The Rats

by James Herbert

  People in Stepney, where most of the incidents occurred, were in a state of fear–and anger. They blamed the local authorities for the whole situation, insisting that proper sanitation for the area had never been maintained to its full and proper extent. Old bomb-sites had been neglected since the war; houses that were condemned for years still remained standing; garbage from markets and rubbish dumps were never cleared soon enough. All breeding places for filth–all sanctuaries for vermin. The local councils blamed the government, implying that the investigation carried out by the Department of Health was not thorough; that not enough money had been allotted to the task of destroying the pests; that too little tune and labour had been allowed on the project; that not enough care had been taken to ensure the total extinction of the vermin. The government ordered a public inquiry in which the ultimate responsibility was laid squarely and irrevocably on the shoulders of Foskin,s the Under-Secretary of State.

  He accepted responsibility and resigned, knowing it was expected of him. The Ratkill organisation came in for stiff criticism too. They were accused of negligence and publicly reprimanded by the government but claimed they were dealing with an unknown and unpredictable species of rodent.

  They asked to be given another chance to tackle the menacing problem and were informed that virtually every pest-control organisation in the country was in fact to be brought in to deal with the situation, and all were to work strictly in conjunction with each other.

  It became a political issue, the Labour Party claiming the Conservatives, the party in power, never really cared about the living conditions of the working-class people and had neglected to clear slums, allowed filth to pile up in the streets and had never implemented proposed plans (proposed by Labour when they were in office) for a completely new net-work of sewers to cope with London’s vast waste problem.

  The Conservatives replied that the living conditions of London’s working class had not suddenly degenerated when their party had taken over Parliamentary power, but had been allowed to deteriorate by the previous Labour Government. They quoted statistics of huge new development areas, not just in London’s East End, but in every poorer section of the city. Pollution, they said, was being rescinded dramatically.

  All eastern regions of the city’s Underground were temporarily shut down until a full purge of all tunnels had been completed. However, most people declined to use any section of the Tube system and rush hours became chaotic.

  Dockers came out on strike, refusing to work in dockside areas where the menace seemed strongest.

  Dustmen refused to risk their lives clearing rubbish that could contain the deadly vermin. Troops were called in to deal with the problem–rubbish could not be allowed to accumulate at such a precarious time.

  The municipal workers who maintained the sewers naturally resisted any persuasion to continue their work.

  When news of the deaths from the disease carried by the rats became known, matters became even more critical.

  People living in the East London boroughs demanded immediate evacuation. The government urged them to remain calm–the situation was firmly under control. Parents refused to send their children to school.

  The war-time measure of child evacuation came into being once more and the children were shunted off to all parts of the country.

  Poisons were laid in cellars, gardens and dustbins, killing small rats, mice and many household pets.

  Restaurants were mistrusted and not used. Many butchers decided to close up shop for a while–the thought of being amongst all that raw meat proved to be too uncomfortable. Any job that entailed working beneath ground was turned down. Any job that involved night-work was refused.

  The attacks continued and more people died from injuries or disease, or both.

  Although the pest-control companies were meant to be working together on counter measures against the apparent rat invasion, each tried to out-do the other in finding the solution. Poisons proved fairly ineffectual for the rats seemed to feed mainly on human or animal flesh. Sodium Fluoroacetate and Fluoracetamide were used after the normal poisons, Zinc Phosphide and Arsenious Oxide, had failed, but these too seemed to have little effect.

  Gas, as had been proved in the attack on the school, was the effective answer, but the rats had to be caught in a confined space. It was poured into sewers and basements of old buildings but when teams of men wearing protective clothing were sent down to investigate the results, they found many dead normal-sized rats but only a small number of dead giant rats.

  Harris was staring out of the window of his flat when the phone rang. He’d been gazing at the small private park set in the square, surrounded by tall, terraced houses, magnificent in their Regency days but slightly dilapidated now. The teacher was waiting to be assigned to another school now that St Michael’s and others in that area had been shut down until matters were improved. His mind always became more relaxed when he studied the peaceful little park, and after the ordeal in the school, his taut nerves needed all the relaxation they could get.

  He answered the phone, its shrill cry stirring up the tension again.

  ’Hello, Mr Harris? Foskins here.’

  After this initial surprise, Harris answered. ‘Hello, Foskins. What can I... ?’

  ‘We wondered if you could help us in a small way, old chap?’

  ‘Well, of course, I... ‘

  ‘Just a few questions some of our boys would like to ask you. Nothing much, shouldn’t take long. You see, it turns out that you’re one of the very few people that have had actual contact with these killer rats and lived. If you could come along this afternoon... ?’

  ‘Right. But I thought you’d been... ‘

  ‘Dismissed? On the surface, I have, old boy, had to be.

  Public demand. But I’m afraid the Ministry rather needs me at this particular time, so don’t believe everything you read in the papers. Now, here’s the address I want you to come to.

  He was greeted by Foskins himself when he arrived at the address he’d been given. It had turned out to be Poplar Town Hall, a natural enough base for operations, he supposed. Foskins led him to a large assembly room, the walls covered with enlarged maps of the area, diagrams of the Underground and sewage networks, blow-ups of the giant rats themselves vivisected as well as whole, even photographs of their spoors.

  The room was a hive of activity but Foskins took him over to a group of men gathered round a table in quiet, unexcited discussion.

  ‘Gentlemen, this is Mr Harris, the teacher I told you of,’

  Foskins introduced him. ‘This is our team of experts. Researchers from the major pest-control companies, biologists, sanitation experts from our own department–even a couple of chemical warfare chaps? He nodded hello.

  ‘Let me just briefly bring you up to date and then we’ll put some questions to you,’ said Foskins. ‘We’ve examined these monsters thoroughly and haven’t really found anything unusual about them apart from their size of course and their slightly larger brain. Their teeth are bigger, but only in proportion to their body. Their ears, which seem peculiarly long at first because of their nakedness, are also in exact proportion to their body. But the Black rats normally have longer ears than the brown species. Which brings us to an interesting point. ’ He paused, indicating that Harris should take a seat, then went on: ‘The Brown Rat seems to have vanished from London. Since the Brown rat is unable to climb as well as the Black, over the years it has had less chance to survive in the city. Whereas the Black rat is able to scale walls and leap across rooftops, the Brown has found it increasingly harder to gain access into premises that have barriers against them. For years, the two species have been battling for superiority and now it appears that the Black have won.

  We’ve found no trace of the Brown, not even its spoors which are quite different from those of the Black.’

  ‘It’s natural to assume that the introduction of the freak giant Black rats tipped the balance,’ interrupted one of the group of
men.

  ‘Yes, rather like a small country acquiring the Hydrogen bomb,’ continued Foskins. ‘Well, it seems they completely vanquished the Brown rat. One of our younger members,’ he looked at the man who had just spoken, ‘came up with the idea of bringing back multitudes of the Brown to do battle with the Black, giving them the advantage of numbers. Needless to say, we have no intention of turning East London into a battleground for vermin. The consequences could have been disastrous.’

  The young researcher turned a deep red and studied his fingernails intently.

  ‘So this is the villain we face.’ Foskins held up a photograph of a large, but dead, rat. Rattusrattus . Black rat.

  Or Ship rat. There are some of the species known to be this size in tropical countries. We think a member, or members of that species came over in a ship and bred with our own common variety.

  Because of the difficulties involved, we suspect they were brought over secretly. The zoos claim no knowledge of such an undertaking and as the whole idea would be illegal anyway, we don’t expect an individual to come forward to admit it.’

  ‘Now what we want from you, Mr Harris, is information,’ said another member of the committee.

  ‘Anything at all that might tell us more about these creatures. You see, we haven’t managed to capture any alive yet and you are the one person that has had close contact with them on more than one occasion and lived. We don’t know anything of their behaviour pattern, where they go after they’ve attacked, why sometimes they won’t attack at all, and what’s caused their hunger for human flesh. The slightest peculiarity you may have noticed could be of invaluable help to us.’

  Harris told them of his experiences with the rats; about Keogh, one of their first victims, and how they had chased the boy along the canal, scaling a six-foot wall but letting him escape; the episode with Ferris, the little man from Ratkill, and of their first sighting of the vermin, swimming in a kind of formation; how one had stopped on the opposite bank of the canal to study him, suddenly disappearing through the fence.

  ‘Did you frighten it, is that what made it go?’ he was asked.

  ‘No, No. It wasn’t fear. It seemed to raise its head, as though it had suddenly heard something, almost as if it had been called. But I heard nothing.’

  One of the researchers spoke up. ‘They do have an acute sense of hearing, as do many animals or mammals. Rats can locate their offspring in a field of corn by its high-pitched whistle. Nothing unusual. In fact, my company is working on a method of rooting out rats from buildings by the use of ultrasonic sound beams. It’s in its early stages as yet, but it certainly seems to work.’

  ’Well, maybe that was it. But it is unusual the way they study you. It’s happened more than once, almost as if they’re reading your mind. It’s uncanny.’ He went on to tell them of the battle in the school, relating every detail he could remember. When he’d concluded there was silence around the table.

  ‘Sorry, it’s not much help to you,’ he said, feeling he’d left something out, his mind groping unclearly towards it.

  ‘On the contrary, Mr Harris,’ smiled Foskins, ‘it’s been quite useful. Now if you leave us to digest the information you’ve given us... ‘

  The young researcher whom Foskins had caused to blush earlier sprang to his feet excitedly. ‘Infect them,’ he cried.

  All eyes turned towards him.

  ‘Look, we can’t poison them because they only want human or animal flesh. But we could infect them.’

  ‘How exactly?’ asked the sceptical Foskins.

  ‘We inject a group of animals–dogs, cats–what about Brown rats?–with a virus, something highly infectious, deadly to rats–our bio-chemists could easily come up with one–set them loose at certain points that Mr Harris could show us–that section of the canal, for instance–the infected animals are attacked by the Black rats, they themselves are infected, they spread it amongst their own kind.

  They destroy themselves!’

  There was silence for a few moments.

  ‘It could infect people. It could cause an epidemic,’ someone ventured,

  ‘Not if we used the right virus.’

  ‘It could kill all the animals in and around London.’

  ‘It’s worth the risk, isn’t it?’

  More silence.

  Then Foskins said: ‘You know, it might just work.’

  The young researcher beamed a smile of gratitude.

  ‘Yes, it might,’ one of the scientists leaned forward enthusiastically. ‘They’re too bloody clever to be baited with poison–or they’re immune to it. But if we could infect them... ‘

  ‘Not with rats though,’ said another, the idea, perhaps out of desperation, beginning to catch fire. ‘Too much of a risk with other rats. Too unpredictable.’

  ‘All right, dogs then. Pups, to make it easier for the rats.’

  Harris’s mind rebelled at the idea of feeding young pups to vermin.

  ‘Why not just infect raw meat?’ he suggested.

  ‘No, the virus would have to exist on living flesh.’

  ‘But how do we know what virus? We haven’t got a live giant rat in captivity. How do we know which virus would kill it?’ asked Foskins.

  ‘I have a pretty good idea already,’ said a bio-chemist.

  ‘We can test it on the normal Black rat–and hope it will work on its larger brother.’

  The debate continued, arguments flared, solutions found.

  Harris felt quite flattered to be involved in the centre of the operation, but his mind still nagged him about something forgotten.

  ‘Very well,’ Foskins finally drew the discussion to its noisy conclusion. ‘It shouldn’t take more than a few days to find the right virus. Although it must be tested thoroughly – I needn’t stress how thoroughly–we should be ready to put the plan into action by the middle of next week. In the meantime, Mr Harris and I, together with the Borough surveyor will work to find the most suitable locations for deploying the infected dogs. Mr Harris was brought up in this area, I might add, so I presume knows most of the likely places the rats might use as lairs. You will all carry on with your usual activities of laying poisons, using gas or anything else you may think of, and we’ll assemble every morning at eight-thirty to see how things are going. Are there any questions? No? Good. Let’s get on with it then.’

  He turned to Harris, and said quietly, ‘Join me for a drink,

  Mr Harris.’

  They crossed the road from the Town Hall and entered a pub just opening its doors for the early evening rush. Their eyes adjusted to the gloom reluctantly after the bright sun-shine of late afternoon. ‘What will you have?’ Foskins asked, reaching for his wallet.’ Keg.’

  ‘Pint of Keg and a gin and tonic, please.’

  They found a quiet comer and relaxed into imitation leather seats.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Foskins.

  ‘Good health,’ replied Harris.

  They drank in silence for a few moments, ‘I’m surprised,’ said Harris.

  ‘At what?’

  ‘That you’re still running things.’

  ‘Ah, that: As I explained over the telephone, Mr Harris, the public wanted somebody’s head, I was in charge, I was the only choice.’ He smiled thinly, his eyes examining the rim of his glass. ‘A scapegoat always has to be found–it’s the way things are.’ He quickly shrugged off his dejected mood, and smiled at the teacher. ‘But I’m too good at the job for them to do without me andthey the indefinable they are well aware of it. You see, the only mistake I made last fume was in underestimating the foe. A bad mistake, I grant you. It certainly had serious consequences. But under the circumstances, it was a natural error, don’t you agree? I mean, it’s not the sort of thing that happens every day, is it?’

  ‘I suppose not.’ Harris took a long drink, feeling Foskins eyes on him.

  ‘You were rather harsh on me yourself, last time we met,’

  Foskins said.

  It suddenly daw
ned on Harris why he had become involved in the operation. He wasn’t really that necessary he’d hardly call his help invaluable. Foskins had been mistreated by the public. Mistreated and unappreciated. They’d yelled for his blood and his superiors had given it to them.

  On the surface, anyway. And he himself had scorned him.

  So Harris, in a symbolic way, represented the public. He was Foskins’ actual contact with the people who had derided him. And now he was going to prove them wrong. Through him. Showing he was still in command, and very, very able. Good luck! thought Harris.

  ‘Well, it seems we’ve had quite a breakthrough today.’

  Foskins settled back in his seat, a broad smile on his face.

  ‘Don’t know why we didn’t think of it before. Like another drink?’

  ‘Let me,’ said Harris, draining his glass and rising to his feet. ‘Same again?’

  He brought the drinks back to the table, catching the other man deep in thought. Foskins looked up at him, almost as though he were a stranger.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Well, I think we’ve cracked it now, don’t you? Yes, things will soon be back to normal. You’ll be back at your school, I’ll be re-instated–not publicly, of course, or perhaps moved to another department. Not dishonourably though.’ He sipped his gin. ‘Tell me, what makes you teach in the East End? There are more pleasant places aren’t there?’

  ‘Home ground.’

  ‘Oh, so you live here still?’

  ‘No, I’ve got a flat near King’s Cross.’

  ‘Married? Must be.’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘I see. I used to be.’

  Foskins took a large gulp from his drink, his mind drifting away again. Harris began to get slightly irritated by the melancholy turn the conversation kept taking.

  ‘Do you think they’ll come up with the right virus in time?’ he asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Oh, yes. No problem. Those boys could come up with a way to make fleas catch German Measles .

  Time is the breed. Five to eight times a year. And their offspring can breed within three months. You’re a teacher, you work it out; if we don’t kill the bloody things soon, they’ll over-run the whole city. Have another drink?’