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ching because he hadn't the strength to writhe and convulse； biting on his teeth until they chipped and broke。
Just the heart pumping weakly and the brain still functioning。 Reitze knelt down and pushed his face close to the other's； stared into those bloodshot eyes。
'I wish you didn't have to die/ He unloaded his hate in a terse whisper。 'I wish you could go on like this for ever because you bastards have killed the world off。 Sure； there'll be a few survivors but they'll be the unlucky ones。 I'm dying now but what few fuckers of you remain are going to pay！'
He stood up； lurched unsteadily。 Time was running out for him； too。 He had to be going； he could not stop here any longer。 Down the corridor and into the vehicle bay。 The duty soldier did riot question him when he made for the end Land Rover； took a rifle out of the rack and filled his pockets with ammunition。 Nobody travelled unarmed these days。
Reitze pulled himself up into the driver's seat； collapsed into it。 Only hate and will power gave him the strength he needed； spun the wheels as he misjudged the clutch。 Up the ramp and out into the open。
Most of the snow had blown off the lane and drifted the hedgerows； he hoped the Land Rover would make it。 Soft powdery patches created wheel…spin in places and once he had to hit a drift at 30 mph to bulldoze his way through。 He skidded； hit something beneath the snow with a metallic clang； bumped over it and kept going。
God； he hoped he would find some of 'em； that the soldiers hadn't driven 'em all to the woods and fields； that the cold and the coughing hadn't wiped the last of 'em out。 The shitfuckers； he wanted 'em now more than he had ever done all along。
Within a mile he found the first one； a female ing towards him； limping； dragging herself along。 She saw him； stopped； but did not attempt to run。 In all probability she had not the strength。
He hit her dead centre with the Land Rover； the speedometer needle flickering on 35； a crunching impact that slewed the vehicle sideways on； sprawled her across the bonnet； gushing blood like a burst flagon of claret。 Reitze jammed on his brakes； threw the Land Rover into a 390…degree spin and threw her off into the road。 Then he went over her with the nearside front wheel； caught her with the rear one as well。 He didn't even glance in his mirror because he had spied some more throwbacks further up the lane。
They ran for the bank； floundered in the snow and had to grab hawthorn branches in the hedge to save themselves from sliding back down。 Suspended up there they thought they were safe。 The Professor cruised slowly forward； slid to a stop fifteen yards from them。 Slowly； deliberately； he picked up the rifle and climbed out。 There was nowhere they could go； it was easier than the kids' airgun gallery at the fairground。
Five of them； he took the furthest first； a teenage girl； disintegrated her features with a dum…dum bullet； transferred his sights to the second and blew out his jugular vein so that bright scarlet blood sprayed technicolour patterns all down the snow…capped hedge。 The third had turned his back so Reitze blasted his spine； sent him writhing down the slope。
The last two jumped for it； gave him sporting shots as they ran and slipped on the ice。 He missed for the first time； broke a leg at the second attempt； scored a direct head shot on the fifth one。
Four dead； one flaying about。 He climbed back in the Land Rover； edged it forward in low…ratio。 He aimed the offside front wheel for the head； felt it crunch and split； bumped over the trunk with the back tyres； split the abdomen like a squashed haggis。
Half a mile further on he saw the big wood； knew there would be some of them in there but he would have to leave the Land Rover and go on foot； hoped he had the strength to clamber over those huge drifts。 The fuckers would be in that wood all right。
Only his obsession kept him going。 He was breathing heavily； spitting blood all the time； and his heart was trying to hammer its way out of his body。 It took him nearly half an hour to make it to the wood。
Huge trees； mostly oaks； a few dead leaves still clinging stubbornly to their branches。 Rhododendrons were virtually the only cover； that was where he would find the bastards skulking； flush them out as if he was hunting rabbits for sport。 It was sport。
It was the blood that gave them away； thick dark lung…blood； a trail of it leading up to a dense patch of bushes； maybe fifty metres square。 Reitze leaned up against the trunk of an oak； the rifle resting in the crook of his arm。 They were in there； all right； skulking like the animals they were。 Getting them out was the only problem 。 。 。
He thought about it； thinking didn't e easy these days。 He found the Camel packet in his pocket； just one left。 Just one。 He straightened it out； rolled it between his fingers。 Just one small white cylinder of paper packed with rich dark tobacco。 He sniffed it； it smelted sweet。 He would in all probability never smoke another after this one because he wasn't going back。 He put it to his lips； flicked his lighter； drew the smoke down deep into his diseased lungs； sent himself into a fierce coughing fit。
They would know he was here now； but it didn't matter。 Jesus； he wanted the fuckers to know what they were in for。 An idea； but the deep snow made it impracticable； if it had been summer he could have set fire to the whole wood； stood downwind and waited。 Get roasted or shot； you fuck pigs； it's up to you！ But it wasn't summer and no way was he going to be able to fire the wood。 Shit！
The hunter； it gave him a sense of pride； Man's superiority over animals。 They were in there crapping themselves because they didn't know how to escape him。 Well； there was only one way to get them…he would go in there after them！
Moving slowly； unsteadily； his rubber boots slipping on the snow。 Parting the outer trailing branches of the bushes and peering inside。 Much darker in here； even the snow had only penetrated in places。
Something rustled。 The rifle came up to Professor Reitze's shoulder； bucked。 A bullet cut through the foliage； whined； embedded itself in the trunk of a silver birch。 Then silence。
Reitze stood there listening； sweat streaming down his face。 There should have been panic； throwbacks stampeding everywhere at the sound of the shot； screaming with terror。 But there was nothing； not even a protesting crow insulting him from a distant tree。 It made him uneasy。
He stepped forward； rifle at the ready。 God； it was heavy； made his arms ache。 More blood here； he quickened his pace； had to stoop beneath the twisting rhododendron trailers； peering into every dark recess。 So quiet。
A sudden noise had him whirling round； forefinger taking a trigger pressure。 Just dislodged snow falling。 Nothing else。
He came to a birch tree； had to rest for a moment； leaning up against it。 Only then was he aware of the cigarette butt scorching his lips； leaned forward and spat it out into a patch of sno