- too many fallen leaves, I'm afraid.’
‘I want to go back.’
Pender turned to study the girl. She stood there, body stiff, eyes shifting uneasily from left to right. Her face was drained of colour.
‘What's wrong?’ he asked taking a step towards her.
‘Can't you feel it? The forest - the forest is standing still.’
The remark puzzled him, but as he looked around he began to sense it too. It was an eerie sensation, for the forest had become quiet, hushed, the normal chatter of birds, the discreet rustle of timid animals even the sound of the breeze hissing through the trees were gone, leaving an unnatural, foreboding silence. It seemed to weigh down on him, a heavy thing. An oppression.
‘Let's go,’ she said again, her voice very quiet.
Pender was reluctant, despite his unease. ‘I've got to find some evidence of them, Jenny. Those tracks back there could have been made by any number of animals.’
She knew he was right, but the anger still flared in her eyes.
She was about to reply when a sudden crashing of branches made them both jump. Pender scanned the area ahead, looking for the cause of the noise, and he saw the swaying bush, its thin branches weighed down by something that must have fallen from the tree overhead. The object looked like a red scarf, but from the way the bush was sagging, it had to be something heavier than loose material.
He made his way towards the bush and Jenny said, ‘Don't,’
but he ignored her. She followed, not wanting to be left alone.
Pender swallowed hard when he realised what the object was.
The animal's body had been torn apart, its insides exposed and half-eaten. The rising steam told Pender the creature had not been dead long.
He felt the girl's presence beside him and heard her breath sharply drawn in. ‘It must have run up the tree to get away,’
he said. ‘Whatever did this followed.’
‘Rats climb don't they?’ Her voice was faint.
‘The Black rat does.’
Only the animal's head and tail were intact, its fur shredded and covered in blood. He tried to identify it from the pointed skull and dark markings on its tail.
‘It's a stoat,’ Jenny said, and she walked away, round to the other side of the tree.
Pender looked up into the branches overhead, suddenly aware that whatever had killed the animal might still be there.
He found it hard to believe a rat could have done this, for usually the stoat was the hunter. But then a group of giant Black rats could tear a human to pieces. Jenny's sudden cry startled Pender and anxiety swept through him when he failed to see her.
He crashed through the undergrowth, brushing past the bloody corpse which fell from its resting place, and swung round the tree, one hand resting against its rough bark. She was standing with her hands up to her face, her whole body trembling and knees beginning to sag. He rushed forward and held her to him to prevent her from falling.
‘Jesus Christ,’ he said when he saw what had caused her shock.
The tree was hollow, the opening facing him. And the hollow and the area just outside were soaked in blood, small lumps of wet flesh lying all around, tiny, disjointed bones, smeared red, scattered in the dirt. There were no recognizable animal parts among the debris; the stoats must have either been dragged off or eaten whole there and then. Pender cleared his throat uncomfortably.
‘There must have been a family of stoats,’ he said. ‘The rats must have slaughtered all of them.’
The girl did not reply and he realised she was weeping against his chest. He looked around at the undergrowth nearby, seeing the short trails of blood disappearing into the shadows. They were darker now. The sun was beginning to dim and early evening was approaching. The trees around them suddenly seemed black and threatening.
‘Come on,’ he said gently, ‘I think I've got all the evidence I need. Let's get back to the Centre.’
He led her back through the darkening forest, his eyes wary and searching.
Five
The walls of the large house glowed pinkly as the last rays of the fast-setting sun reflected off the white surface. Pender had left his car in the small car park at the entrance to The Warren and made his way up to the house on foot. He had passed two attached cottages which, he assumed, belonged to forest keepers or whoever maintained the grounds of The Warren, and taken a lane branching to the left. He approached the house from the rear, the rough road winding round till it formed a circle enclosing a centre lawn set out before the house itself, another road leading off from it towards the estate's main entrance. Before Pender had branched off, he had noticed the sign pointing towards The Warren's offices and realised the forest's administrative staff were kept separate from the main house in which Edward Whitney-Evans, the Superintendent of Epping Forest, lived.
His own shadow was cast darkly before him as Pender strode past three high windows, their glass reaching down to the ground. White-painted lattice-work covered with deep green foliage clung to the lower half of the house, rising up on either side of the windows and joining above them. If the house came with the job, then the Superintendent's lot was a happy one, Pender thought as he rang the doorbell.
The door opened almost immediately and a small, waspish woman peered out at him.
‘Mr. Fender, is it?’ she said and before he had a chance to correct her, she ushered him in. ‘Mr. Whitney-Evans is waiting for you.’
She moved aside to allow him entrance and he stepped through the porch into the main building.
‘Through there, sir,’ she said, indicating a door on the left of the hallway. He thanked her and entered the room finding it empty. He walked over to one of the deep windows and gazed out; the grounds sloped away from the circular lawn and, even in the dusk, Pender could see the estate was beautifully situated.
The Epping New Road, with its heavy traffic, was completely screened from the house by trees and shrubbery. Beyond he could see the hills of woodland and it was hard to consider he was so close to the world's largest city.
‘Ah, Fender.’
He turned to see a man in a dark grey suit standing in the doorway.
‘Pender, actually.’
The man looked puzzled for a moment. ‘I thought Milton said Fender over the phone. Not to worry. Tell me what this is all about, Pender.’ He strode forward and settled himself in an armchair and indicated a chair for Pender. He was a squat man, who appeared to be in his late fifties; a few streaks of hair were combed carefully across his bald head, compensated by wispy locks curling around his ears and resting on his shirt collar.
Enlarged eyes stared out at Pender through thick lenses.
Slightly irritated by the man's gruff, no-nonsense tone, Pender sat and deliberately took his time in answering. There was silence for a moment or so, each sizing up the other, the superintendent finally becoming impatient.
‘Well?’ he said.
Pender cleared his throat. ‘I was sent to the Conservation Centre by Ratkill to investigate complaints by Mr. Milton . . .’
‘Yes, yes, I know all that; Milton discussed it with me first.
When I spoke to him a little while ago on the phone he said you'd found some evidence. That's why I asked him to send you over here. I thought you might have got here sooner - the Centre's only five minutes away.’
‘I wanted to examine the rat droppings Mr. Milton had collected first. Also, I wanted to see the door of the refuse building that had been broken into.’
‘And what did you deduce from all this?’
‘I'd say it's fairly certain that you have the Black rat living in this forest.’
Whitney-Evans frowned in displeasure. ‘Fairly certain?
What does that mean? You're either sure or you're not.’
Pender struggled to keep his voice even. ‘I said fairly certain because I haven't yet seen the rat itself. All the evidence points to it being the Black, though.’
‘But you co
uld be wrong. It could be another type of rodent.’
‘One of the tutors at the Centre, Jenny Hanmer, saw three of them.’
‘Yes, the Warden told me that. He also said the pond in question is extremely shaded and the only other adult witness has questionable vision.’
‘But I went down to the pond myself with Miss Hanmer.’
‘And you found evidence that a family of stoats had been slaughtered.’
‘Torn to pieces.’
‘Yes, yes, but by what? You, yourself, did not actually see the assailants.’
‘No, but there's enough evidence now to assume . . .’
‘No, Pender. We mustn't assume anything. Do you realise the harm such an assumption could bring to the forest?’
‘That's not the point. If people are killed ...’
‘Of course we don't want anybody to be killed by these creatures - if they exist. But first, let's make sure they are a reality.
Surely you can - you must - investigate further before you reach such an extreme conclusion.’
‘Look, Mr. Whitney-Evans, I can appreciate not wanting to spoil the image of your beautiful forest, but if lives are in danger, there is no choice in the matter. Epping Forest will have to be cleared of people.’
‘Impossible!’ The Superintendent stood, his face flushed red.
‘Don't you realise how densely populated Epping Forest and its neighbouring forests are? You can't just suddenly shift all those people on the slight evidence you've produced.’
‘The evidence is enough for me,’ Pender replied.
Whitney-Evans walked to the window. Silent for a moment, he then turned to face Pender again. ‘It may be enough for you, but will it be enough for your superiors? Or the Ministry?’
‘I think they'll listen. They wouldn't want to risk another Outbreak.’
‘I'm sure they wouldn't; that is not under debate. What I -
and I'm sure they will take the same view - am questioning, is your evidence.’
‘Look, I don't understand this. Why are you resisting my attempts to avert a dangerous situation?’
Whitney-Evans regarded Pender coolly. ‘Have you any idea how much it costs to maintain Epping Forest?’ he said finally.
‘What? What's that got to do with... ?’
‘It costs over 100,000 a year, Pender. Money, I may add, that does not come from the government, nor the public. It comes from private City funds.’
‘I don't see what that has to do with this matter.’
‘The forest is governed by the Corporation of London; they are the Conservators. The actual management is carried out by a committee of twelve, all an elected representative body of the City of London; they are joined by four Verderers.’
‘Verderers?’ Pender asked, wondering where the sudden lecture was leading.
‘They are members elected by the public to represent local interests. The committee meets several times a year and, in fact, there is a meeting due to be held in two weeks' time. I intend to ask for a considerable increase in the funds allocated to the forest.’
‘I still don't understand how that affects . . .’
‘Can't you see, man?’ Whitney-Evans' face had flushed red again. ‘Can you imagine the cost of evacuating the whole forest? The cost of quarantining 6,000 acres of woodland? Do you think they would even consider a rise in management allocation knowing the cost of such an operation as you are suggesting?’ He raised a hand when Pender tried to protest. ‘But even worse, do you imagine they would even consider taking on such a huge responsibility? Absolutely not! It would be passed on to the government, who have tried unsuccessfully for years to gain control of this green belt area. Can't you see what they, the great bureaucratic they, would do with this land? It would become one vast concrete estate! Not all at once, I grant you, but a little at a time under the guise of economic necessity! Do you realise the value of this land so close to the City? My God, man, they'd eat away at it until there was nothing left! Oh, a few parks scattered here and there just for cosmetic purposes; but it wouldn't be a nature reserve anymore.’ The Superintendent began to pace the room in his anger and it seemed as if he had forgotten Pender's presence for a moment.
‘Look, I can appreciate your worries, Mr. Whitney-Evans, although I feel they're a little exaggerated.’
The Superintendent stopped his pacing. ‘Exaggerated? I can assure you they are not. I can show you countless court cases we've had in the past over the acquisition of forest land, not to mention the constant battle with the government who want to dissect and destroy the woodland with their monstrous motorways’.
‘All the same, the law is quite clear on this: rat-infested areas have to be sealed off immediately.’
‘Infested? What evidence do you have of that? You've seen a few signs that rats may be living in the forest and you can't even say for sure they are of the Black variety. Don't you think if the place were infested, the forest keepers would have discovered them by now?’
‘I don't know. There may just be a small group at the moment.’
‘That, even if it's true, would hardly justify putting the whole damned forest into quarantine.’
‘Or,’ Pender continued, undaunted, 'there may be hundreds of them. Remember, after their near-extermination in London, those that survived would have become even more elusive than usual.’
Those that survived the extermination would have died of old age by now.’
‘But their offspring would have inherited the fear. The monster Black has developed incredible intelligence according to all the reports: they would certainly know how to keep themselves hidden.’
‘Then, if that's the case, there can be no immediate danger, can there?’ Whitney-Evans' voice had taken on a new tone, softer, almost coaxing. Pender decided he liked the man even less than before.
‘Then why this sudden evidence of them?’ he said firmly.
‘Why are they suddenly losing this timidity?’
‘Just a combination of circumstances, Pender. If - and that's a big if as far as I'm concerned - if they do exist, they still haven't attacked a human, have they?’
‘Not yet. But they might.’
‘Look, Pender, I've stated my case quite frankly to you. Now, I'm not trying to prevent you from doing your duty, Lord knows I haven't that power, but I am asking you to reconsider your action. Why not investigate further before you recommend evacuation and quarantine? I have a staff of over seventy who I'm sure would be only too pleased to assist you in any way possible. My forest keepers and woodsmen could help you in your search. I'm not saying you shouldn't inform the Ministry, of course, you must do that, but all I'm saying is, don't jump to hasty conclusions. By all means, bring your people in, but surely we can keep - what's the expression? - yes, a ‘low profile’ on this. Until you're absolutely sure. What do you say?’
Pender shook his head wearily. ‘I'm sorry, Mr. Whitney-Evans, I really am. But the risk is too great. If anything nasty should happen while we're still searching, then it would be my responsibility.’
The Superintendent's tone was acid. ‘No, not your responsibility, Pender. Your company's. But I wonder what they would say about this inflexible attitude of yours?’
‘Well, you can find out.’ Pender rose and made for the door.
‘Why don't you ask them?’ He paused and looked back at the Superintendent, whose face was, yet again, flushed bright red.
‘I'll do just that, Pender. I also have some very good connections in the Ministry of Agriculture - we work closely together, you know. I'll see what they have to say about the matter.’
Pender could not be bothered to reply. He resisted the urge to slam the door behind him, and made his way out of the house.
‘Bloody idiot,’ he allowed himself to say as he crunched his way back down the lane.
By the time he got back to the Conservation Centre, phone calls had been made. His intention had been to inform the Warden of his decision, then to get in touch with Ste
phen Howard at Ratkill, who would advise the appropriate authorities. But Alex Milton was waiting for him in the reception area of the Centre, a concerned look on his face.
‘Ah, Mr. Pender,’ he said, striding forward to meet the ratcatcher We weren't sure if you'd return to the Centre this evening. We thought you might go straight back to your company to make your report.’
‘No, I wanted to have a word with you first. Can we go into your office?’
‘Of course. In fact, I've just had your Research Director on to me. He said he'd like you to ring him immediately if you showed up here.’
Pender looked at the Warden quizzically.
‘He said it was important,’ Milton said somewhat lamely.
Pender had his suspicions before he even picked up the phone.
He dialled the Ratkill number and asked to be put through to Stephen Howard.
‘Stephen? It's Luke.’
‘Ah, Luke. Good. Now what have you been up to there in Epping Forest? Seems you've stirred things up.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Well, I've just had old Thornton from the Ministry of Agriculture on to me. Says you've been upsetting a chum of his by the name of Whitney-Evans. Superintendent of the forest, isn't he?’
‘Oh, for Christ's sake! The man wants to do a cover-up. He doesn't want the forest to be evacuated.’
The Warden looked both embarrassed and startled. He sat down.
Howard's voice on the other end of the phone was sharp.
‘Evacuate. That's a bit drastic, isn't it? What makes you think the Black rat is in the forest?’
Pender quickly told him what he'd seen, been told, deduced.
The phone buzzed with static for a few moments.
‘Sorry, Luke, I'm afraid that's not enough.’
‘Not enough? You've got to be kidding.’
‘No, old boy, I'm not. Look, I'm going over there for a meeting. Thornton's already set something up with this Whitney-Evans for nine o'clock. Can you hang around until then?’
‘Yes, I can hang around.’ Pender felt a heaviness dragging him down. Howard had obviously been asked to soft-pedal by Thornton, who was a Private Secretary in the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food, and a major contact between Ratkill and the government. Ratkill had always worked closely with the Ministry's Safety Pesticides and Infestation Control Division, even though the Ministry of Defence had become involved in the London Outbreak, and in the subsequent years after the supposed elimination of the Black rat, they had become even more united in their joint work. Howard was unlikely to go against the wishes of one of the Ministry's private secretaries, and it was obvious Thornton was one of Whitney-Evans' 'good connections'.
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