We begin
on Hobbs Lane in London. A modern street nameplate is accompanied
below by an old one with the spelling ‘Hob’s Lane’. We pan down and
as the street itself is revealed, we notice that almost every
lamppost has bunches of dried, withered flowers both fastened to
them and surrounding their bases, some accompanied by faded
photographs of lost loved ones, young and old.
On one
side of the road are rows of derelict, terraced houses, their
windows smashed or boarded-up with graffiti-covered wood. They
appear to have been vacant for decades. On the other side, a pub
stands on the corner, its exterior covered with grime and many of
its windows either bricked-up or protected by heavy, steel mesh. It
is open and an angry-looking young man stands outside, his tattooed
arms exposed, despite the air being cold.
Beside
the pub is a new, large building, appearing oddly out of place, with
its gleaming, glass frontage and shiny, brass nameplate identifying
it as the new London headquarters of the ‘United Nations
Humanitarian Relief Fund’ – ‘Opening Soon’ reads another sign pasted
onto the wall below. To the right of the main entrance, a ramp
descends down into a large, underground parking facility, watched
over by a bored-looking, middle-aged guard in a small booth. Behind
it stands a huge gantry crane, towering above the ten-storey office
block.
Next to
the new building is the shabby façade of the Hobbs Lane Underground
Station. Hundreds of people fill the street, going about their
businesses, both inside and outside the busy Tube station.
A white
Ford Transit van pulls into the lane and makes its way to the UN
building ramp. Two men, wearing black balaclavas and goggles that
completely obscure their features, are in the front of the van. They
stop by the security booth and shoot the guard with a silenced
pistol through the open window. As the man slumps back, the driver
glances in his mirror and smiles beneath the mask as nobody on the
bustling street appears to notice what has just taken place. He
reaches out of the van and hits the button in the booth that raises
the barrier. The van slowly rolls into the darkness below and the
barrier drops behind, barring any other vehicles from entering.
The van
pulls up and the two men quickly exit, heading to the back doors and
flinging them open to reveal two more similarly-attired men. Three
of the team begin pulling heavy cases out of the van, while the
fourth, under orders from the driver, scouts the car park for
anybody that might witness their actions.
He
creeps into the shadows, peering between the few cars and vans
parked in the subterranean lot. The small, automatic machine pistol
he wields glints menacingly in the low lighting. Behind him, his
comrades set about their work with quiet confidence, affixing dozens
of boxes to several of the huge support pillars that keep the
building above them upright. The masked sentry reaches the back wall
of the car park and is about to turn to report back to his superior
when a movement causes him to whirl. Flicking on the flashlight he
has pulled from his belt, he trains it in the direction of the
motion he thought he saw.
He
catches his breath as a small, shadowy, hunched figure disappears
into the dark shadows at the back of the parking lot. He attempts to
follow it with his torch, but it has vanished, seemingly melting
into the wall where the darkness had been. He curses under his
breath, a barely-audible exclamation of fear, and turns to head back
to his colleagues. Far below, a Tube train thunders through the
station, causing the concrete foundations to tremble slightly. When
the rumbling fades, though, the trembling continues, accompanied by
a low, thrumming sound that the man can feel throughout his entire
body. Then it has passed and he shakes his head, again cursing.
He
returns to his team and, in a Cockney accent, informs his leader
that they are alone, but he wants to get the hell out. The driver
laughs and calls him a derogatory name. The other three men approach
and more Cockney accents are exchanged, telling the driver that all
the charges are set. The driver, stilling laughing, tells them of
the sentry’s fears and they, too, begin to poke fun at him.
Without
thinking, the sentry raises his weapon and guns down all of his
comrades. As they drop to the concrete floor, he realises what he
has done and pulls off his balaclava, revealing a young, white man
with sandy blond hair. He checks his wristwatch, drops his weapon
and races from the underground car park.
Seconds
after his departure, massive explosions rip through the lot, the
charges doing their work and turning the support pillars of the new
building to dust. The building collapses in on itself, disappearing
in a huge plume of smoke and debris. Unfortunate commuters on the
street are killed instantly by flying shards of glass and
high-velocity projectiles from the collapsing structure. Within
seconds all that remains is a pile of shattered steel and concrete
and a deathly quiet falls on Hobbs Lane, soon to be interrupted by
the wailing sirens of the approaching emergency services.
A BBC
newsreader tells us that six weeks have passed since the terrorist
bombing of the new United Nations Humanitarian Relief Fund building,
in which a hundred and seventeen people lost their lives. The
Anti-Terrorist Branch is confident that Middle Eastern groups were
behind the plot and have made several arrests. Most of the wreckage
of the building has been removed and civilian engineering
consultants are now assisting in the excavation of the foundations
that were severely damaged in the blast.
Where a
ten-storey building once stood is now a huge hole in the ground,
surrounded by a high fence of wood, topped with barbed wire, to
deter the curious. Detective Inspector Potter of Scotland Yard
stands with arms folded, surveying the work going on below. He is an
honest, genuine police officer, in his mid-thirties, with keen eyes
and a curious nature. Now he is looking at the huge crater gouged by
the plastic explosives. The deep foundations of the building have
been completely pulverised for a hundred feet in all directions,
exposing the damp clay beneath. Structural engineers are busy
working in the pit, gathering buckets of material and feeding it
onto a long conveyor belt that leads up to more workers beside a
small hut. They sift through the debris for evidence, under the
watchful eyes of Potter’s men.
Suddenly
a cry emanates from the crater and Potter hastily runs down the ramp
to where a man is pointing to something embedded in the clay on the
far side of the depression. Potter recognizes it immediately as part
of a deformed, human skull. Carefully, he plucks it out of the wall
and turns it over in his hands. It is a fossil, completely
petrified. Police Sergeant Ellis joins him, an older, uniformed
bobby, assigned to Potter’s team because of his familiarity with the
area – he was born and raised only a street away from Hobbs Lane.
Potter smiles and tells Ellis that he knows a man at the Natural
History Museum that would love to see this fossil. The sergeant
smiles in return, then notices something in the hole where the skull
had rested – something dark and smooth. He points it out to Potter
and the detective orders the engineer to clear away more of the
clay.
Moments
later, we see what appears to be part of a cylindrical object,
buried deep in the mud. Its surface is smooth and intensely black,
hardly reflecting any light at all. Potter asks Ellis what he thinks
and, after rejecting ideas of water mains or sewage pipes, the old
sergeant suggests it might be an unexploded bomb from World War II.
Potter
swears under his breath. The Bomb Squad will have to be called in to
deal with this.
In a
nondescript room in Whitehall, Professor Bernard Quatermass is
arguing intensely with the Minister of Defence. The MoD has decided
that, given the current world climate, his rocket group should be
absorbed by the ministry. Quatermass, a renowned scientist of about
fifty years of age, disagrees, citing that it was a civilian
operation and that he had guarantees from the former Prime Minister
that it would remain so. He is informed that PMs change and the new
man at Number 10 feels that the rocket group has produced little
reward for the billions of taxpayers’ pounds that have been poured
into it. The professor argues that his project managed to put
British astronauts into space for the very first time, but the
minister reminds him that this sole achievement was marred by the
tragedy that left the entire crew and several civilians dead. No,
the rocket group would become a military project, still headed by
Quatermass, but co-led by Colonel Breen, the MoD’s foremost expert
on military rockets. Unless, that is, he wants to resign from his
position. The professor is furious, but the minister walks out
before he can do or say anything.
Breen
consoles Quatermass and assures him that they will make a good team.
The professor tells him that he has no intention of resigning.
Breen, a typical army officer of about the same age as Quatermass,
but with less hair, smiles and explains that martyrdom is not
Quatermass’ style. Perhaps they could have dinner to smooth things
over? The professor grudgingly accepts the invitation.
A male
secretary enters the room and hands Breen a piece of paper. He
curses and explains to Quatermass that dinner will have to wait. It
appears his expertise is required elsewhere. An unknown Nazi weapon
has been unearthed on Hobbs Lane and the Bomb Squad are unable to
identify it. Quatermass says he will tag along and this time it is
Breen that must grudgingly accept.
By the
time they reach the Hobbs Lane pit, the entire upper surface of the
object has been revealed. Quatermass is pleased to see his old
friend, anthropologist Dr Mathew Roney. They shake hands and Roney
shows Quatermass the skull found by Potter and several other bones
that were unearthed as the cylinder was cleared of clay. Most of the
remains are smashed and in pieces, but Roney estimates that these
early humans probably stood only about three or four feet in height.
Quatermass notices the abnormalities in the skull, the large brain
pan is inconsistent with the more primitive features present, such
as the protruding eyebrow ridges. Roney agrees and explains to the
professor that the layer of clay in which the remains were found
could be as old as five million years. Quatermass is astonished.
Breen is
in conversation with Captain Cleghorn, the CO of the squad
despatched to deal with the ‘bomb’. Quatermass joins them and
comments that the dark surface and lack of airfoils suggest that
this is not a German V-weapon. Breen suggests that the Nazis cooked
up some weird stuff during the war, things we couldn’t imagine.
Cleghorn explains that he has examined the exposed section and found
that it was not magnetic and that no working internal mechanisms
could be heard through the stethoscope. It had also foiled any
attempts to burn through it and the diamond drills they had used had
been useless in leaving even the tiniest of scratches on the surface
of the cylinder.
One of
the soldiers clearing the cylinder calls out, explaining he has
found more bones. Roney rushes forward, almost knocking Breen off
his feet. Another skull peers out of the clay, this time in a cavity
inside the unknown device. Roney digs it out, gleefully announcing
that it is almost intact. Quatermass cannot believe his ears. He
looks to the cavity from where the skull had come and asks how it
might have remained so well-preserved, when all the other remains
were badly damaged. Roney matter-of-factly suggests that it was
protected because it was inside the cylinder.
Then it
dawns on him what he has just said. “That’s no bomb! What on earth
is it?” he exclaims.
Breen
informs Quatermass that he is going to hang around for a few days
until the entire cylinder has been cleared and he can get a good
look at it. The professor has also decided to stick around.
Potter
is somewhat angry that this diversion is seriously hampering his
investigation. Breen snaps that he will just have to live with it
for a few days. Both Quatermass and Roney seem to notice that
tempers fray easily in close proximity to the cylinder.
Quatermass helps Roney gather up the fossils and they take them back
to his rooms at the Natural History Museum. While there, Quatermass
telephones his assistant at the rocket group and orders him to get
to London as quickly as possible and to bring the particle detector
with him, as well as any other equipment he might need. When asked
what that might be, the professor tells him to use his imagination.
The professor and the doctor discuss, briefly, the ramifications of
what they suspect – that the cylinder in the pit is five million
years old. Also, why was the skull of a primitive anthropoid
inside the object? It almost beggars belief, they agree.
As Roney
sets about dating the relics more accurately, Quatermass introduces
himself to the anthropologist’s assistant, Barbara Judd. She is a
young woman in her late twenties and, according to Roney, too damn
good at her job. Quatermass has decided to return to Hobbs Lane and
Roney suggests that Barbara go with him in case the Bomb Squad
unearths any more bones. Barbara gathers up a folder filled with
papers and follows the professor out of the door
The sun
is setting and Cleghorn’s men are still hard at work when Quatermass
and Barbara arrive. A good deal more of the cylinder has been
revealed. It is, indeed, a cylinder, completely smooth and pure
black from one end to the other. The only blemish on its surface is
the gaping, perfectly circular hole where the skull was found.
Something occurs to Quatermass and he asks one of the structural
engineers if it was possible for a ‘missile’ of this size to
completely bury itself without leaving a visible sign of entry into
the ground. The man muses about this and eventually admits that it
would be unlikely, but in his many years of poking around in the
ground, he has seen some pretty strange stuff, so he could not rule
it out entirely.
Sergeant
Ellis overhears the conversation and takes Quatermass to one side.
He tells him that his parents used to tell him about what went on
during the war. Although much of London was hit by Nazi V-weapons,
from V-1 Doodlebugs to V-2 rockets, all that fell on Hobbs Lane were
a couple of incendiary bombs. He had heard the story enough times to
be certain it was accurate. He also explains that casualties were at
a minimum, because the houses on the street were empty to begin
with. Breen overhears and suggests that they were evacuated. Ellis
disagrees and tells Quatermass that the houses had been empty for
many years before the war. “Some kind of scare,” he says. “Strange
noises, things moving about by themselves, even things been seen.”
Quatermass snorts at tales of ghosts and ghouls, but decides to take
a look at the derelict houses over the road. He climbs out of the
pit and, along with Ellis and Barbara, makes his way to the
foreboding, dark-windowed buildings across the way. As they go,
Barbara produces the folder from her bag and leafs through it. She
explains that while Roney was here, she got all the archive files
she could about Hobbs Lane. She pulls one out and reads it aloud to
Quatermass.
“May 19th,
1927 – Work on the new Underground Station at Hobbs Lane is halted
when workers refuse to enter the site after claiming to have seen a
ghostly figure walk through a wall. One worker, a Mr Parker, said,
“The figure was small, like a hideous dwarf.”
Quatermass finds the report interesting, but dismisses it as
unscientific.
Finding
a back door to one of the houses open, one that directly overlooks
the bomb crater, they enter and Ellis flicks on his flashlight.
Quatermass makes his way to the front of the house, carefully
avoiding the broken floorboards, filthy mattresses and discarded
hypodermic needles. He peers out of a broken window to see the banks
of powerful lights burst into life around the pit.
Ellis
explains how as kids, he and his friends would see how long they
could stay alone in these houses. He admitted to not winning any of
those competitions. Barbara admits that the houses have ‘a bad
feeling’ about them and Quatermass casts her a rebuking glance.
Then he
notices long, deep scratches on one of the walls and the inside of
one of the inner doors. He wonders what might have caused those. A
piece of plaster falls to the ground and Ellis almost jumps out of
his skin. He is visibly terrified and splutters that ‘kids or
druggies’ did them. Then he rushes out of the dwelling. Barbara goes
after him to make sure that he is okay and Quatermass begins to
follow. Then he catches a movement out of the corner of his eye and
whips his head round just to see a dark, hunched form step out of
the light and back into the shadows. The professor investigates,
scientific curiosity overcoming any fear he might feel, but finds
nothing.
He
rejoins Barbara and Ellis outside and the sergeant apologises for
losing his cool inside. Quatermass assures him that no apology is
necessary and the policeman returns to the dig site. Barbara glances
up at the street nameplate on the wall of the house, noting that the
spelling has changed – Hob’s Lane has become Hobbs Lane. She
explains that the name was changed in honour of Jack Hobbs, an
English cricketer who died in 1963. The old spelling is what
intrigues her:
“Hob was
once a name for the Devil,” she whispers.
The
couple follow Ellis back across the road and walk down the ramp into
the excavation. The interior of the cylinder has now been cleared
and a man is climbing out, covered from head to toe in thick clay.
As he steps off the short ladder that leads up to the opening, a
scream comes from inside. He quickly climbs back inside and drags
his friend out. The man, called West, is a gibbering wreck.
Quatermass, Breen and Potter rush down to the cylinder. Cleghorn
asks what happened and West blubbers that he saw a figure inside the
cylinder. “It walked through the wall!” he shrieks. The men help him
up to the hut, where Barbara is waiting with a hip flask filled with
brandy. She explains that she always carries one on digs to fend off
the cold. Quatermass smiles.
West
takes a gulp of the liquor and almost gags as it burns his throat.
Potter again asks what he saw exactly. He says it was a short
figure, kind of hunched.
“The
figure was small, like a hideous dwarf,” whispers Barbara.
“That’s
it!” says West. “How did you know?”
Quatermass glances up at the derelict house, its upper storey
peering over the top of the fence. He advises that West be sent on
sick leave and that he speak to none of the other men. Cleghorn
agrees and helps the terrified sapper out of the dig site.
Breen
snorts with derision. Dwarfs? Ghosts? “That man doesn’t need a sick
note. He needs a straight-jacket!” Quatermass finds it difficult to
control his temper and almost strikes the army officer. Potter steps
in and defuses the tension. He suggests that Breen might contact
Whitehall and ask for any and all information on classified Nazi
weapons, while he, Quatermass and Barbara will return to Roney’s
laboratory at the museum.
When
they exit the excavation, Quatermass thanks the policeman for
intervening when he did, explaining that he almost punched Breen. He
could not help himself. It was as though an external force were at
work, urging him to act out the act of violence.
Potter
explains that fights have been breaking out all day in the pit, with
men who have served together for years suddenly brawling over
nothing. He thinks the cylinder is something to do with it, but does
not understand why.
At the
museum, Barbara, Quatermass and Potter pore over the files and news
clippings that she has amassed. It seems that the Hobbs Lane site
has had more than its fair share of tragedy over the centuries,
dating back to the earliest Roman records. The Normans wrote that
the region was infested with unclean spirits and abandoned an
attempt to build a fort on the site when terrifying noises began to
emanate from the ground. In the winter of 1341, an ‘outbreak of evil
at Hobbs Lane’ was recorded. ‘Imps, demons and foul noises did
sorely afflict the charcoal burners who had been sent there’. In
September of 1763, alarming noises and spectral appearances
terrified the locals during the digging of a well. One man asserted
that ‘he had often spied the apparition of a hideous goblin and
sometimes several.’ In 1927, the Tube station was built, with the
associated ‘ghost stories’. In 1967, a riot broke out on Hobbs Lane,
after protestors demonstrated against the demolition of a church
that had stood where the UN building was later built. Then, now,
things are seen when a building is brought down by terrorist bombs
and the forensic excavation that followed.
They all
agreed that these incidents coincided with disturbances of the
ground: A Norman fort being built, charcoal burners felling trees,
the digging of a well, the building of the Underground station etc.
How this
tied in with the cylinder was unclear, however, save for its
vicinity.
Just
then Quatermass’ assistants, led by Jerry Watson, burst in, hauling
boxes and crates of equipment. Roney enters and is somewhat
perturbed by the new arrivals. His is an anthropology department,
not the Jet Propulsion Laboratory! The professor insists that
they’ll have everything out of the way shortly. He opens one crate
and finds an odd piece of equipment. It is a strange, helmet-shaped
contraption, with all sorts of wires sticking out of the back.
Quatermass asks why the heck Jerry brought the experimental
thought-controlled flight system apparatus. The reply comes that he
was told to use his imagination. The professor harrumphs and selects
the devices he might need at the dig site – including the helmet.
Roney
confirms that the bones do indeed date from about five million years
ago and that the soil above the cylinder is undiluted i.e. the
cylinder has also been there for that length of time too! Quatermass
asks if the hominids are of this Earth and is visibly disappointed
when Roney replies that they are. They fit into the known pattern of
human development. The only extraordinary thing about them is the
large size of the cranium.
The next
morning, Quatermass and his team arrive at Hobbs Lane. They find
Breen’s squad still there, the men all appearing tired and drawn.
The cylinder is now completely exposed, sitting, dark and enigmatic
at the far side of the pit. The colonel is incredibly tetchy and is
irked that a bunch of ‘rocket boffins’ are trying to take over his
operation. As his assistants set up their equipment, Quatermass
attempts to calm him down, explaining that his equipment could find
out what the cylinder is made from and if it is still active.
It soon
becomes clear that the cylinder is not as inert as previously
thought. The technical gizmos show that a steady stream of unknown
particles are emanating from every surface of the object. The
closest analogy that Jerry can come up with is that it is emitting
pheromones. Quatermass realises that this may be closer to the truth
than at first thought. Pheromones act on the behaviour of people and
animals, making them aggressive or docile, lustful or indifferent.
This might explain the fights that have broken out recently, he
says. It would also account for the area’s long and tragic history.
One of
the assistants looks up from a scope and announces that the cylinder
has a sealed compartment at one end. Breen acknowledges that he
suspected as much and that a contractor with an industrial borazon
drill was on the way to attempt access to the compartment.
While
they wait, Quatermass checks on his team and they find that the hull
of the cylinder is generating a very low-level infrasonic field.
They note that the field grows in strength significantly when
somebody approaches it or when a Tube train rumbles beneath them.
Quatermass suggests that this infrasound could be the catalyst that
causes people to see the apparitions and add to the feelings of
aggression generated by the pheromones. Infrasound can create
sensations of fear and this, coupled with aggression, can be a
dangerous cocktail. What cannot be explained, though, is why the
apparitions are always the same – small, dwarf-like figures. Unless
the infrasonic field sparks a dormant faculty in the human brain
allowing them to briefly glimpse other realities or times long past,
or pull them closer to our own.
Breen
shows markings on the wall of the sealed compartment. Quatermass
immediately recognizes the symbols as being pentagrams, cabbalistic
forms used in witchcraft. The colonel snorts at such fanciful
notions.
The
contractor, a jaunty man called Sladden, arrives and, under orders
from Breen, sets his equipment up inside the cylinder. He boasts
that his borazon drill can cut through anything.
“This
bloke got locked in a bank safe once, but I got him out. No problem.
That was a secret job, too, like this one.”
“Then
I'm glad you don’t talk about it!” groans Breen in reply.
Quatermass climbs inside the hull and hunkers down beside Breen and
Sladden, who greets him jovially. Sladden starts up his drill and
presses it against the wall of the sealed compartment. Almost
immediately, the entire cylinder begins to rumble and a terrifying
shriek fills the air. A cacophony of rising and falling wailing
sounds fill the pit, causing everybody to clasp their hands to their
ears. Sladden stops his drill and the sounds cease. There is not
even a mark on the wall. Quatermass suggests he try again.
Again,
everybody is almost overcome by the terrible sounds emanating from
the very fabric of the hull. One more attempt has them flinging
themselves from the cylinder, retching and wheezing on the cold,
damp mud outside.
Cleghorn
tells them that all hell was let loose outside, with cables and
anything that was not fastened down flying through the air. He is
visibly shaken by the experience, as is everybody present.
Sladden
says he is ready for another go and Breen commends him. The
contractor climbs inside the cylinder and immediately pokes his head
back out, telling the colonel and Quatermass to come and look.
What
they find is startling. A perfectly circular hole can be seen in the
exact centre of the wall. The edges, while smooth, seem slightly
melted, as though great heat has been applied. Sladden informs his
employers that his drill did not make that hole. He could not even
make a mark on the surface. Also, his drill bit is much smaller than
the calibre of the hole now staring darkly at them.
Breen
orders Sladden out and calls out to Cleghorn to get a man inside
with a crowbar. Perhaps now they could force a way into the
compartment. Quatermass is doubtful. He peeks into the hole and
immediately withdraws his head, gasping with astonishment. He asks
Breen to look and the colonel is as surprised as the professor.
Quatermass asks him to describe what he saw. “It looks like an eye,”
whispers the army officer.
Suddenly, electricity surges through the hull, somehow missing the
two men and focussing on the hole. As they watch blue-white lights
play across the wall, highlighting the pentagrams. Then, in a flash
of pure, white light that has the men throwing their arms across
their faces, the wall vanishes to reveal the compartment beyond.
Hanging
in bizarre, organic-looking frames are three, small, insect-like
creatures. Unmoving, apparently dead, their multi-faceted eyes glint
malevolently in the half-gloom. All around them hang tendrils that
connect to the hull of the cylinder.
“My
God!” says Quatermass. He shouts out of the hull, “Jerry! Get Roney
down here now! And tell him to bring all the organic preservatives
he can carry.”
Breen
orders Cleghorn to send a car for the anthropologist and then asks
what he is looking at and Quatermass suggests that these three
beings are the actual pilots of the cylinder.
“You’re
not serious!” exclaims Breen. “I knew you were building up to
something, but now I’ve heard it all. I suppose you’re going to say
they’re Martians.”
Quatermass smiles, but says nothing.
One of
the creatures drops out of its frame and lands with a squelch on the
floor, hideous, green fluid oozing from between the joints of its
carapace. Quatermass explains that they have been sealed in the
compartment for five million years, completely free from earthly
germs and bacteria. Now, filthy London air is pouring in, eating
away at them. He calls for sandbags and soon has the fallen creature
on a table inside the hut.
Roney
and Barbara arrive with jars of yellow liquids, large, plastic bags
that can be sealed airtight and aerosol spray cans. Quatermass shows
them the creature in the hut and, after the shock has worn off,
Roney asks his assistant to use the aerosol spray to seal the outer
exoskeleton. He then follows the professor to the hull and they
extract the two remaining insects. Roney seals them in the plastic
bags, accidentally breaking off one of the creature’s legs in the
process. At least the airtight bags will help slow down their
deterioration, he explains.
Soon,
the insects are safely in Roney’s lab. His staff set about
dissecting and preserving two of the creatures, while the third,
sealed by the aerosol plastic spray, is mounted on a stand.
Quatermass admires its hideous face. Two horns protrude above the
multi-lensed eyes, while attached to the jointed body are three legs
below two slender arms that terminate in delicate finger-like
structures.
“Where
are they from, I wonder?” asks Roney.
“Breen
mentioned Mars,” smiles the professor.
“That’s
not too much of a stretch, old boy,” replies the anthropologist.
“Mars may be dead now, but five million years ago, it could have had
life.”
Quatermass agrees that it may have been possible, as water appears
to have flowed on the Red Planet until relatively recently. A hardy,
intelligent insect species could have found a way to survive the
increasingly harsh conditions…
“It’s a
name that has almost been worn out before something came along to
claim it. Are we looking at a Martian?”
Detective Inspector Potter is sitting in his office, elbows on the
desk and his head resting in his hands. He looks infinitely bored.
Detective Sergeant Savile enters the room and drops a video cassette
onto the desk in front of his boss. Potter asks what it is and is
told that it is CCTV footage rescued from the rubble of the UNHRF
building. It was found by the forensic team a couple of days
earlier, just before the ‘bomb’ was found, albeit in a smashed case
and digitally transferred to a fresh cassette.
Potter
slaps the tape into his VCR player and begins to watch footage of
the front of the UN building. We see grainy, colour images, taken in
one second increments, of commuters milling back and forth. Then a
white van pulls up to the security booth at the top of the ramp
leading to the underground car park. Potter and Savile react with
shock when they see the guard shot at point-blank range. Nobody on
the busy street reacts. Potter mentions that this is typical of
today’s society. Dozens of potential witnesses and nobody sees a
thing.
The van
slips into the car park. Several minutes later, a man runs out of
the parking lot and quickly melts into the crowd. Then the camera
judders and a huge cloud of dust begins to rise, then nothing but
static as the camera is destroyed when the entire building
collapses.
Potter
rewinds the tape and pauses on the fleeing man. He squints at the
screen, noticing his white skin and shock of blond hair.
“That
does not look like a Middle Eastern terrorist to me!” he
says. “Savile, get a blow up and enhancement of this shot. I want
that man found.”
Quatermass and Roney have made a decision and by the time the
evening papers went to press, a new front page headline adorned most
of them: ‘SPACE MACHINE FOUND!’ with the subheading: ‘Monster
Insects Found Inside Flying Saucer’
Called
back to Whitehall, Quatermass expects and gets pilloried for his
actions. The Minister of Defence is furious and makes this clear in
no uncertain terms. How dare the professor make a public statement
of this magnitude without authorization! Quatermass argues that the
people have a right to know. The minister responds that the voters
elect their officials to make those kinds of decisions for them, not
some swivel-eyed loony in a lab coat. Thankfully for the ministry,
Breen has a more logical explanation. Despite Quatermass’
protestations, he guarantees that the cylinder is a Nazi V-weapon
from World War II and the insects nothing more than elaborate props,
designed to create this kind of panic. He claims that German experts
are on hand to confirm his theory. Quatermass insists that Roney’s
analyses clearly show that the cylinder is not a modern creation,
but has lain exactly where it is for millions of years. Why can’t
they see what is in front of them?
His
arguments fall on deaf ears and the minister tells him that a
retraction will be published, along with Breen’s explanation and
Quatermass’ acquiescence to ‘the truth’. The professor seethes that
he will sign no such retraction, but is told that if he does not, he
will lose his position as head of the rocket group, along with any
pension he might have received.
Potter’s
investigations seem to have come to a dead end. Despite a clear
image of the bomber’s face, all attempts to identify him have
failed. Advanced feature recognition software has offered up several
possible people, but all have clear alibis and, more importantly, no
motive for being a part of such an attack. Even calls to Interpol
and the FBI have come to nothing. It’s as though the man never
existed.
“You
know, Savile, it’s at times like these that those wacko conspiracy
theories sound plausible.” He replays the tape yet again. “Look at
the way he moves. The calm indifference he conveys, blending into
the crowd, yet quickly working his way through to get as far away as
possible. He was well-trained and not by some fundamentalist in a
cave in Iraq or Afghanistan. I bet my entire salary that he’s
Special Forces.”
“It’s
possible he was killed in the explosion, guv,” suggests the
sergeant. "Most of the people in this video are still missing, I
reckon.”
“No,
Savile. He’s out there somewhere. It’s time for me to call in a big
favour.” He reaches for his phone. “Go get a coffee for half an
hour, Savile.”
The next
morning, Potter and Savile are sitting in an unmarked police car
outside a rundown row of houses that have been converted into flats.
Potter explains that his source has told him that the man they are
looking for is hiding in the uppermost apartment, a safe house for
MI5. The implications for this are staggering, suggesting that
British forces were involved in the terrorist bombing, perhaps even
arranging it. Savile suggests that the man may have been working
undercover inside the gang, but Potter remarks that he doubted
Middle Eastern terrorists would easily accept a white, blond-haired
man into their major operations.
They
climb out of the car and walk up the steps to the front door. Potter
tries the handle and finds that it opens easily, although creakily.
They slowly mount the stairs and make their way to the third storey,
the uppermost floor. A single door is at the top of the steps.
Potter raps on it, but there is no reply. He knocks again, but still
no answer. He tries the handle, but it is locked. He steps back and
gives the door a hefty kick, sending the door crashing inwards,
ripped from its rotten and rusty hinges. He notes that it was bolted
from the inside. Pulling out his pistol, he peeks inside, then happy
that nobody is going to attack him, steps through.
The flat
is a mess. Cushions are ripped and cupboards and drawers are flung
open, their contents emptied onto the floor. The two men head for
the first door on their right. It is the bedroom and is empty. The
next, and only other, door opens on squeaking hinges. It is the
bathroom. Savile gags at the smell and covers his mouth with his
left sleeve. Potter enters and finds the man from the CCTV footage
lying naked in the bath, blood-red water around him and his wrists
slashed. He feels the water, wiping his fingers afterwards, leaving
his handkerchief bloody. It is still warm, meaning this happened
recently, probably barely an hour before their arrival.
“Damn!”
shouts Potter.
That
afternoon, Quatermass is back at the excavation. He is sullen and
angry, having been forced to toe the party line. Cleghorn’s bomb
squad are packing their gear away and Sladden is also present,
wondering if his services are still required, yet hanging around in
an effort to boost his ‘hourly rate’ pay.
Jerry
Watson has made an intriguing discovery and calls Quatermass over to
the cylinder. He explains that he has managed to connect the
thought-controlled flight system helmet to the tendrils that are
still hanging from the compartment in which the arthropods were
found. What’s more, he’s getting data received on his computer.
Pulling out a laptop, he shows Quatermass screen after screen of
binary code and insists that it has come directly from the cylinder.
The
professor can hardly believe it. If the helmet can interface with
the hull, he wonders what would happen if a person wore the helmet
whilst connected to the tendrils. Jerry offers to volunteer, but
Quatermass insists that he will be the one to try. It may even be
dangerous. If, as he believes, that the cylinder itself is partially
organic, then it might view an unknown connection as some form of
viral attack and take action to protect itself. Watson had not
thought of this and suggests that they delay any attempt until more
data is acquired.
Quatermass explains that the cylinder will soon be moved out of the
pit and probably shipped off to some top secret location. This will
be their only chance to learn the truth.
Watson
agrees reluctantly and promises to record any data on his computer.
Quatermass places the strange helmet on his head and concentrates.
Slowly the lighting level in the compartment begins to rise and a
low, guttural hum can be both heard and felt through the floor.
Beads of sweat appear on the professor’s face and his teeth begin to
grate audibly. The humming grows to a growl and then to a deafening
roar. The cylinder appears to be convulsing, yet it remains static
in the pit. Quatermass opens his mouth to scream, but no sound
emerges. His eyes roll back in his head and his hands begin to claw
at his face.
Jerry
rips the helmet from his friend’s head and everything becomes still
once more. The professor is panting, his head lolling forward. He is
exhausted.
“My God,
Jerry. I saw them. I saw them! Millions of them, on Mars and then
here!” He grabs Jerry’s collar. “They invaded, Jerry and almost
wiped us out!”
“Professor, get a grip!”
Eventually Quatermass calms down and Jerry confirms that he got
everything on the computer. It is in binary code, but should not
take too long to translate, although the translation may appear as
gibberish, depending on what was recorded.
As they
climb out of the hull, Breen appears and asks them what the hell is
going on. Quatermass explains what he saw, but the colonel snorts
with derision and orders them off the site.
As the
scientists leave, Sladden asks if he can pack his gear away. Breen
thought that he had left hours ago and permits him to pack up his
stuff. He will, of course, be paid for his time. Happy to hear that,
Sladden sets about dismantling his drill, whistling as he does so.
The Bomb Squad have now departed and Sladden is now alone in the
pit. The sun is setting rapidly and he has trouble seeing in the
gloomy interior of the cylinder.
Suddenly
he becomes nervous, glancing around, unsure if he is seeing shapes
moving in the dark recesses of the hull. He decides to get on with
his work and begins using a spanner on the arm of his drilling rig.
All hell
breaks loose in the cylinder. Cables begin flying around, along with
Sladden’s tools. A deafening, screaming howl eclipses all other
sounds. His face contorts into a terrible grimace and he begins
convulsing, as though being jolted by electricity. He stumbles from
the cylinder and everything that is not fastened down whirls around
him, as though he is the centre of some psychokinetic tornado. Then
he begins to hop up the ramp out of the pit, his arms pulled into
his body and his hands held like a preying mantis in front of him.
Sladden hops out of the excavation, past two surprised policemen,
and disappears into the darkening London streets.
He
continues down deserted backstreets, rubbish bins erupting their
contents into the air in his wake, and finds himself approaching a
mobile snack bar. He slumps against the counter and pleads for help,
but his voice is drowned out by the cacophonous howling that
surrounds him. Paper plates, plastic cutlery and other utensils
explode into the air, terrifying the people in the van and their
patrons outside. Sladden then lurches off again and an eerie quiet
descends upon the devastated snack bar.
The
contractor falls to his knees outside the gate of an old church. The
church itself is in darkness, but lights are on at the rectory next
door. He staggers up the path, falling onto the gravel close to the
front door. As he lies there, the howling grows louder once more and
the gravel stones begin whipping up around his body, cutting his
skin and making him scream in pain. The front door opens and a
shadow falls across him. He looks up into the eyes of an aged vicar
and pleads for sanctuary. The rector approaches, oblivious to the
maelstrom surrounding Sladden and offers out his hand. The howling
subsides as Sladden gratefully takes the holy man’s hand.
In
Roney’s lab, Jerry has downloaded the data from his laptop into a
more powerful computer and announces to Quatermass, Roney and
Barbara that the decoding is complete. He says that the data
translated as a highly compressed visual record – a series of still
images that, when viewed in rapid succession, form a moving picture.
He has set up a program to convert the stills into a video file and
Quatermass requests to see it.
What
flickers onto the computer screen amazes everybody in the room.
Stuttering and often out-of-focus, the video depicts millions of the
arthropods (as Roney prefers to call them) marching across the
surface of a dying, red world. Meteorites are striking in the
distance, many of them exploding with tremendous force. The
creatures are herding small, hunched humanoids into thousands of
cylinders, identical to the one in Hobbs Lane. Roney remarks that
they are the same species as the remains found at the excavation.
The
image flickers and we see a representation of the cylinders leaving
Mars and heading for Earth. Barbara’s hand goes to her mouth.
“They
landed everywhere,” she says.
Indeed,
a map of our planet appears as if to confirm her statement, with red
dots indicating landing sites. Europe, Central and South America,
the Middle East and North Africa and Far East Asia hold the largest
concentrations of dots, but it was truly a global invasion.
Quatermass insists that they must show the video to the Minister of
Defence. Nobody disagrees.
Just
then the phone rings and Barbara answers it. It is Detective Potter.
He is at a church close to Hobbs Lane, where Sladden is in a
terrible state. Quatermass tells Roney to set up a meeting with the
minister and not to take no for an answer. In the meantime, he and
Barbara will go to the church.
Potter
is angry. He is angry not just because his investigation into the
man he found dead in the bath has collapsed, but because the order
causing it to collapse came from his own Chief Inspector. He was
told in no uncertain terms that the terrorist cell behind the
bombing had been arrested and that the blond-haired man had nothing
to do with it. He could not believe what he was hearing. He tried to
argue that the man was placed at the scene seconds before the
attack, but it was no use. Threatened with demotion, Potter had to
drop the case. He had returned to Hobbs Lane on the off-chance that
he might find some more clues, but all he found was a site in
disarray and two, frightened and confused coppers. They told him
what had happened to Sladden and he had set off in pursuit, finding
him not long after the vicar of St Mary’s had taken him in.
He
explains this briefly to Quatermass, who nods, but has other things
to worry about right now. If there is a link between the bombing and
the Martian cylinder, he does not see it yet.
Sladden
is sitting in the rectory in a large, wooden chair. The vicar hands
him a pot of tea. Sladden is shaking so much that he is forced to
use both hands to hold the cup steady. The vicar takes Quatermass
and Barbara to one side and explains how he found the contractor. He
witnessed what was happening around him and came to the conclusion
that he had been in contact with spiritual evil.
Quatermass asks Sladden what happened at the excavation. The
contractor reacts immediately, crying out, reliving the memories in
his head. He describes scenes reminiscent of what the others had
seen in Roney’s lab, of scores of the creatures leaping and jumping
across a dusty landscape, beneath a dark, purple sky. What differed
from the video, however, was that Sladden saw them killing each
other. It was a slaughter of genocidal proportions, with only the
fittest and strongest surviving to continue with the next
generation. As Sladden finishes his story, the room begins to
vibrate and the familiar wailing howl begins to rise. Sladden grabs
his ears with his hands, dropping the tea on the floor. He begs for
‘them’ to leave him alone. The vicar places a hand on his shoulder
and the room calms once more.
“See?”
says the rector. “Only spiritual good can overcome this evil force
that torments him.”
“I’d say
it’s more of a race memory, passed down from our earliest ancestors.
Locked away in our brains and only now released, instigating powers
of telekinesis that we may all share.” Quatermass’ explanation holds
no water with the vicar.
“This is
evil, pure and simple,” he says. “It cannot be explained away in
scientific terms.”
Quatermass agrees that what is at hand is evil, an evil of
unimaginable power, ancient and ingrained. He spies a carving on the
wall of the rectory and something occurs to him and he asks Barbara
of what the arthropods remind her.
“I don’t
know,” she admits. “They are ugly, with those horrible horns and
long snouts.” She sees the carving that Quatermass is now standing
beside. “Gargoyles, of course.”
“Haven’t
you seen the faces of the creatures carved on a thousand walls in
dozens of countries? I wonder from where the stonemasons got their
ideas?”
He
explains that he believes that humanity’s entire history has been
influenced, almost subconsciously, by these aliens. Potter appears
to understand something also, but decides to keep it to himself for
now.
Barbara’s mobile phone rings and she answers it. Roney has arranged
a meeting at his laboratory. The minister will be there, along with
Breen and a few other government officials. Quatermass is delighted.
He asks Sladden if there is anything he can do, but the contractor
believes he is safest with the vicar for now. The kindly, old man is
happy to care for him. It is his duty, after all, he smiles.
Quatermass leaves a number where he can be contacted, as does
Potter, and they leave.
The
minister is unimpressed by the video of the Martian exodus to Earth.
He suggests that it is nothing more than an elaborate
computer-generated hoax. Jerry Watson protests, assuring him that
the data is available to be analysed at any time, by anybody the
minister cares to appoint. The politician does not bite, however,
and insists that what he has viewed is not real. Breen agrees,
accusing Quatermass of deliberately fabricating the entire incident,
from the aliens to the video. Quatermass snaps and punches the
colonel square on the jaw before Potter and Roney can restrain him.
Breen hisses to Quatermass that he will regret that and goes on to
inform him that there will be a press conference at the excavation
the following evening, during which time the cylinder will be
hoisted out of the pit.
Quatermass insists that they must not move the cylinder until more
tests can be conducted. Five million years ago the Earth was
invaded, but not by the Martians themselves. They could not survive
in our atmosphere, so they instilled their race memories into the
primitive, yet intelligent, anthropoids of their nearest neighbour.
We are the result of their genetic manipulation. “We are the
Martians!”
The
government men ignore him and walk out. Quatermass calls them fools.
He knows, somehow, that the cylinder is alive and imbued with all of
the cold, callous emotion of its creators. He believes it feeds off
human emotions, particularly fear and anger, drawing power from
these negative emotions and in turn reaching out and manipulating
people to create more sustenance for itself. It has remained buried
for so long, almost starving to death beneath a thick blanket of
clay, that if it were to gorge itself suddenly, God only knows what
might happen.
They
must somehow get back into the excavation and access the hull once
more with the helmet, try and find out exactly how active the thing
is.
As they
head back to Hobbs Lane, Potter sits beside Quatermass in the back
of Roney’s car. He explains that he believes that the military
already knew that the cylinder was down there. His source in
Whitehall had alluded to something going on at Hobbs Lane before the
last General Election. Then a new party had come to power and before
the military could react, permission was given to build the UN
office block. Quatermass asks if Breen could be in on it and Potter
is adamant that he knows more than he is letting on. Quatermass
agrees that it is strange that his rocket group would suddenly
become part of the military establishment right after the terrorist
attack. But why the big deception?
Potter
suggests that if the public knew that their own officials had
sanctioned the murders of a hundred and seventeen people, there
would be a national scandal. It might even force a vote of no
confidence in the government and force another election. It all made
an insane kind of sense. Of course, Breen would have no idea of what
the alien technology was capable. Being of the military mindset, he
could only see the short-term technological benefits, notably in
terms of weapons.
“Now
that weapon just might blow up in their face,” mutters the
professor.
They
arrive at Hobbs Lane and Detective Inspector Potter explains to the
two policemen standing guard at the entrance to the excavation that
they are here on official business.
Quickly,
Jerry sets up the helmet in the cylinder and this time insists that
somebody other than the professor goes through with the experiment.
Quatermass grudgingly accedes, recalling the pain of his first
attempt. Roney volunteers and quickly dons the helmet.
Nothing
seems to happen. There are no sounds from the hull and Roney is
completely passive. He cannot sense anything happening. They are
just about to remove the device when Jerry cries out. Data is
streaming across the computer screen. This time, though, we are not
seeing binary code. Somehow, Roney is decoding the data in real time
and feeding it onto the laptop’s monitor. Nobody can explain how
this can be so. Roney suggests that his brain chemistry is slightly
different to everybody else’s. This might be why he has felt none of
the aggression or fear associated with close proximity to the
cylinder. Somehow he is immune to its effects. Perhaps this immunity
also allows his brain to process the data without the clutter of
emotions stirred by the alien machine.
“See if
you can control what we see,” says Quatermass.
Roney
concentrates and a map of the world appears on the laptop. Thousands
of red dots appear in a similar fashion to the earlier atlas they
had viewed. The anthropologist explains that he thought about the
current locations of any active cylinders. Suddenly, red lines begin
to connect each of the dots, soon forming a huge, crimson spider web
across the screen. Quatermass realises what is happening and yanks
the helmet from Roney’s head.
“I fear
it may be too late,” he says, watching the web grow more complex as
each dot finds its neighbour, then the next and the next. “In our
ignorance, we may have awoken a monster. Individually, buried deep
under the ground and unconnected, those cylinders may have
influenced the emotional states of people close by, much as this one
here has over the centuries, but connected and sharing their power,
I fear we may have unleashed an apocalypse on the world the like of
which has never been seen.” He goes on to suggest that, using their
shared power, they could focus on any point on the Earth’s surface
and cause the humans present to destroy themselves in much the same
way as happened during the Great Purges on Mars.
“That’s
right, guv,” says Sladden from the opening in the cylinder.
Everybody climbs out to find the contractor accompanied by the
vicar, who explains that Sladden insisted on returning here to
retrieve his equipment. “The vicar here seems to be the only person
that can stop the attacks.”
Reverend
Heathcote suggests that he can act as a spiritual lightning rod, a
conduit through which good can overpower and dispel evil.
Quatermass is adamant that the press conference should be cancelled
and that this cylinder is buried again, even deeper than before.
Jerry removes his equipment from the hull and they watch as Sladden
dismantles his own tackle with no ill effects. It seems that
Heathcote is indeed some form of calming influence on the forces
that emanate from the alien craft.
Back at
the museum, Roney suggests that the major religions may have arisen
to combat the ‘demonic’ forces that issue from these machines. This
would explain Heathcote’s abilities, albeit subconscious. It is his
faith, transferred to Sladden that does the trick, not any
particular supernatural power from God, Allah, Buddha or any other
deity. Barbara comments that for all they know, that is exactly
where the power comes from to combat these aliens.
Quatermass tries to telephone the minister, but his calls go
unaccepted. The press conference would go ahead it seems. Perhaps
they could interfere, go public at the conference, let the people
decide about what should be done?
Roney is
sceptical, but it is their only option at this point.
The
following afternoon, a huge crowd of journalists and reporters have
gathered at the excavation. Dozens of television crews and their
support trucks, with satellite dishes pointing skyward, are present
and several huge generators have been brought in to handle the power
demands of so many cameras and equipment.
Breen
and the Minister of Defence are standing beside the cylinder. It is
now swathed in heavy lifting straps, with thick chains reaching up
to the gantry crane high above. Breen explains that the ‘V-weapon’
will be loaded onto a truck outside and packed off to the Imperial
War Museum. Several of the camera crews have not yet set up their
positions and one in particular, on the rim of the pit, above the
cylinder, is having problems with a faulty power cable, getting
intermittent current. He unplugs it and it drops down, landing on
top of the alien machine. He grabs a spare length of cable from his
pack and plugs it into the camera, handing the other end to his
assistant, whom he orders to take it to the generator outside.
Below
them, Breen is preparing for his opening statement and asks any of
the reporters if they have any specific questions before they begin.
“I have
a question,” thunders one voice. It is Quatermass and he is pushing
through the crowd. “Is Colonel Breen a fool or a coward? I know
he’s a liar.”
“How
dare you…”
“He knew
this device was down here all along,” says the professor, turning to
the cameras that are swinging towards him. One reporter whispers
that they are not live, but is told over his earpiece that they are
getting it all on tape. “He knows full well that this is no Nazi
weapon.” He turns back to Breen. “Don’t you, colonel?”
The
minister interrupts, explaining that Quatermass is tired and should
go and get some well-deserved rest. “A long rest.”
Quatermass is suddenly infuriated and has to force himself not to
hit the politician. Suddenly there is a brilliant flash from the
direction of the cylinder. The faulty power cable has surged and
flooded the hull with raw electricity. It begins to glow, its deep
black surface growing brighter until it almost hurts to look at it.
Ripples of heat pulse outwards, burning through the straps and
causing the cylinder to drop heavily to the ground. It rolls down
towards the crowd, crushing several people before stopping. Mass
panic ensues and the crowd surges up the ramp. Arcs of energy rip
through the air from every piece of electrical equipment, scything
through the air into the cylinder.
Quatermass is carried on a wave of bodies out of the excavation. The
last thing he sees is Breen standing and staring at the cylinder,
just a few metres away from its pulsating form, unmoving. The
minister tries to pull him away to no avail. He runs with the crowd,
but is knocked to the muddy ground and trampled to death beneath a
hundred fleeing feet.
Quatermass staggers into Hobbs Lane and looks back at the site. A
huge pulse of energy emanates from the pit and he gasps with horror
as a huge amorphous form appears in the dark sky above. It is Hob,
the Devil, the living image of the Martian arthropods, glowing
malevolently, overseeing the carnage that reigns far below.
The
professor feels his forehead, as though touched by something. He
looks around, seeing not the streets of London, but the arid, dusty
landscape of Mars. The rampaging people have transformed in his
mind’s eye to hordes of alien insects, attacking and killing each
other, destroying any that are different.
He runs
forward, sensing that he must join them. Kill the weak! Purge the
inferior! Then he is grabbed from behind and pulled into a building.
It is the pub on the corner of Hobbs Lane. Quatermass spins round to
see Roney staring at him, terrified.
The
professor grabs his friend by the throat and begins choking the life
out of him. Roney breaks free and staggers backwards. Quatermass
looks to a chair and it flings itself across the room, barely
missing the doctor.
“Quatermass! Stop!” Bottles and glasses begin flying, smashing on
the wall behind Roney. “Bernard! You are Bernard Quatermass! My
friend! This is not you doing this. Fight it!”
The
objects begin dropping to the floor as the professor repeats the
words of his friend. He slumps to the carpet and Roney rushes over.
“I
wanted to kill you,” whispers Quatermass. “I could sense that you
were different. You had to be destroyed.” He struggles again
and Roney fears another onslaught, but it subsides. The professor
holds his hand to his forehead. “I can feel it here. Rage.
Uncontrollable rage, focussing and directing against you.” He looks
around. “Where’s Barbara and Potter?”
Roney
tells him that they were separated when the crowds surged. He
doesn’t know what has become of them. Quatermass asks if he saw Hob.
Roney nods, clearly terrified.
The
windows rattle as an explosion from nearby lights up the room.
Screams of insane people, mixed with howling animals and more
thunderous explosions have turned London into an earthbound Hell.
Potter
staggers into a short alleyway, finally free of the mob that had
been pursuing him moments earlier. He begins walking towards the
opposite end, but finds it blocked by a dozen, staring people. He
turns to go back, but finds the opposite end similarly barred. One
of the people is Barbara. Potter calls to her, pleads with her to
end the madness. She glances at a nearby dustbin. The lid flies off
and neatly decapitates the policeman. His body flops to the ground
and the mob moves away, calmly, dispassionately about their work.
Quatermass and Roney climb the stairs to the second floor of the
public house. Here they find a family, dead, killed by each other or
by somebody who has since departed in search of more victims. They
pass through the building until they come to a room that looks out
over the pit. Far below, the cylinder burns with ever more ferocity.
The men can clearly see Breen on his knees, his skin burned from his
body, his clothes on fire. Then he falls forward and disintegrates
in a shower of sparks and charred flesh.
High
above, the glowing entity gloats over the suffering it is causing.
Again Quatermass must resist the urge to kill Roney, but he finds it
is becoming easier to fight off the incessant voices in his head.
Beyond the rooftops they can see that London is ablaze. Fires rage
in scenes not experienced since the Blitz.
Roney
points to the gantry crane and Quatermass understands.
“Matter
to energy. By God, Roney, you’re right.” He looks again to the
crane. “If we can thrust enough iron into that thing, its power will
have nowhere to go but the ground. It will become earthed.” The
ancient stories were correct once more. Iron was used to protect
against evil forces for centuries.
The men
go back downstairs and peer out of the front door of the pub. The
street is empty, the raging mobs having moved on. They head back to
the pit, skirting around the edge to the opposite side where the
crane stands beyond the fence. Quatermass pulls away a board and
they slip through. The crane is in front of them, its horizontal
beam achingly close to Hob. It would not take much to shift it into
that demonic apparition.
They run
as fast as they can to the base of the tower, Roney begins climbing
the ladder, but Quatermass is knocked to the ground by an unseen
blow. He looks up to see Barbara approaching alone. He yells for
Roney to keep going.
The
professor rushes towards Roney’s assistant, but she simply looks and
he crumples to the ground, as though punched in the stomach. She
turns her attention to Roney, who is now halfway up the tower.
Quatermass grabs her ankles and she falls to the ground. Using all
of his strength, Quatermass tries to restrain her, but she sends him
flying as though he were a bug she had flicked from her collar. She
gets to her feet and looks up to Roney again. Quatermass grabs a
large stone from the mud and throws it at her, hitting her in the
centre of the back. She turns and half a dozen stones begin pelting
the professor. One strikes his head and he drops, unconscious.
Roney
has reached the control booth of the crane. He hopes that there is
still power and whoops for joy as the controls respond to his touch.
He glances down to see Barbara staring at him and the prone form of
his friend.
Glaring
at Hob, he pulls a lever and the crane begins to turn towards the
demon.
Barbara
screams and collapses as the gantry touches the beast. A brilliant
flash of incandescence lights up the night sky. Raw power courses
through the gantry and Roney can only close his eyes as he is burned
to a crisp in an instant.
Quatermass’ eyes flicker open and he sees that Hob has vanished. His
joy turns to despair when he sees the burning hulk of the crane and
the flames that have engulfed the control booth.
“Mathew...” he sighs.
He
crosses to Barbara. She opens her eyes and begins to sob. Quatermass
tells her that it is over, but inside, he knows that there are other
cylinders out there and that this may be only the first victory in a
coming global cataclysm.
THE END
(C) Steve JC Johnson - 2006 |