The Fungus

She sprang to her feet, turned and ran — slipping and sliding over the fungus. He cursed to himself and started to follow her. No telling what other trouble the silly slut would get herself into if he didn’t catch up with her.

He yelled her name again but she put on speed and disappeared around a corner. He hurried after her — and ran straight into the gateway of hell.

All he saw was a brilliant red flash that rushed straight at him and consumed him. The next moment the fluid of his eyeballs had solidified like the boiled white of an egg. He felt his flesh crackling and shriveling, but so far his shocked nervous system hadn’t been able to register any pain. For a few terrible seconds Slocock was aware of what was happening to him and then, mercifully, the intense heat detonated the 9mm ammunition in the remaining clip stuck in his belt. One of the bullets penetrated his brain.

Wilson switched off the flame-thrower and warily approached the smoldering, blackened shape. He’d been surprised when he’d heard the ammunition going up. He hadn’t noticed that the creature was armed.

He sighed and he stared at the charred form. He didn’t like the way he was finding it easier to use this horrible weapon on the creatures. A bad sign.

He looked around for Kimberley. At first he couldn’t see her, but then spotted her squatting on the ground some distance away. “Kimberley, you okay?” he called as he approached her.

“Stay away from me!” she cried. “Don’t come near me!” He stopped, frowning, then turned to Carter, who was following him, and shrugged.

Kimberley succeeded in extracting the fungus-phallus from herself. With a shudder of disgust she flung it as far away as she could, then threw up again. But this time there was nothing but bile. After dry retching for a time she managed to get to her feet and stagger towards Wilson and Carter.

“Are you all right?” Wilson asked her.

“I’m never ever going to be all right again,” she said. She remembered Slocock’s face — or what was left of it. The thick tendrils growing out of his skull like worms.

She had seen her own future in his face.

“Do you know who you just incinerated over there?” she asked Wilson, pointing at the smoking body.

“What do you mean? How could I know?”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Not now.”

Carter shuffled up to them. “We really should get moving, if the lady is up to it. We have a long way to go.”

“Can you walk, Kimberley?” asked Wilson. “Or do you want to rest awhile?”

“I’m fine,” she said listlessly.

“I suggest we head on down toward the Bayswater Road,” said Carter. “The Paddington route is impassable. The West-way and Marylebone overpass have collapsed. One of the mutated fungi seems to be causing a chemical change in all concrete structures as a byproduct of its metabolism. In a few months I doubt there’ll be a building standing in all of London.”

They set off in their shuffling, shambling gait, Wilson straining under the weight of the flame-thrower. Behind them, already forgotten — even by Kimberley — Slocock’s burned remains began to cool.

By the time they reached the Bayswater Road it was beginning to get light — Wilson guessed it must be 5 a.m. at least — and the world of the fungus was revealed in all its horrible glory.

Hyde Park was an impenetrable forest of giant growths, some of the huge toadstools or mushrooms being almost as large as the one they’d seen in the cemetery. Many of them were brightly colored, and the overall effect was like that of a scene from some old Disney cartoon.

On the other side of the street the buildings were concealed under vast, moldering heaps of fungal growth. Only the tallest buildings revealed their man-made origins as the fungus thinned out near the top and sections of glass, brickwork, or metal showed through.

They encountered a fair number of creatures — people, Wilson had to remind himself — along the way, and on two occasions he was forced to demonstrate the power of the flame-thrower in order to disperse gathering mobs. The trouble was that his and Kimberley’s clearly untouched bodies attracted attention. His big fear was that the weapon would run out of fuel before they reached the Post Office Tower.

Wilson noticed that Kimberley’s continual inspection of her body was becoming even more obsessive. And her concern was catching — he found himself looking down at himself every minute or so and running tentative fingers across his face and back.

“You’re still fine as far as I can see,” Carter told him as he checked himself for the hundredth time.

Wilson glanced at him with embarrassment. “Sorry, can’t help it. It’s the waiting. I’ll probably feel relieved when I actually see something on me.”

“I doubt it,” said Carter.

“You’ve coped. You’re handling the whole thing very well.”

“No choice.”

Wilson lowered his voice. “There’s always death. I’m afraid that’s going to be her reaction when it finally hits her.” He indicated Kimberley, who was walking a little ahead of them. “Did you consider killing yourself when it happened to you?”