And the World Changes by A M Kirk (classic books for 12 year olds .TXT) 📕

urged Miller. “They’re sure to be better armed than I am.”
He half dragged Mark after him. Mark moved like a robot at first, then managed to keep up with only slight support from Miller. The emotional trauma of the attack was wearing off in the face of the greater need to continue to survive.
Miller led Mark across a field of cattle. From the motorway they could hear the sounds of horns blaring and more distantly – too distantly – the sound of sirens wailing at last.
“It’s the police,” said Mark. “Should we go back?”
“Not wise,” replied Miller. He explained that the first police to arrive would not be well armed, if they were armed at all. The sirens probably betokened traffic police. Twenty minutes would pass before an armed police unit could arrive, and that would be twenty minutes too late.
“It was the blasted League!” The General cursed fluently. “Didn’t expect them to be like this, I must say. Very well-equipped.”
Only when they were negotiating a gate at the far side of the field did he spot their pursuit topping the grass verge separating the field from the carriageway, and scanning the landscape looking for them.
They were spotted.
Miller saw the men gesturing, pointing, talking, and then two of them came on in pursuit. Mark noticed that one of them was the man he had recognised – and it came to him that this man’s name was Henderson.
“Keep going,” Miller said. “We have to get out of here.”
Over a field, swinging by the edge of a small wood, past a ruined farm building, on and on, growing muddier and dirtier, they jogged. With every step he took Mark’s self-confidence waned. Panting, they crossed a five-bar gate and found themselves on an old farm access road.
“What about trying for help at a farm? I saw a couple of houses over in that direction,” said Mark.
Miller shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to involve any more innocent people in this thing. And there’s no telling what these psychotics would do. No, we’re better off out in the open for now, I think.”
The General led them in a northerly direction, and explained as he went: “ These guys – they want to kill me but it’s odds on they may well kill you too, let’s face it. Now, we can stand and fight, but I’ve only got one automatic pistol with eight bullets in the magazine, and they probably have more than that. Or we can try to make it to the nearest police station. There’s one in that town over there.”
He indicated the town of Lenzie, joined on to Kirkintillloch, whose church spires and taller buildings stood out from the line of hills that filled the background.
“I know roughly where we are,” said Mark. “Very roughly. That’s the Campsie Hills right there in the distance and Touch is just over that way.” He gestured beyond the hills to the right.
“That’s right,” agreed Miller. “Over those hills.”
“My home used to be there. Just yesterday, but it seems like a hundred years ago. I can’t go home,” said Mark. “I can’t go home.”
“No,” agreed Miller, looking at him levelly. “You can’t. Let’s move on. If we go down this lane – “
But he did not finish. A man, wearing dark glasses, was standing in the road right in front of them. Sure enough, it was Henderson. He was breathing heavily, for he must have sprinted to get ahead of them, but the rise and fall of his chest did not affect the steadiness of the gun trained on the General.
“Miller,” he said. “The aliens’ friend. At last we meet in the flesh. You can’t escape.”
The General put the boy behind him in a protective gesture.
His hand slipped to his holster, but too late. Henderson’s gun went off with a sound like a low cough and the General staggered back a step, then began to fall. Mark, horrified, saw that he had been hit in the centre of his chest. At the same moment Mark felt himself sag like a broken puppet. He collapsed to his knees, his legs no longer able to support him. The gunman approached. His gun was now trained unwaveringly on Mark.
“I don’t know who you are, or why you and your mother are a danger to us, or how you got here from where we left you before,” said the gunman, “and I don’t really care. I’ve done what we came to do – kill a traitor to the Human Race.”
“What have you done with my mother?” Mark managed to say.
“She’s safe enough, for now,” replied Henderson. Mark, in spite of his mind being in a turmoil, noticed perspiration bead and trickle on the man’s forehead. “As for you… “ The words were addressed to Mark, but Henderson looked towards Miller.
The General had slumped against the little grass verge. The gunman crossed over to him. He knelt down and put out a hand to feel for a pulse in the neck. He kept his hand in position for what seemed a very long time.
“The General’s not dead!” the thought flashed in Mark’s mind. “He’s all right. It’s a trick and he’s going to – “
But the gunman stood up. There was no trick. He looked at Mark for a long moment. “… if it was up to me, I’d put one into your brain. But the orders are clear. You are not to be harmed.” He put his gun abruptly away and simply walked back the way he had come, paying no further heed to the boy. Henderson disappeared round a corner in the lane.
Mark shivered and stared at General Miller’s body.
Then, after a titanic effort of will, he made himself approach it. He looked into the dead man’s face. It held no expression. The General’s face had been animated with strength of purpose and concern with regard to Mark. Where, Mark now wondered, has that energy gone? How can it suddenly be cut off? What has happened here? He undid the buttons of the light brown military jacket and managed to slip it off the body, apologising to the dead man as he did so.
“I don’t know why I couldn’t save you,” he whispered. “I was just so afraid. So afraid. I’m sorry.” After a long pause he promised in a quiet voice, “I’ll never be like that again.”
Mark knelt down and took possession of Miller’s gun. Acting on some age-old instinct, he covered Miller’s face with the jacket. Then he stood on shaky legs and began to walk wearily towards the distant hills, beyond which had once been his home.


23 Monday Evening

At seven-thirty that Monday evening, lost, exhausted and footsore and not giving a damn about much any more, Mark crept into a dirty barn on the outskirts of Kirkintilloch, crawled into the remains of the previous year’s straw and, despite the fact that the westering sun’s rays still slanted brightly between the planks of the barn wall, fell asleep in the curled-up foetal position.
The rushing in his ears had subsided now and he could vaguely hear, from the direction of the motorway, the police helicopters searching the area.
The General’s gun lay in the dirt beside him. For the first time in over twenty-four hours no images came when he closed his eyes, and for that he thanked God.

**********

Carrie awoke to darkness but quickly realised her predicament: her wrists and ankles were tied and she had been blindfolded. She was tied to a chair, a dining-room chair by the feel of it, and the angle of her body and limbs.
“Carrie – don’t be afraid.”
“Mrs Daniels? Is it you?” Although blind, she turned her head instinctively towards Janette’s voice.
“Yes, it’s me. I’m right beside you. They’ve taken my blindfold off, but I’m tied to a chair just like you.”
“Where the hell are we? What’s going on, for Christ’s sake? Is Mark here?”
“Easy now, take it easy. They’ve not harmed us and they’ve not handled me too badly so we might get out of this all right. Be calm.”
“I am calm,” replied Carrie. “I’m just concerned – concerned and furious. I think that guy might have hurt my dad. The last thing I remember was my mum running out of our house shouting something about…”
“Well there’s nothing we can do about that now. Right now, I’m afraid there’s not much we can do about anything.”
“Do you know where we are? Who’s doing this to us? What do they want with Mark?”
“Carrie – one thing at a time, all right? First – we’re in Stirling. I can see a small section of the Ochil Hills through the little window, but I recognise it. I’d guess we’re in a flat, because I think we’re high up, but I can’t be certain of that. Second, these people – and there’s at least half a dozen of them now, they’ve been coming and going for the last hour – are the Human Freedom League.”
“The anti-alien people.”
“That’s right, the anti-alien people. As for what they want with Mark, well, I guess they think he’s mixed up with the Soros in some way, but I’m afraid they’ve not really taken us into their confidence. These guys tried to kill us on a train in the Highlands, then chased us up a god-forsaken glen into the middle of nowhere, then drugged and kidnapped me. I’ve no idea what they did with Mark. He might be in the next room – “
“No – I think Mark’s okay. We got a phone call earlier. Mark’s in police custody – ‘helping them with their enquiries’ my dad said. They were supposed to be sending people round to protect us. Instead, this.”
“Well, at least we’re still alive. And after all I’ve been through these last twenty-four hours,” said Janette, “that’s what counts. Believe me.”

**********

In the barn Mark slept on. The old weathered wood made gentle cracking and creaking sounds as planks contracted infinitesimally while the cooling evening minutes crept slowly and peacefully by. Smells of old dung and rotting straw infused the air with a not unpleasant richness. A little shrew left its nest and scuttled cautiously forward before stopping, sensing the alien presence of the human. It sniffed, whiskers twitching. Slowly the sun angled down the sky.
Outside in the dusk, rooks were flying home to roost in ones and twos, enjoying their last aerobatic games of the day. Their caws were like soft calls of welcome, Hail, brother, well-met, how went your day? as they posed and preened and danced on tree limbs.
In the town a kilometre away, local youths were meeting up; but the distant sounds of cars and old motorbikes being revved hardly disturbed the peace surrounding the deep-shadowed barn where Mark slept on.

**********

In Roberts’ little house in a Glasgow suburb the Director of the Criminal Intelligence Section felt far from intelligent.