Lair r-2

by James Herbert

  Fender stared at him in disbelief.

  "It's true, Luke," Lehmann said quietly. "I've seen the drawings myself. And what was left of the animal. According to Harris, it was blind and too heavy to move itself; totally defenceless. It really was a pity he hacked it to bits."

  "I don't blame him," said Fender. "I'd have done the same."

  Lehmann came straight back at him. "No you wouldn't have. You know the value of such a freak animal. We could have studied it, discovered what had caused the mutation

  "Bred your own mutant..."

  "Yes, even that. That way we might have stood a chance of controlling them in the future. If we knew more about them..."

  Howard held up a hand. "All right, Mike. I think Luke takes your point." He stood, then leaned back against the desk, looking down at the rat catcher We need to know if that particular strain has come through again. After a generation, it's quite possible."

  "You mean there might be two kinds of mutant rat."

  Howard nodded. "Just that. If there are, we still consider it best that it be kept secret. The giant Black rat on its own is terrifying enough."

  A suspicion began to creep into Fender's mind. "So?" he asked warily.

  "We've taken you into our confidence, Mr. Fender, because you have been involved in this particular operation from the start," said Thornton. "Indeed, your contribution has been remarkable."

  "And, as one of the few people who know of the original mutant's existence, there is something we would like you to do," said Howard.

  Fender's eyes widened and he felt his back stiffen as he listened.

  He drove with Jenny to his hotel where they ate a dismal meal, mostly in silence. Fender was too fatigued and his body too sore to make light conversation. And his thoughts dwelt too much on the task he was to perform in two or three days' time.

  Jenny sensed his mood and she, too, found it difficult to talk of trivial things. She drank her wine, then ran a finger around the rim of the glass.

  "Luke," she said, breaking the silence between them. "I don't want to go back to the Centre tonight."

  He looked at her in surprise. It's perfectly safe there, Jenny. The whole area's floodlit, it's surrounded by troops. There's no possible danger."

  "It's not that. I am afraid, yes, but I know it's safe. I haven't slept too well the last couple of nights, knowing the forest has been infested. It'll never be the same for me again."

  "It's over now, Jenny. They're gone."

  "Are they? Can we be sure?"

  We will be in a couple of weeks' time. That's all it will take to search the area. Then you can go back to your work without any fears."

  "I don't think so. The forest used to be a wonderfully pure place to me, somewhere I escaped to; now it's different. It's tainted."

  He sighed. "I'm sorry it's been spoiled for you."

  She took her eyes away from the glass and looked directly at Fender. "I want to stay with you tonight, Luke," she said.

  A strange sensation ran through him: a thrill, but not of the triumphant kind. He realized he was deeply touched.

  "Jenny, I..." he began to say.

  "Please, Luke."

  He reached for her hand. "Jenny, you don't have to say please to me. I should be hopping up and down with lecherous glee, but..."

  '... but you're not. I know that, Luke. I know your feelings towards me." Her eyes went back to the glass again. "At least, I think I do,"

  she added.

  He gripped her hand tightly and smiled. "My feelings are confused just at this moment, Jenny. There's so much going on and I have to admit my nerves are a little frazzled. But one thing's for sure: there's no way I'll let you leave me tonight."

  Her eyes lifted and she smiled back at him. His depression evaporated and he felt he could sink into that smile. Her hand trembled in his, just slightly, and he knew she, too, experienced the same confusion of emotions.

  "Vie Whittaker, Jenny?" he forced himself to ask.

  Her face became serious, her eyes almost earnest. There's been nothing between us, please believe me. Some understanding, some mutual sympathy, but nothing beyond that. If Vie felt there was more, then it was in his own mind."

  "And us? Is it just an understanding?"

  "No, it's not just that. We're both aware there's more to it. Just how much is something we have to find out."

  "Okay," he said. "Let's not try to analyse it. Let's just see what happens."

  Now it was her turn to grip his hand tightly. "One thing, Luke," she said. "No games. I'm not playing games."

  "Jenny," he replied, and her name felt good to say. "I couldn't be more serious."

  They left the dining-room and Fender felt his weariness begin to disappear. They climbed the stairs and he let her into his room, thankful that, at Ratkill's expense, he always booked himself a double room when on field trips. Jenny placed her shoulder-bag on the floor and stood in the centre of the room waiting for him to close the door and switch on the light. Then she was in his arms, looking up at him, examining his face as though for the first time. His lips reached down for hers, but the movement was slow, almost tentative, both of them giving the moment its full meaning. When their lips joined, the kiss was soft, moist. Then it became firm and they felt themselves swimming into each other, seeking but becoming lost, plunging until their probing was done and they had found each other. All in a simple kiss, and Fender was almost afraid of it. Never had he felt so vulnerable.

  He was suddenly aware of the crushing tightness with which he held her and the pain in his bruised back told him her grip was just as tight.

  She felt the sudden flinching of his muscles and realized she was hurting him.

  "I'm sorry, Luke," she said, relaxing her hold.

  But he was smiling at her and she wasn't surprised to see the mistiness in his eyes, for she looked at him through her own blurred vision. She rested her head against his chest, conscious of his heartbeat, feeling small in his arms. He kissed her hair and ran a hand beneath it, touching her neck, caressing the skin behind her ears. Her arms encircled his waist and this time he cried out as she squeezed him.

  "Oh, Luke, Luke, I'm so sorry."

  He laughed and held her away from him. "Me too, Jenny. It looks like I'm going to be a disappointment to you."

  We'll see," she said, smiling wickedly. "Let's try and do something about your wounds first, shall we?" She reached down into her bag.

  Take off your jacket and shirt and let's have a look at you. I brought some ointment from the medical supplies that should do your bruises some good."

  Fender winced as he shed his jacket, slowing the operation down to cause the least movement in his sore limbs. She watched him struggle, concern on her face.

  "Here, let me help you." She eased the jacket from his shoulders and laid it over one of the room's two armchairs. Then she began to unbutton his shirt.

  "Oh God, Luke. They really did get at you."

  His shoulders and back were covered in small, red weals where the rats'

  teeth had sunk into the material of the protective clothing and pinched his skin together. Still in evidence, but to a lesser degree, were the long undefined scratch marks where the creatures' claws had raked him.

  Much of the skin around his shoulders and upper arms was turning a sickly purplish yellow and there were clear indents made by sharp teeth on either side of his wrist.

  "Why didn't you say it was this bad?" Jenny said. "You must have been in agony."

  "I didn't realize myself. It's only now it's really beginning to hurt."

  "I'm going to run a bath for you. That should stop some of the bruising." She made for the bathroom. "Get out of the rest of your things. I'll rub the ointment in after you've bathed."

  "I'll look forward to it," he said, grinning.

  He heard the sound of running taps and looked down at himself sheepishly. He shrugged, then whipped off his shoes and trousers. His underpants barely disguised his feelings. Sitting on the
bed, he stripped off his socks, then sat there, feeling a little awkward. A towel came sailing from the bathroom.

  "Use this if you're feeling bashful," Jenny's voice called out.

  He pulled the towel from his head where it had landed and stood, tugging briskly at the last garment as he did so. The towel was round his waist within seconds. Fender looked up to see Jenny smiling at him from the doorway, steam from the hot water billowing over her shoulders.

  "My, my, such modesty," she said.

  She came towards him and her expression changed to one of concern once again.

  Tour poor legs. Lucky you were wearing the protective clothing you'd have been eaten alive if you hadn't."

  Jenny touched his shoulders, his arms, his chest, her fingers gentle.

  He pulled her close and she said, "Careful, Luke," but her words were smothered under his kiss. When their lips parted, she was breathing sharply, an urgency in her eyes. Her hand reached up to his cheek and he could feel himself pressing into her, the rough towel threatening to loosen and fall at any moment. His lips sought hers again.

  She pulled away. "No. Not just yet. Let's see to your wounds first."

  Fender drew in a deep breath and tightened the towel at his waist.

  "You're the boss for now," he said.

  She kissed his chest, quickly and lightly. "Into the bath with you.

  I'll be there in a minute."

  The splash of water and his muffled groans told her he had immersed himself as she picked up his clothes, folding them and placing them neatly over the arm of the chair. She walked towards the bathroom, unbuttoning the sleeves of her blouse as she went.

  Jenny looked down at his naked form in the bath, the still-running water rippling over his body and distorting it. Leaning forward, she turned off the taps, then stirred the water into swirling eddies with her hand, mixing the hot with the cold. When the currents settled down she examined his body, for the moment ignoring the injuries to study his shape. She smiled approvingly.

  Jenny began unbuttoning her blouse. She slipped the silk from her shoulders in a fluid movement and hung the garment on a hook behind the bathroom door. She was bra-less and Fender gazed at her breasts, the twin points risen and pink.

  She knelt beside the bath and rested her arms on its edge, looking into his face and loving what she saw. He stretched his neck forward and they kissed once, twice, three times. He opened his mouth to speak, but she pressed a finger to his lips, then reached for the flannel and wiped the moisture from his face.

  Fender closed his eyes and let Jenny bathe him, her hands soft and caressing, smoothing the soap over his limbs, spending more care and attention than necessary on his aroused penis, leaning over the bath to gently kiss it. He groaned, but in pleasure this time, reaching for her, cupping a breast in his hand. Then he leaned forward, his upper body clear of the water, one arm encircling her naked back, his head bending low, lips seeking a thrusting nipple. He caressed it with his tongue, leaving a trail of moisture across her chest as he sought the other.

  Jenny moaned and closed her eyes, wanting him badly now, the muscles in her thighs becoming taut. She pushed him back, gently but firmly, determined to ease his pain first. She sponged the soap from his body in silence, relishing his touch, his fingers running smoothly over her breasts, the insides of her arms, along her neck. Then she drew him from the water, and gently patted him dry, pulling the towel over his aroused organ, then beneath it, squeezing his testicles without force but nevertheless causing him to draw in his breath. Once more she kissed him there, allowing his penis to enter her mouth, drawing the first drops of sticky fluid from it, holding his hips as he moved slowly.

  Then he was pulling her up, knowing he was losing control and wanting her fully. He held her against him, pressing her nakedness into his, their kisses no longer tentative, but hard and thrusting, their tongues meeting and tasting each other's sweetness. His hand fell to her waist and he pulled at the zip fastener, the skirt falling away from his grasp. Her tights came next, her shoes already gone, and as he drew the nylon down her thighs, he kissed her stomach causing it to contract as though stung, her hands closing over the back of his head. He allowed his lips to linger, drawing them down to the silky material of her panties, feeling the soft resistance of hair beneath them, pressing into it with his tongue.

  He rose and she moved closer into him, saying his name softly. His hand, trembling and nervous, touched the outside of her thigh, then stole inwards, reaching into her panties, smoothing its way through her hair, sinking low and reaching the moist entrance to her body, his fingers piercing gently. She shuddered and leaned her head against his chest.

  She reached for him, pressing herself against his hand, wanting more of him.

  "Jenny," he said, knowing neither could hold back much longer, and she paid heed, relaxing her grip, desperate now to have him inside her, filling her body with his own, wanting every inch, every nerve-end pressed against his skin.

  He led her from the bathroom and laid her on the bed, drawing off the last piece of clothing, standing over her, gazing down at her body, the long, long legs, the smooth flatness of her stomach, the breasts so full, hardly losing their shape now she was lying on her back. She raised a hand towards him and he sank down on to her, finding her lips, and kissing them with a tenderness that overrode desire. Her arms clasped around his shoulders and she pulled him tight, forgetting his bruises. His legs were between hers, her knees raised just slightly on either side, and his penis pressed against her stomach, a thin trickle of fluid leaving a narrow, silver trail as he lowered himself. He reached down and guided himself into her, wanting to be gentle, resisting the screaming desire to thrust himself forward. Her head turned to one side as he entered and her hips rose to meet him, urging him on, demanding him there, deep, penetrating, wanting his whole length, her hands reaching down to his lower back, pulling him in.

  Her soft moans turned to a whimper and he paused, raising his head so he could look into her face. She turned her head back to him and her eyes shone, her smile strained, her expression pleading. Then he could hold back no longer: he pulled away and thrust forward again, hard, rigid as iron, but as soft as velvet. She thrust with him, her excitement rising with his, her eyes half-closed, her knees striving to press together, gripping him, silently calling for more, more, more.

  His teeth bit into her neck, making her cry out and he couldn't be sure if it was from pleasure or pain. Or both. He felt her limbs stiffening, felt her breath held, felt her silent scream, felt his muscles becoming taut, the liquid beginning to flow, seeming to draw itself from every part of his body, stretching every nerve until he thought they would tear, then the sweet ascending, the bursting through, the tightness of her inner muscles, the relaxing of nerves, the floating fall, the sighs that told him their pleasure had been shared, the sinking against her and the draining contentment.

  They held each other for a long, silent time, she softly stroking his back, he with his head tucked into her hair that flowed across the pillow.

  You weren't," she said finally.

  He raised his head slightly. "Huh?" he murmured.

  "A disappointment."

  He grinned and allowed his head to slump back into her hair. Twisting his body, Fender withdrew from her and slid an arm beneath her neck. He pulled her close, kissing her cheek, then her lips. Both felt at peace, the traumas of the last few days laid aside for the moment.

  After a while, Jenny said, "I wish we never had to go back."

  "It will be all over soon."

  "It never will be for me. Not now. I thought I'd find something here some respite. It's been shattered in a way I never dreamed of."

  "Respite from what?"

  She turned her head away from him and became quiet. Fender touched her chin with his hand and drew her face back towards him.

  Tell me, Jenny."

  She searched his eyes for several moments before speaking. "Coming to the Centre was a kind of retreat for
me. I suppose I wanted to get away from life for a while. I thought living there, working with children, helping them understand the simple way of nature would un complicate my own life. It hasn't really worked."

  "What were you running away from?"

  The obvious; I think you can guess. The ironic part is that I promised myself I'd never get involved with a married man. My father left us years ago under those circumstances. We never even knew he was unhappy until the day he told us he was leaving. I'd always taken his love, his being there, for granted; I think my mother had too. To have that security taken away so suddenly and irrevocably was shattering. I watched what it did to my mother, how it changed her, the bitterness it left in her, and it frightened me. Sixteen years of marriage wiped out as though it had been a trivial affair.

  "I still saw my father, I still loved him. But the change was in him.