Devereau’s mouth was dry.
He could hear the chorused voices of men down the slope. They
Then he heard a bugle blowing.
Simultaneously all twelve landing rafts dropped their panels. They swung down heavily and crunched on to the shingle, forming ramps. Devereau found himself transfixed at the sight of so many of them — swarms of blood- red tunics and white helmets — surging down off their rafts.
‘FIRE!!!!’
CHAPTER 77
2001, en route to New Chelmsford
They passed through a small town — East Farnham, another rural town: one main street lined with shops selling farmer’s supplies, hardware and tools. One town hall and a church, and clapboard homes and picket fences.
They were getting used to the occasional sideways glances from beneath the brims of felt hats and lace bonnets, curious glances at their grubby and unfamiliar clothes and at Bob in particular. Liam wondered whether they thought he was some prototype design of eugenic.
Speaking of which — he spotted a couple more of the lobotomized leviathans, hefting bales of animal fodder off the back of a delivery wagon. Their lumbering movement was almost robotic, like poorly operated machinery. Again he marvelled at their size: ten … eleven foot tall, and perhaps eight foot from one rounded mass of shoulder across to the other.
‘Could we not stop for the night in this town?’ grumbled Lincoln. ‘My feet feel like they’ve been pulled through a knothole backwards!’
Liam nodded sympathetically. He felt every bit as exhausted. Fifteen miles on firm hard tarmac was enough of a hike, but across ploughed fields of thick, freshly turned soil, meadows of tall knotted grass, through woods deep with spongy leaves hiding gnarly roots ready to trip you up, he was just as spent.
They had about another sixteen miles to go. That’s what Bob had said the last time he’d pestered the support unit for an estimate.
‘Aye, I suppose we could do that. We’ve got another whole day and a bit to get us there. And that’s not so far for us to do tomorrow.’
They had no money on them to pay for lodgings, not that he could see anywhere that looked like an inn or a hotel. But a barn, a shed, an outhouse would be more appealing for a night’s sleep than some open field.
He turned round to tell Bob they were going to find somewhere on the edge of this town to stop for the day. Even though it was still only mid-afternoon, they all needed a rest and there was more than enough time for one.
But Bob had stopped in his tracks. He was a dozen yards behind them, frozen like a statue and staring listlessly up at the clear blue sky.
‘Uh … Bob? You all right?’
‘I think he’s
Liam looked around.
‘Hey, big fella … you’re spookin’ the locals, so you are.’
Bob ignored him, busy catching and collating the tachyon particles winking invisibly into sub-atomic existence in the air around them.
‘Your friend all right there, young man?’ asked a lady, clutching a basket. She stopped mid-stride and peered out from her bonnet, shading her eyes from the afternoon sun.
‘Oh, he’s fine,’ said Liam. ‘Just a little tired, ma’am.’
She nodded and passed by, casting one more curious glance back at them before crossing the high street.
‘Uh, Bob …? How about we just walk a little while you’re doing the message thing? You’re attracting attention.’
Bob remained rooted to the spot.
‘Bob?’
Finally he blinked awareness back into his glazed eyes and looked down at Liam.
‘Liam,’ he said. ‘I have just received a message from Madelaine.’
Liam’s eyes widened. ‘Well?’
Bob frowned at his flippancy. ‘Negative. The message does not indicate she is well.’
The other two joined them now. ‘Was it Maddy?’ asked Sal.
‘Affirmative. A partial message. The signal has been corrupted slightly. Message content is as follows:
Liam looked at the others. ‘She sounds stressed. That’s never a good sign.’
‘Un … Tack …?’ Sal frowned. ‘Well, that’s
Liam cursed.
‘Recommendation: we should — ’
‘I know, I know,’ cut in Liam. ‘We can forget about a rest!’ He looked around, up and down the main street. He could see a couple of horses tethered to a rail outside one of the stores. Further along, a flatbed wagon pulled by a pair of huffaloes was slowly rolling up along dusty tracks carved in the street.
They were not following any road map to get to the rendezvous point; they were merely going as the crow flies, a straight beeline over fields, over hedges, through woods, streams. They needed something that didn’t require a road. He looked the other way up the street.
He saw the delivery vehicle still laden with bales of cattle feed: a long flatbed hooked up to a motorized tractor. Above a small driver’s cabin a chimney pot was impatiently puffing clouds of exhaust into the sky.
‘You, sir … are thinking of stealing that vehicle?’ asked Lincoln.
Liam nodded. ‘It may not be the fastest thing on the road … but faster than walking, right?’
Sal and Lincoln nodded.
‘All right, then,’ said Liam, ‘I suppose we better go and, uh,
CHAPTER 78
2001, New York
Devereau counted thirty seconds of almost continuous volley fire from his men before the crackle of gunshots began to wane as empty ammo clips were expelled with the telltale
A new bank of gunpowder smoke was slowly drifting down the slope from their trench. As it thinned and cleared, he could see that the shingle and the shallow water around the ramps were littered with the bodies of the dead and wounded. A devastating opening salvo that at first appeared to have decimated the British. But they were now starting to return fire and he could see that a lot of the crimson tunics lying half in and out of the lapping water were men who had instinctively ducked to the ground and were now picking themselves up and levelling their
