gns.theplutopact-第32部分
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aw the Labrador emerging from the long grass with a squirrel in his mouth。
Then McLellan stared in horror。 It wasn't dead！ It was kicking furiously in the dog's jaws； head darting upwards； trying to reach the throat。 It was the female； and she was squeaking with rage； determined to inflict her revenge upon those who had killed her family。
Suddenly； the dog dropped her and bent to pick her up again； intent on securing a grip that would crush the life from her。 She was too swift for him。 A wriggle and a leap； and she was hanging on to his lower lip。 The still morning air was disturbed by a canine yelp of pain。 McLellan stood transfixed as he watched this duel to the death。
Simon flung his head upwards； which dislodged the squirrel and sent her spinning a yard in to the air； catching her on the way down； this time he made no mistake。 Her tiny bones crunched in his jaws； and then he dropped her； a lifeless； bloody； grey bundle in the grass。 Blood dripped from the dog's lower lip； but he turned and went in search of the others。
Minutes later； four dead squirrels lay on the path at McLellan's feet。 Simon wagged his tail； and looked up。 His lip had almost stopped bleeding now。 McLellan glanced at the corpses； and thought again about radioactivity。 Well； they looked healthy enough； but he could not take any chances。 Suddenly； he vomited； forgetting the dog for a moment。
Then it happened。 It was all so sudden that McLellan had no time to think。 Out of the corner of his eye he saw Simon's lips drawn back in a vicious snarl； his eyes rolling； and he was bounding towards his master； snarling ferociously。
It was the sight of the open mouth which panicked McLellan into instant action。 The dog's jaws were foaming！ Those squirrels…he had been right about them after all。 And if Simon bit him 。 。 。 McLellan had automatically reloaded after the last two shots。 He threw the gun to his shoulder； fumbled； and pulled both triggers simultaneously。 His eyes were tightly shut as the recoil threw him backwards。 He sprawled headlong； fearful lest those awful frothing jaws should fasten in his throat； aghast at the possible consequences。 He lay there； listening； afraid to look。 Apart from the cooing of woodpigeons in some distant trees there was silence。 Then he went back inside the house。 The local telephone exchange appeared to be functioning normally as he put through a call to the Radiological Protection Board。
A van arrived within ten minutes。 Its colour； yellow； reminded McLellan of the larger ones used to clear up the dead pigeons in the Square。 The two men also wore protective clothing。
'Where are they； mate？'
McLellan stared at a pair of eyes behind the mask。 Instinctively he found himself backing away； pointing towards the rear garden with a trembling hand。 The voice reminded him of a transistor radio which was not properly tuned to the right station。 Everything about them； their puppet…like movements； total impartiality； suggested robots。
He forced himself to follow them at a distance； holding his throat。
They went to the squirrels first； picking them up one by one。 A cursory examination； aided by some kind of matchbox…sized instrument placed against the rough fur。 All four were cast to one side； rolling over and lying inert on the gravel path。
Their instrument had not detected any radioactivity。 They were satisfied。 All just routine。 Only the dead dog remained unexamined。 'Well； I suppose we'd better have a look at him。'
Together the two visored men pulled this dead labrador on to the path。 Both knelt down as they applied the small detector again。 One shook his head slowly。
His panion had prised open the dog's jaws with gloved hands。
'Look at this。' A nod of a head indicated that McLellan should step closer。 He approached hesitantly to within a yard of them。
The dead dog's mouth was still held wide。 McLellan peered forward； adjusted his spectacles。 Bloodied gums。 Something else； too。 A swelling the size of a songbird's egg at the back of the throat。 He looked for the familiar yellow puss； but could see none。
'That's wot 'is trouble was'…a cockney accent； discernible even through the filtered mouthpiece as the man from the Radiological Protection Board released the jaws。 'Bloody wasp stung 'im in the mouth。'
The two of them were already on their way back to their van。 Call…outs would be many…some genuine； others false alarms…but none could be overlooked。
'Sent 'im crazy with pain。 E'd 'ave been all right； though。 'Appens to lots o' dogs。 No need to 'ave shot 'im。 Squirrels neither。 Still； s'pose you can't take chances these days。 Pity about the dog； though。'
The engine purred into life； and McLellan watched the van disappear around the bend in the drive； beyond the rhododendrons。
After some minutes； he walked slowly into the house。 The effort of climbing the wide staircase was greater than usual。 For the first time since he had met her； McLellan felt afraid of Edith。 For thirty years he had dictated； dominated 。 。 。 and she had cowered before him。 And now he had destroyed the only living thing for which she had any love。
He quietly pushed open the bedroom door。 The curtains were still drawn； and he could barely discern the details of the room。 He moved towards the bed； walking on tiptoe。 She lay on the nearside； still sleeping。 Clumsily his hand knocked against something on the bedside table…a small bottle。 It fell on to the thick carpet； and rolled a few inches。 Even in his dazed condition he knew that it should have rattled。 It sounded empty。 He did not trouble to unscrew the cap to ascertain his worst fears。 Neither did he pull back the bedclothes。 His sudden fear of a timid woman blended into another kind of cowardice。
He retraced his steps； more slowly than before。 Down the stairs； across the hall； into the room where the Purdey lay on the table。 The window was still wide open。 The mist outside had thickened again； infiltrating the house。
A slight acrid smell as he opened the breech again。 Only one cartridge this time。 The left…hand chamber。
He had no idea why he went back out into the garden。 Perhaps it was an inbred respect for his domestic chattels； the rewards of corruption。 He experienced some difficulty in reversing the shotgun barrels so that the cold steel penetrated his open mouth whilst enabling his short arms to bring his stubby thumb to bear upon the lower of the two triggers。
After several attempts he managed the required stance。 A short laugh trumpeted down the gun barrels。 McLoughlin certainly wouldn't get his tender accepted now； even if 。 。 。
The booming report echoed around the surrounding hills； dying away slowly in the still atmosphere。
In the offices of the Herald； Kent and Coyle regarded each other grimly。 They had counted the number of shots during the past hour。 Maybe seven。
'Some stupid bastards are trying to break out over the hills；' Coyle said。 'The army cordon must form a plete circle。 They don't mean anybody to get out…or in。 They're trying to isolate this radioactivity； hoping that whatever has already escaped into the atmosphere will be contained in this valley by the surrounding mountains。 All depends on whether a strong wind gets up。 Not even the mountains could stop it then。 We're caged in。 It's like putting a mesh fence around a warren of rabbits which have contracted myxamatosis。'
Chapter 11
Even in a time of nationwide crisis； Saturday is a day of leisure amongst the British people。 Sport predominates； no matter what。 It is estimated that； on average； half a million people normally attend soccer matches on that day。 Thousands follow racing； rugby； and other outdoor pursuits。 Millions more follow radio and television coverage。
In this respect the Prime Minister's broadcast was well timed。 Saturday's sporting fixtures remained unaffected。 The full implication of the impending disaster would not be realised for another few hours。 A breathing space had been
