James Herbert - ‘48

‘I was a spy, you know,’ he said.

‘Yeah, I know,’ I replied. ‘But it doesn’t matter any more. Now, let’s get going before the rest of ‘em find us.’

Tucking the pistol into the waistband of my pants, I guided Stern towards the light, stooping to pick up the Thompson as we went. I took a quick peek out into the hallway while Cissie held the injured German steady.

‘All clear,’ I told them. ‘The river entrance is up those stairs and it’s the easiest and quickest way out.’

One of Cissie’s arms was stretched across Stern’s chest as she kept the makeshift pad tight against the bullet wound, and her other hand was wrapped around his upper arm.

‘Can we really make it, Hoke?’ she asked, her wide eyes studying my face for the truth. ‘Won’t they realize we’ll try and get out that way?’

‘Depends. I’m hoping those bombs have caused too much confusion for Hubble and his people to think straight. We got other choices – it’s a warren of rooms and passages down here – but I don’t think our friend would make it. The sooner we break out, the sooner we can fix him up.’

If I’d been on my own, or even just with the girl, it would’ve been a cinch. I’d taken time during my stays at the Savoy to locate all the trade and staff exits, every outlet from the basement area, as well as the quickest way to them; but now I had an obligation. Stern had saved my life – twice – and I wasn’t about to let him down. Sure, he’d riled me with his arrogance earlier that evening, but he’d just been hitting back, mocking my expectations of him as a German. And it was Muriel who’d joined up with the Blackshirts, not Stern; he’d helped me fight them.

We were halfway up the stairs to the riverside entrance hall when we heard the trampling of many feet from somewhere over our heads. Stern was making a fair effort of getting himself up those stairs without relying entirely on me and the girl, but it was slow progress and I wondered how long his strength would hold out. Concentrating on each step, he seemed oblivious to the noise from above, but Cissie looked across him at me, her panic not far from the surface.

‘Keep him coming,’ I said to her, letting go of Stern and racing up to the entrance hall above.

I’d just reached the top when I saw the first of the Blackshirts beginning to descend the stairway from the first-floor foyer and I lifted the Thompson just as they set eyes on me. With cries of alarm they backed up, a couple of them turning to run, and I sent a hail of bullets after them. The Thompson submachine gun never was an accurate weapon, but it had a good effect, enough to hold the goons off ‘til Cissie and Stern were stumbling past me towards the glass exit by the side of the revolving door. Another burst to give the Blackshirts something more to think about, then I was rushing through the exit behind them.

Glass shattered around us as the goons returned fire, sprinkling our hair, peppering my naked skin, and I turned in one last effort to keep them back, the muzzle of the Thompson already spitting flames. One of the bolder Blackshirts was halfway down the stairs when my gunfire raked his chest, knocking him over, his arms outstretched, rifle flying into the air. He started to slither the rest of the way down, but I didn’t stay to watch: I was out in the open, running along the alleyway created by the zigzag barrier, quickly catching up with Cissie and Stern. I kicked away the plank across the entrance to the alley and then we were out into the night.

We stopped dead at what confronted us.

Lights still shone dimly from the Savoy ’s shattered windows, some of those lights a flickering orange, the glow of fires inside, and their reflections were thrown across the narrow roadway and park opposite. The moon lent its own illumination. All of it revealing the people gathered outside the hotel, their numbers scattered, some in small groups, others solitary.

They watched the burning building, upturned faces shimmering in its glow, and there was a strange emptiness in their staring eyes. Without counting, I guessed there were a couple of dozen of them, maybe a few more than that, some of them, obviously sick with the Slow Death, supported by healthier companions, most dressed in fine clothes, a few – mainly the single people – in tattered rags. There were children among them – a little girl, no more’n five or six, clinging to a woman I assumed was her mother (or maybe her adoptive mother); two boys, twins by the look of them, about seven years old, holding hands and standing close to a man and woman; a toddler, around two years, clutching a dolly and in the arms of a bearded man – and, unlike the adults, these children had a look of wonder on their faces as they gazed up at the lights and flames. Then they began to notice us, and soon all of them were looking in our direction.

Several backed away, as if in fear, but going only as far as the park railings. Others watched us with surprised curiosity, and maybe with hope.

‘Hoke,’ Cissie said breathlessly, ‘who are these people?’

‘Beats me,’ was all I could reply.

Stern, leaning heavily against Cissie, looked at us both. ‘Like moths attracted to a flame,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘In this case, to the lights, don’t you see? Hoke, you must warn them.’

A noise from behind, a scuffling of hard leather on concrete, made me wheel around before I could say any more. The Blackshirts were filing along the alleyway, trying to move quietly now that they saw we were no longer running. I fired from the hip, taking out the first two, sending the others scuttling back. But that last burst had used up all that was left of the ammo and the Thompson was lifeless in my hands. I cursed as I threw it away – there should’ve been fifty rounds in the drum magazine, but much of the ammo must have been used up earlier by the Blackshirt I’d taken it from – and drew the pistol from my waistband.

‘Hoke!’

I turned at Cissie’s cry and saw more dark figures rounding the corner from a side street further along, Blackshirts who’d found other exits out of the blazing building. They came to an abrupt halt when they saw the silent strangers standing in the roadway and on the opposite pavement A shout went up when they spotted us next

‘Oh God, we’re trapped.’ Cissie had spoken to me as if I didn’t appreciate the seriousness of the situation.

‘No we’re not. We can get through the park.’ I pointed the pistol in the other direction where there was a small gate in the iron railings.

‘But these people – we’ve got to help them.’

I took Stern from her, pulling his arm over my shoulder once more, keeping my gun hand free. ‘There’s nothing we can do for ‘em, they’ll have to take care of themselves!’

I moved off, slowed down by Stern, using the brick barricade as a screen between us and the Blackshirts who were outside the riverside entrance.

‘Keep up with us!’ I yelled back at Cissie as she hesitated.

‘Run!’ I heard her shout at the waiting people. ‘Don’t stay here! Don’t let them take you!’

When I looked over my shoulder they were still standing there, confused, probably afraid, not knowing what the hell was going on. I fired a couple of shots over their heads to put some life into them, but although one or two started to run away, the rest cowered or sank to the ground.

‘Cissie, come on!’

Reluctantly she began to follow and when shots were fired from the goons near the corner, she caught up fast. There were more figures loitering in this stretch of road and we tried to convince them that it was in their best interest to get away, but, like the others, they seemed too bewildered to move. Maybe they thought we were the villains, that those uniformed people were the only law the city had left; or maybe they thought they’d be shot if they did try to escape. I didn’t know, and right then I couldn’t help ‘em: I was too busy saving my own and Stern’s skin, and I guessed that Cissie was now of the same mind – she’d caught up with us and was taking some of the injured German’s weight. We couldn’t help them if they didn’t want to be helped; we could only offer some hurried advice. And we did. Even with bullets whistling over our heads, we yelled and tugged at those closest to us as we made our way to the park gate; but it was no good, they just crouched low to the ground to avoid being hit. Of course, it was really the strangers who were helping us, because not only were the Blackshirts afraid of harming any part of this precious new consignment of healthy blood, but our rarity value had depreciated considerably.