Death is a Welcome Guest: Plague Times Trilogy 2 by Louise Welsh Page A

question. Magnus steered the van from its parking space. The cab smelled foul, but he kept its windows closed, even though he doubted that its glass was bullet proof. He glanced at Jeb. ‘Do you think the guy I hit with the fire extinguisher is dead?’
    Jeb’s knees were folded tight, as if he were bracing himself for impact.‘Concentrate on getting us through the gate.’
    ‘I think maybe I killed him.’
    ‘Why would that bother you?’ Jeb took the penknife from his pocket and rolled it between his palms. Magnus remembered how the point of its blade had pierced an inmate’s neck, the arc of blood fountaining from the wound. Jeb said, ‘He was a piece of scum. He would have killed you, killed both of us, without blinking.’
    ‘Doesn’t it bother you?’ It was a question Magnus would not have dared to broach before, but the closed-in silence of the cab and the waiting troops made it seem imperative.
    Jeb pressed the point of the penknife against the palm of his hand, testing the sharpness of the blade or the elasticity of his skin.
    ‘There’s no point in thinking about it.’
    They were crossing the forecourt now and the soldiers had seen the van. Their eyes were on the vehicle, their guns resting in their arms. Magnus drove slowly, hoping the van’s insignia would make them think it was on official business. He felt the pure calm that always washed over him as he stepped on stage and into the spotlight, the fear that clenched his bowels before performances banished in the knowledge that, for good or for bad, it would all be over soon.
    Jeb hissed, ‘Speed up.’
    One of the soldiers, a young man with fair skin and red hair, stepped forward. He held up his right palm. Magnus slowed the van and held up a hand in greeting. ‘Smile, don’t let them see you’re nervous.’
    ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Jeb spoke through clenched teeth. His mouth was stretched into an expression that was more grimace than grin. ‘Put your foot down.’
    ‘Don’t worry.’
    Magnus nodded at the soldier, one foot on the accelerator, the other on the clutch, keeping the van slow until they were almost at the main gate. At the last minute he pressed a hand to the horn and floored the accelerator. The van was slower to gain speed than he had expected and for one horrible moment he thought that Jeb was right, he had left it too late. Then he saw the soldiers diving out of the van’s path. He scraped the driver’s door against the gatepost, knocking its wing mirror off. Then they were out of Pentonville and into the streets beyond. Magnus turned the van left and let out a roar. He kept his foot to the floor, going as fast as he dared along the city street. Jeb squinted into the passenger-side wing mirror, looking to see if they were being pursued.
    ‘Anyone coming?’ Magnus asked.
    ‘Not so far.’
    ‘Stupid fucking squaddies, lock the gate if you want to keep folk inside.’
    Magnus slammed his hands against the steering wheel, drumming out a victory tattoo, light-headed with the buzz of escape and freedom.
    ‘They were waiting on someone. That’s the only reason they’d have kept the gate open.’
    It was as if Jeb’s words summoned the convoy. Two tanks flanked by soldiers turned out of a side street and drove towards them.
    ‘Oh shit.’ Magnus hit the brakes and slammed the steering wheel again, this time in frustration.
    ‘Keep calm.’ Jeb gripped Magnus’s arm. His fingers dug into the flesh, forcing him to pay attention. ‘They’re heading to the prison, not away from it. They might not know about us yet.’ He pointed to a side road. ‘Turn first right.’
    Magnus did as he was told. He was still going too fast and the van swerved on to the wrong side of the road as he rounded the corner, but the street was deserted.
    ‘Okay,’ Jeb said, looking at the road behind them in the wing mirror. ‘Turn left at the end.’
    Magnus obeyed him, taking the corner with more care this time.
    He asked, ‘Are