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out across the dry floor. Finally it relinquished its grip, reared up and
looked down on the mangled form. Its fury was vented and now hunger took over,
its body expanding so that it might consume the morass, swallowing it whole,
almost noiseless. Reptilian gluttony.
The other snakes were forgotten, hidden in their various corners, afraid
because circumstances had forced them to share their hideout with a king
amongst reptiles. A kind of temporary peace pact because they were the hunted
in an alien land, reptilian guerrillas compelled to band together for
survival. Man was their common foe and thus they were united in a single
cause.
Down here in this dark underground place they felt safe. They would remain
here as long as possible for even the keen-scented dogs which had hunted the
ground above had not smelled them out They had food - rats and mice, an
abundance of voles. The king, too, had fed
But every one of them was a killer. Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, their
very nature would drive them out again to kill.
Chapter 13
A SUMMER dawn was beginning to infiltrate the night sky by the time sheer
exhaustion finally claimed Keith Doyle and Kirsten Davis, brought brief
respite from the sheer horror of the past few hours. All around the birds were
beginning to twitter and sing but they did not hear them as they slumbered
restlessly in a cramped position, bodies entwined, breathing easily.
It was the numbness in his left arm which finally had Keith stirring,
wakefulness coming slowly, his brain gently easing him slowly back to reality.
He thought at first that they were in a bed together, like the time Kirsten's
folks had gone away for a long weekend and the couple had crammed into the
girl's single bed, spent a blissful uncomfortable night together, an
experience which they would hold dear for the rest of their lives. It had
happened again; a thrill began to course through his body then died as quickly
as it had begun. Oh Christ!
The horror was back. He stiffened, didn't turn his head to look out of the
windscreen because he knew the snake would still be there on the bonnet, a
revolting length of colourful coiled death just watching them.
Kirsten was still sleeping, her face pallid, crumpled dress and hair awry,
hunched up in a position in which no human could have slept unless totally
exhausted. Keith recalled a remark his father had once made, a disparaging
reference to his wife. 'Before you marry a girl you want to see what she looks
like first thing in the morning. She can tart herself up for the rest of the
day but it's when she wakes up you know what she really looks like.' Not that
I'm condoning pre-marital sex, though, just a piece of advice.
Kirsten looked beautiful, he decided. A queen amongst young girls. He would
always remember her this way. But it did not alter the fact that their
priority was to get away from here. All the same he could have stayed here
just gazing down at her for ever.
He felt her stir. Her breasts rubbed softly against him, her eyelids began to
flicker. Damn it, I've woken her up just when she needs all the sleep she can
get.
'What time is it?' She tried to stretch, pushed her feet against the old van
heater, the one that had no means of being switched off, roasted you in summer
and did not work much at all in cold weather.
'Ten past four,' he murmured, adjusted his embrace. 'No, hurry, sleep on as
long as you like.'
'No ... hurry . . . I'll be late for ... Oh, God! 'It's all right.' He kissed
her softly. 'We're safe, a bit uncomfortable but everything's all right.' 'Is
it ... still there?' 'Don't look.'
She struggled with him, twisted her head round, the terror back in her wide
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eyes. Then she gave a cry of mingled relief and amazement, euphoria. 'Keith,
it's gone!'
He didn't dare to look where Kirsten had looked, barely comprehended her
words. It hasn't, it can't, because it won't go away whilst it's got us
trapped in here, you could tell that by the look in its eyes.
'Keith, look. I tell you it's gone!'
He turned his head slowly. She was right, the snake was no longer on the
bonnet of the van.
'We can go then.' She was half-crying, fumbling for the door catch when he
caught her wrist.
'Just hold on. We have to be sure, Kirsten.' 'Of course it's gone.'
'We don't know for certain, and until we are certain you don't get out of this
van.'
'How do we find out then?' she was becoming angry. 'I say it's gone and we'd
better make a run for the road before it comes back.'
Keith began to ease open the driver's door, just a couple of inches, enough
for him to see outside, scrutinise the ground on the offside of the vehicle.
Clumps of grass that were dying from lack of moisture, stunted growth that
should have been luxuriant towards the end of June. Sparse, hardly room enough
for a mouse to hide just here. The drought was beginning to bite.
'Well,' she said, craning her neck, trying to see past him, 'what did I tell
you? It's got fed up with waiting and cleared off.'
He did not reply, opened the door another few inches, remembered what had
happened outside the Evershams' garage, how the rattlesnake had lain in wait
underneath Peter Eversham's Jag.
'What are you doing, Keith?'
He pushed the door and held it at arm's length, lowered his head and
shoulders, ready to draw back at the first sign of danger. His long copper
hair flopped down, felt below the sill. Almost afraid to look, but he had to.
'God? Keith Doyle's whole body recoiled like a whiplash, slamming the van door
in the same motion as he fell back into Kirsten's arms.
'What is it? It ... isn't . . .'
'Yes,' he sighed, closing his eyes. 'Our friend of last night is lying
stretched full length under the van patiently waiting for us to emerge!'
Kirsten instinctively raised her feet up off the floor, felt physically sick,
did not waste her breath asking what they were going to do. That was obvious,
they stayed right there, hoped that eventually somebody would come.
'At least we can shout for help,' she said at length.
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