Hall and Wisconsky were waiting to go in with their hoses when a sandy-haired bullneck named Carmichael began howling curses and backing away, slapping at his chest with his gloved hands.
A huge rat with grey-streaked fur and ugly, glaring eyes had bitten into his shirt and hung there, squeaking and kicking at Carmichael's belly with its back paws. Carmichael finally knocked it away with his fist, but there was a huge hole in his shirt, and a thin line of blood trickled from above one nipple. The anger faded from his face. He turned away and retched.
Hall turned the hose on the rat, which was old and moving slowly, a snatch of Carmichael's shirt still caught in its jaws. The roaring pressure drove it backward against the wall, where it smashed limply.
Warwick came over, an odd, strained smile on his lips. He clapped Hall on the shoulder. 'Damn sight better than throwing cans at the little bastards, huh, college boy?'
'Some little bastard,' Wisconsky said. 'It's a foot long.'
'Turn that hose over there.' Warwick pointed at the jumble of furniture. 'You guys, get out of the way!'
'With pleasure,' someone muttered.
Carmichael charged up to Warwick, his face sick and twisted. 'I'm gonna have 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.'