The Gastropoda Imperative - Peter Barns (i like reading books .TXT) 📗

She didn’t add that she’d also spent a good hour making herself look nice for Troy.

Fin said something in Troy’s ear and they both burst out laughing.

“What?” Lyra said, a little hurt that Fin had obviously made a joke at her expense.

“Oh just ignore them,” Willow said, holding on to Lyra’s arm as she pulled her along. “Knowing my brother, it was probably something disgusting anyway. Let’s go and see what’s happening. Perhaps they’ve found them by now.”

A big crowd had gathered by the beach and the police, although reluctant to let people tramp all over the site at first, finally agreed to split them up into teams and set them loose.

Lyra, Troy, Willow and Fin joined a group of people searching along the top of the cliff, though how the police thought that the kids had managed to get up there, Lyra couldn’t think.

They were told to break off some branches to use as sticks to poke about in any rough ground they came across. Then their group leader, a tall thin policewoman who seemed to have a constant bad smell under her nose, led them along the path across the cliff.

“Be careful,” she ordered. “Don’t go too near the edge.”

“In case someone is tempted to push you off, Miss Piggy,” Fin said, soliciting some muted laughs from the group.

Lyra didn’t realise how long they’d been searching until her mobile rang. It was her mother, wondering where she was. She was explaining what was happening when the policewoman called a halt to the search because it was getting too dark to carry on.

“It’s okay mum, I’ll be home soon and do the animals.”

“They’re already done. I found the milk outside the door.”

“Oh good, Piers did come back then. He said he would. Look mum, I’ve got to go now. I won’t be late home.”

Troy walked Lyra back to the cottage. It was getting quite dark when they reached the end of the track. He turned her towards him, his hands resting on her shoulders. She knew what he was about to do, but didn’t feel quite ready yet. Putting the tips of her fingers on his lips as he tried to kiss her, she shook her head.

For a moment his eyes hardened, but then he smiled and nodded. “See you tomorrow then?” he asked.

“Yes,” she answered back over her shoulder, running up the path to the front door.

***

Lyra had met up with the gang at the bus shelter. It was late afternoon but she had a couple of hours before she had to be back at the cottage.

“Troy’s brought some beers along, so why don’t we go down to the dockside and have a drink.” Fin said. “Maybe sunbathe for a bit,.”

Lyra gave Troy a doubtful look and he frowned. “Don’t drink then?” he asked.

She laughed. “Course I drink. Just don’t think my mum would like it much if I got in smelling of beer.”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve got some menthol gum that’ll hide the smell. We got a nice place down at the quay where nobody’ll see us.”

“You hope,” Fin quipped.

Troy gave him a warning look and Fin turned away, picking up a backpack from inside the shelter.

“Onward, mine leader,” Fin said, swinging the pack onto his back with a big grin.

Lyra spent a pleasant hour and a half laying out in the sun, talking back and forth with her friends. Willow spent most of the time texting her boyfriend, and in the end Lyra’s curiosity got the better of her. “Where is he?” she asked.

“On holiday with his parents, in Switzerland.”

“Nice.”

Fin looked across and nodded. “His dad goes there every year to count his ill gotten gains.”

“Shut up Fin,” Willow said, giving him a slap on the arm.

“Well it’s true,” he said, leaning closer to Lyra. He waved his hand for her to come nearer. “His dad runs this nightclub in Exeter. Makes a packet. It’s probably full of gangsters and whores.”

Willow squealed and jumped on him. Troy and Lyra watched them roll about on the floor in a mock fight, laughing. The pair finally sat back down, out of breath, just as a shadow fell across them.

Willow looked up and groaned a soft, “Oh no. Just what we didn’t need.”

“No, it’s okay. This’ll be a laugh,” Troy said. “Come on over here and have a drink,” he called over to the man standing a little distance away.

Piers moved closer and sat at the edge of the group, his gaze flicking back and forth over their shoulders, never quite meeting their eyes.

“This is Piers,” Troy told Lyra. “He’s the village idiot. A bit of a drunk really,” he added in a low stage whisper.

For some reason, Lyra felt too embarrassed to admit that she already knew Piers, so she just nodded at him, even though she could see the hurt in his eyes at Troy’s taunt. Piers’ hand trembled as he took the can from Troy. Quickly pulling off the tab, he emptied half the can in one long gulp, wiping his mouth on his cuff.

“Hey, take it easy, man,” Troy said. “Don’t gulp it down like that. This is decent stuff, not like the usual shit you drink.”

Lyra was uneasy at the way Troy was talking to Piers, but kept quiet, a slight frown on her face.

“And don’t forget, Troy continued, “you’ve got to earn it.”

Piers just sat looking at the ground, not saying a word. Troy kicked his foot and he looked up.

“So, the aliens?” Troy prompted.

Piers mumbled something, then went back to looking at the ground.

“What?” Troy said.

“I said, it’s true. I saw them. On the island. They killed everyone. Aliens. They did.”

Lyra could see that Piers was near to tears and went to put a comforting hand on his arm. Troy glanced over at her movement and she dropped her hand back to her side. She could hear the sniggers her friends were making and blushed, feeling sorry for Piers.

Her aunt had told her a little of his background when she’d gone to visit her in hospital - his father’s beatings; his mother’s apparent suicide; how everyone shunned him.

Getting up, Lyra brushed down her jeans. “I’ve got to get going,” she said. “I told my aunt I wouldn’t be too long. And I’ve got the milking to do,” she finished, looking over at Piers. He gave her a shy smile and looked at the ground.

“Yeah, we’d better be getting back too,” Willow said. “Come on Fin. You coming, Troy?”

Troy shook his head. “Nah. Just want a quick word with our friend here. Besides, he’s not finished his drink yet. Be impolite to leave him drinking on his own, wouldn’t it?”

After the others had left, Troy stood up and leant over Piers, grabbing him by the shirt front, dragging him to his feet. “Listen, you fucking turd,” he growled. “If I ever catch you looking at my girl that way again, I’ll shove that can up your arse so far that you’ll be shitting tin for a week. You understand?” Not waiting for an answer, Troy pushed the man away and stormed off.

Piers slowly drank his beer, his eyes darting here and there as he did so. Finished, he walked over to the quayside and dropped the can in the sea, watching it for a long, long time as it got smaller and smaller. Finally the tide had pulled it so far out that he couldn’t see it any more.

Piers turned from the quayside and began the long walk back to his bothy. He had things to do tonight - important things that would eventually lead him to where the aliens were hiding.

***

Piers was shaking and frightened, but clamped his teeth tight and stayed where he was. He would be safe on top of the big bale, there was no need to panic. He would see them coming from up here. Be able to jump off and run away if they threatened him. The aliens weren’t fast enough to catch a running man.

Piers had known that the aliens would come back, and they had. He was almost ready to put his plan into action. Just one more thing he had to find out. So he waited in the darkness for them, his heart beating fast.

They came in the dark. Always in the dark.

Piers knew he needed to be careful. If they found him before he was ready, they would kill him, just as they had killed his mother and the ones on the island. He sat very still, crossed legged, waiting, his eyes growing tired as he stared into the night.

It had taken him a long time to find their weakness, but after tonight, he would be ready for them.

After tonight he would be able to avenge his mother.

Chapter 14

Clara Jenkins loved walking her Yorkshire terrier along the beach in the late evening light when nobody else was about. The sand was warm on her bare feet, squeezing up between her toes. It made her feel almost young again.

In her seventy-three years, Clara Jenkins had had a good life, marred only by the unexpected death of her husband, George, seven years ago. It had been a lonely time for her, never having had children - they’d always been too busy with the business.

There were friends to fill some of the loneliness of course, but they didn’t understand the heartbreak and emptiness she was suffering. After nearly forty-five years of marriage, loosing George was like having a limb wrenched off. It left a hole that couldn’t be filled. At least not at first. But then Georgie Porgie had come along.

Clara Jenkins had first spotted Georgie in the window of her local pet shop. Such a tiny thing, panting and pawing the glass at everyone who walked passed. She had fallen in love with the little creature, right out there on the pavement, her nose pressed hard against the glass as she looked in at him with adoring eyes.

Rushing into the pet store, Clara Jenkins had bought Georgie Porgie and taken him home, along with a ton of toys, a basket and a big bag of dog food. Finally she had company again, the tiny dog filling the void in her life. Clara Jenkins loved her dog as if it had been the child she never had, treating it far better than she treated herself.

Georgie Porgie gave a yap and ran across the sand, almost entering the sea, but not quite. Instead it grabbed a length of seaweed and shook it, as though it were some dangerous snake about to attack its owner.

“Put it down, Georgie,” Clara Jenkins called. The last thing she wanted was her dog stinking of seaweed when they got home. “There’s a good boy. Leave it now.”

Georgie Porgie dropped the seaweed and looked back at her. Giving a short high-pitched yip, it sped off across the sand again, this time towards the base of the sand dunes. Tufty grass grew here and Georgie Porgie was soon lost amongst the long fronds.

Clara Jenkins wasn’t worried. Her darling little Georgie Porgie always came back to her when she called. Let him have his bit of fun. It was a lovely evening and she was enjoying her amble along the beach.

Bending down to examine a shell that had been washed up on the shore, Clara Jenkins heard a series of high pitched barks, followed by a yelp. It took her a few moments to straighten up again. Her back wasn’t as flexible as it once had been. It was sometimes difficult to move these days.

“Georgie. Georgie Porgie,” she called. The wind whipped her shouts away and she turned towards the dunes. Where had the little devil got too?

Walking over to the base of the dunes, Clara Jenkins tried calling again. Getting no response, she studied the mounds of sand in trepidation. They were fairly big and she could see that she would have a lot of trouble climbing them. “Georgie. Come here. There’s a good boy.”

Clara Jenkins set out to climb the dunes. It was hard but she stuck at it, finally making it to the top after a very slippery struggle. Stopping for a moment, she heard a growl away to her left. “Georgie? That you boy? Where have you got to?”

Another yelp, muffled this time, led Clara Jenkins