You can use it from there!"
Fender scrambled along the side of the vehicle, kicking out at vermin as they threw themselves at him. With each blow they would stagger back, then advance on him again. Someone fell at his feet, his body almost invisible beneath the covering of bristling vermin. His cries were terrible to hear and Fender saw the red gushing liquid that sprayed over the backs of the frenzied rats. The man's suit had given and now the vermin were driven on by the smell of blood. He knew the man was beyond help, his mind cold to the fact, and he staggered around the struggling heap, the rats now bypassing him for more easy prey.
Fender saw the weapon lying only yards away from the truck, its black-metal surface soiled with mud. He lumbered towards it, clumsy in his suit, for the moment ignored by the vermin. He went down on one knee to retrieve the fallen weapon. Just in time he saw a rat launch itself into the air at him and he rose to meet it, grabbing the automatic by the barrel and swinging it like a club. The butt met the leaping animal in mid-air with a sickening crunch and the rat fell limply to the ground.
Without further thought, Fender reversed the weapon and began pumping a spray of bullets into the nearest vermin, avoiding the figures of his companions but well aware of his lack of marksmanship. He began to back away towards the rear of the truck, staggering under the impact of the rats that managed to escape the hail of bullets, but determinedly keeping his feet. His back bumped something solid and he was surprised when he felt himself rising, two hands gripped under his shoulders. Two soldiers pulled him into the truck, while three others fired down into the glade. One of the two who had lifted him quickly and efficiently dealt with a rat that had refused to let go of its quarry, using the edge of a bayonet to slice the mutant's throat. He kicked the body down among its thronging companions.
Fender pulled himself to his feet, realizing these men had been lucky enough to make it to the truck, and were now using it as a fort from which to strike back. The two that had rescued him were guarding the entrance, hitting out with bayonets at the vermin trying to scramble up into the cavernous interior, while the other three killed as many as possible with gunfire. Captain Mather suddenly appeared below, extending a hand to be pulled up. Miraculously, he was free of clinging rats as Fender reached down and grabbed his wrist. The rat catcher heaved and Mather came up into the interior.
"Help's on the way!" the officer shouted over the din. The men in the truck radioed HQ as soon as they saw us in trouble."
We've got to help the others," Fender shouted back. Those suits won't hold out much longer. The rats are too strong!"
"Right! We'll get them! I've told the driver to reverse slowly. He'll stop and start at my signal." Captain Mather suddenly thumped his hand against the side of the truck and it began to trundle slowly backwards, bumping over sudden rises, jolting down into small dips. The army officer banged twice again as they neared two struggling figures slightly to the right. The truck stopped.
"You and you!" He patted two soldiers on the back. "Get them up here, help one at a time! The rest of you use concentrated covering fire!
Go!"
Without hesitation, the two assigned soldiers leapt from the tailboard, bayonets grasped in their fists. They launched themselves at the first man, mercilessly using their weapons against the vermin, the soldiers in the truck keeping them reasonably protected with well-aimed fire-power. The relieved man was hauled back to the vehicle where others dragged him into shelter. The two soldiers dashed back to the other man and the process was repeated, again successfully. Captain Mather struck the side of the truck again as the two soldiers clambered up, their bayonets thick with blood.
"You two next!" Mather ordered, slapping the backs of two different soldiers as another figure was reached, this one rolling over an dover on the ground. They disappeared over the side, but this time yet another soldier had to be sent out as a rescuer and was almost overcome by black bodies. They made it back to the truck and virtually threw their companion into it, quickly climbing up behind him.
Mather ran deeper into the interior and, lifting his visor, shouted at the soldiers in the cab. "Bring your wheel down hard left! There's a group of men about ten yards in that direction."
The vehicle lurched forward, the wheels churning up mud, bouncing over the prostrate forms of dead or wounded vermin. Mather banged the side again as they approached a figure lying ominously still in the undergrowth. Fender turned his head away in shock.
The man's helmet had either been knocked accidentally or pulled from his head. Five rats squatted around the exposed face and gorged themselves. Others systematically tore at his suit, gnawing at the material, wearing it thin.
In a rage the soldiers began firing into them, regardless of the human body, knowing the man was dead.
"Leave them!" Captain Mather ordered dispassionately. We can't help the poor sod now, and at least his body is keeping them occupied!" He kicked at the side of the truck and it drove on.
Fender was horrified at the officer's cold logic, but he knew Mather was right. The living had to be their main concern. He leaned against the side of the truck, grasping an iron support to keep balanced. It wasn't the scratching sound that attracted his attention, for the noise of the rifle fire was deafening: it was the furious indents that were appearing all over the thick canvas covering.
"Mather!" he yelled. They're trying to get through the roof."
Mather glanced up. "Shit," he said. Then "Forget them. If we shoot through the canvas we'll only make holes that the others can use to their advantage. We'll keep an eye on them and shoot only when it's necessary." With that, he turned his attention back to the action below.
Fender raised the automatic rifle to his shoulder, spotted a rat wriggling its way into the vehicle at one corner, kicked out with venom, sending it toppling back, then began firing at random. It felt good to kill.
The next man to be hauled in was Vie Whittaker. He lay on his back on the floor of the truck, his chest heaving with exhaustion. His suit had held, but Fender could see several places where the material had begun to give. The tutor had been rescued just in time.
Fender knelt beside him for a moment. "Are you okay?" he yelled.
Whittaker reached for his visor, intending to push it up, and Fender grabbed a wrist.
"I can't breathe," Whittaker moaned. "I must have air."
"Just for a moment, then!" Fender shouted, lifting the plastic face-mask with his gloved fingers. The tutor gratefully sucked in air.
"Where was Apercello?" Fender asked. "Did you see him?"
Whittaker shook his head from side to side. "No ... no ... he went down ... then I lost sight of ... him. I think ... his helmet... came off as he ... fell."
Fender rose, his face white and drawn. He now knew whose face it was the vermin had been eating. He began firing into the scuttling bodies again.
They managed to rescue one more man before the first rat broke through the canvas roof. There were at least a dozen men inside, seven including Fender, crowded into the opening, firing down at the rats.
The others, those that had been rescued, lay on the floor groaning, clutching their bruised and, for some, torn flesh. It was these the rat dropped down onto.
Fender and Mather wheeled round at the sudden outburst of cries and saw the injured man kicking out at the Black rat which ran among them, confused and frightened.
The roof!" Mather shouted as another black shape dropped through the gaping hole. "Quickly! Shoot them!" He shot the second rat as it fell, its body jerking in mid-air.
Fender and another soldier began spraying the canvas ceiling with bullets, tearing it to shreds, but instantly killing the rats that were clawing their way through. The bodies plummeted into the truck and the men drew themselves away, not sure if the creatures were dead.
The interior was suddenly bright as daylight broke through the tattered roof and Fender saw one of the injured men struggling in the far corner with what presumably had been the first mutant
to gain access. The man's visor was up and Fender saw it was Whittaker.
The rat catcher scooped up a bloodied bayonet which lay at the feet of a soldier now using his automatic rifle, and stumbled over the recumbent figures and dead vermin towards Whittaker, knowing it would be too dangerous to use the rifle in the confined space.
There was a nasty gash in the tutor's cheek where the giant rat had slashed him either with teeth or claws. He was desperately trying to hold the rat's gnashing teeth away from his face, his hands around the creature's neck. The rat's eyes bulged as Whittaker squeezed and its hind legs raked the tutor's body in a demented motion.
Fender fell to his knees before the struggling tutor, locked an arm beneath the rat's lower jaw and began pulling it away from Whittaker's exposed face. He raised the bayonet and carefully, deliberately, slid the tip to a point beneath the rat's ribcage. Then he struck deep, twisting the blade and drawing it down.
Dark blood poured from the creature's abdomen, flooding over the tutor, soaking him. The rat twitched spasmodically, trying to turn its head and strike at the man who had inflicted the mortal injury. But it was no use; Fender held it tight until the twitching had stopped and life had gone.
"Oh my God, oh my God," was all Whittaker could say.
Fender looked up as a shadow was cast over him. Captain Mather banged three times on the back of the driver's cabin and the vehicle suddenly lurched to a halt. It then began to move forward, gathering speed as it went.
Mather turned towards Fender. That was the signal to get us out of here," he explained. There's nothing we can do for the others without all of us being killed. It's regrettable, but that's how it is."
Fender felt the shock again. Leaving men to die in that way.
"As far as I could ascertain," the officer said apologetically, 'there were only two men still alive, and they looked pretty much done in.
There was blood on them. These useless bloody suits..." he left the sentence unfinished. "I'm sure the others were dead."
He rose and made his way to the rear of the truck where the soldiers, relieved to retreat, were firing back at the creatures in the forest glade. Fender joined them and saw the vermin were making no attempt to pursue but, for the briefest of seconds, he found himself staring directly into the eyes of a mutant which stood apart from the others, a curious white streak running the length of its head. He was thrown to one side as the vehicle jolted into a dip and when he looked again, the rat was gone. He closed his eyes and breathed a silent prayer.
Soon the soldiers stopped firing, for their targets were out of sight.
None felt like cheering as the truck jolted its way back to the road, not even when other army vehicles came racing towards them. They were too exhausted. And they felt too defeated.
FIFTEEN
He found Stephen Howard in the lecture hall, a large map of Epping Forest before him, with Mike Lehmann and Antony Thoraton seated on either side. There were others present at the long table, but Fender strode briskly towards the research director without looking at their faces. The Centre itself was alive with activity which increased considerably on the arrival of the recently besieged men. The injured had been able to walk, albeit painfully, to the classroom set up as a makeshift medical room, although one or two had to be half-supported.
All their companions wanted to do was to calm their jangled nerves with a quiet smoke.
Howard looked up as Fender approached the table.
"Luke. The radio message said you were under attack..."
We were." Fender began to remove the heavy gloves, his plastic-visored helmet already discarded and lying somewhere in the reception area.
There were rats on the outside, in the trees."
"But we thought they were all in the sewers," said Lehmann.
They've either got an exit we haven't discovered yet, or ... they were outside all the time."
"Our patrols would have spotted them."
Fender turned to regard Major Cormack who was seated at the table, his back to the rat catcher "I don't think so.
They've remained hidden for a long time now. Besides, who would think of looking up into the trees?" He turned his attention back to the research director. We've got to use the gas immediately, while we've got the majority trapped."
"But we don't know that all the exits have been blocked yet," said Thornton.
"We have to take that chance; we can't waste any more time. If they suddenly make up their minds that they want out, nothing will stop them."
"I agree with Luke," said Lehmann. "It appears to be too dangerous to send out small groups to seal the holes anyway."
"How many of these groups are out at the moment?" asked Thornton.
"Seven," Howard answered promptly. "Roughly in these areas." His fingers stabbed seven times at the map before him.
"Call them in," said Thornton, firmly. "No point in risking further lives. We'll do as Mr. Fender requests: use the gas immediately."
"But if they should break free? If they can't be contained ... ?"
Fender recognized the voice and turned towards Edward Whitney-Evans.
The cyanide gas will work within seconds and the pumps are powerful enough to penetrate deeply. They shouldn't have a chance to escape."
Major Cormack tapped the map thoughtfully. I think we have enough men to cover any area above the sewers we think particularly vulnerable. We could cover the whole blessed network if necessary, although that would mean thinning our perimeter considerably. Flame-throwers and machine-gun fire should take care of any beggars breaking loose, provided we keep a sharp lookout."
Stephen Howard leaned forward. You realize we can't provide your men with protective suits. There just aren't enough."
Fender smiled grimly. "I'm afraid the suits don't give enough protection. We left six or seven men back there in the forest who would testify to that if they were still alive."
There was an uncomfortable silence for a few moments, which was eventually broken by Thornton. "How many rats attacked you? Have you any idea?"
Fender shook his head. "It seemed like thousands they were everywhere but in reality I don't think there were more than a couple of hundred."
"Good God, that many? We imagined they were a small isolated group."
"Hopefully, there's even less now. We ran into your reinforcements on the way up. They should have destroyed quite a few."
"I'm afraid not." Captain Mather had appeared at the rat catcher side.
We've just had word by radio. When the troops got to the area, there were no rats in evidence. Plenty of dead ones those we killed but no living rats. Apart from what was left of our men, and the vermin corpses, the area was deserted."
Fender made his way towards the improvised medical room at the end of the corridor the same room where Jan Wimbush had been attacked only two nights before. He glanced into a classroom to his right as he passed, surprised at its dramatic transformation. It now had the total appearance of a military operations room, banks of radio equipment stretched along one wall, blocking out half the light from the picture windows, an enlarged, mounted map displaying numerous coloured pointers spread out on the joined tables in the centre of the room, and machinery some looking like television monitoring sets, others like radar scanners that Fender could not hope to recognize. A constant hubbub came from the room and he wondered how anyone could think, let alone direct operations from there. Mingling with the brown uniforms of the military were the dark blue uniforms of the police. A joint operation. He hoped they wouldn't get in each other's way.
He passed on and entered the last classroom where the injured soldiers were being treated. It wasn't meant to cope with any serious crisis, for there were enough proper hospitals in the surrounding suburban areas; it was only a place to attend to minor injuries, cuts and bruises. The Warden's wife, Tessa Milton, was busy organizing tea and coffee for the soldiers who were good-humouredly asking for whisky and gin, while the medical officers were dabbing at thei
r wounds with treated pads. He saw Vie Whittaker near a window, Jenny clearing the blood from the gash in his face, and he headed towards them.
Tessa Milton caught him lightly by the arm as he passed. "Oh, Mr.
Fender. Is there any news of the other groups?"
They're being called back in," the rat catcher told her, realizing she was concerned about her husband who was with one of the search-parties.
They haven't run into any trouble yet they'd have radioed in if they had. We were just unlucky, that's all."
She smiled up at him, the anxiety still in her eyes. "I'm sure you're right. Did you get hurt?"
"A few flesh pinches, bruises. No cuts." He was suddenly aware of just how painful those 'pinches' were.
"Jolly good," she said brightly. Would you like some tea? Or coffee?"
"No thanks. I've got to get back out there. We're going to gas the sewers."
Tessa frowned and was about to ask another question, but Fender excused himself and walked over to Jenny and Whittaker.
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