“Go away,” the girl said. She did not look up.
John said: “I told you, Olivia. We can’t take her away against her will And as for your staying with her—you’ve just said yourself the place is a death-trap.”
Olivia got up from her knees, as though acquiescing. But instead she took the girl by the shoulders and twisted her round to face her. She had considerable strength of arm, and she used it now, not brutally but with determination.
She said: “Listen to me! You’re afraid, aren’t you? Aren’t you?”
Her eyes held the girl as though in fascination. The girl’s head nodded.
“Do you believe I want to help you?” Olivia asked her.
Again she nodded.
“You’re coming with us,” Olivia said. “We’re going across the Pennines, to a place in Westmorland where we can all be quite safe, and where there won’t be any more killing and brutality.” Olivia’s normal reserve was entirely gone; she spoke with a bitter anger that carried conviction. “And you are coming with us. We killed your father and mother, but if we save you we shall have made up to them a little bit They wouldn’t want you to die as they have done.”
The girl stared silently. Olivia said to John:
“You can wait outside. I’ll help her dress. We shall only be a couple of minutes.”
John shrugged. “I’ll go downstairs and see that everything’s ready. A couple of minutes, remember.”
“We’ll be down,” Olivia said.
In the living-room, John found Roger fiddling with the controls of a radio that stood on the sideboard. He looked up as John came down the stairs.
“Nothing,” he said. “I’ve tried North, Scotland, Midland, London—nothing at all”
“Ireland?” John asked.
“Nothing I can hear. I doubt if you could pick them up from here anyway.”
“Perhaps the set’s dead.”
“I found one station. I don’t know what the language was—it sounded Middle European. Sounded pretty desperate, too.”
“Short waves?”
“Haven’t tried.”
“I’ll have a go.” Roger stood aside, and John switched down to the short wave band, and began to fan the dial, slowly and carefully. He covered three-quarters of the dial without finding anything; then he picked up a voice, distorted by crackle and fading, but speaking English. He tuned it in to its maximum, and gave it all the volume he could:
“… fragmentary, but all the evidence indicates that Western Europe has ceased to exist as a part of the civilized world.”
The accent was American. John said softly:
“So that beautiful banner yet waves.”
“Numbers of airplanes,” the voice continued, “have been arriving during last evening in parts of the United States and Canada. By the President’s order, the people in them have been given sanctuary. The President of France and senior members of the French Government, and the Dutch and Belgian Royal families are amongst those who have entered this country. It is reported from Halifax, Nova Scotia, that the British Royal family and Government have arrived there safely. According to the same report, the last Prime Minister of Great Britain, Raymond Welling, has said that the startling speed of the breakdown which has taken place there was largely due to the spread of rumours that major population centres were to be atom-bombed as a means of saving the rest of the country. These rumours, Welling claims, were entirely unfounded, but caused panic nevertheless. When told that the Atomic Energy Commission here had reported atomic-bomb explosions as occurring in Europe during the past few hours, Welling stated that he could not account for them, but thought it possible that isolated Air Force elements might have used such desperate measures in the hope of regaining control.”
Roger said: “So it got out of hand, and he threw it up and ran.”
“One of the unsolved mysteries,” John said.
The voice went on: “The following statement, signed by the President, was issued in Washington at nine p.m.
“It is to be expected that this country will mourn the loss to barbarism of Europe, the cradle of our Western civilization. We cannot help being grieved and shocked by what is taking place on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. At the same time, this does not mean that there is the slightest danger of a similar catastrophe occurring here. Our food-stocks are high, and though it is probable that rations will have to be reduced in the coming months, there will be ample food for all. In the fullness of time, we shall defeat the Chung-Li virus and go out to reclaim the wide world that once we knew. Until then, our duty is to preserve within the limits of our own nation the heritage of man’s greatness.”
John said bitterly: “That’s encouraging, anyway.”
He turned to see Olivia coming down the stairs with the girl. Now that she was dressed, he saw that she was two or three years older than Mary, a country girl, more distinguished by health than good looks. She looked from John’s face to the stains on the floor, and back again; but her face did not show anything.
Olivia said: “This is Jane. She’s coming with us. We’re all ready now, Johnny.”
John said: “Good. Then we’ll push off.”
The girl turned to Olivia. “Before I go—could I see them, just the once?”
Olivia looked uncertain. John thought of the two bodies, crammed in, without ceremony or compunction, beneath the stairs on which the girl now stood.
He said sharply: “No. It wouldn’t do you or them any good, and we haven’t got the time.”
He thought she might protest, but when Olivia urged her forward gently, she came. She looked once round the living-room, and walked out into the open.
“O.K.” John said, “we’re off.”
“One minor item,” Pirrie said. The voice on the radio was still talking, falling towards and away from them on periodic swells of volume. It was outlining some new regulation against food hoarding. Pirrie walked over to the sideboard and, in a single movement, swept the radio on to the wooden floor. It fell with a splintering of glass. With deliberate movements, Pirrie kicked it until the cabinet was shattered and the broken fittings displayed. He put his heel solidly down on to the tangle of glass and metal, and mashed it into ruin. Then, extricating his foot with care, he went out with the rest.
Their journey, owing to the presence of the children, would have to be by fairly easy stages. John had planned for three days; the first march to take them to the end of Wensleydale, the second over the moors to a point north of Sedbergh, and the third, at last, to Blind Gill. It would be necessary to keep close to the main road, and he hoped that for long periods it would be possible to travel on it. He thought it was unlikely there would be any cars about By now, Masham’s example must have been followed in most of the North Riding. The cars would bog down long before they got to the Dale.
Roger said to him, as they made their way down by the side of a wood in me direction of Coverham:
“We could get hold of bicycles. What do you think?”
John shook his head. “We would still be too vulnerable. And we should have to find ten bicycles together—otherwise it would mean having to wheel some along, or else splitting up the party.”
“And you’re not going to do that, are you?” Roger asked.
John glanced at him. “No. I’m not going to do that.”
Roger said: “I’m glad Olivia was able to persuade the girl to come with us. It would have been grim to think of her back there.”
“You’re getting sentimental, Rodge.”
“No.” Roger hitched his pack more firmly on to the middle of his back. “You’re toughening up. It’s a good thing, I suppose.”
“Only suppose?”