gns.batsoutofhell-第24节

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e　badgers　had　moved　on　elsewhere；　a　week　or　more　ago　at　a　rough　guess；　Jim　Dunkley　decided。
　　
　　It　was　strange　indeed。　Civilisation　had　not　encroached　this　far。　Not　yet；　anyway。　Perhaps　it　was　the　presence　of　the　BVF　guards。　Those　two　shots　the　other　night。。。　He　moved　forward；　an　angry　expression　on　his　face。　Well；　they　weren't　ing　on　to　his　land　with　guns　any　more。　Nor　those　damned　vigilantes。　It　was　just　an　excuse　to　poach　the　surrounding　countryside。　If　they　tried　it　again　he'd　see　how　they　felt　about　being　on　the　receiving　end　of　a　double　charge　of　buckshot。
　　
　　Dunkley　was　ten　yards　from　the　edge　of　the　old　quarry　when　he　became　aware　of　the　smell；　nauseous；　putrifying；　penetrating　even　his　own　barrier　of　strong　tobacco　smoke。　He　coughed。　It　was　like　deposing　flesh。　In　his　time　he　had　dug　out　a　number　of　fox…earths　and　he　was　familiar　with　the　stench；　the　half…consumed　carcasses；　rotting　and　rank。　But　this　was　much　more　powerful。　A　dozen　foxes　would　not　be　capable　of　making　a　smell　as　bad　as　that。　And　it　was　definitely　ing　from　the　pit。
　　
　　He　moved　forward；　treading　warily；　knowing　that　the　edge　was　crumbling　and　that　in　some　places　it　would　not　bear　the　weight　of　a　fully　grown　man。　He　dropped　to　his　hands　and　knees；　crawled　the　last　five　yards　and　peered　down　into　the　depths。
　　
　　He　had　to　wait　whilst　his　eyesight　adjusted　to　the　gloom　below。　Scrub　bushes　grew　on　the　bottom。　One　or　two　birch　seedlings　had　even　managed　a　precarious　hold　on　the　sides；　rooted　in　the　soft　moss。　And　the　smell　was　sickening。　Something　was　dead　down　there。
　　
　　Then　he　saw　them；　tiny　bodies　practically　forming　a　carpet　over　the　entire　bottom；　lying　in　a　variety　of　positions。　Unnatural。　Stiff。　Many　were　propped　up　by　the　corpses　of　their　panions；　and　all　were　in　various　stages　of　deposition；　as　though　they　had　been　dying　at　intervals　over　the　past　couple　of　weeks。　'Bats！'　he　grunted。　'Bloody　hundreds　of　'em！'　He　was　astounded；　but　not　frightened。　He　did　not　believe　the　reports　anyway。　The　trouble　with　people　today　was　that　they　did　not　understand　the　ways　of　the　countryside。　They　were　all　too　involved　in　modern　living。　A　surplus　of　bats　had　coincided　with　some　outbreak　of　disease。　They　had　to　have　a　scapegoat；　so　they　blamed　the　bats。　Harmless　little　creatures；　really。　He　recalled　the　time　when　there　were　supposedly　armies　of　rats　on　the　march。　It　had　e　about　as　a　result　of　flooding　in　the　west　country；　and　the　rodents　had　been　forced　to　move　on　in　search　of　new　quarters。　The　rat　population　hadn't　increased；　it　was　just　that　people　saw　more　of　them。　It　was　the　same　with　these　bats。　All　the　demolition　and　rebuilding　in　the　towns　and　cities　had　pelled　them　to　move　out　into　the　country；　so　folks　began　panicking。　There　was　a　logical　explanation　for　everything　if　one　just　took　the　trouble　to　think　about　it。
　　
　　Jim　Dunkley　was　just　about　to　move　away　when　something　attracted　his　attention　on　the　opposite　face　of　the　quarry。　A　small　cave　had　been　formed　in　the　slate　by　constant　washing　of　the　rain　on　the　surface。　Part　of　it　had　e　away　and　formed　an　alcove；　roughly　three　feet　square　and　going　back　into　the　quarry　about　a　couple　of　feet。　And　as　he　looked；　the　whole　interior　seemed　to　move。　He　stared；　and　only　when　a　tiny　furry　creature　hopped　out　on　to　the　overhanging　ledge　did　he　realise　what　the　interior　of　that　cave　contained。
　　
　　'More　bloody　bats；'　he　muttered。　'Hundreds　of　'em　all　crowded　in　together！'
　　
　　He　continued　to　watch。　There　was　little　movement。　The　bats　were　resting；　sleeping　by　day；　and　when　dusk　fell　they　would　flit　out　in　search　of　food。
　　
　　Possibly　the　farmer　would　have　crept　away　undetected　had　it　not　been　for　the　crumbling　edge　of　the　deep　pit。　As　he　moved　he　dislodged　a　piece　of　slate。　It　slid　forward；　struck　some　more；　gathered　some　stones　on　its　way；　and　as　a　result　a　miniature　avalanche　showered　down　on　to　the　mass　of　minute；　rotting　corpses　below。
　　
　　The　reaction　from　within　the　cave　was　instantaneous。　The　whole　interior　seemed　to　e　to　life；　the　bats　pouring　outwards　as　one；　then　spraying　in　all　directions　in　the　manner　of　irate　wasps　which　have　had　their　nest　dug　out。
　　
　　Jim　Dunkley　was　not　frightened。。　He　was　simply　astounded　at　the　sight　of　so　many　bats。　He　knelt　there　looking　up　at　them；　and　as　he　did　so　something　struck　him　sharply　in　the　face。　He　grunted；　and　began　to　struggle　to　his　feet。
　　
　　Bats　were　everywhere。　Above　the　trees；　below　them；　clinging　to　the　sides　of　the　quarry；　and　still　more　were　emerging　from　holes　and　smaller　caves。　They　flitted　around　him；　as　insistent　as　the　flies　which　had　troubled　him　earlier。　They　brushed　against　him；　struck　his　clothing。　He　threw　up　a　hand　to　protect　his　face；　wielding　the　shotgun　in　an　attempt　to　ward　them　off。
　　
　　Then　the　ground　beneath　his　feet　gave　way；　crumbling。　He　stepped　back；　but　there　was　nothing　beneath　his　feet。　He　was　falling；　floating；　somersaulting。。。
　　
　　Jim　Dunkley　plummeted　headlong　to　the　bottom　of　the　quarry；　impaling　his　head　on　a　sharp　unturned　rock。　His　skull　split　open；　showering　grey　matter　and　crimson　fluid　over　the　dead　bats　which　lay　all　around。　His　body　twitched　once　or　twice；　but　he　was　already　dead。　The　shotgun　fell；　landing　softly；　barrels　resting　against　his　chest；　hammers　at　full　cock。
　　
　　The　bats　continued　to　fly　haphazardly　for　five　or　ten　minutes；　seemingly　oblivious　to　the　man　who　lay　dead　in　their　very　own　graveyard；　and　then；　tiring　of　their　unaccustomed　daytime　activities；　they　returned　to　their　sleeping　places。
　　
　　Silence　returned　to　the　Devil's　Dressing　Room。　There　was　not　a　bat　in　sight；　the　only　evidence　of　their　existence　being　the　smell　of　death　which　rose　up　out　of　the　quarry；　and　the　buzzing　of　the　flies　as　they　fed；　uninterrupted。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　Twelve
　　
　　By　late　September；　terror　had　returned　to　the　rural　areas　in　full　force。　No　longer　were　the　bats　concentrated　in　any　particular　place。　With　the　ing　of　dusk　people　barricaded　themselves　in　their　homes；　listening　fearfully　as　tiny　bodies　thudded　against　window　panes　or　fluttered　down　chimneys；　squeaking　inside　blocked　fireplaces　as　though　with　anger　at　being　thwarted　of　their　prey。　In　spite　of　many　official　statements　that　the　bats　were　not　deliberately　intent　upon　attacking　humans；　and　that　their　seemingly　aggressive　attitude　was　brought　about　by　damaged　radar；　the　public　were　still　convinced　that　they　were　the　main　targets　of　the　flying　death　swarms。　And　outside　the　protective　cordon　the　rest　of　Britain　waited　fearfully。　It　was　only　a　matter　of　time　before　the　bats　extended　their　territory。
　　
　　'As　there　seems　to　be　no　chance　of　finding　an　antidote；'　Haynes　said；　'then　there　is　only　one　alternative。'　He　and　Rickers　were　in　Newman's　laboratory　where　tests　were　still　being　carried　out　on　a　number　of　bats；　mice　and　rats。
　　
　　'And　what's　that？'　Professor　Newman　looked　up。
　　
　　'We　must　poison　the　bats。　If　necessary；　to　the　point　of　extinction。'
　　
　　Newman　laughed。　'It's　fine　in　theory。　But　there's　no　chance。　With　rats　and　mice　you　can　put　poison　down　for　'em；　feed　'em　specially　prepared　food；　but　bats　live　on　insect　life。'
　　
　　'Of　which　there　is　an　abundance　this　year。'
　　
　　'Granted；　but。。。'
　　
　　'Then　we　must　spray　the　insects　and　thus　poison　the　bats。'
　　
　　Newman　looked　thoughtful。　'And　who　thought　this　one　up？'　he　asked。
　　
　　'I　did；'　Rickers　admitted。
　　
　　Newman　glanced　at　Susan　Wylie。　She　knew　what　he　was　thinking。　Insecticides　were　dangerous　to　wildlife　in　general。　They　upset　the　balance　of　Nature。　In　the　past；　poisonous　sprays　had　been　responsible　for　a　decline　in　the　numbers　of　birds　of　prey；　buzzards；　kestrels；　sparrow…hawks；　the　golden　eagle。　Partridges；　too；　at　one　stage　had　almost　been　wiped　out。　It　was　too　risky。　And　yet；　with　hundreds　dying　daily　from　the　mutated　virus。。。
　　
　　'I　guess　it's　worth　a　try；'　Newman　said。
　　
　　'It's　already　under　way；'　Haynes　told　him　somewhat　smugly。　'Every　crop…spraying　helicopter　unit　in　the　country　has　been　mandeered。　The　Ministry　of　Agriculture　are　advising　us　on　which　insecticides　to　use　so　that　almost　every　insect　will　be　affected。　No　matter　which　varieties　the　bats　feed　on；　they'll　absorb　the　poison。'
　　
　　'Sure。'　Newman　shook　his　head　slowly。　'And　insect　life　will　be　almost　totally　wiped　out　in　the　Midlands；　not　to　mention　species　of　bird　life　and　rodents。'
　　
　　'But　it's　the　price　we　have　to　pay；'　Haynes　snapped。　'The　rate　this　virus　is　spreading　now；　it's　either　that　or　us。　And　human　life　must　be　preserved　at　all　costs。'
　　
　　'Yes；'　Brian　Newman　said。　'You're　right。　And　I　began　this　whole　thing。　I've　destroyed　countless　lives；　both　human　and　animal。　And　now　the　insects　have　got　to　pay　the　penalty；　too。'
　　
　　It　was　nine　o'clock　when　Brian　Newman　left　the　Biological　Research　Centre　and　drove　the　five　miles　to　his　new　home　at　Chasetown。　Susan　had　left　about　two　hours　before　him；　and　in　spite　of　the　present　worries　he　was　determined　to　try　and　relax　for　a　few　hours。
　　
　　There　was　a　checkpoint　at　Sankey's　er。　Two　BVF　soldiers　had　taken　over　from　the　policemen　who　had　been　on　duty　earlier　in　the　day。　Th