gns.batsoutofhell- 第17部分

　　
　　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　to　freeze　in　his　body。　His　brain　was　confused。　He　did　not　know　where　he　was；　or　where　he　was　heading。…An　island　loomed　up　ahead　of　him。　His　foot　was　jammed　securely　on　the　accelerator；　and　there　was　no　way　in　which　he　could　free　it　even　had　he　realised　the　danger。　Rigid　hands　clutched　the　wheel。　Eyes　stared　sightlessly　ahead。
　　
　　The　car；　a　Viva；　hit　the　roundabout　and　overturned；　sliding　on　its　roof　with　a　screech　of　tortured　metal；　and　finished　upside　down　on　the　forecourt　of　the　Midland　Bank　branch　at　Four　Oaks。
　　
　　The　wheels　spun。　People　gathered；　staring；　curious；　horrified。　Baxterdale　watched　them　from　his　inverted　position；　unharmed　by　the　accident；　but　slowly　dying　from　the　paralytic　plague。　He　stayed　there　for　almost　an　hour；　and　only　when　a　fire…engine　could　be　spared　from　the　scene　of　burning　devastation　in　Sutton　Park　was　the　Treasury　Chief　cut　free　and　rushed　to　hospital。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　Nine
　　
　　Haynes's　expression　was　grave。　His　bloodshot　eyes　were　proof　that　he　had　not　slept　for　days。　Once　again　a　meeting　was　being　held　in　his　small　office；　but　this　time；　apart　from　Rickers；　Newman　and　Susan　Wylie；　there　were　two　leading　bacteriologists　from　London；　and　a　well…built；　grey…haired　Ministry　of　Defence　official。
　　
　　Sir　John　Stirchley　was　tall　and　thin；　wore　rimless　glasses　that　seemed　to　have　the　effect　of　making　his　eyes　larger　than　they　really　were；　and　this；　bined　with　bushy　eyebrows　and　a　military…type　moustache　gave　him　an　appearance　of　severity。　His　work　was　acknowledged　by　biologists　throughout　the　world。
　　
　　Professor　Talbot；　on　the　other　hand；　was　clean…shaven；　said　little；　and　was　virtually　unknown　outside　his　London　laboratory。　Yet　Sir　John　Stirchley　had　the　greatest　admiration　for　him；　and　had　singled　him　out　from　a　host　of　top　bacteriologists　as　the　man　most　suited　to　help　in　the　crisis　which　was　now　building　up　to　a　peak。
　　
　　All　eyes　were　on　Newman；　the　bandages　around　his　waist　and　beneath　his　clothing　giving　him　a　more　mature　stature；　but　every　time　he　moved　the　stiff　jerky　motions　reminded　one　of　a　screen　cartoon　character。　He　had　certainly　been　fortunate　not　to　have　received　more　severe　injuries　at　the　hands　of　the　mob。
　　
　　'Gentlemen；'　Haynes　began；　sounding　tired　and　lifeless；　'we　are　now　faced　with　a　situation　which；　up　until　a　few　days　ago；　we　had　considered　not　impossible　but　certainly　improbable。　The　bats　have　moved　into　Birmingham；　and；　as　far　as　we　know；　they　have　not　infiltrated　beyond　the　city　centre。　It　was　thought　at　first　that　a　single　bat　had　somehow　penetrated　the　Bank　Treasury。　It　was　later　discovered　that　several　more　of　the　creatures　were　hiding　out　in　a　rather　antiquated　ventilation　shaft。　Seven　bank　clerks　who　came　into　contact　with　the　bat　died　at　intervals　during　the　course　of　the　following　week。　This　was　only　to　be　expected；　but　the　most　alarming　features　of　all　were　to　spread　from　there。'
　　
　　He　paused；　fumbled　a　cigarette　out　of　a　pa