Agony…
The ants.
He looked round. Millions of them were swarming closer… the main attack had reached the village.
Desperately he shook his legs, and a cloud of the brutes fell away from his trousers. He rolled over and over, dragging the spear with him. Savagely, not caring about the pain, he sawed away. A moment later he was free, and he scrambled up, kicking at the ground, tormented by the burning bites of the ants.
Some half-dozen yards away, the main body of anomma was rolling towards him like a tide, the ground, the very earth itself and everything in sight, was moving. It was heaving and undulating before his eyes. Everything had changed colour, was that same curious reddish-brown, a living carpet rolling inexorably across the deserted compound, a wide front of the tiny brutes, all-consuming, a moving, living death scurrying towards him and Gillian, falling over each other, unstemmable. Dimly he was aware of a detached column striking from the right flank and circling inward, and then he heard the girl’s demented scream:
“Oh, damn you… for God’s sake, hurry…”
He shook his body, tore himself out of a near-stupor, ran over to her. Tearing at the ropes holding the girl, he watched the ugly, creeping death as the ants swarmed closer. They were within a couple of yards now.
But — they came no closer than that.
They came, seemed frustrated, and pressed away again, climbing over their companions who were urging them on from the rear. The wriggling mass surged this way and that, fighting, fratricidal.
As Shaw freed the girl’s limp body and took her in his arms, felt the terrible thudding of her heart, the ants formed a complete ring around them. He looked down at the silent, intent throng in something like wonderment. He felt the emanation of something unutterably evil, something which seemed the more evil because of the absolute silence… he could almost see in his fancy the millions of intent, watchful eyes, eyes which saw him and Gillian Ross either as food for ravening stomachs or simply as enemies to be blindly destroyed.
But — there they stayed, in that irregular ring, and all at once he realized why.
It was the petrol.
On their saturated little island they were safe.
For the time being, anyhow. It would be just a question of time; a question of whether the ants would wait patiently until the last traces of the petrol had evaporated from the earth — or whether they would move on to more readily accessible conquests.
And in the meantime they watched him and they waited; they didn’t appear to be in any hurry. From across the compound, from one of the huts, there came a sudden, high scream, the scream of death. That must be some helpless old man or woman who had been overlooked.
Some of the ants, at least, were having luck.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Gillian realized that Shaw was in pain and something had to be done about the ant-stings. She told him to sit down, and she dealt with them as best she could, sucking out the poison. While she was doing this her mind was occupied; afterwards her terror came back and she whispered, as though afraid to draw attention to herself in case those waiting millions should hear, “My God, how long does this go on?”
He had his arms about her. He said, “Try not to think about it. We’re safe so long as the petrol lasts, it seems, and the rains’ll be here again soon. That’ll drive them away. I suppose they must have been on the march when the rains first started, found some dry spot, and came out again during the lull.” He disengaged himself from her gently, and walked across to the cans of petrol, taking care where he was treading. Taking up the cans one by one, he emptied them on to the earth. The petrol flowed towards the ants, swilled into the close-packed ranks, and they scurried back, those who could, across each other’s bodies. Handfuls of them floated on the spirit, struggled unavailingly, and died.
The rest held steady, watchful, waiting.
Shaw breathed hard, the fumes of the petrol filling his lungs. He heard Gillian coughing a little. He looked up anxiously at the sky, at the black clouds piling. The rains were not far off; the ants, of course, would have been on the march ahead of them, their primeval instincts warning them of the cloudburst to come. Already, he fancied, they were restive, the ranks swaying this way and that.
He went back to the girl, put his arms about her again. He said gently, “Look at the sky, Gillian. It’ll be all right very soon now.”
She looked at the sky, then back at him. She asked, “You’re sure of that? You’re not just being reassuring?”
“No, I promise you that. The rains’ll come any time now. I haven’t lost my weather eye entirely!” He grinned down at her. “You’ll be all right. Just trust me from now on. I know I haven’t been much use to you so far — but it won’t be like that again, Gillian.”
She was a little more composed now. She said, “Oh, I trust you all right.”
“Even after London? Tell me, Gillian: was it very bad, with Wiley?”
“It wasn’t — nice.” She caught her breath. “But I’m still in one piece, thanks to you. That’s all that really matters, isn’t it — I mean, as far as I’m concerned. I know you’ve still got your job to do.” Her eyes searched his face and she added, “I–I’d rather not talk about what… what they did to me.”
“I understand that,” he said quietly. “But there’s things I’ve got to ask you, Gillian. I’m sorry. So much depends on us now. I dare say you know what Wiley’s planning to do— to blow up a slice of Africa?”
“Yes, he told me. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as Bluebolt.”
He said, “You weren’t supposed to! Look, did you find out anything all that time that’ll help me now? Anything you overheard, say? I know he’s got a fifth column inside — but did you get to hear anything else?”
She shook her head. “No. You see, I — was kept locked up — most of the time. Sam Wiley just told me the bare fact of what he was going to do, and that’s all. They didn’t come near me much, except when they wanted… a bit of fun. They talked in their own language, anyhow. Sam Wiley seemed to be the only one who spoke English. I just don’t know anything.” She hesitated, then gave a long, shuddering sigh. “What are we going to do now?”
“First thing is to get away from here! And we’ll have to do it on foot, too… we’ve got to make it to the base before Hartog goes into action. I believe it isn’t far from here—”
He broke off, looked down anxiously at the girl as she gave a small, dry sob. He said, “Try not to think about things. It’s all my worry now.”
She was beginning to cry again. On a deep exhalation of breath she said, “God… all those eyes! Watching us. Just watching us.”
The ants, as the long minutes dragged past, seemed to know that something was in the air. The ranks were growing more and more restless. It was as though they were debating whether or not to turn and run before the gathering storm. Lanes opened through the mass, thin little lines of scouts and messengers hurried along to the rear, came back again. In better circumstances it would have been fascinating to watch.
And then, a little before the first crackle of lightning slashed across the lowering sky, in a zigzag of threatening yellow light, the waiting, watching millions began to press backward, thinning out fast to the rear in orderly but useless retreat. Greed had made them leave it a little too long. Once again the surrounding earth began to move, to undulate, as the reddish-brown colouring flowed away like a flood. Seconds later the roar of thunder crashed out to the west, a rolling din accompanied by more lightning, and then another crash as thunder broke almost overhead. There was a gathering whistle of wind, and then Shaw felt the first heavy drops of the tropic downpour to come. With the thunder the oppressive, breathless heat seemed to ease and the air at once grew several degrees cooler, almost striking chill.