh; or at least, see the funny side of a situation. She was a handsome woman, although it was a handsomeness not immediately apparent. Her eyes were greenish-grey in colour, and her skin almost without blemish.

“You are
the
Dr. Palfrey, aren't you? Of Z5?”

So many crises had made it impossible to conceal who he was or what he worked for; Z5 was no longer a secret department, although so many of its operations were unknown to the world.

“Yes,” he said.

“I am alone,” she stated simply. “Dave was all I lived for. The farm can be sold. I am no good as a farmer, although I got by as a farmer's wife. I'm out of work, and I could be very useful to you.”

“What makes you so sure?” asked Palfrey.

“I'm never afraid for long,” she said. “Not after the first shock.”

“Indeed?”

“Don't laugh at me if I say that there's something in my metabolism which acts like a tranquilliser. Dave used to swear that I was the most even-tempered woman he had ever met, that nothing ruffled me. It doesn't, I promise you. Let me work for you, please.”

The appeal was so simple and direct that Palfrey was nearly lured into agreeing. Nearly, but not quite. Instead he smiled gently, and put a hand on her arm.

“If I can, I will.”

“Are you the one to decide?”

“Yes,” Palfrey said. “I have to, eventually. That's why I can't afford to make any mistakes about the people who work for Z5.”

“Meaning that you will screen me.”

“Of course. Thoroughly.”

“I shall come through satisfactorily,” she announced in a matter-of-fact tone. “There's nothing anyone can find out against me. How long will it take?”

“Some days.”

“It's an age since David died, already.” Betty Fordham said. “Is there anything I can do while I'm on probation?”

She took it for granted that the only thing which stood between her and his trust was time, and he did not believe this was the moment to disabuse her. Nor could he be sure that there was no task for her, even though she was a risk, at this moment. It was surprising that she had not reminded him that a short while ago he had been forced to trust her, and had asked her to help him.

He bent down, and picking up a stone stirred the rabbit man, making sure he did not touch the body with his bare fingers. He called to mind the way she had described the rabbits leaping at Neil Anderson, and he wondered what would happen if a hundred, even a dozen, of such creatures were let loose in a crowd.

He shivered.

“It's horrible, isn't it,” Betty said. “Horrible.” She looked at him steadily, and went on: “Is this colony the only colony, or are there lots of others?”

Quite truthfully, Palfrey said: “I don't know for certain. I think there is at least one other.” He did not add: “In the Congo.”

“Then you'd better not lose any time finding out how many,” she said, authoritatively, and before he could comment she went on: “Do you think we'll catch all those that were here?”

“I don't think they've a chance of escape,” Palfrey said, but even as he answered, he felt the chill of fear, for there was no way of being sure. The certain thing was that he must go back to London and alert the world's governments of the acute danger.

Imagine what could happen if
millions
of creatures like these were in existence. The thought made him shiver inwardly, but outwardly he showed no sign. He turned back to the soldiers, as the corporal appeared, a short man towering above the buildings of the ‘city'.

“The place is cleared right up,” he said. “They took everything. Couldn't have got far, though, could they?”

“No,” answered Palfrey, but in fact he could not be sure.

 

Others knew and did not really believe it.

Jim Baretta, in a helicopter travelling slowly above and in the wake of the smokescreen knew, but realised that it would be almost impossible to convince Palfrey, or anyone else.

Six helicopters and four conventional reconnaissance aircraft kept a watch on the cloud which might be mist or smoke or gas. The smoke, as all of them called it, was greyish white, and moved sluggishly. It did not appear to thicken, nor to disperse. Thousands of photographs were taken from heights of a hundred to five thousand feet above the ground. Infra-red, and other much more penetrative photographic rays, were used, and most of the photographs were developed instantly. Nothing penetrated the outer layer of the smoke, and nothing at all appeared at the periphery.

Research workers and army decontamination squads moving in the wake of the cloud at ground level, found nothing poisonous or harmful as far as they could judge; there were damp traces and patches of ordinary vapour or mist. The chase went on until dusk fell, and then the cloud stopped moving. Messages were flashed back to Z5 and were relayed to Palfrey who was on his way back to London.

“Smokescreen has been stationary for three minutes.”

“Smokescreen has been stationary for five minutes.”

“Smokescreen has been stationary for ten minutes.”

Ten minutes – fifteen – twenty—

Palfrey stepped out of the helicopter. London's lights were gay and bright over the river and West End, as its millions moved towards the rest and relaxation of evening. A decision would soon have to be made whether to force some penetration of the smokescreen, and Palfrey decided to consult with the Commander-in-Chief of Southern Command before making up his mind. He reached Green Park underground station, stepped into the secret lift, went down, and along to his office. As he passed Joyce's room, she opened the door, and he saw at once that she was distressed.

“Sap.”

“What is it?”

“That smoke dispersed.”

“Dispersed?”
he echoed, and felt the icy clutch of fear.

“Yes,” Joyce told him. “And there was nothing beneath it. All of those little creatures had disappeared. Sap – where could they have gone ?”

 

At this juncture, Palfrey knew, there was no way of telling.

He studied the reports, and the photographs, and was forced to accept the fact that a group of hundreds of pygmies, or midgets, call them what you will, had disappeared without a trace. In the morning, in full daylight, some traces might be found, but by then it would be very late to follow the trail.

Palfrey found his heart beating very fast with a new kind of apprehension. What would the creatures do? Whom else would they attack? What were they? Where had they come from? The obvious thought, which he had forced to the back of his mind, was that they might be from another planet, a possibility which the most sceptical of men accepted today. But while life might have developed on other planets, and something akin to human intelligence might exist, was it likely that physical evolution would be so close to that of the human being of this earth? He did not, could not know; but all reason made him doubt whether it could be so.

If his doubts were justified these must be earthbound creatures. Yet there was something so unreal, so uncanny; even he, used to the bizarre and the terrifying, to phenomena on the borderline of the fantastic and the supernatural, was deeply affected. The worst feature was the utter lack of knowledge, the fact that the first indications had come as matters of interest rather than alarm. Pondering this, he sat down at his desk, and rang for Joyce. She came in at once, a nice girl with a nice figure and a kindly nature.

“Any more reports from overseas?”

“None at all.”

“I'll do a special memorandum which must be sent out tonight,” said Palfrey. “Can you stay?”

“Of course,” Joyce looked almost affronted at the implication that there might be any doubt how late she would work.

“Good. No one can read my writing quite like you.” He leaned back and closed his eyes, suddenly very weary. He was aware of her standing and looking at him, and he went on without opening his eyes. “You've seen all the reports, as they've come through, haven't you?”

“Yes.”

“What do you make of it?'”

“It's—” she hesitated. “It's terrifying.”

“A major emergency.”

“Unquestionably.”

“Yes,” said Palfrey. “I'm going to draft that request for information, and take it over to the Prime Minister. I'd like him to call a meeting of ambassadors, so that the news can be sent to all governments by special courier.

“What worries me most—” he broke off.

“The disappearance,” Joyce hazarded.

“No.” Palfrey opened his eyes and looked steadily into hers, aware that a question which had been teasing his subconscious for hours, had come to the surface. “We can't be sure how long they were in that field, at the most it was a few months. In that time they built a whole subterranean city, in miniature. Why weren't they noticed before? And how did they learn the engineering methods? What did they model their city on? I'm less worried by their disappearance than in the fact that they were able to imitate us so accurately, and that they could stay unnoticed for so long.” He sat up suddenly, his expression changing, his eyes glistening. “These reports of food losses in Southampton, twenty miles from Salisbury. How much food? How many other grain and food warehouses in the area have suffered depredations. We need to find out, quickly. Is Jim Baretta back?”

“No. Galsworthy is in, though.”

“Put him onto this,” Palfrey said. “Arrange an appointment with the Prime Minister for half past nine or thereabouts. Send me in some sandwiches and coffee, and then forget me until I've finished the draft.

 

The Rt. Honourable James Mason, M.P., the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom was an energetic and vital man in his middle fifties, comparatively new to his job, alert, anxious to make sure that he missed nothing that mattered. He had been well-briefed about Z5 during his term as Leader of the Opposition, and he knew that Palfrey would not ask for an interview without good cause. Nevertheless, he was host and main speaker at a charity dinner at the Guildhall that night, and would not change his plans. So he arranged to be called from his table at nine-fifteen, and when he met Palfrey in an ante-room, shook hands and said briskly: “I've twenty minutes, Dr. Palfrey. I'm sorry it can be no longer.”

Palfrey blinked at him.

“I see, sir.” He was so obsessed by what he had learned that he hardly believed that this dark-eyed, alert man could be serious about a time restriction. “The matter may take a little longer.”

“It mustn't. I've a major policy speech to make in twenty minutes.”

Palfrey felt his annoyance rising, but fought it back. He took a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to the politician, who unfolded it at once.

“I've sent that to all my offices and agents throughout the world, sir. I would like you to call a meeting of ambassadors – one which I can address – as early as possible. It's better if you convene the meeting as an unusual diplomatic measure – some of the newspapers will catch on if I do it.” He stopped, while the Prime Minister read his urgent request to Z5. This said:

 

Major emergency, Code ZXI. Reason to believe existence of a race of midget men with all human characteristics, apparently living in underground cities, with every modern amenity Stop. These midgets sometimes appear in the guise of rabbits; they might appear as other animals in other places Stop. They are known to attack the throat, puncturing the carotid artery, and by so doing cause death very quickly. They are extremely agile and can leap at least three feet without a running start Stop. They are carnivorous but it is possible they live near cereals ready for harvesting or big grain stores; other food stores may also be vulnerable Stop. A colony which I estimate at five hundred male and female adults and children vanished today after being discovered by accident. They might now be anywhere in Southern England. Reports from Tokyo, the Congo, the United States, China and England indicate they might exist in many parts of the world. The search should be given absolute priority.

 

The Prime Minister put the paper down staring blankly at Palfrey, giving the impression that he had not taken in the full significance of what he had read. He rubbed his eyes, as if they were tired.

“I see,” he said at last. He pressed a bell for the detective who stood outside the door, and the man came in at once. “Inspector, will you give my compliments to the deputy leader and tell him I may be further delayed. If I am not back by ten o'clock he must make my speech for me. He has a copy.” He turned to Palfrey. “Is there any danger of this leaking out, Palfrey?”

Expecting opposition, or at best a diplomatic temporising, Palfrey was conscious of tremendous relief.

“Yes, sir. I've instructed the Wiltshire Police to talk about an unknown species of rats which might spread disease.”

“Good idea. I'll arrange for an inspired leak about that, then. Ambassadors being ambassadors, I would say twelve noon tomorrow for drinks before luncheon. Will you make sure I receive any reports as they come in—anything you think I should know?”