gns.batsoutofhell-第23部分
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to be no let…up。
People sat on the grass； dishevelled； weary after a sleepless night。 They came from all walks of life； the social barriers having been destroyed by the Prime Minister's speech a few hours previously。 In the background a couple of uniformed and helmeted policemen watched intently。 Their presence was only a formality。 If anything happened they would be powerless to prevent it。 Their radios were futile； for there were not sufficient numbers of police at Digbeth station to answer the call。 Every available man was out on the road…blocks。
The crowds were demoralised。 Even the early frustration had gone。 Despair was widespread。 The church was full。 Those who were unable to get inside knelt and prayed on the steps。 A team of clergymen were administering Holy munion。 Several other religious bodies congregated into separate groups。 Others were proclaiming the end of the world； insisting that there was salvation for those who followed in their path。 Only they would be saved。
There were political meetings； too； the voices of the speakers carrying in the still atmosphere above the lower tones of those who prayed。
Marcus Vandon rejoiced in the crisis。 On six successive occasions he had lost his deposit…in local by…elections； Now at last he would be able to sway the masses。 They would listen to him now。 He had something positive to offer。 Action。 The current government was a negative one； deserting its people in their hour of need； leaving the dying to bury their dead。
There was something manding about Marcus Vandon in spite of his small stature。 His voice demanded attention。 He had a mand of the English language far superior to most politicians。 Small of build； it was his eyes； wide and staring； and the lean determined features which made him stand out from other men。 Some had pared him with Hitler； and there was a marked similarity。 People faced with the curtailment of their freedom as well as possible death are always prepared to listen to alternatives。 And Marcus Vandon had a solution to offer。 Standing on the small stool which he had brought along to give him an extra few inches in height； he addressed those nearest to him。
'We are being deserted in our darkest hour by those whose duty it is to protect us。' he began。 'We have been singled out for sacrifice。 Our police and armed forces are determined that we shall not escape。 Why？ I ask you； why？'
He paused for a second； glancing around； noting with satisfaction that his audience was swelling。
'Because of the disease；' somebody replied halfheartedly。
'Yes； but why is the disease here in our midst； destroying usl They tell us that an unfortunate accident has e about； and that these bats escaped from the Biological Research Centre on Cannock Chase。 I put it to you that they were deliberately released！'
An uneasy murmur greeted his words。
'Think about it。' Vandon continued； 'We have an overpopulation problem。 Immigration goes unchecked。 Inflation is soaring。 An application for an IMF loan has been turned down。 Unemployment is approaching the two…and…a…half million mark。 What is the answer？ I ask you； what is the answer when a ruthless government is determined to stay in power and continue to pursue their policies which have already failed？'
He paused again。 Angry mutterings reached his ears； and with difficulty he suppressed a smile。
'I'll tell you。 Reduce the population。 And that is exactly what this government is doing。 It has sentenced all of you to death。 Each and every one of you。 They have chosen an area which is both highly populated and can be cordoned off efficiently。 Within weeks each and every one of you will be dead。 Myself included。'
'What are we going to do about it； then？' a man at the front of the crowd which surrounded Marcus Vandon asked。 'You tell us this； but what's the answer？'
'It is partly your own faults。' Vandon lowered his voice； a perfect mild reprimand； a father offering to forgive and help his erring son； 'You refused to heed me in the past。 Only a small minority gave me their votes； I could have been your mouthpiece； asking these questions in Westminster； and it is doubtful whether this government would ever have dared to attempt such an atrocious act of treason and mass murder had they had one amongst them protesting and remonstrating with them。 But it is still not too late； my friends！ Are we going to huddle in our homes and await death； as they order us to？'
'We bloody ain't！'
'What else can we do？'
'I'll tell you！' Marcus Vandon stabbed his forefinger in all directions； singling out individuals； making them leaders of men in their own estimation。 The choice is yours。。； and yours。。。 and yours； sir。 We have the numbers； in spite of these hired killers； this so…called British Volunteer Force。 They can no more contain us than they can stop the tide from flowing。 We must show our strength； and drive these self…appointed upholders of a law which does not exist from our streets！ We must break out of this human safari…park in which they have enclosed us！ Courage is needed； friends。 A few will die； but we will all die if we stay。 I beseech you； act now！ And remember afterwards that it was Marcus Vandon who saved you from certain death。'
The two policemen were trying to push their way through the crowd towards Marcus Vandon。 Suddenly a dozen pairs of hands。 pulled them down； and they were swamped by a human tide of seething fury。 Their helmets rolled away； and their hands； clasped over their bared heads； were no protection from the raining kicks and blows as they became the first victims of the rising rebellion。
The clergymen outside the building were still attempting to give Holy munion to those who knelt patiently in rows on the concrete flagstones； but their muttered blessings were lost amidst the roars of the crowd。
Glass tinkled in nearby Colmore Row where shop windows were already being smashed。 A group of teenagers was on the rampage。 They had not heard Marcus Vandon's oration； but they sensed the new atmosphere。 Just like the old football days。
An old man with dark glasses； wearing a shabby raincoat in spite of the warmth； shuffled his way along the pavement with the aid of a white walking…stick。 He heard the pounding of running feet and cowered in the darkness of his own blindness。 Then the mob hit him； knocking him to the ground； booted feet treading over him as the rampaging youths surged towards Victoria Square。
He lay still； a scarlet pool forming beneath his head； oozing out from the wound in his skull where it had struck the kerbstone。 Those following in the wake of the first bunch of rioters were slightly more passionate。 Their ranks parted； and they walked around the corpse。 Some of them even gave the old man a passing glance； wondering idly how he had died。 But it was only the start。 There would be many deaths。 It was something that each and every one of them had to learn to accept。 For only through death would life eventually be found again。
Then the early morning stillness was shattered by the first volley of gunfire； crackling harshly in the city centre。
It was a busy day for Marcus Vandon。 Later that morning he spoke to a milling throng from the steps of the Town Hall。 For once in his life there were few hecklers。 His words were greeted with cheers against a background of rifle fire from the bottom end of New Street。
'It is the only way；' he yelled； attempting to make himself heard as his speech reached its climax。 'We must fight on。 Every one of us。 For the sake of our families； our homes。 Fight！'
Evening saw him in Villa Park； the terraces and stands packed beyond the legal capacity for football matches。 Vandon's new band of followers had connected his microphone to the public address system； and as dusk began to cool the fierce heat of the day he exhorted those around him to even greater acts of anarchy。
The conquest of this stadium had not gone without bloodshed。 Fifteen or twenty dead bodies lay on the pavements along by the Holt
