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Authors: John Creasey
Tags: The Flood
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You’ve seen the result.”
Palfrey was sitting down, and his voice was very quiet, almost gentle. He gave his words no emphasis, just let them carry their own. With every sentence, he brought an added sense of awe and horror.
“It isn’t the first time this has happened, Woburn.” By dropping the formal ‘Mister’ Palfrey seemed to be taking Woburn further into his confidence, to break down a barrier that had been created between them. “How long have you been in the country, do you say?” “Less than two weeks.”
“Then you wouldn’t have seen this one,” Palfrey said, and took an envelope out of his pocket. He handed it to Woburn, whose hands were unsteady as he opened it.
Inside, were newspaper cuttings, the top one from the Daily Clarion, there were a dozen of them, altogether. Woburn read:
ISLAND DISAPPEARS OVERNIGHT
He clamped his jaws together as he read on:
Inhabitants of the Western Isles, especially those on Mull, woke up to a shock yesterday morning. A small, uninhabited island five miles from the main island on the western side, had disappeared. About a quarter of a mile north to south and rather more east to west, the highest point in the island was over two hundred feet above sea level. Nothing was heard to explain the disappearance, and geologists suggest that there was a fault in the earth’s crust just beneath the island, which caved in. The shock was not severe enough to be felt on any of the seismographs, however.
The fact remains that where rocks rose and grass and wild flowers and a few trees grew two days ago, today there is only the sea.
Woburn finished reading.
Horror had touched him enough before; now it was much worse. He moved back to his chair, but didn’t sit down.
He said: “A few weeks ago, an island in the Adirondacks disappeared. You know – in the lake district of New England.” It hurt when he gulped. “I read about it. Twenty people were drowned. It was in the middle of one of the big lakes, and vanished overnight. No witnesses survived. Do you think—”
“We’ve had men investigating in that district for years,” Palfrey said. “No reports of octi being found there after the disaster, but we’ve had reports from other places.”
Woburn made himself ask: “Where?”
“In the South Pacific, a small group of islands north of the Samoa group vanished. That was the first we heard. There was one survivor, a trader whose ship was tied up to the jetty of the main island. He says he was invaded by the octi, and – he preserved one long enough for it to be examined.”
Palfrey stopped.
Woburn poured himself out another drink.
“A whole group of islands?”
“And five hundred people. All Polynesians, of course.”
“What the hell difference does that make?” Woburn asked roughly. “They’re people.”
Palfrey said: “That’s something we agree about.” He stood up, slowly. “Woburn, we don’t know a lot about this business yet. We have now four instances of places disappearing under a flood, with reason to suspect that the flood was caused by bursting octi. We don’t know how fast they breed, if ‘breed’ is the right word. They could be man-made. Anything we say about them is guesswork. But there are some common denominators. One is the water eruption followed by the flood. Two, the suddenness of the collapse of land. Three – a connection of some kind with Sir Gabriel Davos.”
He broke off.
Woburn felt the shock of the announcement, and sensed at the same time that both these men were watching him for the slightest indication that he had already known that.
7
Outside, darkness was falling; the room faced the south, and there was a pale light of the afterglow in one corner of the window. Crickets chirruped. Some birds were swooping on the insects which came out to welcome the night.
Woburn said slowly, almost painfully: “I— I simply don’t know what you’re driving at.”
“Davos, his daughters Eve and
Palfrey was sitting down, and his voice was very quiet, almost gentle. He gave his words no emphasis, just let them carry their own. With every sentence, he brought an added sense of awe and horror.
“It isn’t the first time this has happened, Woburn.” By dropping the formal ‘Mister’ Palfrey seemed to be taking Woburn further into his confidence, to break down a barrier that had been created between them. “How long have you been in the country, do you say?” “Less than two weeks.”
“Then you wouldn’t have seen this one,” Palfrey said, and took an envelope out of his pocket. He handed it to Woburn, whose hands were unsteady as he opened it.
Inside, were newspaper cuttings, the top one from the Daily Clarion, there were a dozen of them, altogether. Woburn read:
ISLAND DISAPPEARS OVERNIGHT
He clamped his jaws together as he read on:
Inhabitants of the Western Isles, especially those on Mull, woke up to a shock yesterday morning. A small, uninhabited island five miles from the main island on the western side, had disappeared. About a quarter of a mile north to south and rather more east to west, the highest point in the island was over two hundred feet above sea level. Nothing was heard to explain the disappearance, and geologists suggest that there was a fault in the earth’s crust just beneath the island, which caved in. The shock was not severe enough to be felt on any of the seismographs, however.
The fact remains that where rocks rose and grass and wild flowers and a few trees grew two days ago, today there is only the sea.
Woburn finished reading.
Horror had touched him enough before; now it was much worse. He moved back to his chair, but didn’t sit down.
He said: “A few weeks ago, an island in the Adirondacks disappeared. You know – in the lake district of New England.” It hurt when he gulped. “I read about it. Twenty people were drowned. It was in the middle of one of the big lakes, and vanished overnight. No witnesses survived. Do you think—”
“We’ve had men investigating in that district for years,” Palfrey said. “No reports of octi being found there after the disaster, but we’ve had reports from other places.”
Woburn made himself ask: “Where?”
“In the South Pacific, a small group of islands north of the Samoa group vanished. That was the first we heard. There was one survivor, a trader whose ship was tied up to the jetty of the main island. He says he was invaded by the octi, and – he preserved one long enough for it to be examined.”
Palfrey stopped.
Woburn poured himself out another drink.
“A whole group of islands?”
“And five hundred people. All Polynesians, of course.”
“What the hell difference does that make?” Woburn asked roughly. “They’re people.”
Palfrey said: “That’s something we agree about.” He stood up, slowly. “Woburn, we don’t know a lot about this business yet. We have now four instances of places disappearing under a flood, with reason to suspect that the flood was caused by bursting octi. We don’t know how fast they breed, if ‘breed’ is the right word. They could be man-made. Anything we say about them is guesswork. But there are some common denominators. One is the water eruption followed by the flood. Two, the suddenness of the collapse of land. Three – a connection of some kind with Sir Gabriel Davos.”
He broke off.
Woburn felt the shock of the announcement, and sensed at the same time that both these men were watching him for the slightest indication that he had already known that.
7
Outside, darkness was falling; the room faced the south, and there was a pale light of the afterglow in one corner of the window. Crickets chirruped. Some birds were swooping on the insects which came out to welcome the night.
Woburn said slowly, almost painfully: “I— I simply don’t know what you’re driving at.”
“Davos, his daughters Eve and
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