han the rolling mist outside。
His first fear was of dying。 He would never forget the sight of those dead pigeons and the Alsatian in the Square。 Yet； until this massive conurbation had claimed the valley； he had looked forward eagerly to the weekly grouse…shoots。 That was a form of death that had pleased him； elated him when a dead grouse rolled on the sparse heather； a measure of his skill。 It had put him amongst the landed gentry。 It was pursuit of this sport that had resulted in his first meeting with McLoughlin。 He remembered； word for word； those two letters he had typed。 McLoughlin's tender for the new estate would be granted； McLellan would see to that。 Would have seen to it！ He chewed angrily on yet another cigar。 The houses would not be built now。 Nobody would need them。 Those already erected would be blown up with the rest of the valley； the whole country。
A movement hi the corner of the room caught his eye。 A sudden stiffening of his corpulent body； a tensing of every nerve。 He saw that Alsatian again； skulking in the alleyway； scavenging the diseased pigeons； the way it had regarded him steadily as if to say； 'You're going to die； just like me！'
Then he relaxed again； with a sigh of relief。 The yellow Labrador； ageing now； moved out from its resting place； and came towards him。 It； too； remembered those glorious days amidst the heather； the dead birds waiting to be retrieved。
McLellan stroked the smooth head； something to occupy his restless； flabby hand。 He would have had the dog put down after the grouse moor had been built over； if it hadn't been for Edith。 She loved this dog a lot more than she loved him。 It was funny； he hadn't petted the animal for ages。 Perhaps all this business had something to do with it； a kind of reconciliation。
His thoughts moved to the gun in the hall wardrobe。 A Purdey； worth at least a couple of grand； a sign of affluence at any shooting party。 There were cartridges； too。 Maybe half a box。 One shell would be sufficient。 So easy。 He could opt out of this waiting game； settle for death and have done with it。
He half rose； but flopped back in the chair。 He tried to find excuses why he would not go through with it。 The radioactive level might fall； life would revert to normal； McLoughlin's tender would be accepted； and McLellan would get his pay…off。 All in hard cash； as agreed。 Perhaps he would move out； leave Edith here in this place with her beloved dog。 She wouldn't object。
Another cigar。 More melancholy thoughts again。 Everything closing in upon him。 Something in the Prime Minister's speech came back to him： 'Animal and bird life is apparently more vulnerable to radioactivity than are humans'。 He sat bolt upright； gripping the upholstered arms of the plush chair。 Damn it； those grey squirrels that infested the garden every morning！ Surely the squirrels would be affected； too。 And he could stop them。 Something to do。 He had to take it out on someone or something。 One small shred of satisfaction before 。 。 。
He struggled out of the chair and lumbered into the hall； listening for a moment。 There was no sound from upstairs。 He did not want Edith to hear him assembling the Purdey。 She might jump to the wrong conclusion。
He returned to the lounge with the gun…case and that last box of cartridges。 There was a clinking of steel as he fumbled； assembling stock and barrels； snapping the fore…end loudly to secure the weapon。 The well…oiled breech opened noiselessly； he dropped a cartridge into each chamber； and closed it。 Then he flopped back into the chair； breathing heavily。 The dog； ears pricked in anticipation of an outing； nuzzled against him。 Roughly he pushed it away。 With a whimper of disappointment； it retired to its earlier resting place behind the settee。
Gun across his knees； McLellan lit another cigar； and settled back to await the ing of daylight。
His cigar smouldered for a while； then went out。 His eyes closed； and he fell into a fitful doze。 Somewhere； far away； he heard the rumble of heavy wheels。 Probably more waste being brought in for reprocessing 。。。
It was full daylight when he awoke； stirring slowly at first； then struggling to his feet as everything came flooding back to him。 A moment of panic as he stumbled towards the bow windows overlooking his large garden。 Perhaps he was too late。 He opened one of the windows quietly。 His head ached abominably； but he ignored it。 Only one thing mattered…so long as the creatures had not already e and gone。
This damned mist。 He cursed as he saw it swirl around these upper reaches of the valley； resting the gun on the sill whilst he put on his spectacles to see more clearly。 He peered intently。 A faint movement； a breath of sudden mountain breeze which temporarily cleared away a patch of the grey vapour。 He pushed the window even wider； and picked up the shotgun。
The squirrels were there again； as he knew they would be。 They hadn't missed a morning in his garden for a month now。 Horrible； rat…like grey creatures； they scuttled through the small orchard； ravaging the unpicked fruit。
He stood and watched from behind the open window； revulsion building up inside him。 His hands； clasping the loaded twelve…bore； were clammy。 He glanced at his watch： 7。a。m。 The yellow Labrador by his side growled softly。 The dog knew they were out there； too。 It looked at the door； and whined softly。
'Not today； old son；' McLellan muttered grimly。
Naturally； the Labrador didn't understand。 It wasn't worth the risk of radioactive contact； anyway。 McLellan turned his attention to the squirrels again。 Four of them were in the nearest tree。 The two old ones and a couple of youngsters。 Somewhere there were two more。 He eased the safety…catch forward on the gun。 He should have shot them weeks ago。 All too easy。
He raised the gun to his shoulder。 He had already gone over in his mind last night how he was going to do it。 The old ones first。 They wouldn't know what had hit them。 Then a rapid reload。 The young ones would be too surprised to run。 He took a bead on the adult male first。 She was looking towards the house； beady eyes glinting evilly； but didn't appear to see McLellan。 The creature was munching ravenously…his fruit。 His hand shook； but he steadied his aim； and squeezed the trigger gently。
The report was deafening in the confined space of the room。 The dog jumped up and ran to the door； whining and scratching at it。 McLellan moved the twin barrels a foot to the left； and followed the course of the female as she ran out on to a thick branch。 The other two followed in her wake。 She had sounded the retreat。
McLellan winced under the recoil of the second explosion； but he saw the squirrel drop instantly； plummeting earthwards to disappear into the long grass beneath。 Her offspring stopped； looking about them； fear evident in their tiny eyes。 Orphans at his mercy。
He opened the breech of the shotgun； and the two spent cases bounced across the room。 He grabbed two more from the open carton on the windowsill； fumbling them into the chambers； fearful that his next two victims would suddenly spring from sight and be lost。 But they still crouched there on the branch。
He took aim again…a sense of elation surging through him。 It had been easy； and he had enjoyed it。 This time two shots rang out in quick succession as he transferred the barrels to the two younger squirrels； squeezing the rear trigger almost before the dead creature in the lead had hit the ground。
Four shots； four kills。 As he opened the door； he felt something squeeze past his legs…then Simon； the Labrador； was dashing into the garden； nose to the ground in search of a scent。
'e back！' he yelled。 'Heel； you bloody idiot！'
It was no good。 The dog had always run in…to…shot； and this occasion was going to be no exception。 Whatever else he lacked； Simon certainly made up for it with his nose。 Even as McLellan rounded the corner of the house he saw the Labrador emerging from the long grass with a squirrel in his mouth。
Then McLellan