mirror of
https://gitlab.silvrtree.co.uk/martind2000/booksnew.git
synced 2025-01-11 07:45:10 +00:00
120 lines
29 KiB
Plaintext
120 lines
29 KiB
Plaintext
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
|
|
<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN"
|
|
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd">
|
|
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en">
|
|
<head>
|
|
<title>33</title>
|
|
<link rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="imperaWeb.css" />
|
|
<link rel="stylesheet" type=
|
|
"application/vnd.adobe-page-template+xml" href=
|
|
"page-template.xpgt" />
|
|
</head>
|
|
<body>
|
|
<div id="text">
|
|
<div class="section" id="xhtmldocuments">
|
|
<h2>33</h2>
|
|
<p>Corky stuck the knife back in the loop of his belt. His chest was heaving up and down with the huge effort. They were all panting like wolves after a long chase and a desperate fight. They were stunned to immobility at the enormity of what they had done. The stain spread on the canvas. Some blood pooled where the grass had been flattened by the groundsheet. It was surprisingly dark.</p>
|
|
<p>"Jesus God," Doug finally murmured, awe-struck.</p>
|
|
<p>"Is he dead?" Billy whispered. His face was still white and bloodless. His hands were now trembling, fluttering like birds. Tom's mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound came out.</p>
|
|
<p>"Hope so," Corky said, with awful grim finality. "Come on. We'd better get out of here."</p>
|
|
<p>"What about him?" Danny asked. "We can't just leave him, can we?"</p>
|
|
<p>"Why not?" Doug said. "He's going nowhere." He went to the bag and picked up his slingshot and the gun. He handed the pistol to Tom who took it soundlessly and let it dangle from his hand.</p>
|
|
<p>"We should burn him," Billy said and they all stopped. "We should make a fire and burn him. Nobody would ever know." Danny looked at him and recognised the bleak and terrible shame at what the man had done to him in the tent.</p>
|
|
<p>"What do you think, Corky?" Doug asked, deferring now. They had all hit, all of them. But Corky had been the first, and then he'd gone in with the knife to make sure, right up close, <em>man to man</em>, where he could actually touch the twitchy eyed madman, stabbing through the canvas sheet.</p>
|
|
<p>Corky turned and his face was still hard and set, bleaker even than Billy's. He was considering the best option. His eyes stared into the far distance, his mouth drawn down. After a while he nodded.</p>
|
|
<p>"That might be the best idea," he said. "Get all the gear together."</p>
|
|
<p>Without hesitation, no arguing now, they starred collecting their haversacks, trying not to look at the collapsed tent and the butterfly bloodstain on the fabric, but unable to keep their glances from straying. It pulled them like a magnet. Doug put the hammer back in the bag. "What about the tent?"</p>
|
|
<p>"It stays. Burn it all. Phil can swipe another," Corky said. His voice was distant and somehow coldly implacable. They'd never use the tent again.</p>
|
|
<p>Tom stuck the gun in his own belt-loop and gingerly approached the rumple of canvas where the pole had broken and speared right through the top. His own bag was lying half concealed by the old groundsheet, tucked on the grass that had been blanched by the four days without sunlight. He reached, got a hand to the strap, pulled, but the bag stayed where it was. He lifted a torn flap, found the strap was looped round the bottom of the broken spar and reached to free it when the whole tent suddenly bucked. Tom's feet were pulled from under him and he fell on top of the pile.</p>
|
|
<p>A hellish roar boomed out, the huge bellow of a wild beast. Tom squawked in alarm and Billy got such a shock he stumbled backwards and tripped over the rock Doug had used as a weapon.</p>
|
|
<p>The man screamed, in anger or in pain, none of them could tell. A hand clawed out, clamped itself on the first thing it touched. It was Tom's leg. The fingers gripped like a vice and Tom yelled out in real pain and awful fright. His left leg kicked out at the wrist, trying to break free.</p>
|
|
<p>Corky ran forward on the far side, grabbed the gun, raised it up quickly and slammed it down on the bucking shape. He couldn't reach the hand that was holding Tom, otherwise the blow would easily have broken a wrist. The harsh and ragged roar cut off instantly and the fingers snapped open. The shape under the canvas rolled and Tom had to scramble out of the way. Both feet were now out from the encumbrance, digging into the ground as the man tried to force himself up to his knees. Despite the blood, he was twisting and turning with incredible strength.</p>
|
|
<p>He bellowed, a howl of fury, clawed his way out of the far end until his head pushed through the rent in the fabric. One eye was horribly <em>slumped</em> as if the whole eyebrow and half the cheekbone had caved in. It made him seem to look in two different directions. Blood was streaming from both nostrils and his mouth was dripping both blood and saliva. He was snarling now, jerking from side to side to free himself from the restraint and he fixed his good eye on Corky, who backed away fast.</p>
|
|
<p>Doug and Tom had backed further and faster, right to the edge of the stream. Danny was helping Billy to his feet, scared almost witless, but still able to feel the jittery vibration that was making Billy's whole body quiver like a bowstring.</p>
|
|
<p>There were no words now, just the guttural, feral snarl of the man they'd thought was dead. The fact that he had come alive again, was even more frightening. It made him, despite the appalling dent in his head and the pooling of the blood on the hard ground, somehow invincible and indestructible. He was fighting his way out, now halfway to his feet, one hand and arm completely free. He pushed violently and the canvas ripped with a high whine. Doug backed into Tom who almost fell into the stream. The man pointed at Corky, still grunting and snarling, pointed straight at him. The threat was shockingly eloquent.</p>
|
|
<p>The other hand came up now, and in it was a large knife they had not seen before. Corky saw it flash in the morning light. It looked like a butcher's knife. The blade came down and slashed at the canvas, slitting it like paper.</p>
|
|
<p>Corky turned, pushed at Danny and Billy. "Run," he bawled. Tom and Dog needed no urging. They went pattering across the stream, sending up spray. Danny and Billy followed, moving fast, crossed the water in four strides and got up the low bank on the far side. Behind them, the man was screeching now, his mad fury echoing from the high sides in a stuttering reverberation of noise.</p>
|
|
<p>Up the bank and along the low path on the far side, they scrambled, now panicked into flight. The crazy man had the knife now and no matter what had happened, they were still just boys. Danny pushed at Billy who was whimpering now. A dark stain had appeared on the seat of Billy's jeans and Danny realised it was blood. He urged him on, and behind him, Corky was trying to get them to go faster. He shoved him in the back, sending a howl of pain down the length of Danny's spine.</p>
|
|
<p>They got to the track that led up the narrow gully. Doug reached the broad part first, and despite his fear, he risked a look back. The man was right out of the ruined tent now, half naked, with his dirty jeans pooled around his feet. He hauled them up, still snarling, and somehow managed to fasten them without dropping the knife. As soon as he finished that motion, he was moving, running across the turf, over the ridge where he'd sat with Billy roped to the shotgun, down the shallow bank and started across the stream. They all heard the splashing of his progress and Tom yelped in panic.</p>
|
|
<p>"Move!" Corky bawled. "Come on. We can go faster than him."</p>
|
|
<p>Whether he believed that was another matter, but he urged them all on, up the slope. He knew that if they couldn't kill the a man with the hammer and the clubs and the stone while he was rolled up and trapped in the tent, or if he wouldn't die with a knife blade stabbed three times into him, they had no chance when he was on his feet and crazier still with pain and anger. He sounded like a wounded tiger and Corky had read all the stories about wounded animals. He looked up at the top of the ridge, estimated the sounds of splashing behind him, gauged the distance.</p>
|
|
<p>They might make it. They just<em> might</em>.</p>
|
|
<p>Doug, followed by Tom, were on the broad turn into the gully where they'd discovered the backed up lake behind the narrow cleft. Here the slope was very steep and the track narrowed to six inches, the kind of groove sheep make when they climb to the high pasture, or down to the stream for a drink. The grit was dry and powdery, occasionally broken by a line of pale hard mudstone which gave firmer footing, but the surface still kept slipping from under their feet.</p>
|
|
<p>Billy made the flat and got to the track, Danny pushing him all the way, with Corky right on their heels. The man was about forty yards behind them, now snarling words which were all jammed together until they were totally incomprehensible. None of the fleeing boys mistook their content.</p>
|
|
<p>They scampered across the steepening slope, traversing it, moving like startled roe-deer. Even Billy was going at a rate. He was sobbing now, in fear and despair, and if Danny hadn't been at his back, goading him like a mule-driver, he could have collapsed in terror and waited for the end.</p>
|
|
<p>The gully took a turn here, allowing them a downhill run first of all to scutter across the shallow rivulet and up the far side which was steeper than this one. They all went down in a tight line, panting for breath, using the momentum to get as far up the other side as they could. Shale and grit slid out from under them. Tom slid back two yards and Doug stopped in his flight, leaned back, bracing his foot on a stone slab, to haul him back again.</p>
|
|
<p>The man came lumbering round the bend. Danny glanced back, saw the red stain on his side, just under the curve of ribs. Blood was soaking the waistband of the jeans. The caved-in face looked even more insane, like a monstrous gargoyle, but the man was still coming after them. Danny's heart tried to leap into his mouth and an awful pounding started up in his temples again. His foot slipped and he lost some height. Corky blocked him, preventing him sliding further and pushed hard, getting him back up again.</p>
|
|
<p>They clambered up the slope, now so steep that one wrong step would tumble them down. The whole face was slipping and sliding with the vibration of their passage. Tiny avalanches of shale hissed and whispered, dislodged to trickle down towards the rivulet. By sheer luck and sheer determination, they got closer to the top. Beyond the fringe of bracken at the edge, there was a grassy corrie that went back for several yards to a hollow rock-filled basin before another much steeper climb up onto the moor.</p>
|
|
<p>Doug made it to the lip, clambered over, turned, hauled Tom up with one brutal and surprisingly strong heave that flipped him right up from the slope to land on his belly. Billy reached up. Doug clasped the hand in his own in a desperate handshake. He braced himself for Billy's weight, leaned back, grunted, and dragged the heavy boy up to the flat. Corky pushed Danny up and Danny then turned, offered his hand. Corky took both it and Doug's. Together they heaved him over. Down the slope, just crossing the rivulet, the man came blundering on, still ranting at the top of his voice.</p>
|
|
<p>Corky quickly spun round, searched the flat turf. Over by the next steep wall he found a hand-sized piece of mudstone which he grabbed and hefted. Danny picked up a thick stick that had fallen from one of the trees that had managed to find root on the almost sheer face. He turned. Corky braced himself, pivoted on one foot on a movement just like a baseball pitcher, and lobbed the stone. It whirred audibly in the air, spinning at it flew.</p>
|
|
<p>It missed by a good yard and the man ignored it. Corky turned away, pushed Doug. "Come on," he yelled. Tom had crossed the flat and down into a little dip of a hollow at the base of the corrie and was just beginning to go up the slope. Small stones rolled out from under his feet. Danny crossed to the edge. The man was only thirty yards behind them now, almost vertically below them. He swung the curved branch in an easy loop and winged it downwards. It spun like a boomerang, spun like the stick that had dropped the heron out of the sky.</p>
|
|
<p>It took the man right on the side of the head, where his eyebrow and cheekbones were caved in and knocked him backwards. The man's hands shot out and the knife spun away. He peeled away from the shale face the way Danny had done, but he only fell backwards onto the soft scree of the lower slope, his shoulders digging into the gravel. Particles of shale dropped on top of him and glued themselves to the slick trail of blood on his side and on the top of his jeans.</p>
|
|
<p>"Great shot," Corky gasped. He favoured Danny with a look of rueful admiration, gave him a quick, desperate grin. "Come on now. Let's go." Danny backed away from the edge, still hoping that the man might had broken his back in the fall, but even before Corky hauled him back, across the level area of the little corrie towards the far face and the last climb, he saw the man shake himself and roll over, stumbling to his knees, to his feet. He scraped away the shale where the knife had landed, uncovered it, snarled even more ferally and came on, pushing his way up the slope. Danny had gained them maybe twenty yards.</p>
|
|
<p>The final climb was a killer, but it was the only way to the top. Here the slope was powdery soft, up at the height where there was no drain-water to bind it. Pieces of mudstone flipped out and went rolling down under their feet, but there was no other way to go. This part of the climb narrowed in at an angle to the place where they'd played before. The rock on each side of the angle were sheer and offered no handholds save the gnarled and dead roots of old hawthorn trees that hadn't survived the impossibly precarious hold, but they were too far apart, and would probably pull out of the anchorages at the first tug. The only way up was on the steep gravel slope where they could dig their feet in for purchase and push and haul at each other.</p>
|
|
<p>It was hard going. The first climb had tired them all out, and the fear and panic inside them was even more exhausting. Tom, smallest, weakest of them all, was beginning to flag. His knees were shaking so violently he was convinced he'd simply pitch off the side and go tumbling down to the scattered scree rocks in the corrie. He was breathing hard and fast, hauling for air. Behind him Doug sounded like the old pair of bellows in the organ in the church hall. Some thick saliva had stuck at the back of his throat and was making a little musical monotone. He kept pushing at Tom, forcing him on, getting him higher.</p>
|
|
<p>Billy was struggling now because his heavier weight crushed the shale footholds to powder and made it easier for him to slip backwards but Danny and Corky shoved at him, holding him up. Danny could smell the blood on him. Billy was whimpering in between breaths, loud and blubbery.</p>
|
|
<p><em>Up and over. Up and over.</em> The litany was going through Danny's head, the way it had done when he tried to climb the last time, before the heron startled him and sent the rock crashing down to wake the man and wake the gun. His back was burning now, rasping with the scrape of his tee-shirt across the skin, but it was only hot, not agony. He and Corky were almost level, clambering up as best they could while goading Billy on.</p>
|
|
<p>Tom got to the top. This time he made it over the high edge with a desperate shove from Doug. He turned to help Doug over, stopped and pointed straight down.</p>
|
|
<p>"Come on, Danny. <em>Move!</em>" His high-pitched cry was urgent and fearful. Danny couldn't risk looking back. He could hear the man's growling, not speaking any more, but just making savage snarling sounds in the back of his throat. If Tom could see him, that meant he was over the corrie edge and heading for the slope. Danny felt the unbearable urge to stop and look, just in case the man was <em>on</em> the slope. His muscles wanted to freeze solid. He felt like the rabbit hunted by the stoat.</p>
|
|
<p>"Move it, Danny boy," Corky said through gritted teeth. "We can make it."</p>
|
|
<p>Up at the top, Tom and Doug were bawling, jumping up and down, so close to the edge that one stumble would tumble them down to the corrie again, to land them right at the man's feet. They were yelling desperate encouragement. Billy was ten yards from the lip, almost completely exhausted. It was getting harder for the others to push him.</p>
|
|
<p>The sneaky little coward's voice tried to over-ride the litany inside Danny's head.</p>
|
|
<p><em>Leave him! We can make it!</em></p>
|
|
<p>He tried to ignore it despite the huge surge of fear at the knowledge that <em>Twitchy Eyes </em> was right behind him with that big butcher's knife in his hand, ready to cut and slice the way he'd cut and sliced Don Whalen and that girl in the dark of the bomb shelter. And underneath it all was the paralysing dread that the man was unstoppable; that he would not tire, that he'd keep on coming. Danny recalled the almighty crack of the club on the man's head, a devastating blow that should have felled anybody, and yet despite the caved in bone and the <em>slump</em> of his head, he was still after them, like a monster from some terrible myth.</p>
|
|
<p><em>Up and over.</em> The top edge was ten yards away. <em>Leave him. We can make it. </em>He pushed on, felt Corky's hand on his back. <em>Up and over.</em> <em>Jesus please us, oil and grease us.</em> Nine yards, eight. Corky slid back and Danny got him by the waist band. The knife wobbled in its makeshift holder, but stayed put. Danny pushed him hard and Corky gained a yard. The edge loomed. Behind him, the growling was getting louder as the man saw, with his one good eye, that they would reach it before he caught them. Tom and Doug could see him about a hundred feet behind. He had taken a run at the slope, slipped, fallen several feet and started up from a standstill just above the little scoop of the hollow.</p>
|
|
<p>Billy got to the top. Both boys dragged him over, with the other two pushing from behind. He got over, flopped and lay still, his feet sticking out over the drop. Danny made it, helped Corky up, crawled forward through the couch grass, fingers snatching at the tussocks to pull himself along. His chest ached with the shale dust that had rasped his windpipe and lungs. He was panting like an animal. Corky fell beside him, retched violently, but brought nothing up.</p>
|
|
<p>"Come on," Doug begged. "Corky. Danny. Come <em>on</em> now."</p>
|
|
<p>"Get up Billy," Tom was cajoling on the other side. Billy was gabbling, unable to speak, arms flapped out on each side, as if all of this strength had gone. He looked finished. Tom hauled his exposed feet over the edge and onto the grass, Billy twisted, turning his face up to the sky.</p>
|
|
<p>The morning sun was just rising into the blue over the slope of the high moor and the whole sky was ablaze with light.</p>
|
|
<p>Corky got to his feet, pushing himself with his last reserves. He went back to the ledge and peered down. The man was less than seventy feet below them, coming on with dreadful doggedness. He seemed to have huge reserves and they had drained theirs. Corky looked back at the long slope of the moor ahead. It was not a huge climb, but it was still a height and uphill all the way to the shoulder before the long run down to the barwoods and the old bomb craters and then down to the edge of town. If he kept on coming, he could catch them, one or two of them, before the brow.</p>
|
|
<p>"Why doesn't he stop?" he gasped.</p>
|
|
<p>Doug whipped out his catapult and loaded a small stone, pulled, fired, and hit <em>Twitchy Eyes</em> a glancing blow on the shoulder. He completely ignored it. Danny dragged Billy to his feet and pulled his arm round his own shoulder, doing his best to silence the creepy little voice in his head which told him Billy wasn't worth it. They staggered along the path towards the tree whose roots overhung the steep ravine where they'd played before.</p>
|
|
<p>Below them, the man was snarling again, forcing his way upwards. Doug could see that his eyes, at least the one eye that looked up at them, was flickering away with its madness. Fear and fury made Doug hawk and spit, but nothing came out of his dry mouth. They were going past the tree, moving as fast as they could, all in a line, with Danny still helping Billy when Corky suddenly shouted at them to hold up.</p>
|
|
<p>"We'll never get away, not up there," he said, pointing at the remorseless rise of the moor. "He'll catch us for certain unless we stop him."</p>
|
|
<p>"How can we stop him?" Doug wanted to know. "He's got the knife."</p>
|
|
<p>"What about this?" Tom said, pulling the gun from his waistband. It had stayed fixed there the whole time they'd climbed, despite slips and falls.</p>
|
|
<p>Doug grabbed it, pulled the lever which opened it. There was one slug in the slot, despite the fact that he couldn't remember anybody loading it since the time Billy had fired one at his backside and sparked off the big argument. He turned on his heel, with Corky beside him and went back to the edge. The man had gained, clambering sideways to traverse the flat, steep face of the slope, getting right underneath them, the good eye still twitching madly.</p>
|
|
<p>"Let me," Corky said.</p>
|
|
<p>"You couldn't hit a barn if you were inside it," Doug said, biting down on his bottom lip. The low morning sun caught his big cupped ears and made them redly translucent. He closed one eye, took aim and fired.</p>
|
|
<p>A small crack, like a thin whip, and the gun bucked. The lead slug, slowed by the weak spring, flicked in the sunlight, just a blur but it hit the man in the grotesque, damaged eye and he screeched, clawing up with his free hand. The noise of his bellow echoed out from the cup of the corrie and right along the valley. He slid back five yards, and despite whatever pain the pellet had caused, he still dug in at the shale with the knife to brake his fall. He bellowed again, turned, and began traversing once more.</p>
|
|
<p>"Good shot, Doug," Corky said. The gun was empty and there were no more slugs.</p>
|
|
<p>"We could make it up there," Doug said.</p>
|
|
<p>"You and me and Dan," Corky admitted. "But not Billy or wee Tom. He'd cut them to bits."</p>
|
|
<p>"Maybe he'll stop."</p>
|
|
<p>"No," Corky said, dreadfully convinced. "This one won't ever stop. He's a fuckin' devil."</p>
|
|
<p>He pulled back from the edge and went along the track, casting about for rocks to roll down, but here, the thick turf of the moorland grass covered everything. There were no rocks here. The others were at the tree now, where they'd been playing, the three of them, when the man had stepped across the stream and made Billy eat the fish. They scurried past, urging the others on, when Danny held up his hand and stopped them.</p>
|
|
<p>"What's that?" he asked, pointing at the tree.</p>
|
|
<p>The two black weights sat on the thick branches that had been pulled back from the forked double trunk and tied to the curving roots.</p>
|
|
<p>"It's the bombs," Tom said. "Come on. Come on."</p>
|
|
<p>"Hells bells," Doug said. Corky moved forward.</p>
|
|
<p>"We can use them," he said. "Brain the bastard." The baling twine was looped round the branch that had been pulled back so far that it almost formed a complete circle, and several thick strands had been needed to lash it to the root. It was four inches thick and it had taken all their muscle to pull it back to the root. Corky drew the sheath knife from his belt and started hacking at the string.</p>
|
|
<p>"You go on," he said, turning to Tom and Billy. The two of them turned away, but as soon as Corky started sawing at the thick twine, they stopped. Corky hacked and cut and all the while, over the edge, they could hear the grunting breath of the man's progress. Danny could visualise him, covered in blood and shale dust, his caved eye looking down at his cheek, the knife glinting in the early morning sun. He could visualise him trailing after them up the moor, slashing and cutting, hacking away at them, snarling like a beast all the while.</p>
|
|
<p>"Come on!" he begged Corky, itching to be away, to be off and running.</p>
|
|
<p>Three strands parted with a machine-gun stutter and the branch uncoiled by about six inches. Corky cut again, got a fourth string to break, a fifth. The bomb rolled out of the fork where it had lain and tumbled to the ground. It started to roll down the gradient towards the edge.</p>
|
|
<p>"Get it, quick!" Corky yelled. Doug dived, got both hands to the rolling shape. It slipped, rolled more and he caught it again, managing to stop it before it flipped uselessly over the side. He gasped with effort, heaved it back and Corky went to help him. Together they lifted the heavy, deadly shape into their arms and together they carried it to the edge. Corky peered down.</p>
|
|
<p>"Where is he?" Doug tried to shrug, but with the weight in his arms, he failed in the attempt.</p>
|
|
<p>Just at that moment, the sixth and seventh strings broke with a sudden, unexpected crack and the bent back branch lashed forward, so violently it smacked against another, thicker bough and the whole tree shuddered to its roots. Several stones dislodged by the vibration shot out from under the overhand and went tumbling down the face. Just then the stranger appeared in to view, round the little jutting point that had hidden him from up above. He looked up, saw the small avalanche, pulled back and waited until it was gone. He was crossing this part of the face, right under the tree, over the basin of the little corrie, maybe forty feet below them.</p>
|
|
<p>"I'll tell you when," Corky said. This time Doug nodded. "One two three and go?"</p>
|
|
<p>Another nod. Doug sniffed. Tom and Billy stood watching, unable to move.</p>
|
|
<p>The man was crossing the curve now. Corky gauged the distance, counted it out to himself, then looked at Doug. He counted it aloud this time, each number accompanied by a swing forward, each swing greater than the last.</p>
|
|
<p>"Go," Corky bawled. They both grunted with the effort and the heavy bomb sailed out, fins back. It turned in the air, fins up, dropped straight down.</p>
|
|
<p>The man looked up, saw the black shape plummet towards him. He jerked backwards and the bomb missed him by less than a foot. Had it connected, it would have slammed him right off the slope to tumble to the rocks below. It might even have killed him.</p>
|
|
<p>But it missed. The man spun, and began to slide slowly downwards, trying to grab for a hold, but gathering speed, losing almost all of the height he had gained. He came to rest in a little pile of accumulated shale, digging into its soft surface.</p>
|
|
<p>Corky said nothing. His disappointment was almost overwhelming. He spun away from the edge, hands balled into tight fists.</p>
|
|
<p>"Nothing's going to stop him," he grated through teeth that were clenched into a straight line.</p>
|
|
<p>"Going to get you," the man bellowed up. "Going to get you all. The flies are going to get every one of you." He laughed, high and manic, as insane as ever. Doug felt another shiver travel up and down his spine. Corky ignored the noise. He stormed over to the tree, raised a hand and slammed it against Billy's chest.</p>
|
|
<p>"I thought I told you to move?" he bawled. Billy took a step back. "You want him to catch you? Get a bloody move on!"</p>
|
|
<p>Once again, Billy moved back. Corky looked at him, made a little motion of his head to let Billy know it was just the anger and the hurt and the madness of it all. He turned back to the tree. The second bomb was on its own branch which was lashed the same way, to the thick loop of roots.</p>
|
|
<p>"The next one might work," Corky said. "Want to try it?"</p>
|
|
<p>Danny and Doug both nodded. The beast had slipped down the slope. They had gained yards. They had gained moments.</p>
|
|
<p>Corky took the knife and cut at the twine as before, sawing back and forth, peering down between the roots. Below him he could see the top of the man's head. He was moving on all fours, even more animal now than before, gabbling non-stop.</p>
|
|
<p><em>Kill you. Kill all of you. Nothing left. Not a thing.</em></p>
|
|
<p>He was right below the tree, gaining some height, close to the bottom of the slope. The other bomb was about twenty yards to the right, beyond the lip of the little corrie, lying on its side, two fins dug into the shale. It looked like a small beched submarine. Corky sawed and again, three strands stuttered apart. The jerk as the branch jerked straighter by two inches shook the tree once more. This time, little stones bulleted out from underneath the overhang in a series of punchy little flicks. Corky cut again, reaching out over the drop. As he did so, his foot slipped, just enough to throw him off balance. Danny reached to grab him by the collar and stop him falling over the edge.</p>
|
|
<p>The motion altered Corky's swipe with the knife. It swung round in an arc and caught the pieces binding the branch to the root, slashing through more than half of them. There was another fast series of snaps, one after the other, as the thick twine parted in staccato, ripping sequence. Corky reached out for the bomb which sat on the branch, thinking he could pull it free.</p>
|
|
<p>Below them <em>Twitchy Eyes</em> was coming, grunting and yammering. The tree creaked. They could see the branch, arm-thick and torqued, try to unbend in a slow-motion flex.</p>
|
|
<p>"Corky," Danny bawled. "Watch out. The whole thing's going ...<em>it's going to....</em></p>
|
|
</div>
|
|
</div>
|
|
</body>
|
|
</html>
|