They were all very tired. It was well past one o’clock, and the night was into its weariest and longest hours. Prickles was still fast asleep, in Mrs. Henschel’s arms, but the rest of them were too tense and too worried to rest.
‘I suppose you realize we might have taken the plague with us,’ remarked Adelaide. ‘I mean, for all we know, one of us might be infected.’
Dr. Petrie nodded, his face illuminated green from the dials on the instrument panel.
‘That’s possible, but I think it’s unlikely. I’ve been exposed to the plague more than any of you, and I haven’t caught it. Maybe I’m just immune. From what we’ve seen of the plague so far, it strikes very quickly. If we haven’t had it yet, I don’t think we’re going to get it now.’
‘Please God,’ muttered Mr. Henschel.
‘Yes,’ said Dr. Petrie, ‘please God.’
They drove in silence for a while. It was early Wednesday morning, before the news of the plague had officially been released by the news media, and all their car radio could tell them was that Spanish or swine ’flu was ‘still causing some fatalities in Miami and southern Florida.’ When the radio said that, Dr. Petrie looked up at his mirror. He saw the huge columns of fire that distantly leaped and roared from the hotels along Miami Beach, and wondered, not for the first time in his life, how politicians and newsmen could possibly get away with what they did and said.
He was still pondering on this when Mr. Henschel pointed up ahead. ‘I see lights,’ he said tensely. ‘Looks like there’s a roadblock up there.’
Dr. Petrie slowed down, and they all peered anxiously into the night. Half a mile up the road, they saw the bright glow of spotlights, and a cluster of cars and trucks.
‘Where is this?’ asked Adelaide.
‘Looks like Hallandale,’ said Dr. Petrie. ‘They must’ve pulled the roadblocks back a bit.’
‘What are you going to do?’ said Mr. Henschel. ‘If they stop you, you’re finished. They won’t let you past.’
By now, they had almost reached the roadblock. It was the National Guard, and they had obstructed the highway with trucks and signs. As they approached in their car, a guardsman in combat fatigue stepped forward with his hand raised. Dr. Petrie slowed down and stopped.
The guardsman stayed well away from them. He was carrying a sub-machine gun, and he obviously intended to use it if life got a little difficult. He was only about nineteen or twenty years old, and his thin face was shadowed by his heavy helmet.
‘Sorry, folks!’ he called out. ‘You’ll have to turn back!’
Dr. Petrie said, ‘I’m a doctor. I have ID. All these people are clear of disease.’
The guardsman shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir. We have orders not to let anyone through under any circumstances.’
‘But I’m a doctor,’ persisted Dr. Petrie. He held out his identity papers and waved them. ‘I have to get through on urgent business.’
The National Guardsman stepped forward a couple of paces and peered at the papers. Then he stepped back again, and said, ‘Just hold on a moment. I’ll get some confirmation.’
They waited for more than five minutes before the young guardsman came back with an officer. The officer was a tough, grizzle-haired veteran who was obviously enjoying his new-found responsibilities.
‘Hi,’ called Dr. Petrie. ‘My name’s Dr. Leonard Petrie.’
The officer took a look at their car, and walked around it. Then said, ‘My apologies, doctor, but you’ll have to go back.’
‘Back where? The whole of Miami’s on fire.’
‘I don’t know where, doctor, but I’m afraid that’s the order. You have to turn back.’
Dr. Petrie paused for a while. He looked at the officer and the guardsman, standing twenty feet away on the spotlit highway, and then he turned and looked at Mr. Henschel.
‘David,’ he said, using his neighbor’s Christian name for the first time ever, ‘do you think you can take the boy?’
‘Quick?’ asked Mr. Henschel, almost without moving his lips.
Dr. Petrie nodded. ‘I’ll turn, and drive around them. Take the boy first because he’s got the most fire-power. Then the officer.’
Quite casually, Mr. Henschel chambered a round and pushed the bolt of his rifle forward.
‘Ready when you are,’ he said.
Dr. Petrie leaned out of the car window. ‘We’re just leaving,’ he said to the guardsmen. ‘We’ve decided to turn back.’
Adelaide whispered, ‘Leonard – please don’t kill them. Look at him – he’s only a boy.’
Dr. Petrie turned and looked at her. ‘Adelaide, we have to. If we don’t we’re all washed up. There’s no other way of getting through. Now just sit still and keep your head down.’
Dr. Petrie released the handbrake, and slowly turned the Gran Torino around. As he did so, Mr. Henschel lifted his rifle and rested it across Dr. Petrie’s shoulders, aiming out of the driver’s window towards the two National Guardsmen.
‘Now,’ said Dr. Petrie quietly, as he swung the car around in a tight curve. ‘They’re off balance – now!’
As the car screeched around them, the guardsmen turned to follow its progress, and as it curved behind them they were momentarily left unprotected, with their weapons pointing the opposite way. Mr. Henschel squeezed off one shot, then another, then another. Dr. Petrie felt the rifle jolt against his shoulders, and one of the spent cartridges rolled into his lap. He kept the car turning in a circle, faster and faster, and as the two guardsmen crumpled to the ground, he forced his foot down on the gas, and steered the Torino straight for the wooden bar that obstructed the road.
With a heavy hang, the car toppled the barrier and skidded off northwards into the night. They heard four or five isolated shots being fired in their direction, but after a few minutes there was nothing but the sound of the car, and the wind that rushed past the open windows.
‘Guess they’re pretty thin on the ground,’ said Mr. Henschel. ‘Otherwise they’d have chased us something rotten.’
Dr. Petrie wiped his sweating forehead
