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585 lines
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<title>24</title>
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<div class="section" id="xhtmldocuments">
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<h1>24</h1>
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<p>Billy was sick.</p>
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<p>He had taken two mouthfuls of the trout, skin, gills, bones and
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slick, cold entrails. They all heard the slush-crackle as he
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chewed, jaws working in a crazy stammer. He swallowed, eyes closing
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tight, mouth twisted in utter revulsion. The gulping sound he made
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turned Danny's stomach and for an instant he thought he would vomit
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the sausages he'd eaten for breakfast.</p>
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<p>Billy beat him to it. He swallowed a second time and then his
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mouth opened and all of it came back up again in a projectile gush
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which propelled the glutinous mass out onto the grass.</p>
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<p>The man laughed again, this time a fast, almost girlish giggle
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of sound as if he found the whole display completely hilarious and
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that laugh was just as chilling to Danny as the very fact that he
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had made Billy eat the slimy fish or jammed the gun against his
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friend's head. The whole day had flipped, in the space of a few
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seconds, into a surreal and terrifying kind of nightmare.</p>
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<p>The man's next move surprised them all. He reached forward and
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took Billy by the hair and hauled him to his feet. Billy yelled in
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pain and fright. Danny took an instinctive step forward and the man
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speared him with a fathomless look, froze him to the spot.</p>
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<p>"Don't mister," Billy yelped. "Ah, that's sore. Please. Let me
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g....."</p>
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<p>He was up on his toes now, head back and eyes screwed up, both
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hands raised above his head, wanting to take the fingers out of his
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hair, afraid to touch them. He arched upwards trying to slacken the
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grip and take the dragging pain out of his scalp.</p>
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<p>"Leave him alone," Corky bawled, body bent forward, needing to
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do something. "Get off him."</p>
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<p>The man ignored him. Instead, he let Billy get both feet flat on
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the turf and pushed him, still gripping his hair in his left hand,
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making his head nod rapidly with the force of the sudden shove.
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Billy almost fell forward, got his balance, and the man walked him
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along the track. He raised the gun and pointed it at straight
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Danny's belly. The hollow black figure of infinity, the horizontal
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ebony eight at the gaping ends of the barrels loomed suddenly
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vicious. Danny's sphincter puckered into a tight little nub and he
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still felt everything might just let go. One squeeze on either
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trigger and that black mouth would roar and it would blow a
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plate-sized hole from front to back and kill him in a flash of
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light and noise.</p>
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<p>"Come on, boy," the man said, very gently, almost sadly. "Let's
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all go down together."</p>
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<p>Danny turned, his legs almost unable to bear his weight and led
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the way, all the time aware of the gun. The skin on his back
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puckered in dreadful expectation. His heart thudded with such
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sudden pressure that twin pains pulsed in his temples and his
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vision swam.</p>
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<p>"You three," the man said, his voice louder, raising his face to
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Corky and the others on the higher track. "At the double."</p>
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<p>Danny thought of Billy. That's what he had said after he'd
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crushed the dragonfly larva and thrown the bloated frog back into
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the crater.</p>
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<p><em>Come on you lot. At the double.</em></p>
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<p>That nowseemed like a long time ago. Now Billy was on his
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tip-toes, face contorted in pain. The tableau on the slope froze
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for an instant of dreadful indecision, then began to move again.
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Corky said nothing more.</p>
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<p>They came down the hill, just ahead of Danny and they all went
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down together.</p>
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<p>There was no sound but the burbling water and the thud of their
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footfalls on the short turf where the highland cattle and the
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black-faced sheep had cropped the grass to a short matte. But for
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that half-wild hill cow, and its half-baked cowpat, they could have
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been down stream and gone.</p>
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<p>Behind him, Danny heard Billy grunt in pain or exertion, but he
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was too numbed to look round. He had seen the madness in the man's
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eyes. The fervour had reached out and touched him. The eyes were as
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black as the barrels of the twelve-bore shotgun, but their black
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was deeper, like holes in the world, as if there was a space behind
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them that went on forever and never stopped. It was only the
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rapid-fire blinking, as if they were burning with their own black
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intensity, that briefly cut off the pull of their awesome
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gravity.</p>
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<p><em>Twitchy...</em></p>
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<p>It had come to Danny as it had come to Billy, that epiphany, the
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sudden and apocalyptic recognition.</p>
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<p><em>We know he's a tall man,</em> big John Fallon had said as he
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stood in front of the class with Sister Julia standing beside him,
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each in different versions of black and white uniform. She had
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looked up at him, half his size, a third his weight. They had all
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looked at him. <em>Maybe as tall as me,</em> the big sergeant had
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told them and they'd listened. <em>He's got black hair and he
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blinks as if he's got something wrong with his eyes.</em></p>
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<p>John Fallon had been right. This man was big. God he was
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<em>huge</em>.</p>
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<p><em>Twitchy Eyes</em></p>
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<p>Billy Harrison had looked up from where he was threading the
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thong through the fish gills and the man had filled his entire
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vision. Now he filled his whole consciousness, his entire world.
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The hand gripping his hair held tighter, keeping his head pulled
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back, and the pain screwed into his scalp, making his eyes
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water.</p>
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<p>Danny Gillan felt the skin on his back pucker and ripple all the
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way down his spine,. His whole consciousness was filled with the
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knowledge of the barrels upon him. One slip. One small tug of the
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finger, a squeeze, a stroke, and the gun would cut him in half. He
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could feel a whimper, a little animal sound that was born of pure
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fear, try to ripple up from his throat and push its way out of his
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mouth and he was afraid that if he made a sound the man</p>
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<p>- <em>twitchy eyes -</em></p>
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<p>would react just the way a cat does, jerk at the least sound and
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then...<em>oh then...</em></p>
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<p>Behind him Billy grunted.</p>
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<p><em>No Billy!</em> Danny silently pleaded.</p>
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<p>Billy made a deeper animal sound. The man still had him by the
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hair. Without turning, Danny knew Billy's head was still hauled
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back in that merciless grip, his face white and open and slack.
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Ahead of him he could see Corky's shoulders, all tensed up, the way
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they got when he was angry. Danny could not remember Corky ever
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being really scared. He wasn't big, but he was strong enough and he
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had a profound depth of resources within him. He'd taken his licks,
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taken his beatings. He'd been turned over right royally on occasion
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by a couple of real experts and come bouncing back when the wounds
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healed and the bruises faded or so he let everybody know. Now he
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knew Corky was scared and angry all at the same time. He could read
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that in his tight posture.</p>
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<p><em>Don't do anything stupid...please.</em> Danny heard the
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small and whimpering voice inside his head and he was too stunned
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and afraid to feel ashamed at the tremor in it.</p>
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<p>Ahead of Corky, Doug was walking fast, head slowly swinging from
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side to side although he was trying to hide the motion.</p>
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<p><em>Don't do it.</em></p>
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<p>They were just coming to the edge of the bend where the stream
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took a dog-leg to the left beside the small cascade into the gravel
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pool. Here, another small tributary fed in through a narrow defile.
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Tom approached first, walking with his head down and his arms not
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swinging as they normally would. His shoulders were moving up and
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down and he might have been crying. Danny was more worried about
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Doug. He was thin and rangy, with long, stick-like legs, but he was
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also fast. Whenever they ran from trouble, from big John Fallon
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whenever a lucky - or unlucky - slingshot might crack the bowl of a
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street-light; from the big boys down on the Rough Drain when they
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decided it was their territory, when Doug ran from trouble there
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was never a chance of him getting caught. He could cover the ground
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like a startled deer. He was all limbs and angles, knuckles and
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knees when he walked, but when he ran, all of those angles smoothed
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and merged into a fluid grace, an effortless glide that was as
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sure-footed as it was fleet. Danny saw his head swing slowly as he
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reached the corner. Up that runnel, he could be hidden from view
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for four, maybe five seconds. That might be enough to get him most
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of the way up, even on the slope, to get to the rocks at the far
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end and the trees beyond. It was just a small and narrow gully and
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there would be some cover.</p>
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<p><em>"Don't."</em></p>
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<p>Danny clearly heard Corky's urgent whisper, over the sound of
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their footsteps and Billy's panicked grunts. Doug's head pulled
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back, just a fraction. Behind Billy, the man with the gun made a
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sound, maybe as if he was clearing his throat. Tom went past the
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mouth of the gully.</p>
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<p>Corky had read the signs in Doug, as clearly as Danny had done.
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Doug's head swing again. His eyes glanced up the runnel, gauging
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the distance, knowing his own speed.</p>
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<p><em>No</em>! Danny's mental plea came at exactly the same time
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as Corky's urgent hiss.</p>
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<p>Doug might have been fast, but it was uphill all the way, over
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boulders and rocks, and a slick patch where the water flowed over a
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flat, smooth ledge of rock strata that was covered in slick algae.
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He might have been fast, but he only had seconds, and fast wasn't
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fast enough. He could run, but he couldn't outrun a gunshot. Danny
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knew that, with good reason. Down at the Whale's Back, the big spit
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of tidal sand at low tide on the Firth out from the gunbarrel sewer
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pipe beside Ardmhor Rock at Arden, Danny has seen what shotguns
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could do. His Uncle Mick has taken him down there on cold winter
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mornings to get the duck as they hit in, flying in rapid wedges,
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wings pumping hard, flickering on the surface. Uncle Mick would
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wait until they were level and then he'd haul up on his feet. The
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chevrons of duck would see the motion and then veer away, croaking
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alarm. They were fast, wings whistling as they scooped air, necks
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outstretched. Mick always took them on the back, once they were
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past, doing maybe fifty, maybe sixty. He said it was best to take
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them under the feathers rather than head-on, which might just wound
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the birds. The gun would roar like a thunderclap and the report
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would go reverberating in a harsh and strangely hollow ripple of
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noise across the flat of the tidal sand and up there in the sky the
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feathers would fly and the birds would tumble through the air, over
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and over and over until they hit the ground in hard thumps, ripped
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through by the lead shot.</p>
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<p>Doug was fast, but not as fast as a fleeting widgeon, or a big
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sheldrake. He couldn't do fifty or sixty on the flat, never mind
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uphill, over rocks, over slick stones, over the moss at the top.
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The gully was a funnel. Anybody firing up there, with the spread
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pattern a twelve-bore had, would hit anything. For forty yards
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there was no cover at all.</p>
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<p><em>No</em>! Corky hissed. <em>No!</em> Danny's mind bleated,
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already seeing Doug getting halfway to the trees before the twin
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barrels and their black infinity swung up the runnel (<em>and a
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small and shameful part of him wanted Doug to suddenly swivel and
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take off like a mountain hare because that would take the glare of
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those barrels off his back</em>) and the trigger pull back and the
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barrels spit thunder.</p>
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<p>Corky reached and touched Doug. Danny's heart nearly stopped
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dead. Something like a giant hand gripped all the muscles in his
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belly and squeezed hard. Corky reached and touched Doug and Doug
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jerked as if he'd been stung. Any moment Danny expected to heard
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the apocalyptic roar.</p>
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<p>Nothing happened. Doug's high, tight shoulders sagged to
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slackness and defeat. He continued walking, on past the mouth of
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the gully, following Tom's short, fearful steps, splashing across
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the inch-deep trickle of tributary water. In five strides he was
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past the chance of escape, and away from the certainty of
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retribution. Corky nodded, an involuntary motion that spoke
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eloquently of his relief and in that motion Danny read that Corky
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could not try anything either. His friend's back was still rigid
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with anger and tension and fear, but Corky was not going to dive
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into the bushes, or pick up a smooth rock and try to take this
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stranger's eye out. He had gauged all the chances and come up with
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a zero. At least for now.</p>
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<p>In that glassy moment, the exquisite conjunction of reality and
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unreality, each of them were wholly and completely alive as they
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had never been before. A powerful survival instinct had kicked into
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them all, raising them up to heights of perception where every
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motion, every sound, was imbued with amazing clarity.</p>
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<p>Corky had read Doug's posture too. Everything seemed to go in
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slow motion. The somnolent murmur of the water deepened to a low
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rumble. The lone cuckoo way down there in the trees hummed its
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diphthong, stretched-out and hollow, the sound trailing on and on
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as it faded to eventual silence. The dragonflies, twin pairs,
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striking in black and gold, came gliding over the water. On the
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side of the valley, a small stone, dislodged from the steep gravel
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rolled down to a ledge and then fell off, tumbling in the air to
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land with a bass thud of sound in the pile of soft shale close to
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the bank.</p>
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<p>Corky's thoughts were flicker-fast, sharp as glass, clear as
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ice. <em>Not now.</em> He has thought. <em>Not now.</em> As if he
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could beam the words at Doug.</p>
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<p>"You three, at the double." He had sounded like a soldier, like
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the sergeant down at the drill hall where his Da had hiked the
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grenades. The gun was gun jammed against Billy's neck, just under
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the jawline where his blue-black Indian hair curled thick and they
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had seen the man's stance and the sunlight had frozen on a summer's
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day.</p>
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<p>Crazy, Corky thought. Anybody who would put a shotgun up against
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a boy's neck had to be loony-tunes. Anybody who would force him to
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eat a dead trout, straight out of the stream, with the blood and
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guts hanging out, they had to be non-<em>compost</em>-mentis as
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Billy would say. It stood to reason. A farmer might rant and rave a
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little, convinced you were worrying the sheep or stealing eggs. He
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might put the toe of his boot up your backside, the way big John
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Fallon might do if he caught you swiping stuff out of Woolworth's
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down on River Street. That was an accepted level of violence, the
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<em>quid pro quo</em>. A boy could take that, come and go, roll
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with it and blink back smarting tears before anybody noticed.</p>
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<p>This was different. The whole texture of the day had cracked and
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splintered and then frozen over. The man had laughed that odd sound
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|
and his eyes had blinked in the sunlight and Corky had known.
|
||
|
|
Anybody who stuck the barrels under Billy's chin would be crazy
|
||
|
|
enough to shoot, because the very fact of it could get you thrown
|
||
|
|
in Drumbain for a stretch.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p><em>Not now.</em></p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Corky had done his own calculation, his brain suddenly up there
|
||
|
|
in the high levels of clarity where cold clear winds blew. He could
|
||
|
|
see the big picture, the lines of contact, interconnecting them all
|
||
|
|
in a lacy weave; Tom to Danny, Doug to Billy, to the crazy man with
|
||
|
|
the blinking eyes</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p><em>TwitchyEyes</em></p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>and to Corky himself. If there was a time to move, it was not
|
||
|
|
now. The wrong move would get that gun talking, sure as hell it
|
||
|
|
would. There might be another chance.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p><em>And then again there might not,</em> a nasty little voice
|
||
|
|
whispered. He shied away from it, though it seemed to echo
|
||
|
|
persistently...<em>then again...then again</em></p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>There might be another chance, once they'd all gone down
|
||
|
|
together to the camp. Maybe they would go further, down into the
|
||
|
|
trees.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p><em>Make it the camp,</em> Corky prayed. <em>Stop there.</em> Up
|
||
|
|
here in the valley, they were still in the open, with only scrubby
|
||
|
|
hawthorns and hazels clustered in the rocks and some thick ferns
|
||
|
|
that came up to shoulder height or even higher, further up the
|
||
|
|
slopes, but here it was mostly open to the sun. It was far up from
|
||
|
|
the town, but there was something about it being open that instead
|
||
|
|
of making him feel more vulnerable, seemed to convey a thin coating
|
||
|
|
of protective cover.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Out in the open, you could be seen.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Down beyond the camp, there the trees began, there was dark and
|
||
|
|
shadow under the spreading pines and the broad beech and oak trees.
|
||
|
|
Nobody could see what was done down there. If he</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p><em>Twitchy Eyes</em></p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>took them down there beyond the line of the trees where even the
|
||
|
|
water of the stream was deep and dark at the spate-carved pot-holes
|
||
|
|
then he would do whatever he wanted.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>They would die.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>A shiver ran up and down Corky's back, hard enough to make him
|
||
|
|
feel as if his Sloppy Joe shirt was visibly rippling and he tried
|
||
|
|
to force the feeling away. He could not let them, Billy and Danny
|
||
|
|
see he was scared. He could not let them know how scared, because
|
||
|
|
if they knew, they'd panic and that would make him panic and if he
|
||
|
|
did that he'd have no say at all, no choice and no chance</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The big man with the gun was an all out shrieking screwball.
|
||
|
|
Corky had seen it in the stuttering blink and the odd, head-cocked
|
||
|
|
posture and the way he'd said, quite softly, that they'd all go
|
||
|
|
down together. Corky did not want that man to see the ripple that
|
||
|
|
he felt must be visibly writhing under the fabric for he'd know how
|
||
|
|
scared he was and that would be a bad thing. You never let a dog
|
||
|
|
see the fear. Not a <em>Mad Dog</em>.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Because then it would react. Then it would attack.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Say a prayer Danny Boy, an oddly cool third voice said, almost
|
||
|
|
languidly, over the cold sparkle of his thoughts. <em>Now's the
|
||
|
|
time to collect on the Hail Mary's and Glory-Be's round the
|
||
|
|
fireplace.</em></p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>A mental image came unbidden, of Danny going up with a slip to
|
||
|
|
the window in the confessional like a punter collecting on a line
|
||
|
|
from Harvey Bracknell's betting shop, trading it in for some saving
|
||
|
|
grace. A little shivery giggle tried to bubble up inside him, like
|
||
|
|
a pocket of poisonous gas in the bog. He swallowed it down hard, in
|
||
|
|
case it rolled up to the surface and burst out. He didn't want to
|
||
|
|
hear the sound he might make. It might sound a little high and
|
||
|
|
shaky. A little hysterical and maybe mad.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Billy could see Corky only when his head happened to chance in
|
||
|
|
that direction. The pain in his scalp, where the man had his hair
|
||
|
|
in a vicious grasp felt like fire, like a bad Chinese rope burn
|
||
|
|
that went from one ear to the other. Tears had already sparked then
|
||
|
|
spilled and were cold on his cheek and his thoughts too were high
|
||
|
|
and sparking. He was floating in a bubble of fright and pain and he
|
||
|
|
could hear the blood pound in his ears with the same double beat
|
||
|
|
rhythm of an old Zodiac engine with its big-ends gone.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The man was muttering something under his breath, but Billy
|
||
|
|
couldn't make out the words. The taste of fish slime and blood, the
|
||
|
|
texture of the fresh skin and hard gill-case, that had been awful,
|
||
|
|
but not as shuddering awful as the plummet of pure fear when the
|
||
|
|
gunbarrel had nudged cold under his chin. He had wanted to be a
|
||
|
|
hero, all his life, as far as he could remember, knowing he had the
|
||
|
|
stuff, had the guts to brave the worst. In the films, in all the
|
||
|
|
war movies, he'd seen men shot and killed. They died like they did
|
||
|
|
in the westerns, bravely, with honour, no fuss and with very little
|
||
|
|
blood.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Now he knew. In an instant of clarity when his mind had come
|
||
|
|
suddenly fully awake from the daydream that was his normal state of
|
||
|
|
mentation, and now when it was as clear as glass, he realised it
|
||
|
|
had all been a lie.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p><em>No hero no hero no hero.</em></p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>His father had been <em>nobody</em> and in another ice-sparkle
|
||
|
|
of clarity Billy Harrison knew that he had known that all the time.
|
||
|
|
It had been an unwanted knowledge, lurking out there in the
|
||
|
|
shadows, to be kept at arm's length. He had wanted a father maybe,
|
||
|
|
needed one perhaps, and the one he wanted was not like Corky's Da,
|
||
|
|
rolling drunk on Friday nights, blagging the pigeon club money for
|
||
|
|
booze. Not like Danny's Dad either, ramrod straight behind the
|
||
|
|
family in their Sunday best and a look of disdain for the boys
|
||
|
|
smoking stolen cigarettes at the corner of the street. His father
|
||
|
|
would have been a hero, <em>should</em> have been, like his mother
|
||
|
|
said he was.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>It was a lie. All of it. The films lied. Men didn't smile
|
||
|
|
bravely when they were shot, and fall into comfortable positions
|
||
|
|
and look tragically valiant. He had felt the barrels under his
|
||
|
|
jawline and suddenly the real truth fell upon him like an enormous
|
||
|
|
weight. The gun could blow his head clean off his shoulders in a
|
||
|
|
splatter of blood and slime. It would leave him like the fish,
|
||
|
|
shivering and headless and dead for ever.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Behind him the man spoke again, a muted, almost breathless
|
||
|
|
mutter that was incomprehensible. The voice was low and rumbling,
|
||
|
|
not the high and scary titter of a laugh.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p><em>Dumb fry</em> it sounded like.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Up ahead, Tom Tannahill was walking, head down on the track,
|
||
|
|
keeping his body curved in as if by making himself even smaller, he
|
||
|
|
could become invisible. He felt suddenly exhausted as if the fright
|
||
|
|
had drained everything out of him. His legs were shaking so badly
|
||
|
|
there was a real danger that they'd give way or that he'd lose his
|
||
|
|
step and the man with the gun would think he was trying to run away
|
||
|
|
and....He did not want to think of that.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>It was enough just to concentrate on putting one foot in front
|
||
|
|
of the other and keep walking. He felt light-headed and trickles of
|
||
|
|
sweat were beading just under his hairline to spill down his
|
||
|
|
temples. Every couple of seconds, a flush of heat swept through
|
||
|
|
him, as if he was blushing madly, but it was worse than that
|
||
|
|
because when that happened, there was a roaring noise in his head
|
||
|
|
and the sounds of their footsteps faded away while little white
|
||
|
|
sparkles appeared to dance in the corner of his vision.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Tom took a breath and heard it flutter as his chest hitched, the
|
||
|
|
way it did after he'd been crying for a long time and that
|
||
|
|
sensation made him think of Maureen and how he'd cried then, for
|
||
|
|
days at a time, trying to get to grips with that appalling,
|
||
|
|
incomprehensible loss.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Billy whimpered, just a shiver of inarticulate sound and Tom
|
||
|
|
felt his lungs hitch again. His bladder wanted to let go. The
|
||
|
|
pressure built up suddenly, fierce and urgent and he clamped his
|
||
|
|
hand down on his crotch, pressing hard until the feeling subsided
|
||
|
|
from a burning pain to a warm pulse. A deadly weight of
|
||
|
|
hopelessness dragged down on him and he wished Corky would do
|
||
|
|
something, anything, to get them out of this.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The man with the gun said something, a mutter of sound, barely
|
||
|
|
audible, and Tom almost stopped, fearing an order had been issued
|
||
|
|
and he'd missed it, but even more fearful right at that moment to
|
||
|
|
make any mistake at all. Some instinct made him keep moving and he
|
||
|
|
walked, legs boneless and trembling, sweat dripping down the sides
|
||
|
|
of his face and the nagging pressure to piss rising to a twisting
|
||
|
|
burn. He screwed up his eyes, the way Billy had done when the man
|
||
|
|
grabbed his hair and forced himself to concentrate. He did not want
|
||
|
|
to piss himself.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The thought of that, of the damp, hot stain spreading on his
|
||
|
|
jeans, was unendurable.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"Convoy."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The sudden sound startled Tom so badly he almost slipped off the
|
||
|
|
track and down the shallowing bank. Doug reached to help and the
|
||
|
|
motion twisted him over on his ankle with a twisting snap of pain
|
||
|
|
that flared like a match and made him gasp through gritted teeth.
|
||
|
|
The pain flashed high and then faded. Doug bit back tears and
|
||
|
|
limped after Tom. There was no sound at all from the others, not
|
||
|
|
even a whimper from Billy. Their senses were wound up to a pitch of
|
||
|
|
tension. All of them listening for what would come next.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The man did not repeat himself. Not then.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Convoy? It had sounded like that even to Danny who was nearest
|
||
|
|
to him except for Billy held captive at arm's length. Did he mean
|
||
|
|
we were all in line?</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>They all went down together in their convoy, past the slope of
|
||
|
|
the turn at the white quartz rocks framing the head of the pool
|
||
|
|
where Billy had first jumped into the water to clean the red silt
|
||
|
|
off his jeans and stained the water in streaks of blood red. The
|
||
|
|
water was cool and dark and clear now, the surface dimpled with the
|
||
|
|
small swirls of turbulence. A brilliant blue damselfly wove
|
||
|
|
silently over the moving surface, a silent line of coruscating
|
||
|
|
light. They filed past the turn to where the canyon of the valley
|
||
|
|
widened to the swathe of green where the tent stood, a little
|
||
|
|
lop-sided, close to the shade of the rowan trees. A thin, blue line
|
||
|
|
of smoke rose perpendicular from the embers of the morning's fire
|
||
|
|
where the thick pine log was still smouldering lazily. Further
|
||
|
|
down, a highland cow, russet and hairy but with a spread of horns
|
||
|
|
like cattle on any western ranch turned slowly and watched with
|
||
|
|
impassive black eyes while its calf nosed in at the udders.
|
||
|
|
Eventually the animals moved off into the high ferns at the edge of
|
||
|
|
a clearing, barging through the undergrowth with a crackling sound
|
||
|
|
that reminded Danny of the noise down in the dark of the trees when
|
||
|
|
they'd sat round the campfire talking about old Mole Hopkirk and
|
||
|
|
the flies. Had that been a cow? In the dark, he had sensed eyes
|
||
|
|
watching them, but that could have been imagination. Could have
|
||
|
|
been.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>But the doom-doom-<em>DOOM</em> sound that had woken him out of
|
||
|
|
sleep, that had been no cow. He knew that for certain now. The man
|
||
|
|
with the gun had been watching them from the cover and the shade
|
||
|
|
while they had laughed and had fought. He'd probably heard Corky's
|
||
|
|
tale about the rats under the bank, the <em>Racine rats</em> that
|
||
|
|
came out and ate lonesome travellers beside the water. In the
|
||
|
|
hypernatural clarity of the moment, Danny understood now about the
|
||
|
|
footprint in the shingle and the booming sound coming up from the
|
||
|
|
hollow bank downstream. The man had been announcing his presence,
|
||
|
|
trying to scare them. He had been telling them he was here.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>And now he <em>was</em> here.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>They walked into the clearing and the man's footsteps boomed
|
||
|
|
suddenly loud behind them and Danny knew that was his imagination.
|
||
|
|
Everything about the moment was magnified, from the crackling
|
||
|
|
blunder of the cow and calf to the shimmering streak of the
|
||
|
|
damselfly and the smell of the pine smoke.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"Yeah tho' I walk through the valley of the shadow of
|
||
|
|
death."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>The voice spoke out, clear and boomingly succinct, a deep
|
||
|
|
contrast to the snicker of the laugh up at the high pool.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"I will fear no evil."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Billy's foot slipped on a dried ball of sheep dung and he almost
|
||
|
|
fell forward. The stranger's had pulled him back with a strong
|
||
|
|
twist and another yelp escaped the boy. Pain flared in his scalp
|
||
|
|
and tears sparked again in his eyes. If the man had let him go just
|
||
|
|
at that moment he would have fallen forward right on to his
|
||
|
|
face.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"Nearly there Convoy." This time the voice was almost a growl.
|
||
|
|
Corky assumed he was talking to them. "Can you hear me?"</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Corky nodded, risking a turn towards the man, letting him know
|
||
|
|
he had heard and understood, but the stranger was turned away, his
|
||
|
|
head cocked to the side, as if in conversation with someone
|
||
|
|
else.</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"You listening Conboy?"</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Not convoy. Corky heard it clearly. <em>Conboy.</em></p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>"He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside
|
||
|
|
quiet waters. He restores my soul."</p>
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
<p>Danny heard the words and recognised them too, from long
|
||
|
|
repetition. For some reason his heart sank even further, it felt as
|
||
|
|
if it shrivelled inside him.</p>
|
||
|
|
</div>
|
||
|
|
</div>
|
||
|
|
</body>
|
||
|
|
</html>
|