Lair (23 page)

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.

The Trrvi.llion Picture Library

Author photograph Terry O'Ncill