Tunnels 05 - Spiral

or so crates and blue plastic drums had been stacked. And above them, animal carcasses wound in some kind of cloth had been suspended. “Ewwww! See what I mean,” Stephanie burst out as she pointed at the gently swaying carcasses. “They might drip something totally yuck on my coat.”
    “No . . . yes, they might,” Chester agreed, wondering exactly how much she’d been told about their current situation.
    “Are we leaving now?” Colonel Bismarck asked Parry as he came over.
    “Yes, everyone needs to get in the Bedford. After a couple of hundred yards, the culvert drains into the river, which is running high for this time of year. So we’re all going to get wet,” Parry told them. He addressed the Colonel. “And I’d like you to ride shotgun.”
    “
Ja.
Of course,” the Colonel replied, patting his assault rifle.
    Once they’d all loaded their kit on the truck, and the tailgate had been secured, they arranged themselves along the benches on either side. Joining Old Wilkie in the cab, Parry fired up the engine, and they rolled down the slope until they’d fully emerged from the culvert. Then Parry dropped a gear and everyone was thrown around as the truck climbed over a gravel bank and into the river. Although it was difficult to see anything much in the darkness under the canvas awning, they could hear the water washing over the bed of the truck and slopping around their feet.
    “Ohhh!” Stephanie gasped dramatically, lifting her boots up as she gripped Chester’s arm.

    Drake drove the jeep off the track and a short distance into the trees. Then he used a machete to lop off some branches, which Will helped him to lay over the vehicle to conceal it.
    They both returned to the track, where Sweeney had been waiting. The earflaps of his army hat were tied up, and his head was angled to one side as he faced the direction they’d just come from. “Nothing yet,” he told Drake, opening his shoulder bag. “Brought some welcoming gifts for your Stickies.” He took out a massive foot-long combat knife, gripping it between his teeth like a pirate as he continued to rummage in the bottom of the bag.
    “You don’t carry a gun,” Will observed.
    “Never been big on them,” Sweeney said, a grin just visible behind the knife in his mouth. He held out one of his huge hands and closed it as if gripping a throat, his knuckles popping like champagne corks. “Prefer to work with these. I can be more creative with them.” Then he found what he’d been looking for in his bag. “Ah, here we are.” He held up a pair of grenades. “Fresh pineapples.”
    “Thanks,” Drake said, taking one as casually as if he was accepting a bar of chocolate. Then he and Will positioned themselves on one side of the track, Sweeney on the other, and they lay in wait. Drake had told Will he should concentrate on the area beside the track because any Limiter worth his salt would never approach straight down it. So, with his Sten gripped in his hands, Will kept careful watch. The tree trunks and shrubs were orange hued through the lens over his right eye, which allowed him to see the surroundings as clearly as if they were in daylight. He wondered how it looked to Sweeney with his enhanced vision.
    After an hour of listening to the patter of rain, Will’s excitement had dulled. At the beginning, his heart had been thumping with anticipation at the prospect of catching the Limiters on the hop, but the damp was penetrating his clothes and making him very uncomfortable. Will suffered another two hours of this misery until Drake finally led him back to the path.
    “Still nothing?” Drake asked as Sweeney appeared.
    The huge man shook his head. “Not a flippin’ sausage.” He gave Will a passing glance. “Except for young laddie here yawning and shifting about on his rump like he’d sat on an anthill.”
    “Sorry,” Will mumbled.
    “They’ve had plenty of time to catch up,” Drake thought aloud, looking down the track. “There’s no way they could have missed us as we left, so they certainly knew which direction we’d taken.”
    “Perhaps they’ve dug in around the house, hoping we’d be stupid enough to go back,” Sweeney suggested.
    Drake examined the grenade Sweeney had given him. “Maybe,” he said.
    He backed the jeep out, then waited while Will and Sweeney climbed into it, and sped off again, still heading away from Parry’s estate.
    “Trees . . . ,” Will mumbled to himself as mile after mile of the