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And where were all the other houses？ Just a street。 。 。 no； a stony cart…track disappearing into black shadows in either direction； a world of darkness beyond the blazing torches。 No glare from the new town or the processing centre emblazoning the night sky。
Something terrible had happened。 Perhaps there had been a radioactive leak…or an explosion he had slept through…and the survivors had e to revenge themselves on him for some inexplicable reason。
'e out； Richard Coyle。 Or we'll drag you out！'
He glanced around his bedroom。 Nothing here had changed： four walls covered with posters； the small dressing…table piled high with junk which his mother had been begging him to tidy up for weeks…everything lit up by that fiery glow from outside。
He was aware that he was shouting。 'Mom 。 。 。 Dad 。 。 。 Sarah 。 。 。 ' but his words came back at him in a hollow echo； as though the rest of the house was empty； his family gone wherever the other occupants of Craiglowrie had gone； leaving him at the mercy of these crazed； peasant…like monstrosities in an empty land。
Footsteps ing up the stairs。 Richard Coyle shrank back； pressed against the wall； unable to take his eyes from the door； knowing it would burst open at any second 。。。。 It flew back； bounced off the wall； the hinges creaking under the strain。 Flaming torches bellowing black； acrid smoke showed him that his worst fears were confirmed。 The landing was filled with sweat…stinking； unwashed bodies； their faces primeval masks of anger。
There was nowhere he could flee to escape the hands groping for him； broken fingernails gouging his flesh as calloused fingers closed over him。 A last desperate struggle； clawing back at them in his panic； then something struck him in the genitals and he sagged unconscious into a cradle of arms。
It was all a dream； a nightmare。 Dimly he was aware of his body being tossed and turned； one way then the other。 He wanted to open his eyes but his head ached abominably； and he was afraid of the light。 So hot； sweating feverishly； a subconscious awareness of being ill but unable to e to terms with it logically。
At last his eyes flickered open； the pupils seared by a yellowish light。 He tried to tell himself that it came from the streetlamps outside his bedroom window； but he knew it didn't。 The scene which greeted him was the same as before…only a thousand times more devilish。 The angry shouting crowd looking up at him； baying like a pack of wolves。
But he wasn't in his bedroom anymore。 Now he was perched on top of a huge pile of dead branches； far larger than that built by the boys' brigade for the annual 5 November bonfire in the recreation park。 He was securely bound to a thick stake； a human Guy Fawkes effigy with a dozen torches poised to start the blaze which would incinerate him！ Panic 。 。 。 fighting his bonds although he knew it was useless 。 。 。 his body hot and dry； naked except for one remaining pyjama sleeve。
'Wait 。 。 。 you're making a big mistake！' This time his shout was audible。
Coarse laughter rippled through the watchers； a chorus of jibes； obscenities。 Then a man smaller than the rest； a grotesque dwarf…like figure； shuffled forward； mouth strangely lopsided when he spoke。
'We are not mistaken。 You are one of those sent to destroy us with magic…a disciple of Balzur。 You bear his mark on your loins； the red plague by which his accursed are known。'
Richard tried to look down； but the ropes prevented him from seeing further than his waist。 But there was a distinct burning sensation in the area of his genitals…probably from a blow one of them had delivered。
'Go join your master in the flames of hell！'
The dwarf thrust forward his burning brand and immediately the dry branches began to blaze and crackle at the foot of the pile。 More torches were hurled； flames leaping higher； seeking out his feet to lick at them。 Richard screamed； kept on screaming； and through a red haze of pain and fire he saw a sea of jeering faces。
'Burn as Balzur burned； Richard Coyle。'
His body was scorching； his flesh drying up； shrivelling…being burned alive！ Cruelly he was denied unconsciousness。
Suddenly he was falling； in a shower of sparks like some bizarre firework explosion； the flames face…like； leering； seeming to reflect his own terror； distorted mirrors of fire。 Hotter…a bed of embers leaping up to meet him。 Crashing into it； writhing。 Trying to scream； but no sound ing。
'Richard 。 。 。 Richard 。 。 。 'a familiar voice so far away； a hand grasping him； shaking him。 Feebly； he tried to fight it off but it clung to him with a firm persistence。
'Richard 。 。 。 Richard 。 。 。 ' The tone more insistent now。
Somehow his eyes opened 。 。 。 His own bedroom again； daylight streaming through the window； wan sunlight making patterns on the wall above the bed。 Richard stared up in amazement at his mother； saw the concern on her features。
'You're ill；' she said。 'You've got a fever…had some sort of a nightmare。 I heard you shouting from downstairs。'
'I'm all right。' His mouth was dry； his naked body lathered in sweat； the turmoil of bedclothes damp。 'Just 。 。 。 just a 。 。 。 a nightmare。' He started to show signs of getting up。
'You're not well enough to get up。' Maternal insistence； even though Jane Coyle knew that she addressed a rebellious teenage son。 He'd get up just because she didn't want him to。
Tm going out。' He grabbed for his shirt on the bedside chair； fought off a wave of dizziness。 'So don't try to stop me。'
'All right；' she sighed； turning away。
Somehow Richard Coyle struggled into his clothes。 After a few moments he plucked up the strength to rise to his feet。 He swayed； but remained upright as he tottered out to the toilet across the landing。
He didn't care if his mother heard him throwing up。 After that he felt slightly better。 He went downstairs and out to where the Norton was parked。 He didn't want to face his mother； and he certainly couldn't face breakfast。
As he sat astride his bike； wondering if he had enough strength to kick the throttle； he glanced up and down the street。 Just an everyday scene that could have been any suburb in the country： rows of box…like houses； cars backing out of driveways； a queue at the bus…stop。 So beautifully mundane。 Maybe last night's horror would wear off soon； seep out of his system in the sweat which was dampening his shirt and jeans； and trickling down his forehead。
Shivering； he used every ounce of his strength to kick the bike into life； and roared off into the cooling westerly wind。
'Been sortin' them bikers out again？'
Richard Coyle glared at Linda； and rubbed his eye； which was now virtually closed。 The short ride from home had been difficult for him。 Twice he had nearly swerved into oning traffic。
'My dad…like I keep saying； he's a bastard。'
I'm glad I never met 'im。'
'Don't worry。 You won't have to。 I'm not going back。'
'You m