The Escape - Robert Muchamore Page 0,32

stick it up my bum?’

Paul pushed the gun down his trousers and pulled his shirt out to cover it over.

‘Let’s move,’ Rosie said coldly.

‘What about Dad’s body?’

‘Stick around feeling sorry if you want. But I don’t plan on being here when the planes come back.’

Paul was indignant. ‘How come you’re so heartless?’

‘I’m not heartless,’ Rosie snapped, as she grabbed Paul by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him in close. ‘Do you think I’m happy about this? Do you think I don’t feel like sitting on the kerb crying my eyes out? But the bombs dropping out of the sky are real, Paul. The German armies heading towards us are real. We’ve got to be strong because weak people are dying all around and nobody gives a damn.’

A tear streaked down Rosie’s cheek as she shoved her startled brother away.

‘Now you’ve made me cry,’ Rosie said aggressively, as she bent forwards and kissed her father’s forehead. ‘I can’t look at him any more.’

After the kiss, Rosie began to walk away. Paul hurriedly removed his father’s bloody cravat. Then he straightened the silk square by flicking it in the air and laid it over his father’s face. The wind would probably blow it away, but it was the only dignified gesture he could think of.

Paul felt weird as he realised he’d never see the face beneath the cravat again. For a moment he felt like he was going to shit his pants, but he managed to stand up and dash after his sister.

‘Rosie … Rosie! Wait!’

*

It’s hard to think if you’re moving fast and Rosie didn’t want to think about anything. Smaller and weaker, Paul struggled to keep up but knew that he had to because Rosie was all he had left. The army had shored up the damaged bridge and although they’d been away from the car for less than half an hour the great queue of traffic that had driven swiftly through the night had moved on and been replaced by a thinly spaced convoy of horses, handcarts and dirty humans.

‘Where’s it gone?’ Paul shouted, as he approached a distinctive kink in the road where he was sure they’d left the car.

Rosie was twenty metres ahead and she’d already eyed the outline of the Citroën through a pair of trees. The vehicle leaned forwards with its front wheels tilted into a ditch. She gasped as she scrambled towards it. The back end had a long dent where a high vehicle – most likely a truck – had forced it off the road.

‘Is it OK?’ Paul asked breathlessly as he raced up behind his sister. ‘How are we gonna pull it out of there?’

As Rosie walked around to the passenger side, she could smell petrol and noticed a dark patch on the earth, with the screw-in filler cap lying beside it.

‘They’ve siphoned off our petrol,’ Rosie gasped. ‘There goes our chance of getting someone to drive us.’

‘Damn,’ Paul said, slapping his hands against his thighs, before looking inside the car. ‘It doesn’t look like anything’s been touched inside.’

Rosie unlocked the trunk and sure enough their luggage remained.

‘Maybe we could buy some petrol in town,’ Paul suggested, as he opened the back door and leaned in. The smell of cracked leather and his father’s hair tonic now seemed like part of some other kid’s life.

‘No chance,’ Rosie said. ‘I haven’t seen a petrol pump without a sold-out sign on it since we left Paris.’

‘What about Dad’s watch? It’s gold, it must be worth way more than a tank of petrol.’

Rosie shrugged forlornly. ‘Paul, right now I doubt we’d be able to buy a tank of petrol if the entire trunk was filled with thousand-franc notes. Besides, I doubt his watch is worth much. Dad had a decent job and we’re better off than most, but we’re not millionaires you know.’

When he was little Paul had often been rebuked for messing around with his father’s watch and this had given him an exalted sense of its value. Now he realised it was nothing more than battered gold plate.

‘So what are we supposed to do then?’

She shrugged again. ‘We can’t stick around here, and it’s only a matter of time before someone robs the car.’

‘Dad loved this car,’ Paul said sadly.

‘Well, we can’t carry it on our backs, can we? He would have had to abandon it or sell it for next to nothing when we got to Bordeaux anyway.’

‘I suppose.’ Paul nodded.

‘We’ll just have to gather up as much as we