‘No, I’ve got to go,’ said Harris. ‘Someone waiting.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Dejected once again. ‘Well, see you bright and early tomorrow then, eh?’ More brightly.
‘You want me to come along then?’
‘Why, yes. You’re involved now, old chap. Don’t worry about your people. I’ll clear it with them. As a matter of fact, I already have. Sure you won’t have another? Right. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Harris left the pub with relief. He wasn’t quite sure why he disliked Foskins–perhaps it was his unpredictable moods. One minute bright, hearty, efficient, the next–well, ‘hang-dog’ was the only expression that sprang readily to mind. Harris couldn’t wait to get home to Judy.
Foskins stared moodily into his glass. Mustn’t stay here too long, I suppose, he thought to himself .
Wouldn’t do to have any of his staff pop in from across the road and catch him drinking by himself.
Wouldn’t look good, especially just now.
He wondered about the young teacher. Probably living with a girl–didn’t look queer. Sure of himself, self-contained. Young. Might be useful in this exercise, though,
Not essential of course, but at least the teacher would learn just how difficult it was to organise a project like this. The experience would do him a lot of good–only wish more people had some idea of the difficulties involved, then perhaps they wouldn’t be so ready to cry for blood at the first crisis. They’ll soon see I’m not ready for the shelf just yet,
He ordered another drink–just a quick one, he told himself–and returned to his seat.
Funny how things turn out, he brooded. Always having to prove yourself to others. To some it comes easy, they’re born with the gift, but for the others it requires constant, hard work, not relaxing for a minute, never revealing your weakness to those who’d be only too pleased to turn it to their own advantage. That’s how it’s always been with me.
Work, leadership–they’ve never come easily. Always the struggle a well-guarded secret. If only they knew of the night hours spent in sheer slog, sheer tedious grind, to keep up with the work output. Not just keep up, but to be ahead of.
But Rosemary had found out. She had to of course – she was my wife. Any other woman would have offered consolation, but not Rosemary. She grew bored with the nights spent plodding through paperwork. And when she discovered that prowess in bed was also a task that didn’t come naturally to me–well, the disillusionment was too great. If we’d had children I suppose she’d have had something to occupy her, but she even blamed me for that. Nevertheless, it lasted for fifteen years so she must have felt some love for me. Even though I knew she was having the odd affair, it didn’t really matter as long as she was discreet Even her jibes in front of friends, and. colleagues, I could have survived by ridiculing her in return in that false-hearty way.
But when her affairs became much more frequent and much less discreet–and worst of all, much less discriminating, then it had to be brought to an end. But she jumped the gun by ending it first, walking out, running off with a bloody travel agent! A travel agent! Did my best to hush things up, but word always gets around, so there was nothing left but to work even harder, to become more successful, anything to cover the shame of being left high and dry by an unfaithful wife. And the double-shame of having been cuckolded by her and a damn travel agent! How could you retain your dimity after that? But I managed it, worked myself up into this position. Yes, there was the affair of the rats that had done some damage to my esteem, but my superiors wouldn’t let me go, would they? No they know my true worth.
Public be damned. And when this little episode is over, they’ll all acknowledge my worth. The fact of the matter is, the more power you have, the easier it is to find solutions to any problems. You merely surround yourself with the right people, the right brains–they come up with the answers and you take the glory. The hard part was to gain that position of authority, but once you had it, the rest was easy. I’ll just have one more drink and then perhaps I’ll go along to the club, tell the boys all is going well, drop a few hints about our idea, not too much, in case it doesn’t work, but enough to let them know old Foskins has done it again.
Feel better now, no point in going home to an empty house just yet. The boys’ll be pleased to see me, I should think.
He drained his glass and walked out into the still bright sunshine.
Harris reported at eight-thirty every morning to the daily Town Hall meetings. He worked out with Foskins and the Borough surveyors ten key locations that they considered to be likely rat-infested spots.
By the end of the week, the bio-chemists had come up with the correct virus.
They laughed at the teacher’s admiration for their speed.
‘That wasn’t the problem,’ they told him. ‘You see, we’ve had the virus itself for many years. In fact, we inherited it from the Germans after the war. They’d been working on a way of killing off all our livestock by infection without harming the population and they had actually come up with the answer. Fortunately, for us, the war ended before they had time to use it and it’s been a well-kept secret, along with a few other nasty little items, ever since. The hard part–and this has taken the time–was to find an antidote to contain it. We don’t relish the idea of wiping out all animal life in the country. Well, we’ve found the antitoxin and it will be a simple matter to introduce it into our animals, either by injection or mixing it with their food or water. It’s already being produced in bulk, and, just as a safeguard, we’re working on another serum in case the first fails. As a safeguard, we must stress. We see absolutely no reason for the first to let us down.’
Foskins congratulated them on then’ fine work and they set a time to put the plan into action.
‘Very well, gentlemen,’ concluded the minister. ‘On Tuesday morning, at six, we’ll plant the first infected puppies.
We’ll go on to nine other locations throughout the morning, all key points, and leave the unfortunate but expendable animals to their fate. Any questions?’
‘Yes,’ said Harris, raising his hand but quickly dropping it realising he was emulating his absent pupils.
‘What happens, when we’re planting the pups, if we become the victims of the rats?’
‘Everyone is to wear protective clothing, Mr Harris. It’s standard procedure on any operation like this. I think you’ll find the suits adequate even if uncomfortable.’ Foskins looked around at the faces. ‘Any more questions?’
‘Yes,’ said Harris.
‘Mr Harris?’
‘What if it doesn’t work.’
‘If what doesn’t work?’
‘The idea.’
‘Then God help us, Mr Harris.”
The grey dawn cast a mist over the old canal. Not even a bird disturbed the chill morning silence. The dirty waters stirred occasionally in the slight dawn breeze, sending small ripples lapping lazily at the stone sides of the man-made river.
The silence was broken by a tiny yelp. Along the bank came five men looking like visitors from another planet.
They were covered from head to foot in a heavy, plastic like material and wearing helmets with large glass visors. Two of the men carried a large basket. The lid bounced now and again as if the occupants of the container were striving to get free. One of the men motioned towards a spot by the side of the canal and the basket was placed on the ground, ‘This should do for the first lot,’ said Harris, sweating inside his heavy suit. He lifted the glass visor so the others could hear him more clearly.
‘This is where we saw the rats last time. They were swimming along the canal up to this point. Then they climbed out and disappeared through that hole over there.’ He pointed towards the other bank.
The basket was opened and three small dogs were lifted out. Harris fondled one of them affectionately.
Poor little bleeder, he thought.
The young researcher, introduced to the teacher after their first meeting at t
he Town Hall as Stephen Howard, lifted his visor and wiped his brow with a gloved hand. ‘Well, let’s chain two down and let the other wander,’ he said. ‘That way, the rats are bound to get them.’
Harris watched as a metal stake was driven into the hard path that ran alongside the muddy canal and two of the pups were chained to it.
‘All right, little’n, off you go .’ He placed the pup he was holding on the ground and gave it a gentle shove, but it pushed back against his hand, licking it and looking up at him.
‘Go on, boy, it’s for Queen and country.’
The pup squatted on its haunches and looked up at him.
‘Oh Christ,’ muttered Harris, ‘it’s going to be more difficult than I thought.’
Howard reached into the basket and brought out some raw meat. ‘This should tempt him. It’s meant as rat bait, but I don’t see why these little blighters shouldn’t enjoy a last meal. I’ll entice him along to the bridge and leave him there with enough to feast on. Here boy, come on.’ He bumped the meat against the pup’s nose and trailed it along tantalisingly just above its snapping jaws.
’Don’t go too far!’ shouted Harris, as the strangely-clad figure disappeared underneath the bridge. He and the others began to scatter more raw meat around the two remaining puppies, feeding them a little to keep them happy.
They looked up at the sound of running feet to see Howard coming towards them, waving his arms excitedly.
At first, they couldn’t understand his shouts, but as he pointed back towards the bridge they realised why he was making such haste to get away from it.
In the gloom under the bridge they saw several black-shaped creatures surrounding the pup, which had begun to whine piteously. Harris made as if to move towards it, but a restraining hand was placed on his arm. He nodded, seeing the sense of it. What did it matter if a pup lost its life when countless people were to be saved because of it? But it was a horrible way for the poor little mite to go.
Suddenly they saw a line of rats break out from the dark interior of the bridge and streak out after the lumbering researcher. The leading rat swiftly caught up with the suit-clumsy figure and leapt at the plodding legs. It clung to the material of the suit but its razor-sharp teeth failed to penetrate. Howard continued to run, dragging the persistent creature along with him.
‘Your visor,’ shouted Harris. ‘Close your visor!’
Howard heard him and snapped the glass protection shut.
He stumbled as another rat attached itself to his other leg, but managed to keep on his feet. The group of men looked on in horror as another scaled his back and perched on his shoulder, snapping at his head covering. He went down heavily, one arm splashing into the canal water. He raised himself to his knees, rats swarming all over him now. He tried in vain to brush them off, but they clung to his body like giant leeches.
Harris saw what he feared most–a tear beginning to appear in the tough material. He ran forward, the three other men following. Reaching Howard, he began pulling at the rats which were now tearing at the cloth in frenzy, oblivious to the blows being dealt them. Harris kicked two into the canal, hoping they were stunned enough to drown, and ignoring the clinging creatures, he dragged the researcher to his feet and pulled him along the canal bank.
All the men were fighting for their own lives now as more of the rodents poured over them. They staggered on, hack towards the gap in the fence that would allow them to escape from the death-trap canal. Some of the pressure was taken off them as they passed the two howling pups and the littered raw meat, for the rats pounced on the easier prey with relish.
‘Back to the vans!’ Harris heard a muffled shout. ‘We’ve got the gas cylinders there!’
They kept going, the way easier now for most of the rats were converging on the animal flesh. Helping one another, they reached the gap and climbed through. Abruptly, the rats still clinging dropped to the ground as if they sensed the danger to themselves once outside the boundary to the canal.
Harris lunged at one before it could escape, ignoring the revulsion within him caused by the squirming creature. He held on to its neck with one hand, its back legs with the other and lifted it high into the air.
‘Here’s a live specimen for you? he cried, struggling to keep his grasp.
‘Good man,’ shouted Howard and dashed forward to help the teacher. The giant rat was immensely strong and struggled fiercely in their arms, but the two men held on grimly.
The other rats, which had not fled, but had remained on the other side of the gap, suddenly came through and began to attack the two men.
The other three kicked and pulled at the vermin, trying to beat them off but it soon became apparent that their efforts would be wasted unless they had more help. Their companions in the nearby vans started their engines and roared towards them, screeching to a halt by the side of the mêlée.
The back doors of the walk-through vans were flung open and the struggling men began to clamber in, the rats clinging to them and leaping into the two vehicles. The noise was deafening to Harris, even through the protection of the helmet; the pups in their baskets barking furiously, the vermin squealing in their peculiar high-pitched fashion, the shouts and cries of the men. He realised the driver of the van he’d made for wasn’t wearing his helmet or gloves. He shouted at the man to cover his head and hands but the driver failed to hear above the clamour. Two men were inside the first van now and were swiftly unpacking the gas tanks, kicking at the rats as they leapt into the interior.
Harris and Howard climbed in holding their captive between them, ignoring the pain of bites that did not penetrate, but squeezed their flesh in excruciating pinches. The van began to move forward, the rats chasing it and trying to leap through the open back doors, some making it, others being kicked back on to the road. The doors were slammed shut, jamming in the middle on the body of a rat which fell out again with the help of a sharp kick from one of the men.
The gas in one of the cylinders was released to deal with the vermin left inside the van and still persisting in their attack.
‘Not this one!’ ordered Howard. ‘Find something to put it in. We want it alive!’
A metal box of tools had its contents emptied and the frenzied rat was placed roughly inside. The lid clicked firmly shut. The van’s sudden swerving caused them to look anxiously at the driver. He was trying to shake off one of the black beasts from his exposed hand. A jet of gas was aimed at the rat and soon it flopped to the floor at the feet of the driver, whose arm now hung limply at his side. He kept driving, moaning with the pain, but steering with his right hand only. The gas was aimed around the large interior of the vehicle, dealing death within seconds to the vicious rats.
”Not too much gas!’ shouted Howard. ‘We don’t want to kill off the dogs as well!’
As the last rat staggered drunkenly then stiffened and died, the men removed their protective helmets and looked towards the injured driver, knowing he was doomed.
‘The other van is close behind,’ said Howard, peering through the back door window, ‘We’re far away enough now,’ he called to the driver, ‘so let’s pull up and we’ll deal with your wound.’ He looked across at Harris shaking his head in despair.
The van pulled over to the kerbside, the other stopping close behind. The doors were opened and the men wearily climbed out, glad to breathe the fresh morning air after the acrid fumes of the gas. Harris, feeling sick and slightly dizzy, leaned against the side of the van.
‘Too much of that gas can kill a man,’ Howard told him, ‘especially in a confined space like that. It was lucky we were wearing the helmets. The driver has just blacked out, not from his wound I suspect, but because of the gas–and he was near an open window.’
‘Does the poor sod know he’ll die?’ asked Harris, his mind still fuzzy.
‘Everyone knows about the disease now, Mr Harris. He was aware of the risk, he should have protected himself.’
‘Well maybe you haven’t been too lucky e
ither,’ said Harris, pointing at the rip in Howard’s suit.
The researcher paled and put his hand to the bole. ‘I don’t think I’ve been bitten,’ he said, ‘but I’m bruised all over from their teeth. Oh Christ.’ He fumbled at the zip in the grey suit and managed to pull it down haltingly. To his relief, he found the clothes he wore underneath undamaged.
With a deep sigh, he too leaned against the side of the van.
After a while, he said, ‘Let’s take this poor blighter to the hospital, not that it’ll do him much good, and then get on with the rounds. Only this time I’m going to get us more protection from Foskins. I mean, this is only the first location. I hope you’ve chosen some safe places for us, Harris, in the next nine.’
Harris smiled thinly at him. ‘Are there any safe places around here any more?’
They suffered attacks from the vermin on three other occasions that day. Harris returned to the fiat in the evening completely exhausted, both mentally and physically, his nerves almost numbed by the terrors the operation had held. He sank into an armchair and told Judy of the day’s events.
‘The canal was about the worst. It shook us up pretty badly, especially the driver being hurt, so after that we were a bit more cautious. From there we went to the dock area–I’ve never seen the streets so deserted–left the bait and got out fast? He carefully avoided mentioning the pups, not wanting to upset her, knowing her love of animals.
‘But at one spot, we stopped the vans at the entrance of an alley leading to the river, got out and carried the bait to the end of it. We dumped it and turned to make our way back and found our exit cut off by the bastards. They were streaming from a basement grid. We didn’t stop to think Howard was off like a shot, right through them, and we all followed en masse, kicking and stomping, thanking God for protective suits. We bundled into the vans and got away fast.