‘What is this place?’ Fairbank asked, looking through the jammed door.
Dealey was pressing the buttons of the small desk console, glancing at the door as he did so. ‘Nothing appears to be operating,’ he remarked, ‘apart from the lighting and ventilation. The systems have either been shut down or destroyed.’
‘Answer the question,’ Culver told him.
‘This place? This is the operation centre for the shelter. If you like, it contains the vital organs of the whole complex. The generator and boiler rooms, communications and cypher, living quarters for, er, certain persons, the War Room itself. A refuge within a refuge, if you like.’
‘You said living quarters. You mean there’s an élite among the élite?’ Culver had asked the question.
‘Of course. I don’t think I need tell you who would be among that special group.’
Culver shook his head.
Kate clutched at him. ‘I think we should leave, and I think we should leave now.’
‘There will be weapons inside,’ Dealey said quickly. ‘And there may be other survivors.’
‘As well as the vermin that did all this?’
‘They’ve gone, I’m sure of it. We’ve had no sight of them since we entered the shelter. I think we can assume they did their worst here, then moved on . . .’
‘To fresh pastures,’ Fairbank finished for him.
‘That may be exactly the case.’
‘But how did they get into here in the first place?’ Culver was perplexed. ‘How could they possibly have infiltrated such an installation? It makes no sense.’
‘Perhaps we’ll find the answer inside.’ Dealey went to the gap between door and wall. He disappeared through it, not waiting for a reply.
The others looked at each other and it was Fairbank who shrugged, then followed. ‘What’ve we got to lose?’ he said.
Kate reluctantly allowed herself to be helped through by Culver, gingerly stepping over the torn bodies that had prevented the door from closing. Inside, the smell of death was almost choking, even though it was old and had lost much of its pungency.
And it was inside, among the human corpses with missing limbs, many headless, organs gouged out, that they found the dead rats.
Now they sat in the vast, circular War Room, exhausted both mentally and physically, each of them trembling, their eyes shifting constantly, never relaxing their vigilance. They all clutched weapons in their laps, wrested from fingers that seemed unwilling to release their grip even though the guns had not managed to save them. Two of the group held Ingrams, which seemed to have been the standard arms for military personnel inside the shelter, while Kate and Dealey had pistols, 9mm Brownings; Ellison had managed to find a Sterling submachine gun from the armoury – it was a weapon he had grown fond of after his earlier acquaintanceship.
They were on a balcony overlooking row upon row of matt black benches, each containing six or seven separate working units, all of which were complete with television monitors, computers, telephones, teleprinters and switching consoles. Giant screens in the curving walls dominated, even though they were blank. One had been punctured by bullet holes. Dealey had told them that when live, the screens would have shown different areas of the world, indicating nuclear strikes and strategic deployment of military task forces. A particular screen was kept solely for visual contact with Allied Heads of State and their executives, the pictures to have been beamed from satellites unless atmospheric conditions interfered, in which case contact would be maintained through cable. The ceiling lamps were recessed and subdued, each section of the benches having individual built-in lighting. Around the walls and below the screens were various other pieces of machinery, including a bank of computers and television screens. A coffee machine, dated by comparison to the hardware around it, lent the only touch of humanity. Just off the War Room was a tiny television studio containing the bare essentials for broadcasting (which included a soft-upholstered armchair and loose, deep blue drapes as a backdrop, all presumably designed to give an air of calm, even comfortable, authority). Who the hell would be sitting in front of their TV sets while the world around them had been reduced to smouldering ashes was anybody’s guess. The studio, they assumed, was for broadcasting to the nation, for quite near them on the balcony was another camera, angled towards the long control table they now sat at; this was obviously used for televised conversations with the Allies. Next to the television studio was a conference room, its walls and ceiling soundproofed. This was probably where the more ‘delicate’ decisions concerning the future of the human race would have been discussed and made. There were many other rooms and corridors leading off from the main concourse, the War Room itself the hub of a concrete-walled wheel, but as yet they had not investigated any of these, nor did they feel inclined to. They had seen enough.
The early Christians might well have suffered similar massacres in their own Roman arenas, mauled then torn apart by animals for the gratification of their rulers’ bloodlust, but could even those occasions have been on such a grand scale? This modern arena below was almost overflowing with human remains, as though a large number of the holocaust survivors had fled here when the rodent invasion had begun, perhaps still believing that their leaders would now save them from this new, unforeseen disaster. They had been wrong. Nothing could save them from the fury of these mutant beasts, not even the rapid-fire weapons of the soldiers. How could it be so? How many, just how many, rats could have caused such massive slaughter? And how could they have got inside the top-security shelter?
It was Alex Dealey, looking weary and dispirited, all trace of pomposity gone, outweighed by adversity, who attempted to supply the answers. He was slumped in a swivel chair, leaning forward over the long table before them, one hand on his forehead, shielding his closed eyes.
‘The rats were already inside the shelter,’ he said quietly. ‘They were inside, waiting. Don’t you see? There are sewers below here, miles of underground tunnels, weirs that control the flow of rainwater and effluent. The rats must have roamed the network for years, scavenging where they could, feeding off the city’s waste. Oh dear God.’ His other hand slowly went to his forehead and he seemed to sink within himself, his shoulders shrinking. ‘Food is kept below the main shelter level, a huge cold-storage chamber. It was rarely exchanged, only added to. Hardly any of it was perishable, you see? Any that was, was kept nearer to hand where it could be easily replenished. For years the rats have had an ample food supply.’
‘Surely it was checked from time to time?’ Culver asked incredulously.
‘There was no need, it was considered safe from harm. I suppose it was given a cursory examination at regular intervals, but you would have to see the vastness of the store itself to realize much was left unseen. All foodstuffs were tightly sealed, as was the storeroom itself; the thought of entry by vermin was hardly considered.’
‘Not considered at all, it appears,’ ventured Ellison, shifting in his seat to ease the stiffness of his ribs.
‘Poisons were laid and traps were set. Nobody would have realized the unique cunning of the scavenger they were dealing with.’
‘Obviously not.’
Culver was still puzzled. ‘There had to be some evidence of these creatures. Somebody must have noticed something.’
Dealey looked up and shrugged. ‘Why? These headquarters have never been occupied. Certainly maintenance work has been carried out, new, more-advanced technology installed as the years have gone by, and inspections have always been made at regular intervals; but it’s obvious that this breed of rat has kept well-hidden. Its own instincts would have warned it of the treatment it would receive from its old enemy. Remember, too, the extermination of these mutant creatures over the past decade has been carried out ruthlessly and on a grand scale. There have been pogroms against them, if you like.’
‘Not ruthlessly enough by your earlier account.’ The others looked at Culver with curiosity.
‘What do you mean by tha
t, Steve?’ Kate asked.
‘When I had my little private chat with Dealey yesterday, he told me there was considerable scientific interest in the mutant Black rat. So much so that they tried to breed them in laboratories.’
‘I said that there were rumours, nothing more. But that has nothing to do with these creatures in the sewers. Nobody could have known they existed.’
Fairbank was scratching his temple with the snub-nosed muzzle of the Ingram. ‘All right, so how come these bloody things didn’t attack the maintenance guys or whoever did the checks on this place?’
‘I told you: they were probably deeply afraid of men and much too wily to reveal themselves.’
Fairbank swept the gun around the room below. ‘They got over their shyness fast.’
‘After the bombs dropped, yes. It could be they sensed they had the upper hand. Perhaps their numbers had grown to encourage that belief, also. Another point: they may have considered the mass evacuation into the shelter as an invasion of their territory. My theory is that all these elements were involved.’
‘They were threatened, so they attacked.’ Kate’s statement was flat, toneless.
‘It’s all we can assume.’
‘They went up against firepower,’ said Fairbank. ‘And against an awful lot of people. They must have felt pretty confident.’
‘Or they had a stronger motive.’
Once again, all eyes turned to Culver.
He shook his head. ‘I don’t know, it’s just a feeling I’ve got. There’s something more, something we don’t know about.’
Ellison was impatient. ‘I still don’t understand how it was possible for the rats to overwhelm them. Doors could have been sealed, the rats could have been contained, or closed out of any number of different sections.’
‘Remember the doors where all those vehicles were housed? The big metal doors to the ramps? They didn’t function. Like most things around here, apart from the lighting and ventilation, they were inoperative. I’m sure if we examined the main power switching area we’d find machinery or wiring destroyed, either by the trapped survivors when they used guns to protect themselves, or by the rats gnawing through vital cables. It’s not unusual: it’s a speciality even of normal vermin. There are all kinds of safeguards in this complex that need power to function.’
‘Why the lights and ventilation, then?’
‘They’re on completely different systems which obviously haven’t been harmed.’
Dealey slumped back in his chair, wiping both hands down his face, the Browning placed in front of him on the table. ‘It’s my belief that the survivors were attacked very soon after the first bombs had dropped, when the people were in mortal fear and disorganized. Can you imagine the scenes inside this shelter at the time? Panic, remorse, total disorientation. Even the trained military personnel would have been traumatized. The survivors were confused and almost defenceless.’
‘How many . . . how many would have been here?’ Kate’s gun was held rigid in her lap as though she were afraid to release it even for a moment. She wanted to leave immediately, but like the others she was totally drained of strength. And they needed answers before they ventured further into the shelter.
‘It’s impossible to say,’ Dealey told her. ‘Hundreds, possibly. We’ve seen enough dead to know there were a large number of people. Not everybody who had access would have reached the shelter by the time the bombs exploded, and of course, many – many – may have escaped when the rats attacked.’
Culver was hesitant. ‘The, er, apartments we passed in this part of the complex: you said they were meant for certain persons.’
Dealey nodded. ‘That was why I was so relieved that they appeared to have been unoccupied. I’m sure the Royal Family were evacuated from London long before the crisis finally erupted.’
‘And the Prime Minister?’
‘Knowing her, she would have remained here in the capital, inside these headquarters, from where she could direct operations.’
‘Do you think there’s a chance she and her War Cabinet got out?’
There was a long silence from Dealey. He lifted his hands from his lap and let them drop again, making a muffled slapping sound of despair. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘It’s possible. It depends on how much they were taken by surprise, or how well they were protected. I have no intention of examining all these bodies to find the answer.’
Culver found the irony of the situation incredible. A failsafe refuge had been constructed for a select few, the rest of the country’s population, apart from those designated to other shelters, left to suffer the full onslaught of the nuclear strike; but the plan had gone terribly wrong, a freak of nature – literally – destroying those escapers just as surely as the nuclear blitz itself. The stupid bastards had built their fortress over the nest, the lair – whatever the fuck it was called – of the mutant Black rats, the very spawn of earlier nuclear destruction. If there really were a Creator somewhere out there in the blue, he would no doubt be chuckling over mankind’s folly and the retribution paid out to at least some of its leaders.
Fairbank had risen from his seat and was staring down at the ghastly scene below. Among the human remnants were inanimate black-furred shapes. He rested his hands on the balustrade. ‘I don’t understand. They managed to kill a lot of rats down there before they were overwhelmed. But take a close look at some of those animal carcases. They’re unmarked, and they’re not in such an advanced stage of decomposition as the others. A lot of these fuckers died more recently.’
Culver joined Fairbank, interested in the engineer’s speculation. ‘Hell, you’re right,’ he said.
Kate and Ellison barely showed concern, but Dealey rose to his feet. ‘Perhaps we should take a closer look,’ he suggested.
They descended the short staircase into the main concourse, repulsed by the strong odours that assaulted them, and wary of what might skulk among the ruins.
‘Here,’ Culver pointed.
They approached with caution, for the rat looked as though it had merely fallen asleep while feeding. Only when they drew close did they notice that its eyes were half-open and had the flat, glazed stare of the dead. Culver and Dealey leaned towards it while Fairbank kept a cautious vigilance on their surroundings.
‘There’s dried blood around its jaws,’ Culver remarked.
‘It was eating flesh when it died.’
‘There’s no marks, no injuries.’ He prodded the stiff-haired carcase with the gun barrel, using considerable effort to turn the animal over onto its back. There were no hidden wounds.
‘What the hell did it die of?’ Culver asked, puzzled.
‘There’s another over there,’ Fairbank said.
They went to it, carefully avoiding the mouldering decay scattered across the floor. There were few insects so far below ground and that was at least something to be thankful for. Culver knelt beside the sprawled carcase and repeated the same operation. Bullet holes punctured the creature’s underbelly and they realized its outer shell was a mere husk; underneath it was rotted almost completely away.
Moving on to yet another, the three men discovered this body, too, was unmarked. They averted their heads from the ripe smell.
‘Could they have been poisoned?’ Culver stood, his eyes ranging over other carcases. There had been more in the other sections and passageways, but the group had not stopped to inspect them closely, assuming they had been killed by the humans they were attacking; it was possible that many of these had also died from causes other than mortal wounds.
‘It’s possible,’ said Dealey, ‘but I don’t see how. Why would they take bait when they had all the food they needed? It makes no sense.’
He was deep in thought for a few moments and was about to comment further when Kate called from the balcony. ‘Please, let’s go! It isn’t safe here!’ One arm was clasped around a shoulder as though she were cold; the other held the gun.
‘She’s right,’ Culver said. ‘It’s not o
ver. There’s something more in this hell-hole. I can feel it like I can feel an icy draught. The dead haven’t settled.’
It was an odd thing to say, but the others sensed its meaning for they shared the same intuitive awareness. They climbed back up the steps, their pace now quickened, urgency beginning to return, renewed fear overcoming weariness. The discovery of the dead yet unmarked rats had rekindled their apprehension, its mystery instigating further, unnerving dread. The vast underground bunker had become an enigma, perhaps a deathtrap for them all. It was as if its concrete walls were closing in, the tons of earth above bearing down, pressing close, a huge oppressiveness weighing on their shoulders.
Striving to crush them into whatever lay beneath the underground citadel.
28
The condition of the power plant explained much to them, for it had been reduced to nothing more than a blackened shell, its complex machinery just charred, useless husks. They averted their eyes from dark mounds on the floor, shapeless forms that had once walked and talked and been like themselves.
‘Now we know,’ said Dealey. There was the sadness of defeat about him. ‘They did battle with the rats here. Bullets, an explosion – a chain reaction – devastated this place. All their careful planning, all their ultimate technology, destroyed by a simple beast. They finally discovered who the real enemy is.’ He leaned against a wall and for a moment they thought he would sink down. He steadied himself, but did not look at them.
Ellison was shaking his head. ‘So that’s why there was no communication; everything was knocked out.’
‘Communications, machinery – even the doors couldn’t be opened,’ said Fairbank. ‘The first one we found could be opened manually from the inside. And the second was jammed by those two trying to get out. But the others must be sealed tight. Christ, they were all trapped inside their own fortress!’