Catherine Jinks TheRoad (97 page)

Fired its sixth bullet.

Alec’s hands recognised its sleek shape and gleaming attachment even as it was yanked, convulsively, from his grip.

He saw the muzzle whip towards him, heard the ratchet of the trigger, smelled kerosene. It was a sensory avalanche, swamping him; his hands jerked up to fend off the swinging barrel.
Crump!
The pain shot from his wrist, radiating outward. But the noise that he heard was someone else screaming. He rolled again, away from the man with the gun, who was lurching up, who was hurling the weapon at – whom?

Noel?

It had to be Noel. Alec caught the gleam of his glasses. Thrown into dark relief against a glowing, reddish backdrop, Noel ducked to avoid the rifle, which traced a jagged arc through the air before striking the ground, bouncing, coming to rest. Noel threw something else in response – an empty bottle – but it never hit the fleeing shooter, ricocheting off a tree instead.

Noel. Alive after all. The first shot must have missed him.

By this time Alec was on his feet again, groaning from the pain in his wrist and his knee. He saw the man swerve around the back of the station wagon, his lanky outline blocking the firelight. John Carr. He was unmistakable, though one arm hung limp.

‘
You fucker
!’ Alec screeched, emboldened by a sudden and utterly transforming access of rage. He darted forward.

But Linda reached the man first. She came around the other side of the car and surprised him.

It seemed to Alec that everything slowed to a crawl – that the very gush of fluid itself lost so much momentum that every drop floated through the air like a bubble. An eternity seemed to pass before the kerosene collided with John Carr’s swivelling head and shoulders. Alec knew it was kerosene because he’d had ample time (or that was his impression, anyway) to pick out the glint of steel in Linda’s hand; to recognise the shape of the tin; to smell the clutching, chemical smell. And any doubts that he may have had were laid to rest when John Carr, propelled sideways by this surprise attack, tripped and fell into the fire.

It consumed him.

In a great billow of blue and white and orange flame, it enveloped him like water. Alec could have sworn that, for an instant, he was swallowed up entirely. Then black arms appeared, thrashing, and a blazing body staggered out of the conflagration, dragging it with him, stumbling, falling. Linda screamed. Alec screamed. Noel was shouting something – Alec didn’t know what – and the flames licked over the rolling body, jumping off onto dry tufts of grass where it writhed over them. Noel ran towards it, a blanket in his hands. (The dog’s blanket?) As he cast this woollen shroud over the croaking, shuddering shape at his feet, something happened that told Alec all he needed to know.