gns.batsoutofhell-第15部分

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ams　of　the　trapped　clerks。
　　
　　It　was　the　rush　hour。　People　were　hurrying；　bustling；　jostling　each　other；　standing　on　packed　buses　while　traffic　waited　at　a　standstill　for　longer　periods　than　it　moved。　The　newspaper…vendors　had　all　sold　out　in　the　city　centre　by　five　o'clock　and　were　packing　up　their　stands　and　kiosks。　The　evening　edition　of　the　Mail　was　a　total　sell　out；　just　as　the　midday　one　had　been。　There　was　no　fresh　news　of　the　bats；　but　the　previous　accounts；　re…written　with　a　diversity　of　opinions；　were　still　manding　front　page　space。
　　
　　The　sirens　of　ambulances　and　police…cars'；　and　their　flashing　blue　lights；　were　a　monplace　sight。　Seldom　did　the　worker　on　his　way　home　spare　either　a　second　glance。　However；　this　evening　there　seemed　to　be　an　atmosphere　of　extra　urgency　about　the　two　white　cars　and　the　ambulance　which　forced　their　way　through　the　lanes　of　jammed　traffic；　a　motor…cycle　patrol　doing　its　best　to　clear　the　way　ahead　for　them。
　　
　　'Must　be　another　bomb…scare；'　a　passenger　on　an　outer…circle　bus　mented　for　the　benefit　of　his　fellow　travellers。　'That'll　make　three　this　week。'
　　
　　Within　minutes　crowds　were　gathering　on　the　pavement　by　the　ramp　entrance　which　led　down　into　the　bowels　of　the　Treasury。　The　grille　was　already　raised　in　anticipation；　two　uniformed　messengers　and　Baxterdale　waiting　by　it　in　a　state　of　acute　agitation。
　　
　　The　ambulance　was　backed　up；　and　stood　in　readiness　with　its　engine　running。　Three　constables　emerged　from　the　cars；　carrying　with　them　some　kind　of　white　plastic　protective　clothing。
　　
　　'Looks　like　bleedin'　riot…gear；'　a　youth　remarked　to　his　panion　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　road。　'What　the　'ell's　goin'　on　down　there？'
　　
　　The　grille　gate　was　lowered　behind　the　policemen。
　　
　　'Your　Area　Inspector　phoned　us；'　a　young　inspector　snapped　as　they　followed　Baxterdale　down　a　white　corridor；　which　eventually　led　to　the　office。　'Just　one　bat；　you　say。'
　　
　　'Yes。'　Baxterdale　straightened　his　tie　and　puffed　out　his　chest；　'Down　in　our　lower　checking　area。'
　　
　　'Basement　evacuated？'
　　
　　'No。　Everybody's　still　down　there　with　it。'
　　
　　'What！'　the　inspector's　expression　was　one　of　incredulity；　'You　mean　there　are　people　down　there　with　it？'
　　
　　'The　instructions；　are　to　try　and　lock　any　bats　in　an　enclosed　area　。。。'
　　
　　'Yeah；　but　not　people　with　'em！　e　on；　there's　no　time　to　waste。'
　　
　　They　hurried　on　down　until　they　came　to　the　corridor　adjacent　to　the　Credit　House。　The　imprisoned　clerks　were　no　longer　shouting　and　rushing　about　in　a　state　of　terror。　Instead　they　were　sitting　white…faced　at　their　desks；　silent；　trembling。
　　
　　The　two　key…holders　unlocked　the　grille；　and　the　policemen；　pulling　on　gauze　masks；　elbow…length　gloves　and　plastic　coats；　stepped　inside。
　　
　　'Now；　where's　this　bat？'　Baxterdale　attempted　to　retrieve　some　of　his　authority。
　　
　　'It's　gone；　sir；'　the　chief　clerk　stammered。
　　
　　'Gone？'
　　
　　'Yes。'
　　
　　'Where？　Where　on　earth　could　it　have　gone　to？'
　　
　　'I　don't　know；　sir。　One　minute　it　was　flying　about　like　a　mad　thing。　The　next　there　was　no　sign　of　it。　It　must've　。。。　it　must've　got　out　up　the　ventilation　shaft。'
　　
　　The　policemen　looked　at　one　another。　The　inspector　shook　his　head　and　turned　to　the　group　of　huddled　clerks。
　　
　　'How　many　of　you　actually　came　into　contact　with　the　bat？1
　　
　　Seven　hands　were　raised　nervously　in　a　fearful　admission。
　　
　　'I　see。'　The　policeman　nodded　and　tried　to　make　light　of　it。　'Well；　I　think　we'd　better　take　you　down　to　the　General　for　a　check…up。　Just　a　formality。　We　brought　an　ambulance　with　us　just　in　case。'
　　
　　The　seven　clerks　looked　at　one　another；　abject　fear　and　hopelessness　in　their　expressions。　They'd　read　the　papers；　the　details　of　the　virus。
　　
　　Once　an　infected　bat　touched　you；　that　was　it。　Finis。　There　was　no　antidote。　Nothing　on　God's　Earth　could　save　you。
　　
　　Once　the　ambulances　and　police　cars　had　pulled　away　from　the　Treasury　life　reverted　to　normal　in　the　streets。　Workers　caught　their　trains　and　buses；　and　the　incident　was　forgotten。
　　
　　The　city　enjoyed　a　brief　lull　between　the　departure　of　those　returning　to　their　homes　and　the　arrival　of　those　ing　in　to　enjoy　the　night…life；　the　cinemas　and　theatres　and　night…clubs。　For　a　couple　of　hours　the　traffic　was　light　and　the　buses　half　empty。
　　
　　There　were　only　a　few　people　about　when　Baxterdale　left　the　Treasury；　a　sinking　feeling　in　his　stomach　and　a　worried　frown　on　his　florid　face。　The　Area　Inspector's　voice　still　rang　in　his　ears。　'You　bloody　fool！'　he　had　raged；　'If　you　can't　make　a　decision　in　an　emergency　like　that　you　don't　deserve　to　be　in　charge　of　the　place。　If　anybody　dies　I'm　holding　you　personally　responsible；　and　I'll　see　to　it　that　you　finish　your　banking　career　counting　notes　in　the　Credit　House！'
　　
　　It　was　only　as　he　walked　up　Corporation　Street　that　Baxterdale　found　the　courage　to　admit　to　himself　the　real　reason　why　he　had　locked　the　clerks　in　the　Credit　House　with　the　bat。　Had　he　attempted　to　release　them；　that　crazed　creature　might　have　flown　at　him。　The　captain　of　the　ship　had　battened　down　the　hatches　and　deserted　the　sinking　vessel　with　the　crew　locked　in　the　hold。
　　
　　He　walked　slowly；　thoughtfully。　Of　course；　they　might　not　die。　There　was　every　chance　that　the　bat　had　not　been　carrying　the　virus；　that　its　erratic　flight　had　been　caused　by　panic。　It　was　his　only　consolation。
　　
　　His　car　was　parked　in　Shadwell　Street；　a　lengthy　daily　walk　to　and　from　the　Treasury；　but　that　was　pensated　by　easy　access　to　the　Expressway。　From　there　it　was　about　forty　minutes　by　car　to　his　home　at　Shenstone。
　　
　　Something　caused　him　to　glance　upwards　as　he　crossed　Colmore　Row　and　made　his　way　across　the　front　of　the　derelict　Snow　Hill　station。　At　dusk　hundreds　of　starlings　could　be　seen　in　and　around　the　buildings；　chattering　noisily　as　they　went　up　to　roost。　Scavengers；　but　the　city　accepted　them　in　the　same　way　that　it　put　up　with　the　feral　pigeons　which　fouled　the　buildings　and　cost　the　ratepayers　a　fortune　annually　in　cleaning　bills。
　　
　　But　today　something　was　wrong。　The　starlings　did　not　e　back　to　roost　until　dusk；　and　that　was　almost　three　hours　away。　He　looked　again；　The　eaves　were　crowded；　some　of　the　occupants　flying；　settling；　flying　again。　And　there　was　something　decidedly　odd　about　the　way　they　flew。　Starlings　maintained　a　straight　course；　in　short；　jerky　flights。　These　were　soaring　and　diving　faster　than　the　eye　could　follow；　crashing　crazily　into　the　stonework。　Swifts？　Swallows？　Baxterdale　did　not　know　much　about　ornithology；　and　he　was　not　particularly　interested。　He　almost　turned　away；　and　then；　suddenly；　he　understood。　Bats/
　　
　　The　papers　had　said　they　might　head　for　urban　areas。　He　quickened　his　step；　hurrying　down　the　underpass。　The　radio　had　said；　'report　all　sightings　of　bats'。　To　hell　with　that！　Bats　had　caused　him　enough　trouble　for　one　day。　Let　somebody　else　do　the　shouting；
　　
　　Baxterdale　was　breathless　by　the　time　he　reached　his　car。　His　fat　fingers　fumbled　with　the　door　key；　and　it　dropped　from　his　grasp　and　bounced　under　the　car。
　　
　　'Sod　it！'　he　swore；　and　dropped　to　his　hands　and　knees。
　　
　　It　was　then　that　he　saw　the　rat。　It　was　crouching　motionless　under　the　car；　and　it　was　a　big　brown　creature；　its　red　eyes　regarding　him　balefully。　Baxterdale　drew　back　his　hand。　The　key　was　nearer　to　the　rat　than　it　was　to　himself；　and　the　rodent　made　no　move　to　flee。　It　was　not　frightened　of　him。
　　
　　Of　course；　it　wasn't　surprising　to　see　a　rat　in　the　car　park。　He'd　e　across　them　before。　The　canal　was　only　a　matter　of　fifty　yards　away。　That's　where　it　had　e　from。
　　
　　'Shoo！'　he　muttered。　'Scram！'
　　
　　The　rat　did　not　move。　Baxterdale　pursed　his　lips　and　a　little　shiver　of　revulsion　ran　up　his　spine。　He　had　to　have　that　key。　And　the　sooner　he　was　away　from　Birmingham　the　better。　Tomorrow　he　would　go　sick。　He'd　made　up　his　mind。　He'd　never　done　it　before；　but　there　was　a　limit　to　that　which　any　man　could　stand。
　　
　　He　began　to　stretch　out　his　hand　nervously。　The　key　lay　about　a　foot　away　from　the　rat。　Easy　does；　it；　then　a　quick　snatch　。。。　He　moved　quickly；　grabbing　for　the　fallen　object；　but　even　as　his　hand　closed　over　it　the　rodent　leaped　forward。
　　
　　Baxterdale　yelled　as　sharp　teeth　dug　into　his　palm；　claws　raking　his　knuckles。　The　creature　was　clinging　to　him；　biting；　scratching。　He　struck　at　it　with　his　other　hand；　once；　twice。　Its　grip　slackened；　and　with　a　sob　of　relief　he　saw　it　fall；　hit　the　ground；　roll　over；　and　dart　towards　a　dense　bed　of　nettles　and　weeds　which　bordered　some　adjacent　waste　ground。
　　
　　Baxterdale　retrieved　his　key；　unlocked　the　door　and　then　examined　the　wound　on　his　hand。　The　bite　was　a　deep　one；　bleeding　freely。　It　was　painful；　too；　There　might　be　poison　in　it。　He'd　read　somewhere　once　that　people　bitten　by　snakes　sucked　the　venom　out　and　often　saved　their　lives　by　so　doing。
　　
　　His　eyes　shut；　his　thick　lips　closed　over　the　bite；　he　sucked；　sensed　an　unpleasant　taste　on　his　palate；　and　vomited　on　to　the　ground。　For　some　moments　he　stood　there　retching；　and　then；　with　deliberate　effort　be　climbed　into　his　car；　bound　'The　wound　with　his　handkerchief　and　drove　off。
　　
　　Baxterdale　was　feeling　ill　by　the　time　he　reached　Spaghetti　Junction　and　filtered　on　to　the　A38。　His　vision　was　impaired　for　some　strange　reason；　as　though　he　was　driving　through　a　red　fog；　with　visibility　down　to　only　twenty　yards　or　so　and　gradually　reducing。　His　back　ached；　the　pain　increasing　and　travelling　upwards　until　it　reached　his　neck。　He　could　not　turn　his　head　at　all；　and　even　the　effort　required　to　manipulate　the　controls　was　considerable。　Logic　told　him　to　pull　off　the　road　and　attempt　to　attract　attention。　Instinct　urged　him　to　try　and　make　it　home；　a　wounded　fox　crawling　back　to　its　lair　to　die。
　　
　　He　passed　through　Sutton　Coldfield；　and　had　it　not　been　quiet；　with　virtually　no　traffic　about；　his　frequent　swerves　would　doubtlessly　have　involved　him　in　a　head…on…collision。
　　
　　Then；　at　last；　every　nerve　seemed