Lair (10 page)

No, no trouble 'round here, misters, he'd told 'em. Nothing he'd call trouble, anyway. Of course he'd contact The Warren at any signs of unusual vermin activity. Be in his own interests, wouldn't it? The two men had departed satisfied, leaving the farmer sitting on his tractor staring thoughtfully at their backs.

Well, more poison would go down tonight, and a stronger dosage, at that. He'd take all the necessary precautions, but he wouldn't be panicked by them who knew nothing about working the land. He could take care of his own. Thing to take care of now was his belly. He was starvin'.

The farmer stomped his boots down hard on the cobbled yard, unloading the mud clinging to the under soles He wouldn't mention the two men and their questions to Nelly, she'd only get into a tizz and start naggin' again. He tramped across the yard, muttering to himself, wondering why he hadn't had the sense to pack up farming thirty years ago when he was a young man. His two sons, miserable bleeders both, had gone off as soon as they saw the sense of it. Merchant navy, the two of 'em. Should have been here helpin' him out. That's what education did for you. He paused at the front door of the farmhouse, an aged and crumbling two storey building, and lifted one booted foot, a hand held against the door-frame for balance. With a grunt, he jerked off the boot and let it fall to the ground.

It was while he stood there, balanced on one leg, that he became aware of the unusual silence in the farmyard. Not that farmyards were noisy places, but there was usually some activity going on. Now there wasn't a sound. Not even from the birds. Except... His head swung round to the door and he stared at the wood panelling. Except... for the faint scuffling noise from inside the house.

Curious, he placed his ear against the wood and listened. More scuffling noises, the sound a cat makes when scuttling across the floor after a ball of paper. Or after a terrified mouse. Perhaps the surviving prodigal cat had returned. Yet the noise was too great to have been made by one animal. Woollard stood erect and cursed himself, annoyed at the silly way he was behaving. He was acting like an old woman, listening at bloody doors! It was those two snoopers they'd put the wind up him with their bloody stupid questions about bloody stupid rats! He grabbed the door handle and pushed hard, barging into the narrow hallway without further thought.

"Oh, Lord God..." he said quietly, for once his anger overwhelmed by what he saw. The hallway was filled with black, furry bodies that wriggled and climbed over each others' backs, that scuttled in and out of doorways, that leapt up at the walls as though trying to escape from the squirming, tightly pressed mass, that ran up the stairs and tore flesh from the bloody shape that lay sprawled there.

Nelly's eyes stared down into her husband's, but there was no life in them. A hand still clutched at the bannister rails and held her in that position, halfway up the stairs, on her back,

as though she had slipped while fleeing, turning and grabbing for a rail as the rats dragged her back down, nipping at her legs, running up her body, sinking their teeth into her breasts.

Even as he watched, her fingers began to open as one creature ate its way into the tendons of her wrist, and she began to slide down, the dark bodies coming with her, refusing to let go of their prey. Her head was held up as though she was unwilling to take her eyes off him, but he saw it was because of the rat burrowing under her chin, pushing up the jaw as it worked its way inside.

She slumped to the bottom of the stairs, her knees high, feet held by the mass of bodies in the hallway, her head now rolling sideways, mercifully breaking the spellbinding gaze on him.

The farmer ran forward, his anger finally breaking forth, the one boot he wore stomping down on the vermin's backs. He slipped, for there was no firm footing, the floor a moving carpet of bristling fur, and his hands clutched desperately at the walls for support. He was on his knees, trying to crawl forward through the creatures, but they struck out at him with sharp incisors, clinging to him as their companions had clung to his wife.

The farmer moved forward, slowly, painfully, his exposed foot already torn and shredded. He tried to keep them away from his face, but his hands were weighed down by bodies and he was unable to even lift them from the floor. He became motionless, resting there in the hallway on hands and knees, unable to see his wife beneath the sea of black creatures. Soon the weight of the rats on his back crumpled his body into a heap and he too disappeared beneath the ever-moving mass.

NINE

Fender looked into the open grave and shuddered. The remains of what were once two human beings lay down there, their bones stripped almost clean. The identity of the skeletal corpse still half-inside its coffin was known to the group of people in the graveyard it was an old woman who had been buried the day before but they could only guess the identity of the second. It was an educated guess though, for the vicar of the Church of the Holy Innocents could not be found.

Blood had soaked into the walls of the grave giving the soil a rich viscous quality; the shattered wood of the coffin lid was stained red.

Fender wondered how it had happened. Had the vicar, on his way to his early morning devotions inside the church, heard the noises coming from the graveyard and gone to investigate? Had he fainted when he had seen what was happening and fallen into the grave? Or had he been pushed into it? Could rats, no matter how large, have caused this? Fender shook his head in disbelief. Rats were not burrowers; they wouldn't dig into the earth to reach a corpse. At least, normal rats wouldn't.

A voice broke into his thoughts. "Mr. Fender? I'm told you can throw some light on this."

Fender almost smiled at the policeman's solemn optimism. "I'm not sure," he said. He turned away from the grave and walked towards the single, foot-high railing that bordered the church grounds, the uniformed policeman following. Fender squatted on the iron bar and ran a hand across his rough chin. He could see the group of people near the entrance to the graveyard, all eyes turned away from the open grave. Whitney-Evans was there, so was Alex Milton, both deep in conversation. Denison was talking to Eric Dugdale, the safety inspector, obviously making a report of their fruitless questioning that morning. There were several other figures that Fender did not recognize but assumed were staff from The Warren offices. Jenny was being consoled by the senior tutor from the Centre, Vie Whittaker, who had an arm around her shoulders and was talking to her quietly. Why didn't he get her away from this bloody place, Fender asked himself.

"Can you help, sir?" the policeman hovering over the rat catcher prompted.

Fender looked up at him and shrugged. We think it was rats," he said.

The uniformed man paled visibly. "Do you mean Black rats? The ones that were in London?"

Fender nodded. "It seems likely."

He stood once again and faced the policeman. "Look, I think you'd better get whoever's in charge of your station down here right away.

Things are going to start happening and the sooner the local police are involved the better."

"I'll get on the radio now. But is there any more you can tell me before I do?"

"Only that I'm from Ratkill and at the moment investigating evidence of Black rats in the forest. I think this confirms it beyond all doubt."

"Bloody hell! Why weren't we informed?" The colour had returned to the policeman's face with his anger.

Fender held up his hand in apology. "Sorry, but nothing was confirmed until now. We didn't want to cause a panic."

The policeman turned away in disgust. "All the bloody same, you lot,"

Fender heard him say as he stomped off.

"Just a minute," he said, bringing the policeman to a halt. "You're not to mention what I've told you to anyone."

"If you think..."

"Not to anyone. I'll speak to your inspector when he gets here.

Clear?"

The policeman's answer was unintelligible, but it was obvious he understood.

"Now," Fender went on. "Who discovered the ..." the word was hardly appropriate but he used it anyway'... bodies?"

The policeman pointed towards an elderly man standing uneasily on the fringe of the group near the gate. The old boy over there. He maintains the grounds around the church. It's frightened the life out of him."

"I'm not surprised. Where did he report it from?"

The rectory. He went there to tell the vicar. Fortunately, Mrs.

Paige, the housekeeper, was in. She told us she hadn't seen the vicar all morning that's why we think it could be him down there." He nodded towards the freshly dug pit.

"Okay. You'll have to keep them both quiet for the moment."

"Are you kidding? Half the forest knows by now. Mrs. Paige has probably been on the phone all morning. The bloody forest superintendent was up here almost as soon as we were."

"All right, but they don't know about the rats yet, do they?"

"Of course not'

Then that's the way it has to stay for the moment."

"Until when?" The policeman's tone was belligerent.

Fender sighed. "Until we start moving the people out. Look, I know how you feel. I'd like to get this out into the open right now, myself; but things have to be organized first'

Recognizing the frustration in the rat catcher words, the stiffness left the policeman's voice. "Fair enough, Mr. Fender. We'll do our best." He strode off towards his patrol car.

Fender walked over to Jenny and Whittaker, conscious of the shock they were in. The girl managed a weak smile as he approached.

Will they do something, Luke?" she asked. "Will this make them act?"

Yes, Jenny, they'll do something more constructive now. They'll have to."

What happened, Fender?" asked Whittaker. "Could rats really have done that?"

"I think the Black rat could. It's obvious they were after the dead body, although how they knew there was a fresh corpse down there beats me. The other person if it was the vicar presumably disturbed them and they got him too."

"But, rats digging?"

"I know. I've never heard of it either. But it sure as hell wasn't the vicar digging the body up no spades around."

"Fender, may we have a word?" It was Whitney-Evans' voice calling.

"Be right there," Fender answered. Then he turned back to the two tutors. Why don't you take Jenny back to the Centre," he said to Whittaker. "She should rest after a shock like this."

"I'm okay, Luke," the girl said.

"He's right, Jenny." Whittaker looked concerned. "Let's get away from here."

She reluctantly agreed but gazed up earnestly into Fender's face. Will you be coming back, Luke? I'd like to talk to you."

Fender nodded. You'll be seeing a lot of me from now on, Jenny."

Whittaker frowned, unsure of the meaning in Fender's words. "Come on Jenny, let's go," he urged, and gently led her away from the church grounds.

Tender." Whitney-Evans again.

"Coming," the rat catcher said wearily, and walked over to the superintendent and the Warden of the Conservation Centre.

"What caused this?" Whitney-Evans demanded to know.

What the hell do you think caused it?" replied Fender, anger broiling.

You think it was the rats?"

"I'm bloody sure it was."

There's no need to adopt that tone, Fender. I'm only asking your opinion."

"My opinion didn't count last night'

"Of course it did. We took the correct action."

"We could have avoided this."

"Perhaps. I still maintain, from the knowledge we had at the time, that we took the appropriate action. Now, is there definite proof the Black rat was involved in this terrible business?"

Fender stared at him in disbelief. "No," he said deliberately. "I believe there's a tribe of cannibals living in this forest and last night or some time this morning, they decided on a little feast."

The superintendent's face became outraged. There's absolutely no need for your ill-manners, Fender. Just who do you think you are to talk to me in this way?"

Fender controlled his anger and ignored him. He turned to the Warden.

"I suggest we set up an operational HQ at the Centre immediately, Mr.

Milton. If you could start by sending any classes you may have back to their schools, I'll get things organized from the Ratkill end. I've asked the constable to get his station inspector over here I think he should be put fully in the picture ..."

"Aren't you exceeding your authority?" Whitney-Evans interrupted.

"My job is to prevent another Outbreak, Mr. Whitney-Evans, and I answer only to my organization and the government in times of emergency. My authority overrides that of any outside bodies. If you want me to produce the official papers giving me that power, they're in my car. I can

That won't be necessary. But I think there should be another meeting before you put any plans into action."

"Oh, we'll have another meeting all right. And another. Then another.

But while we're talking, I'm going to make sure something is happening.

You can help by calling in all your staff. Anyone connected with the forest, not just the keepers. Someone, somewhere, in the forest must have seen signs of these rats. I want to know when and where."

This time Alex Milton spoke up. "Why, Mr. Fender? How will that help?"

We have to find a pattern. We have to know their haunts, their hunting-grounds. Rats are scavengers and if they find a good source of food, they'll stick to it until it runs out."

"But we've had no reports of damage or losses," said Whitney-Evans.

"Not serious losses, anyhow."

Fender shook his head. "No, that's what I don't understand. I'll need to speak to the farmers I questioned this morning again. I think one or two may not have been exactly honest."

"Surely not?" said Milton. The farmers know how serious the vermin problem is."

"Yes, and they know how serious it is to have their farms put in quarantine. They'd suffer heavy losses."

What then?" asked Whitney-Evans. What if someone admits they have had trouble?"

Then we can start pinpointing locations on a map. We already have three the Centre itself, the pond and this graveyard. We can begin to work out their boundaries, trace their movements. It'll give us a more defined area to work in. You see, to eliminate the rats, we have to find where they're coming from, we have to rout them out. So our priority is to find their lair."