Argosy: The Short Story Magazine — page 139: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CHRYSALIDS 139 A few weaving threads, like blown cobwebs, came drifting down. Higher up, there were more of them, giving sudden gleams as they twisted and caught the light. The shooting and the combat fell away. All over the clearing, men lowered their weapons and goggled upwards. Some of the horses whinnied with fright, and swerved to bolt. In a few seconds the whole place was a chaos of running men and plunging horses. I noticed one man raise his hand to brush off a strand of web that had settled across his face, but he never completed the move- ment. His hand seemed to stick to it, and he swore in a high, panicky voice. The Zealand woman came in, steadily directing us: ‘‘ Don’t run. If it touches you, don’t struggle. Lie down, so that it can’t get round you. Keep calm. Don’t move. Just wait.” She was confident and forceful. We moved back into the entrance of the tent. All over the clearing now there were men clawing at themselves, trying to get rid of the stuff, but it stuck to their hands and their clothes, and they struggled with it like flies in treacle while, all the time, more strands floated down on them. Mostly, they fought it for a few seconds, and then tried to run for the shelter of the trees. They’d manage about three or four steps before their feet stuck together and they pitched to the ground, to be trapped more securely by the threads already lying there. Still more threads settled lightly on them as they struggled until, presently, they could struggle no more. The horses were no better off. I saw one back into a small bush. When it moved forward, the bush tore out by the roots so that it swung round and touched the other hind leg. The legs became inseparable. ‘The horse overbalanced, and lay kicking out with both legs for a while.. A gust of wind swept the clearing as the machine came lower. It sent floating strands eddying into the tent towards us. Quickly we lay down as the woman had told us. It took a lot of resolution to keep still while the threads settled on us. Behind me, Petra complained that they tickled, and Rosalind firmly told her to keep still. I was still able to turn my head and, looking up, I could see the white shape close overhead now, blowing the threads into a foggy whirl as it settled towards us. Then a gossamer touch on my face made me blink, and when I tried to open my eyes again, I found that the lids were stuck down. The sound of the machine sank to a lower note; after a time it slowed, and stopped. I could hear a few muffled cries, some snorts and squeals from horses, but soon these subsided into a silence which became uncannily complete. Even the rustle of leaves was missing. ‘The stuff across my face and hands no longer felt feathery; it had tightened, and was like a mesh of fine cords press- ing into the skin. I sought anxiously for Michael. “ I’m all right,’’ he assured me. ** IT got her warning, and kept under the trees.” The Zealand woman came in. “Stay there,” she told him. ay * Ne comiclbooks.comnn