gns.batsoutofhell-第33部分

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any　case；　Tyler　needed　to　bag　as　many　as　possible　if　he　was　to　keep　back　a　brace　or　two　for　himself　when　the　boss　called　round　later　in　the　day。　He　wouldn't　have　to　be　too　greedy　this　season；　he　decided。　Game　was　scarce。　The　fires　had　ruined　a　good　breeding　season；　and　now　weeks　of　rain　were　spoiling　the　shooting　days。　The　bags　were　well　down　on　the　previous　year。
　　
　　Judy　ranged　to　and　fro；　taking　her　time；　relying　on　her　nose。　Her　head　went　down。　She　picked　up　something　out　of　the　long　grass；
　　
　　'Good　girl。　Bring　it　on。'
　　
　　The　spaniel's　face　was　hidden　behind　a　mass　of　fluffy　brown　feathers。　At　first　Ken　was　congratulating　himself　on　another　hen　pheasant　in　the　bag；　but　as　Judy　came　closer；　he　groaned。
　　
　　'Another　bloody　owl。　Christ　A'mighty！　Three　picked　up　yesterday；　and　two　kestrels。'
　　
　　It　came　on　to　rain　again。　He　pulled　down　the　brim　of　his　hat　and　turned　up　the　collar　of　his　coat。　'Bleedin'　weather！'
　　
　　Judy　forced　her　way　into　some　dense　briars　and　the　gamekeeper　stole　forward。　It　could　be　that　old　cock　that　the　Colonel　had　dropped　with　his　second　barrel　on　the　last　drive。　It　had　been　too　dark　to　look　for　it　properly。
　　
　　He　could　see　Judy　on　her　way　back。　Certainly　it　wasn't　the　cock　bird。　Light　brown　feathers；　some　catching　on　the　thorns　as　the　dog　pushed　her　way　out。　It　was　a　big　bird。　A　buzzard。　Tyler　had　not　seen　one　on　the　Chase　for　five　years。　The　last　had　been　a　stray；　blown　off　course　by　a　freak　gale。　So　was　this　one。　But　it　had　e　from　a　different　reason。　A　futile　search　for　food。
　　
　　He　took　the　buzzard　from　the　dog；　and　held　it　up　in　his　left　hand。　Under　normal　circumstances　it　would　have　weighed　approximately　three　pounds。　He　doubted　if　this　bird　would　have　topped　the　scales　at　a　pound。　It　had　wasted　away；　reduced　to　skin　and　feathers　by　starvation。　The　keeper　tossed　it　back　over　the　briars。　It　seemed　to　hang　suspended　in　the　air；　almost　floating　down　on　to　the　thorn　bushes；　landing　with　scarcely　a　sound。　Just　a　few　feathers　wafted　in　the　wind。　It　was　just　one　of　many；　and　luckier　than　most　of　the　birds…of…prey　species。　It　was　already　dead。　Many　more　had　still　to　die；　suffering　the　pangs　of　hunger；　searching　vainly　for　rats；　mice；　insects。　Finding　nothing。　Not　even　a　beetle。
　　
　　Myxomatosis　had　broken　out　amongst　the　rabbits　again。　Coincidence？　There　weren't　even　any　young　coneys　for　the　hawks。　Science　had　destroyed　them；　and　this　was　only　the　beginning。
　　
　　An　hour　later　Ken　Tyler　stood　amongst　the　trees　which　overlooked　the　Biological　Research　Centre。　A　car　was　parked　outside　and　he　recognised　Newman's　Allegro。　The　bacteriologist　hadn't　wasted　much　time　getting　back　to　work　again　after　the　girl's　funeral；　the　keeper　grimaced。
　　
　　A　fit　of　anger　assailed　him。　He　shook　a　fist　in　the　direction　of　the　squat　ugly　buildings。
　　
　　'You　bastard！'　he　shouted。　'All　this　is　your　work。　You're　destroying　wildlife；　one　species　after　another。　You　killed　the　girl。　Everybody　knows　it。　The　papers　say　so；　but　you　and　your　bloody　kind　keep　on　denying　it。　You　won't　admit　that　humans　can　catch　it。　Sod　you！'
　　
　　His　anger　subsided；　and　the　gamekeeper　walked　slowly　away；　retracing　his　steps。　Newman　hadn't　heard　him。　Nobody　had。　It　wouldn't　make　any　difference；　anyway。
　　
　　They'd　created　something　they　couldn't　control；　and　now　there　was　no　way　of　stopping　it。　Only　when　all　forms　of　life　were　wiped　out　would　the　cancerous　virus　finally　die。　And　it　took　a　gamekeeper　to　realise　that。
　　
　　On　the　way　back　he　had　to　wait　for　Judy　again。　She　was　away　for　fully　ten　minutes　this　time；　and　when　she　returned　to　heel　she　was　carrying　another　owl　in　her　jaws。







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