gns.batsoutofhell-第31部分
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hs which sprouted out of the sockets themselves； pink and bloated。 The mouth was open； rigor mortis having retained the expression of viciousness which the rodent had worn in life。
Tyler used a stick to part the jaws of the trap； kicking the corpse to one side and noting its pink underside； covered with more cancerous growths which had not reached maturity before death had claimed the host。
'Bloody mixy in rats？' He shook his head； and began the task of resetting the trap in the tunnel。
Ken Tyler had seventeen traps set on Castle Ring。 On average four or five caught victims daily。 Two or three were usually sprung without killing。 This morning； twelve had killed。 All the creatures were rats； and every one was in the final stages of this terrible disease。
The gamekeeper was puzzled。 It was as though the vermin had entered the dark tunnels searching for a place in which to end their lives； their usual alertness for traps having been nullified。 He made his way towards the woods。 There was a small pool hidden amidst a dense reed…bed。 Sometimes there were mallard on it； and often a brace of these found their way into the Tyler's larder without his employer being aware of it。
Stealthily he crept up on the pond。 The mist was thicker here； screening his approach。 He stiffened； half…crouching； easing forward the safety…catch on his gun。 There was definitely something on the water this morning； unrecognisable shapes in the fog。
He peered intently。 There was something unnatural about the whole scene。 It was lifeless。 Not a splash or a ripple on the surface。
He stepped forward； his boots splashing in the shallows； anticipating an alarmed quacking and frenzied wing beats as ducks took to the air。 But nothing happened。 There was no sound other than his own movements in the clammy stillness。
Then he felt the bile rise in his throat as he recognised the shapes。 Rats。 Floating； bellies uppermost； legs rigid。 And those same cancerous growths all over them。
'Jesus！' He backed away on to firm land。
Tyler was trembling as he entered the wood。 Something unnatural was happening all around him this morning。 Not that this hadn't been so for weeks on end now； but this was far worse。 More horrible。 A new kind of death。
The ground beneath the trees was devoid of undergrowth。 Only odd fronds of bracken sprouted at intervals； for seldom did the sunlight penetrate the evergreen foliage of the tar pines。 Nothing else grew here。
He trod on a bat before he noticed others lying beneath the trees； his heavy…soled boots squashing it to pulp； splitting open the growth which incorporated most of its body； thick yellowish pus mingling with the blood as it squelched out。
'Ugh！' He scraped his boot on the carpet of pine…needles in an endeavour to wipe off the sticky mess。 It smelled； and he backed away from it： a sickly； penetrating odour like a mixture of vomit and excreta。 There were bats lying dead all around him； as though a whole roost of them had been stricken in the night。 And every one of the tiny creatures was disfigured by those same growths。
Tyler was sweating。 Carefully he made his way to the other end of the wood； stepping over and around the bats； taking care not to tread on any more。 He paused once； thinking that he saw a grotesque wingless bat； bloated with death； amongst some others。 Then he saw it was a field…mouse。 He wondered why it had not died in its hole； and decided that perhaps； unlike some of the rats in his tunnel…traps； it had surfaced in quest of air and light。
He started as something flapped silently from a branch above his head and quickly disappeared into the fog。 An owl。 Another species which would suffer in the long run if it was deprived of these rodents which were its natural prey。
Professor Brian Newman and Susan Wylie returned from the Biological Research Centre just in time for the televised news at ten 'O'clock。 A reporter was talking in one of the main Birmingham thoroughfares； with blackened skeletons of buildings all around him； people huddled into small groups； and some traffic filtering by at intervals。 Gangs of workmen wearing protective headgear were engaged in clearing…up operations；
'The weeks of terror have finally e to an end；' the reporter was saying； 'and at last people are emerging from their homes； wondering if it really happened or whether it was all one hellish nightmare。 But here is the proof of reality。' He indicated the wrecked city around him。 'Burnt out shops and office blocks； many collapsing and burying bodies beneath them。 During today alone； sixteen corpses； beyond recognition； have been recovered from the ruins of New Street Station。 The fighting is over； and the restrictions which have been in force throughout the Midlands were lifted today。 Members of the British Volunteer Force are assisting in site clearance； and many civilians have joined in to help also。 But the gladdening news is that the bats from hell； the disease…carrying creatures which have been responsible for the thousands killed and a state of near…anarchy in and around the city of Birmingham； are no more。 And for that we have to thank Professor Brian Newman； whose' idea it was to import the latest weapon in warfare against rodents from the United States。 This is a virus not unlike myxomatosis in rabbits； but much deadlier。 Within a week of its initial release tens of thousands of bats； mice and rats have died in the 'Midlands； and we have just had reports of similar rat deaths as far a field as Manchester and Newcastle…on…Tyne。 Whilst the killer disease travelled no further than a radius of fifty miles around Birmingham； this rodent plague appears to be spreading。 We can only ask ourselves； what will Britain be like without the vermin against which we have been waging war for centuries？ Even Professor Newman cannot forecast the long…term effects。 Gerald Watson； News at Ten； Birmingham。'
Brian Newman leaned forward and switched off the television。
'Well；' Susan mented； 'you're no longer the villain of the piece。 They're hailing you as a saviour。'
'And within a year the damage will have been restored； and the bats will be only a memory；' Newman muttered； 'but there are those who will never forget； those who lost loved ones。 I can do nothing to ease their grief。'
'I'll go and make some supper。' Susan stood up and moved towards the kitchen。 'At least we needn't be afraid to go outside after dark now。'
Brian Newman picked up the evening paper and had hardly opened it up when a piercing scream came from the kitchen。
'Susan！' he yelled； scrambling to his feet； but before he reached the door Susan Wylie came rushing in； her face deathly white。
'Oh； God！'she sobbed。
'Whatever is it？' he demanded pulling her to him。
'Nothing； really。' She made an attempt to pull herself together； 'it was。。。 only a。。。 a mouse。 When I opened the cupboard it rolled out on to me。 Phew！ After all the mice； rats and bats I've held these past weeks whilst you injected them； and then we get one in the kitchen and I nearly have hysterics。 It's sort of。。。 different in the lab； isn't it？'
He pulled her to one side； and went into the kitchen。 The dead mouse lay on the floor by the sink…unit； its body bloated twice its normal size as though it had been blown up with a pump； the head pink and swollen； eyes buried beneath an unnatural growth； a bulbous matter…filled ball of cancerous； mangy fur。
'It。。。 it's repulsive； isn't it？' Susan caught her breath。 'I。。。 I never thought this disease was quite as terrible as that。 Oh； it's horrible。 And we've done that to millions of them！'
He pulled her gently back into the living…room and closed the door。 Try not to think about it；' he said； kissing her。 'It's not a pretty sight； I know； and if I'd had any other choice I'd never have brought this vile disease over here。 But it was the only way。 It was either that or the end of civilisation as we know it。'
'I'm sorry。' She tried to smile。 'It was 。。。 just； well； the way it
