Pestilence (37 page)

Saracen coughed and spluttered in the acrid gun smoke. The paroxysms had the side-effect of relieving some of the tension that had built up inside him and made him feel marginally better although his ears were ringing painfully. He edged forward again until he encountered the carcase of the rat and found a new problem. There was no room to push the corpse behind him. He would have to push it along on front of him with the heels of his hands. The smells of its innards together with the gun smoke and the ever encroaching claustrophobia of the drain as he edged in ever deeper conspired to push Saracen once more to the verge of hysteria. No vision of hell could have outdone the situation that he now found himself in.

The merest suggestion of a movement in the air caressed Saracen’s cheek. There was still no light ahead but there was definitely a faint breeze, he was sure of it and it rescued his sanity. But elation was to turn to despair when the tunnel ahead of him filled with eyes.

Terror became blind fury as Saracen fired three times in rapid succession and ignored the agony in his ears. He was waiting for the smoke to clear when a rat loomed up in the torch beam and he fired again but only to miss in his panic. The rat launched itself at him and he dipped his head to protect his face. He felt the rat’s paws scratch on the back of his head as it struggled for balance and he waited for its teeth to gnaw into the back of his neck but it didn’t happen. The animal had found enough space between the top of his body and the roof of the tunnel to be able to pass along. He felt it run down the centre of his back and leave him. Another rat followed, using the same route and Saracen felt this one pause for one dreadful moment on the back of his upper thigh but then it too continued on its journey and scampered down over his ankles and away. The way ahead was now clear.

Desperately calling on what little energy he had left Saracen wriggled forward, ignoring all pain as he pushed a pile of rat corpses ahead of him using his forearms as angled blades. The drain channel curved to the right and he could see daylight. Five metres…four…three…two, one and he was free of his stone prison. He raised himself painfully to his knees and took great gulps of fresh air for a full half minute before he even thought to look around. With a final super-human effort he pulled himself up a two metre bank and found himself on a hillside. He was on the hill behind Skelmore Municipal Rubbish Dump and rubbish had never smelt sweeter.

Saracen lay on his back for a moment and looked up at the drifting clouds taking pleasure from the feel of the watery sun on his face. He gripped handfuls of coarse grass and rejoiced in its feel before throwing it to the breeze as pale rays of sunshine broke through the clouds like a poster on a Sunday school wall. He wanted to sleep; he desperately wanted to sleep but there was no time. He had to tell Beasdale how to get at the rat colony.

In the distance Saracen heard an engine. He got up and saw that a military vehicle was coming down the road towards the dump. He yelled out but the truck showed no signs of stopping until he pulled out his pistol and emptied it into the air. The truck stopped and a soldier jumped down. Saracen waved his arms and saw the soldier put his weapon to his shoulder and point it at him. “No!” he cried. “For God’s sake no!”

It was Saracen’s protective suit that saved him for the soldier saw it at the last moment and realised that any person wearing it must have an official role to play. The man lowered the weapon and Saracen stumbled down the hill to say who he was.

“Christ, you were lucky sir. I nearly…”

“I know what you nearly did,” said Saracen wearily. “Call Col. Beasdale, will you.”

“Dr Saracen? You’re alive!” said Beasdale’s voice.”

“All the others died and the blood samples were destroyed when the tunnel caved in but I do know where the rat colony is and where the old exit is. You must destroy it.”

“No they weren’t,” said Beasdale.”

“Pardon?”

“The blood samples, they weren’t destroyed. Sergeant Morris got out. The rock fall just missed him. Your samples were flown to Porton and analysed.”

“And?”

“They’ve identified the relevant factor as an adjuvant? Is that how you say it?”

“Yes.”

“Apparently this adjuvant stimulates antibody production against the Skelmore strain. In short they say they can make and antiserum and a vaccine…Are you still there Doctor?”

Saracen had gone weak at the knees. He rubbed his forehead and said, “I’m still here. You won’t be destroying the town then?”

“I don’t know what you mean Doctor.”

“Thank God,” whispered Saracen.

“You say you can show us how to gain access to the rats?”

“Yes but gassing them is probably a non-starter. The cellars are too big.”

“The sergeant was of the same opinion,” said Beasdale. “We are going to use Parapalm.”

“What?”

“Parapalm, liquid fire. It will generate enough heat to incinerate anything in the cellars.”

“And you just happened to have it handy,” said Saracen.

“Is there anything I can do for you Doctor?” asked Beasdale, choosing to ignore the comment. “Anyone I can get in touch with? We all thought you were dead.”

“Yes there is,” said Saracen weakly. “I’d like you to contact Staff nurse Rawlings at the General.”

“What shall I say?”

“Tell her…tell her I love her very much will you.”

Consciousness was slipping away from Saracen. So the plague for the abbey was going to be treated with fire just as it had been six hundred years before. The chalice was safe again. Those who had dared to touch it had been destroyed. Just a coincidence, just a legend. Saracen smiled and passed out.

“Poor bugger,” said a soldier. “He looks all in.

THE END