gns.throwback-第48部分

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　　
　　Dusk；　a　saffron　sky　streaked　with　the　last　reflections　from　the　sun　which　had　dipped　behind　the　distant　jagged　mountain　peaks。　On　the　left　was　a　village；　its　church　spire　rigid　and　defiant　in　this　white　wilderness。　But　the　party　was　veering　off；　taking　a　narrow　lane　bordered　by　high　snow…capped　hedgerows。　Barely　more　than　a　crawling　pace　now；　the　journey　having　sapped　their　weakened　bodies。
　　
　　It　was　almost　dark　when　they　saw　the　ruined　castle；　skeletal　remains　of　an　isolated　bastion　which　had　once　withstood　the　onslaught　of　Welsh　raiders　across　the　border；　an　impression　of　top…heaviness　as　it　perched　on　a　hillock；　still　on　guard　in　spite　of　its　crumbling　stonework。
　　
　　One　of　the　party　had　slumped　to　the　ground；　the　others　clustering　round　him。　They　made　no　attempt　to　pick　him　up。　The　sick　must　be　left　to　die。　They　staggered　on；　came　to　the　foot　of　the　knoll；　the　small　castle　sinister　and　forbidding　in　the　failing　light。　Sylvia　shuddered；　she　could　almost　feel　the　aura　of　death　that　had　surrounded　this　place　for　centuries。　In　the　distance　somebody　was　wailing；　grief…stricken　cries　that　hung　in　the　still　frosty　air。　It　was　probably　the　woman　who　cradled　her　dead　offspring；　unable　to　continue　any　further。　Eventually　the　noise　died　away。
　　
　　The　ruins　were　already　occupied；　another　group　of　a　dozen　or　more　tribesmen　engaged　in　building　a　fire　with　dead　wood　which　they　had　dug　out　of　the　drifts。　There　was　neither　animosity　nor　friendship　shown　towards　the　newers；　just　an　acceptance　of　their　presence。
　　
　　With　some　difficulty　they　managed　to　ignite　the　woodpile；　the　yellow　flames　having　to　fight　for　a　hold　on　the　wet　kindling；　hissing　angrily；　determined　to　conquer；　giving　off　a　strange　eerie　glow。
　　
　　Sylvia　found　herself　scrutinising　the　faces　of　the　strangers；　peering　at　each　in　turn；　hope；　despair；　still　hoping。
　　
　　Eric　was　dead；　he　would　not　be　here。　She　tried　to　remember　what　he　looked　like　but　her　memory　failed　her。
　　
　　Her　reasoning　was　being　dulled；　even　she　realised　it；　knew　vaguely　what　was　happening　to　her。　Very　soon　I　shall　be　one　of　you。　She　felt　at　her　face；　her　cheeks　were　rough　and　coarse　and　that　line　of　fluffy　hair　along　her　upper　lip；　which　she　had　creamed　for　years；　had　grown　strong　and　prickly。　Her　armpits　were　bushes　of　coarse　hair；　her　breasts　full　as　though　they　were　in　milk。
　　
　　She　did　not　feel　the　cold　as　she　had　done　earlier；　huddling　now　with　the　others　in　the　damp　pit　which　had　once　been　a　prison　from　which　captured　enemy　soldiers　rarely　emerged　alive。　No　longer　an　outcast；　she　mingled　with　the　others；　sought　the　warmth　of　their　bodies。　They　were　her　people；　always　had　been。
　　
　　A　long　cold　night；　the　condensation　on　the　stone　walls　a　sheet　of　ice。　Sleeping；　dreams　which　were　beyond　her　prehension　now；　of　strange　places　where　the　elements　did　not　penetrate；　where　there　was　food　in　abundance。　Fearful　of　this　unfamiliar　environment；　shying　away　from　it。　Running　to　the　hills　in　search　of　her　own　kind。
　　
　　In　search　of　a　man　who　had　once　been　her　mate。
　　
　　And　with　the　ing　of　daylight　she　no　longer　questioned　her　presence　here；　helped　the　others　to　search　for　firewood　amongst　the　frozen　snowdrifts。　The　clouds　were　building　up　again　and　they　all　knew　that　it　was　going　to　snow　once　more；　that　further　travel　was　inadvisable。　They　had　a　supply　of　dried　meat　but　they　needed　to　keep　the　fire　going。　They　would　have　to　hole　up　here　until　the　weather　changed。
　　
　　When　Sylvia　went　back　inside　she　noticed　that　two　of　the　men　had　not　risen　from　their　sleeping　positions　of　the　previous　night。　She　knew　they　were　dead；　the　others　realised　it；　too。　Everybody　accepted　it；　later　the　corpses　would　be　dragged　outside　and　that　would　be　the　end　of　it。　Where　there　was　life　there　was　always　death。
　　
　　By　mid…morning　it　had　begun　to　snow　and　the　wind　had　risen；　driving　it　against　the　north…west　face　of　the　castle；　buffeting　the　ancient　walls　mercilessly　as　though　it　sought　to　break　through　to　those　sheltering　inside。　A　ceaseless　onslaught。
　　
　　Sylvia　helped　the　women　prepare　the　food；　noticed　how　two　more　of　them　coughed　and　spat　blood。　Her　head　ached；　she　felt　unnaturally　hot；　her　forehead　damp　when　she　wiped　it　with　the　back　of　her　hand。　A　soreness　in　her　lungs；　but　there　was　no　blood　when　she　coughed。
　　
　　And　each　night　she　dreamed　of　one　who　had　once　been　her　mate。　She　saw　his　face；　heard　him　calling　her。　She　knew　she　had　to　go　to　him；　that　she　must　leave　this　place。
　　
　　On　the　fourth　day　she　left　the　castle；　took　her　opportunity　when　she　and　two　of　the　other　women　had　gone　out　to　search　for　firewood。　The　snow　was　deep；　travelling　was　not　easy；　and　every　movement　required　a　determined　effort。　If　her　lover　had　not　been　constantly　calling　her　she　would　not　have　gone。　She　would　have　stayed　and　died　in　that　underground　place；　somebody　died　every　day。
　　
　　She　had　to　rest　every　hundred　yards　or　so　and　now　when　she　coughed　there　was　a　tinge　of　red　on　the　snow。　A　desperation　that　overcame　her　waning　strength；　an　inexplicable　instinct　urging　her　to　retrace　her　steps　of　the　last　few　days。　She　must　return　to　the　hills；　she　should　never　have　left　them。
　　
　　And　all　the　time　she　heard　her　mate　calling　her；　a　call　which　could　not　be　denied。　Floundering；　falling；　dragging　herself　through　deep　snowdrifts。　Crawling　when　she　could　no　longer　walk；　sobbing　her　frustration。
　　
　　Until　finally　she　could　go　no　further；　lying　there　in　the　frozen　snow　and　listening　to　the　voice　of　her　lover　vibrating　in　her　pain…crazed　brain。　Waiting　for　nightfall；　for　surely　then　he　would　e　to　her；　carry　her　back　to　the　hills　which　would　be　their　rightful　Kingdom　now　that　everybody　else　had　left。
　　
　　But　he　did　not　e。　And　eventually　he　stopped　calling　her。
　　
　　
　　
　　　CHAPTER　TWENTY…FOUR
　　
　　JACKIE　DID　not　go　upstairs　to　check　on　Rod　Savage。　She　knew　he　was　dead　and　there　was　nothing　to　be　gained　by　going　to　look　at　him。　Secretly　she　was　aware　of　her　fear　of　death。　It　had　not　always　been　like　that；　she　had　seen　plenty　of　it　these　last　few　months　and　had　accepted　it。　But　now　it　was　different；　she　did　not　know　why。
　　
　　The　snowstorm　petered　out　later　the　next　day；　but　the　drifts　were　piled　high　up　against　the　walls　of　the　small　cottage。　Travelling　was　out　of　the　question；　she　had　no　choice　other　than　to　remain　where　she　was。
　　
　　Yet　her　instinct　to　leave　was　strong。　Very　strong。　Like　the　wild　geese　experiencing　the　urge　to　fly　south　with　the　onset　of　winter；　so　she　became　restless。　Pacing　the　living…room　hour　after　hour；　staring　out　of　the　windows　at　the　drifted　snow；　contemplating　digging　herself　out　of　the　garden。　But　it　would　not　end　there；　miles　of　deep　snow　lay　between　herself　and　the　freedom　she　craved。　In　the　end　she　resigned　herself　to　staying；　remaining　in　the　cottage；　a　corpse　on　the　bed　upstairs　for　pany。
　　
　　Two　nights　later　the　dreams　began；　weird　frightening　dreams　as　though　a　hitherto　closed　door　of　her　subconscious　had　opened　up；　a　puter　that　had　been　given　an　extra　key　and　processed　data　which　had　previously　been　denied　it。
　　
　　Delany's　again；　her　surroundings　so　familiar　that　it　might　have　been　only　yesterday　that　she　had　staggered　in　there。　You're　not　well；　you　need　to　rest。　'It's　the　Russians　that　have　done　this　to　us。'　She　ignored　the　man　loitering　in　the　craft　centre；　pushed　past　him　and　went　on　into　the　restaurant。　Empty；　as　she　knew　it　would　be。　The　ovens　still　steamed；　gave　off　an　appetising　aroma　of　vegetarian　dishes。　I'm　not　well；　there's　something　wrong　with　my　skin；　it's　smarting　and　I　can't　think　properly。　Yes；　you　can。　Fight　it；　don't　succumb　to　it。
　　
　　Seated　at　a　table；　a　cup　of　steaming　herb　tea　before　her；　inhaling　the　vapour；　it　seemed　to　clear　her　head　a　little。　Think；　girl；　think　it　all　out　carefully。　You　made　the　wrong　decision　last　time；　this　is　your　final　chance。
　　
　　The　steam　quelled　the　feeling　of　dizziness；　her　brain　shuttered　like　an　old　plate　camera；　came　back　to　reality。　People　were　shouting　outside；　sirens　blaring；　police　and　ambulances　stuck　in　the　traffic　jam。　What　the　hell　was　going　on？　A　nuclear　attack？
　　
　　Forget　them；　concentrate　on　yourself；　you've　got　to　get　back　home。　Don't　go　to　Pauline's　mother's　house　this　time　because　that　was　where　you　went　wrong　before。　Maybe　now　she　could　drive　the　Dyane　except　she　would　never　get　out　of　town　in　it。　Whatever　her　decision　she　would　have　to　go　on　foot。　Head　south。　Remember　that；　keep　going　south。
　　
　　She　drank　the　herb　tea　thirstily；　poured　herself　some　more。　Don't　forget　to　fill　your　carrier　bags　with　food　before　you　go　because　you'll　need　it。　Then　with　a　jolt　she　remembered　Jon。　Jon！　She　could　picture　his　face　clearly　now；　the　misty　profile　which　had　been　eluding　her　for　so　long。　Her　husband。　A　pang　of　bitterness　because　he　had　another　woman；　probably　that　Atkinson　girl　was　with　him　right　now。　Jealousy；　then　guilt。　She　had　had　other　men　too　but　now　it　was　time　for　a　reconciliation。　She　and　Jon　could　both　work　at　something　they　had　let　slip；　a　marriage　that　had　slid　for　years　and　was　nearly　at　the　bottom　of　the　slope。　But　she　had　to　get　home；　that　was　a　priority。　H