Simon Clark - The Fall

Sam watched, feeling cold inside now, as the soldiers from Casterton barracks, helped by the Liminals, sealed the trap.

In less than an hour a cavalry officer rode up alongside the bus as it stood in the mouth of the gorge. ‘We have them locked up in there, sir. There’s no way out unless they grow wings and fly up the cliff-faces. What are your orders now?’

Sam paused, thinking hard. The gorge held the two thousand or so men, that was true. But it was perhaps half a mile long by almost a quarter wide. Deeper into the gorge the trees grew densely in the spaces between the walls of sheer rock. If he sent the soldiers in there the Bluebeards would still cut them to pieces.

If anything, they’d reached a Mexican stand-off. Going into the gorge and massacring the Bluebeards would be nigh impossible, irrespective of the morality of butchering the trapped enemy.

The mouth of the gorge was narrow, and largely open ground, so the Bluebeards would have a hard time of if trying to break out.

Sam rubbed his jaw. This was a stalemate. They couldn’t kill the Bluebeards without losing most of their own people. And, for sure, they couldn’t stand here at the mouth of the gorge forever, holding the Bluebeards prisoner in there.

He told the cavalry officer to wait. Then he found Rolle.

‘What now?’ Sam asked. ‘We can’t just sit here and keep the prisoners in the gorge forever.’

‘No, I had no intention of doing that,’ Rolle replied. ‘There is a time-gate there, just a little way inside the gorge.’

‘But do the Bluebeards know that?’

‘They do,’ Rolle nodded.

‘Then why aren’t they disappearing through it like rats into a hole?’

‘Because it leads farther back than they’ve ever gone before. Also it is the only entrance – and the only exit – to that particular time.’

‘You mean, they’re afraid that if they go there they’ll never be able to come back?’

‘Yes. And that’s what I intend.’

‘But how do we get them to leave the woodland and go through the time-gate?’

‘There’s the knot of the problem.’ Rolle scratched his beard. ‘How do we do just that?’

Sam looked back at the soldiers standing in a line across the mouth of the gorge with their rifles ready. They looked as if they could hold the Bluebeards there for an hour or so. But soon the barbarians would probably recover their senses, and their strength, and rush the line. If they broke through it they’d scatter into the woods upstream. It would be only a matter of time before they regrouped, rearmed, then raided Casterton again.

Sam realised he must nip this in the bud once and for all. He looked back at Rolle. ‘Can you stay here and make sure the soldiers hold the Bluebeards until I get back?’

‘Where are you going?’

‘There’s something I need from the amphitheatre.’

That ‘something’ was the 20 or so barrels of wood alcohol.

Before taking the coach back to the amphitheatre, Sam had the cannon unceremoniously dumped over the side and into the snow. They’d done their work well enough, but they’d be dead weight when it came to the bus making its last short journey.

‘Okay, what’s the plan, Sam?’ Lee called as he drove the bus back to the amphitheatre.

‘After loading all these barrels of what to all intents and purposes is Victorian napalm? I reckon you can guess for yourself.’

‘That’s what I was afraid you were thinking.’

‘Don’t worry, Lee, I’ll drive the bus for this one.’

‘We’re talking crash-and-burn here, aren’t we?’

‘Got it in one, Lee. Got it in one.’

Carswell laughed with disbelief when he heard Sam’s plan.

The bus stood facing the entrance of the gorge where the remaining Bluebeard forces had taken refuge. On the bus Carswell, Zita, Lee, Jud and Sam were holding a council of war.

Every so often Sam would glance out at the line of soldiers and Liminals who stood at the entrance of the gorge, ready to try and prevent any breakout. Not that their chances would be over-favourable now. They were running low on ammunition. Many of the soldiers were wounded; all were exhausted. As Zita observed, this was the Last Chance Saloon. A flurry of snowflakes dimmed the line. If it fell any heavier, visibility would be reduced to virtually nil.

Meanwhile, Carswell was still making the most of his dry, humourless laugh.

‘Mr Baker, you mean to say,’ he said, ‘that you intend getting onto that bus and driving it alone into the narrowest part of the pass, where you will then set it alight?’

‘I am, Carswell.’

‘What then?’

‘Then either the Bluebeards roast in there or they make use of what, after all, is a temporal fire exit back into the dim and distant past.’

‘No, Mr Baker. I mean what do you do then?’

‘I run back here as fast as these two legs can carry me.’

‘Your optimism is astonishing. From where I’m standing your plan is nothing less than a suicide mission.’

‘It’s a chance I’m going to have to take.’

‘Oh, I see… Playing the little people’s champion again, are we?’

‘Carswell—’

‘If you’re not killed by the fire, those barbarians are going to rip you limb from limb.’

Sam acknowledged the statement with a grim shrug. ‘You’re welcome to ride shotgun with me, Carswell.’

‘Ah, no. I’m going to decline. I think I’ve done more than enough for the little people. It’s time for me to leave now and enjoy the fruits of my labours.’

Lee said, ‘Sam, I’ll drive.’

‘No, Lee. This is my idea. If anyone’s going to stick their neck out it’s—’

‘No, Sam. I know how to handle the bus. You don’t. You’ve got to let me drive.’

Sam considered for a moment. ‘Okay. Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it… Wait, Lee.’

Lee had opened the doorway to the timbered driver’s compartment.

‘You’re not going alone,’ Sam told him. ‘Those devils will probably rush the bus the moment you enter the gorge. I’ll ride up front with a couple of rifles.’

‘Those will be pretty cumbersome,’ Carswell said. ‘You’d best take these.’ He handed Sam a pair of automatics, then gave one of his characteristic dry smiles. ‘Happy Christmas, Sam.’

‘They’re loaded?’

‘They are. Eight rounds apiece. Also I’ve used Glazier Safety Slugs. Basically they explode inside the target’s body. One slug can bring down a charging bull.’

‘Thanks, Carswell, I appreciate… Wait. Where are you going?’

‘Oh, Mr Baker, I’ve been here more than long enough, and now I have some more fish to fry. Good luck and goodbye.’ With that he climbed down from the bus, pulled his collar up against the falling snow and walked steadily away in the direction of Casterton.

Jud sighed. ‘It was too much to expect him to await the outcome of this, I expect.’

‘We don’t need him anymore,’ Sam said briskly. ‘Right, let’s finish this once and for all. Jud, what’re you doing?’

‘You’ll need someone to chuck a grenade or two.’

‘Maybe, but not you, Jud.’

‘But – ’

‘But nothing. When that bus starts to burn we’re going to have to run like hell. How are you going to run with that injured leg?’

‘But you still need more people to ride shotgun. Those Bluebeards are going to be swarming aboard like rats the first chance they get.’

‘He’s right.’ The voice came from behind Sam and he turned.

‘Ryan?’

Ryan Keith stood with his double-barrelled shotgun over one arm. ‘I want to help.’

Sam looked Ryan up and down. All signs of the chubby kid who had played the Oliver Hardy role were long gone now. He looked calm, cool, collected.