The Rats Read online

  He moved surprisingly fast for a man of his bulk. He cleared the few stairs he’d descended in two bounds and headed for the ticket office, slamming the door behind him. He leaned back against it for a couple of seconds, fighting for breath and giving his heartbeats a chance to slow down.

  He made for the phone and with trembling fingers dialled emergency.

  ‘Police. Hurry! Police? This is Shadwell Underground, Stationmaster Green speak...’ He looked up as he heard a scuttling noise. Staring across at him from the ticket-office pay window was a huge, black, evil-looking rat.

  He dropped the phone and ran to the back of the office.

  The windows were barred, preventing any escape. He looked around in desperation, his gross figure shaking with fear. He saw the cupboard set back in the wall, where brooms and buckets were kept for the cleaners, pulled it open and pushed himself inside, closing the-door behind. He crouched, half sitting, whimpering, wetness spreading between his thighs, in the darkness, scarcely daring to breathe.That scream ! It must have been Errol or someone, waking for a tram. They’d got him and now they were coming for him!

  The driver of the train hadn’t stopped. He’d seen them and driven on. And there’s no one else on the station. Mother-of-God, what’s that? Gnawing. Scraping. They’re in the office. They’re trying to eat their way through the cupboard door!

  Chapter Ten

  Eight-thirty. The Monday morning rush was in full swing.

  The passengers on the underground train read their morning papers or novels; slept or dozed; chatted or thought; stood or sat. Some even laughed occasionally. Accountant clerks rubbed shoulders with financial directors; typists with models; tea-ladies with executives; filing clerks with computer programmers; black with white. The men stared boldly or secretly at the girls’ legs; the girls stared, back or pre-tended not to notice. Minds filled with the coming week; minds reflecting on the weekend past; minds almost blank.

  Jenny Cooper sat reading the problems page of a women’s magazine, occasionally smiling at the ridiculous situations some girls seemed to get themselves into. She scoffed at some of the answers too.

  Flicking over the page, not really interested in the words before her, her thoughts returned to the previous Saturday night and the party she’d gone to. She was impatient to get to work to tell her friends about the fabulous boy who’d taken her home–especially Marion, who always had hundreds of blokes and never let the other girls forget it. Jenny considered herself to be a little bit plain; her eyes were too small and too close together, her nose just a fraction too long. Her legs were good though; long, not too thin and not too fat. Her hair always looked nice.

  Nice curls, nice soft colour. And her face was quite attractive if she didn’t smile too broadly. Anyway, this boy really fancied her–he’d told her. She’d had boyfriends but none of them up to Marion’s usual standard. She’d liked them but always felt slightly ashamed of them when they’d taken her out. But this one was different. He was just as good-looking as any of Marion’s, in fact, better than a lot of them. And he’d asked her out again! Tonight. Pictures. She couldn’t wait to show him off to her friends–she’d make Marion green.

  Violet Mckay, sitting next to Jenny, read her historical romance. She always became so engrossed in romantic fiction, always knowing exactly how the heroine felt in every situation, suffering with her, experiencing her disappointments, her happiness. She sighed inwardly as the hero, having lost his wealth, his wife (who had been so wicked and conniving), and his right arm in a hunting accident, now returned to the woman he really loved, the heroine, so soft, so pure, so willing to have him back in her arms and comfort him in his grief, ready to sacrifice everything for him, this man who had betrayed her trust and who now needed her so much. Violet remembered how romantic George had been.

  In their courting days, he’d given her flowers, small gifts, little poems. How thoughtful he’d always been.

  But now, sixteen years and three kids later, he was more inclined to pat her back than tickle her chin. He was a good man though, very straight, but very soft.

  He’d been a good husband to her and a good father to the children, ever faithful, ever patient. Their love had mellowed over the years, not really fading as most couple’s seemed to.

  But if only he wasn’t so sensible. Every problem was tackled with logic rather than emotion; and emotion was carefully measured, never just let loose. If only once he would surprise her. Do something startling.

  Not have an affair – but perhaps flash his eyes at another woman. Or have a flutter on the horses. Or come home drunk. Or punch his brother Albert on the nose. But no, she wouldn’t really change him.

  It wasn’t his fault that she had urges now and again for a bit of romantic adventure, a bit of glamour. At forty-two, she should have got over her wilder impulses for adventure.

  Now, with the kids at school and able to look after themselves, her only outlet was her part-time job in an insurance office. The men were pretty stodgy but some of the girls were a laugh. It kept her busy for most of the day anyway and she had enough to do when the kids got home from school and George from work. She reminded herself to go into Smith’s at lunch-time for a new book.

  Henry Sutton clung to his strap as the train lurched round a bend in the tunnel. He tried to read his folded paper but every time he attempted to open it out to turn a page, he nearly lost his balance. Eventually, he gave it up as a bad job and looked down at the woman sitting in front of him reading a book and wondered when it would be her station.

  No, she’d stay on for a while yet; the book-readers always had long journeys. The young girl next to her.

  No. Works in an office, won’t get off until we reach the City or the West End, and it’s only Stephey Green next stop. Over the years of rush-hour travel, Henry had become an expert on where people lived. It didn’t work so well in the mornings – he rarely got a seat–but in the evenings, he would position himself in front of a person most likely to get off fairly soon. For instance: the scruffier the person, the sooner they reached their destination; coloured people never went further than West Ham; well-dressed people often changed at Mile End for the Central Line. Twenty years as a solicitor’s clerk, mundane but comfortable, had taught him a lot about people too. Life proceeded at a steady, regular pace; not very exciting–the odd interesting scandal–but one day pretty much like another. No cases of murder, rape or black-mail–mainly divorce, embezzlement, or house purchasing.

  Steady stuff. Mostly monotonous, often dull. Secure. He was glad he wasn’t married and able to lead his own life without worrying about children, schools, neighbours, H.P., holidays. Not that he really ever got up to much on his own. He believed in keeping himself to himself and not getting involved in other people’s problems. He had enough of that at work, although he never became emotionally involved. The church choir was the only social outlet he enjoyed, meeting once a week to rehearse, and Sunday morning singing his heart out, the only form of exhibitionism he allowed himself. He raised his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

  Mondays were neither depressing nor exhilarating for Henry Sutton; one day was much the same as any other.

  The train suddenly gave a lurch and screeched to a halt, throwing the surprised solicitor’s clerk on to the laps of Violet Melray and Jenny Cooper.

  ‘Oh, excuse me,’ he stuttered, his face red alerting as he pulled himself up again. Other passengers were in the same predicament and were now picking themselves up, some laughing, others tutting angrily.

  ‘Here we go,’ a voice was heard to say. ‘Another twenty- minute delay.’ He was wrong. They sat or stood for forty minutes in a state of agitation, trying to hear the shouted conversation between the driver and the guard over their intercom. Henry Sutton, Violet Melray and Jenny Cooper were in the first carriage so they could hear the driver’s replies to the guard’s questions quite plainly. He’d seen something on the line, not quite sure what, but it had been quite large, so he’d
jammed on his brakes and cut his power.

  Having decided that whatever it was man or animal, it must have been killed by the train and there wasn’t much he could do about it now, so the obvious thing to do was to go on and send a crew back from the next station. The only trouble now was that he couldn’t get any juice. No power. It could be that whatever he’d run over had done some damage to the train although he doubted that, A faulty cable maybe?

  He’d actually heard of rats chewing through cables.

  The driver, or ‘motor-man’ as he was officially called, had been on to central control and they’d advised him to sit tight for a while until they located and repaired the fault. But it was the smell of smoke that decided him upon his course of action. The passengers became aware of the smoke at the same time and began to stir apprehensively.

  The next station, Stepney Green, wasn’t very far, so he would get them off the train and up the tunnel.

  With so many passengers it would be dangerous, but it would be better than have them panic in the confined spaces of the carriages. Already he could hear excited voices coming from the carriage next door. He told the guard of his intentions then opened the connecting door, to be confronted by anxious-looking faces.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he reassured them with false confidence.

  ‘Slight hitch, that’s all. We’re going to go along the tunnel to the next stop–it isn’t far and the rails won’t be live.’

  ‘But something’s burning,’ a concerned-looking businessman informed him gruffly.

  ‘That’s all right, sir. No cause for alarm. We’ll soon put that right.’ He made his way forward to the end of the carriage. ‘I’m just going to inform the rest of the passengers and then I’ll be back to lead you through the tunnel.’ He disappeared into the adjoining Compartment leaving the dismayed commuters in an uneasy silence.

  A few minutes later, they heard a scream followed by shouts of alarm. The connecting door burst open and passengers spilled in, pushing and shoving their way through the crowded carriage. The smell of burning followed close behind. The hysteria spread like the fire that caused it.

  Henry Sutton was once again thrown upon the two female travellers before him.

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ be murmured, his glasses skimming to the end of his nose. This time, the crush of people prevented him from disentangling himself from the frightened women.

  They were forced to stay locked together as men and women pushed by them, terrified now by the billowing smoke that began to fill the train. Scuffles broke out as men found their escape impeded by others. All the way down the tube train doors were being forced open and passengers were jumping down into the dark tunnel, some knocking themselves sense-less against the wall and being crushed by others landing on top of them.

  Violet gasped for breath beneath the prostrate solicitors clerk, while Jenny struggled to get free.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry, ladies,’ he apologised, helpless to move,

  ‘If–if we keep calm, I’m sure the crush will ease soon and then we’ll be able to make our way off the train. I don’t think the fire will spread this way for a while. We’ve plenty of time.’ Strangely enough, Henry felt extremely calm. For one whose life had had so little adventure he marvelled at his own composure. He’d often wondered whether he’d be brave in time of crisis and now, as people panicked, and pushed, and screamed all around him, he’d surprised himself by his own lack of fear. He felt quite pleased.

  By now, the carriage was becoming less crowded as the people used the side-doors to escape the choking smoke.

  ‘Ah, now I think I can stand.’ Henry got to his feet and reached down to pull the woman and the girl to theirs. ‘I think we should stick together, ladies. When we get into the tunnel we’ll hold hands and feel our way along the wall. I’ll lead, come along.’

  He led the two white-faced passengers towards the front of the carriage. Suddenly the screaming reached a new pitch. In the gloom of the tunnel, lit by the lights of the train, they could see struggling figures. There were so many faces out there that they couldn’t comprehend exactly what was happening.

  Henry caught a glimpse of one man, still wearing a bowler-hat, disappearing from view beneath the window with something black against his face. As they neared the open door of the driver’s compartment, they saw that people were struggling to get back on the train but were being blocked by those still trying to get off.

  Henry and his two female companions reached the small darkened driver’s compartment.

  ‘Now let me see,’ he said, half to himself, ‘there should be a torch or a lantern somewhere here–ah, just the job.’ He reached down for a long rubber-covered torch tucked away in one corner. A sudden scraping noise made him turn towards the driver’s’ open door. Something black was crouched there. He switched on the torch and shone a beam of light towards it. Jenny screamed as it reflected on two shining, evil-looking eyes. Instantly, without realising his actions, Henry lashed out with his foot, catching the rat’s head and knocking it back into the tunnel.

  ‘It’s one of those black rats that the papers were on about!’ Violet cried in horror. Jenny burst into tears, burying her head into the older woman’s shoulder. Henry shone the torch down into the darkness and was dumb-struck at the scene before him. In the confined space of the tunnel, men and women were running, fighting, cowering as hundreds of black rats rampaged amongst them, leaping and tearing, their bloodlust stirring them into a frenzy. He quickly closed the door and then looked back into the carriage.

  He saw that the rats had entered the train and were now attacking the passengers who hadn’t managed to get off or had scrambled back on. He slammed the compartment door shut and switched off his torch.

  He was trembling slightly but managed to control the tremor in his voice. ‘I think, our best bet is to sit fight for a while, ladies.’

  They all jumped as something fell against the door. Jenny began to moan loudly, her whole body shaking fitfully.

  Violet did her best to comfort her. ‘It’s all right, dear. They can’t get in here,’ she soothed.

  ‘But you must keep quiet,’ Henry said, placing a hand kindly on her shoulder. ‘They mustn’t hear us. I think I broke that devil’s neck, so he won’t try to get in. I suggest we all crouch down on the floor and keep as still as possible.’

  He helped lower the sobbing girl to a sitting position and took one more glance out of the window. He wished he hadn’t. His mind registered a mental picture he knew he would never forget for as long as–he quickly pushed the thought of life and death from his mind. Below him was part of a nightmare. A scene from hell. He saw bloody covered limbs; torn faces; ripped bodies. A man stood almost opposite him, against the wall, stiff and straight, his eyes lifelessly staring, it seemed, into his own, while three or four rats gorged themselves on his bare legs. A fat woman, completely naked cried pitifully as she beat at two rats clinging to her ample breasts. A young boy of about eighteen was trying to climb to the top of the train by pushing his feet against the wall and slowly levering himself up. A huge rat ran up the side of the wall and landed on his lap, causing the boy to fall back on to the ground. Screams pervaded the air. Cries for help beat into his brain. All in the half-gloom, against the blackness of the tunnel, as though the whole event was taking place in black limbo. And everywhere scurrying, furry black creatures, running up the walls, launching themselves into the air, only stopping when the victims’ struggles ceased, and then eating and drinking.

  Henry sank to his knees and weakly crossed himself.

  He jumped when a hand touched his shoulder. ‘What should we do?’ Violet asked him, trying to see his face in the darkness. He made an effort to push the horrible scene from his mind.

  ‘We’ll wait for a while–see what happens. They’re bound to send someone down the tunnel to investigate. Shouldn’t be too long.’ He reached out for Violet’s hand and patted it softly. He began to secretly enjoy the woman’s dependence on him. In the
past, he’d always been a little shy of the opposite sex, but now, amidst the chaos, he was finding a new side to his timid nature. Sense of pride inhimself began to quell the fear inside.

  Abruptly, the screaming ceased. They didn’t move for a few seconds, their ears straining for the slightest sound. And then they heard moaning. It started with one long low moan and developed into several more. Soon the whole tunnel echoed with cries of misery, wailing voices, calls for help.

  But there were no more screams. The strident urgency had gone from the voices. It was as though the mutilated people those left alive–knew that nothing more could happen to them. The horror had been perpetrated, now they could only live or die.

  Henry raised himself and looked through the window.

  He could see one or two bodies nearby, but the blackness concealed anything else.

  ‘I think they’ve gone.’ He turned back to the woman and girl. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any sign of them.’

  Violet got to her knees and peered out. ‘But–but what’s that glow. There’s a red glow coming from somewhere.’

  Henry leapt to his feet. ‘Of course. The fire! It’s spreading, and probably frightened off the rats. We’ll have to get out.’

  ‘No,’ cried Jenny. ‘We can’t go out there. They’ll be waiting!’

  ‘And we can’t stay here,’ he told her, not unkindly. ‘Look,

  I think they’ve gone now, frightened by the fire. I’ll go out and look first and find out. Then I’ll come back for you.’

  ‘Don’t leave us.’ Violet clutched at his arm. He smiled at her, his face now visible in the red glow. She was a fine- looking woman, he thought. Probably married. Kids too.

  Wouldn’t look at me twice at a more normal time. Pity.

  ‘All right. We’ll go together.’

  ‘No, no, I’m not going out there.’ Jenny crouched back against the opposite comer.

  ‘You must, my dear. You’ll suffocate here before very long.’ The smoke had begun to get heavier. ‘It’ll be safe now you’ll see.’ He reached out for her and forced her to her feet, Violet helping him. ‘When we get out, I didn’t want either of you to look round,’ he told them. ‘Just hold on to me and look straight ahead. And please trust me.’