Harris approached the door of the basement with some caution, pressed his ear to it, and listened. He shushed the
Headmaster with a finger to his mouth as the older man reached him.
‘Oh, come along, man,’ the Headmaster pushed by him impatiently, and grasping the handle, swinging the door open wide. ‘Jenkins, are you...’ his words choked off at the sight that met his eyes.
Black, scurrying creatures, swarming all around the basement. A small, high window, level with the playground outside, was wide open, and in poured more and more of the furry beasts, a constant stream of vermin.
And they were feeding on something on the floor. All Harris and the Headmaster were able to see was a single boot, protruding from the writhing mass of bodies. The teacher pulled his Principal back from the open doorway as several dark shapes dashed forward. He grabbed the handle and pulled hard but two of the rats slithered through, a third being trapped by its shoulder. He kicked at it three times before it fell back into the basement. He whirled around to see the other two scampering up the stairs. The Headmaster was on his knees staring after them.
‘My God, they’re enormous,’ was all he could utter.
‘If they reach the children... ‘ Harris began to say.
‘I’ll stop them, I’ll stop them, Harris,you cover that door.
Block it with anything you can find. It’s extremely heavy, but we want to be sure!’ The distressed Headmaster was re-gathering his wits. ‘When you’ve done that, come straight upstairs.’
‘Right, but don’t let them bite you!’ Harris shouted after the ascending figure. ‘Their bite’s fatal. Keep them away from you.’
He looked around for something big to block the door with. The store-room was on his right. He opened it and carefully looked in. No windows, so it should be all right.
He switched on the light. Tables, chairs, blackboards. Good.
He pulled out a heavy table and turned it on its side, then pulled it along to the basement door. He upended it and was pleased to discover that it completely covered the door.
He pushed it flush against it and went back to the store-room. He noticed an old radiator leaning against the wall and dragged it out, making a loud grating noise on the floor. He leaned it against the upturned table and went back for some chairs.
Just then, he heard a scream from upstairs. He picked up the discarded poker and raced upstairs.
The Headmaster was on the floor of the corridor, struggling with the two hideous rats. Mercifully, the door at the end of the corridor had been closed, and the children had all escaped to the floor above. The Headmaster had one of the rats by the throat and was fighting to keep it from his face.
The other was boring a hole in his side.
‘Help me, help me!’ he implored Harris, mining his head to see the teacher.
Sickened, knowing his Principal was already dead, Harris ran forward and brought the poker down with all his might on one of the rats. It squealed, high-pitched, an octave above a frightened child’s, and withdrew its teeth from the struggling man’s side. Its back was broken, but it made an attempt to crawl towards Harris. He brought his foot down on its head and crushed it. He couldn’t hit the second rat for fear of hurting the Headmaster, so he dropped the poker and reached for it with his hands. He grabbed it near its shoulders and lifted, taking care not to let its mapping teeth touch his body. Unfortunately, the Headmaster was too frightened to loose his grip on the squirming rodent.
‘Let go, let go!’ Harris shouted, now lifting the man with the rat.
But the Headmaster was too crazed with terror to hear.
The teacher braced his foot against the Headmaster’s chest and pushed him back to the floor, staggering back as the grip was released and falling, but still holding the rat high.
Its weight and its strength were tremendous, and he felt his jacket and shirt being torn to shreds by the clawing feet.
Holding it from behind, he raised himself to one knee and pushed it against the floor. He saw the Headmaster crawling away from him, his eyes never leaving the squirming monster in his grasp, backing away towards the wall, trying to push himself into it. In the background, Harris could hear the sound of police sirens. Where the hell have they been? What am I going to do with this?
He looked around desperately. The thing was slipping from his grip. He wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer.
And one bite from those teeth, even if he killed the bloody thing, one bite and he’d die later. 3c had an aquarium. That was the answer. He’d drown it. But all the doors were bloody shut. He could never hold on with one hand.
‘Mr Norton,’ he shouted. ‘The door to 3c! Open it, quick,
I can’t hold on much longer?
The Headmaster shook his head, dully, never taking his gaze from the rat.
‘Open that fucking door!’ Harris screamed.
The elder man at last tore his eyes away from the rat and looked at the red-faced teacher. He nodded slowly and began to crawl towards 3c’s classroom. ‘Hurry, hurry,’ Harris shouted.
In what seemed an eternity, the Headmaster reached the door and lifted a shaky, blood-soaked hand towards the handle. The blood made his hand too slippery to turn it and he had to reach up with his other. At last, the door opened.
Harris dragged the rat along the ground, his fingers aching, trying to squeeze the life out of the wriggling body, but not having the strength or the grip. The rat dug its claws into the wooden floor, forcing him to hold its head and shoulders slightly off the floor. The small head snapped from side to side, endeavouring to sink its teeth into the man’s flesh. But Harris was careful, so very careful. When he got to the door, the Headmaster uttered a small cry and kicked out, catching his leg and almost causing him to lose his grip.
‘Get out of the way,’ he said slowly, through clenched teeth. ‘Get out of the fucking way!’ Louder.
The Headmaster scrambled aside and Harris was in. He saw the tank on the window-sill. He moved towards it. When he came to the teacher’s desk at the head of the class, he swung the rat up on to it, using all his strength, but never loosening his grip. Then he pushed the desk forward with his body towards the aquarium, holding the rat’s head against the table, his body being raked by the creature’s hind-legs.
At last, the desk butted against the window-sill. He raised one leg and crawled on top of it, then dragged the rat towards the tank full of water.
He rested before he made the final effort. Gathering all his strength, sweat streaming from his face, he raised himself and the rat and plunged the writhing body into the water.
The tank seemed to explode. Water and fish cascaded over him but he held on grimly pushing its head down to the deep bottom, ignoring the pain in his chest and arms. He began to wonder if there would be enough water left in the tank to drown the rat, or whether its flying limbs would crack the glass sides. But gradually, the struggles became weaker, the twists of its body more feeble, the jerk of its head less violent. Finally, there was no movement at all. But Harris still held it there. Just to be sure.
He looked up, through the window. Several police cars had arrived, and many blue-uniformed men stood outside the front gate, not knowing what to do.
He finally released the dead body and wearily climbed off the table. His clothes were torn, and blood covered his shirt-front, but he was fairly sure he hadn’t been bitten. He walked back to the Headmaster, who was still sitting in the doorway with his head in his hands.
‘It’s all right now, sir. The police are here. They’ll soon clear them.’ Harris knelt down beside the trembling man.