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614 lines
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<h1>33</h1>
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<p>Corky stuck the knife back in the loop of his belt. His chest
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was heaving up and down with the huge effort. They were all panting
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like wolves after a long chase and a desperate fight. They were
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stunned to immobility at the enormity of what they had done. The
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stain spread on the canvas. Some blood pooled where the grass had
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been flattened by the groundsheet. It was surprisingly dark.</p>
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<p>"Jesus God," Doug finally murmured, awe-struck.</p>
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<p>"Is he dead?" Billy whispered. His face was still white and
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bloodless. His hands were now trembling, fluttering like birds.
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Tom's mouth opened, closed, opened again. No sound came out.</p>
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<p>"Hope so," Corky said, with awful grim finality. "Come on. We'd
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better get out of here."</p>
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<p>"What about him?" Danny asked. "We can't just leave him, can
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we?"</p>
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<p>"Why not?" Doug said. "He's going nowhere." He went to the bag
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and picked up his slingshot and the gun. He handed the pistol to
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Tom who took it soundlessly and let it dangle from his hand.</p>
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<p>"We should burn him," Billy said and they all stopped. "We
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should make a fire and burn him. Nobody would ever know." Danny
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looked at him and recognised the bleak and terrible shame at what
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the man had done to him in the tent.</p>
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<p>"What do you think, Corky?" Doug asked, deferring now. They had
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all hit, all of them. But Corky had been the first, and then he'd
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gone in with the knife to make sure, right up close, <em>man to
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man</em>, where he could actually touch the twitchy eyed madman,
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stabbing through the canvas sheet.</p>
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<p>Corky turned and his face was still hard and set, bleaker even
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than Billy's. He was considering the best option. His eyes stared
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into the far distance, his mouth drawn down. After a while he
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nodded.</p>
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<p>"That might be the best idea," he said. "Get all the gear
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together."</p>
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<p>Without hesitation, no arguing now, they starred collecting
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their haversacks, trying not to look at the collapsed tent and the
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butterfly bloodstain on the fabric, but unable to keep their
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glances from straying. It pulled them like a magnet. Doug put the
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hammer back in the bag. "What about the tent?"</p>
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<p>"It stays. Burn it all. Phil can swipe another," Corky said. His
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voice was distant and somehow coldly implacable. They'd never use
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the tent again.</p>
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<p>Tom stuck the gun in his own belt-loop and gingerly approached
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the rumple of canvas where the pole had broken and speared right
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through the top. His own bag was lying half concealed by the old
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groundsheet, tucked on the grass that had been blanched by the four
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days without sunlight. He reached, got a hand to the strap, pulled,
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but the bag stayed where it was. He lifted a torn flap, found the
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strap was looped round the bottom of the broken spar and reached to
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free it when the whole tent suddenly bucked. Tom's feet were pulled
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from under him and he fell on top of the pile.</p>
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<p>A hellish roar boomed out, the huge bellow of a wild beast. Tom
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squawked in alarm and Billy got such a shock he stumbled backwards
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and tripped over the rock Doug had used as a weapon.</p>
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<p>The man screamed, in anger or in pain, none of them could tell.
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A hand clawed out, clamped itself on the first thing it touched. It
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was Tom's leg. The fingers gripped like a vice and Tom yelled out
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in real pain and awful fright. His left leg kicked out at the
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wrist, trying to break free.</p>
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<p>Corky ran forward on the far side, grabbed the gun, raised it up
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quickly and slammed it down on the bucking shape. He couldn't reach
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the hand that was holding Tom, otherwise the blow would easily have
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broken a wrist. The harsh and ragged roar cut off instantly and the
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fingers snapped open. The shape under the canvas rolled and Tom had
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to scramble out of the way. Both feet were now out from the
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encumbrance, digging into the ground as the man tried to force
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himself up to his knees. Despite the blood, he was twisting and
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turning with incredible strength.</p>
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<p>He bellowed, a howl of fury, clawed his way out of the far end
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until his head pushed through the rent in the fabric. One eye was
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horribly <em>slumped</em> as if the whole eyebrow and half the
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cheekbone had caved in. It made him seem to look in two different
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directions. Blood was streaming from both nostrils and his mouth
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was dripping both blood and saliva. He was snarling now, jerking
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from side to side to free himself from the restraint and he fixed
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his good eye on Corky, who backed away fast.</p>
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<p>Doug and Tom had backed further and faster, right to the edge of
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the stream. Danny was helping Billy to his feet, scared almost
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witless, but still able to feel the jittery vibration that was
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making Billy's whole body quiver like a bowstring.</p>
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<p>There were no words now, just the guttural, feral snarl of the
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man they'd thought was dead. The fact that he had come alive again,
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was even more frightening. It made him, despite the appalling dent
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in his head and the pooling of the blood on the hard ground,
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somehow invincible and indestructible. He was fighting his way out,
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now halfway to his feet, one hand and arm completely free. He
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pushed violently and the canvas ripped with a high whine. Doug
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backed into Tom who almost fell into the stream. The man pointed at
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Corky, still grunting and snarling, pointed straight at him. The
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threat was shockingly eloquent.</p>
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<p>The other hand came up now, and in it was a large knife they had
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not seen before. Corky saw it flash in the morning light. It looked
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like a butcher's knife. The blade came down and slashed at the
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canvas, slitting it like paper.</p>
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<p>Corky turned, pushed at Danny and Billy. "Run," he bawled. Tom
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and Dog needed no urging. They went pattering across the stream,
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sending up spray. Danny and Billy followed, moving fast, crossed
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the water in four strides and got up the low bank on the far side.
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Behind them, the man was screeching now, his mad fury echoing from
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the high sides in a stuttering reverberation of noise.</p>
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<p>Up the bank and along the low path on the far side, they
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scrambled, now panicked into flight. The crazy man had the knife
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now and no matter what had happened, they were still just boys.
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Danny pushed at Billy who was whimpering now. A dark stain had
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appeared on the seat of Billy's jeans and Danny realised it was
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blood. He urged him on, and behind him, Corky was trying to get
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them to go faster. He shoved him in the back, sending a howl of
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pain down the length of Danny's spine.</p>
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<p>They got to the track that led up the narrow gully. Doug reached
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the broad part first, and despite his fear, he risked a look back.
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The man was right out of the ruined tent now, half naked, with his
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dirty jeans pooled around his feet. He hauled them up, still
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snarling, and somehow managed to fasten them without dropping the
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knife. As soon as he finished that motion, he was moving, running
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across the turf, over the ridge where he'd sat with Billy roped to
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the shotgun, down the shallow bank and started across the stream.
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They all heard the splashing of his progress and Tom yelped in
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panic.</p>
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<p>"Move!" Corky bawled. "Come on. We can go faster than him."</p>
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<p>Whether he believed that was another matter, but he urged them
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all on, up the slope. He knew that if they couldn't kill the a man
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with the hammer and the clubs and the stone while he was rolled up
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and trapped in the tent, or if he wouldn't die with a knife blade
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stabbed three times into him, they had no chance when he was on his
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feet and crazier still with pain and anger. He sounded like a
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wounded tiger and Corky had read all the stories about wounded
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animals. He looked up at the top of the ridge, estimated the sounds
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of splashing behind him, gauged the distance.</p>
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<p>They might make it. They just <em>might</em>.</p>
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<p>Doug, followed by Tom, were on the broad turn into the gully
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where they'd discovered the backed up lake behind the narrow cleft.
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Here the slope was very steep and the track narrowed to six inches,
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the kind of groove sheep make when they climb to the high pasture,
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or down to the stream for a drink. The grit was dry and powdery,
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occasionally broken by a line of pale hard mudstone which gave
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firmer footing, but the surface still kept slipping from under
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their feet.</p>
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<p>Billy made the flat and got to the track, Danny pushing him all
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the way, with Corky right on their heels. The man was about forty
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yards behind them, now snarling words which were all jammed
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together until they were totally incomprehensible. None of the
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fleeing boys mistook their content.</p>
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<p>They scampered across the steepening slope, traversing it,
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moving like startled roe-deer. Even Billy was going at a rate. He
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was sobbing now, in fear and despair, and if Danny hadn't been at
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his back, goading him like a mule-driver, he could have collapsed
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in terror and waited for the end.</p>
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<p>The gully took a turn here, allowing them a downhill run first
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of all to scutter across the shallow rivulet and up the far side
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which was steeper than this one. They all went down in a tight
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line, panting for breath, using the momentum to get as far up the
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other side as they could. Shale and grit slid out from under them.
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Tom slid back two yards and Doug stopped in his flight, leaned
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back, bracing his foot on a stone slab, to haul him back again.</p>
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<p>The man came lumbering round the bend. Danny glanced back, saw
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the red stain on his side, just under the curve of ribs. Blood was
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soaking the waistband of the jeans. The caved-in face looked even
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more insane, like a monstrous gargoyle, but the man was still
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coming after them. Danny's heart tried to leap into his mouth and
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an awful pounding started up in his temples again. His foot slipped
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and he lost some height. Corky blocked him, preventing him sliding
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further and pushed hard, getting him back up again.</p>
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<p>They clambered up the slope, now so steep that one wrong step
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would tumble them down. The whole face was slipping and sliding
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with the vibration of their passage. Tiny avalanches of shale
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hissed and whispered, dislodged to trickle down towards the
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rivulet. By sheer luck and sheer determination, they got closer to
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the top. Beyond the fringe of bracken at the edge, there was a
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grassy corrie that went back for several yards to a hollow
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rock-filled basin before another much steeper climb up onto the
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moor.</p>
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<p>Doug made it to the lip, clambered over, turned, hauled Tom up
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with one brutal and surprisingly strong heave that flipped him
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right up from the slope to land on his belly. Billy reached up.
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Doug clasped the hand in his own in a desperate handshake. He
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braced himself for Billy's weight, leaned back, grunted, and
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dragged the heavy boy up to the flat. Corky pushed Danny up and
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Danny then turned, offered his hand. Corky took both it and Doug's.
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Together they heaved him over. Down the slope, just crossing the
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rivulet, the man came blundering on, still ranting at the top of
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his voice.</p>
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<p>Corky quickly spun round, searched the flat turf. Over by the
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next steep wall he found a hand-sized piece of mudstone which he
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grabbed and hefted. Danny picked up a thick stick that had fallen
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from one of the trees that had managed to find root on the almost
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sheer face. He turned. Corky braced himself, pivoted on one foot on
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a movement just like a baseball pitcher, and lobbed the stone. It
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whirred audibly in the air, spinning at it flew.</p>
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<p>It missed by a good yard and the man ignored it. Corky turned
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away, pushed Doug. "Come on," he yelled. Tom had crossed the flat
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and down into a little dip of a hollow at the base of the corrie
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and was just beginning to go up the slope. Small stones rolled out
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from under his feet. Danny crossed to the edge. The man was only
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thirty yards behind them now, almost vertically below them. He
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swung the curved branch in an easy loop and winged it downwards. It
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spun like a boomerang, spun like the stick that had dropped the
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heron out of the sky.</p>
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<p>It took the man right on the side of the head, where his eyebrow
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and cheekbones were caved in and knocked him backwards. The man's
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hands shot out and the knife spun away. He peeled away from the
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shale face the way Danny had done, but he only fell backwards onto
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the soft scree of the lower slope, his shoulders digging into the
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gravel. Particles of shale dropped on top of him and glued
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themselves to the slick trail of blood on his side and on the top
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of his jeans.</p>
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<p>"Great shot," Corky gasped. He favoured Danny with a look of
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rueful admiration, gave him a quick, desperate grin. "Come on now.
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Let's go." Danny backed away from the edge, still hoping that the
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man might had broken his back in the fall, but even before Corky
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hauled him back, across the level area of the little corrie towards
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the far face and the last climb, he saw the man shake himself and
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roll over, stumbling to his knees, to his feet. He scraped away the
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shale where the knife had landed, uncovered it, snarled even more
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ferally and came on, pushing his way up the slope. Danny had gained
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them maybe twenty yards.</p>
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<p>The final climb was a killer, but it was the only way to the
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top. Here the slope was powdery soft, up at the height where there
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was no drain-water to bind it. Pieces of mudstone flipped out and
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went rolling down under their feet, but there was no other way to
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go. This part of the climb narrowed in at an angle to the place
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where they'd played before. The rock on each side of the angle were
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sheer and offered no handholds save the gnarled and dead roots of
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old hawthorn trees that hadn't survived the impossibly precarious
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hold, but they were too far apart, and would probably pull out of
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the anchorages at the first tug. The only way up was on the steep
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gravel slope where they could dig their feet in for purchase and
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push and haul at each other.</p>
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<p>It was hard going. The first climb had tired them all out, and
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the fear and panic inside them was even more exhausting. Tom,
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smallest, weakest of them all, was beginning to flag. His knees
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were shaking so violently he was convinced he'd simply pitch off
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the side and go tumbling down to the scattered scree rocks in the
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corrie. He was breathing hard and fast, hauling for air. Behind him
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Doug sounded like the old pair of bellows in the organ in the
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church hall. Some thick saliva had stuck at the back of his throat
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and was making a little musical monotone. He kept pushing at Tom,
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forcing him on, getting him higher.</p>
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<p>Billy was struggling now because his heavier weight crushed the
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shale footholds to powder and made it easier for him to slip
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backwards but Danny and Corky shoved at him, holding him up. Danny
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could smell the blood on him. Billy was whimpering in between
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breaths, loud and blubbery.</p>
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<p><em>Up and over. Up and over.</em> The litany was going through
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Danny's head, the way it had done when he tried to climb the last
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time, before the heron startled him and sent the rock crashing down
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to wake the man and wake the gun. His back was burning now, rasping
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with the scrape of his tee-shirt across the skin, but it was only
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hot, not agony. He and Corky were almost level, clambering up as
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best they could while goading Billy on.</p>
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<p>Tom got to the top. This time he made it over the high edge with
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a desperate shove from Doug. He turned to help Doug over, stopped
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and pointed straight down.</p>
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<p>"Come on, Danny. <em>Move!</em>" His high-pitched cry was urgent
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and fearful. Danny couldn't risk looking back. He could hear the
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man's growling, not speaking any more, but just making savage
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snarling sounds in the back of his throat. If Tom could see him,
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that meant he was over the corrie edge and heading for the slope.
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Danny felt the unbearable urge to stop and look, just in case the
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man was <em>on</em> the slope. His muscles wanted to freeze solid.
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He felt like the rabbit hunted by the stoat.</p>
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<p>"Move it, Danny boy," Corky said through gritted teeth. "We can
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make it."</p>
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<p>Up at the top, Tom and Doug were bawling, jumping up and down,
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so close to the edge that one stumble would tumble them down to the
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corrie again, to land them right at the man's feet. They were
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yelling desperate encouragement. Billy was ten yards from the lip,
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almost completely exhausted. It was getting harder for the others
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to push him.</p>
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<p>The sneaky little coward's voice tried to over-ride the litany
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inside Danny's head.</p>
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<p><em>Leave him! We can make it!</em></p>
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<p>He tried to ignore it despite the huge surge of fear at the
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knowledge that <em>Twitchy Eyes</em> was right behind him with that
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big butcher's knife in his hand, ready to cut and slice the way
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he'd cut and sliced Don Whalen and that girl in the dark of the
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bomb shelter. And underneath it all was the paralysing dread that
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the man was unstoppable; that he would not tire, that he'd keep on
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coming. Danny recalled the almighty crack of the club on the man's
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head, a devastating blow that should have felled anybody, and yet
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despite the caved in bone and the <em>slump</em> of his head, he
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was still after them, like a monster from some terrible myth.</p>
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<p><em>Up and over.</em> The top edge was ten yards away. <em>Leave
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him. We can make it.</em> He pushed on, felt Corky's hand on his
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back. <em>Up and over.</em> <em>Jesus please us, oil and grease
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us.</em> Nine yards, eight. Corky slid back and Danny got him by
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the waist band. The knife wobbled in its makeshift holder, but
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stayed put. Danny pushed him hard and Corky gained a yard. The edge
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loomed. Behind him, the growling was getting louder as the man saw,
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with his one good eye, that they would reach it before he caught
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them. Tom and Doug could see him about a hundred feet behind. He
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had taken a run at the slope, slipped, fallen several feet and
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started up from a standstill just above the little scoop of the
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hollow.</p>
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<p>Billy got to the top. Both boys dragged him over, with the other
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two pushing from behind. He got over, flopped and lay still, his
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feet sticking out over the drop. Danny made it, helped Corky up,
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crawled forward through the couch grass, fingers snatching at the
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tussocks to pull himself along. His chest ached with the shale dust
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that had rasped his windpipe and lungs. He was panting like an
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animal. Corky fell beside him, retched violently, but brought
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nothing up.</p>
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<p>"Come on," Doug begged. "Corky. Danny. Come <em>on</em>
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now."</p>
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<p>"Get up Billy," Tom was cajoling on the other side. Billy was
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gabbling, unable to speak, arms flapped out on each side, as if all
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of this strength had gone. He looked finished. Tom hauled his
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exposed feet over the edge and onto the grass, Billy twisted,
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turning his face up to the sky.</p>
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<p>The morning sun was just rising into the blue over the slope of
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the high moor and the whole sky was ablaze with light.</p>
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<p>Corky got to his feet, pushing himself with his last reserves.
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He went back to the ledge and peered down. The man was less than
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seventy feet below them, coming on with dreadful doggedness. He
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seemed to have huge reserves and they had drained theirs. Corky
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looked back at the long slope of the moor ahead. It was not a huge
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climb, but it was still a height and uphill all the way to the
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shoulder before the long run down to the barwoods and the old bomb
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craters and then down to the edge of town. If he kept on coming, he
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could catch them, one or two of them, before the brow.</p>
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<p>"Why doesn't he stop?" he gasped.</p>
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<p>Doug whipped out his catapult and loaded a small stone, pulled,
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fired, and hit <em>Twitchy Eyes</em> a glancing blow on the
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shoulder. He completely ignored it. Danny dragged Billy to his feet
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and pulled his arm round his own shoulder, doing his best to
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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>
|
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</div>
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</body>
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</html>
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