gns.batsoutofhell-第21节

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ive　and　help　his　erring　son；　'You　refused　to　heed　me　in　the　past。　Only　a　small　minority　gave　me　their　votes；　I　could　have　been　your　mouthpiece；　asking　these　questions　in　Westminster；　and　it　is　doubtful　whether　this　government　would　ever　have　dared　to　attempt　such　an　atrocious　act　of　treason　and　mass　murder　had　they　had　one　amongst　them　protesting　and　remonstrating　with　them。　But　it　is　still　not　too　late；　my　friends！　Are　we　going　to　huddle　in　our　homes　and　await　death；　as　they　order　us　to？'
　　
　　'We　bloody　ain't！'
　　
　　'What　else　can　we　do？'
　　
　　'I'll　tell　you！'　Marcus　Vandon　stabbed　his　forefinger　in　all　directions；　singling　out　individuals；　making　them　leaders　of　men　in　their　own　estimation。　The　choice　is　yours。。；　and　yours。。。　and　yours；　sir。　We　have　the　numbers；　in　spite　of　these　hired　killers；　this　so…called　British　Volunteer　Force。　They　can　no　more　contain　us　than　they　can　stop　the　tide　from　flowing。　We　must　show　our　strength；　and　drive　these　self…appointed　upholders　of　a　law　which　does　not　exist　from　our　streets！　We　must　break　out　of　this　human　safari…park　in　which　they　have　enclosed　us！　Courage　is　needed；　friends。　A　few　will　die；　but　we　will　all　die　if　we　stay。　I　beseech　you；　act　now！　And　remember　afterwards　that　it　was　Marcus　Vandon　who　saved　you　from　certain　death。'
　　
　　The　two　policemen　were　trying　to　push　their　way　through　the　crowd　towards　Marcus　Vandon。　Suddenly　a　dozen　pairs　of　hands。　pulled　them　down；　and　they　were　swamped　by　a　human　tide　of　seething　fury。　Their　helmets　rolled　away；　and　their　hands；　clasped　over　their　bared　heads；　were　no　protection　from　the　raining　kicks　and　blows　as　they　became　the　first　victims　of　the　rising　rebellion。
　　
　　The　clergymen　outside　the　building　were　still　attempting　to　give　Holy　munion　to　those　who　knelt　patiently　in　rows　on　the　concrete　flagstones；　but　their　muttered　blessings　were　lost　amidst　the　roars　of　the　crowd。
　　
　　Glass　tinkled　in　nearby　Colmore　Row　where　shop　windows　were　already　being　smashed。　A　group　of　teenagers　was　on　the　rampage。　They　had　not　heard　Marcus　Vandon's　oration；　but　they　sensed　the　new　atmosphere。　Just　like　the　old　football　days。
　　
　　An　old　man　with　dark　glasses；　wearing　a　shabby　raincoat　in　spite　of　the　warmth；　shuffled　his　way　along　the　pavement　with　the　aid　of　a　white　walking…stick。　He　heard　the　pounding　of　running　feet　and　cowered　in　the　darkness　of　his　own　blindness。　Then　the　mob　hit　him；　knocking　him　to　the　ground；　booted　feet　treading　over　him　as　the　rampaging　youths　surged　towards　Victoria　Square。
　　
　　He　lay　still；　a　scarlet　pool　forming　beneath　his　head；　oozing　out　from　the　wound　in　his　skull　where　it　had　struck　the　kerbstone。　Those　following　in　the　wake　of　the　first　bunch　of　rioters　were　slightly　more　passionate。　Their　ranks　parted；　and　they　walked　around　the　corpse。　Some　of　them　even　gave　the　old　man　a　passing　glance；　wondering　idly　how　he　had　died。　But　it　was　only　the　start。　There　would　be　many　deaths。　It　was　something　that　each　and　every　one　of　them　had　to　learn　to　accept。　For　only　through　death　would　life　eventually　be　found　again。
　　
　　Then　the　early　morning　stillness　was　shattered　by　the　first　volley　of　gunfire；　crackling　harshly　in　the　city　centre。
　　
　　It　was　a　busy　day　for　Marcus　Vandon。　Later　that　morning　he　spoke　to　a　milling　throng　from　the　steps　of　the　Town　Hall。　For　once　in　his　life　there　were　few　hecklers。　His　words　were　greeted　with　cheers　against　a　background　of　rifle　fire　from　the　bottom　end　of　New　Street。
　　
　　'It　is　the　only　way；'　he　yelled；　attempting　to　make　himself　heard　as　his　speech　reached　its　climax。　'We　must　fight　on。　Every　one　of　us。　For　the　sake　of　our　families；　our　homes。　Fight！'
　　
　　Evening　saw　him　in　Villa　Park；　the　terraces　and　stands　packed　beyond　the　legal　capacity　for　football　matches。　Vandon's　new　band　of　followers　had　connected　his　microphone　to　the　public　address　system；　and　as　dusk　began　to　cool　the　fierce　heat　of　the　day　he　exhorted　those　around　him　to　even　greater　acts　of　anarchy。
　　
　　The　conquest　of　this　stadium　had　not　gone　without　bloodshed。　Fifteen　or　twenty　dead　bodies　lay　on　the　pavements　along　by　the　Holte　End　turnstiles；　a　thin　blue　line　which　had　been　breached　by　sheer　weight　of　numbers。　Some　of　the　casualties　had　been　civilians；　the　forerunners　of　the　70；000…strong　mob。　As　Marcus　Vandon　had　pointed　out　earlier　that　day；　victory　would　not　be　gained　without　some　losses。
　　
　　Vandon's　face　was　contorted　into　an　expression　of　maniacal　triumph。　For　him　a　lifelong　dream　was　ing　true。　He　had　seized　on　an　unprecedented　opportunity。　The　anarchy　in　the　Midlands　would　spread　faster　than　the　virus　which　the　bats　carried。　The　government　would　fall　within　a　week。　It　was　already　toppling。
　　
　　'The　hospitals　are　overcrowded；'　he　yelled。　'See　for　yourselves！　The　dead　and　the　dying　lie　in　the　streets　of　this；　your　city。　There　is　only　one　way　to　end　this　disease；　and　to　defeat　this　militia　which　those　clinging　to　power　by　their　fingertips　have　called　in　at　the　eleventh　hour。　Fire；　the　greatest　cleanser　of　all。。。'
　　
　　A　murmur　of　shocked　horror；　the　note　quickly　changing　to　one　of　reluctant　approval。
　　
　　'I　say　that　Birmingham　must　be　razed　to　the　ground。　Destroyed　in　the　form　we　know　it；　and　the　bats　with　it。　And　then　we　must　rebuild。　A　bigger　and　better　city　will　rise　like　a　phoenix　from　the　ashes　of　the　old！'
　　
　　Even　'as　Marcus　Vandon's　words　were　echoing　around　Villa　Park；　screams　were　ing　from　the　crowded　stands　and　terraces。　People　were　pushing；　a　crush…barrier　collapsed；　and　bodies　tumbled　out　on　to…the　pitch。　A　wave　of　instant　panic　was　sweeping　through　the　crowd。
　　
　　'What。　。　。　'　Marcus　Vandon's　eyes　bulged；　and　at　that　moment　he　saw　and　understood。　Like　swarms　of　angry　giant　moths；　bats　were　flitting　from　beneath　the　eaves　of　the　stands；　pouring　out　in　their　dozens；　swooping；　then　hurling　themselves　venomously　at　the　terrified　people　who　stampeded　wildly　below　them　in　an　effort　to　escape。
　　
　　Many　of　the　bats　were　smaller　than　the　others；　uncertain　of　their　newly　acquired　powers　of　flight；　fluttering　short　distances　then　alighting　again　on　the　cross…sections　of　steel　girders。
　　
　　The　death…swarms　had　given　birth　to　their　offspring。　The　time　of　fearful　waiting　was　over。　The　new　strain　of　the　mutated　virus　was　born！
　　
　　The　soaring；　twisting　bats　were　silhouetted　against　the　pale　blue　of　the　night　sky。　It　was　impossible　for　the　terrified　watchers　below　to　estimate　the　numbers　as　the　creatures　spiralled　upwards　as　high　as　the　floodlighting　pylons；　and　then　dived　like　irate　hornets　at　the　seething　mass　of　humanity　which　milled　on　the　pitch。
　　
　　Marcus　Vandon；　a　messiah　to　the　crowds　only　seconds　before；　was　forgotten　instantly。　Terrified　men　and　women　fought　and　clawed　each　other　as　they　tried　to　force　individual　ways　in　the　direction　of　the　exits。　Many　stumbled；　fell；　and　were　trampled　to　death　within　seconds。　A　man　was　screaming；　holding　a　small　child　above　his　head　in　a　desperate　act　of　fatherly　protection；　but　the　human　tide　took　them　both；　and　they　disappeared　from　sight。
　　
　　The　raised　platform　from　which　Marcus　Vandon　had　been　speaking　tottered　precariously。　He　clutched　at　the　railings；　his…voice　drowned　in　the　screaming　of　the　injured　as　he　attempted　futilely　to　reason　with　those　around　him。　He　felt　himself　falling；　and　thudded　softly　on　to　a　carpet　of　squashed　bodies；　a　hillock　of　corpses；　broken　limbs　dangling　loosely；　features　resembling　crushed　blood…oranges。　But　even　six　feet　above　ground　level　Marcus　Vandon　was　not　safe。　Others　were　clambering　blindly　over　every　obstacle；　heavy　boots　crushing　and　kicking　in　a　mad　frenzy　to　escape。　He　was　conscious　of　the　cracking　of　his　skull；　a　brief　second　of　agony；　and　then；　for　him；　it　was　all　over。
　　
　　Those　who　had　climbed　the　pylons　watched　from　a　dizzy　height　as　man　trampled　man　below　them。　They　were　in　the　safest　place　。。。　except　for　the　bats！　A　fifteen…year…old　boy　threw　up　both　hands　in　an　effort　to　ward　off　a　particularly　aggressive　bat　which　flew　at　him　for　the　third　time。　He　felt　himself　falling；　grabbed　wildly；　missed　his　hold；　and　plummetted　head　first　from　his　perch。　A　few　feet　below　him　he　struck　two　of　his　colleagues　who　were　endeavouring　to　climb　down；　taking　them　with　him　on　his　death　fall。
　　
　　The　bats　were　relentless　in　their　crazed　flight；　dive…bombing　the　crowds；　reluctant　to　desert　the　stadium。　The　young　hung　on　the　stands；　watched　the　antics　of　their　parents；　tried　to　imitate　them；　and　then；　when　their　wings　became　tired；　flew　back　to　rest。
　　
　　By　midnight　Villa　Park　was　quiet　except　for　an　occasional　groan　from　someone　amongst　the　piles　of　strewn　corpses；　a　luckless　person　who　still　clung　hopelessly　to　life。　Bodies　lay　on　the　terraces　and　in　the　stands；　and　it　would　have　been　impossible　even　to　estimate　the　death…toll。
　　
　　No　ambulances　had　e。　None　had　been　mobile　at　all　that　day。。
　　
　　In　the　guarded　Council　Chambers　plans　were　being　drawn　up　for　the　removal　of　corpses　from　public　places　by　means　of　refuse　carts。
　　
　　Gerald　Pitkin　had　watched　the　sky　darkening　over　the　Wrekin　for　the　past　half…hour。　His　head　ached；　and　his　eyes　seemed　to　smart