‘Are you still there, Luke?’ Howard's voice interrupted Pender's thoughts.
‘I'm still here,’ he said.
‘Right. The meeting will be held in the Conservation Centre itself. Apart from the Warden, I'd like this girl, the tutor who says she saw the rats, to attend, as well as the forest's head keeper. Dugdale from the Safety Inspectorate will also be there.
Don't worry, Luke, we'll soon sort things out.’
‘We'll need to. Fast. You know how the situation in London got out of hand.’
‘Of course I do. I was in the thick of it. But look, I feel certain this is just an isolated case.’
‘I wish I shared your confidence.’
‘I don't want you to discuss this any further, Luke, not until the meeting.’ The forced lightness had left the research director's voice.
‘In case I upset anybody else?’
‘No, because the matter must be treated in the strictest confidence,’ came Howard's curt reply.
‘A party of school-children and their teacher saw the rats, too.’
‘Yes, but I understand they've been convinced they saw something completely different.’
‘Oh, have they,’ Pender said flatly.
‘Until later then, Luke?’
‘Okay.’ Pender replaced the receiver and found himself looking into the eyes of Milton. ‘I need a drink,’ he said.
‘I wish I could join you,’ Milton replied, smiling apologetically. ‘I'm afraid I have a lecture due to begin shortly and I have to greet our guest speaker.’
Pender nodded and left the Warden's office, suppressing the anger he felt. If anything disastrous happened while they wasted time . . . And yet, he could see their point of view. It would be a massive operation to clear the whole woodland area, and would undoubtedly send waves of panic, not just through that green belt area, but through all the surrounding districts. London, itself. And if it did prove to be a false alarm . . . He pushed the thought of consequences from his mind. The girl had seen the rats, and she didn't seem the type who would put the fear of God into everyone if she thought there might be some doubt.
He walked the length of the corridor and entered the reception area. Jenny Hanmer, talking to a tall, bearded man, saw him and gave him a smile. The bearded man turned at Pender's approach.
‘Hello, Luke,’ Jenny greeted him. This is Vic Whittaker, our Senior Tutor.’
Pender nodded. He judged the tutor to be in his late-thirties, prematurely grey hair streaking his close-cropped, black beard.
Whittaker looked fixedly at the ratcatcher
‘I'm rather disturbed at what Jenny tells me, Mr. Pender,’ he said.
‘It's something to be disturbed about,’ Pender replied. He turned to the girl. There's going to be a meeting tonight, Jenny, here at the Centre. The powers-that-be want you to attend.’
‘But aren't they going to do something right away?’ Jenny asked.
‘They'll decide exactly what to do at the meeting. First we've got to convince them there really is a threat.’
‘That's ridiculous! Surely . . .’
‘I know, I've just been through all that. I suppose it's sensible to hold an inquiry before they decide on a plan of action. So far, you're the only reliable witness, so it'll be up to you to assure them you're not just over-imaginative. The other evidence we have will help.’
‘Do you think they will be convinced?’ asked Whittaker.
Pender paused before he spoke. ‘To tell the truth, I just don't know. My guess is that they'll play for more time. All I want to do now is to get a bite to eat and a beer. Care to join me, Jenny?’
‘Jenny said, ‘Yes, I would,’ and Pender caught the sharp look the senior tutor gave her.
‘What about the lecture this evening? Aren't you coming to that?’ Whittaker said.
‘I don't think I'm really in the mood for ‘A Naturalist's Journey to Iran and the Persian Gulf’ at the moment, Vic,’ she replied. ‘After what I saw today, I could use a stiff drink myself.’
‘I'll see you later then.’ Whittaker turned and strode off down the corridor leading to the classrooms.
Pender ignored the exchange. ‘Okay,’ he said, smiling at Jenny, 'lead me to a pub.’
They drove past the huge public house close to the Centre and headed south, using the car's lights at full-beam because of the total darkness that had descended on the forest. The road had sudden dips and Pender kept to its centre because of the rough banks on either side, adjusting his headlights and pulling over to the left when the occasional car approached from the opposite direction. He noticed they passed several high, bricked walls which he guessed hid some large properties. In a clearing to his left he saw lights shining.
‘That's a forest keeper's house,’ Jenny told him. There are quite a few scattered throughout the woodland.’
‘And what's that coming up on the right?’ he asked, pointing to a sign ahead of them.
‘That's the Suntrap Field Study Centre.’
‘Anything to do with your place?’
‘Not really. We work together from time to time.’
The moon suddenly appeared from behind rolling clouds and the landscape was bathed in its silvery light. They passed a farm, and then the road swung hard to the right and they found themselves ascending a steep hill, more houses on their right, a riding stable on the left. The public house was on the top of the hill, opposite a group of buildings surrounded by a high wire fence.
‘What's that?’ Pender asked.
‘Oh, that belongs to the police. It's a training camp for cadets.
They also have a firing-range and a place for training their dogs.’
Pender turned the car into the car park at the rear of the pub and stopped. He shivered in the cold night air as they crossed the tarmac, heading for an entrance to the bars. Looking around, he saw they were quite high above the forest, gentle fields leading down into dense woodland below them. But what he saw in the flattened area immediately next to the pub brought him to a halt.
‘What is that, Jenny? What are those buildings?’
Jenny followed his gaze. ‘It's a mobile homes estate. You know, like caravans but with no wheels.’
‘Do you know how many houses there are?’
‘There are two estates over there, one of about twenty, the other about thirty or forty. They're separated by a farm.
Another one is at the end of Hornbeam Lane, but not many people know about it it's very secluded. I think there are twenty homes on that.’
‘Christ,’ he said. ‘I didn't realise the forest had such a heavy population. It may make us look silly, Jenny, but I just hope-to-God we're wrong about the rats.’
As he spoke, a heavy cloud covered the moon's brightness and he suddenly felt vulnerable to the night. He took Jenny's arm and guided her into the welcoming warmth of the pub.
Onslaught
The creature shifted position in the bed of straw and damp earth, obese body making movement difficult, legs no longer able to support the great weight comfortably. Others moved around in the darkness, mewing sounds and the slivering of bodies occasionally breaking the silence of the black, under-ground chamber. They did not approach the creature in the corner, fearing its wrath, knowing to approach could mean the tearing apart of their own grey, swollen bodies. Not by the crea-ture itself, but by the three black-haired guards that crouched nearby.
Tiny bones lay scattered around in the darkness and occasionally they would be picked up and ground to a fine powder by powerful jaws. There was a restlessness among the sluggish bodies and the creature in the corner sensed their mood. A gurgling sound came from its throat and it was joined by ano-ther, similar noise, close by, almost from the same point in the darkness. All movement stopped. They listened.
The gross body thrashed around in the straw and the other creatures flattened themselves against the ground, pushing themselves into the rubble and exposing their fleshy necks in a ritual of self-abasement.
It was old now and did not remember the journey to this place, the long journey through the underground tunnels, crouching, terrified in the dark, as the huge things thundered over their heads, urging the others on with high-pitched squeals, keeping them together, fleeing from where they were hunted, where the extermination of their species was taking place, in-stinct for survival their only ally. They had been freed from the cellar and had slain their liberators, eating the bodies before venturing forth.
Inherited knowledge drove them below ground, for they had no adult to lead them; they had devoured their mother in the final days in the cellar. The creature had dominated its brothers and sisters from the beginning; although they were part of the same evolvement, its body was different from theirs. They were dark, covered in a blackish-brown fur. It was not.
It had led them through the tunnels, resting only when they were completely exhausted. The two weakest had been used for sustenance and had hardly protested their deaths. The group had gone on, following the tracks, cautious when they heard human voices, knowing this was the enemy, these were the hun-ters. The fresh biting air that reached their nostrils had shocked them and they had cowered in the darkness. But the dominant one had ventured forward and the others had followed. The night sky was above them and they clung to the shadows.
The others had wanted to leave the tracks then and go out to where there were houses and living flesh, but it would not let them. They were still in the city, and that meant danger. They hid when daylight came, trembling, fortunate to have found another tunnel further on. Then with the night, they found something completely new to them, and they welcomed it.
They had never experienced the long flowing grass before, but they relished its softness and the cover it afforded them. It teemed with small, living things and because they were still young, they forgot their fear and wanted to play. But their leader would not let them; it knew that danger was all around. It led them up the grassy embankment, away from the railway track, away from the tunnels in which the trains sped beneath the city, and into the woodland, a new world where they could breathe the air and run free. It could sense that the humans were still there, but the further they went into the woodland, so the presence became less noticeable. They crossed hard, con-crete strips, fearful of the racing monsters whose eyes shone far ahead into the night, and eventually, as dawn approached, they rested. They were still afraid, but it seemed the badness was over.
The group soon adapted to their new life and they never lost their cunning. They grew to a size that made them fearful to the other animals of the forest, and they mated. But the one whose body was different from the others would not rest; it could not adapt as the others had, for it knew they were not yet safe. And it missed something. It felt unprotected in the open.
They journeyed further, always at night, always in a tight-packed group, flowing through the grassland and skulking in dark places when the sun rose. They found the heart of the forest, and the dominant one found the resting-place it needed, somewhere it could feel safe, where it could hide its deformed body in constant darkness. It had found the perfect lair.
It had grown old, living twice the normal life-span of the creatures it was derived from; and it had mated, creating offspring that were in its own image. Not many completely of its kind lived, and those that survived were weak and not always able to fend for themselves. Yet they dominated the others of the litter, the dark-furred ones, and the two strains lived to-gether, the latter foraging for food and bringing it back to the lair for the leader and its natural heirs.
It never left the confines of the lair now, for its misshapen body had become too heavy, too bloated. It still ruled over them all, but it could sense the mounting tension. Its followers were becoming increasingly restless, both the black and those more like itself craving for something they could not understand. Although they were now many in numbers, they had remained hidden for several years, their inborn fear of what lay beyond binding them to the woodland, away from the eyes of humans. But it was as if their numerical strength was making them bol-der, giving them a courage they had not possessed before. And the craving grew stronger each day, the forest animals they killed failing to satiate their strange yearning.
The thing in the corner knew what that craving was, for the group hunger came from their leader. The creature hungered for something tasted before, long ago.
Its two heads weaved to and fro in the darkness and a sticki- ness drooled from the mouths as it remembered, after so many years, the taste of human flesh.
Six
‘Can't we stay in the car, Alan? It's so cold out there.’ The woman pulled her coat tightly around herself and hunched down into the passenger seat.
‘Come on, Babs, it's not that cold. I'll soon warm you up.’
The man leered across at her, and slipped a hand around her shoulder, pulling her towards him.
‘It's creepy,’ the woman complained.
‘We're too near the roadside here, Babs. There's too many passing cars.’
‘Well, drive a bit further in.’
Alan tried to keep the irritation from his voice. ‘I can't do that, darling. The car might get stuck in the mud. I won't be able to see the ground properly in the headlights. I might get jammed on a tree root or something.’
The woman sighed with resignation. Why bother to protest?
Alan always got his way in the end. And she had to admit, she usually enjoyed it when he did.
Alan Martyn was an estate agent, his offices in the nearby Loughton area, and Babs - Mrs. Newell in the office - was his secretary. At twenty-nine, he was up and coming; at thirty-five, she was down and hadn't been coming enough. Fifteen years of marriage and raising two sons who were now teenagers had almost smothered any overt desires in her; her lifestyle had reached its level and the sudden bumps, the rises and falls, were only slight. She should have been content, for she was married to a good, if dull, man, and the boys had grown into fine, if boisterous, young men. The house was nice - perhaps a little small, but nice - and they had a colour telly. Even the dog was obedient.
Sometimes she could have screamed with the niceness of it all.
Reg, her husband, was solid, salt of the earth, A GOOD MAN.
He didn't wear carpet slippers around the house, nor did he smoke a pipe he wasn't that bad. But he did roll his own to save the expense of buying cigarettes; and he did keep rabbits in the back garden; and he did bath every Sunday and Wednes-day, without fail; and he did always find time to help the boys with their homework or answer their questions; and he always took the dog out for a walk in the evening, no matter what the weather; and he always offered to wash the dishes, even if she wouldn't let him; and he always left his muddy shoes outside the front door; and he had never raised a hand to her; and he always made love on Saturday morning without fail; and he never asked her to try a new position; and he never used anything other than his penis on her; and she had never caught him masturbating.
Oh Reg, why are you such a fucking bore?
Alan's lips brushed against hers, roughly, greedily. Alan was bad, selfish, but he excited her. Babs was aware that it was his difference to safe, reliable Reg that made him so attractive.
He was a bastard, beyond doubt, and he used her just to fulfil his own lusts. But that was all right; that was how she used him.
She would never leave her husband and the boys - she loved them dearly. But she was a woman, and she needed more than just cosy affection. Reg had his rabbits, she had - this.
Babs had always wanted to return to work, missing the contact with outsiders, people whose lives she knew little of and therefore would find more interesting than her neighbours or relations. Housework was humdrum, hard but un challenging and the house no longer held any stimulation for her. But outside work had come by as a necessity rather than an indulgence: Reg's salary had become steadily worth less week by week, inflation became the master of household decisions. Reg, as a production controller in an advertisin
g agency, had no union behind him to make sure his earnings kept reasonably level with the ever-increasing price rises and so, at the instigation of Babs herself, it was decided she should take a job again. The boys were now old enough to be less dependent on her, so there was no great problem in that respect, and Reg was sensible enough to realise his wife needed an outside interest.
‘Come on, darling, it's been a long time since we've done it out in the open.’ Alan pushed his hand against the rough material of Babs' coat, kneading her plump breasts in a circular movement. ‘I'll get the rug out of the back so you won't get damp.’
She felt the excitement in her, a flush spreading across her chest beneath her clothes. ‘What if someone comes along, Alan?’ she asked, but her tone told her weekday lover she was willing.
‘Don't be daft, Babs. There won't be anyone walking in the forest when it's this dark.’
‘I won't be able to stay too long.’
He looked at the luminous dial on his watch. ‘It's only ten-to-eight. What time did you say you'd be in?’
‘About half-past. I told Reg we'd be going over the books tonight. He said he'd do the boys' dinner.’
‘Good old Reg,’ Alan said distractedly, his lips finding and moistening Babs' ear and, equally distractedly, he thought, fucking idiot.
Babs' breasts were rising and falling as though air was being blown into them, and she squeezed her thighs tightly together, feeling the moistness between them. Alan was such a good lover, so thoughtful, so unselfish And she - shivered with pleasure - so demanding. Babs wondered if he was as demanding with his young wife.
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