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since you lost the world. And you know it. But at least it's coming to an end,
this madness. Yeah, another end, and this time you'll probably be included.
You should've listened to Cissie, Hoke.
She told you you were crazy too...
Bullets whistled over our heads again, interrupting that sly, taunting voice
inside my head, a voice that was my own good sense, snapping me back to the
here and now. Fact was, I had no choice anyways:
my idea had progressed too far to call it off. Those Blackshirts were still
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trying to frighten us into stopping, but their shots only encouraged us to
make a final spurt onto the pier that ran around the base of the tower. The
bridge's control cabin, protected by sheaths of steel plating and sandbags,
nestled beneath the tower itself, and I noticed its green signal was still
raised to allow nonexistent ships through.
Out of sight underneath the pier were the cogwheels and accumulator tanks that
helped operate the bascule on this side of the river.
'Up the stairs!' I ordered Muriel as I wheeled around to check on the hounds.
Hell, the first goon, who was just about one of the healthiest-looking
specimens in a black uniform I'd seen for a couple of years now - healthier
even than McGruder, I'd say - was only ten yards away. I could've dropped him
easily with the Browning, but I didn't want to discourage the crowd from
following us into the tower, so instead
I turned my back on him and skipped up the steps after Muriel. She'd already
pushed open the door at the top and we went through almost together.
'Keep going,' I said to her, pointing to the rising stairs inside, and without
even glancing at me she did as she was told. Her shoes clacked on the iron
treads and her breaths were now emerging in short, sharp cries. I waited in
the shadows behind the door, listening to the approaching footsteps outside.
They grew louder, broke as the Blackshirt leapt the first few steps, then
resumed, coming closer.
Waiting 'til the last moment, I slammed the door in the goon's face and heard
a muffled shout, then a series of yelps as he bounced back down those steps
again. I'd busted the door's lock in the early hours of that morning, so I
couldn't shut the Blackshirts out and give myself a chance to get a good head
start on them up the stairs before they broke in. I raced after Muriel, taking
the steps three at a time and soon catching her up.
Like I said, a long haul to the top, two hundred and six steps in all (I'd
counted them some hours ago), the hydraulic lifts naturally out of action,
bullying Muriel all the way. Pounding footsteps followed us up, the
occasional, useless shot ringing out (we were well protected by the solid
staircase as long as we kept two flights ahead of the pack), our hearts
thudding faster, our legs growing heavier, and our lungs heaving painfully
with each step. Oh Jesus, we were never gonna make it, we didn't have the
strength. But still we went on, every turn a sweetener to reach the next.
Although there were plenty of windows, the glass was filthy, so seeing our way
was another problem. Quite a few times one of us tripped, but when it was
Muriel I just lifted her again and pushed her onwards, and when it was me I
cussed and used the thick wooden handrail to pull myself up. The higher we
went, the more exhausted we became; and it was getting harder for both of us
to draw breath. To make matters worse, the commotion below seemed to be
growing louder, the pack drawing closer and closer. Impossible, I kept telling
myself, those people were in worse condition than us, we were still way ahead
of them. If only I could've believed myself.
Some of the Blackshirts, I began to realize by sound alone, had taken the
other staircase - there were two inside the tower - and they seemed to be
making better progress than those behind us. We caught a glimpse of this bunch
as they poured onto one of the spacious landings below, and a roar went up
when
they spotted us too. Muriel almost collapsed in front of me.
"They... They've got us, Hoke,' she stammered, her chest and shoulders
heaving. 'We can't make it.'
So much for the Bulldog Breed. 'We're nearly there. One more flight, that's
all. Well be okay up there, I
promise you.'
I stepped alongside her and grabbed her by the wrist Her whole body was
shaking and she seemed to spasm with every breath she drew, but I half-carried
her with me, using whatever strength I had left to keep her moving. At first,
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she weighed on me, but when she saw the staircase opening out onto the top
landing, some of her strength - and her spirit - returned and she began to
climb by herself. The gloom brightened too and, I guess, in some foolish way
that gave her more hope. She stumbled on ahead of me.
We virtually dragged ourselves up those last few steps, using our hands on the
higher treads, our knees on the lower ones. And then we arrived at a wide area
with windows overlooking the river and city on three sides, the sun piercing
the grime and lightening the room with broad dust-swirling shafts. There was
no time to rest and though Muriel's legs were giving way and dry retching
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