The Rats r-4 Page 9

  He climbed down and reached up to help the young girl, who was shaking uncontrollably. He talked to her softly, coaxing her, trying to soothe her distraught nerves. Violet smiled down at him, frightened, but placing her life in this kind little man’s hands. They went forward, bending to escape the smokey upper air. Henry first, the girl next with her face against his back, Violet following up close behind her arms around Jenny.

  They stumbled forward, trying to ignore the moans, the feeble cries for help. Henry felt a hand weakly grasp his trousers but it fell away at his next step. He knew he couldn’tstop, the lives of the woman and the girl depended on him.

  He would come back with the rescuers. His duty now was to get the three of them out, to warn.the people at the station ahead. He heard a squeal and felt something soft squirm beneath his feet. Shining the torch downhe discovered a rat glaring up at him. He saw others all round - but these were different from others he’d seen. They were smaller.Normal. Hideous - but normal. He kicked out at it and it scampered away as another dashed forward and bit into Henry’s trouser leg.

  Fortunately, it only tore into the material and he was able to bring his leg up swiftly against the wall, causing the rat to lose its grip and fall to the ground. He brought his foot down hard on its back and was shocked to hear the crunch of small bones breaking.

  Jenny screamed.

  ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he said quickly. ‘They’re ordinary rats. They’re dangerous, but nothinglike the big ones.

  They’ll probably be more frightened of us than we are of them.’

  Through her fear, Violet felt admiration well up inside her for the’ little man. She’d hardly noticed him on the train, of course. He was the type you didn’t really see. Just a face.

  The sort of man you would never speculate about – just wouldn’t arouse the interest. ‘But now, down here in this frightful place, how brave he was. Rescuing her from this carnage. Her and the girl of course.

  But how brave!

  When Henry had killed the rat, Jenny had been forced to look around her. The sight caused her to retch.

  She sagged against the wall, wanting to collapse but being held by the woman behind her. Why wouldn’t the man let them get back on the train where they’d been safe? She tried to stagger back but Henry caught her arm.

  ‘This way, dear. It won’t take long.’

  As they stumbled on, they saw rats feeding on the corpses of men and women - people who had set out to work, thinking it would be the usual Monday, minds filled with small worries and small joys, never expecting to die that day.

  Never expecting to die at any time in such a gruesome way.

  The three went on, choking with the smoke, now and again falling to be picked up by the others, moving all the time, finally leaving the dead or maimed behind. Suddenly, Henry stopped, causing Jenny and Violet to bump into him.

  ‘What is it?’ asked the older woman anxiously.

  ‘Just ahead. There’s something there. I saw a gleam.’ He followed a silver rail with his torch-beam until it fell upon four black objects. Four giant rats. Waiting for them. Lurking in the dark, waiting for them.

  Neither party moved for a few frozen seconds, then the human trio began to slowly back away. The rats just stared. Henry heard Violet gasp behind him and her grip tightened on his arm. ‘Behind us.

  There’s more,’ she managed to say.

  He whirled around and saw them. Two. Advancing stealthily towards them. He realised they were trapped. Now the four in front had begun to move forward, taking tiny crouching steps, the back muscles tensing, ready to spring.

  Perhaps I could make it on my own, he thought. Jump over the ones ahead and keep running. The girl and the woman would never make it - but on my own there might be a chance.

  ‘Against the wall, ladies.’ He pushed them back, shutting out thoughts of escape from his mind. ‘Keep behind and if they try to get past me, kick out, hard as you can.’ He took off his jacket and wrapped it round his arm keeping the light from the torch on the rats now gathered before him. The girl hid her face against the wall, the woman began to weep for’ her children.

  One rat moved forward, its chill gaze never leaving Henry’s eyes.

  A light flashed from ahead in the tunnel. They heard voices. Footsteps. More lights. The whole tunnel lit up as the footsteps and voices grew louder.

  The rats and the three people looked towards the sounds, neither group stirring. Scuffling noises brought Henry’s eyes back to the rats in time to see them disappear towards the burning train. Allexcept one. The one that had been closest was still there, studying the man. Not moving, seemingly unafraid,The solicitor’s clerk felt icy cold as though his very soul was being scrutinised. He became paralysed with fear.

  Almost contemptuously, the large rat turned its head towards the approaching men, looked once again at Henry, and then fled.

  ‘Over here, over here,’ Henry called.

  Soon they were surrounded by uniformed men: police and underground staff. As Henry told them of the appalling events, they stared in disbelief.

  ‘Come along, sir. Rats couldn’t - and wouldn’t - attack a whole train-load of people,’ a police sergeant said, shaking his head. ‘Giant or not, they couldn’t get into a train. Perhaps it’s the fumes, sir. They’ve made you a bit muddled.’

  Violet Melray pushed roughly past the little clerk and shouted angrily. ‘Well go and bloody look then!’

  and turned back, taking his hand into hers, said more softly, ‘Thank you. Thank you for helping us.’

  Henry blushed and dropped his gaze.

  ‘Er, yes, well,’ the sergeant said, ‘we’ll go on. Two of my men will take you on to the station.’

  ‘No,’ Henry said. I’ll come back to the train with you.

  You’ll need all the help you can get.’ He looked at the woman still clutching his hand. ‘Goodbye. I’ll see you again.’

  Before he could pull his hand away, she stepped forward and kissed his cheek.

  ‘Goodbye,’ she whispered.

  Chapter Eleven

  Harris felt happy as he walked into the noisy classroom. The weekend had done him the world of good.

  Must do it more often. Fresh air, open spaces. Green. Can’t beat it.

  ‘All right, you lot, shut up!’ he barked above the din.

  ‘Scalley, sit down and blow your nose. Thomas, away from the window, back to your seat. Maureen, put your mirror away now. Right. All had a good weekend? That’s enough! Let’s call the register.’

  The pupils sensed he was in a good mood and knew they could get away with a little more cheek than usual. This morning, anyway.

  ‘Only two absentees. Not bad for a Monday morning. Yes,

  Carlos, what is it? Toilet? But you’ve only just got in. Go on then, you’ll never concentrate if you don’t.’

  Carlos, a thin dark-skinned boy, thanked-him-sir, and left the room, a smirk on his face when his back was to the teacher.

  ‘Carol, give out the paper - Shehgh, give out the pencils.

  We’re going to draw some animals today,’ Harris told the class.

  ‘Can I draw a pig, sir?’ a boy at the back asked.

  ‘Why a pig, Morris?’

  ‘I can copy tubby Toomey, sir.’

  The offended fat boy swivelled round in his chair as the class erupted into laughter and swore at his tormentor.

  ‘Come out here, Morris,’ Harris said, firm-mouthed. The boy slouched to the front of the class. ‘Any good at drawing monkeys, Morris?’ ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Well try copying from a mirror,’ Harris told him knowing the class expected and enjoyed his bringing-down of a loud-mouth, even though any one of them could be next. Feeble, Harris thought, but not bad for a Monday morning. ‘Right, get on with it. Any animal you like, but I don’t want any to look like me. When you’ve finished, we’ll choose the best one, then I’ll explain why it’s the best one. Remember your light and shade.’ He walked up and do
wn the aisles, talking to them individually, giving answers, posing questions. He came to a boy named Barney, small for his fourteen years, but very bright, good at drawing but still needing to learn the techniques of painting. He was especially good with pen and ink, a skill he’d taught himself by copying comic books.

  Harris looked over the boy’s shoulder and stared at the picture taking form.

  ‘What made you draw a rat, Barney?’ he asked.

  ‘Dunno, sir,’ Barney said, sucking the end of his pen, then adding, ‘Saw one the other day. Big one, like Keogh saw... ‘

  His voice trailed off as he remembered his classmate who was now dead. The rest of the class became silent at the mention of Keogh’s name.

  ‘Whereabouts?’ asked the teacher.

  ‘By the canal. Tomlins Terrace.’

  ‘Did you see where it went?’

  ‘It jumped over a wall and disappeared into the bushes.’

  ‘What bushes? There isn’t a park down there.’

  ‘Where the lock-keeper used to live. It’s like a jungle now thecanals been shut down.’

  Harris vaguely remembered the old house that stood well back from the road, where, as a kid, he used to go to watch the barges passing through the lock. The lock-keeper liked the kids to watch him work provided they weren’t cheeky, and used to encourage them to come. Funny, he’d forgotten all about the place. He’d been down Tomlins Terrace a few times recently and hadn’t remembered the house had been there. It must have been because of the ‘jungle’ in front.

  ‘Did you tell the police?’ he asked the boy.

  ‘Nah.’ Barney turned his attention back to his drawing adding a few more strokes to his strikingly evil-looking rat.

  Might have known, Harris thought to himself. Kids around this area don’t get involved with the law through choice.

  At that moment, Carlos burst into the room in a state of extreme agitation.

  ‘Sir, sir, in the playground! There’s one of them things?

  He gesticulated towards the window, his eyes wide, smiling in his excitement.

  The whole class rushed as one towards the windows.

  ‘Back to your seats? Harris roared, and strode quickly to a window. He drew in a sharp breath at what he saw.

  There wasn’t ‘one of them things’ but several. As he watched, more joined the first bunch. Huge black rats. The rats. They crouched in the playground, staring at the school building. More, then more.

  ‘Close all windows,’ he ordered, quietly. ‘Johnson, Barney, Smith; go round to all the other classrooms and ask the teachers to close all windows. Scalley, go to the Head- master’s study and ask him to look out of his window - no, I’d better go.’ If a boy went, the Headmaster would probably think it was some kind of prank, and valuable seconds would be wasted. ‘I don’t want anybody to move from this room.

  And no noise. Cutts, you’re in charge.’ The tallest boy in the class stood up. The boys were excited now, the girls becoming more and more nervous.

  He hurried out of the room and made towards the Principal’s study. As he walked down the corridor, several of the teachers’ heads popped out of various doors.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he was asked nervously by Ainsley, one of the old-timers of the school.

  He told him quickly and hurried on. There was a strange hush throughout the school, a hush that could be entirely ruined if only one girl became hysterical.

  Barney dashed from one of the classrooms.

  Harris caught his arm and told him: ‘Steady, Barney.

  Take it slowly and calmly. Don’t frighten the girls. We don’t want panic, do we?’

  ‘No, sir,’ was the breathless reply.

  As Harris approached the stairs leading up to the next floor and the Headmaster’s study, he looked down the short flight to the main doors. Naturally, they were open.

  He crept slowly down, his hand on the rail to steady himself. As he reached the bottom, he heard a soft noise on the stone steps outside. Springing quietly to the side of the double-doors he glanced out, ready to slam both sides shut instantaneously. On the wider top step he saw a small boy looking back into the playground where about thirty of the rodents had now gathered.

  Jesus Christ, Harris thought in horror. He must have walked right past them!

  He stepped outside and swiftly scooping the small boy up, dashed back into the building. He dumped him on the floor without ceremony and turned back to close the doors. The rats hadn’t stirred. He shut the heavy doors quickly but quietly and bolted them, then breathed out for the first time in nearly two minutes.

  ‘There’s animalsin the playground, sir,’ the seven-year-old boy told him with wide eyes, but no trace of fear. ‘What are they? What are they doing there, sir?’

  Ignoring the question because he didn’t know what to tell him, Harris picked the boy up and raced back up the stairs. Putting him down at the top he told him to run along to his classroom. He heard the murmur of voices as teachers began to gather in the corridor. He ran up the next flight of stairs, three at a time, and almost collided with the Headmaster as he emerged from his office.

  ’Please phone the police, Mr Norton.’ Harris said urgently.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve got trouble.’

  ‘I already have, Mr Harris. Have you seen what’s in the playground?’

  ‘Yes - that’s the trouble I mean. They’re the giant ones, the killers.’

  They went back into the study and looked out of the window. The rats had multiplied it seemed to a couple of hundred.

  ‘The playground’s black with them,’ the young teacher said in disbelief.

  ‘What do they want?’ The Headmaster looked at Harris as though he would know.

  ‘The children,’ said Harris.

  ‘It won’t take the police long to get here - but what they’ll do about the situation is another matter. Let’s make sure every door and window is shut tight. All the children must go up to the top floor and barricade themselves in. I still don’t quite believe it’s happening but let’s not waste any time on pondering over the situation.’ The Headmaster strode briskly to the door.

  ‘Now you check every possible opening, Mr Harris, I’ll get the staff organised.’

  Harris followed the gaunt figure of the Headmaster down the stairs where the buzz of conversation was beginning to build up. He heard him clap his hands and order silence.

  Harris brushed past the throng of teachers, looking into every room, making sure all the windows were firmly closed.

  Thank God all the lower windows had iron grilles over them to prevent broken window panes from boisterously kicked footballs. Good.

  All seemed tight. Now the staffroom.

  As he entered he saw one of the windows was open, and because it faced the narrow passage between the building and the outer wall, it had no grille to protect it. And on the floor before it, sat one of the creatures.

  How it had scaled the wall was something Harris would never know, but there it was, as though it were a scouting party for the others. It looked to and fro, sniffing the air, its pointed nose twitching. It saw Harris and rose on its haunches. It stood at least two feet from the ground. The teacher stepped inside and slammed the door behind him.

  He had to close that window.

  This particular rat spent no time studying its victim – it sprang forward, straight off its haunches and into the air, aiming itself for Harris’s throat. But the teacher was just as fast. He reached for a chair even as the creature’s muscles tensed for the leap and swung it before him. The chair struck the rat’s body in mid-jump, like a cricket bat meeting a ball, and threw it to one side, the wood splintering.

  The rat landed on its feet and sprang towards Harris again, who brought the chair crashing down on its back. It was stunned for a few seconds, but still not severely hurt. However, it had gained the teacher time enough to reach for the heavy poker lying in the hearth of the unlit fire. He brought it down viciously, more in hate than fear, o
n the rat’s thin skull with a sickening thud. Then again. And again. He turned towards the window in time to see another claw its way on to the sill. Without hesitation, he lashed out with the poker, knocking the rat back down into the narrow passage-way below. He pulled the window shut and leaned against it, gasping for breath and trying to control his trembling knees. The window was a type with fine wire mesh set in the glass to prevent it shattering.

  ‘It should hold them,’ he said aloud.

  Then he went to the staffroom door, took the key from the inside, stepped out and locked it. But not before taking a close look at the creature lying on the threadbare carpet.

  Its body must have been at least two feet long, its tail another nine or ten inches. The bristly fur wasn’t exactly black, but very dark brown, with lots of black speckles mottling it. Its head was larger in proportion to the ordinaryrodent’s and its incisors were long and pointed. Its half-lidded eyes had the lifeless glaze of the dead, but its partially-covered teeth seemed to grin wickedly. Even in death, the body seemed deadly, as though the disease it bore could be passed on by mere touch.

  Once outside in the hall, Harris saw that the children were being herded towards the stairs.

  ‘Are you all fight, Mr Harris?’ the Headmaster came striding towards him.

  ‘Yes. I’ve killed one of the monsters.’ Harris realised he still held the blood-stained poker.

  ‘Good man. Well, the place is sealed off and the police will soon be here, so I don’t think we’ve anything to worry about,’ the Headmaster said reassuringly, his smile disappearing instantly at Harris’s next remark: ‘What about the basement?’

  They both turned towards the cellar flairs and broke into a run as they neared them. They stopped at the top and peered down into the gloom,

  ‘I think we’ll be all fight,’ said the Headmaster. ‘Mr Jenkins, the caretaker, will probably be down there checking the boiler. It always takes him a while to get it going on Monday mornings. Heaven knows, I’ve complained about the cold water on Mondays enough...’ he broke off, slightly annoyed at the young teacher who had carried on down apparently not listening to a word he was saying.