trying to push himself into it. In the background, Harris could hear the sound of police sirens. Where the hell have they been? What am I going to do with this?
He looked around desperately. The thing was slipping from his grip. He wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.
And one bite from those teeth, even if he killed the bloody thing, one bite and he’d die later. 3c had an aquarium. That was the answer. He’d drown it. But all the doors were bloody shut. He could never hold on with one hand.
‘Mr Norton,’ he shouted. ‘The door to 3c! Open it, quick,
I can’t hold on much longer?
The Headmaster shook his head, dully, never taking his gaze from the rat.
‘Open that fucking door!’ Harris screamed.
The elder man at last tore his eyes away from the rat and looked at the red-faced teacher. He nodded slowly and began to crawl towards 3c’s classroom. ‘Hurry, hurry,’ Harris shouted.
In what seemed an eternity, the Headmaster reached the door and lifted a shaky, blood-soaked hand towards the handle. The blood made his hand too slippery to turn it and he had to reach up with his other. At last, the door opened.
Harris dragged the rat along the ground, his fingers aching, trying to squeeze the life out of the wriggling body, but not having the strength or the grip. The rat dug its claws into the wooden floor, forcing him to hold its head and shoulders slightly off the floor. The small head snapped from side to side, endeavouring to sink its teeth into the man’s flesh. But Harris was careful, so very careful. When he got to the door, the Headmaster uttered a small cry and kicked out, catching his leg and almost causing him to lose his grip.
‘Get out of the way,’ he said slowly, through clenched teeth. ‘Get out of the fucking way!’ Louder.
The Headmaster scrambled aside and Harris was in. He saw the tank on the window-sill. He moved towards it. When he came to the teacher’s desk at the head of the class, he swung the rat up on to it, using all his strength, but never loosening his grip. Then he pushed the desk forward with his body towards the aquarium, holding the rat’s head against the table, his body being raked by the creature’s hind-legs.
At last, the desk butted against the window-sill. He raised one leg and crawled on top of it, then dragged the rat towards the tank full of water.
He rested before he made the final effort. Gathering all his strength, sweat streaming from his face, he raised himself and the rat and plunged the writhing body into the water.
The tank seemed to explode. Water and fish cascaded over him but he held on grimly pushing its head down to the deep bottom, ignoring the pain in his chest and arms. He began to wonder if there would be enough water left in the tank to drown the rat, or whether its flying limbs would crack the glass sides. But gradually, the struggles became weaker, the twists of its body more feeble, the jerk of its head less violent. Finally, there was no movement at all. But Harris still held it there. Just to be sure.
He looked up, through the window. Several police cars had arrived, and many blue-uniformed men stood outside the front gate, not knowing what to do.
He finally released the dead body and wearily climbed off the table. His clothes were torn, and blood covered his shirt-front, but he was fairly sure he hadn’t been bitten. He walked back to the Headmaster, who was still sitting in the doorway with his head in his hands.
‘It’s all right now, sir. The police are here. They’ll soon clear them.’ Harris knelt down beside the trembling man.
‘It was horrible,’ the Headmaster said, raising his head from his hands. ‘Frightful. Those foul creatures were waiting for me. They weren’t running away at aft. They were at the top waiting for me.’
Harris didn’t know what to say. How could you comfort someone you knew was going to die within twenty- four hours?
‘Let’s go upstairs, sir. We’ll be safer there.’ Help the Headmaster to his feet. They walked down the corridor towards the door leading to the stairs.
When Harris tried to open it, he found it was locked.
‘Come on, they can’t turn bloody door-knobs, you know!’ he shouted, banging on the door with his fist.
They heard the sound of footsteps and then bolts drawn back.
‘I’m so sorry, we didn’t realise anybody else was still down here,’ Ainsley apologised, his bald head peeping round the door. ‘Oh, dear, is everything all right?’ he asked, anxiously looking at their bloodied clothes.
They half-carried the Headmaster through, closing the door behind them.
‘Are the children okay?’ Harris asked.
‘The girls are beginning to get a bit hysterical, but the boys still have plenty ofswagger in them,’ replied Ainsley, catching his breath under the weight of the Headmaster.
‘They’ll need it,’ muttered Harris.
They took the injured Headmaster to his study and laid him in his armchair.
‘I’ll be all right now. Go and see to the children.’ His face was pale, and Harris wondered if it was imagination or could he actually detect a tinge of yellow in the injured man’s face? And did the skin really look tight or was it just the stiffness of pain?
‘Mr Ainsley will treat your cuts, sir,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and find out what’s happening.’
He left the study, feeling pity for the man he’d never liked, but had at least respected. The sight of him grovelling on the floor like a frightened child would stay in his mind for a long time.
He entered a classroom full of teachers and children and all heads turned towards him. He noticed the door to the adjoining room was open and anxious faces peering in. He beckoned the teachers to gather round him.
‘The Headmaster’s been injured,’ he said quietly, sothez but we’ll barricade the doors just in case the rats get up the stairs. Get all the girls in one comer and away from the windows. The bigger boys can help push the desks and chairs against the door.’
Grimble, a beak-nosed, sparrow of a man, pushed forward. ‘Really, as Deputy-Head, I...’ he began.
‘We’ve no time for internal politics now, Grimble,’ Harris snapped, making some of the younger teachers hide smiles of pleasure behind their hands. Grimble was well-known and disliked for his conniving and petty ways. He turned away huffily.
Harris went over to a window and opened it. He saw many police cars, among them a van-load of dogs.
Some of the police were donning protective clothing. Two fire engines rounded the comer at the end of the road, their frantic sirens adding to the noise. Crowds had gathered in the narrow street.
Below, he saw that the number of rats had thinned out considerably. Then he discovered why. They were disappearing two or three abreast through the small ground level window to the boiler-room. Others were making for the narrow passageway at the side of the building. He assumed the staffroom window was their target.
He heard screaming behind him. Turning, he found one of the girls had become hysterical and was sitting at a desk while some of her classmates and one of the women teachers tried to comfort her.
A voice hailed him through a loudspeaker, sounding mechanical, inhuman: ‘Axe you all right up there? Is anybody injured?’
Harris cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted:
‘Yes, we’re okay so far. One man injured though!’
‘Right. Well, barricade yourselves in. We don’t know what the rats are up to yet, but they may try to reach you.’
Of course they’ll try to bloody reach us, Harris thought to himself. What does he think they’re here for?
A school outing? He fumed impatiently as the policeman turned and waved his arms at the squad cars, instructing them to clear the way for the fire-engines.
He turned back to the school and raised the loudspeaker again: ‘We’re going to set the dogs on them first, and while they’re occupied we’ll try to reach you with ladders from the fire-engines.’ He obviously knew of the lethal bite of the vermin and wasn’t going to risk his men against them.
‘No!’ Harris shouted back. ‘You’ll never get all these children down those ladders. And your dogs won’t last five minutes against those rats!’
