on the trees a short distance away.
There was a curious sound.
A kind of bubbling exhalation, as if some vast dying creature were in there, fighting for breath.
Figures began to come out of the trees. Their leader swung a shining ball on a string. His limbs jerked, angular as a beetle’s. Behind him the ponchoed marchers followed in irregular groups, threes and fours at a time. Their knees were buckling. Eyes were as glazed as marathon runners’, nearing the limit of exhaustion. But they were managing to keep up a ghostly, panting chant, forcing the last breaths out of themselves.
“Planet People,” said Quatermass.
“Are they? I’ve never seen any before. They’ve never come here. Joe’s talked about them. He hates them.” She clutched the dog by its collar as it snarled again.
“Puppy doesn’t like them, too,” said Sarah.
There would be over a hundred in the straggling procession, Quatermass judged. They were clear of the trees now. There were children among them, tottering along like little blind things. One was being carried on his father’s shoulders, slumped forward over the young man’s head.
It was like a trail of ants. Almost undeviating, it was heading straight towards the observatory.
“Joe!”
Kapp had appeared in the station doorway with young Chen. Tommy Roach followed a moment later, holding something.
“Oh God, he’s got a gun!”
She started running, holding on to the dog’s collar. It bounded along with her. Quatermass grabbed the frightened children.
The line of Planet People did not seem to be making for the station entrance, he thought. They were moving as if to cross the railway track in the gap between it and the outbuildings. Their panting cry came back at him, half voiced, guttural. An ugly, wordless sound.
“Leh-leh-leheheh! Leh-leh-leheh!”
“Stop!” yelled Kapp. “You can’t come through here! Get back!”
Roach fired the shotgun over their heads. Then he swung it down.
“No!” screamed Clare.
She was running beside the column.
“Clare, keep back!”
“Joe, they’ve got kids!” She turned to the marchers. “He won’t let you through! Go round—another way!” She was up with the leader of them now, pointing aside. The young man seemed dazed, unable to comprehend, but at least he was slowing. The other Planet People bunched behind. Clare looked for any response from the haggard, painted faces.
“Turn back!” Kapp was shouting. “All of you, go back! You’re not coming in here!”
“Joe, wait!” Now she turned to their leader and asked: “Where are you trying to get to?”
He looked as if he was trying to retrieve it from the depths of memory. His lips formed it.
“Ringstone Round.”
Other voices agreed. The name ran among them. “Ringstone Round . . . Ringstone Round . . .” They were gasping for breath, many of them. Weary bodies sank to the ground. The chant died away.
Clare pushed through them to join her husband.
“Did you hear?”
Kapp nodded. He shouted: “You’ve come the wrong way! Go back! Turn round and go!”
None of them stirred. The pendulum was swinging backwards and forwards. Roach discreetly loaded one smoking barrel.
“You could get to it this way,” Clare said.
“Ringstone Round?”
She looked towards the hills out beyond the railway track. “I’m sure you could.”
“There’s no road.”
“But if you went straight across. It’s the right direction. Oh God, look at them!”
Swaying or slumped, lips twitching, they were unreachable. Their eyes rolled. A child whimpered, clinging to its mother. Dust had caked the blood on bare feet.
Clare called out: “Do you need anything? D’you want food? I might find some for you. Water?”
No response. They knew what they wanted. It lay ahead.
“Let them through, Joe.”
“It must be twenty miles,” said Kapp.
“It’ll be further if you send them back.” She dropped her voice. “For the sake of those kids at least.”
Kapp hesitated. He
There was a curious sound.
A kind of bubbling exhalation, as if some vast dying creature were in there, fighting for breath.
Figures began to come out of the trees. Their leader swung a shining ball on a string. His limbs jerked, angular as a beetle’s. Behind him the ponchoed marchers followed in irregular groups, threes and fours at a time. Their knees were buckling. Eyes were as glazed as marathon runners’, nearing the limit of exhaustion. But they were managing to keep up a ghostly, panting chant, forcing the last breaths out of themselves.
“Planet People,” said Quatermass.
“Are they? I’ve never seen any before. They’ve never come here. Joe’s talked about them. He hates them.” She clutched the dog by its collar as it snarled again.
“Puppy doesn’t like them, too,” said Sarah.
There would be over a hundred in the straggling procession, Quatermass judged. They were clear of the trees now. There were children among them, tottering along like little blind things. One was being carried on his father’s shoulders, slumped forward over the young man’s head.
It was like a trail of ants. Almost undeviating, it was heading straight towards the observatory.
“Joe!”
Kapp had appeared in the station doorway with young Chen. Tommy Roach followed a moment later, holding something.
“Oh God, he’s got a gun!”
She started running, holding on to the dog’s collar. It bounded along with her. Quatermass grabbed the frightened children.
The line of Planet People did not seem to be making for the station entrance, he thought. They were moving as if to cross the railway track in the gap between it and the outbuildings. Their panting cry came back at him, half voiced, guttural. An ugly, wordless sound.
“Leh-leh-leheheh! Leh-leh-leheh!”
“Stop!” yelled Kapp. “You can’t come through here! Get back!”
Roach fired the shotgun over their heads. Then he swung it down.
“No!” screamed Clare.
She was running beside the column.
“Clare, keep back!”
“Joe, they’ve got kids!” She turned to the marchers. “He won’t let you through! Go round—another way!” She was up with the leader of them now, pointing aside. The young man seemed dazed, unable to comprehend, but at least he was slowing. The other Planet People bunched behind. Clare looked for any response from the haggard, painted faces.
“Turn back!” Kapp was shouting. “All of you, go back! You’re not coming in here!”
“Joe, wait!” Now she turned to their leader and asked: “Where are you trying to get to?”
He looked as if he was trying to retrieve it from the depths of memory. His lips formed it.
“Ringstone Round.”
Other voices agreed. The name ran among them. “Ringstone Round . . . Ringstone Round . . .” They were gasping for breath, many of them. Weary bodies sank to the ground. The chant died away.
Clare pushed through them to join her husband.
“Did you hear?”
Kapp nodded. He shouted: “You’ve come the wrong way! Go back! Turn round and go!”
None of them stirred. The pendulum was swinging backwards and forwards. Roach discreetly loaded one smoking barrel.
“You could get to it this way,” Clare said.
“Ringstone Round?”
She looked towards the hills out beyond the railway track. “I’m sure you could.”
“There’s no road.”
“But if you went straight across. It’s the right direction. Oh God, look at them!”
Swaying or slumped, lips twitching, they were unreachable. Their eyes rolled. A child whimpered, clinging to its mother. Dust had caked the blood on bare feet.
Clare called out: “Do you need anything? D’you want food? I might find some for you. Water?”
No response. They knew what they wanted. It lay ahead.
“Let them through, Joe.”
“It must be twenty miles,” said Kapp.
“It’ll be further if you send them back.” She dropped her voice. “For the sake of those kids at least.”
Kapp hesitated. He
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