Still more had managed to crawl along the rafters, the piping that networked the ceiling, and lay there as if ready to leap; but those, too, were lifeless, menacing only in appearance.
'What the shit happened to them?' said Ellison in a low breath.
The others were too stunned to reply. Slowly Culver walked into the generator room until he was at the very edge of the great mass of inanimate fur. A rat stared up at him with a rictus grin, taut-curled claws just inches away.
Fighting his repulsion, Culver kneeled close. Again, he saw dried blood staining the lower jaw. Culver rose, quickly scanning the humped-back shapes, as Dealey stood by his side.
'I don't understand,' Culver said.
'I think I do,' the other man replied and Culver looked at him curiously.
They're diseased,' said Dealey. The blood is from their saliva. They've been wiped out by some illness, a plague of some sort. With luck it's killed them all.' He leaned over to prod the nearest rodent with the tip of his gun barrel.
"What kind of plague?' A different wariness was disturbing Culver.
'Impossible to tell. I could hazard a guess, though.'
'I can take it.'
'Possibly anthrax.' He eased the carcase he was prodding over onto its back and made a small grunting sound. 'No pustules, and this chap hasn't any swelling of the abdomen, so I'll guess again. I'd bet on it being pneumonic plague.'
Culver quickly stepped back.
Dealey straightened, but there was no overt concern in his expression. His shoulders were still slightly stooped as though the savage intrusion upon his sacred citadel, the surviving bulwark of his own authority, had finally dispirited him, made him realize just how fragile and ultimately vulnerable that authority had been. The destruction of the city had not shaken his faith, but the annihilation of those in power, his overlords who were to rule from this surrogate National Seat of Government, had devastated him. It was, to him, the loss of his own potency.
'I thought only humans could catch pneumonic plague,' said Culver, slowly backing away.
Dealey wearily shook his head. 'No, animals too. They catch it from their own disease-carrying fleas.'
Then we ...?' Culver left the question unfinished.
We have yet another reason to leave immediately,' Dealey said, nodding.
'Bastards!' Ellison suddenly screamed from the doorway. He raised the Sterling submachine gun to chest level and began firing into the mass of stiff-furred bodies, the brick-walled chamber erupting into a cauldron of explosive sounds. Black bodies leapt into the air as though still alive. Culver and Dealey hastily jumped to one side, while Kate clasped her hands to her ears, dropping the gun she had been holding. Unable to restrain his own fury, Fairbank joined in with Ellison, the small Ingram, its firing not as loud as the Sterling, bucking in his hands with its rapid recoil.
Culver let them spend their anger and hatred, watching the vermin's dark bodies twitch and jump, their flesh torn open by the frenzy of bullets. Small limbs were severed, heads exploded. A two-foot long tail scythed into the air like a tossed snake. Ellison's weapon emptied before Fairbank's and he let it clatter to the ground in disgust. Fairbank ceased firing, a strange, icy grin on his face. The sudden silence was as startling as the thunder preceding it.
Culver walked back to them while Dealey stood and shook
his head as if to clear it of echoes. 'If you're finished, let's—' the pilot began to say when Kate screamed.
They're moving! They're still alive!'
She was pointing over his shoulder and Culver whirled, his eyes searching the heaped bodies.
He saw no movement.
And then he did.
Parts of the dark ocean were shifting, black shapes slowly disengaging themselves from the whole, creeping forward, slowly, painfully. Resolutely. Yellow eyes glittered. Hissing sounds came from cruel mouths.
Dealey turned and began to retreat when he saw the converging shapes. Kate backed away to the other side of the hallway.
The creatures were dying, some stirred by the shattering noise, others by the bullets themselves thudding into their bodies. The nearest had reached the edge of the mass, was sliding over corpses onto the floor, its long, pointed head weaving from side to side, jagged teeth bared and bloodstained. Others slid down behind it.
Culver raised the Ingram and split the first creature in two with a quick burst of bullets. The others came on, pushing themselves across the floor, sliding smoothly through the spreading blood of their companions. He fired again, the impact scattering the crawling vermin, and Fair-bank joined him, aiming his gun into the mass.
They stopped. Watched.
Still there were shapes moving forward.
'What's keeping them coming?' yelled the engineer.
Culver's reply was grimly calm, although he felt anything but. 'Hate,' he said. They hate us as much as we hate them. Maybe more - they're the ones who've always had to hide. Thank God there's hardly any strength left in them.'
'Let's thank God from the outside, huh? They may be dying but they still want to get at us.'
They let one more burst rip into the undulating bodies, then hurried through the door.
'I don't want to waste time looking for doors that may not be open,' Culver told the others. 'So let's just head back the way we came. Agreed?'
The others nodded assent and he took Kate by the wrist. They can't reach us,' he assured her. They're dying, weak; we can easily outrun them.'
She gratefully leaned against him and the five of them began their journey back through the maze of corridors, Dealey in the lead, anxious to put as much distance between themselves and the plague-ridden vermin as possible. They closed their minds to the terrible sights they had to face once more, their tiredness gone for the moment, overcome by coursing adrenalin, and tried not to think of the deadly disease they had just come into contact with. Through the War Room they went, not pausing for a second, almost oblivious to the macabre scene around them. The mutant rats had been diminished, rendered helpless, but still they felt their deadly threat. They yearned to breathe clean, fresh air again, to empty their lungs of death's odours; they needed to see the open sky, to feel a natural breeze brush their skin. They hurried, breaking into a run whenever a clear stretch of corridor, uncluttered by human remnants, presented itself. Through the shelter's central core, slipping into the opening created by the two unfortunates who had jammed the door, into the various sections, stumbling here and there, but never stopping, never pausing to draw in breath.
Finally they reached the decontamination area. They sped through and found themselves in the vast vehicle pool.
Culver brought them to a halt. Torches! We'll need torches.'
'And I know where I can find some.' Fairbank dashed off, weaving between the strange-looking parked tanks and vehicles, heading for the small glass cubicle at the far end of the chamber by the doors.
"You know, some of the survivors may have had a chance if they weren't too panicked,' Culver commented as they watched Fairbank disappear.
'How?' asked Dealey.
'Inside these machines. They could have easily shut themselves in and waited out the rats.'
'And then escaped into the tunnels?'
Culver shrugged. 'It's possible.'
'But as we said before: the atmosphere would have been thick with radiation, especially if the attack took place at the very beginning.'
'It was just a thought.'
Fairbank was returning with two heavy-duty flashlights of the kind that had been kept in the Kingsway complex. 'Here you go,' he said, handing one to Culver. 'I spotted them earlier. Guess they kept them handy for emergencies.'