James Chase - The World in My Pocket

She leaned forward and her lips brushed his cheek.

The sun coming through the chink in the entrance to the tent woke Bleck. He opened his eyes and stared up at the sloping canvas roof, and it took him several puzzled moments to remember where he was.

He closed his eyes, frowning, feeling the stiffness in his bones from lying all night on the hard ground. Well, at least, they had found a good hiding place, he thought. If they had any luck they could remain up here safely until Gypo opened the truck.

There was a lake with running water, a fair-sized wood that gave them complete cover from the aircraft that patrolled overhead, and they were a good five hundred yards off the road.

No one would believe it possible that the truck could have been driven up that washed-out road. No one was likely to look for them here. Now everything depended on Gypo. If he couldn’t beat the lock, then he must use the flame.

It maddened Bleck to think that he had had the truck in his possession for four days and still the money was out of his reach. He opened his eyes and squinted at his watch. The time was five minutes after six. Then, raising his head, he looked across at Ginny who was curled up, her head on a rolled-up coat, a blanket over her, still sleeping.

Kitson lay between the girl and Bleck, and he was sleeping. There wasn’t much room in the tent, but they all had to sleep in there as it was too cold at night to sleep out in the open. Bleck looked over to see if Gypo was sleeping. Immediately he stiffened and sat up, for Gypo wasn’t in the tent.

For a moment, Bleck felt alarmed, then he relaxed a little, thinking Gypo was probably outside, getting the breakfast ready. But he had to be sure and he threw off the blanket and gave Kitson a hard nudge with his foot, waking him.

‘Come on!’ he said as Kitson lifted his head to blink at him. ‘Gypo’s up already. We’ve got work to do.’

Kitson yawned, then as he was nearest to the exit, he crawled out, blinking in the sunshine.

As Bleck joined him, Ginny sat up, rubbing her eyes and stretching.

‘Where’s Gypo?’ Kitson asked, looking around the small clearing in the wood.

Bleck looked over at the caravan, well hidden under the trees.

He looked across at the small lake.

There was no sign of Gypo.

Cupping his hands to his mouth, Bleck bawled, ‘Gypo!’ at the top of his voice. There came no answering call and the two men looked at each other.

‘The creep’s run out on us!’ Bleck said furiously. ‘I should have watched him. He’s gone.’

Ginny came out of the tent.

‘What is it?’

‘Gypo’s gone!’ Kitson said.

‘He can’t have gone far,’ Ginny said. ‘He was in the tent twenty minutes ago. He was sleeping.’

‘We’ve got to get him back!’ Bleck said violently. ‘Without him, we’re sunk! He must be crazy! It’s more than twenty miles to the highway and he’ll have to walk every yard of it!’

Kitson ran to the road and Bleck went with him.

They paused at the edge of the grass verge and looked down the long, steep incline to the narrow zigzag white road, cut into the face of the mountain that twisted and turned down into a haze of mist, covering the valley.

Kitson suddenly grabbed Bleck’s arm, pointing.

‘There he goes!’

Bleck screwed up his eyes. He could just make out a tiny figure moving along the road, a mile and a half below.

‘We can catch him!’ Bleck said. ‘I’ll make him sorry he was born when I get my hands on him! We’ll take the car!’

‘No,’ Kitson said. ‘The road’s too narrow. We’d never turn it to come back. We’ll go down the hill side. That way we can do two miles to his half.’

He got off the road and started down the steep slope, sliding, jumping when he could, but sliding most of the way.

Bleck hesitated. It looked dangerous to him. He started after Kitson, but at a slower pace.

Kitson reached the road, crossed it, lowered himself over the grass verge and started down the slope again. It was now steeper and he had to go more slowly. Once he nearly pitched forward and he only saved himself by throwing himself backwards and then sliding down to land with a flurry of dislodged stones onto the road again.

Recovering, he paused to look down.

He could now see Gypo clearly.

Gypo was jogging along downhill, covering the ground at quite a pace.

Bleck joined Kitson.

‘There he goes!’ Kitson said.

Snarling, Bleck pulled his gun.

‘What do you think you’re going to do?’ Kitson said, grabbing Bleck’s wrist. ‘He’s the only one who can open the truck, isn’t he?’

Bleck’s face was streaming with sweat and he was gasping for breath. Savagely, he wrenched his wrist free and shoved the gun back into its holster. Then he started down the next slope.

As Kitson was about to follow, he saw Gypo suddenly pause, stop and stare up the mountain side. For a moment, Gypo stood motionless. Then he started to run.

‘He’s seen us!’ Kitson bawled to Bleck. Then raising his voice, he yelled, ‘Gypo! Stop! Come back!’

But Gypo didn’t stop. He ran on doggedly. His legs felt like lead and his lungs seemed to be bursting.

He now realized the futility of this attempt to escape.

He had woken in the tent and seeing the other three were sleeping soundly, he had suddenly decided to go home. He hadn’t thought that he would succeed in getting out of the tent without one of them waking, but he was urged to try. He had squirmed out of his blanket, then, crouching, he had undone the flap of the tent, stepped over Kitson’s sleeping body and was out in the sunshine, scarcely believing it had been so easy and simple.

He hesitated then. He knew he had over twenty miles of lonely road to cover before he reached the highway where he could get a lift back to his workshop.

The time was five minutes past six. The chances were those three would sleep on until seven or even eight. That would give him an hour’s start — two with any luck — before they realized he was gone.

That decided him, and he set off at a fast walk down the road. He had been walking a little over half an hour and had covered nearly two miles when he heard the sound of falling rocks, far above him.

Looking up, he saw Bleck and Kitson coming down the hillside, sliding and nearly falling, but coming at an alarming pace.

The sight of them filled Gypo with terror.

He heard Kitson yell, ‘Gypo! Stop! Come back!’

He began to run blindly.

He hadn’t run more than a few hundred yards before he realized he could never keep up this pace. Again he looked back.

Bleck was slithering down the slope and, as he watched, he gained the road. Kitson was coming down in a cloud of dust, sliding on his heels, sending a shower of stones before him.

Like a frightened, hunted animal, Gypo left the road and began to rush madly down the slope. In a few seconds, he lost his balance and fell face forward. His hands took the shock and he began to roll over and over.

He came to a gasping halt near the road. Desperately he scrambled to his feet and looked back over his shoulder. At the level he was now on, he realized neither Bleck nor Kitson could see him, owing to the overhanging rocks that screened him from their view. Although he couldn’t see them and he had a feeling of momentary safety, he could hear them and the sound of their movements sounded alarmingly close. He looked around wildly, sure that in a few minutes, they would catch up with him.

To his right was a wide stretch of short thick scrubs that grew on the mountainside. His one panic-stricken thought was now to hide, and he bolted headlong into the shrubs, wading thigh-deep through the close undergrowth, tearing his trousers against the stiff little shrubs, but not caring, until he reached the centre of the thicket, then he threw himself down, and stretched out flat, the shrubs closing over him like the covering of a protective blanket.