Thirst (Thirst Series)

by Guy N Smith

  ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘do your chaps know that there's typhoid in the city?’

  ‘Typhoid?’

  ‘Two cases as far as I know. I heard about one. The other was brought into me when I went to see if I could help at the East Birmingham Hospital. A young boy. Two chaps and a girl had picked him up. I did everything I could. I sat with him for two whole days and nights, but I couldn't save him.’

  ‘You've done right to tell me,’ Hoare turned away. ‘I'll get back and see if I can find some of our chaps, and let them know.’

  The doctor was bent double, digging away with more urgency than before. He wanted to complete his unpleasant duty before nightfall. He owed it to Elsa.

  PC Hoare walked swiftly, deep in thought. The news of the typhoid outbreak was urgent. The sooner he raised the alarm, the better.

  His usual vigilance was relaxed. He neither saw nor heard the two youths following him, their pumps making little or no noise on the pavement.

  A few yards further on they struck without warning. The Death Disc found its mark. The policeman's helmet was no protection for the skull beneath it, the honed edge of the weapon cutting through headgear and bone, biting deep into the brain, vibrating, humming like a taut bowstring.

  Chanting obscenities, the killers retrieved their disc, wrenching it free and wiping it clean on their victim's uniform. One of them produced a rusty nail from his pocket and made a scratch on the steel surface of the weapon.

  ‘Wot's that for?’ his companion asked.

  ‘A copper,’ the other grinned. ‘Gotta keep count, Yer don't get a rozzer every day. Straight through 'is bleedin' 'elmet, too. Never seen owt like it. C'mon, let's see if we can find another fucker all on 'is own. Your turn next, Mac. Betcha a quid yer don't snuff 'im out as neat as I did, though.’

  Chapter 17

  ‘It'll never work,’ Mike Cummins declared, staring up at the huge bulldozer. ‘It's the craziest bloody idea I ever heard of!’

  ‘If you've got any better,’ Ron Blythe retorted. ‘then let's hear 'em. It's risky. The chances of it coming off are about sixty to one. On the other hand, the machine's virtually a tank, and it's half full of fuel. They'll have to blow us up to stop us.’

  ‘And probably that's just what they'll do.’

  ‘No. Not at the barriers, anyway. They've nothing heavier than rifles, and providing we keep low in the cab they can't get at us.’

  ‘And we just bulldoze our way through the barbed wire?’

  ‘Literally. And I think it would be best if Carol stayed behind. All hell's going to be let loose.’

  ‘No.’ Carol Evans stood there defiantly, hands on hips. ‘I've been through everything so far with you, Ron, and you're not leaving me out of the big finale.’

  ‘You're sure right, he ain't.’ Cummins grabbed her by the arm. ‘I ain't goin' without you. This'll be our last little trip together, and once we get out I'll be leaving you. But no tricks.’

  ‘All right, she comes.’ Blythe filled and lit his pipe, feeling the need for tobacco as well as the desire to slow the action down. ‘But Carol lies flat on the floor of the cab. Just as I'm going to. Can you set this thing on automatic drive, Cummins?’

  ‘Yeah, but it'll need steering once we hit the roads. You can't just go through a row of houses with it.’

  ‘OK. We all keep down until we crash the barriers. We'll take a point south-east of here. That'll keep us clear of the checkpoint, and all we'll have to worry about will be a line of soldiers fifty yards or so apart. Surprise will be our greatest weapon. We've got a ready-made smoke screen and they won't see us until it's too late. Once through the fence we keep going for as long and as far as possible. We don't want to end up locked up in that wooden shed by the checkpoint. Far better to be taken to some large police station and interviewed by senior officers. That way I'll get a chance to talk to 'em and prove who I am.’

  ‘You speak for yourself, Blythe. At the first chance I'm leavin' this machine and making a break for it.’

  ‘Fair enough. It's every man for himself.’

  They climbed aboard. The operator's cab was small, designed for use by one person, and it was with some difficulty that Ron Blythe and Carol Evans positioned themselves on the floor. He noticed that she was trembling, holding tightly to him.

  ‘I'm sorry, darling.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘I wish you didn't have to come in on this one.’

  ‘I wouldn't have it any other way,’ she smiled. ‘My fingers are crossed.’

  ‘I've got just about everything crossed. OK, Cummins, let her roll when you're ready.’

  The powerful engine shuddered into life as easily as if it had only been idle during the morning tea break. The bulldozer vibrated, hesitated as the caterpillars got a grip and then started to climb up the short incline.

  Mike Cummins leaned forward, peering ahead. It was impossible to see more than fifteen yards at the most. Not that it mattered as long as they were heading in the right direction. The smoke had its advantages as well as its disadvantages.

  ‘Keep her dead straight, Cummins. And give her as much throttle as she'll take. By the way, what are the statistics with these machines? Top speed, miles per gallon and all that?’

  ‘Difficult to say on a straight run,’ Cummins grunted. ‘It's flat out now, and it's doing about nine miles per hour. When you're working with one it's all stop and start, backwards and forwards. A two hundred horsepower bulldozer uses about three or four gallons an hour. This tank is half full, say twenty-five gallons. I'd say we could manage eight hours motoring if we wanted to. But, Christ, you don't think we'll have to go that far, do you? One thing's for certain: I won't be in the cab. Like I said, I'm leavin' at the first suitable opportunity. D'you want a crash course in bulldozer driving?’

  ‘No thanks. If you bale out, just make sure it's set on automatic drive.’

  The cab vibrated and rattled, protesting dumbly at the high speed. A ten-foot length of hawthorn hedge was torn out by its roots and dragged along for some thirty yards before it finally freed itself. From now onwards the surface was flat grassland, and they seemed to increase speed.

  ‘Shifting now aren't we, Cummins?’

  ‘Downhill a bit here. Can't be far off the barrier fence now.’

  ‘Get ready to duck, then.’

  ‘Jesus, I can see it now!’

  The scoop was lowered to ten feet, a mighty steel battering ram, an armoured shield.

  A movement beyond the parallel strands of barbs: a soldier, rifle raised, shock and disbelief on his face.

  ‘Duck!’

  They heard the report of the shot above the grinding roar of the engine. The bodywork was struck low down, a loud clang that vibrated and echoed in the confined enclosure.

  They felt the barrier being breached, a sudden snapping of taut wire that snaked and catapulted into the air. Posts were broken off. More shooting, but further off, from both right and left, slugs hitting the bodywork and whining away.

  Cummins raised his head, looked out and dropped down again. Just in time - the toughened side windows cracked and starred on both sides. A tiny circle of glass tinkled on the floor, followed a second later by a piece of flattened lead.

  ‘Tough, but not bulletproof,’ the convict muttered with a grin.

  ‘What about the nearest soldier? He only fired once.’

  ‘So would you if you got whipped across the face with a length of barbed wire,’ Cummins laughed. ‘It'll cost the army a fortune in plastic surgery!’

  Carol Evans paled. For a moment she felt sick. The horrors of death and mutilation in a rioting city were bad enough. Out here they were far more terrifying and sickening. A man doing his duty had been scarred for life, perhaps worse. Cummins was a hardened killer: a maniac.

  He enjoyed taking life. And they were all in this together. She and Ron were as bad as he was.

  ‘It was an accident.’ Blythe attempted to comfort her, knowing what she was thinking. ‘It couldn't be helped.�
�

  The bulldozer forged ahead. More hedges and young trees were torn up. But for the moment the shooting had stopped. The smoke had provided them with a temporary veil of protection.

  ‘At least this model has caterpillars,’ Blythe said. ‘We'd be in real trouble with tyres. They'd be the first thing the soldiers would shoot at.’

  A few minutes later they came to a road. Bursting through the hedgerow bordering it, the caterpillars bounced down on to the level tarmac surface.

  ‘Just a B-road,’ Blythe said. He got to his knees, looking in both directions. ‘Smoke's thinner here. Reckon before long we'll be out of it altogether. We … Oh, no! Look at this silly bastard!’

  A Mini hurtled out of the opaque curtain thirty yards to their left. The driver was braking, but there was no chance of avoiding the monstrosity which spanned the complete width of the road ahead of him.

  Carol screamed and turned her head away. Blythe stared, horror-struck. The car skidded sideways, overturned, and hit the rear of the giant earth-moving machine. All three of them felt the impact. Glass and metal showered across the road and then, before the vibrations had died away inside the cab, there was a roar and a brilliant flash of flame as the car's petrol tank exploded.

  ‘Keep going!’ the research chemist yelled. ‘Don't stop, whatever you do.’

  ‘I ain't.’ Cummins was grinning again. ‘You don't think I'm going to let some stupid punk like that hold us up, do you? He got what he asked for.’

  ‘Oh, Ron,’ Carol groaned. ‘Can't we stop and give ourselves up before somebody else gets killed? How much farther have we got to go?’

  ‘We've got to carry on for a bit longer. But we're in the countryside again now. We should be clear of roads and people for a while. And look, we're out of the smoke. Just look at that sunshine. Isn't it beautiful? I never thought I'd see unfiltered sunlight again!’

  It was true. The countryside was bathed in bright sunlight. Trees and hedges were bared of their leaves which lay in a dark brown carpet beneath the trundling caterpillared wheels. The full magnificence of an autumnal landscape lay ahead.

  ‘It's like a different world,’ Carol breathed. ‘Just like we've been away in some foul place for absolutely years and now we're home again.’

  ‘Get down!’ Blythe pulled her down to the floor.

  The approaching noise was louder by the second; a roar that grew in magnitude and drowned even that made by the bulldozer. Dots in the sky became larger, definite shapes now that they were out of the smoke pall. Three machines honed in on the fugitives.

  ‘Helicopters!’

  They watched the helicopters gaining on them, catching up, then hovering twenty or thirty feet above the bulldozer, keeping pace with it.

  ‘They're just following us,’ Blythe said, relieved that there was no hail of bullets from above.

  ‘What the hell are we going to do?’ Cummins looked up, licked his dry lips, and for the first time there was an expression of fear in his eyes.

  ‘Head for that wood at the bottom of the slope,’ Blythe pointed in front of them. Some three or four hundred yards away stood a large area of woodland, matured oaks and Scots pine, interspersed with beech.

  ‘Don't be bloody stupid. This machine can't plough its way through trees that size. Hedges and saplings, but not those.’

  ‘We don't need to. Look, we can't just keep on running. They've got us taped now. I'm prepared to give myself up and try to talk to someone in authority. Carol will come with me. You'll have to do the best you can on foot. You might make it.’

  ‘We ain't splitting up yet’ There was a definite threat in Cummins' voice as he gave the machine full throttle and headed towards the wood.

  Carol glanced furtively at Ron Blythe. He was staring tight lipped out of the window.

  A few minutes later they hit the wood, ploughing a wide path through silver birch saplings and thick dead bracken. The helicopters were directly above, watching and waiting, knowing that their prey was virtually trapped.

  Gnarled massive trunks stood forbiddingly around the giant vehicle, like entrance pillars to some dark temple of worship. Fir branches formed a canopy which shut out the sky. Only the odd ray of sunlight penetrated the gloomy interior of the wood.

  The path of the bulldozer and its fugitive passengers terminated in a small grassy clearing. There was no way beyond it. The bulldozer had come to the end of its journey.

  Cummins switched the engine off. The vibration lessened, then died away. The helicopters overhead were louder now without the engine noise; wheeling, trying to spot those they sought in the undergrowth below: kestrels - hovering, waiting for a scared field mouse to break cover.

  Then the noise receded, the flying machines headed back the way they had come, until those who crouched beside the silent bulldozer could hear them no longer.

  ‘They've gone.’ Cummins looked perplexed.

  ‘For the time being,’ Blythe replied. ‘But they'll be back. Or somebody will. They've got us trapped, all right. No doubt they've already reported our position, and police and troops are on their way to surround this wood.’

  ‘We'd better get movin'.’

  ‘Where to? This is flat open countryside apart from one or two woods like this one. We'd be better off in a town, or even suburbia. But I'm speaking for you, Cummins. Carol and I don't want to run. We don't need to. But you'd do best to lie low until nightfall and then try and make it under cover of darkness.’

  ‘Like I said, we're all sticking together until I'm clear.’

  ‘Don't be a fool. They're already organising a manhunt. They'll use tracker dogs and maybe shoot on sight. We wouldn't have a chance as we are. But if Carol and I walked out of here and gave ourselves up … perhaps they wouldn't bother looking for you.’

  ‘What d'you mean?’

  ‘It's unlikely they know how many people were in the bulldozer. They won't think about there being anybody else when we surrender. You'll have a breathing space.’

  ‘And how do I know you won't give me away?’

  ‘You don't. You'll just have to trust us. But I promise you this: I won't mention anything about you for twenty-four hours. How's that?’

  ‘Leave the girl with me. You go and do the talking. I'll guarantee to release her unharmed tomorrow.’

  ‘No deal. You forget that they don't make bargains today over hostages. Carol won't be able to keep them at bay for you. You'll only succeed in getting the pair of you shot. Now, are you going to play or aren't you, Cummins? Make your mind up because we haven't got much time.’

  ‘All right.’ The convict checked the revolver to make sure it was loaded, and returned it to his belt. He drew out the small chopper, and held it lightly by the handle.

  ‘Get goin', you two. And don't cross me up, because if ever I get the chance you'll pay for it.’

  ‘We won't. I give you my word.’ Blythe turned away; he took Carol's arm and began to walk towards the edge of the wood. A sudden sense of freedom swept over him. It was difficult to believe that they were actually parting company with Mike Cummins. No longer would their captor be watching their every move night and day.

  The sunlight was dazzling as they emerged into the open. White fluffy clouds scudded across the pale blue sky above. All around them there was peace and tranquillity - Birmingham might have been a thousand miles away. Rooks cawed noisily as they followed a plough some fields away.

  ‘I wonder if he'll make it,’ Carol mused, shuddering involuntarily at the memory of the man who had held them prisoner.

  ‘Possibly, though I very much doubt it.’ Ron slipped an arm around her waist. ‘I'll keep my part of the bargain, but I'm not exactly going to shed tears of grief if a bunch of trigger happy soldiers blast him down. Right now, however, we've got more important matters to attend to.’

  They topped the grassy rise, and then they saw the line of advancing dog handlers, their Alsatians barking and straining at their leashes.

  Ron Blythe and Carol Eva
ns stood where they were and waited. For them it was all over.

  Chapter 18

  ‘Well, your story figures.’ The CID inspector stared impassively at the two people before him in the small room. Two uniformed officers guarded the door. A third stood with his back to the window.

  ‘Has it really taken three days to check?’ Ron Blythe asked.

  ‘We've hundreds to check on. Your case had to wait its turn. You'll be charged with stealing a vehicle and driving without due care and attention. And also harbouring a wanted criminal. Why didn't you tell us that Cummins was with you?’

  ‘We'd made a bargain with him.’

  ‘You don't make bargains with escaped murderers.’

  ‘How did you find out about him?’

  ‘You don't think we were just taking your word for it that you were the only ones in that bulldozer, do you?’ The detective smiled faintly. ‘We went right through that wood. Finished the job we'd come for.’

  ‘You got him, then?’

  ‘You're damned right we did. He got two of our chaps, though. Killed one and wounded another. It wouldn't have happened … if we'd known about him.’

  Carol stiffened and paled. Ron Blythe filled and lit his pipe. They were intended to feel guilty; he was equally determined not to.

  ‘I'm sorry, but there was no other way,’ he said, blowing out clouds of blue smoke. ‘But we're hoping we can save lives and also help to put out the fires which are consuming the centre of the city.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘I need to talk to somebody. A water authority chief, a Fire Chief … even a hot line to Downing Street.’

  ‘I think the PM's got his hands full,’ the policeman grinned wryly. ‘but I'll see if I can get somebody else to listen to you. The Minister for Drought, believe it or not, is i/c operations. I guess everybody's about run out of ideas. Maybe they'll welcome a few fresh ones. Oh, and by the way, I've passed on your news about the typhoid outbreak. So far there have been no other reports but there again, we haven't yet penetrated the city centre.’

  The roads and railways leading into Birmingham were virtually clear. Scrap metal dealers from all parts of the country arrived with their equipment for crushing the remains of wrecked cars into small cubes of metal. These men worked with enthusiasm. An unexpected bonanza was going to make many fortunes. Special licences issued by the Department of the Environment permitted them to carry away as much of the scrap as they wanted. It was, indeed, an ill wind …