gns.throwback- 第35部分

　　
　　They　released　their　hold　and　Phil　Winder　slumped　to　the　floor。　Feet　kicked　him　but　it　didn't　matter　any　more。　They　were　slashing　at　the　lower　half　of　his　body　with　a　knife；　machete…style。　But　it　doesn't　fucking　matter；　I'm　beyond　the　pain　barrier；　I　just　want　to　die！
　　
　　Frenzied；　the　peak　of　their　fury；　jostling　one　another　to　get　in　a　blow　or　a　stab　at　the　body　on　the　floor。　Standing　on　him；　trampolining　him；　ballooning　his　belly　until　the　stretched　skin　split　and　showered　out　yards　of　slimy；　bloody　intestines。
　　
　　It　was　some　time　before　the　killers　realised　that　their　victim　was　dead。　The　cessation　of　their　vicious　attack　was　gradual。　They　stood　there　looking　at　one　another　and　only　then　did　they　remember　the　woman；　the　reason　they　had　e。　Kuz's　woman；　the　unfaithful　bitch　who　had　freed　this　man；　deprived　them　of　a　slave；　run　off　with　him　and　even　now　might　be　carrying　his　young。
　　
　　Kuz　was　dead；　they　had　no　leader。　But　every　one　of　them　wanted　the　woman；　a　shambling　bloodied　and　wounded　throng　milling　about　on　the　landing　until　they　found　the　open　bedroom　door；　crowding　in　through　it。
　　
　　They　sniffed　the　stuffy　air；　knew　instantly　that　the　room　was　empty；　but　she　was　not　long　gone　for　her　smell　still　hung　heavy　in　the　air；　a　stench　of　fear　mingling　with　that　of　a　female　on　heat。
　　
　　The　bed　was　empty。　One　of　them　approached　it；　leaned　over　and　smelled　at　the　blankets；　grunted。　An　odour　of　mating；　this　had　been　the　rutting　stand！
　　
　　Snarling；　looking　about　them；　seeing　the　window　wide　open。　A　chorus　of　frustrated　cries　as　they　rushed　towards　it；　looked　out；　saw　where　she　had　escaped；　down　the　thick　ivy　which　grew　on　the　stonework。
　　
　　They　followed；　one　at　a　time；　their　dead　forgotten；　descending　with　the　ease　of　jungle　monkeys；　hitting　the　ground　below　at　a　run；　giving　voice　to　their　cries　of　lust；　a　hunting　pack　that　would　run　down　its　prey。　Ten　of　them；　howling　their　anger　and　lust。　They　would　follow　the　trail　until　they　dropped　from　exhaustion。
　　
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　SEVENTEEN
　　
　　THE　SECURITY　patrol　was　systematically　scouring　a　section　of　suburbia；　a　convoy　of　armoured　trucks　infiltrating　a　pedestrianised　shopping　precinct；　weaving　its　way　between　piles　of　debris；　powdering　broken　glass　beneath　its　wheels。　Alert　to　any　movement　amongst　the　heaped　wreckage。
　　
　　Most　of　the　enemy　had　gone；　fled　to　the　open　spaces。　Just　a　few　remained；　stubborn　guerrilla　fighters　without　a　cause；　the　old　and　the　young。　The　wounded。　And　the　dead。　The　air　was　thick　with　the　stench　of　deposing　corpses　but　the　mandos　were　unaware　of　this　behind　their　sterilised　air…filters。　Raiders　from　another　planet　in　the　aftermath　of　a　terrible　war；　the　victors　of　Armageddon　e　to　loot。　And　to　take　prisoners！
　　
　　Private　Kenny　King　did　not　like　it　at　all；　neither　did　he　tike　Sergeant　Walters。　The　young　rookie　had　been　regretting　his　decision　to　join　the　Regulars　from　the　very　first　posting　to　Whittington　Barracks　in　the　Midlands。　At　eighteen　he　was　'gawky'　（the　sergeant's　description　of　him）；　his　features　a　mass　of　acne；　possibly　because　he　had　been　late　going　into　puberty。　He　was　a　bloody　fool；　he　repeatedly　told　himself；　signing　on　for　this　when　he　could　have　enjoyed　a　more　leisurely　life　on　the　dole。　And　like　an　even　bigger　bloody　fool　he　had　signed　on　for　a　further　two　years　following　his　return　from　Northern　Ireland。　On　the　other　hand；　he　consoled　himself；　if　he　had　not　opted　for　army　life　he　wouid　have　been　'one　of　them　out　there'　undoubtedly。　Or　dead。
　　
　　Walters　was　a　fucking　bastard；　enjoyed　being　that　way；　and　with　administration　handing　out　responsibility　way　above　the　status　of　jumped　up　bleedin'　sergeants　because　officers　were　almost　an　extinct　species；　a　parade…ground　bawler　found　himself　elevated　to　the　role　of　captain。　It　was　the　Year　of　the　Bully　but　most　of　all　Kenny　found　himself　feeling　sorry　for　these　wretches　trying　to　hide　out　in　the　remnants　of　suburbia。　They　were　scared　to　hell；　they　didn't　want　to　fight；　the　army　was　pushing　them　into　corners。
　　
　　Their　instructions　were　to　take　prisoners；　transport　them　back　to　that　place　in　Hertfordshire。　Fill　the　big　prison　van　up　until　you　couldn't　get　any　more　in；　like　Nazis　taking　Jews　to　the　gas　chamber。　There　wasn't　a　lot　of　difference。　The　buggers　were　human　after　all；　well。　。　。　sort　of。
　　
　　The　armoured　cars　were　parked　at　strategic　points；　a　cordon　that　took　in　the　multi…storey　car　park；　an　ugly　high…rise　edifice　that　suddenly　resembled　a　medieval　castle。　If　you　looked　up　you　saw　faces　peering　over　the　ramparts；　the　occupants　were　ready　to　defend　their　castle　with　their　lives。　They　were　under　siege。
　　
　　'There's　a　good　twenty　of　the　fuckers　up　there。'　Walters　climbed　down　from　the　Land　Rover；　riot　shield　in　his　left　hand；　automatic　pistol　in　his　right。　'They　can't　go　anywhere。'　There　was　a　leer　on　his　swarthy　face；　his　small　eyes　seeking　out　Kenny　as　they　usually　did；　making　him　flinch。　'We　need　to　take　another　ten。'　He　laughed。
　　
　　Kenny　would　love　to　have　had　the　courage　to　enable　him　to　ask；　'And　what　about　the　other　ten；　Sergeant？　Or　are　we　just　going　to　slaughter　the　bloody　lot？'
　　
　　That's　up　to　them；　boy。　Our　orders　are　to　drive　'em　out　of　the　towns　but　there's　only　one　way　up　and　one　way　down　from　the　multi…storey。　It's　a　long　way　down　from　the　top；　the　choice'll　be　theirs。
　　
　　'Look　out！'　The　shout　came　from　over　to　the　left；　triggering　trained　soldiers　into　instant　evasive　action；　a　line　of　riot　shields　forming　a　semi…circular　barricade；　rifles　at　the　ready。　Looking　up。
　　
　　A　maroon　Marina　with　a　black　vinyl　roof　was　mounting　the　concrete　wall　of　the　top　storey；　the　underside　of　the　chassis　scraping　and　screeching　on　the　concrete　blocks。　Front　wheels　spinning　in　space。　A　jerk；　it　rested　level　for　a　second　then　began　to　tip　downwards。　The　back　wheels　caught；　held　it　like　a　fly　on　a　wall。　Then　it　was　free；　airborne；　an　aeroplane　without　wings；　a　clumsy　useless　thing　yielding　to　the　law　of　gravity。　A　weapon　of　death。
　　
　　Maybe　in　other　circumstances　Kenny　would　have　screamed　but　he　had　got　used　to　not　doing　a　lot　of　things　that　came　naturally　when　Walters　was　around。　The　rookie's　mouth　opened　in　terror　and　he　would　have　run　had　he　not　been　hemmed　in　by　riot　shields。　Something　inside　him　said　in　a　calm；　matter…of…fact　voice；　'You're　OK；　son；　it　won't　reach　us　from　there。'
　　
　　The　car　fell　vertically；　a　straight　drop　down；　once　catching　a　jutting　parapet　that　dented　and　spun　it；　seemed　to　slow　it　up；　a　circus　acrobat　falling　from　the　high　wire；　a　trick；　he　did　it　twice　a　day；　got　some　kind　of　sadistic　pleasure　from　making　his　audience　throw　up；　kids　screaming　and　crying；　hiding　their　faces。
　　
　　The　car　hit　the　concrete　pad　adjacent　to　the　park；　a　crash　of　buckling　metal　and　showering　glass；　leaped　up　a　good　six　feet　as　its　suspension　found　enough　bounce　for　a　spectacular　swan　song；　came　down　on　its　roof；　a　heap　of　scrap　that　gave　it　anonymity。
　　
　　'Get　in　there；　up　the　ramp；1　Walters　roared；　led　the　charge　forward；　a　habitual　zig…zag　that　would　have　made　him　a　difficult　target　for　any　marksman。　'Shoot　at　will。'
　　
　　Some　of　the　soldiers　were　already　firing；　a　hail　of　rifle　bullets　aimed　at　the　radiator　of　a　Datsun　which　was　just　appearing　over　the　rampart　where　the　Marina　had　e　from；　ripping　into　highly　polished　metalwork。
　　
　　Then　they　were　on　the　ramp；　safe　from　an　overhead　attack。　Another　car　smashed　on　the　forecourt　outside。　The　throwbacks　had　not　forgotten　the　battle　techniques　of　their　ancestors；　repel　all　boarders。
　　
　　The　ground　and　first　storey　were　deserted。　Systematically　the　soldiers　searched　every　parking　lot；　checked　vehicles；　most　of　them　were　locked。　Shoppers　and　businessmen　had　parked　their　cars　and　never　returned　to　them。　Probably　some　of　those　very　people　were　up　above　now　engaged　in　a　last…ditch　defence。　Innocent　victims　of　a　vile　unspeakable　mode　of　warfare　who　would　be　over…run　by　the　very　soldiers　who　should　have　been　protecting　them　against　a　foreign　foe。　Kenny　King　hated　himself　almost　as　much　as　he　hated　his　jumped…up　mander。
　　
　　Sergeant　Walters　fired。　It　was　a　woman；　darting　out　from　the　open　back　of　a　van；　sprinting　for　the　second　elevation。　She　screamed；　bowled　over　like　a　shot　rabbit；　a　plete　somersault；　and　came　to　rest　hard　against　a　Cortina　2000；　spottling　its　grey　finish　with　crimson。　She　sat　bolt　upright；　cursing　them　with　dead　eyes；　somewhere　behind　her　blood　was　pouring　out；　seeping　round　her　body　and　following　the　fall　of　the　floor。
　　
　　Walters　approached　her；　pushed　her　with　his　foot　so　that　she　slid　slowly　sideways。　Now　the　wound　was　visible；　a　jagged　hole　at　the　nape　of　the　neck　where　the　dum…dum　bullet　had　struck　her。　That　was　good　shooting。
　　
　　Kenny　King　swallowed；　his　eyes　misting　up　and　distorting　the　scene。　She　was　young；　maybe　not　quite　seventeen　yet；　and　her　features　could　have　been　Asiatic；　apart　from　the　straggling　hair　and　rough　skin；　dressed　in　modern　clothes　she　might　not　even　have　attracted　a　second　glance；　except　for　the　obvious　reasons。　He　had　dated　a　girl　up　in　Wakefield　before　he　joined　up　who　had　looked　very　similar　to　th