gns.theplutopact-第14部分
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'Further proof that one man can't beat the system；' he spoke bitterly。
'What's up now？'
'The freedom of the press has been stifled。 Subtly； of course； but one can still read between the lines。 Friend Dyne appears to have enlisted the full support of the power worker's union； who in turn have sought the co…operation of our union。 Ross is 'the sleeper' here。 I wish to God I could get rid of him； but I can't。 There are others； too； of course。 Any articles relating to oxide reprocessing have to be union vetted。 Facts only； and those facts； in turn； have to be vetted by the nuclear authorities。 Dyne again。 Otherwise； they'll just close us down。 Ross will have the printers and typesetters out before their morning tea has a chance to go cold。'
'Bastards！' She slipped a hand into his。 'I knew something was worrying you when you came in this morning。 You must have a little crystal ball hidden away somewhere。'
'Yes；' he lied； thinking of Jane again。 'But in a way they're shutting the stable doors too late。' He laughed hollowly to boost his waning confidence。 'We got those petition forms printed and circulated before they had thought of plugging our machines。'
'And we're still going out tonight？' That was the thought that had been worrying her most。
'Of course；' he replied。 'Darling； we're going to enjoy ourselves as much as we can whilst there's still time。 God only knows what will happen； but there's a nuclear cloud mushrooming on the horizon。'
Chapter 5
November 5th。
A group of ragged children were playing on a piece of waste…ground behind the latest demolition area at the north end of Craiglowrie。 Their numbers had swelled towards late afternoon； standing watching for the departure of the men working on a row of tumbledown terraced cottages。 Impatience； a few quarrelling。
Dusk came earlier than usual today； mingling with the hint of fog that had been creeping into the valley all afternoon。 The whine and rumble of machinery ceased； cascading stone and brickwork lay strewn in an untidy range of miniature mountains。 Then silence； except for a scurrying of tiny feet as the juvenile force moved in； eagerly gathering smashed woodwork； carrying and dragging it back to die centre of the open space； piling it up in layers on a foundation of cardboard boxes。
The bonfire was built just as night brought its mantle of darkness to blot out the unsightly pile of ragged lintels and skirting boards。 The bonfire was huge because there was ample wood。
Then came the guy…a crazy caricature made from a Hessian sack stuffed with crumpled newspapers； legs and arms of rolled cardboard； with odd cast…off gloves and shoes for hands and feet。 No hat because there wasn't one to be found。 A handful of straw served as hair。
The face was an uneven oval of white cardboard with features crayoned on in a dozen different shades by industrious hands。 Its expression seemed to change depending upon the angle it was viewed from； and how one's imagination reacted。 Mostly it scowled from narrowed eyes and a mouth curved downward at the corners。 One hated it automatically 。 。 。 couldn't wait to bum it！ From an inbuilt instinct to incinerate an object of fear！ Inhuman； alien。
Hoisted aloft； the effigy was precariously tied in a sitting position。 Abuse came from all directions。 The fireworks were very few； just some sparklers to light up the scene； creating weird moving shadows as they spluttered and fizzed。
Somebody struck a match。 A crackling of flames devoured the dry timber which spat a feeble protest。 Almost immediately leaping tongues of fire showered sparks high into the sky； belittling the puny sparklers。
A movement； a sudden lurching of the whole structure。 It seemed to slip； settle again 。。。 as though the figure in the midst of the inferno had moved in a desperate attempt to escape！
The face。 Oh God； that face！
Shrill screams； the onlookers falling back； closing their ranks as though to seek protection from the glowering countenance。 The eyes bulged；'and narrowed again。 The nose was gone； burned to a black hole by a floating spark。 The mouth was open； lips moving。 Definitely moving； trying to speak！
Words。 The children heard them； reverberating inside their heads。 Inprehensible mutterings as the eyes glowed fiercely； singling out each and every one of them。
Fools； you would burn me yet again； even when your own hour of fiery destruction is nigh。 I shall be consumed by the fire which belongs to my master； but it will not destroy me。 I shall e again； more terrible than before！ And then you will scream as you burn。
Another shifting of the pyre broke the hypnotic spell which held the terrified audience； a column of black smoke gushing up from an old motor tyre and temporarily hiding the awfulness of it all。 Nobody wanted to stay there any longer。
They ran with breathless cries of terror； scattering in all directions； leaving the bonfire to burn itself out。 All through that windless night it glowed； a heap of smouldering ashes that still billowed its own warning when the demolition workers returned the following morning。 But they scarcely noticed it。
The winter came and went。 Coyle had hoped for severe weather； heavy snowfalls which would drift in the north end of the valley and prevent work from going ahead on the new 'harvest process' plant。 Instead； the atmosphere remained mild and dry； with not even heavy rains to impede the labour…force。 Still more houses were being added to the untidy sprawling suburbs。
Nothing had changed within the Coyle household。 Coyle still found ample excuses to be absent from home in the evenings without arousing Jane's suspicions。 Sarah's wardrobe was now filled to overflowing； and she had taken to wearing expensive jewellery well beyond the means of her modest ine。 Richard still went out every night； and Coyle was aware that his son had been involved in that massive and brutal brawl at the lorry…park of the transport cafe by the motorway。 The ugly wound across the boy's cheek had healed； but the scar would remain forever。 One youth had died as a result of the affray； but fortunately the police had never visited the Coyle household。 A clash of hooligans…and one less to terrorise society。
Yet there was a deadly calm in the valley that spring； a slow…climbing tension。 There was something different about the townspeople； even those employed at the plutonium plant。 Possibly a stranger visiting the town would not have noticed it。 It was only evident amongst those who lived and worked together； a lack of small talk； tempers flaring at the slightest provocation； and people hurrying about their shopping chores with scarcely a word of greeting to each other。
A cloud hung over the valley。 It was a time of waiting。 For what？ Coyle's petition forms had been filled with signatures； and only the union's ruling prevented the printing of a further supply。 This problem was overe by attaching additional sheets of plain paper。
The signatures were delivered to the Secretary of State for Energy； and a covering letter sent to the Prime Minister。 Both were acknowledged； but by this time the work was already in progress。 On 3 August the new oxide plant was fully operative。 People's uncertainty was turning to something else； although none would have openly admitted it。 It was fear…fear of the unknown； all the more diabolical in its inexplicableness。
Little did Coyle realise that the first hint of portending doom would be conveyed to him within his own household； and that he would have foreknowledge of the catastrophe he had predicted； of the disaster he was unable to convey to the people through the pages of the Herald。
September 13th。 Richard had not been to work for three days。 Actually there was nothing remarkable in that。 Five jobs since leaving school…and every one lost because of absenteeism。 It was a foregone conclusion for his parents that he would not remain much longer at the reprocessing plant。
Jane knocked loudly on hi
