The Empty World

by D. E. Stevenson

It was nearly a week before Jane found an opportunity to make her escape. During this time Bolton and Fuller Brown had both approached her and offered to help her get away. But Jane trusted them even less than she had trusted Ackrington. She declared she was quite happy where she was and tried to act as though it were true. It did not matter very much whether they believed her or not, they could say nothing, and they were obliged to walk warily. By offering her their help they had placed their lives in her hands. Jane could see that each of the three feared that she would betray him to the others, each knew that his life hung in the balance, and that the merest hint from Jane’s lips would destroy him. She had no intention of betraying any of them, but the power was useful. She could quell them with a significant look, she could make them tremble with an ambiguous phrase.

  With Bolton and Fuller Brown in her hands Jane’s position was more secure — as long as she kept her head, she was fairly safe. She took care not to be left alone with anybody, and this was not difficult, because they were all jealous of each other, and suspicious to the point of insanity.

  The strain was great, and each day seemed like a week. The gang spent its time mooching round the aerodrome, or drinking and quarrelling in the mess. Nobody dared to leave the aerodrome for fear that, when he returned, he would find the others gone, and Jane with them. They were all marking time, waiting for something to happen, waiting for an opportunity to get Jane away from the others.

  Jane saw that this state of affairs could not go on indefinitely, tempers grew frayed and fiery — a chance word would raise a storm, and it took Bolton all his time to avert bloodshed.

  Jane began to admire Bolton. She disliked him only a shade less than Fuller Brown, but she was forced to admire him for the way he handled his unruly team. He judged to a nicety the moment to be strict, and the moment to be lenient, and he held the scales between the rival factions with tact and impartiality. His strength of body was colossal, but he rarely used it, relying more upon his moral force and his caustic tongue to whip the gang into order.

  There was no radio, nor television of course, to relieve the tedium of the long hours, but Gosse resurrected an old gramophone, and this instrument blared forth tune after tune, and nearly drove Jane mad. Some of the men gambled — either with cards or pitch-and-toss — but this form of amusement soon palled for the simple reason that money was now of no value. When you could walk into any shop, and help yourself to anything you wanted, it mattered very little whether you won or lost.

  Every night Jane retired to her room and barricaded the door, and every night two of the gang kept guard in the sweep of gravel beneath her windows. As the days passed the tension grew more acute, and interminable discussions arose as to what they should do and where they should go.

  “Why on earth should we stay on here?” demanded Thomas. “We’ve got the whole world before us, haven’t we?”

  “I’m sick to death of this place,” agreed Greig.

  “Let’s make for London,” suggested Gosse.

  “Ach no, not London. Paris is the place for us,” cried Sands, the French chef. “Who would live in London if they could help it? Paris is so gay, so pretty.”

  “What good would Paris be without girls?” enquired Ackrington wearily.

  “What good is any place without girls?” agreed Fuller Brown.

  “Well, any place would be better than this,” urged Thomas. “It gives me the creeps, this place does.”

  The matter was discussed at every meal, but no conclusion was reached, and, as far as Jane could see, no conclusion ever would be reached. They all had their own ideas as to where they wanted to go, and none of them would agree to compromise. But there was another reason, even more vital, which prevented the gang from leaving the aerodrome; they could find no vehicle large enough to take the whole party. There were plenty of cars to be had for the taking, but none large enough for their purpose. Who would go in which car? — that was the question, and it was a question which nobody could decide. They distrusted each other, they were all anxious to get the best out of life for themselves.

  Bolton had done his best to settle the matter by suggesting that he should take Jane in a small car, and the others could follow, but his suggestion was met with roars of derision. Bolton, with Jane in the car, could easily out-distance the others and give them the slip. What would happen then? Once lost in this strange empty world it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack to try to find them again.

  The days went by slowly and painfully, they were all alike, full of futile discussions and violent quarrels. Jane was beginning to feel that the present state of affairs would last for ever. She could see no reason for any change. They were all tied together in a knot which nothing could sever. I must get away, she thought, I must. I shall go mad if I don’t get away from them soon. She gazed at herself in the little shaving-mirror which hung near the window and was quite surprised to find she looked just the same as usual. She felt about ten years older, she felt that she had been living in the aerodrome for years. It’s odd, she thought, it’s odd that so much can happen to you without it showing. It’s very odd indeed.

  The next morning when Jane went down to breakfast she noticed a difference in the atmosphere. She looked at the ring of faces round the table and saw that the sullen expressions, to which she was accustomed, had vanished; there was a change — an amazing change — in the demeanor of her gaolers.

  They have come to some decision, she thought, and her heart missed a beat. Nothing was said, but, as the day went on, she became more and more certain that something had been arranged. The men were quite jovial with each other, there were no quarrels, no discussions of any kind. She saw several of them whispering together and glancing in her direction, but when she approached they stopped and turned away with elaborate unconcern. Jane was sure that a crisis of some kind was imminent, what could it be?

  Whatever it was, Jane felt pretty sure that it concerned her, and that it was not to her advantage. She decided, in sheer panic, to escape at once. It was almost dinner-time, and she thought that everyone was in the mess. She ran across the gravel to the gate, and jumped into the first car she saw.

  Just at this moment a thick-set figure sprang out of the gate-house, and jumped in beside her. It was Fuller Brown.

  “Carry on,” he said impudently. “I’m not stopping you, Jane.”

  Jane could have wept with rage and disappointment, but she controlled herself with an effort, and walked back to the mess without saying a word. Fuller Brown followed her.

  “Very haughty, aren’t you?” he jeered softly. “You wait till tomorrow, Miss Forrest, perhaps you won’t be so high and mighty then. Just about fed up with your airs, we are —”

  “If you could agree amongst yourselves —” Jane said contemptuously.

  “How d’you know we haven’t agreed amongst ourselves?” was the alarming reply.

  That night Jane went to bed early. She was tired with the strain of waiting and wondering what was going to happen — tired and depressed. These men were beginning to get on her nerves. When she looked round the room and saw them all sitting there watching each other — and her — she felt as if she could not bear it another moment, as if she must get up and scream, and rush out into the night. It was all she could do to remain in her chair — all she could do.

  “Hullo, are you off to bed?” enquired Bolton, and he signed to Greig and Thomas to take up their duties as sentries beneath her windows.

  “Here, not so fast!” exclaimed Greig impudently. “Who do you think you are, Bolton? The King of England, I suppose. I’m not going on sentry duty to-night.”

  “It’s your turn, Greig,” replied Bolton quietly.

  “I dare say,” retorted Greig. “But I’m not going to leave this room until we’ve had the meeting. So that’s flat.”

  “What meeting?” enquired Jane, pausing at the door and looking back.

  “Just to discuss things,” Bolton said casually. “We can’t stay
on here for ever, you know. We’ll let you know the result.”

  “You’ll hear the result soon enough,” added Fuller Brown with a snigger.

  Jane looked round the room. She saw from the men’s faces that something important was to be decided — something to do with her.

  “You go on up to bed,” said Thomas.

  Jane went. What else could she do? She felt utterly helpless, like a rabbit caught in a trap. There was not one of these men whom she could trust, not one who had a scrap of decent feeling left. They were all against her, every one, all playing their own hands. She locked the door of her room, but she was too tired and hopeless to barricade it as she usually did. What was the use? The end must come sooner or later, she could not hold out against them for ever. She could hear the sound of their voices below, for her room was directly above the mess; she could hear voices raised in argument, and Bolton shouting at them to be quiet. The window was open, that was why she could hear them so distinctly, and the window of the mess must be open too. Perhaps she could hear what they were saying if she leaned out of the window — it would be something to know her fate.

  The night was very dark and very still; there was no moon, and a faint mist had risen blotting out the stars. Jane leaned over the window-sill and listened breathlessly. They were arguing and quarrelling because nobody would agree to go on sentry duty while the meeting was in progress.

  “How do I know you’ll give me a square deal?” Greig enquired in furious tones. “You’re all against me — I know that. A pack of twisters, that’s what you are.”

  “Of course you’ll get a square deal,” Bolton’s voice assured him.

  “I’ll see that I do,” Greig replied. “I’ll see I’m not done down. You can go on sentry duty yourself if you’re so anxious about it.”

  “Thomas can do it alone,” Bolton said. “It won’t matter —”

  “Nothing doing,” interrupted Thomas with vigour. “If he doesn’t have to, why should I? The whole thing is rot, that’s what I think, and I don’t care who knows it.”

  After some more discussion Bolton was forced to agree to take off the sentries for a couple of hours, so that everyone could be present at the meeting. His position as leader was too insecure for him to insist upon the carrying out of unpopular duties.

  Bolton opened the meeting by saying that things couldn’t go on as they were doing. Nobody was happy.

  “Cut out all that tripe,” said Fuller Brown rudely. “We know all that. Get on to business.”

  Jane heard the scrape of chairs as they pulled in closer to the table; at first she could not make out from the scraps of conversation what they were doing, but, in a minute or two, she realised that they were engaged in drawing lots … The time had come to depart, and Jane departed. It was ridiculously easy. She simply walked downstairs, and out of the front door. Any noise she made was drowned by the clamour in the mess. She could hear Bartoluzzi shouting that it was not fair, and Bolton’s voice calling for order. She hurried across the gravel sweep, and out at the gate. It took her a little time to find a car that she could drive, but at last she found a Bondini — she had driven one before. She made sure that the tank was full, stepped in and drove off.

  CHAPTER

  EIGHT

  Adventures in an

  Empty World

  Jane expected to feel elated at the success of her escape. It had been done at the right moment, and neatly done, but she did not feel elated. She was too frightened to feel anything except fear. She was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. The darkness seemed to be peopled with ghosts; trees loomed up at the side of the road like ugly monsters waiting to spring upon her as she passed.

  Jane pressed the accelerator, and besought herself not to be a fool; she had studied the map before leaving, and had decided that, with a good car and an empty road, she could make Bardsholme in five hours. Five hours was nothing, her troubles were over. But still she was frightened. Frightened of ghosts and bogies, and the loneliness of the empty world, which stretched out before her, and on either side, dark, silent and deserted.

  Five hours, she had said, but she had not taken into consideration the difficulties and delays caused by unexpected obstructions in the road. You never knew, on rounding a corner, whether or not you would find the road half blocked by a huge lorry or a derelict bus. Jane’s instinct urged haste, but her common sense warned her to drive with care. After several narrow escapes, she was forced to slow down, and now her nerves took toll, and she felt certain she was being pursued. Once she had to stop, to push a car into the ditch before there was room for her to pass. Her knees were trembling so that she could hardly stand. She hesitated, and looked back — what was that light — that faint silvery glow far behind, on the horizon? She looked at it for a moment, and then she knew it was the headlights of a car.

  Jane was petrified — they had discovered her absence … they were after her — and then she pulled herself together. She wasn’t caught yet, they should not catch her if she could avoid it. She turned off the engine, put out the lights and ran into the woods. A huge tree grew near the road. Jane had not climbed a tree since she was a child, but terror lent her wings, she pulled herself on to a low branch, and then on to another. It was an oak tree, old and gnarled, excellent for her purpose. Jane settled herself comfortably, high up amongst the branches, and waited. Her heart was beating like a sledge-hammer, her body was shaking all over.

  Now that she had climbed as high as she could, and there was nothing to do but wait, she began to think of all the things she might have done, and to regret her mistakes. The road was completely blocked with cars, so Jane’s pursuers were bound to stop. It would have been much better and safer to go on down the road on foot, or to penetrate deeper into the wood — in fact Jane came to the conclusion that it would have been better to do almost anything except what she had done. There was no time now to rectify her mistake, the pursuing lights became brighter, and the low hum of a powerful car driven at speed came to her ears. In a few moments she saw the car come round a bend in the road, and draw up abruptly with a grinding of brakes, just below the tree where she had hidden.

  The doors opened and half a dozen men climbed out. She could identify them, by the glare of the headlights, as part of the gang. Fuller Brown was there, and Bolton.

  “What’s up?”

  “Road blocked.”

  “She can’t have passed here, then.”

  “Must have taken the other road —”

  The group was standing just beside the Bondini in which Jane had escaped. Greig had his back to the car. He stepped backwards and laid his hand on the bonnet.

  Jane caught her breath. The bonnet was warm — it was bound to be warm after her long run. The man’s face changed, he opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it with a snap. She saw his eyes peer round — he looked down the road and into the woods. Then he drew out a gold cigarette-case and helped himself to a cigarette. His face glowed red as he lit it with cupped hands, she could see his huge ears and the bald spot on the top of his head — a horrible-looking creature.

  Fuller Brown was turning the car, the others helping him with advice. Greig watched them, and then turned away and disappeared into the woods.

  “Where’s Greig?” somebody enquired, as they piled into the car.

  “I don’t know — or care,” Brown answered. He let in the clutch and the car bounded away up the road.

  Jane remained in her tree like a modern version of Charles II. She heard Greig crashing about the wood, searching in the undergrowth, cursing aloud as a bramble tore at his clothes. Then he came out from amongst the trees, and stood in the road, looking thoughtfully in both directions. The moon had risen by now, and Jane could see him clearly — the look of baffled rage on his face chilled her marrow. A stream of horrible language issued from his lips — language so foul that Jane could hardly understand what it meant.

  After a few minutes he seemed to make up his mind, and wal
ked down the road in a southerly direction, looking carefully in the ditches and behind the hedges as he went.

  Jane waited until Greig was out of sight. Then she came down from her tree. She moved the car which was blocking the road, and climbed into the Bondini. The car started at a touch. She was not afraid of Greig now; if he tried to stop her she knew what to do. She let in the clutch and the car leaped forward. Greig had not gone far. He heard the sound of the car and dashed out into the road, holding out his hand and calling to her to stop. Jane held straight on. It was difficult not to swerve, but she was a desperate woman. He will jump out of the way — she told herself firmly — I won’t stop whatever happens. She blew her horn loudly, and he leapt aside; the mudguard caught his arm and sent him flying into the ditch. Jane drove straight on. She hoped he was not hurt, but if he were, it was his own fault.

  It was easier to drive now that the moon had risen. Jane drove on and on. She drove through towns and villages, all quiet and deserted. She drove through dark woods and over moonlit moors. The bright radiance of the headlights went before her opening, up the way.

  After a little she began to feel that she was lost. The names of the villages through which she was passing were unfamiliar to her, and she had memorised those which were on her route. She knew enough about the stars to be sure that she was still going south, but that was all. I can’t go back — she thought desperately. She felt that if she turned to go back she was finished. She drove on more recklessly.

  The road was less good now, it turned and twisted perplexingly, and then snaked down a steep hill between two rows of tall dark trees. As Jane rounded one of the curves she suddenly saw that her way was blocked — a bus and a lorry had collided and the whole road was strewn with fragments. It was too late to stop; the Bondini charged into the wreckage with a crash like thunder.

  Jane picked herself up and found that, except for a few bruises and an excruciating pain in her knee, she was none the worse. She had scarcely ascertained this important fact when there was a roaring noise, and the car burst into flames. Jane watched it dully; she could do nothing about it, and anyhow it did not matter much. Nothing mattered except the pain in her knee.