It came forward into the light, less cautiously now, looking towards me, its sleek, brown fur glistening in the hard light of the torch.
Close by my hand was a fair-sized stone. My fingers reached for it. The rat stopped moving. I snapped up the stone and threw it in one movement.
There was a rustle, a streak of brown, and the rat was gone, long before the stone hit the spot where it had been.
Well, I knew now. I knew what had turned Ferris into a heap of rags and bones. I knew too when that brute got hungry it wouldn’t run away.
I looked around for more stones, and began making a little pile of them within easy reach. I examined the ground near me. Under dust and pebbles I discovered a short length of wood. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but it was something. If I had to tackle this one rat, chained as I was, I felt I could lick it, but the back of my mind I was beginning to wonder if there was more than one, and if so, how many. Again my eyes strayed to the heap of rags. A lot more than one rat had done that.
I held the club in my right hand, the torch in my left and leaned my back against the wall. I waited; and somewhere in the darkness, not far away, the rat waited too.
IV
The luminous hands of my wrist watch pointed to twenty minutes past four. I had been in the shaft a little over two hours. I had five cigarettes left, and the light of the torch was turning orange. I had been switching it on and off every five minutes for the past half-hour while I waited and listened, trying to make it last as long as possible.
I had heard no sound nor seen anything. The stale, dank air was making me feel sleepy. It was only by smoking and concentrating hard on the glowing tip of the cigarette that I managed to keep awake. I had tied my handkerchief round my throat to offer some resistance if the rat went for me. It gave me an optimistic feeling of safety.
I had got over my panic—or, rather, I had worn it out. There’s a limit to fear, and after the first hour I had got on top of it. But I had given up all hope of getting out of this jam. My one thought was to kill the rat before it killed me. Beyond that I had no thoughts.
The two hours had dragged by like two months. There was nothing to do except smoke and watch and listen, and think of the rat. The hands of my watch crawled on.
Then the rustling sound began again. The sound of the hard rings around the rat’s tail rubbing along the floor. I threw a stone in the direction of the sound and heard a little scurry. Well, he wasn’t hungry yet. I threw another stone to drive him farther away.
The dying light of the torch worried me. I turned it off, sitting now in the darkness, breathing gently and listening. I sat there for perhaps ten minutes with my eyes closed, and I must have dozed off. Then something happened that drove the blood out of my heart and brought me wide awake: something touched my foot and moved along my leg.
I snapped on the torch, a cold prickle shooting up my spine, my left hand grabbing at the club. For one horrible moment I saw the rat within inches of me, creeping towards me, pressed flat on the ground, its red eyes gleaming viciously. As the yellowing beam of the torch hit it, it swerved away and was gone, moving like lightning, and leaving me gulping in the close air, petrified and sweating.
Then out of the darkness, beyond the feeble light, four pairs of red sparks suddenly appeared, spaced about a foot apart and in a semicircle before me. Four now, not one.
I yelled at them: my voice harsh and off-key, but they didn’t move. I grabbed a handful of stones and threw them. The red eyes vanished, but reappeared almost immediately, a little closer, if anything. I yelled again.
‘Vic!’
I started up.
Had I imagined that faint call, somewhere in the darkness? I raised my voice and let out a yell that echoed like a thunder-clap down the tunnel.
‘Vic! Where are you?’
‘Here! Down the tunnel!’
I was so excited I forgot the rats. I was yelling now like a madman, and my yells changed to a yelp as a furry brown body suddenly streaked into the light and teeth snapped with a click into the folds of the handkerchief round my neck.
I felt the weight of its body on my chest, and smelt the dirt in its fur. Its wet nose was thrust under my chin as its teeth tried to cut through the folds of the handkerchief to get at my throat.
I nearly went crazy. Grabbing the sleek, horribly fat body, I tore it away from my throat. I felt it twist in my hand. The loathsome pointed head whipped round and razor-like teeth fastened into my wrist. In a kind of frenzy I dug my fingers into the fur, bent its back sideways, hearing its shrill squeal. The teeth came out of my wrist. Before it could strike again, I snapped its spine, feeling the bone go like a dry stick between my fingers. Shuddering with horror I threw the brute away from me.
‘Vic!’
‘Here!’
My voice croaked.
At the far end of the tunnel I saw a tiny pin-point of light.
‘I’m coming.’ Paula’s voice: the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
‘Down here. Mind how you come. There’re rats.’
‘I’m coming.’
The light moved steadily towards me, growing brighter. A minute or so later Paula dropped on her knees beside me, and caught hold of my hands.
‘Oh, Vic!’
I drew in a deep, shuddering breath and tried to grin at her, but my face felt frozen.
‘Paula! Jeepers! Am I glad to see you! How did you get here?’
Her hand touched my face.
‘It’ll wait. Are you hurt?’
I raised my hand. Blood welled from my wrist. If I hadn’t had the handkerchief round my throat the brute would have nailed me.
‘It’s all right. A rat took a fancy to me.’
She took off her white silk scarf and tied it tightly round the wound.
‘Really a rat?’
‘Yeah. I killed it. It’s behind you.’
She looked quickly over her shoulder. The beam of her torch fell on the brute. She caught her breath in a stifled scream.
‘Uuugh! Are there any more like that?’
‘One or two. He was particularly persistent. Do you wonder I sounded scared?’
She went closer and peered at the rat, then drew away with a shudder.
‘It’s enormous. Let’s get out of here.’
‘I’m chained to the wall. Barratt’s idea of getting even.’
While she examined the chain, I told her briefly what had happened.
‘I have a gun, Vic. Do you think you could shoot up one of these links?’
‘We can try. Here, give it to me, and get out of the way. The slug may ricochet.’
She put a .25 into my hand and went a little way down the tunnel. The third slug cut the link. The noise of the shooting deafened me.
Slowly and painfully I crawled to my feet. She came back and supported me.
‘I’ll be all right in a moment. I’m stiff, that’s all.’ I began to hobble up and down, restoring my circulation. ‘You haven’t told me how you got here. How did you know I was down here?’
‘A woman phoned. She wouldn’t say who she was. "If you want to save Malloy, you’d better hurry," she said. "They’ve taken him to the Monte Verde Mine." She hung up before I could ask her who she was or how she knew. I just grabbed a torch and a gun and drove like mad to the mine.’ Paula shook her head ruefully. ‘I ought to have got Mifflin. I really lost my head, Vic. I don’t know what I was thinking about.’
‘That’s all right You’re here and I’m free, so what does it matter?’
‘But it does. I’ve been wandering about in this awful place for hours. If I hadn’t heard you yell, I was going to yell myself. You don’t know what it’s like down here. Every tunnel looks alike.’