Lair (5 page)

"I think I'll just go along and have a word with them," said Milton, rising. We don't want them spreading false rumours about the forest until we've checked this out."

We may have to stop people coming into the forest anyway," Fender said quickly.

"Stop them? That would be impossible, Mr. Fender. Have you any idea how wide an area the forest covers? And what about those who live here?"

They'd have to leave."

"Now just a moment, let's not jump the gun. Let's find out if these monsters really do exist first." Milton looked down apologetically at the girl. "Not that I doubt your word at all, Jenny. It's just that you may have been mistaken."

"I wasn't. They were rats and they were over two feet long." The tutor's face was set firm.

"Yes, well, that's what Mr. Fender is here to find out. I'll have to inform the Superintendent of the Forest, Mr. Fender. No doubt he will want to see you."

"Fine. But first I'd like you to take me back to this pond, Miss Hanmer." All eyes turned towards Fender.

"Do you think that's wise?" asked the Warden.

These ... animals, whether they're rats or not, haven't attacked anyone yet. I don't think there's any danger in going to the spot where Miss Hanmer last saw them they'll be well away by now. We might find some evidence which would help identify their species."

"It's up to you, Jenny," the Warden said.

"I'll take Mr. Fender there, I know the pond," Will volunteered.

"It's okay, Will," Jenny said. "I'll go. I can show Mr. Fender the exact place."

"I'll go with you then," the young man offered.

"No, you'll have to take charge of Jenny's class," said Milton. "I really don't want the children or their teacher to think there's a problem."

"But Miss Bellingham..." Jenny began to say, before Milton interrupted.

"I know Miss Bellingham quite well. I don't think her eyesight is all that reliable, do you?"

Jenny was lost for words for a moment. "Now just wait a minute..."

The Warden held up a restraining hand. "Please, Jenny, let me handle this. You go along with Mr. Fender, will you?"

The tutor stood, glanced at Fender, and walked from the room. Milton grinned feebly and Fender followed the girl.

She was halfway down the narrow gravel path before he caught up with her.

"Just wait a minute, Miss Hanmer," he said, taking her arm and bringing her to a halt. He selfconsciously dropped his hand when she pointedly looked down at it. "He is right, you know. These things can snowball into panic if they aren't handled carefully."

"But I saw them," she said resolutely.

"No one's doubting that. But it has to be checked out before the alarm bells go off."

She began striding down the path again and he kept pace, walking on the grass beside her.

"Look, ever since the Outbreak people have been panicking over real or imagined rats. Usually, the ones we've found have been normal, either Black or Brown, but no giants. More often than not, they've been animals of a completely different species. Bad light, optical illusions, over-nervous people all sorts of things account for the sightings. It's become as popular as spotting UFOs."

"I am not over-nervous. Nor do I imagine things. Nor do I believe in flying saucers."

Then you're a better person than I am."

"Possibly."

He grinned at the sarcasm. "Probably," he said.

She stopped and faced him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Pender..."

"Luke," he told her.

"Luke?"

"Short for Lucas."

"Lucas?" She couldn't help smiling.

"Not my fault. Parents. I was conceived on honeymoon in a place in lower Italy. Lucania."

She laughed aloud.

"I was lucky. They could have gone to Ramsgate." His smile broadened as she laughed again.

You sound like something out of a bad western," she said.

The way certain people regard my profession, I sometimes feel like it."

"Okay, I'm sorry, Luke. I didn't mean to get hurry with you."

"It's all right. You've had a shock."

Jenny frowned. "I meant it, you know, I wasn't mistaken."

"Let's check it out, then, eh?"

They began walking again and the tutor glanced down at Fender's feet.

You're going to get awfully wet."

"I've got boots in my car, and an old leather jacket. I have to be prepared to get mucky in this job." He pointed towards his Audi and they headed in that direction.

"How did you get into rats?" the girl asked as he opened the back of the car and reached in for a pair of hefty high-ankled boots.

"I wouldn't say I'm into them, exactly," he replied, removing his shoes and lacing up the boots. "It's just a living. I was an entomologist until an old friend of mine from Ratkill told me rodent control was the thing of the future. Big money, he told me, and all the vermin you can eat."

Her reserve was beginning to break down. People were usually wary of him because of his profession, even though he and his colleagues had become latter-day heroes due to the 'dangerous' work they carried out, but he sensed a natural wariness in this girl, as if she rarely took people at face value. Maybe she had learned not to the hard way.

"And is it? The thing of the future?" she asked.

He took off his coat and reached for the short, worn leather jacket inside the boot. Well, it's big business now, but I suppose the fear of rats will fade with time."

"It'll be a long while before people forget what happened in London."

"Yes, it will. But that was a freak. They'll forget it eventually."

"Unless it happens again."

He said nothing and lifted up a folded bundle of silver material that lay on the floor of the boot. He pulled out two pairs of large gloves made from the same tough fabric and handed one pair to the tutor who looked quizzically at him.

"Just a precaution," he told her. "If by any chance we do run into your friends, slip these on. They'll give you some protection." He saw the fear in her eyes. "Don't worry. It really is just a precaution; nothing's going to happen. If I thought there was any real danger I'd make you put the whole suit on here and now."

"I hope to God you're right."

So did he.

"Over there, the other side of the pond." Jenny pointed towards the opposite bank and Fender scrutinized the area. We'll have to go round," he said. "Get a closer look." The tutor wasn't happy about the situation, but nevertheless she followed him as he skirted the pond, their boots sinking into deep mud at the water's edge. As they walked, he pulled on the heavy gloves and told Jenny to do the same.

The undergrowth was much thicker on that side and he trod warily, brushing aside foliage and examining the ground before him as he went.

Jenny kept close behind.

"It's just a little way ahead, I think," she said, looking over towards the side they had just come from to check their position. "Look, you can see where they disturbed the reeds when they climbed out."

Fender approached the spot with even more caution and crouched down to examine the mud for tracks. The splayed claw marks told him what he wanted to know. "Let's see where they lead to." Keeping low, he pushed his way through the undergrowth, but soon he stood upright. The tracks have run out too many fallen leaves, I'm afraid."

"I want to go back."

Fender turned to study the girl. She stood there, body stiff, eyes shifting uneasily from left to right. Her face was drained of colour.

"What's wrong?" he asked taking a step towards her.

"Can't you feel it? The forest the forest is standing still."

The remark puzzled him, but as he looked around he began to sense it too. It was an eerie sensation, for the forest had become quiet, hushed, the normal chatter of birds, the discreet rustle of timid animals even the sound of the breeze hissing through the trees were gone, leaving an unnatural, foreboding silence. It seemed to weigh down on him, a heavy thing. An oppression.

"Let's go," she said again, her voice very quiet.

Fender was reluctant, despite his unease. "I've got to find some evidence of them, Jenny. Those tracks back there could have been made by any number of animals."

She knew he was right, but the anger still flared in her eyes. She was about to reply when a sudden crashing of branches made them both jump.

Fender scanned the area ahead, looking for the cause of the noise, and he saw the swaying bush, its thin branches weighed down by something that must have fallen from the tree overhead. The object looked like a red scarf, but from the way the bush was sagging, it had to be something heavier than loose material.

He made his way towards the bush and Jenny said, "Don't," but he ignored her. She followed, not wanting to be left alone.

Fender swallowed hard when he realized what the object was. The animal's body had been torn apart, its insides exposed and half-eaten.

The rising steam told Fender the creature had not been dead long.

He felt the girl's presence beside him and heard her breath sharply drawn in. "It must have run up the tree to get away," he said.

Whatever did this followed."

"Rats climb don't they?" Her voice was faint.

The Black rat does."

Only the animal's head and tail were intact, its fur shredded and covered in blood. He tried to identify it from the pointed skull and dark markings on its tail.

"It's a stoat," Jenny said, and she walked away, round to the other side of the tree.

Fender looked up into the branches overhead, suddenly aware that whatever had killed the animal might still be there. He found it hard to believe a rat could have done this, for usually the stoat was the hunter. But then a group of giant Black rats could tear a human to pieces. Jenny's sudden cry startled Fender and anxiety swept through him when he failed to see her.

He crashed through the undergrowth, brushing past the bloody corpse which fell from its resting place, and swung round the tree, one hand resting against its rough bark. She was standing with her hands up to her face, her whole body trembling and knees beginning to sag. He rushed forward and held her to him to prevent her from falling.

"Jesus Christ," he said when he saw what had caused her shock.

The tree was hollow, the opening facing him. And the hollow and the area just outside were soaked in blood, small lumps of wet flesh lying all around, tiny, disjointed bones, smeared red, scattered in the dirt.

There were no recognizable animal parts among the debris; the stoats must have either been dragged off or eaten whole there and then. Fender cleared his throat uncomfortably.

There must have been a family of stoats," he said. The rats must have slaughtered all of them."

The girl did not reply and he realized she was weeping against his chest. He looked around at the undergrowth nearby, seeing the short trails of blood disappearing into the shadows. They were darker now.

The sun was beginning to dim and early evening was approaching. The trees around them suddenly seemed black and threatening.

"Come on," he said gently, "I think I've got all the evidence I need.

Let's get back to the Centre."

He led her back through the darkening forest, his eyes wary and searching.

FIVE

The walls of the large house glowed pinkly as the last rays of the fast-setting sun reflected off the white surface. Fender had left his car in the small car park at the entrance to The Warren and made his way up to the house on foot. He had passed two attached cottages which, he assumed, belonged to forest keepers or whoever maintained the grounds of The Warren, and taken a lane branching to the left. He approached the house from the rear, the rough road winding round till it formed a circle enclosing a centre lawn set out before the house itself, another road leading off from it towards the estate's main entrance. Before Fender had branched off, he had noticed the sign pointing towards The Warren's offices and realized the forest's administrative staff were kept separate from the main house in which Edward Whitney-Evans, the Superintendent of Epping Forest, lived.

His own shadow was cast darkly before him as Fender strode past three high windows, their glass reaching down to the ground. White-painted lattice-work covered with deep green foliage clung to the lower half of the house, rising up on either side of the windows and joining above them. If the house came with the job, then the Superintendent's lot was a happy one, Fender thought as he rang the doorbell.

The door opened almost immediately and a small, waspish woman peered out at him.

"Mr. Fender, is it?" she said and before he had a chance to correct her, she ushered him in. "Mr. Whitney-Evans is waiting for you."

She moved aside to allow him entrance and he stepped through the porch into the main building.

Through there, sir," she said, indicating a door on the left of the hallway. He thanked her and entered the room finding it empty. He walked over to one of the deep windows and gazed out; the grounds sloped away from the circular lawn and, even in the dusk, Fender could see the estate was beautifully situated. The Epping New Road, with its heavy traffic, was completely screened from the house by trees and shrubbery. Beyond he could see the hills of woodland and it was hard to consider he was so close to the world's largest city.

"Ah, Fender."

He turned to see a man in a dark grey suit standing in the doorway.

Tender, actually."

The man looked puzzled for a moment. "I thought Milton said Fender over the phone. Not to worry. Tell me what this is all about, Fender." He strode forward and settled himself in an armchair and indicated a chair for Fender. He was a squat man, who appeared to be in his late fifties; a few streaks of hair were combed carefully across his bald head, compensated by wispy locks curling around his ears and resting on his shirt collar. Enlarged eyes stared out at Fender through thick lenses.

Slightly irritated by the man's gruff, no-nonsense tone, Fender sat and deliberately took his time in answering. There was silence for a moment or so, each sizing up the other, the superintendent finally becoming impatient.

Well?" he said.

Fender cleared his throat. "I was sent to the Conservation Centre by Ratkill to investigate complaints by Mr. Milton ..."

"Yes, yes, I know all that; Milton discussed it with me first. When I spoke to him a little while ago on the phone he said you'd found some evidence. That's why I asked him to send you over here. I thought you might have got here sooner -the Centre's only five minutes away."

"I wanted to examine the rat droppings Mr. Milton had collected first.

Also, I wanted to see the door of the refuse building that had been broken into."

"And what did you deduce from all this?"

"I'd say it's fairly certain that you have the Black rat living in this forest."

Whitney-Evans frowned in displeasure. "Fairly certain? What does that mean? You're either sure or you're not."

Fender struggled to keep his voice even. "I said fairly certain because I haven't yet seen the rat itself. All the evidence points to it being the Black, though."

"But you could be wrong. It could be another type of rodent."

"One of the tutors at the Centre, Jenny Hanmer, saw three of them."

"Yes, the Warden told me that. He also said the pond in question is extremely shaded and the only other adult witness has questionable vision."

"But I went down to the pond myself with Miss Hanmer."

"And you found evidence that a family of stoats had been slaughtered."

Torn to pieces."

"Yes, yes, but by what? You, yourself, did not actually see the assailants."

"No, but there's enough evidence now to assume ..."

"No, Fender. We mustn't assume anything. Do you realize the harm such an assumption could bring to the forest?"

That's not the point. If people are killed ..."

"Of course we don't want anybody to be killed by these creatures if they exist. But first, let's make sure they are a reality. Surely you can you must investigate further before you reach such an extreme conclusion."

"Look, Mr. Whitney-Evans, I can appreciate not wanting to spoil the image of your beautiful forest, but if lives are in danger, there is no choice in the matter. Epping Forest will have to be cleared of people."

"Impossible!" The Superintendent stood, his face flushed red. "Don't you realize how densely populated Epping Forest and its neighbouring forests are? You can't just suddenly shift all those people on the slight evidence you've produced."

The evidence is enough for me," Fender replied.

Whitney-Evans walked to the window. Silent for a moment, he then turned to face Fender again. "It may be enough for you, but will it be enough for your superiors? Or the Ministry?"

"I think they'll listen. They wouldn't want to risk another Outbreak."

"I'm sure they wouldn't; that is not under debate. What I -and I'm sure they will take the same view am questioning, is your evidence."

"Look, I don't understand this. Why are you resisting my attempts to avert a dangerous situation?"

Whitney-Evans regarded Fender coolly. "Have you any idea how much it costs to maintain Epping Forest?" he said finally.

What? What's that got to do with... ?"

"It costs over 100,000 a year, Fender. Money, I may add, that does not come from the government, nor the public. It comes from private City funds."

"I don't see what that has to do with this matter."

The forest is governed by the Corporation of London; they are the Conservators. The actual management is carried out by a committee of twelve, all an elected representative body of the City of London; they are joined by four Verderers."

"Verderers?" Fender asked, wondering where the sudden lecture was leading.

They are members elected by the public to represent local interests.

The committee meets several times a year and, in fact, there is a meeting due to be held in two weeks' time. I intend to ask for a considerable increase in the funds allocated to the forest."

"I still don't understand how that affects ..."

"Can't you see, man?" Whitney-Evans' face had flushed red again. "Can you imagine the cost of evacuating the whole forest? The cost of quarantining 6,000 acres of woodland? Do you think they would even consider a rise in management allocation knowing the cost of such an operation as you are suggesting?" He raised a hand when Fender tried to protest. "But even worse, do you imagine they would even consider taking on such a huge responsibility? Absolutely not! It would be passed on to the government, who have tried unsuccessfully for years to gain control of this green belt area. Can't you see what they, the great bureaucratic they, would do with this land? It would become one vast concrete estate! Not all at once, I grant you, but a little at a time under the guise of economic necessity! Do you realize the value of this land so close to the City? My God, man, they'd eat away at it until there was nothing left! Oh, a few parks scattered here and there just for cosmetic purposes; but it wouldn't be a nature reserve anymore." The Superintendent began to pace the room in his anger and it seemed as if he had forgotten Fender's presence for a moment.

"Look, I can appreciate your worries, Mr. Whitney-Evans, although I feel they're a little exaggerated."

The Superintendent stopped his pacing. "Exaggerated? I can assure you they are not. I can show you countless court cases we've had in the past over the acquisition of forest land, not to mention the constant battle with the government who want to dissect and destroy the woodland with their monstrous motor ways

"All the same, the law is quite clear on this: rat-infested areas have to be sealed off immediately."

"Infested? What evidence do you have of that? You've seen a few signs that rats may be living in the forest and you can't even say for sure they are of the Black variety. Don't you think if the place were infested, the forest keepers would have discovered them by now?"

"I don't know. There may just be a small group at the moment."

That, even if it's true, would hardly justify putting the whole damned forest into quarantine."

"Or," Fender continued, undaunted, 'there may be hundreds of them.

Remember, after their near-extermination in London, those that survived would have become even more elusive than usual."

Those that survived the extermination would have died of old age by now."

"But their offspring would have inherited the fear. The monster Black has developed incredible intelligence according to all the reports: they would certainly know how to keep themselves hidden."

Then, if that's the case, there can be no immediate danger, can there?"

Whitney-Evans' voice had taken on a new tone, softer, almost coaxing.

Fender decided he liked the man even less than before.

Then why this sudden evidence of them?" he said firmly. "Why are they suddenly losing this timidity?"

"Just a combination of circumstances, Fender. If and that's a big if as far as I'm concerned if they do exist, they still haven't attacked a human, have they?"

"Not yet. But they might."

"Look, Fender, I've stated my case quite frankly to you. Now, I'm not trying to prevent you from doing your duty, Lord knows I haven't that power, but I am asking you to reconsider your action. Why not investigate further before you recommend evacuation and quarantine? I have a staff of over seventy who I'm sure would be only too pleased to assist you in any way possible. My forest keepers and woodsmen could help you in your search. I'm not saying you shouldn't inform the Ministry, of course, you must do that, but all I'm saying is, don't jump to hasty conclusions. By all means, bring your people in, but surely we can keep what's the expression? yes, a "low profile" on this. Until you're absolutely sure. What do you say?"

Fender shook his head wearily. "I'm sorry, Mr. Whitney-Evans, I really am. But the risk is too great. If anything nasty should happen while we're still searching, then it would be my responsibility."

The Superintendent's tone was acid. "No, not your responsibility, Fender. Your company's. But I wonder what they would say about this inflexible attitude of yours?"

Well, you can find out." Fender rose and made for the door. "Why don't you ask them?" He paused and looked back at the Superintendent, whose face was, yet again, flushed bright red.

"I'll do just that, Fender. I also have some very good connections in the Ministry of Agriculture we work closely together, you know. I'll see what they have to say about the matter."

Fender could not be bothered to reply. He resisted the urge to slam the door behind him, and made his way out of the house.

"Bloody idiot," he allowed himself to say as he crunched his way back down the lane.

By the time he got back to the Conservation Centre, phone calls had been made. His intention had been to inform the Warden of his decision, then to get in touch with Stephen Howard at Ratkill, who would advise the appropriate authorities. But Alex Milton was waiting for him in the reception area of the Centre, a concerned look on his face.

"Ah, Mr. Fender," he said, striding forward to meet the rat catcher We weren't sure if you'd return to the Centre this evening. We thought you might go straight back to your company to make your report."

"No, I wanted to have a word with you first. Can we go into your office?"

"Of course. In fact, I've just had your Research Director on to me. He said he'd like you to ring him immediately if you showed up here."

Fender looked at the Warden quizzically.

"He said it was important," Milton said somewhat lamely.

Fender had his suspicions before he even picked up the phone. He dialled the Ratkill number and asked to be put through to Stephen Howard.

"Stephen? It's Luke."

"Ah, Luke. Good. Now what have you been up to there in Epping Forest?

Seems you've stirred things up."

"Meaning?"

Well, I've just had old Thoraton from the Ministry of Agriculture on to me. Says you've been upsetting a chum of his by the name of Whitney-Evans. Superintendent of the forest, isn't he?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake! The man wants to do a cover-up. He doesn't want the forest to be evacuated."

The Warden looked both embarrassed and startled. He sat down.

Howard's voice on the other end of the phone was sharp. "Evacuate.

That's a bit drastic, isn't it? What makes you think the Black rat is in the forest?"

Fender quickly told him what he'd seen, been told, deduced. The phone buzzed with static for a few moments.

"Sorry, Luke, I'm afraid that's not enough."

"Not enough? You've got to be kidding."

"No, old boy, I'm not. Look, I'm going over there for a meeting.

Thornton's already set something up with this Whitney-Evans for nine o'clock. Can you hang around until then?"

"Yes, I can hang around." Fender felt a heaviness dragging him down.

Howard had obviously been asked to soft-pedal by Thornton, who was a Private Secretary in the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food, and a major contact between Ratkill and the government. Ratkill had always worked closely with the Ministry's Safety Pesticides and Infestation Control Division, even though the Ministry of Defence had become involved in the London Outbreak, and in the subsequent years after the supposed elimination of the Black rat, they had become even more united in their joint work. Howard was unlikely to go against the wishes of one of the Ministry's private secretaries, and it was obvious Thornton was one of Whitney-Evans' 'good connections'.