The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,21

wasn’t long before he considered that someone might be after him and he quickly swung the pigskin over his back and straddled the bike for the journey downhill.

Marc had wanted to see Beauvais for as long as he could remember. It was a town of less than 50,000 people, but to a boy from nowhere the cathedral, the cinemas and the shops with handmade chocolates and cream cakes piled in the windows were the stuff of legend.

But the city was on the main invasion route heading towards Paris and the German air force’s attempts to soften it up had turned Marc’s dream into a nightmare. The final stretch of road into town was like hell, with the smell of burning fuel in the air and curls of smoke drifting across the face of the moon. The road was partially blocked by a crater with the remains of a car tilted into it. Charred trees at the roadside had been cut to make a clear path for traffic, but this ground was uneven and Marc was forced to dismount.

Marc wheeled his bike close to the road’s edge and noticed a line of bodies covered with blankets or jackets. As if this wasn’t spooky enough a huge rat scuttled across his path and cut into the trees. A glance into the crater exposed him to the shadowy outlines of rats and crows bickering over blood and intestines that had spilled when a body had been dragged away.

Completely revolted, Marc was hit by the reality of being alone. He’d just passed two elderly refugees wheeling pet birds and a ginger cat and he considered running back and begging them for help.

But realistically they were in no position to help anyone. Marc looked towards the black outline of Beauvais and contemplated turning back towards the orphanage. If a man important enough to own a smart car could end up with his guts spilled across the road, what chance did a twelve-year-old orphan have?

Trouble was, he had burned his bridges. He could just imagine Lanier and the others laughing their arses off when they heard that he’d run away, only to arrive back within the hour. And as for the reactions of Sebastien and Director Tomas …

Almost unconsciously, Marc picked up his heavy boots and pushed the bike towards Beauvais. Once he was past the crater he remounted and was soon cycling cautiously through dark streets with buildings close on either side. Most had their shutters closed for the night. All the lights were blacked out to prevent the city being picked out by German pilots, but several fires lingered from an earlier raid and explosions had shattered windows everywhere. Most of the glass had been swept into gutters, but it was still across the road in places and Marc feared a puncture.

Things became livelier as he freewheeled the bottom of a hill and turned on to one of the town’s main boulevards. Like everywhere else in northern France, the population of Beauvais had split between those who’d fled south and those who’d abandoned themselves to whatever fate the Germans had in store.

The stay-behinds seemed determined to enjoy their last breath of freedom. The air was warm and the cafés whose owners had stayed in town were crammed with people. Although the street lanterns had been switched off and each café had black curtains or shutters drawn across the windows to keep out the light, Marc saw pinpricks of candlelight on the outdoor tables and the orange glow of cigarettes dancing expressively in the hands of people who’d had too much to drink.

The mass of chatter was nothing out of the ordinary for a street of bars and cafés, but Marc had never seen so many adults in one place before and their apparent ease in near black surroundings made him feel even more out of place.

He pulled up when he came to a horse trough with a drinking fountain mounted on the brick plinth behind it. After dropping the bike he leaned into the spout and gasped with relief as he gulped cool water.

‘Change?’ a man asked noisily, making Marc jump.

Water dribbled down Marc’s chin as he backed away from the fountain and eyed the old man. He wore only shorts and boots, but was so filthy that it took Marc a few seconds to realise that he wasn’t in some kind of fancy-dress gorilla suit.

‘Anything you can spare,’ the man smiled, as he held out his hand. ‘Just a few coins.’

As he said