The Quarry

Gerlof knew every centimetre of this narrow, bumpy track; he had walked up and down it countless times on his visits to Ernst, but it was six or seven years since he had last walked over to the cottage. He had been about seventy-five then, more or less healthy and almost young.

With his aching legs and hips he was able to take only small, cautious steps, which made the journey seem endless. The track curved around the quarry, and way ahead in the distance Gerlof could see the gravelled area in front of Ernst’s cottage.

Could he really walk that far? He had managed the first hundred metres, but his body was aching and his legs were trembling. His only consolation was that he had put on his winter coat before setting off; it was buttoned up to the top, and kept his back and shoulders warm.

He didn’t know what time it was, but the sun was low over the sound now. It would soon be gone. The wind had got up and was making his eyes smart. He blinked away the tears and battled on.

After a few minutes he passed the first of the luxury homes. Kurdin, that was the name of the family. He couldn’t see anyone, but there were lights showing in a couple of the tall windows. He considered turning off and ringing their doorbell, but gritted his teeth and kept on going.

He was still managing to keep his balance with the aid of his stick, although his knees had started to stiffen up.

He was too far away from the quarry to be able to look over the edge and check if the car he had seen had pulled in at the bottom. But he strongly suspected that the driver had been on his way there to meet Per Morner.

What could Gerlof do when he got there? Wave his stick at the car and try to frighten the man away?

He didn’t know. Perhaps he should have called the police instead of setting off to find Per – but then all he had to go on was a bad feeling, and that was hardly likely to get the police to send a car out to northern Oland.

Now he was passing the second new house, where Vendela Larsson had organized a get-together for the neighbours at Easter. There were no lights on anywhere.

He stopped at the end of the Larssons’ drive to catch his breath, longing for his wheelchair. Still three hundred metres to go to Per’s cottage, or maybe four hundred.

One step at a time.

He still couldn’t see anyone around the quarry, but the old Saab was parked outside the cottage. So Per was home, unless he’d gone out for a walk.

A sturdy wooden bench would have been useful at this point, but there wasn’t even a rock to sit on here by the track. He just had to keep battling on. He could hear the wind in his ears, and perhaps something else – the sound of a car engine idling?

When he was two hundred metres from Per Morner’s cottage, the sun began to slip down into the sound. The fiery glow was silently consumed by the horizon, leaving a burning sky in the west that was gradually beginning to darken.

As soon as the sun had disappeared, the night began to creep in across the coast. The quarry was filled with a grey gloom.

Gerlof wanted to hurry on, but his strength was almost gone.

After a hundred metres he had to stop and lean on his stick once again, and that was when he heard a dull roar.

It came from the quarry. He took a couple more steps, and saw a bright glow down below.

A new sun flared up briefly in the darkness down at the bottom of the quarry, yellowish-white and much brighter than the first, and a rumbling echo rolled up over the rock face. Something had exploded among the piles of stone.

He breathed in the cold air and started to move towards the edge as quickly as he could. A car engine revved. He heard someone shouting down below, and a few seconds later came the acrid smell of burning petrol.

69

Per blinked, waiting for Thomas Fall to toss the match into the shining pool of petrol. He could simply flick it away with his thumb and forefinger, then take a step back to watch the conflagration.

But Fall was much more cautious than that. He leaned forward slowly, lowering the match towards the pool.

Per saw the flame twirl and grow – and then, at the last moment, a slightly stronger puff of wind from the sea blew it out. A glowing point lingered for a second, then disappeared.

I ought to get up and make a run for it, thought Per. Or knock him down. After all, I can do a bit of judo, I ought to knock him down.

But he couldn’t get up, he was too badly hurt. He had severe burns on his arm, and the rest of his body just felt numb. He was not aware of any pain in his broken ribs; he felt nothing.

Fall didn’t seem annoyed that the flame had gone out; he quickly dropped the match and took out a new one. No, in fact he’d taken out three, Per realized – he put them together and struck them.

He heard the crackling noise again, louder this time. The flame that sprang to life was three times stronger than the last one, and burnt more brightly. Per sat on the ground with his head pounding, still thinking about judo. He had sat in this position in the training centre in Kalmar, his knees resting on a thin, soft mat, and he remembered how he had learned to relax and focus on moving through the space. A fluid movement – throwing himself forwards, rolling to one side, falling backwards.

Backwards. He could try to fall backwards.

Now Fall was bending down towards the edge of the pool of petrol, and at the same moment Per gathered all his strength and threw himself backwards in a somersault. He relaxed as he fell, arched his back, turned his head to one side and tried to make his body into a soft arc, rolling away from the flame and the petrol.

Fall had dropped the match. The fumes dancing just above the ground ignited first, then the entire pool began to burn with a dull puff! and a glow that lit up the rock face all around.

For a brief moment Per found himself on his back at the edge of the pool of fire with his shoes pointing up at the sky, then he completed the backward somersault as his legs hit the ground and he felt a stab of pain bury itself in his ribs.

But he was away from the fire. He had rolled backwards away from the pool of fire, and his petrol-sodden clothes were still only wet, not burning.

Good, keep going, he thought. Get out of the way.

His ribcage was throbbing and aching, but still he tried to get up. He put his right hand down on the gravel and managed to push himself up.

Behind him the flames continued to dance.

He had to try to get away, but where could he go? He was trapped in a giant punchbowl, with walls of rock several metres high all around him; between him and the track leading out of the quarry were Thomas Fall and his car.

A wide, jagged shadow loomed before him in the darkness beyond the fire, forty or fifty metres away. Per realized it was the nearest heap of reject stone, where he and Jesper had found the oblong blocks for the steps. It was perhaps two metres high, like a little round fortress on the bottom of the quarry – he could hide there.

He began to drag himself towards it. When he had gone some twenty metres, Per glanced behind him, but he could no longer see Thomas Fall in the glow of the fire. The burning petrol had begun to die down, but was still glowing and smouldering on the ground. The wind was spreading the billowing smoke, forming a grey curtain in the centre of the quarry – and somewhere behind it he heard the sound of a car engine starting up. The headlights swung around as if the car were searching for him.

Per increased his speed, and seconds before the lights found him he hurled himself down behind the heap of stone.

He clung to the dry blocks of limestone and tried to keep his head down.

The headlights swept past; the car seemed to be driving around in circles in an attempt to find Per. The