"Guy N. Smith - Bats Out Of Hell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smith Guy N)

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.