The Rats (5 page)

Another dishevelled figure buried his head in his hands and rolled himself into a ball, his frail body rocked with sobs and pleadings. The rats bit off his fingers and attacked the back of his neck as well as his exposed behind. He stayed in his foetal position as the rats ate him, still half-alive.

Myer ran. He ran faster than he’d ever run before and he almost made it. But in the dark, and in his panic, he ran into a gravestone. He somersaulted over it, landing on his back.

At once, the rats were upon him, their razor-sharp teeth soon tearing his feeble old body to shreds.

Outside the ruin, on the main road, a crowd had gathered.

They’d heard the screams and the commotion but none dare enter the dark churchyard. They couldn’t see through the foliage, but they knew the type that made those old bomb-sites their homes and were not too anxious to investigate.

Eventually two policemen arrived, closely followed by a squad car. A powerful searchlight was directed into the undergrowth, and three policemen with torches went in.

They emerged again three minutes later, all deathly pale.

One went to the side of the road and vomited.

Chapter Six

Harris woke with a start and automatically reached for the shrilling alarm. The ringing always shocked him when it caught him unawares. Lately, he’d got into the habit of waking just a few minutes before the alarm went off, waiting for the first explosive ring, and shutting it off immediately with a fast-moving hand.

Then he’d doze for twenty minutes or so.

But this morning, it had caught him in a deep dream. He tried to remember what it had been about.

Something to do with teeth. Sharp teeth. Tearing.

Bloody hell, he thought, it was rats. Thousands of them.

He’d looked out his window, he remembered, it was night-time, and there below him were thousands of rats, all perfectly still, just staring up at him in the moonlight. Thousands of wicked looking eyes. Then they’d surged forward, crashing through the front door, scurrying up the stairs. Thank God for the alarm.

He turned over with a groan and put his arm around the curled-up figure lying next to him.

‘Morning, Jude.’ The girl curled up into a tighter ball, murmuring softly.

Harris ran his tongue down her naked back, making her squirm with pleasure. He put his hand between her arms and drawn-up thighs and lightly stroked her smooth stomach.

She languidly turned around to face him, stretching her arms and legs as she did so.

’Hello,’ she said as she kissed him.

He drew her close and they both stretched against each other.

‘It’s late,’ he said.

‘Not that late.’

‘Oh yes it is.’ He ran his fingers along the inside of her thighs, teasing her. ‘Didn’t you have enough last night?’

‘No.’ She began to closes his eyelids.

‘Well, I did.’ He laughed as he whipped back the covers.

‘Now get out in that kitchen and rattle those pots and pans.’

‘Pig.’

He watched her as she slipped on her dressing gown and disappeared into the kitchen. As the sound of cupboards being opened and closed, water filling the kettle and Radio One music came through to him, he lay thinking of Judy.

They had lived together for six or seven months now and their love seemed to grow stronger by the day.

She was a dress designer, a good one too, and they’d met at a mutual friend’s party. They’d slept together that first night, but she hadn’t let him make love to her. He’d tried of course, but she’d gently discouraged him, and to his amazement the next morning, he was glad she had. Weeks later, when they realised they were both in love with each other, he’d asked why she’d let him stay that first night but hadn’t let him make love. She couldn’t explain because she didn’t really understand herself. Not the fact that they hadn’t made love, but that she’d let him sleep with her. She’d never slept with anyone before, and although she’d been engaged for two years, her love-making had been confined to touching only.

It was just that she’d felt something ‘stir’ inside her that night. She’d almost felt sorry for him in a strange way. He appeared on the surface to be self-sufficient, confident, but underneath he was the proverbial

‘little-boy-lost’. He’d smiled and said that was his usual trick with women but she’d nodded and replied:

‘Yes, that was quite apparent. But even underneath that, there really was a little lost soul roaming around.

You, Harris, are a man of many layers.’

He’d been impressed. Flattered that anyone should be interested enough to try and ‘suss’ him out like that. She’d gone on to explain that she couldn’t let him go that night, that she wanted to be close to him, but she couldn’t let the final barrier down until she was sure of him. And herself.

A few months later they rented a flat in the King’s Cross area and moved in together. They’d talked about marriage and decided it wasn’t important just yet. They would live together for at least a year and then decide. Either for – or against.

Sometimes, usually when he was alone, the old hardness would come creeping over him, and he’d say to himself:

‘Harris, you’re on to a good thing here, son.’ But when he was with Judy, walking, holding hands, making love, tender-ness would sweep away any harshness from his feelings.

Judy’s voice from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts.

‘Okay, lazy, breakfast’s almost ready.’ He leapt out of bed, shrugged on an old blue bathrobe and went into the toilet on the landing. Then he went down to the front door to collect the paper. When he returned, he kissed Judy’s neck and sat down at the small table.

‘Good thing you called me when you did, I thought my bladder was going to burst.’

Judy placed bacon and tomatoes before him and sat down to her hard-boiled egg. He hated eggs first thing in the morning.

He unfolded the Mirror to look at the headlines. He usually read the paper on the bus on the way to school – he loved to leave it around the staff-room, to the disapproval of his colleagues who thought any newspaper other than The Times or the Guardian were comic-books–but he always glanced at the headlines at breakfast.

’Christ, listen to this,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of bread. ‘Six tramps eaten alive by rats. Late last night, police were called to a bomb-site in Stepney after passers-by had heard screams and the sounds of violent struggle coming from the ruins of the old St Anne’s churchyard. On investigation, the police officers discovered the remains of six bodies, apparently killed by rats, a few of which were still feeding on the corpses. The area was immediately cordoned off, and police, wearing protective clothing and assisted by a leading pest extermination company, combed the ruins for the rats’ lair but were unable to discover any trace of- the vermin. Earlier in the day, Karen Blakely, aged thirteen months, and her dog, were attacked and killed by rats in their home. The girl’s mother, Paula Blakely, is still in hospital under sedation and is now said to be seriously ill

An inquiry committee will be set up to...’ Harris finished reading the article in silence and Judy came round and leaned over his shoulder.

‘It’s awful.’ She shuddered and pressed close to him. ‘How can that sort of thing happen in this day and age?’

‘I know there’s still some terrible slums left, but I didn’t realise that they were bad enough to breed anything like this.’ He shook his head in puzzlement. ‘That must be the woman I saw in hospital yesterday. And Keogh. He said he saw two enormous rats. Perhaps he wasn’t exaggerating after all.

What the hell’s happening?’

They both got dressed and left the fiat. As they were both

going in opposite directions, Harris to the East End, Judy to the big department store for which she

‘created’ fashions in the West End, they kissed goodbye in the street and went their separate ways.

On the bus Harris pondered on the question of rats and wondered if the three incidents were connected.

‘Was it just coincidence or were they tied up in some way? Could it have been the same rats or were they different groups? He decided he’d question Keogh further about his two rats when he remembered the boy wouldn’t be in that day. Well, nevermind, tomorrow would do.

But there wasn’t a tomorrow for Keogh. When Harris reached the school he was called into the principal’s office and told that the boy had been rushed to hospital the previous night with a severe fever and was at that moment in a critical condition. The hospital had rung and asked if anyone else had been with him when he’d been bitten by the rat?

And could the teacher who had brought him to the hospital yesterday come along to see them?

‘Yes, I’ll just get my class organised and I’ll go over right away,’ Harris said to the worried-looking Mr Norton.

‘No, I’ve seen to that,’ said the headmaster. ‘You get going now. They insisted it was urgent. Try not to be too long.’

Harris left the school and made towards the hospital at a brisk pace. When he arrived he began to explain who he was but the receptionist had been expecting him and immediately took him to an office near the rear of the building where he was asked to wait. He had barely sat down when the door opened and three men strode in.

‘Ah, you’re the boy’s teacher?’ enquired the first man, walking around to the desk. His portly figure lowered itself into a chair with a weary slump and his tired eyes barely flickered towards Harris. He waved his hand at the two others before Harris could reply. ‘Doctor Strackley’ – the doctor nodded -

‘and Mr Foskins from the Ministry of Health.’ Foskins stretched a hand towards the teacher who shook it. ‘And my name is Tunstall, I’m the Hospital Group Secretary.’ The man behind the desk finished his introductions glancing through a sheaf of papers. He stopped at one in particular, seemingly studying it closely, but at the same time asking, ‘Your name?’

‘Harris. How is Keogh?’

Tunstall looked up from his document. ‘You haven’t been told?’

Harris froze at the tone of the group secretary’s voice, ’I’m’ afraid he died during the night.’

Harris shook his head in disbelief. ‘But it was only yesterday that he was bitten.’

‘Yes, we know, Mr Harris,’ the doctor stepped forward and leaned on the desk, his eyes looking intently at the stunned teacher. ‘That’s why we asked you to come along.

You brought the boy here yesterday. Perhaps you could tell us how and where he received the bite?’

‘But you can’t die just from a bite. And in one day?’

Harris shook his head at the three men, ignoring the doctor’s question.

Tunstall spoke up, putting the papers finally to one side.

‘No, it seems impossible, doesn’t it? A post mortem is already being carried out to see if Keogh was suffering from any other illness at the time. We thought possibly the bite may have acted as some kind of catalyst for a hidden disease carried by the boy. But we’ve virtually discounted that theory now, although we’re still checking it out. You see, a woman was brought in yesterday too–you may have read about it in the papers; her child was killed by rats–and she was herself attacked by them in an attempt to save her daughter. She died two hours ago.’

‘But that means anyone who comes in contact with the rats and gets bitten by one...’ before Harris could finish, Foskins interrupted.

‘Yes, Mr Harris. Once a person has been bitten, they have about twenty-four hours to live. That’s why it’s essential to learn as much as possible about these particular rats. They’re obviously an unknown species, unknown to us inEnglandanyway. From what we’ve heard, their sheer size is quite extraordinary...’

‘We want to know everything the boy told you of’ the incident,’ said Tunstall impatiently.

‘Yes, of course,’ Harris nodded. ‘But how did they die?

What did they die of?’ He looked at each of the three men in turn. The room filled with an uneasy silence.

Finally, the doctor cleared his throat and looked at the group secretary. ‘I think it’s only fair that we take Mr Harris into our confidence. I think we can trust him to be discreet, and he may be able to help us if he knows this area well.’

‘I was born here. I know most of this region–and I know exactly where Keogh saw his rats.’

‘Very well’sighed Tunstall. ‘But understand, you must not repeat anything said in this room to anybody.

We’re not sure what we’re up against yet, and until we are, we must treat it with the utmost discretion.

We don’t want people to panic over something that may only be a rare occurrence.’

‘Like six tramps being eaten alive,’ interjected Harris.

‘Yes, yes, Mr Harris, we know it’s a bit frightening,’ said Foskins quickly. ‘But we don’t want people panicking do we? I mean, the first thing to suffer would be the docks, wouldn’t it? Heaven knows, the dockers don’t need much excuse to stay away from work so just think of what this sort of scare could do. And if foodstuff were left to rot in the warehouses and ships, what then? The whole waterfront would be infested within a few days. Vicious circle, Mr Harris, vicious circle.’

The teacher remained silent.

‘Look, we’ll probably overcome this problem before anything else occurs,’ Tunstall leaned forward, pointing a finger at Harris. ‘Now your help isn’t essential, but if you do want to assist us you must agree to silence.’

What brought that on wondered Harris. He must be really worried. ‘All right,’ he shrugged. ‘I just want to know how Keogh and the woman died.’

‘Of course,’ smiled Doctor Strackley, trying to break the icy atmosphere. ‘The deaths were mused by an infection introduced by the bite of the rat into the bloodstream. The usual disease mused by the vermin is calledWeil’s Disease , Leptrospirosis or Spirochoetal Jaundice. We only have about ten or eleven cases of this a year in this country–it’s that rare. The organism that causes it, Leptospira Ictero  haemorrhagae, is carried by rats and conveyed to man in their urine, either through the skin or alimentary tract. It’s an occupational hazard to workers in sewers. Incubation period is from seven to thirteen days; onset of the disease is abrupt fever, muscular pains, loss of appetite and vomiting.

The feverish stage lasts several days before jaundice appears and the patient becomes prostrate.

Temperature usually declines in about ten days but relapses tend to occur. We often treat the disease by penicillin and other antibiotics but we do have a special serum for it. Trouble is, it’s rarely diagnosed as Weil’s Disease in time to use it.

‘Right, so that’s the disease we know about. Now, the incredible thing about last night’s two cases is that the whole process happened within twenty-four hours.’ He paused, as if for effect. ‘There are other differences too.’

He looked at Tunstall, silently seeking permission to carry on. Tunstall nodded.

‘The fever strikes within five or six hours. Jaundice sets in immediately. The victim rapidly loses all his senses – sight goes first. The body goes into a coma, occasionally being racked by violent-spasms. Then, the most horrible thing happens. The skin–by now completely yellow – becomes taut. It becomes thinner as it stretches over the bone structure. It turns to a fine tissue. Finally, it begins to tear. Gaping holes appear all over the body. The poor victim dies a terribly painful death, which even our strongest drugs seem only to ease a little.’