started them up. That moment, turning the key: it was horrible, a terrible feeling. I gave a quick glance at Fi and looked away again, just as quickly. She looked ghastly. Like someone with a terminal illness.
Well, we were all suffering from that terminal illness.
As I started the engine there was a cry from the back. A wail of fear, like a baby who's burnt his hand. It had an hysterical edge to it. Like I said, I'd forgotten Kevin.
I glanced at Fi again. She looked grim now. "I'll go," she said, getting out of her seat. Before she could move, Kevin appeared at the little hatch between the cab and the main part of the van. He looked worse than Fi. Probably not worse than me, but I wasn't looking in the mirror. He had snot hanging out of his nose and he hadn't done his hair for about a week and a half, and during that week and a half I think he must have been running his hand constantly through it, messing it up as much as he could. His eyes were wild, staring at one of us then the other, as though he'd never seen us before.
"What's going on?" he squealed at me. "What are you doing?"
I didn't know if we should give him any sort of answer, because I dreaded his response. But Fi said: "This is it Kev, we're attacking the planes."
His whole face crumpled. In Science we'd done an experiment where you pump the air out of a tin can. The can crumples into a complete wreck. Well, that was Kevin. His spirit had been pumped out of him.
He ran his hand through his hair again and cried: "Ellie, this is crazy. Don't do it, please. This is suicide!"
But I put the truck in gear. Homer's dumpster was already moving towards the big door. As it stopped by the door, with a piercing squeak of its brakes, Lee jumped out. He looked across at us, waiting till we got closer before he opened us up to the outside world. Once he did that, we were committed. And for the first minute or so we'd have nothing going for us but bluff. We had to hope that any soldiers who saw the trucks would assume we were on legitimate business. If they didn't, if they knew straight away we were up to no good, we'd be wiped out before we got a hundred metres. We'd end up like feathers from a pillow when it bursts in a pillow fight. I knew that when the door opened we had only a few minutes to live. And a few minutes was our best-case scenario.
I didn't blame Kevin for going to pieces. I wasn't far off going there myself. Kevin had gone to pieces mentally and emotionally, but I figured we were all about to go to pieces physically. We'd end up looking like the dead officer in the bathroom of the barracks. I couldn't help thinking of Robyn, and the way she'd died. I knew it was the wrong time to think of her but I thought I'd be seeing her pretty soon.
We rolled forward. I glanced up at the rear-vision mirror to try to get a glimpse of Kevin, but then realised that of course there was no rear-vision mirror. There's not much use for them in furniture vans.
"Where's Kevin?" I asked Fi. She didn't answer for a minute: I think she was trying to peer into the back of the truck. Then she said: "It's hard to tell. It looks like he's under a pile of packing."
We were at the door. Lee gave us a nod and started to open it. "It's terrible," I said to Fi, meaning what we were doing to Kevin, the way we were taking him to almost certain death.
"Yes," she said, "it is."
I had to assume she knew what I meant, because there was no time to confirm it, no time for anything now except killing and dying.
The doors were sliding open. It was one of those arrangements where as you slid open one door, the next panel opened automatically. I took a quick look at Lee. He looked calm and beautiful.
I wondered if this was the last time I would see him. Or Homer.
The door was open enough for us to get through. I heard the loud revving of Homer's engine. He was giving it too much throttle, but it's hard getting used to a strange engine in a hurry, especially on a truck. The big dusty
Well, we were all suffering from that terminal illness.
As I started the engine there was a cry from the back. A wail of fear, like a baby who's burnt his hand. It had an hysterical edge to it. Like I said, I'd forgotten Kevin.
I glanced at Fi again. She looked grim now. "I'll go," she said, getting out of her seat. Before she could move, Kevin appeared at the little hatch between the cab and the main part of the van. He looked worse than Fi. Probably not worse than me, but I wasn't looking in the mirror. He had snot hanging out of his nose and he hadn't done his hair for about a week and a half, and during that week and a half I think he must have been running his hand constantly through it, messing it up as much as he could. His eyes were wild, staring at one of us then the other, as though he'd never seen us before.
"What's going on?" he squealed at me. "What are you doing?"
I didn't know if we should give him any sort of answer, because I dreaded his response. But Fi said: "This is it Kev, we're attacking the planes."
His whole face crumpled. In Science we'd done an experiment where you pump the air out of a tin can. The can crumples into a complete wreck. Well, that was Kevin. His spirit had been pumped out of him.
He ran his hand through his hair again and cried: "Ellie, this is crazy. Don't do it, please. This is suicide!"
But I put the truck in gear. Homer's dumpster was already moving towards the big door. As it stopped by the door, with a piercing squeak of its brakes, Lee jumped out. He looked across at us, waiting till we got closer before he opened us up to the outside world. Once he did that, we were committed. And for the first minute or so we'd have nothing going for us but bluff. We had to hope that any soldiers who saw the trucks would assume we were on legitimate business. If they didn't, if they knew straight away we were up to no good, we'd be wiped out before we got a hundred metres. We'd end up like feathers from a pillow when it bursts in a pillow fight. I knew that when the door opened we had only a few minutes to live. And a few minutes was our best-case scenario.
I didn't blame Kevin for going to pieces. I wasn't far off going there myself. Kevin had gone to pieces mentally and emotionally, but I figured we were all about to go to pieces physically. We'd end up looking like the dead officer in the bathroom of the barracks. I couldn't help thinking of Robyn, and the way she'd died. I knew it was the wrong time to think of her but I thought I'd be seeing her pretty soon.
We rolled forward. I glanced up at the rear-vision mirror to try to get a glimpse of Kevin, but then realised that of course there was no rear-vision mirror. There's not much use for them in furniture vans.
"Where's Kevin?" I asked Fi. She didn't answer for a minute: I think she was trying to peer into the back of the truck. Then she said: "It's hard to tell. It looks like he's under a pile of packing."
We were at the door. Lee gave us a nod and started to open it. "It's terrible," I said to Fi, meaning what we were doing to Kevin, the way we were taking him to almost certain death.
"Yes," she said, "it is."
I had to assume she knew what I meant, because there was no time to confirm it, no time for anything now except killing and dying.
The doors were sliding open. It was one of those arrangements where as you slid open one door, the next panel opened automatically. I took a quick look at Lee. He looked calm and beautiful.
I wondered if this was the last time I would see him. Or Homer.
The door was open enough for us to get through. I heard the loud revving of Homer's engine. He was giving it too much throttle, but it's hard getting used to a strange engine in a hurry, especially on a truck. The big dusty
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