He makes his way slowly
toward the township. As he does, the number of rats he sees
increases dramatically. By the time he reaches the outskirts they
are quite literally everywhere. Scurrying across the road, amassing
by the road, climbing over each other in the drainage ditches,
running up and down the trees, in and out of the dwellings, sitting
on rooftops, spilling into gardens, amok in vegetable patches,
disturbing livestock. Everywhere he looks, there are rats. Too many
rats.
Entering the town, he
pauses, studying their activity as best he can, trying to discern any
kind of pattern. It takes him a few minutes because there are so
many of the damn things, but slowly he comes to the conclusion they
are acting with purpose. Acting together, towards some unknown
common cause.
“That's not right,”
he mutters, spying a hole in the ground where their activity is
particularly frenetic, “Not right at all.”
