that.'
Dr Reynolds looked around the room. 'Does anyone here know the breeding habits of rodents?'
A small man, unshaven and with skin nearly as pale as the white smock coat he wore, nervously raised a hand, almost as if the sudden limelight would shrivel him up completely. Clare Reynolds knew him as one of the shelter's caretakers-cum-maintenance men. 'It's - it was - my job to keep this place free of the buggers, being below ground en'all, with the tunnels nearby, and the drains. Never had any big uns, though, not like you're sayin'.'
'But you have some knowledge of rodents?' the doctor urged.
'No, not much, not really. 'Cept I read a bit about 'em when the Black uns were runnin' riot around London. It made it a bit iffy bein' down 'ere, y'know?' He tried a grin, but the others were more interested in hearing what he had to say than in joining in.
Well, I know all rats breed five, mebbe more, times a year and can have as much as twelve in a litter.'
'He's talking about normal rats,' Dealey hastened to say. 'As I understand it, the breeding ability of the mutant was nowhere near as great as the ordinary rodent's. One can only assume its very uniqueness played some part in its reproductive output'
'It's just as well,' someone else remarked. 'Otherwise the sewers would have been over-run with them years ago.'
Other voices murmured mutual alarm.
Dr Reynolds addressed herself to the caretaker once more. 'Have you seen any indications of these larger- sized rats over the years?'
The small man shook his head. 'Can't say that I have. I've
killed off a few of the other kind, but I couldn't say this place has been plagued with 'em.' Scratching his nose reflectively he added, 'Surprisin' really, considerin' the amount of outlets - pipes and cables and tubes and things. Poisons have kept 'em down, I suppose.'
'Have you ever used gas?' Clare Reynolds asked. She had seated herself against the edge of the desk, arms folded, back towards Strachan and Ellison.
Farraday answered the question. That wouldn't have been allowed, not with so many people working in the vicinity. Besides, gas is only normally used in sewers.'
Clare craved another cigarette, but she had just used up that hour's ration. 'It's only that I found a proprietary powder among the supplies, the kind that produces hydrogen cyanide when exposed to dampness.'
'I don't see where this is getting us,' said Ellison. 'If we're going to leave the shelter we won't have to bother with putting down poisons. When we get on the outside we'll have guns to protect us.'
Dr Reynolds whirled on him. 'Do you really think that kind of weapon would save you if a pack of rats
- or even a pack of rabid dogs - attacked you? It's about time you faced up to the truth of the situation, you idiot—'
Ellison pushed back his chair, but did not rise. 'Look, just because you're a doc—'
Culver did rise, but it was a tired movement. ‘You figure out what you're all going to do, I don't give a shit one way or the other. I've told you what it's like out there, so you can make your own choice. As for me, I'm beat.'
Fairbank stood as if in agreement.
Both men made their way towards the door and Culver turned before pushing his way through the throng. 'One thing I remembered when you were discussing the bodies that had been recovered from the sewers over the years.' He ran a hand around the back of his neck, twisting his head to relieve a creeping stiffness. 'I don't know what it means, or even if it's particularly relevant, but I noticed something odd about a lot of the bodies we found on the escalators and in the station itself.'
Kate Garner, already shocked by his revelations, felt a fresh shiver of anticipated dread rush through her. Could there really be anything worse to hear, more suffering to contemplate? Perhaps not, but what he told them added a touch of the macabre to an already horrific account.
The heads of many of the corpses were missing,' Culver said before leaving the room.
Something, someone, was pounding him. His name was being called from a long way off, drawing closer, insistent, piercing the sleepy folds of exhaustion he had drawn around himself.
'Steve, wake up for God's sake, wake up!'
Culver tried to push the tugging hands away, unwilling to relinquish the soft respite, but other parts of his consciousness were aroused, alerted, already instigating the waking process. He stirred in the narrow bunkbed and protested at the unrelenting prodding. Still fully clothed, too exhausted to remove them hours before when he and Fairbank had slumped onto the beds - stacked three-high in the men's cramped dormitory - he forced' his eyes open.
Kate's face hovered above him, its edges blurred by his own sleepiness. He blinked his eyes several times and the face finally focused.
'Steve, get up, right now,' she said, and her urgency quickly dismissed the remaining vestiges of tiredness.
He raised himself on one elbow, his head almost touching the bunk above. What is it?'
Noises intruded from the open doorway - shouts, even screams, and an all-too-familiar rushing sound; Fairbank was awake, too, on the opposite bunkbed, staring confusedly across. Culver recognized the background noise before Kate spoke.
The shelter's being flooded!'
His stockinged feet were over the side almost before she had time to give him room. Cold water swirling around his ankles completed his revival.
Where the hell's it coming from?' he shouted, grabbing his boots, the only items he'd bothered to remove before lying down, and pushing his soaked feet into them. Opposite, Fairbank was following suit.
The well!' Kate told him. The artesian well has flooded. The water's pouring through.'
Culver did not take the time to wonder how such a possibility could occur - with the damage sustained to the surface and the sewers below, it required little reasoning to understand how the earth's very structure could easily have been harmed; he stood, Kate rising with him, and stepped out into the corridor, water dragging at his feet.
Wait!' Kate grabbed his shoulder. There's worse—'
But he had already seen with his own eyes.
Water gushed towards him from the opening further down the corridor, the switching unit area, figures thrashing around in the bubbling torrent, fighting against the flow. There were other shapes in that churning mass, though; sleek black projectiles that torpedoed through the water, seeking targets.
Culver watched almost in fascination as one rat reached its victim and clambered up the unfortunate man's leg, claws tearing as they gripped, open jaw reaching upwards, ready to clamp tight when they reached their goal. The man tried to hold the creature away, but its impetus was too great and the victim too unsteady on his feet. Culver saw the rat nuzzle beneath the man's chin, a spurt of blood immediately jetting outwards, the man falling, the water around him churning red.
Kate and Fairbank were behind Culver, the girl clinging to the pilot, the engineer bracing himself against the doorframe.
'How did they get in?' yelled Fairbank.
'Maybe from the well, maybe from the pipe inlets!' Culver was pushed aside as two figures, a man helping a panic-stricken woman, splashed their way down the corridor, something black following in their wake.
Culver, Kate and Fairbank shrank back into the dormitory and watched another of the water-sleek rats skim by. They heard distant gunshots.
'I thought these shelters were supposed to be impregnable,' Culver said to Fairbank.
This is a communications centre as well as a shelter - I suppose it was never completely sealed off.'
The girl tugged at Culver's sleeve. The water level's rising. We have to get out!'
