The Day of the Triffids(22)

She would be the better for having her cry out. I lit a cigarette and considered the next move. Naturally she was not going to care for the idea of leaving her father as we had found him. She would wish that he should have a proper burial—and, by the looks of it, that would be a matter of the pair of us digging the grave and effecting the whole business. And before that could even be attempted it would be necessary to fetch the means to deal with the triffids that were already there and keep off any more that might appear. On the whole, I would be in favor of dropping the whole thing—but then it was not my father….

The more I considered this new aspect of things, the less I liked it. I had no idea how many triffids there might be in London. Every park had a few at least. Usually they kept some docked ones that were allowed to roam about as they would; often there were others, with stings intact, either staked or safely behind wire netting. Thinking of those we had seen crossing Regent’s Park, I wondered just how many they had been in the habit of keeping in the pens by the zoo and how many had escaped. There’d be a number in private gardens too; you’d expect all those to be safely docked—but you never can tell what fool carelessness may go on. And then there were several nurseries of things and experimental stations a little farther out….

While I sat there pondering I was aware of something nudging at the back of my mind, some association of ideas that didn’t quite join up. I sought it for a moment or two, then, suddenly, it came. I could almost hear Walter’s voice speaking, saying:

“I tell you, a triffid’s in a damn sight better position to survive than a blind man.”

Of course he had been talking about a man who had been blinded by a triffid sting. All the same, it was a jolt. More than a jolt. It scared me a bit.

I thought back. No, it had just arisen out of general speculation—nevertheless, it seemed a bit uncanny now….

“Take away our sight,” he had said, “and our superiority to them is gone.”

Of course coincidences are happening all the time—but it’s just now and then you happen to notice them….

A crunch on the gravel brought me back to the present. A triffid came swaying down the drive toward the gate. I leaned across and screwed up the window.

“Drive on! Drive on!” said Josella hysterically.

“We’re all right here,” I told her. “I want to see what it does.”

Simultaneously I realized that one of my questions was solved. Being accustomed to triffids, I had forgotten how most people felt about an undocked one. I suddenly understood that there would be no question of coming back here. Josella’s feeling about an armed triffid was the general one—get well away from it, and stay away.

The thing paused by the gatepost. One could have sworn that it was listening. We sat perfectly still and quiet, Josella staring at it with horror. I expected it to lash out at the car, but it didn’t. Probably the muffling of our voices inside had misled it into thinking we were out of range.

The little bare stalks began abruptly to clatter against its stem. It swayed, lumbered clumsily off to the right, and disappeared into the next driveway.

Josella gave a sigh of relief.

“Oh, let’s get away before it comes back,” she implored.

I started the car, turned it round, and we drove off Londonward again.





A LIGHT IN THE NIGHT


Josella began to recover her self-possession. With the deliberate and obvious intention of taking her mind off what lay behind us, she asked:

“Where are we going now?”

“Clerkenwell first,” I told her. “After that we’ll see about getting you some more clothes. Bond Street for them, if you like, but Clerkenwell first.”

“But why Clerkenwell——? Good heavens!”

She might well exclaim. We had turned a corner to see the street seventy yards ahead of us filled with people. They were coming toward us at a stumbling run, with their arms outstretched before them. A mingled crying and screaming came from them. Even as we came into sight of them a woman at the front tripped and fell; others tumbled over her, and she disappeared beneath a kicking, struggling heap. Beyond the mob we had a glimpse of the cause of it all: three dark-leaved stems swaying beyond the panic-stricken heads. I accelerated and swung off into a byroad.

Josella turned a terrified face.

“Did—did you see what that was? They were driving them.”

“Yes,” I said. “That’s why we are going to Clerkenwell. There’s a place there that makes the best triffid guns and masks in the world.”

We worked back again and picked up our intended route, but we did not find the clear run I had hoped for. Near King’s Cross Station there were many more people on the streets. Even with a hand on the horn it grew increasingly difficult to get along. In front of the station itself it became impossible. Why there should have been such crowds in that place, I don’t know. All the people in the district seemed to have converged upon it. We could not get through them, and a glance behind showed that it would be almost as hopeless to try to go back. Those we had passed had already closed in on our track.

“Get out, quick!” I said. “I think they’re after us.”

“But——” Josella began.

“Hurry!” I said shortly.

I blew a final blast on the horn and slipped out after her, leaving the engine running. We were not many seconds too soon. A man found the handle of the rear door. He pulled it open and pawed inside. We were all but pushed over by the pressure of others making for the car. There was a shout of anger when somebody opened the front door and found the seats there empty too. By that time we ourselves had safely become members of the crowd. Somebody grabbed the man who had opened the rear door, under the impression that it was he who had just got out. Around that the confusion began to thrive. I took a firm grip of Josella’s hand, and we started to worm our way along as unobviously as possible.