Lair (20 page)

The many chimney stacks were perched precariously on inner walls, rising above the main shell like solemn sentinels. A balustrade ran round the roof-top, joined at the centre by a triangle of grey stonework that stood above the projecting wall of the main frontage.

From where they stood, the whole structure seemed to dominate the surrounding countryside.

"It must have been some place in its day," Fender said.

Whittaker made no comment, but turned off the main track, taking an even muddier path that ran alongside the building.

There are old stables around the side here," he called back. They've been converted into pig-pens."

Fender followed, treading warily through the mire, clutching his protective helmet in one hand. He concentrated on one foot at a time, choosing the firmer patches of mud and avoiding the water-filled troughs. When he looked up, the tutor had disappeared round the corner of a wall jutting out from the side of the main building which obviously formed the outer wall of the stables. As he rounded the corner, he saw Whittaker with his back to him, looking into the gloomy interiors of two facing stable blocks. The floors of both sections were covered with deep layers of straw and, as Fender narrowed his eyes to pierce the shadows, he saw bulky, pink shapes lying amongst it, their bodies half-concealed. He almost choked on the nauseous smell and wondered how even an animal could live with such a stench.

Whittaker turned his head towards him. There they are," he said.

"Sleeping like babies."

"What a lovely life," said Fender, moving past Whittaker for a closer look.

"If you like muck and dirt," the tutor said. He saw Fender suddenly stiffen. What's wrong? What is it?"

Fender's voice was low, almost a whisper. Take a closer look."

Whittaker frowned and peered into the gloom. "I can't see..."

"Closer. Look, just over there. That one." Fender was pointing at a nearby recumbent form. The tutor edged forward until Fender grabbed his arm. "No further. Can't you see from here?"

This time it was Whittaker who stiffened. "Oh God," he said. "It looks like blood."

"Look at the others. There's no movement, no breathing. And listen there's no noise at all."

Whittaker slowly shook his head. They're dead."

The rat catcher moved forward, his senses alert, eyes searching for dark-haired shapes among rough bedding. He knelt down and pulled at the straw, clearing an area around one of the still bodies. The pig had been torn to pieces, its neck ripped, the head almost severed from its body. There were only stumps where its legs had once been and the stomach was punctured with large holes from which its insides had been dragged through, presumably to be devoured. Fender now realized that the terrible stench had come from corrupted flesh. The pigs had been dead for a long time.

Whittaker was uncovering another decomposing body and as Fender stood, his eyes becoming accustomed to the gloomy interior, he saw they were littered all around the stable, a carnage of destroyed animals. Most of the bodies were shrivelled, bearing little resemblance to the creatures they once were, the flesh of their underbellies gone.

The rats must have attacked them at night while they were sleeping,"

Fender said. They had no chance at all. Not even to get out into the open."

"But they're only half-eaten. Some of them..."

The rats have probably been feeding off them since they were killed."

He paused, then added wryly, Their own private supply. Jesus." He surveyed the area in disgust. "Come on, I think we'd better get out of here."

But Whittaker's eyes were transfixed on something ahead of him.

"Fender, one of them is breathing. It's still alive."

That can't be." Fender looked in the direction of the tutor's gaze and saw that the body, unlike most of the others, was still grossly swollen. And there was a slight movement from it.

We can't help it now," he said. "Let's go."

Wait, wait. We can at least put it out of its misery. Let me have the gun."

"No. The sound would arouse anything else that might be lurking around here. Leave it be."

But Whittaker was insistent. "Please, I can't leave it like this."

Fender reluctantly undid the flap of the holster and handed Whittaker the Browning. Tush it into its neck try to muffle the sound. And make it quick."

He watched anxiously as the tutor removed his glove and curled his finger through the trigger guard, making towards the unfortunate animal. The mystery was how the pig had managed to survive all this time.

Tender, look at this." Whittaker was crouched over the pink, bloodstained body. The rat catcher quickly joined him, eager to be away from the place. He frowned when he saw the long, gaping tear in the bloated belly.

"It's dead. Nothing could survive that," he said.

"But look, the lungs are moving. It's breathing."

Fender bent forward. The skin was undulating, yet the rest of the body was stiff with rigor mortis.

He realized what the movement was just before the sleek, black head pushed its way through the jagged slit in the pig's stomach.

Whittaker screamed as the rat scrabbled its whole body through the opening, leaping at the tutor as he fell back into the straw. Fender, too, fell back in surprise and for a moment could only watch the struggling bodies in frozen horror. Then he was on his knees shouting at Whittaker, trying to be heard over the man's screams.

The gun! Use the gun!"

But the weapon was no longer in the tutor's hand; it was hidden somewhere in the straw, released in shock. Fender quickly searched for it, but it was no use, the gun had disappeared.

Whittaker had a hand clamped inside the rat's mouth, his fingers curled round the lower jaw, and blood was flowing down his wrist as the creature's teeth sank in. Claws were frantically raking his chest, scoring the suit's material, threatening to penetrate at any moment.

Fender crouched, then leapt forward, grabbing the giant rat at the back of the neck with one hand, the other going beneath its jaw. He pulled back with one mighty heave, trying to snap its neck, but the mutant twisted, spoiling the leverage. It momentarily released Whittaker's hand and the tutor pulled it clear, his head swimming with the pain.

Fender lifted the rat, keeping his arms outstretched, using all his strength, holding the squirming body with its lethal teeth and claws away from him. He lost his balance, the struggling weight too much for him. He crashed down into the muddy yard between the facing stables, falling on top of the rat, crushing it with his own weight. He clung desperately to the thrashing creature's neck, pushing the head down into the ooze in an attempt to suffocate it. The wet earth flew furiously in all directions as the rat panicked and Fender knew he did not have the strength to hold it there for long.

"Find the gun!" he yelled at the tutor who still lay in the straw moaning in pain. "Shoot the bloody thing!"

Whittaker scrambled around on hands and knees, but could find no sign of the weapon.

"It's not here! I can't find it!" he screamed.

The mud was making Fender's gloved hands slippery and he could feel the creature forcing its way loose, pushing its haunches down and pulling its neck up. Fender squeezed, trying to choke the rat to death.

Then Whittaker was slivering in the mud next to him, something held in his uninjured hand.

"Hold its head out, Fender! Hold it where I can reach it!"

Fender allowed the creature to raise its head from the well it had created in the mud, and Whittaker struck down hard with the brick he had found, bringing it down on the small, pointed skull. The rat squealed but continued struggling, almost breaking free of Fender's grasp.

"Again!" Fender shouted. "Again!"

Once more the brick descended, but the mutant's struggling became even more frantic.

"Again!" Fender was almost screaming now. The heavy weight struck.

"Again!"

The rat stiffened momentarily.

"Again!"

They heard the crunching of bone. Yet still it moved.

Fender leapt to his feet, dragging the limp body with him and, without pause, swung the rat by the neck against a stout wooden beam supporting the stable roof. He felt the snap in the creature's neck and let it fall to the ground, its body twitching in death throes.

Fender collapsed on to one knee and drew in deep gasps of air. His face and body were caked in mud, but that was the least of his concerns. Whittaker sat hunched in the slime, clutching his injured hand in his lap.

"Are you okay?" Fender asked.

"I can't... move ... my fingers. I think all the tendons ... are gone." His face was screwed up in agony, tears running freely down his face into his beard.

Fender staggered to his feet and put a hand beneath the tutor's shoulder. "Come on," he said, pulling him up. We'd better move fast.

No telling how many others are around here."

The two men stumbled from the stable yard, helmets forgotten, fear giving them impetus, the mud making them slip and hold on to each other for support. They rounded the corner and made for the track leading from the house to the car on the other side of the field. As they reached the front of the building, Fender now half-supporting the injured man, they bolted down the gentle slope leading away from the house towards the open fields. And something made Fender pause to take in the peculiar circular tree copse in the middle of the nearest field.

The trees seemed to be quivering with hidden life, the branches moving, shedding leaves, trembling as though shaken by a swirling wind. It seemed to be almost thrumming. A coldness gripped him as he saw the hundreds of black shapes pour from the copse and come streaming up the slope towards them.

EIGHTEEN

"Run! Get moving!" Fender shouted as Whittaker stood mesmerized by the advancing horde. The tutor stumbled forward, intending to run towards the parked car, but Fender caught his arm and swung him round.

"No! Towards the house! We'll never make it to the car -they'll cut us off."

He pushed Whittaker towards the old building, giving one last look at the black vermin streaking across the field. The two men soon reached the piled bricks and rubble which sloped up the side of the house, and they clambered over it, the rat catcher slipping and rolling back down, the heavy clothing preventing any severe damage. He clawed his way up to the top again and saw Whittaker pushing against the iron sheeting that covered one of the large ground-floor windows. The rat catcher added his weight, using his shoulder to push against one corner of the corrugated iron.

He turned to see the black shapes darting beneath the two-strand wire fence that bordered the field, their bristling bodies momentarily lost in the undergrowth, then bursting forth, racing across the widened track that formed the frontage to the ruin. He stooped and picked up a brick, throwing it at the leading rodent, which swerved to avoid the missile.

Then it seemed as though every square foot of the frontage area was covered in black bodies, the air filled with their high-pitched squeals. Fender began using his boot on the metal barrier just as the first rat reached the bottom of the slope.

Whittaker saw the creature and managed to lift a fair-sized portion of brickwork from the rubble, hurling it down at the rat as it began climbing. The rat was crushed, killed instantly, but its companions were now at the base of the rough slope.

The corrugated sheet began to give and Fender redoubled his efforts. It came away from the top with a grinding tear and he squeezed an arm through, creating a triangular gap big enough to allow them entry.

"Get inside!" he yelled at Whittaker, pulling him roughly. The tutor complied without hesitation, squeezing his frame through the gap, grunting with the effort. Fender turned in time to give a rat that was only inches away a hefty kick, sending it hurtling back down to its companions. He wasted no time in pushing his way into the building's interior, gasping in pain as he felt strong teeth bite into his calf, one leg still on the other side of the barrier.

Whittaker was already pushing at the metal sheet, trying to close the gap in an effort to keep the attacking vermin out. Fender dragged his leg through, the rat still clinging to it. He pushed his foot down towards the floor once it was inside, the rat's shoulders becoming trapped at the narrow end of the triangle between wall and metal sheet.

Whittaker had managed to close the gap at the top and was pressing against it with his shoulder. Fender forced his leg down even further, the edge of the metal sheet pressing into the rat's neck, choking it.

The suit material tore under the strain and suddenly Fender's leg was free. He turned and brought his boot crunching down on the rodent's skull, forcing its neck further into the wedge shape. It struggled to pull back, the metal edge now cutting into its throat and Fender, in a furious, hate filled madness, rained kicks upon the trembling head. At last the eyes became glazed and the head slumped, but Fender could not be sure it was really dead.

He could see other mutants through the small opening left above the rat's body, climbing on its back trying to push their way through, and he joined Whittaker, his back pushing against the corrugated iron. They could hear the vermin leaping at the barricade, their claws scrabbling at the surface. They winced at every thud, the metal shaking with each blow.

Fender looked around the interior of the ruin, seeking a means of escape. Many of the inside walls had caved in and he could see through to the rear of the building, the windows there also covered in metal sheets. He wondered what chance they would have if they made a break for it and tried to get out the back way, but realized that by the time they had forced an opening, the vermin would be through on this side and swarming all over them. He looked upwards to see if there was a way to reach the upper levels. The blueness of the peaceful sky seemed to mock him, for there were no floors above; the upper levels had been completely gutted. Even the staircases had gone. There was one way of getting above ground level, though. It was dangerous, but their only chance. And what he saw next told him there was no choice anyway.

Not far from where they stood, through the half-collapsed wall to the hallway, he could see a black body perched on top of a metal barrier.

It was the section blocking the main entrance, a curved gap left between the doorway arc and the corrugated iron barrier. The rat waved its pointed head in the air, its nose twitching.

"It's no good," Fender cried out. They've found another way in!"

Whittaker followed his gaze and drew in his breath.

Fender nudged him and pointed to a jagged rise of brickwork, the remains of a wall which had once divided that room from the next.

"If we can get up there, we may have a chance!" he yelled over the clamour of squealing rats and thudding sounds. There's just a small corner section of flooring up there. If we can get to it we may be able to hold them off until help comes!"

"Help? What help?" came the frantic reply.

They know our location at the Centre. They'll send someone out when we don't return."

"But that will be bloody hours, man! We'll never last that long!"

"It's all we have! So move. Get up there!"

Fender could see the gap above the door was now empty; the rat had dropped down, was among the debris. Two more shadows appeared in the opening, then these, too, disappeared from view.

They're in here, Whittaker! Climb up or, by Christ, I'll leave you to hold the barrier!"

Whittaker ran across the rotted floor, avoiding a large hole near its centre, leaping over debris, a trail of blood streaming from his injured hand. He began to climb, brickwork crumbling away under his touch as he pulled himself upwards, using hands, feet, knees. The broken wall was irregular in shape, sometimes steep, sometimes a more manageable slope. Fender gave him a chance to reach a good height, knowing the tutor would only block his own path if he broke too soon.

The appearance of three rats scurrying around the wreckage of the next room made him decide it was now or never. He sprang away from the barricade and sprinted towards the makeshift stairway to the upper level, hearing the sound of tearing metal behind, knowing the rats were pouring through.

He leapt over the gaping, black hole in the centre of the floor and when he landed on the other side, the rotted boards cracked and gave under his foot. His impetus carried him forward and he was fortunate not to fall into the cellar below. He scrambled to his feet and ran on, praying he wouldn't trip on all the loose rubble. The mutants in the next room were scurrying towards him, leaping over obstacles in their way, skirling round the larger objects. Behind him the rats were swarming through the ever-widening gap in the metal barrier.

He reached the foot of the broken brick wall a second or two before the lead rat approaching from the opposite direction, and leapt onto the first easy step, immediately moving upwards, pulling away loose bricks as he went, blindly throwing them down in the hope they would deter the vermin from following. The lead rat went with him, scurrying up his back, making for his exposed neck. Fender twisted his body, almost falling from the precarious perch, bringing his elbow around sharply to hit the rat's side. The mutant had no firm grip on Fender's clothing and the blow sent it tumbling down into the rubble again.

Fender climbed and when he looked up saw that the tutor had reached the next floor level. He was sitting astride an even outcrop of wall, a large chunk of masonry held above his head, ready to be thrown down. He was staring at Fender and their eyes locked.

For one dreadful moment, Fender thought the tutor was about to hurl the brickwork down into his face, his jealousy over Jenny erupting into violence. His fears were unfounded; Whittaker's arms heaved forward and the heavy weight sailed over Fender's head to land squarely on the back of a climbing rat. Within seconds he was beneath the tutor's feet.

He turned to look down at the swarming rats and kicked one away from his heels. It slid back, then fell, taking a companion with it. Fender was relieved to see only one rat at a time could advance up the incline, and its steepness in parts made their ascent difficult. The floor below seemed alive with the creatures, those at the base of the wall on their haunches, stretching their bodies upwards, leaping and tumbling back when their claws could not gain purchase. The sounds of their strident screeching echoed around the immense, stone cavern, rebounding off the walls, magnifying the noise. He saw others had found another source of entry near the back of the house and were filing through, joining the throng on the floor below. It seemed they were no strangers to the deserted ruin.

He was thankful that the ceilings of the old house had been high, for the further away he was from those slashing teeth and claws, the safer he felt.

Where have they come from, Fender?" Whittaker yelled down at him. They should be dead!"

"It looks like they weren't all in the sewers," Fender replied, aiming a swift kick at the twitching snout of an advancing rat. "Get onto that ledge over there. There should be room enough for both of us."

The tutor eased himself up slowly then stepped over to the outcrop, the corner remains of the first-floor level. He tested its strength before resting all his weight on it and when satisfied left his crumbling perch completely. Fender scooted up after him.

Will it hold us both?" he asked before stepping across.

"I think so. It seems strong enough," came the reply.

There wasn't much room on the small platform and both men clung to the wall it jutted from for support.

"I can reach any rat that gets to the top of the wall with my boot from here," Fender said. They'll find it difficult to get over that last stretch anyway; it leans out at an angle."

As if to prove his claim, a rat tried to scramble over the projection, easy enough for a man to do, but difficult for a smaller animal. Some of the brickwork crumbled and the rat went crashing down to the floor below. It rolled over and came to its feet again, shaking its body as if stunned.

"We should be safe here," Fender said.

"For how long? What happens when it gets dark?"

The Centre will send out a search party before then. Well be okay."

Fender wished he could put some confidence behind the statement. "How's your hand?" he enquired to change the subject.

Whittaker brought the injured hand away from the wall and Fender frowned when he saw the deep rent above the knuckles.

"I still can't move it! God, it hurts!"

Fender's worry was that the tutor might faint with the pain. A fall into the vermin below would be fatal.

Try to hang on," he said, feeling helpless. They know where we are; they'll get us out."

He eased his body round on the platform so his back was against the wall, giving him a better all-round view.

"How many of them down there, Fender?" said Whittaker, his teeth clenched against the pain.

"Maybe a couple of hundred. They've stopped coming in now; I don't think there are any more."

That's enough to kill us, isn't it?" There was a note of hysteria in Whittaker's voice.

"Just keep calm and we'll be all right They can't reach us here."

But he was wrong. Even as he spoke, some of the black vermin were breaking away from the mass and climbing sections of other broken walls. Fender watched in horror, guessing their intention. If they climbed well enough, they could reach the next level above their precarious perch, then skim down the wall on that side to reach them.

With astonishment, he noticed one of the climbing rats had a white marking on its pointed head; could it be the same rat he'd seen in the forest two weeks before among the group that had attacked his search party? Perhaps that was the reason these were still alive: they hadn't returned to the sewers, they had fled into the forest instead.

"Vie," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. They're coming up the walls around us." He felt the tutor's body stop trembling, as though shocked rigid. You'll have to turn around. We may be able to dislodge them before they get above us by throwing whatever we can break off the walls."

"Can't we climb up further?" Whittaker said, closing his eyes and pressing his face against the rough brickwork.

"No, the broken wall we came up runs out just above my head. The rest is smooth to the top. Come on, turn, it's our only chance."

Whittaker numbly did as he was told, his body beginning to shake again when he looked down at the bristling bodies below and the creeping black shapes on the walls around them. Some of the flooring beneath his feet crumbled and he cried out as he pressed himself back into the wall. The falling remnants of flooring seemed to excite the vermin even more and their squealing took on a new pitch.

Fender pulled a brick free from the wall they had climbed and aimed it at the lead rat, the one with the scar, which was patiently working its way up the opposite corner section of the same wall. More by luck than judgement, it struck the rat on one shoulder, causing it to lose its grip and tumble down. It scurried off and Fender lost sight of it in the shadows.

He aimed more pieces of masonry and Whittaker joined him, but they managed to strike only a few of the climbing vermin. Every so often, Fender had to kick out with his boot at the pointed snouts that appeared over the overhang in the wall by his side.

"It's no good, Fender! We'll never stop them!"

He saw that the tutor was right. There were just too many, and the missiles were becoming more difficult to pull from the wall, the looser ones used up now.

"Okay. We'll have to climb," he said.

"But you said we couldn't! The walls are too smooth!"

We'll have to try! We'll have to dig out handholds as we go the walls might be soft with damp."