。
'What on earth's the matter with you？' she snapped。 'Are you ill or something？'
Told 'em I was。' Gerald was sweating； partly because of the heat and partly because he had run the remaining hundred yards as he succumbed to a sense of urgency。
'Whatever for？'
'Because we're leaving。' He jerked a thumb towards the stairs。 Harry would still be sleeping。 He was on nights at the car factory this week。 'Wake Harry and get a few things packed。 Just essentials。'
Are you mad？' she demanded； surveying him； hands on hips； eyebrows raised； lips pressed。
'No；' he said。 'But if we don't get out now； we never shall。 They're going to do something shortly。 Cordon off Birmingham； maybe even the whole of the Midlands。'
She stared at him in astonishment； but for once she did not ridicule him。
They couldn't。' she breathed softly。 'They wouldn't dare。'
'They could and they would。' He stood poised on the bottom stair。 'I'll go up and wake Harry。 We need to be on the road in half…an…hour before everybody else realises what's happening。'
Forty minutes later the Pitkins； Gerald at the wheel of their new Fiat； Bertha beside him and a bleary…eyed Harry in the back amidst piles of loose luggage； headed out of Birmingham。 Gerald had tried to telephone Tom before leaving； but after three unsuccessful attempts； each time thwarted by a recorded flat female voice which stated that 'all lines to Shrewsbury are engaged'； he gave up and they set off。
The traffic was lighter than it would have been under normal circumstances。 Gerald Pitkin prided himself that he was the only person in the whole of Birmingham who had forecast the government's intentions。
They were through West Bromwich and Wolverhamton by six o'clock； and out on to the A464。 Gerald glanced down at the petrol…gauge。 Less than half full。 He wished that he had filled up before leaving； but it didn't matter。 There was more than enough fuel in the tank and it was less than fifty miles to Shrewsbury。
Shifnal was crowded。 People seemed to be carrying on much the same as usual； going about their everyday shopping； chattering on the streets。
'Probably haven't even heard about the bats out here； Gerald said。 'I guess we're clear by now。 We can relax。'
'I think you're making a damned fool of yourself； and us as well；' Bertha snorted。 'And when you get back to Birmingham you'll find that you've had the sack from the Treasury。'
'I've still got my army pension；' he grunted。 Things did seem to be very normal out here。
Harry slept soundly on the back seat。
Then； with startling suddenness； their returning sense of security was shattered。 There was a police road…block at the entrance to the M54； the Wellington by…pass which would have taken them to within a few miles of their destination。
Wooden barriers blocked the road。 A red and white police patrol…car was parked on the side； one uniformed officer seated behind the wheel； another standing by it； waving for them to continue back up the dual…carriageway and on to the A5。 That in itself was bad enough。 It was the third member of the obstruction team who caused Gerald Pitkin's heart to miss a beat。 Tiny beads of sweat formed on his forehead。 A soldier； stoic…faced； wearing camouflage denims。 An automatic rifle was cradled beneath his arm and he watched the Fiat intently as though half…expecting some kind of resistance from its occupants。
Bertha started to wind the window down； but Gerald stopped her。 His foot had eased up on the accelerator but now it pressed down hard again and the car picked up speed。
'We'll get back on the A5 and go through Wellington；' he said。
Bertha was white…faced； shaken。 Harry stirred and sat up in the back。 Neither of them said anything。 There was nothing to say。
As they dropped down into Wellington； through Ketley； they were aware of an increased flow of traffic ing towards them。 Cars； vans； all piled high with luggage； hastily strapped roof…racks； occupants with resigned expressions on their faces。 Bumper to bumper； they crawled； came to a standstill； moved again。
Yet Gerald Pitkin had to see for himself。 He tried to convince himself that it was nothing more than a flow of holiday…makers returning from the Welsh coast。 Their expressions？ Well； nobody enjoyed ing back off holiday； did they？
There was one other car behind them。 He watched it in the mirror。 A Reliant three…wheeler； grossly overloaded。
The heat was oppressive。 The sky had clouded over； but Gerald knew it would not rain。 Four months of drought now。 The overcast sky increased the humidity； and Gerald Pitkin tried to tell himself that that was why he was sweating。 The back of his shirt and trousers were stuck to the upholstery。
The oning traffic was at a standstill by the Cock Hotel。 One car had broken down； overheated； and those following were having to overtake it。 Impatience was growing。 Horns blared。 Drivers were leaning out of their windows in an attempt to determine the cause of the delay。 And still the road ahead of the Pitkins was free of obstruction。
The second roadblock was some way out of Wellington。 It consisted of another patrol car； two policemen； a soldier and； of course； an automatic rifle。
'Damn it！' Gerald Pitkin drove slowly up to the barriers。 Apart from the following three…wheeler there was no other traffic here。 It was as though the initial panic was over。 The public had accepted the situation； resigned themselves to it。 They had been told to go back to their homes and die like good citizens。 And they were obeying。
Gerald pulled up alongside the barriers； wheels half…turned in anticipation of the U…turn he would be forced to make。
'Sorry； sir。' A policeman stepped forward。 'I'm afraid you'll have to turn around and go back。'
'We're on our way to Shrewsbury。 To my brother's place。'
'I'm sorry； sir。 The A5 and all roads to Shrewsbury are closed。'
'There's been an accident？'
'I don't know what's happened； sir。 But the roads are all closed。 Now； please move on。'
The soldier had moved forward as though in support of the constable； the rifle no longer carried casually； the muzzle swinging in an arc until it pointed at the Fiat。 'All right。' Pitkin nodded。 'We'll go back。' The three…wheeler was already following them as though the driver had never expected to be allowed through。 Like everybody else； he had to satisfy himself that he had made the attempt。
'Well； so much for that；' Bertha groaned。 'Now for the long haul back to Birmingham。 You ought to have phoned the AA first。'
'We're not going back；' Gerald stated firmly。 'What！'
'I said； we're not going back。 Can't you see what's going to happen？ By tomorrow there's going to be rioting in the city。 Folks won't take this lying down。' 'What on earth can we do； then？' 'We'll take a right turn back here。' Gerald braked as they caught up with the tail of the traffic queue。 'I think it's signposted Little Wenlock。 You can get up on to the Wrekin that way。' 'How will that help us？'
'We'll ditch the car and go on foot。 They can't patrol the whole countryside； they won't have enough men。 We'll get through。 We'll wait for dark； though； and with luck we'll be in Shrewsbury by morning。' 'You're mad；' Bertha Pitkin said； but she did not argue。 Harry Pitkin said nothing。 He never had been a conversationalist。 A loner from boyhood； he accepted life as it was。 If his father said they were going on an all…night hike then he would trudge along with them。
Somewhere over the Wrekin there was a rumble of thunder； followed a few seconds later by a flash of lightning。 But there was no rain。
Chapter Ten
St Philip's Churchyard was crowded shortly after daybreak。 The overnight cloud formation had vanished； and once again the new day was threatened with scorching heat。 There was to be no let…up。
People sat on the grass； dishevelled； weary after a sleepless night。 The