James Herbert: ‘48

That first woman crawled past my legs and then was gone, out the door, making – I hoped – for pastures new. An older woman, grey-haired, wrinkled face, was climbing over benches towards me, a boy of about sixteen helping her. Then came the two boy twins I’d noticed outside the Savoy, hustled by a middle-aged woman. A young girl, no more’n fifteen, leapt from the benches and scooted in my direction, bumping my elbow as she went by. They’d all caught the drift, they’d seen their chance to escape. But I couldn’t leave with them, not ’til Muriel was by my side. And not ’til Hubble had time to organize his men for the chase.

Bullets thudded into the wall beside the door, causing me to crouch, then return fire. More shouts, more screams – more gunfire. But the crowd before me was thinning, everybody scattering for cover. A man – a fleeing hostage – fell into me, knocking me back against the open door, and when he slumped to the floor, clawing at my clothes as he went, I saw the blood spurting from the holes in his back. A great crush of people surged towards me and I knew if I didn’t get out the way I’d be trampled underfoot, gun or no gun. Muriel was close to the front, but somebody tripped in front of her and she and others behind her went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

Another burst of gunfire just to keep things hot and I stepped forward, reaching into the jumble for her, my fingers managing to close around her wrist. I pulled hard and she came up fast, crashing into my chest, her hands resting on my shoulder. I thought I heard her say my name, but there was too much clamour, too many screams and moans, to be sure. I took her with me, backing towards the doorway, watching the advancing Blackshirts among the crowd as we went.

One particular goon was too close for comfort and I knew I had to stop him. But nothing happened when I pulled the Sten’s trigger. Without even thinking about it, I tossed the submachine gun into my left hand and reached for the P-35 with the other. I shot almost from the hip – no time for anything else – and the goon screamed as he clutched his belly and staggered. He fell to his knees, then went down as bodies piled on top of him. Others behind the heap hesitated, watching me warily.

I stepped away from the exit and waved at it with the pistol. ‘Come on, get going!’ I shouted. ‘I’m with you!’ The bolder ones among them believed me and ran outside.

By now Hubble’s army had worked themselves into a frenzy and those with guns started blazing away at the ceiling, frustrated because they still didn’t have a clear line on me. Blue smoke curled in the air and the uproar was deafening; I figured it was time to make my exit. At any moment those Blackshirts would be up on the benches to get a better shot at me, so I re-holstered the pistol and bundled Muriel out the door, breaking into a run as soon as we hit open air. I gripped her wrist to keep her with me and carried the Sten by its body. Those who’d already fled the church were scattering across the courtyard and I silently wished them luck, hoping they wouldn’t quit running ‘til they were on the other side of London. Muriel and me, we cut across the overgrown lawn, our steps high through the long grass, heading diagonally towards the broad stone steps and path that led to the passageway beneath the Bloody Tower. The lane beyond it led to a wooden bridge, which crossed the moat to the wharf road, and if the Blackshirts didn’t cut us down before we reached it we had a chance. We were running on a prayer, but that was nothing new for me.

We passed the empty Vickers machine gun, so far, so good, and kept going; if we could get to the path below the steps we’d be out of sight for a stretch, maybe even long enough to get under cover of the passageway before they opened fire on us. But wouldn’t you know it, it was at that point that Muriel decided to take a tumble. I tried to hold her, but her shoe just slipped from under her and she went sprawling, squawking as she rolled over.

Instead of minding her I whirled around, pulled out the used-up magazine and inserted a fresh one from the bag I carried, my hand slipping into the Sten’s pistol grip as I faced them. What was left of the black army was pouring round the corner of the chapel, still a few hostages among them, the Blackshirts too interested in us to bother with them. No doubt Hubble’s orders were to get Muriel and me, the others could be rounded up later, and that was fine, that’s exactly what I wanted. I gave them a short burst of fire, just enough to slow ‘em down but not to make them lose interest. A peculiar sight then, one that would’ve had me screaming with laughter at any other time: that two-wheeled cart I’d noticed outside the chapel door came into view, McGruder pushing it, Hubble crouched inside like a big kid being taken for a ride. I shook my head, assuring myself this was really happening, it wasn’t just another stupid nightmare after an evening hitting the booze. Nope, I wasn’t dreaming, the bullets chipping concrete in front of me told me so.

I sent a spray of bullets of my own back and had the satisfaction of seeing the cart swerving and Blackshirts hitting the deck. I heard a groan from Muriel and threw a quick glance her way. She was half-sitting, nursing a bleeding elbow that peeked through a hole in her shirt.

‘Are you hit?’ I yelled.

She gave a quick shake of her head and regarded me with some fear. She was scared all right, and not just of the Blackshirts: I guess she thought I might turn my weapon on her.

‘Okay, get up. You know what your new pals want from you, so start running again. I’ll cover you.’

‘We’ll never get away.’ She spoke breathlessly, her small exposed breasts heaving, her frightened gaze sweeping past me towards the mob. ‘There are too many of them, we can’t outrun them all.’

Yeah, I thought Too many of them. Too many to kill with only bullets. And I wanted every damn one of ‘em accounted for. I scuttled over to her and leaned close. ‘Just get on your feet and haul out.’ I yanked her up with one hand and pushed her towards the steps. She was unsteady at first, fastening a couple of shirt buttons as she went, then she broke into a run that started the Blackshirts surging forward again.

I followed close behind, but backstepping, gun trained on our pursuers just to keep ‘em at bay. Timing was everything, y’see; I had to get this exactly right Luckily they were smart enough to slow down, ‘though they kept coming, watching my every move, playing me out. I took a swift head count and figured there were around forty or so of them left and that surprised me. Even if there were some still inside the chapel, the Slow Death had claimed a whole mob of ‘em since the Blackshirts and I had first become acquainted. Well, it didn’t cause me any grief – the less I had to deal with today, the more chance I had of coming through in one piece.

Hearing Muriel’s shoes clattering down the steps, I did a turnabout and made a dash for them myself. A roar went up from the crowd as I disappeared from view and I knew we had only a few seconds to get into the passageway. Quickly catching up with Muriel, I took her arm again to help hurry her down a second set of steps and she cried out in protest, afraid we were both gonna break our necks. Ravens on the green in front of the White Tower flew into the air in alarm, their shrieks – that harsh, croaky kind of kaa – sounded like cursing to me, as if they were warning us off, intruders unwelcome, and I was of a mind to blow one or two of ‘em out of the air just for the hell of it. But I kept going, landing on the path with Muriel, dragging her onwards, the short, dark tunnel opening up ahead.

More shouts, more gunfire. Bullets spattered the ancient wall of the Bloody Tower, warning shots telling us we’d better stop running or else…We plunged into the cool shade of the archway as more bullets ricocheted off the cobbled path, their sound growing louder as they beat a line towards us. I pushed Muriel against the wall and the bullets pounded on past us, their impact thunderous in the confined space. I held her there, waiting for the row to stop, the echoes to fade, my face pressed into her hair and our bodies tight together as chips of stone spat up at us. I caught the faint whiff of faded perfume, felt her softness against me and, stupid though it was under the circumstances, remembered her nakedness beneath me, her arms curled around my waist, pulling me into her. I remembered how afraid, how vulnerable, she’d been that night at the hotel. And then I remembered how she’d betrayed her friends.