The three men whirled round. White teeth glinted in open mouths. Bond shot the rear man in the head and the second man in the stomach. The front man’s gun was up. A bullet whistled past Bond and away up the main tunnel. Bond’s gun crashed. The man clutched at his neck and spun slowly round and fell across the conveyor-belt. The echoes thundered slowly up and down the tunnel. A puff of fine dust rose in the air and settled. Two of the bodies lay still. The man with the stomach shot writhed and jerked.
Bond tucked his hot gun into the waistband of his trousers. He said roughly to the girl, ‘Come on.’ He reached for her hand and pulled her after him into the mouth of the side tunnel. He said, ‘Sorry about that, Honey,’ and started running, pulling her after him by the hand. She said, ‘Don’t be stupid.’ Then there was no sound but the thud of their naked feet on the stone floor.
The air was clean in the side tunnel and it was easier going but, after the tension of the shooting, pain began to crowd in again and take possession of Bond’s body. He ran automatically. He hardly thought of the girl. His whole mind was focused on taking the pain and on the problems that waited at the end of the tunnel.
He couldn’t tell if the shots had been heard and he had no idea what opposition was left. His only plan was to shoot anyone who got in his way and somehow get to the garage and the marsh buggy. That was their only hope of getting away from the mountain and down to the coast.
The dim yellow bulbs in the ceiling flickered by overhead. Still the tunnel stretched on. Behind him, Honey stumbled. Bond stopped, cursing himself for not having thought of her. She reached for him and for a moment she leaned against him panting. ‘I’m sorry, James. It’s just that …’
Bond held her to him. He said anxiously, ‘Are you hurt, Honey?’
‘No, I’m all right. It’s just that I’m so terribly tired. And my feet got rather cut on the mountain. I fell a lot in the dark. If we could walk a bit. We’re nearly there. And there’s a door into the garage before we get to the machine shop. Couldn’t we go in there?’
Bond hugged her to him. He said, ‘That’s just what I’m looking for, Honey. That’s our only hope of getting away. If you can stick it till we get there, we’ve got a real chance.’
Bond put his arm round her waist and took her weight. He didn’t trust himself to look at her feet. He knew they must be bad. It was no good being sorry for each other. There wasn’t time for it if they were to stay alive.
They started moving again, Bond’s face grim with the extra effort, the girl’s feet leaving bloody footsteps on the ground, and almost immediately she whispered urgently and there was a wooden door in the wall of the tunnel and it was ajar and no sound came from the other side.
Bond took out his gun and gently eased the door open. The long garage was empty. Under the neon lights the black and gold painted dragon on wheels looked like a float waiting for the Lord Mayor’s Show. It was pointing towards the sliding doors and the hatch of the armoured cabin stood open. Bond prayed that the tank was full and that the mechanic had carried out his orders to get the damage fixed.
Suddenly, from somewhere outside, there was the sound of voices. They came nearer, several of them, jabbering urgently.
Bond took the girl by the hand and ran forward. There was only one place to hide – in the marsh buggy. The girl scrambled in. Bond followed, softly pulling the door shut behind him. They crouched, waiting. Bond thought: only three rounds left in the gun. Too late he remembered the rack of weapons on the wall of the garage. Now the voices were outside. There came the clang of the door being slid back on its runners and a confusion of talk.
‘How d’ya know they were shootin’?’
‘Couldn’t been nuthen else. I should know.’
‘Better take rifles. Here, Joe! Take that one, Lemmy! An’ some pineapples. Box under da table.’
There was the metallic noise of bolts being slid home and safety catches clicked.
‘Some feller must a gone nuts. Couldn’t ha’ been da Limey. You ever seen da big pus-feller in da creek? Cheessus! An’ da rest of da tricks da Doc fixed up in da tube? An’ dat white gal. She cain’t have been in much shape dis mornin’. Any of you men bin to have a look?’
‘Nossir.’
‘No.’
‘No.’
‘Haw, haw. I’se sho surprised at you fellers. Dat’s a fine piece of ass out dere on de crab walk.’
More rattling and shuffling of feet, then, ‘Okay let’s go! Two abreast till we gets to da main tunnel. Shoot at da legs. Whoever’s makin’ trouble, da Doc’ll sure want him to play wit.’
‘Tee-hee.’
Feet echoed hollowly on the concrete. Bond held his breath as they filed by. Would they notice the shut door of the buggy? But they went on down the garage and into the tunnel and the noise of them slowly faded away.
