‘I think there's plenty of them,’ Lehmann continued, 'but they've gone literally underground. I believe they're in the sewer network beneath the forest; that's where we'll look for them. The perverse thing is that the normal Black rat, or Ship rat as it's sometimes known, is arboreal - it can climb trees, high buildings; the mutant has been forced to live below ground.
It could explain why they dug up the corpse at the church: they've learned to be burrowers.’
‘But that's impossible,’ Milton began to say. ‘It would take decades for them to evolve . . .’
‘For any normal animal, yes,’ the biologist cut in. We're dealing with the abnormal.’
Thornton spoke. ‘So your recommendation is to tackle them at their source: the sewers.’
Lehmann nodded. ‘If they're there. We'll pump gas into the network, using a proprietary powder that produces hydrogen cyanide gas when it comes into contact with damp soil or damp air. Our main problem - other than attack from the rats themselves - will be to block all holes leading from the sewers.’
‘I'm afraid many of the sewers have overflowed into some of the streams,’ said Whitney-Evans. ‘We've complained to the local authorities often enough.’
‘Those outlets will have to be plugged. We'll need the help of your forestry staff to locate them and any other outlets from the sewers.’
‘Perhaps we can help too,’ said Milton. ‘My staff at the Centre know the forest like the backs of their hands.’
‘Fine, the more, the merrier.’
‘Why not use rodenticides?’ the defence secretary asked.
‘That could be our biggest problem, I'm afraid,’ Lehmann said grimly. There are two main types we could use. One is of the single dose variety: sodium fluoroacetate and fluoroaceta-mide, which is normally used in sewers; zinc phosphide; nor-bromide which is harmless to most other animals; arsenious oxide, which is dangerous to most other animals; alpha-chloralose, normally used only against mice. The big disadvantage with these is that rats have a built-in instinct against anything strange to them. We call it neophobia - new object avoidance. It makes it difficult to get them to accept new bait. They might try it after a while, but only in small amounts. If they feel any ill-effects at all, they leave it alone completely. A single dose poison might just kill a few, but even that would serve as a warning to the others.’
‘And the other type of poison?’ the defence secretary asked.
‘The others are anticoagulants. They kill by their reaction on the rodent's blood system: they interfere with a substance called prothrombin which causes the blood to clot when vessels are broken. The rat suffers a haemorrhage at the slightest damage to blood capillaries: a tiny scratch can kill it. Females having litters are obviously very susceptible.
‘Three kinds are in current use: Warfarin, coumatetralyl and chlorophacinone. They're administered gradually, building up to a lethal dosage. The rat gets used to the bait, feeds on it regularly, then suffers the effects.’
‘And all this takes time,’ said Whitney-Evans.
‘Yes, but the process can be speeded up. However, that isn't our problem. Over the past few years, rodents in this country have been building up a resistance against anticoagulants. It began in a couple of countries on the Continent, now it's spreading over here. Luke Pender, there, has just returned from the North where he's been investigating the matter. Luke?’
‘The resistance was first noted in Wales and the Midlands, but now it's spread as far up as Cheshire and down to the South-West coast,’ Pender told them. ‘We've bred Warfarin resistant rats in our own laboratories, but these others have developed their own immunity. The point is this: the Outbreak rats had developed that same immunity before gas was used as the final solution. It seems likely that resistance will be inherent in those descended from the rats that escaped from London. That's why I agree with Mike: gas, providing we can trap them in the sewers, has to be the answer. If the machines can't be relied on to lure them out, we have to keep them in and destroy them there.’
‘I think we're all agreed, then,’ said Thornton. ‘Gas it shall be.
Gentlemen?’ he asked the room at large. A murmur of assent was given.
A councillor raised his hand. ‘What about disease from these rodents? How will we combat that?’
‘I don't think we need worry ourselves about that problem at the moment,’ Stephen Howard said smoothly. The disease caused by the vermin at the time of the Outbreak was a particularly hideous distortion of Leptospirosis or Spirochaetal Jaundice. Fever first, before jaundice set in. The victim became prostrate, blind, then all senses were lost. Coma, then the skin began to stretch and tear, and the victim died. The horrifying thing is that the whole process took only twenty-four hours.
Fortunately, an anti-toxin was soon produced, so we needn't fear the disease any more. The other, more normal rodent diseases are too minor nowadays to worry about. No, the main danger it would seem is attack from the beast itself. Of course, everyone ‘out in the field’ as it were will be wearing protective suits.’ Howard reached behind his chair and drew out a large, mounted photograph of a dead mutant Black rat. ‘At this stage, I think it might be an idea to remind ourselves just what our old enemy looks like.’ He stood, resting the photograph's base against the tabletop so everyone could see.
Pender groaned inwardly. The research director was obviously enjoying throwing the fear of God into his captive audience. No doubt he felt it valuable to impress on them the dangers his company faced. It would make the company bill seem cheap. The move was effective. Pender could feel the shudders run round the room.
‘Ugly brute, isn't he?’ Howard said jovially. This is actual size. Over two feet in length - more than three, counting the tail; long, pointed head with deadly sharp teeth - the incisors are particularly large; ears pink, naked, pointed. The fur is actually dark brown, but mottled with specks of black that give it the appearance, from a distance, of being completely black.
It's much like the normal Black rat apart from its size, the main difference being its large brain and strangely humped back - powerful hindquarters, you see. Its claws are lethal.’
One of the forest verderers had gone deathly white. ‘My God, are they all like that?’ he asked.
For a moment, Howard seemed flustered. ‘What do you mean?’ he said.
‘Are they all that size? It's monstrous.’
‘Yes. Afraid so. All that size.’
Pender hadn't missed the research director's reaction and he was puzzled by it. He could have imagined it, but Howard had almost looked shifty for a moment. As though he had been caught out. Now he seemed relieved that the question was only to do with size. Pender frowned.
‘I have a question.’ It was the police commissioner who spoke, a straight-backed, sombre looking man.
‘Yes, Commissioner?’ said Thoraton as Howard swept the photograph from the table and placed it behind his chair.
‘Earlier, Mr. Lehmann was puzzled by the fact that the rats had remained hidden for so long. Someone else asked why their noticeable activities seemed to be on the increase. It all appears to be pointing to one thing, doesn't it?’
He left the question unanswered and there was silence around the room.
Pender cleared his throat. ‘Er, I think I know what the Commissioner is getting at. There does seem to be an escalation in the rats' activities. Why have they been seen lately after all these years of hiding? What's given them their new boldness?’
‘And your explanation, Mr. Pender?’ Thornton asked.
‘One of two things; or perhaps a combination of both. At the time of the Outbreak the mutant rat was motivated by the desire for human flesh. The new breed may also have decided it would no longer be dominated by man, or fear him as it had in the past. It decided to strike back.
They possessed a new brain-power and soon they had the essential ingredient which gives any army the confidence to become the aggressor: the power of numbers. Perhaps that was the real tur
ning-point for them.’
‘I see what you're getting at, Mr. Pender,’ the defence secretary said. ‘You're suggesting the rats in Epping Forest have reached a sufficiently high number to bring out that aggressive-ness.’
‘As I said, it may be a combination of two factors. They have the strength now, although I doubt they've reproduced in the quantity Mike suggests - the forest would be overrun with them if that were the case. These are a mutant strain: their reproductive capabilities may be different to that of a normal rodent.
We know from the few groups left after the Outbreak that their reproductive system had been impaired either by the ultrasonic sound waves or their mutant genes, so it may well have become an inherent thing. The other factor is that the old blood lust has returned. Their strength in numbers may have triggered it off, or the taste of fresh animal flesh may have awoken an old memory, a desire that's been lying dormant for years. And if that's the case, the attacks are going to get worse. Remember, they've now tasted living, human flesh.’
The statement caused a stir and once again Thornton was forced to use his fountain-pen as a gavel.
‘I think it's time we got down to the details of the operation,’
he said. ‘I shall inform the Minister myself of what has happened and what action we shall take. There is no way we can keep this from the media, but I suggest that all statements are issued directly from my offices; perhaps then we can avoid alarmist reactions. Fortunately we have been alerted to the danger in good time; we are in a position to control the situation. There has been only one human killing so far - let's restrict it to that number.’
The next half-hour was spent discussing plans for the forth-coming operation, Pender and Lehmann putting forward their requirements for dealing with the vermin, the police commissioner and Major Cormack agreeing on the most effective ways in which to deploy their separate forces. Maps were brought in and ruled off into sections, phone calls were made, certain members left on various assignments, lists were drawn up.
Things, Pender reflected with some satisfaction, were beginning to move.
He hardly noticed the Conservation Centre's secretary-cum-girl Friday when she nervously entered the lecture hall. She whispered something into Whitney-Evans' ear and he quickly left, his expression one of concern. He was back within seconds and brought an abrupt halt to the proceedings with a message that sent a chill through everyone present.
‘I'm afraid I have some rather distressing news,’ he began, his voice grave, devoid of its usual pomposity. ‘One of my forest keepers has just returned. As you know, my men have been out warning the forest residents to stay indoors. He . . . he visited a small holding not far from here, within a mile. The door to the farmhouse was open, but when he called out, no-body answered. So he went in. In the hallway he found two . . .
bodies, presumably those of the owner and his wife, a Mr. and Mrs. Woollard. Identification was not possible because the bodies had been eaten; not much of them was left.’
Eleven
Pender tapped lightly on the door. It was late, well past eleven, and there was nothing more anyone could do that night. The lecture hall was deserted now and only a few lights shone in the working area of the Centre itself. He had left the main building and walked over to the separate residential annexe. He knocked again, a little louder.
‘Who's there?’ he heard Jenny's voice say.
‘It's me. Luke.’
The door opened and Jenny peered out at him.
‘I'm sorry if I disturbed you, Jenny. I couldn't get away any sooner.’
‘It's all right, Luke. I wasn't asleep. I'm glad you came.’ She opened the door wide and motioned for him to enter.
The room was small, two beds occupying most of its space with a door presumably leading off to the bathroom. A lamp glowed in one corner, giving the room an intimate feeling, and glass-covered but frameless prints, together with delicately painted ornaments, bestowed some warmth upon the functional interior.
‘Cosy,’ he commented.
She smiled. ‘I share it with Jan Wimbush. We've tried to put some life into it.’
‘I've just left Jan. She told me where to find you.’
‘Where is she?’
‘In the kitchen, washing up. She's had a busy evening.’
Jenny looked angry with herself. ‘I should have helped her out. I'm afraid today's events have disorientated me.’
‘It's okay, Will has been helping her. They're doing fine. Are you still feeling bad?’
‘No, I'm okay now. It was just the shock. The vicar's housekeeper came running round to the Centre, you see. The poor woman didn't know what to do when the grounds man told her what he'd found. I went there myself to check. It was so . . .’
She quickly lowered her face, forcing back the tears; she'd cried enough that day.
Pender felt strangely awkward. He wanted to hold her as he had done earlier, but he was unsure of her mood. One moment she was cold, reserved, the next she seemed to be reaching out, seeking contact.
She lifted her head, pushing away her anxieties. ‘Would you like some coffee? You must be dead beat.’
He grinned. ‘I could do with something stronger, but coffee will do.’
‘How about both? Jan and I always keep a bottle of scotch handy for our frequent mutual sob stories.’
‘You're terrific,’ he said.
‘Sit down and relax while I get it.’ She pointed to the only armchair and he sank back into it with relief, closing his eyes and resting his head back. The tutor disappeared with an elec-tric kettle into the adjacent room and he heard the sound of running water. ‘Have to be instant, I'm afraid,’ she called out.
‘Anything,’ he answered.
Soon a heavy measure of scotch was in his hand and Jenny was feeding coffee and boiling water into two sturdy-looking mugs.
‘Make it black, one sugar,’ he told her. She placed the steam-ing mug at his feet, then sat on the single bed, facing him. He took a large swallow of whisky and studied her, wondering how good her legs were beneath the tight jeans. Pretty good, if outward appearance were anything to go by. The baggy, loose-fitting cardigan had been replaced by a tight-fitting man's shirt, her breasts swelling against the material in a very unmasculine way. It was her face that intrigued him, though: it was somehow both soft yet determined, her brown eyes liquid, but penetrating, as though she could see into his innermost thoughts.
‘I'm sorry for yesterday, Luke,’ she said.
‘Yesterday?’
‘At the meeting. I'm sorry if I seemed to blame you for what was happening. Or, I should say, what wasn't happening. I get so sick and tired of people who refuse to take on responsibilities, who are content to talk, talk, talk, and do nothing. I'm afraid I put you in with the rest.’
‘What's changed your mind? If it is changed, that is.’
‘Further thought. You did your best - they just wouldn't listen.’
‘They're listening now.’
‘Yes, and look what it took to make them.’
‘It's the way things are, Jenny. You'll go mad with frustration if you don't acknowledge that. You don't have to accept it; just realise it's there. There are other ways to fight against it, whether you call it apathy, evasiveness, self-protection - I call it fear. The thing is not to let it get to you.’
‘And you don't?’
He smiled. ‘I try not to.’
She looked deep into his eyes. ‘Luke, what's going to happen?’
For a moment he thought she meant between them, their growing interest in each other; then he realised the feelings could be entirely one-sided - from his side.
‘You mean the rats?’
She nodded and, from his initial hesitation, he knew she had read his thoughts. He carefully explained to her the details of the operation which was to begin at first light the following day and which would continue till all the mutant rats had been exterminated.
‘So we at the Centre will be involved?’ she
asked when he had finished.
‘I'm afraid so. We'll need everyone who knows the forest.
Don't worry, there'll be no danger to you.’
‘I wasn't worried. I'd intended to stay and help in any way, even if it was only making tea for everybody. I can't stand the thought of them being in the forest, you see. Those monsters, feeding off the wildlife, destroying. They make the forest seem
. . . unclean. I despise them, Luke.’
Pender sipped his coffee, the whisky having warmed the way for it. ‘Why are you here at the Centre, Jenny? It seems a strange, almost lonely life.’
‘It isn't. Not really. I love the work, it's as close to nature as you can get without kissing all civilization goodbye. The children I teach are fun. And the staff are marvelous; we all work together.’
‘And Vic Whittaker?’
The old reserve came back into her eyes for a moment. ‘What about him?’
‘Oh, just a feeling. He seems to care about you.’
‘He does, but he's foolish. He has a wife but they're separated. Kids too.’ Her voice softened. ‘He thinks he's in love with me, but half his mind is still on his family. Sometimes I think he accepted this job to prove he's independent of her, but, I think soon, he'll discover he isn't.’
‘And you? How do you feel towards him?’ He half-expected a rebuttal to his question, but she smiled sadly and looked down at her hands.
‘I don't intend to be used in a situation like that. Not this time.’
And there, he thought, lay the answer. At some time or other she had been involved with someone who had let her down badly. It explained her reserve, the coldness that sometimes masked - and - marred her true nature. The Centre was her escape, a kind of nunnery without the harshness or the religion.
Nor the total rejection of the outside world. He wondered how long it would take for her to adjust again.
‘What about you, Luke?’ she countered. ‘Why aren't you married?’
‘I love my work too much.’
‘You hate your work.’
It startled him.
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