Sixty Days to Live

by Dennis Wheatley

  As consciousness left him, his last coherent thought was that these devils had robbed him of all chance of getting free to find Lavina.

  13

  HELL IN HYDE PARK

  When Derek came round he was one mass of aches and bruises. With infinite caution and considerable pain he lifted his hand to his head. It felt the size of a pumpkin and as though the soft matter inside was gently surging to and fro, each beat of his heart propelling it backwards and forwards in great waves of pain.

  At first he did not know where he was or what had happened to him, but gradually his thoughts became coherent and he remembered how he had been attacked and robbed by some of his fellow prisoners.

  With a great effort of will he sat up and began to examine himself all over. His shin hurt abominably where he had been kicked and his ribs pained him every time he took a breath, but he did not think that any of his bones were broken. There was a lump on the back of his head and another on his jaw. One of his eyes was half-closed and from the sticky crust which had formed on his upper lip he knew that his nose had been bleeding.

  It struck him then that the sky was much lighter. He must have been out for a long time, as dawn was approaching. He began again to wonder miserably about Lavina and in what wretched state the new day would find her.

  Looking round him, he saw that nearly all his fellow-prisoners were lying on the ground asleep. There were many more of them than there had been when he was put in the cage. Evidently the police had been rounding up fresh batches of rioters and interning them all night. There were now several thousand men in the great oblong barbed-wired encampment. Vaguely he began to wonder if he would be able to find his assailants and charge them, but he had seen the tall, bony man only by starlight and the others had been no more than whirling figures in the semi-darkness. With such a vague memory of his face, to look for the tall man among all these hundreds of prisoners would be like searching for a needle in a haystack.

  Slowly he got to his feet and, limping painfully, made his way to the gate of the enclosure. About fifty men were congregated there; recent arrivals, who were still telling each other of their exploits during the night and how they had been captured.

  Clinging on to the bars of the gate for support, Derek peered through them and called to the sentry. The man took no notice but, after a few moments, Derek managed to attract the attention of a passing Sergeant.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked the Sergeant gruffly.

  ‘I’ve been attacked and robbed,’ muttered Derek.

  ‘Been in a rough house trying to rob people yourself more likely.’ The Sergeant stared unsympathetically. ‘Plenty of your kind brought in to-night.’

  ‘No. It was here in the camp, a few hours ago. Some thugs beat me up and stole my money.’

  The soldier peered a little closer in the uncertain light. ‘You do look a bit of a mess,’ he granted.

  ‘I’m pretty well all-in,’ Derek mumbled. ‘For God’s sake get me a doctor, can’t you.’

  ‘All right, then. You’ll have to wait your turn, though.’

  ‘My turn?’

  ‘Yes. The doctor’s been busy on casualties all night. He’s still got a dozen or so in that hut over there waiting to be patched up.’ The Sergeant nodded in the direction of a fair-sized wooden building some distance away then, turning, called a Guardsman out of the guard hut nearby.

  The gate was unlocked and, taking Derek by the arm, the Guardsman led him over to the doctor’s quarters.

  Inside a small ante-room two lines of men were sitting dejectedly on wooden benches. Some were already roughly bandaged with blood-soaked rags, and all had injuries received in fighting. One was sobbing quietly in a corner and another moaned monotonously. Derek took his place upon a bench and waited.

  It was over an hour before his turn came to go inside and, in the meantime, other casualties had been brought in to replace those who had been treated.

  The doctor proved to be a fat, bald, sharp-eyed little man wearing the uniform of a Captain. No nurses were present but he had two Orderlies in white overalls as assistants and one of them was dressing an arm wound for the last patient as Derek entered.

  ‘Well, what’s your trouble?’ the Doctor asked sharply. He had been working all night without respite and was in no mood to exchange idle pleasantries.

  ‘I was attacked and beaten up,’ Derek said briefly.

  ‘All right. Better strip, then.’

  The other Orderly helped Derek in the painful process of getting off his clothes. He was then told to lie down on a bare, hard couch in the centre of the room and the doctor gave him a swift examination; some of the spots on which he pressed firmly with his thumbs causing his examinee excruciating agony.

  ‘Not much wrong with you,’ he said after a moment. ‘Nasty bruise on your shin but no bones broken. A day or two in bed will see you fit—when you can get there; but you’re not a hospital case. I can’t spare beds at St. George’s for anyone who’s not seriously injured.’

  The Orderlies came forward and dabbed the worst of Derek’s bruises with some soothing ointment. As they produced some bandages he said slowly:

  ‘I’ll be all right, but what I’m worried about is getting out of here. You see, I was with a girl last night and we were separated. I’ve simply got to find her.’

  ‘I’m afraid there isn’t much chance of your being able to do that. The orders are that anybody who’s been arrested is to be kept inside until the trouble’s over.’

  ‘What?’ Derek sat up with a start, felt a stab of pain and sank back with a moan. ‘But they can’t do that—it isn’t legal.’

  ‘My dear man, under its emergency powers the Government can do anything and, to my mind, they’re behaving very sensibly. Nearly all the lawless elements of the city were out on the spree last night and that gave the police just the chance they wanted to collar them. By keeping them behind barbed wire we’ll be able to stop a great deal of looting.’

  ‘But I’m not a crook. I wasn’t even drunk when I was arrested.’

  ‘That’s just your bad luck, then. But, if you were mixed up in such a crowd, you asked for it, and evidently you’re an irresponsible person.’

  ‘I’m nothing of the kind; and the girl I was with is highly respectable, yet she was lugged off with a lot of drunken street-women.’

  ‘Perhaps, but the very fact that you were involved in a riot justifies the Government in arresting you both for your own protection.’

  When the Orderlies had finished bandaging Derek he was told to dress while another casualty was brought in. But when he had struggled back into his clothes, he made one last effort.

  ‘Look here, I’ve simply got to find this young woman I was with somehow. Couldn’t you possibly get me an interview with an Officer?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t,’ the doctor replied irritably. ‘There aren’t enough Officers in the whole battalion to listen to one-tenth of the people who’re asking to see them. Here, drink this up; it’ll take your head away. Then get out and have a good sleep on the grass.’

  Derek dutifully drank up the potion he was offered and, leaving, was led back to the barbed-wire enclosure.

  The people in it were rousing up now and he began to look round with a vague hope of finding the tall man who had trapped him, but he could not see him anywhere.

  Half an hour later the gates were opened. Some lorries drove in and the Troops who were with them lined up the prisoners in long queues to receive their breakfast ration. It consisted of a mug of coffee—which had to be drunk on the spot and the mug passed on to the next man in the queue—a hunk of bread with a slice of bully, and an orange.

  Derek carried his portion away to the far side of the camp, where it was less crowded, and slowly began to chew this sustaining but not particularly appetising breakfast. His jaw hurt him every time he moved it and he wasn’t feeling at all like food, but he decided that he ought to eat it if he could do so, to keep up his strength as much as possible.
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  As he ate he thought of Lavina again—probably receiving a similar ration in some other encampment with hundreds of women. Somehow he had simply got to escape and find her. At the worst, he had expected to be brought before a magistrate or military tribunal that morning and dismissed with a caution or a fine; and he had assumed that the same would happen to Lavina. Even if he had failed to locate her while she was still a prisoner, he had anticipated that she would make her way back during the morning to St. James’s Square and that they would then be able to set off together down to Stapleton.

  But now it seemed all prisoners were to be detained for the next three days, which meant that, unless he could escape, both he and she would still be captives when the comet either singed or hit the earth. He had been banking more than he realised on the Ark proving their salvation, however great the catastrophe, and now they were both to be robbed of their chance of surviving in it.

  Wearily he turned the problem over in his still aching brain. Bribery was no good, now that he had lost his money. As it had appeared impossible to break out of the cage the night before, it would be even more difficult in daylight. Perhaps if he could find the friendly Sergeant-Major again and get an interview with an Officer, he might still be able to persuade them to release him.

  Almost unconsciously he turned over on his side and pillowed his head upon his arm. For some reason he was feeling extraordinarily drowsy. Perhaps the doctor had put something in the headache draught he had been given—something to make him sleep. But he mustn’t sleep. He mustn’t let himself go to sleep, whatever happened. Yet a moment later he had fallen into dreamless slumber.

  When he woke it was already evening. He felt considerably better than he had done in the morning. His head pained him less and his shin was not throbbing quite so agonisingly; but as he moved he gave a groan, for he was almost as stiff as if he had been imprisoned in a strait jacket.

  By easing his muscles cautiously he gradually got back the use of his limbs, and on looking round he saw that the encampment was now more crowded than ever. Evidently, fresh batches of prisoners had been brought in during the hours he had been sleeping. There was now hardly a vacant patch of grass in the whole enclosure.

  He glanced across at a round-faced little man who was seated near him and asked if he knew what time it was. The man produced a large gold watch.

  ‘Ten to seven, mate,’ he said. ‘That’s a nasty eye of yours. How d’you get it?’

  Derek gingerly felt his swollen left eye, which was now almost entirely closed. ‘Here, last night,’ he said. ‘Some toughs set on me and robbed me of my wallet.’

  ‘That was a bit hard,’ the man grinned cheerfully. ‘Where did the cops pinch you?’

  ‘At the Dorchester.’

  ‘They pinched me at the ‘Bunch of Grapes’ in the Strand. Cor, it was a beano, and no mistake! My name’s Alf Wilkin. What’s yours?’

  ‘Derek Burroughs. D’you think there’s any chance of getting out of this place?’

  ‘Not much, with all these khaki boys around. But who cares? It’s bin a nice day in the sunshine and there’s some talk of their issuing us blankets to-night. The grub’s not bad, either, and it’s free. We might do much worse than sit around here for a few days.’

  Derek did not go into details with Mr. Wilkin as to why he was so frantically anxious to regain his freedom but, pulling himself together, nodded good-bye to the little man and made his way towards the gate.

  Knowing now that it was no good trying to talk to the sentry, he waited till a Corporal came along and inquired for the Sergeant-Major.

  ‘He’s out on duty,’ the Corporal replied. ‘They’re mopping up down Limehouse way this evening.’

  ‘When will he be back?’ Derek asked.

  ‘How should I know?’

  ‘Then d’you think you could get hold of an officer for me?’

  “Fraid not. It isn’t for me to go worrying the officers with prisoners’ grievances.’

  ‘Oh, hell!’ Derek exclaimed, as he turned away dejectedly.

  ‘What’s wrong, old chap?’ asked a friendly voice nearby.

  The speaker was a youngish man dressed in a suit of overalls and a flying-helmet. He offered a packet of cigarettes, and Derek took one gratefully as he began to give a brief version of his plight.

  ‘You’ve certainly had a raw deal,’ the young man remarked when Derek had done, ‘and I can sympathise because, as a matter of fact, I’m here on account of a girl myself.’

  ‘Was she arrested, too?’ inquired Derek.

  ‘No. I haven’t seen her for six weeks. That’s just the rub. My name’s Babforth and I live up at Hull. By my girl’s a Londoner; her home’s in Kilburn. We met at the Butlin Holiday Camp at Skegness last year, had a grand time and absolutely fell for each other right away. We’re not engaged exactly, but we write to each other twice a week and I’ve managed to get up to see her half a dozen times in the last ten months. When I heard the Prime Minister’s speech on the radio the other night, I got anxious about her.’

  ‘Naturally,’ agreed Derek.

  ‘So I made up my mind to come up to London on my motorbike, with the idea that whatever happened we’d be together. If I’d only got here yesterday things would have been all right, but, apparently, when the evacuation started this morning they not only closed all roads to incoming traffic but they’ve got police posts everywhere which are turning back pedestrians as well; in fact, they won’t let anybody into London now who hasn’t got a permit.’

  ‘I see. And I suppose you tried to gate-crash?’

  ‘That’s it,’ Babforth nodded. ‘Wouldn’t you have done the same? Hang it, I’d come all that way to be with my girl and I was worried out of my wits about her. I tried four different roads but I was turned back every time so I abandoned the old bike and climbed over a garden wall. But they’ve got a ring of police and Tommies the whole way round London, and a Special spotted me. I gave him a run for his money all right and when he did collar me I knocked him down; but he whistled up a couple of his pals and they put me in a van and sent me here. Where I was a fool was to hit the officer. If I hadn’t done that, they’d only have turned me back again. Then, if I’d waited till to-night, I’d have been able to get through the police cordon easily in the darkness.’

  ‘Yes, that’s where you slipped up,’ Derek agreed, ‘although I expect I should have done the same myself. Anyhow, as we’re both in the same sort of mess we must put our heads together and think up some scheme for getting out of here. How’s the evacuation going?’

  ‘Pretty well. As they’ve cleared the roads of all incoming traffic, it’s just one steady stream of cars and buses going out; although, of course, I didn’t see what was happening in Central London.’

  For a little time the two of them discussed their rather slender prospects of escape. Derek was still feeling weak and ill but having a decent fellow like Babforth to talk to cheered him up considerably.

  At half-past seven the gates of the encampment were opened and the food lorries drove in again. As Derek had been sleeping when the lunch ration was issued, he now felt hungry and, with Babforth beside him, managed to get a fairly good place in one of the many queues.

  To his disappointment he found that supper consisted only of tea, cheese and biscuits, a more solid meal of stew and plum-pudding having been issued in the middle of the day. But there was a liberal supply and when he told the Quartermaster who was superintending operations that he had missed his lunch he was given a double portion without argument.

  In the gentle light they sat on the grass nibbling their cheese and biscuits. Babforth had fortunately provided himself with several packets of Players on his way down from Hull so they had an ample supply of cigarettes and, having decided that it was useless to attempt anything until darkness had fallen, they lay side by side smoking while they waited for night to come.

  Unlike the previous evening, the sky was overcast so they could not actually watch the sun sinking, bu
t by 9.40 the outline of Park Lane to the east had become blurred in semi-darkness; while the colour was rapidly fading from the trees to the west in Kensington Gardens.

  Then, almost imperceptibly the sky there took on a different hue; a reddish tinge, as though a great fire was burning somewhere in the far distance. The men in the camp began to stir uneasily. At one moment a good two-thirds of them had been lying or sitting on the grass. The next, they were all standing on their feet. Derek felt a strange, unaccountable glow of exultation run through him and he saw that Babforth’s eyes had taken on a glassy stare.

  As the sky reddened in the west a low murmur went up which gradually increased to an angry roar. The prisoners were all in movement now. Some had started to quarrel over portions of unconsumed rations. Others began to move from all sides, as though by a common impulse, towards the gate.

  Derek, too, instinctively turned in that direction and Babforth strode along beside him. Soon they were wedged in a struggling, yelling mass and found themselves shouting aloud like the rest.

  Fortunately, they had been some distance from the entrance of the compound when the mob began to converge upon it; otherwise they might have been crushed to death. As it was, they could hear the agonised screaming of the men a hundred yards in front who were now being pressed flat against the iron bars of the great gates.

  Suddenly, under the enormous pressure, they gave; and the mob surged forward fighting and struggling to get through them, as though they had been trapped in a building where there was a raging fire.

  The jam was so great that Derek’s damaged ribs suffered severely. He kept his arms pressed down to his sides to give them some protection, but after a few minutes he thought his heart would burst and a scream was forced from him. Then the pressure eased. He caught a glimpse of the barbed-wire entanglements now on his right rear and knew that although he had not even seen the gates he had been carried through them.