gns.throwback-第34部分

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　　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　her？　It　was　a　miracle　that　the　throwbacks　had　not　attacked　the　house。　Perhaps　they　were　afraid；　although　he　doubted　it。　More　likely　all　their　time　was　taken　up　preparing　new　dwelling…places　for　themselves　and　when　that　task　was　pleted　。　。　。
　　
　　Jackie　was　certainly　disturbed。　Uppermost　in　her　mind　was　the　fear　that　one　day　Kuz　and　his　followers　from　the　village　might　appear　on　the　scene。　She　ought　to　persuade　Phil　to　move　on；　they　had　not　run　far　enough。　Perhaps　Kuz　had　another　woman；　had　already　forgotten　her。　Somehow　her　primitive　pride　refused　to　allow　her　to　believe　this。　He　would　not　let　up　until　he　found　her。
　　
　　And　then　there　was　this　strange　calling；　something　which　she　did　not　understand。　The　man　called　Phil　was　not　truly　her　mate。　They　lived　together；　copulated　frequently　but　。　。　。　something　was　not　quite　right。　She　could　not　think　of　him　in　the　same　way　as　。。。　no；　not　Kuz　。　。　。　she　struggled　to　e　to　terms　with　her　problem。　A　ha　If…re　mem　be　red　face　that　slipped　from　her　memory　just　when　she　thought　she　had　grasped　it；　left　her　with　a　frustrating　blank。　Who？
　　
　　Who？

　　
　　Searching　her　mind；　going　out　into　the　garden　at　night　and　just　standing　there　listening。　She　heard　the　others　in　　　j　the　hills；　noises　from　encampments　borne　to　her　on　the　　　！　wind。　The　urge　was　being　stronger；　soon　she　would　have　to　go　out　into　the　hills　and　；　。　。　and　what？　She　didn't　know。
　　
　　Phil　Winder　wished　that　he　had　a　weapon　of　some　kind；　one　that　would　give　him　superiority　in　the　event　of　an　attack　on　the　farm。　A　shotgun；　for　instance。　But　his　father　was　not　a　believer　in　guns；　abhorred　killing；　he　even　refused　to　let　the　local　hunt　draw　his　land。　He　did　have　an　old　。410　though；　one　that　had　been　his　father's　and　had　been　used　for　shooting　rats　around　the　hayricks　in　the　old　days。　Phil　remembered　it；　determined　to　search　for　it　and　in　due　course　found　it　hidden　away　on　a　shelf　in　the　cowhouse。　He　grimaced　when　he　saw　it；　the　barrel　was　rusted；　had　a　dent　in　it；　the　stock　was　split；　and　both　hammer　and　trigger　springs　were　broken。　So　he　settled　for　the　big　wood　axe；　took　it　upstairs　with　them　at　night。　Maybe；　if　the　need　arose；　he　could　defend　the　landing　in　much　the　same　way　that　Horatio　had　defended　the　bridge。
　　
　　He　did　not　go　far　from　the　farm　these　days；　his　furthest　point　the　Knoll　where　he　lay　and　watched　the　activity　on　the　hillsides　all　around。　There　were　more　camp…fires　than　ever　now；　people　ing　in　all　day　long；　groups　and　singles；　many　of　them　hurrying　as　if　there　was　some　urgency　to　reach　high　ground。　Fleeing　from　something　perhaps　。　。　。
　　
　　Once　he　thought　he　heard　gunfire　in　the　distance；　a　sporadic　burst　of　firing。　If　it　was　the　army　then　they　did　not　e　this　way。　Phil　half…considered　taking　Jackie　and　going　in　search　of　more　survivors　but　discarded　the　idea。　It　was　too　dangerous；　they　were　safer　here。
　　
　　It　was　inevitable　that　the　throwbacks　would　e　to　the　house　one　day。　Phil　just　kept　hoping　that　it　would　not　be　each　today　or　tonight；　for　you　did　not　plan　as　far　as　tomorrow。　But　some　day　or　some　night　they　would　e。
　　
　　He　heard　them　that　blustery　autumn　night　down　in　the　yard　below。　It　was　Jackie　who　gave　him　his　first　warning；　a　tensing　of　her　body　against　his；　her　hand　gripping　his　own。　They　are　here！
　　
　　He　slid　out　of　bed　and　crossed　to　the　window。　There　was　enough　moonlight　to　see　by；　a　weird　scene　below；　furtive　shapes　that　were　barely　human；　slinking　in　the　shadows；　a　dozen；　maybe　more；　moving　with　a　sinister　stealth　that　left　no　doubt　in　his　mind　what　they　had　e　for。
　　
　　He　picked　up　the　axe。　Suddenly　it　felt　puny；　useless。　The　enemy　would　be　suitably　armed　with　whatever　weapons　they　had　stolen　from　farms　and　houses。　He　was　one　against　many；　his　only　advantage　was　the　narrow　landing　with　barely　room　for　two　people　to　pass。　They　could　only　e　at　him　one　at　a　time。
　　
　　He　heard　them　smash　down　the　front　door；　a　splintering　and　tearing　of　woodwork；　a　heavy　beam　crashing。　Low　snuffling　noises；　a　snarl。　Then　silence　except　for　their　heavy　breathing。
　　
　　They　were　in　the　hall；　waiting　whilst　their　eyesight　adjusted　to　the　darkness；　Phil　Winder　could　hear　the　beating　of　his　own　heart；　his　pulses　pumping　blood　as　hard　as　they　could　go。　His　mouth　was　dry　and　he　understood　where　the　proverbial　likeness　to　the　bottom　of　a　parrot's　cage　came　from。　He　tasted　his　own　terror；　the　fetid　flavour　of　fear。
　　
　　There　was　no　sound　from　Jackie；　she　was　lying　on　the　bed；　listening　just　like　he　was。　There　was　no　way　out；　they　had　lived　for　today　too　long　and　now　tomorrow　had　caught　up　with　them。　He　heard　the　first　soft　footfall　on　the　stairs。　Phil　sweated；　rested　the　axe　on　his　shoulder；　gripped　the　stail　with　sticky　hands；　pressed　himself　back　into　the　shadows。　He　wanted　the　first　blow　to　take　them　by　surprise；　the　advantage　was　his　for　anyone　approaching　him　would　be　silhouetted　against　the　faint　light　of　the　small　landing　window。　First　up；　first　to　die！
　　
　　Suddenly　he　saw　them；　shaggy　long…haired　creatures　which　might　have　been　werewolf　images　depicted　in　some　macabre　shadow…show；　the　first　one　taller　than　the　second；　striking　his　head　against　a　low　beam；　ducking。
　　
　　And　that　was　then　Phil　Winder　drove　in　the　first　blow。　He　felt　the　impact；　felt　his　stomach　heave　up。　Like　splitting　logs；　if　you　hit　them　properly　they　fell　apart；　inaccuracy　or　knotted　wood　resulted　in　the　axe…head　sticking　so　that　you　had　to　tug　it　free。　This　was　one　of　the　latter。
　　
　　No　scream；　just　a　dull　thud；　the　other's　arms　going　up　instinctively　to　pull　at　the　axe　then　falling　away　limply。　Dead；　tottering；　falling；　almost　pulling　Phil　with　him。　Winder　took　the　strain；　used　a　foot　on　the　stair…rail　as　a　lever　and　then　the　corpse　pulled　free；　staggered；　slumped　backwards　taking　the　man　directly　behind　him　down　with　him　on　to　those　below。
　　
　　Christ；　if　only　somebody　would　scream！　But　nobody　did；　somebody　grunted　with　surprise　and　it　sounded　like　water　was　trickling　somewhere　except　that　it　was　too　thick　and　sluggish　for　water；　dripping　steadily　off　the　stair…head　down　into　the　well　of　the　hall　below。
　　
　　Phil　swung　his　axe；　saw　them　ing　again；　warier　this　time；　a　long　pitchfork　being　thrust　up　ahead　of　them。　He　struck；　snapped　it　in　two；　sent　the　twin…pronged　head　spinning。　A　second　blow　just　in　time　to　catch　the　next　man　who　rushed　him；　a　devastating　shoulder　wound。　The　man　dropped　with　a　groan；　blocked　the　stairs；　but　they　were　clambering　over　him；　an　army　who　seemed　not　to　know　the　meaning　of　death！　A　gathering　tide　which　would　surely　sweep　him　down。
　　
　　One　of　them　lost　half　his　face　to　a　downwards　sweep　of　the　axe；　the　blade　scraping　the　forehead；　biting　deep　and　gouging　out　an　eye；　taking　out　the　cheekbone　on　its　downward　journey；　slicing　the　mouth　through　and　ing　out　at　the　jaw；　showering　teeth　and　bone　splinters　as　it　came　free。　A　hand　grabbed　the　handle；　jerked　on　it；　two　or　three　more　hands　securing　a　grip。　And　in　those　few　seconds　Phil　Winder　was　rendered　defenceless；　his　axe　wrested　from　his　grip。　；
　　
　　Mentally　he　surrendered。　Perhaps　he　could　have　lifted　the　narrow　mirror　off　the　picture…rail　above　his　head；　wielded　it　until　the　glass　was　all　smashed　and　gone。　Or　run　back　into　the　bedroom；　forced　the　ancient　lock　to　turn；　given　himself　and　Jackie　a　minute　or　two　more　of　life。　But　in　the　end　it　would　not　have　made　much　difference　and　he　knew　it；
　　
　　He　retreated　until　his　back　touched　the　wall；　his　head　brushed　a　low　beam　on　the　slanted　roof。　His　guts　were　twisted　up　and　he　tasted　blood　in　his　mouth。　He　half…raised　his　arms；　dropped　them　again；　gave　an　hysterical　laugh。　This　bloody　Jot　didn't　know　the　meaning　of　surrender…you　fought　until　you　dropped。　No　quarter　asked　nor　given；　he　had　killed　and　maimed　two　or　three　of　them。　Now　it　was　their　turn！
　　
　　He　remembered　the　pit；　he'd　sooner　be　dead；　so　long　as　they　killed　him　quickly。　Their　hands　reached　out　for　him；　scraped　his　face　and　chest　like　claws；　gripped　his　arms。　The　man　with　the　mutilated　face　miraculously　still　lived；　it　was　impossible！　Streaming　blood；　head　thrust　forward；　blazing　malevolence　at　Phil　with　his　remaining　eye。　You　did　this　to　me　and　now　I　want　my　revenge！
　　
　　Phil　screamed；　struggled　with　those　who　held　him　as　the　pain…maddened　throwback　clawed　at　his　face；　scraped；　dug　deep　and　raked。　An　eye　for　an　eye　。　。　。　Blinded；　blood　streaming　everywhere；　pinioned　whilst　that　pain…crazed　bastard　shredded　him　to　bloody　ribbons！　Writhing。　Strong　fingers　forced　his　mouth　open；　gripped　his　cheek　flesh；　tore　in　opposite　directions。
　　
　　Kill　me；　you　fuckers。　Kill　me！
　　
　　He　was　dying　but　not　fast　enough；　not　even　the　strength　to　writhe　now。　He　thought　about　Jackie；　this　was　all　his　fault。　If　she　hadn't　helped　him　escape　in　the　first　place　she　would　still　be　the　chiefs　woman　back　at　the　settlement。　Now　they　would　take　their　vengeance；　had　waited　weeks　to　catch　up　with　the　fugitives。
　　
　　They　released　their　hold　and　Phil　Winder　slumped　to　the　floor。