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."
TEN
It was early evening before the meeting finally got under way and the Centre's small lecture hall, though less than full, seemed crowded to Fender. He quickly scanned the many anxious faces, estimating there were over thirty people present. Personally he would have chosen a more select gathering; in his experience, the bigger the crowd, the more confusing the outcome. He supposed, however, each was necessary to the operation to be discussed.
He recognized the Private Secretary for the Ministry of Defence, Robert Shipway, talking with Antony Thornton from the Ministry of Agriculture, at a long table hastily brought in for the occasion from the Centre's library. Beside them sat the Director-General of the Forestry Commission with one of his commissioners and someone from the Department of the Environment Fender could not remember his particular title, nor the names of any of the three. Whitney-Evans was seated next to Stephen Howard, Alex Milton sitting slightly away from the table. The police commissioner for the Essex area occupied the other end of the table, together with Mike Lehmann and a major from the Armed Forces. It was to be a high-powered meeting and Fender could already see that Stephen Howard was revelling in it.
The others in the room sat facing the select group at the table in the lecture hall's rows of rising seats, Fender among those in the front row. Eric Dugdale of the Safety Inspectorate was there with two members of his staff; several local councillors spoke together in hushed voices; the inspector from the area's nearest police station sat in deep silence; Charles Denison, seated next to him, equally silent; Vie Whittaker and an attractive, middle-aged woman introduced earlier to Pender as Alex Milton's wife, Tessa, sat immediately behind. Other seats were taken up by several men referred to as Verderers of Epping Forest, and a few members of the community considered important enough to be invited along. Thankfully there were no journalists present, but Fender knew it would not take long for the story to break.
The general low-voiced din was interrupted by Antony Thornton tapping sharply on the table top with the blunt end of his fountain-pen.
"Gentlemen, I think we should proceed with the meeting without further delay. I believe everybody who should be here is here." He looked around at the forest superintendent and Stephen Howard for affirmation.
Both men nodded.
Thornton continued. This is just a general meeting to let everyone who will be concerned with the operation know exactly what is happening.
Details will be discussed in subsequent smaller gatherings by those directly involved." He paused and looked around, his voice losing some of its briskness. "Most of you have some idea of why you were called here, but for the benefit of those who haven't, I'll start at the beginning. Over the past few days, damage has been done that suggests a powerful vermin is at large. Droppings have been found which indicate the vermin is the Black rat."
A buzz of voices broke out behind Fender. Thornton held up a hand to still them.
Yesterday, three of the creatures were sighted by a tutor of this Centre. It was not a definite sighting..." Fender flinched '... so we thought it wise to investigate further before pushing the panic button."
Where were they seen?" a voice from the back asked.
"Quite near here." Thornton looked towards Whitney-Evans who said: "A small pond near the larger Wake Valley Pond."
Thornton continued. "Ratkill had already been notified and a rodent investigator, Lucas Fender, was at the Centre examining damage caused by these creatures when the sighting took place. He immediately searched the area around the pond and discovered the remains of a family of stoats; they had been slaughtered. He also examined the droppings left by the vermin at the Centre and his conclusion was that there was, indeed, a strong possibility that the Black rat was inhabiting a certain part of the forest."
Fender smiled grimly.
"However, in the meeting that followed, we all agreed that further more concrete proof was needed before we put into action plans for quarantine and the evacuation of the forest population."
"Couldn't my station at least have been informed?" demanded the police inspector.
Thornton regarded him coolly. "I'm afraid not. I repeat: we had no definite proof of their existence, therefore we deemed it unnecessary to alert anyone at that time."
"And is
that your proof?" said the inspector, undaunted. The incident up at the churchyard?"
Once more, a babble of voices broke out in the lecture hall and Thornton's fountain-pen was tapped hard to bring order to the meeting.
"What does Inspector Reid mean?" asked a verderer above the other voices. "What happened up at the church?" The question had more effect than the fountain-pen and all noise died down.
Thornton straightened in his chair and looked stiffly around the room.
"Firstly, let me say this meeting will be conducted in an orderly fashion. We need to progress rapidly if we are to implement immediate action. Further questions will have to be put at the end of this statement and the subsequent statements by any of my colleagues at this table. Now, Inspector Reid, I will answer your question. Yes, the churchyard incident does give us further reason to believe in the existence of the Black rat in the forest."
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