The Beatles backed away from the crowd as it came closer, unsure of what it wanted. There was another street nearby, and they could turn onto that and hopefully lose this crowd. The boys backed into the street sign, turned around... only to see another group of people coming at them from down that street, too.
Acting on instinct, Paul pulled Ringo away, into the only clear place - the middle of the road. That was a safe enough place right now since no one was out driving cars, and Paul found himself thinking irrelevantly that this might make a good song title someday. John and George followed them.
The two crowds continued to approach the Beatles on either side. As they got closer, they began to spread out, blocking off all the Beatles' escape routes. They were trapped.
And as one soulless type reached out for the nearest Beatle - George - the others sprang into action. John had two things on hand he could use - the Sword of Truth and his guitar. And he wasn't comfortable thinking of the Sword as a weapon, especially not since it seemed to work particularly well for him. It was the Sword of Truth, not the Sword of War. So John went for his guitar.
Paul liked the idea. "We've got to play to them!" he called out. "Maybe it'll calm them down!"
By now, two or three of the soulless folk had grabbed George and seemed to be trying to pull him away with them. George hoped they did simply want his autograph, but somehow he didn't think that was it, and besides, their grips were awfully strong for someone who had no soul. His arm was beginning to throb painfully, and he struggled to get away. But he couldn't manage to free himself and wound up tumbling to the ground, the soulless crowd swooping down on him. Hearing what Paul said, and clinging to the hope that this would work, he did his best to reach for his guitar with his free hand.
Ringo brought out the drums, and the Fab Four began to play.
George was still trying to get his guitar out, so while the others played, he sang: "So go away, leave me alone, don't bother me..."
Ringo beat the drums in his own inimitable style, Paul added in his melodic bass lines, and John's rhythms flowed through the song in the most beautiful fashion. It was impossible to hear the Beatles' music and not stop and take notice. And apparently, that held true even for those who didn't have souls. The people stopped, several of them looking round with inquiring faces, like part of them knew this music and knew that it had always enchanted them. The ones who had been holding George let him go, and George pulled out his guitar and began to add the lead, making the sound even more magical than it had been already. As he did, his arm felt weak and wobbly. Glancing at it, George thought it was stained dark, though it was hard to tell in this light.
But the Beatles kept playing, and the soulless folk all stopped to listen, and then they got up and began to dance, surrendering to the incomparable music that you didn't need a soul to love.
The Beatles were glad of this, not just because they'd managed to stop the soulless folk from attacking them, but also because they already had a guaranteed weapon to defend themselves with, even before they found the other four objects.
The boys played for maybe half an hour before slipping away through the crowd, hoping the soulless people would be too preoccupied with dancing to notice the music had gone. It seemed to work; the Beatles had already noticed the soulless folk's tendency to just go on doing whatever they were doing before.
Once they got to a bigger, more industrial-looking street, the boys allowed themselves to relax. "Glad we thought of that," Ringo said, first to speak.
Paul nodded. "Yeah - good thing we had our instruments, too."
"Good thing them soulless types don't notice when their targets walk out on them," John added.
"D'you think they were waiting there for us?" Ringo asked nervously.
The sword seemed to give John a little nudge here, and so he said, "Why else would they come attackin' us like that?"
Paul frowned. "Then the Beast did know we were coming here?"
"Then maybe he was trying to - to warn us or something?" Ringo suggested nervously. "You don't think he knows we're after them objects, do you?"
Paul hesitated. "Me and George were talking about it," he said. "We thought he might..."
"Speaking of which," John put in, "where is George, anyway?"
When the Beatles had escaped from the crowd of soulless folk, George had followed his mates just long enough to keep them from turning back to find him. Then he had slipped away down a side road and carried on himself.
He couldn't believe how strong the grip of a soulless person could be, and the ensuing fight hadn't helped matters either. His arm felt like it had been crushed or stabbed - or possibly both. Even when playing guitar, the effort of keeping his arm in position was a struggle. George didn't want his mates to see. He didn't know what they'd say. If he couldn't get his arm fixed soon, the Beatles' lead guitarist might not be their lead guitarist much longer.
He felt a little guilty at the same time, knowing his mates would be worrying about him. But he just wanted to try and get help first before letting them see this.
As George turned onto the main roads, a sign for a hospital caught his eye. George looked thoughtfully down at his arm. He didn't know what the hospital could do for him, but it was worth a try. Besides, he did remember saying something about hospitals in Liverpool being important. At the moment he couldn't quite think what, but he pushed the door open and went in anyway.
Just seeing what was happening inside was enough of a relief to make George feel better. The place was alive with activity; patients signing in, doctors and nurses rushing around, and visitors making themselves at home, apparently unwilling to leave while the Beatles had warned the citizens of England from leaving their homes. George felt very relieved to know that not everyone in Liverpool had fallen victim to the Beast of Bodmin Moor.
A young nurse spotted George and gave a little squeal. "Oh!" she cried. "It's you - George Harrison! I didn't think you would ever come back to - I mean... oh, you're hurt!" Her cheeks turned red as she stumbled over her sentences.
George smiled as best as he could under the circumstances. "Well, I could use a bit of help."
The nurse bit her lip, looking sad. "We're all full up. We've had people coming in all day, saying their relatives are acting funny and can we do something about it." She sighed. "It's like an epidemic, but none of us can figure out what it is...." She looked at George hopefully. "Some people said you and your mates put out a warning about something on the telly yesterday. Do you have any idea what's happening?"
George felt his blood run cold. People had been coming in all day... it was like an epidemic....
It seemed that the fears Paul had voiced to him on the train that day were right. The Beast knew the Beatles were after those objects. He had decided to target the Beatles' hometown. Was that because the next object was in Liverpool and he was trying to guard it? Or was it meant as a warning to the Beatles, to leave the Beast alone?
Acting on instinct, Paul pulled Ringo away, into the only clear place - the middle of the road. That was a safe enough place right now since no one was out driving cars, and Paul found himself thinking irrelevantly that this might make a good song title someday. John and George followed them.
The two crowds continued to approach the Beatles on either side. As they got closer, they began to spread out, blocking off all the Beatles' escape routes. They were trapped.
And as one soulless type reached out for the nearest Beatle - George - the others sprang into action. John had two things on hand he could use - the Sword of Truth and his guitar. And he wasn't comfortable thinking of the Sword as a weapon, especially not since it seemed to work particularly well for him. It was the Sword of Truth, not the Sword of War. So John went for his guitar.
Paul liked the idea. "We've got to play to them!" he called out. "Maybe it'll calm them down!"
By now, two or three of the soulless folk had grabbed George and seemed to be trying to pull him away with them. George hoped they did simply want his autograph, but somehow he didn't think that was it, and besides, their grips were awfully strong for someone who had no soul. His arm was beginning to throb painfully, and he struggled to get away. But he couldn't manage to free himself and wound up tumbling to the ground, the soulless crowd swooping down on him. Hearing what Paul said, and clinging to the hope that this would work, he did his best to reach for his guitar with his free hand.
Ringo brought out the drums, and the Fab Four began to play.
George was still trying to get his guitar out, so while the others played, he sang: "So go away, leave me alone, don't bother me..."
Ringo beat the drums in his own inimitable style, Paul added in his melodic bass lines, and John's rhythms flowed through the song in the most beautiful fashion. It was impossible to hear the Beatles' music and not stop and take notice. And apparently, that held true even for those who didn't have souls. The people stopped, several of them looking round with inquiring faces, like part of them knew this music and knew that it had always enchanted them. The ones who had been holding George let him go, and George pulled out his guitar and began to add the lead, making the sound even more magical than it had been already. As he did, his arm felt weak and wobbly. Glancing at it, George thought it was stained dark, though it was hard to tell in this light.
But the Beatles kept playing, and the soulless folk all stopped to listen, and then they got up and began to dance, surrendering to the incomparable music that you didn't need a soul to love.
The Beatles were glad of this, not just because they'd managed to stop the soulless folk from attacking them, but also because they already had a guaranteed weapon to defend themselves with, even before they found the other four objects.
The boys played for maybe half an hour before slipping away through the crowd, hoping the soulless people would be too preoccupied with dancing to notice the music had gone. It seemed to work; the Beatles had already noticed the soulless folk's tendency to just go on doing whatever they were doing before.
Once they got to a bigger, more industrial-looking street, the boys allowed themselves to relax. "Glad we thought of that," Ringo said, first to speak.
Paul nodded. "Yeah - good thing we had our instruments, too."
"Good thing them soulless types don't notice when their targets walk out on them," John added.
"D'you think they were waiting there for us?" Ringo asked nervously.
The sword seemed to give John a little nudge here, and so he said, "Why else would they come attackin' us like that?"
Paul frowned. "Then the Beast did know we were coming here?"
"Then maybe he was trying to - to warn us or something?" Ringo suggested nervously. "You don't think he knows we're after them objects, do you?"
Paul hesitated. "Me and George were talking about it," he said. "We thought he might..."
"Speaking of which," John put in, "where is George, anyway?"
When the Beatles had escaped from the crowd of soulless folk, George had followed his mates just long enough to keep them from turning back to find him. Then he had slipped away down a side road and carried on himself.
He couldn't believe how strong the grip of a soulless person could be, and the ensuing fight hadn't helped matters either. His arm felt like it had been crushed or stabbed - or possibly both. Even when playing guitar, the effort of keeping his arm in position was a struggle. George didn't want his mates to see. He didn't know what they'd say. If he couldn't get his arm fixed soon, the Beatles' lead guitarist might not be their lead guitarist much longer.
He felt a little guilty at the same time, knowing his mates would be worrying about him. But he just wanted to try and get help first before letting them see this.
As George turned onto the main roads, a sign for a hospital caught his eye. George looked thoughtfully down at his arm. He didn't know what the hospital could do for him, but it was worth a try. Besides, he did remember saying something about hospitals in Liverpool being important. At the moment he couldn't quite think what, but he pushed the door open and went in anyway.
Just seeing what was happening inside was enough of a relief to make George feel better. The place was alive with activity; patients signing in, doctors and nurses rushing around, and visitors making themselves at home, apparently unwilling to leave while the Beatles had warned the citizens of England from leaving their homes. George felt very relieved to know that not everyone in Liverpool had fallen victim to the Beast of Bodmin Moor.
A young nurse spotted George and gave a little squeal. "Oh!" she cried. "It's you - George Harrison! I didn't think you would ever come back to - I mean... oh, you're hurt!" Her cheeks turned red as she stumbled over her sentences.
George smiled as best as he could under the circumstances. "Well, I could use a bit of help."
The nurse bit her lip, looking sad. "We're all full up. We've had people coming in all day, saying their relatives are acting funny and can we do something about it." She sighed. "It's like an epidemic, but none of us can figure out what it is...." She looked at George hopefully. "Some people said you and your mates put out a warning about something on the telly yesterday. Do you have any idea what's happening?"
George felt his blood run cold. People had been coming in all day... it was like an epidemic....
It seemed that the fears Paul had voiced to him on the train that day were right. The Beast knew the Beatles were after those objects. He had decided to target the Beatles' hometown. Was that because the next object was in Liverpool and he was trying to guard it? Or was it meant as a warning to the Beatles, to leave the Beast alone?