David stood back in the chemist’s doorway and wondered how Arnie had picked it up before it had even begun. Could there have been talk in The Cornerhouse? But then, nobody went there any more. Instead, apparently, all the drunks were out on the streets at night, hanging about, breaking car windows, stealing when they got the chance. The local paper had dedicated its front page to the ‘crime spree’ that had hit Wootton Bassett, warning locals not to go out at night until the police had cleared up the problem.
A rougher element had descended on the town: bikers, that was the general gossip going around at David’s office. But he didn’t see any new faces waiting for the hearses that afternoon. They all looked familiar, set in intensity, each one wearing the same expression as the next in the row along the kerb. There were very few women and children. Men stood alone, and the sense of danger was thickening, intensifying, until it was as palpable as a storm waiting to break over the street.
The first hearse drove past.
Something terrible was about to happen. He could feel it. The second car in the cortege was level with him when the banners went up, three of them, painted red words on ripped white sheets, waving back and forth, so the only words he could make out were WAR, FUCK, DEATH – and then the crowd rumbled, pulled back and sprang forward as one to engulf the banners and those that held them.
The hearses came to a stop as men spilled out onto the street. Some threw themselves onto the bonnets of the cars, hammering with their hands and feet. David heard breaking glass and screams, coming from further down the road. Someone stumbled into him, blocking his view, grabbing at his shirt. He pulled back into the protection of the doorway and shoved, hard, until the man fell back. Another took his place, with fists raised. David’s instincts told him to duck, then aim for the gut. He connected with the white T-shirt ahead of him, felt the flesh and fat underneath give. But he was in the swell of the crowd now, moving away from the doorway. Bodies were all around him, pressing, pushing, jostling, falling into fights, the street overtaken with battles, and in the distance, police sirens, pressing closer.
Then he saw her.
She was standing by the fifth hearse, holding the door handle on the driver’s side, with her baton in her other hand, held up over her head like an exclamation mark. She was trying to reach two men on the roof of the car; more were attempting to climb up from the other side. The aloneness of her was starkly visible. Her black and white uniform stood out, even though she was so small, in a sea of men. It terrified him to see her that way, as a target. He called out her name, couldn’t even hear his own voice over the noise of the crowd, and started to push towards her, not taking his eyes from her in case she disappeared under the weight of the uniform.
The crush of bodies grew stronger. He felt the pressure of them, elbows digging, hands reaching, and he shoved back, not caring how he connected as long as they fell back. He heard a woman screaming and started to throw people aside with the same kind of strength that had infused him on the island. His own power amazed him. Within moments he stood at the fifth hearse, and put his body between Sam and the crowd.
She was breathing hard, her hat missing, her hair mussed, with a dusky swelling below her left eye that promised to be a beauty of a bruise. The screams had not been hers, but she was holding her left hand at a strange angle, cradling it in her right. He reached for it.
‘No!’ she shouted over the din, snatching it back. ‘It’s bad.’
Someone jostled David from behind, and he turned around and punched, randomly. He felt his fist connect, and then there was a groan of pain.
‘Reinforcements,’ she shouted. ‘On the way.’
He looked over her head, around the scene. It looked like chaos, a kind of hell, men fighting, men crying, men trampling over each other. He realised something down the street was on fire; the smell of burning rubber was growing stronger. ‘We need to go.’
‘What?’
‘Let’s go,’ he shouted.
‘Where?’
He needed time to think, and a better field of vision. He swung himself up onto the bonnet of the hearse, and kicked the legs of the men on the roof until they crumpled and fell into the street. Then he pulled Sam up beside him, hauling her by her shoulders, and helped her up to the roof.
The first two hearses in the cortege had been overturned, and one was alight. The police were forming a line across the street at The Cornerhouse end, and had linked arms to start a march forward, but the men were not moving back, not obeying the shouted commands. Some of them had armed themselves with stones and bits of wood, and pulled the hoods of their jackets up over their faces. This is an organised attack, he thought, and a surge of adrenaline ripped through him. The seconds slowed to a crawl as he took in the pattern of the crowd, and the twenty or so men who had formed a group were working their way down the hearses, destroying each one in turn.
Behind him, at the other end of the street that led in the direction of the library, there was no organisation, just random destruction, men running, shouting, smashing with contorted faces, fighting each other in the madness of the moment. It was too dangerous – he couldn’t see a way through. But the small alley that led to the library car park, that looked clear, although it was in shadow and so impossible to tell who might be lurking inside.
David made his decision. It was his best chance to get Sam to safety.
There was no time to explain. He picked her up, threw her over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift, and jumped down from the roof. As his feet impacted on the ground, time began to move forward at an extraordinary rate, as if a fast-forward button had been pressed. He ran for the alley, weaving and dodging, hugging Sam’s legs against his chest. She was so light, so easy to carry. He could have run with her for miles.
He reached the alley, edged inside, ran through the semi-darkness, and burst out into the car park. It was full, the cars in perfect order, each one parked between the white painted lines, as they should be. How ridiculous they looked, after such chaos.
There was nobody in sight.
‘Can you walk?’ he asked her, then realised she could hardly reply from that position, so put her down. She looked red-faced, in pain, holding her arm against her breasts. ‘Sorry about that. Did I shake it about?’
‘I should be back there.’
‘No. You need to see a doctor.’
‘Listen, I’m glad you were there, but I don’t need—This isn’t about wanting anything from you.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It’s okay.’
But it wasn’t. The sensation of being watched pricked at his senses. He scanned the car park again, more carefully, looking for something out of place, anything.
The feeling of malevolence, directed solely at him, was so strong that his body reacted. His muscles clenched, his feet shifted apart to a fighting stance; it was intuitive.
‘What is it?’ said Sam.
‘I’m not sure.’ The feeling intensified. ‘Get behind me.’
She moved back, and he was grateful that she had the sense not to argue. There was danger here. Someone was calculating, planning to hurt them. It came to David that perhaps photographs were being taken.
‘Come out,’ he called, at the gaps between the cars, the dense part of the hedges, the corner of the library building.
Nothing.
The feeling passed as quickly as it had arrived. Suddenly it was just him and Sam, alone in the car park, and as he turned to face her he realised she was no longer flushed, but pale, almost grey, and her eyes had lost their focus.