Will, can you get to Jan? Drag her out into the corridor?"
What are you going to do? You can't hold them off forever."
"Pretty soon they're going to have the sense to break through the other windows. That's how they got in in the first place. When they do we'll have no chance this room will be swarming with them."
He gasped as a body thudded against the other side, the desk-top juddering and moving back an inch. They pushed it back.
"Get the girl out, Will, then stand by the door. I'll be coming through fast and you'll have to get it closed behind me."
"Okay. Ready? I'm going to let it go now."
Fender redoubled his efforts as the bodies thudded against the wood. He could hear claws scrabbling at the surface as they ran up its length.
"Hurry, Will, for Christ's sake hurry."
The young tutor limped towards the prone body, his teeth clenched against the pain, his face deathly pale. He almost wept when he turned Jan over and saw the damage the broken glass had done, but he knew there was no time for grief. He grabbed her beneath the shoulders and, in a half-crouched position, began to drag her through the doorway.
"Look out for the rat that got into the corridor," Fender warned him.
The pressure against the table was becoming too much, the thumps against it increasing in frequency. He propped the bright-coloured stake against the wood, hoping it would hold the desk in position long enough for him to make it to the door. Then the indescribable happened.
The long windows on either side all shattered at once. The noise of falling glass was deafening and the sight of the black, furry bodies hurtling through, squealing their fury, skidding off the work top onto the floor, was almost enough to make his heart stop beating.
Fender ran.
The rats were too stunned and confused to attack at once, and Fender gave them no second chance. He dived when he was still feet from the door, rolling into the corridor and crashing against the wall opposite.
"Shut it!" he screamed, and Will lost no time in doing so.
The door rattled in its frame as the vermin threw themselves against it. They could hear the scratching sounds, the splintering as the creatures gnawed at the wood.
Fender shook his head to clear his senses.
"Are you okay?" the tutor asked anxiously, holding on to the door-handle as if to keep it closed.
Yes. I knocked my head, that's all." He got to one knee and crouched beside Jan and felt her pulse. It was weak. We've got to get her to a hospital. I don't think she'll make it, otherwise." He looked up at Will. You can let go of the door I don't think they're that clever."
Will sheepishly dropped his hand. "My God, listen to them. It won't take them long to gnaw their way through."
"No, and we'd better be out of here before they do."
"Luke, I've called the police." It was Jenny, standing at the end of the darkened corridor, by the reception area. "I've also called the Warden, on the internal phone and warned him to keep everybody inside the living quarters until the police get here."
"Good girl. Stay where you are, we'll bring Jan..." His voice broke off when he noticed something dark moving along the corridor, something low, crouched close to the wall. It was making towards Jenny.
"Jenny, run! Get away from there!" He was on his feet, running down the corridor. Jenny stood transfixed, her eyes wide with terror.
The rat moved with incredible speed, Fender's shouts and footsteps galvanizing it into action. It broke free from the shadows. Jenny could only step back as it sped past her, its stiffened fur actually brushing her legs. It scuttled madly around in the wider reception area, looking for an opening, a crazed look in its eyes. Jenny leaned back against the far wall and watched in fascinated horror. Fender reached her and shielded her body when he saw the rat's frantic actions.
A full-length window stood by the glass door, giving half the reception area a glass wall appearance. The rat ran at the lower pane and bounced off its rigid surface. It tried again, throwing itself at the glass with desperate strength. Fender was conscious of a police siren in the distance, the unmistakable wail growing louder with each second.
The rat scrambled away from the glass and made towards them. Fender got ready to kick out at it, but the creature turned before it reached them and hurtled itself at the window once more. This time, the glass shattered and it was through, disappearing into the shadows outside, leaving scraped-off hair and blood on the remaining window fragments.
"Oh, God, Luke. It's vile. It's so vile." Jenny leaned against Fender's back; he was too afraid to take his eyes off the broken pane in case the rats came swarming through.
"Luke. Come here, quickly." It was Will calling from the gloomy end of the corridor.
Fender grabbed Jenny's arm and took her with him.
"What is it?" he asked when he reached the crouched figure.
"Listen!"
Fender heard nothing. Then he realized what the young tutor was getting at. The rats," he said. They're gone."
TWELVE
It was the dogs who aroused the slumbering Police Training Camp on Lippits Hill. For the cadets and training officers who survived, it was to be a night they would never forget, a horrific memory that would fill their dreams for years to come.
They staggered from their barrack huts, half-dressed, half-asleep, cursing the animals for the terrible noise, cursing the handlers for not keeping them quiet. Yet they knew from the sound that the dogs had been disturbed by more than just a prowler; their frenzied barks had merged into a fearful howling ululation that pierced the bitter night and sent shudders down the spines of all who heard.
"What the fuck's got into them?" one young cadet asked as the men gathered in groups outside the huts.
"Where the bloody hell's their handlers?" another cursed.
They began to move in the direction of the pens, but a sergeant, hastily donning a heavy coat, brought them to a halt.
"Listen!" he commanded, and those nearest to him held their breath.
The word spread back to those at the rear, and the excited voices died; they stood shivering in the dark, each man's senses keened to the night.
"What is it?" one finally asked, mystified and a little afraid.
"It's screaming," another answered. "I'm sure it's screaming.
If someone could get the bloody dogs quiet we could tell for sure."
"No, no, it's not screaming," someone else said. "It's the ducks. The noise is coming from the duck farm. They sound like human voices from a distance."
They all listened again, while the dog-handlers hurried towards the pens, anxious to calm the agitated dogs. Not far from the training centre, a quarter of a mile at the most, in a remote but mainly un wooded area, a large, wire-fenced pound had been erected. Inside, various breeds of duck were raised, some for their meat, most for their eggs. It was a specialist enterprise and held hundreds of birds within its boundaries. Now the policemen and trainees had something to relate the sound to, they began to agree: it wasn't human screams but the cries of disturbed fowl.
The camp supervisor joined them and they could not see how drawn his face looked in the darkness. He had received a phone call from his superior earlier that evening, and the news had been bad.