'Let me tell you what happened as I see it!' Newman thumped the desk with his fist.
'Go on, then,' Haynes released with a sigh, adjusting his spectacles. He glanced at Rickers, who had returned to the window and was staring out across Cannock Chase.
'I reckon,' Professor Newman began glancing at Haynes and then across at Rickers, 'that the reason for those horses being loose on the road was that they had been upset by the bats. Unfortunately, out of the whole saga there is no one left alive to tell us what really happened. The girl and her father have both died as a result of some strange form of meningitis which is identical to that from which the bats were dying in my laboratory. Unfortunately the virus dies with the victim, and the only way in which its true form can be determined is to examine it in the body of a sufferer before death occurs. So far we haven't been afforded that opportunity. In the final stages, the disease brings on paralysis and madness. Williams attacked and strangled his wife before the paralysis claimed him. As for the bats, they just go crazy, flying blindly. They scared the horses out of the stables and the field on to the road. The driver of that car was just unfortunate—'
'He'd been drinking,' Haynes interrupted.
'Maybe so, but that doesn't alter the fact that the horses were stampeding crazily down the road. And we must also face up to the fact that bats carrying this virus are loose in the countryside. I had hoped that those which escaped might die quickly without harming anybody or anything, but we must face the thought that some of them are carriers. They won't die from the disease themselves, but they'll pass it on to other bats, and I dread to think how far it will spread.'
Rickers laughed harshly.
'You're crazy, Newman,' he said. 'I've said it before, and I'll say it again—the whole thing is preposterous. You made a balls-up of your experiments, a few bats died, and if your theories became known outside this Research Centre half the population would be panicking.'
'All right.' Brian Newman stood up, shaking his-head.
'Have ft your own way. But don't say I haven't warned you. Any time now those bats will start to mate. About forty per cent of those which are carriers could pass the virus on to their young, creating a new generation of carriers which won't die. A bat can live from four to twelve years, and during that time they'll be spreading this plague, breeding again. Seven weeks from now the whole thing could be totally out of control, and we won't be able to do a thing to stop it. The bubonic plague outbreaks of the Middle Ages will seem like head-colds by comparison.'
'And supposing you're correct in your assumptions?' Haynes smiled in the manner of a tolerant uncle who has just listened to the fantasies of an infant nephew. 'How do you propose halting the spread of this ... this mutated meningitis virus?'
'That I can't say right now.' Newman was tight-lipped. 'Maybe I can find an antidote which neutralises the poisons produced in the body by the germs, perhaps by taking a blood sample from a bat which has recovered from the disease and then injecting it into an infected one, though I must admit I don't foresee any survivors in this instance. We can try to determine the reasons for immunity in the case of the carriers. In any case I'll either have to try to recapture some of the escaped bats, or inject the virus into some more and start again from scratch.'
'If you're going to do that,' Haynes snapped, 'then you do it in your own time. You were allocated one month for this meningitis experiment. You have already submitted a negative report and admitted failure. I can't allow you to waste any more time on it. There are far more important research matters to be attended to.'
'OK,' Newman retorted pausing in the doorway. 'Ill do it in my own time. I take it you'll have no objections to my using the laboratory in the evenings and at weekends? Miss Wylie will assist me.'
'Carry on.' Haynes picked up a folder and beckoned to Rickers. 'You can use the place, but don't go wasting our time.'
As Brian Newman closed the door and walked down the corridor towards his own laboratory he could hear Haynes and Rickers laughing.
'Well?' Susan Wylie looked up as he entered the small lab. 'What are their reactions?'
'Ridicule, naturally,' Newman told her. He walked across to the open window and gazed out on the sunlit Cannock Chase. 'What else could one expect from a guy like Rickers? And in the meantime, out there, there's a death-force gathering which will sweep across this country like a swarm of locusts.'
'What are we going to do?' she asked, laying a hand on his arm.
'Work like hell to try and find an anti-toxin,' he said. 'I'd appreciate your help, but it won't be in the government's time, nor will there be any remuneration for evening work and weekends, and at the end of it all we may have absolutely nothing to show for our efforts.'
'Of course I'll help you, Brian.' she smiled. 'You know that.'
'Even after the way I treated you?'
'A leopard doesn't change his spots. I knew what you were like before I moved in to live with you. You'll probably do it again.'
'Thanks,' he murmured, and his lips went down to meet hers.
'Where do we start?' she breathed when they finally broke off that lingering kiss.
'Well, before I begin injecting a fresh lot of bats and creating another strain of lethal paralysis,' he replied, 'I think a look around those stables where the Williams family kept their horses wouldn't go amiss. No doubt that was where the escaped bats took up residence to begin with, though possibly they've moved on elsewhere by now. I have no doubt in my own mind that both Williams and his daughter caught the paralysis from them, and if the devils are still hiding out there then it could be the most dangerous place on earth at this very moment. In that case I think it would be better if I went alone.'
'No!' Her eyes blazed with determination. 4\Wre in this together, Brian, and I'm going with you. Just try and stop me! We created this horror together, and I'm prepared to share the risks involved in trying to stop it.'
'All right,' he conceded, nodding. 'But as a precaution we'd better wear some kind of protective clothing. Rubber gloves and mesh face-masks may not be totally effective, but at least they'll help. We don't need to wait for dark. We'll go up this evening, about an hour before dusk,'
Brian Newman left his car at the bottom of the muddy track, and together they walked in the direction of the Wooden Stables. Susan Wylie wore jeans to protect her bare legs, and their faces were both covered by netting masks of the variety used by duck-shooters, while latex rubber gloves shielded their hands.
The sun was dipping slowly in the cloudless western sky behind them, as though reluctant to relinquish its heat to the cool of darkness.
'It hasn't rained for a month now.' Susan said. 'I heard on the radio that a drought has been officially declared.'
'Nothing's acting naturally these days.' The professor sighed. 'It's as if Nature herself has had enough of everything and wants to wipe us all out and start again.'
'Don't say that.' Susan shivered, then added, 'What a damp, derelict place this is!'
'Clouds of midges hovered beneath the trees, and as they rounded a bend which brought them into view of the stables, they surprised a couple of feeding rats which darted into the sanctuary of the gloomy, derelict buildings.
'Ugh!' Susan grimaced. 'Just the sort of place for the bats to hide out. They'd be well at home with all the rats and mice. By the way, d'you think rodents are capable of carrying the virus?'
'I don't know,' Newman replied. He paused before the entrance, almost reluctant to go in. 'But I guess we'll find out before very long. Now, follow me, and let's take a look inside.'
The Wooden Stables were dark and forbidding, the sunlight filtering in through gaping holes in the roof and penetrating the shadows, and they stood just inside the doorway for a few moments whilst then—eyesight adjusted to the gloom.
The first thing they noticed was the smell, a pungent, decaying odour.
'God, what a stink!' Susan wrinkled her nose beneath her mask.
'Something's decomposing.' Newman walked towards an opening in the brick partition which separated the building into two halves. The floor was a mass of saturated straw and rubble, broken slates, fallen bricks, and heaps of horse dung. His foot kicked against something, a tiny body that rolled over, half decomposed, barely recognisable. It might have been a dead mouse but for the membrane of skin attached to it, a frail wing that had somehow outlasted the carcase.
'Look,' he said, pointing to the ground. 'That's one of 'em. And there's another, lodged on that shelf. Let's take a more thorough look.'
He produced a torch from his pocket, and by its light they uncovered another twenty small corpses, some more rotted than others. The professor directed the light up into the rafters but there was no sign of life, only unbroken cobwebs stretching between the beams.
'Well, they're not here now,' he muttered. 'And from the way these corpses have rotted I reckon they've been gone for some time. Of course, the weather's been abnormally warm for the time of year, but I'd say the bats haven't used this place for a fortnight.'
'Maybe... maybe they've all died and... that's the end of it,' Susan suggested, trying to sound convincing.
'I wish I could agree with you.' Newman switched off his torch and they went back outside. 'But I'm afraid we can only wait and see. There's twenty-five thousand acres of Cannock Chase, and they could be just anywhere on it. Maybe even further afield. We know for a fact that this virus can be passed on to human beings, even if Haynes and Rickers pooh-pooh the idea. So all we can do is work like hell in an attempt to find an antidote, and await any further outbreaks. I'm afraid, though, that before very long Rickers is going to have to eat his words.'
They walked back to the car in silence. In the dusk which was now gathering a bat flitted overhead, squeaked once, and then was lost to sight amidst the tall pines.
The Close was a quiet backwater of the small city of Lichfield, where little change had taken place during the last century. The prominent feature was the cathedral, towering above the solid red brick and black-and-white timbered buildings which housed the Dean and Chapter and others connected with this holy place.
In the furthermost corner, partially screened by a ten foot grey stone wall, stood the Bishop's Palace. However, it no longer housed that worthy man, for during the last couple of decades it had been taken over by St Chad's Cathedral School, a purpose for which it was ideally suited. Along with everything else in the Close it maintained an unhurried existence, preparing its pupils for life at a public school. As with most establishments of this nature, tradition prevailed. And one such tradition was that the boys attended a morning service in the cathedral on every Saint's day.
The headmaster, a young prebendary who was combining a career in teaching with a call to the service of God, watched with pride from the steps of the cathedral's north door as his pupils were marched in single file, shepherded by a couple of prefects. The choristers too in their red and white cassocks, seated in the stalls adjoining the altar, were from the school also. And this morning, to complete the St Chad's monopoly, the Reverend Francis Jackson himself would be giving the short address. He smiled to himself at the prospect, watching the last of the boys file into the stately edifice. The Bishop personally would be observing everything, seated somewhere at the rear of the long aisle, incognito in the shadows, so this morning everything had to run to perfection. Even the celebration of the birthday of a minor saint had to be a splendid occasion.
The first anthem was already beginning when the Reverend Jackson took his place. He knelt briefly, adopting an attitude of piety, eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly, then rose and opened his prayer book. He knew the words by heart, and this enabled him to focus his attention on the congregation. It seemed to consist mostly of his own pupils, with just one or two members of the public seated in the rear pews'. He tried to identify the Bishop, but it was impossible at such a distance. He had to be there, though.