Excerpt
Passing the light around the walls, ceiling, and floor of the
pipe, A.J. saw no apparent signs of nesting. It was peculiar that
the ground around the pipe entrance could be so riddled with rat
runs, yet there was no indication that the animals had been
inside thus far.
Then, just as this thought occurred to him, he happened
upon what at first appeared to be a dead end, or at least a cave in.
Whatever it was, it was blocking his passage. As A.J. drew
nearer, he saw that the pile was more expansive than he first
thought. All around this barrier were small blunt shapes, about
the size of black-eyed peas. A.J. gasped, knowing exactly what
he was facing, but unable to believe it.
As he stepped nonchalantly through the solid and liquid rat
waste, he realized two things: first, since the rats were using this
section of the pipe as their toilet, they must be entering from the
other end, in Caldera; and second, there were many times more
rodents than he had initially feared.
A.J. was so astounded by what he was seeing that he
continued to push his way forward and up the mountain of rat
turd to survey its size. By the time he crossed the colossal dung
heap and made it to the other side, A.J. was in a full state of
shock. Hundreds of thousand rats had created this, he thought,
perhaps as many as a half million. Suddenly he did not need to
see any more. The further he ventured into the pipe toward
Caldera, the more perilous it would become for him. He already
found out all he needed to, though getting the public to believe
him and convincing the politicians to do something about it was
quite another matter altogether.
He was turning back to head out of the pipe when heard a
low rumbling sound coming from his direction of escape. The
pipe began to quake gently from the impact of a legion of tiny
feet. Their high-pitched squealing coalesced into one feverish
wail as the army advanced. They were cornering him in, A.J.
realized, and he took a moment to consider his only two
options. He could try to make it out by shooting his way through
the pack in front of him or he could head deeper into the
lightless tunnel and hope to find another route to the surface.
The squealing and marching grew louder, the clicks of their
claws on the cement suddenly becoming all too distinct to A.J.’s
ears. He looked down at his flashlight and revolver. Both were
useless. The batteries were waning and he may as well have
been carrying a squirt gun filled with jelly. He knew he did not
stand a chance. He turned and started running blindly down the
tunnel toward Caldera.
Then, because of the darkness and his speed, he was not able
to stop in time to avoid what was now in his path. He saw it
only a fraction of a second before he tripped over it. He tumbled
headlong and collided against the side of the cement pipe. His
right elbow and arm took the brunt of the impact and his gun
went flying. It discharged as it left his hand, sending a
screaming bullet ricocheting into the darkness. The flashlight,
also shaken loose during the fall, skidded a few feet away from
him, the faint beam pointing in the direction of the object he had
just stumbled over. A.J. squinted, trying to determine what it
was in the dimness. What he finally saw lent some credence to
all the folklore he had previously dismissed.
He recognized the denim fabric and immediately perceived
part of the shape. It was a human leg. Then the rest of the body
came into focus.