gns.batsoutofhell-第15节

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They　wanted　her　naked；　but　they　weren't　going　to　bother　undoing　buttons　and　zip…fasteners。　Garments　were　ripped　into　shreds　and　torn　from　her　body。　Her　bra…strap　snapped；　and　hands　pawed　at　her　soft　white　breasts。　As　her　skirt　came　away　she　felt　her　thighs　being　forced　apart。　Fingers　prised　and　stabbed　between　them；　bringing　cries　of　pain　to　her　lips。
　　
　　Brian　Newman　lay　in　a　huddled　heap　on　the　pavement。　Breathing　was　an　effort。　There　was　a　searing　pain　in　his　lungs。　He　could　feel　the　heat　from　the　fire；　and　then　liquid　was　jetting　on　to　him。　A　spot　landed　on　his　swollen　lips；　warm　and　acid　and　foul。　'Piss　on　the　bastard！'
　　
　　His　attackers　were　standing　over　him；　a　dozen　or　more　streams　of　urine　soaking　his　clothing。　But　his　only　thoughts　were　for　Susan　Wylie。
　　
　　Then；　just　as　consciousness　seemed　to　be　slipping　from　him；　he　heard　the　bee…bor…bee…bor…bee…bor　of　approaching　sirens；　being　louder　by　the　second；　and　tyres　screeching　as　vehicles　took　the　bend　into　the　cul…de…sac。
　　
　　'Cops！'　somebody　yelled。
　　
　　'So　what？　There's　enough　of　us。'
　　
　　Two　panda　cars　pulled　into　the　kerb　twenty　yards　from　the　mob。　Four　uniformed　officers　got　out　and　regarded　the　scene　steadily。　One　reached　back　into　his　vehicle　and　begun　to　talk　into　his　radio。　It　was　an　explosive　situation　that　required　the　utmost　caution。
　　
　　Professor　Newman　and　Susan　Wylie　were　afforded　a　brief　respite　as　their　attackers　turned　to　weigh　up　the　new　opposition。　Lights　were　going　on　in　the　surrounding　houses　now　as　the　residents'　courage　returned　with　the　arrival　of　the　law。
　　
　　More　sirens。　This　time　it　was　a　fire…engine；　headlights　dazzling　the　youths　as　it　drove　towards　them；　slowing；　blocking　the　road。
　　
　　Suddenly；　as　one；　the　crowd　broke　into　a　wild　retreat；　pushing　policemen　to　one　side；　scrambling　over　the　roofs　of　the　panda　cars；　running　past　the　fire…engine；　then　scattering　into　the　wild　disarray。
　　
　　Nobody　followed　them。　Even　a　second　approaching　police　patrol…car　did　not　slow　until　it　drew　up　behind　the　fire…engine。　The　firemen　were　already　unrolling　lengths　of　hose　and　connecting　it　to　the　hydrant。
　　
　　The　officers　helped　Professor　Newman　and　Susan　Wylie　to　their　feet；　covering　the　girl　with　the　remnants　of　her　torn　clothing。　She　shivered　in　spite　of　the　heat　from　the　burning　bungalow。
　　
　　'What　happened；　sir？'　a　sergeant　asked。
　　
　　Must　a　frightened　mob。'　Professor　Newman　winced　at　the　sharp　pain　in　his　lungs。　They　were　looking　for　trouble。　Decided　to　take　it　out　on　us　on　account　of　this　virus。'
　　
　　'Oh；　you're　the　professor　who　let　the　bats　out！'　Newman　detected　contempt　in　the　other's　tone。　'Well；　I　suppose　we'd　better　get　you　to　hospital　for　a　check…up。　Doesn't　look　like　there'll　be　much　left　of　your　bungalow。'
　　
　　Newman　grimaced。　The　police　were　only　assisting　because　it　was　their　duty。　Had　they　realised　from　whom　the　summons　for　help　had　e　they　might　not　have　arrived　so　quickly。　Officially；　they　deplored　this　outbreak　of　lawlessness。　Individually；　they　secretly　sympathised　with　the　mob。　The　virus　carried　by　the　bats　did　not　discriminate。　Whichever　side　of　the　law　one　was　on；　it　struck　with　impartiality。　And　the　cause　of　its　existence　was　this　young　professor。　Without　him　it　would　probably　never　have　happened。　And　nobody　believed　him　capable　of　containing　or　destroying　it。　His　efforts　were　nothing　more　than　an　attempt　to　pacify　the　public；　to　appease　his　own　conscience。　It　was　only　a　matter　of　time　before　widespread　death　swept　across　Britain；　and　maybe　even　further　afield。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　Eight
　　
　　The　Bank's　Treasury　was　possibly　one　of　the　latest　publicised　functions　of　banking　in　the　whole　of　the　city　of　Birmingham。　Without　its　existence　the　banking　system　would　not　have　operated　smoothly。　A　local　headquarters　for　the　supplying　of　additional　cash；　and　the　collection　of　surplus　money　by　means　of　bullion　vans；　serving　all　the　branches　in　the　area；　had　replaced　the　previous　method　of　dealing　with　these　requirements　by　High　Value　Packets；　both　labour　and　time　saving。
　　
　　The　bullion…vans　passed　almost　unnoticed　in　the　city　traffic。　Their　weekly　collections　and　deliveries　at　branches　were　noted　with　mild　interest　by　passers…by。　Those　with　more　subversive　motives　attempted　to　discover　their　timetables；　routes；　and　the　amount　of　money　which　the　vans　carried。　Yet　an　air　of　mystique　prevailed。　Security　panies'　vans　were　attacked　frequently。　The　Bank's　went　unscathed；　such　was　their　organisation　and　security；　including　a　number　of　guards　who　remained　on　board　at　all　times　whilst　they　were　in　transit；　even　to　the　extent　of　eating　their　meals　inside　during　all　weathers；　in　stifling　heat　or　freezing　cold。
　　
　　Yet　the　Treasury　itself　was　a　veritable　fortress；　a　basement　stronghold　beneath　a　huge　office　block　where　security　measures　were　such　that　none　could　pass　beyond　the　first　checkpoint　without　proper　authorisation。　The　underground　structure　was　old；　partially　converted　to　meet　modern　requirements　for　the　storing　of　vast　quantities　of　money　into　a　maze　of　tunnels　which　housed　the　many　strong　rooms　and　working　areas　where　money　was　counted　and　sorted　into　denominations。　Large　amounts　of　cash；　the　daily　takings　of　multiple　panies；　was　also　brought　in　here　for　counting　and　checking；　thereby　dispensing　with　lengthy　delays　at　branch　counters。　This　section；　adjacent　to　the　main　strong　room　with　grilled　walls　and　locked　doors；　was　known　as　the　Credit　House。
　　
　　Some　twenty　clerks　were　employed　in　the　Credit　House　alone；　spending　five　days　of　the　week　shut　away　from　the　daylight；　working　laboriously　and　monotonously。　They；　too；　were　subjected　to　several　checks　before　entering　or　leaving　their　place　of　employment；　everything　geared　towards　an　invincible　money　store。
　　
　　The　heat　wave　penetrated　the　depths　of　the　Treasury　right　down　to　the　Credit　House；　the　clerks　sweltering　in　the　heat　that　was　conveyed　underground　by　the　brickwork　in　the　same　way　that　storage　heaters　retain　their　temperature。
　　
　　Joe　Lutton　had　worked　in　the　Credit　House　ever　since　its　formation　a　decade　ago。　Everything　was　a　routine　which　did　not　deviate；　and；　provided　one　obeyed　the　rules　and　systems　laid　down；　there　was　a　substantial　pension　to　be　picked　up　on　retirement。　One　did　not　even　have　to　count　the　notes　by　hand　these　days。　One　simply　inserted　a　bundle　into　a　machine；　pressed　a　button；　checked　the　digits　recorded　on　the　dial；　and　removed　the　notes　from　a　clip　at　the　back　of　the　instrument。　Machine…minding；　in　effect。　Joe　Lutton；　a　small；　dapper；　freckled…faced　clerk　in　his　early　forties　did　not　even　have　to　think　about　the　work　these　days。　His　mind　wandered　to　other　matters　as　he　laboured　with　the　efficiency　of　a　human　robot。
　　
　　Today　he　thought　about　bats。　Everybody　was　thinking　about　bats。　They　were　in　the　headlines　of　the　midday　edition　of　the　Mail　again。　'BATS　HEADING　FOR　THE　CITY？　IS　DEATH　ON　THE　MOVE？'
　　
　　It　was　a　frightening　thought。　Joe　was　glad　that　he　worked　down　here　in　this　nice　safe　place。　The　overall　pensations　outweighed　the　boredom。　Bats　frightened　him。　He　remembered　his　wedding…night　and　the　bat　that　had　somehow　found　its　way　into　the　bridal　chamber。　His　wife　had　nearly　had　hysterics　and　their　marriage　had　not　been　consummated　for　a　further　twenty…four　hours。　In　his　day；　few　people　had　sex　before　marriage；　particularly　within　the　respectability　of　banking　circles。　He　had　waited　a　day　longer　than　most。
　　
　　But　the　bats　couldn't　get　down　here　into　the　Credit　House。　The　Treasury　was　impregnable。
　　
　　The　afternoon　wore　on；　hot　and　stuffy。　Lutton　finished　checking　a　tray　of　￡40；000…worth　of　five…pound　notes；　and　went　and　fetched　another　one　from　the　chief　clerk's　desk。
　　
　　Mondays　were　always　exceptionally　busy。　That　meant　a　late　finish；　but　Joe　Lutton　didn't　mind。　The　overtime　money　would　be　useful。
　　
　　He　had　counted　the　first　bundle　of　fivers　and　re…banded　them；　when　Don　Lucas；　a　young　apprentice…clerk；　gave　a　shout　from　the　other　end　of　the　room　where　he　was　working　at　a　long　trestle　table。
　　
　　'Hey！　What's　this？'
　　
　　Heads　turned。　Something　crouched　on　the　floor；　small　and　furry；　tiny　eyes　glancing　about　it。
　　
　　'It's　a　mouse；'　somebody　said。
　　
　　'Don't　be　stupid。'　Lucas　backed　away。　'Mice　don't　have　wings。　It's　a　bat！1
　　
　　'A　bat！'
　　
　　There　was　a　momentary　shocked　silence。　Clerks　turned　and　stared。　They　couldn't　believe　it。　But　the　proof　was　squatting　there；　and　even　as　they　looked　it　took　off；　flew　up　to　the　ceiling；　and　alighted　upside　down　on　a　supporting　steel　girder。
　　
　　'Oh；　God！'　Lutton　paled。
　　
　　The　Chief　clerk；　a　man　only　a　year　or　two　younger　than　Lutton；　picked　up　the　internal　telephone　and　dialled　a　single　number。
　　
　　'Sorry　to　bother　you；　Mr　Baxterdale。'　His　voice　was　humble；　apologetic；　trying　to　hide　his　fear。　'No；　no　trouble　really。　Only　。　。。　only　there's　。。。　there's　a　bat　in　the　Credit　House！'
　　
　　Lutton　sweated。　He　hated　the　chief　clerk　for　his　cringing　personality。　Sorry　to　bother　you；　Mr　Baxterdale；　he　mimed　his　superior　mutely　to　himself；　there's　only　a　bat　in　the　Credit　House　and　we　coul