Man of the People Chapter 3

Simon couldn’t remember how long he’d lived on the streets, in fact he couldn’t remember much, just hazy images and something nasty that was locked away deep inside his mind. What he did know was that people were horrible; that’s why he’d moved into the sewers. Nobody lived there. He was sick of finding a nice doorway to sleep in, only to be moved on by a security guard or a copper. He was sick of being kicked and pissed on by drunks as they made their way home to nice warm beds. None of those things happened in his underworld kingdom. Of course he hadn’t always liked it; at first he was frightened by the darkness and the rats. Frightened of the rats, ha! He laughed at the thought; he loved them and they loved him.

The first time he saw a squirming brown mound of rats Simon nearly turned to run, but where to? So he was brave and ignored them, and they ignored him.

As time passed Simon became a familiar figure in the dark waterways and the rats became used to his presence. After overcoming his shyness and fear he started to talk to them and was overjoyed when they could understand him. Of course, the words he spoke meant nothing to the black eyed pack, but the feelings and pictures he put in their heads were as clear as their own thoughts.

Time meant nothing to Simon; he grew closer to the pack and they to him. He knew he wasn’t clever, he couldn’t be, but among these simple creatures he was a genius and they loved him for it. “Belonging” was the best word Simon could think of to describe the way he felt and he had never felt like that before, at least not that he could remember. He was valued here; he was looked up to and not just because he was a giant among them. Their beautiful black eyes would look up to him as he sat on his brick throne and they would sparkle with love. He knew they loved him, he could feel it and it felt wonderful.

One day Simon was hunting with his pack when a light appeared in the distance. The horror and fear felt by his people washed over him. They showed him images of choking death and writhing brown bodies, as men dressed in bright colours; with glowing eyes on top of their heads, shovelled up the dead.

Simon’s eyes filled with tears of sadness as he saw the memories of his people, but they quickly changed to tears of rage as he realised the men were coming to kill again.

*****

Bob Fletcher had been working the sewers for more years than he cared to remember. He’d been given awards for his efforts in keeping the city as rodent free as was humanly possible. The four lads with him were supposed to be getting trained up to replace him when he retired; some hope. They had no love of the job, they didn’t respect the rats.

“Right lads; start putting the tubs out.” Blue plastic tubs were spread along the width of the tunnel and their foil lids were ripped open to reveal pink crystals. Bob was the only one allowed to carry the catalyst that would cause the crystals to fill the tunnel with toxic fumes; the others couldn’t be trusted as far as he was concerned.

“Wait!” The voice sounded choked and dry.

“Wha…? Bob, look at this.” A nightmarish figure was appearing out of the pitch black darkness. The halogen lights cast unearthly shadows at the best of times, but the effect as the ragged figure appeared was eerie.

Simon knew the men would be shocked but he hadn’t expected them to look frightened; it was a nice bonus. He didn’t realise what an inhuman sight he was after so long in the sewers. The only image he had of himself was that which the rats projected. In their minds he was beautiful and powerful, a man-rat, a god.

The pest controllers stood dumbfounded as the filthy figure began to flay his arms around, babbling about murderers, poison and innocent creatures.

Even Bob hadn’t seen anything like this before. Had the lunatic been bigger he might have been worried but this bloke was all bulging eyes and bones. Still, it’d be best to get him to the police. “Okay mate, you’d better come with us. We’ll get you some help. I don’t know how long you’ve been down here but you’re not well.” The other lads were silent, for once.

“Will you come back to kill the rats?” It was the first intelligible sentence he’d spoken, his head cocked to one side eerily.

“What? Oh, yeah, don’t you worry about those little buggers, I’ll sort them out”

The hatred that came from the pack as Simon looked at the man was overwhelming. He was the great killer, the slaughterer of millions. Simon knew what he had to do.

As the lunatic lunged at him, Bob swung his arm, knocking his attacker aside. “Look mate, there’s no need for that. Here lads, get hold of him, we’ll have to carry the daft bugger out, he’s well gone.”

The sewer workers stopped as the tunnel filled with a strange tapping noise. The unearthly daylight of the halogen lights revealed a heaving, brown wave of black sparkling eyes and sleek squirming bodies. For valuable seconds the men froze in shock before turning to run; their cries were quickly suffocated by the deluge of rats. Bob didn’t run, he fought, disappearing just the same.

Simon lost himself in the glory of the feast.

*****

Templar had heard the emergency call from the shopping complex, but he thought the police would have had the problem dealt with before he arrived. The call hadn’t been specific; it had just said that there was some kind of panic and people were running. Then the phone went dead.

Two police cars were parked on the paved area outside of the complex. People were streaming out of the doorway, screaming, but nobody seemed to know what they were running from.

Templar jumped onto the roof of the shopping complex and ran, looking through the skylight as he moved. When the crowds of panicked shoppers thinned, he began to see small shapes clinging to people who were thrashing around wildly on the tiled floor. Wasting no time, he ripped out a pane of glass and dropped into the horror below.

Rats were everywhere, and they were attacking. Horrific shapes that looked like brown lumps, shook on the floor, their identity only discernible when a hand or foot became visible.

Templar tore rats away from those still able to run as he tried to ignore the appalling screams of pain and horror around him.

Simon didn’t feel like himself anymore, he was lost in his people, spread throughout the shopping complex. He was part of the pack at last; he knew hunger like never before. He also knew a taste that was so wonderful it was beyond description.

The rats leapt on their attacker but found his flesh difficult to penetrate.

Mark fought primitive panic as he looked through his visor at the shapes covering his body. He swung his arms, waiting for the sudden pain of chisel-like teeth piercing his flesh. The only people around him were the dead or beyond help. He took a breath and concentrated on clearing the vermin from himself so that he could do what he had to.

Looking around at the many brightly coloured shops, Simon decided this would be a good home. It was warm, dry and there was plenty of food. Of course he’d have to move on eventually, when there was nothing left to eat. That could be a problem as his army grew. Even now, thousands more rats from around the area were coming to join him. He sat down on a chair in front of a cash register as his people emptied the shelves of food. The tins were a challenge but they’d get through eventually.

Thickly covered in rats, Templar unclipped a miniature flare stick from his belt and held it up to the ceiling. An alarm sounded and the sprinkler system gushed to life.

The rats were startled as the rain came; they hadn’t sensed it. Simon shared their alarm but they quickly calmed; rain was nice.

Templar could feel the dull nip of bites as they gnawed at the lining between his armoured plates; it was only a matter of time before a hole appeared. He’d tried brushing them off or smashing himself off walls but there were always more to replace the dead.

Enjoying the variety and newness of the shopping complex, Simon suddenly jumped, startled as the dreadful pain of death filled him. A threat! Someone was killing his people and would not fall. Who?

Mark ignored the attack upon his outer shell and brought up a display of the complex’s plans. Finding what he was looking for, he moved as quickly as the smothering blanket of bodies would allow. A small blue display flashed to indicate that he was breathing the helmet’s emergency oxygen supply; his vents were blocked. Dragging a clump of bodies from the area covering his visor, through a mess of rat blood and water, Templar saw that the pack had stopped what it was doing and was staring at him.

Simon saw his enemy through thousands of eyes and decided it was time he introduced himself.

Every rat in sight leapt at Templar who staggered as the solid wave of bodies soaking bodies hit him. Even with the exoskeleton, it was getting difficult to move, willing each leg to propel him forward. He burst into the maintenance room, unable to see where he was going, his body invisible under the masses. Only the schematic on his internal display allowed him to navigate. A gauntleted hand burst out of the heaving mound. The nipping pain was no longer so dull, there was a sharpness to it. They’d be through soon.

Simon stopped in his tracks as the terrible screams of thousands of his people in mortal agony ripped through him. He fell unconscious to the floor.

As soon as he found it, Templar ripped the electric cable from the wall and held it to the soaking, smothering shape on top of him. The room filled with smoke and high pitched screams as the weight fell from his body.

Thousands of rats died before the safety switch cut the power off and the emergency lighting kicked in.

Once again, the red and white tabard was in shreds. Templar looked around, in the half-light, at the carpet of bodies and hoped that was the end. Then it appeared.

A monstrous figure came crashing through the plate glass window of a shop front, straight for the hero. It was a constantly moving knot of rats in the shape of a huge man; it’s appearance made all the worse by the dim light and water from the gushing sprinklers. All around it, the floor was a brown carpet of more of the creatures which quickly leaped up to replace those lost in the breaking of the window.

For the first time in his career as a vigilante, Mark Stoner felt something akin to terror. The abomination before him was a creature of nightmare. But he would not run.

As soon as he was close enough, Simon commanded the man shaped rat pack in which he was nestled to strike its enemy. Deep inside the tangle of thousands of his people, Simon felt loved and secure. He smiled.

Templar ducked under the swinging arm, desperately trying to ignore the barrage of creatures that were leaping at him. He launched a vicious volley of kicks and punches at the monster, knocking living chunks to the blood drenched floor. But each wound he inflicted was healed within seconds as eager rodents filled the gaps.

Twice he had been sent crashing into walls by solid blows. The armour protected him but he still felt the force of the impacts and they were draining his already depleted stamina and batteries. Stun grenades had little effect, doing nothing more than buying him time to back off.

Simon knew he would win eventually but too many of his people were dying. This devil had to be killed, and he knew how to do it.

Templar had backed off, ready to try again, when the rat creature stopped moving. Behind it he could see a tumbling ball of more of the creatures forming, bursting forward, growing so large it scraped the ceiling. He looked behind him, horrified to see the same thing.

Templar didn’t try to run; there was nowhere to go. He braced as the living tide washed over and flattened him to the floor.

Mark heard himself shouting as he swung his arms and legs in a maddened frenzy. Inside his helm he saw his warning display flashing to tell him he was being smothered. The fear of suffocation was lessened as once again he heard the hiss of oxygen released inside his helmet; but it wouldn’t last forever. Concentrating his will against instinct, he forced himself to calm down and ignore the pain and terror of countless skin breaking bites—the lining had failed. He stopped the mad thrashing and regained control of himself. Fight!

Simon stood back, still inside his pack body. He smiled, the killer was buried alive and soon he would be eaten. A bulging heap of rats was on top of him and there were plenty left to replace them. No, he shouldn’t think like that. Casualties must be kept to a minimum in future.

Just as Simon was about to instruct his giant rat body to walk away, a dull crack came from the heap of rats, a few tumbled off the top. Then, with two more cracks, louder this time, the side of the pile was thrown out sending bodies spinning through the air.

Templar calmed himself and reached for his belt pouch, constantly forcing bodies aside as he did so. He set the stun grenade off as soon as reached it. The sudden void created by the explosion gave him a brief moment to get the last two. Grabbing them in his gauntleted hand he held the grenades to his left and detonated each one in quick succession.

Simon looked on in surprise as behind the flying bodies of stunned and dead rats there came a sprinting figure. The white tabard was completely gone but determined rats clung to sections of the vigilante’s armour where the undersuit had been pierced. Simon was pleased to see that his people had managed to reach their enemy’s flesh

As the idiot jumped at him again Simon sighed contentedly. He would just do the same thing again and then again if necessary, until the fool was dead. But more rats would die, and that upset him.

Templar launched himself at the creature feet first, but as he hit he leant forward and started to dig. Rats leaped up to heal the gash in the giant body but they only served to push their attacker further in. His time entombed in the middle of the mound of rats had made Templar realise what a secure place it was.

Simon urged his army to push the attacker away but he was getting closer.

The giant shape was losing its chosen form in its desperation to push the attacker back. Templar knew he’d guessed right. The fact that he was once again buried and he was out of grenades, was not lost on him, but he knew he was close.

For the first time since becoming a god, Simon felt helpless. He was telling his army what to do but it wasn’t working. Then he felt the cold metallic hand on his throat. Staring ahead, through his own eyes instead of those of the pack, he saw the glowing red-slitted eye of his enemy.

Templar hadn’t known what he’d find at the centre of the creature but the filthy little man that he was face to face with was a surprise. Then he recognised him. Scrimshaw!

Simon was frightened when the terrible hand gripped his throat but that was nothing compared to the sight of his enemy’s face. Seeing the face so close released an unbearable memory in the deep well of Simon’s mind, a memory that had already done such terrible damage.

Templar saw his enemy stiffen, his eyes wide and terrified. Simon Scrimshaw, Romeo and Simon the Rat God, died as a weakened heart showed them all more mercy than they deserved.

Templar stood silently as the rats ran back into the dark places where they belonged. A pale, emaciated body lay at his feet. Justice.

The end