John Wyndham - The Chrysalids

We trotted awhile, and then left the track for a stream. Where that was joined by another we branched off up the lesser. We left that and picked our way across boggy ground to another stream. We held on along the bed of that for perhaps half a mile or more and then turned off on to another stretch of uneven, marshy ground which soon became firmer until presently the hoofs were clinking among stones. We slowed still more while the horses picked a winding way amid rocks. I realized that Rosalind had put in some careful planning to hide our tracks. I must have projected the thought unwittingly, for she came in, somewhat coldly:

‘It’s a pity you didn’t do a little more thinking and a little less sleeping.’

‘I made a start,’ I protested. ‘I was going to get everything fixed up today. It didn’t seem all that urgent.’

‘And so when I tried to consult you about it, there you were, swinishly asleep. My mother and I spent two solid hours packing up these panniers and getting the saddles slung up ready for an emergency, while all you did was go on sleeping.’

‘Your mother?’ I asked, startled. ‘Does she know ?’

‘She’s sort of half-known, guessed something, for some time now. I don’t know how much she’s guessed — she never spoke about it at all. I think she felt that as long as she didn’t have to admit it in words it might be all right. When I told her this evening that I thought it very likely I’d have to go, she cried — but she wasn’t really surprised; she didn’t try to argue, or dissuade me. I had a sort of feeling that she’d already resolved at the back of her mind that she’d have to help me one day, when the time came, and she did.’

I thought that over. I could not imagine my own mother doing such a thing for Petra’s sake. And yet she had cried after my Aunt Harriet had been sent away. And Aunt Harriet had been more than ready to break the Purity Laws. So had Sophie’s mother. It made one wonder how many mothers there might be who were turning a blind eye towards matters that did not actually infringe the Definition of the True Image — and perhaps to things that did infringe it, if the inspector could be dodged…. I wondered, too, whether my mother would, in secret, be glad or sorry that I had taken Petra away….

We went on by the erratic route that Rosalind had picked to hide the trail. There were more stony places and more streams until finally we urged the horses up a steep bank and into the woods. Before long, we encountered a track-way running south-west. We did not care to risk the spoor of the great-horses there, and so kept along parallel with it until the sky began to show grey. Then we turned deeper into the woods until we found a glade which offered grass for the horses. There we hobbled them and let them graze.

After we had made a meal of bread and cheese Rosalind said:

‘Since you slept so well earlier on, you’d better take first watch.’

She and Petra settled themselves comfortably in blankets, and soon dropped off.

I sat with my strung bow across my knees, and half a dozen arrows stuck handy in the ground beside me. There was nothing to be heard but the birds, occasionally a small animal moving, and the steady munchings of the great-horses. The sun rose into the thinner branches and began to give more warmth. Every now and then I got up and prowled silently round the fringe of the glade, with an arrow ready nocked on the string. I found nothing, but it helped to keep me awake. After a couple of hours of it Michael came through:

‘Where are you now?’ he inquired.

I explained as well as I could.

‘Where are you heading?’ he wanted to know.

‘South-west,’ I told him. ‘We thought we’d move by night and lie-up by day.’

He approved of that, but:

‘The devil of it is that with this Fringes scare there’ll be a lot of patrols about. I don’t know that Rosalind was wise to take those great-horses – if they’re seen at all, word will go round like wildfire, even a hoof-mark will be enough.’

‘Ordinary horses have the speed of them for short bursts,’ I acknowledged, ‘but they can’t touch them for stamina.’

‘You may need that. Frankly, David, you’re going to need your wits, too. There’s hell to pay over this. They must have found out much more about you than we ever guessed, though they aren’t on to Mark or Rachel or me yet. But it’s got them very worried indeed. They’re going to send posses after you. My idea is to volunteer for one of them right away. I’m going to plant a report of your having been seen making south-east. When that peters out, we’ll have Mark start up another to take them north-west.

‘If anyone does see you, stop him getting away with the news, at all costs. But don’t shoot. There’s an order going out not to use guns except when necessary, and as signals — all gunshots to be investigated.’

‘That’s all right. We haven’t a gun,’ I told him.

‘So much the better. You can’t be tempted to use one — but they think you have.’

I had deliberately decided against taking a gun, partly on account of the noise, but mostly because they are slow to reload, heavy to carry, and useless if you run out of powder. Arrows haven’t the range, but they are silent, and you can get a dozen and more of them off while a man is recharging a gun.

Mark came in:

‘I heard that. I’ll have a north-west rumour ready for when it’s needed.’

‘Good. But don’t loose it till I tell you. Rosalind’s asleep now, I suppose? Tell her to get into touch with me when she wakes, will you?’

I said I would, and everybody laid off projecting for a while. I went on keeping my watch for another couple of hours, and then woke Rosalind for her turn. Petra did not stir. I lay down beside her, and was asleep in a minute or two.

Perhaps I was sleeping lightly, or it may have been just coincidence that I woke up to catch an anguished thought from Rosalind.

‘I’ve killed him, Michael. He’s quite dead…’ Then she slid off into a panicky, chaotic thought-shape.

Michael came in, steady and reassuring.

‘Don’t be scared, Rosalind. You had to do it. This is a war, between our kind and theirs. We didn’t start it — we’ve just as much right to exist as they have. You mustn’t be frightened, Rosalind, dear: you had to do it.’

‘What’s happened?’ I asked, sitting up.

They ignored me, or were too much occupied to notice.

I looked round the glade. Petra lay, asleep still, beside me; the great-horses were cropping the grass, undisturbed. Michael came in again:

‘Hide him Rosalind. Try to find a hollow, and pile leaves over him.’

A pause. Then Rosalind, her panic conquered now, but with deep distress, agreeing.

I got up, picked up my bow, and walked across the glade in the direction I knew she must be. When I reached the edge of the trees it occurred to me that I was leaving Petra unprotected, so I went no farther.

Presently Rosalind appeared among the bushes. She was walking slowly, cleaning an arrow on a handful of leaves as she came.

‘What happened?’ I repeated.

But she seemed to have lost control over her thought-shapes again, they were muddled and distorted by her emotions. When she got nearer she used words instead:

‘It was a man. He had found the trail of the horses. I saw him following them. Michael said… Oh, I didn’t want to do it, David, but what else could I do… ?’

Her eyes were full of tears. I put my arms round her, and let her cry on my shoulder. There was little I could do to comfort her. Nothing, but assure her, as Michael had, that what she had done had been absolutely necessary.

After a little time we walked slowly back. She sat down beside the still-sleeping Petra. It occurred to me to ask: