“There’s a kind of conspiracy not to believe things about triffids,” I said, and added: “There might be more around here.”
We looked the adjacent cover over carefully and drew blank.
“I could do with a drink,” suggested Coker.
But for the dust on the counter, the small bar of the inn looked normal. We poured a whisky each. Coker downed his in one. He turned a worried look on me.
“I didn’t like that. Not at all, I didn’t. You ought to know a lot more about these bloody things than most people, Bill. It wasn’t—I mean, it must just have happened to be there, mustn’t it?”
“I think——” I began. Then I stopped, listening to a staccato drumming outside. I walked over and opened the window. I let the already trimmed triffid have the other barrel too; this time just above the bole. The drumming stopped.
“The trouble about triffids,” I said as we poured another drink, “is chiefly the things we don’t know about them.” I told him one or two of Walter’s theories. He stared.
“You don’t seriously suggest that they’re ‘talking’ when they make that rattling noise?”
“I’ve never made up my mind,” I admitted. “I’ll go so far as to say I’m sure it’s a signal of some sort. But Walter considered it to be real ‘talk’—and he did know more about them than anyone else that I’ve ever met.”
I ejected the two spent cartridge cases and reloaded.
“And he actually mentioned their advantage over a blind man?”
“A number of years ago, that was,” I pointed out.
“Still—it’s a funny coincidence.”
“Impulsive as ever,” I said. “Pretty nearly any stroke of fate can be made to look like a funny coincidence if you try hard enough and wait long enough.”
We drank up and turned to go. Coker glanced out of the win-dow. Then he caught my arm and pointed. Two triffids had swayed round the corner and were making for the hedge which had been the hiding place of the first. I waited until they paused and then decapitated both of them. We left by the window which was out of range of any triffid cover, and looked about us carefully as we approached the trucks.
“Another coincidence? Or were they coming to see what had happened to their pal?” asked Coker.
* * *
—
With only two more stops, one for food and the other for fuel, we made good time, and ran into Beaminster about half-past four in the afternoon. We had come right into the center of the place without having seen a sign to suggest the presence of the Beadley party.
At first glimpse the town was as void of life as any other we had seen that day. The main shopping street when we entered it was bare and empty save for a couple of trucks drawn up on one side. I had led the way down it for perhaps twenty yards when a man stepped out from behind one of the trucks and leveled a rifle. He fired deliberately over my head and then lowered his aim.
DEAD END
That’s the kind of warning I don’t debate about. I pulled up.
The man was large and fair-haired. He handled his rifle with familiarity. Without taking it out of the aim, he jerked his head twice sideways. I accepted that as a sign to climb down. When I had done so, I displayed my empty hands. Another man, accompanied by a girl, emerged from behind the stationary truck as I approached it. Coker’s voice called from behind me:
“Better put up that rifle, chum. You’re all in the open.”
The fair man’s eyes left mine to search for Coker. I could have jumped him then if I’d wanted to, but I said:
“He’s right. Anyway, we’re peaceful.”