while, her life-spirit slowly ebbing away, and in a short while she w6uld be dead. All that moved were her lips which seemed to be saying some soundless prayer, over and over again and her fingers that tried to count to ten endlessly.
Quite nearby lay the slumped bodies of her five companions, huddled together in disturbed slumber.
The first rat approached her cautiously, the smell of blood overcoming any fear, but never blurring its cunning. It was much larger than the other rats that followed it, and darker in colour. When it was a few feet away from Mary it stopped, its hind-quarters bunching up, its whole body tensed and quivering.
Suddenly it leapt at the open wound in her throat, sinking its huge incisors deep and drawing out the blood with violent spasms of its powerful body. Mary tried to stir, but she was too weak from blood already lost, the rat now biting deep into her vocal chords. Her body shook, but suddenly another furry form buried half its head into the matted hair over the wound in her skull. Her back arched as her nerve-ends mutinied and she fell forward again. Another rat pulled at her ear. Suddenly, her whole body was covered, teeming with squealing creatures as more scurried from the darkness, the smell of blood much stronger than it had been before. So Mary Kelly’s unfortunate life ended. The priests had never managed to save her soul, but then it had never really been lost. Only her mind.
The rats drained her body of blood and gnawed her flesh until not much more than bones and pieces of skin remained.
It didn’t take long, for there were many of them. So many, that not all had been fully-gorged. Their hunger for human flesh had been merely inflamed - they wanted more. There were several larger rats amongst them now, and those began to move towards the five human shapes sleeping nearby.
There was no caution now as they swarmed over the bodies. Two men had no chance, for their eyes were torn from their heads as they slept. They crawled blindly around amidst the carnage that was taking place, rats clinging to their bloody flesh.
The bearded man had risen to his feet, pulling a wriggling body from his face and tearing mostly hair from his cheek in the process. But as he stood, one of the larger rats leapt at his groin, pulling away his genitals with one mighty twist of its body. The tramp screamed and fell to his knees, thrusting his hands between his legs as if to stop the flow of blood, but he was immediately engulfed and toppled over by a wave of black, bristling bodies.
Another dishevelled figure buried his head in his hands and rolled himself into a ball, his frail body rocked with sobs and pleadings. The rats bit off his fingers and attacked the back of his neck as well as his exposed behind. He stayed in his foetal position as the rats ate him, still half-alive.
Myer ran. He ran faster than he’d ever run before and he almost made it. But in the dark, and in his panic, he ran into a gravestone. He somersaulted over it, landing on his back.
At once, the rats were upon him, their razor-sharp teeth soon tearing his feeble old body to shreds.
Outside the ruin, on the main road, a crowd had gathered.
They’d heard the screams and the commotion but none dare enter the dark churchyard. They couldn’t see through the foliage, but they knew the type that made those old bomb-sites their homes and were not too anxious to investigate.
Eventually two policemen arrived, closely followed by a squad car. A powerful searchlight was directed into the undergrowth, and three policemen with torches went in.
They emerged again three minutes later, all deathly pale.
One went to the side of the road and vomited.
Chapter Six
Harris woke with a start and automatically reached for the shrilling alarm. The ringing always shocked him when it caught him unawares. Lately, he’d got into the habit of waking just a few minutes before the alarm went off, waiting for the first explosive ring, and shutting it off immediately with a fast-moving hand.
Then he’d doze for twenty minutes or so.
But this morning, it had caught him in a deep dream. He tried to remember what it had been about.
Something to do with teeth. Sharp teeth. Tearing.
Bloody hell, he thought, it was rats. Thousands of them.
He’d looked out his window, he remembered, it was night-time, and there below him were thousands of rats, all perfectly still, just staring up at him in the moonlight. Thousands of wicked looking eyes. Then they’d surged forward, crashing through the front door, scurrying up the stairs. Thank God for the alarm.
He turned over with a groan and put his arm around the curled-up figure lying next to him.
‘Morning, Jude.’ The girl curled up into a tighter ball, murmuring softly.
Harris ran his tongue down her naked back, making her squirm with pleasure. He put his hand between her arms and drawn-up thighs and lightly stroked her smooth stomach.
She languidly turned around to face him, stretching her arms and legs as she did so.
’Hello,’ she said as she kissed him.
He drew her close and they both stretched against each other.
‘It’s late,’ he said.
‘Not that late.’
‘Oh yes it is.’ He ran his fingers along the inside of her thighs, teasing her. ‘Didn’t you have enough last night?’
‘No.’She began to closes his eyelids.
‘Well, I did.’ He laughed as he whipped back the covers.
‘Now get out in that kitchen and rattle those pots and pans.’
‘Pig.’
He watched her as she slipped on her dressing gown and disappeared into the kitchen. As the sound of cupboards being opened and closed, water filling the kettle and Radio One music came through to him, helay thinking of Judy.
They had lived together for six or seven months now and their love seemed to grow stronger by the day.
She was a dress designer, a good one too, and they’d met at a mutual friend’s party. They’d slept together that first night, but she hadn’t let him make love to her. He’d tried of course, but she’d gently discouraged him, and to his amazement the next morning, he was glad she had. Weeks later, when they realised they were both in love with each other, he’d asked why she’d let him stay that first night but hadn’t let him make love. She couldn’t explain because she didn’t really understand herself. Not the fact that they hadn’t made love, but that she’d let him sleep with her. She’d never slept with anyone before, and although she’d been engaged for two years, her love-making had been confined to touching only.
It was just that she’d felt something ‘stir’ inside her that night. She’d almost felt sorry for him in a strange way. He appeared on the surface to be self-sufficient, confident, but underneath he was the proverbial
‘little-boy-lost’. He’d smiled and said that was his usual trick with women but she’d nodded and replied:
‘Yes, that was quite apparent. But even underneath that, there really was a little lost soul roaming around.
You, Harris, are a man of many layers.’
He’d been impressed. Flattered that anyone should be interested enough to try and ‘suss’ him out like that. She’d gone on to explain that she couldn’t let him go thatnight, that she wanted to be close to him, but she couldn’t let the final barrier down until she was sure of him. And herself.
A few months later they rented a flat in the King’s Cross area and moved in together. They’d talked about marriage and decided it wasn’t important just yet. They would live together for at least a year and then decide. Either for – or against.
Sometimes, usually when he was alone, the old hardness would come creeping over him, and he’d say to himself:
‘Harris, you’re on to a good thing here, son.’ But when he was with Judy, walking, holding hands, making love, tender-ness would sweep away any harshness from his feelings.
Judy’s voice from the kitchen interrupted his thoughts.
‘Okay, lazy, breakfast’s almost ready.’ He leapt out of bed, shrugged on an old blue bathrobe and went into the toilet on the landing. Then he went down to the front door to collect the paper. When he returned, he kissed
