Fender stood. "Okay, Joe, block it," he said.
Joe Apercello, another Ratkill operative, stepped forward, bringing a large tin of ready-mixed, quick drying cement with him. He struggled with the tightly sealed lid for a few seconds, then began to remove a glove for better purchase.
"Leave it on, Joe!" Fender snapped, and the man shrugged, pulling the glove back.
"It's bloody awkward," he complained.
"It's more bloody awkward without fingers," Fender told him.
The lid came away with a sucking sound and Apercello dug in with a trowel, thickly spreading the compound over the hole. Sealing every opening with concrete was an added precaution: generally, earth would have been sufficient, the powder itself acting as a death-dealing sentry, but it had been agreed that extreme measures would be taken the mutant rats would never be underestimated again.
Vie Whittaker had the network map spread out on the ground before him and was marking the position of the now-plugged exit with a felt-tipped pen.
That's the fifth this morning," he said with some satisfaction The channel runs dead ahead..." he extended his arm in the direction he meant'... north-east." He looked up and added, The undergrowth has certainly covered the area since the sewer was dug. Well have a hard job locating any openings."
We're bound to miss more than a few," Fender said, 'but that's not the point. Once the machines start pumping the gas into the main exits, the rats will have little chance of escape. They'll be finished before they know what's hit them. The object of this exercise is to stack all the cards in our favour."
Whittaker nodded, the movement barely noticeable inside the helmet. He stood, folding the map so only the next relevant section showed.
"Do you think we'll be ready by tomorrow?" he asked.
We've got to be. We can't..." Fender frowned. "Captain, tell your man to get his bloody helmet back on." He pointed towards a soldier who was wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
The captain flushed behind his plastic screen. You, get it back on immediately!"
The startled soldier hastily began to don his hood. "Sorry, sir, it's so bleedin' hot in here," he said lamely.
Captain Mather glared at the small squad which formed a protective semicircle around Fender, Whittaker and Aper-cello. An army truck stood waiting in a clearing nearby, its engine idling, ready to move at the slightest hint of trouble.
You all know the danger," the captain said, 'so let's not have any more silliness. Clear?" He neither expected nor received an answer as he turned back to the rat catcher "Sorry, Mr. Fender, it won't happen again."
That should do it, Luke," came Apercello's muffled voice as he patted down the fast drying cement. "No bugger'll get out of there."
"Right," Fender said, picking up the container of cyanide powder.
"Let's move on."
The senior tutor fell in beside him as they trampled down foliage with heavy boots, helmets bent in constant examination of the ground before them, searching for signs. The soldiers fanned out on either side, also searching the ground but keeping a wider alert for any impending danger.
You were saying we have to be ready by tomorrow... ?" Whittaker prompted.
We can't risk holding them inside any longer," Fender continued. We drilled probes with microphones attached, so we know they're there. I listened in myself it was bedlam. They seem to know they're trapped and they're panicking."
"But we know these mutants can burrow why don't they dig their way out?"
"Oh, they will. That's why we have to move fast. At the moment hysteria is preventing them from using whatever sense they possess.
Pretty soon, though, they're going to get the notion to tunnel their way out. Fortunately, these sewers have been firmly constructed they'll hold the rats for a while."
"And these holes we're sealing? Why haven't they come pouring through?"
"Don't tempt providence: they could do just that. My guess is that the rats are afraid. Remember, their ancestors were virtually wiped out in London. Call it race-memory, or sheer instinct, but they know they're under attack from their worst enemy: man. They're just plain terrified at the moment, too scared to come out and show themselves. How long they'll remain in that state is anybody's guess."
They trudged on, both men lost in their own thoughts. It was Whittaker who finally broke the silence.
"I don't understand why the other animals haven't been slaughtered by the vermin. I mean, if they're so ferocious and there are so many of them, why haven't they overrun the forest?"
"Firstly, we don't know exactly how many there are. My guess is that there are a thousand or so they haven't reproduced like the normal rodent. It would still be enough to make them aggressive."
"A thousand? My God, that's terrible."
"Not really, not in an area this size."
"What makes you so sure? There could be several thousand."
Fender shook his head. "I'm not sure, but I don't think so. If there were, they'd have been seen sooner. They would almost certainly have begun slaughtering the other wildlife. I'm sure their build-up has been gradual. Remember, compared to the normal rodent they're giants, and Mother Nature isn't keen on allowing her bigger creatures to have large litters."
They're no bigger than dogs. Even pigs ..."
"In the vermin kingdom, the mutants are as big as elephants. Anyway there's the other side of the argument: these are freaks, mutants their genes have been altered in some way. Maybe the ultrasonics used on their ancestors did it, maybe not, but their difference could easily have changed their reproductive cycle."
"But there were many thousands in London!"
They were mating with the normal species of Black rat. It's all theory on my part, but here, I think, we have the pure strain. I'll bet they're even stronger and more cunning than the first. They've been clever enough to keep out of sight -until now."
"It makes you wonder if we really are going to beat them."
We will." Whittaker could not see the grim determination on the rat catcher face.
"All right, if there really are as you say just a thousand or so, it still doesn't explain why they haven't attacked the local wildlife before now."
"Rats can survive on practically anything. You can be sure they've killed other animals, but on an unnoticeable scale. Their main supply of food has obviously been scavenged from other sources: houses, farms, allotments, the countryside itself. I bet if we were to check now, we'd have reports of all sorts of vermin trouble that in the past has just been put down to rare and isolated cases. It's frightening to consider, but I wouldn't be surprised if these mutants have deliberately been keeping a low profile regarding their raids."
"It's a little hard to believe."
"What's happening now is a little hard to believe. One thing we do know for sure: their restraint has gone. They're out to kill anyone or anything."
Apercello, who was some distance ahead, turned and waved at them. His words through the plastic grille were hard to catch, but he began pointing towards the ground quite near his feet.
"Looks like Joe's found another opening," said Fender, hurrying forward.
The hole the rat catcher colleague was standing over was much larger than the one they had just plugged. Its sides were smooth, as though used by many bodies.
"Christ, that's one all right," Fender muttered, bending low and examining the hole. "It's the right size. Captain, let me have the torch, will you?"
Captain Mather passed the square-shaped torch over to the rat catcher who shone its powerful beam into the tunnel.
"Nothing there," Fender said, straightening. "Let's get some powder down fast. The sooner it's plugged, the happier I'll be."
They went through the process of laying the cyanide and sealing the exit again, Fender helping Apercello pack the cement.
"Okay. Number six done. Mark it..." He didn't know what had made him look up into the trees at that moment, but Fender suddenly felt even more uneasy than before. Had
he seen something move? The other men regarded him curiously.
"What is it, Mr. Fender?" Captain Mather enquired.
Fender studied the nearby trees for a few seconds longer before replying. "Nothing. I thought I saw ... heard something, that's all."
The officer looked around nervously. "Perhaps we should be moving..."
There's something up there!" It was Apercello's voice. "I saw it move. It was darting along a branch."
The soldiers who were nearer to the trees began to back away apprehensively, their firearms pointing into the foliage overhead.
There's another!" shouted Vie Whittaker pointing to a different tree.
All eyes swivelled. They saw a swaying branch, but nothing else.
A sudden rustle to their right had everybody spinning in that direction. A flurry of dead leaves fluttered to the ground, but the tree's branches were still too full of brown foliage for the men to see what had caused the downfall.
"Keep still, everyone," Fender ordered. Now scan the trees around us.
If you see any movement, don't shout, just point."
Their heads turned slowly as they studied the treetops, each man scarcely daring to breathe. Fender kept an eye on the men, occasionally, irresistibly, glancing upwards. His eyes riveted on a soldier who suddenly began gesticulating towards an overhead branch.
"Captain," Fender said quietly. "One of your men has spotted something." He nodded towards the pointing man. The others became aware of their companion's excitement.
There it is!" someone shouted. "Creeping along that branch! It's one of 'em, one of the rats! Jesus, there's another!"
It became too much for the soldier. He raised his rifle and aimed into the tree, his gloved finger pushing its way awkwardly though the trigger guard.
The explosion and consequent high-pitched squeal seemed to act as the signal for the rats to attack. They fell from the trees almost as one, dropping through the air on to the men below, the forest suddenly alive with their screeching squeals and flying black bodies.
FOURTEEN
Fender rushed forward, crashing through the brittle undergrowth, making towards a fallen soldier who was desperately trying to push away a rat clawing at his chest. All around, the soldiers were struggling with vermin that had landed on their shoulders and heads, several of the men on their knees, others running wildly in circles, completely unnerved by the attack.
The rat catcher pulled at the creature on the fallen man's chest, grasping its twisting neck and tugging and squeezing at the same time.
A sudden weight on his back sent him tumbling forward over the soldier.
He kept rolling, hoping to crush the creature, but it clung tenaciously. The pain was excruciating as the rat bit into the tough material of the protective suit, the teeth not piercing but pinching the skin together. As he tried to roll his body free, Fender realized there was not just one, but two rats attacking him. He lay on his back, endeavouring to still their movements with his own weight, reaching behind to grab at their scrabbling legs. He was conscious of the screams around him, the sharp reports of gunfire, the thrashing of bodies both human and animal. More black shapes were dropping from the trees, leaping from the branches, running down the rough bark, filling the forest glade with their numbers.
He tried to rise, but a rat landed on his chest and for a brief moment he found himself staring through the plastic screen into the monster's slanted eyes. It was almost as if the rat were studying him, looking deep into his mind, a cold hate stabbing its way through. The creature's jaws opened and Fender stared in fascinated horror at the cruel, yellow teeth, the deformed an dover-large incisors honed razor-sharp from constant gnawing. Spittle smeared the plastic visor as the mutant hissed at its prey. The pointed head snapped forward and Fender jerked his head back in a reflex action. The teeth skidded across the plastic, leaving deep grooves and a trail of saliva. The rat catcher forgot about the struggling bodies beneath him and began to pummel the creature on top with his fists. The rat staggered sideways but recovered, the blows driving it to a new fury. Its powerful jaws locked around one of Fender's wrists and he screamed at the intense pain, the thickness of the gauntlet gloves saving him from serious injury.
He managed to pull the arm free, but the rat's head was poised above him, ready to strike again, this time at his throat. Even the steel-lined clothing could not save him if those teeth locked onto his windpipe. Fender tried to turn his body, but the two rats beneath him held him back. The rat's head plunged.
And then exploded in a cloud of blood and tissue. The gunshot ringing in his ears and his visor splattered red, Fender pushed the slumped body away from him. He quickly cleared his vision with a gloved hand, wiping away the running blood and clots of bubbling substance. Captain Mather towered over him, a revolver still smoking in his hand.
"Over. Quick!" came the command, and Fender felt his body turned with a rough kick. He waited for what seemed an eternity, knowing the captain was taking careful aim, ensuring the bullets would not pass through the vermin into his body, and shuddered when the sharp reports came and the paw grips on his back were released.
Mather helped him to his feet and once more Fender was allowed a clear view of the frantic struggle taking place. The rats seemed to be everywhere, swamping the soldiers with their numbers, pulling and tearing at the terrified men. Automatic gunfire stopped the soldiers from being completely smothered, and the armoured suits prevented them from being torn to pieces. Nevertheless, for the soldiers it was a losing battle. The pain inflicted by the clamping jaws was evident from the screams that rang out, and it could not be endured for much longer. The rats were dying in large numbers, their bodies leaping into the air in shock as bullets struck, a strange shriek, like a hurt child's, bursting from them as they died.
Fender looked around for Whittaker and Apercello, but it was impossible to recognize anyone in the bizarre uniforms. They didn't carry guns, but then there were so many now who had dropped their weapons and were using their hands to ward off the vermin.
Captain Mather dropped to his knees beside him, a rat perched precariously on his shoulders, another biting into the material at his stomach. Fender grabbed the rodent that had its teeth sinking into the top of the officer's helmet and pulled it free in one swift, sharp movement, tossing it as far away as possible; Mather carefully shot the one at his stomach, ignoring the pain, refusing to succumb to panic.
The rat that Fender had thrown came scurrying back, leaping at its attacker without breaking stride. Fender kicked out and was lucky enough to make contact. The rat's long body jack-knifed in the air and fell into the undergrowth. The rat catcher dashed forward and brought his heavy boot crashing down on its head, crushing the skull.
He turned back to the army officer who was trying to shake his arms free of two more mutants that were weighing him down, making it impossible for him to use the revolver. Three others were scrambling up his body and his knees were beginning to sag with the load.
Fender ran to him and began tugging at the bristling bodies, ignoring another creature that had attached itself to his leg. He pulled and the thing he had been dreading happened: as the rat came away, its teeth firmly clamped into the suit, the material tore. It was a small rent, but it proved the suits could be penetrated. Under the onslaught all the suits would soon be in tatters. He grabbed the rodent's snout, avoiding the teeth, and twisted with all his strength. The neck broke and he dropped the twitching body. Then he grabbed the gun from the officer's hand, hoping there were still enough bullets in the chamber.
He had never handled a gun before, but pulling a trigger seemed an uncomplicated operation. Regardless of the two rats that were now nipping at his legs, he carefully took aim and shot the relentless vermin clinging to the soldier. He groaned aloud when he turned the weapon on his own aggressors and found that now it was empty. Instead he used it as a club, beating down on their exposed heads until they dropped away senseless.
He almost went under the w
heels of the heavy army truck as it ploughed its way through the bracken and juddered to a halt beside him. It was Captain Mather who pulled him aside in time. From the window above came automatic fire, the driver and his mate firing into the melee.
"Into the truck, Fender!" he heard Captain Mather command.
We've got to help the others," he gasped, but a hard shove sent him reeling towards the back of the truck.
Well see to them! Grab a rifle if you can and get onto the tailboard.
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