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　　But　reason　could　find　no　weakness　in　the　wall。　This　was　true。　It　was　death　indeed。
　　Podujevo　had　fallen。
　　Thirty…eight　thousand；　seven　hundred　and　sixty…five　citizens　were　spread　on　the　ground；　or　rather　flung　in　ungainly；　seeping　piles。　Those　who　had　not　died　of　the　fall；　or　of　suffocation；　were　dying。　There　would　be　no　survivors　from　that　city　except　that　bundle　of　onlookers　that　had　traipsed　out　of　their　homes　to　watch　the　contest。　Those　few　Podujevians；　the　crippled；　the　sick；　the　ancient　few；　were　now　staring；　like　Mick　and　Judd；　at　the　carnage；　trying　not　to　believe。
　　Judd　was　first　out　of　the　car。　The　ground　beneath　his　suedes　was　sticky　with　coagulating　gore。　He　surveyed　the　carnage。　There　was　no　wreckage：　no　sign　of　a　plane　crash；　no　fire；　no　smell　of　fuel。　Just　tens　of　thousands　of　fresh　bodies；　all　either　naked　or　dressed　in　an　identical　grey　serge；　men；　women　and　children　alike。　Some　of　them；　he　could　see；　wore　leather　harnesses；　tightly　buckled　around　their　upper　chests；　and　snaking　out　from　these　contraptions　were　lengths　of　rope；　miles　and　miles　of　it。　The　closer　he　looked；　the　more　he　saw　of　the　extraordinary　system　of　knots　and　lashings　that　still　held　the　bodies　together。　For　some　reason　these　people　had　been　tied　together；　side　by　side。　Some　were　yoked　on　their　neighbours〃　shoulders；　straddling　them　like　boys　playing　at　horse　back　riding。　Others　were　locked　arm　in　arm；　knitted　together　with　threads　of　rope　in　a　wall　of　muscle　and　bone。　Yet　others　were　trussed　in　a　ball；　with　their　heads　tucked　between　their　knees。　All　were　in　some　way　connected　up　with　their　fellows；　tied　together　as　though　in　some　insane　collective　bondage　game。
　　Another　shot。
　　Mick　looked　up。
　　Across　the　field　a　solitary　man；　dressed　in　a　drab　overcoat；　was　walking　amongst　the　bodies　with　a　revolver；　dispatching　the　dying。　It　was　a　pitifully　inadequate　act　of　mercy；　but　he　went　on　nevertheless；　choosing　the　suffering　children　first。　Emptying　the　revolver；　filling　it　again；　emptying　it；　filling　it；　emptying　it…Mick　let　go。
　　He　yelled　at　the　top　of　his　voice　over　the　moans　of　the　injured。
　　〃What　is　this？〃　The　man　looked　up　from　his　appalling　duty；　his　face　as　dead…grey　as　his　coat。
　　〃Uh？〃　he　grunted；　frowning　at　the　two　interlopers　through　his　thick　spectacles。
　　〃What's　happened　here？〃　Mick　shouted　across　at　him。　It　felt　good　to　shout；　it　felt　good　to　sound　angry　at　the　man。　Maybe　he　was　to　blame。　It　would　be　a　fine　thing；　just　to　have　someone　to　blame。
　　〃Tell　us…〃　Mick　said。　He　could　hear　the　tears　throbbing　in　his　voice。　〃Tell　us；　for　God's　sake。　Explain。〃　Grey…coat　shook　his　head。　He　didn't　understand　a　word　this　young　idiot　was　saying。　It　was　English　he　spoke；　but　that's　all　he　knew。　Mick　began　to　walk　towards　him；　feeling　all　the　time　the　eyes　of　the　dead　on　him。　Eyes　like　black；　shining　gems　set　in　broken　faces：　eyes　looking　at　him　upside　down；　on　heads　severed　from　their　seating。　Eyes　in　heads　that　had　solid　howls　for　voices。　Eyes　in　heads　beyond　howls；　beyond　breath。　Thousands　of　eyes。
　　He　reached　Grey…coat；　whose　gun　was　almost　empty。　He　had　taken　off　his　spectacles　and　thrown　them　aside。　He　too　was　weeping；　little　jerks　ran　through　his　big；　ungainly　body。
　　At　Mick's　feet；　somebody　was　reaching　for　him。　He　didn't　want　to　look；　but　the　hand　touched　his　shoe　and　he　had　no　choice　but　to　see　its　owner。　A　young　man；　lying　like　a　flesh　swastika；　every　joint　smashed。　A　child　lay　under　him；　her　bloody　legs　poking　out　like　two　pink　sticks。
　　He　wanted　the　man's　revolver；　to　stop　the　hand　from　touching　him。　Better　still　he　wanted　a　machine…gun；　a　flame…thrower；　anything　to　wipe　the　agony　away。
　　As　he　looked　up　from　the　broken　body；　Mick　saw　Grey…coat　raise　the　revolver。
　　〃Judd…〃　he　said；　but　as　the　word　left　his　lips　the　muzzle　of　the　revolver　was　slipped　into　Grey…coat's　mouth　and　the　trigger　was　pulled。
　　Grey…coat　had　saved　the　last　bullet　for　himself。　The　back　of　his　head　opened　like　a　dropped　egg；　the　shell　of　his　skull　flying　off。　His　body　went　limp　and　sank　to　the　ground；　the　revolver　still　between　his　lips。
　　〃We　must…；　began　Mick；　saying　the　words　to　nobody。　〃We　must　。　。　。〃　What　was　the　imperative？　In　this　situation；　what　must　they　do？
　　〃We　must…〃Judd　was　behind　him。　〃Help…〃　he　said　to　Mick。
　　〃Yes。　We　must　get　help。　We　must…；　〃Go。〃　Go！　That　was　what　they　must　do。　On　any　pretext；　for　any　fragile；　cowardly　reason；　they　must　go。　Get　out　of　the　battlefield；　get　out　of　the　reach　of　a　dying　hand　with　a　wound　in　place　of　a　body。
　　〃We　have　to　tell　the　authorities。　Find　a　town。　Get　help…〃
　　〃Priests；〃　said　Mick。　〃They　need　priests。〃　It　was　absurd；　to　think　of　giving　the　Last　Rites　to　so　many　people。　It　would　take　an　army　of　priests；　a　water　cannon　filled　with　holy　water；　a　loudspeaker　to　pronounce　the　benedictions。
　　They　turned　away；　together；　from　the　horror；　and　wrapped　their　arms　around　each　other；　then　picked　their　way　through　the　carnage　to　the　car。
　　It　was　occupied。
　　Vaslav　Jelovsek　was　sitting　behind　the　wheel；　and　trying　to　start　the　Volkswagen。　He　turned　the　ignition　key　once。　Twice。　Third　time　the　engine　caught　and　the　wheels　span　in　the　crimson　mud　as　he　put　her　into　reverse　and　backed　down　the　track。　Vaslav　saw　the　Englishmen　running　towards　the　car；　cursing　him。　There　was　no　help　for　it　…he　didn't　want　to　steal　the　vehicle；　but　he　had　work　to　do。　He　had　been　a　referee；　he　had　been　responsible　for　the　contest；　and　the　safety　of　the　contestants。　One　of　the　heroic　cities　had　already　fallen。　He　must　do　everything　in　his　power　to　prevent　Popolac　from　following　its　twin。　He　must　chase　Popolac；　and　reason　with　it。　Talk　it　down　out　of　its　terrors　with　quiet　words　and　promises。　If　he　failed　there　would　be　another　disaster　the　equal　of　the　one　in　front　of　him；　and　his　conscience　was　already　broken　enough。
　　Mick　was　still　chasing　the　VW；　shouting　at　Jelovsek。　The　thief　took　no　notice；　concentrating　on　manoeuvring　the　car　back　down　the　narrow；　slippery　track。　Mick　was　losing　the　chase　rapidly。　The　car　had　begun　to　pick　up　speed。　Furious；　but　without　the　breath　to　speak　his　fury；　Mick　stood　in　the　road；　hands　on　his　knees；　heaving　and　sobbing。
　　〃Bastard！〃　said　Judd。
　　Mick　looked　down　the　track。　Their　car　had　already　disappeared。
　　〃Fucker　couldn't　even　drive　properly。〃
　　〃We　have　。　。　。　we　have　。　。　。　to　catch　。　。　。　up　。　。　。〃　said　Mick　through　gulps　of　breath。
　　〃How？〃
　　〃On　foot。　。　。〃
　　〃We　haven't　even　got　a　map　。　。　。　it's　in　the　car。〃
　　〃Jesus　。　。　。　Christ　。　。　。　Almighty。〃　They　walked　down　the　track　together；　away　from　the　field。
　　After　a　few　metres　the　tide　of　blood　began　to　peter　out。　Just　a　few　congealing　rivulets　dribbled　on　towards　the　main　road。　Mick　and　Judd　followed　the　bloody　tyre　marks　to　the　junction。
　　The　Srbovac　road　was　empty　in　both　directions。　The　tyre　marks　showed　a　left　turn。　〃He's　gone　deeper　into　the　hills；〃　said　Judd；　staring　along　the　lonely　road　towards　the　blue…green　distance。
　　〃He's　out　of　his　mind！〃
　　〃Do　we　go　back　the　way　we　came？〃
　　〃It'll　take　us　all　night　on　foot。〃
　　〃We'll　hop　a　lift。〃　Judd　shook　his　head：　his　face　was　slack　and　his　look　lost。
　　〃Don't　you　see；　Mick；　they　all　knew　this　was　happening。　The　people　in　the　farms…they　got　the　hell　out　while　those　people　went　crazy　up　there。　There'll　be　no　cars　along　this　road；　I'll　lay　you　anything…except　maybe　a　couple　of　shit…dumb　tourists　like　us…and　no　tourist　would　stop　for　the　likes　of　us。〃　He　was　right。　They　looked　like　butchers…splattered　with　blood。　Their　faces　were　shining　with　grease；　their　eyes　maddened。
　　〃We'll　have　to　walk；〃　said　Judd；　〃the　way　he　went。〃　He　pointed　along　the　road。　The　hills　were　darker　now；　the　sun　had　suddenly　gone　out　on　their　slopes。
　　Mick　shrugged。　Either　way　he　could　see　they　had　a　night　on　the　road　ahead　of　them。　But　he　wanted　to　walk　somewhere…anywhere…as　long　as　he　put　distance　between　him　and　the　dead。
　　
　　In　Popolac　a　kind　of　peace　reigned。　Instead　of　a　frenzy　of　panic　there　was　a　numbness；　a　sheep…like　acceptance　of　the　world　as　it　was。　Locked　in　their　positions；　strapped；　roped　and　harnessed　to　each　other　in　a　living　system　that　allowed　for　no　single　voice　to　be　lou