My two feet hit gravel and I landed in a crouching position, but I had forgotten about my leg. My stab wound screamed in protest. The flesh around the wound had grown more tender and bruised as time had gone on and more apt to hurt if it got jolted. I froze. Just keeping still until the pain passed. Grass and weeds grew up through the gravel. I watched a black shiny beetle struggle across the stones and for a second or two I became aware of the other world, the one that knew nothing of Bullimore, me or poor Edward, that carried on as though in a separate universe. I recognised those weeds. I used to pick black and yellow stripy caterpillars from their leaves. Momentarily I became a part of that alternate universe.
"What is it with boys!" It was an exasperated Phoenix. "Run!" Suddenly I became aware of the sounds around me. Footsteps from within the house. Shouting. I sprinted for the corner of the building. Ouch. I peered round. I saw the track that passed the front of the house and my eyes followed it away into the distance as it ran straight as a rail to be lost among the vast boundless fields. There was no cover anywhere. So I just ran. As I shot out past the corner of the house into the lane I looked round. Who did I see? Well, Bullimore of course, about twenty metres away, heading for the house. He just looked at me and laughed. I heard him call out but I could not hear what he said. I ran harder.
When I couldn't hear anything behind me I risked turning to see what was going on. Far behind I could see that Sharkey had climbed the levee and was walking along the crest of it, watching me. Bullimore was walking away from me, towards the farm. I stumbled and almost fell, but the effort of staying upright sent shards of pain through my bad leg and I slowed up. I had begun to limp. I looked back again but Sharkey was still just ambling along. It was disconcerting. My leg was hurting as you imagine in your darker moments it would hurt if a knife was wedged in your flesh. I took to jogging along slowly, turning constantly to check on what Sharkey was doing as I considered my options.
Looking ahead the lane and levee ran together on and on until a gentle dip in the land hid the track. On one side lay fields separated by ditches; no hedges, no trees, no buildings. On the other side of the track the levee obscured my view. I climbed the bank of the levee to the path at the top. The same path Sharkey was on. And stopped. I was panting and sweat was pouring off me, more, I realised than there should be. There was a dark stain on my thigh, over the wound. Gingerly I lay my hand upon it. It felt wet. Lifting my hand I turned the palm upwards to peer at it. It was covered in blood.
"Shit," I was bent over, like an athlete after a race catching breath, only I was no athlete. I turned my head to check Sharkey. Still walking slowly. Looking up over the ditch I saw just more featureless fields. In the distance there was some big tractor-like machine crawling across a field with a platoon of figures around it, stooping and standing, stooping and standing as if performing some weird avant garde rhythmic dance. I straightened up and the world tipped as a wave of dizziness washed over me.
"Bugger..." I breathed.
"You shouldn't swear," said Phoenix. "You should run."
"...off," I said. "No where to go, they know that. I'm famished, I hurt, I'm so tired..." She cut me off.
"You have to run, if they catch you ..."
"What's it you, they can't hurt you, I mean you're..."
"I'm what?"
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash. It was sunlight glancing off a big shiny black 4-wheel drive BMW turning onto the track and headed my way. I don't know why but that car offended me. I felt a surge of anger. My own home grown anger, nothing to do with Phoenix. Sharkey was getting closer. A little further up the fat ditch was a concrete dam with a sluice gate in it. And another beyond that, about 20 metres further along. Water trickled over it. There was a steel door suspended above on some kind of archaic mechanism I could use as a handrail. The car disappeared at speed behind the levee and was quickly abreast of me.
YOU ARE READING
Phoenix and the Bag Man
Teen Fiction"The Bag Man did it," said Phoenix gently, "and we want revenge." I was staring into a face that I loved, tears streaming down my face, and in Katyia's eyes there was sorrow and pain too, she was feeling for me, matching my grief every step of the w...
