when there was a loud bang and the sound of a bullet thudding into a nearby gatepost that I realised that the stick the man carried was a rifle. I pushed off on the bike and pedalled as quickly as my tired legs would allow me to.
'Bring it back, you bloody thief!' he shouted breathlessly. 'I'll fucking kill you!'
I glanced back over my shoulder and watched him struggling desperately to chase after me and reload his ancient rifle at the same time. Although the weapon didn't look that formidable, I wasn't about to take any chances. A second shot rang out and the bullet ricocheted off the ground no more than three feet from the back wheel of the bike. I span out of control and ended up in a flustered heap in the middle of the baking road and then, when I turned and saw the man reload for a second time, I quickly climbed to my feet and pedalled away. By the time the third shot rang out I was well out of range and, as I rode towards the village where Sam waited, I laughed with delight at having got my own back on the old man who wanted to keep me from Samantha.
My frame of mind was much improved. I guessed that it must have been getting late in the afternoon and that there could not be far left to travel to reach the village. Once I was there it was simply a question of finding Samantha's grandmother's house and then praying that Sam would still want me there. Despite my battered appearance, I felt sure that she would. After all. I thought, I had just crossed half the country and had survived being shot at to be with her.
With the final ounces of energy, determination and resolve that I could summon from my tired body, I pushed the bike and myself on and on along the seemingly endless road.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In spite of the fact that the stolen bicycle looked ancient and tired, it turned out to be a surprisingly strong and remarkably reliable machine. Its chipped and outdated blue paintwork belied its capabilities and a set of good, strong tyres helped me to make good progress along my way. The slopes of the road were kind and I travelled towards the village with a welcome burst of speed.
I was sure that there was not far left to travel now. Passing the industrial estate earlier in the afternoon had confirmed again that I was still following the correct route - all that I needed now was to see something that would reassure me that there was only a short distance left to cover.
As I cycled through the desolate countryside in the scorching heat of late afternoon, I looked back on the journey that I had just made with a mixture of emotions. If I had given the amount of thought and consideration to the trip that it had really merited, perhaps I wouldn't even have attempted it in the first place. As I looked back over the events of the last day, I found it hard to believe that I had even made it this far. By working my way back through each day of the last week, I was able to say with certainty that today's date was Sunday the twenty-eighth of October. It was almost impossible to try and comprehend the fact that, if the world did manage to survive into next week, it would be November the first on Thursday.
My mind wandered back to two weeks ago. What had been considered unseasonably and unbearably hot then was relatively cool compared to the suffocating heat of today. The city, the office, my friends and even my home and cat (who I had left under the watchful eye of Mr Coombes in the house next door) all seemed to be a million miles away - it was almost as if they belonged to another world and I knew that it was a world which I had little chance of ever returning to again, a fact which I managed to accept with a mixture of bitter sadness and relief. Although I was ninety-nine percent sure that the end was quickly coming, I still thought that there was a slight chance that things might eventually return to some semblance of normality.
A battered signpost appeared at the side of the rough road. I stopped the bike next to it and rubbed its dust-covered face to try and