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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。 Feet kicked him but it didn't matter any more。 They were slashing at the lower half of his body with a knife； machete…style。 But it doesn't fucking matter； I'm beyond the pain barrier； I just want to die！
Frenzied； the peak of their fury； jostling one another to get in a blow or a stab at the body on the floor。 Standing on him； trampolining him； ballooning his belly until the stretched skin split and showered out yards of slimy； bloody intestines。
It was some time before the killers realised that their victim was dead。 The cessation of their vicious attack was gradual。 They stood there looking at one another and only then did they remember the woman； the reason they had e。 Kuz's woman； the unfaithful bitch who had freed this man； deprived them of a slave； run off with him and even now might be carrying his young。
Kuz was dead； they had no leader。 But every one of them wanted the woman； a shambling bloodied and wounded throng milling about on the landing until they found the open bedroom door； crowding in through it。
They sniffed the stuffy air； knew instantly that the room was empty； but she was not long gone for her smell still hung heavy in the air； a stench of fear mingling with that of a female on heat。
The bed was empty。 One of them approached it； leaned over and smelled at the blankets； grunted。 An odour of mating； this had been the rutting stand！
Snarling； looking about them； seeing the window wide open。 A chorus of frustrated cries as they rushed towards it； looked out； saw where she had escaped； down the thick ivy which grew on the stonework。
They followed； one at a time； their dead forgotten； descending with the ease of jungle monkeys； hitting the ground below at a run； giving voice to their cries of lust； a hunting pack that would run down its prey。 Ten of them； howling their anger and lust。 They would follow the trail until they dropped from exhaustion。
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE SECURITY patrol was systematically scouring a section of suburbia； a convoy of armoured trucks infiltrating a pedestrianised shopping precinct； weaving its way between piles of debris； powdering broken glass beneath its wheels。 Alert to any movement amongst the heaped wreckage。
Most of the enemy had gone； fled to the open spaces。 Just a few remained； stubborn guerrilla fighters without a cause； the old and the young。 The wounded。 And the dead。 The air was thick with the stench of deposing corpses but the mandos were unaware of this behind their sterilised air…filters。 Raiders from another planet in the aftermath of a terrible war； the victors of Armageddon e to loot。 And to take prisoners！
Private Kenny King did not like it at all； neither did he tike Sergeant Walters。 The young rookie had been regretting his decision to join the Regulars from the very first posting to Whittington Barracks in the Midlands。 At eighteen he was 'gawky' （the sergeant's description of him）； his features a mass of acne； possibly because he had been late going into puberty。 He was a bloody fool； he repeatedly told himself； signing on for this when he could have enjoyed a more leisurely life on the dole。 And like an even bigger bloody fool he had signed on for a further two years following his return from Northern Ireland。 On the other hand； he consoled himself； if he had not opted for army life he wouid have been 'one of them out there' undoubtedly。 Or dead。
Walters was a fucking bastard； enjoyed being that way； and with administration handing out responsibility way above the status of jumped up bleedin' sergeants because officers were almost an extinct species； a parade…ground bawler found himself elevated to the role of captain。 It was the Year of the Bully but most of all Kenny found himself feeling sorry for these wretches trying to hide out in the remnants of suburbia。 They were scared to hell； they didn't want to fight； the army was pushing them into corners。
Their instructions were to take prisoners； transport them back to that place in Hertfordshire。 Fill the big prison van up until you couldn't get any more in； like Nazis taking Jews to the gas chamber。 There wasn't a lot of difference。 The buggers were human after all； well。 。 。 sort of。
The armoured cars were parked at strategic points； a cordon that took in the multi…storey car park； an ugly high…rise edifice that suddenly resembled a medieval castle。 If you looked up you saw faces peering over the ramparts； the occupants were ready to defend their castle with their lives。 They were under siege。
'There's a good twenty of the fuckers up there。' Walters climbed down from the Land Rover； riot shield in his left hand； automatic pistol in his right。 'They can't go anywhere。' There was a leer on his swarthy face； his small eyes seeking out Kenny as they usually did； making him flinch。 'We need to take another ten。' He laughed。
Kenny would love to have had the courage to enable him to ask； 'And what about the other ten； Sergeant？ Or are we just going to slaughter the bloody lot？'
That's up to them； boy。 Our orders are to drive 'em out of the towns but there's only one way up and one way down from the multi…storey。 It's a long way down from the top； the choice'll be theirs。
'Look out！' The shout came from over to the left； triggering trained soldiers into instant evasive action； a line of riot shields forming a semi…circular barricade； rifles at the ready。 Looking up。
A maroon Marina with a black vinyl roof was mounting the concrete wall of the top storey； the underside of the chassis scraping and screeching on the concrete blocks。 Front wheels spinning in space。 A jerk； it rested level for a second then began to tip downwards。 The back wheels caught； held it like a fly on a wall。 Then it was free； airborne； an aeroplane without wings； a clumsy useless thing yielding to the law of gravity。 A weapon of death。
Maybe in other circumstances Kenny would have screamed but he had got used to not doing a lot of things that came naturally when Walters was around。 The r