Vampires Overhead (26 page)

‘’Ad to come back.’ Dusty’s voice came hesitatingly. Blood dribbled about the stubble on his chin. I had to bend to hear. ‘’Ad to come back. Get the girl. Getcher s’well. But . . . you got me. . . .’

He died then.

‘Oh,’ Janet cried, as she came slowly from the cave, and the accusation, as she stared at me, dropped my eyes before hers. ‘Garry!’

‘I couldn’t help it,’ I answered her reproach shamefacedly. ‘It couldn’t be helped. It was either Bingen or me, or Dusty.’

‘But to kill him.’

She went to where Bingen sat rubbing his head tenderly and knelt beside him. He grinned at me as he put an arm about her. Then he jerked and scowled as her fingers touched his forehead, wiped the trickle of blood away.

‘And so he should be killed,’ Bingen growled. ‘See this? He creased me so closely it’s a marvel it ain’t me dead, instead of him.’

Glad of an excuse to break away from the accusing tension, I bent to examine Bingen. Raising his hands to light the cigarette had saved him. The bullet nicked his forearm and ricochetted on to his temple. A scratch an inch long on his brow and the slight cut on his arm were all Bingen could show in the way of wounds. Leaning with his head on Janet’s shoulder, he grinned at me aggravatingly while she made a fuss of him, bandaging his ridiculous scratches. I pulled Rhodes on to my shoulders and carried him over the hill, tossing him carelessly to the ground.

‘Garry, old son,’ Bingen greeted me teasingly when I returned. ‘You’re going to get in bad for that murder. She thinks you’re a cruel man to have done it.’

‘I’d have been several kinds of a fool if I hadn’t done it,’ I told him tersely. ‘Where would you have been now if I hadn’t bumped him off?’

‘Not sitting pretty like I am,’ Bingen grinned. ‘Anyway, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Bumping off a nice little lad like Dusty. How could you do it? You nasty cruel man!’

I swore at him and, as we went for breakfast, glanced through the window to see Janet wipe tears away from her eyes as she bent over the fire. Crying over Rhodes! All that morning she treated me with excessive politeness, joking conspicuously with Bingen until, after dinner, I flung on my equipment and announced my intention of going exploring. I reached the top of the hill before Janet relented.

‘Garry!’ she called after me. ‘Garry! Wait a minute.’

I waited for her to climb to me and, down below, Bingen sat scowling on the yard wall.

‘Well. What is it?’ I asked her.

‘Garry! Please forgive me. I’m sorry,’ she cried, and then was in tears and in my arms. ‘I was only upset because it was you who killed him. I wish Bingen had. Forgive me, Garry.’

‘You wanted Bingen to do it?’ I stared down at her, uncomprehendingly. ‘Oh, I think I understand.’

She wished Bingen had killed Rhodes, saved her, and as she looked up at me with swimming eyes I cursed beneath my breath.

‘It’s all right. I understand. I’m sorry. But I couldn’t help it. If he hadn’t been killed, it might have meant you being alone with him. He would have killed Bingen and me. He might have killed Bingen. Then, where would you have been?’

‘Where would I have been if he had killed Bingen?’ She broke from my arms suddenly, looking at me with eyes sparkling from tears. She dashed her hand across her face and turned to the valley again. Over her shoulder as she climbed down she flung back at me: ‘You’re a great fool, Garry.’

I stared after her, watched her join Bingen, saw that she glanced quickly up from under her curls to see if I still was there. Then, they were laughing together over some task. I watched them a while before turning to march disgustedly across the hills.

IX

The Opal Ring

WITH THE DEATH OF RHODES
, rapidly diminishing groups of Vampire Bats allowed us to settle down by degrees into a routine which was a search for food, a rebuilding of the cottage, and the fitting up of a cave to enable it to be taken over solely for Janet’s use. In one of the big houses, across the hills, Bingen discovered a radio, carrying it home in great excitement, and though we fixed an aerial at once to spend the day listening, we had no results from it. Neither Bingen nor I knew the slightest thing about wireless, so that it was Janet who showed us the way to sink an earth, and run an aerial from the hilltop down to the roof of the cottage. It was over a week before anything but atmospherics disturbed the quietness of the loud speaker, but eventually we heard three stations. We decided they were German and Arabic. The radio did not last long. Batteries ran down, and we did not trouble to search around for fresh. The uselessness of sitting waiting for something to come through for nights on end without results, and being unable to understand the stations we did receive, soon palled. Gradually the thing was pushed aside for a gramophone.

The black cat and the chickens were joined by a scrawny pie-bald cow which slid down the valley in an avalanche of pebbles, and shrill screams from Janet, terrified by this unexpected apparition. I drove it from Caterham, some twelve miles away, fearing it would drop at every step. We named it Liza, that cow, and though it never gave us any milk, it became a great pet, never wandering far from the valley. Later, when it regained some of its original contours, I wanted to kill it, sick of the eternal tinned meat from the razed provision shops, but Janet demurred. A pony was also added to our farm, but, unlike Liza, it would suffer no fondling, permit us to get no closer than would allow a bunch of grass to be held before its nose. Some time recently, that pony had suffered a shock from which it never recovered.

Vampires still went overhead erratically, in ever-increasing numbers though, and at rare intervals dropped low into the valley to hover, watching us coldly, before spiralling away. How I got the impression I cannot say, but I fancied they were uneasy, wanted to get somewhere, and did not know whether they could. Then we went for weeks without seeing one, and began to toy with plans for scouring the countryside in search of other survivors.

The cave, now wholly occupied by Janet, was fitted up royally with a great dressing-table carted over the hills, and a glittering display of toilet articles brought back for her by Bingen. More and more did Bingen seek to please her in ways I never dreamed of, and more and more a sort of tension undermined our comradeship. Sometimes I thought that Janet relished immensely heaping coal upon that fiery tension, at others I fancied she feared, and endeavoured to bring us back to the old footing. Mostly, she favoured Bingen conspicuously, but, surprisingly at times, would lean my way in a fashion to astound me. On these rare occasions I even felt sure that Janet preferred myself. But the conceit never lasted for more than a few hours, and soon I was shown Bingen was the favoured one. Yet he never progressed far. There was never an opportunity left open to give him encouragement. Yes, Janet knew how to command the reins. Indirectly, bicycles put a stop to this impossible state of affairs, bringing things to a dreadful climax.

Three bicycles I brought back from an outing. Neither of us knew how to drive a car, though there were petrol stores in underground tanks and cars in isolated garages for the asking. My ignorance of both cars and radio brought home to me how little I knew. Horses, artillery, slight knowledge of carpentry, beyond that, what a babe in the wood I am!

On the bicycles, we made excursions which increased in radius as our feeling of security grew stronger, though our confidence was never enough to allow us to travel abroad unarmed. Always sword and revolver were at my hip, even though sometimes for the sake of travelling light I left my rifle at home in the Valley of Security. We arranged one evening an exploration for the morrow which would give Janet an opportunity to delve around the debris of the shops in Croydon, and in the early morning set off over the dusty roads on the cycles.

Down the long slope to the south we coasted, with Janet and Bingen well in front, and myself biking slowly behind that I might watch, for I wanted to keep Janet’s first excursion free from danger. Several times they called back to me, waving, then flew on again, laughing and joking. At Purley we sat by the roadside to eat tinned lobster and, as a toast to this first outing, drink champagne from the ruins of a nearby off-licence. Janet, drinking from her glass, before realizing what the bubbling liquid was, tasted champagne for the first time in her life, and it went slightly to her head. Against my wishes, Bingen pressed another glass upon her. They laughed at my frowns, ragging me for an old spoil-sport. Again they went ahead, until, close to the outskirts of Croydon, I spurted to catch them, for I did not want Bingen raking around any more licensed premises after drink for Janet.

‘Here’s Granpa!’ Janet giggled, sparkling from her champagne as I caught them up. Her bike swerved across the road and she screamed shrilly with laughter. Recovering her balance she eyed me wickedly, and rode closer to Bingen. ‘We’ve got to behave ourselves now, Bingen, with Old Sobersides here.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ I answered shortly. ‘Just carry on as though I weren’t here. Then you’ll be able to enjoy yourselves.’

‘Oh, Garry. Why don’t you try and enjoy
yourself
,’ she cried reproachfully, and pushed ahead after eyeing me, puzzled. ‘I’ll go on by myself if you like.’

‘Don’t be silly. Take no notice of him,’ Bingen urged. He grinned at me. ‘We’ll stop at the next place we come to and have another sup of bubbly. That’ll cheer us up.’

‘We won’t.’ I caught Bingen’s arm as he went after Janet. ‘Let her go on. What the hell did you want to let her drink that stuff for?’

‘Bucks you up, doesn’t it?’

‘Well, there’s going to be no more of it. And, Bingen, give it a miss, too, will you? You know . . . Well, when you’ve had a drink you’re apt to . . . You know what I mean?’

‘Crossing bridges before you get to them?’ Bingen grinned. ‘You needn’t worry. I won’t turn this Sunday School outing into a booze-up.’

‘Good man! I only mentioned it, because . . .’

‘Because you’re as windy as hell Janet will forget she’s dressed in knickerbockers like a boy, and flirt around like she had skirts on,’ Bingen interposed curtly.

I stared at the slim figure cycling ahead, boyish in shorts, jersey, beret pulled over her curls. Bingen went on, and we entered the town. Past long rows of tumbled blackened houses, interlopers in a dead world, and as we drew nearer the centre of the town, wreckage showed that fire had burned more fiercely. To the south we found the place better, houses and shops were burned, but walls stood and, here and there, places were almost whole. Bingen and Janet dismounted, leaning bicycles against the curb, and waited for me to join them.

‘Look! Look! That draper’s shop,’ she cried excitedly. ‘It’s hardly touched. Oh, I must go and see what is in there. I can go in, can’t I, Garry?’

‘Why ask me?’ I growled short-temperedly. ‘Ask Bingen. He’ll let you go.’

‘Oh, Garry,’ she said hopelessly, and ignored the pair of us to walk towards the great store. ‘I don’t really have to get permission from anyone.’

‘That’s the stuff,’ Bingen laughed. ‘Go ahead.’

‘Wait!’ I called after her. ‘You can go in, but I’ll have a look round first.’

Haughtily, Janet waited while I stepped over the ash by the fallen entrance and went into the shop. The place was gutted, but upon shelves and in glass cupboards were goods showing that perhaps somewhere would be stuff unburned. On the ground floor there were no bodies, but rather perilously I climbed broken stairs to where people had died, before returning to the street.

‘You can go in the shop,’ I told Janet. ‘But understand, you’re not to go upstairs. There are some rotten things up there you wouldn’t like to see. Go in and poke around for what you want, while Bingen and I wait here, but you aren’t to go upstairs. Yell out if you get frightened.’

‘I won’t go upstairs. And you’ll stay right here?’

‘We’ll be here. Off you go.’

With a little smile of thanks which wiped out all my bad temper, Janet ran eagerly into the shop, while we sat upon the curb opposite and prepared for a long wait. We caught glimpses of her darting excitedly here and there, pulling boxes from shelves, opening drawers, dusting ashes from things, and then she disappeared from sight into the rear of the shop. I think she went downstairs to the basement. We lit cigarettes.