Graveyard Shift Read online

  compensation for this! I'm gonna -,

  'Sure,' Warwick said, smiling. 'You got bit on the titty. Get out of the way

  before you get pasted down by this water.'

  Hall pointed the nozzle and let it go It hit with a white explosion of spray,

  knocking over a desk and smashing two chairs to splinters. Rats ran everywhere,

  bigger than any Hall had ever seen. He could hear men crying out in disgust and

  horror as they fled, things with huge eyes and sleek, plump bodies. He caught a

  glimpse of one that looked as big as a healthy six-week puppy. He kept on until

  he could see no more, then shut the nozzle down.

  'Okay!' Warwick called. 'Let's pick it up!'

  'I didn't hire out as no exterminator!' Cy Ippeston called mutinously. Hall had

  tipped a few with him the week before. He was a young guy, wearing a

  smut-stained baseball cap and a T-shirt.

  'That you, Ippeston?' Warwick asked genially.

  Ippeston looked uncertain, but stepped forward. 'Yeah. I don't want no more of

  these rats. I hired to clean up, not to maybe get rabies or typhoid or

  somethin'. Maybe you best count me out.'

  There was a murmur of agreement from the others. Wisconsky stole a look at Hall,

  but Hall was examining the nozzle of the hose he was holding. It had a bore like

  a .45 and could probably knock a man twenty feet.

  'You saying you want to punch your clock, Cy?'

  'Thinkin' about it,' Ippeston said.

  Warwick nodded. 'Okay. You and anybody else that wants. But this ain't no

  unionized shop, and never has been. Punch out now and you'll never punch back

  in. I'll see to it.'

  'Aren't you some hot ticket,' Hall muttered.

  Warwick swung around. 'Did you say something, college boy?'

  Hall regarded him blandly. 'Just clearing my throat, Mr Foreman.'

  Warwick smiled. 'Something taste bad to you?'

  Hall said nothing.

  'All right, let's pick it up!' Warwick bawled.

  They went back to work.

  Two A.M., Thursday.

  Hall and Wisconsky were working with the trucks again, picking up junk. The pile

  by the west airshaft had grown to amazing proportions, but they were still not

  half done.

  'Happy Fourth,' Wisconsky said when they stopped for a smoke. They were working

  near the north wall, far from the stairs. The light was extremely dim, and some

  trick of acoustics made the other men seem miles away.

  'Thanks.' Hall dragged on his smoke. 'Haven't seen many rats tonight.'

  'Nobody has,' Wisconsky said. 'Maybe they got wise.'

  They were standing at the end of a crazy, zigzagging alley formed by piles of

  old ledgers and invoices, mouldy bags of cloth, and two huge flat looms of

  ancient vintage. 'Gah,' Wisconsky said, spitting. 'That Warwick -'

  'Where do you suppose all the rats got to?' Hall asked, almost to himself. 'Not

  into the walls -' He looked at the wet and crumbling masonry that surrounded the

  huge foundation stones. 'They'd drown. The river's saturated everything.'

  Something black and flapping suddenly dive-bombed them. Wisconsky screamed and

  put his hands over his head.

  'A bat,' Hall said, watching after it as Wisconsky straightened up.

  'A bat! A bat!' Wisconsky raved. 'What's a bat doing in the cellar? They're

  supposed to be in trees and under eaves and -'

  'It was a big one,' Hall said softly. 'And what's a bat but a rat with wings?'

  'Jesus,' Wisconsky moaned. 'How did it -'

  'Get in? Maybe the same way the rats got out.'

  'What's going on back there?' Warwick shouted from somewhere behind them. 'Where

  are you?'

  'Don't sweat it,' Hall said softly. His eyes gleamed in the dark.

  'Was that you, college boy?' Warwick called. He sounded closer.

  'It's okay!' Hall yelled. 'I barked my shin!' Warwick's short, barking laugh.

  'You want a Purple Heart?'

  Wisconsky looked at Hall. 'Why'd you say that?'

  'Look.' Hall knelt and lit a match. There was a square in the middle of the wet

  and crumbling cement. 'Tap it.'

  Wisconsky did. 'It's wood.'

  Hall nodded. 'It's the top of a support. I've seen some other ones around here.

  There's another level under this part of the basement.'

  'God,' Wisconsky said with utter revulsion.

  Three-thirty A.M., Thursday.

  They were in the north-east corner, Ippeston and Brochu behind them with one of

  the high-pressure hoses, when Hall stopped and pointed at the floor. 'There I

  thought we'd come across it.'

  There was a wooden trapdoor with a crusted iron ring-bolt set near the centre.

  He walked back to Ippeston and said, 'Shut it off for a minute.' When the hose

  was choked to a trickle, he raised his voice to a shout. 'Hey! Hey, Warwick!

  Better come here a minute!'

  Warwick came splashing over, looking at Hall with that same hard smile in his

  eyes. 'Your shoelace come untied, college boy?'

  'Look,' Hall said. He kicked the trapdoor with his foot. 'Sub-cellar.'

  'So what?' Warwick asked. 'This isn't break time, col-'

  'That's where your rats are,' Hall said. 'They're breeding down there. Wisconsky

  and I even saw a bat earlier.'

  Some of the other men had gathered around and were looking at the trapdoor.

  'I don't care,' Warwick said. 'The job was the basement, not -'

  'You'll need about twenty exterminators, trained ones,' Hall was saying. 'Going

  to cost the management a pretty penny. Too bad.'

  Someone laughed. 'Fat chance.'

  Warwick looked at Hall as if he were a bug under glass. 'You're really a case,

  you are,' he said, sounding fascinated. 'Do you think I give a good goddamn how

  many rats there are under there?'

  'I was at the library this afternoon and yesterday,' Hall said. 'Good thing you

  kept reminding me I was a college boy. I read the town zoning ordinances,

  Warwick they were set up in 1911, before this mill got big enough to co-opt the

  zoning board. Know what I found?'

  Warwick's eyes were cold. 'Take a walk, college boy. You're fired.'

  'I found out,' Hall ploughed on as if he hadn't heard, 'I found out that there

  is a zoning law in Gates Falls about vermin. You spell that v-e-r-m-i-n, in case

  you wondered. It means disease-carrying animals such as bats, skunks, -

  unlicensed dogs - and rats. Especially rats. Rats are mentioned fourteen times

  in two paragraphs, Mr Foreman. So you just keep in mind that the minute I punch

  out I'm going straight to the town commissioner and tell him what the situation

  down here is.'

  He paused, relishing Warwick's hate-congested face. 'I think that between me,

  him, and the town committee, we can get an injunction slapped on this place.

  You're going to be shut down a lot longer than just Saturday, Mr Foreman. And I

  got a good idea what your boss is going to say when he turns up. Hope your

  unemployment insurance is paid up, Warwick.'

  Warwick's hands formed into claws. 'You damned snot-nose, I ought to -' He

  looked down at the trapdoor, and suddenly his smile reappeared. 'Consider

  yourself rehired, college boy.'

  'I thought you might see the light.'

  Warwick nodded, the same strange grin on his face.

  You're just so smart. I think maybe you ought to go down 'There, Hall, so
we got

  somebody with a college education to give us an informed opinion. You and

  Wisconsky.'

  'Not me!' Wisconsky exclaimed. 'Not me, I-'

  Warwick looked at him. 'You what?'

  Wisconsky shut up.

  'Good,' Hall said cheerfully. 'We'll need three flashlights. I think I saw a

  whole rack of those six-battery jobs in the main office, didn't I?'

  'You want to take somebody else?' Warwick asked expansively. 'Sure, pick your

  man.'

  'You,' Hall said gently. The strange expression had come into his face again.

  'After all, the management should be represented, don't you think? Just so

  Wisconsky and I don't see too many rats down there?'

  Someone (it sounded like Ippeston) laughed loudly.

  Warwick looked at the men carefully. They studied the tips of their shoes.

  Finally he pointed at Brochu. 'Brochu, go up to the office and get three

  flashlights. Tell the watchman I said to let you in.'

  'Why'd you get me into this?' Wisconsky moaned to Hall. 'You know I hate those

  -'

  'It wasn't me,' Hall said, and looked at Warwick.

  Warwick looked back at him, and neither would drop his eyes.

  Four A.M., Thursday.

  Brochu returned with the flashlights. He gave one to Hall, one to Wisconsky, one

  to Warwick.

  'Ippeston! Give the hose to Wisconsky.' Ippeston did so. The nozzle trembled

  delicately between the Pole's hands.

  'All right,' Warwick said to Wisconsky. 'You're in the middle. If there are

  rats, you let them have it.'

  Sure, Hall thought. And if there are rats, Warwick won't see them. And neither

  will Wisconsky, after he finds an extra ten in his pay envelope.

  Warwick pointed at two of the men. 'Lift it.'

  One of them bent over the ringbolt and pulled. For a moment Hall didn't think it

  was going to give, and then it yanked free with an odd, crunching snap. The

  other man put his fingers on the underside to help pull, then withdrew with a

  cry. His hands were crawling with huge and sightless beetles.

  With a convulsive grunt the man on the ringbolt pulled the trap back and let it

  drop. The underside was black with an odd fungus that Hall had never seen

  before. The beetles dropped off into the darkness below or ran across the floor

  to be crushed.

  'Look,' Hall said.

  There was a rusty lock bolted on the underside, now broken. 'But it shouldn't be

  underneath,' Warwick said. 'It should be on top. Why -'

  'Lots of reasons,' Hall said. 'Maybe so nothing on this side could open it - at

  least when the lock was new. Maybe so nothing on that side could get up.'

  'But who locked it?' Wisconsky asked.

  'Ah,' Hall said mockingly, looking at Warwick. 'A mystery.'

  'Listen,' Brochu whispered.

  'Oh, God,' Wisconsky sobbed. 'I ain't going down there!'

  It was a soft sound, almost expectant; the whisk and patter of thousands of

  paws, the squeaking of rats.

  'Could be frogs,' Warwick said.

  Hall laughed aloud.

  Warwick shone his light down. A sagging flight of wooden stairs led down to the

  black stones of the floor beneath. There was not a rat in sight.

  'Those stairs won't hold us,' Warwick said with finality.

  Brochu took two steps forward and jumped jip and down on the first step. It

  creaked but showed no sign of giving way.

  'I didn't ask you to do that,' Warwick said.

  'You weren't there when that rat bit Ray,' Brochu said softly.

  'Let's go,' Hall said.

  Warwick took a last sardonic look around at the circle of men, then walked to

  the edge with Hall. Wisconsky stepped reluctantly between them. They went down

  one at a time. Hall, then Wisconsky, then Warwick. Their flashlight beams played

  over the floor, which was twisted and heaved into a hundred crazy hills and

  valleys. The hose thumped along behind Wisconsky like a clumsy serpent.

  When they got to the bottom, Warwick flashed his light around. It picked out a

  few rotting boxes, some barrels, little else. The seep from the river stood in

  puddles that came to ankle depth on their boots.

  'I don't hear them any more,' Wisconsky whispered.

  They walked slowly away from the trapdoor, their feet shuffling through the

  slime. Hall paused and shone his light on a huge wooden box with white letters

  on it. 'Elias Varney,' he read, '1841. Was the mill here then?'

  'No,' Warwick said. 'It wasn't built until 1897. What difference?'

  Hall didn't answer. They walked forward again. The sub-cellar was longer than it

  should have been, it seemed.

  The stench was stronger, a smell of decay and rot and things buried. And still

  the only sound was the faint, cavelike drip of water.

  'What's that?' Hall asked, pointing his beam at a jut of concrete that protruded

  perhaps two feet into the cellar. Beyond it, the darkness continued and it

  seemed to Hall that he could now hear sounds up there, curiously stealthy.

  Warwick peered at it. 'It's. . . no, that can't be right.'

  'Outer wall of the mill, isn't it? and up ahead

  'I'm going back,' Warwick said, suddenly turning around.

  Hall grabbed his neck roughly. 'You're not going anywhere, Mr Foreman.'

  Warwick looked up at him, his grin cutting the darkness. 'You're crazy, college

  boy. Isn't that right? Crazy as a loon.'

  'You shouldn't push people, friend, keep going.'

  Wisconsky moaned. 'Hall -'

  'Give me that.' Hall grabbed the hose. He let go of Warwick's neck and pointed

  the hose at his head. Wisconsky turned abruptly and crashed back towards the

  trapdoor. Hall did not even turn. 'After you, Mr Foreman.'

  Warwick stepped forward, walking under the place where the mill ended above

  them. Hall flashed his light about, and felt a cold satisfaction - premonition

  fulfilled. The rats had closed in around them, silent as death. Crowded in, rank

  on rank. Thousands of eyes looked greedily back at him. In ranks to the wall,

  some fully as high as a man's shin.

  Warwick saw them a moment later and came to a full stop. 'They're all around us,

  college boy.' His voice was still calm, still in control, but it held a jagged

  edge.

  'Yes,' Hall said. 'Keep going.'

  They walked forward, the hose dragging behind. Hall looked back once and saw the

  rats had closed the aisle behind them and were gnawing at the heavy canvas

  hosing.

  One looked up and almost seemed to grin at him before lowering his head again.

  He could see the bats now, too. They were roosting from the rough-hewn

  overheads, huge, the size of crows or rooks.

  'Look,' Warwick said, centring his beam about five feet ahead.

  A skull, green with mould, laughed up at them. Further on Hall could see an

  ulna, one pelvic wing, part of a ribcage. 'Keep going,' Hall said. He felt

  something bursting up inside him, something lunatic and dark with colours. You

  are going to break before I do, Mr Foreman, so help me God.

  They walked past the bones. The rats were not crowding them; their distances

  appeared constant. Up ahead Hall saw one cross their path of travel. Shadows hid

  it, but he caught sight of a pink twitching tail as thick as a telephone cord.

  Up ahead the flooring rose sharply, then
dipped. Hall could hear a stealthy,

  rustling sound, a bit sound. Some-thing that perhaps no living man had ever

  seen. It occurred to Hall that he had perhaps been looking for something like

  this through all his days of crazy wandering.

  The rats were moving in, creeping on their bellies, forcing them forward.

  'Look,' Warwick said coldly.

  Hall saw. Something had happened to the rats back here, some hideous mutation

  that never could have survived under the eye of the sun; nature would have

  forbidden it. But down here, nature had taken on another ghastly face.

  The rats were gigantic, some as high as three feet. But their rear legs were

  gone and they were blind as moles, like their flying cousins. They dragged

  themselves forward with hideous eagerness.

  Warwick turned and faced Hall, the smile hanging on by brute willpower. Hall

  really had to admire him. 'We can't go on, Hall. You must see that.'

  'The rats have business with you, I think,' Hall said.

  Warwick's control slipped. 'Please,' he said. 'Please.'

  Hall smiled. 'Keep going.'

  Warwick was looking over his shoulder. 'They're gnawmg into the hose. When they

  get through it, we'll never get back.'

  'I know. Keep going.'

  'You're insane -' A rat ran across Warwick's shoe and he screamed. Hall smiled

  and gestured with his light. They were all around, the closest of them less than

  a foot away now.

  Warwick began to walk again. The rats drew back.

  They topped the miniature rise and looked down. Warwick reached it first, and

  Hall saw his face go white as paper. Spit ran down his chin. 'Oh, my God. Dear

  Jesus.

  And he turned to run.

  Hall opened the nozzle of the hose and the high-pressure rush of water struck

  Warwick squarely on the chest, knocking him back out of sight. There was a long

  scream that rose over the sound of the water. Thrashing sounds.

  'Hall" Grunts. A huge, tenebrous squeaking that seemed to fill the earth.

  'HALL FOR GOD'S SAKE -'

  A sudden wet ripping noise. Another scream, weaker. Something huge shifted and

  turned. Quite distinctly Hall heard the wet snap that a fractured bone makes.

  A legless rat, guided by some bastard form of sonar, lunged against him, biting.

  Its body was flabby, warm. Almost absently Hall turned the hose on it, knocking

  it away. The hose did not have quite so much pressure now.