The Devil in Green (29 page)

Lying low over their mounts' necks, they pushed on, the wind driving
the rain into their faces until their skin stung and they could barely
see.

The Plain passed by in a blur of green and grey. Eventually, they caught
up with Hipgrave who herded them amongst old tank tracks into the once
off-limits Ministry of Defence land. They finally came to rest under thick
tree cover in a lower-lying area.

Mallory jumped down from his mount and ran to the tree line. In the
distance, the Fabulous Beast was circling. 'I think it's lost track of us,' he
said.

'Did it really see us? At that distance?' Miller said. 'I mean, why was it
after us?'

'They're stupid animals,' Hipgrave said, dismounting. 'They'll hunt
anything.'

Mallory wasn't convinced. From the very first sight of it, he'd instinctively felt there was an intelligence there. 'It's definitely searching the
area,' he noted. He turned to Hipgrave. 'You expected to see it.'

'They like to follow certain routes—'

'Ley lines,' Miller interjected, repeating the information he had learned
at the pagan camp.

Hipgrave eyed him suspiciously, but didn't ask how he had come by this
knowledge.

The trail was surprisingly easy to follow. Even the persistent rain had not
washed away the regular footprints, and every now and then they were
presented with items that pointed the way: a fountain pen engraved with
the initials
E. G.,
a freshly broken shoelace, a page torn from an out-of-
date Church diary, the writing illegible after the rain. Hipgrave was
enthused by their progress, but Mallory felt oddly uneasy.

The route followed little logic, sometimes doubling back on itself. The
suggestion was that the cleric was wandering, perhaps in a daze, and it
would have left them completely lost in the uniformity of the Plain if they
had not studied basic orienteering, as well as navigation by the sun and
stars. The twisting track meant the miles passed slowly, but they also
progressed with caution when they came to any area where they might be
ambushed. Gardener grumbled that even in a daze the cleric was probably
outpacing them.

'Where is this stupid bastard going?' Mallory muttered bitterly.

'You'd better hope something hasn't eaten him and is walking around in
his boots,' Gardener noted.

Daniels wrung out the sopping peak of his hood, sending a shower of
water splashing on to the pommel of his saddle. 'Well, isn't that a surprise
-
Gardener looking on the black side,' he said.

'I'm not looking on the black side. I'm considering a possibility. These
days, anything's a possibility.' In the thin silvery light, Gardener's face
appeared as grey as the heavy clouds that now lowered overhead.

Daniels snorted. 'I know you well enough by now, Gardener. You think
life's miserable - that's why you opt for that Old Testament morality. All
the reward's in the next place. This one's just blood, piss and mud, am I
right?'

'You should get down the pub more, Gardener,' Mallory said distractedly. His attention was fixed on the trail ahead.

'Bloody amateur psychologists,' Gardener said sourly.

'You know I'm right,' Daniels continued. 'All that fundamentalist
Christianity you go for - it was right for a thousand years ago. Not now.'

'Look around you,' Gardener replied. 'It
is
a thousand years ago.'

'You really think the Fall was just the start of the apocalypse,
Gardener?' Miller stared ahead gloomily.

'It's all there in Revelation.
The great dragon, that ancient serpent, who is
called the Devil and Satan, the deceiver of the whole world- he was thrown down
to the earth and his angels with him.
We've had war, we've had starvation,
and there's talk of some plague doing the rounds. Death makes four
-
the
pale horseman.'

'What do you think, Daniels?' Miller asked.

Daniels appeared bored by the conversation. 'I think fine wine, good
food and Italian furniture are the answer to all our earthly worries.' He
added, irritably, 'Were you always like this, Gardener? Miserable, I mean.'

Gardener grew introspective. 'You don't choose who you are,' he said
after a while. 'Life makes you the way you end up. You think you're going
down one road, then something comes up .
.
. something you can't
control . . . and you end up going down another. And then you get sent
off on another journey, and then another, and then when you finally stop
and look back, you're miles away from where you were.'

His bleak tone put Daniels off pursuing the conversation, but Miller
appeared oblivious to it. 'What are you saying, Gardener?' he asked.

Gardener acted as if he were talking about something worthless. 'We all
need ways of making sense of this life. That's mine.' As he considered this
line, a shiver crossed his face. It appeared to prompt him, for he picked up
the conversation again. 'I married Jean when I was twenty. We'd already
known each other for seven years. Met her on the Dodgems at Gateshead.'
A faint smile slipped out of the greyness. 'She wasn't what you'd call
pretty, but she'd got a mouth on her like a sailor. I liked that. She gave as
good as she got. We had a few barneys in our life because of that mouth, I
tell you, but there was never a dull moment.'

He adjusted his hood so that his eerily glassy eyes retreated into shadow.
'We always wanted kids . .
.
tried for years
. .
. until we found out I wasn't
able. Jean took it well. We could have adopted, I suppose, but Jean said,
"We've still got each other". We'd had the best times before. That's how
we'd carry on into our retirement. Then Jean started feeling tired all the
time ...
got ulcers in her mouth. I carried on doing the bins, came back
after every shift, she'd mention it in passing. It wasn't important - she'd
get over it.' He shook his head. 'All that time
. .
. wasted.'

'What was it?' Miller asked quietly.

'Leukaemia. Acute myeloid. Little chance of a cure, the doc said. We
gave it a go. All that chemotherapy
.
.
.
her hair falling out . . . moods
swinging like a bloody pendulum. I tell you, that foul mouth worked
overtime.' There was such affection in his voice that Miller winced. 'She
died. Here I am. I'm just passing time till I'm going to be with her again.
No point looking for anyone else. Jean was the only one, for life. Without
her, there's nothing here for me.'

Nobody knew what to say. Daniels attempted a half-hearted apology,
but it appeared pathetic against the weight of feeling that hung around
Gardener. Yet Gardener himself seemed untouched by it. It was as if all
his emotion had been considered and was now held in abeyance for some
future time.

It was Gardener who eventually spoke first. He carefully surveyed the
trail ahead, and then said, 'What are you looking for, Mallory? You've
been watching the way we're going as if you're expecting the King of Shit
to come round the corner.'