She stood there, mesmerized by the awful scene, and he had to shove her hard. "Move!" he shouted.
Fender held on to Will, feeling the younger man's fear, but knowing he was courageous enough to run forward and help the girl.
"For Christ's sake, we've got to save her!" the tutor shouted.
Fender motioned towards the window with his head. "Look," he said.
Perched on the work top before the shattered window squatted another huge rat, its body hunched, hindquarters quivering. It stared at them through evil, dark eyes. It was suddenly joined by another.
Jan's screams had died into a low, heart-rending wailing, and she still pulled herself forward, the pain in her neck pushing her on, her eyes imploring the two blurred figures to help her. She tried to reach behind her with one hand in an effort to drag the deadly weight off, but the creature ignored her feeble struggles.
"We've got to get rid of those two first," Fender said grimly, shutting the girl's cries from his mind.
"But Jan..."
The other two will attack while we're helping her. Come on, we'll have to move fast. We've got to prevent more getting in."
Fender pulled the young tutor forward towards the arranged desks in the middle of the room. "Quickly. Grab two legs we'll use the desk as a battering-ram."
As they snatched up the flat-topped desk, Fender glanced towards the broken window. There were now three rats perched on the sill.
He knew they would attack at any moment, for their hindquarters were bunched and trembling, building up pressure.
"Now!" The two men ran towards the window, the desk held before them, its top a strong, flat shield. They hit the vermin with all the force they had, sending them scurrying back, through the broken window, out into the night. But one managed to slither clear; it scrambled off the work top and disappeared beneath, scuttling into a dark corner.
"Hold the desk against the window-frame, Will. Don't let them get back in. I'm going to help the girl."
The tutor could only watch as Fender dashed away. He felt a blow against the wooden surface and the desk shifted back a few inches. His muscles stretched taut as he pushed it further against the frame.
Fender already knew the weapon he was going to use against the rat; he had seen it from the doorway when he had forced himself to think clearly and not be panicked by the situation. His loathing of the creatures had helped override his natural fear. He reached up for one of the metal skewers used for soil-testing mounted on the far wall of the classroom. They were between three and four feet in length, having a single-bar crossing handle at one end and tapering into a corkscrew point at the other, resembling an oversized wine bottle opener.
He ran back to the girl. She was still crawling, almost at the door now, but her movements were weak, her wail diminished to a dull moan.
The black creature clung to her,
oblivious to the two men. Jan suddenly rested her head on the floor, as though she'd given up, the effort too much. Fender prayed he wasn't too late.
He stood above the mutant, his legs astride the girl's recumbent body, and raised the skewer high, one hand halfway down its shaft, the other over and around the handle. He plunged down, using a slight sideways movement for fear of impaling the girl. The rat emitted a high-pitched squeal as the sharp point struck into its flank. Its pointed head arched upwards, its mouth wide, revealing blood-soaked teeth, red liquid spurting from its throat as it choked.
Fender used all his weight, pushing hard, sinking the skewer deep, dislodging the squirming creature from its perch. It fell against the floor, claws tearing at the wood surface and causing long scars. Fender began to twist at the handle, the corkscrew point churning into the rat's intestines, bursting through its stomach, sinking into the floor itself.
The mutant rat struggled, its squeals almost pitiful, childlike; but Fender did not relent until the skewer was imbedded into the floor, pinning the black creature there, its struggles becoming weaker until they became just a nerve-twitching reaction. He left the improvised weapon standing rigidly upright and bent down towards the girl. He winced at the sight of her mutilated face when he turned her over. Her eyes were closed, but he was relieved when a low sob escaped her.
"It's all right now, Jan," he softly told her. "You're safe."
Fender knew he had to stem the flow of blood from the back of her neck if she were to survive her ordeal. He turned her over again and parted the blood-clotted hair to examine the damage. He almost retched when he saw the open wound. The top of her spine was exposed but, fortunately, the rat had burrowed beside it and not into it. She would have been permanently paralysed, if not killed, if it had. He reached for a handkerchief and placed it over the wound, pressing it against the flow of blood.
"Luke, help me, help me!"
The rat catcher whirled at the sound of Will's voice and saw a rat biting into the young tutor's calf. Will's arms were still pushing at the upturned desk and Fender could see the claws and pointed snout of a mutant on the outside as it balanced on the window-sill trying to push its way through the narrow gap between table and frame on that side.
The tutor was kicking his leg out, afraid to let go of the desk; the rat refused to be shaken off.
Fender quickly looked around for another weapon and his eyes rested upon the red and white surveyor's stakes propped up in one corner. They were at least five feet long and about two inches in diameter; these, too, had pointed ends for sinking into the ground. He hurried over and grabbed one, the others clattering to the floor as he disturbed them.
Holding the stake before him like a lance, the rat catcher ran at the rodent clinging to Will's calf and struck. The point slid off the rat's back, cutting a red groove beneath the bristling, black fur. It lost its hold on the tutor and turned to face its aggressor, long front teeth baring in a ferocious snarl, one front paw raised, claws outstretched.
Fender poked at it with the stake, aiming for the eyes, trying to blind it. The rat tried to duck beneath the point, but Fender immediately lowered it, keeping the creature at bay. He stabbed again, striking at the head, hoping to pierce the skull, but once again, the blow glanced off. It caused the rat to stagger back though, and Fender pressed his advantage, stepping forward, pushing, stabbing.
The mutant reared up and it was frightening to see its full length.
Fender aimed for the stomach, but the rat fell back wards, turning over and scrambling round to face its assailant again. It clawed at the tormenting stake, its jaws open wide, hissing a stream of pink-flecked saliva. Fender lunged, the point disappearing into the creature's mouth and cutting into the throat.
Once more, the rapid, high-pitched squealing as the rat scuttled backwards, trying desperately to escape the choking weapon. Fender went with it, not allowing the rat room to break free, but it suddenly shook its body violently, twisting and turning until it was loose.
Fender struck again and this time the point cut into the creature's hindquarters, penetrating, but not deeply. The rat broke away and scuttled for the open doorway, passing between the impaled rat and the limp body of the girl.
"Luke, I can't hold them off much longer," came Will's desperate cry.
Fender hurried over to the young tutor who was ignoring his leg wound and keeping his arms taut against the desk, his hips resting against the work-top unit. Fender struck out at the lethal-looking claw curling around the wood and when it disappeared, helped Will to shift the desk along, filling the gap.
Will, can you get to Jan? Drag her out into the corridor?"
What are you going to do? You can't hold them off forever."
"Pretty soon they're going to have the sense to break through the other windows. That's how they got in in the first place. When they do we'll have no chance this room will be swarming with them."
He gasped as a body thudded against the other side, the desk-top juddering and moving back an inch. They pushed it back.
"Get the girl out, Will, then stand by the door. I'll
be coming through fast and you'll have to get it closed behind me."
"Okay. Ready? I'm going to let it go now."
Fender redoubled his efforts as the bodies thudded against the wood. He could hear claws scrabbling at the surface as they ran up its length.
"Hurry, Will, for Christ's sake hurry."
The young tutor limped towards the prone body, his teeth clenched against the pain, his face deathly pale. He almost wept when he turned Jan over and saw the damage the broken glass had done, but he knew there was no time for grief. He grabbed her beneath the shoulders and, in a half-crouched position, began to drag her through the doorway.
"Look out for the rat that got into the corridor," Fender warned him.
The pressure against the table was becoming too much, the thumps against it increasing in frequency. He propped the bright-coloured stake against the wood, hoping it would hold the desk in position long enough for him to make it to the door. Then the indescribable happened.
The long windows on either side all shattered at once. The noise of falling glass was deafening and the sight of the black, furry bodies hurtling through, squealing their fury, skidding off the work top onto the floor, was almost enough to make his heart stop beating.
Fender ran.
The rats were too stunned and confused to attack at once, and Fender gave them no second chance. He dived when he was still feet from the door, rolling into the corridor and crashing against the wall opposite.
"Shut it!" he screamed, and Will lost no time in doing so.
The door rattled in its frame as the vermin threw themselves against it. They could hear the scratching sounds, the splintering as the creatures gnawed at the wood.
Fender shook his head to clear his senses.
"Are you okay?" the tutor asked anxiously, holding on to the door-handle as if to keep it closed.
Yes. I knocked my head, that's all." He got to one knee and crouched beside Jan and felt her pulse. It was weak. We've got to get her to a hospital. I don't think she'll make it, otherwise." He looked up at Will. You can let go of the door I don't think they're that clever."
Will sheepishly dropped his hand. "My God, listen to them. It won't take them long to gnaw their way through."
"No, and we'd better be out of here before they do."
"Luke, I've called the police." It was Jenny, standing at the end of the darkened corridor, by the reception area. "I've also called the Warden, on the internal phone and warned him to keep everybody inside the living quarters until the police get here."
"Good girl. Stay where you are, we'll bring Jan..." His voice broke off when he noticed something dark moving along the corridor, something low, crouched close to the wall. It was making towards Jenny.
"Jenny, run! Get away from there!" He was on his feet, running down the corridor. Jenny stood transfixed, her eyes wide with terror.
The rat moved with incredible speed, Fender's shouts and footsteps galvanizing it into action. It broke free from the shadows. Jenny could only step back as it sped past her, its stiffened fur actually brushing her legs. It scuttled madly around in the wider reception area, looking for an opening, a crazed look in its eyes. Jenny leaned back against the far wall and watched in fascinated horror. Fender reached her and shielded her body when he saw the rat's frantic actions.
A full-length window stood by the glass door, giving half the reception area a glass wall appearance. The rat ran at the lower pane and bounced off its rigid surface. It tried again, throwing itself at the glass with desperate strength. Fender was conscious of a police siren in the distance, the unmistakable wail growing louder with each second.
The rat scrambled away from the glass and made towards them. Fender got ready to kick out at it, but the creature turned before it reached them and hurtled itself at the window once more. This time, the glass shattered and it was through, disappearing into the shadows outside, leaving scraped-off hair and blood on the remaining window fragments.
"Oh, God, Luke. It's vile. It's so vile." Jenny leaned against Fender's back; he was too afraid to take his eyes off the broken pane in case the rats came swarming through.
"Luke. Come here, quickly." It was Will calling from the gloomy end of the corridor.
Fender grabbed Jenny's arm and took her with him.
"What is it?" he asked when he reached the crouched figure.
"Listen!"
Fender heard nothing. Then he realized what the young tutor was getting at. The rats," he said. They're gone."
TWELVE
It was the dogs who aroused the slumbering Police Training Camp on Lippits Hill. For the cadets and training officers who survived, it was to be a night they would never forget, a horrific memory that would fill their dreams for years to come.
They staggered from their barrack huts, half-dressed, half-asleep, cursing the animals for the terrible noise, cursing the handlers for not keeping them quiet. Yet they knew from the sound that the dogs had been disturbed by more than just a prowler; their frenzied barks had merged into a fearful howling ululation that pierced the bitter night and sent shudders down the spines of all who heard.
"What the fuck's got into them?" one young cadet asked as the men gathered in groups outside the huts.
"Where the bloody hell's their handlers?" another cursed.
They began to move in the direction of the pens, but a sergeant, hastily donning a heavy coat, brought them to a halt.
"Listen!" he commanded, and those nearest to him held their breath.
The word spread back to those at the rear, and the excited voices died; they stood shivering in the dark, each man's senses keened to the night.
"What is it?" one finally asked, mystified and a little afraid.
"It's screaming," another answered. "I'm sure it's screaming.
If someone could get the bloody dogs quiet we could tell for sure."
"No, no, it's not screaming," someone else said. "It's the ducks. The noise is coming from the duck farm. They sound like human voices from a distance."
They all listened again, while the dog-handlers hurried towards the pens, anxious to calm the agitated dogs. Not far from the training centre, a quarter of a mile at the most, in a remote but mainly un wooded area, a large, wire-fenced pound had been erected. Inside, various breeds of duck were raised, some for their meat, most for their eggs. It was a specialist enterprise and held hundreds of birds within its boundaries. Now the policemen and trainees had something to relate the sound to, they began to agree: it wasn't human screams but the cries of disturbed fowl.
The camp supervisor joined them and they could not see how drawn his face looked in the darkness. He had received a phone call from his superior earlier that evening, and the news had been bad.
The supervisor quickly gathered the senior officers and instructors around him and explained just what his fears were, and within ten minutes firearms had been issued to the officers and most capable trainees. They set off in force from the camp towards the duck farm, trudging over the fields behind the training centre, the route being more direct than the long detour by road. Beams of light from powerful torches struck into the night; the dogs, eager to confront an age-old enemy, pulled at their leashes, snarling and yelping in their desire for combat. A token force was left to guard the grounds, the camp supervisor remaining with them, trying to make contact with the deputy assistant commissioner, who would inform the assistant commissioner, who would inform the commissioner. The order for all officers and cadets to remain within the confines of the camp came too late; by then, the policemen were approaching the duck pound itself.
"Hold it! Hold it!" No one was sure who was giving the order, but they all came to a halt and looked uneasily around.
"Keep those bloody dogs quiet!" came the voice again and the burly figure of the sergeant in charge of firearms came striding forward from the rear. "Just listen, everyone."
The handlers tried to muzzle their dogs with their hands, but the animals were too restless. They
pulled away from their masters, deep growls coming from their throats. The ducks were frantic: the men could hear the flurry of wings above the squealing clamour. But other sounds began to come through and it slowly dawned on the policemen that they were human voices. Human screams.
"It's coming from the mobile home site!" the sergeant shouted. "It's not just the ducks. It's on the other side of the pound!"
He ran forward and the men followed, skirting the high, wire fence, running downhill to the small track that led to the secluded estate.
Lights were on in the large private house that stood near the entrance to the mobile home site and they could see figures at the upstairs windows, waving. One window opened and a man began shouting down at them, but his words were lost in the overall clamour.
There were thirty houses in all, constructed of timber and glass, resting on concrete bases. They were called mobile homes because they had been brought fully built to the site on wheels and planted in position like giant dolls' houses, ready for occupation. Most of the inhabitants were young couples who could not afford the high price of more permanent, brick-built homes, or retired couples who sought small accommodation in peaceful surroundings. They all enjoyed the community spirit in the tiny, one-street estate, and agreed that the timber houses were as solid and permanent as any built of brick. That night they discovered just how vulnerable they were.
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