Lair
by
James Herbert
REMEMBER WITH FEAR
Also by James Herbert
Graphic Novels
(Illustrated by Ian Miller)
Non-fiction
(Edited by Stephen Jones)
(Photographs by Paul Barkshire)
If you go down in the woods today You're sure of a big surprise...
Prologue
The rat had been trapped in the basement for five days. It had crawled into a dark corner behind a row of shelves to give birth to its litter and, when it had tried to follow the sound, the sound that buzzed through its head, it had found the way blocked by a heavy iron door.
The sound had continued for five long days, almost driving the mother-rat and its tiny offspring mad with its incessant, monotonous pitch. But they had found food in abundance in the basement. The owners had ignored the government warning to leave all doors open so that every building could be cleared, for they knew that when the city's population returned from its short exile, food would be scarce for the first few days, and their shop would be ready to cash in on the shortage. The rat and its litter gorged themselves on the food, for the young ones seemed only to need their mother's milk for the first three days, finding greater replenishment in the food around them. They grew larger and sturdier day by day, dark brown, almost black hairs were already beginning to grow on their bodies. Except for one. Only a few white hairs sprouted on its pinkish white body. It seemed to dominate the others, who brought it food and kept its body warm with their own. A curious lump seemed to be growing on its broad, lop-sided shoulder, next to its head. Patiently, they waited for the people to return.
Signs
One
'Bloody vermin,' Ken Woollard cursed aloud, raising his head to examine the 'loop' smears around the rafters of his low-ceilinged barn. The grease marks against the whitewashed walls had been caused by small furry bodies sliding under the beams into the recesses of the rough ceiling. And the only creatures he knew who did that were rodents.
Mice and rats. The stains looked too big to have been caused by mice.
'Bloody cats aren't earning their bloody keep,' he said to himself.
Turning and walking from the gloomy building, he examined the floor for droppings. He found none, but it was hardly reassuring. The vermin were there all right, the smears were proof enough. Well, the poison would go down tonight, no messing about waiting for serious damage to be done. Farming the land was hard enough without pests destroying anything edible they could find. Fluoroacetamide should do the trick, no sodding about with pre-baiting. A good dose of it, clear them out right away.
The bright October sunlight made him narrow his eyes as he paused at the barn door. Have to report it, I suppose, government law after the Outbreak. They'd gassed the buggers then, but they were still nervous it might start all over again. Still, that was the city, a great big filthy breeding-place for vermin animal and human. Unfortunately, Epping Forest was close enough to London for them to get the willies again. They'd be down, snooping around, putting the whole bloody farm into quarantine until they were sure it wasn't the bloody rats.
Fuck 'em. Got no time for that nonsense. Get rid of them before all the fuss starts. Where's those bloody cats?
