The Flood (17 page)

He had argued with himself about the specimens; whether to keep them in his pocket or to hide them in his room. If he got a chance to get away, it might come unexpectedly, giving him no time to come upstairs. He kept them.

He kept looking out of the window towards a sea lit now only by the stars. Now and again he could picture the farmhouse which was no longer there; and the village; and what could happen in the world. The enormous effort being made by the military to keep the
octi
back would be useless without the knowledge of the simple steps needed to drive them off; to make them wither and die.

It was half past ten when the door opened.

He turned round sharply, his hands clenching. He wasn’t surprised to see Davos and Faversham. He called desperately on all his wits; and on his courage.

“Mr. Woburn—” Davos began, quite calmly.

“What the hell do you mean by keeping me prisoner?” shouted Woburn. “What kind of brutes are you? You murdered Reed, that was the most cold-blooded thing I’ve ever seen. And what’s this madness about flooding the world? You must be crazy if you think anyone will believe you. Why, I—”

“Mr. Woburn,” Davos interrupted, “shouting and behaving like a lunatic won’t help you. Try to behave like a man with a reasonable intelligence.” The reproof was uttered in the tone of an exasperated schoolmaster. “I have actually brought you some good news. Instead of being condemned to die, in fact, to drown, as you were until you came here, you will have a chance to live. In fact—” he paused, to look up and down with those mild little eyes which not long ago had seemed to burn with malignance. “In fact you have an opportunity which has never been vouchsafed to man before. You may not be aware of it, but it had been my intention that my daughter Eve should be mated to Adam. A good, clear intelligence on the one hand, and perfect bodily fitness on the other. A simple matter of eugenics. The intention was the very simple one, of starting a new and perfect race. This part of Europe was selected because culture and civilisation have developed more here than anywhere else. Some other bases for the new world have been founded in Switzerland, France, Austria - in fact in many places. A small body of men and women who, like me, have been sickened by the degradation of mankind, who see no hope through ordinary politics and economics, have been carefully selected, trained and made ready. A few of these will mate, after the floods; most belong to what we might call a new race of eunuchs, who will watch over the progenitors of the new world. They have it in their power to create the
octi
in such myriads that the world will have no defence against it. The floods will be the one method of destruction.

“You have seen what happens when the
octi
get loose,” Davos went on,” and when I tell you that new world cultural cells exist everywhere, so that a completely new civilisation will be created out of the ruin of the old, I am sure you will take me at my word.”

When he stopped, the silence seemed to shriek at Woburn. Men, women, old and young; children; the gay and the eager, the good and the bad, all human-kind seemed to be shrieking at him - and he could not shut his ears to them, or to this old man’s gentle voice.

“If you do not believe me,” Davos said, “I shall let you hear proof.” He nodded to Faversham, who had not spoken, but now marched the box he was carrying on to a table. It was a small portable radio. He opened it and twiddled the knobs, quite as matter-of-fact as Davos.

The sound of music floated into the air.

“In essence, the situation is this,” Davos went on quite rationally. “The world began with water. Life came out of the sea. Through millions of years of evolution, man has been evolved. Man became the most treacherous and the most imperfect of all the animals. In my youth I was forced to accept that, it was always my dream to create a perfect race. I could not see how it could begin. I was quite sure that it could only be done by a kind of recreation. I wondered if science, so miraculously developed, could help me to develop in decades what had taken millions of years, and if the development of man from the earliest organism stage - if you like, from plankton - could be controlled so that we could be rid of its imperfections.”

Music; there was a waltz by Johann Strauss, light, gay.

Words: “Gradually a more practical scheme became apparent,” went on Davos, “the simple one of selecting perfect animals, wild, domestic and human, and permitting them to survive in an otherwise empty world. The action of the
octi
on the great land masses would be considerable, of course. Europe, Asia, the Americas, Australasia - in fact all the inhabited continents, would change considerably. Some mountain ranges would inevitably collapse, and new ones be formed. The shape of continents, the shape and the depths of oceans, will inevitably be altered; but here there will be an island on which everything can grow and live and thrive and mate and reproduce their species. It will all be done under careful supervision, with my trained helpers.”

Davos stopped.

Music; and then a deeper voice, from a million miles away.

“You have been listening to the Largo String Quartette”

. . . “I had been quite confident that Adam Reed would be a suitable male human,” said Davos, “and the fact that he was not of the highest intelligence did not greatly matter; I have to mould intelligences, of course. However, you know what happened to Adam Reed.

“And now, obviously, I must find someone to take his place.”

Davos smiled, almost deprecatingly.

Even then Woburn couldn’t believe that Davos meant it.

The other, distant voice said: “
This is the B.B.C. Home Service, here is a News Summary
.” Cough; and then louder, startling Woburn; Faversham had turned the volume up.
“One of the greatest floods in the history of Northern Europe has caused great damage and destruction on the East Coast of England, parts of Scotland, and the coast of Holland, in the past few hours. There was no prior warning of the waves which, assuming alarming proportions, smashed and capsized shipping, in the North Sea, and then engulfed great areas of the flat land in East Anglia, the Thames Estuary, Lincolnshire Fen district, and Yorkshire. It is not yet known how many people lost their lives, but many East Coast towns were filled with holiday-makers, and it is feared that—”

Faversham switched off.

Woburn could not have felt colder had his blood been turned to ice.

Davos went on, very mildly:

“It is beginning, you see. In a few days, at most a few weeks, it will be finished. Here and at our other bases we shall begin, in a kind of new Garden of Eden, a life for mankind which can be as perfect as the previous life has been imperfect, where enmity and bitterness, jealousy and greed, will be forgotten. Gradually we shall reach a goal where the lion will lie down with the lamb, where man and woman can live together in perfect amity, and where the beasts of the jungle shall be tame.

“You understand me, Woburn, don’t you?

“You understand why we had built such great hopes on Adam Reed, and—” he gave that little deprecatory smile again, and spread his hands. “And I am sure you understand why it was so fortunate that you came here when you did. I feel that it is a matter of benign providence, a clear sign that I had in fact chosen wrongly, and that I was given the opportunity to repair a most grievous mistake.

“And you, Mr. Woburn?

“You
may now become the father of a new world.”

Of course, he was mad.

And the devilry had started.

In Woburn’s mind there was only one refrain:

“How can I get away?”

The others went out, leaving him alone.

Woburn reached the window of his room and saw the guards, watching him. He turned round and walked to the foot of the bed, turned and went back to the window. To and fro, to and fro. A radio was on, although it was long after midnight; subdued music, with a funereal note, was played most of the time, or the sharp tuning signal of the station. Woburn was hardly aware of it. He was still fully dressed. The plastic containers were still in his pocket. If he could get out, even if he could only send a message, a miracle might yet be brought about.

There were men outside this door; the others outside the window. Armed men. They were not armed with lethal weapons, but with the gas-pistols; if he tried to get away and was caught, he would be gassed, would lose control of his muscles, hear Davos or Faversham talking to him, patting his head, reproaching him - much as the keeper, Barney, had dealt with the panther. First, make him helpless; then talk to him, work on him, turn his mind as well as his body to putty.

To and fro.

Father of a new world.

Eve.
Eve!

To and fro.

Sometimes he would see Adam Reed being hauled down from the tree, and being mauled. It made him grit his teeth as if he, not Adam, were in fact the victim. He knew what the man had suffered, what he must have suffered; flesh torn, nerves jagged, death near - and yet Adam hadn’t shouted, hadn’t screamed, hadn’t pleaded or begged for mercy. All he had done was to fight, and fighting, had died.

Now he, Robert Woburn, was the one hope. Thirty seconds on a telephone would conceivably save millions.

Where were the
octi
burrowing and multiplying?

Faversham knew, and so did Davos. There must be a list, a record. In that small room off the laboratory? Had they discovered Lidgett’s body? Would they suspect him, when they did? Had they a way of identifying fingerprints? If they had, he couldn’t last two minutes as the father of the new world.

Hideous, shaking, grotesque thought.

Eve!

The radio gave a sharp pip-pip-pip of sound, and then papers rustled, and a man spoke. This was the B.B.C. Light Programme, flatly and unemotionally. Woburn paused, and looked at the radio.

“As listeners will already have heard, the Light Programme will remain on the air throughout the night, broadcasting the latest flood position at half-hourly intervals, and special announcements may be made from time to time. All listeners whose homes are less than twenty feet above sea level are advised to have at least one member of the family on radio duty during the night, as special announcements of evacuation plans may affect them. It is important to remember that this applies to inland as well as coastal areas.”

Woburn winced. Inland?

“Pip-pip-pip.

“The time is now two o’clock, Greenwich mean time, three o’clock, British summer time. The great floods which have already engulfed many thousands of square miles of Great Britain and Europe show no signs of abating. Many coastal areas, especially those on the North Sea, have been completely inundated, and the loss of life is feared to be extremely heavy. Emergency plans to evacuate the civilian population from all of these districts have already been announced, and all civil and military transport has been mobilised. Full details will be given at the end of this special news broadcast.

“Pip-pip-pip.

“This is the B.B.C. Light Programme.

“Convoys of troops have been and are being rushed from various parts of Great Britain to the disaster areas, where a State of Emergency has been proclaimed. The military vehicles will be used to take survivors to higher ground. All river areas are to be evacuated. It is understood that the Prime Minister is making a personal tour of the disaster areas while this broadcast is being made. He has already announced that plans for relief of the extensive scale required have been put in hand, military, civil authorities and voluntary organisations all being called upon to help.

“Pip-pip-pip.”

There was more. Woburn didn’t listen, yet could understand all that had happened; could picture it happening. Mammoth waves; that was how it would appear to anyone who did not know what it was. Wreckage and ruin - and it could come from just a few
octi
bases.

There was a break in the announcer’s voice; then an edge of excitement. Woburn found himself looking at the radio again.

“A message has just come in from Los Angeles, saying that waves of gigantic proportions have swept over the coast of southern California, engulfing an area of thousands of square miles. Great loss of life is feared.”

And Woburn was locked in here, with horror in his mind, a great fear, and just one obsession. How could he make Davos or Faversham talk? If there was a way to do that there must be a way to escape. He kept arguing with himself, inventing possibilities, refusing to believe that there was no hope at all.

Then he went very still - and after a minute he spoke very quietly.

“My God,” he said, “I can beat them. Eve!” He uttered her name as if she were in the room as he rushed towards the door. He stopped abruptly, not through any change of mind, just a change of tactics. He had a strength greater than he had dreamed, a power over Davos, a power Davos had given him, but he mustn’t lose his head.

If he could find the right way to wield that power, he could at least gain time, and give the outside world some chance.

How could he wield it?

If he could talk to Eve . . .

At least that was one thing they would be glad for him to do.

He made himself sit on the edge of the bed, and smoked furiously while he tried to see all the new angles. He stayed there for ten minutes, then stubbed out a cigarette, and went to the door. It wasn’t locked, but the two uniformed men were outside, both elderly, both pleasant-looking.

“Is there anything we can do for you, sir?” one man said. He was very like Barney, who had a twinkle, a pleasant voice, a courteous manner - and who had released the panther which had killed Adam.

“I’m going to see Miss Eve.”

“I should think that would be all right, sir,” the man said.

Woburn snapped: “Of course it’s all right.” He turned from the doorway and marched to the head of the stairs; they followed him. Another man stood at the head of the stairs, one at the foot by the gallery. The two from his room followed him all the way. A man stood outside another room. Eve’s?

“This is Miss Eve’s room, sir,” the speaker said.

Woburn nodded, abruptly. He tried the handle of the door, wondering what to do if Eve had locked it. It wasn’t. He knocked, but there was no answer. He opened the door and went inside, closing the door with a snap. There was a bolt on the door. He shot it, before he looked round.

The bed was empty.

Fool, if Eve were somewhere else—

The french windows leading to a small balcony were open, and the dim light shone out into the night. He went across. He saw Eve standing against the rail of the balcony, looking out towards the starlit sky and the sea which had come that day, and to the mainland where disaster upon disaster was flooding the earth.

She heard him, and looked round sharply. He heard the intake of her breath, sensed the way that her body stiffened. He joined her. The night was warm and quiet, except for the droning of aircraft overhead; he hadn’t heard that in his own room. He could see the lights. He could see other lights, on the water some distance off, and it dawned on him that there were naval vessels out there, military or naval aircraft above, maintaining a constant, fearful patrol.

Nearby, were the island guards on their ceaseless watch.

“Eve,” Woburn said in a low-pitched voice, “there’s a way of gaining time, perhaps even beating them.”

She didn’t speak.

“I think we can play a card they haven’t thought about,” Woburn went on; then his voice fell away.

The starlight glistened on Eve’s eyes, but he couldn’t see her face clearly. She was still fully dressed. He tried to guess what had been passing through her mind; whether she knew the same kind of empty hopelessness, the same terrible despair, as he.

“I don’t believe there is anything we can do,” she said in an empty voice. “They’ve been talking to me. The octi are everywhere. They have only to have them fertilised with malic acid, and the floods will come. They’ve already started in Europe and America, they’ll start them in Australia, India and Russia in a few days.”

“Few days?” Woburn barked.

“Days, weeks, what does it matter?” Eve asked, and her voice still had the dead, empty note. “It’s unbelievable, but it’s happening. To me, to you.” Some feeling came into her voice, a kind of passion. “Don’t you know what’s happening, are you fooling yourself? The octi can flood the whole world. And my father, my father, sees you and me the father and the mother of a new one. It’s— it’s satanic! Don’t stand there and look at me, I tell you that my own father must be the very Devil himself! Who else would conceive such an idea? To murder millions, and calmly tell me that I have to live with you, have children so that— God! It’s so awful that when I think about it I could jump out of this window and put an end to it all.”

Woburn didn’t interrupt.

She turned away, and said drearily: “But how would it help? How would it help?” For a moment, there was silence; then with unexpected passion Eve swung round, snatched at Woburn’s hand and led him into the bedroom, across it, to a door which he thought led to a dressing-room. He had no time to notice the fittings, the furniture, the beauty of this room, before she flung open the door and threw out her arm in a gesture that had the touch of hysteria he knew so well. “Look at that!” she cried, “the bridal chamber, the womb of the new world!”

Woburn stepped inside; into a room of great beauty; into the conception of a man’s mind.

It was a great chamber, with circular walls, panelled in pale, unstained wood. In each panel hung a painting, and each painting had much in common with the others; scenes from the Garden of Eden. The Eve in every one was Eve beautifully painted. The Adam was the face of a man who lay in a coffin, ready for burial in unconsecrated ground. The domed ceiling might have been found in any great church, with its angels and its cherubim. There was the huge bed, with its gilded canopy, standing on a raised platform, with two steps leading up to it.

“They’ve been working on it for months,” Eve said hopelessly. “They wouldn’t let me go in, my father said that he wanted it for a surprise. He showed me tonight, and seemed to think I ought to be proud! Proud!”

She turned to face Woburn.

“Bob,” she said in a helpless tone, “what are we going to do?
What are we going to do
?”

“We’re going to tell him that unless he accepts certain conditions,” Woburn said, “we shall kill ourselves.”

She didn’t respond; the full significance of that didn’t sink in at first, he could tell that from her expression.

“
We’re going to— what?
”

“Kill ourselves,” he repeated, very quietly.

He hadn’t realised how closely together they were standing. It was very close. He took her arms. In the gentle light here he could see every feature of her face, the tensions and the bewilderment. Gradually, bewilderment began to fade, as understanding dawned. He felt the quickening of her body. Hope poured back into her.

“Of course,” she said, “of course.”

“If the new Adam and the new Eve were dead,” Woburn said dryly, “where would the first creatures of his new world be? At least we’d have a chance of gaining time, it would be a sharp set-back for him. He can’t make us live together and he can’t make us live if we prefer to die. He can destroy the world or he can make this new Garden of Eden with us to inhabit it, but he can’t do both.”

Eve looked at him with twisted lips, with eyes which had a new-born calmness. He remembered the way she had reacted once before, when the humanity in her had brought a smile against all the odds. He remembered his own grin. Both of them felt much the same now as they had then.

“Bob,” she said, “we’ll go and tell them that we won’t have any children unless he does what we want. What would we call it? A limited experiment? And when he’s trying to cope, when he thinks we’re waiting for his answer, I’ll try to get away. If I can once reach the water—”

Suddenly, completely, she was in his arms, half laughing, half crying. He felt the warmth of her body, and knew that this was one way in which to comfort her. He felt as if this was not only the present, but their future. He and Eve; Adam and Eve. He could almost laugh. It was so simple, now that he saw it clearly; out of their weakness they had a greater strength than Davos and Faversham, they were the real masters..

Then Eve drew away from him.

“Bob.” Her voice was sharp.

“Yes?”

“Supposing it’s too late. Supposing the octi are maturing everywhere.”

Woburn said with new roughness: “Come on, let’s go and see him.”