Cloud Walker, All Fools' Day, Far Sunset (32 page)

In the dull light, Greville suddenly noticed that Liz seemed very pale and withdrawn. For a while he had been so absorbed in the mute tragedy around him, that he had barely given her a thought. But now he suddenly realised that it would be a good thing to get her outside as quickly as possible – out into the morning sunlight.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘You’ve already seen too much.’

She seemed only to be able to stop herself from running with a tremendous effort. Out in the blessed sunlight once more, she heaved a great sigh of relief. And fainted on the steps.

Greville caught her. After a minute or two her colour came back, and he gave her a bottle of beer.

‘Well, you got what you wanted. You’ve seen the sights,’ he said drily. ‘Shall we put a few miles behind us?’

She nodded. ‘I’m sorry. I thought – I thought …’

‘You thought it was all going to be sad and terribly romantic,’ he interrupted roughly. ‘Well, it isn’t. It’s mean and it’s dirty and it’s downright ugly … Now, if you aren’t going to be sick or anything like that, let’s get in the car and start moving.’

After half an hour’s driving, involving several small detours, Greville took the station wagon cautiously along Old Street and into Shoreditch, where he hit the A10. Then he picked up speed. Driving along the trunk road was easier but more dangerous, for trunk-road districts were the main hunting grounds of most ‘foreign’ scroungers.

Liz still remained withdrawn. She slumped in the passenger seat and stared listlessly at the road ahead. Greville had been a little surprised by her reactions both at the Festival Hall and at the British Museum. From what he knew of her recent existence, he would have thought that she would be able to take the disintegration of London landmarks in her stride. But then, he reflected, the city she remembered would have been a bright, imaginary city of childhood. Despite her ‘cloistered’ life in Richmond – perhaps even because of it – she had probably cherished the happy illusion that things could not be quite so bad in what was once one of the great cities of the world.

Apart from the old man who had dropped his sack and fled, they did not encounter any other transnormals in the journey across London. Greville was agreeably surprised. He did not harbour many illusions about his fellow transnormals, and knew that a well-laden car complete with provisions, guns and ammunition would be regarded by a lot of people as a prize worth taking risks for. He drove with a pistol handy and a loaded shotgun across his knees. If he could help it, he was not going to be taken by surprise.

But it was still quite early in the day and, apart from thoughts of plunder, there was no reason why any transnormals should bestir themselves. Later, no doubt, probably towards noon, London’s dwindling inhabitants would waken up and venture abroad. But by that time he would be clear of the city and on the relatively easy road to Cambridge.

As the car passed without much difficulty through Hackney, Stoke Newington and Tottenham, Greville’s spirits rose. It was a fine summer morning and, despite his alcoholic rendezvous on Chelsea Bridge the night before, he was feeling good. Soon he would be back in Ambergreave; and with Liz – well, at least he would have someone to talk to. And, if required – to use her own description – someone to screw. However, sex was a problem that had not really bothered him for some time. In a detached sort of way, he wondered if it still mattered.

‘How old are you?’ asked Liz suddenly. Her colour was coming back, and she looked as if she was beginning to revive.

Greville had to think for a moment. ‘Thirty-seven,’ he said at last. ‘Why?’

Liz smiled. ‘I wondered about the white hair.’

‘It turned overnight,’ said Greville solemnly, ‘with the shock of discovering that I had reached puberty.’

They both laughed, and the laughter seemed to disperse much of the tension that had been building up.

The ambush did not come until they had almost reached the small town of Ware, thirty miles north of London.

It came on a dull, dead suburban road where most of the gardens and privet hedges of semi-detached houses were so overgrown that the houses themselves were nearly lost to view.

It came in the shape of an old truck that suddenly hurtled out of a side-road and blocked Greville’s path. He braked, swerved and tried to drive round it. But the ambushers had chosen their spot well. The road was too narrow.

To avoid a collision, Greville stamped on the brake pedal and brought his station wagon to a halt with the front wings just touching the rear of the truck. Before he could reach for his gun, the privet hedges on either side of the road parted, displaying at least four rifles or shotguns already covering him.

A figure stepped out of the hedge on the near side. It was brandishing an old army-type revolver.

‘Don’t do anything neurotic,’ piped a thin voice, ‘unless you feel like having your face spread all over the windscreen.’

Greville kept his hands on the wheel and let out an audible sigh. Then he gazed through the open side window at the cheerfully lethal expression on the face of a boy of perhaps sixteen.

The ambushers came out from behind the hedges that had concealed them and stood warily round the car. The driver of the truck jumped down and joined them. Somebody lit a cigarette, somebody laughed. They seemed extraordinarily pleased with themselves. Altogether there were half a dozen of them; and none of them looked to be more than about eighteen.

The boy with the revolver was not laughing. There were tiny beads of sweat on his face, and he seemed to have trouble containing a tremendous and subtle excitement. Greville looked at his eyes – blue, piercing and at the same time oddly remote – and knew that they were the eyes of a killer.

The revolver waved negligently. ‘All right, Uncle,’ said the thin, high-pitched voice, ‘get out of the car very slowly because we’re all terribly nervous, and our fingers have a habit of twitching when we get the least bit upset.’

This injunction was met with a guffaw by one of the other boys. ‘Good old Nibs! He’s a real way-out Charlie!’

Nibs glanced at the speaker. ‘Shove it, Smiler. My sense of humour has a low sugar content.’

The words were spoken very quietly, but as he got out of the car Greville noticed that Smiler seemed to shrink visibly.

‘And now let us observe your esteemed lady companion in all her glory,’ said Nibs. He waved the revolver towards Liz. ‘Come on, now, move your hot little bottom.’

Liz and Greville exchanged glances. Neither of them could read anything at all in the other’s eyes. Liz seemed unnaturally calm. Thank God for that, thought Greville. One little wrong thing and these kids would start shooting just for the hell of it.

Liz got out of the car very slowly.

Greville turned to Nibs. ‘What do you want?’ he said evenly.

Nibs lifted the revolver fractionally until it was pointing at Greville’s stomach. ‘Say sir.’

‘Sir.’

Suddenly Nibs leaned forward, put out his free hand and slapped Greville’s face hard. ‘Say thank you.’

Greville immediately suppressed the impulse that rose in him. He knew that Nibs wanted to kill him. He thought he could get the gun, and he thought
it would take all of ten seconds to break the boy in two. But there were other guns. And there was Liz.

‘Thank you – sir.’

‘That’s better, Uncle. Now go down on your knees and beg my forgiveness for asking tiresome questions.’

Greville got down on his knees, not daring to look at Liz. One of the boys sniggered. ‘That Nibs. He has style, man. Real style.’

‘I beg your forgiveness, sir,’ said Greville quietly. He was thinking: so long as this kid can show them how big he is by using me as a door-mat, he’ll let me stay alive.

‘That’s better, Uncle. We begin to understand each other. You may kiss my shoes.’

Greville kissed his shoes. Nibs lightly kicked his face for the privilege. The rest of the gang found this excruciatingly funny.

‘Stand up, Uncle. You’re overdoing it.’

Greville stood up. Nibs spat in his face.

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Uncle,’ said Nibs, ‘you’re bright. But don’t let it go to your head.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Now what kind of treasures have you got in your nice little motor-car?’

‘Guns, ammunition, some shirts, woodworking tools, a crate of beer and a few books.’

Nibs slapped him again. ‘You forgot to say sir.’

‘Sorry, sir.’

‘It looks to me, Uncle,’ said Nibs pleasantly, ‘as if you might have come by your little haul somewhat dishonestly. That is not nice, is it?’

‘No, sir.’

Nibs glanced at his companions and sighed. ‘My dears! What is the older generation coming to?’ There was a gust of laughter. Nibs turned to Greville once more.

‘I hope you are bitterly sorry for your sins.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Repeat after me: I am filled with remorse and penitence.’

‘I am filled with remorse and penitence, sir.’

‘I am very distressed by your recent lack of honesty, Uncle,’ said Nibs solemnly. ‘I know the temptations are great in this wicked world, but you should try to be strong. You didn’t try hard enough, did you?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then you must try much harder in future – if you have a future. Meanwhile purely in the interests of justice, we shall have to confiscate this little lot. Firearms are particularly dangerous in the hands of inexperienced persons.’

Greville was beginning to understand how Nibs had become the leader of a gang of boys most of whom were older and stronger than he was. The boy, despite his weak face and effeminate voice, had brains and a literally striking personality. He also had a sure feeling for his audience. At the moment, the other boys were hanging on his every word and enjoying themselves hugely. Through Nibs, no doubt, and on the person of Greville they were wreaking vengeance for the lost security of a world that had simply gone from bad to worse throughout the major part of their young lives.

Most of them had probably been orphaned years ago, and they could only have survived by good luck and sheer singlemindedness. Greville could imagine the kind of terrifying problems with which they would have had to cope. Objectively, he could be sorry for them all. Subjectively, he felt like killing them – particularly Nibs – with his bare hands.

So far, Liz had done nothing except watch Greville make his bid for survival by passively accepting whatever form of abasement the boys cared to thrust on him. In the bright sunshine she thought his face looked tired and old. A good deal older than thirty-seven. She felt sorry for him. She felt sorry for herself too. She thought he was underestimating Nibs and his confederates. She thought they were both going to be killed anyway. She thought it would be a good idea to try to take one or two of these nasty little transies with them. All she needed from Greville was a sign. But there was no sign. Nothing at all.

Then Nibs was talking again. ‘Now, Uncle, having satisfactorily disposed of the burden of your worldly possessions, let us consider your only remaining problem. What about hot bottom, here?’ He gave Liz a look of moist malevolence.

‘She’s my woman – sir.’

‘Your wife?’

Greville thought quickly about that one. ‘No.’ He collected another slap. ‘No, sir.’

Nibs was really enjoying himself. ‘Uncle, you distress me. Not content with stealing, you also have an unwholesome taste for fornication … That is very naughty. Repeat after me: I am a dirty old man.’

‘I am a dirty old man, sir.’

‘Do you repent of this sordid fornication?’

Greville hesitated, and the gun barrel rose again. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it. We shall remove the temptation.’ He turned to Liz. ‘Take off your clothes, dearest. We wish to inspect the charms that have turned poor Uncle here into a sinful old gentleman.’

Liz did not move. She looked past him, trying not to think.

‘Big Ears,’ said Nibs, addressing a dullish youth who was at least as tall as Greville and probably about twenty pounds heavier, ‘help the lady to disrobe.’

Big Ears grinned, laid down his shotgun and took hold of Liz. She kicked him. Big Ears laughed and hit her in the stomach. Liz groaned and doubled up. Big ears pushed her to the ground and rolled her on her back. Then he tore her blue shirt open from neck to waist.

Liz kicked him again, and again he hit her in the stomach. Then he ripped the shirt off over her head, leaving her panting and groaning.

‘All right?’ said Big Ears, looking at Nibs.

‘For the moment.’ Nibs was watching Greville and relishing the situation.

‘She’s a proper little playmate,’ said Big Ears. He scooped Liz up almost fondly and set her on her feet. ‘There’s still quite a bit of mileage left in her, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Yes,’ said Nibs, still looking at Greville. ‘I imagine Uncle, here, hasn’t ever tried her in top gear.’

‘She looks a pretty fair shag,’ said one of the other youths. ‘How about it, Nibs?’

‘Let’s have a go,’ added Big Ears almost pleadingly. ‘There’s nothing else to do before we send ’em.’

Nibs smiled. ‘Boys, whatever are you thinking of? Here am I trying to re-educate Uncle. Do you want to set him a bad example?’

There was a burst of laughter. Nibs turned to Greville with a sigh, and shrugged. ‘Boys will be boys, Uncle … I do hope you will forgive their gay high spirits.’

Greville said nothing. Nibs hit him and he still said nothing. He knew he wasn’t going to be killed now until they had finished raping Liz. That gave him a little more time. What use it would be, he did not know. Probably they were both going to be killed anyway. He wondered cynically whether Liz would really prefer to die before or after. But he didn’t look at her. He hadn’t the courage.

‘Uncle is sulking,’ said Nibs. ‘Let’s see what we can do to cheer him up … Smiler, you and Big Ears and Mumbles can play with darlingest on the lawn for a few minutes – and don’t make it longer than five each because Jim-Jim and Lookers won’t be very happy if there isn’t much left … Jim-Jim, move the truck in case we have visitors. Lookers, you can help me entertain Uncle until Smiler and Co. have got rid of their problems.’