John Christopher - The Death of Grass

It was the first time he had seen it in England, but in Italy, during the war, he had observed not dissimilar scenes. The trail of the looter… but here, in rural England. The casual reality of this horror in so remote a spot showed more clearly than the military check-points or the winging bombers that the break-up had come, irrevocably.

He was still looking through the window when memory gripped and tightened on him. The gates… With the woman lying here, perhaps dying, who had closed the gates? And why? From here the road, and the car, were invisible. He turned quickly, and as he did heard Ann cry out.

He ran round the side of the gate-house. The car doors were open and a struggle was taking place inside. He could see Ann fighting with a man in front; there was another man in the back, and he could not see Mary.

He had some hope, he thought, of surprising them. The guns were in the car. He looked quickly for a weapon of some kind, and saw a piece of rough wood lying beside the porch of the gatehouse. He bent down to pick it up. As he did, he heard a man’s laugh from close beside him. He straightened up again, and looked into the eyes of the man who was waiting in the shadow of the porch, just as the length of pit-prop crashed down against the side of his head.

He tried to cry out, but the words caught in his throat, and he stumbled and fell.

Someone was bathing his head. He saw first a handkerchief and saw that it was dark with clotted blood; then he looked up into Olivia’s face.

She said: “Johnny, are you better now?”

“Ann?” he said. “Mary?”

“Lie quiet.” She called: “Roger, he’s come round.”

The crossing gates were open. The Citroen and the Ford stood in the road. The three boys were in the back of the Citroen, looking out, but shocked out of their usual chatter. Roger and the Pirries came out of the gate-house. Roger’s face was grim; Pirrie’s wore its customary blandness.

Roger said: “What happened, Johnny?”

He told them. His head was aching; he had a physical urge to lie down and go to sleep.

Roger said: “You’ve probably been out about half an hour. We were the other side of the Leeds road before we missed you.”

Pirrie said: “Half an hour is, I should estimate, twenty miles for looters in this kind of country. That opens up rather a wide circle. And, of course, a widening circle. These parts are honeycombed with roads.”

Olivia was bandaging the side of his head; the pressure, gentle as it was, made the pain worse.

Roger looked down at him: “Well, Johnny—what’s it to be? It will have to be a rush decision.”

He tried to collect his rambling thoughts.

He said: “Will you take Davey? That’s the important thing. You know the way, don’t you?”

Roger asked: “And you?”

John was silent. The implications of what Pirrie had said were coming home to him. The odds were fantastically high against his finding them. And even when he did find them…

“If you could let me have a gun,” he said, “—they got away with the guns as well.”

Roger said gently: “Look, Johnny, you’re in charge of the expedition. You’re not just planning for yourself; you’re planning for all of us.”

He shook his head. “If you don’t get through into the North Riding, at least tonight, you may not be able to get clear at all. I’ll manage.”

Pirrie had moved a little way off; he was looking at the sky in an abstract fashion.

“Yes,” Roger said, “you’ll manage. What the hell do you think you are—a combination of Napoleon {90} 90 Napoleon: Napoleon Bonaparte (1769–1821), great French soldier and Emperor, finally defeated at Waterloo (1815) and Superman {91} 91 Superman: the famous cartoon character of superhuman strength and moral commitment to the law ? What are you going to use for wings?”

John said: “I don’t know whether you could all crowd in the Citroen… if you could spare me the Ford…”

“We’re travelling as a party,” Roger said. “If you go back, you take us with you.” He paused. “That woman’s dead in there—you might as well know that.”

“Take Davey,” John said. “That’s all.”

“You damned fool!” Roger said. “Do you think Olivia would let me carry on even if I wanted to? We’ll find them. To hell with the odds.”

Pirrie looked round, blinking mildly. “Have you reached a decision?” he inquired.

John said: “It seems to have been reached for me. I suppose this is where the alliance ceases to be valuable, Mr Pirrie? You’ve got the valley marked on your road map. I’ll give you a note for my brother, if you like. You can tell him we’ve been held up.”

“I have been examining the situation,” Pirrie said, “If you will forgive my putting things bluntly, I am rather surprised that they should have left the scene so quickly.”

Roger said sharply: “Why?”

Pirrie nodded towards the gatehouse. They spent more than half an hour there.”

John said dully: “You mean—rape?”

“Yes. The explanation would seem to be that they guessed our three cars were together, and cut off the straggler deliberately. They would therefore be anxious to clear out of the immediate vicinity in case the other two cars should come back in search of the third.”

“Does that help us?” Roger asked.

“I think so,” Pirrie said. They would leave the immediate vicinity. We know they turned the car back towards the North Road because they left the gates shut against traffic. But I do not think they would go as far as the North Road without stopping again.”

“Stopping again?” John asked.

Looking at Roger’s impassive face, he saw that he had taken Pirrie’s meaning. Then he himself understood. He struggled to his feet.

Roger said: There are still some things to work out. There are well over half a dozen side roads between here and A.1. And you’ve got to remember that they will be listening for the noise of engines. We shall have to explore them one by one—and on foot.”

Despair climbing back on his shoulders, John said:

“By the time we’ve done that…”

“If we rush the cars down the first side road,” Roger said, “it might be giving them just the chance they need to get away.”

As they walked back, in silence, to where the two cars stood, Spooks put his head out of the back of the Citroen. His voice was thin and very high-pitched. He said:

“Has someone kidnapped Davey’s mother, and Mary?”

“Yes,” Roger said. “We’re going to get them back.”

“And they’ve taken the Vauxhall?”

Roger said: “Yes. Keep quiet, Spooks. We’ve got to work things out.”

“Then we can find them easily!” Spooks said.

“Yes, we’ll find them,” Roger said. He got into the driving seat, and prepared to turn the car round. John was still dazed. It was Pirrie who asked Spooks:

“Easily? How?”

Spooks pointed down the road along which they had come. “By the oil trail.”

The three men stared at the tarmac. Trail was a high term {92} 92 high term: an exaggeration for it, but there were spots of oil in places along the road.

“Blind!” Roger said. “Why didn’t we see that? But it might not be the Vauxhall. More likely the Ford.”

“No,” Spooks insisted. “It must be the Vauxhall. It’s left a bit bigger stain where it was standing.”

“My God!” Roger said. “What were you at school—Chief Boy Scout?”

Spooks shook his head. “I wasn’t in the Scouts. I didn’t like the camping.”

Roger said exultantly: “We’ve got them! We’ve got the bastards! Ignore that last expression, Spooks.”

“All right,” Spooks said amiably. “But I did know it already.”