And all this performance; running to catch his last train, racing down those treacherous steps of Shadwell tube, a couple of times missing one and nearly breaking an ankle.
He wouldn’t mind but he’d spent the whole evening groping and trying to get her worked up but getting nowhere, and then, when it was time to go, she’d suddenly turn on and start getting fruity. His mates had told him she was a P.T., prick-teaser, but he hadn’t believed them, in fact, he’d even belted one of them.
‘Maybe I’ll give her the shove next week,’ he said to himself, voicing his thoughts for extra assurance. He began to whistle. But it was funny how he looked forward to seeing her by the time Wednesday came round. He stopped whistling. She always looked good, always dressed smart. Her mother got on his nerves, but he rarely saw her. Her father was a lazy old bastard too. Not like his mum and dad. He got on well with his own parents. He always had a freshly- ironed shirt for Saturday night, always a good hot dinner waiting for him after work, and the old man could always be tapped for a quid or two towards the end of the week. He supposed his being an only child had a lot to do with it.
After his older brother had been knocked down and killed by a car seven years ago, his parents had seemed to turn all their affection on to him. He didn’t mind - he liked them.
He could always bring his mates round for a party, his father would always chip in for the beer,his mother would always dance with the boys. The old man would even chat up the birds. No, they weren’t like Gerry’s parents. Miserable old sods.
His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps descending the long flight of stairs. A coloured station-worker came into view and walked towards the other end of the platform, entering a door marked ‘private’.
Dave’s thoughts returned to his present situation. Where’s the bloody train? For once he’d got down there early only to be left hanging around in the gloom. Gerry would always come to the door with him to say goodnight, her passion becoming stronger as his thoughts of missing the last train became stronger.
She’d finally let him go and wait at the door till he was out of sight.
He’d nonchalantly turn and wave back at her two or three times and she’d blow kisses but as soon as he turned the corner, he was off like a shot, his lungs soon sore with the sudden exertion of running. He invariably arrived at the station with a painful stitch in his side, dashed through the barrier without paying, took the stairs two or three at a time, and was usually just in time to leap through the closing doors of the train. It was a good thing Gerry never heard his curses if he wasn’t in time. It meant a long walk home down the trouble-filledCommercial Road. There was nearly always a mob on some street comer, or a
‘perve’ lingering in a doorway. Dave wasn’t chicken but it was a drag.
Something moving caught his eye. A dark shape was moving along between the tracks. He walked to the edge of the platform and peered down the track into the gloom.
Nothing. Then he noticed the shape had stopped. Realising it must be a rat, he threw the empty milk carton to see if he could make it scamper back into the darkness of the tunnel, but it merely shrank beneath the electric rail. The boy looked up sharply as he heard noises coming from the dense black cave of the tunnel. It sounded like the rash of air, but not the sound caused by an approaching train. He glanced nervously back at the form lurking in beneath the track and up again as the noise grew louder. As he did, hundreds, it seemed, of small black bodies came pouring from the tunnel, some between the tracks, others up the ramp and along the platform.
He turned and ran even before he realised they were rats, much larger than normal, and much faster. He reached the stairs, a long, black river of vermin almost at his heels, and flew up them, three at a time. He slipped once, but quickly regained his balance, grasping at the hand-rail by the side, pulling at it to gain momentum. But a rat had raced ahead of him, and his next step was on its back, causing Dave to stumble once more. As his hand went to steady himself, sharp teeth snapped at his fingers. He shouted in fear, kicking out wildly, sending two of the bristling bodies back down over the backs of their companions. He lurched onwards, now weighed down by rats that had attached themselves to his clothes and his flesh.
He fell again, hitting the bridge of his nose on the sharp comer of a step, causing blood to spill down his face and on to his white long-collared shirt.
He kicked and screamed but they pulled him back down the stairs, roiling to the bottom with him, ripping his body, shaking him as though he were a toy doll. His screams echoed through the old station. He half rose and before his senses blacked out completely he cried for his mother.
Errol Johnson pulled the door marked ‘private’ open and rushed out. He’d heard the screams and assumed someone had fallen down the long Stairway to the platform. He knew it would happen some day - those stairs were too badly lit.
If he ever became station-master, if coloureds ever became station-masters he’d clean it up and make it a respectable station. Just because it wasn’t used by many people didn’t mean it should be badly kept.
He stopped dead at the spectacle before him, his mouth hanging wide.
Millions of rats swarming all over the station. And bigones, like those he’d seen in his own country, but even bigger.
His mind didn’t even stop to evaluate, He ran, without looking back. There was only one place for him to go, the stairs being cut off by a struggling mass of vermin. Without hesitation, he ran down the ramp and into the dark womb of the tunnel. His fear drove him straight into the approaching train, mercifully killing before he was aware of death’s presence.
The driver, who was braking anyway, slammed them on even harder, pitching his~ few passengers forward in their seats. As he emerged from the tunnel, the train’s wheels screeching in high-pitched protest, the scene before him caused him to react instinctively, thereby saving the lives of his passengers and himself. He released the brakes and drove on.
The rats became still and glared at the huge intruding monster. Those beneath the tracks crouched low as it rumbled over them, the squealing from its wheels freezing them.
The passengers stared down through the window, horror struck, wondering if the train had found its way down to the corridors of hell. One fell back as a dark furry body hurtled itself at him only to bounce off the window and back on to the platform. As the train began to gather speed, more of the creatures leapt at the windows, some falling between the train and the platform to be sliced by the grinding wheels.
A rat broke through the window of one carriage and immediately attacked its solitary passenger. The man was strong and managed to pull the frenzied creature from his throat. It tore at his hands with teeth and claws, causing him to shout out in pain, but he still held its neck and body.
His terror gave him added strength and speed; he threw it to the floor and brought his heavy boot swiftly down on its head, crushing its skull. He picked up the limp body, amazed at its size, and threw it through the broken window into the black tunnel that the train was now in. He sank into his seat, shock spreading through his body, not knowing that within twenty-four hours he would be dead.