torch beam. Two long-clawed feet rested against the bottom step and its back was hunched, giving it an arched appearance. It studied the man for long moments, until its snout twitched, sniffing the air. It moved away from the step and sniffed its way around the plastic bucket, attracted by the aroma of excrement and urine. The sounds of movement close by diverted its attention.
Its night-seeing eyes distinguished the black tunnel from the lesser denseness of the cellar. Different odours drifted from there. The animal approached in a small scurrying movement, poking its long snout into the opening. Further sounds excited the creature, for they were living noises. And instinctively it was aware that the animals who made the sounds were weak. Its jaws opened to reveal long, sharp teeth that dripped with wetness.
The rat entered the tunnel, its body, with its wide powerful haunches and hunched back, fitting comfortably. One of its companions followed. Then another.
The pink, scaly tail of the last rat slithered snake-like through the dust of the cellar floor before disappearing into the inner blackness.
Above, Cassie was barking frantically, running away from the door, then returning with a crashing thump, throwing herself so hard at the wood that Klimpton felt sure she would burst through. He was frightened by her actions, fearing that
if she did break into the cellar, she would run amok. Her screeching bark was near-demented, and Klimpton shuddered to think of the effects of a bite from a mad dog.
He staggered back at the force of the next throw, grabbing the handrail to keep his balance. How the hell could he pacify her, how could he soothe her? How could he make her damn-well stop? Wasn't their nightmare enough?
A scream. From below.
Sian!
Kevin!
He turned on the stairs and the torch beam swung downwards.
Klimpton almost collapsed. And if he had, he would have fallen among them.
For the cellar was alive with thick, furry bodies, a black carpet of moving shapes, squirming, leaping over each other's backs, never still, long pointed noses raised here and there to sniff the air, eyes caught in the glare of the torch, glinting yellow like those of cats, a terrible mass of writhing vermin, so big, so huge, like nothing he'd ever seen before, monsters, hideous ...
'Nooooo!' he cried when his family's screams broke through his shock. Looking over the handrail he saw the creatures disappearing into the mattress tunnel to the shelter. His family was screaming beneath his feet.
Klimpton ran down the steps, leaping the last few, landing among the rats, stumbling, falling to his knees. He lashed out with the torch and the creatures scurried away. He was up, kicking out, screaming at them, tearing at the chest-of drawers, pulling it aside, ignoring the teeth that sank into his calf muscles.
He pulled at the mattress and the cupboard door swung away with it.
Nothing made sense in the torchlight. All he could see
was a jumble of struggling shapes, something white here and there, something white but smeared with dark red, and the red was his family's blood.
A weight thudded against his back, but he did not feel the razor teeth slash his skin, tearing flesh away with his shirt material in a large, loose flap. He did not feel the mouth that tightened around his thigh, the long incisors seeking the warm liquid within. He did not feel the claws that raked the back of his legs, nor the snapping jaws that gained purchase between them.
He only felt the pain of his wife, his son, his mother.
Clawed feet scurried up his back, reaching his shoulders, teeth finding a hold on his neck, knocking him forward so that he fell into the opening to join his family in their blood-drenched refuge.
At the top of the stairs, the door rocked against its frame as Cassie threw herself against it, the blows becoming more rapid, more forceful, the wood rattling against its frame, the air filled with yelps and screams and squealing.
As the screams eventually faded, so the blows became weaker. And when the sounds in the cellar were only feeding noises, the dog's barks became a wailing moan. And when the blows stopped and the door was still, all that could be heard was a muffled, whimpering sound.
And from below, a rapacious gnawing.
'How is he?'
Dr Reynolds, whose eyes had been cast downwards in thought as she closed the sick-bay door behind her, looked up in surprise. She smiled at the girl and Kate saw the tiredness behind the smile. And the anxiety.
Clare Reynolds leaned back against the door, hands tucked into her tunic pockets, a familiar gesture.
'He'll pull through,' she answered, and Kate realized the anxiety was for more than just Culver; it was for all of them.
The radiation penetration was minor - less than a hundred rads, I'd say.' The doctor took out a cigarette pack and offered it towards Kate. 'Do you smoke? I haven't noticed.'
Kate shook her head.
'Sensible.' Dr Reynolds lit her cigarette with a slim lighter. She drew in a deep breath and closed her eyes, face towards the concrete ceiling. The gesture of removing the cigarette and exhaling a thin stream of blue smoke was almost elegant. Her eyes opened once more.
Thanks for helping out over the past few days.'
'It kept me busy, and that helped me.'
That seems to be a problem in this place: very little to do for most of the staff. For some it induces apathy, for others, discontent. They need something other than death and destruction to keep their minds occupied.'
'Farraday's tried to keep them busy.'
'Any luck with communications?'
'Not as far as I know. It could be that we're all that's left.'
Dr Reynolds studied the girl thoughtfully. She looked better than when she had first arrived, but the fear was still there, that barely-disguised brittleness, a reed that could snap at any moment rather than bend.
Her hair was clean, a lively yellow, her eyes softer now, but still uneasy. The torn blouse had been replaced by a man's shirt, hanging loose over her skirt. On one side, high on her chest, a film badge was pinned, a dosimeter that everyone in the shelter had been instructed to wear; at the end of each week, these were to be analysed by the small radiological department housed in the underground complex. Dr Reynolds could not quite understand the need, for there were enough ionization instruments strategically placed around the shelter to give full warning of any radiation leakage, but she assumed they were used for psychological effect, a reassurance to the wearer. What reassurance should they begin to become cloudy?
Would you like a coffee?' she asked. Tm desperate for one. It'd give us a chance to talk.'
Kate nodded and Dr Reynolds pushed herself away from the door. They headed towards the dining area.
Will Steve be all right?' Kate asked again, not satisfied with the doctor's previous answer.
An engineer stood aside to allow them room to pass along the narrow corridor and Dr Reynolds nodded her thanks, smiling briefly. 'Oh, yes, I think he'll be fine. Although the radiation dose was comparatively minor - the worst physical effect apart from the nausea and dizziness was to render him sterile for a day or two, and I'm sure that didn't bother him in his condition - I'm afraid it considerably lowered his resistance to infection from the rat bite. Fortunately, the powers that be thoughtfully provided an antidote to the disease this particular beast—'
Kate had stopped. 'Disease?'
The doctor took her arm and kept her walking.
'Some years ago, this breed of rodent - a mutation, as I understand it - infected anyone it bit with an extreme form of Leptospirosis. A cure was found soon enough, and it was thought that the beggars had eventually lost this extra weapon in their nasty little arsenal. It seems the medical authorities were never quite sure, though, so they decided to play it safe should the worst ever happen. I found our life-saver among the medical supplies.'
