Seven Steps to the Sun (14 page)

The hand that touched his shoulder was the last straw. He turned in a flash bringing the rifle butt hard into the stomach of the owner. There was a terrific intake of air from the fellow, who started to sink to his knees. In his fury, Mike followed the blow to the stomach with one to the head before he could stop himself. The man folded up into a silent heap on the ground. A sound a few yards off, made him pull back from the body.

'Did you get him?' said a voice in the darkness.

A light went on perhaps six feet away. Throwing himself at the second man, who realized too late that the body on the ground was his friend, Mike hit him with the butt of the rifle across the back of the head. He found the torch and shone it on the two unconscious bodies. It was a relief to see they weren't policemen. Both were carrying rifles, so Mike emptied the magazines and threw them away. He removed their wallets and, with a sudden grin, took their boots off" and flung them far into the night. That would stop them following for a bit, he thought, as he set off" again at a good pace. Whatever they wanted, he had nothing to offer.

Mike walked on steadily through the night. He had hoped that he would come across the vehicle the two men had used, but he didn't have any luck. Dawn came quickly, and soon the sun lumbered up above the Sierras. From where he was he could see the mountain that made up the north side of the Los Angeles basin, within a mile or so. It took him several hours to reach the pass in the hills, where the highway cut through. Years ago, at this point, there would have been the city below, but now he looked down on a wilderness of ruins and scrub. To his right he could see the sea and the island of Catalina glistening in the morning sunshine. What a difference it made without the smog. A sudden fear caught him. What would he do if there were no airport any more? He quickened his pace.

The ground surrounding the ruined highway was deserted scrub land, where once it had been acres upon acres of houses. From his vantage point, there didn't seem to be even any rubble left. The sun was now beginning to beat down in its intensity, and he wished he'd taken a hat from the two men he'd tangled with. He had to use his memory to find the turn off from the road to the airport as all signs had long since gone. Walking up the flyover, he saw the road stopped, but to his intense pleasure he could see the airfield. He ran down the embankment and into the scrub. The cactus and other vegetation grew very close together, impeding progress. He moved cautiously as some of the innocent-looking cacti had barbs like fish hooks but eventually he reached the edge of the airfield, and looked at the high fence. They must be damned suspicious, thought Mike, as he climbed over. He soon found the perimeter road and walked along until he came to what looked like the main buildings. There was no sign on the entrance to say what building it was, so he started to walk into the doorway. He was about half way through when he was suddenly thrown backwards, landing hard on his bottom. He collected himself and picked up his bruised body.

'Trying to get in?' said a man, coming over with a big grin on his face.

'I was,' replied Mike rubbing his backside.

'What are you looking for?' asked the man, with an even bigger grin.

T was looking for the departure building, in the hope of getting a plane out of this crazy place,' Mike said, with feeling.

'Over there,' pointed the man.

'Why couldn't I get into this building?' asked Mike still rubbing his behind.

There's an electric door. If you have the right pass it lets you through, if you don't you get slammed on your ass,' the man said, laughing as he himself went inside.

Mike noticed that all the men were either carrying guns or gun cases. California seemed to have become a hunters' paradise, he thought cynically.

Outside the civil airport terminal a flashing sign advertised the Airport Motel. It was situated on the edge of the airfield. It wasn't very big but it had a bar, pool, rooms and a restaurant, as the sign outside indicated.

'Can I get a shave and a shower?' Mike looked at the desk clerk.

'O.K. chalet nine. That'll be four dollars.'

Mike took the money from one of his many wallets then made his way to chalet nine. He shut the door but there was no lock on it, which surprised and annoyed him. He had not forgotten the two men he'd met in the night and, taking no chances, he removed the handle so that the door couldn't be opened from the outside. Satisfying himself that no one could surprise him by coming in through the windows, he undressed. A thought struck him as he stood stark naked in the middle of the room. He grabbed his clothes, took everything out of the pockets, and searched the garments carefully. Suppose the time changes were caused by something he was carrying? Otherwise how did they always find him? Discovering nothing hidden in his clothing, he abandoned that line of thought, stepped into the shower and turned the water on.

Considering the events of the night, he didn't feel particularly tired. In fact the refreshing shower had a stimulating effect. He felt ready for anything until the struggle with his boots slowly reduced him to helpless giggles as he ineffectively tussled to get them on. Finally he had to sit down, the effort of laughing reducing his physical strength to nil. Mike wiped the tears away from his eyes and pulled the second boot on. He went over to the wash bowl and picked up the razor.

In the departure building he moved smartly across the hall to the inquiry desk and asked for a list of flight departures. The girl produced a sheet of paper containing all the daily flights. Mike made his way to the news room. Inside it looked like a library. Long low tables with pieces of machinery sitting in the middle. Each black box had its own small typing machine set into the table. Mike walked round until he found a spare machine and sat down. He had no idea of what to do, so he looked at the man next to him. The fellow sat with a glazed expression on his face, a small pair of earphones stuck on his head and his feet resting on a stool. Mike looked at the blank screen and then at the typing machine. There didn't seem to be any instructions anywhere. He picked up the headphones in front of him and put them on.

'Blip, blip. For your local news, instruct computer with code, 733/4445/23944. For world events and news, use code, 744/3333/34955- For book library-refer to punch cards,' he heard the metallic voice saying in the headphones. The message repeated itself. Mike looked at the typewriter in front of him and typed out the numbers for the local news. The screen in front of him began to warm up, and the earphones crackled. He found himself watching and listening to a report on the weather followed by a detailed account of the hunting.

Mike turned his back on the man next to him and opened up the time table. On it were listed all the airlines operating out of the area from San Diego to San Francisco. About ninety per cent of the table covered internal flights, all over north America and Canada. He found the airlines operating overseas had very few flights going east non stop to Europe. The choice of westbound flights was unlimited, every carrier seemed to go to the Far East. He looked round for a clock but couldn't see one. He turned to the man sitting next to him and attracted his attention. It was a little after four. Mike smiled his thanks and took another look at his time table. Flights to Sydney were scheduled every half hour. He would try to make the next flight. He took the earphones off, and left.

He soon found the National Australian Airways desk. 'Is there any room on the four thirty, to Sydney?' Mike asked the kangaroo girl behind the circular counter.

T fear we're fully booked,' said the girl, with a smile. 'What about the five, or five thirty flight?' asked Mike.

'Can I speak to Captain Smyth,' said the girl, into an intercom.

'Captain Smyth,' said a voice.

'I've got a passenger here who wants to travel on the four thirty, but it's full. I was wondering whether you'd be willing to travel back on the four thirty instead of the five thirty, and let this gentleman have your five thirty seat?' asked the girl.

'Sure, I think I can get my stuff together in time. Is there a spare seat?'

'No, but I've got a cancellation, which has been taken up. I'll tell the passenger that he can't have it.'

'O.K., I'll leave the decision to you, darling,' said the voice, and then gave a laugh.

'Fine you will be travelling on the four thirty, Captain,' said the girl.

'I can get on the five thirty, then?' asked Mike.

'Yes.' The girl smiled, put a ticket into her uniform pocket and came out from behind the desk.

'Won't be long,' she said, going across the hall. Mike had very little alternative but to wait until she reappeared with another girl in tow, who looked at Mike from the corner of her eyes and went in behind the desk.

'This way,' said the girl, taking hold of his arm. Mike felt like a dog out for a walk. They went out of a side entrance and turned in the opposite direction from the Motel. Five minutes' walk brought them to a tall building near the perimeter of the airfield.

'What happens here?' asked Mike, as they went into the building.

'Airline residential apartments,' said the girl, with a smile.

'Why bring me here?' Mike asked, feeling that not everything was going his way.

'Gillian, Gill for short,' she said.

A man in a similar type of uniform came out from the lift. As he passed Gill he gave her a big wink.

That was probably Captain Smyth, thought Mike, as they proceeded to the second floor.

'Mike Jerome,' Mike said, as they walked down the corridor.

'Good, now that we've been formally introduced, I feel better,' said Gill, taking a plastic disc from her pocket and flashing it in front of a door. As the disc broke a light beam, the door clicked open and they went in. Out of curiosity Mike tried the door from the inside but he couldn't budge it.

'Afraid you're trapped, even if you get hold of this disc,' Gill laughed, 'you still don't know where the light beam is.'

Mike looked at the door frame for a moment and then moved towards her.

'Mike, don't look so cross,' Gill said, with a slightly nervous laugh.

'Wouldn't you be annoyed if you were suddenly shut up in a room with a strange man?'

'Well, I'll take you back to the departure building and let the two men who talked to me find you,' said the girl.

'Did the man at the motel put you up to this?'

'God, no. I wouldn't do anything for him,' Gill said. 'Now sit down and relax.'

'What do you use for furniture?' asked Mike, seeing the solitary chair in the living room.

'Where have you been lately? Furniture is a thing of the past, try sitting on the floor,' said Gill.

Mike did exactly that. The floor sank beneath his bony knees. He stretched himself out to find that it was rather like sitting on very thick rubber.

'Like it?' asked Gill. 'I'll let you know.'

'Fine, do you mind making yourself at home while I see to a number of things?'

'Sure,' said Mike, watching her move off into another room.

Mike got to his feet and walked round. There was no sound from his pacing and he felt as if he were in a clinical cell. A stark bare room, white walls and floor, and that bright blue solitary chair in the middle. He sat down and a small table slid out from under the left arm. It was littered with magazines and brochures. A list of night clubs in Sydney caught his eye and he began to read the advertisements.

'You like night life?' asked Gill, coming into the room again.

'No, just seeing if an old friend of mine might be playing,' Mike said, reading on. 'Who's your friend?'

'Just a friend. Why did you bring me here?' Mike said, turning to Gill.

'Curiosity. Why did those men want you?'

T beat them up, and stole their wallets, because they were rude enough to try to kill me.'

'Typical American hunters, shoot at anything that moves, and ask questions after. Why did you take their wallets?'

'Oh, impulse I should think. I was so mad, I wanted to leave them as helpless as possible,' Mike said, getting up and going over to an open cupboard in the floor. In it was a mass of tapes and old fashioned records.

'Did you ever hear a drummer called Pete Jones play?' asked Mike, as he thumbed through the music.

'No, but his name is familiar. Why might I have heard that name?' Gill said to herself. Suddenly Mike could hardly breathe as he waited for her to answer.

'He's a fantastic drummer, if you like that end of a jazz band,' he said sitting down on the floor next to Gill.

'I've never really followed jazz music, there are so few really good groups or even players left. Rather like art and writing. There aren't any good people coming forward. Pete Jones' trio, that's what I heard the other night. It was on telly,' Gill suddenly said.

'Where was this?' Mike asked, a little too urgently.

'Pete Jones is the old friend then?' Gill said shrewdly.

'Yes.'

'I was at home, in Sydney.'

'How long ago?' asked Mike, urgently.

'It was the last night before I started on this run, so that would be three days ago,' she said at length.

'You wonderful, wonderful girl,' Mike exploded, and grabbed hold of her. Gill didn't try to release herself. Mike gently caressed her and then kissed her. She responded with a pure emotion that took Mike a little by surprise. Through the heat and passion of this embrace, came a dampening thought. He would have to take his bloody boots off.

The small high velocity plane dropped its passengers at Sydney International Airport. Mike shivered violently as he stepped out. The airport clock showed twelve forty-four. Why were all winters like this, he thought to himself, looking at the leaden grey sky. He followed the line of passengers into a large hall, where they filed past a couple of desks in the centre.