gns.batsoutofhell-第20节

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　seated　behind　the　wheel；　another　standing　by　it；　waving　for　them　to　continue　back　up　the　dual…carriageway　and　on　to　the　A5。　That　in　itself　was　bad　enough。　It　was　the　third　member　of　the　obstruction　team　who　caused　Gerald　Pitkin's　heart　to　miss　a　beat。　Tiny　beads　of　sweat　formed　on　his　forehead。　A　soldier；　stoic…faced；　wearing　camouflage　denims。　An　automatic　rifle　was　cradled　beneath　his　arm　and　he　watched　the　Fiat　intently　as　though　half…expecting　some　kind　of　resistance　from　its　occupants。
　　
　　Bertha　started　to　wind　the　window　down；　but　Gerald　stopped　her。　His　foot　had　eased　up　on　the　accelerator　but　now　it　pressed　down　hard　again　and　the　car　picked　up　speed。
　　
　　'We'll　get　back　on　the　A5　and　go　through　Wellington；'　he　said。
　　
　　Bertha　was　white…faced；　shaken。　Harry　stirred　and　sat　up　in　the　back。　Neither　of　them　said　anything。　There　was　nothing　to　say。
　　
　　As　they　dropped　down　into　Wellington；　through　Ketley；　they　were　aware　of　an　increased　flow　of　traffic　ing　towards　them。　Cars；　vans；　all　piled　high　with　luggage；　hastily　strapped　roof…racks；　occupants　with　resigned　expressions　on　their　faces。　Bumper　to　bumper；　they　crawled；　came　to　a　standstill；　moved　again。
　　
　　Yet　Gerald　Pitkin　had　to　see　for　himself。　He　tried　to　convince　himself　that　it　was　nothing　more　than　a　flow　of　holiday…makers　returning　from　the　Welsh　coast。　Their　expressions？　Well；　nobody　enjoyed　ing　back　off　holiday；　did　they？
　　
　　There　was　one　other　car　behind　them。　He　watched　it　in　the　mirror。　A　Reliant　three…wheeler；　grossly　overloaded。
　　
　　The　heat　was　oppressive。　The　sky　had　clouded　over；　but　Gerald　knew　it　would　not　rain。　Four　months　of　drought　now。　The　overcast　sky　increased　the　humidity；　and　Gerald　Pitkin　tried　to　tell　himself　that　that　was　why　he　was　sweating。　The　back　of　his　shirt　and　trousers　were　stuck　to　the　upholstery。
　　
　　The　oning　traffic　was　at　a　standstill　by　the　Cock　Hotel。　One　car　had　broken　down；　overheated；　and　those　following　were　having　to　overtake　it。　Impatience　was　growing。　Horns　blared。　Drivers　were　leaning　out　of　their　windows　in　an　attempt　to　determine　the　cause　of　the　delay。　And　still　the　road　ahead　of　the　Pitkins　was　free　of　obstruction。
　　
　　The　second　roadblock　was　some　way　out　of　Wellington。　It　consisted　of　another　patrol　car；　two　policemen；　a　soldier　and；　of　course；　an　automatic　rifle。
　　
　　'Damn　it！'　Gerald　Pitkin　drove　slowly　up　to　the　barriers。　Apart　from　the　following　three…wheeler　there　was　no　other　traffic　here。　It　was　as　though　the　initial　panic　was　over。　The　public　had　accepted　the　situation；　resigned　themselves　to　it。　They　had　been　told　to　go　back　to　their　homes　and　die　like　good　citizens。　And　they　were　obeying。
　　
　　Gerald　pulled　up　alongside　the　barriers；　wheels　half…turned　in　anticipation　of　the　U…turn　he　would　be　forced　to　make。
　　
　　'Sorry；　sir。'　A　policeman　stepped　forward。　'I'm　afraid　you'll　have　to　turn　around　and　go　back。'
　　
　　'We're　on　our　way　to　Shrewsbury。　To　my　brother's　place。'
　　
　　'I'm　sorry；　sir。　The　A5　and　all　roads　to　Shrewsbury　are　closed。'
　　
　　'There's　been　an　accident？'
　　
　　'I　don't　know　what's　happened；　sir。　But　the　roads　are　all　closed。　Now；　please　move　on。'
　　
　　The　soldier　had　moved　forward　as　though　in　support　of　the　constable；　the　rifle　no　longer　carried　casually；　the　muzzle　swinging　in　an　arc　until　it　pointed　at　the　Fiat。　'All　right。'　Pitkin　nodded。　'We'll　go　back。'　The　three…wheeler　was　already　following　them　as　though　the　driver　had　never　expected　to　be　allowed　through。　Like　everybody　else；　he　had　to　satisfy　himself　that　he　had　made　the　attempt。
　　
　　'Well；　so　much　for　that；'　Bertha　groaned。　'Now　for　the　long　haul　back　to　Birmingham。　You　ought　to　have　phoned　the　AA　first。'
　　
　　'We're　not　going　back；'　Gerald　stated　firmly。　'What！'
　　
　　'I　said；　we're　not　going　back。　Can't　you　see　what's　going　to　happen？　By　tomorrow　there's　going　to　be　rioting　in　the　city。　Folks　won't　take　this　lying　down。'　'What　on　earth　can　we　do；　then？'　'We'll　take　a　right　turn　back　here。'　Gerald　braked　as　they　caught　up　with　the　tail　of　the　traffic　queue。　'I　think　it's　signposted　Little　Wenlock。　You　can　get　up　on　to　the　Wrekin　that　way。'　'How　will　that　help　us？'
　　
　　'We'll　ditch　the　car　and　go　on　foot。　They　can't　patrol　the　whole　countryside；　they　won't　have　enough　men。　We'll　get　through。　We'll　wait　for　dark；　though；　and　with　luck　we'll　be　in　Shrewsbury　by　morning。'　'You're　mad；'　Bertha　Pitkin　said；　but　she　did　not　argue。　Harry　Pitkin　said　nothing。　He　never　had　been　a　conversationalist。　A　loner　from　boyhood；　he　accepted　life　as　it　was。　If　his　father　said　they　were　going　on　an　all…night　hike　then　he　would　trudge　along　with　them。
　　
　　Somewhere　over　the　Wrekin　there　was　a　rumble　of　thunder；　followed　a　few　seconds　later　by　a　flash　of　lightning。　But　there　was　no　rain。
　　
　　
　　　Chapter　Ten
　　
　　St　Philip's　Churchyard　was　crowded　shortly　after　daybreak。　The　overnight　cloud　formation　had　vanished；　and　once　again　the　new　day　was　threatened　with　scorching　heat。　There　was　to　be　no　let…up。
　　
　　People　sat　on　the　grass；　dishevelled；　weary　after　a　sleepless　night。　They　came　from　all　walks　of　life；　the　social　barriers　having　been　destroyed　by　the　Prime　Minister's　speech　a　few　hours　previously。　In　the　background　a　couple　of　uniformed　and　helmeted　policemen　watched　intently。　Their　presence　was　only　a　formality。　If　anything　happened　they　would　be　powerless　to　prevent　it。　Their　radios　were　futile；　for　there　were　not　sufficient　numbers　of　police　at　Digbeth　station　to　answer　the　call。　Every　available　man　was　out　on　the　road…blocks。
　　
　　The　crowds　were　demoralised。　Even　the　early　frustration　had　gone。　Despair　was　widespread。　The　church　was　full。　Those　who　were　unable　to　get　inside　knelt　and　prayed　on　the　steps。　A　team　of　clergymen　were　administering　Holy　munion。　Several　other　religious　bodies　congregated　into　separate　groups。　Others　were　proclaiming　the　end　of　the　world；　insisting　that　there　was　salvation　for　those　who　followed　in　their　path。　Only　they　would　be　saved。
　　
　　There　were　political　meetings；　too；　the　voices　of　the　speakers　carrying　in　the　still　atmosphere　above　the　lower　tones　of　those　who　prayed。
　　
　　Marcus　Vandon　rejoiced　in　the　crisis。　On　six　successive　occasions　he　had　lost　his　deposit…in　local　by…elections；　Now　at　last　he　would　be　able　to　sway　the　masses。　They　would　listen　to　him　now。　He　had　something　positive　to　offer。　Action。　The　current　government　was　a　negative　one；　deserting　its　people　in　their　hour　of　need；　leaving　the　dying　to　bury　their　dead。
　　
　　There　was　something　manding　about　Marcus　Vandon　in　spite　of　his　small　stature。　His　voice　demanded　attention。　He　had　a　mand　of　the　English　language　far　superior　to　most　politicians。　Small　of　build；　it　was　his　eyes；　wide　and　staring；　and　the　lean　determined　features　which　made　him　stand　out　from　other　men。　Some　had　pared　him　with　Hitler；　and　there　was　a　marked　similarity。　People　faced　with　the　curtailment　of　their　freedom　as　well　as　possible　death　are　always　prepared　to　listen　to　alternatives。　And　Marcus　Vandon　had　a　solution　to　offer。　Standing　on　the　small　stool　which　he　had　brought　along　to　give　him　an　extra　few　inches　in　height；　he　addressed　those　nearest　to　him。
　　
　　'We　are　being　deserted　in　our　darkest　hour　by　those　whose　duty　it　is　to　protect　us。'　he　began。　'We　have　been　singled　out　for　sacrifice。　Our　police　and　armed　forces　are　determined　that　we　shall　not　escape。　Why？　I　ask　you；　why？'
　　
　　He　paused　for　a　second；　glancing　around；　noting　with　satisfaction　that　his　audience　was　swelling。
　　
　　'Because　of　the　disease；'　somebody　replied　halfheartedly。
　　
　　'Yes；　but　why　is　the　disease　here　in　our　midst；　destroying　usl　They　tell　us　that　an　unfortunate　accident　has　e　about；　and　that　these　bats　escaped　from　the　Biological　Research　Centre　on　Cannock　Chase。　I　put　it　to　you　that　they　were　deliberately　released！'
　　
　　An　uneasy　murmur　greeted　his　words。
　　
　　'Think　about　it。'　Vandon　continued；　'We　have　an　overpopulation　problem。　Immigration　goes　unchecked。　Inflation　is　soaring。　An　application　for　an　IMF　loan　has　been　turned　down。　Unemployment　is　approaching　the　two…and…a…half　million　mark。　What　is　the　answer？　I　ask　you；　what　is　the　answer　when　a　ruthless　government　is　determined　to　stay　in　power　and　continue　to　pursue　their　policies　which　have　already　failed？'
　　
　　He　paused　again。　Angry　mutterings　reached　his　ears；　and　with　difficulty　he　suppressed　a　smile。
　　
　　'I'll　tell　you。　Reduce　the　population。　And　that　is　exactly　what　this　government　is　doing。　It　has　sentenced　all　of　you　to　death。　Each　and　every　one　of　you。　They　have　chosen　an　area　which　is　both　highly　populated　and　can　be　cordoned　off　efficiently。　Within　weeks　each　and　every　one　of　you　will　be　dead。　Myself　included。'
　　
　　'What　are　we　going　to　do　about　it；　then？'　a　man　at　the　front　of　the　crowd　which　surrounded　Marcus　Vandon　asked。　'You　tell　us　this；　but　what's　the　answer？'
　　
　　'It　is　partly　your　own　faults。'　Vandon　lowered　his　voice；　a　perfect　mild　reprimand；　a　father　offering　to　forgive　and　help　his　erring　son；　'You　refused　to　heed　me　in　the　past。　Only　a　small　minority　gave　me　thei