Lair r-2

by James Herbert

  He brought his gloved hands up to protect himself, striking out at an evil, leering rat's head as it bared its incisors and prepared to bite.

  The rat scuttled away from him, to be immediately replaced by another.

  A choking cry escaped Fender as teeth ground into his forehead and he desperately tried to turn his body over to protect his face, his eyes.

  But they were too heavy for him; they held him pinned to the floor. He lashed out with his legs, rats clinging to them and making movement impossible. He folded his arms across his face, covering the exposed flesh as much as possible, twisting his body to prevent the vermin gripping firmly. The pain was terrible as they bit into him, every inch of his body, it seemed, caught in vice-like grips. The suit material began to tear and he knew it would soon be over, just seconds of searing pain and then blessed oblivion. His senses began to float, spiralling into a soft downward plunge, away from the terror. His eyes began to close, but they could still see the blueness above through the narrow gap between his forearms, and he was reluctant to let the sight go, unwilling to leave the world above but desperate to escape the hell below. His eyelids had almost completely closed and he was beginning to drift. Everything went black.

  And the noise was deafening.

  His consciousness returned with a shock and his eyes snapped open. The sky above had been blocked out by something huge and dark. The roaring sounds should have told him what was happening, but his mind was too confused, his senses not yet fully awakened from the lulling slumber they had been sinking into. The weight on his body was relieved as the vermin screeched in new panic and scattered into the deeper shadows of the underground chamber. Grit swirled in the air, driven down from the ruin above, stirring and mingling with the dust in the cellar, turning the cellar into a cauldron of thick, flying particles.

  Fender choked as the dirt clogged his open mouth and his wracked coughing stirred his body, making him sit and lean forward, shoulders heaving as he tried to breathe clean air. He covered his eyes, wiping away the dust with a gloved hand. Rats scuttled over and around him, ignoring him in their confusion. His mind began to sharpen when he saw there was still a chance left. He looked up, keeping his lids closed as much as possible, squinting through the hole above. The dark shape seemed to fill the opening, almost blocking out the sky completely, and it seemed as if he were looking up into the belly of a huge dragonfly.

  The sound of the whirring blades thundered in his ears as they created a vortex in the shell structure of the building, making a huge chimney of disturbed air. Reason told him the helicopter was hovering over the collapsed roof of the ruined house, but he felt he could almost reach through the tunnel and touch the great machine.

  He cried out in pain when he tried to rise and his hands went to his face again as a sticky substance threatened his vision. He wiped away the dust-encrusted blood and forced himself to stand. Fender caught a glimpse through the swirling mists of the crouching black creature watching him. He ran, pain forgotten, body disregarding its injuries.

  He staggered blindly towards the stairway, crashing into the wall, scattering the frightened rats lurking there, feeling his way along, reaching the bottom stair, dragging himself upwards, kicking down at the vermin clustered around his feet. They began to nip at his legs, striking back in fear but aware again that this was the enemy in their midst. Fender knew they would soon be all over him and he pulled at the rubble blocking the stairs, frantically clawing at the bricks, the dirt, the broken timber.

  The blockage suddenly collapsed inwards and he covered his head as the debris fell around him, pushing himself up, thrusting himself through to the floor above. He rose from the rubble like some filthy, bloodied monster from the earth's underworld, scrabbling free, crawling forward, rising on shaky legs and staggering through the burnt-out mansion. The interior walls, disturbed by the fierce down-draught of air, were beginning to crumble, stonework falling to the floor below.

  Fender kept going, his movements painfully slow, oblivious to the falling masonry, wanting only to be free from that dark, evil place. He did not know if the helicopter's crew were aware of his presence, nor did he care; he just wanted to be outside. He reached the room into which he and Whittaker had first scrambled in their attempt to escape the pursuing vermin, and made for the bent sheet of corrugated iron.

  He clambered up the debris to the opening and squeezed his body through, swiftly glancing back to see if he was being followed. He almost cried out in despair when he saw the big Black rat scuttling through the rubble to reach him. It may have come through the now unblocked stairway or, more likely, through its own escape hole the rats obviously had their own entrance into the cellar, a hole he had been unable to see in the gloom.

  Fender leapt from the outer window-sill into the beautiful, fresh, sunlit air, rolling down the incline of rubble, jumping up immediately, and running, feet dragging, but keeping going, refusing to fall. He saw the dark green van racing up the track over the field towards him, skidding when it reached the worst of the muddied area, hitting a fence post and knocking it flat. The wheels threw up showers of damp earth as the driver tried to get the vehicle clear.

  Fender ran towards it, gasping in air, using his last reserves of energy to reach the van. He twisted his head to see the rats slipping through the gap in the window, running down the rubble, and chasing towards him. Almost exhausted, adrenalin pumped through his system as he redoubled his efforts to get away. He knew he would never make it, the van was too far. Fender wanted to scream in frustration and his body sagged as his knees began to give.

  The sudden rush of air and whirring of the Gazelle's blades made his head jerk upwards. He turned and saw the helicopter swooping low over the pursuing vermin, making them crouch, then scatter. Bullets from the sub-machine-gun thudded into the earth, sending up fountains of blood when they struck the running bodies.

  Fender groaned with pleasure at the sight and rose, stumbling onwards.

  The green Conservation van had freed itself from the mud and was racing towards him once again. He went down, falling to his knees, one hand resting against the ground.

  "Luke!" he heard Jenny's voice scream.

  He looked up as the van skidded to a halt in front of him and the door flew open. Suddenly Jenny was there, arms around his shoulders, lifting him, pleading with him to move.

  Her voice shook with emotion and tears ran freely down her cheeks as she pulled him towards the van. He hardly looked human, his body and face covered in blood and dirt, his clothes hanging in tatters.

  Apprehension had filled her as she had headed for the lumbering, bedraggled form, for there was no telling which man it was: Whittaker or Fender? It was only when she brought the van to a screeching halt that she recognized him.

  "Luke, you must move please!" she begged.

  Fender willed himself to walk and Jenny pulled open the passenger door of the vehicle, helping him to clamber in. She slid the door shut and hurried round to the driver's side, aware that several rats were streaking towards her. She slammed the driver's door just as a rat leapt. It thudded against the metal and fell back to the ground. More muffled thumps followed as the rats ran round the vehicle and jumped up at it

  "Oh, Luke, Luke, what have they done to you?" Jenny moaned, taking Fender's torn face in her hands.

  He hardly had the breath or the strength to speak, but he managed to say, They're there in the house ... in the ... cellar. It's their ...

  lair. That's where ... they were ... all the time."

  Jenny screamed as the windscreen shattered and a rat perched on the jagged glass, head and shoulders not two feet away from Fender's face.

  With a shout of sheer rage, the rat catcher lashed out with his fist, hitting the black creature squarely on the forehead, knocking it back onto the earth below.

  "Get us out of here, Jenny!" he shouted.

  The van roared round in a tight circle, crushing several rats beneath its wheels. Fender was thrown against the
door and as his head hit the window, he saw the big Black rat with the strange scar crouched in the mud, its mouth open wide revealing long, yellow teeth. Its eyes glared up at him. Fender lost sight of it as the van completed the semicircle and raced back down the track in the direction from which it had come, skidding through the worst of the mud but gathering speed.

  Fender managed to turn in his seat and look through the rear windows.

  The helicopter was still hovering low, discharging its deadly spray.

  The rats, those not killed or badly injured, were scurrying back to safety back into the house itself.

  They've got to get them now!" he shouted at Jenny. "Now, before they have a chance to lose themselves in the forest!"

  They will, Luke! Look ahead!"

  Fender looked through the opening in the fractured glass on his side of the van, the air rushing in and stinging his raw face. He managed to smile grimly when he saw the convoy of army vehicles speeding down the lane leading from the gatehouses. He looked at Jenny. "How... ?"

  "Denison found slaughtered deer in the reserve. He radioed the Centre.

  I was in the operations room when his call came in." She carefully but swiftly steered the van through the open gate at the end of the field, rattling over the cattle-grid and narrowly avoiding Fender's parked Audi. "I knew you and Vie were here so I came for you. I couldn't wait for them to get organized, Luke, I just felt something was happening up here."

  Thank God you didn't," Fender said, looking at her profile and loving every inch of it.

  They were directing the helicopter to your last location when I left.

  Oh Luke, I'm so glad I came straight away."

  Fender tried to touch her shoulder but either the van was jolting too much or his hand was too shaky.

  The Conservation vehicle came to an abrupt halt, throwing Fender forward. Jenny's arm shot across his chest preventing him from hitting the dashboard. He turned to face her and realized why she had stopped so suddenly. Her door flew open and Captain Mather was staring anxiously at her.

  "Good God!" he said when he saw Fender.

  The rat catcher pushed forward across Jenny's lap, his face a red, grime-filled mask, a flap of skin hanging loosely from one cheek.

  You've got to destroy the house, Mather," he said urgently. The ...

  the last of the rats are in there. Underground. In the cellar.

  They're trapped."

  "Luke," Jenny cut in. Where's Vie? Is he still in the house?"

  Fender paused before answering. He looked at Jenny. "He's in there.

  But he's dead. He didn't have a chance."

  "How many vermin are still alive?" asked Mather.

  "I don't know a couple of hundred maybe." His voice became low. The mutant's in there what's left of it. The creature we searched the sewers for."

  Mather's mouth dropped open. "So that was their hiding place," he said.

  Fender nodded. "It was their lair just the main force hid in the sewers. You've got to move fast, Mather finish them off now!"

  The officer turned away without another word and within seconds the whole convoy was moving forward towards the house.

  Jenny engaged first gear. "I've got to get you to a hospital, Luke.

  You've been hurt badly."

  He stretched out a hand, this time managing to close it over hers on the gear stick He gently eased it back into neutral.

  "Not yet. I want to see them destroy the house first. I want to see it completely demolished. Then it will be over for me, Jenny. No more rats, no more hate. Just us, from now on."

  She smiled, a sad, tearful smile, and reached for his face, careful to touch it lightly. She brushed some of the dust away from his eyes.

  Then she nodded slowly.

  They watched the Scorpions pound the walls of the old mansion until the shell collapsed inwards, falling with a tired but almost triumphant roar. Then mortars blasted the debris until the house was nothing but piled dust and rubble, while soldiers armed with flame-throwers and machine-guns stood by at a safe distance, ready to destroy any living thing that tried to escape the destruction. But nothing tried to escape. Nothing could.

  When the guns fell silent, the smoke drifting away, the dust sinking, a calmness seemed to settle over the woodlands. The green van's engine started up again and the vehicle moved slowly along the rough track through the pine forest, heading for the estate's main gate.

  A breeze sprang up and it seemed to Fender, who was gazing back through an open window at the vermin's funeral pyre, that the very trees were breathing a gentle sigh of relief.

  Epjjogue

  The rain poured from the night sky giving the forest below a heavy, glistening coat. A man crouched in the undergrowth, shivering in his blue tracksuit, his eyes on the concrete path that fringed that part of the woodland. He hadn't visited the forest for a long time, not since discovering the remains of two bodies when he had fallen into a dip.

  They said the woodland really was clear now, that there was no danger at all; but not many people believed them, not many wanted to take the chance. This part was hardly forest at all and certainly had nothing to do with Epping Forest, even though it was adjoining. The suburbs of the city stretched for miles in front of him, the concrete pavement the woodland's boundary. Yet still he was nervous and every so often he would glance over his shoulder and peer into the darkness.

  His need had been too great to resist any longer. His mother God, how he wished he could have fed that cow to the rats -had nagged, nagged, nagged for the past week, not stopping once to draw breath, driving him mad, driving him out. Just because he had refused to go in to school.

  She didn't understand: he couldn't when he felt this way it might lead to his committing a misdemeanour there. He would be all right after tonight. For a while, anyway. The rain ran off his forehead and down to the end of his nose where it formed an overhanging droplet. He tensed when he heard clattering footsteps.

  From the dark of the undergrowth behind, four pairs of small, slanted eyes watched the man. Their bristle-haired fur was sleeked black with wetness, their bodies thin and wasted as though they had not eaten well for a long time. Pointed noses twitched in the damp air, sensing prey.

  One began to creep towards the hidden man, its incisors bared and haunches raised, quivering.

  Another of the creatures moved swiftly in front and forced the creeping rat to run. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.

  The rats melted into the night, stealing away but not venturing far into the forest they now feared and hated. The ground sloped upwards and the vermin kept their bodies low in the grass, using every inch of cover, crawling and skulking, the only way they could survive. One led the way, the other three keeping close, subservient and dependent upon it. The group reached the crest of the hill and were dazzled by the millions of silver and orange lights spread out for miles before them.

  The lead rat gazed at the city, the pinpoints of light reflecting in its eyes, the raindrops finding a crude channel in the scar that ran the length of its head. The Black rat's mouth opened and a hissing noise came from its throat.

  It moved forward, down the hill, heading for the lights, back to the city. The others followed.

  ___________________________________

  JAMES HERBERT is not just Britain's number one best selling writer of thriller horror fiction, a position he has held ever since publication of his first novel, but is one of our greatest popular novelists, whose books are sold in thirty-three other languages, including Russian and Chinese. Widely imitated and hugely influential, his nineteen novels have sold more than forty-two million copies worldwide.

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: da9df261-eae1-4a98-b85b-48b316b8cedb

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 28.5.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.53, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software

  Document authors :

  James Herbert


  About

  This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.

  (This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)

  Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.

  (Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)

  http://www.fb2epub.net

  https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/