“Get up, man! Up, up!”
Carri responded to the command without assimilating the words. His struggles increased, almost frantic, until a hand grasped his elbow, wrenched him upward, then a shoulder ducked under his arm and forced him into a flat run across the rough ground, matching him stride for stride.
Still blinded, Carri’s feet tripped and twisted. He went down as far as his knees, jolting away what little breath he had left. His rescuer dragged him on by sheer will, calmly furious. Then other hands grasped his arm, his shoulder, swung him round and shoved him down onto the ground again.
More voices, high with stress, panic. Through the ground beneath him, Carri felt the thunder of horses’ feet somewhere nearby, plunging to escape an unexpected danger that plugged straight into their primal instinct. An instinct that told them to run like hell.
They weren’t the only ones. Carri heard sobbing and was abruptly thankful, as well as terrified, that he couldn’t see.
A hand scooped under the back of his neck, tilted his head. “Eyes tight shut, sir,” the voice said, shaky. “Let’s get the worst of this off you.”
Carri flinched as liquid was poured onto his face. It was tepid, fizzing like acid on his skin. For a moment he panicked afresh before his sense of smell kicked in. Cola, he realised, sticky and cloying. Any port in a storm.
A stiff cloth scraped clumsily at his face, dragging at his eyelids, and at last he could open his eyes. As he did so, the cola ran in, biting and clinging, and that finally brought him round. He fought his way up to sitting, tipped his head forwards, tried to rub his eyes. Someone grabbed his hand to prevent him.
“Here, use this.” Balled-up cloth was thrust into his reach and Carri blotted his face until the discomfort passed. He lifted his head timidly, blinking, discovered he could see colours. Thank God! Shapes solidified into a red cloth, scuffed brown earth, and the dark uniform of a young policeman who was bending over him, white faced, perhaps a tinge of green.
Behind him, another copper was crouched low, eyes darting, shouting into his radio, scared and excited both at the same time. They were in the shadow of the stage, a dozen of them, strangers, shivering like vampires hiding from sunlight.
“Where are you injured?” the young copper asked.
Carri opened his mouth, shut it again. “I’m fine,” he said. Ridiculous. I’ve just been blown up. How the hell can I be fine?
The policeman’s face said he thought the same, but didn’t say it out loud.
Carri turned over the red cloth in his hands, searching for a dry patch. Underneath, it was pale blue. He froze. Then he stretched out his hands and found they matched the cloth. Red, as if dipped in paint, past his wrists and right the way up his arms. A deep, rich, glossy, glistening red.
Blood red.
The smell of the slaughterhouse hit Carri like a punch in the stomach. He reeled sideways, heaving. The young policeman lurched backwards, nearly overbalanced out of shelter. The other policeman lunged with creditable speed for a fat man, grabbed his colleague’s stab vest and yanked him back again.
The younger copper landed hard on his rump, eyes wide, gasping.
“Wh–who—?” Carri began, dizzy, the dread curling through him, but the policemen’s attention was elsewhere.
Major Frederickson came sliding round the edge of the stage at a dead run, feet first, bundling a pair of petrified cadets in front of him. He stuffed the boys down and crabbed over to the two policemen, eyes everywhere.
“That’s the last of them,” he said, taut with fury. A dark stain was splashed up the front of his dress uniform, a crusted smear across his cheekbone, soaked in along his shoulders.
He’s the one who got me up, Carri thought with grudging admiration. He looked at the others. “But where’s—?”
Frederickson shot him a narrowed glance, and all at once he knew.
My God. Angela…
“Didn’t you see?” Frederickson demanded.
“See what?” Carri found himself floundering, fear turning to anger. “Listen, chum, I didn’t see a damn thing. What happened out there?”
“At a guess?” Frederickson said. “Sniper. Somewhere further up the valley towards the high ground, I imagine. Best part of a mile, from the delay.”
He leaned sideways to take a cautious look across the deserted arena. Beyond him, Carri could see the scattered debris left behind by a stampeding crowd—bags, food, even clothing, hats, the occasional walking stick as the lame miraculously found themselves able to run. Shivering little groups of humanity were huddled behind any solid object they could find, horses left to run loose.
“Cavalry’s on its way, so let’s all sit tight until they get here, yeah?” The fat policeman let go of his radio and edged in closer. “They’re sending out the chopper.”
“I’d tell them to keep it back, if I were you.” Frederickson pulled off his gloves, used them to scrub his face. His peaked cap was gone and he looked older, his skin grey in the shaded light.
“Sir, I think you can leave this to the experts—”
“In a situation like this I am an expert!” the major snapped. “Use your head, man. Mrs Inglis was shot by someone with a high-powered rifle. A very high-powered rifle. She damn near disintegrated before my eyes.”
His gaze flicked over Carri. And into mine, Carri thought and nearly heaved afresh. Frederickson seemed to see the weakness, despise it, turned back to the policeman.
“What do you think something with that kind of penetrative power is going to do to a civilian aircraft?”
The fat policeman’s face turned ashen. He lifted his radio again.