of a wall, and leapt away on the other side when he called to it. The dogs for the most part had collected in packs. They gave Neil a wide berth. He was not sorry about this because they had a formidable look, and a fight between two of the packs kept him awake one night and left blood stains and patches of hair in the street next morning.
One dog, a Labrador cross, approached him, and seemed half-inclined to allow itself to be adopted. He gave it food and water but it did not stay, and a couple of days later he saw it running with one of the packs. His encouragement of it, he thought, had probably been half-hearted. He had liked the dog and would not have minded keeping it, but it did not offer him anything he much wanted. The empty rooms with the family photographs were better in that respect.
Flies became a nuisance. Whenever it was at all warm they swarmed, bloated and buzzing, impudent beyond belief in their attacks on anything that moved. He knew what had brought about thispopulation explosion, but shut his mind to it as far as possible. In one of the shops he found a stack of aerosol sprays, and was able to keep the rooms he used free of their pestering. Outside it was different. A cow wandered into the town one day, its face black with them, the eyes in particular. It went off at quite a gallop when Neil approached it. The udders swung slack and empty, showing she had gone out of milk.
The rats followed the flies, and were worse. He only had glimpses of them at firstâa brown body slinking along a gutter or running across the street with its hideous humpbacked scuttering motion. But they rapidly multiplied and grew more daring. He understood the reason for their multiplication, too, and this time could not blank it out.
That by itself would not have been enough to impel him to move: the sense of revulsion was less strong than the feeling of inertia, of reluctance to do anything beyond the routine, which had held him since he found himself alone. But the rats went on increasing and began to appear in packs like the dogs, and by day, indifferent to other living things. Or at first indifferent. One day he saw one of the dogs, a small ill-looking brown mongrel, limping inthe rear after its companions had run down the High Street. The rats seemed to come from nowhere, a darker brown stream made up of hundreds of living hungry bodies, and the dog went down, yelping in agony. Neil was some fifty yards from the scene. There was nothing to be done, and he turned away back to the house. The yelping did not last long.
He thought about it in the sitting room, in front of the blank screen of the television set. His supply of biscuits had run out some days before, and when he had gone to the shop he had found only gnawed scraps of paper where there had been a shelf of wrapped packets. The rats were running out of food, too. Eventually cannibalism would restore a balance, but until that time they would be an increasing menace. They would pull down more than a puny terrier before they turned on one another.
He left early the following morning, taking only a change of clothes in a haversack. He cycled in the direction of Rye, but did not enter the town: the rat situation there was likely to be worse than in Winchelsea. He went instead to the farmhouse he had intended as a refuge for Tommy and Susie.
It was a day of cloud and sunshine, warm afterrain. Neil propped his bicycle against a wall and went into the kitchen. It was just the same, with the supplies of food piled in the cupboards as he had left them. There was enough to last him a long timeâa month at least. Looking at them he had a piercing recollection of the way he had felt that afternoon: the sense of achievement, the hope for a future which, even though he would not share it, was worth planning and labouring for.
He thought of Tommy and Susie and began to cry; sniffling at first, then miserably and helplessly. It was the first time he had wept since the car
One dog, a Labrador cross, approached him, and seemed half-inclined to allow itself to be adopted. He gave it food and water but it did not stay, and a couple of days later he saw it running with one of the packs. His encouragement of it, he thought, had probably been half-hearted. He had liked the dog and would not have minded keeping it, but it did not offer him anything he much wanted. The empty rooms with the family photographs were better in that respect.
Flies became a nuisance. Whenever it was at all warm they swarmed, bloated and buzzing, impudent beyond belief in their attacks on anything that moved. He knew what had brought about thispopulation explosion, but shut his mind to it as far as possible. In one of the shops he found a stack of aerosol sprays, and was able to keep the rooms he used free of their pestering. Outside it was different. A cow wandered into the town one day, its face black with them, the eyes in particular. It went off at quite a gallop when Neil approached it. The udders swung slack and empty, showing she had gone out of milk.
The rats followed the flies, and were worse. He only had glimpses of them at firstâa brown body slinking along a gutter or running across the street with its hideous humpbacked scuttering motion. But they rapidly multiplied and grew more daring. He understood the reason for their multiplication, too, and this time could not blank it out.
That by itself would not have been enough to impel him to move: the sense of revulsion was less strong than the feeling of inertia, of reluctance to do anything beyond the routine, which had held him since he found himself alone. But the rats went on increasing and began to appear in packs like the dogs, and by day, indifferent to other living things. Or at first indifferent. One day he saw one of the dogs, a small ill-looking brown mongrel, limping inthe rear after its companions had run down the High Street. The rats seemed to come from nowhere, a darker brown stream made up of hundreds of living hungry bodies, and the dog went down, yelping in agony. Neil was some fifty yards from the scene. There was nothing to be done, and he turned away back to the house. The yelping did not last long.
He thought about it in the sitting room, in front of the blank screen of the television set. His supply of biscuits had run out some days before, and when he had gone to the shop he had found only gnawed scraps of paper where there had been a shelf of wrapped packets. The rats were running out of food, too. Eventually cannibalism would restore a balance, but until that time they would be an increasing menace. They would pull down more than a puny terrier before they turned on one another.
He left early the following morning, taking only a change of clothes in a haversack. He cycled in the direction of Rye, but did not enter the town: the rat situation there was likely to be worse than in Winchelsea. He went instead to the farmhouse he had intended as a refuge for Tommy and Susie.
It was a day of cloud and sunshine, warm afterrain. Neil propped his bicycle against a wall and went into the kitchen. It was just the same, with the supplies of food piled in the cupboards as he had left them. There was enough to last him a long timeâa month at least. Looking at them he had a piercing recollection of the way he had felt that afternoon: the sense of achievement, the hope for a future which, even though he would not share it, was worth planning and labouring for.
He thought of Tommy and Susie and began to cry; sniffling at first, then miserably and helplessly. It was the first time he had wept since the car
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