When Harris had thought of the idea, he’d blurted it out almost immediately without giving himself time to think. If he had, he reflected later, he would probably have held his tongue with the notion that it was too simple, too broad in concept, and that if it had any merit, then one of the shrewder, more scientific members of the team would have produced it.
The idea, stemming from a previous team meeting, was basically this: as gas was the only proven method of destroying the vermin, they had to be lured into the open for the gas to be effected upon them; this could be achieved by the use of ultrasonic sound beams set up at strategic points all over the city sending out sound-waves to the widest area possible, luring the rats into the open where the gas could be used.
To Harris’ amazement, the idea was agreed on in principle with only slight reservations; a few refinements to be thrashed out. London would have to be evacuated. It was drastic, but then the consequences would be fatal if the necessary steps were not taken. Londoners would have to leave their homes and migrate to the surrounding countryside if they were to escape the effects of the vast quantity of gas that had to be used. Evacuation was essential anyway to avoid the attacks from the rats. Safety could not be guaranteed any more. Huge enclosures would be built in the parks, as many as possible in the time, and the transmitters placed inside where the high-frequency sound waves would be sent out. The right pitch could easily be found by testing captive black rats. Once inside the enclosures, the entrances would be blocked and the deadly gas poured in. Because of the danger to anyone on the ground, helicopters would be used to hover over the enclosures to drop the gas into them, and ground troops would stand by outside in heavily armoured trucks armed with water-cannons, flame throwers and more gas. The building of the compounds and the complete evacuation of London(save for those people vital to the running of the city’s essential services) would have to be achieved within six days at the most–otherwise the risk of the fast multiplying rodents completely overrunning the city would be too great. It was no time to ponder over the very existence of the vermin; their size, their strength, where they’d originated from, how their numbers had grown despite the virus, why they were so much more cunning than the smaller of their species (what gave them the instinct to lie low while the infection was taking effect on their companions). All these questions would have to be answered later. For now it was a question of survival.
That day–the plan had to be created, devised and put into action throughout the night–the city was declared to be in a state of emergency. The inhabitants were informed they were to be evacuated in sections, although thousands left without any urging at all on hearing of the night’s events; village halls, churches, schools–all public buildings were to be used as temporary shelters; huge marquees and tents were to be erected in fields; people were asked to stay with relatives if they had any in other parts of the country; an order was made known that looters would be shot on sight; any unauthorised person found in London after the sixth day would be arrested (it was known that all the people living in the city would never be cleared but at least the emergency laws would keep them indoors and hopefully away from harm).
Mercifully, the area south of the river had not been affected as yet, but it was decided to clear the inner boundaries of the sprawling suburbs as an extra precaution.
Many people protested; they didn’t want to leave their homes, they weren’t afraid of the vermin. But they were given no choice–if they wouldn’t leave peacefully, then they were forced, there being no time for politeness or argument. The period of exile would be two weeks from the day of the first gas onslaught.
Time would be needed to ensure that every last rodent was exterminated; the sewers would be completely and utterly filled with gas; basements, tunnels, ruins–any possible place that could harbour the vermin would be cleared and thoroughly cleansed.
Whether the shame and the disgrace in the eyes of the world would ever be erased was another matter.
The barricades around the parks went up in remarkably swift time, then’ use being more to confine the gas in a more concentrated area than to contain the rats. The roads out of London were jammed with cars and coaches, and trains ran non-stop services into the neighbouring provinces. Troops poured in to patrol the streets and to train for the emergency. More protective clothing was mass-produced in a very short time for the police and army. Any public demonstration was quickly broken up and dealt with, peacefully if possible.
At first, it looked as though the city would never be ready for the oncoming battle but miraculously–and mostly due to the co-operation, caused by fear, of the public–on the fifth day the stage was almost set.
Last minute conferences were held, revisions to existing plans made, final instructions to helicopter crews and the army given, and then the long vigil through the empty night, waiting for the dawn and the deciding climax it would bring.
Harris and Judy had laid awake most of the night, making love, talking–trying to push thoughts of the on-coming day’s events from then’ minds. They’d finally fallen into fitful sleep as the grey dawn forced the night darkness aside, the sun slowly rising upon a strangely still city.
When they awoke, their tiredness evaporated instantly as thoughts of the day flooded then’ minds. Judy cooked a breakfast which was left almost untouched and they made ready to go out into the deserted streets. As they opened their front door they saw a black rat scurry across the road into the small square park opposite. They hurried to their car and drove off, Harris glancing into his rear-view mirror, almost expecting to see the road behind him filled with vermin.
They finally reached the Ministry of Defence building, parked beside a shining Rolls Royce, and made their way into the gloomy entrance showing their passes. On their way down the endless corridors to their respective operations rooms they encountered a beaming Howard.
‘Good morning! All set for the big day?’ he clapped his hands together enthusiastically.
‘Ready enough,’ smiled the teacher.
‘I’ve been here all night. Spent a few hours on a camp bed.
Everything’s set for the big operation. ‘Good.’
‘I’d better get to my room,’ said Judy ‘Locating sewer entrances from those old maps and positioning them on new street maps isn’t my idea of fun, but if it all helps the cause.’
They all turned at once as a familiar figure came striding towards them from the other end of the corridor, waving his arm at them. As the figure drew nearer they realised with shock that it was Foskins. Tieless, badly in need of a shave, but with an excited look in his eyes.
‘Good Lord, what are you doing here?’ asked Howard, looking incredulously at the ex-Under-Secretary.
‘I’ve been around since last Tuesday,’ he said, the excitement giving way to a look of bitterness. He pulled at his open shirt collar and buttoned his jacket. ‘Before our last,er , unsuccessful operation, I ordered a search through records of anyone entering the country within the past two to three years who’d come from a tropical zone.’
‘You mean the sort of country that would breed this type of rat–or at least something like it?’ said Howard. ‘Exactly. But unfortunately, because we thought the virus operation would be so successful, it was rather pushed aside.
I–I must admit, I forgot all about it in the excitement that followed.’
There was a slightly embarrassed silence which Harris broke: ‘So?’
‘So, after my dismissal, I gathered the information I’d asked for and began sifting through it myself.’
‘Why?’ asked Howard coldly.
‘Because, well... ‘
‘Never mind,’ Harris cut in, glancing at Howard disdainfully. ‘What did you find?’
‘There were many entries from the tropics, of course, but only a few that fit the bill for our purposes. I made enquiries
I still have friends in Civil Service departments and came up with one man.’ His hand shook as he held up a piece of paper.
‘This man. Professor William Bartlett Schiller–zoologist.
He’d spent several years in New Guinea and the surrounding islands apparently investigating reports of mutant animals seen by the locals. It seems quite feasible, for an island in that area had been used for a nuclear test and some of the inhabitants had been affected by radiation. Of course, it was all hushed up, but somehow Schiller got wind of it and decided to do some investigating.’
‘All right,’ said Howard impatiently. ‘But what makes you think this professor has anything to do with the rats?’
‘Well obviously the fact that he’d been in New Guinea and he’d been involved in the study of abnormalities in animals.’ In his irritation, Foskin almost became the man he’d once been–been in public anyway.
‘Added to that,’ he continued, ‘he took up residence in
London. Near the docks. In a house by a canal.’
‘The Canal!’ Harris exclaimed. ‘Of course I’ve been trying to remember. In the beginning, that’s where the rats were seen. Keogh saw them. I saw them! Near the old lockkeeper’s house. I used to play there when I was a kid but they closed the canal down and the lock-keeper moved on.
I bet it was his house the professor took over.’
‘This is the address,’ said Foskins, thrusting the piece of paper at him, ‘That’s it.’
‘Oh, come now,’ broke in Howard. ‘What does it matter how? So this lunatic professor smuggled in one of his mutant species and took it to his home to study... “And allowed it to breed...’ ‘Yes, allowed it to breed. But that knowledge doesn’t help matters now; the operation goes on as planned. Maybe later we can investigate...”But why not now?’
‘Because, Mr Foskins, there are too many more important things to contend with today. Or haven’t you heard of
“Operation Extirpate”?’
‘Yes, of course I have, but if you’re going to root them out..’
‘I’ve got no more time for this sort of discussion, Mr Foskins, so if you’ll excuse me...’
‘You bloody fool! You soon sink into the background when your last idea didn’t work.’
‘Huh! You were busy taking all the credit for it–I didn’t see why you shouldn’t take all the blame.’
Foskins paled and then his whole body seemed to lose its tautness.
‘Y-yes, you’re quite right. I accept the blame–but I implore you, learn by my mistakes,’
‘It isn’t important just now, don’t you understand? Good God, man, we can make all the investigations we like after, don’t you see, but today, we’re going to wipe them out.’ He turned towards Harris, who had failingly tried to keep from sympathising with the ex-Under-Secretary. ‘Are you coming, Harris? We’ve plenty to do.’
’Right.’ He touched Foskins’ arm. ‘It’ll be looked into, don’t worry.’ And I’ll make sure he at least gets some credit for it, he thought.
They strode off towards the big operations room, leaving
Judy standing alone with the distressed man.
All thoughts of Foskins were pushed from their minds as they entered the bustling operations room. In the centre was a huge map ofLondon, with shaded green areas illustrating the parks and dead red lights indicating the positions of the transmitters. When they came into operation, the red lights would come on.
The position of the helicopters was shown by yellow arrows and the troop vehicles by blue. The room was crowded with people, most of them having a function, but many were there as onlookers. Harris noticed the Prime Minister discussing last-minute details with the Chief of Staff. One side of the room was devoted to radio and television equipment; the transmitters would be operated from here, instructions sent out to the troops and helicopters, everything is monitored by cameras aboard the helicopters and those set up in the streets. The whole event was to be televised nationwide, and relayed by satellite to other countries. The P.M. felt his presence was vital, not to the operation itself, but to his political career. To be seen at the head of such a vast life-saving exercise such as this – and seen all over the world–was a bonus few other leaders had shared. He disappeared into the adjoining room to be interviewed by the television networks.
Harris had barely begun to study the vast glass map when he saw Judy at the door talking excitedly to an army sergeant whose job it was to prevent intruders, pointing towards him. He went over.
‘What’s the matter, Jude?’
‘Foskins. He’s gone off to that house by himself.’
‘To do what?’
‘I don’t know. He just said he had to do something, something that would make amends–maybe he could find the nest.’
‘Oh, Christ. He’ll get himself killed!’ He went out into the hall, taking Judy by the arm.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked anxiously, suspecting what he had in mind.
‘I’ll have to go after him.”
‘No. No, please don’t, Harris.’
‘Don’t worry, Jude. I’ll beat him to the house–he’ll have to find his way there, I can go straight to it. At least I can stop him going in.’
‘But the sound-beams–they’re due to start any minute now.’
‘That’s all right. It’ll make it safer. The rats will just head straight for the parks.’
‘You don’t know, they might attack you.’
‘I’ll be safe in the car. I’ve got a gas-mask and a protective suit, remember–standard equipment. Please don’t.’
He held her to him. ‘I love you, Jude.’ He kissed her fore- head. ‘But I’m going.’
Chapter Seventeen
Harris drove recklessly, knowing there was no chance of meeting other traffic. He was stopped once by an army scout car and had to waste valuable minutes showing his pass and explaining his mission. The officer in charge regretted not being able to accompany him but he had his own duties to carry out. He wished him luck and waved him on.
As he drove through the city, the office blocks towering over him on either side, the feeling of being utterly alone became almost overpowering. He wanted to turn back, to be amongst people again, to feel the security of numbers, but he forced himself to go on, knowing he had to prevent Foskins from entering the house.
As he reached Aldgate he saw the first of the rodents.
They were running along the side of the road, a heavy black stream of bristling bodies. They were joined by others from buildings, flowing into the main stream, jostling and climbing over each others backs.
He turned his head sharply at the sound of crashing glass and saw the front window of a J’. Lyons restaurant cave in as -rats poured through it. They were all headed in the same direction and Harris guessed it was towards the park near the Tower of London where one of the transmitters was located. On he went, aware of the gradual build-up in the numbers of the creatures, but all mercifully ignoring the speeding car. As he turned into Commercial Road he brought the car to a screeching halt. It seemed as though there was a huge moving carpet stretching before him–the broad road was wholly filled with black vermin, creating an undulating cover over the road.
His heart froze at the sight. They were coming mostly from a side street and disappearing into another on the opposite side of the main road. The whole dark mass seemed to be about fifty yards wide, without a single break in its length. Should he turn back, find another route? Or would other roads be similarly filled? And how much time would it cost him to find another way around? Should he drive straight through them? What if the car stalled and he was trapped in the middle of the flow? If they attacked, his protective suit would hardly withstand their onslaught. His instinct told him to turn around, to get back to the protection of the military, but as he looked through his rear window he saw other streams of rats, pouring from streets and buildings, like molten lava pouring from a volcano, forming tributaries around obstacles and joining again to form major streams. He realised the way back would be just as hazardous.
Something landed on his bonnet with
a thump causing him to swing round to the front again. One of the giant rats was staring at him through the windscreen, its evil face almost level with his own, the distance between them only two feet, a thin sheet of glass his only protection.
It gunned him into action. He thrust the gear-lever into first and revved the engine, slipping the clutch to build up power. He moved forward, slowly at first, then eased his foot up gently to gather speed. The rat slithered across the bonnet trying to retain its grip with its long claws but the smooth surface of the car soon defeated it and it slid back on to the road.
Harris kept his foot firmly down on the accelerator, telling himself it would be just like driving through a flood-washed road and the trick was to keep going, slowly but steadily.
The car reached the edge of the stream and plunged into the surging bodies. It began to bump as it went over them, the crunch of bones and squashed bodies nauseating the teacher who could only force his eyes on the road ahead and will his foot to stay on the pedal. The rats seemed oblivious to the car, making no attempt to escape its crushing wheels.
Several leapt across the bonnet and roof–one jumped at the side window, cracking but not breaking it.
Twice the car slid on the wet blood its wheels were soaked in and Harris had to fight to keep it in a straight line, praying he wouldn’t stall the engine.
He felt a thump on the roof above his head, then a pointed head appeared at the top of the windscreen, its nose twitching from side to side, the tips of its claws spread flat against the glass.
Harris pushed himself back against his seat in sheer frightened reaction, almost allowing his foot to slip from the accelerator pedal but automatically dipping his clutch to avoid stalling. The creature flopped on to the bonnet, mainly because of the car’s jolt, and turned to face the man inside.
The Rats Page 16