Hills End by Ivan Southall

Author:Ivan Southall [Ivan Southall]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Children's Fiction
ISBN: 9781922148049
Publisher: The Text Publishing Company
Published: 2013-05-21T16:00:00+00:00

The rifle was so heavy Paul wondered how he was going to hold it to his shoulder and aim. Perhaps he would have to get down on the ground and rest it against something, as he had seen marksmen do in shooting competitions. And he had heard people say that a .303 had the kick of a mule. That meant that when he pulled the trigger the recoil from the explosion might injure his shoulder, and might even throw him off his aim.

He stumbled through the darkness, aware for the first time of the discomfort caused by the continual trickle of water from his hair, down his neck, and into his eyes and his mouth. He stumbled over dead power-lines and branches of trees and deep ditches in places where ditches had never been. He tried to be careful because he was afraid the rifle would go off, but again and again he fell or blundered into obstacles, even dropping the rifle itself. Then he would feel carefully for it in the dark, feel along the barrel or up the butt until he found the safety catch, and then every time wonder in fear whether the catch had moved, whether it should be fully forward or fully back, whether the gun was safe, or cocked and ready to fire. By the time he could hear the barking of Harvey’s dog he was more muddled and frightened than he had ever been.

He couldn’t see Harvey, or the dog, or the house, or the bull. Usually the darkest night in Hills End somewhere showed a glimmer of light, but this was a night of total power failure, of steady rain and of cloud pressing low. Paul was blind. He could have been locked up in a cell a hundred feet underground.

He groped on, knowing now that the hill was going up, that the house could not be far away. He wondered whether his voice would carry to Harvey. He wondered whether Harvey was capable of hearing anything, whether in fact that bright and cheeky little boy had already met his end.

He tried to call, but had no more voice than Buzz the dog. Buzz’s tormented barks were breaking into wheezing squeals, but the very fact that Paul could hear them meant that the dog could not have been far distant. Paul panted for more breath, chewed for saliva, and swallowed to ease his raw and burning throat.

‘Harvey,’ he croaked, ‘can you hear me?’

Paul listened against the thud of his heart, but heard nothing except rain and water flowing and gurgling, momentarily not even the dog, or Harvey, or the bull.

He should have brought a torch. This was the silliest thing he could have done—to have come without a torch.

He chewed hard for more saliva and swallowed again and this time found voice. ‘Harvey! Answer me!’

Harvey didn’t answer, but Buzz squealed and wheezed, and Paul was sure that he could fix the direction. Just what the direction was he didn’t know, but he

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