John Christopher - The Death of Grass

The heavily built man said: “If it’s only a manoeuvre, you can let a few get through. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

The young officer grinned. “Sorry, it’s as easy to land a general court-martial {71} 71 court-martial: trial of a member of the Armed Forces, conducted by officers, for offences against military law for dereliction of duty on manoeuvres as it is when there’s a war on! I advise you to go back to town and try tomorrow.”

Roger jerked his head, and he and John began to walk back to the cars. Roger said:

“Very cleverly carried out. Unofficially, only a manoeuvre. That gets over the scruples of the troops. I wonder if they are going to be left to burn with the rest? I suppose so.”

“Worth trying to tell them what’s really happening?”

“Wouldn’t get anywhere. And they might very well run us in for spreading false rumours. That’s one of the new regulations—did you hear it?”

They reached the cars. John said:

Then what do we do? Ditch {72} 72 ditch: abandon (slang) the cars, and try it on foot, through the fields?”

Ann said: “What’s happening? They won’t let us through?”

“They’ll have the fields patrolled,” Roger said. “Probably with tanks. We wouldn’t have a chance on foot.”

In an edged {73} 73 edged: sharp, nervous voice, Ann said: “Then what can we do?”

Roger looked at her, laughing. “Easy, Annie! Everything’s under control.”

John was grateful for the strength and confidence in the laugh. They lightened his own spirits.

Roger said: The first thing to do is get away from here, before we land ourselves in a traffic jam.” Cars were beginning to pile up behind them in the road. “Back towards Chipping Barnet, and there’s a sharp fork to the right We’ll go first. See you there.”

It was a quiet road: urbs in rure {74} 74 urbs in rure: town in country, that is, an urban and rural area . The two cars pulled up in a secluded part of it There were modern detached houses on the other side, but here the road fringed a small plantation.

The Buckleys left their car, and Olivia and Steve got in the back with Ann.

Roger said: “Point one—this road bypasses A.1 and will take us to Hatfield. But I don’t think it’s worth trying it just yet. There’s bound to be a road-block on it, and we would be no more likely to get through it this evening than we should have been on A.1.”

A Vanguard {75} 75 Vanguard: popular make of car in the 1950s swept past them along the road, closely followed by an Austin {76} 76 Austin: popular make of car which John recognized as having been at the roadblock. Roger nodded after them.

“Quite a few will try it, but they won’t get anywhere.”

Steve said: “Couldn’t we crash one of the barriers, Dad? I’ve seen them on the pictures.”

“This isn’t the pictures,” Roger said. “Quite a few people will be trying to get through the blocks this evening. It will be quieter at night, and better in other ways, too. We’ll keep your car here. I’m taking ours back into Town—and there’s something I think I ought to pick up.”

Ann said: “You’re not going back in there!”

“It’s necessary. I hope I shan’t be more than a couple of hours at the outside.”

John understood Roger too well to think that when he spoke of picking something up he could be referring to an oversight in his original plans. This was a new factor.

He said: “Not likely to be any trouble in a spot like this is there?” Roger shook his head. “In that case, I’ll come back with you. Two will be safer than one if you’re going south.”

Roger thought about this for a moment. He said:

“Yes. O.K.”

“But you don’t know what it’s going to be like in London!” Ann said. “There may be rioting. Surely there can’t be anything important enough to make you take risks like that?”

“From now on,” Roger said, “if we’re going to survive we shall have to take risks. If you want to know, I’m going back for firearms. Things are breaking up faster than I thought they would. But there’s no danger back there this evening.”

Ann said: “I want you to stay, John.”

“Now, Ann…’ John began.

Roger broke in. “If we want to kill ourselves, wasting time in wrangling is as good a way as any. This party’s got to have a leader, and his word has got to be acted on as soon as it’s spoken. Toss you for it, Johnny.”

“No. It’s yours.”

Roger took a half-crown from his pocket. He spun it up.

“Call!”

They watched the twinkling nickel-silver. “Heads,” John said. The coin hit the metalled road and rolled into the gutter. Roger bent down to look at it.

“All yours,” he said. “Well?”

John kissed Ann, and then got out of the car. “We’ll be back as soon as possible,” he said.

Ann commented bitterly: “Are we chattels {77} 77 chattels: goods, possessions again already?”

Roger laughed. “The world’s great age,” he said, “begins anew, the golden years return.”

“We can just make it,” Roger said. “He doesn’t put up the shutters until six. Only a little business—one man and a boy—but he’s got some useful stock.”

They were driving now through the chaos of rush-hour in Central London. On that chaos, the usual rough-and-ready pattern was imposed by traffic lights and white-armed policemen. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. As the lights turned green in front of their car, the familiar breaker of jaywalkers {78} 78 jaywalkers: casual pedestrians ignoring traffic while crossing the road swelled across the road.

“Sheep,” John said bitterly, “for the slaughter.”

Roger glanced at him. “Let’s hope they stay that way. See it clearly and see it whole. Quite a few millions have got to die. Our concern is to avoid joining them.”

Just past the lights, he pulled off the main street into a narrow side-street It was five minutes to six.

“Will he serve us?” John asked.

Roger pulled in to the kerb, opposite a little shop displaying sporting guns. He put the car in neutral, but left the engine running.

“He will,” he said, “one way or another.”

There was no one in the shop except the proprietor, a small hunched man, with a deferential salesman’s face and incongrously watchful eyes. He looked about sixty.

Roger said: “Evening, Mr Pirrie. Just caught you?”

Mr Pirrie’s hands rested on the counter. “Well—Mr Buckley, isn’t it? Yes, I was just closing. Anything I can get you?”

Roger said: “Well, let me see. Couple of revolvers, couple of good rifles with telescopic sights; and the ammo {79} 79 ammo: abbreviation for ammunition, bullets of course. And do you stock automatics?”

Pirrie smiled gently. “Licence?”

Roger had advanced until he was standing on the other side of the counter from the old man. “Do you think it’s worth bothering about that?” he asked. “You know I’m not a gunman. I want the stuff in a hurry, and I’ll give you more than a fair price for it.”

Pirrie’s head shook slightly; his eyes did not leave Roger’s face.

“I don’t do that kind of business.”

“Well, what about that little .22 over there?”

Roger pointed. Pirrie’s eyes looked in the same direction, and as they did so, Roger leapt for his throat. John thought at first that the little man had caved in under the attack, but a moment later he saw him clear of Roger and standing back. His right hand held a revolver.

He said: “Stand still, Mr Buckley. And your friend. The trouble with raiding a gunsmiths is that you are likely to encounter a man who has some small skill in handling weapons. Please don’t interrupt me while I telephone.”