gns.throwback-第33部分

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's　really　funny。　You　always　loved　onions；　Ek；　even　when　we　were　courting。　If　I　close　my　eyes　I　can　go　right　back　there　only　I　can't　get　them　shut。
　　
　　She　read　a　lot　in　his　eyes；　things　that　his　brain　was　incapable　of　transmitting　into　words。　Half…memories；　recognition。　He　was　struggling　with　it　all　but　it　was　too　much　for　him　so　he　had　to　resort　to　a　language　he　knew。　Fingers　explored　her　clothing；　unfamiliar　with　how　a　blouse　and　skirt　came　off。
　　
　　I'll　help　you；　Ek。　She　fumbled；　her　fingers　shaking　so　much　that　the　buttons　twisted　in　their　holes　and　she　tore　at　them　in　her　frustration。　You　don't　have　to　use　anything；　I'll　be　OK。　If　anything　goes　wrong　we'll　blame　Roy　Patter…son　again；　OK？
　　
　　He　couldn't　wait；　was　helping　her　to　tear　off　her　remaining　garments；　grunting　his　delight　as　he　fingered　her；　hurt　her；　but　she　did　not　cry　out。　Oh　God；　it　was　too　wonderful　to　be　true。　You've　been　searching　for　me　all　these　months；　Eric。　How　did　you　find　me　here　。　。　。？
　　
　　Guilt；　he'd　known　all　along；　guessed　where　she　went　to　get　screwed　whilst　he　was　away　peddling　his　wares。　She　dropped　her　gaze；　spread　her　legs　wide；　edged　back　on　the　hard　quarries　of　the　kitchen　floor　but　they　had　the　softness　of　a　French　quilt。　I　didn't　want　to　e　here；　Eric；　please　believe　me。　Can't　things　be　as　they　once　were　between　us？
　　
　　He　wanted　her　from　behind；　lifted　her　bodily；　turned　her　over；　pulled　her　up　into　a　kneeling　position。　His　thrust　took　her　by　surprise；　threw　her　forward　so　that　she　hit　her　head　hard　on　the　table　leg。　Blackness　and　pain；　then　he　was　in　her；　shuddering　her　whole　body　with　the　lust　of　weeks　of　waiting。　Mind…blowing；　an　erotic　dream；　soaring　her　to　unbelievable　heights　and　then　leaving　her　writhing　on　the　floor。　Her　strength　was　gone；　her　groping　arms　dropping　back　down。　Don't　leave　me；　Eric；　I　need　you。　Take　me　with　you　wherever　you're　going。　Don't　leave　me！
　　
　　And　in　those　few　moments　of　silence　they　both　heard　the　sound　of　approaching　footsteps；　studded　working　boots　on　the　yard　outside　scraping　on　pebbles。　And　in　that　moment　Eric　Atkinson　was　a　beast　of　the　wild　again；　primitive　man　obeying　the　strongest　instinct　of　all…survival。
　　
　　One　bound　took　him　to　the　open　door。　Sylvia　glimpsed　him　from　the　rear；　unfamiliar　now；　the　hairy　flesh　rippling　with　muscle；　short　legs　bracing　him　for　the　rush　to　freedom。
　　
　　'Eric　。　。　。　don't　leave　me；　please。'
　　
　　He　ran；　low　and　fast；　a　direct　course　for　the　gap　in　the　straggling　hawthorn　hedge。　Aware　of　the　man　he　had　watched　for　so　long　from　the　hills　above；　the　pale　hairless　features　and　strange　colourful　clothing；　the　stick　he　carried　that　made　loud　bangs　and　dropped　birds　dead　in　flight。
　　
　　For　a　second；　maybe　two；　Jon　Quinn's　reflexes　froze；　a　snippet　of　time　that　meant　the　difference　between　life　and　death　for　Eric　Atkinson。　Seeing　but　not　wholly　believing；　the　terrible　fear　of　what　he　might　find　back　in　the　cottage。
　　
　　Anger　climbing　into　fury；　remembering　his　gun　and　what　it　could　do。　He　threw　it　to　his　shoulder；　pulled　twice；　cursed　because　there　was　no　more　than　a　faint　futile　click　from　each　trigger。　The　safety…catch　was　on！　Valuable　seconds　consumed　as　he　half…lowered　the　weapon；　forced　the　serrated　sliding　catch　forward；　back　to　his　shoulder；　searching　for　his　target。
　　
　　The　other　was　already　in　the　hedge；　scrambling　through　like　a　dog…fox　to　whom　its　escape　route　was　second　nature；　screened　from　view。　Right　or　left？　He　hedged　his　bets；　fired　6ne　barrel　a　yard　to　the　right　of　the　gap；　the　other　a　yard　to　the　left。　No　answering　cry　of　pain。　He　could　have　killed　the　bastard　stone　dead。　Or　he　could　have　missed。
　　
　　Running；　still　carrying　the　smoking　shotgun；　in　through　the　door。　Oh　my　God！
　　
　　At　first　he　thought　Sylvia　was　dead；　the　way　her　naked　body　was　stretched　out　across　the　quarries；　those　weals　on　her　flesh；　the　rape　blood　smeared　on　the　insides　of　her　thighs。　My　fault；　oh　Jesus；　my　fault；　I　shouldn't　have　left　her。　　I　killed　her！
　　
　　Then　her　head　moved　and　her　eyes　opened；　insistently　asking　questions　as　he　knelt　to　examine　her。　'You　didn't　kill　him；　did　you？　DidyouT　Starting　to　scream　hysterically。
　　
　　'No。'　He　knew　he　spoke　the　truth；　knew　only　too　well　that　the　fleeing　throwback　had　flung　himself　flat　once　he　was　through　the　hedge；　was　now　on　his　way　back　up　to　those　thorn　bushes　where　he　could　sit　and　watch　them　in　safety；　probably　wanking　himself　and　remembering　what　he'd　done　in　that　cottage。　The　filthy　fucking　bastard！　Next　time　。　。　。
　　
　　'You're　sure？'　Sylvia　was　crying；　clutching　at　him。　'You're　sure　you　didn't　kill　him？'
　　
　　'I　missed。'　Jon　was　shaking。　God；　I'm　glad　I　never　told　her　what　happened　to　Gwyther。　'What　happened？1　It　was　obvious　but　he　had　to　ask　just　the　same。
　　
　　'I　left　the　door　open；'　she　said；　calmer　now；　'and　before　I　knew　it　he　was　in　here。　He　didn't　hurt　me；　he　。　。　。'
　　
　　'It　doesn't　bloody　look　like　it。'　He　winced　at　the　sight　of　those　nail　gouges；　the　bruise　on　her　forehead；　pictured　the　intruder　whipping　himself　up　into　a　fury　of　lust；　stabbing　at　her　until　he　found　the　way　in。　'In　a　civilised　society　they'd　put　a　guy　away　for　ten　years　for　a　rape　like　that。'　Only　we　don't　have　a　civilised　society　anymore。
　　
　　'I。　。　。　don't　want　you　to　kill　anybody；'　she　sobbed；　knew　he　couldn't　see　her　expression　at　that　moment　because　she　was　pulling　her　blouse　back　over　her　head。　'Whatever　you　do；　Jon；　you　mustn't　kill　anybody。　Now　that　you've　shot　at　him　and　frightened　him　I　don't　expect　he'll　e　back。'
　　
　　'He　won't　go　far；'　Jon　grimaced。　'He's　been　up　there　watching　us　for　weeks；　mooching　about　the　place　after　dark。　He's　a　threat　to　both　of　us　and　now　you're　asking　me　not　to　hurt　him。　Are　you　crazy？'
　　
　　'I　can't　stand　killing。'　She　turned　her　head　away　from　him。　'I'm　OK；　there's　no　harm　done；　and　in　future　I'll　keep　the　door　locked。　I'm　asking　you　is　not　to　kill　anybody。'
　　
　　'So　if　they　rush　us　one　night　we　just　open　the　doors　and　let　them　e　in？　Would　you　like　me　to　arrange　disarmament　talks　with　them；　unilateral；　of　course；'　he　sneered；　regretted　his　sarcasm　a　moment　later。
　　
　　She　leaped　to　her　feet；　ran　for　the　stairs。　He　heard　her　sobs；　the　banging　of　the　bedroom　door。　Jesus　Harry　Christ；　this　took　some　beating！　He　sighed；　moved　across　to　the　doorway。　It　was　raining　again；　splattering　on　the　yard；　melting　the　sun…baked　summer　clay　into　thick　sticky　mud。　It　was　cold；　too。
　　
　　He　found　himself　looking　back　up　towards　the　hillside　opposite；　his　eyes　searching　through　the　scattered　thorn　bushes。　A　hare　was　bounding　up　the　slope；　its　powerful　backlegs　thrusting　it　upwards　with　an　air　of　urgency；　because　something　had　disturbed　it。
　　
　　Jon　Quinn　narrowed　his　eyes；　squinted；　but　he　could　not　find　what　he　was　looking　for；　a　hairy　human　shape　squatting　on　its　haunches；　immobile　as　it　gazed　down　on　the　cottage。
　　
　　Jon　could　not　see　him　but　he　knew　he　was　there　all　right。　Waiting　again。　He　reloaded　the　gun；　propped　it　up　in　the　porch。　I'm　going　to　kill　you；　you　bastard。　She　won't　stop　me　because　it's　not　because　of　her　I'm　going　to　blow　your　fucking　head　off　like　I　did　Gwyther's。　It's　because　there　s　only　room　for　one　of　us　in　these　hills。
　　
　　Autumn。　The　rutting　season　had　begun　when　males　fought　to　the　death　for　their　place　at　the　stand。　And　Jon　Quinn　had　made　up　his　mind　that　he　wasn't　going　to　be　the　vanquished。
　　
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　SIXTEEN
　　
　　PHIL　WINDER　was　aware　that　large　numbers　of　these　wild　tribes　were　moving　into　the　hills。　He　had　spied　them　in　the　distance　from　the　Knoll；　the　highest　point　on　the　farm；　whole　packs　of　them　trekking　purposefully；　urgently。　They　must　be　crazy　moving　up　on　to　high　ground　for　the　winter；　he　thought。
　　
　　He　was　worried　about　Jackie；　too。　It　was　like　taking　a　dog　that　had　lived　in　an　outside　kennel　all　its　life　and　expecting　it　to　adapt　immediately　to　a　life　indoors。　She　was　constantly　going　outside；　once　he　awoke　in　the　middle　of　the　night　and　found　her　gone。　Panicking；　fearing　lest　she　had　gone　back　to　the　wild　he　had　run　downstairs；　seen　the　back　door　wide　open。
　　
　　A　starlit　autumn　night　with　no　moon；　a　distinct　chill　creeping　into　the　atmosphere；　some　of　the　leaves　beginning　to　turn　now。　He　shivered；　called　softly；　'Jac。'
　　
　　He　heard　a　movement；　saw　something　materialising　out　of　the　clump　of　cupressus　firs　which　served　as　a　windbreak　across　the　front　of　the　farmhouse。　It　was　Jackie；　shaking　her　head　and　smiling　weakly　in　her　own　kind　of　apology。　She　couldn't　sleep；　she　needed　fresh　air。　Day　by　day　she　was　being　more　restless。　He　wondered　if　the　call　of　the　wild　was　proving　too　much　for　her　and　one　morning　he　would　wake　up　and　she　would　be　gone　for　good。
　　
　　'We'd　better　go　back　inside　and　keep　the　door　locked。'　He　used　sign　language　still；　let　her　pick　up　her　own　scraps　of　vocabulary；　if　he　didn't　talk　to　somebody　he　would　go　mad。　These　hills　are　full　of　your　。　。　。　people。　We　can't　take　risks。1
　　
　　She　nodded；　followed　him　back　into　the　house。　How　the　hell　did　you　ask　a　woman　who　had　virtually　stepped　straight　out　of　the　Stone　Age　if　something　was　troubling　h