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 forthcoming operation, Fender 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, Fender 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, nobody 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
Fender 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.
Fender 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 electric 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 steaming 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 un masculine 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 realize 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 realized 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."
Fender 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 Vie 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.
"Why do you do it, Luke? Why rats?"
"I told you yesterday: the money's good."
She shook her head. "No, that's not it. There's some other reason."
He drained the last of the coffee and placed the mug on the floor.
"I think I'd better make a move. It's an early start tomorrow..." he glanced at his watch '... I mean today."
She rose with him. "I'm sorry if I was probing." She moved closer.
"Really."
He smiled down at her. "I started it. I got what I deserved."
"Will I see you tomorrow?"
"Of course. I'll be pretty busy, but as of now, Jenny, you're part of the operation, so we'll be working together." And then he wanted to kiss her, but foolishly ridiculously he was afraid to. He hadn't felt that heart-shaking fear since he'd been fifteen, on his first date. It was crazy, but irrefutable: he was afraid his advance would be rejected. He stood there like a naive fool, too nervous to take a forward step. So she kissed him.
It was a light touch, and on the cheek; but a pleasurable shock ran through him dispersing his uncharacteristic timidity.
"Jenny..."
"It is late, Luke. Walk me over to the main building so I can help Jan clear up. Then you go and get some rest; it sounds like you're going to need it."
He relaxed, no longer the schoolboy. "Okay. I'm staying at the hotel in Buckhurst Hill. It shouldn't take me much more than ten minutes to get there, and only two minutes more to be sound asleep. It's been a long day."
But it wasn't over for him yet.
Jan Wimbush wiped the steam from her spectacles with the end of her sweater. All the cups and saucers were washed now, the ashtrays emptied and clean, the big table in the lecture hall wiped of all stains. Tomorrow would be a busy day but, thank God, there would be no classes and all the Centre staff would be helping.
Alex Milton had spoken to the staff earlier that evening, explaining the rat problem to them and how the Centre was to be the operational headquarters. If any of his members wanted to leave, they could do so he wouldn't blame them in the least. But their help was needed by the men who were coming to destroy the vermin. He had been assured by Ratkill's research director that there would be no real danger to the staff, providing they did exactly as they were told and wore the protective clothing that would be issued when outside the confines of the building itself. Everybody volunteered to stay, of course, most looking forward to the drama. The fact that the local vicar had apparently been eaten alive by the monsters seemed hardly real to those who hadn't visited the graveyard, although the warden did try to stress the deadly seriousness of it all.
The three classrooms had been cleared, the desks in each room pushed together to make two big tables. The laboratory itself was to be used as a storeroom for the gas tanks and rodenticides the Ratkill people would be bringing. The protective suits would also be kept there. The lecture hall would be used as the main operations room, while the library would be reserved for smaller, more select meetings by the inner committee.
Jan put her spectacles back on and tried to look out into the night through the large, single-frame window; all she saw was her own reflection. She didn't much fancy walking over to the residential wing by herself. Anything could be out there in the dark. Most of the staff had retired for the night, but Will Aycott had stayed to help her finish up. He was around somewhere checking that all the windows and doors were secure; he also had the keys to the main door.
Jan turned from the window, not too keen on her own reflected features, and switched off the kitchen light. Will would see her back to her room he'd tried to get into it often enough. Luckily, Jenny Hanmer was a good chaperone to have around in fact, they were useful chaperones to each other at times. Not that she disliked Will. Sometimes she wished she had her own room.
She wondered if Jenny was feeling any better. She'd had a terrible shock up at the churchyard; Jan wondered what had possessed her to go up there in the first place. She wouldn't have had the nerve. Still, Jenny was different. She had guts. She stood up for herself.
Will, where are you?" Jan called along the darkened corridor. There was no reply so she walked its length, peering into doorways as she went. The lights in the end classroom were still on, throwing a rectangle of brightness across the corridor. She marched towards it, assuming he would be there and hadn't heard her call.
Will, are you in there?" She peered round the door and saw that the classroom was empty. He must be at the other end of the building, near the library.
Jan glanced around the room, checking that it was in order and the sliding windows closed. The large windows ran the length of the building without a break on that side, compensating for the lack of glass at the front. Satisfied all was in order, she reached for the light switch, then groaned silently when she noticed the lone coffee cup resting on the work top beneath the windows. Will must have missed it.
She crossed the room and stared disgustedly down into the cup. Someone had dropped a cigarette end into it. Sighing, she looked up at her reflection in the black glass again, brooding on her physical inadequacies. Too thin, neck too long, chin a little too firm. No breasts to speak of. Her hair was too straight and always lank two days after washing. And the glasses. No matter how well she groomed herself for a special occasion, no matter what make-up she used, what perfume, how beautiful the dress, she always had to detract at least twenty percent of the overall effect by donning the glasses. It was unfair. Still, Will seemed to find her attractive; maybe she was being too hard on herself.
Jan suddenly had an uneasy feeling. It must have been the total, obscuring blackness outside, the lightless forest something to which she had never quite adapted. But now it worried her more than ever before. Obviously, the fact that there were monster rats roaming around out there had a lot to do with it; for her, Epping Forest had rapidly lost all its charm. She shivered. Silly, but it was almost as though the creatures were out there watching her. She leaned forward, pushing her face close to the window and shielding the light from behind with her hand. She stared out into the night through the shadow her own form had created. Then the window exploded into her face.
Fender and Jenny were just entering the main building when they heard the crash of glass and the shrill scream that accompanied it. They looked at each other in shocked surprise, then rushed into the reception area, almost colliding with Will Aycott as he emerged from the corridor.
"Where did it come from?" Fender asked, grabbing the young tutor's arm to steady him.
The other end. One of the classrooms."
"Come on." Fender ran down the corridor, Jenny and Will hard at his heels. They made for the lighted room at the end, further screams and scrabbling sounds urging them on.
"It's Jan!" Jenny shouted, fearing the worst.
Fender stopped at the doorway, his eyes widening and the skin at his scalp tautening. The two tutors crowded in behind and he held them back, preventing them from entering the room. Jenny screamed at the sight before them.
Jan Wimbush was dragging herself along the floor towards the door, her spectacles gone, her face a bloody mess, glass slivers projecting from her cheeks and forehead glinting like silver shards in the overhead light. Rivulets of blood ran down her arms and her
chest was stained red. She raised a quivering hand towards them as though beseeching help, strange gurgling sounds coming from her throat.
Clinging to her back, weighing down her frail body, was a huge, evil-looking black creature. Its head was buried beneath the hair at the back of her neck, its shoulders jerking spasmodically as it drank in her blood.
"Oh, God, help her, Luke!" Jenny implored and she saw the rat catcher face was a mask of sheer hate.
"Get help, Jenny," he told her, his voice tight. "Don't go outside the building. Use the phone."
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