gns.batsoutofhell-第7部分

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　　'It's　a　warm　night。　Almost　like…summer。　They　won't　'urt。'
　　
　　'I　don't　like　them　outside　all　night；'　Shirley　was　beginning　to　shout。　'Those　yobbos　from　the　Oakdene　Estate；　the　Pearson　boys　on　their　motor…bikes；　might　go　up　there　and　throw　stones　at　them　or　chase　them。'
　　
　　'The　Pearsons　won't　go　up　there。　They'll　be　stuck　down　at　the　'Cottage　Spring'；　where　they　are　most　nights。'
　　
　　'But　anything　could　happen　to　them；　Dad！'　The　young　girl　was　on　the　verge　of　hysteria。
　　
　　The　bats've　gone；'　Walter　said。　'They　flew　out　when　I　shone　the　torch　on　'em。　Penny　and　Stango'll　go　back。'
　　
　　'But　we　don't　know。　We　can't　be　sure。'
　　
　　'e　and　get　yer　dinners；'　Gladys　Williams　called　out；　having　decided　it　was　time　that　she　intervened。　'And　don't　fret　yerself；　Shirley。　Yer　dad'll　run　yer　up　afterwards　just　to　make　sure。'
　　
　　Walter　Williams　glared　at　his　wife；　opened　his　mouth　to　protest；　but　closed　it　again；　and　nodded。　'All　right；'　he　muttered。　Anything　for　peace　and　quiet。　It　would　only　take　a　quarter　of　an　hour；　and　he　offered　up　a　silent　prayer　as　he　took　his　place　at　the　table　that　Penny　and　Stango　had　e　to　their　senses　and　gone　back　into　the　stable。　He　didn't　fancy　trying　to　round　them　up　in　the　darkness。　The　memory　of　the　bats　returned　to　him；　and　he　shivered　involuntarily。　Harmless；　but　horrible。
　　
　　The　horses　were　not　in　sight　when　Walter　Williams　drove　back　up　the　rutted　track　which　led　to　the　Wooden　Stables　and　sat　with　the　engine　running；　his　headlights　piercing　the　darkness　and　illuminating　a　section　of　the　field　and　the　buildings。
　　
　　'Where　are　they？'　Anxiously；　Shirley　was　peering　through　the　windscreen。
　　
　　'Probably　in　the　stable。'　Walter　told　her。　He　did　not　relish　going　inside　the　buildings　again。　Perhaps　if　he　could　satisfy　his　daughter　that　they　were　not　out　in　the　field　then　she　would　be　agreeable　to　going　back　home　again。　But　in　his　heart　he　knew　that　he　would　not　escape　so　lightly。
　　
　　'They　could　be　anywhere；'　Shirley　said；　opening　the　passenger　door。　'Maybe　round　the　back　of　the　stable。　Let's　go　and　see。　We'd　better　check　the　stable　first。'
　　
　　'All　right；'　Walter　sighed；　groped　for　his　torch　in　the　glove…box；　before　he　remembered　that　it　was　broken。　The　torch　is　smashed。'
　　
　　'Leave　the　headlights　on；　then。　They'll　help。'
　　
　　Walter　was　decidedly　uneasy　as　he　led　the　way　towards　the　half…ruined　buildings；　the　piercing　beams　of　light　from　the　vehicle　behind　them　illuminating　the　dereliction　and　creating　eerie　shadows。　Bats　at　dusk　were　bad　enough；　but　in　the　pitch　blackness　of　night　they　filled　him　with　dread。　He'd　never　thought　much　about　them　before。　Horrible　little　things。　Usually　they　fled　at　the　approach　of　man；　but　this　lot　had　appeared　to　attack　him。　That　one　had　really　dashed　itself　against　him　viciously。
　　
　　He　halted　in　the　entrance　to　the　stable；　listening。　Not　a　sound　came　from　within；　no　movement　or　horses；　munching　of　hay。
　　
　　'Penny　。　。　。　Stango。'　Shirley's　call　echoed　inside　the　building。　There　was　no　answering　whinny；　no　weling　stirring。　Just　silence。
　　
　　'We'd　better　check　the　field　at　the　back。'　Shirley's　voice　was　tinged　with　anxiety。
　　
　　'We　don't　have　a　torch。'
　　
　　'We　won't　need　one。　If　they're　there　we'll　be　able　to　spot　them。'
　　
　　'Let's　try　whistling　them　first。''
　　
　　They　pursed　their　lips；　emitting　a　series　of　high…pitched；　unmusical　whistles。　Walter's　mouth　was　dry。　It　wasn't　easy。　After　a　time　they　paused　to　listen。
　　
　　'I　can　hear　something；'　Shirley　spoke　in　a　low　tone；　unsure　but　optimistic。
　　
　　Walter　heard　it；　too。　It　definitely　was　not　any　sound　made　by　the　horses；　though。　It　was　more　like　the　wind　soughing　through　the　trees；　a　gentle　breeze　at　first；　increasing　to　gale　force。　Then　realisation　dawned　on　him。
　　
　　'e　on；'　he　hissed。　'Back　to　the　truck。　It's　those。。。
　　
　　A　stinging　blow　caught　him　on　the　forehead。　His　daughter　was　screaming　hysterically；　flailing　her　arms。
　　
　　'Dad　。。。　Dad；　there's　something　caught　in　my　hair！'
　　
　　Bats　were　jinking；　swerving；　frying　all　around　them。　Something　was　caught　up　in　Shirley's　long　fair　hair；　a　small　furry　creature　that　flapped　its　wings　frantically。　She　was　beating　at　it；　trying　unsuccessfully　to　knock　it　off。
　　
　　'Stand　still！'　Walter　spoke　sharply；　clutching　her　to　him　and　grabbing　the　fluttering　bat。　The　very　feel　of　its　silky　fur　was　repulsive　to　him；　and　every　instinct　yelled　at　him　to　snatch　his　hand　away。
　　
　　Its　claws　were　entwined　in　the　girl's　hair　and　he　could　not　dislodge　it。　There　was　only　one　alternative。　He　closed　his　fingers　over　it；　felt　the　pulsing　body　in　his　palm；　and　then　squeezed。　He　turned　away　to　vomit；　hoping　Shirley　would　not　notice。　The　creature　had　pulped　in　his　fingers；　squelching　out　a　sticky　warmth。　He　wiped　his　hand　on　his　trousers；　heaved　again；　and　then　spoke　with　a　determined　effort　at　calmness。
　　
　　'It's　all　right；　love。　It's　dead。'
　　
　　'It's　still　in　my　hair。　Ugh！　There's　something　running　down　my　neck！'
　　
　　He　threw　up　an　arm　to　defend　them　from　the　swooping　bats。　One　brushed　the　back　of　his　neck；　and　be　began　to　drag　the　sobbing　girl　back　towards　the　truck。
　　
　　'We'd　best　get　away　from　here。'
　　
　　'But。。。　but　what　about　Penny　and　Stango？'
　　
　　'They're　probably　in　the　field　at　the　back。　They　won't　hurt。'
　　
　　The　bats　had　disappeared　as　suddenly　as　they　had　e。　Probably　all　gone　back　to　the　stable；　Walter　thought　to　himself　as　he　helped　Shirley　into　the　vehicle。　She　was　white…faced；　crying；　shuddering　at　the　feel　of　the　loathesome　squashed　creature　entwined　in　her　matted　hair。
　　
　　'I'm　。。。　I'm　going　to　be　sick；'　her　stomach　heaved　and　she　vomited　undigested　stew　in　the　cab。　Walter　made　no　attempt　to　open　the　door　for　her　to　lean　out。　Instead　he　crashed　the　gears　into　reverse　and　began　backing　down　the　muddy　bridle…path。　Before　they　reached　the　main　Cannock　Road　he；　too；　was　vomiting　again。
　　
　　Herbie　Whitbe　had　driven　slowly　all　the　way　from　the　Shoal　Hill　Tavern　to　Heath　Hayes；　He　was　fully　aware　that　the　level　of　alcohol　in　his　blood　was　way　above　the　legal　limit。　Usually　he　rationed　himself　to　a　couple　of　whiskies　and　then　drove　back　to　Chasetown。　It　was　a　nightly　ritual　that　took　him　away　from　his　nagging　wife　for　an　hour　or　two。
　　
　　Herbie　was　in　his　mid…fifties。　He　was　grossly　overweight；　and　this　fact；　plus　the　unsightly　goitre　which　he　had　developed　in　recent　years；　had　bined　to　prevent　him　from　finding　himself　another　woman。　So　he　had　sought　solace　in　drink。
　　
　　By　the　time　he　reached　the　island　at　Heath　Hayes　his　earlier　caution　had　evaporated　in　a　cloud　of　alcohol　fumes。　His　foot　pressed　down　harder　on　the　accelerator　pedal　and　the　speedometer　needle　rose　rapidly；　to　fifty　。　。　。　sixty　。　。　。　sixty…five　。　。　。　The　hump　in　the　road　opposite　the　Wooden　Stables　almost　caused　him　to　bang　his　head　on　the　roof　of　the　1100。　But　it　did　not　dampen　the　sudden　exuberance　which　was　building　up　inside　him。　He　wondered　just　how　fast　this　car　would　go。　He　had　never　really　tested　it　to　its　limit。
　　
　　The　needle　was　hovering　on　seventy　when　he　caught　sight　of　the　two　horses　in　the　road　ahead　of　him。　A　piebald　and　a　black。　They　weren't　just　cantering。　They　were　galloping　towards　him；　wildly；　panic…stricken　tails　streaming　behind　them。
　　
　　The　shock　sobered　him　somewhat；　but　it　was　too　late。　A　screeching　of　tortured　rubber；　filled　his　ears　as　he　slammed　on　the　brakes；　and　a　terrified　neighing。
　　
　　Herbie　hit　the　piebald　head…on。　The　animal　sprawled　across　the　bonnet；　forelegs　splayed；　screaming　its　agony　as　it　was　pushed　along；　both　back　legs　breaking　under　the　impact。
　　
　　Only　the　crushing　weight　of　the　injured　animal　prevented　the　car　from　overturning。　Broken　glass　from　headlights　and　windscreen　trailed　in　the　wake　of　the　slewing　1100。　Then　the　ripped　and　jagged　fender　tore　into　the　flanks　of　the　stallion。　Vehicle　and　horses　spun　crazily。　The　driver's　door　flew　open；　and　Herbie　Whitbe　was　hurled　out　into　the　road。　He　lay　there　for　a　second；　winded。　The　horses　were　neighing　frenziedly　as　they　attempted　to