"James Herbert - Rats 02 - Lair" - читать интересную книгу автора (Herbert James)

all, the people were gone.

The vast acres of woodland, rolling fields and agricultural land were a
retreat for thousands upon thousands of Londoners or those living in
the urbanized areas around the forest. The hordes invaded at weekends
and public holidays in the summer months, scattering their litter,
terrifying the shy forest creatures with their bludgeoning excursions
into the wooded areas, shouting, laughing, mutilating trees and
undergrowth. The public thought they owned the lush strip of land,
assuming its upkeep came from the rates they paid; but it wasn't so.
Private money preserved this sanctuary.

Still, they were gone now, leaving the forest to those who cared, those
who loved the vast nature reserve for its peacefulness, its constantly
changing pattern, its timid wildlife. Fewer squaw ling brats, less
bawling transistor radios. Weekends were still busy they always would
be, whatever the weather but, ah, weekdays. Weekdays, such as this,
were a joy. Denison brought his mount to a halt to examine fresh
markings at the base of a birch tree.

The bark had been stripped away by some small animal, revealing the
virgin wood beneath, bright and naked, a fresh wound. He lightly
kicked against the sides of his mount and urged it forward for a closer
inspection. Squirrels, he told himself. Damned pests, despite their
bushy-tailed precociousness. If he had his way, he would trap or
poison the lot of 'em. The grey squirrel, usually in early summer,
attacked trees, gnawing at the main stem for the sweet, sappy layers
beneath the rough bark. A tree could often die from such attacks,
particularly if completely ringed. The ordinary layman just did not
understand the nuisance value of these tiny creatures, didn't seem to
appreciate that they were rodents. Of course, there had been no sign
at all of the red squirrel. The red had been ousted from the forest by
the grey many years ago and the amount of greys had increased
uncontrollably; but this year, strangely, their numbers seemed to be
down.

He pulled the horse away from the birch, lifting its head up from the
succulent grass. Guiding it back to the path, Denison gazed around
him, looking for signs of further damage. A sudden flurry of movement
to his left brought him to a halt again. A section of thicket across
the path from him shook frantically, then settled into an uneasy
stillness. It often happened in the forest an animal or bird startled
by the approach of man, a sudden attack by one animal on another it was
this that made the woodland so alive.

A sudden, spasmodic twitching of leaves and a tiny, almost inaudible
squeal told him that a forest creature had fallen victim to a larger
enemy. He felt no sympathy, for that was the law of nature, but he was
curious to know who was prey and who was predator. He clucked his
tongue at the horse and lightly kicked its flanks again. The chestnut