The Night Is for Hunting Read Online Free PDF

Lee. I caught a glimpse of him three trees away, then the shadows swallowed him.
    I tiptoed as fast as I could in the opposite direction. I’d gone nearly the whole block, keeping in the row of trees, when I saw them coming. A line of soldiers on the other side of the street, then a second line on my side. I faded back into the park like I was a shadow myself. As they drew level with me I saw that they all carried rifles. My heart thumped painfully, and bile filled my mouth. I hoped desperately that Lee was successful in his mission. I hoped the kids didn’t attack him.
    There was no time and no point in my going back towards the milk bar. I couldn’t get between the soldiers and the shop. Instead I figured I had to do something that would distract them. As soon as the last soldier was past me I raced to find the truck.
    That was easy enough. I got to the end of the park. Next to it was a bombsite: a house, or a shop, that had been reduced to a wreck. Two walls still stood, but nothing else did. The chimney was splayed across the footpath. I stole into the ruins, trying not to turn my ankle on a broken brick. The truck was sitting opposite the wrecked house, by the side of the road, under an elm tree. I could see only one soldier, a man, standing beside it, watching intently down the street. Obviously he wanted to see how his mates were getting on. But I thought as I watched him that there was more to it than that. He seemed to be standing ready to jump back in the cab. He wasn’t just watching in a passive way; he was holding the truck door and watching like a man with a mission.
    The truck was one of those solid single-axle army ones with a canopy over the back. It was very like the one we’d been put in for the drive to Stratton Prison. It might have been the same one. And I realised suddenly what this man’s mission was. He was waiting for a signal from the others. When he got it he would drive down the street and pick up the prisoners – or the bodies.
    I tried to think coldly and calmly. In my mind I ran through any number of possibilities and rejected most of them. I was left with only two that seemed workable. One was to disable the truck; the other was somehow to take it over. I preferred the second one. The trouble with the first possibility was that it wouldn’t save the kids at the milk bar. The trouble with both of them was that I’d have to deal with the soldier standing across from me.
    I didn’t have a weapon. But I thought if I was fast enough and brutal enough I should be able to get the advantage. I decided to be ambidextrous. I picked up a piece of broken pipe. Part of a hot water service probably. It was copper, but solid enough. I took that in my left hand and got half a brick in my right. I closed my eyes for a second, as I was moving, and bit my lip. I’d like to have said a prayer but there was no room in my mind for it. I headed around to the back of the truck. On the bitumen it wasn’t too difficult to tread lightly. And the guy did seem to be concentrating hard on what might be happening down the road.
    I’d figured out what I wanted. There must be a signal, and I needed to know what it was. That meant he had to speak English, but there was a fair chance he would. My idea was that if I jammed the pipe in his back and hit him hard with the brick at the same time he’d be so off-balance, so shocked and dazed, that he’d tell me what I wanted before he had time to think of doing anything else.
    He heard me when I was still three steps away. I realised when I saw him start to turn. I covered those three steps in a rush and did what I’d been mentally rehearsing, shoved the pipe so hard into him I’m surprised it didn’t come out the other side and brought the brick down firmly – not too hard – on his head. I started saying, ‘Drop your gun’ but before I could even finish the second word he’d fallen to the ground. I was astonished. I was sure I hadn’t hit him that hard. I