gns.theplutopact-第4部分
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s now fallen into decay because sportsmen today jetted up for a day's shooting and had no time to savour the other； more worthwhile aspects of their trip。 A hundred brace was average for a day then； now thirty was considered good。 Leisure had been replaced by haste； an urgency to get everything over and done with。 Selfishness and greed 。 。 。
Yes； Jock decided； today was as good a day as any for a big fire； a freshening westerly wind to fan the flames； and drive the blaze downwards towards the monstrosity that was destroying the valley below。 Sweeping flames that would destroy everything in their path。 And nobody would be able to prove a thing； since dozens of muir…burns got out of control every spring。
Hidden by the smoke from anybody who might be watching down below； Jock Leggett moved away； and picked out a clump of gorse suitable for starting the big blaze。 He dropped to his knees in the heather； the matchbox rattling in his hand。 No change of mind； no regrets。 This was going to be the end of an era。 In a way it was like being God。
Some dead gorse flared and crackled； sparks igniting several more fires in the rough brown grass that lay around。 Wisps of smoke thickened。 Soon rivers of flame merged into an ocean inferno…roaring as the wind caught it。
Jock Leggett remained kneeling； almost as though he had not the strength to struggle to his feet。 And everywhere it had grown much darker； as the thickening smoke hung in the sky； shutting out the sun。 The blaze was really getting a hold now。 Jock smiled feebly as he moved downhill。 Soon the smoke would block out the sunlight from the entire valley…a hellish night in the midst of day。
Let that day be darkness。 Let not God regard it from above； neither let the light shine upon it。 Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it。 Let a cloud dwell upon it。 Let the blackness of the day terrify it。
And then came the heat； scorching the old gamekeeper； smarting his eyes with a painful dryness。 Through the billowing smoke he could clearly see a ten…foot wall of flame…ing back towards him！
He lost his balance as his foot caught up in some tangled heather； and he fell back。 His mouth opened but the cry of terror was no more than a wheeze。
Let that day be darkness。
His fear escalated。 The wind had changed suddenly to an easterly direction。 No longer was the blaze being carried down towards Craiglowrie。 Instead it was moving back uphill； the flames all around him as they raced towards the moor above。
Jock Leggett closed his eyes； but he could not shut out the living hell all around him。 Then suddenly he was aware that he was no longer alone！
A man 。。。 He could see him clearly； seemingly impervious to the fire which raged about him。 A ragged figure materialising out of the black smoke。 A face that belonged to a corpse in the final stages of decay。 Hairless and blackened。 Eyes that glowed brightly； or else reflected the inferno that surely must consume him any moment。 Blistered lips stretched into a mirthless smile 。 。 。 uttering soundless words。
This is how it once was； and is now； and shall be again。 A land of fires； destroying。 Only I can live； for Pluto himself gave me everlasting life to carry out his bidding。 You shall die… just as the people of this valley shall die。 My curse is at hand。 For I； Balzur； rule this place； and I shall rise again amidst its ashes。 I have brought fire and death 。 。 。
Leggett managed a scream； but he had not the strength to attempt a futile flight。
The heat scorched his flesh； his clothing smouldered。 He sank back； staring wildly into the encroaching flames。 But the old man was no longer visible…just a shapeless wisp of smoke amidst the inferno。
He prayed for death but it did not e。 His body was now ablaze； with a hissing sound like wet logs make on a roaring fire。 Strange shapes came and went…a host of demons mocking him in his last hour； delighting in his pain and terror。 Shrill voices。 Laughter。
Pledge your soul and Pluto will grant everlasting life。
Jock Leggett wanted to do just that。 Somehow he forced his mouth open； but he couldn't find the words； his brain numbed。
And then the full force of the advancing fire was upon him； consuming him utterly and passing on。
Chapter 2
'You're crazy； every bloody one of you！'
The man who had spoken now looked steadily at each of the other eleven men occupying places at the same long table in the largest room of the Craiglowrie town hall。 Eyes met his； then dropped。 Fingers drummed nervously on the polished mahogany table top。 Somebody coughed 。。。 an embarrassed silence 。 。 。 a match scraped。
'Furthermore'…Bob Coyle was not one to be deterred by an overwhelming contrasting opinion…'you're greedy for power。 How much more do you think this valley can take？ Look what's happened to it。 Remember the town most of us were brought up in？ Sheep grazed the hillsides； we lived peacefully； happily； and we had security。 Look at what we've got now； something that could be a third…class suburban area of any duty industrial town in Britain…only worse。 We're living under a cloud of radioactivity。 One leak 。 。 。 And now you're going to let them take the whole of the north end of the valley…the rest of it…until there isn't a blade of grass or a clump of heather left。 What about us； our children？ It's got to be stopped now； before it's too late！'
Silence again； each pair of eyes glancing at Bob Coyle。 At thirty…seven he had the physique and appearance of a man ten years younger。 Dark wavy hair reaching down to his collar with scarcely a fleck of grey； rugged features inherited from his forefathers； the flock masters who had eked a living from the steep； windswept slopes of the valley； the deep blue eyes that now flashed angrily。 His clothes； too； indicated the individualism which he valued so highly。 Never before； in the history of town council meetings； had sweater and slacks been worn。 Tweed suits were reserved for these occasions； sometimes a kilt amongst the more traditional members。
'Well？'
Coyle was determined to force an answer one way or the other。 Some of them hated him already…if not him personally； then his newspaper the Herald； brazenly outspoken； almost to the point of libel。 Yet； there had never been a legal action against him。 Always there was a glimmering of truth there； a spark which produced the wisp of smoke。
'Just look what it means to the town；' said Blackmead the butcher； staring down at the table almost timidly。
'Yes； just look；' snapped Coyle angrily。 'A future slum。 Within a decade these cheapjack houses will be falling to bits。 We're overcrowded already； and nobody seems to care a damn that just one leak will mean them having to blast these hills into the valley for a mass grave！'
'But they've overe all that now。 All that was in the early stages 。 。 。 '
'The risks are still there。 The bigger they make this place； the more waste they'll be recycling。 And the more waste lying about for processing； the greater the chances of a leak 。 。 。 maybe worse。 We've gone far enough。 Too far。 Stop it now； in the name of humanity！'
Another uneasy silence； as the councillors glanced at each other； and looked away…anywhere except at Bob Coyle。
'Er； yes 。 。 。 well；' McLellan； the Planning Officer； shuffled the papers hi front of him。 Though he knew their contents by heart； he made a pretence of studying them again。 Only his bushy moustache disguised the fact that his upper lip was trembling。
'Er 。 。 。 yes；' he sorted through the papers again； stalling…knowing that he would have to support the other councillors and oppose Coyle。 It wasn't so much the man himself he feared； but Coyle's paper； the Herald。 A couple of recent clippings were attached to the closely…typewritten sheets he now shuffled like a pack of cards。 'Well； er 。 。 。 we can find no objection to the plans submitted by Nuclear Fuels and Oxide Reprocessing。 None； whatsoever；' he hesitated； anticipating another outbu
