The Rats by James Herbert

coloured people never went further than West Ham; well-dressed people often changed at Mile End for the Central Line. Twenty years as a solicitor’s clerk, mundane but comfortable, had taught him a lot about people too. Life proceeded at a steady, regular pace; not very exciting–the odd interesting scandal–but one day pretty much like another. No cases of murder, rape or black-mail–mainly divorce, embezzlement, or house purchasing.
    Steady stuff. Mostly monotonous, often dull. Secure. He was glad he wasn’t married and able to lead his own life without worrying about children, schools, neighbours, H.P., holidays. Not that he really ever got up to much on his own. He believed in keeping himself to himself and not getting involved in other people’s problems. He had enough of that at work, although he never became emotionally involved. The church choir was the only social outlet he enjoyed, meeting once a week to rehearse, and Sunday morning singing his heart out, the only form of exhibitionism he allowed himself. He raised his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
    Mondays were neither depressing nor exhilarating for Henry Sutton; one day was much the same as any other.
    The train suddenly gave a lurch and screeched to a halt, throwing the surprised solicitor’s clerk on to the laps of Violet Melray and Jenny Cooper.
    ‘Oh, excuse me,’ he stuttered, his face red alerting as he pulled himself up again. Other passengers were in the same predicament and were now picking themselves up, some laughing, others tutting angrily.
    ‘Here we go,’ a voice was heard to say. ‘Another twenty- minute delay.’ He was wrong. They sat or stood for forty minutes in a state of agitation, trying to hear the shouted conversation between the driver and the guard over their intercom. Henry Sutton, Violet Melray and Jenny Cooper were in the first carriage so they could hear the driver’s replies to the guard’s questions quite plainly. He’d seen something on the line, not quite sure what, but it had been quite large, so he’d jammed on his brakes and cut his power.
    Having decided that whatever it was man or animal, it must have been killed by the train and there wasn’t much he could do about it now, so the obvious thing to do was to go on and send a crew back from the next station. The only trouble now was that he couldn’t get any juice. No power. It could be that whatever he’d run over had done some damage to the train although he doubted that, A faulty cable maybe?
    He’d actually heard of rats chewing through cables.
    The driver, or ‘motor-man’ as he was officially called, had been on to central control and they’d advised him to sit tight for a while until they located and repaired the fault. But it was the smell of smoke that decided him upon his course of action. The passengers became aware of the smoke at the same time and began to stir apprehensively.
    The next station, Stepney Green, wasn’t very far, so he would get them off the train and up the tunnel.
    With so many passengers it would be dangerous, but it would be better than have them panic in the confined spaces of the carriages. Already he could hear excited voices coming from the carriage next door. He told the guard of his intentions then opened the connecting door, to be confronted by anxious-looking faces.
    ‘It’s all right,’ he reassured them with false confidence.
    ‘Slight hitch, that’s all. We’re going to go along the tunnel to the next stop–it isn’t far and the rails won’t be live.’
    ‘But something’s burning,’ a concerned-looking businessman informed him gruffly.
    ‘That’s all right, sir. No cause for alarm. We’ll soon put that right.’ He made his way forward to the end of the carriage. ‘I’m just going to inform the rest of the passengers and then I’ll be back to lead you through the tunnel.’ He disappeared into the adjoining Compartment leaving the dismayed commuters in an uneasy silence.
    A few