Guy N. Smith - Bats Out Of Hell

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Chapter One

It was humid inside the small laboratory in spite of the window which was open

contrary to all regulations. Outside the sun shone and, but for the absence of

foliage on the trees surrounding the squat grey stone buildings which

comprised the Midlands Biological Research Centre, one would have been

forgiven for assuming that summer had already begun. Small birds twittered

incessantly as they busied themselves searching for twigs and dry grass with

.which to complete the building of their nests. Rooks circled and cawed

noisily above a line of tall elms. Another cycle of life had begun.

The tall, fair-haired man in the long white coat moved away from the window

and, ignoring the 'no smoking' sign above the long table which supported

several oblong glass cases, he lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply, and slowly

blew twin streams of smoke out through his nostrils. His handsome, tanned

features wore a worried expression, his lips were a tight, bloodless line, his

pale blue eyes focused on the end container. He drew even more fiercely on his

cigarette, seemingly unaware of the attractive blonde girl who watched his

every move intently.

The rats, mice and guinea pigs in the other cages were unnaturally still,

almost as though they sensed that something untoward was happening in that

very room, something totally in contrast to the laws of Nature, something

which they could not understand but feared all the more because it was beyond

their comprehension.

Even the reinforced glass could not muffle the shrill, almost insane shrieking

of the bats within the cage. Usually they were motionless and silent by day,

only becoming active when the laboratory was in darkness and the

bacteriologists had left. Not so today. For the last three days they had been

abnormally active, with the exception of those that lay dead on the floor of

their prison. Even in death they had an unnatural look about them, the corpses

stiff and twisted beyond the limits of rigor mortis, the tiny faces masks of

pain and rage, proof that the creatures had died in extreme agony.

The living flung themselves blindly at the walls, some dropping stunned with

the impact, lying inert for several moments and then recovering surprisingly

quickly, piping their rage and hurling themselves back at the glass again.

Some eight or nine lay dead below the maddened twenty or so that continued

their crazed aerobatics in the cramped enclosure.

One small, reddish-brown silky body attempted to secure a hold on the smooth

sides of the case with its minute claws, slipped, and fell to the floor. It

rolled onto its back, kicking frantically at first, then slowly the twitching

limbs stiffened as though rigor mortis were preceding death. Yet the two

watching humans knew by the way the bat's eyes dilated that it still lived.

They realised also that it was in indescribable pain - and there was nothing

whatsoever that they could do about it.

It was a quarter of an hour before the bat's eyes dulled and it died. The last

victim, an hour ago, had suffered for forty-five minutes before it was granted

a merciful release from its suffering.

'Hell,' the tall man muttered to himself, 'I've never seen anything like it

before!'

The girl moved closer to him, and asked in a low, husky whisper, 'What is it,

Brian? What's happening to them?'

He seemed to notice her presence for the first time, and his expression

softened momentarily. 'I don't know,' he murmured, averting his eyes from her

gaze.

'But. . . ' her fingers closed over his as she spoke, and he made no attempt

to remove them. 'The tests. The tests we did yesterday. They're bound to show

something . . . the reason for this paralysis in the bats, the mad rages, the

pain ...'

Professor Brian Newman looked silently out of the window. Out there, across

the soft, springy heather which was just beginning its new growth, were

something in the region of twenty-five thousand acres of woodland and heath -

Cannock Chase, a well-known beauty spot to which crowds of tourists thronged

at weekends and on bank-holidays. A natural environment, except for this

place, the Midlands Biological Research Centre, an ugly scar on the landscape.

Newman remembered the beginning of it all, the protests, the petitions by the

locals. It hadn't got them anywhere. They hadn't achieved anything, simply

because they had been conned by the authorities. Local councils had been

persuaded that the centre was for the good of the people. Well, the Professor

thought, smiling wryly to himself, it was certainly supposed to be for the

good of all mankind. Except for... for this\ His gaze was drawn irresistibly

back to the glass cage, the dead and dying bats, the small bodies of the

doomed thudding continuously against the sides as they swooped and fluttered

insanely, often colliding with each other. Soon these creatures would all be

dead. It might take until the day after tomorrow. There was no way of helping

them or alleviating their suffering. All he could do was to watch them die and

hope that it would end there. Then cremate the corpses and say nothing, not

even to Haynes. Haynes wouldn't understand. He-was an administration man, and

the less he knew, the better. Likewise the other scientists. There must be no

more meddling. Once these bats were dead, that had to be the end of it.

'The tests,' Susan Wylie squeezed his hand and whispered huskily. 'What did

they show, Brian?'

Newman turned to her, and sighed loudly. They showed that the inexplicable has

happened. Something which we cannot explain, only accept. The virus is a

mutated one caused by experimenting. I've tried to determine the difference

between bacterial and viral meningitis. In humans it's difficult to tell in

the early stage, which is the very time when either the virus or the bacteria

might be destroyed. Take meningococcus, for example. There are ten types of

viruses. The symptoms are all the same: severe headache, high fever, vomiting,

stiffness of back and neck muscles, but not . . . this. I've never known the

disease lead to madness or such awful agony. And I have created a new horror.

A mutated virus! God knows how it happened, it was a million-to-one accident.

Those tests we did ... my - God, how far it could spread, and to which

species: rats, mice, other rodents , . . even humans! It doesn't bear thinking

about!'

'But Brian,' Susan slipped an arm about him. 'There's no harm done. Whatever

you've created is confined in that single glass cage. The whole disease is

trapped in there. It can't get out. Admittedly there's nothing we can do to

ease these creatures' suffering, but once they're all dead, that's that. As

you say, cremate the bodies and nobody will be any the wiser.'

'I guess you're right,' he tossed the butt of his cigarette out of the window.

'A couple of days and I reckon it will all be over. But it's frightening to

think what freak mutations can be brought about by experiments like this one.

All over the world scientists are conducting such. experiments daily.

Students, too. It could happen anywhere, anytime, and something far more

terrible than nuclear war could be unleashed upon the world I don't know how

this came about. I'd feel one helluva lot easier if I did. Nevertheless, we

must end it here and now. This laboratory must be kept locked. Nobody must

come in here, not even Haynes. At the end of the week, when there's no trace

of this mess left, I shall report that my experiments were a failure. Negative

results.'

'I suppose that's the best thing,' her pert features puckered into a smile.

'Let's forget all about it tonight and enjoy ourselves.'

He stiffened slightly, and looked away.

'What's the matter?' there was concern in her voice.

'I... I'm afraid we'll have to postpone tonight, Susan. I'm sorry, but that's

the way it is.'

'Why?' her smile vanished, replaced by an expression of disappointment and

indignation. 'Why, Brian? A whole week now and you've done nothing but work

round the clock. Okay, that was fair enough in the interests of science, but

now . . . well, there's nothing more you can do.'

'You don't understand.'

'I understand you better than any woman,' she retorted. 'Better than Emma ever

did.'

'There's no need to bring my wife into this.'

'Your ex-wife, Brian. You're divorced. Free. Or had you forgotten it?'

'No,' he drew deeply on the remains of his second cigarette. 'I hadn't

forgotten it. But I still have work to do in spite of this... this disaster.'

'But you're going to write it off. Forget it.'

'As far as the world is concerned,' he spoke sharply, irritably. 'But I'm not

forgetting it. Not ever. I've got to go into it deeper, for my own

satisfaction if for no other reason.'

'But what about tonight?'

'I'm sorry. There's no way.'

She released his hand and turned away so that he could not see the tears

welling up in her eyes. For the past two months they had been living together,

something of which Haynes disapproved. Damn Haynes. Bacteriologists were

entitled to lead their own private lives just as much as anybody else. She

told herself that it was in the interests of science. Two people dedicated to

a common cause, bound by love. Love? Did Brian Newman really love her? Lately

she had been sleeping in his bungalow in Cannock whilst he had remained here

in the laboratory. That was no kind of-life. Exceptional circumstances,

certainly, but it didn't make her feel any better.

'I'm sorry, Sue,' stood behind her, his hands travelling up her body until

they came to rest on her breasts beneath her nylon overall.

'How much longer before we're together again, Brian?'

'As soon as this business is over. A day or two at the most, the way these

bats are dying.'

'I'll stop here with you. It's my rightful place by your side, sharing success

and failure.'

'No,' he caught his breath audibly. 'I must see this through alone. Get your

sleep. You need it'

'So do you.'

'I'll catch up on it afterwards. I'll take a few days off, and we'll spend 'em

in bed together.'

This time they both laughed.

'All right,' she sighed. 'So long as you're telling me the truth.'

'Don't be silly,' he snapped.

'You have a reputation, Professor Newman.' She turned and wagged a finger at

him in mock severity. 'And it is not solely concerned with viruses and

bacteria, nor bats. Birds, other than the feathered variety, have retarded a

promising career for you, and you know it. That's why you're working out here

in this hell's half acre. Without all your affairs you'd probably be in the

States now. Or Russia.'

'And I wouldn't have you.' he stooped and kissed her, his lips and probing

tongue smothering further accusations.

Finally they disengaged. 'Now go back and get some rest.' he said. 'I'll maybe

snatch an hour or two on the couch. But I've got to see this thing through to

the end.'

'All right.' she agreed and began unbuttoning her overall. 'See you in the

morning, Brian. Enjoy the company of your bats.'

He watched her walk from the laboratory, his discerning gaze appreciating her

posture, the straight back, the natural swing of her hips, the long, blonde

hair. He locked the door behind her, and turned his attention back to the cage

of death.

The bats were going crazy, fluttering, squeaking, buffeting one another,

tumbling, battering themselves against the sides of the glass as though

determined to smash it. Another one was dying, but this time it was almost

instantaneous. One second it had been hurling itself frantically at the

toughened glass, the next it was lying quivering on the floor amidst the

corpses of its fellows, limbs shuddering, stiffening. Its eyes seemed to meet

his and they glittered accusingly, with sheer malevolence. Blaming Man, as

though in its last seconds it understood.

Brian Newman shuddered and turned away. The symptoms followed an identical

pattern, yet in every case the incubation period varied. Possibly some were

more resistant to the mutated virus than others. It was the way with most

diseases. He walked to the window and looked out. A red Mini was disappearing

down the rough track which led to the road beyond the belt of tall trees. He

could tell by the way Susan drove that she was angry. She didn't trust him,

and he couldn't blame her.

He took off his white coat and hung it on a peg by the door. Hell, life was

getting too complicated all round. A grey telephone stood on the desk in the

far corner, and he knew that he could settle everything so easily. One quick

call could remove Fiona from his life before they became further involved.

Then he could go back to Susan, forget Fiona, the bats, the killer virus,

everything.

He walked slowly across the room, and his hand rested on the telephone. Then

he changed his mind. Logic and a physical urge battled inside him. The latter

won, and he flicked up the night-switch on the small panel. He couldn't chance

Susan ringing him here tonight and discovering that he had left the lab.

He stepped out into the corridor, locking the door behind him and pocketing

the key. Muted voices reached him from inside other rooms as he made his way

slowly towards the exit. Susan had been right in what she said, he decided. He

was nothing more than a cog in a mighty wheel. His experiments were minor when

compared with some that were being conducted here at the Research Centre. Yet,

suddenly, his was the most vital of all. Something had gone wrong, not

necessarily through his fault. The whole project had to be eliminated and then

he could return to being an ordinary run-of-the-mill boffin. Somehow, he had

to forget.

'Brian!'

He halted and turned around slowly, recognising Haynes's voice. The latter

stood in the doorway of his office, tall and imposing, thick-rimmed spectacles

giving him an owlish appearance, a personification of authority. Newman looked

at him steadily without speaking.

'I haven't had a progress report from you,' there was a hint of reprimand in

Haynes's words.

'No,' Newman replied. 'For two reasons. First, I've been working day and

night. Second, there's nothing to report. Only failure.'

'Failure!'

'Distinguishing between bacterial and viral meningitis is impossible in the

early stages of incubation.'

'Difficult, but not impossible. In similar experiments bats have proved to be

more useful than rats. They assisted in the perfection of the latest measles

vaccine. There's no reason why this experiment should not succeed.'

'Well, it hasn't, and furthermore it won't,' Professor Newman snapped.

'I'd like a second opinion. You should have consulted Professor Rickers

instead of locking yourself away in your lab for days on end with that girl.'

Brian Newman's fists clenched, and he had to hold himself in check with a

conscious effort. The implication was not lost on him.

'Miss Wylie has been my assistant for two years now. She is perfectly capable

of assisting in any experiment which I undertake. I don't want Rickers, and I

don't need him.'

'Well, I want him to have a look at those bats you've injected. I'll ask him

to call in tomorrow afternoon. He's got a couple of American students working

with him, and I want them to see as much of everything as possible during

their stay here.'

'I won't have students messing about in my lab,' Newman spoke softly, scarcely

louder than a whisper, but his anger was only too evident.

'Now look here, Brian,' Haynes adjusted his spectacles in the way he always

did when he wished to enforce his authority. 'I'm running this Centre, and

although I give you a pretty free hand most of the time, I'm not going to

issue negative reports without second opinions. Professor Rickers will check

on the bats tomorrow, and it's no good, you getting all steamed up about it.1

Brian Newman turned abruptly, and without another word pushed his way through

the glass swing doors and out into the early evening sunlight. Anger at Haynes

seethed inside him, but more than that he experienced a sensation of fear.

Death in its most terrible form was contained in a single glass cage in his

laboratory. Disease, a type of plague, perhaps, was trapped in there. Rickers

would insist on opening it up whilst some of the infected creatures were still

alive, and there was no way that could be allowed to happen, for the sake of

life upon Earth.

The Shoal Hill Tavern was crowded. Brian Newman worked his way from the bar,

slopping beer and whisky as he negotiated the human obstacle course, his eyes

fixed on the petite, dark-haired girl who was seated at the table in the

corner, patiently awaiting his return. Fiona Bradbury glanced up and smiled,

tiny slim ringers reaching out for the glass which he pushed across the

Formica surface towards her.

'Perhaps we should have gone somewhere else tonight.' she said. 'I've never

known it this crowded on a Thursday before.'

'Maybe we'll go somewhere else later,' Newman replied, and took a long drink

from his glass.

'What's the matter, Brian?' she asked a few minutes later. 'There's something

on your mind. Is it that girl you're shacked up with?'

'No,'- his answer was unconvincing, even to himself. 'Not really. No problems

there. Just one or two things in the lab which I've got to get sorted out. I

can't talk about them, so please don't ask me.'

'All right,' she relaxed a little. 'But it's that girl I'm worried about. Damn

it all, you're not even married to her! No divorce problems. You can kick her

out tomorrow.'

'So that you can move in?'

'If you want me to. I don't see any reason why not. Anyway, we can't go on

sneaking off like this as though we've got to hide from the world. We're both

free, so let's cut out the cloak and dagger stuff.'

Newman nodded. Hell, why did women always get so possessive? Why couldn't they

be satisfied with a good time every now and then in return for a screw on the

back seat of some guy's car? It didn't cost them anything.

He tried to weigh Susan and Fiona against each other in his own mind. There

wasn't much to choose between them. They were both sexy, both attractive. It

didn't really matter which he picked either way, except that Susan understood

him. She knew how things were in the laboratory, the measure of success or

failure, the satisfactions, the disappointments. That was something Fiona

would never comprehend. One thing was certain, though. He couldn't run the two

of them much longer; it had to be one or the other. Right now the choice was

his, but shortly it might be made for him if Susan found out.

'Let's take a ride,' he finished his beer and looked at her.

'If you say so, but all this back-seat stuff is getting a bit boring, Brian.

Christ, when there's a comfortable bed back at your place, why the hell do we

have to play at contortionists in the car on a chilly night?'

'You know damned well why.'

'Yes, I guess I do,' she stood up and adjusted her dress. 'But not for much

longer. You either want me or you don't.'

He followed her out of the lounge bar, again making comparisons, remembering

Susan's wiggle as she had walked from the laboratory a few hours earlier.

Physically there was little to choose between them. It would be a hard

decision when he finally had to make it.

The car-park was full as they walked along an avenue of badly positioned

vehicles. Cars had never interested Brian Newman. They were simply a

mechanical means of getting from one place to another in the shortest possible

time. Yet tonight, for some inexplicable reason, he found himself compelled to

run his eye over them. Every third one seemed to be a Mini. It was the red

ones which claimed his attention. He found himself glancing at their

registration numbers, his mouth dry even after three pints of beer, tension

building up inside him. Suddenly he stiffened, his stomach muscles

contracting. He felt sick. The letters and numbers on the front plate of the

red Mini two rows away seemed to leap at him like sensational headlines in a

newspaper. He read them, knew them by heart, and they hammered inside his

brain in the manner of an electronic warning system.

He saw, too, the long flowing hair of the girl who sat behind the wheel of the

stationary car. Her face was in shadow, but he knew the expression on it

without seeing it, a mixture of hurt and hate, a woman scorned. 'Come on,'

Fiona tugged impatiently at his sleeve. He shrugged her off abruptly, and

snapped in a voice which he hardly recognised as his own. 'I'll take you home.

I guess I don't feel too good tonight, after all.'

Probably the decision which Professor Brian Newman had been dreading had even

now been made for him, and he had already lost the backing of Susan Wylie in

the traumatic day which faced him on the morrow.

Chapter Two

It was just after eleven o'clock when Newman returned to the Biological

Research Centre. The night-porter glanced up as the tall professor walked in,

then looked away, disinterested. It was quite customary for the various

scientists to come and go at all times of the day and night.

Newman unlocked the door of his own laboratory,' let himself in and turned the

key behind him. He did not wish to be interrupted by anyone for any reason.

There were about a dozen bats still left alive, the oxygen machine attached to

the cage ensuring that there was no way in which either virus or bacteria

could escape into the atmosphere. The creatures were still zooming frantically

about their enclosure, and in the silence of the room their shrill piping and

buffeting seemed even louder. Newman moved closer, watching them. Whereas

earlier he had been repulsed, he now experienced a morbid fascination almost

to the point of being hypnotised. He had created something, death in a form

that had not hitherto existed. It was all his doing.

He, stood staring at the bats for well over an hour, his mind having lost all

sense of time. He understood the attraction of an aquarium in a conventional

home, constant movement, always something happening, however trivial. This was

different, exciting. Death could occur at any second.

After a time he became aware that the death-rate amongst the bats seemed to

have slowed. They continued to batter themselves ceaselessly against the

glass, but those which fell stunned revived after a time and resumed their

futile occupation. At first Newman thought that the creatures were making

attempts to attack him, but eventually it dawned upon him that this was not

so, for they flew at the opposite side with equal compulsion. It was madness,

he decided. Their brains were of a low order, yet the mutated virus appeared

to have robbed them of everything except basic instincts. They resented

imprisonment and were determined to seek freedom in the only way they knew,

blind flight. Yet, even in the midst of their panic, they were colliding with

one another time and time again.

'God!' Newman spoke aloud as the answer suddenly dawned on him. 'The virus has

destroyed their radars. They're flying blind!'

Some time later he opened the window and lit a cigarette. The night was

mild.and humid, freak weather for early April. It was almost like summer. His

thoughts turned to Susan. There was no way in which he could lie his way out

of this one. She wouldn't accept excuses, and Professor Newman wasn't the type

to plead. One way or another it was over, and too late he realised that he

didn't want Fiona after all. There had never been anything more than physical

attraction between them. She had been good, very good, but after each session

his one thought had been to take her home. With Susan he was content to cuddle

her until they both fell asleep. That was the difference.

He wondered if Susan was back at his bungalow right now. In all probability

she was packing her bags and loading them into the Mini. The chances of her

turning up at the Centre of the following day were remote.

He glanced in the direction of the telephone, but discarded the idea at once.

It wouldn't work. A phone call would not stop Susan from leaving.

Newman felt physically and mentally drained. His thoughts returned to the

bats, and the knowledge that he could not risk any interference from Professor

Rickers and his students the next day. He had hoped that the creatures would

die quickly, but now it looked unlikely. In that case, there was only one

solution. He would have to destroy them. They could easily be gassed. The only

problem was that the lethal gas was stored in a separate part of the building,

under lock and key, and could only be obtained with Haynes's permission, which

certainly would not be forthcoming.

He tried to think of alternative means. Perhaps if he filled the glass case

with water and drowned the occupants ...

Newman lay down on the sparse couch and stretched himself out. His entire body

was crying out for sleep, yet he knew that there was no chance of slumber. His

brain was too confused, going over recent events, trying to work out

solutions, thinking of Susan, of Fiona, of Haynes and Rickers, and the

students. Somehow he did not like the idea of switching off the light and

being alone in the darkness with those squeaking, thudding bats. His thinking

was becoming illogical, he told himself. They could not possibly get out, but

until every one of them was dead there would be no peace in that laboratory.

He lay there just looking up at the plain white ceiling. For the first time in

his life he felt totally helpless. Events would control his own actions from

now on.

Sometime after the first grey light of dawn had crept in through the

uncurtained windows he dropped into a fitful doze. It seemed only seconds

since his eyelids had closed before he heard a key being turned in the lock.

He sat up with a start. It could only be one of a small group of people who

had access to laboratory keys. Haynes, Rickers... Susan!

'Good morning, Professor Newman,' she walked in, closing the door behind her.

Brian Newman was too startled to reply. He simply stared at her in amazement.

She was immaculate in every aspect, and there was no evidence of her having

spent a troubled night. She barely glanced in his direction, taking off her

coat, and then immediately set about her routine duties, sterilising

implements, checking charts, and all the time ignoring him totally.

Newman sat up and swung his legs to the floor. His suit was crumpled, his hair

awry, and there was a growth of stubble on his chin. He rubbed his bleary

eyes, and sighed loudly.

'I could use some coffee,' he spoke softly, a tremor in his voice.

'We have coffee at ten,' Susan Wylie replied formally. 'However, there is

coffee, sugar and dried milk in the cupboard if you wish to make yourself a

drink.'

He stood up, swaying slightly. His head ached abominably. He looked quickly in

the direction of the bat cage. There were still a dozen or so of the creatures

flying crazily to and fro, bumping, falling, fluttering up again. No more had

died during the night, and that didn't add up. Either the virus was dead, they

were immune to it, or else the incubation period in these last few was longer.

'About last night. . . ' he began, clearing his throat.

'I slept well, thank you,' she replied icily without glancing up. 'Now, if you

will excuse me, Professor, there are certain items which I must go and collect

from the stores....'

'Now listen to me!' he snapped, his level of anger rising fast. Women had

cursed him hundreds of times over the years, pleaded with him, cried, but none

had ever treated him with indifference.

She ignored him and turned in the direction of the door.

'I said listen to me!' his hand shot out, grasping her by the shoulder and

turning her round to face him. 'There are one or two things we've got to get

ironed out.'

'I have no idea what you're talking about, professor.' Only her eyes gave away

her innermost feelings, bitterness that an outward show of indifference could

not cloak.

'You know damned well what I'm talking about!' he rasped. 'About last night at

the Shoal Hill Tavern.'

'Oh, so you went drinking, did you?'

'And that wasn't all,' his voice was raised. 'I was with a bird. And I was

going to screw her only you stopped me! You put me off my stroke!'

'Me?'

'Yes, you. Out on a snooping trip. Well, I don't blame you, but I can't stand

liars.'

'Neither can I, Professor. And just lately you've been telling quite a few

yourself.' Her self-control began to snap, and she added savagely, 'You think

you're God's gift to women, don't you, Brian Newman? Well, let me tell you

this. All you're trying to do is prove something to yourself, though God knows

what. Maybe 'conquer and move on' is your motto. Well, I'm not standing for

it. You thought you could drive me off, didn't you? That I'd pack and run?

Well, I'm not leaving the Centre. 'I'm not giving up a good job because of

you. I'll move out of your bungalow so you can have her in the bed all to

yourself, but I'm staying right here in this very lab as far as work goes. I'm

not going to give you the satisfaction of seeing me go to Haynes and ask for a

transfer to Rickers's lab. The pair of you would love that, in your own warped

ways, but I'm staying put, bats and all. But lay one finger on me again, try

to get familiar with me, and I'll be lodging an official complaint that will

really put paid to your career. You've got me with you all the time in an

official capacity, and nothing more, whether you like it or not!'

'You bitch!' His left hand went back, and before he could stop himself he had

struck her across the face with a resounding slap.

She staggered back, tears filling her eyes, gasping with pain. He stood

aghast, mouth opening to voice an apology.

Suddenly everything seemed to explode inside her, and she was hurling herself

at him, beating at his body with clenched fists, tearing, scratching, biting,

kicking. He staggered back, Susan Wylie clinging on to him, screaming insults

at him,

'Damn your he yelled. 'I'll teach you a lesson you won't forget. I'll.. .' His

words trailed off as his back met with something solid but movable. The table.

He felt the nearside legs being lifted clear of the floor, objects sliding,

crashing, splintering, fragments of glass tinkling. In desperation he pushed

her away from him, and even as he turned he saw guinea-pigs and other rodents

scampering about, frightened, bewildered by their unexpected freedom,

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ChapterOneItwashumidinsidethesmalllaboratoryinspiteofthewindowwhichwasopencontrarytoallregulations.Outsidethesunshoneand,butfortheabsenceoffoliageonthetreessurroundingthesquatgreystonebuildingswhichcomprisedtheMidlandsBiologicalResearchCentre,onewouldhavebeenforgivenforassumingthatsummerhadalreadybe...

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Guy N. Smith - Bats Out Of Hell

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